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daechwitatamic · 3 months ago

Text

Cinnamon || KMG

banner by @sailorrhansol

Written for the Lonely Hearts Cafe Collab!

Cinnamon mingyu x fem!reader (nicknamed Sunny), reader x male oc for a while fluff smut angst best friends to lovers, roommates to lovers, idiots to lovers all apply NSFW - minors DNI

Summary: You finally decide to try and move on after years of waiting for Mingyu to return your feelings. But when you start bringing your new boyfriend around more often, things with Mingyu get... difficult.

WC: 19k

Warnings: language, recreational drinking and overdrinking, a brief mention of throwing up from a hangover, angst and hurt feelings, not miscommunication but definitely refusal to communicate, kissing (some with mg and some with a male oc), arguments, reader and mingyu are both imperfect people who make mistakes and do things wrong... theyre not bad or toxic people but their choices can be hurtful... theyre humans who mess up have to just do their best to do better going forward, quick and prosey smut scene with piv penetration

A/N: thank you to @sailorsoons and @eoieopda for beta-inggggg iluuuuu

December

“Good morning, Sunshine.”

You grumble in response, eyes still mostly closed, as you make your way by muscle memory to your apartment’s barely-functioning coffee machine. Only once you’ve poured a mug, stirred in everything you need to make it palatable, and taken your first sip, do you speak actual words.

“Morning. You’re up early.”

Jeonghan, one of your three roommates, nods solemnly. “I have a nine o’clock meeting today, but I need to get some files together first, so I’m trying to be there by eight,” he tells you. You glance at the clock on the microwave - it’s already 7:20.

“You might want to get moving,” you warn him.

He makes a face that says, I know, but - and cocks his head towards the bathroom the four of you share. The door is closed and the light inside is on, which means it must be occupied. It’s not usually a problem, even with four of you - your schedules are just different enough that it works out.

You frown. “Wonwoo isn’t gone yet?” He’s usually the first one out of the house on weekdays since he’s got the longest commute.

Jeonghan shakes his head, but then the light clicks off and the door opens. A girl you’ve never seen before steps out cautiously, then pauses when she sees the kitchen isn’t empty.

“Oh,” she breathes. “Hi. Good morning. I’ll just -”

She gives you each a polite nod and slips quickly back through the nearest door - Mingyu’s bedroom.

You face Jeonghan again and roll your eyes. He gives you a bit of a grimace and gets up, hurrying into the now-empty bathroom.

You take his seat at the table, sip slowly at your coffee. Having three guys as roommates means this happens with relative regularity, though usually the guys keep their conquests to weekends and holidays. Mingyu must have really liked this girl to bring her home on a weeknight. You glance back at his closed door; you can faintly hear their voices, but not what they’re saying. She was pretty.

You tuck away whatever feelings you might have about this, just like you always do, wipe your heart as clean as a classroom chalkboard at the beginning of a new day. Jeonghan vacates the bathroom, clearly in a hurry, and you take his place, turning the shower on and praying that there’ll be enough hot water left to get you through. (There’s not.)

Later, as you sit on the train amidst a sea of other morning commuters, you check your phone.

Roomies 💕

[8:07am] (jeong)Han Solo: i would like to issue a formal complaint

[8:07 am] wonuuu: i left plenty of coffee bro

[8:07am] (jeong)Han Solo: not that

[8:09am] Cinnamingyu: if this is a noise complaint… i’m sorry but also no i’m not

[8:09am] You: you’re disgusting

[8:09am] Cinnamingyu: you love me

[8:10am] You: 🙄

[8:10am] (jeong)Han Solo: so does the girl whose presence in our one (1) bathroom made me late this morning

[8:10am] (jeong)Han Solo: if i get fired you’re covering my part of the rent

[8:11am] Cinnamingyu: have fun defending that in small claims court

[8:11am] You: i am happy to be a witness on your behalf

[8:11am] Cinnamingyu: et tu brutus?

[8:11am] You: my shower was lukewarm at best

[8:12am] You: you will be hearing from my counsel

[8:12am] You: thanks in advance wonwoo

[8:14am] wonuuu: for the millionth time… I cannot be your counsel. I’m not qualified yet.

[8:14am] You: yet ☝️

[8:17am] Cinnamingyu: let’s not ignore the real problem here… we need another bathroom

[8:21am] (jeong)Han Solo: ok great, tell me when you win the lottery so we can move out

Chuckling, you slide your phone back into your coat pocket as the train pulls into your stop. You hurry through the train station, tucking your chin into your coat collar as you speed through the icy December morning. It’s one of those dry cold days, where the air around you feels frozen, almost hurts to breathe. Everything is grey - sky above you, buildings around you, ground below you. Fast steps take you the three blocks to your office building, where you sigh in relief as the heated air hits your face, chasing away the chill.

You check your phone again as you hang your coat on your chair in your cubicle. As usual, Mingyu has texted you privately, away from the group chat.

[8:31am] Cinnamingyu: sorry about the hot water :(

[8:38am] You: you should be. i shivered through my whole conditioning routine.

[8:38am] Cinnamingyu: poor sunny baby :( :( :( will you ever forgive me?

You roll your eyes, but you’re fighting a smile. You hate that Mingyu can just charm you right out of a mood, and you hate it even more than he knows it and weaponizes it. He’s the one who gave you the nickname Sunny (or Sunshine depending on how cranky you were at the given moment) back when you were a college freshman. Your other roommates picked it up, but Mingyu was the only one who ever turned Sunshine or Sunny into Sunny Baby.

It’s absolutely horrendous, unfathomable, deeply unfair that it works, that it makes you melt into goo when he uses it. Still, you try to hold strong.

[8:38am] You: don’t you Sunny Baby me Kim Mingyu, you have crimes to answer for!!!

[8:39am] Cinnamingyu: ill cook for you tonight as penance. and then maybe a movie?

You frown. You wish you could take him up on the offer. Mingyu’s a great cook. One of the many things you love about him.

[8:39am] You: rain check. i won’t be home for dinner

[8:39am] Cinnamingyu: what’s this? did you manage to bag a man????

[8:39am] You: i hate you so much

[8:39am] You: yes you absolute scrambled egg, i have a date

Mingyu sends you a gif of an old man suggestively wiggling his eyebrows, and you laugh out loud. Then you stash your phone behind your keyboard and get to work. But when you check it again a few hours later, after your first meeting of the day lets out, he’s texted you again.

[8:40am] Cinnamingyu: is it the same guy as last week? date number TWO?? 😮

[10:51am] You: yeeeeees 🤭

[10:51am] Cinnamingyu: wow, big moves for you. a second date! do we need to have The Talk?

[10:51am] You: blocked and reported

This is an ancient song and dance for you and Mingyu. When you’ve been friends as long as you have, some things just become routine. Like you, gracefully ignoring the handful of girls that you never see a second time. Like him, acting like it’s monumental when you actually give someone a chance.

He’s used to you giving no one a chance, ever. He knows it doesn’t happen much.

But you had a good first date with Daeyoung last week. A really good first date. You’d been texting a lot since then, too. He was funny - witty. And cute. So you’d thought to yourself… what the hell. Why not? Why not go out a second time? What else were you going to do tonight?

(Stay home and eat the food Mingyu cooks for you. Watch a movie together on the couch.)

And, sure, you do want to do those things. But going out with Daeyoung tonight won’t change a thing between you and Mingyu. He’ll grill you about it when you get home, maybe tease you a little, and you’ll do food and a movie another night.

Daeyoung takes you bowling. You weren’t sure how you’d feel about it, not having been in a bowling alley since you were a kid, and remembering them as vaguely sticky places. But it ends up being kind of cute, maybe even nostalgic. Daeyoung buys a pitcher of beer and sets it on your - yes - sticky table, and walks with you as you select a pink ball that is definitely meant for children.

“You know that’s only six pounds, right?” he asks you, smiling playfully.

“Bold of you to think I could lift a heavier one,” you deadpan, and he laughs. You like his laugh - it’s easy, light, like he’s wholly uncomplicated. You could use some uncomplicated in your life.

You're terrible at bowling - you score a 42 on your first game, the ball finding the gutter more times than it stays on the lane. Even so, you manage to have fun. Daeyoung doesn’t make you feel weird about it - in fact, he barely pays attention to the actual bowling. Instead he talks to you about your day, asks about your family, doesn't seem like he's freaked out that you live with three guy friends. He doesn’t even ask the very common, “so, has anything ever happened there?” for which you’re grateful.

He’s got three sisters, you learn, and grew up with cats but still wants a dog someday. He graduated two years before you, has never traveled outside the country.

You offer back your own resume of sorts - an older sister and a younger brother, no pets growing up and allergic to most mammals (perhaps humans included, as has been pointed out by Mingyu on many occasions, usually in the same conversation that he’s calling you Sunshine and pinching your cheeks like your attitude is cute). Graduated with Honors and haven’t traveled much either, though you’d love to when you have some money saved up.

Your phone lights up on the table every so often, and you check it while Daeyoung takes his turn on the lane. A few are Jeonghan and one of your co-workers, and one is your little brother asking how to get blood out of laundry which is super alarming - but the rest are from Mingyu.

[7:19pm] Cinnamingyu: just know that you are missing one of my best creations

[7:19pm] Cinnamingyu: but dont worry i will save you some ☺️ because i’m the best roommate ever

[7:31pm] You: thank youuuuu! I might not have any tonight but you know i’ll eat the leftovers!

[7:31pm] Cinnamingyu: hows the date?

[7:36pm] You: i am very bad at bowling actually!!!

[7:36pm] Cinnamingyu: aim for the pins

[7:43pm] You: have i mentioned that i hate you?

[7:43pm] Cinnamingyu: guess i’ll throw these leftovers out then

[8:12pm] Cinnamingyu: what time do you think youll be home?

[8:15pm] Cinnamingyu: sorry i didnt mean that like WHEN WILL YOU BE HOME YOUNG LADY

[8:15pm] Cinnamingyu: i was asking bc i was deciding if i want to start a movie or wait for you i wasnt trying to

[8:15pm] Cinnamingyu: you know

[8:15pm] Cinnamingyu: anyway. aim for the pins. wear protection. etc. see you later lol

[8:38pm] You: young lady 🙄 go away mingyu!!!

[8:38pm] Cinnamingyu: you dont mean that

[8:38pm] You: i don’t 😘

[8:47pm] You: if you wanna save a movie for me… i should be home by 11

Daeyoung drives you home after the date, and you note that his car is clean, but not serial killer clean. A green flag.

When he asks if he can see you again soon, as he's pulling the car up to your building, you tell him yes without hesitating. It’ll be your first third date in maybe ever, and you make a little note in your brain that you should probably talk to him about this, make sure he can be on the same page - that this is fun and you’ll keep going out as long as it’s a good time, but you aren’t really looking for serious.

When he pauses, leaning in a little closer, you feel yourself smile, and you let him. It’s a nice kiss.

He’s a nice guy.

There’s no reason you couldn’t follow through with this. There’s no giant problem with him, no personality quirk or inherent difference that makes him ineligible.

But.

You push the thought away. “Thanks for tonight,” you tell him. “I had a good time.”

“You’d have a better time if you listened to my advice and used a heavier ball,” he says seriously, but there’s a twinkle in his eyes that tells you he’s teasing. “You can’t expect to knock down pins when they weigh more than what you’re throwing at them.”

“Sounds fake,” you joke, and hop out of the car. Before you shut the door, you pause. “See you next weekend?”

His smile unfurls, pleased. “Yeah,” he says. “I’ll text you.”

You practically skip back into the apartment. You pause at the closet by the front door, pulling off your boots and hanging up your puffy winter coat. You can hear the tv on in the living room and water running in the kitchen.

You step into the kitchen, heading for the fridge. Mingyu stands at the sink, his back to you, up to his elbow in suds. You bump him with your hips as you pass by, and he kicks at you and misses. You open the fridge and grab a can of seltzer. Mingyu smiles at you from the sink, and just like that, Daeyoung evaporates from your mind.

He calls you Sunny, but he’s the sun. Has been that way as long as you’ve known him - since undergrad.

You’d met in your freshman year - he was puppy-dog cute, back then, not the chiseled sculpture of a man who takes up half your kitchen now. You’d been in the Arts and he’d been in the Sciences - something mathy - but you’d bonded in one of those godawful general requirement classes, and somehow the friendship had taken hold.

Mingyu holding your hand - metaphorically and literally - through your two required math classes and two required science labs was the only reason you’d even managed to graduate. Of course, you’d also written every single formal paper he had through the whole four years, so it evened out.

You complement each other that way, in every area. He’s outgoing and friendly, you’re cranky enough to be given the nickname Sunny in pure irony. Mingyu likes puzzles and problems he can work out, you like to turn the brain off for any and all hobbies. Mingyu is sunshine and big smiles, you are made of salt and sarcasm.

But you love each other - have been best friends since almost the moment you met. There is nothing in your life you’d be willing to lose less than him.

You wander up to him and lean against his arm, mostly to be funny because he continues to wash dishes even as it jostles you around, and it becomes a little game of him trying to shake you off and you refusing to be shaken.

“How was your night?” he asks finally, reaching to turn off the water. You automatically pass him a dish towel to dry his hands. He takes it, drying, and then reaches around you to hang it back up near the oven.

“Not as good as yours,” you snicker, noticing a purple blotch near his collar.

He flushes dark, slapping a hand over the spot. “Yah,” he complains.

You laugh. “She was cute!”

“She’d be cuter if she spent less time in our bathroom!” Jeonghan’s disembodied voice floats from the living room.

“Alright, we get it!” Mingyu calls back hotly. “You’ve only been complaining about that for fifteen hours!”

Cackling, you follow him out into the living room. Jeonghan is sprawled sideways on the two-seater, a show you don’t recognize playing across the tv screen. Down the hallway, Wonwoo’s door is open about a foot, casting the hallway in flickering blue light that tells you he’s gaming and you probably won’t see him for the rest of the night.

“So,” Jeonghan says dryly, without peeling his eyes from the tv, “I noticed your boyfriend’s car idling outside for quite a while before you came in. Were we necking?”

“Necking?” you splutter. Beside you, Mingyu is biting on his lips, trying not to laugh at your expense. “What year is this, 1950? And he’s not my boyfriend. You know that.”

You can’t help the defensive edge that creeps into your voice. From where he’s plopped on the couch, Mingyu reaches up for your hand, tugging. You let him pull you into the space next to him and he rubs a soothing hand across your shoulders before taking his hand away. It’s a silent, quick moment - easy to miss if you aren’t looking. But you are looking, always, and you wonder if he even knows he does this - reads your moods, rushes to fix you.

Unbothered by your ruffled feathers, Jeonghan asks lightly, “So, are you seeing him again, or…?”

The bastard hasn’t even looked away from the television screen.

“You’re such an ass sometimes,” you grumble at him.

Now he looks over at you, smiling beatifically, innocently. “There’s my Sunshine.”

“Fuck off.”

“Well?” Mingyu asks from next to you, eyebrows raised. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” you say, trying to sound casual. You can tell the jackals are in a mood tonight.

Jeonghan’s face splits into a delighted grin. “A third date? My goodness.”

“We all know what happens on a third date,” Mingyu says sagely, and you punch him in the thigh, extra hard since you can only reach him and not Jeonghan too.

Wonwoo’s voice comes from down the hallway. “Leave Sunny alone, you guys.”

“Yeah,” you grumble. “Leave Sunny alone.”

Mingyu stretches over your lap to reach for the remote. It brings his torso almost flush against yours and you feel your face heat.

“I was watching that,” Jeonghan complains before Mingyu even presses anything.

“Sunny and I are watching a movie,” Mingyu says flatly. “Go watch on your laptop if you care so much.”

Jeonghan reaches towards your couch lazily and slaps at the air like he can’t be assed to work any harder to hit his roommate. “You’re cranky today,” he observes, the arm not trying (sort of) to slap Mingyu’s leg folded behind his head. “Why might that be?”

Mingyu doesn’t answer him, just settles back next to you, his arm against yours, and starts scrolling through movie options.

He still hasn’t picked one when Wonwoo appears in the living room’s doorway, leaning against the wooden frame, his LED headset looped around his neck and his eyes on his phone.

“What are we watching?” he asks absently.

“Nothing, apparently,” Jeonghan quips.

Beside you, Mingyu growls a little.

Unphased - this is so normal for them, it would be more alarming if they weren’t pissing each other off - you look up and Wonwoo and say, “I didn’t think you’d emerge tonight.”

“I’m heading right back in,” he admits. “Hydration break. Anyway - question. What’s everyone’s plans for the holidays?”

Mingyu stops scrolling, pausing to think.

“I’ll be home,” Jeonghan says, meaning his hometown.

“Me, too,” Mingyu adds. “I’m leaving on Sunday. Next Sunday, I mean.”

Wonwoo lets out a little sigh. “Okay. My folks were asking when I was coming. Sunny, you’re going home, too?”

“Uh, no, actually,” you admit. “I was staying here.”

You feel rather than see your friends share a glance.

“I can stay, then,” Wonwoo says, a bit tightly - you can tell that wasn’t the plan. “So you aren’t alone.”

“No,” you protest. “I’m perfectly fine being here by myself, you know that.”

“Sunny Baby is an indoor cat,” Mingyu notes, and you bump him with your elbow.

“It’s fine,” you insist. “Plus, I think Daeyoung will be around, so I won’t be alone the whole time anyway.”

Mingyu’s eyes bore into the side of your face, but you don’t look at him; if it’s pity he’s leveling at you, you don’t want it.

“If you’re sure,” Wonwoo says, and when you assure him you do, he vanishes into the kitchen and then back into his room. Mingyu clicks on a movie and you settle in, eventually getting sleepy and shifting sideways, your head resting comfortably on his unfairly sculpted shoulder. He shifts to let you get more comfortable, and the night passes as simply and pleasantly as hundreds before.

When the movie ends, you pick up the bottles and cans from the coffee table while Mingyu does a quick lap of the apartment, turning off lights and making sure doors are locked. You meet outside the bathroom - occupied by Jeonghan - both waiting your turn to brush your teeth and whatever else before bed.

“Sunny Baby,” Mingyu says softly, something tentative in his voice, and you look up at him, heart suddenly thumping. He’s looking at you earnestly in the dim light from the bedrooms down the hall, something you’re not sure you can name on his face. It’s almost pleading, but that doesn’t make sense. “Are you sure you don’t want to come home with me for the holidays? My family would love to have you - they’re obsessed with you, you know that.”

Your heart calms. “It’s really okay,” you promise. “But thanks for checking.”

The bathroom door opens and Jeonghan slips by, leaving a wave of toothpaste-mint in his wake.

“You go ahead,” Mingyu says.

“You were in line first,” you argue.

He rolls his eyes but knows how stubborn you are, so he disappears into the bathroom. You lean your butt against the kitchen table and check your phone for the first time in a while.

Daeyoung had texted shortly after he drove away - probably as soon as he got home.

[11:24pm] Daeyoung: I had a really good time tonight. Looking forward to next week :]

[12:51am] You: me too ☺️

The bathroom door opens and you turn off your phone screen with a click, bidding Mingyu goodnight as you slide into the bathroom’s light.

–

January

New Year’s Eve

Roomies 💕

[11:13pm] (jeong)Han Solo: sunny where’d you end up tonight?

[11:13pm] You: i’m with the girliesss!!! where are you guys

[11:13pm] Cinnamingyu: sunnnyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy baby baby baby

[11:13pm] You: yyyeeesssss??

[11:14pm] (jeong)Han Solo: we’re downtown. mingyu cant come to the phone right now but i think he wants you to come hang out with us

[11:14pm] You: lmao nooooo he didnt even make it to midnight??? thats sad, kim mingyu

[11:16pm] Wonuuu: u ever think about that phrase “can’t come to the phone”… from an era in which you had to walk to the family’s landline phone in the kitchen or whatever… none of us were even alive for that

[11:16pm] You: wow apparently you guys are having a much better time than me

[11:16pm] (jeong)Han Solo: only wonwoo lol ok be safe and have fun!! see you at home

–

[11:14pm] Cinnamingyu: come out!!

[11:14pm] You: i am out! Lol

[11:15am] Cinnamingyu: you know what i mean

[11:16am] You: im sorry :( but we’re across town and by the time we got there we’d miss the countdown

[11:16am] Cinnamingyu: ok 🙁

[11:16am] You: don’t pout!!! i’ll see you at home tomorrow and we can hang out all day

[11:16am] Cinnamingyu: not the same!

[11:17am] You: ok lets take a shot together!!

[11:17am] Cinnamingyu: ???

[11:17am] You: go order one and tell me when you’re ready!!

[11:18am] Cinnamingyu: lmao on it 🫡

[11:28am] Cinnamingyu: ok im ready

[11:28am] You: ok when you get this count to three and take your shot!

[11:29am] You: geonbae or cheers or salute or whatever

[11:29am] Cinnamingyu: or whatever 🙄

[11:29am] You: 😘

New Year’s Day

Roomies 💕

[12:00am] You: HAPPY NEW YEAR LOVES OF MY LIFE LET THIS BE THE BESTEWT YEAR FOR US EVER EVER EVR!!!!!

[12:00am] Wonuuu: happy new year sunny 🙂

[12:00am] (jeong)Han Solo: happy new yearrr 😽

[4:09am] You: home safe ♥️

[10:33am] Wonuuu: i’ll be home tomorrow sunny

[12:42pm] (jeong)Han Solo: i’ll be back tonight but probably not until after dinner

[12:42pm] You: ok! i’ll be here

[3:17pm] (jeong)Han Solo: is mingyu alive???

[3:17pm] You: lol yeah he’s home. he’s just… not in the best shape asfjkasfhaio

[12:00am] Cinnamingyu: happy new year sunny baby 🩷

[12:01am] You: happy new year best friend!!!!!!! ily ily ily!!!!

[12:32am] Cinnamingyu: you kno you could still meet us out nw

[11:23am] Cinnamingyu: can u open the front door… my head hurts too bad to make the keys work

You stagger to the apartment’s front door, eyes squinting against the harsh daylight streaming into the living room and kitchen area. When you unlock and pull open the door, Mingyu almost collapses on top of you.

“Get up,” you groan, shuffling backwards. “You’re too heavy, I can’t hold you!”

“Shhhh,” he whispers, but rights himself to standing.

You stand there for a minute, both of you just grappling with the horrible reality of being awake and upright and, god, very hungover.

“I need to lay down,” Mingyu says finally, very clearly, like he’s had a sudden burst of self-preservation.

“Come on,” you wave at him vaguely and make your way back to bed. You collapse right into the spot you’d vacated when he texted, pulling the blankets up to your ears and closing your eyes, waiting for the bed to dip beside you.

It doesn’t.

You open your eyes again. “Mingyu?”

He appears wordlessly in your doorway, then makes his way over to his side of the bed. The empty side of your bed. Not his. You have to stop thinking that way.

You’re puzzled, but then he leans over and presses a cold water bottle into your hand. Despite his whining, he was still trying to take care of you.

“Did you take any pain killer?” you mumble.

“Probably more than was actually advisable,” he admits, twisting his own water open and drinking noisily. You don’t see a problem with this - Mingyu is gigantic, and you can imagine his dosing needs would reflect it.

“Okay,” you say with a little sigh. “We’ll sleep for a while and then maybe we can try to eat.”

“God, don’t talk about food,” he moans, taking one of your extra pillows and covering his face.

You chuckle lightly, and then roll to hide your face somewhere near his bicep, breathing in his familiar cinnamon scent and matching your breaths to his until you slip back under. The millionth time you’ve fallen asleep next to your best friend, and you’re already eagerly looking ahead to a million and one.

You’re awakened by the sound of someone retching in the bathroom, clear on the other side of the apartment. You scrabble for and glance at your phone - hours have passed. The light in your bedroom has slipped closer to golden as mid-afternoon begins to wane. You sit up tentatively; this time there’s no wave of dizziness as a punishment for being vertical, though your head still pounds.

You drink some of the water Mingyu brought you, answer a text from Jeonghan, then decide to go make sure Mingyu’s alive.

“You need anything?” you call through the door. You can hear the sink run, and the door opens.

“A lobotomy,” he deadpans. He looks miserable, frown pronounced and eyes puffy.

“Get back in bed,” you tell him gently, and he ambles off towards your room. You detour into the kitchen and start a pot of coffee. It might not save him, but you could use some caffeine.

While it brews, you poke your head into your bedroom. Mingyu is back in your bed, curled up pitifully, that pouting frown still prevalent on his face.

“What time did you take something?” you ask him.

“Like ten thirty,” he mumbles into your pillow.

You glance at the clock. “You can have more,” you tell him, and head back across the apartment to pilfer through the medicine cabinet.

With the pill bottle in hand, you stop in the kitchen long enough to pour yourself a cup of coffee. Carefully balancing so as not to spill, you bring it into the bedroom, placing it carefully on your nightstand and then nudging Mingyu’s shoulder.

He whines a response.

“I have drugs for you,” you tell him, and he holds up an open palm without lifting his face.

You drop the medicine into his hand and get comfy back in your spot, even though you think you’re done sleeping for now. Beside you, Mingyu takes the pills and settles back into sleep. He’s snoring before you can even choose a show to watch on your phone.

You look over at him fondly, disaster that he is. Then you settle in deeper, content to let his warmth radiate over to you, content to be by his side.

–

[12:02am] Daeyoung: happy new year! wishing you luck and happiness ☺️

[4:23pm] You: thank you!!! to you as well!!

–

February

Valentine’s Day is an emotional minefield. You don’t know if you want to lean into the bitter and single thing, or if you want to go all Gal-entines and pamper your friends, or if you want to just keep your head down and treat the day like any other fuck-ass Tuesday in winter.

The universe surprises you with a secret fourth option. Or, rather, Daeyoung does.

You’ve lost track counting your dates with him at this point - you are simply dating. Neither of you has pushed for a what is this conversation, and you’re relieved. You like Daeyoung, you like the time you spend together, and you’d be sad if things ended. But at the same time, you don’t feel things getting deeper, and if he pushed you to make this serious, to put parameters on it, you’re not sure how you’d feel.

Something inside you keeps it light - enough so that you don’t even think of doing anything for him to celebrate the holiday.

Apparently, you’re an asshole.

Sometime after ten, your office’s secretary calls you, asking you to come up to reception for a minute. You’re suspicious, but you don’t do the mental math about what day it is until you turn the corner and see the small vase of roses - three of them, arranged with some baby’s breath and a few other fillers you can’t name - sitting on the reception counter.

“These got delivered for you,” she tells you, and it’s clear on her face that she’s dying for you to spill. “Are they from that guy? The tall one who looks like a movie star?”

This would annoy you if you weren’t so used to it. Everyone asks you if you’re with Mingyu - they never understand why you’re not when you two are attached at the hip.

It had happened once - just a kiss at a frat party, in the middle of the dance floor. You’d both been drinking, of course, and pressed close together to dance, his chest against your back and his hands on your hips and then you’d turned and tipped your chin up and his sparkling eyes had gone molten before he’d kissed you and your whole world had been swept away -

And you’d been interrupted, had been literally pulled away to deal with some drama happening in the kitchen, and somehow… you’d never talked about it. It never happened again.

Sometimes, you wonder if you only dreamed it. It wouldn’t surprise you.

But, no. Your imagination is good, but it’s not good enough to come up with the minute details of how his pecs had felt under your hands, how his fingers had felt pressed into the small of your back, how he had almost sighed into your mouth when it opened for him, how he had tasted a bit like cinnamon, courtesy of the fireball shots the frat was giving out like candy.

Anyway. Life goes on, right?

“No,” you tell the secretary quickly, because you know the roses aren’t from Mingyu. Even if he’d done something today, as your friend, he knows you aren’t much of a roses girl. “We’re just friends.” You will the words to leave your mouth without leaving ashes in their wake.

You reach for the small card tied around the thinnest part of the vase to see who did send them.

Thought you deserved something pretty today. Don’t freak out. :] - Daeyoung

The secretary is still watching you, harmlessly curious.

“It’s just a guy I’ve been seeing,” you say. “It’s not serious.”

“Wow,” she says, eyeing the simple arrangement. “Looks like he thinks it’s a little serious - or that it could be.”

“That’s probably true,” you muse out loud, taking the arrangement back to your own cubicle and setting it on your desk. You snap a photo and text it to Daeyoung with a thank you and a row of sobbing emojis. Then you stand behind your chair, eyes on the red petals, your hand pressed to your mouth, processing.

You didn’t expect to feel like this. A fluttering, a rush of excitement. Even though you aren’t into roses, specifically, the thought is very nice. And no one has thought of you, not like this, in a very long time.

When you get home, the apartment is dark and empty. You wonder if any of the guys have dates tonight, or if they’re working late, or with family. You set the roses on the kitchen table, hang up your coat, and then shoot the grouptext a quick “where is everyone?”. Then you head into your room, eager to take a quick shower and change into something comfy.

You freeze when you flick on your bedroom light.

The clutter on your small desk has been pushed to the side, and a clear vase holds a thick bouquet of sunflowers - your favorite.

You hear yourself gasp, the sound echoing through your head on a loop as you stare at the bright, yellow blooms. You step forward on shaky legs, reaching for the tiny card that’s slipped under the vase.

Sunny flowers for Sunny Baby. Love you. - M

The tears come with such unexpected force that you almost laugh through the third sob. You can barely see through the sudden stream of tears, can hear yourself struggling to inhale. You hurry to shut your bedroom door, locking it for good measure, and then those shaking legs of yours give up, and you sink to your knees and weep into your hands, trying to muffle the sounds, just in case anyone comes home.

You cry so hard it makes your abs hurt, makes the muscles in your face feel stretched, nearly makes you gag. You haven’t cried like this since undergrad.

Because he loves you, but he doesn’t love you, and even though you’ve been pretending for so long it’s as unconscious as breathing, it doesn’t shatter you any less.

Because he’s perfect, and he’s yours, but somehow you still don’t have him, and in the meantime no one else will ever be enough - just for not being him.

Because being thought of earlier by Daeyoung was nice, but it is so much better to be known, like this. Mingyu knows you don’t like roses. Mingyu knows your favorites. Mingyu knows you.

And it’s a waste. It’s all for fucking nothing.

When the tears start to settle and you can breathe a little better, you push yourself back to your feet. You listen at your bedroom door and don’t hear anyone, so you hurry across the apartment and into the bathroom, where you blow your nose and splash your face with cold water.

When you come out again, Jeonghan is in the kitchen.

“Hey,” he says, his back to you. When he turns, he freezes, his face dropping. You must be puffy and red, still.

“Hey,” you reply meekly.

“Oh, Sunny,” he says mournfully, stepping closer. “I told him he shouldn’t, but he asked why not, he’s your friend, and I couldn’t say -”

You let out a sarcastic laugh. “Yeah,” you mutter. “It’s fine. It’ll be fine.”

He watches you carefully, probably trying to gauge if you’re lying. Then he spots the roses and lights up.

“Well, well,” he says, a sly smile showing up on his face. “Those are nice.”

“Yeah,” you say again, the only word in your arsenal. “They are. I, um, I think I’m gonna shower. Do you need the bathroom first?”

Under the spray of hot water, you cry a little more, like an aftershock hit you. It’s quiet this time, and you try to shoulder through it as you condition your hair, ready to put this whole episode behind you once you step out into the chilly bathroom air again.

When you emerge, Jeonghan is on the couch. By the sounds coming from down the hallway, Wonwoo has just gotten home and is dumping the contents of his life onto his bedroom floor. Jeonghan opens his mouth to say something, but you lift a fluffy-bathrobe-clad arm and silently shush him.

“It’s fine,” you say again, firmly.

Jeonghan had been your friend first, back in undergrad. You’d brought him into the friend group the same way Mingyu had brought Wonwoo. The four of you had worked cohesively as a friend-and-roommate unit for a long time, but sometimes those old alliances seemed to matter more than others. Jeonghan would never cross the line without your permission, would never tell your secrets if you weren’t willing to tell them yourself. Wonwoo, on the other hand, was much more likely to open his mouth - especially if he thought he was helping.

The front door bursts open, and Mingyu enters the apartment in a cacophony of noise and dropped items, oranges spilling from the bag in his arms and rolling across the floor. You move to pick a few up as he puts the bag of groceries down and pulls his boots off.

“Sunny!” he says, all excitement, eyes shining. “Did you like my gift?”

You can’t even look at Jeonghan, turning your back to him completely as you hold out the oranges you’d collected. Mingyu takes them, but watches you eagerly, waiting for your answer.

“Yeah,” you say honestly. “I loved it.”

His smile triples.

You were wrong when you said Mingyu was the sun. Mingyu is an avalanche. Rushing, rolling, thundering over and through you until there’s nothing left but a glinting field of ice and silence. Nothing else matters - nothing else exists - in his wake.

“You better watch out, Mingyu,” Jeonghan says from the couch, and your blood runs as cold as that field of ice, because you know he’s about to start some shit. “Sunny got flowers from her lover today. That guy’s coming for your woman.”

You’re opening your mouth to reprimand him - tell him to shut up, or something - but Mingyu beats you to it.

“Sunny’s not mine,” he says simply.

All that ice evaporates in an instant like it was never there.

“My lover,” you echo with a frown, when you can speak again. “Don’t say it like that, you weirdo.”

“Well, isn’t he?” Jeonghan asks innocently.

You head for your bedroom with a roll of your eyes. “Goodnight, Jeonghan.”

“That means yes,” he sing-songs, and you slam your door shut.

Wonwoo’s voice floats through the door. “Who pissed off Sunshine?”

Mingyu’s grumble responds, “Who do you think?”

–

You and Mingyu lay side by side in the grass, a late spring night unspooling with cricket song and a smattering of flickering stars above you. His arm touches yours and you can feel his chest shift as he breathes deeply.

You feel content - you feel infinite - you feel like one of those blinking stars. You feel like you could lay here next to him in silence and be happy until your light goes out, just like theirs.

“Mingyu,” you say, turning to look at him. The grass tickles your cheek.

He turns to look at you, too. It’s dark, here behind the university’s main hub, most of the lights on the far side of the building. Still, there’s enough light to see his eyes, steady on you, his gaze serious.

“Sunny Baby,” he responds, voice low, like he’s telling you a secret. “I love you.”

You startle awake, heart pounding, and you’re immediately furious.

“Fuck,” you hiss, punching your mattress once.

The pathetic truth is you dream about that night in undergrad all the time - you and Mingyu on one of the last nights before summer break, leaving a party together and laying in the grass behind the advising department building watching the constellations rotate above you.

The pathetic truth is the dream never follows the script, always turning the scene sideways, making it something different than what it was.

The pathetic truth is that Mingyu had been blacked out, more fucked up than you’d ever seen him, and you’d laid in the grass because you physically couldn’t keep him upright any further than that and you’d had to text Wonwoo to come help you.

You hadn’t said anything to Mingyu - at least not something meaningful. You might have said please don’t puke on me, or god, you weigh a ton, or how many jaeger bombs did you do?

He had said he loved you - had slurred it, eyes closed.

You had laughed, even though it had sent a dagger through your chest. “Okay, Romeo,” you’d teased, and checked your phone to see if Wonwoo was on his way to help.

“I do,” he’d insisted, one hand patting the grass next to him like he was trying to find you. “Sunny, I love you.”

You didn’t know how he meant it - still don’t know, to this day, because you don’t think he even remembered saying it and you’d been too afraid to bring it up.

What were you supposed to say? Hey, when you were blacked out last night, you said you love me… do you mean like… platonically… or…?

God. The idea of it is just as humiliating now, years later, as it had been in the weeks that followed that night. And though he’s said it regularly since then - like on this fucking card with the sunflowers - he never said it like that, and you never pushed it.

Now, awake and furious and sad at three in the morning, you grab your phone and climb out of bed.

You know you shouldn’t. You know it’s only making this worse for you. But you make your way on light steps through the dark and silent apartment to Mingyu’s door and push it open.

Is it mithridatism, this thing you do? Microdosing on the poison so that a full dose won’t kill you? No, that isn’t right. A full dose of Mingyu wouldn’t kill you. It’s an absence of Mingyu that you need protected from.

You climb into his bed and poke at his calves with your toes until he grunts as he wakes. Then, as he gathers his senses, he rolls to look at you over his shoulder.

“Bad dream?” he asks, voice kind of breathy with sleep.

“Mhm.”

He rolls the rest of the way, lifts his arm so you can scoot a little closer. You breathe easier immediately. It makes no sense that the thing that hurts you is also the only thing that makes you feel better.

“Won’t your lover object to you getting in bed with me?” he asks, and you can hear the edge in his voice as clear as day.

You let out a single, wry ha. He’s got a point, but Daeyoung isn’t your boyfriend, you aren’t exclusive, and what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

“Nah,” you say easily. “I’m not his.”

March

March can’t make up its mind if it’s winter or spring. Warm days lull you into a false sense of security, and then a blistering cold rushes in just to call you a fool.

You’re the last one to get to the bar on Friday night after work, and you have to stand awkwardly next to the booth the guys have staked out and unwrap yourself - hat, scarf, gloves, puffer coat, big heavy sweater - before you can actually slide into the empty spot next to Mingyu.

“Hi bestie,” he says, immediately draping his arm behind your shoulders, resting on the back of the wooden bench. “How was your day?”

“Fuck Marcus in Accounting,” you answer.

“Fuck Marcus in Accounting,” your roommates all answer solemnly, because this is a common gripe.

“Fireball and ginger ale it is, then,” Mingyu says, and climbs over you to head to the bar, his own empty beer glass in hand. When he slides the cocktail glass in front of you and scoots back to his original spot, you fill the guys in on Marcus’s Bullshit of the Day.

“And then,” you finish the story, “I was like yeah, I know you did, Marcus, because she blind-copied me on her reply and you should have seen the color his face turned so I think it’s fair to say I won this round.”

“I’m surprised they aren’t all scared of you,” Wonwoo remarks.

“Marcus is,” you say, glowering at your now-empty cocktail glass. “That’s why he’s such a dick. He hates that he’s intimidated.”

Mingyu’s arm has slid down from the back of the bench and rests lightly across your shoulder by this point, and he gives you a playful squeeze into his side as he laughs.

He starts telling a story next, and you listen as you slip your phone out and check your texts. Daeyoung had texted you a while ago, and you shoot him a quick answer that you’re out with your roommates for Friday drinks, and then dial back into the conversation.

When Mingyu’s glass is empty again, you rise, taking the empties up to the bar and signalling for another of each. While you wait, elbows on the bar, you check your phone again. Daeyoung had texted back, asking where you guys were drinking.

You hesitate. The idea of incorporating Daeyoung into the group makes you nervous. Behind you, you can hear Mingyu yapping a thousand miles a minute, and Jeonghan’s distinctive heh heh heh in answer. It’s not that you don’t think the guys will be nice… it just feels like a big move.

It might be nice to have him there, though - someone on your side when Jeonghan and Mingyu gang up on you and Wonwoo is too in his own world to be effective back-up, someone to hold your hand and get your drinks, someone to be in your own private little bubble with when the conversation ebbs and flows away from topics you can engage with.

You send him back “just a little place by the apartment!” which is technically true, and then grab the refreshed drinks for you and Mingyu.

The guys are getting up, making noise about a just-vacated darts board, so you swivel and turn to follow them, a cold drink in each hand.

“Sunny Baby,” Mingyu tells you, half an hour later, bending down low so he can talk close to your ear over the loud music, “you have to put more muscle into it. You have to throw it like you want to pierce it.”

“I don’t think it’s that serious, actually!” you tell him cheerfully, and down the rest of your drink, pushing the empty glass into his giant hand. His turn.

He shoots you a grin so sharp and devilish that it makes your whole body fight a shudder, and then he disappears off to the bar.

You heckle Jeonghan through his turn (unsuccessfully - he’s way better at this than you) and then glance at the bar to see if the bartenders have gotten to Mingyu yet in the crowd. He’s facing you, his arms crossed, that same devilish smile on his face. He leans sideways on the bar, where your drink and his own beer sit sweating, forgotten.

The girl he’s smiling at has her back to you, which is a miracle, because if she’d been able to see your face fall, she probably would have back-pedaled out of the conversation immediately - it would be impossible for her not to see that she was walking into a flashing neon sign screaming this situation is a mess!!!!

When she laughs, throwing her head back, and reaches a hand out to touch his forearm, you feel the whole bar swoop sideways around you. You’re fumbling for your phone, even as you hear Mingyu’s answering laugh cut through all the loud music and conversations filling the space, even as you watch through your periphery as he gives her a return nudge to the shoulder, playful, that smile only growing.

You’re going to be sick.

You shoot Daeyoung a text - sorry, I should have told you which bar. I’m leaving now though. Do you want to come get me? We could chill for a little? - and then you push your way through the bar, not even bothering to tell Jeonghan and Wonwoo goodbye. You make an extra effort to skirt the opposite wall as the bar, hoping you get out without Mingyu spotting you.

There’s no way you could fake it right now. Zero chance. If he came after you, it would all be out in the open.

Daeyoung answers you almost immediately - no worries! sure, send me your location. you want to hang at my place?

Outside, the cold air assaults you. You immediately hesitate, wishing you’d grabbed your coat. You’ll get pneumonia waiting for Daeyoung without it.

You’re saved the trouble of going back in - the door opens and someone comes out after you. But it isn’t Mingyu - it’s Jeonghan, giving you the heaviest side-eye you’ve ever seen from him, your coat in his hands.

“Thank you,” you breathe when he’s close enough, taking the coat and sliding it over your arms. “It’s freezing.”

“Sunny,” he says, and something in his voice makes you pause. “I think we should talk.”

You cover your face with one hand, embarrassed and spent and tired. “About what?” you ask flatly, just to buy yourself a second. You know the answer. Of course you do.

He levels you with a look. “This can’t continue,” he says firmly. “For you, or for him, or for me and Wonwoo.”

You scoff. “What do you two have to do with it?”

You’ve never seen him this serious, and it scares you a little. “Do you think it’s easy for me to watch you get hurt?”

You lower your gaze to the ground and don’t answer this; it feels rhetorical.

“But you’re right - it’s not about us. It’s about you. Something has to give,” he says gently. “Either face it and get your answer, or let it go.”

“It’s not that simple,” you argue.

“Yes, it is that simple,” he retorts. “It’s just scary. But that’s not the same thing.”

“I can’t tell him,” you say, because it’s true. You can’t. You can’t. “What if it messed up everything for all of us?”

What if you lost him completely? What if he moved out? What if he stopped talking to you?

Jeonghan doesn’t reply to this at first, he just watches you carefully, then tucks a long strand of dark hair behind his ear.

“You can,” he says finally, still gentle. “But… if you won’t… then you have to let him go.”

Your stomach drops at the words, even though this is a truth you’ve been aware of for ages, have been doing your best to avoid.

“I don’t know how to do that,” you whisper. And it’s true - loving Mingyu feels as instinctual as your heartbeat, intrinsically part of who you are. How can you separate it out, shut it down?

“Stop sharing a bed with him,” Jeonghan suggests, and it’s so simple and straight-forward and correct that you can’t think of a single argument. “Quit texting him but ignoring everyone else. Stop cuddling with him on the couch after work. Quit-”

“Alright, I get it,” you snap, the defensiveness rising up again like muddy waters.

“I’m not sure you do,” he says, and the gentleness is gone from his tone; you’ve moved into the Tough Love section of the lecture, apparently. “You can’t keep playing house with him, pretending you’re together, and then falling apart every time he makes it clear that it isn’t real. You’ll never feel better like this. It will never change, Sunny. You’ll be like this, forever. Is that what you want?”

Your throat is tight and sharp, and you blink quickly, eyes on the ground again.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he says it like he aches. Maybe he means it. “You could talk to him, you could at least see what he says -”

“No,” you interrupt. “No. I can’t do that.”

He shrugs, big and exaggerated. “Then move on. There are other people in the world who’d be happy to love you the right way. You can’t give any of them a proper chance if you’re holding it against them that they aren’t Mingyu.”

Like the one you ignored all night, who is still on his way to pick your ass up right now…

You push your hands against your eyes like you can block out the truth of what he’s saying, but you don’t say anything.

Jeonghan reaches out and rubs your shoulder. “I’m gonna go back in,” he says, gentle again. “It’s freezing out here. Just… think about it.”

“I’m thinking,” you say dryly.

He nods, then disappears back into the bar, the wave of sound crashing and fading as the door opens and closes.

You stay outside and wait for Daeyoung’s car, your hands going numb from the cold. You run the whole thing over and over in your head, replay Jeonghan’s words, daydream a hundred conversations with Mingyu each with different endings.

You think maybe you should take Jeonghan’s advice - put some physical distance between you and Mingyu, just as a starting point.

You hate the idea of it. But you know he’s right.

When Daeyoung pulls up, you slide into the passenger seat and tell him thank you, leaning over to kiss his cheek. He smiles at you, all sweet, and then whisks you away. Halfway to his place, he glances over at you.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he observes. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you lie, and then instantly feel bad for it. “Just… argued with my roommate. I’m kind of cranky.”

He reaches out and squeezes your knee once, reassuringly. “Well, you’re welcome to stay with me,” he says, and when you whip around to look at him, he laughs. “I wasn’t being presumptuous. I just meant if you needed some space from them, you’re welcome. That’s all.”

“Yeah, okay,” you repeat, settling back against the seat. “We’ll see.”

You keep your eyes on the window for the rest of the drive.

You wonder if Mingyu brought that girl home, and then you shove that thought away, because you’re letting him go, starting tonight, and those thoughts aren’t going to serve you anymore.

And then you wonder the same thing again five minutes later.

–

April

Winter softens, the temperature sturdies itself, and the season forms solidly into rain-logged spring.

“Sunny Baby,” Mingyu sings. Even on the greyest, soggiest days you turn to him like a plant turns to sun. “I’m bored.”

“That sounds like a personal problem,” you quip.

He drapes himself over you in retaliation, long arms and legs hanging heavy towards the floor as his torso smothers your face, drowning in you in his cinnamon-tinged scent.

You protest wordlessly and shove at him, and he laughs, his abs working near your chest with the motion.

“Entertain me,” he whines.

Things have been different - weird different, sometimes even bad different - for a few weeks now, all because of Jeonghan. You choose to blame him, anyway.

What he said to you plays in your head on loop all day every day, and suddenly you don’t know how to act right with Mingyu, causing you to overcorrect and swerve wildly. Sometimes you’re spending the entire day with him, touching and talking and leaning into it - then you think about it too hard and you spend the next two days icing him out.

It’s confusing for both of you. You can tell he notices, can tell he’s baffled by the change. More than once you’ve caught him looking at you like you’re a problem to solve - that face he makes when something isn’t working, or he’s got an equation of some sort to work out. But he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t make you feel bad about it, doesn’t confront you, just takes what you’ll give him with a smile.

You haven’t gone to his room in the middle of the night since your talk with Jeonghan, either. It feels like quitting something. The withdrawal eats at your nerves, the cravings taking over until you can’t focus on anything else. More than one night since then you’ve laid awake, staring at your ceiling, heart pounding as you argue with yourself - just go, you’ll sleep and you’ll feel better waging war against Jeonghan’s you can’t keep pretending you’re together and then falling apart when he makes it clear that it isn’t real.

Each time, you’d ended up staying in your own bed. Jeonghan is right. You knew it when he said it, and you know it now. You have to let go if you’re ever going to be happy. You can’t keep living in the shadows of Mingyu’s life, waiting for him to come give you just a slice of himself and pretending to be sated by it.

“I can’t entertain you, you pain in my ass,” you say, as he allows you to roll his heavy body off of yours and onto the other side of your bed. “I have a date with Daeyoung in like an hour. I need to go shampoo.”

“Booooo,” he complains. Then he props himself up on one elbow and gives you that familiar look again - the math problem look. Not calculating, exactly, but definitely evaluating. “You’ve been seeing him for a while,” he remarks, and you can hear the effort to keep his tone casual, which makes you wonder what he’s hiding.

“Like four months,” you say, not sure if this is agreeing with him or not.

He nods, then rolls to face your ceiling, arms behind his head. It does disgusting things to his biceps, and you look away, sitting up and reaching for your phone to check the time.

“How’s that going?” he asks, still all casual.

“Good,” you say airily, still not looking at him.

“Sunny,” he says, a bit more seriously, and it’s enough to make you glance his way. He’s facing you, arms still behind his head, but watching. “Why won’t you talk to me about it?”

Ice flows through your veins so quickly that you have the urge to blow on your fingers to warm them. Talk to me about it. You take a calming breath, remind yourself that he’s asking about Daeyoung, not about your feelings in general.

“I don’t know,” you say with a shrug. “Just feels weird.”

“It didn’t used to,” he says, and you know exactly what he means. You’d always talked to him about anything - including boys and crushes.

He doesn’t ask so what’s different now, but you know the answer anyway. You’re afraid you’ll say anything, and Mingyu - who knows you better than anyone else - will hear everything you aren’t trying to say. How you feel about him, how you’ve been trying to create distance and boundaries, how it’s been unsuccessful because you have no sense of consistency, how you can’t seem to accept that you don’t get to have him, how Daeyoung is so nice and fun and cute but still can’t silence the urge behind your ribs that screams for Mingyu.

“Yeah,” you sigh, acknowledging that he’s right - that you used to tell him everything. “I don’t know, Mingyu. It’s good. I like him. Like… I don’t necessarily think he’s The One or anything, but I’d be upset if we broke up?”

Mingyu nods, something complicated on his face. “Well,” he says finally, “That’s good. I’m glad it’s going well. You deserve it.”

There’s something flat in his voice, and you stand because you can’t just sit there next to him right now.

“Thanks,” you say, because you don’t know what else to say. “Well… I’m gonna go shower so I’m not late.” You grab the few things you need from your room and pause in your doorway. He’s pulled out his phone, his thumb swiping slowly and his eyes on the screen, and you carry on across the hallway, leaving him behind.

The way you need to. The way you’re trying to.

Daeyoung takes you to dinner, making you laugh so hard you have to wipe under your eyes, and listening intently when you bitch about work (and, yes, Marcus in Accounting).

After, as you walk along the river, looking out at the lights, Daeyoung reaches for your hand, and you link fingers.

This is what you need - to lean into it with someone, to really try with someone. Maybe that will ease this process of shifting Mingyu to the background. Maybe you just need to try.

Like he can read your mind, Daeyoung slows, turning to look at you. He says your name hesitantly, and you match his slowed pace, waiting.

“We’ve been doing this for a while,” he says, kind of hesitantly, “and I kind of wanted to see if we’re on the same page.”

When you just look at him, he forges ahead, the words rushing out of him now. “I really like you, and I really like this… and I was wondering how you’d feel about… maybe being more official?”

You feel yourself flush, a smile tugging at your lips. “Are you… asking me to be your girlfriend?”

He smiles back, relief washing over his face. “Yeah,” he says, much more confident now. “Yes, I am.”

You lick your lips, suddenly unsure. “Daeyoung,” you say, and you watch his face fall. You hurry to amend - “No, I’m not saying no! It’s just… I don’t know… I feel like we’ve kept things pretty… light. And I just worry that if we get more serious and you see more of me… you might…”

You trail off. He watches you intently, and then finishes for you, “Change my mind?”

You nod meekly. What if you can’t do it - what if you can’t push Mingyu out of your head and heart, what if you can’t start fresh with someone? Daeyoung has been wonderful to you. He doesn’t deserve to get hurt. He doesn’t deserve to be second choice, doesn’t deserve to be a consolation prize.

You can’t say yes if that’s what this will be. You need to be sure you’re all in, you need to be sure you want him and not just the fresh start he represents.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you say instead, quietly.

He considers this, watching you carefully. “Why do you think you will?”

It’s a fair question. “I’m… trying to get over someone,” you force yourself to say. He deserves to know what he’s walking into.

You watch his face for any change in expression. His expression does ripple a little, and then he licks his lips and asks, “And how’s that going?”

You scuff the toe of one shoe absently along the pavement. “Goes better when you’re around,” you admit. “But I don’t want to be… like… using you, I guess? It feels… unfair.”

He nods. “I appreciate that,” he says, looking away from you, at the river. He’s quiet for a while and then asks, “Are you into this? With me?”

“Yes,” you say emphatically, because despite the Mingyu of it all, it’s true. “I just don’t want you to end up with regrets.”

He smiles kind of ruefully. “Thanks for being honest,” he says, brushing the back of your hand with his thumb.

“What are you thinking?” you ask in a whisper. You really hope you aren’t breaking up right now, but you wouldn’t blame him if he called it off.

He lets out a long breath, very slowly, measured. “I’m thinking that no one can make promises at the beginning of a relationship.”

Your stomach jolts, terrified, at the word. He continues, oblivious.

“But,” he says, “you just take it a day at a time. That’s all I’m asking for - just a day. And then maybe another. We can go from there.”

You consider this, that tiny smile returning. He waits for your answer.

“Okay,” you say finally. “Yeah. If you’re sure you want that, then… yes.”

“Yes?” he repeats, like he needs to be sure. He’s already grinning, despite the turn the conversation had taken on the way here.

You laugh, feeling suddenly shy. “Yeah. Yes.”

He kisses you next to the singing river, and later you take a selfie together beside a food cart. You post it to social media with a blue heart emoji for the caption.

You swallow hard and swipe roughly to remove the notification when Mingyu likes the picture minutes later.

–

May

“Kim Mingyu!” you bellow, scooping up an armload of shirts and socks from the living room floor. “Get your gross, sweaty clothes off of our shared couch! The hamper is like three feet away!”

“Yah,” he complains, coming to take the offending pile from you. “You never cared before!”

“Well now her boyfriend is coming over,” Jeonghan says, somehow making the word sound sleezy. “She wants it to be pretty in here.”

“I hate you both,” you say. “I only like Wonwoo. He’s my only friend. Wonwoo, you’re my only friend.”

Wonwoo gives you a very deadpan finger heart from his spot on the couch.

Unfortunately, Jeonghan is kind of right.

You’ve mostly spent time out with Daeyoung or at his place - mostly because he lives alone and you live with a cast of clowns. But he has come over a handful of times. Sometimes he’s only there long enough to stand awkwardly by the front door while you finish putting on jewelry and shoes before whisking you away; other times he’s stayed to eat take-away and watch a movie as the aforementioned clowns filter in and out, leaving snappy comments like use protection in their wake.

Tonight’s the first time that the plan is for everyone to hang out. To say you’re nervous is an understatement, as evidenced by the uncharacteristic way you pace the house, adjusting items Daeyoung has already seen out of place as if it makes any difference.

“Sunny Baby,” Mingyu finally says, coming up and putting his hands on your shoulders, trying to still you. You pull back from his touch as gently as you can, trying to make that space with some subtly. “Why are you freaking out? He’s been here before.”

“Yeah, you’re right, why would I be nervous?” you ask sarcastically. “Why would I be nervous to have my boyfriend come over for games and movies with three notoriously very nice people who never make trouble?”

“Rude,” Wonwoo remarks from the couch.

“Not you, Wonwoo, you’re my only friend,” you tell him without even turning your head. You hear Jeonghan snort.

“You said three,” Mingyu points out seriously, stepping back from you like he silently got the memo about space. “That includes Wonwoo.”

“Fine, I retract my statement. Two people who make trouble, and then one person who knows how to be normal sometimes.”

A knock on the door interrupts you before anyone can push your buttons any further.

“Be nice,” you tell them sternly as you head to open the door. “Be normal. For the love of god, at least try.”

“She has no faith in us,” Jeonghan says sadly behind you.

“We probably shouldn’t try Monopoly tonight,” Mingyu remarks, and you hate that he’s right.

You all almost broke up over Monopoly, once. You never played again.

“Yeah, put that one away,” you agree, as you pull the door open.

Daeyoung greets you with a smile and a small bouquet of flowers - nothing too fancy, just a little something. You pay for them with a smile and a kiss, lifting onto your tiptoes to reach his lips.

“Awwww, so cute,” Jeonghan coos from across the apartment.

“Jeonghan,” you say sharply. “What did we talk about?”

Daeyoung feigns a pout. “You don’t think we’re cute?”

You slap at his arm playfully and step back to let him in. You head to the kitchen to find a vase for the flowers, listening as the men all exchange heys and how’ve you beens.

You all settle for a variation of Rummy, sitting around the kitchen table with a smattering of snacks and drinks, chatting easily as you play.

At the end of the second hand, you ask, “Wait, what does that put me at?”

“Sixty-two,” Daeyoung says, just as Mingyu says, “Sixty-three.”

You look at them both blankly. You and numbers don’t vibe.

Jeonghan looks at the little note on his phone where he was tallying scores. “Sixty-three,” he confirms.

“Whoops,” Daeyoung says apologetically. “I wasn’t trying to short you on points, sweetheart.”

All three of your roommates stiffen, and you feel your face heat. “No worries,” you say quickly, reaching to cut the deck for the next hand. “Whose turn is it?”

Be normal, be normal, be normal, you mentally beg the clowns.

“I think it’s mine, sweetie-pie,” Jeonghan deadpans. You kick him ferociously under the table, not even trying to be subtle, and he swears.

“Knock it off,” you growl.

“You’re upsetting pookie, hyung,” Mingyu says somberly.

“I hate all of you,” you whine. And then, on instinct, “Not you, Wonwoo.”

Daeyoung looks around the table, amused. “Is this always how it is around here?”

“Basically,” Wonwoo admits. “Just usually with a lot more -” He stops short, coughing, and reaches for his drink. You all wait, your heart thrumming nervously. You’re sure he’d been about to drop a crack about you and Mingyu’s physical affection. “A lot more yelling,” he finishes. “This is everyone on their best behavior, because Sunny threatened us.”

Daeyoung laughs, and you pray that the moment went unnoticed. You can tell Mingyu is a bit still on your other side, and if it was a month ago you would have reached over to him already, soothed a hand down his arm or pressed your cheek to his shoulder until he untensed. You rest your hands in your lap, instead, eyes on your cards.

After Rummy, which Jeonghan wins by a landslide, you all head to the couches for a movie. Your roommates and you have always had unspoken “spots”, but Daeyoung’s presence throws the balance off entirely. Normally you’d be next to Mingyu but he takes Jeonghan’s spot, leaving the other guys to buffer as they try to figure out a new arrangement.

“Here,” Daeyoung says, tugging on your wrist until you settle on his lap, legs hanging just off the side of his own, “we can make room.”

Jeonghan tosses you a small blanket and a wink and settles in on the far side of your couch, giving the two of you lots of room. Wonwoo flicks off the overhead lights and settles next to Mingyu, the two of them awkwardly squished on the two-seater. But, blessedly, no one complains as the opening score emanates from the sound bar.

As the movie begins, you relax, leaning sideways against Daeyoung’s chest, his arms looped around you. You stomp down on the intrusive thought that wants to compare how comfortable this is to how comfortable you’d been with Mingyu for past movie nights, internally hissing at your own brain for the unwelcome thought.

“You good?” he murmurs, voice low, only for you, one hand rubbing the small of your back lightly.

“Mhm,” you assure him, reaching up to kiss the edge of his jaw, the only bit of him that you can reach comfortably. He smiles down at you, endeared, and then turns his attention to the television again. You can feel someone’s eyes on you, but you refuse to look, refuse to give attention to whoever is trying to heckle you right now. They can’t just let you live, huh?

Halfway through the movie, Mingyu stands, moving out of the way of the screen quickly and heading to the kitchen. You don’t lift your head from Daeyoung’s check, just watching him go through the corners of your eyes.

“Anyone need a drink?” he calls from the kitchen. “Hyung? Sunny Baby?”

Daeyoung physically recoils, his head snapping back so he can look at you, wide-eyed. You look back at him the same way, feeling like you’ve been caught at something.

“It’s just habit,” you say, quietly, and Jeonghan turns away, shifting awkwardly next to you two. “Old nickname from a million years ago.”

Daeyoung nods, but his face is still a bit stricken.

“Hello?” Mingyu calls from the kitchen. “Beer? Anyone?”

“No, thanks!” you call back, trying to force your voice to come out cheerful.

When he returns, flopping unceremoniously into his spot next to Wonwoo, Daeyoung’s arms tighten around you.

You close your eyes, frustrated. You hope you can salvage this. You’d been afraid from the jump that the Mingyu factor - even with the changes you’ve been purposely making, all that space - would damage what you have with Daeyoung, as effective as a drop of ink in a bucket of water.

When the movie ends, Wonwoo gives a polite goodbye and vanishes into his lair and you lead Daeyoung back towards the front door. Behind you, you can hear the tell-tale clicks of bottles as Jeonghan and Mingyu start picking up the food and drinks.

“I’m sorry,” you say, as soon as you have some semblance of privacy in the entryway. “I knew hanging out here was going to be a mess.”

Daeyoung manages a smile. “It wasn’t a mess,” he says. “I just didn’t realize how close you all were.”

He’s being too nice. You feel terrible.

“I think we might get less close very soon if they can’t get their shit together,” you grumble, which makes him laugh, some of the tension alleviating.

“Well,” Daeyoung says, suddenly turning conspiratory, “while your place was very fun… what would you say to some fun at my place now?”

You giggle. “I wouldn’t hate that plan,” you say coyly, smiling up at him. “Quieter, there. Fewer clowns.”

He laughs again, even as he reaches to tilt your jaw up, shuffling you backwards against the entryway wall as his lips find yours.

As the kiss warms you, your hands finding the front of his shirt and bunching it into your fists, heat beginning to trickle out of hiding in your belly, you hear footsteps and an abrupt, “Oh - shit - sorry - my bad -”

“Your place,” you say against Daeyoung’s lips as Mingyu retreats back to the kitchen. You can practically feel through the wall how red his ears are.

Daeyoung lets you out of his embrace and you hurry to your room to toss a few things together - toothbrush, phone charger, clothes - and come to get your jacket.

“Bye, idiots!” you call through the apartment. Then, “Not you, Wonwoo!” and you close the door behind you with a giggle, following Daeyoung down the stairs.

On the other side of the wall, safely hidden in the kitchen, Mingyu stands staring blankly at the pantry, one hand over his mouth, still as a statue. What is this feeling churning in his gut? He feels sick, and he can’t put a name to it but he hates how it crawls through his system.

Jeonghan appears next to him, placing two more dirty cups in the sink. He lets out a single, wry laugh when he sees Mingyu standing there.

“Yeah, dude,” he says easily as he leaves again. “Sucks, doesn’t it?”

–

June

You and Mingyu lay side by side in the grass, a late spring night unfurling with distant thunder and a smattering of fireflies lazily drifting through the trees beyond the garden. His arm brushes yours and you can hear his breathing as he exhales slowly.

You feel happy - you feel infinite - you feel like one of those distant cracks of ferocious thunder. You feel like you could lay here next to him in silence and be happy until your joy has to burst from you, just like the clouds on the horizon.

“Mingyu,” you say, turning to look at him. The grass tickles your cheek.

“Sunny Baby,” he responds, voice low, like he’s telling you a secret. “I love you.”

You wake up with faint tear-tracks on your cheeks, and you growl out a frustrated breath.

“I need a lobotomy,” you grumble, wiping at your cheeks and trying to get comfortable again, hoping to go back to sleep - with less ridiculous dreams.

It doesn’t happen. You flop from side to side over the course of half an hour, and then give up. You reach for your nightstand to see if you have any water, but there’s nothing but your phone and the lamp. With a sigh, you push yourself out from under the blankets and pad into the kitchen.

You’re letting a glass fill with tap water when you hear one of the other doors down the hallway open. You turn, peering through the moonlit living room, to see who else is up. The clock above the stove says it’s four in the morning.

“Sunny Baby,” Mingyu says, his voice rough with sleep. His hair is sticking up in the back. Your stomach lurches with the sick desire to smooth it down. “Why are you up?”

“Had a bad dream,” you lie. It was a good dream. Nothing bad about it until you wake up and feel guilty because of Daeyoung, and angry because your brain and heart are holding you fucking hostage. “Couldn’t get back to sleep.” That part’s true.

“Poor Sunny Baby,” he croons, coming closer, the darkness making his form seem even bigger. “Come on - we’ll get comfy.” Just like we used to, he doesn’t say.

Your heart slams against your chest. “Oh,” you say softly. Because, yeah, a few months ago you wouldn’t have even needed him to invite you - you would have been there already, snuggling into the space next to his ribs, breathing him in until sleep returns to you. “Mingyu, I can’t.”

The blanket of darkness makes him bold. He scoffs, not even trying to hide it. “Why not? Because of that guy?” Like he doesn’t know Daeyoung’s name, like the last five months never happened. That guy.

“Because I want to respect my relationship?” you correct gently. “Yes, that’s why. It wouldn’t be right, and you know it.”

You stand in silence for a moment, barely able to see each other across the darkened space, at an impasse. Then, he scoffs again, lighter this time.

“Fine,” he says, moving past you towards the bathroom - probably the reason he was up in the first place. “Suit yourself.”

When he passes back through the living room on his way back to bed, you’re curled up on the couch under one of the blankets, the tv on with the sound turned low. He doesn’t even look at you as he turns down the hall and shuts his bedroom door behind him. You hear the lock click. You press your hands to your face and will yourself to breathe deep. Crying over him while asleep is one thing. Doing it while awake feels like a betrayal.

Just one more you can add to your list.

–

“Hey!” you yell across the noisy room. Mingyu turns from where he’s standing near your bedroom door, talking to a few guys who you’ve seen around here but whose names you forget. Seok… something. The other one might be a Chan, you’re not sure. Mingyu lifts an eyebrow, waiting for whatever request you’re going to shout at him.

“Can you get the door for me?” you call, trying to be louder than the music and chatter. Your apartment is bursting with people as Mingyu’s annual summer bash is well underway. You’re at the pong table - your kitchen table, shoved halfway into the living room - a slightly sticky plastic ball in hand. “Daeyoung is here, I can feel my phone going off.”

Mingyu gives you a wordless salute and shuffles off towards the front door, and you close one eye, lean forward as far as the others will let you without calling a foul, and line up your shot.

You sink it just seconds before you feel someone’s hands on your hips. You straighten up and turn to greet Daeyoung with a kiss, firm and confident courtesy of many drinks. The party’s been going for a few hours already, and you and the guys pregamed before the guests started showing up.

“Hi!” you chirp when you part. “Glad you made it!”

“This is a lot of people,” he says back, looking around your living room and kitchen a bit incredulously. “You said you guys do this every year?”

You nod seriously. “We bribe our neighbors. I mean, they’re all invited of course, but we also try to do something nice to make up for the one night of noise. Last year I baked cookies. This year we just went straight to cash.”

He laughs, and you lead him through the throng of people into the kitchen for a drink.

“I’m glad you came,” you say again, as he stands before the open fridge, scanning beer bottle labels for something palatable. He sends you a smile over his shoulder, then picks a bottle and turns. You place the opener into his waiting hand.

“You look good tonight,” he tells you, all glinty, looking at you sideways. You pretend to preen.

“Sunny always looks good,” Jeonghan asserts, breezing in behind you holding a bowl full of chips.

“Are you sharing those?” you demand. “You can’t gatekeep the good ones, Jeonghan. We’ve talked about this.”

“Gatekeep, girlboss, whatever the third one is!” he replies, zipping back out of the kitchen as quickly as he’d come.

Out in the living room, you hear the familiar sound of the karaoke machine booting up. There’s a telltale scraping - the pong table being shoved against the far wall to make more room for jumping around while aiming for that perfect score.

When you and Daeyoung make it into the living room again, Mingyu and one of the friends whose names you forgot are singing together. Mingyu’s all irony, eyes closed in mock passion as he clutches his mic with both hands, but his friend is actually good, voice sailing over the higher notes without error.

“Wow,” you say. “That guy can actually sing.”

One of your friends, a girl you lovingly call Ethel because of the style of grandma glasses she favors, stops in front of you, pushing little plastic shot glasses into your hands.

“Are you the boyfriend?” she asks Daeyoung, somewhat breathlessly. “I’ve been dying to actually meet you. She’s been keeping you a secret.”

“I have not!” you reply hotly, as Daeyoung laughs, introducing himself.

“It’s nice to meet her other friends,” he says, and she rolls her eyes.

“I know, it’s hard to separate her from these guys,” she says. “They deserve a sitcom.”

“I’m standing right here,” you protest.

Jeonghan appears behind you, too close. “We have a little problem in the kitchen,” he whispers.

You excuse yourself, leaving Daeyoung with Ethel - who will hopefully say nothing too incriminating about you and Mingyu’s blurry-lined friendship.

In the kitchen, Wonwoo is kneeling on the floor, his upper body hidden in the cupboard under the sink. When he shuffles back out, the front of his shirt is wet. You can see a bit of water starting to pool on the boards below the cleaning supplies.

“Uh oh,” you say.

Mingyu appears to your left, solid and warm against your arm. Then he crouches, peering under the sink.

“Can I have someone’s phone?” he asks, and you pass him yours. He turns on the flashlight and shines it at the pipes. You watch his face do that thing - that calculating look, the problem-solving look.

“It’s this one,” he says, pointing to something you can’t see under there. “Where’s our toolbox?”

“Great question,” Wonwoo says, mouth twisting as he tries to remember. “Laundry room?”

“I think so,” you say. “I think it’s on the shelf in there.”

Mingyu scoots out from under the sink and disappears into the little nook you all graciously call a laundry room, since it does have a functional door, then reappears with two tools in hand. You don’t know what they are - you’ve never needed to.

You and Jeonghan and Wonwoo stand around him, worried, like you’re waiting for a doctor to emerge through hospital doors to report on the status of a loved one. When Mingyu backs out of the cabinet again, it’s with an air of smugness.

“All set,” he says, one side of his mouth quirking proudly.

“Our hero,” Jeonghan deadpans.

“This is why we keep you around,” you tell him.

“Get the man a shot,” Jeonghan says, swiveling to the collection of bottles on the counter.

Daeyoung finds you on the kitchen floor, using a rag to wipe up any bits of water. Wonwoo and Mingyu both disappeared to change into dry shirts, you think.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you tell him, wiping one last spot and leaning up on your knees to look around for any areas you might have missed. The last thing you need is for someone to slip in here. “The sink broke. It’s okay now, Mingyu fixed it.”

“Well, thank god for Mingyu,” he says, and you look up at him, not sure if you’re imagining the edge in his voice. Are you? Did you project that?

“Well,” you say, “kind of! Because four of us live here, and only one person could solve the problem.”

He laughs reluctantly. “I can fix a sink,” he says, a bit of a pout in his voice.

You stand, returning the rag to the counter. “I’ll make sure to ask you first next time,” you say, leaning up to brush your lips teasingly across his. “I just thought the rent-payer should handle the problem before the guests.”

“I guess that’s fair,” he allows, smiling bigger.

A while later, you find yourself in Wonwoo’s room, leaning against the wall watching somewhat absently as he and one of his friends play a POV shooter game, their brows furrowed in concentration and fingers flying on the controls.

Daeyoung had been with you only moments ago, reporting into your ear on the game’s happening like a sports commentator to make you laugh, but he’d gone to get you each a new drink. Mingyu appears in his absence, and you can tell immediately that he’s sloppy.

“Sunny Baby,” he sings, draping an arm over your shoulders.

You can’t help but smile, even as you try to shift out from under his arm. “Yes?” you sing back teasingly. “Can I help you?”

“Mhm,” he hums. “You can stay just like this.” He wraps his other arm around you, and you laugh, pushing very gently at his chest.

“Mingyu,” you protest, laughing. “Get off me.”

“I will in one second,” he says, smiling cheekily. “You haven’t let me hug you in a hundred years, I have to take advantage now that your defenses are weakened by cheap vodka.”

“Mingyu!” you laugh again.

And then you see Daeyoung in the doorway behind him, face unreadable.

“Mingyu,” you say again, deadly serious now. “Let go.”

Daeyoung slowly reaches to put the two beers on Wonwoo’s dresser and turns, wordlessly retreating down the hallway.

“Damn it, Mingyu,” you hiss, extracting yourself and hurrying to follow him. Daeyoung makes it clear outside and down the front steps before you catch him.

“Daeyoung, wait!” you call, and he finally slows, turning to face you. You jog to catch up, a bit breathless. You’ve had way too much to drink for this kind of confrontation, but you try to get your shit together enough to defend yourself. Or apologize. Or both.

He doesn’t say anything, just raises his eyebrows and waits.

“Don’t -” you start, and then switch tracks quickly. “That was nothing. He’s like that when he’s had too much to drink. He’s just being silly.”

Daeyoung laughs once, sharp and sarcastic. “Don’t lie to me,” he says flatly.

“I’m not!” you protest. “It’s true.”

He shakes his head, swipes his thumb across his phone screen and taps around.

“Don’t leave,” you beg. “I’m sorry. I was trying to tell him to let go.”

He twists his mouth, refusing to look at you. At the far end of the street, you can see approaching headlights. He’s ordered a ride home.

“When you said you were trying to get over someone I didn't pry,” he says flatly, “but I guess I should have. You could’ve had the decency to tell me that you live with him.”

The slam of the car door feels final, the sound passing over you like shrapnel.

The blink of red taillights has just vanished around the corner when strong arms wrap around you. Mingyu must have followed, must have been watching from the door, must have seen it happen.

You’ve been trying to make space, you’ve been trying to stay away, but you’re buzzed and you’re sad and you’re weak. So, you turn in his arms, burying your face in his shirt and letting yourself cry.

He holds you through it, doesn’t say anything to you, just holds on tight until you can breathe again.

“I don’t want you to see this,” you sniffle finally, and he lets his arms drop, stepping back so he can look at you. “This shouldn’t be you.”

“That’s fair,” he murmurs, sounding much more sober than he had inside. “But I’m the one who’s here. Tell me you want me to go, and I will.”

Your heart cracks.

“I don’t want you to go,” you whisper.

“Okay,” he says, wrapping you up again, leaning his chin on the top of your head and swaying you a little bit. “Then I won’t.”

Eventually, you both lay in the grass. You don’t want to go inside, and Mingyu says he doesn’t want to leave you alone in the front yard. Instead, you lay side by side, far enough away that you’d have to stretch to touch. It feels like that night in undergrad, but also completely opposite. In your memories of that night, you felt warm and good like your place in the universe was guaranteed, your cog in the great machine fitting perfectly and spinning without difficulty. Tonight, you feel off, cold and angry, like your piece has been displaced and can’t fit anywhere anymore.

“I’m sorry,” Mingyu says, breaking the silence. “I didn’t mean to make problems for you guys.”

“I know you didn’t,” you allow.

“It was just us being us,” he says, a bit defensively.

“Yeah,” you say slowly. “I think that was the problem.”

He has nothing to say to that.

Daeyoung calls you, much later, when you’re back inside and tucked in your bed.

“Were you sleeping?” he asks.

“Of course not,” you say. “I’m lying awake agonizing over you storming out on me.”

He laughs quietly, and you feel hope bloom behind your ribs. Is this salvageable?

“I might have overreacted,” he admits. “It’s easy to be intimidated by that guy.”

That guy again. What is it with these two?

“You shouldn’t be,” you tell him. “He’s an idiot.”

Daeyoung laughs again. “So am I,” he says.

“You don’t need to worry about him,” you say. “I’ve been really trying to adjust the boundaries of our friendship, and it’s a big change from how we used to be. Usually we do better… Like I said earlier, he was drunk. He just forgot himself, went back to how things used to be.”

Daeyoung is quiet for a second. “I should have let you explain yourself before I left,” he says evenly.

“I’m sorry I put you in that position in the first place,” you counter. “I didn’t mean to. I’m in this with you, Daeyoung. I promise.”

“I know,” he admits. “I know you are.”

You smile into the phone. “Our first fight.”

He laughs again. “Hopefully not one of many.”

“Eh,” you say. “It’s normal. Anyway, I’m glad you called. I would have been a mess waiting to hear from you. Might have embarrassed myself blowing your phone up.”

“Maybe I should have let you embarrass yourself,” he teases.

“It’s like that, huh?” you joke.

“Yes,” he sniffs. “Until I feel better.”

When you finally hang up, you creep through the apartment to pee before trying to sleep. You notice Mingyu’s light is on, though his door is shut. You pause, looking at that sliver of light, and then continue on back to your own bed.

–

July

“Move over!” you giggle, using your hips to scoot Daeyoung out of your way, a wooden spoon in your hand. The simmering stew on the stovetop smells delectable, and you give it a stir, make sure nothing is stuck to the bottom of the pot.

“Ask nicely!” he retorts, but he’s smiling.

Mingyu watches the scene covertly from the couch, trying to keep his face neutral, trying to keep his face tilted towards the tv so he doesn’t get caught watching. Or worse, caught sulking.

You and Daeyoung eat and wash up most of what you used to cook, offer the leftovers to anyone around to hear you (so, just Mingyu), and then leave, giggles and flirting dissipating and leaving Mingyu in a quiet that he absolutely can’t stand.

When you return the next day, trying to look nonchalant with your overnight bag clutched in your hands, Mingyu is at the kitchen table, eating some of the leftovers and watching videos on his phone.

“Hey,” he greets you, pausing the video.

You give your overnight bag a light toss; it lands with a thump over near the couch. “Hey yourself,” you say, heading into the kitchen for a drink. “The food’s good, right?”

“Yeah,” he admits. “Your man can cook, huh?”

“Hey!” you object. “I did most of the work!”

“Hmm,” he says, rising and coming into the kitchen to rinse his plate.

You cross your arms, eyes narrowing. “Hmmm what?”

He shrugs teasingly. “We’ve lived together a long time, Sunny. I have a hard time believing you’re the chef in that relationship. You never helped me cook anything.”

Your eyes narrow even more. “You never asked me to,” you retort, suddenly defensive. “There’s a lot of things I do with Daeyoung because you never asked me to.”

Silence falls on the kitchen like a rockslide.

Mingyu takes one very careful step backwards. “Because I never asked you to?” he echoes, his voice shaking just slightly.

Your pulse races, and you fight a wave of nausea. A Freudian slip if there ever was one.

“That you never asked me to,” you amend firmly.

Mingyu hesitates. Then, “I don’t think that’s what you meant.”

That defensiveness moves inside you like a thing alive, your temper flaring in an effort to protect you.

“Don’t tell me how I feel,” you snap, suddenly pissed.

Mingyu doesn’t rise to the bait, doesn’t match your temper at all. Calm and steady, he says, “So then you tell me. How do you feel, Sunny?”

That rockslide hits you. You can’t breathe, too bruised by the onslaught. All the years of secrets and feelings and broken rules and truths that you knew but pretended not to spill around you, impossible to escape.

“You don’t get to ask me that,” you hiss at him. “Not now. That’s not fair.”

His calm cracks, just slightly, his tone going hard. “What are you talking about?”

“Why now, Mingyu?” you demand. “Why now, when I have someone? Why not any of the years before now, when I was only yours?”

You’re breathing hard, having spat the words like they’re venom, and you wait him out. He blusters, splutters, has nothing to say to this.

Your temper pulls you like a wave, a momentum you can’t fight.

“You don’t know the answer?” you ask sarcastically. “That’s fine - I can tell you: because you had me. You had me, and you didn’t need to share me, and you could still do whatever - or whoever! - you wanted and I’d still fucking be here afterward.”

You know exactly the moment you start crying through the words, because Mingyu’s body jolts, like he instinctively moved to touch you but remembered to stay back.

“And now?” you continue, because you’re on a roll, everything you’ve held in for years finally bursting from you with the fury of a cracked dam. “Now that’s changed. So, what is it? You want your toy back now that someone else is playing with it?”

“Of course not-”

“Fuck you, Mingyu! You sat me on the shelf for too long. I don’t deserve that.”

“Sunny, no,” he tries again. “It isn’t like that. I lo-”

“Yes, it is!” you shout. You’ve never shouted at him in your life, and it actually shuts him up. Tears are still streaming down your face, but you ignore them. “It is, and until you see that, I can’t expect you to change it or fix it.”

You start to storm past him, but you whirl on him, a finger pointed in his direction. “And don’t you dare try to tell me you love me!” you add furiously. “No you don’t. Not the right way, not like this.”

And then you slam out of the apartment, barely remembering to grab your keys off the hook as you go.

–

[5:22pm] You: if i send you a list of what i need, can you please put a bag together for me and leave it in the hall

[5:22pm] (jeong)Han Solo: :( sunny

[5:22pm] You: hannie please??? i can’t go inside. i really can’t.

[5:23pm] (jeong)Han Solo: he’s a fucking wreck

[5:23pm] You: i don’t care

[5:24pm] You: i mean of course i fucking care that’s the whole problem

[5:24pm] You: please? my things?

–

August

August 3

[10:02am] Mingyu: sunny please talk to me

[12:17pm] Mingyu: please let me apologize to you

[12:17pm] Mingyu: i dont want to do it over text but you wont answer my calls and no one seems to know where you are

[12:22pm] Mingyu: you were right. about all of it.

[12:22pm] Mingyu: and you were right that you dont deserve it

[12:22pm] Mingyu: please call me back or come home so i can say this to your face

[5:38pm] Mingyu: there’s one part you were wrong about

[5:38pm] Mingyu: i do love you. the right way. maybe it took losing you to someone to get my ass moving but i loved you way before he was in the picture

[5:38pm] Mingyu: dont ever question that again

[11:04pm] Mingyu: god, sunny, answer your phone!

August 4

[7:43am] Mingyu: you’re killing me

[7:43am] Mingyu: are you happy sunshine???? KILLING ME!!!

[1:36pm] Mingyu: come home

[1:36pm] Mingyu: please

[8:02pm] Mingyu: we HAVE to talk about this, sunny

[11:51pm] Mingyu: i’m not going to give up

[10:23am] (jeong)Han Solo: are you staying with daeyoung for a while?

[10:23am] You: no. my mom’s.

[10:23am] (jeong)Han Solo: ok. im glad you’re with someone who can care for you.

[10:23am] (jeong)Han Solo: we miss you :(

August 5

[8:00am] Mingyu: fine, i’ll say everything over text like an asshole

[8:00am] Mingyu: just know you made me do this!

[8:04am] Mingyu: i fell in love with you in undergrad when you had to take that statistics class that you almost failed. when you saw your midterm score was passing you told me i love you for the first time and i swear to god i almost proposed to you right there. And it never went away. It was never less.

[8:08am] Mingyu: i love you because you wield your attitude like both sword and shield. I love you because you can barely count but you make me feel so stupid sometimes with how clever you are. I love you because you’re beautiful and funny and empathetic and you make me want to be better than i am. I want to be more competent for you, to be able to take care of you and provide for you when you need it. I love you because when i’m sick you take care of me and you let me take care of you when you’re down too. I love you because when i’m with you i feel like someone’s GOT me, someone understands me and has my back.

[8:09am] Mingyu: i cant believe youre making me say this all in TEXT i hate this!

[8:10am] Mingyu: i have more. I have a hundred more reasons.

[8:10am] Mingyu: come home so i can tell you

[11:58pm] Mingyu: goodnight sunny baby. Please come home soon.

You show up to Daeyoung’s unannounced. His face is grim when he opens the door; you haven’t answered his calls or texts in a few days, either. He probably knows what this is.

“Hi,” he says, stepping backwards to make room for you in his doorway. “This is a surprise.”

“I’m sorry I vanished,” you tell him. “Something happened. I’ve been at my mom’s.”

He eyes you warily, like he’s not sure if this is a I got in a car accident kind of something, or a I cheated on you kind of something, and he doesn’t want to react for the wrong one. “Okay…” he says slowly.

“Daeyoung,” you say, after taking a breath to steel yourself, “I care about you, and I like you, and I have real feelings for you.”

“I sense a but,” he says dryly.

You smile sadly. “But I dont think this is fair to you. I shouldn’t be with someone - anyone - until I’m over him or he’s out of my life… and I can’t seem to make either of those things happen.” You don’t need to say which him. You both know. “I wanted to. I wanted to do it right and I thought I was… but I was wrong.”

He shrugs, face blank. “Okay.”

“Daeyoung.”

“What do you want me to say?” he asks, frustration seeping into his tone. “I can't argue with any of that. I can’t change it for you. I can’t be better than him, I can't become him. You’re right, you shouldn’t be with someone else if what you really want is that guy.”

That guy. Again.

“You’re right,” you whisper, looking at your feet.

He lets out a breath. “So, it’s done then?”

You nod miserably. “Yeah. I’m sorry, Daeyoung. I hope someday you can believe that this isn’t how I wanted it to go. You deserve better.”

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t let you go out with any optimism. You and your misery trudge back to your mother’s, fall asleep in your childhood bed.

August 6

[8:00am] Mingyu: good morning ☀️

[8:00am] Mingyu: i have more things to say today

[8:00am] Mingyu: i will give you two 2️⃣ minutes to respond or you get it all thru text AGAIN

[8:00am] Mingyu: and you know how i feel about that.

[8:03am] Mingyu: fine.

[8:03am] Mingyu: you’ve always been so fucking stubborn sunny. just let me apologize to you!

[8:05am] Mingyu: i’m sorry i kept you on hold

[8:05am] Mingyu: you’re right. that’s what was happening. but i didn’t MEAN it like that.

[8:05am] Mingyu: idk if you believe me bc i can’t see your face 🙄

[8:06am] Mingyu: but its true. I just… liked how things were. Youre right… i counted on you always being there waiting for me.

[8:06am] Mingyu: i thought it was okay though… i thought if you wanted it to change you had the power to change it

[8:07am] Mingyu: like, you could have said something to me.

[8:07am] Mingyu: and i dont mean that like its your fault or anything, it was just how i rationalized it to myself. Like if you werent complaining then it must be fine?

[8:09am] Mingyu: i’m an idiot

[8:14am] Mingyu: but i’m an idiot who loves you, and misses you, and wants to do better

[11:59pm] Mingyu: please come home

[12:32pm] You: i broke up with him.

[12:32pm] (jeong)Han Solo: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[12:32pm] (jeong)Han Solo: are you okay???

[12:32pm] (jeong)Han Solo: come home so we can take care of you!!

[12:58pm] You: i cant face him. not yet. im not ready

August 7

[8:00am] Mingyu: good morning sunny ☀️

[8:00am] Mingyu: i’m sorry i took you for granted. even if we walk out of this only trying to repair the friendship, i swear i’ll never let it happen again.

[11:58pm] Mingyu: goodnight sunshine. I love you.

August 8

[8:00am] Mingyu: good morning sunny ☀️

[8:00am] Mingyu: dont work too hard today

[8:00am] Mingyu: dont take any shit from marcus in accounting

[12:12pm] Mingyu: having lunch. call me if you want? it doesnt have to be heavy. Just hello.

[12:39pm] Mingyu: i need you back sunny. in whatever capacity youll let me have.

[11:57pm] Mingyu: hope you had a good day. Goodnight, i love you.

August 9

[8:00am] Mingyu: good morning sunny

[11:58pm] Mingyu: please. Please come home.

–

When you return home, a week after you left, it’s nearly dawn, the light from outside the living room just turning blue enough that you can see the outlines of the couches as you close the door as quietly as you can.

You step lightly, avoiding the spots you know will creak and groan when you step over them. You peer down the hallway to see that the guys’ doors are all shut, no lights on - not even the blues of Wonwoo’s computer monitor.

You open your door and look around; your room looks exactly how you left it, down to the glass of water on the nightstand, now nearly empty. Except… the blankets on the bed are wrong. You set your bag down gently next to your dresser and creep closer, squinting through the dimly lit room.

A dark head of hair peeks out from under your comforter.

You can’t help it - you smile to yourself. For all the things Mingyu is - intelligent, funny, athletic, competent - he’s also a big baby. And he’s sleeping in your bed, because he misses you, and it comforts him.

It makes you want to forgive him for every wrong, press your lips to his sleepy forehead, listen to him lisp out Sunny Baby.

He hurt you, it’s true. But you believe it that he was lying to himself, pretending things were fine. Weren’t you doing the exact same thing? You can’t hope Daeyoung will forgive you for your mistakes if you aren’t willing to do the same, too.

You close your bedroom door and approach your bed. Mingyu stirs, making cricket legs under the blanket and stretching one arm towards the empty side. Towards you, though he doesn’t know it yet.

Then he freezes. His voice comes out paper thin. “Sunny?” he asks, pushing himself to sitting.

“This is not your bed,” you tell him, and he launches himself across the mattress, scrambling to reach you.

You allow him to wrap his gangly arms around your middle, pulling you to him as apologies pour over his lips so fast that he’s nearly babbling.

“Okay, okay,” you laugh, pushing at his shoulders. You back away and he follows like he’s tethered to you, clambering from the bed and standing before you.

For a moment, you just stare at each other through the thick blue of encroaching dawn.

And then he says your name.

Not Sunny. Not Sunny Baby. Your real name.

“I am so sorry - for everything,” he says, the ache in his voice clear and open. Then he drops his voice to a pained whisper. “Please. Tell me I can fix it.”

You press your lips together, looking at him. He looks awful - like he hasn’t slept much, or been eating well. You feel a little bad that you stayed away for so long, but you’d needed the time by yourself. You’d needed the clarity of being alone to figure out what you want.

“I think we can,” you whisper back, since the rest of the apartment is still sleeping. We, because this was on both of you.

He crushes you in a hug, surrounding you in the smell of cinnamon, his cheek pressed to your head. “I’m sorry,” he breathes into your hair. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please let me try and do better.”

“I broke up with Daeyoung,” you respond, and he snaps his mouth shut, stepping backwards to stare at you.

“Why?” he asks finally, hoarse, like he can barely get the word out.

You look up at him. “Because it wasn’t right to be with him. It wasn’t right to be with him when I’ve been in love with someone else the whole time.”

He closes his eyes, his whole body seeming to sag.

“I forgive you,” you say quietly, “and I do believe that things will be better now. If we talk about it - if we’re working together to make it better.”

“Yes,” he says quickly, desperately. “I will - I’ll do whatever I need to -”

“Both of us,” you say again, emphatically. “You were right, this wasn’t just your fault. I let this go on for… years. I counted marks against you but I never once spoke up.”

“No,” he protests, shaking his head. “It was my fault, Sunny, I took it for granted and I should have been loving you, spoiling you -”

You laugh. “I mean, maybe,” you say. “But if I’d talked to you… maybe you would have been.”

“I want to now,” he says. “Can I? Will you let me?”

You smile up at him, and he grins back, taking your smile as an answer.

You reach up and touch his eye-tooth gently with a fingertip. “Your stupid fang is so fucking cute,” you whisper. “It is truly unfair how cute it is.”

He pretends to scowl at you. “We’re having a serious moment, here, Sunshine.”

You smile again, gentler this time. “I love you,” you tell him. “If you want to prove you can do this right… then I’m all in.”

He whispers your name again, then looks at you.

His eyes are molten again, the way they were the night you’d had your only kiss. It’s almost hypnotizing, the strength of his gaze on you, pulling you in wordlessly until your body is flush with his. You look up at him, breathless.

“I’ll start proving it now,” he murmurs, so low you barely catch it, and then his mouth snags on yours, forceful, his hands cupping your jaw gently, a juxtaposition.

He touches you so tenderly, his fingers feather-light against the skin they uncover as you undress each other in hushed silence. It feels holy, somehow.

He licks spices and heat into your mouth, trails calloused fingers down your bare arms, pulls your hips into his as his teeth trace down your jaw, makes sure you feel his want for you.

You slide your hands from his waist up his stomach and over his pecs, revelling in how he hisses and leans into the touch.

“Wanted to do this for years,” he grumbles, like he’s complaining, before lowering his lips to your chest, sucking on supple skin to see how you like it, then doing it harder when you dig your fingers into his shoulders, gasping at the sensation.

“Should’ve,” you scold, even as your eyes close and your head tilts back. “Could’ve been.”

But you aren’t thinking about your wasted time when he kneads both hands in the meat of your ass, or when you slide a flat palm up the length of him, delighting in the weight and heat you find straining against his Calvins. You’re thinking about how his hands are searing, about how you want to taste him but maybe not yet, not this first time. You’re thinking about his fingers sliding between your legs and the belly-deep rumble he makes when he feels how ready you are for him.

And when you finally come together, his mouth pressed to yours as he lays you back on the bed you’ve shared countless times, you’re only thinking about him and his beautiful smile and molten eyes and infectious laugh and empathetic heart. When he’s pushed as far into you as your bodies will allow, his hips tight against you and a whine slipping between his lips, you’re overcome with emotion. As you adjust to him, his eyes trace your face, and he reads what’s there with perfect clarity.

“Love you, Sunny Baby,” he whispers into the crook of your neck.

You swallow against the thick rise of feelings and run your fingers through his hair. “Move for me,” you beg. And when he does, it’s just as perfect as the rest of him.

You press your forehead to his when you come, his thumb rough on your clit and his mouth gasping broken breaths against your lips, pulsing around him in waves so dizzying you think they trigger even more. His hair sticks to his forehead as he presses deep inside you, and he shelters you between mountainous arms as he finally lets go.

Mingyu is sunrise, leaking orange and pink and yellow and white and chasing away a world of purples and blues. He’s so bright you have to squint, a promise of a fresh start, an end to the darkness of night.

He’s perfect. He’s perfect, and you love him, and finally you can have him.

You lay in his arms, heartbeat slowing bit by bit, and feel wholly at peace - like everything finally settled into place, everything landed exactly as it was meant to. Your cog in the universe, spinning correctly at last, grooves fitted perfectly to Kim Mingyu’s.

The peace lasts…. until you check your phone.

[8:26am] (jeong)Han Solo: when you two are DONE…. we went out for breakfast if you want to join 🙄

—

November

“Baby,” Mingyu says, but it’s stern. “Quit fixing the pillows.”

“It has to be perfect in here!” you whine.

Mingyu wraps his arms around you like a cage, squeezing until you’re laughing too hard and drop the throw pillow from your hand.

“They lived with us for years,” he says, entirely too rationally. “You can’t fool them.”

He releases his hold on you so you can turn and pout at him. You’re about to protest - argue that it’s Jeonghan and Wonwoo’s first time visiting you and Mingyu’s new place, that this is momentous, a special occasion - but you’re cut off by an obnoxiously outlandish knock on the front door.

“I’ve got it,” Mingyu tells you. “You just try to relax.”

You will, in just a second. But first, you lean over to the candle you have burning on the coffee table and adjust it just slightly to center the label, which reads Fall Harvest and Cinnamon.

thank you so much for reading!!!!

2K notes · View notes

rabbidbunwy · 11 months ago

Text

🔞Hawks x reader| Minors DNI| NSFW WARNING 🔞

You handle Keigo as he's on breeding season

Contents: Hawks x Anon! reader-both adult-explicit content-crampie-many rounds-moaning-breeding-smut-cumming-cute-fluff-aftercare-teasing-cuddle-whines-teasing-lots n' lots of cuddles towards the end-cheesy

i'm no english native so sorry for some mistakes

please reblog 🔁 and like❤️

P.s: i feel back again in my BNHA phase ahhhhhh (」°ﾛ°)｣

i love my bird man (⸝⸝ ˊᗜˋ⸝⸝ ) 💕

@muzansslxt @candy69gurl @kiwicopia @satorkive @ponderingmoonlight

“God damn…” Keigo says, his voice coming out as a low groan as he buries his face into your neck. His arms are wrapped around you, holding you to his chest as he tries to catch his breath. His wings are wrapped around the both of you in a protective layer of feathers, making it feel as if you’re in your own personal bubble. His hand slowly moves …until it’s right on your stomach, his fingers gently tracing the skin. “You still okay, sunshine?” The winged hero asks, sounding slightly breathless.

You nodded feeling stuffed "I'm…okay..just full" “Yeah you’re very full” he jokes, giving your stomach a soft pat. He doesn’t bother to move, and instead just keeps you cuddled up in his chest. Wings still wrapped around the two of you, keeping you both nice and safe.

“Still feel a little overstimulated?” Keigo jokingly asks, pressing gentle kisses to your neck.

“Keigo…” you whined, feeling your face burn. “Not so loud-“ He was pretty loud. Too loud. His voice echoed in the bedroom pretty loudly, your neighbors could probably hear him if they were trying.

“I’m supposed to be the one on top…“ you tried to complain. You hadn’t meant for the night to end like this. Not when he was so needy…

“Mmm…I know. But I’m a needy birdie right now.” He said with a pout. He nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck, holding you down on his lap. “I’m in my breeding season, babe. You know how I get.”

“You weren’t supposed to get needy today. You have work tomorrow.” You complained as his arms wrapped around you tighter, holding you against his chest.He whined, burying his face into your neck.Your cheeks were burning. “You already came four times…I’m tired.” The night had gotten long, and you were exhausted. Keigo wasn’t tired though - he was energized.

“We have time for one more round, come onnn.” He whined, pouting once again. He began trying to kiss your neck, nibbling at your skin. “It’ll be quick, I promise.” A complete lie; he never had a quick round.

“Come on baby…just one more.” He repeated, giving your neck another gentle bite. His arms were around you, holding you in place on his lap. “I swear it’ll be quick, then we can go to sleep…then in the morning I can give you cuddles before I have to leave.”

He was a good multitasker. Trying to persuade you for a fifth round while also giving you gentle bites on your neck. “Please, sunshine” he said, using that nickname he always called you. “One more round, then we’ll go to sleep. I won’t try and wake you up.”

“I’m exhausted, birdbrain. We’ve been going at it for hours now, I’m tired.” You protested, a pout on your face. “Four times is enough. No more.”

“Just one moree…” he whined, giving you puppy eyes as his wings wrapped tighter around the two of you. “Pleaseee” he repeated, giving another little bite on your neck. “I promise, one more and we’ll sleep. Then tomorrow morning I’ll give you cuddles before I go to work.”

“Mmm…” you hummed, your cheeks flushed. He was using his puppy dog eyes, the one he knew you couldn’t resist. “Fine…” you said reluctantly in defeat. “Just one more, okay?”

“Yes!” He said excitedly, planting a kiss on your cheek. “Thank you, thank you.” He was like a child that just got candy. He’d been begging you for a while now for this fifth round, but eventually you had caved in.

He quickly went back to nipping your neck, his hands moving around your waist. “You’re the best” he mumbled, beginning to kiss down your jawline. “You’re so tired and yet you still agreed.”

“You’re a big baby, you know that?” You said with a fond eye roll. “Such a needy birdie all the time.” You reached a hand around to ruffle his hair, messing up his blonde locks.

“Says the one who says yes to my needy wants, he teased back, returning to the little bites on your neck. “You’re the one who can’t say no to me when I give you puppy eyes.”

“G-God… you always know how to get what you want” you complained, your body tensing slightly as his pace began to quicken. “And I always give in…”

He gives a chuckle, his hands running up your torso to your chest. “You love it when I’m needy, though” he says, nipping your earlobe. “And I love when you give in” he added with a cocky sort of grin.

You moaned again as you felt closer "Keigo...amhn" “God…I love the sounds you make, sunshine” he says a playful smirk. “They’re my favorite…right next to you saying my name” his pace quickens once more, his breath becoming more labored.

“Say my name” he demanded, leaving another bite mark on your neck. He was beginning to feel his own high approaching; that familiar feeling in his lower belly that signaled his climax.

“Come on, darling” he said, his voice a bit breathless. “Say my name. I want to hear you say it.” His hands had moved back to your hips, holding you in place as he continued his pace. “Come on, sunshine.”

“Keigo..” you gasped out, feeling a heat begin to build in your stomach. “God…Keigo-” you repeated, your voice trailing off into a moan as he hit a certain spot. Something in him seemed to snap when you groaned his name. He suddenly let out a low groan himself, his hands tightening in their grip on your hips. “Again” he ordered, his breath coming out in short gasps. “Say it again. More.” You did as asked, letting his name pass through your lips again and again as his pace quickened behind you. “K-Keigo..” You repeated, beginning to reach your climax. “God…I’m so close…”

He groaned again, his wings shaking slightly in response. “M-Me too….g-god, me too” he moaned, letting out a low whine. “I’m close….say my name more, darling. I want to hear it more.”

“Keigo-“ You kept repeating his name over and over, feeling your climax approaching. “I’m gonna cum...I’m gonna-” You cut yourself off with another loud moan, unable to finish the rest of your sentence. “M-Me too-” he gasped, his arms pulling you against his chest in a tight embrace. “M-Me too, sunshine..” He groaned out. “Come with me, darling.” He managed to get out.

You let out a gasp as your climax washes over you, your body tensing against the winged hero. “K-Keigo..” you moaned, squeezing your eyes shut as you rode out your high. You could feel him twitch behind you as he continued to hold you against his chest, his wings wrapping a bit tighter around the two of you as he came.

He pressed another kiss to your neck, holding you tightly against his chest as he came down from his high. His breath was coming out in ragged gasps, his wings shaking slightly as he tried to steady his breathing. He kept you pressed up against him, arms wrapped tightly around your waist and one of his legs hooked over yours to keep you stuck.

“God..” he said with a breathy chuckle, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “That was a damn good one, sunshine.” He began placing soft kisses on your skin, planting them down your neck.

His wings were fully puffed up again, feathers all loose and messy again as a result of your caresses. He loved being touched on the wings whenever he was like this; being an avian with wings gave him a special kind of sensitivity to touch when it came to his wings.

He subconsciously let out a low noise in the back of his throat when you snuggled against his chest, sounding similar to how a bird coos.

Seeing his wings like that filled your heart with a warm feeling. He looked adorable with messy wings like this; like a giant bird with his feathers puffed up.

The noise that came out of his mouth definitely made you smile, and you let a soft laugh. “You really do act like a bird, you know that?” You teased fondly, running a hand through his fluffy wings.

He gave a huff at your comment, but it wasn’t in agitation. “Shut up” he grumbled, resting his chin on your head. He leaned into your hand, silently encouraging you to keep your hand in his wing.

You laughed again, beginning to slowly preen his wing feathers. He was like a cat with how he liked his wings being touched after having a good round.

“You like this, don’t you?” You teased, running your fingers down the feathers. “You like being pampered like an overgrown bird.”

He grumbled again in response, his grip around you tightening a bit. He did like it, but he would be damned if he admitted that fact out loud. “And so what if I do?” He mumbled, burying his face further into your hair.

You smirked as you scracthed in beetween the feathers "this?" He let out a soft whine when you scratched between his feathers, his wings shaking a bit. “God damn it…..” he muttered, burying his face in your neck. Of course you’d figured out a weakness already.

“Look at you, looking all pathetic now” you teased, continuing your scratching. “A great and powerful hero, brought down by a little preening.”

He whined again, wings beginning to droop from their upright position. He couldn’t help it; his muscles just went all loose whenever you preened his feathers. “Mmmm…st-stop. It’s embarrassing..” he mumbled, face still buried in your neck. you take a hold of a feather tenderly caressing it,feeling the soft texture of it "i like it" He let out a small gasp when you tugged gently on his feather, his body tensing slightly. “H-Hah…” He muttered, feeling chills go down his spine. Damn you, you found his most sensitive spot.

“D-Damn it…stop it. That’s not fair-“ he whined, his wings twitching once again. “H-How’d you find that so damn quickly….”

“I’m just observant” you teased, gently tugging on another feather. “You make all these cute noises when I touch your feathers, especially here.” You reached up to scratch between his feathers once again, hearing the whine he made in response.

This was absolutely not fair. You had managed to find yet another weak spot of his already, and he hated how good it felt.

“Mmmm…” he whined, wings shivering once again. “God…stop it..”

“Why would I stop though?” You ask with a smirk, tugging on another feather. “It’s so much fun to get those cute noises out of you, birdboy.”

He pouted at the comment, letting out a huff. He knew he looked absolutely pathetic right now, but he didn’t care. Being pampered by you made too many happy chemicals go through his brain.

“You’re evil, you know that?” He grumbled, wings trembling once more.

“You enjoy it though.” You mused, scratching softly between his feathers once again. Damn he loved that feeling. “And you’re not even trying to stop me, so clearly it isn’t all that bad.”

He grumbled once again, knowing that you were right. He could totally stop you from doing this if he really wanted to.

But he really didn’t want to, because it felt way too damn good.

He kept his face buried in your neck, wings trembling and twitching with every scratch. “Stop being so goddamn observant..” he muttered.

“No can do, birdbrain.” You teased, continuing with your scratching. You loved having this effect on him; seeing him act so pathetic and needy. “You’re just so easy to read.”

He let out a little whine, wings shuddering once again. God, you were going to wreck him at this rate.

“I hate you…” he mumbled into your neck. “You’re absolutely horrible and mean.”

“And yet you love me anyways.” You said with a smirk, tugging on another feather. You couldn’t deny it; this was a guilty pleasure of yours. Seeing him act like this, so needy and messy from just a little feather preening.

He let out a whine again in response, a shiver going down his spine. Damn you really were going to wreck him, you weren’t holding back in the slightest.

“God…you’re killing me here..” he whimpered, wings trembling from all the stimulation.

“Oh I’m fully aware” you teased, scratching softly between his feathers once more. “And I’m enjoying it too, because you’re my big tough birdie, but you crumble like paper in my hands when I just give you a little pampering.”

He let out a noise that was a mix of a whine and a moan, his wings shaking from all the stimulation. God, he was so weak to your caresses.

“Mmmn..god…why are you so damn good at this..” he mumbled, wings shivering under your touch.

“I’m observant, remember?” You said with a little chuckle, tugging once again on his sensitive feathers. “I notice you shiver every time I touch your wings like this, and the noises you make. They’re kind of adorable if you ask me.”

He let out a small whine as you tugged on his feathers again, wings trembling yet again. Damn, he really couldn’t handle it when you touched him here. His normally cocky and confident demeanor completely unraveled when you touched his wings like this.

“Mnn…s-stop calling me adorable..” he mumbled in response, face still buried in your neck.

“Why should I?” You teased, scratching between the feathers once more. “You do act adorable though; shivering and whining whenever I touch your wings…it’s cute, but I’m also enjoying how easily I can make the number two hero fall apart just by touching his wings.”

He let out another little whine, wings shaking again as you continued your ministrations. God, you could be so cruel when you wanted to be.

“God damn itttt…” he whined. “Stop making me sound so pathetic..”

You snuggle on his neck hinaling his scent "you're my birdie,my birdbrain" you cooed

He couldn’t stop himself from shivering slightly when you snuggled against his neck, letting out a little chirp and whining again. Damn, he hated (but loved) how easily you could get him to act all needy and whiny like this.

“Hnn…say that again..” he said quietly, burying his face in your hair once more.

“Mmm..” you hummed, nuzzling against his neck. “You’re my birdie, my cute little birdbrain.” You repeated, a smile tugging at your lips.

It was kind of adorable seeing him like this, all whiney and needy after you preened his feathers. Like a little puppy all riled up after their belly was scratched.

He let out another small whine, wings shuddering from your affectionate words and all the preening you had done. The way you called him your birdie did things to his heart, and it made his chest feel all fuzzy.

God, when you said stuff like that it made his heart do backflips.

You kept nuzzling against his neck softly, repeating the same affectionate nick names for him over and over again. He was just too cute right now, all whiney and clingy after you gave him just a tad bit of caressing.

“My birdie..my birdbrain” you repeated, continuing to nuzzle against his skin.

You felt relaxed as you snuggled and cuddle him,before you pepper kiss his cheek.

He let out another small chirp in response when you pepper kissed his cheek, nuzzling against you once more. Feeling you snuggle against him and cuddle against his side made his heart thump against his chest. Goddamn you were so affectionate.

He hummed in content, wings relaxing against his back as you gave him kisses.

You continued to press kisses on his skin, enjoying the flustered but happy expression on his face. Seeing him all flustered and whiny like this because of a few compliments and some caresses was adorable.

You nuzzled against his neck once again, resting your head against his chest.

He wrapped his arms around your waist once more, pulling you closer into him. He couldn’t help being clingy, especially like this. Being able to hold you in his arms like this after a good round of….“activities”, along with all the preening, left him feeling all clingy and touchy.

His heartbeat was steady against your ear, a thumping and calming sound.

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tiramissyoucake · 1 month ago

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Thinking of sinister Mark with a breeding kink, he’s so abrasive and rough what would that even look like ? Love your work. 💕

-🌻 anon 😭😭

Oh ya'll want that GROSS SHIT, I get it. Also may have gotten too into Sinister straight calling reader bitch😭

MINORS + AGELESS BLOGS DNI

CW: piv seggs, fem reader, breeding, cumming inside, mark sucks readers tongue at one point, a lot of 'bitch' usage, making you a mommy mention, mentions of breeding, pregnancy, daddy mention, not proof read

Another day, another night with your usual intruder. Mark had solidified himself as a nuisance in your life. At first, when you were still terrified of him, you thought you could fight him off; repulse him somehow, the worse that could happen is death. Now, you realise that Mark had grown... attached to you, in the same way a person comes back to feed a stray animal every once in a while.

You learned the hard way that not a lot of people said 'no' to him and he's used to getting whatever he wants, either with approval or to force you into submission. Nights where he'd want nothing but you were the worst, you're the one who had to be prepared, the one night he felt like fucking you- you forgot to take a pill or prepare a condom.

"Are you TRYING to get pregnant?" He grinned, clutching your jaw in his hand and jerking your head closer to him. "No pill, no condoms, you got too comfy sucking my dick the last few times, huh?"

Your jaw hurt, your gaze was hateful, but downturned, you knew better than to give him attitude. He cooed at you like you were a little animal in an unfortunate trap. "Y'know what that means, hmm?" That your jaw would hurt in the morning with your throat after he'd suffocate you with his cum? You were too familiar.

"... I'll.. get on my knees." You mumbled. Your tone of defeat made him harder than he already was. "Oooh, baby... as much as I love how much of a good slut you're being, no."

His hands clutched your shoulders and pinned you down to the bed, tugging your thighs so his groin was situated against your clothed pussy, the flimsy fabric of your panties barely providing any protection. "It just means we'll give this babies thing a try."

Eyes shooting wide open, you protested as he gripped your panties with both hands from two ends and ripped them apart. "Wait! Mark— please, I'm sure there's a condom or two, just let me-"

"Shut the fuck up, God." He huffed as he jerked his pants below his hips, hissing as his cock finally was freed, throbbing and excited at the idea of impregnating you. "All you do is complain and whine, be grateful you're getting some good dick." He stated it like it's a fact.

Whenever he kissed you, he always had a hand around your throat, it was always messy. He let's out a grown as he runs the tip of his cock up and down your folds with his free hand, pre-cum smearing and mixing with your wetness "Mmf- you're wet." He grins against your lips. "I think you want it, dirty bitch." He chuckled, biting your bottom lip.

He kissed you once more, swallowing your moan as he pushed his cock in, a groan reverberating from him as your pussy accepted him so quickly, he parted from your lips as he licked his own, his hands caging your head as he readjusted himself on his knees.

After making sure to push his cock as deep as he could, bottoming out. He pulled back and thrusted just as quickly. Again. And again. And again. Until he was sure he'd bottom out with every thrust. "Feel that? You like how deep my cock hits?" He coaxed, watching you whimper and shut your eyes tightly. "Can't stand the fact that this pussy wants my cum, huh? Open, c'mon slut..."

His hand swatted your thighs harshly, prompting you to obey him as his hips pistoned onto you, a harsh repetitive 'plap!' Echoing between the sheets as he relished in the feeling of your pussy, fucking you raw was the best. "C'mon, you nasty bitch.. take it.. you wanna be a mommy?" he encouraged you with a hard thrust, prompting a gasp from you.

"Oooh, felt you tighten." Mark noted with a hiss, tugging your hips impossibly close, your cunt sucking in his dick so desperately, wetness forming a creamy ring around him. "You like that, bitch? Want me to make you a mommy? Want my babies inside you?" His free hand clutched your jaw once more, slotting his mouth against yours as his tongue easily pushed its way in, as if to rub salt into the wound- he had the gall to suck on your tongue when he pulled away.

You let out moans and gasps against your will, you knew it would only motivate him to fuck you harder but who could stay quiet under him? Mark fucks like he kills, brutally and for his enjoyment. Amidst his groans, you could see him bite his bottom lip harshly or pant like a man possessed. You could've sworn you saw him drooling at the sight of you and the feeling of your warmth enveloping his dick, you were his perfect idea of an unofficial housewife waiting to get fucked by her psycho husband.

He let out an animalistic grunt as he felt your body start to squirm, cunt tightening further. "You gonna cum already, bitch?" He chuckled, the tip of his dick hitting every spot so perfectly, you would've enjoyed it if he wasn't planning to pump you full. "Give it to me. C'mon, I'm gonna get you fucking pregnant, bitch...!"

Your hands gripped his wrists as he clutched your hips to manhandle you as he fucked you, pussy pulsing with every wave as your orgasm washed over you and they were only intensified by his thrusting. "Yeah, that's it.." he licked his licks. "Cream my dick, bitch. I'll give you my babies in a sec." He promised.

Mark groaned in annoyance, watching you squirm again, damn it, not when he was so close. He tilted your hips upwards, moving so his entire upper body enveloped you. "God, can you fucking relax? Mm!" He thrusted into you at a new angle as broken moans were forced out of you. "'M so fucking close, don't you dare ruin this for me." He grunted as his cock throbbed with a vile need.

"C'mon." His balls slapped against you with every harsh thrust, grinning from ear to ear at the leverage he's got over you. "Just a little more, 'm gonna breed you, daddy's gonna pump you full..!! Oh fuck!" He grounded his knees to the bed, his weight crushing you.

Desperately thrusting and chasing his release, he hissed through his teeth. "You better make me a daddy, you fucking whore." He gritted. "You wanna be a mommy, hm? Well here it is, bitch so fucking take it...! Take it—!!" He almost grinded his teeth together as he pumped you full of his essence, white, hot and in abundance. He swiveled his hips to push the sudden spits deeper into your womb, huffing as he groaned.

"Oooh... babymaking sex hits different, huh?" He grinned down at you. Your eyes had just begun to tear up from the onslaught of pleasure and rising discomfort from your filled pussy. "We should do this more often. Way more often."

#your stars have aligned .•°✧✦✧#mark grayson x reader #invincible x reader

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tootiecakes234 · 11 months ago

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Katsuki Bakugo “Is the type of boyfriend” that:

Flicks you on the forehead when you’re not paying attention or saying something stupid.

Kisses you on the forehead in the morning before he leaves out, but does it so lightly to make sure he doesn’t disturb you.

Doesn’t even realize that he brings you up in conversation quite frequently no matter the topic at hand.

Keeps his phone volume on full blast when you’re out with your friends just in case something happens and he needs to get to you.

Complains that your friends are always at your house but is also always emerged in the gossip between you guys and give each of them advise when they ask for it.

Intimidates any man who looks even the least bit interested in you because that ass is his.

Gets upset and nags you because you haven’t eaten all day while in the kitchen fixing something for you to eat now, even if it’s 12 at night.

Sometimes gets overwhelmed and forgets anniversaries but after disappointing you once or twice has started adding them to his calendar so that never happens again.

Takes you on a week long vacation at least once a year and absolutely spoils you. He is vacay Kats and it’s all sweet words, good food, and cute gifts.

Uses you as a guinea pig in the kitchen when he’s experimenting with new recipes and flavors.

Loves to workout with you and lifts extra weight when you do because he’s trying to show off for you.

That works too much and too hard so you are his safe place. The person he goes to for warmth and love after those grueling hours.

Never takes the time he gets with you for granted because it’s his favorite use of his free time.

Loves receiving love through physical touch and words of affirmation but gives love through gift giving and quality time.

Is soft only for you💕

* I’m going to do one of these for Gojo, Kirishima and Nanami and maybe 1 other so comment who else you wanna see😇

Katsuki Bakugo Masterlist

“Is the type of boyfriend that” Series

Tootie’s Tags: @dreamcastgirl99 @xxvendettaxx @jays-adventure3 @moonpieshawdy @theloveofnagiseishiroslife @mintsbubbletea @darkstarlight82 @anon-mouse223 @b134ch-m4h-ey3z @i-literally-cant-with-this @flowerbedbaby @kit-katsukii @blaize-hewwo @sweetblueworm @tippy-toes @superlegend216 @kxtsxkii @liliththeunqualifiedsimp @burgvndy @fluffismystaplefood @yoyolovesdaiki @zaiban2989 @zanarkandskylines @citrustsuki-2

#is the type of boyfriend #imagine #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #mha fanfiction #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou drabble #katsuki bakugo mha #drabble #bakugo headcanons #fluff #katsuki bakugou #bnha katsuki #bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo #bakugo #bakugou #mha bakugou

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tender-rosiey · 1 year ago

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hiii 😭 I REALLY LOVE UR GOJO X YN SO MUCHHH 😔😔 I was also wondering like maybe what if y/n has a wound, like any where 🥲 it could be either on her back, arms, legs but she doesn't wanna tell gojo abt it and she hides it, then he will find out about it either she winces when gojo hugs her, starts wearing long sleeved clothes or her shirt lifts up while sleeping 🤧 TYSMM❤❤

strain — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: I am honored that you like my works, love! hope you enjoy this as well 🫶💕🫶 also happy birthday to the man, the myth, the legend: gojo satoru!! (it’s still his birthday in my country so hush I am not late)

you are more than a capable sorcerer. in fact, you are one of the strongest in the field.

however, like anyone else, there are some moments where things get a little out of hand, and you come back bearing a rather long slash on your left arm.

but since it’s pretty late, you decided you will bother shoko about it in the morning. that is how you’re finally in your home, with satoru nowhere to be found.

you frown lightly at the fact that he is still out there fighting curses, but a part of you feels relieved that you don’t have to explain your situation right now.

the night should pass by smoothly, and you will go to shoko tomorrow: a fool-proof plan!

so you do what you can to sanitize the wound, and cover it until you can get it treated properly. you also take the chance to indulge in your favorite snack as a good job treat.

after finishing your food and tidying up for the day, you’re finally in bed, all-cozied up and avoiding anything touching your wound as much as possible.

a deep breathe in, a deep breathe out, and you slowly drift to sleep.

not much time passes before satoru’s familiar footsteps echo throughout the house.

your husband has an abundance of energy.

but it seemed like today’s missions have drained him a bit more than normal, so he skips eating anything and heads straight to your shared bedroom.

his heart softens, and his muscles relax upon the sight of you tucked in bed. he walks to press a small kiss on your forehead, quickly changing into his pajamas and settling right by your side.

he stretches a bit and turns to spoon you as per usual, eyes closing in contentment.

but you wince, even if adeptly, and it sends alarms ringing through his head.

he jerks up, and his hand is instantly placed on your arm again, softly. there is an ever so faint change in your expression as your eyebrows furrow, and he has never pulled his hand away so fast.

he keeps debating in his head whether to wake you up or not, but he swiftly settles for the former.

he needs to know what happened. so he, regrettably, nudges your sleepy form, “y/n?”

you groan, but, nonetheless, you reply, “…what?”

while satoru often likes to base theatrics around his every move and phrase, but he also knows when to get straight to the point, “did you get hurt on today’s mission?”

you’re no longer half-asleep, and you quickly sit up, eyeing your husband. knowing there is no escape nor denial, you fidget with your fingers and nod slowly.

then you hurriedly utter, “but I was going to see shoko first thing in the morning; I promise!”

he nods slowly, holding your hands in his own. you’re left to look him in the eyes. satoru’s eyes being exposed makes him feel so vulnerable, or at least that’s how he is with you.

you can see every wrinkle, and every crease; you can see what he is thinking about in real time. he has long given up hiding anything from you, and, besides, it feels fresh to just let go.

but right now, as you look into his eyes, you see them swarming with confliction, pain, and worry.

he doesn’t scold you about not going right now because he knows that you will tell him that you either thought it wasn’t a big deal or that you didn’t want to bother shoko with it.

instead, he settles on a hushed whisper of “can I see it?”

you throw him a confused look, “why? I am getting it treated tomorrow anyway,” then you smile, “it’s not going to permanent if that’s what you’re worried about.”

he shakes his head, “it’s not that; I just—“ he takes a deep breath then looks at you pleadingly, “just let me see it.”

perhaps it’s to silence his thoughts and to show him that you’re truly okay, as okay as you can be.

you’re still alive, and that’s what matters, he thinks. nevertheless, he feels the need to see just how serious is the wound anyway.

reluctantly, you slowly take off your jacket to reveal the poorly bandaged gash on your arm.

he looks up at you, asking for permission because even if he needs to see it for his own selfish reasons, he has to put you above anything and everything else.

you nod, giving the free reign to slowly take off the bandages. you can barely hold back any pained noises, but you can’t help the wincing of your body.

satoru’s frown deepens, and with every move, your husband’s heart aches. it goes like that until the wound is finally unveiled.

you feel satoru observing the cut so intently that you look away. satoru curses everything that he can think of, and never has we wanted the ability to heal others more than right now.

he straightens his back, “that’s a deep cut, y’know.”

“I know…”

“you also realize that the wound could’ve hit your chest and inevitably heart, right?”

you huff, “listen, if you’re going to give me a lecture or keep making me feel bad about it then I will have you know—“

“you could’ve died.”

you notice the strain in his voice, so you turn to finally look eyes with him. he looks pained, so hurt, maybe even terrified at the fact that there was a chance that he could’ve lost you.

your expression immediately becomes that of sympathy, “but I didn’t, and dwelling on the fact that I might’ve died will only bother you for no reason,” you hold his hand, “I am here and alive, aren’t I?”

your husband sighs, resting his head on your right shoulder, “you’re hurting my poor little heart whenever you put yourself in danger like that.”

a giggle escapes your lips, and your hands naturally find their way in his hair, fingers gently carding through, “whatever shall we do.”

“if things went my way then you would just stay home looking all pretty like you always do,” he states, and you roll your eyes.

“well, they’re going my way tonight, so—“ the clock strikes twelve, “happy birthday, silly boy.”

his eyes widen and he pulls away to look you in the face. he blinks dumbly then looks at what’s in your hands: a cupcake with a candle.

a wide grin of unbridled joy appears on your husband’s face. his eyes shimmer in the moonlight as he laughs, “I really didn’t expect it this time!”

“you outdid yourself, pretty girl,” he hums, hand caressing your cheek.

“I still have a lot more things for you,” you beam with pride. satoru can’t contain himself anymore, and he pulls you into a loving embrace.

“I love you so much,” he murmurs beside your ear, pressing a light kiss to the side of your neck.

you pat his back, “I love you too, ‘toru,” you laugh, “but you’re pressing on my wound, and I think I am just going to cry and not because of overwhelming love.”

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss @pompompurin1028 @scul-pted @requiem626k @nameless-shrimp @sonder-paradise @jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @starlostlaiba @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @dazaisbloodybandages @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @the-midnightskies@pianopuppygirl @gojosblackqueen @kryscent @kunikida-simp @whoami-72 @mx-0-child @fiona782 @kisakitwister @imjustasimpxd @psychopotatomeme @dreamcastgirl99 @watyousayin @doobiebochana @laylasbunbunny @hojicha-expresso @4sat0ruu @nineooooo @chuuyasboots @alekssashka7 @rieejjyubi02 @satoryaa @nothisispatrick300 @fallencrescentmoon @etheviese @ho34gojo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @the-weeping-author @stray-npc @libbyistired @anon1412 @anakalana @maehemthemisfit @satorustar @b4nka1 @sad-darksoul @ko-fi-heart @pumpkindudeishere @suyaaachin @babyqueen17 @chaosguy352 @murakami-kotone

do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

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bouncybongfairy · 1 year ago

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Hello! Could I request some dark smut with Lip? I can also be more specific if you'd like! No worries if you don't want to write it! Also I just found your blog and love your writing! 💕

Fucked Back Into Reality

Lip Gallagher x Fem Reader

Summary: Your boyfriend Lip, hadn't talked to you in a couple of days. After having several conversations about this reoccuring problem, you decied to give him the cold shoulder. He reminds you why doing this is a riskey game.

Word Count: 2.0k+

TW: Rough Smut, Brat Kink, Masocism.

Ref Account: @kaionyx

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

It’s a bitterly cold day in Chicago’s south side. The type of cold where everyone at school is more concerned about staying warm than fashion. You were walking to school, both your parents left for work before you woke up. The school was too close to home for bus services so walking was really the only option. After trying to get in touch with Lip for the past two days, you were now on strike from being nice to him. You weren’t ignorant, Lip had a lot going on at home which meant his undivided attention was rare. Sometimes you wished he would just shoot you a text like: hey super busy day, love you / shits been crazy, talk to you when i can. Having this conversation in the past, you weren’t going to bother having it again. It surprised you to see Lip sitting on the front steps of the school; early which he never was. You started walking up the steps, he stood up and flicked his cigarette bud into the snow.

“Hey,” he said, you just looked at him and kept walking to your locker.

“Oh come one, you’re ignoring me?” he asked, leaning up against the mental lockers as you emptied your things into the locker.

“Seems familiar doesn’t it,” you say, referencing him not reaching out for the past couple days.

“Yeah but mine was accidental not bratty,” he chuckled. Maybe it was because you haven't eaten or smoked that morning but that comment enraged you. Slamming your locker and walking toward first period, leaving him in the hall.

Just your luck to have chemistry as the first class of the day. The teacher took 20 minutes to calm the class down. Kids play fighting with each other or flirting in the back of the room. Groups of students in their cliques, not paying any mind to the instructions given. You felt bad for the teacher, I'm sure she thought an education career would help so many teens. Only to be placed in one of the most poorly funded schools in the state. You didn’t feel too bad though, it only meant less work for you. Lip liked the fact that you cared about your grades, that you had a plan after highschool. As stupid as Lip was acting, you also liked how smart he was. You complained about it alot but you liked how he didn’t fall for your little tricks and games. He doesn’t chase you, or let you push him over. Most guys were just so emotionally unintelligent, not to mention Lip was more mature when it came to sex. The last couple guys you were with didn’t even talk while you fucked. Didn’t know what foreplay was or understand a woman's body. Lip had a really good understanding of when to be gentle or rough. When he would whisper things in your ear it always felt so natural and smooth. There were times when your stomach would randomly flip when thinking about the nasty things he’d told or done to you. Maybe part of the reason you had some animosity towards Lip was because you had been sexually frustrated. For the past couple weeks you felt like you were practically throwing yourself at him and he wasn’t in the mood. Of course you respected that, you just missed him was all; maybe a specific part of him. At lunch he came up to you from behind and hugged you. Still feeling quite stubborn, you allowed it but acted like you didn’t care.

“You still mad?” he whispers into your ear which makes your skin break out with goosebumps. He slides his hands down from your waist to your hips.

“I know we haven’t talked but I’m here now, let’s ditch for the rest of the day,” he said, pressing his lips against your neck. As much as you wanted to give in and agree, you still wanted to make a point. Pushing his hands away, you grab your backpack and walk away without acknowledging him. If he wanted to brand you as a brat then you’d give him his money's worth.

It was the last period, and everyone was waiting for the bell to ring. Some kids just left when they were ready and the teacher didn’t care. He just sat there, staring with cold dead eyes at his computer. Daren was consistently trying his best to spark conversation with you, all he talked about was how he ran track but he was trying his best. The heaters were blasting inside the school because it was snowing. The classroom windows were wet with condensation which made you feel sticky. Becoming overstimulated you decide to leave early, excusing yourself and walking out. Daren followed you into the hallway,

“Hey I was wondering if you wanted to stay after school and watch me practice? Maybe I can take you out after, or something?” he asks.

“Oh sorry I can't. I actually have a ton of homework so, maybe next time?” you say walking away, happy that you’re avoiding the rush of people flooding out the front gates.

Normally Lip would walk you home but you didn’t see him. Your willpower that was fueling your grudge was weakening. Pulling your phone out of your pocket and seeing if he texted you; he didn’t. Looking back you were feeling silly about your actions because look where they led you. It was really cold, snow sticking to your hair and eyelashes. Once you finally got home, Lip was waiting on the porch which took you by surprise. You went to greet him, this is when you noticed he looked angry. He didn’t even say anything to you, even after opening the door and letting the both of you in.

“How’s Daren?” he asks, once you both get to your bedroom.

“What?” you asked confused.

“Well you talked to him all last period and even after you left,” he said, sitting on your bed and lighting a cig.

“Okay first of all, I only talk to him for like two seconds. He asked me to watch him practice and I said no,” you defend yourself.

“That’s two seconds more than you talked to me today,” he remarked.

“Lip that’s not even fair,” you say, which made him smirk and shake his head as he took a drag.

“Do you even hear yourself? ‘tHat’s nOt fAiR’ whining like a baby who didn’t get their way. Why were you so offended that I called you a brat even though you’re acting just like one,” he said.

“What are you trying to scare me?” you ask while laughing.

“Trying?” he asked rhetorically.

You rolled your eyes and started to change into comfortable clothes. While you were only in your bra and underwear, Lip came behind you and ripped the lace material of the panties. You gasp and go to turn around but he presses you against the closet door. Intertwining his hand into your hair, gripping it so tight strands of hair were being pulled out. His dick was extremely hard and feeling it pressed against your ass immediately excited you. Moving your head slightly so he can start kissing and biting your neck. His breathing was hard and with his chest pressed against your back, you could feel his heartbeat. As he marked your neck, whimpers and moans were escaping your mouth.

“Since you were feeling so brave today let’s hope you keep that energy,” he growled into your ear.

“You gonna try and teach me a lesson?” you asked with a patronizing tone.

He chuckled and led you to the bed by your hair. Your heart was racing, your sexlife was by no means bland however, this was the first time he was this rough. It felt like the two of you were breaking the rules or something. Like discovering new and daunting territories. He reached his hand down and started feeling you through the hole in your panties he made. He let out a moan once he felt how wet you were.

“You are such a fucking slut, good to know being put in your place is all it takes for you to soak your panties,” he said, letting go of your hair.

He sat up onto his knees, instead of fully stripping his clothes, he just pulled his dick out of his zipper. Rubbing the tip against your pussy. Your chest was pressed against the mattress but your ass was pressed against his shaft. You start to rock your hips back and forth against him but he starts spanking his hands against your ass. The pain was so bad it burned, you thought he’d stop after a couple times but he kept going. Wanting to show you were handling the smacks, you try your best to take them without complaint. He was unrelenting and you finally begin to squirm away, which seemed to humor him,

“The more you fight and squirm, the more I wanna fuck you,” he said, running his nails down your now bright red ass.

“Fuck just do it already then,” you whine, in response he spits at your face.

“Cum slut’s don’t speak unless spoken to,” he said, pushing himself into your twitching and leaking pussy.

The feeling was enough to make your eyes roll back. After weeks of Lip blue-balling you, the sensation of being filled by him was pure bliss. He was going at a painfully slow rate, pulling himself fully in and out of you after every thrust. As pleasurable as it was, you’d do anything to get him to speed up. Unable to rock your own hips, you kick your feet a little in protest. This made him laugh and slow down even further. He grabbed your wrists and pressed them against your lower back, taking full control of your body. You were dripping down both thighs and tears pooled in your eyes. You were at your limit with his teasing, tightly clenching around him. He pulled out and flipped you onto your back, feeling too embarrassed to look him in the eye. Tears had stained your cheeks and your hair was in complete disarray from being yanked and pulled. He crawled on top of you and started pushing his tip in and out. You were bucking your hips up, tears coming back as he teased relentlessly.

“You’re sensitive here? Perfect spot to abuse huh?” he asked sarcastically, using one hand to smack his cock against your pussy.

In your own little world, trying to cum with what little friction he was giving you. He finally stops and instead wraps his hands around your neck. Then starts pounding into you, slowly tightening his grip over time. You were feeling dizzy and foggy, letting out a moan every time his length fully pressed into you. He was grunting and groaning, a couple beads of sweat dropping onto the bed from how much he was exerting himself. The closer you got to your orgasm the tighter his grip on your throat became. Your face was bright red and a wheezing sound came out of your mouth with every inhale. He seemed to be hummored by this and started to mock you.

“Can’t breathe? Good,” he chuckled.

The mixture of degradation and the fast paced abuse on your cunt was enough to send you over the edge. Shockwaves of pure pleasure began to ripple throughout your body. Legs trembling and eyes rolling back. He was chasing his own climax, seeing and feeling you cum around his cock was enough for him. Rutting into you with no regard for you, as if you were nothing but a toy for him. Seeing how he turned you into such a slutty mess made him feel feral. It wasn’t until he was fully finished that he removed his hands from your neck. After a small coughing fit, you began to come too. Lip was already up, using his shirt to clean you up. Pulling your hair out of your face and into a messy bun. You were half dead, completely exhausted and worn down. He laid down next to you, rubbing your back and whispering affirmations into your ear. You wrapped your arms around his neck, trying to be as close to him as you could.

“I’m glad I could fuck the attitude out of you,” he said, as you fell asleep.

#lip gallagher x fem reader #lip gallagher x reader #lip gallagher x y/n #lip gallagher imagine #lip gallagher smut #lip gallagher fanfiction #smut lip gallagher #one shot #smut fanfiction #fanfiction requests #rough smut #brat taming #shameless fanfic #shameless smut

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ahundredtimesover · 11 months ago

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I Want You to Stay (14) - FINALE (JJK)

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: boss!JK x assistant!reader; idiot strangers to lovers; slow slow burn; k-drama feels; angst, drama, fluff, smut

Chapter Warnings: foul/explicit language; alcohol consumption; arts, business/property devt, and book publishing talk that’s probably inaccurate; mentions of trauma & family drama; lots of fluff; explicit sexual content (lots of making out, oral (m & f receiving), body praise, un/protected sex) (18+)

Chapter Word count: 32.8k

Series Masterlist

Status: Complete

Series summary: Working for Jungkook isn’t the same as working for Hoseok. For starters, Jungkook doesn’t smile, he doesn’t appreciate you, and he gives you too much work. It doesn’t help that he’s incredibly handsome and has women at his beck and call. But as the tension grows, it becomes impossible to resist him. You’ve dedicated yourself to your job for 8 years so when you finally decide to put yourself first, he asks you to reconsider. And while you know that leaving is difficult, you learn that when it comes to Jungkook, staying is always so much harder.

Playlist 🎶: on the way home

A/N: And then it ends! Please bear with the length of this final chapter - it felt right to finish the series with all this 🤭 This was so satisfying to write despite the emotional roller coaster, and I just want to thank you for sticking with me through this and showing me/it so much love. It's a fanfic writer bucket list of mine to write boss JK! I hope you enjoy! 🥰 Like I've said before, I have plans for season 2, but I don't know if I'll actually be able to write it so 🤞🏽

And like always, my biggest thanks to @wonwoonlight for listening to me talk about this for months. 💕

Your heavy eyes flutter open before they close again, and for the briefest moment, you think you see Jungkook smiling at you, his doe eyes gazing at your sleeping form. You do it again, and right after your eyes fall shut, you feel soft lips on your bare shoulder, his warm breath heating your shivering body.

His absence causes you to quiver, but you’re too tired to move. Even if you weren’t, you probably wouldn’t be able to pull the covers over you, not when you have the said man leaving kisses down your spine and then back up to peck on your exposed cheek. Yet no matter how tempting it is to return them, your mind decides it just needs a bit more time to wake up, and so does your sore body that feels like it ran a marathon that you just weren’t trained for.

Because much as you took on Jungkook’s challenge last night about being able to have sex all night, as it turns out, you’re the one who couldn’t do it.

He first had you on top of him, kneading your ass and directing your movements while he pounded on you from below. The way he felt from that angle had your stomach in knots, and when he wrapped his arms around you to keep you steady while he tried to go deeper as he sucked and licked your neck, you were a goner.

You were on your back before you knew it. And while he aided you in coming down from your high through languid kisses and licks on your mouth, it wasn’t long before he had you keening again. His tongue lapped up your folds and swirled around your sensitive nub, and despite your mind feeling numb by then, your cunt throbbed for him. It wasn’t long before he was inside you again, thrusting into you fervently before slowing the pace and taking you more gently.

The way he grunted as you whispered for him to come suddenly rings in your mind. Coupled with his morning kisses all over your body, you moan in pleasure, and he hasn’t even done much yet.

Perhaps it’s also because of these luxurious Egyptian cotton sheets that are making you feel like you’re in heaven. Or the fact that they smell so good, too, like fresh laundry but more delicate, and all you want is to drown in this softness. So you do something close and bury your face on the pillow while you remain flat on your belly. You take a deep breath and release it with another moan.

“Sounds like someone slept well, huh?” You hear him chuckle, his mouth now detaching from your skin.

“You tired me out, Jungkook,” you hum, your eyes still closed as you bask in the comfort of his bed. “Why are you even awake?”

“Because I always wake up early. And it’s past 10,” he reasons. “I went for a run then hit the gym. I figured you’d be awake by now and well… you aren’t.”

“I—”

Your mind slightly catches some life as you hear that he’d just done a workout, so you take a peak and the sight doesn’t disappoint. He stands by the bedside with only his track pants on, his hands in his pockets with damp hair while he looks on as you slowly twist and turn on the bed.

“I—” you repeat.

“You don’t have to get up if you don’t want to. I’m sorry I woke you,” he says softly.

You catch on to his apologetic tone and it’s what forces you awake. You know he’s used to starting his day early and you… you’re used to burying yourself in your bed until you have to get up to eat. Having someone to spend your days with is probably something you’re both gonna have to start getting used to.

Your eyes finally open and stay that way, and despite his sweat having dried already, Jungkook still looks like he’s glowing against the late morning sun that’s shining through his bedroom window. You shift yourself and sit up, suddenly hyper aware of how naked you are… in his bedroom, and for a brief moment, you think it was all in your head.

With the sheets finally covering your body, you look at him, prompting him to sit on the edge of the bed and smile at you. You take his hand and caress the fingers that held you, that gave you pleasure, that traced patterns on your skin that you feel are now etched in its memory.

“Last night wasn’t a dream,” you utter, as if proclaiming it to the universe, as if claiming this reality for yourself.

“It better not be,” he laughs, softening when you do. “You, uh, you found me.”

“Well, you did tell me where to go,” you point out.

“Yes, unlike you,” he counters, recalling how your letter had just told him to find you with no instructions of where.

Your pout makes him laugh and it’s the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard, one you didn’t know when you’d hear again. But you give him a pass because he’s right, and all you want to do is make it up to him for making these past few weeks quite unbearable.

But he gets to you first, as he kisses your cheek. There’s adoration mixed with shyness in his eyes and tenderness with his every touch. You wouldn’t say it’s something you didn’t expect despite his usual detachment, but it strikes you just how much of this softness has been hiding underneath. You’ve seen him be protective of you and be caring, but this side of him is new. You suppose being mellow and giggly comes naturally once he’s allowed himself to be vulnerable and open up. Maybe it’s also just a result of last night’s events.

He removes the strands of your hair that had stuck to your face, and it dawns on you again that it’s morning and you had indeed just woken up. You whine that you’ve got crusty eyes and morning breath so you create some distance, but he just laughs and says he doesn’t care one bit.

“You’re pretty even in the morning,” he adds.

Jungkook watches you nibble your lips as you try to suppress a smile that you make anyway. When you’re bold about what you want from him, something inside him stirs, a certain kind of desire that explodes because he wants to fulfill your need, to make you feel good, to let you know that you affect him the same way.

But when you’re shy the way you are right now, as if you’re still trying to wrap your head around your new reality with him, giggling and grinning like a schoolgirl with a crush, he wants to just hold you in his arms and keep you there. Something softens in him because you - strong and stubborn you - gets flustered because of him. The competent and confident woman he knows suddenly doesn’t know what to say when he calls her pretty, which he’s glad he’s able to verbalize now. It used to be a thought that just constantly rang in his head, but one he tried so hard to quell. He gets to say it to you with confidence from now on and he’ll be able to say it everyday.

Once your face settles with a comfortable smile, he sighs in contentment, once again feeling like that dark cloud that hovered over him for years has gone away. Things used to feel so heavy as he wandered around an unknown place he's been in for so long, not knowing where to go. It’s as if the days just passed him by and he’d forgotten how he spent them because there wasn’t really much that he looked forward to.

Now he does, and he realized it when he woke up this morning and found you lying next to him. You were in deep sleep with your lips just slightly parted. Your hands were curled under your chin as you laid on your side, and there was this calmness on your face that gave him so much relief.

He felt light; he felt the darkness subside, too, and the unknown place he’d been wandering about suddenly looked familiar, yet it was still somehow new. There was that feeling of safety, of clarity, like he could do or be anything with you around. Those were things you gave him when you were still his assistant, and he gets to feel them again now that you’re so much more than that.

“What?” You ask, nudging him with your foot as he briefly zones out just thinking about all the things he wants to do with you.

“I was just savoring the look of you being flattered,” he hums. “It’s kinda cute.”

“Oh shush,” you laugh. “I’m just not used to it.”

“Well, it’s not like I could just say you’ll looked pretty when I was still your boss,” he points out.

“True,” you nod. “Good thing you aren’t anymore, then.”

“Exactly. So you’re just gonna have to get used to it.”

He looks at you as if it’s a warning, and you feel the heat rush to your cheeks.

“Noted, Mr. Jeon,” you whisper to tease.

“Fuck,” he groans. “I want to kiss you right now.”

“Don’t tell me that turned you on!” You gasp, giggling now as he shakes his head.

“Only if you say it like that!” He whines, the sultry tone of your voice echoing in his ears. “You know what, I’m gonna take a shower.”

“And I’m gonna brush my teeth so you can kiss me all you want!”

“I’m gonna have to get used to that, too,” he smiles.

“Well, it’s not like I could say that to you when I was still your assistant,” you repeat his words.

“And good thing you aren’t anymore, Ms. Cho,” he laughs, not wanting to get carried away right now.

You laugh as well before he leaves to take a shower. You give yourself this quiet time on your own to process where you are at this moment. You’re in a room you used to enter everyday, and your mere glances made you curious about what Jungkook kept in his personal space.

You’re here now, and you see that there’s really not much, other than a floor-to-ceiling window, a television, a bar cart, and a couch. He’s got an interesting light fixture and abstract art on the wall. His decorative pieces consist of small sculptures and framed buildings, but there are no photos or other mementos. You suppose he’s not really the type, and that just makes you hope that you can help him add a bit of personal touch so that his room could feel more comfortable, or maybe add a bit of warmth to an otherwise cold, monochromati space. You decide that’s something you’ll eventually figure out.

You take your phone from the bedside and finally reply to your mom and your friends with more details about last night. You merely told them that you and Jungkook have made up, but it’s just today that you’re telling them how it happened.

He converted the archives section to a children’s library, you say in your message. Found him in his office, we talked, and I spent the night at his place. That’s all for now. I’ll talk to you soon.

Soomin’s barrage of excited curses is immediate. Jimin says he’s happy for you. And your mom sends you a heart emoji and tells you to stay happy.

You send a message to Yoongi, too, saying that you found Jungkook and that now you can learn what your heart is capable of. You thank him again, even if you know that those words will never be enough.

Standing from the bed, you head to the bathroom to finally wash up, thinking that it’ll take a while more before Jungkook finishes. You brush your teeth as you face the mirror, seeing his silhouette behind the frosted glass of the shower enclosure from the reflection. He exits before you finish, and you slow your movements once he comes into view, naked and all wet, and somehow even more breathtakingly handsome than usual.

You try to act unbothered as you wash your face, only glancing up to see him with a towel around his waist and another one that he uses to dry his hair. The flex of his tattooed arm brings back memories from last night when it was propped up on your side, supporting his body while he thrusted relentlessly inside you. You gripped that arm when he went deeper, and it was the same one that held you when you started drifting off to sleep.

He stands behind you and gives you a boyish smile before wrapping his arms around your waist. You jerk a little in surprise but soften when his chin rests on your shoulder, and the way he looks comfortable and content has your heart soaring at this side of him - bold and vulnerable as he expresses the things he feels for you in action.

“Can I do this?” He asks as he buries his face in your neck.

“Jungkook, we’ve done a lot in the last 12 hours,” you remind him. “Why are you asking permission to hug me?”

“I just don’t want to overwhelm you.”

You turn around to face him and look at him questioningly, unable to follow. You’d think that given all that you’ve both done, simple affection like this is far from overwhelming.

“What I mean is… Sex is sex. With you, it’s meaningful and intimate. We’re so lost in the feeling of desire and all that but this…” he says, wrapping your arms around him as if to explain. “This… this is a different kind of intimate. Waking up next to each other, morning kisses, random hugs… they say something else.”

“And that is?” You ask after a beat of silence, needing that quiet to take in his words.

“That I want you beyond all that lust and that high,” he answers. “And this… This takes more from us. And I know that because this used to scare me. This… I don’t know, vulnerability I guess? Having someone next to me while I sleep, being the first thing they see in the morning, doing ordinary things with them like taking a shower or something. Holding their hand. Hugging them because it just feels right. I don’t know if I’m making sense but—”

“You are,” you interject, knowing exactly what he means.

You used to say how you were intimate with the men you dated but you couldn’t say that you shared intimacy with them. It was such an abstract concept for you. That familiarity, that emotional connection, that feeling of safety and belongingness, and of certainty and clarity seemed so intangible.

There’s a reason why you never had them over at your place, why you could sleep and wake up next to them in their homes but prefer to spend the rest of the day by yourself or with your friends. There’s a reason why you were cautious about the personal things you shared, about your dreams and fears, why you never let them close enough to know how to love you. Something was always lacking and a part of that was because you never allowed yourself to give them more than what they could touch. Your body was as far as they could go; your heart was a restricted place that no one could enter.

Until Jungkook, and suddenly that intimacy is something tangible. You can feel it when his arms are around you, you can hear it in his giggles, you can see it in his smile, you can smell it as he stands a breath away, and you can taste it in his mouth, one that welcomes you in when you kiss him tenderly. You know there’ll be more ways that it will be tangible to you, that it’ll be something real and definite, something your mind could at least try to grasp. And he’s right - doing this takes more from you than sex for the sake of it ever could.

You’re letting someone into a place you’ve kept to yourself for so long. And that itself could be quite disorienting and overwhelming. He gets it because it’s something he’s probably done before, and he’s doing it again now.

You tell him with the way you kiss him that you get it, too. You tell him by the way you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer that that’s where you want him, and that he’s settled in your heart so suddenly yet so certainly that you don’t want him to go anywhere.

You’re content with this. You feel your need for pleasure heighten, you feel that slight throbbing of your cunt and the need for friction, you feel that desire course through your veins but you’re satisfied with this intimacy you share. You say it with how tenderly your fingers graze his face, with how your hand gently rests on his bare chest, and with how your movements remain slow, focused on the feel of him more than anything else.

He understands your contentment, too, and he says it with how he follows your pace, with how he softly palms your bare thighs, and with how he nibbles your lips in affection. You both pull away to get some air but he tells you, too, through his soft kisses on your cheeks and your forehead before a final one on your nose that this is enough, and that right now, this is all he needs.

“I bought breakfast,” he tells you as he takes your hand in his then leads you out of the bathroom. He grabs a pair of shorts from his closet while you watch on. “I got those street toasts and some pastries. I’ll warm them up and heat the coffee. Is that okay?”

“Of course,” you respond, giddy at the thought that he bought those for you. You mentioned in passing last night that you’ve missed eating them after being at your mom’s place for much of the week. “You still don’t have anything in your fridge or your pantry.”

“Exactly. So uh, I was thinking we could go do some groceries today and I can make something for you for a change, and no, the eggs on toast that one time don’t count.”

You’re endeared by the shy look on his face, and it’s not really one you can say no to.

“Sure, that would be nice,” you smile.

“I was hoping you’d, uh, stay the night again. And again. I canceled work for the team on Monday but I have to meet Hoseok and my father. Maybe I should cancel that, too.”

“And tell them, what? That you’re gonna be with me?” You chuckle. “That’s not happening. This… this can’t come between you and your job, okay?” You remind him, as you don’t want your newly formed relationship to negatively affect him, especially after all the work he’s done to be what he is now. “Work comes first. I’ll always understand.”

“It goes both ways,” he hums, as he sets the food in front of you. “So, when do you start your new job?”

“Next Monday,” you answer. “Which reminds me… I have to shop for trousers and dresses.”

“So, a wardrobe change, huh?” He asks, placing the cup of coffee and glass of water on the table before taking the seat next to you.

“Sort of. The pencil skirts feel restrictive. Plus, every time we ate out, I was always scared that the zipper would pop or something,” you laugh.

“It always felt odd that that was the recommended outfit for assistants,” he says. “I liked them on you though… respectfully speaking.”

You playfully shake your head at his statement, but he defends that they always paired well with your pastel-colored blouses that he claims bring out the color of your eyes.

“Well, I’ll still be using those. I just need to pair them with something else less formal.”

“We can go shopping today then,” he suggests. “Not unless that’s something you want to do on your own. I understand if it is. I mean, I… I don’t want to impose. I… I didn’t even ask you what you wanted to do today.”

“I didn’t really have anything in mind. My weekends are usually just spent doing chores and errands or watching stuff at home or in my local theater,” you say. “Not unless my friends visit or I go home. Other than that I just… do whatever I feel like on my own. And you? What do you usually do on weekends?”

“Work, gym, drink, watch sports, sleep,” he chuckles, recalling those days of loneliness and nothingness, which really wasn’t that long ago. “Meet my parents if I have to, hang out with my friends if I’m in the mood.”

“And go to the clubs?” You cock an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I guess,” he hums, knowing what you’re alluding to. “I do it less frequently now, though. I just go there to catch up with them then I go home. Don’t you do that, too?”

“Only when Jimin and Soomin are here. Socialite stuff, you know?” You explain.

“I guess,” he shrugs. “But we can do anything you want today. It’s up to you.”

“Okay, then shopping it is,” you smile at him, thinking it’s something fun that you could do together.

You think anything with him would be, and it excites you to know that many of the things you used to do alone is something you could now share and do with him. Maybe you could even do something new, like some outdoor activity or go to the arcades or even do a ghost tour just because.

But something ordinary like going to the groceries and shopping for new clothes are things you want to experience with him, too. They’re those intimate acts that he talked about earlier - simple and mundane, yet special and comfortable.

As you watch him in his plain shirt and shorts with his legs spread out as he sits on the chair beside you, and with him asking if you’re full and if there’s anything else you want, you think about all the days you’d spent on your own. There was always a certain kind of peace you felt then; you were alone but you weren’t lonely.

There were days when it got to you though, as you thought that it was probably nice to have someone to share a meal with, to laugh with as you watched your variety shows, and to lay next to as you talked about your day. You dwelled on the scenes that played in your head only briefly, knowing that there wasn’t anyone in your life then that you wanted to do those simple, mundane things with.

But with Jungkook here with you now, sharing those with someone does seem to require a level of vulnerability you hadn’t really thought about. You’re letting him in a space that’s always just had you in it, doing things that gave you peace, that gave you energy, that gave you those bits of happiness. He’ll no longer just be getting a peek into the world you carved for yourself; he’ll now truly be a part of it. And you want him to know that even if it may seem like it’s overwhelming, you welcome him completely.

“What you said earlier about not wanting to overwhelm me,” you start, “I… I appreciate that. This isn’t just a new side of you I’m experiencing. This is also a new side of myself that I’m getting to know, that I’m going to get used to.”

“I know. And I understand that,” he responds, turning to face you now. “People bring out parts of ourselves that we didn’t know we had. Or forgotten we had.”

“I guess. I’ve just… I’ve just never had a proper relationship before, you know? I’ve dated people but there were sides of me I didn’t wanna show, and there were things that I couldn’t really bring myself to do.”

“Such as?”

“Lingering,” you say after a beat of silence. “Little forms of affection that you mindlessly do,” you continue, fiddling with his fingers. “And meeting the parents. That was always too much for me.”

“Well, you’ve met mine,” he points out. “You knew them before you even knew me.”

There’s no bitterness in his voice but you’re reminded of the secret you kept, and that it’s something you still haven’t really acknowledged.

“I’m sorry about keeping that from you,” you bow your head. “I didn’t plan on deceiving you or anything. And I didn’t think it mattered. It only did once I started liking you. And I got too caught up with what I felt that I didn’t tell you right away.”

“Hey, you had your reasons,” he nudges your knee so you’d look at him. You look up and see the softness in his eyes. “And I’ll never fault you for them. You did what you had to do and I’m just glad you stayed long enough for us to meet again. I admit I… I thought that maybe you mistook your feelings for loyalty. That you cared because you thought you had to. And I’m sorry I did.”

“You had your reasons, too,” you answer. “And I’m sorry that’s what you thought after I kept it all from you. But it wasn’t hard to care about you, Jungkook,” you smile now. “What was hard was stopping myself from doing so. Even your parents noticed that. I guess I don’t have to prove that to them anymore. I’d like to think that with all the talks I had with your father, they already approve of me being with their son.”

His shy smile makes you feel giddy, as he bites his lip and the little dip on his cheek turns up.

“Well, I hope that your mom approves of me being with her daughter after that one talk with her,” he says worriedly.

“After expressing your feelings for me like that? Of course she does,” you giggle. “She told me not to go back to the house unless I’m with you so… yes, she definitely approves.”

“That’s a relief. I mean, after everything I put you through?”

His face falls a little and you’re starting to learn that he needs assurance every once in a while. So you give it to him, as you surprise him by sitting on his lap and cupping his face with your hands.

“We put each other through a lot but we’re together now,” you remind him. “We’re done with being idiots.”

“We are,” he chuckles, agreeing with Yoongi and Mr. Ri who fondly and frustratingly called you that. “But your mother might be serious about not welcoming you back there until I’m with you so let’s schedule that trip, okay? Maybe I could meet her husband, too?”

“They’re not actually married,” you sigh, shifting so that you’re leaning on his chest now. “They’ve been together for over 10 years and Min-woo has even proposed but she doesn’t think marrying is necessary. They’re committed, they’re happy, she treats Yoon-chae and Yeo-jin like her daughters. This… this family is all they need, not a marriage. Plus, it’s quite expensive to do that and she’s just being practical.”

“Do you agree with her?”

“I guess,” you shrug. “I mean, what else is stronger than love? Than committing your whole self to that person?”

“Committing the rest of your life to them,” Jungkook responds.

He knows it’s not easy though. He’d seen his parents drift apart but he also saw them stand by each other after all that. Maybe they had to because that’s what commitment means - it’s an obligation, a duty; it gives the person no choice but to stay. But then again, after speaking to them more regularly these past weeks, he’s seen their little acts of care and support for each other, of understanding and trust. Perhaps commitment is also that devotion, that promise and constancy, that tangibility of connection and permanence.

“Maybe,” you hum. “I think it’s just a fear that she never really got over. Her parents divorced. My biological father had plans of marrying her only to leave before I was born. She says she doesn’t want to taint what she already has with Min-woo over some symbolic act that’s hurt her twice before. And I don’t blame her. Things hurt us and then… we just get scared. It’s human nature, I think.”

“That’s true. I… I’m proof of that,” he whispers, as if in shame.

“So am I,” you utter, shifting now so you can look at him again in assurance. “It wasn’t even my pain I carried; it was hers. But that still kept me from accepting good things. I was scared to open myself up, I was scared to love…”

Love. It’s a foreign word to you in the context of romance. It’s something that seemed easy to understand but you realized that feeling it isn’t. Nor is finding it. You know you’ve never felt anything like how Jungkook makes you feel, and you wonder if love is something like this, and if it’s something that he feels, too.

“I get it,” he looks away. “It’s not easy to do nor is it easy to take. You never know if you’re good enough for it or if you deserve it. I learned that the hard way, and I still don’t think I…” he trails, shaking his head, as if it’s too much or too soon for him to say.

You suppose it is. You don’t know much about his relationships but you do remember Taehyung mentioning an ex-girlfriend before, someone whom Jungkook seemed to have loved so much, given the heartbreak he suffered through after the breakup. You wonder if he’ll ever talk about her, or if it even matters. He’s already let you in, and you don’t want to give him a reason to shut you out or feel like you’re intruding. Your relationships are hard to talk about, too, not because they hurt you but because you feel ashamed of them. There are crevices in your heart that you want to leave untouched; you suppose that so does he.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, hoping he’d look at you again.

He eventually does, the softness on his face returning when you tell him you understand. He nods and smiles, pulling you close for a languid kiss, his grip on your waist tightening as you match his slow place.

Jungkook feels you smile against his lips. Whatever heaviness he felt earlier as he talked about love, something he’s been afraid to have again after he shunned it away, disappears.

That’s what kissing you does to him, he’s learning now. It makes the pain hurt less. It makes him forget about his burdens. It makes him feel something he hasn’t in a long time. It makes him hope that he’s capable of doing right by you this time.

And with how you hug him tightly after you pull away to breathe, he knows that kissing you gives him that strength to face whatever it is he’s still afraid of, and that you’ll stand by him until he’s ready.

You watch Jungkook from next to your closet as you wear your slip-on dress, a practical outfit given your shopping plans this afternoon. You’ve gone back to your apartment for a change of clothes and to bring some back to his place, and you left him in your living room as you packed your stuff from several meters away.

He stands by your couch, hands in his pockets as he looks at your photos on the shelf. He has a faraway look in his eyes, one that’s different from the times he zones out and temporarily escapes to somewhere in his head. You wonder what specific photo he’s focused on and what he’s thinking, so you walk over to him and stand on his side.

It’s the one of you in your uniform during your first day at your new school in Busan. You don’t remember much from that day but your mom said you were shy to make friends. She told you that she was going to just be around because she worked there, too. You smiled just like she asked as she knelt down next to you while a moment marking your new life in a new town was being memorialized.

You don’t recall taking that many pictures growing up but apparently she did, as she gave you a box of them when you moved back to Seoul on your own. They were all memories from a past you either couldn’t remember or tried hard to forget, but somehow she kept the good ones, perhaps to remind you that in the midst of all that nightmare, she did her best to keep you safe and happy.

“You have your mother’s smile,” Jungkook says. “It’s very warm and encouraging. I get it now, why my father thought you were just like her. You’ve always had this tenderness ever since you were young.”

“I guess,” you hum. “Who’d know the pain underneath all that, right?”

“I’m sorry for what you had to go through,” he turns to you, feeling that tinge of pain in recalling what you experienced as a child.

“And I’m sorry for what it did to your family,” you sigh, an apology that took you this long to give.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he responds, turning his gaze back to the photo. “I let the resentment get to me. I guess… my parents didn’t deserve that.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that you were hurt, Jungkook. Your parents will always carry that with them. But they… they saved us. They helped us get away,” you remind him.

“I know. You get to be next to me because of them and that… that’s helped me alot,” he admits. “It helped me understand and forgive.”

“That’s good. I’m sure that means everything to them.”

There’s silence as his eyes remain focused on the photo, and you wonder what else he’s thinking, if there’s anything else he’s sorry or thankful for.

“I’m trying so hard to remember meeting you that day,” he finally says, with a hint of desperation in his voice. “I’ve buried so many memories and this is the one I wish I kept but I… I can’t because it’s gone. I hate that it is.”

“I’ve been trying to remember you, too,” you respond. “I almost didn’t believe my mom when she said that we’ve met before. She never told me about it but she said it slipped her mind. It was a long time ago and so much happened that day. Seeing you with that chocopie triggered that memory, I guess. We don’t really talk about that time anymore. And I hate that it’s buried somewhere in my mind. But it’s a nice thought, isn’t it?” You turn to him. “We met all those years ago and we never knew. But I kept you with me in the form of a dessert that I still absolutely love, that I eat whenever I’m sad or alone or upset. Connections aren’t fleeting, I’m sure of it now. You’re proof of that.”

He returns your look, one of sadness but acceptance. It’s one of those things you’re both going to have to deal with, as all the truths about your past come to light. You hope you can just focus on the good things from now on, and with how his lips slowly turn up in a smile, you think that so does he.

“That’s true,” he hums. “You stuck it out for me without even knowing. That’s… that’s pretty special.”

“It is,” you say, wrapping your arms around his waist for a hug and hearing him release a breath when you do. He returns the affection immediately, and realizing that it’s something you both naturally give to and receive from each other makes you smile. “It’s as if there was some invisible string that kept pulling me towards you. It’s kinda stubborn like me, I think.”

It’s a thought you hold close to your heart. You’re not really one who believes in fate, but with Jungkook, it’s easy to fall into it. You can’t help but think that beyond the debt you felt you had to pay, you unknowingly stayed in the company for another reason, and perhaps that’s so you could meet him and remember it this time.

You held out so you could build something with him, so you could learn to want to be free, and then want it enough to finally put yourself first. You’re only able to be with him because of that choice, and despite what it took for you to get here, it’s that same string that’s keeping you from regretting all your decisions.

He responds with a soft kiss on your lips, one that you quickly melt into. The tender moment is slightly disrupted when he kneads your ass, something you’re also learning he’s quite fond of doing, causing you to yelp in surprise and laugh in response. But he just giggles and says he can’t help it. He buries his face in your neck, the feel of him so close warming your insides as he seems to crave that proximity, too.

His phone ringing prompts him to pull away, and you let him go once he greets his mother on the other line.

“Hello, my dear,” she chirps. “How are you feeling today? Your father told me that you left the Arts Center quite early last night.”

“Uh, yeah, I did,” he hums, sitting on the couch now while he watches you finish your packing. “I was just tired from all the socializing.”

“I understand. I can imagine how exhausted you must feel. Were you able to get some rest?”

“Sort of,” he answers, smiling internally at how the night went.

Sure, there was a bit of rest, if he counts the four hours of sleep he had because he just couldn’t get enough of you. Even when he was spent from all that you did, he’d just take you in his arms and all you had to do was smile at him or softly kiss his lips and then he wanted to go another round.

He supposes that all the built-up tension and months of holding himself back had just exploded, and he wants every opportunity he could have to show you how much you mean to him.

“Well, even then, I was hoping you’re free for dinner tonight,” his mother says. “Think of it as a celebration now that your big project is completed.”

“I, uh, I’m kinda busy tonight,” he responds. “Maybe we can have dinner another time?”

“What else could you possibly be busy with this time?” She asks, but she doesn’t sound offended.

There’s a tone of acceptance in her voice. Jungkook knows she’s used to this, but he doesn’t want this to continue being a norm. He genuinely wants to make time for them, and it’s something you encouraged him to do, too. But he’s still caught up with his new reality with you, so he decides to be honest instead.

“Being with ___,” he admits. “We finally talked and we, uh, we spent the night together. And we’re going out today.”

“Oh, that’s amazing news,” she sighs in relief. “Your father can breathe easy now. And he can finally claim to be a matchmaker,” she chuckles.

Jungkook hears his old man in the background say that it took 20 years but he’ll take it.

“Is he next to you?” Jungkook laughs.

“He is,” she responds. “He said he saw ___ last night and she was looking for you, but he wasn’t sure how to ask you how it went. So he asked me to invite you to dinner and see if you had plans and well, we’re glad you do.”

“Yeah, we just have a lot to make up for,” he explains, glancing at you. “If you were serious about a celebratory dinner then we can have it another day. Is that okay?”

“Of course, my dear,” she responds. “What about next weekend?”

“I’ll confirm with her and let you know.”

“Alright, son. Well, we don’t want to keep you,” his mother says. “You and ___ have a good day, okay? We’ll see you soon.”

You watch Jungkook smile through the conversation with his parents, something you assume hasn’t happened in years. It’s nice to see him slowly start to mend their relationship. And though you want him to spend time with them, you also can’t help but want to have him all to yourself, and staying in where he promised to cook you his speciality for dinner is how you want to spend your Saturday evening.

The thought excites you. Everything that happened last night just intensified your desire for him. For months, the affection you felt towards him slowly developed. And for months after, you tried to downplay it and hold yourself back from all you could feel. Now, you get to have him in all the ways you want, and it’s overwhelming. What once was a battle of conflicting emotions in your head and heart has been replaced with an overflow of them - all good ones, and it’s a new experience.

It’s a new experience being able to talk about the things that hurt you, that scared you, that you dream about, just like you did last night while you sat on the couch. It’s new being entangled with someone under soft sheets and actually wanting to stay. It’s new sharing a meal with someone while you talk about your plans for the day, and then holding their hand while they drive later on. It’s a new experience welcoming someone into your home and imagining spending days with them here.

It’s also a new experience being able to openly ogle them, like what you’re doing now as you gaze at Jungkook sitting on your couch, phone still in hand as he now talks to Seokjin on the phone.

He’s donned in a pair of jeans and plain white shirt with a baseball cap on, a casual ensemble that still has you melting because of how comfortable he looks. The thin, silver chain is an unexpected accessory, and he said it’s something he’s always had but rarely wore. But upon seeing your satisfied look, he said he’ll wear it from now on. The way he smirked at you plays in your head, and with how he’s got his legs splayed out and his hand behind his head, you start to feel that familiar knot in your belly. You turn around before you get tempted to do anything. And while you’re free to do so, some self-discipline wouldn’t hurt.

You’re not pressed for time so you let him continue with his call. Based on what you hear, he’s updating his best friends about what happened last night, and his groans tell you that they’re probably teasing him about it. Affectionately, you assume.

You decide to water your plants while waiting. It's been days. Some leaves have started to dry up so you remove those, too. You’re focused on what you’re doing and jerk in surprise when you feel Jungkook’s arms wrap around your waist. But you settle in his hold immediately, leaning on his chest and humming in contentment now that your plants look better and more alive.

“Sorry I kept you waiting,” he says, his chin resting on your shoulder now.

“It’s alright,” you reply. “How did the talk with your parents go? And your friends?”

“All fine. My parents want to have dinner and the guys want to go to a club,” he sighs. “But I said you’re my priority right now and not them, so they just have to wait until I’m free, which probably won’t be for a while since we have plans and all.”

“And what are those plans?” You turn around and ask.

“I don’t know, we’ll just have to make them.”

You playfully shake your head and lay your hands on his chest, a habit you think you’re going to develop with the way he constantly pulls you close.

“We could make plans with them,” you say softly. “Not unless you, uh, don’t want to.”

“Don’t be silly,” he frowns. “Of course I do. I just don’t want to impose and have you spend time with my family and friends if you don’t want to.”

“Why won’t I want to?” You frown back. “Plus, that’s part of being with you, isn’t it? Spending time with the people you care about?”

“It is,” he smiles. “So, uh, what do you think about next Saturday? We can have dinner with my parents then go out with the guys and then say we’re tired so we can leave early?”

“That’s… that’s quite the plan,” you laugh.

“Or we could just reschedule time with Seokjin and Taehyung. They’ll understand.”

“I’m fine with that, too,” you nod. “And then maybe we could also, uh, make the trip to Daegu and I can properly introduce you to my family?”

“That sounds good,” he nods. “And what about your friends? That is, if they want to spend time with me. And by they, I mean Jimin.”

You snort in response to Jungkook's statement, which he’s not wrong for making. The last time they were in the same room together, you felt the tension through the roof.

“He’s just being protective, as he should,” you explain. “He’s seen me date men who turned out to be shitty and he just wants to make sure I’m treated well. And that I’m happy. And I am, so he’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure that’s all?” Jungkook questions.

“Yes,” you assure him. “We’ve been best friends for 20 years. It’s natural to be cautious about people. At least he is because I’m clearly not.”

“Okay,” he hums. “We’ll make plans, then. And then we can go to one of our properties in Gwangju. And Jeju. And anywhere you want to go to. We could fly to Japan or Europe or wherever, really.”

“Alright, one at a time,” you chuckle, the mix of excitement and nervousness filling you up. “Let’s not forget that I have a budget and limited leaves.”

“Which we’ll work out,” he says, adding that he’s definitely not going to make you spend a single cent. “But we could also just stay in or go to a park or watch movies. Anything, really.”

There’s a sadness in his eyes that you recognize, like this admission of longing that he doesn’t want to acknowledge. You soften as you caress his face, wanting him to know that whatever it is he wants to do, you want to do all of those with him, too.

“I… I don’t know when the last time was that I actually looked forward to the weekend,” he admits. “I didn’t actually like it, only because I was forced to not work. And I always wanted to work. It… it made me forget how lonely I really was.”

He looks away, as he reveals a part of him that he’s never shared to anyone.

It wasn’t always like this. His teenage years were filled with holidays with his parents and weekends in their scenic properties despite the distance he felt from them. But he couldn’t wait to grow up, to be independent and live life his way. He studied hard and by the time he was in university, he was working at the company already, eager to learn and earn money, something he continued to do when he did his postgraduate studies in Singapore.

But he had Chaerin then, and his life was filled with excitement and happiness. There was always something to do, something to look forward to, until he lost it all and became a shell of who he was. There was so much void within that continued to get larger the more he spent time on his own after the breakup.

He worked even harder because he didn’t know what to do with his time. He bought useless things because he didn’t know what to do with his money. He went to clubs and slept around because he didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts, only so he wouldn’t be faced with the reality that he wasn’t happy, that all the things he wanted - a sense of purpose, a hand to hold - were out of his reach.

The Arts Center was his saving grace. It gave his life meaning, as he sought meaning through it. And that’s what allowed him to be here with you. In building something for others, he realized how strong his desire for intimacy was, and how much he wanted to experience the world with someone, to share in its joys and difficulties, to learn what more he could give and get from it. And you’re everything tangible that used to just be a blur to him.

In building something for you, he realized how much he wants you to be happy, how much he wants you to always be safe. And he gets to be that person who makes it happen.

It’s barely been a day but he supposes it’s why he can’t get enough of you, why he constantly reaches out, needing to know you’re next to him and not some image he conjured in his mind. It’s why he wants to make all these plans, so he could experience all the things he’s wanted but was always afraid to feel because of the fear of losing it one day.

“There are so many places I want to explore and I want us to do them together,” you whisper, tilting his chin so he faces you again. “There are all these things I want to try and experience, even some things I usually do on my own that I want to share with you. I get you, Jungkook. I let days pass me by. All I did was look forward to something I didn’t even know. Now I know what I want, and that includes having them with you.”

His eyes soften as you utter the words, with your fingers tracing his face as if to see if he’s real, too, and if happiness is something that you can finally touch.

“You don’t have to feel alone anymore,” you continue. “And I don’t have to feel that way, either, because you’re there. I want you to always be there.”

“I will,” he smiles, gently pressing his lips onto yours. “And we can do whatever you want.”

“Okay. A ghost tour is on my list,” you say, thinking to lighten the mood.

“It is, huh?” He laughs. “I mean, sure. I can definitely protect you.”

“You mean, I can protect you,” you counter.

“___, I’m scared of thunder, not ghosts. I think I’ll be fine,” he chuckles.

“And I’m scared of the living, not the dead, so I’ll be fine, too,” you point out. “I’ve always wanted to try it but I didn’t want a spirit to latch onto me because I was alone.”

“I don’t think that’s how it goes,” he playfully shakes his head. “But sure, we can do that. Anything else?”

“Hmm. Something outdoors? I… I really liked it when we were at your lake house and we sat on the rocks by the stream,” you reminisce. “It was very peaceful and it was just nice being out there.”

“Did you like it when you had your arms around me during the ATV ride, too?” He smirks. “Because I did.”

“It was bumpy,” you pout. “I should drive it next time and you can be my passenger.”

“Gotta learn how to drive first,” he teases. “How come you never learned?”

“Because it didn’t seem practical to learn and not have a car to drive,” you reason. “I’ll just forget it so I never bothered. Probably when I’m in my forties and I can afford to buy one.”

“Or I can get you one.”

He looks at you like he’s serious, and he probably is. So you draw the line before he thinks it’s okay for him to do that.

“You won’t. I will not accept it,” you say sternly. “And you will not buy me anything of that kind.”

“Fine. But I can buy you other things like jewelry and clothes and—”

“Jungkook, you know I don’t like you for your money, right?” You frown. “I know we’re leagues apart in terms of wealth and I—”

“I know,” he says, pulling open your crossed arms and wrapping them around him again. “I’m just saying that I want to buy you things because I like you. It’s… just a way for me to show you how I feel. No cars, I promise.”

“Good. I’m not gonna be able to drive it anyway,” you laugh.

“I can always teach you,” he says. “It’s still a good skill to have, you know?”

“Hmm, maybe one of these days,” you smile.

“So in the meantime, I can get you something else. Maybe something for work? Please?”

He uses his doe-eyes to convince you, and it doesn’t take much. You suppose that for someone who’s not always good with words, buying you things is a way for him to make up for it. He built you a library, after all. You’re not always good with words, either, but perhaps accepting what he gives is a way for you to show him how you feel, too, among other things.

“Fine,” you give in. “Just one thing.”

You find yourself hours later in a boutique shop on a quiet street in Incheon.

You and Jungkook agreed that doing your shopping in the neighboring city will keep you from running into people that you don’t want knowing about your relationship at this point, such as the management support team or anyone else, really.

You went to a shopping center after the hour-long drive. You opted for mid-range brands that offered comfortable basics, stocking up on slacks and tops to match the blazers and coats that you already have. You picked some flowy skirts and dresses, too, while Jungkook convinced you to get some of the statement pieces that caught your eye.

He was an engaged companion, carrying your basket as you walked around and then finding you when you wandered too far. He gave approving nods whenever you showed something to him, surprising you when he’d comment that you already have a similar colored top. He looked embarrassed then, when he explained that you had outfits that stuck with him. You admitted that so did you, with his charcoal and navy suits as your favorites.

He sported that shy smile again, a sight you never thought you’d one day be spoiled with. It always gave you a kind of comfort that you’ve never felt before, and you suppose it’s why you wanted to keep seeing it. Doing this with him today has given you that same feeling, especially when he’d look at you satisfied and say that he really likes how the outfit looks on you.

You passed on the premium outlet shopping center, stating your case to Jungkook that you’re not one to wear luxury brands to a place as constant as your workplace. And while you agreed to him buying you something, you said you preferred it to be one of quality, and not just because it was expensive. Which is why you’re currently in this local boutique store selling the prettiest shoes you’ve ever seen.

The name sounds familiar, and you remember going through some fashion magazines at Taehyung’s shop and seeing this listed on a best new brands list. Deservingly so, it seems, as the collection before you boasts of a variety of simple and statement designs that look soft and comfortable, too. You’re particularly drawn to the colored ones, since you could never wear those styles before. Your recommended outfits only allowed basic and muted colors, so your black and nude pumps were your go-to. And while you’ll still be wearing those, you definitely want a pair that would stand out. Or two.

“See anything you like?” Jungkook breaks through your thoughts.

You turn to him with a sparkle in your eyes as you nod shyly.

“See anything you really like?” He chuckles as he walks towards you and you nod again.

“Tell me,” he urges.

You get the ones that caught your eye - a pair of orange satin pumps and these olive green suede heels with ankle straps. You love the hues and how they’ll contrast some of your neutral-colored outfits, but right now, you don’t know which one you want more.

“I can’t choose between these two,” you say, scrunching your eyebrows.

“Easy. We get both of them,” Jungkook replies as he asks the staff to get your size.

He stands in front of you as you try each pair, his eyes following you as you walk around the store and check yourself in the mirror. He softens at your smile as you look at your reflection. There’s wonder in it, and he’s glad that he’s able to give this to you, of all things. It’s cliche but those shoes will take you to places; he looks forward to being next to you when they do.

He giggles when you wear one of each pair and keep turning positions to see how you look in them.

“Hey, I’m serious,” he says. “We can get both of them. You can even get more.”

“But I don’t want you to spoil me,” you pout.

“But I will,” he insists, standing in front of you now. “I liked the smile you had earlier. I want to keep making you smile like that. And no, I don’t think you’re being materialistic or anything,” he adds before you unnecessarily defend yourself. “They’re pretty things and I want to give them to you.”

“Fine,” you pout again. “Do you like them, at least?”

“They’re nice,” he compliments.

“Just nice?” You frown. “That’s what you said the first time you saw me in a dress.”

Your teasing smile makes him laugh, but it somehow comforts him. He remembers that day clearly, when you accompanied him to Taehyung’s shop to fit the suits made for him, and you tried on the gowns that his best friend made for you, too. Seeing you in that burgundy attire made his heart drop, and that’s what’s been happening every single time that he sees you all dressed up. He didn’t think you’d remember but apparently, it stuck with you.

“It’s not like I could say that you looked stunning then, now could I?” He cocks an eyebrow.

“So that’s what you thought, huh?” You nibble your lower lip.

“Always,” he responds. “It’s been hard keeping myself together ever since.”

The heat rushes to your cheeks at his confession, and for all the times you cursed yourself for being unprofessional for finding him attractive, you at least don’t feel too bad now that he thought the same.

“That makes both of us,” you smirk, liking how he playfully shakes his head and turns away.

He wants to kiss you right now but he knows it’s not the time nor place.

“So, both of these shoes, then?” He confirms. “Are you sure you only want two?”

“Yes. You’ve spoiled me enough already,” you state.

He concedes, even if he really wants to buy you more. He wants to shower you with so many things but he doesn’t want to overwhelm you with that side of him just yet, so he’ll take things slow for now.

He walks with you to the counter where he pays for the shoes. He sees the sparkle in your eyes when he takes the shopping bags from the staff and there’s something so wholesome about how you look that has his insides warming up.

“You like them, too, right?” You ask as you both walk out the store to head back to the car.

“Of course,” he hums. “They’re pretty and you like them. Plus, I saw the reviews that said the shoes are comfortable and sturdy. And you need that. I can’t have you tripping yourself because of unstable heels and then falling into the arms of some man again. I won’t be there to catch you anymore.”

“Hey,” you pull his arm to get his attention, frowning at him when he turns to you at the reminder of that Arts Center incident. “That was one time.”

“You trip on yourself when you’re on the ladder, too,” he points out. “And I’m always there breaking your fall.”

“And why are you?” You cock an eyebrow. “You always had your eyes on me, didn’t you, Mr. Jeon?”

“Couldn’t help it, even if I wasn’t supposed to,” he says. “I just found myself always looking out for you. And you just happened to be tripping a few of those times.”

You laugh in response because he’s not wrong, but it’s also a way for you to tell him it’s okay. You suppose you weren’t the only one paying attention because he seemed to do that a lot with you. And the more you think about it, the more you realize that the feelings you once doubted were sincere have been present all this time. But he held himself back, just like you did. He tried not to cross the line because he knew it wouldn’t be right until you did, and all he wanted was to keep you close so he could be there for you. Because the moment he knew what was keeping you there, he made the difficult decision of letting you go.

You smile at the thought, learning now that when it comes to you, Jungkook is attentive. He’s protective and he wants to make you happy, to shower you with gifts, to make you experience good things in life because it’s his way of expressing his feelings. You may be starting a new job that requires you to be apart from him, but in his own ways, he’s still looking out for you.

You want to carry him with you as you take on a new challenge, too. And you’ll look back on today as a way for you to do that. It’s in the shoes that he bought for you; it’s in his company and patience as you went around looking for clothes earlier; it’s in the experience of doing something together.

A sigh of relief escapes you as you settle in the passenger seat. It’s been tiring but also really fun, and you smile again at the thought of being able to do this for yourself.

Since your first visit at Rkive Publishing, you’ve been envisioning how you’d look and how your days were going to be. It filled you with excitement seeing that image of you in your mind - dressed in clothes that made you feel comfortable but powerful, in an environment that was challenging but exhilarating, in a place that didn’t make you feel stuck or constrained. It truly feels like a new beginning, and you didn’t realize that the simple act of shopping could make you see yourself differently, that it could make your approach to work feel more relaxed.

“I didn’t know you enjoyed shopping that much,” Jungkook says. “Guess we’ll have to do that again.”

“I didn’t know, too,” you chuckle. “But I think it’s more than that,” you turn to him with a soft smile. “I don’t think I’ve ever really shopped for a full wardrobe before. All my office clothes were hand-me-downs from my mom when I started working and I just gradually bought my own over the years. But now I get to buy all these new things for what I feel like is a new chapter in my life, you know? It sounds silly but I’m pretty sentimental about it.”

“It’s not silly,” he replies. “You’re doing something that you chose, that you’re happy with. That means everything.”

His eyes soften and you realize that you haven’t really talked about your resignation. And with all your excitement for your new job, the last thing you want is for you to think that you felt burdened by working for him.

“Jungkook, I… I’m sorry for resigning when I did,” you start, earning you a shake of his head. “I don’t want you to think that I wasn’t happy working for the company. Because I had great moments, and you were one of them,” you explain.

He nods as he takes in your words, and you take his hand to tell him you mean them.

“It was hard at first but I stuck it out because it felt ungrateful of me to leave,” you continue. “Things got better when I was under Hoseok but there was always that feeling that I didn’t deserve everything, even if I was giving all of myself to the job. And that was all on me. I realized that I was the one who couldn’t move on from my past. And I just constantly felt stuck. Working hard was all I knew how to do until I didn’t know myself anymore but you… You helped me realize what I was missing. You helped me realize what I could be.”

“How?” He asks.

“The Arts Center,” you say. “Learning about why you wanted to build it showed me that it’s what I wanted, too - to create meaning, to connect people to something, to experience something tangible that could stay with us. You were so passionate about it and I wanted to be passionate about something just like you. And I’m sorry I had to leave because of that. And well, I also really like you and it didn’t feel right to stay any longer after what happened.”

“I didn’t realize that it meant that much to you,” he responds, caressing your hand now.

“It did. It still does. Being there last night made me feel so many things, especially the library,” you say. “I think I’ll need time to really soak everything in.”

“We can do that tomorrow,” he suggests. “It’ll be open until late all weekend and we can go around if you want.”

“I’d really like that,” you smile at him.

He smiles back but there’s still that tinge of sadness in his eyes, and you continue looking at him to urge him to say what he wants to say.

“I should’ve asked you why you wanted to leave instead of asking you to stay,” he sighs. “I probably would’ve understood. I mean I… I’m working for my family and it’s all I’ll ever do. I’ve lost myself in it, too. I know it’s not the same but I guess that’s why constructing the Arts Center mattered that much to me. It was different. I felt like it was the only way I could find meaning in what I was doing, something that went beyond my duties to my family. I… I learned what I wanted to be for someone, too, because of you. So I understand why you have to do this for yourself, ___,” he turns to you with an assuring look. “After everything settled, I knew that leaving would be the only way for you to be truly happy because then, you get to do something for yourself. And I just want you to know that I really want this for you, too. I’m just glad I get to be next to you like this.”

You feel your eyes turn glassy. You hadn’t realized just how much you needed to hear that from him. And given all the new experiences and challenges you’ll be facing, having someone to hold your hand and tell you that things will be okay makes it more meaningful. You won’t be going through things on your own anymore. And you get to tell him that he won’t, either.

His smile tells you that he understands, and it’s one that you mirror.

“Your new boss seems nice,” Jungkook says as he looks back on the road. “He called me one day and asked about you.”

“Namjoon did say he spoke with you,” you respond. “And yes, he’s very kind. He rambles a lot but he’s just very passionate about books and literature. I’m sure I’ll learn so much from him.”

“That’s good. It’s a new industry so it’s important to have a mentor like him,” Jungkook hums. “Just, you know, don’t trip and fall into his arms or something.”

“That is not going to happen,” you laugh. “Are you jealous?” You nudge him. “Are you the jealous type?”

“No,” he frowns.

“Good. You have nothing to be worried about, okay? He has nice dimples but I like yours better,” you tease.

He pouts at you but you just kiss his cheek to appease him, your own affection surprising you. You find yourself constantly showing it to him, wanting him to know how you feel instead of words you don’t think you’ll be able to say.

“Are you the jealous type?” He asks now.

“I actually don’t know,” you wonder.

Your past relationships weren’t really exclusive so you didn’t have a reason to be jealous.

“We should go to a club and see,” he says.

“Hey,” you whine. “All the women will flock to you.”

“And who says the men won’t flock to you?” He arches an eyebrow. “You’re the one that people fall for.”

“And you’re not?”

“___, I’ve slept with women but let’s not pretend they wanted to be with me,” he chuckles.

“Maybe they did, and you just never gave them a chance,” you reason.

“Well, I never let them stay long enough to know,” he shrugs. “It’s not something I do, and it’s not something I ask of them.”

But you asked me to, you don’t say. You remember the look of rejection in his eyes that night at his office and how you turned him away. Perhaps to him, you’re also someone he was willing to crawl out of his walls for, and for a time, he thought you didn’t want him enough.

You promise yourself that you’ll make it a point to show him that you always do, whether it’s through words or actions but especially through your way of opening up yourself to him completely.

You nudge his hand that’s still in yours, prompting him to look at you.

“I’m here to stay,” you tell him, wanting him to feel the weight of your words because you don’t do that for anyone, either. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You say it almost in a whisper, like it’s a promise you want him to know you’ll always keep. He lifts your hand to his lips and he kisses it, a way to let you know that he’s not going anywhere, too. He’ll keep holding your hand wherever you or he goes because he knows that right next to you is where he wants to be.

It’s a very intimate act, and it’s barely been a day but he’s done so many of those already with you, including expressing his honest and sentimental feelings. He supposes it’s all the time he’s held back. Or maybe all the years that he kept himself from feeling and showing any of that.

But you have each other to share those with now and he hopes that however he chooses to show them to you, you’ll understand and accept them and like you said, you’ll stay and not go anywhere.

You spend the rest of the car ride back to Seoul talking about the posts and articles being written about the Arts Center. You go on social media and read them out to Jungkook, warming at how softly he smiles with every compliment from the visitors and artists. Even if you weren’t there during the ceremony last night, you’re glad that you’re at least able to celebrate with him from this day forward.

You arrive at a supermarket and let Jungkook take the lead. But while he’s buying to fill up his fridge and pantry, he’s taken it upon himself to make sure you have everything you need and want, too.

He picks up the coffee pods and grounds that you mentioned you like. He asks you for your preferred snacks and desserts on top of the chocopie that he gets boxes of. He lets you choose your skincare and bath products. He grabs containers of side dishes and an array of meat and vegetables, as well as a sack of rice. There are other ingredients he gets and before you know it, you’ve got a cart filled to the brim and a satisfied man pushing it to the counter.

He pays for his purchases and you realize just how much he’s actually bought.

“Are you throwing a party that I don’t know of?” You tease, as he hauls all the groceries in his trunk. “That’s a lot of shopping for one person.”

“I, uh, I was hoping to have you stay over during the weekends,” he says shyly. “I mean, we can also stay at your place if you’re okay with us being there. But I just thought about buying a lot of what we want when we stay in and stuff.”

“Are you bribing me with food so that I’ll spend more nights with you?” You cock an eyebrow.

“Yes? Well, I’d like to think I’m good company, too,” he chuckles. “And that you’d, uh, want to spend time with me. Is it too much?”

“Of course not,” you say. “It’s sweet actually, how you’re making a space for me in your home. And you don’t have to bribe me, you know? The place is good, the company’s good,” and whispering in his ear, you add, “the sex is good. I… I’d like to spend time with you, too.”

“That’s comforting,” he laughs as you both head inside the car. “Although I’d prefer for that last one to be more than good.”

“Hmm. Good thing you have tonight to show me, then,” you teasingly smile.

He groans as he playfully shakes his head, this bold version of you still flustering him. But he wants to tease back, so he turns to you and pulls your face close to him. He gives you a deep kiss before booping your nose with his.

“Just make sure to keep up, yeah?” He answers.

“Rude,” you gasp, earning you a laugh. “It’s not my fault you don’t get tired.”

“It’s not my fault that you do.”

Your pout makes him want to erase it with a kiss so that’s what he does again, and he likes that he can do this over and over, as many times as he wants.

“I’m kidding. I’ll do whatever you want,” he smiles. “Just as long as it makes you feel good.”

You’re only able to nod now, not wanting to provoke him any further because another word of him telling you what he can do is gonna cause you to spiral.

The sun is still out by the time you arrive at his penthouse with everything you bought for the day. He insists on having your clothes washed - a perk he has as owner of the building, and you give in. He says it’s so they’re all ready for you next week, and you’re once again reminded of this thoughtful side of him. Sure, money helps, but you suppose it’s easy for a rich man to just think of what conveniences him but not others. In many ways, he’s shown you that he’s more than that. You’re able to see it all up close now, and you can’t help but like him even more.

After he hands your bag of clothes to the butler, he heads to the kitchen where he says he’s going to prepare dinner. You follow him and look on curiously as he brings out a few of the ingredients you bought earlier.

“What’s on the menu?” You ask, sitting on the counter right next to where he’s got his work space laid out.

“Buckwheat noodles with my special sauce,” he answers. “And some boiled pork.”

“That sounds delicious,” you hum. “And here I thought you hire people to cook for you.”

“Can’t really call someone over at 2AM to make me dinner, can I?” He laughs.

“Why would you have dinner at 2AM?!”

“Because it’s how I am,” he shrugs. “I mean, sometimes I have dinner out. Some nights I’m so tired from work so I take a nap and wake up at odd hours, or I’d just work all night and realize I haven’t eaten so I make something then. Meat is easy to grill, noodles are quick to make, but for you, I’m making special versions.”

“I feel special already,” you giggle. “But that’s not healthy, Jungkook,” you turn serious. “Meal time is meal time and rest time is rest time. You always work so hard, you need to take a break and not overdo yourself.”

“I know. You used to tell me that all the time,” he smiles softly. “It was nice to hear, and I listened to you. I guess those were the only times when I let myself take a breath. You were pretty stubborn about it.”

“Because you were a hard-head about it,” you frown. “So much for being protective of me when you couldn’t even look out for yourself.”

“I know, that’s why you were there,” he points out. “And you were the same, so that’s why I was there for you, too. We, uh, I guess we complemented each other that way.”

“I guess,” you smile now.

There’s some sadness in that thought, though, at how you both went on years just focusing on your respective jobs individually and not having much you share with others. Sure, you had your friends and so did he, but in the silence of your own homes, you lived through every day just waiting for the next, not knowing what to look forward to about it.

You suppose that’s what happens when you share only the most shallow parts of yourself to someone - your body, your time, your energy - but even those were limited. Now, you get to feel what it’s like to share more of them, in ways that require more. But you’re willing to do all that, and you can see that so is he.

Jungkook boils the pork in some spices and says that it’ll take some time. He gestures towards the balcony where you see the sun about to set. You’ve never seen it from this high, and he says that he hasn’t watched it from here in months because he’s been getting home late. His office doesn’t offer this same view.

You head out and take a seat on the couch where he follows. He positions himself next to you, wrapping his arm around your waist to pull you closer until you’ve got your legs on his lap and your head on his chest. Being with him like this, you feel comfortable again; you feel safe.

The sky is beautiful and it’s another version of it that you get to share with him. You know there’ll be more of this that you’ll have, and you’ll keep this in your memory just like all the other times that you did.

His free hand draws patterns on your knee and you try to decipher what they are, recalling those days of watching him doodle on his leather notebook and wondering what’s on his mind.

It’s something you ask him and there's a beat of silence before he answers.

“There’s a lot of things I think about,” he says. “Most times I don’t know how to make sense of them or express them so I just draw whatever I feel like. They’re mostly figures and structures because they at least make sense to me even if my feelings don’t.”

“What about now? Do your feelings make sense?”

“A little bit,” he hums, but he assures you it’s not a bad thing. “You always felt familiar. I think that’s why I was so hesitant to get to know you and why I felt like I had to keep my distance. It wasn’t right to feel that way for my assistant. I know now why that was. We crossed paths a long time ago and I guess we made each other feel something that we couldn’t find in others or that we couldn’t find ourselves. It’s familiar but it’s all new. Isn’t it contradictory?”

“Maybe. But it also could be that we felt something like that before and we lost it along the way. And we met again and so we’re feeling it again, but in a different way,” you try to explain. “Familiar but new. Do you doubt it?”

“Not at all,” he shakes his head. “I just couldn’t help but think about it because this version of myself feels different but it’s still me.”

“I get you. I’m not really like this, either. I’m not fond of affection. I’m not this giggly or this… honest or this bold. I’m terrified of many things so I’m also not this brave but you… you bring all that out of me, Jungkook. And it feels really good.”

“I’m not this honest, too. I don’t know where my words come from,” he chuckles.

“I was about to say that you’re able to express your feelings just fine,” you smile.

“That’s barely scratching the surface,” he says. “There’s still a lot I don’t know how to say.”

Regret is one of them, Jungkook thinks. And guilt and fear and an overwhelming joy and clarity that he can’t fully express. There’s still hesitation somehow but vulnerability, too. There’s a feeling of inadequacy and a desire to give you everything he can.

“Me, too,” you sigh. “We can always just keep showing it to each other in different ways. I know that’s not always easy, but we can… we can keep trying. I held so much of what I felt for months and I’m just glad I don’t have to do that anymore.”

“I held back for a year,” he blurts, surprising you. Your questioning eyes urge him to continue. “I… I thought you were pretty. And you put me in my place, you’re honest and caring, you’re so good at what you do, you’re… someone I wanted to be around, even if it didn’t seem like it. And I’ll always be sorry for how I treated you.”

“I have a lot of shortcomings, too, Jungkook,” you admit. “I judged you before I met you because you never smiled during the times I saw you. And then I constantly compared you to Hoseok and I shouldn’t have.”

“Well, look at me now. I don’t think I’ve ever smiled this much,” he chuckles. “But it’s okay. We… we were getting used to each other.”

“We were. And I… I like seeing you smile. There would be nights when I’d fall asleep thinking about it,” you confess.

“Here I thought I was the only one doing that,” he laughs.

“We’re so ridiculous,” you laugh back. “We’ve said too much. Now we can kiss.”

“You like doing that, huh?” He smirks, pulling you to sit on top of him now.

You shift on his lap and find a position that has your heart racing. You moan when his hands guide you in grinding against his slowly hardening length. And he watches you move before his eyes flit to meet yours, the desire heightening and the tension building.

“I do, very much,” you whisper, bending down to graze your nose against his before you kiss him.

It starts off tender but with the feel of him underneath you and his tongue amorously entangling with yours, it gets rough soon enough. You’re thankful that you’re seated closer to the door, leaving you less exposed than if you were near the railings. It’s enough privacy that he’s able to sneak his hand under your scrunched up dress without you minding, and you moan louder when he pulls your bra so he could flick your nipple that’s clearly screaming to be touched.

You return the favor, untucking his shirt so you could touch his chest, too. It reminds you of how you’d mapped this out last night, the tautness of it making you imagine all the ways you could pleasure him there. But you settle with your nails grazing against his smooth torso this time, knowing you have all of tonight and perhaps tomorrow to do it.

“Fuck,” he mumbles against your lips. “Baby, we’re gonna have to take this inside,” he says, although he doesn’t stop nor let you go. He continues to kiss you and drag his hands all over your back.

“We should,” you say, not stopping either.

It takes a few more nibbles on each other’s lips before you finally pull away, heaving in pleasure and wanting more. But you remove yourself from him before you get into it again. Walking back inside, he surprises you with another squeeze of your ass, prompting you to turn to him.

“You like doing that, huh?” You repeat his words.

“I do, very much,” he hums. He hugs you from behind and says, “this, too,” as he nuzzles your neck.

You only laugh in response but deep down, there’s this warmth you feel at how much affection he’s giving you and how much you’re accepting and returning it. You weren’t big on intimacy with your exes. You weren’t the type to hold their hand or cling to them or caress them outside of sex. They weren’t natural for you, and you suppose those kinds of acts required more openness and emotional closeness that you didn’t feel for them.

But with Jungkook, it’s as if it’s all you want to do, and it seems to be the same for him. You didn’t realize how holding his hand could be so assuring, or how feeling him wrap around you could relieve you of your tiredness, or how kissing him could make time stop yet you still feel there’s not enough of it when you’re with him.

And as he stands by the stove, pan frying dumplings for your appetizer while the pork continues to boil, all you want to do is watch him be.

You’ve always admired him for his dedication to his craft. You’ve sat through countless meetings, watched him draft blueprints and plans and present them, and listened to him put together ideas and designs. He’s creative, rational, and very smart, and it always impressed you how much technical knowledge he has. He always had such confidence in his abilities and that also made him very attractive to you.

But seeing him in a domestic setting in his casual clothes while cooking your dinner ignites something else within you. It’s this desire to see and experience all sides of him, and to be welcomed in every nook of his big heart.

He arranges the dumplings on a plate and mixes the dipping sauce, then places the dish on the counter for both of you to enjoy. He takes a piece, blows on it, then feeds it to you, and you laugh to yourself because this is something that you used to tell Hajoon that you could do on your own so he doesn’t have to. But with Jungkook doing it now, he triggers a swarm of butterflies in your belly that has you giggling.

He just smiles, the warmth in his eyes telling you that this is something he wants to do for you and you let him. He’s told you he wants to take care of you and you want that, too. You want to show him that you can do it as well.

Jungkook gets a bowl and starts making the sauce while he boils the buckwheat noodles. It’s something he came up with one late evening, adding perilla oil and egg yolk to the different condiments he had on stock. You feed him dumplings while he mixes the ingredients, which he eventually pours over the noodles then sprinkles seaweed on top of it. It looks creamy and delicious, and partnered with the boiled pork that he plates on a wooden board, your mouth starts to water.

It’s all surprisingly delicious, as you tell him that you didn’t think that just putting a bunch of sauces together would create something that good. You enjoy dinner over beer and then insist that you’ll clean up while he takes a bath.

It’s an hour later when you exit his bathroom, your heart skipping a beat at seeing him sitting on the bed, his back across the frame with the covers over his legs while he scrolls through his phone. He doesn’t have a shirt on, leaving his toned upper body in full display for you to stare at. You’ve already seen this last night; ran your hands all over them, even, but somehow you know it’ll always take your breath away.

He looks up when he senses you’re back, and he smiles seeing you donned in one of his oversized shirts. He likes you in his clothes. There’s something so domestic about it, even if he’ll end up taking them off of you anyway.

And that’s what he does, as he moves to sit on the edge of the bed while you remain standing in front of him. He caresses the sides of your thighs while he looks up at you, before pulling up your shirt that you help him remove.

You giggle when his lips immediately plant themselves on your torso, where he kisses and sucks the soft plane of flesh that has you moaning in pleasure. His hands travel around - kneading your ass, sliding up then fondling your breasts, before they’re removing your underwear and then cupping your bare cunt.

“Jungkook, baby,” you whine, feeling the sensation all over your body. “Want you, please.”

It’s the words he loves hearing from you, knowing the desire comes from somewhere deep. It’s because you’ve allowed him to a place that no one’s ever been to before, and it’s a place he wants to stay in for as long as you’ll let him.

And he takes it to heart. He wants to feel you feel good; he wants to hear it, to breathe it, to let your pleasure course through his body and let it linger, and that’s the only way he’ll feel good. It’s not just about chasing his own high like it used to be. With you, it’s always more.

He switches places with you, lays you on the edge of the bed while he kneels on the floor for that angle that lets him taste all of you. He laps you up and he feels your clit pulsate against his tongue, your breathy curses complementing the way your body screams for him. He increases the pressure to build you up then slows down to prolong it.

You seek him. Your hands pull him forward, your cunt thrusts against his face, you yell out his name, and when you come, his lips are what you want all over you, all over again.

You’re eager. The short second it takes for him to stand up, you’re pulling his boxers down and stroking his length; you’re swallowing him whole before he could even catch a breath. But it’s everything he wants, as your warmth coats his aching cock and he pushes into you, hearing your obscene sounds as you take him in.

“You feel so good,” he grunts, your tongue swirling around his slit. “Fuck, baby, just like that.”

He manages to open his eyes, and the sight of you eager to please him sends shivers down his spine. You fondle his balls, you play with your breast, you thrust against nothing while you moan with your mouth full of him. He softens for a while, tucking the damp strands of hair behind your ear, before he pulls away then guides you to flip over with your hands and knees on the bed.

You’re able to take a breath while he puts on his condom, but you're already dazed, your mind completely hazy from everything that Jungkook makes you feel.

The way he fills you up is heavenly. He hits your deepest spot, and the pace of his movement has him grazing every inch of your walls. He pushes your waist down with his every thrust, making both of you feel the sensation in a mind-numbing way.

Your knees are trembling but you don’t mind. Your knuckles are probably turning white from how hard you’re gripping his sheets but it’s your only anchor for now. Your neck is straining and you’re breathless as he relentlessly bucks his hip against you but you don’t want him to stop.

He switches it up, both his hands on your waist now to keep it steady while he drags himself in and out of you. You clench around him and push against his movements, and it has him moaning curses with your name. His pace becomes erratic, and that’s how you know he’s close.

“Touch yourself, baby,” he instructs you. “Come with me. Fuck, fuck, I want you to come.”

You do as you’re told, reaching down to stroke your clit while he pounds you from behind. And when you hear his deep breaths and a prolonged moan, you quicken your pace until you’re coming once again.

He pants, all the energy being drained out of him, but you still feel him gently kiss your shoulders, then your spine, then your ass cheeks before he lays in bed next to you.

He breathes heavily but he manages a soft smile that mirrors yours, and all you want to do is wrap him in your arms until you both fall asleep.

“Sex just good?” He teasingly asks.

“Were you trying to make a point?” You cock an eyebrow.

“Maybe,” he huffs.

You shift your position, your arm now supporting your body as you lay on your side. Your hand traces his bare torso, which still rises and falls from the ordeal, and he hums in satisfaction.

“Did you like that?” You whisper in his ear, biting your lip in anticipation of his answer.

“Uh-huh,” he breathes out. “Fuck, you feel so good. You take me so well, baby. That was just…”

“I want to keep making you feel good, Jungkook,” you moan, liking how he’s at a loss for words. “And I want you to keep fucking me like that.”

Your vulgar words contrast the tender way you graze your nose against his neck, and it somehow makes his mind even more hazy. You’re everything he wants, and he’ll do everything to keep you next to him.

“I will,” he promises, turning to his side to face you. “I’ll do that and more.”

And he does, as he cleans you up and tucks you under the covers with his arms around your body. You’re cradled in his, and the clarity you feel after such a mind-numbing experience is so satisfying.

You suppose this is what intimacy is - feeling that high and then landing on a soft field of everything beautiful, and you decide that this is the only place you’ll ever want to be in. Jungkook smiles at you and you just know he feels the same way you do.

You wake up with Jungkook next to you this time, your limbs entangled with his under the comforts of his soft blanket. Your eyes flutter open and you see him propped up on his tattooed arm, smiling at you.

“Were you just watching me sleep?” You mumble.

“Maybe,” he teasingly shrugs. “It’s nice to see you resting well.”

“It’s your sheets,” you say, earning you a laugh.

“Guess I know what to spoil you with next time,” he winks.

“What time is it? And why aren’t you working out?” You ask, knowing it’s how he always starts his day.

“11,” he answers. “I’m surprised I didn’t wake up earlier. But when I did I just thought to sleep in with you.”

“Hmm, good decision,” you grunt, your mind still half asleep but awake enough to appreciate his half naked form next to you. You scoot closer and hug him, causing him to lay flat on his back while he wraps his arm around your bare body. “This is better than a workout.”

“Well, I kinda had mine last night,” he giggles.

And he’s not wrong. After he tucked you in bed, you spent another hour or so just talking and cuddling and that led to another round of him pounding into you from the side, and then another one with him over you. He went so hard that he had to take another shower at 3 in the morning and he’s probably done his arm and core exercises for today.

You don’t even know how you managed to withstand all that, but you did, and you loved every second of it. You loved how he bit his lip in pleasure and how his neck veins popped out as he pounded into you intensely. You basked in his whimpered sounds and the kisses he showered you with as he came down.

And now you’re in his embrace, curled against him. You'd do this all day if you could.

“But this is nice,” he hums, as he strokes your back while also combing your hair with his fingers.

He kisses the top of your head while you moan in satisfaction, a kind of soft pleasure that relaxes you, that makes you feel like you’re floating but also enveloped in pure warmth. That’s what hugging Jungkook feels like, as his toned but smooth arms wrap around you. His rough fingers tenderly roam your body, and it eases your tired being; nuzzling his neck, you feel like you could fall asleep again.

But you’re quite hungry and you assume that so is he, so you slowly disentangle yourself from him and say that you’ll be cooking lunch when he whines.

“I told you I’ll make something for you this time,” you say, appeasing him with a kiss on the cheek.

“Fine,” he concedes, stating that he’ll go over the interview questions that a few reporters have sent over for him to answer while you’re cooking.

He follows you to wash up in the bathroom - then gives you a deeper kiss right after - and then to the kitchen. He sits on the stool by the counter while you cook rice and seafood pajeon, something you boasted about last night.

“Babe, you think you could help me with the questions?” He asks, catching you off guard with the pet name that he uses in a different context for the first time.

“Sure,” you hum. “Read them out loud.”

So he does, and you spend much of the hour going through them and sipping your coffee, with him pulling you for a hug when you wander to his side.

You eat lunch while watching sports highlights on TV, then you spend the afternoon laughing over the variety TV show episodes that you’ve missed these past weeks.

It’s 5PM when you both start dressing up for dinner that he’ll treat you to for your first official date, he’d said, insisting that he likes eating at nice places. He has you to share the experience with this time, and he doesn’t want you to worry about expenses of any kind. He wants to eat at your favorite noodle houses, too, and that’s a plan for another day.

You have on a skirt and top outfit that thankfully matches your new pumps. Once you finish putting on your makeup, you head to Jungkook’s walk-in closet to check on him, your throat drying up at seeing him in an all-black denim ensemble. He’s sexy enough as it is, with the skinny jeans accentuating his ass and his thick thighs. But when the sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to his elbows and when the buttons are undone just up to his chest to show the tank top he’s wearing underneath, sexy becomes too simplistic. Even more so when you spot the silver chain around his neck again, simple and classic but definitely dangerous.

He turns to you and takes in your look before he smirks. But just as you expect him to compliment you or even kiss you, he instead reaches out for your hand and interlocks his fingers with yours when you take it.

“Let’s go,” he says, leading you out.

He doesn’t say much on the way to the car. He just gazes at you then smiles when you look at him. It’s during the drive when he kisses your hand, surprising you, and there’s that warmth that you feel again. You listen to the soft sounds of the radio this time, sharing in the silence the way that you used to, and it’s far from uncomfortable, especially with him thumbing your hand that he’s not letting go of.

You make it to the restaurant where you’re seated by the window, able to appreciate the setting of the sun. The food is delicious, with the variety of tender meats causing you to silently moan at how good it is. There’s an array of dishes that Jungkook orders, and you spend the rest of dinner talking about your favorite food and the other places you want to try.

Satisfied from the meal, you both head to the Arts Center. You know you’ll have another time to fully explore. You’ll remember how the areas looked before renovation and you’ll look on in pride at how different they are now. There’ll be opportunities for you to check every exhibition and watch performances here. When the Center hosts some of the international film festival events in two months, you’ll definitely attend and pay attention to the halls and other spaces. You’ll come during the day and appreciate the light coming through the windows, and you’ll be able to gaze at the art installations outdoors.

But tonight, you want your focus to be on the children’s library, the one that Jungkook had built for you.

The Center closes late on weekends so you have time to savor it. You want to remember the feeling of being inside it with him, as if you’re making him part of the memory, as if you’re including him in the best moments of your childhood.

You finally enter the grand library, appreciating the details and the grandness of it. You ask Jungkook where the archive section is now, and what the process of moving it was like.

“I had to incorporate it in the main area instead of separating it,” he explains. “Yoongi and I found a corner to establish its presence and then scattered the pieces beyond that, putting them in glass enclosures around the desks and on the walls. I think it’s better that way; visitors become intrigued and want to learn more, so they could go around and end up exploring more of the library.”

“That’s strategic,” you say, appeased that there were gains in making the change. You stand at the entrance of the children’s space and then to him. “So, what made you decide to do this?”

He talks about his late afternoon jog one weekend and discovering a park that reminded him of the playground that his father built for him. He tells you about all the apologies his old man couldn’t make, and all the words left unsaid that Jungkook realized had held them together despite the distance and the detachment.

“I thought about all the times that you needed someone and I happened to be there,” he continues as he follows you around inside. “And then the times when I wasn’t or no one was. I don’t ever want you to feel alone. I thought that if I’m not in your life anymore, I could at least build you something that would make you happy, that would protect you, the way you said your old neighborhood library made you feel.”

His words leave you speechless. You suppose that for someone not good with them, he finds the right ones when he needs to. You were overwhelmed with emotions the first time you saw this, and you couldn’t fully grasp how he could make something like this for you.

That playground mattered to him, the way your old library did. Only he would understand how a space or a structure could comfort you, how it could take your fears away, and how that feeling could stay with you for a long time. He wanted you to continue feeling that whether you found your way back to each other or not, and now that you have, you feel that happiness and that safety even more.

You run your fingers across the murals then sit on the couch with the fluffy teddy bear next to you. The more you look around, the more you realize that this isn’t just meant for children. The seating areas are big enough for adults, so is the activity space at the back. It’s where those with child-like hearts and minds can stay - to reminisce perhaps, or to make new memories. You think you’ll be doing both.

“Is it close to how your library looked?” He asks, as you both walk past the shelves and you scan the books they have.

“Jungkook, that was a semi-rundown library that used to be someone’s house. It had chipped wallpapers and creaking wooden floors,” you giggle. “This is definitely much prettier but I see so much of the old one in here. The warm lights, all the colors, the different areas to read and draw and color. The paper dolls,” you squeal. “It’s… familiar but new, just like everything with you is. I… I don’t know what else to say.”

“A thank you is fine,” he smiles, pulling you close to him. You’re behind one of the shelves, and with no one else here this late Sunday evening, he wraps his arms around your waist. “I wouldn’t mind a kiss, too.”

“You deserve more than all that,” you whisper, kissing him softly. “Thank you, Jungkook. I’ll be spending weekends here. Or when I have a tough day at work. Or when you’re away and I��m missing you.”

“Good. That way I know that when you’re down, you have somewhere to go so you could feel better. And less alone.”

That’s all he hopes, after all - that on days when he can’t be what you need, there’s a place that he built that will make you feel better.

He treasures your smile and the way your eyes shine as you go through the picture books that have their own row of shelves. He beams at how beautiful you look being enamored with the space that reminds you of the best parts of your childhood. And he softens when you look at him with so much adoration, words seemingly not enough to express how you feel.

You don’t say much as you walk back to the car though. When he drives to his penthouse, you hold his hand. But something inside you stirs so you guide his palm to your thigh, smiling when he caresses it. He sees you bite your bottom lip at the act, and though he’s tempted to do more, he decides that tracing your skin is what he wants to do for now.

The feel of Jungkook touching any part of your body is electrifying. He ignites a kind of desire in you that you’ve never felt before, whether it’s simply holding your hand or stroking the inside of your thigh.

Being back in the library made you feel many things. It brought back memories and made you imagine all the new ones you’ll make. It also filled you with an overwhelming need for him, as you think of all the ways you could show him your appreciation. Including one that you could do tonight.

So after making it past the door of his apartment, and after briefly watching his impeccable figure walk down his hallway, you don’t hold back. He turns around and you don’t even hear what he asks. You just head towards him and kiss him.

You kiss him hard and deep, your hands wrapping around his neck to pull him as close as you can get him, even as you guide him towards his living room, knowing where you want him. He moans when you bite his lower lip, your fingers desperately gripping his shirt now as you want more.

You pull away to catch your breath, your intense eyes saying everything you want to do to him. He caresses your cheek but only briefly, as his thumb traces your lips before pushing it past them. The sight of you sucking his finger - gentle at first before you do it desperately - has his cock throbbing, impatient to feel your mouth wrapped around it.

“Fuck. Good girl,” he says under his breath, as you lick his thumb teasingly to tell him what you want to do.

You kiss him again, your fingers now eagerly undoing his buttons. He removes his shirt then you pull his tank top off him before you push him to sit on the couch. You stand before him and stare at him shamelessly, as he sits comfortably and stares back at you. His hands are behind his head now, with his taut arms in full display for you to salivate over.

But it’s his chest that you want to pay attention to rigjt now, all perfectly toned and every bit breathtaking.

“Take your clothes off,” he says before you can make your move.

“Is that an order, Mr. Jeon?” You breathe out, knowing how the name affects him.

“Yes,” he huffs. “An urgent one.”

You smirk as he plays along, and you take your time in undressing. You watch his eyes move with you, his breaths deepening now as you bare yourself in front of him.

“Don't touch yourself. I’ll do that,” you instruct. “And that’s not a suggestion.”

He chuckles in response but he seems to enjoy it, relaxing in his position. You take that as your cue, settling on his lap and then mapping his torso with your hands as you lick and suck his neck. He angles it to give you more space, and he hisses when you take advantage.

Your mouth travels south, leaving kisses on his collarbone and sternum before twirling your tongue around his pert nipples that are aching for attention. He starts to pant and you decide to take your time, wanting his pleasure to build up so you could hear him beg for you this time. You moan as you nibble his buds, but your own pleasure builds, too, and with your hand feeling his thick length underneath those jeans, you suddenly can’t wait any longer.

“You like that, baby?” You whisper in his ears. “You like it when I do that?”

“Fuck, yes,” he wails. “Fuck, baby. That’s so good.”

With a few more kisses towards his hips, you move as well, now finding yourself kneeling on the floor and quickly undoing his belt. He lets you do all the work, and you don’t mind. You like how his chest rises and falls in anticipation, and when you finally free his cock, you let out an obscene sound that even you’ve never heard before.

You’ve been graced with this scene these past days, but it still leaves a lump in your throat. He’s thick and veiny and everything you want to taste and have inside you. You pull off his jeans until he’s bare as well. You stroke him once and the moan he makes is all you need.

With your thumb on his slit, you lick up his shaft until you’re swallowing him whole, his tip hitting your throat that it makes you groan. The vibration has him grunting and it pushes you, so you start moving your mouth and hand up and down his length, with your tongue swirling over his tip and all the other sensitive parts of him.

Your free hand explores. You stroke his leg and then brush your fingers over his inner thighs. You caress his torso when you go deep and bask in the way he breathlessly curses, over and over again.

Needing a quick breather, you let your hands do their work. But Jungkook takes this chance to bend over and capture your mouth in his. He kisses you fervently, sucking the air out of you and you don’t really mind running out of it, not when he tastes as good as he does, when he’s as desperate for you as you are for him. He pulls on your hair gently, slowly tightening his grip when your kiss gets more intense.

He eventually pulls away, leaving you free to tease and suck his cock once again. He moans continuously, cursing under his breath once you let him guide your head to take all of him in. His obscene sounds make it all worth it, especially once you feel his body tighten.

“Fuck, baby I’m close,” he whimpers. “Fuck, I–I need to come inside you, fuck.”

You slowly remove yourself from him, but your hand remains wrapped around his length. You look at him with your glassy eyes, desperate to feel every inch of him possible.

“Come inside me, please,” you whisper. “I want to feel you come inside me. I need…”

You pant, your eyes telling him what you really mean. You don’t want any more barriers. You want to feel him drag against your walls, to release his warmth and fill you up completely. You’ve mentioned being clean and so has he; you said in passing how you’re on implants, too. He looks at you and nods in understanding, just like all the times that you’ve spoken to each other through your gazes. With the way he heaves, he seems to want it just as much as you.

He pulls you towards him and guides you to sit on his lap. He strokes his cock and drags his tip through your folds, teasing you before slowly pushing it inside you. He feels even more immaculate like this, and your walls embrace him immediately, as if he’s always meant to be there. You get on your knees as you position yourself to ride him, and your gentle movements follow a pace that has you keening, especially when he starts licking your pert nipples that’s been needing his attention.

You grind against him with his hands kneading your ass to guide you. You feel him deep, and it has you breathless and wanting more.You sit up and wrap your arms around his neck for support as he pounds on you from below, and with his tight grip around your waist and his mouth sucking your breasts, you start to feel hazy.

“You feel so good around me, shit,” he moans. “Fuck, baby. You’re so perfect for me, fuck.”

He continues his thrusts and you’re so lost in the overstimulation. Your body starts to shake as you chase the high, letting it all overwhelm you.

“Baby, I’m gonna come,” you whimper. “I’m—”

Your orgasm is a loud crash, and you feel it linger. You feel your essence coat him; you feel the slick drip out of you and stick to your bodies, mixed with the sweat from all the work of building each other up.

He curses again as he feels the wetness all over his cock, and it’s heavenly. Feeling you like this does something to him, and he wants you to do it again.

So he pounds even harder, not giving you much time to calm down. You moan in response, scratching his back as you hold onto him tightly while he releases all his energy onto pleasuring you and him. He slows his pace and moves in circular motions before he lays you on your back. Your eyes are glassy. Your mouth knows only his name. Your hair is damp and you’re panting. And you look absolutely beautiful as you beg for him to make you come again, and for him to finally come inside you.

Watching you feel all that he can give is what he needs. With his arms propped on your sides to support him, he goes hard and deep. He’s been somewhat gentle these first few times, and he knows that that drives you wild. But he also knows that going a bit rough would make you lose your mind even more, so that’s what he does.

He pins your arms down as he slowly pushes inside you.

“You like it like this, yeah?” He pants. “You like it when I reach this deep?”

“Yes, baby. Yes, please. Please don’t stop,” you whimper, this view of him with his damp hair and his silver chain hanging over you making you crazy.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head with how good he feels, especially when he hits you at an angle that makes your body come alive but also numb, and it’s a feeling you can’t get enough of.

He hums in satisfaction, choosing now to suck on your neck while he continues his assault on your pussy. He licks the shell of your ear and whispers how good you make him feel.

“You take me so well, baby. Such a good girl, yeah?” He grunts. “Fuck, you’re so good.”

You can only moan in response, unable to form proper words now. And he senses it, with your mouth hanging open and your erratic breathing escaping it.

He straightens himself, knowing what he needs to do. So he plays with your clit while his other movements continue, and that’s how you find your voice again. He quickens his pace, his thumb doing its work on your most sensitive spot while your walls pulsate around his throbbing cock. Your legs start to shake until you’re wailing in pleasure, screaming his name as you orgasm another time. He knows enough to focus on kissing you, swallowing your sounds as you come down.

But you want him to reach his peak this time, so you tell him to keep going, to find his spot so he could fill you up this time. He spreads your legs open in response, giving him a view that makes him throb even more. It’s what he needs, as he focuses on his pleasure like you told him. He bucks his hips, finding his pace that quickens then slows down then quickens again, until his erratic movements signal that he’s close, too.

“Yes, baby,” you urge him. “You’re gonna fill me up so good. I want it so bad. Come for me, please baby.”

He does a few more thrusts before he’s spilling his warm seed inside you, with him moaning out curses every second. His cum drips from your hole but he catches it with his tip, pushing it back inside you until so is he. He stays there for a while as you both catch your breaths, with him collapsing to your side while you move along with him. You can still feel his cock pulsate against your walls, and it causes you to moan. You’ve never felt that before, and it’s another intimate thing you share with him, as he wraps his arm around you and languidly kisses you after.

“That was amazing,” he breathes out.

“It was,” you hum, smiling at him looking spent and content. “I like you here. Stay a while, please.”

He chuckles at your request but he doesn’t mind it either. It’s intimate, as all things with you beyond sex are. He just wants to stay close to you, to hear your soft breaths and revel in the feel of you, sweat and slick included.

But as much as he could fall asleep here, he knows he shouldn’t. He pulls away and lets you head to the bathroom to clean up. He follows soon after and he catches you on the sink, removing your makeup then turning to him once you hear him arrive.

“My body’s kinda sore,” he says. “Do you wanna have a bath?”

“I wouldn’t say no to that,” you smile. “But we can’t stay long. You have work tomorrow so you need to sleep soon.”

“Alright,” he nods, walking to the bathtub now. “I’ll try to keep my hands off of you, then.”

Jungkook doesn’t. And neither do you, even when you both head to the shower to rinse yourselves.

You curl in his arms right when he lays next to you, and despite all the intensity from earlier, you know that this will always be your favorite part - his fingers tracing patterns on your back, his lips constantly finding yours, and his eyes telling you all the other things that words or actions can’t say. He’s your safe place. You think from now on, he’ll always be.

You wake up to your alarm the next morning, the ringing pulling out a groan from you; you haven’t needed it this past week and you suddenly miss just sleeping in.

But it’s Monday, the start of a new week. Jungkook will be off to work and you’ll have to go back to your own apartment and start preparing for your own job that will start next week. You manage to get yourself off the bed and his soft sheets and go to the bathroom to wash up.

Once you finish, you head out and immediately hear his grunts from where you are. You know he’s in the middle of his workout, so you peek inside the gym, finally shameless to be doing it this time. He’s shirtless doing some arm exercise on his equipment, but he has his back turned on you so you stare at it instead, instantly feeling hot at the view of his broad shoulders and slim waist. His muscles contract with every movement and you remember how that felt when you held onto them last night to keep you grounded as he pounded into you from every angle.

His set finishes and he turns around and sees you, donned in his shirt and standing by the door. He moves to another machine, takes a seat, and starts doing a shoulder press while gazing back at you. Half of you is tempted to sit on his lap and kiss him stupid, but the other half wants to stay rooted on your spot to watch him.

The latter wins and you stand there, thighs squeezing at the sight and sound of him, as he grunts with his every push of the weights. His eyes don’t move away from you and you just know he’s enjoying this, too, especially when he smirks once your mouth slowly opens.

“Enjoying yourself there?” He cocks an eyebrow. “You like how I look? How I sound?”

“Oh, shush,” you frown at being teased. “You’re overdoing it. You’re not that loud when you exercise.”

“So you listen to me, huh?” He smirks again, walking towards you now. “How did that make you feel?”

“I used to come here every morning, Jungkook. I couldn’t not hear you,” you cross your arms. “And I just looked away.”

“You’re not looking away now.”

“How can I when you’re teasing like that,” you scrunch your eyebrows.

“Is it working?”

“Were you always this cocky?” You laugh now.

“No,” he chuckles. “Just now. Only because I see your jaw dropping and your thighs squeezing.”

“And what are you gonna do about it?”

“Oh, don’t challenge me like that,” he warns, caging you against the wall.

He eyes your lips but he bends down towards your chest instead, biting your pert nipple that’s gotten so obvious under his cotton shirt. He nibbles on it briefly before swirling his tongue around it. You hiss, feeling the sensation all over your body with that small movement, and it’s what urges him to face you again.

“Cute,” he whispers.

He licks your mouth, prompting you to open it and let him inside, and your moan at the taste of him is immediate. Your hands move on their own, pulling him by his neck then caressing his chest like it’s natural. You start to feel the dampness in your underwear and pull away, knowing that you can’t fall into this early in the morning, and not when he has a job to go to.

“Jungkook, you have work,” you say, hating that you have to cut this moment short. “If we start then…”

“I know,” he sighs, given how you both can’t seem to stop once you get into it. “I’ll just do a bit more and then wash up. You can still watch if you like.”

“Tempting, but I’ll be making us breakfast.”

“And what’s on the menu?”

“Fried rice,” you smile.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Now I don’t need to hide how much I enjoy that.”

You giggle and let him go then head to the kitchen where you work on making enough for tomorrow, in case he wants to have it again before he leaves. You brew coffee and work around just like you used to, but with a bit more freedom this time. You hum while you cook and prepare in excitement. You’ve learned that you like doing things for him, and this is one way that you could spoil him.

Jungkook exits his gym after some ab workouts and stretching, his heart racing in a different way when he sees you in his kitchen again. It brings him back to this past year of his weekday mornings and his favorite routine.

But you’re not in your work outfit this time, and it won’t be stolen glances or comfortable silence you’ll be sharing. There’ll be more, and though this won’t be the norm, given your own job that you’ll be starting next week, Jungkook decides this is another favorite of his. He hopes for more moments of domestic bliss where it’s just you and him in his home, sharing meals and hugs and kisses in between.

He gives himself some time before he calls your attention, wanting to savor this first before he faces a busy week, one he’ll have to go through without you.

“Enjoying yourself there?” You tease this time.

“Yes,” he chuckles. “It’s just… nice to start a work week with you again.”

You smile softly at him, knowing that it hurt him to be without this for weeks. You show him the bowl of fried rice you’ve made, and even you’re salivating. Perhaps it’s also because of the man standing in front of you, and the sight of him like this just never fails to take your breath away.

“It’s nice to start with this, too,” you gesture towards the food. “It’s a new recipe but I think you’ll like it.”

“I’m sure I will,” he smiles back, following you to the table and sitting next to you.

He hums in satisfaction after the first spoonful. You watch him as he eats, endeared by the way he’s enjoying the dish despite looking like a whole meal himself.

You both finish and you clean up while he takes a bath, quickly dressing yourself then heading to his closet. It’s no longer your responsibility but it’s a task you secretly enjoyed, so you put out a navy blue ensemble for Jungkook and set aside a few outfits that he can pack for his trips this week.

He walks in with a towel wrapped around his waist, and you stop yourself again from wanting to do anything. It’s hard when he looks as good as he does at any time of the day, but it’s something you’ll just have to get used to. You get to be around while he puts on his clothes now, and he doesn’t seem to mind at all, given his teasing smile and soft laughter.

You stand in front of him and fix his necktie. His eyes flit from your fingers to your face, liking that he’s able to do that this time.

“You know you don’t have to do this,” he says. “But… I like that you are.”

“It’s intimate, isn’t it? Dressing someone?” You glance at him.

You’ve done something similar in the past, like when you fixed the creases of his suit or the time he put his jacket over you. They were so simple but they stuck with you, and something in you stirs as you do this for him now.

“It is,” he smiles back, nibbling his lower lip.

You help him wear the coat then fix his tie again. You meet his eyes and then his lips before exiting the room, your gazes saying more than words could. He picks up your bags then you both walk to the car so he could drive you home before he heads to work.

“I’ll see you tonight?” You turn to him.

“Of course. I’ll get to you at 6, is that okay?”

“Yes, I’ll make dinner,” you smile.

He lets you go after a kiss and you head inside your apartment with all your freshly washed clothes and new shoes. It’s a nice feeling being able to go through them and then fixing them in your closet. It’s nice having this time for yourself, too. While you like being with Jungkook, you know it’s important to not forget how it’s like to be on your own.

You do your chores for the rest of the morning while talking to Soomin and Jimin on the phone, as you’re finally able to tell them most of what’s happened since Friday night. They’re supportive, as they often are, and they seem to be looking forward to hanging out with him like you suggested.

You go out for lunch at a small noodle house before settling at a nice cafe where you read the book that Namjoon gave you. At mid-afternoon, you head to the supermarket to buy your groceries for the next two weeks, including tonight’s dinner. Thinking about what you’ll make for him was easy; you just hope you’ll do it justice, considering that it’s one of Jungkook’s favorite things to eat.

You don’t hear much from him during the day. He messaged you during lunch time just to say he was eating out with Yoongi then asked how you were. He didn’t respond after a few texts, which you didn’t mind. You always felt that he wasn’t the texting type, which is good because you aren’t, either. There’s at least that level of understanding and expectation on both sides. You know of his tendency to hyper focus; he’s also a very busy man, which is why you know that when he’s with you, he’s focused on just you and nothing else, which is really what you prefer.

He calls when he’s on the way to you and before you know it, he’s ringing the doorbell and you’re being greeted by the said man who still looks impeccable after a long day. He hands you flowers and a bottle of champagne.

“You didn’t have to but this is lovely,” you smile at him.

You put the bouquet on a vase then place it on the coffee table. After taking his seat, you serve the dish that you’ve spent the past few hours making, wanting to make sure that the meat is tender and flavorful. The beef looks so soft and the aroma is filling your apartment. You watch him after the first bite, your heart soaring when he smiles and hums in satisfaction.

“This is so good,” he says. “Reminds me so much of the beef brisket from that restaurant near the office.”

“Good. That’s what I wanted. That dish is your favorite,” you explain. “You order it often. It was also the first dish you ever bought for me.”

He stops his movements and looks at you questioningly.

“It was after the first board report submission,” you recall. “You instructed me to buy the team lunch from that restaurant and this is what I ordered because you always did. I… I treat it as the first meal you got for me and I wanted to try making it for you.”

Jungkook remembers that day. You were surprised that he gave that instruction. You also made sure that the team enjoyed it and thanked him for it. He liked that you enjoyed it as well, but claiming that that was the first dish he got you is technically untrue. And he’s unsure if telling you the truth is a good idea, but he supposes it’s one he can share now.

“It was actually pork cutlets with curry,” he says, prompting you to look at him questioningly. “It was on my first day. I… I made you do so many things and you missed lunch.”

The memory comes back to you. He had you annotate documents and attend meetings and you were starving the whole day.

“Right. I stayed late that day and I think Yoongi got me dinner. How was that…”

You remember more. Yoongi had spoken with Jungkook before he left then came back with a rice bowl. Is it possible that—

“I asked him to get it for you and not say it was from me,” Jungkook interrupts your thoughts. “The pastries during the meeting, too. Those… those were the first things I bought for you, all because I was guilty about how I treated you that day.”

You see the sadness and apology in his eyes. You suppose with how you both started, it’s easy to fall into a cycle of feeling bad about what happened, forgiving, moving on, and then remembering something again. But maybe it’s necessary this time, as you both get to know each other and settle in this new relationship. Mistakes will come up, and it’s on both of you to assure each other that it’s all okay.

So that’s what you do, as you tell him you’re not upset when he asks if you are.

“I guess in a way, you’ve always looked out for me,” you smile at him.

“I guess that’s one way to look at it,” he sighs, wanting to be positive about it like you are.

But you don’t want to dwell on the past. You’ve been apologizing to each other for days and you know you’ll have to stop that at some point.

“You’ve been soft for me since the start, huh?” You wiggle your eyebrows at him in an effort to lighten the mood.

“I was attracted to you from the beginning,” he admits. “You were nothing like I imagined and you kept proving me wrong. I’d zone out when you spoke to me, I’d hold my breath when you were close… so I detached myself from you and that hurt you in some ways. And I knew that was wrong so I fought the feelings and that made it worse.”

“What changed?”

“I hated seeing you have a hard time, whether it was because of me or not,” he says. “One moment it was out of guilt and then the next… it was just about wanting to see you happy and safe. And then wanting to see all of that up close.”

“You get to do that now,” you smile at him. “Happy, safe… that’s what I am.”

“Good. Me, too,” he smiles back.

You continue with your meal while he talks about his relatively quiet but busy day and you talk about yours. It’s nice being able to share mundane things that happened to you with someone who does the same.

The sadness in his eyes eventually disappears. He insists on doing the dishes this time and you both laugh as he navigates washing in the tiny sink. You sit on the couch with him, the sounds of the TV in the background merely white noise, and with your head on his chest and his fingers tracing patterns on your arm, you think that ending your days like this is a lot more peaceful and satisfying than being on your own.

“What time do you leave in the morning?” You ask.

“7,” he responds.

He’s got a busy week ahead - a trip to Incheon then Busan tomorrow to do some promotions of the Arts Center, and then he goes straight to Japan on Wednesday for meetings with culture and tourism ministers. He comes back on Friday evening, and that’s four days without you. It may sound silly, but that’s four days too long. He managed before though, but then again, he didn’t have much to look forward to after other than seeing you once he returned. Now, it’s that and so much more.

“I can’t believe that we just got together and now we have to do LDR,” he shakes his head.

This causes you to laugh. You angle your head and look at him, with your arms wrapped around his waist now.

“Wow, Mr. Jeon. I didn’t think you were that dramatic,” you tease.

He’d laugh back because he really does sound silly, but the way your soft eyes gaze at him makes him feel a little more sentimental. And definitely honest.

“Just wanna be with you, that’s all,” he shrugs.

“You’re clingy and needy and cheesy too,” you laugh, kissing his cheek after every word.

He groans and you’re endeared by how he pouts at you. He’s definitely been expressive about how he feels, but you’ll be apart for the next few days. You’ll be outside your little bubble of affection this time and now have to learn how to balance your relationship with every other responsibility you both have. But you want to assure him just like you hope he’d assure you.

You climb onto his lap, interlock your fingers with his, then smile at him.

“I like it because it’s you,” you whisper. “And I like you a lot. And I wanna be with you, too. But you have duties and so do I. So you’ll get through this week and do well in those appearances and meetings, and then I can meet you on Friday for dinner and spend the weekend together. Does that sound good?”

“It does,” he smiles back, kissing your hand that has your heart racing because of how tender he does it. “I’m not really uh, a texting kind of person, but let me know how you’re doing, okay? We could talk at night and you can tell me how your day went.”

“I will. And you can tell me, too.”

You nod in agreement and hug him. You’re flushed against his chest and there’s just so much comfort in this. You exhale a deep breath as you feel relaxed, especially when he starts to rub your back. It’s calming, until his hands slip underneath your shirt and his touch slowly rouses you. You feel his desire as he hugs you tightly, and now all you want is for those hands to touch everything else, and for yours to do the same.

You sit back up then pull him forward for a deep kiss, cupping his face and inhaling him, tasting him, feeling him. You slowly unknot his loose necktie, and you feel him smile against your lips, knowing exactly what comes next. You pull away and let him lean back, giving you the space to unbutton his dress shirt while you’re snug on top of his length, liking the bit of friction you feel while you expose more of him to you.

You reveal his torso, and he watches you admire him from this view. You’re stunning like this, especially with the desire for him painting your face. Your hands map out his body, and he tries to steady his breathing but to no avail. It’s only been a few days but he doesn’t think he’ll get over how your touch affects him anytime soon, not when it ignites something feral in him.

But he’ll take his time just like you seem to be doing. Even your kisses on his neck and chest are slow and tender, as if you’re savoring all this, knowing you’ll be without it for a few days. You’ll both have to be outside this bubble of safety while he’s away, and he supposes it’s the start of how things will be from now on. But he’s excited for it, if his week will start and end this way. It’s something he can now look forward to, and that carries with it excitement and relief.

Your lips trail south, the soft pecks being accompanied by your tongue and teeth doing more now. You start to rhythmically grind against his semi-hard length, and when you guide his hand under your shirt and on your breast, he lets out a low growl that has you biting your lip in anticipation.

It’s what does it for him, and soon enough, you’re both undressed, moaning each other’s names, and damp from sweat. He’s holding you in his arms by the end of it, both your chests still heaving and minds probably hazy. But this is what he wants with you - this feeling of passion and overwhelming desire, of a kind of intensity that he hasn’t felt in a long time. Or maybe even ever.

But he has to let you go, and when he does, there’s that comfort he didn’t think that letting you go would make him feel. He’ll go home knowing you’re thinking of him. He’ll go through his days knowing he’ll be hearing from you. And he’ll meet you eventually, knowing that it will be this same desire you’ll be sharing and expressing, and that’s definitely something he can’t wait to do again.

You’re a little disoriented when you wake up in your bed the next morning. It’s not soft sheets that you bury yourself into this time, but then again, the body soreness is quite familiar. It’s something you don’t mind though, not when you know the reason why.

It’s only been a few days but Jungkook just seems to know your body. He seems to really like it, too, with the way he takes his time kissing it, caressing it, and praising it. He knows just how to work his tongue on your most sensitive parts to make you reach your peak. He knows just how much strength to exert, or how deep he should go in what angle, and when to increase his pace or slow down. He knows just what to say, vulgar or otherwise, or when to look at you tenderly or as if he’ll devour you, or when to grip you tightly and when to hold you softly.

And he’d done all of that last night. While your tiny couch could only make you do so much, you both still knew what to do whether you were on top of him, on your knees, or under him.

It was definitely a good way to say goodbye, and he would’ve gone another round if it wasn’t for you convincing him that he had to go home so he could pack his things and be ready for an early trip. You don’t want him to be too tired then oversleep, and you’re glad that he didn’t.

You check your phone and see that he messaged you at 7:15 to say that he and Mr. Ri have already left and are on their way to Incheon. He’ll attend a meeting and then appear at an event before they take the long drive to Busan for another event where he’ll present the Arts Center and make a speech. He’ll spend the night there before an early morning flight to Tokyo. It’s the first of many post-opening promotions he’ll be doing, and you know there’ll be more of these business trips that you’ll have to get used to.

But you don’t mind being alone this time, not when you have your own preparations and rest to do, and not when you know that you’ll be hearing from him at the end of the day. There’s the weekend you’ll be looking forward to with him.

Your mom had reminded you during a brief call yesterday about making sure you preserve your independence and identity, and you tell her that you always had.

“Yes, because those relationships were different,” she said of your exes. “You did that because you didn’t want to share much of yourself with them. But with Jungkook, you are, and it’s also the first time. Just… make sure to hold onto the things that made you happy before him, and he should, too,” she advises. “Share them, but don’t forget them. Don’t lose what makes you, you.”

It’s wisdom from someone who’d gone through relationships herself, who’d loved and lost and loved again. And it’s a good reminder.

This is all new to you, and you suppose it’s easy to fall into this trap of dependence with your partner, of the honeymoon stage and the giddy, euphoric parts of romance. At the end of the day, Jungkook still has duties and you have a new path to take on. You’ll both have days of being too busy, too tired, maybe a bit frustrated, too. You’ll need to ground yourself in other ways and like your mom had said, not depend on the other person to always make things better, even if most days they could.

It’s the same thing that your next-door neighbor tells you when you decide to have lunch with her after she lures you with some grilled fish. She tells you about the encounter with Jungkook and you narrate how you got together. It may all seem too much, too soon and now that you’re apart from him, maybe it is. Maybe it’s also just all the emotions you both kept in finally being expressed.

And you think that maybe it’s also good that you have this time for yourself to remind you of all the other things you enjoy in life. Now you don’t have to treat them as substitutes for what you really desire because you already have that connection and intimacy you’ve been yearning for. You get to truly feel the joy of immersing yourself in your interests, and you suppose that’s one way to not lose yourself.

So you go back home and tend to your plants. You go to the theater and watch a local film and not feel like you’re escaping your life or anything this time. You bake cookies after your chicken in broth dinner because it’s something you’ve always wanted to try.

You share all these things with Jungkook later that evening while you’re on a video call with him, including what your mom and neighbor had said.

“I was a little down that you’ll be away but now I… I’m thinking I shouldn’t be,” you say. “I’ll always miss and think about you but I don’t want to feel like I miss myself when I’m with you. Am I making any sense?”

“You are,” he smiles on the screen. “It’s the same reason why you didn’t want me to miss my meeting with my father and cousin yesterday. I still have a role. Now that I’m with you, I feel like I’ll stop feeling like that weighs me down. It used to because all I was was tied to that title. I didn’t feel like I was anything else.”

You think about his words and how resigning felt liberating for you. Beyond feeling indebted, it’s clear to you that you felt stuck because it’s all you knew to do; being an assistant was all you knew how to be. It wasn’t just the stress or the pressure because you know every job you take will have those. In fact, you look forward to it in your new position. You realize that you like working, you like the hustle, you like the grind. But if it’s all you do, you lose the joy.

Now, you have a hand to hold and a warm body to wake up to. You have someone to share your days and joys and frustrations with. You have someone to laugh with and cry to. And so days on your own feel like much-needed time to enjoy things you prefer doing by yourself. And work could feel more challenging in a good way, pushing you to be better and seeing what else you could accomplish. Somehow, being with Jungkook makes you feel like there’s so much more you could do because at the end of the day, there’s someone to celebrate with, to share your thoughts with; there’s someone to cheer you on and support you.

You tell him all this and he seems to reflect on it as well.

“The councils were very impressed with the Arts Center,” he says after a while. “They said it’s a good complement to their efforts of promoting local artists because of the opportunities for exhibitions. At that moment, I felt proud of what we’ve done. And it reminded me of why I wanted to focus on this aspect of the job. I always told my parents that I wanted to be responsible for the creative side of the company and I am but it felt so heavy even if I asked for it. I don’t have to carry that pressure with me all the time. I get to take a break from it when I’m with you and I think that’s made me enjoy it more.”

It’s a realization Jungkook had on the way home after that dinner meeting with a local artist in Busan. She talked about envisioning her pieces displayed in a space like the Arts Center and he felt that joy of being able to create something for others to be a part of. Structures are beautiful on their own, but then the meaning deepens because of what they mean for users; the sense of fulfillment is different. He supposes that he’s able to appreciate that part of the job even more now.

“That’s good for us, then,” you hum, as you slowly succumb to sleep. “I have quite the day tomorrow and so do you. Rest now, Jungkook. And I’ll talk to you again.”

He says goodbye with such softness in his eyes. You miss him, but you’re happy that he’s able to experience all this on his own, too. Hearing him talk about it is different than witnessing it yourself and that’s perhaps the joy in being with someone. It’s not just about experiencing what they experience; it’s also about being on the receiving end when they try to make sense of it.

Maybe that’s what partnership is about, and you can’t imagine sharing all this to anyone else but him. And that’s the difference this time. This is a person you admire and who admires you back. He’s someone you could trust and feel safe enough to be your true self with, and after tonight’s conversation, you feel like you’re that same person for him.

You wake up early enough the next day and manage to send Jungkook a message wishing him well on his flight to Tokyo. He gives you a call as he’s about to board and says he has so many things lined up this Wednesday but that he’ll talk to you again in the evening. It’s a promise of tonight despite the distance, and you suppose that makes all the difference for him this time.

You go about your busy day, too. You make yourself a simple breakfast and then head to Rkive Publishing for your onboarding. You requested this to be done earlier so that you could focus on your tasks when you start on Monday, and Namjoon gladly agreed to your request.

He introduces you to Won-woo, your co-production officer who’ll be handling projects alongside you, and to the associates and assistants whom you’ll manage to get the books ready for selling. The team seems a lot more relaxed than what you’re used to, and they share your excitement in working together soon.

Namjoon shows you your desk and turns over your laptop. He introduces you to the rest of the staff and lets the HR go through all the administrative matters with you. He gives you a folder with all the existing and upcoming projects that the associates prepared, including the processes and suppliers list, as well as your team’s personnel files.

You smile at the documents because preparing these used to be your job, and now you’re at the receiving end of it. It’s a different feeling, but being here today excites you even more.

You join them at a book launch and take notes of how it’s being run. As a small company, planning these events is done by a special team composed of a staff member from every department but there isn’t really someone who manages it. That’s a responsibility given to you because of your background, and it’s a challenge you’re willing to take. You have more freedom this time and you have ideas. You observe how Namjoon and the other managers engage with the author and his team. It’s definitely different from what you’re used to, and you feel there’s more sincerity in these people than the millionaires you had to deal with at your old job.

You feel accomplished at the end of it, and it’s something you share with Jungkook again that evening when you eat your Chinese takeout while he munches on some dessert over the phone.

Not wanting to stay home the next day, you go to a park and finish reading your book. You decide to go to the library at the Arts Center and go through the project documents. You walk around, too, able to take in more of the surroundings with the sun still out. It’s a calming place that has you coming up with ideas for book launches, as you take note of the indoor and outdoor spaces that could definitely hold those types of events. You feel fulfilled, and it’s something you share with Yoongi during dinner later that night.

You share it with Jungkook, too, over a late evening video call after he had drinks with some business partners. He sounds quite tipsy, and he goes on about having your lemon ginger tea that you convince him to ask room service to make. You remind him of his lunch breakfast meeting and afternoon flight, and tell him that you could both meet for dinner after he clocks out of work.

It’s what you do the next day, as you wait for him at a French restaurant that you reserved for tonight. You turn around when he calls your name, and your smile is immediate when he comes up to you and hugs you tightly. He sounded tired when he called on the way here, and you suppose that he hasn’t really properly rested these past few days. He’s been going from one meeting or event to another, and he’s said before how the socializing drains all of his energy.

You feel that now, as he exhales deeply while his arms wrap around you.

“Long week, huh?” You say after you both take your seats.

“Crazy,” he shakes his head. “Talking about the plans was exciting but the actual talking was tiring.”

He goes on about how the rest of his trip went and you laugh at his commentary about all the people he’s met and his observations. You realize just how much is on his mind, and it reminds you of all the times that you’d seen him look detached when in fact, he’d been making notes and plans in his head.

Once the food arrives and you salivate at the dishes, he says he’ll stop talking about work now.

“It’s part of your day. Why should you stop talking about it?” You turn to him with a pout.

“I don’t want to bother you about it.”

“But I like hearing you talk about it,” you say. “I like knowing what’s going on in that brilliant mind of yours.”

“There’s always too much going on inside it,” he laughs. “I don’t always know how to make sense of them.”

“It’s because you don’t talk about them,” you point out. “I’m here to listen. I always am.”

He smiles and shares what happened today during the meeting he had with the team to discuss all the proposals they’ve been getting with regards to promoting the Arts Center. A subsidiary company is handling operations and marketing, but other than the planned partnerships with the Culture Ministry and the International Film Festival organizers, Jungkook didn’t expect other industries, as well as local and foreign companies and institutions, to want to partner with Jeon Corporation as well, specifically him.

He had a phone meeting with his father and Hoseok during the drive from the airport about how they can strategically go about this but that requires more canvassing and research. This is something they can tap on, and it’s good for the company image and sustainability. Residential and commercial infrastructure have always been their expertise but they can build on the cultural sides of property development, too, and Jungkook would be at the forefront of that.

“Monitoring the Arts Center is a big task in itself. I’m gonna have to set a plan for how the VP Office is going to handle it, among many other things,” he says.

“Maybe it’s time to revisit each team member’s portfolio and responsibilities,” you suggest. “Under Hoseok, only Manager Lee and Chin-sun directly handled projects, but they were all small ones so they could handle multiple. Do-hyun and Yohan managed all administrative affairs and I oversaw a bit of everything. Monitoring the Arts Center might require more than one person so maybe Chin-sun could do it with Do-hyun as a form of mentorship. You have the call to give projects to the young ones now, and maybe add another person to help with administration and events planning. Lucas could need that support.”

Jungkook is quiet and you’re afraid you might’ve crossed a line by advising him on what he could do as VP. You may have been his assistant but that doesn’t mean you could just go on and suggest things. You don’t even know if it’s appropriate to do this. He didn’t even technically ask for your opinion.

You’re about to apologize when he speaks.

“Those are great ideas. I’ll be meeting them about their development and professional goals soon. Maybe I could align expanded responsibilities and portfolios with that,” he hums. “And mentorship is good, too. Hoseok said he planned on doing that but he had to oversee so many projects that it got pushed back so maybe I can institutionalize that now. And yeah, I’m seeing now that we’d need another person to ease the load off the others. I don’t want them to be overworking and actually, neither should I.”

A smile forms on your face as the ideas come flowing. He probably had thought of those already but needed a sounding board outside of the team. That would usually be his assistant but if it’s about them, he’d need another person for it.

“I’m sorry I’m bringing this upon you,” he shakes his head. “That’s… that’s not your job anymore. You’re not my assistant anymore. I don’t want you to think that I’m using you for that.”

You didn’t really think of it that way but you don’t blame him for thinking about it. You did accuse him of wanting you to stay for the convenience of it, and maybe that’s still weighing on him.

“I don’t mind,” you assure him. “This is new territory for us, I guess, and it’s something we have to learn to navigate but this is important to you, which means it’s important to me, too. If we treat it like that, then it’s all okay.”

You caress his hand to assure him, and his smile says he understands. He’ll seek advice from his father, he tells you, and you’re glad that he’s actively working on that relationship personally and professionally.

“How are you feeling about your first day?” He asks, his hand on your bare thigh now while you eat the chocolate mousse dessert. “Do you feel like you’re ready?”

“I’m really excited. And I think I’m ready to just get on with it,” you smile. “Being there last Wednesday helped, and I just have all these ideas for the projects we’ve got lined up. I… I even thought of having book launches in the Arts Center. As long as, you know, it’s not a conflict of interest or anything.”

Your shy smile endears him, and he assures you that it’s not a problem. You’re just using your network. At the end of the day, it’s still the managing company’s call and your own boss’ decision. But you end up bouncing off ideas with him, too, like the Arts Center hosting writing workshops or spoken poetry sessions with the authors whose books you’ll be publishing.

“We make a pretty good team, don’t we?” He says after you’ve finished dinner and you’re walking to his car. “We’re out here just coming up with these ideas.”

“We work pretty well together so it’s not a surprise,” you smile at him. “I like that there’s no pressure, too. And that we could just share these things with each other, you know?”

“That’s true. I mean, I’m not assessing you or anything,” he laughs. “But I can openly admire you for it. And then think it’s sexy when you use publishing terms that I don’t understand.”

“So that’s what you want, huh?” You giggle. “I mean, I understand. It’s how I am with you.”

“Ah, so you find it sexy when I talk about the blueprints and design stuff, then?” He teases.

“I do,” you smirk. “A hot guy with a big brain? Of course that’s sexy.”

“Hmm, that’s nice to know,” he says, caging you against the door of the car.

His eyes soften as he takes you in and you mirror the way he looks.

“I’m happy I get to be with you again,” he whispers, his lips inching closer to yours.

“Me, too,” you whisper back. “And I get to sleep and wake up next to you.”

“That’s always a good plan,” he hums, kissing you deeply, something he could definitely do in an empty basement parking that he couldn’t do at a restaurant.

You fall into him immediately, and all you want is to do this without worry. “Do you mind if we spend the night at my place?” You suggest. “It’s closer.”

He laughs when he pulls away but agrees that getting home as quickly as possible is a good idea. You both enter the car and his palm is glued to your thigh again and you feel the desire heighten now that you’re alone.

Once the door of your apartment shuts, his hands are all over you immediately. You’re undressed by the time you make the short walk to your dining area, and before you could breathe from your rough kissing, you’re whimpering already with how his tongue expertly laps up your sopping cunt.

You’re bent on the table one minute, coming on his mouth and then the next, you’ve got your leg on it while he pounds you from behind, his mouth on your neck and his hands on your breasts.

You go another round in your tiny bathroom, and then another one on the edge of your bed before you’re able to properly lie on it. You’re spent after another quick shower, but it’s worth it when he fucks you as good as he does, especially after not seeing him for a few days.

You’re laid on your side, facing him who does the same. The lamp from your living room is the only source of light you have, but it’s enough for you to see his face and the smile that paints it as you explain that your bed is not as comfortable and your sheets are not as soft as his are. He says that he’ll get used to it, but you insist on passing up on your apartment next time because it’s definitely not sex-conducive unlike his penthouse. He laughs at your comments, saying that he could have sex with you anywhere and it would still be amazing.

But that cheekiness quickly fades away, and the anxious look in his eyes starts to worry you.

It takes a while but you hear it - the pitter-patter on your window that slowly starts getting louder. You turn around and watch helplessly as the drizzle turns to a downpour in seconds, and you rush out of the bed to close the curtains.

Jungkook looks uneasy - his jaws are clenched, his eyes flit from the window to you, and his breathing starts to quicken. His body shrivels, as he pulls the covers tight around him and you can’t imagine how anxious he feels. You turn on your speaker and put on some soft music to hopefully drown out the sounds. It works only a little, and you’re reminded of all the times that you felt powerless and unable to give him comfort.

But that’s not the case now, as his words prompt you to move.

“Come here, please,” he mumbles. “I need you with me.”

You return to your spot next to him, and he loosens his hold on the blanket to let you in.

“I’m here, okay?” You whisper, cupping his face and looking at him in the eyes. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re safe with me, Jungkook.”

His eyes soften a bit before they close, and you cover his ears with your hands the way you did all those months ago to block out the noise. It works, as his breathing starts to slow down. But his hold on your arms tightens, and you feel that he needs you as an anchor to get through this, so you shift up and let his arms wrap around you. He finds purchase in your neck while you caress his back, and you pace your breathing with his to let him know that you’re with him, and that you’re not letting him go.

The thunder doesn’t come, but you hold Jungkook the entire night to tell him that you’re there to comfort him even when the storm has passed. You drift to sleep once you hear his soft snores, letting his warmth envelope you as well.

You awake the next morning laid on your stomach like you tend to be, with only the warmth from the blanket covering you. You’re no longer hugging Jungkook. He also isn’t next to you.

You shift on your back and then find him by the balcony, the curtains open now, allowing you to see the clear skies outside. He stands looking out, with a faraway look in his eyes the way he had the day after his nightmare. You watch him for a while, wondering what’s on his mind, if the fear still remains, or if your comfort helped him get through the night.

He senses you’re awake, so he turns around and faces you. There’s a softness in his eyes now and you wonder where that’s from.

“Hey,” he greets. “Did the light wake you?”

“No. The empty space next to me did,” you say softly, sitting up on the bed now.

“I’m sorry. I… I had to exercise a bit to expend the negative energy,” he explains.

“What did you do?” You wonder.

“Just some push-ups and lunges. I didn’t want to disturb your sleep. You looked pretty peaceful,” he smiles.

“I don’t even know what time I slept. But it wasn’t long after you did. How do you feel?”

“Better. It was one of those nights, you know?”

You nod, suddenly overcome with a wave of sadness and regret. He notices the change in your expression and sits on the edge of the bed facing you.

“Hey, is everything okay?”

You look at him with a pout. “I asked you to come here. Then it rained. And I know how you like to workout in the mornings and I have nothing to offer here.”

“You know you can’t control the weather, right?” He nudges your knee. “I would’ve asked if we could come here if you hadn’t because it was closer. And you… you were all I needed last night. I held onto you like a lifeline, ___.”

“You did,” you nod, appreciating his words, even if he’s not the one who should be comforting you after what happened. “I’m glad I could do that for you. I guess I’m just… a little ashamed because this is all I have and—”

“Baby, I’m gonna stop you there before you say anything else,” he says, scooting closer to you and tilting your chin so you could look at him. “This is your home and I… I know you don’t just let anyone in. I like being here. I like being with you. And last night, that will be one of many. I know I won’t be going through that on my own anymore.”

“I can’t control the weather, right?” You repeat his words. “What if it happens and I’m not with you?”

“I’ll just imagine that you are,” he hums. “And then I can head to you the next day and I’ll feel better. And that’s… that’s new for me.”

“Okay,” you mumble, thankful that you’re able to give him as much comfort and safety that he does with you. “I’m just here even if I’m not around.”

“I know,” he smiles, leaning close to kiss you.

You give him a soft one then pout again, saying you still have to brush your teeth, so he lets you go and you scurry to the bathroom. You return to your bed with him lying on his back now, his arm folded behind his head as he gestures to the space next to him. You climb up and lay on top of his chest, kissing him languidly as his arms wrap around your waist to hold you in place.

He’s gentle with the way his tongue rolls around with yours, and with how his hands stroke your back as they’ve snuck underneath your shirt. There’s something about the rare cool morning that has you wanting to just lazily make out with him while you feel each other up.

And that’s exactly what happens. You hum and giggle against each other’s lips, and your hand maps his torso while he palms your waist down to your thigh.

Laying on his chest now, you turn to him.

“I’m nervous about tonight,” you confess.

“Baby, you know my parents. And you know they like you,” he says, turning to you. “Even you think that they already approve of you.”

It’s true, you remind yourself. They have always been kind to you. You’ve had several conversations with CEO Jeon and he was the one who showed you the library. They also sounded excited about dinner when they called Jungkook last week, but being around them in a different context this time makes you anxious.

“Approval is one thing but meeting expectations is another, and that’s what I’m worried about,” you explain. “They know me as an employee but not as the woman you’re, uh, currently seeing.”

“You mean dating.”

“Yes, that,” you shyly smile. “I worked for their family and now I’m… dating their son. And there are standards to that.”

“Standards that you already meet,” he assures you. “For all that my parents are, I at least know that what matters the most to them is that I’m with someone who genuinely wants me, and considering how you can’t get your hands off me, I know you do.”

You laugh at this teasing but you don’t deny it.

“You’re quite irresistible, if I’m being honest,” you giggle. “I’m still getting used to the fact that I could, uh, do all this with you.”

“Well, I hope you don’t get tired of it. Because I won’t.”

“Look at you being good with words and all,” you smirk. “You surprise me, Mr. Jeon. I can’t wait to know what else is inside that heart of yours.”

“Me, too, actually,” he hums, realizing that there’s still so much he doesn’t know about what he’s capable of doing and feeling this time around. “I guess we can find out together.”

You smile at his honesty and think the same. You’re on this journey of learning what your heart can do and he’ll be the one to show you that.

You lay in bed with Jungkook for the rest of the morning, having short naps and then lazy make out sessions before deciding to wash up. You eat at a cafe for lunch then head to his place this time. He works out for a bit then joins you on the couch as you watch a show before you both prepare for that dinner at his parents’ estate.

Mr. and Mrs. Jeon warmly greet you when you arrive. They lead you to the dining room and you tone down your amazement at the spread before you. There are all types of meat and seafood and other fancy dishes that get you curious, something Jungkook seems to notice as he fills your plate and tells you to let him know what else you want more of.

“Don’t be shy, dear,” his mother says. “Have as much as you want. We want you to feel at home and comfortable, okay?”

“Yes, Mrs. Jeon,” you smile.

You try to loosen up but still act proper, not wanting to give the impression that you’re uncultured and ignorant. Their family has so much experience of traveling the world and you want to show that you can keep up, that you’re worthy of sitting and walking alongside them and their son. You seem to be doing okay, but you don’t realize how nervous you really are until you feel Jungkook’s hand wrap around your own and then his fingers interlocking with yours.

He’s warm and stable, and when you tighten your grip, you see him smile from your periphery. You smile as well, wanting him to know that you appreciate the encouragement he’s giving. And it helps, as once you’re asked about your new job, you feel yourself relax in his hold, until he slowly lets you go, showing you that you’re doing well and can hold your own.

You talk with confidence and excitement about the publishing house and your responsibilities. Jungkook watches you beam when you mention your upcoming projects and the things you’re looking forward to learning, and he thinks you’re incredibly beautiful like this. It’s new and exciting for him, too, and it’s at this moment when all the pain and frustration from losing you the first time that it all feels truly worth it.

Jungkook doesn’t expect to be as engaged as he is once his mother asks about his trips this past week. Oftentimes he’d give simple and straightforward answers, but with you around, there’s this new kind of comfort and feeling of openness towards his parents. Perhaps it’s gratitude that they helped you and your mom all those years ago. Maybe it’s also you, because being around you makes him want to be better. It might be both of that and more - it might also be him, realizing that he’s capable of receiving and returning the love of the two people who've given him the most.

After dinner, you all proceed to the sitting room outside that overlooks the garden. You settle with a flute of champagne and sit next to Mrs. Jeon, appreciating the moon casting over the grand space filled with big trees and flower beds and a fountain.

“I’ve added more outdoor lights,” CEO Jeon informs Jungkook as they sip their glass of whiskey. “I’ll show you the new ones.”

Jungkook nods and gestures to you that he’ll just go with his father. You watch them head out and walk around, with the older man pointing to different posts and seemingly explaining the lighting. Jungkook engages with him, and compared to what you’d witnessed in the past, his body language this time is no longer of detachment.

“You’ve done so much for our son, ___,” his mother breaks through your thoughts, prompting you to turn to her. “I hope you never doubt your place in this family. I know it’s all new and it’s just been a week but I want you to feel like you belong here, with him and with us.”

“That’s an honor to give me, Mrs. Jeon,” you respond in gratitude. “Please know that I won’t take that for granted.”

“I feel more grateful that you’re around,” she faintly smiles. “We’re just like most families, you know? I don’t want to be ignorant in saying that but we… We have our troubles. We never say enough, we say things we don’t mean, we let distance keep us apart, we love but we don’t show it the right way. But we try. We try with our sons but it doesn’t always get through. I always feel like too much has happened and we just never knew how to make up for it.”

“I think Jungkook’s seeing that now,” you assure her. “He’s told me about wanting to spend more time with you, to celebrate birthdays and holidays. It might take time but he wants to make plans. He won’t feel so far away from you anymore.”

“And we thank you for that,” she says. “We didn’t know how to make him open up to us and there are still things we don’t know about him. We lost so many years and I… I’ve been hoping that in being back here, he’ll give us a chance and now he has. And that’s because of you. You showed him the good that’s around him and you made him open up to those good things. All it took was you.”

“He did the same for me,” you point out. “I carried a lot of pain, too, and I’ve only started to embrace the good things around me because of him. Your son has such a beautiful heart, Mrs. Jeon, and regardless of what happened, I know he took that from you, too,” your voice cracks now.

“Oh, dear,” she huffs, taking your hand in hers. “You have no idea how much it means to me to know that.”

She wipes the tears that form in her eyes and you give her a comforting smile.

“He cares about you, Mrs. Jeon. And he’s slowly learning how to express that.”

“That’s wonderful to hear,” she smiles. “I hope you always stay by his side, dear. It can get hard sometimes, as it is with all relationships. But… I hope you hold each other’s hands throughout all of that.”

“I’m sure we’ll learn that, too,” you nod.

You turn to where Jungkook and his father are and see that they’ve gone a bit further down. You ask his mother where they might be and she answers that they’re probably by the playground, as new lights have been installed in that area, too.

“You should go to him,” she urges. “That’s such a special place for him and I’m sure he’d want to show it to you.”

You nod and head out, your heart warming at finally being able to be in his safe space this time. You get there without catching their attention, and you look back at the humble structure before you, seeing the love that created it for a man you hold so close to you.

“That’s such a lovely playground, Mr. Jeon,” you say, prompting both men to turn to you. “Did you build this all by yourself?”

“Oh, I thought you were talking to me,” Jungkook states.

“You’re only Jungkook to me now,” you playfully shake your head, although you don’t miss the teasing way he cocks his eyebrow because you definitely still use the formalities as you please.

CEO Jeon laughs but gets back to your question. “I did. It was the first time I ever designed and constructed one and it took a while to do it. I had to figure out how to hide it from Jungkook because he would follow me out here that I had his mother take him to one of our properties in the mountains for the weekend just so I could finish it,” he laughs at the memory. “But it was all worth it. He loved it as a child and it stood the test of time.”

“It’s because you maintain it, father,” Jungkook points out. “That’s, uh, that’s dedication.”

“I knew how much it mattered to you, and that mattered to me,” the older man hums. “I wanted you to have a place where you felt safe every time you were here. Maintaining it was my way of feeling close to you.”

You watch as both of them share a look of gratitude and acceptance, and though mending this relationship will also take time, you know that with this, it’s starting to.

“Well, I’m sure Jungkook would love to show it off,” CEO Jeon smiles. “I’ll leave you both to it.”

You’re left alone with Jungkook now, and with his hand around your waist, you rest your head on his chest and hug him tight. You imagine a young boy running about, excitedly riding the swing and going down the slide and then sitting at his favorite spot while he draws buildings and the sky on his sketch pad. That same boy stands next to you now and holds you close, in a way sharing those memories with you as you stand in silence and take in the beauty of a humble playground.

Jungkook turns and kisses you on the forehead.

“Thank you for tonight,” he whispers. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”

“Always,” you smile. “Thank you for taking me here.”

You know that for him, it’s not just about how you managed the evening with his parents. It’s also more than just a celebratory dinner for the Arts Center. Tonight is a way for him to show his parents that he’s ready to receive all the good that they’ve been showing him.

And it’s his way of telling you that as long as you’re both navigating your pains and your fears together, everything is going to be alright.

You spent the rest of Saturday night curled in Jungkook’s arms as you both watched a horror movie on his living room couch. On Sunday, you slept in and cooked lunch together before he took you to a spa. He insisted on getting a massage to help you relax before your big first day, and with the steam room and afternoon tea included in the couples package, you couldn’t say no.

He looked happy seeing you satisfied. There was something about the soft kisses and sensual touches that got you relaxed and definitely turned on. You had dinner out after that then he took you home where he stayed until you started dozing off, wanting to spend time with you as long as he can before another busy week.

Your alarm goes off on Monday morning and you immediately get up, feeling that excitement of your first day rush through you. It’s a different feeling this time - you’ll be establishing a new routine, be around a different set of people, exploring new food places to eat at for lunch, and your days will be filled with new tasks and responsibilities that you can’t wait to get to.

You’ll learn new things and manage a team this time, and it will challenge you in so many ways. You’ll also engage with authors and artists, and you suppose that's what you’re most excited about - you want to connect with your inner self and your surroundings more, and to find peace and strength in other people’s words.

Looking at yourself in the mirror after your shower, you can’t help but smile. There’s that joy on your face that’s new. There’s a bit of fear, too, but even then, you wish Jungkook was here to see how excited you look, or maybe to remind you that things are going to be alright. He messaged earlier to greet you good morning and you’ll probably settle with texts for now, as he might be on the way to work with Lucas next to him.

Wrapping a towel around your body, you head out the bathroom to dress up. But that’s when your doorbell rings, and you freeze for a moment because you’re not scheduled to have anyone this early in the morning. It might be your neighbor. But it could also be—

“Babe?” Jungkook calls from the other side. “Are you still there?”

You immediately open the door to let him in and you stare at him, all dressed and ready for work.

“Hey,” you say, returning his kiss. “What are you doing here? Did Mr. Ri drive for you?”

“No, I did,” he smiles. “I told him and Lucas that I’ll just meet them at the office and I won’t be in until around 9.”

“Why?”

“Well, it’s your first day. And I wanted to get you breakfast. And drive you to work,” he explains. “Maybe ease your nerves if you’re a little anxious.”

You soften as you watch him lay out the pastries and cups of coffee on your dining table. You were just thinking about him, and now he’s here, making sure he’s got your first meal and transportation covered on this pretty important day.

“I’m actually quite excited,” you beam. “And I’m really glad you’re here.”

“Good,” he smiles, taking his seat. “I… I know you’re a grown adult and all but I didn’t want you to go through this on your own.”

You want to hug and kiss him at this moment but doing so while wrapped in a damp towel isn’t a good idea. So you ask for a second and quickly wear your nightgown from last night, then you scurry towards him. You sit on his lap and bury your face in his neck, taking in his scent while your arms wrap around him.

His arms wrap around you, too, tightening his grip on your waist the more you curl into his body. He adores this giddy version of you, the one that melts in joy when he does something nice. It’s wholesome, he thinks. He always believed you deserved that kind of care and treatment. He’d spoil you with whatever you like, but it’s this tenderness that he learned from you, that he wants to try to keep showing.

You cup his face with your hands and kiss him softly while he palms your outer thigh as your legs lay on his lap. You pull away before you start to want more, grazing your nose against his instead then going to your seat.

The pastries look divine and you already feel energized. You thank him again for making the effort to buy all this and drive to you, and his proud smile makes the butterflies in your belly go off.

“Dress up now,” he says once you finish. “I’ll clean up here and make you coffee to-go.”

“Okay,” you mumble, leaving him to finally get ready.

Jungkook puts away the remaining food and wraps it for your breakfast tomorrow. He uses the coffee machine that his office gave as a farewell gift to make your drink that you’ll be needing to get you through the rest of the morning. He glances at you and sees you choosing between two blouses. You turn to him to show both of them, your eyes asking which one you should wear.

“Blush,” he answers. “Pairs better with the green.”

He gestures towards the shoes next to your closet, the ones he got for you last weekend.

“Thought so,” you smile, turning around to put it on.

He walks towards you as you tuck it in your beige slacks and look at yourself in the mirror. He watches as you tie the knot by the neckline of your top, aligning the bows constantly. You don’t seem to be satisfied, as you pull the tails then do it all over again, straightening the bows once more. He knows you can do this even with your eyes closed, but a bit of help won’t hurt, especially as he senses that something’s causing you to be quite jittery.

“Hey,” he calls out. “Let me.”

You meet his eyes in the mirror then turn around to face him. He tightens the knot and aligns it, and you watch him the whole time he does. Something about the way he’s focused on this makes your heart race, and you smile to yourself at how the roles have reversed.

But unlike how both of you used to stand still and hold your breaths when it was you on the other side, this time, there’s calmness despite what you’re feeling.

“Okay, maybe I’m a little nervous,” you admit, prompting him to look at you. “It’s just that… so much has happened for me to get here and I want to do it right. I want to do well. I don’t want to fail at this, Jungkook.”

“And you won’t,” he comforts, cupping your face now as he looks at you tenderly. “You worked hard to get here, to have this kind of freedom. You deserve to pursue what makes you happy, ___, and you deserve to want it, okay? You’re gonna go there and impress everyone with your beautiful mind and admirable work ethic and kindness. And that boss of yours is going to constantly be thankful that you gave him a chance and didn’t shut him out when he spoke to you at that bookstore.”

He thumbs your cheek as you slowly smile, and he mirrors your look of adoration.

“I’ve seen what you can do,” Jungkook continues. “And this new role, this company… they’ll test you but I know you. You’ll make them believe in your capabilities and your vision. Your heart will make them trust you. And you’ll lead them well; I don’t doubt it one bit.”

“Okay,” you nod, feeling the warmth of his words all over your body.

You’re thankful that he decided to come today, as you probably would’ve stressed about so many things and then become anxious right as you’re entering the office.

But you aren’t. You feel confident and excited and for the first time, you feel like yourself. It’s not because you’re tying your identity and purpose to a job again, which is what pulled you down before. But right now, you don’t feel the baggage of your past. You don’t feel like you’re performing a role. You don’t feel emptiness or disconnection from things and people around you.

Perhaps this is when you start to really get to know who you are - as a professional, as a leader, as a potential artist… Maybe as a lover and someone’s partner, too, as you take what Jungkook is giving you. This is when you get to know yourself as a person and what you can give to others and how much you can receive. This is when you get to know yourself outside of what you do and let it be about what you feel and think and enjoy.

This is when it could be about what you love. And perhaps this is when you learn what your heart could truly do, and you can’t wait to explore all that with him.

“Thank you,” you mumble, exhaling a sigh of relief once you feel his soft lips against your forehead. “I’m glad I’m not doing this on my own.”

Jungkook just smiles, content on seeing that joy and calmness on your face. You stop him when he pulls you to finally leave the house, and you think there’s one thing you can do for him this time.

You align his necktie, and while he’s been doing it correctly recently, you can’t pass up on this part of your routine together.

He smiles again and kisses your hand in thanks, then he leads you to his car where he drives the half hour to your office, all while your fingers are intertwined with his. It’s calming and everything you need before your big day, one that will start with a meeting to prepare you for your operations planning at the end of the week.

Jungkook pulls over on the street and faces you. And just as you’re about to kiss him goodbye, he tells you that there’s something he wants to give you as an added gift.

You look at him in warning because you said you didn’t want anything else.

“It’s nothing grand, I promise,” he chuckles, as he retrieves a bag from the backseat.

He hands it to you and you excitedly peek in, feeling a wave of emotion as you hold up a snake plant.

“I heard it’s good for positive energy,” he says to fill up the silence in the car.

He’s right because you told him that. And he’s been taking care of the one on his office desk, the one that you gave him for his birthday. He also told you the other day that looking at it now makes him feel your presence, as if you’re rooting for him even when you’re not around. You suppose that’s what he’s trying to tell you, too.

“It is,” you smile. “I heard it’s also good at reminding its owner that someone’s always there for them.”

“I can confirm that saying,” he chuckles.

You lean over and give him a soft kiss.

“Thank you, Jungkook,” you smile, feeling the calmness wash over you.

“You’re welcome,” he smiles back. “Now go. You can’t be late on your first day.”

You laugh and open the door. “I’ll see you tonight,” you say before walking out.

You turn back and wave him goodbye one last time.

It’s quite symbolic, as you think about Jungkook as happiness, dropping you off at a new place that already gives you another kind of fulfillment. You used to think there was only one way to feel it, that it only consisted of one thing or person.

You realize that happiness could be in many forms, and that the feeling of connection and intimacy is alive, it’s ongoing, it’s a constant pursuit that’s both tangible and elusive, and it requires vulnerability; it requires strength.

As you enter your new office and greet your new colleagues, and as you place the plant with the ‘good luck’ note on it on your desk and retrieve the supplies that your former team gave you, you see all the things that connect you to your past and the ones that clarify your new present. There’s so much to learn and unlearn - how to be good to yourself is one of them, and you can’t wait for that, too.

“Ms. Cho,” a deep voice calls out.

You look at the man in front of you and you both share a brief moment of silence before bursting in laughter.

“It feels weird,” Namjoon says. He straightens himself before turning to you again. “___,” he corrects. “Meeting time, let’s go.”

It’s casual and comfortable and everything you need. You don’t want the formalities either, and it’s this type of environment that you truly believe will make you better.

You follow him to the meeting room and there’s a wave of nostalgia that hits you, especially once you start taking minutes that you shouldn’t be doing anymore.

You laugh to yourself. Maybe there’ll always be that person in you, but you don’t pity her anymore; in fact, you admire her. It’s her strength and grace that got you here, and you know it’s the same things that will make you appreciate and protect and fight for all the things that you have now.

That includes your job. That includes yourself. And that definitely includes Jungkook.

END.

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#jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x you #jungkook x oc #jungkook fanfiction #jeon jungkook #jungkook series #bts jungkook #boss jungkook

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writeroutoftime · 9 months ago

Text

our family

pairing: tyler owens x fem!reader (requested by: @piratejakesgf)

summary: it's the first morning tyler is going back to storm chasing after the birth of your daughter and he finds he needs some reassurances in the nursey.

warnings: none (though not proofread lol)

words: 0.7k

a/n: oh my goodness, thank you for this request!! it was so sweet and fun to write! imagining this man as a father truly made me swoon! please enjoy!! 💕

oOoOo

The sun slowly began peaking over the skyline - a gentle nudge to those still asleep that morning was soon arriving. Not included in that group was Tyler Owens. Instead, he stood in the baby pink nursey, staring down in the crib at his seven-month-old daughter. His finger stroked over her soft cheek, memorizing every breath she took.

Tyler thought the moment he met and fell for you that his life was changed forever. But it changed all over ago seven months ago when he held his daughter for the first time. It was then that he knew nothing in his life was more important than being there for his two girls.

He could feel the anxiety building in his body the longer he stood and simply watched. Tyler knew that eventually he was going to have to tear himself away from her, from you, and get back out to chasing. And dep down, he truly was excited. To be back with his team, doing what he loved. But it all felt so much more complicated now.

He went through a similar spiral once 'I love you's' were shared between each other. It was so easy to go out in the middle of a damn tornado when there was no one waiting for him. And now there were two people who would be waiting to for him to make it home safely.

So wrapped up in his thoughts, Tyler didn't hear you shuffle into the nursey. It was only when you wrapped your arms around his frame and pressed your cheek against his sturdy back that he found himself relaxing the tiniest bit.

"Morning, darling." he whispered, letting go of the crib railings in favor of grasping your hands with his.

Your response of incoherent mumbles brought a much-needed smile to his face. Carefully, he untangled your limbs and turned you until your sleepy face met his green eyes. He titled his head forward so his forehead could rest against yours, soaking in this quiet moment.

"How you feeling today, cowboy?" you whispered, not wanting to shatter the bubble that encompassed you both.

Tyler sighed and stepped back so he could pull you into his chest. "I, I don't know if I'm being honest." he confessed. "Don't get me wrong, I'm excited to be back out with the team again, but..."

"But?" you prompted, offering Tyler a space to just think and talk with zero judgments.

"But, I also don't want to leave the two of you. I mean what if something happens here while I'm gone? O-or what if something happens to me while I'm out there?"

You took a moment to carefully craft your response. "I can't say that I won't be worried while you're out there. But that's nothing new. I know you're going to do everything in your power to come home to me - to us." you said, your voice firm.

"Of course I will." Tyler vowed

"Well, we'll be waiting for you when you come home. And that'll just mean the reunion is that much sweeter." you told him with a sly smile.

Greedily, you pushed forward until your lips met Tyler's chapped ones. He responded immediately and held you impossibly tighter. The kiss was long and full of passion, both of you expressing everything that couldn't be said. Love, passion, and promises of more early morning kisses to come.

You eventually pull away and swayed slightly in the nursey as Tyler still held you tightly. Though he felt more relaxed, you could tell there was something he was holding back. As gently as you could, you grasped his chin in your fingers and forced him to look at you.

"And, when you come back home, if it still doesn't feel right - we'll figure it out. We're always here for you, whatever it is you're going to do."

Tyler nodded, teeth caught on his lips as he tried to hold back his tears. "What would I do without you both?" he asked with a small laugh. And when he got into his truck and turned back to see you and your daughter waving goodbye to him, he knew he'd make it back to you whatever mother nature threw his way.

#tyler owens x reader #tyler owens imagine #twisters x reader #twisters imagine #rita writes

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kooggukk · 4 months ago

Text

𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 NOBODY ELSE // JJK

genre: fwb, fuck buddies😼

note: guys i just want jungkook.. this has been sitting in my drafts for way too long haha sorry for spelling mistakes or anything i got too lazy to proofread it lol! enjoy tho💕

word count: 4.3k

being invited by jungkook’s mother for a dinner was normal for you and your family. you and jungkook grew up being neighbors, attend to the same high school and college later on — which he dropped out of.

it wasn’t because he’s dumb, he’s nowhere near that. he got bored, tired. his mother didn’t like the news when he told her, but she didn’t have a choice, other than to support his dream. jungkook always wished to be a singer.

some of his closest friends joked about it and laughed at the idea of jungkook being a worldwide celebrity. we could say that affected him a lot, he felt zero support from both sides: family & friends. he would often spend his days in his house, sitting on a particular part of his couch.

maybe you know him too well, you know that when he’s writing a song he would get a glass of beer, place it carefully on his coffee table, get his black notebook with his pen that he would click continuously when he’s deep in thoughts.

you know he would knee on the soft mattress beneath him, sitting on his feet like a cutie, focus on the lyrics with his big doe eyes.

you also know he would obviously play with his lip piercing, licking it, turning his tongue around it and what not. oh what that tongue can do.

the amount of times he had eaten you out on his couch, — on that spot of the couch — you wouldn’t even be able to count on your ten fingers. your friendship with him was different.

different, because you support him and understand him in a way nobody else had yet. but different because he fucks you, like crazy. he had fucked you in every way possible. fast, rough, deep, gentle, slow, anal. the last one was just once, though.

it all started at your birthday party, when you turned 25. you got wasted, he got tipsy, he knew about his whereabouts unlike you. he knew what was going on when he fucked you first, but what was he supposed to do when a woman like you, was literally begging to fuck you.

he felt guilty, he felt like he took advantage of the alcohol in your system. but when you woke up in the morning, with jungkook next to you, cuddled up, you didn’t freak out. you knew what happened, and you didn’t regret it. nor did he.

you know it shouldn’t be right, that it shouldn’t feel that good to get fucked by your best friend but god, you can’t help it. he admitted it, he finds you attractive. you find him it too.

but you both talked it out, no feelings. he told you he’d never want anything else from you other than your friendship and pussy.

and now, you’re sitting at the dining table with jungkook in front of you, his mother next to him and his father at the end. your mother on the other end as your father is next to you.

it’s normal, the atmosphere was comfortable and funny. the adults discussing work related stuff, your and his mother had already gossiped about someone else too.

it was a perfect night, except that jungkook hasn’t taken his eyes off of you the entire dinner, except when he got asked a question. you scolded him, non verbally with your eyes.

he’s a jerk. he just fucked you the night before, not on his couch this time though. it was in his kitchen, where he got too turned on by seeing you cut a cucumber. yes, a dang cucumber.

“so ___, i heard you finished college.” his mother spoke to you, your gaze turned to her and you smiled. “oh yes, last week actually.”

“what major were you in?” his father joined in. “psychology.” your mother interrupted and reached over to rub your back, feeling extremely proud of her daughter. you smiled, “i’m thinking about going back, i’ve been researching a lot on nursing lately.”

your eyes stopped on jungkook once again. he’s leaned back in the chair, one arm resting on the back of his mother’s chair, the other resting on his thigh. his chin is slightly lifted, looking at you as he plays with his lip piercing. fuck.

the parents continued the conversation, telling different stories about nurses as that came up. jungkook leans back to the table, resting his chin with his hands, elbows on the table.

he stares at you, not uttering a single word. you give him a small frown, not too noticeable. his eyes drop to your neck, then your chest or atleast what only was visible, then back to your eyes. you chuckled and shook your head in disbelief, he’s seriously thinking of sex right now.

you’ve tried to keep your ‘let’s fuck’ relationship with jungkook private, not going around and telling every second person that ‘hey i fuck my best friend!’. the only person who might know that you and him slept together is one of your friends from college, she saw you and jungkook that one night. the first night.

she hasn’t asked about it though, thankfully. it’s not like it was her business, so she dropped it. you knew he wouldn’t try anything with you in public, especially not in front of your parents. so that’s why it caught you off guard when you felt his leg touch yours, slightly nudging it.

you cleared your throat as you jumped a little from the surprise, a smirk on his lips as he stared at your flustered form. you cussed him out in your head, ‘fuck you’ you mouthed and he just raised a brow at that.

you rolled your eyes as you realized he wouldn’t mind that, his eyes still devouring the sight of you, almost fucking you with his eyes at this point. you don’t even wanna know what he’s thinking about at the moment.

“jungkookie, have you found yourself a girlfriend?” your mother asked, catching his attention. he fixed his posture and shook his head, “no, i’m not looking for a relationship at the moment.”

“he’s such a liar!” his mother pointed at him, “i know he’s seeing someone.” she said and took a sip of her wine. “am i?” he raised his eyebrow, his voice laced with confusion. “deny it all you want, but i found a lipstick in your pocket when you came home.”

his expression changed, his eyes somewhat turned nervous, scared even. you stared at him with a small smirk, taking a sip of your soda. he glanced at you, “must’ve been ___’s.” he chuckled and shook his head.

“and why would her lipstick be in your pocket?” his mother asked, obviously she didn’t believe him. “we came here together, i believe she put it there so she could use it if her makeup gets smudged.” he shrugged.

he was right, that was in fact the reason you put it there. “oh yeah, it’s mine.” you said, a small smile appearing on your lips. his mother nodded and with that the conversation was over. thank god.

as everyone finished eating, your and his mother disappeared into the kitchen, your fathers went outside to have a beer while ‘man talking’ or however they called it. leaving you and jungkook alone.

“you wanna die?” you scolded him, your voice was quiet not to get caught. “i swear junkook, i’ll choke you.” he grinned and rested his head on his hands, smiling at you like a child. “what?” you asked.

“choke me? is that your new kink?” he teased, his foot finding yours again under the table. you clicked your tongue and crossed your arms, “do you ever stop thinking about sex?”

“nope. impossible when you’re around me, babe.” there he goes again, he always somehow finds a way to get you hot. he just knows what to say every time. “you’re unbelievable.” you can’t help but to smile with a shake of your head.

“what? you’re acting like you didn’t just strip me off with your eyes.” he teased and you gasped, “i did not-“ you stuttered, you got caught. “you’re the one to speak.” you argued back.

“i’m not denying it, i did wish to rip that pretty blouse off you.”

“i dare you, it was expensive. the only thing ripping will be your balls when i beat you up.” he scoffed at your words. “c’mon, you wouldn’t do that.”

“you think so?” you raised an eyebrow and he hummed in response. “how would i fuck you without balls?” again, he just knows what to say to drive you crazy.

“touché.” you mumbled and raised your glass to take a sip again.

✩•.𖣠°˙★

the evening came to an end as you both bid goodbye to your parents, you thanked his mother for the delicious meal. he offered to take you home and you agreed, assuming you’d end up at his place anyways. but your parents didn’t have to know about that.

and it happened just like that, the moment you stepped in his home you were pushed to the wall with force. you gasped, jungkook didn’t leave a single second for you to react as he attacked your lips, kissing you.

he held your face in place by your cheeks, your small reticule dropped from your hand as you hugged him close, kissing him back with just as much force and desperation as he did.

his right hand went to grab your ass, then holding your thigh as you lifted it up. he immediately pushed himself closer to you, grinding his growing erection against you.

not wanting to fuck you right at the front door, he dragged you to his living room, pushing you on the couch. he grinned at you and he dropped to his knees, the loud thud must have been hurtful, but he didn’t waste a single second.

he eagerly gripped the hem of your jeans, undoing it and pulling it off you, lifting your hips to help him. “hm, good.” he praised you for that small action of yours, his voice enough to create an ocean in your panties.

he touched your knees and thighs, caressing your skin while he leaned in to plant kisses on your inner thigh. he pulled you a little down, holding your legs tightly and he spread them. “don’t close.” he demanded, his voice hoarse and it sent you shivers down your spine.

you gasped once again when you felt him kiss you on your panties, he pulled away to take off his black turtleneck sweater but went right back in, pulling off your panties in a second.

the cold air hit your core immediately, but soon replaced by the heat coming from his body. he licked a stripe down your pussy, getting a hum out of you at the familiar feeling of his mouth working on you.

your mouth fell agape when he sucked on your clit, your hands finding their way to his black hair, getting a great hold of them. he groaned at your action, he knows you like to get a hold of his hair, so he hasn’t cut it in some months now.

he pulled away, you almost whined about him stopping but then he spread your folds with his fingers, spreading your wetness on his digits. he glanced up at you when he brought them to his lips, licking them.

he hummed, “love it.” he said, his voice a low growl. one of his hand rests on your thigh, gripping it softly. the other goes to your core again, inserting his finger in you. his head goes back down, disappearing between your legs once again as he starts sucking again, his finger pumping into you.

your back arched, unintentionally. “oh, fuck,” your breath hitched, he smirked against you. he added another of his long digits, curling them inside you, he pulled away as he stared into your eyes, then his gaze dropped to his hand working on you.

he groaned at the sight, he’s slept with girls before you, it was obvious he was experienced, but he could swear on his life your pussy was the prettiest he has ever seen in his whole life.

“so pretty,” his voice was teasing and you gasped his name, pulling his head up. “shut up,” your voice was a low murmur and he raised an eyebrow at your sass.

“what? can’t i call what’s mine pretty?” he chuckled and shook his head, secretly adding a third finger. “i don’t want your fingers,” you whined, your hips moving on their own. “i need to get you stretched, babe.” he grinned and he continued, his three fingers now going in a slower pace.

“no,” you stopped his hand, “i’m okay, just-“ you licked your lips, his gaze dropping to them. “shit, just fuck me already.” your voice was more like a whisper, full of need. “you’re tight, i don’t want to hurt you.” he argued back, but his fingers were already out of you as he wiped them in his jeans.

you sat up straight on the couch, closing your legs. “c’mon, you fucked me enough already. i can take you,” he couldn’t help but to let out a small laugh and he nodded, “love that you speak your mind.”

with that said, he got up from the floor and leaned down to kiss your forehead, “i’ll be back,” that one small action of his is why you trust him, how you know that he is the right guy to be fuck buddies with.

he can be rough during sex, there’s no doubt in that, but you had experienced gentle sex too with him. roughness isn’t always necessary to get rid of the sexual frustration, and maybe, maybeeeee, you like it more when he’s gentle with you.

you like it more when his body is pressed against yours, slowly moving with the rhythm of his deep thrusts, you love it when he goes to hold your hand, either above your head or next to you, it doesn’t matter. you love it when he stares in your eyes with every thrust. unlike during rough sex, when his eyes are either closed or focused on your tits.

soon he comes back, a pack of condom with him, some tissues and a towel. “what’s the towel for?” you ask, he never brought one before. he smiled at that and when he got to you, he plopped down on the couch. “just in case.” he shrugged but you felt suspicious, he was up to something.

he put everything aside and leaned in, crashing his lips on yours once again. “how do you want it?” he asked when he pulled away, but he still managed to give a soft peck on your nose.

you frowned because he usually wasn’t like this, wasn’t so affectionate. sure, in other ways he was, especially after sex. he always takes care of you, but he never just pecks you in random places and asks how you want it.

“however you want me.” you shrugged. “you’re up to something, you’re suspicious.” you narrowed your eyes at him and he grinned. “suspicious?” he asked as he started to unbutton your blouse. you hummed and leaned back, letting him do it.

“i’m not suspicious.” he said and kissed the skin just above your breasts, he pulled the clothing off your shoulders when he finished with all the buttons, leaving you in your bra.

“you’re very detailed tonight, aren’t you?” you sighed and reached behind, undoing your bra with a smooth move. “detailed?” he frowned and reached to his belt, unbuckling it.

you hummed and reached to unzip his jeans, with a lift of his hips you pulled it down, his dick begging to be freed from his white underwear. you could feel yourself throb by just the thought of having sex with him again, when in fact you just did it yesterday too.

“it don’t bite.” jungkook chuckled when he saw you were just staring, god, almost drooling at this point. you rolled your eyes, holding the hem of the underwear. you pulled it off, his dick sprang free.

you could let anyone call you stupid, you don’t care but for sure you know that jungkook’s dick is pretty. of course it would be, that whole man is a god. he sighed in pleasure when you wrapped your fingers around him, his head thrown back.

you started off slowly, stroking him with smooth, unrushed moves as you watched his face. his eyes closed, mouth open and eyebrows knitted together. soon you picked up your pace, earning low groans and sometimes even moans from him.

you started to kiss his neck, nibbling on his soft skin. he cursed, it was his favorite when you kissed his body. his breaths came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving with every breath he took.

“shit, ___.” he uttered a low groan, “don’t stop, oh- please..” you hummed at his begging, jerking him off as fast as you could. he was close, you know well enough to see when he has an orgasm.

you see the way his thighs occasionally stiff, his grip on the pillow that reached his hand first is tight. and then you see his eyes staring down at you, sometimes rolling back and closing, then opening them again. you see how his mouth is agape, his low groans turning into soft moans and cries, his brows crashed together on his forehead.

he was just straight up mesmerizing. sometimes you felt like the luckiest woman on earth that you could capture him in this state. which he was in because of you, nobody else.

“please plea-“ his voice cracked, ending it with a louder moan as he reached his orgasm, spilling his white juice on your hand. you didn’t stop there, you slowed down your pace, but you just couldn’t stop.

he hissed when he started to feel sensitive, bringing his head straight back up from the backrest to look at you. “___, don’t,” he whined. you cupped his chin, pressing a soft, feather-light kiss on his rosy lips.

he lazily responded to it, barely moving his lips. he brought his hand on yours, stopping you from jerking him. you pulled away, “just give me a second, babe,” his voice came out hoarse, your heart skipped a beat and your pussy throbbed by the nickname.

he licked his lips, clearing his voice. “you still with me?” you smiled, your hand reaching to his hair, gently pulling a few strands of them. he scoffed and fixed his posture, his hand grabbing your thigh.

“you gotta do more than just a handjob to lose me.”

“more? i can do more.” you mumbled, your face already in his neck, kissing his skin once again.

“i know you can,” his hand went from your thigh to your hip, helping you straddle his lap. you both moved naturally, riding him is definitely in your top 3 positions.

you quickly handed him a condom from the box which he put on in a second and just like every time, your arms went around his neck, grabbing onto his shoulder while he hugged your body close to his with one of his arms, the other hand holding his cock, he carefully entered, stretching you good like he always does.

he sighed in content, enjoying your warm walls clenching around him. you hummed, letting yourself down completely on him, only to go back up, then to smash back down.

his hands grabbed your ass while you did that, helping you keep the steady rhythm. his head was now thrown back once again, you watched his adam’s apple bob when he swallowed, his mouth fell open.

you kissed his neck again, wherever you could reach. for some reason, it was your favorite spot to kiss, under his jaw, behind and under his ear, just right above his collarbone, you loved it.

oh how much he loved it too, your kisses were always wet but never to the point to leave his skin covered in saliva. you were always so gentle with him, maybe that’s what he loved the most.

he had been with a few girls before who would stupidly and harshly just bite down on his skin, leaving ugly marks all over his neck and shoulders, but with you, never. it could be to just avoid any attention by giving him hickies, or it could be because you found it too intimate, too romantic.

whatever the reason was, he knew he sometimes wished, maybe even prayed that this time you would mark him, even if it’s the smallest spot on his skin. of course, he would never tell you to do that, though. marking really does feel too intimate, and he was afraid he would cross a line with you.

he realized what he was missing out on, so he held his head up, looking at you move. your breasts moved just enough to catch his eyes. his fingers dug in your asscheeks as your own hands explored his body, from caressing his chest, then slightly brushing your fingers over his nipples, down to his ribs, and to his abs.

he felt you slowing down, “s’okay, take a break,” he whispered and you did so, stopping your movements. your chest was rising rapidly, sweat forming on both of your foreheads.

he softly pecked your cheek, lifting you up by your ass just enough so he can start pushing upwards into you. he didn’t rush anything, going slowly at a comfortable pace. “you okay?” he asked, his eyes searching for yours.

you sighed, giving him a nod but he shook his head. “words,” he mumbled, leaning in to kiss your skin just above your breasts.

“i’m okay,”

he groaned when you clenched around him, he felt himself slowly slipping down on the couch with each thrust he made, so he held you tightly, switching positions.

he made you lay down on your back, your legs wrapped around his waist without slipping out of you. he picked up a slow pace at first, his hands roaming around your body, mostly your sides.

you held his hand, “stop,” you whined, your sides are hella ticklish. “hm? what? can’t handle a little caressing?” he teased, moving his hand so slightly over your skin you got goosebumps.

you tried to push his hand away but you failed, his touches made you giggle and he smiled, glad he could still have moments like this with you in the middle of literally fucking.

all of that stopped when he suddenly smashed himself deep into you, a little harder than he did before. you couldn’t help but to moan, he straightened his posture and he spread your legs, holding your knees.

just like when you were riding him, your breasts bounced again, drawing the attention on them. he picked up the speed of his thrusts, sweat dropping from his forehead, down to his chest where it slowly dripped down his body.

“so a nurse, huh?” he suddenly said, referring to the conversation you had at the dinner. “would love to fuck this pussy in a nursing costume.” a low moan left his mouth when you clenched around him, “ya like that?” he laughed. “you want it too, yeah?”

“shut up- oh my!” your mouth fell agape in pleasure when you felt a finger pressing down on your clit, moving in every way possible. up and down, side to side, making circles. he wasn’t too rough, he knew it was one of your most sensitive parts of your body.

the top of his thighs slapped against the back of yours with every thrust, the sound of skin slapping on each other got mixed with the noise of your wet folds taking his dick, the couch slightly creaking along with heavy breathing and occasional quiet moans, whines.

you felt yourself getting closer and closer, the familiar feeling already in your stomach. you felt like you were going to explode, your eyes shut tightly as you bite down on your lip, your body ready to let go.

after a few more of his thrusts you let go, but oh! turns out it wasn’t just your usual orgasm, no, you squirted under him. he pulled out, watching your body shake and then slowly relax. “fuck,” you breathed heavily, you could have sworn you saw stars.

“did i s-“

“yes. you squirted.” he said, like that was something casual. you thought it was over, that he was done but then he did the unexpected, he pushed back in. “just a little- longer,” his words came out in gasps, pounding into you to reach his own climax too.

you whined, you felt extremely sensitive and it was slowly turning to be the opposite of pleasure, “i know, just a little more,” his voice was soft, he knew it was too much but he needed that orgasm.

then, his thrusts suddenly stopped, staying still inside you as he filled the condom, a low groan leaving his lips. he licked them, feeling like his mouth just turned drier than a desert. he pulled out and leaned down to peck your lips, “you did good,” he whispered.

you hummed, your fingers already touching your core, the wetness surprising you. “dang..” you both chuckled, you sat up and looked down, feeling uncomfortable. there was a wet spot on the towel under you, “you bitch, that’s why you needed the towel.” you shook your head in disbelief, “scared i’ll stain your sofa?”

he smiled and tilted his head, resting his ass on his heels. “actually, yes. you know it was expensive.”

“then, maybe you shouldn’t fuck me on it?”

he chuckled, “maybe, but i don’t care. you’re worth it all.”

#bts #bts jungkook #bts x reader #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x yn #bts smut

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honeyslibrary · 2 months ago

Text

Late Again | Quinn Hughes

Pairing; Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); Established relationship, angst, cursing, not sure what else, edited once.

Summary; Inspired by this request: Hi hi!! I love your writing, especially for Quinn and I was just wondering if you could write some Quinn x reader angst? Like maybe he's been coming home late and she reaches her breaking point w him? Tysm!! 💕💗

Word Count; 3.4k

Author’s note; This was requested sooo long ago n I'm so sorry for the wait, but nonetheless I hope you like it. 😊 I listened to the song The Exit by Conan Gray when I wrote this, it doesn't fit the vibe, but it's a great song I newly discovered. Also I have no idea if he likes chicken fried steak, I just chose something random lol -Honey

You poked at the dinner you'd carefully prepared—chicken-fried steak, Quinn's favorite—half-heartedly pushing the mashed potatoes around your plate with your fork. The food was getting cold, untouched. You couldn't even bring yourself to take a bite. A home game tonight against the St. Louis Blues—he’d mentioned it this morning, and you’d nodded, knowing the routine all too well by now. Quick meal, pregame nap, then off to the rink. You understood how demanding his schedule was, but tonight was supposed to be different. He promised. The effort you put in, starting dinner earlier than usual so he’d have time to eat before his nap, now felt wasted. The smell of the crispy steak and buttery potatoes filled the air, but it only made you feel emptier.

You sat alone at the dinner table, your eyes flicking toward your phone every few minutes, hoping for the screen to light up with a message from him. But it never did. The minutes stretched into an hour, the silence from your phone growing heavier with every second. He’d promised to be home for dinner today—said it with that familiar smile like he really meant it this time. But here you were, waiting, yet again. The clock on the wall ticked louder in the empty room. The sound seemed to amplify the absence, reminding you of just how late he was. You glanced at your phone one more time, willing it to show some sign of life—an apology, an excuse, anything—but the screen stayed dark. Not a text. Not a call. Nothing.

You took a deep breath, trying to quiet the disappointment clawing at your chest, but it didn’t help. The food, once so full of effort and care, now seemed like a mockery of your good intentions. You wondered if he even realized how much you’d gone out of your way tonight, or if he’d forgotten, caught up in his routine, his career, his world. You weren’t sure anymore.

An hour and a half late now. You stood up from the table, abandoning the cold meal as you walked over to the window, peeking outside as if expecting to see his car pulling into the driveway. Nothing. The quiet suburban street was empty, just as it always was. The sky had started to darken, and with it, the flicker of hope you’d been clinging to all evening. How many more times would you find yourself waiting, wondering if you were ever going to be a priority in his life again?

The more you thought about it, the more the dull ache of disappointment twisted itself into something sharper, hotter—anger. It started as a slow simmer in your chest, but with each passing second, the heat rose, spreading through your veins like wildfire. Was he serious? A bitter sigh escaped your lips as you walked back into the kitchen. You grabbed your plate first, then his—untouched, of course—and headed to the garbage can. With one swift motion, you scraped the food into the garbage, the chicken-fried steak falling in with a dull thud. It almost felt like a relief to throw it away, like you were getting rid of something that no longer had meaning. The mashed potatoes smeared against the sides of the plate as you tossed the rest, the food you’d spent time making reduced to nothing more than trash.

The pans on the stove caught your eye next, and before you even realized what you were doing, you were scooping the perfectly good leftovers into the trash as well. The scent of the meal you’d so carefully prepared—the aroma of rosemary, garlic—rose up as if to remind you of the effort you'd put in. It stung, but you didn’t care. Fuck that. He didn’t deserve your cooking. He didn’t deserve the time, the thoughtfulness. Not anymore.

His favorite meal, no less. What a joke. You felt ridiculous for even caring so much, for putting in the effort when he clearly couldn’t be bothered to be home like he'd promised, or even give you the courtesy of a text.

You slammed the pans down into the sink with more force than necessary, the clang reverberating in the quiet kitchen. You stood over the sink, glaring at the pile of dirty dishes, your hands tightening and un-tightening at your sides. The dishwasher was right there, but using it felt too easy, too detached. You needed something more physical, something to work out this simmering frustration before it consumed you.

So, instead, you grabbed the sponge and turned on the water, scrubbing the first plate with a force that made your knuckles whiten. The warm, soapy water splashed up against your arms, but you didn’t care. You scrubbed harder, as if each circular motion could somehow scrub away the resentment building inside you. The plate wasn’t even that dirty, but you attacked it like it was covered in grime.

Each scrape of the sponge against ceramic echoed in the quiet kitchen, filling the space where his excuses should have been. The more you scrubbed, the more it felt like you were scrubbing away the traces of him—his absence, his broken promises, his selfishness. If only it were that easy. If only a sink full of dishes could clean up all the messes he was leaving behind.

It was Quinn’s second year as captain of the Canucks, a role that had transformed him in ways you hadn’t fully anticipated. The weight of the 'C' on his chest seemed heavier this season, with expectations higher than ever after last year’s breakout performance. The team had exceeded everyone’s predictions, turning heads and silencing critics with a season no one saw coming. Now, all eyes were on them to prove it wasn’t just a fluke.

You knew Quinn was feeling that pressure—how could he not? He had something to prove, not just to the fans, the media, or his teammates, but to himself. The burden of leadership was always in the back of his mind, quietly pushing him to go harder, to be better, to set an example. And you understood that. You really did. You knew he was doing the best he could, managing the weight of it all in his own way. But even understanding had its limits. And so did you.

Quinn, on the other hand, seemed to have no boundaries when it came to pushing himself. It was almost like he didn’t know how to stop, how to pull back. Even now, he was still nursing that hand injury—an injury that should have sidelined him weeks ago—but he kept playing through it, insisting he could handle the pain. Thirty minutes a night, almost every game, skating until exhaustion blurred the edges of his vision. You’d seen the way he winced sometimes when he thought no one was looking, flexing his hand to work out the tightness, but refusing to sit out even for a single shift.

You admired his dedication. How could you not? His determination, his relentless drive to push through, to carry the weight of the team on his shoulders—it was part of what made him the player, the leader, that he was. But it was also the part of him that worried you the most.

You knew he felt like he had to do it, that as captain, anything less than perfection wasn’t enough. And while you respected that drive, it didn’t make it any easier watching him run himself into the ground night after night. Especially when you were the one sitting at home, picking up the pieces of what was left, wondering if he was going to come back from each game a little more broken than before.

You were patient. You’d learned to be. But your patience wasn’t endless.

The sound of the front door opening jolted you from your thoughts, the creak of the hinges cutting through the sound of the running water. You pause, your hands submerged in soapy water, your grip tightening on the sponge as Quinn stepped inside. He walks in, clad in his usual post-practice attire—Nike sweatpants hanging low on his hips and a black compression shirt clinging to the lines of his torso. He looked worn, as if the weight of the day hadn’t just been left on the ice but was still hanging on his shoulders, pulling him down.

You glanced over your shoulder, giving him a quick once-over, but you didn’t say anything. The words felt stuck in your throat, trapped behind the frustration and sadness swirling in your chest. Instead, you turned back to the dishes, resuming your task with more force than necessary, the clinking of the plates louder than before. You didn’t offer a greeting, and neither did he. It was almost as if the two of you existed in different worlds now—yours, filled with waiting and disappointment, and his, consumed by the game, by the pressure that never seemed to leave him.

Quinn, oblivious or perhaps just avoiding the tension, didn’t seem to notice your silence. Without a word, he headed upstairs, his footsteps soft but steady, the sound growing fainter as he disappeared into the bedroom. A familiar ache settled in your chest as you stood there, staring down at the soapy water swirling in the sink. You could feel the sting of tears threatening to rise, but you blinked them away quickly, shaking your head at yourself.

Anger had been your companion all day, burning hot and steady in his absence. It had been so easy to hold onto, so easy to let the frustration build when you didn’t have to see him, when you didn’t have to look into those hazel eyes that always seemed to make your resolve crumble. The anger had felt justified when he wasn’t there—easy to fuel when it was just you, alone, staring at a cold, empty dinner table. But now that he was home, the anger began to unravel, slipping away and leaving only the sadness behind. It happened every time. That familiar pang of disappointment mixed with resignation, the sharp edges of your frustration softening into something more complicated, something you didn’t have the energy to untangle.

You bit your tongue, holding back the words you wanted to say—the questions, the accusations, the things that would start a fight you weren’t ready to have. You’d been here before, in this exact moment, torn between wanting to yell and wanting to break down. But you didn’t want to argue tonight. Not again.

The dishes were your only focus now, your hands scrubbing mechanically as your mind raced with thoughts you couldn’t quiet. You wondered if he even knew how much you’d been waiting, not just tonight, but for weeks, months—for some sign that you still mattered in all of this, that you were still a part of his world. But it was getting harder to tell, harder to feel like you weren’t slowly fading into the background of his life, just like the sound of his footsteps fading upstairs.

By the time you finished the dishes and wiped down the counters, the kitchen was spotless, as if the day hadn’t happened at all. The room was clean, but the heavy silence remained, settling into the spaces between the freshly scrubbed surfaces. You paused for a moment, staring down at the empty sink, the exhaustion setting in—not just from the chores, but from everything that had been weighing on you lately.

When you finally made your way upstairs to the bedroom, Quinn had already begun his pregame nap. You stopped in the doorway, leaning against the frame for a moment, just watching him. He was sprawled out on his stomach, the way he always slept, one arm curled beneath the pillow, his face turned slightly to the side. In sleep, the tension in his features was gone, the hard lines softened, and for a brief second, you felt a pang of something—nostalgia, maybe—for the way things used to be. Before all the pressure, before the distance between you had grown so wide.

You stood there, caught between wanting to crawl into bed next to him and knowing it wouldn’t make a difference tonight. He was already somewhere else, lost in the brief reprieve of sleep before the game. You let out a quiet breath and turned away, heading back downstairs, leaving him to his rest.

In the den, you curled up on the sofa, pulling a throw blanket over your legs as you flicked on the TV. The familiar theme song of One Tree Hill played in the background, but your mind wasn’t fully on the show. You watched the characters move across the screen, but their drama felt distant, unimportant compared to the real-life ache sitting in your chest. You’d seen these episodes a hundred times before, and yet tonight they felt like nothing more than white noise, a distraction to fill the space while Quinn slept upstairs.

Time passed in a blur of dialogue and background music, your eyes unfocused on the screen. You’d just started another episode when you heard footsteps approaching. You barely registered them until Quinn appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame just like you had earlier. He stood there for a moment, running a hand through his hair, before exhaling a deep sigh that seemed to carry the weight of everything unsaid between you.

"I missed dinner," he said, his voice quiet. It wasn’t a question, just a statement. The guilt was there, hanging in the air between you, but it didn’t quite land the way you wanted it to.

You turned your head toward him, feeling the familiar mix of emotions bubbling up—frustration, sadness, the lingering ache of disappointment. You nodded slowly, your voice calm but clipped. "You did."

That was all you said. Two simple words, but they carried so much more. The weight of your unspoken thoughts lingered in the air between you: You missed more than dinner. You missed me. You missed us. Again.

For a moment, Quinn didn’t say anything, just stood there, as if searching for something to say that would make it better. But nothing came. The silence stretched on, and you could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the same exhaustion that you felt deep in your bones. Hockey had taken so much from him, and in its wake, it felt like there wasn’t much left for the two of you.

You shifted on the couch, turning back to the TV, not sure what else there was to say. If you opened your mouth now, you weren’t sure if you’d be able to stop the flood of everything you’d been holding back. So you stayed quiet, letting the distance between you grow a little wider, hoping—just once—that he’d be the one to cross it.

Quinn lingered in the doorway for a moment longer, the silence between you heavy and uncomfortable. You could feel his eyes on you, like he wanted to say something, to bridge the growing gap, but the words didn’t come. Instead, he just stood there, his shoulders slumped, the weariness from the day etched into every part of him.

You kept your eyes on the TV, pretending to be more interested in the show than in the ache inside you. You didn’t trust yourself to look at him right now—not when the quiet between you felt so suffocating, so loaded with everything neither of you were saying. If you looked at him, you were afraid the dam would break, and all the frustration, the loneliness, the resentment that had been simmering beneath the surface would come pouring out.

He took a deep breath, and you could hear the slight hesitation in the exhale, like he was on the verge of speaking but didn’t know where to start. "I’m sorry," he finally muttered, the words barely audible, but they hung in the air nonetheless. It wasn’t much, and it wasn’t enough, but it was something.

You closed your eyes for a brief second, letting the apology settle in, but it didn’t ease the ache. You had heard it before—too many times now. It always came after the fact, always when it was too late, and it never felt like enough to patch up the cracks that were forming between you.

Opening your eyes, you kept your gaze fixed on the TV, though you weren’t really watching. "You always are," you said softly, your voice lacking the sharpness you intended. There was no anger left, just a quiet exhaustion that had taken its place. "But it doesn’t change anything, Quinn."

The words hung between you, heavy and final. You didn’t mean for them to sound so distant, so resigned, but that’s where you were now. It wasn’t just about tonight, or the missed dinners, or the broken promises—it was about the slow unraveling that had been happening for months, the quiet slipping away of the relationship you once had.

Quinn pushed off the doorframe, his expression unreadable as he took a few steps into the room. He stood at the edge of the sofa, as if unsure whether he was welcome to sit down. His eyes, those familiar hazel eyes that once made your heart skip, were full of something—regret, frustration, maybe even guilt. But none of it seemed to change the fact that he wasn’t there when you needed him most.

"I know," he said, almost under his breath. He rubbed a hand over his face, the fatigue obvious. "I’m trying, I really am. It’s just—this season… it’s a lot." His voice trailed off, and you could hear the helplessness in it. He didn’t know how to fix this, and maybe he didn’t have the energy to try anymore.

You nodded, finally turning to look at him, but the sadness in your gaze must have said more than your words ever could. You understood that the season was demanding. You understood the pressure, the expectations, the endless grind. But understanding didn’t make it any easier to deal with the growing distance, the nights spent waiting, the feeling that you were slowly becoming an afterthought in his life.

"I know it’s a lot," you replied quietly, meeting his eyes for the first time since he’d walked in. "But it’s not just about the game, Quinn. It’s about us. I’m still here, waiting for you to show up… and I don’t know how much longer I can keep waiting."

The vulnerability in your voice hung in the air, and for a brief moment, you saw the conflict flicker across his face—worry, a twinge of something else, maybe fear. He took another deep breath, his hands flexing at his sides as if he wanted to reach out to you but wasn’t sure how.

"I don’t want to lose you," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper, as if admitting it out loud made it all too real.

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening at his words. For a second, you almost believed him, almost let yourself hope that this was the moment he’d truly understand how close he was to losing you. But then reality sank in, and you realized that wanting wasn’t enough.

"You already are," you said softly, the weight of your admission settling over both of you like a heavy blanket. You saw his expression falter, the pain in his eyes unmistakable, but there was nothing more you could say. You were tired—tired of the waiting, tired of the excuses, tired of being second to hockey and everything else in his life.

Quinn stood there, rooted in place, his eyes searching yours for some sign that he could fix this, that there was still time. But you didn’t know how to make him understand that you needed more than apologies, more than empty promises. You needed him to be here, fully present, not just physically but emotionally.

Without another word, he let out another sigh and slowly walked back toward the doorway, retreating once again into the space between you that had become too wide to cross. And you stayed on the couch, watching the TV, your heart aching with the truth you couldn’t ignore any longer: the Quinn you once knew was slipping away, and you didn’t know if he would ever come back.

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wikiangela · 1 month ago

Text

my heart's found a home I've been dreaming of (now that I've found you, I'm looking in the eyes of love)

this fic was written for @bucktommycharityrace ❤ please, if you're able to, go donate to Lambda Legal in celebration! 💕

________

rating: G words: 3.6k

[also on Ao3]

The first time Tommy says it, Evan’s already fast asleep, snoring quietly. He’s on his stomach, one leg wrapped around one of Tommy’s, a hand loosely holding Tommy’s wrist, never wanting to let him go, even in his sleep. Tommy smiles as he tangles the fingers of his free hand in Evan’s messy curls, and just lets himself look.

Evan’s face is half-hidden in his pillow, those pretty, pink, kissable lips parted. The only source of light is the lamp on Tommy’s bedside table, casting shadows in the room, bathing Evan in a soft, warm glow. He looks so peaceful, aside from a little frown between his eyebrows, that Tommy has learned means Evan’s having some crazy or confusing dream he’ll definitely hear about in the morning. It must be a relatively good dream, though, because he seems otherwise relaxed, calm. Tommy’s hand slips from his hair to his cheek, just a soft, featherlight touch, which Evan leans into. He’s so beautiful and so adorable, and Tommy’s heart beats loudly against his ribcage.

He’s just watching this gorgeous man, who he’s fallen for so fast and hard, and he can’t keep those feelings inside anymore, it feels like they keep bubbling closer and closer to the surface, burning hot and bright, and he might just explode from holding them in. He knows it’s too early to say it to his face yet, and he’s glad Evan’s asleep, because he can’t control it when the words just effortlessly slip out of his lips.

“I’m so in love with you, Evan,” he whispers, surprising even himself. He’s starting to panic a little bit, and he holds his breath for a few seconds, listening for any changes in Evan’s calm breathing, any twitch in his eyelids, a squeeze of his fingers on Tommy’s wrist, anything that would indicate he woke up and heard it. But he’s still happily snoring and blissfully unaware that Tommy just said the words he hadn’t said to anyone in years – so long ago they feel weird and unfamiliar in his mouth. It’s scary, the enormity of those feelings.

This thing with Evan, their relationship still feels so fresh and new, and at times Tommy doesn’t believe he gets to have this, keep it. Sometimes he feels like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Evan to realize he doesn’t actually want Tommy, that Tommy was just a good trial run, good first boyfriend, just a helping hand in his queer awakening. Not someone’s forever, as much as he wants to be.

He’s trying to not let those fears win, though. Evan is the most genuine, earnest person he knows, and he’s clearly in it as much as Tommy. Well, he’s not sure if they’re quite on the same page just yet, because Tommy is so deeply in love already he could drop to one knee and propose any second. And that’s scaring him a bit. He thinks it’s gonna be a while before Evan catches up to him – if that ever happens.

Sometimes he wants to kick himself for letting himself get this involved this early, for letting himself fall for this amazing man. He’s trying to work on believing he deserves good things, though, and Evan might be the best that’s ever happened to him. He really doesn’t want to ruin it or rush anything, scare Evan away. That’s why he decides to hold off on telling Evan those three words again for now. He might feel it – god, he feels it so much – but it’s too soon.

He can’t let himself slip up like this again.

The issue is, now that he’s said it out loud once, it’s way too easy for the words to come out again.

It’s just a few days later, a late evening, they’re watching a movie on Tommy’s couch. Evan is draped over Tommy, his phone still in his hand, almost falling out of his grip, as he dozes off, drooling onto Tommy’s chest. Before nodding off, he’s just been researching something prompted by the movie, which then spiraled into about twenty different topics, and Tommy happily listened to all his findings, the movie all but forgotten. He loves listening to Evan just ramble on and on. He could sit here and just look at him and listen to him for the rest of his life.

He always gets this sparkle in his gorgeous blue eyes, gesticulates widely, and if he gets particularly interested and passionate about something, he speaks a little louder and faster than normal. It’s absolutely adorable.

Tommy gently pries the phone from Evan’s hand and reaches out to put it on the coffee table. His movement startles his boyfriend, who whines in his sleep and clutches more tightly around Tommy, hands twisting in Tommy’s t-shirt. He can’t contain a small chuckle rumbling through his chest. Evan is really the cutest.

Tommy wraps his arms around him again, presses a soft kiss to the top of his head, and sighs contentedly.

“I love you so much, sweetheart,” he whispers into Evan’s hair, and freezes. Damn it. He did not intend to say it again, not now, not like this. He really hopes Evan is still asleep.

He waits, completely still, his heartbeat speeding up in a panic. No more movements from Evan, though, and Tommy knows he hasn’t woken up. Evan is the worst liar, and that includes pretending to be asleep, he frankly just sucks at it, so Tommy’s pretty confident he’s actually sleeping. He also wouldn’t be able to handle it if Evan heard it and chose not to say anything back. It’s one of the reasons he doesn’t want Evan to hear it. It’s dumb, and cowardly, and insecure, but Tommy’s just so scared he won’t get the answer his heart longs for. He needs to keep those feelings to himself for now, and show Evan how much he cares for him. Tommy’s always been better at showing how he feels than saying it, anyway.

He counts the seconds in his head, until he gets to three minutes, and he’s certain Evan has not woken up. He releases a relieved sigh. It’s not the time yet. Soon, maybe, but not yet.

He waits a couple more minutes, until the credits of the movie end, before gently shaking his boyfriend’s arm. And then a little harder when he doesn’t even flinch. That gets him another whine in response, and Evan burying his head in Tommy’s chest.

“Hey, let’s get you to bed, honey,” Tommy says softly and hears some incoherent, muffled grumbling. “We’re not sleeping on the couch, come on,” he chuckles, already feeling the familiar ache in his back from lying here in one position for so long.

“I’m good here.” Evan just mumbles into Tommy’s pecs, and Tommy laughs again.

“Glad you’re comfortable, but my back is not. And you’re not gonna be either if we stay here the whole night. You can sleep on me in bed, Evan, I promise,” he adds, running his fingers through Evan’s hair.

He gets more unintelligible complaining from Evan, but eventually he does start to sit up. Then he sighs heavily and dramatically and pouts, eyes still closed.

“I’m too tired. You’ll need to carry me.” He slumps back against the couch as Tommy stands up.

“You’re adorable.” Tommy says, resisting the urge to say those three little words again with every fiber of his being. Evan can be so silly and goofy and ridiculous sometimes. Tommy loves every single piece of him. He grabs Evan’s hand and pulls him up easily – and then he quickly sweeps him up in a fireman’s carry over his shoulder, making Evan release a surprised yelp.

“Tommy!”

“What? You wanted me to carry you,” he teases, playfully slaps at his boyfriend’s ass, and starts walking towards the bedroom, careful not to bump his man into walls or furniture. Evan’s laughter accompanies them the whole short walk.

When Tommy – carefully and gently – throws him down on the mattress, Evan doesn’t look even remotely sleepy anymore. He’s looking up at Tommy with such awe and lust, like every time Tommy displays his strength, and then tugs at Tommy’s belt to bring him closer. Tommy joins him on the bed, hovering over him.

“Thought you were too tired?” Tommy whispers, raising his eyebrow, his breath ghosting over Evan’s lips.

“You know how to wake me up. Now shut up and kiss me.” Evan responds, their lips brushing now.

“As you wish,” Tommy grins into the kiss as Evan grabs onto him, his legs wrapping around Tommy’s hips, bringing him as close as possible.

The whole time Tommy’s heart is beating in the steady rhythm of ‘I love you, I love you, I love you.’ He kisses Evan harder, deeper, to prevent those words from slipping out again.

One late evening, when he’s at work while Evan’s home, he has some downtime and they talk on the phone, as usual. Evan’s telling him about his own shift and his day, rambling excitedly and going on countless tangents, and Tommy’s listening intently. He loves listening to him talk, about anything and everything. And those moments, catching up on their days, even if it’s on the phone if they miss each other because of their schedules? This is one of Tommy’s favorite parts of the day. He could do it forever. He wants to know every single thought in Evan’s pretty head, and Evan is always excited to share it.

And he always wants to know about Tommy’s day, as well, and maybe it shouldn’t be surprising, but it is. It just reminds him he has someone now, someone who cares. Because Evan cares so much, about everything. He genuinely wants to know how Tommy’s day was, whether he managed to stop by his favorite coffee place on his way to work, how his shift is going, how he’s feeling, whether he slept well – hell, even what he had for breakfast. And he worries, Tommy can tell, when he tells him to be safe, when Tommy comes back from a call to a text message asking to let Evan know when he’s back at the station, when he fusses over the smallest injury – while being so understanding, too, because he knows the job. He cares about Tommy, just as much as Tommy cares about him, and it’s a really terrific feeling.

He has someone who cares whether he comes home at all. That- that hasn’t happened before, not like this. He has someone to go back to, to think about when he’s throwing himself into danger at work. And that feels pretty damn great. His heart is so full, the feelings growing more and more with each second.

As they talk now, Evan’s speech becomes slower and more slurred, and finally the line goes quiet. Tommy stays on the line for a little bit longer, listening to his even breathing. And then he hears a loud, ugly snore, and he stifles a laugh. He’s not even surprised by the thought that he wants to listen to this sound for the rest of his life.

“I love you, Evan, sleep well.” The words are as easy as usual, now so familiar in his mouth and he almost regrets that Evan doesn’t hear it. It’s all getting wasted on empty rooms and quiet nights.

As freeing as saying it is, it’s also making him a little anxious. If he accidentally says it to Evan while he’s awake and listening to him, one of two things might happen. Either Evan will say it back and they’ll kiss and Tommy might cry, and they’ll be together forever. Or Evan will say he doesn’t feel the same and they’ll break up. Well, maybe Tommy’s spiraling a little bit. He feels like he’s being a little over dramatic about this, but, well, to him it’s a huge deal. He doesn’t want to mess anything up – their relationship, which has been going so amazing so far, their easy flirty banter and earnest conversations – or the moment itself. He wants the moment he tells Evan he loves him, when he can actually hear it, to be special.

He still needs some time, he’s still scared, but maybe soon. Hopefully.

It becomes somewhat of a habit. When Evan falls asleep first, when Tommy wakes up first, when he knows Evan won’t hear him – he lets those feelings out. It’s like he can’t keep them contained, always on the tip of his tongue, ready to spill out. They’re just so big and strong and untamable, unlike anything Tommy’s ever felt for anyone. It’s a small release, have them get out there, into quiet nights, still unheard, but at least voiced.

It’s an evening like any other, they’re both in bed, Tommy’s bedside lamp still on as he’s reading a book, while Evan is already fast asleep next to him. Tommy’s fingers are lightly playing with his curls, and he glances at his gorgeous boyfriend so much he can’t barely focus on his book.

Evan looks so breathtaking, peaceful, adorable as always. He’s wearing one of Tommy’s old t-shirts, one of his arms is thrown across Tommy’s stomach, his face all but pressed into Tommy’s shoulder. He’s fully on Tommy’s side of the bed, his own left cold and empty, always gravitating as close to Tommy as possible, and Tommy just smiles fondly. He’s so cute.

Evan’s hand moves up Tommy’s chest, resting on his steadily beating heart, and Tommy thinks his heart wants to jump out of his chest right into this hand – right where it belongs. He doesn’t think he ever loved anyone this much. He wants to spend the rest of his life falling asleep next to him, seeing him like this every night, the way no one else does.

He puts his book away and turns off the light before sliding further down on his pillow to fully lie down and face his man. Then he leans over to press a soft kiss to Evan’s forehead, fingers tangling in his curls again.

“Evan Buckley,” he whispers against his skin, “I’ll love you till the day I die.” The words easily slip out of his lips, and he smiles around them. He feels so confident in that statement, his feelings for Evan so huge and unwavering, still constantly growing. He’s sure he’ll keep falling more and more in love with Evan every single day for as long as he lives.

He slowly pulls away, brushing some stray curls off of Evan’s forehead, and when he looks at Evan’s face again, he freezes, panic rising in his chest. Because Evan's blue eyes are wide open and looking at him. Shit, this is not how this was supposed to go.

“Uh, hey, I thought you’re sleeping.” Tommy says nervously, his heartbeat speeding up. This is the moment he’s been dreading, and he’s scared of what Evan’s response will be, if any will come at all. And maybe he doesn’t feel the same way, and Tommy’s just way too involved, and he’s so dumb to let himself be this vulnerable, he never should’ve-

“Tommy,” Evan says, raising his hand to cup Tommy’s cheek. A dazed, happy smile is spreading across his face, his eyes getting shiny and teary. “Stop freaking out. You mean that?”

“Of course I do.” Tommy sighs, Evan’s smile calming his nerves a little bit. He’s not freaking out, he doesn’t look like he’s about to let Tommy down easily. He looks happy, in awe, hopeful. So maybe it is the right time to say it, after all. “I love you, Evan,” he repeats, voice shaking.

“I love you, too.” Evan says without missing a beat. A giddy laugh bubbles out of him as he wraps his arms around Tommy’s neck and brings him closer. “I love you so much, Tommy. I love you,” he repeats, leaning in to capture Tommy’s lips in his. “God, I’ve been dying to say it for so long, I just didn’t want to rush it.”

“Really?” Tommy laughs, it feels like a huge weight was lifted from his chest. He feels so carefree and light, and suddenly he has no idea why he was so scared to say it. Well, he knows why, but it seems so silly now. “Me too. I actually-” he ducks his head bashfully, “I did say it to you a couple of times. When you were asleep. Couldn’t help myself. I just wasn’t sure if we were there yet,” he admits quietly, “if you were there yet.”

“Tommy,” Buck’s face melts into something so fond and soft and loving it’s almost overwhelming. “I’ve been there for months. I’ve been falling for you for as long as we’ve known each other. I love you,” his smile widens. “Say it again?” He asks, eyes shining even in the dark, the moonlight illuminating the room just enough to see each other. Somehow, Tommy knows it’s not just those words he wants to hear, it’s the way Tommy said it, it’s the promise in them. So he looks Evan straight in the eyes.

“Evan Buckley,” he brushes a curl off his forehead. “I’ll love you till the day I die,” he repeats, with purpose, firmly and decisively. Evan beams at him, then turns his head to press a kiss to Tommy’s palm. “It’s a line from a movie,” he admits then, scrunching his nose, and Evan laughs brightly, “but it doesn’t make it any less true.”

“What movie?” Evan asks and Tommy blinks at him.

“You seriously don’t recognize it?”

“Should I?” Evan frowns.

“It’s a classic and one of my favorites. It’s a Wonderful Life? You haven’t seen it?” He asks incredulously and Evan shakes his head. “Wow, we’ve been together for so long and I had no idea. We need to fix that.”

“Okay. Movie night this weekend, then,” he grins.

“It’s a date.” Tommy leans in for another soft kiss.

They kiss lazily, slowly, tenderly, for a while longer, heads on Tommy’s pillow, Evan wrapped around him and holding him tightly. They smile into the kisses, both so happy and elated. Tommy feels so relieved, too, that he could finally say it, that it was reciprocated, that he managed to be vulnerable and express his feelings – even if he didn’t intend to do it just then. He took a risk saying this to Evan, even while he was asleep, but it was worth it. Evan will always be worth it.

They make out slowly, sloppily, until Evan starts yawning into his lips, sleep trying to take him again, despite his protests. Tommy chuckles, promises Evan they’ll continue this in the morning, and they settle in for the night, Evan curling up against him again.

Tommy listens to his boyfriend’s breathing evening out, and his eyelids start getting heavy, too. He takes a few moments to really take it all in, though. He told his boyfriend he loves him, and it wasn’t as scary as he thought. Over the course of his life, he learned to always expect the worst, but with Evan, that couldn’t be more wrong. He needs to trust that he can have good things, that he can have this and not lose this, not lose Evan. He thinks he’s really starting to believe this.

“I’ll give you the moon, Evan.” Tommy whispers, arms full of his man, the moon shining brightly through the window, making Evan look angelic in its silver glow, and making this moment feel even more monumental. He’d do anything for Evan, give him everything he asks for. He wants to spend the rest of his life making him happy. “Just say a word and I’ll throw a lasso around and pull it down for you.” He laughs quietly, very much doing Geroge Bailey’s voice, feeling a little silly and a lot giddy, and ridiculously happy.

“Is this another It’s a Wonderful Life reference?” Evan’s slurred, muffled voice reaches his ears, from where his face is pressed into Tommy’s t-shirt as he’s falling back asleep.

“Yeah,” Tommy chuckles. “Sorry, I just find it very romantic. And it’s- it really encapsulates how much I love you.”

“Mm, don’t be sorry. It’s so cute. You’re cute. You’re mine and you’re so cute.” Evan mumbles, sounding half asleep already. “I love you.”

“I love you, Evan. Goodnight.” He smiles, letting his eyes close. He sighs contentedly, his hand finding the one Evan has splayed on Tommy’s chest and intertwining their fingers.

He’s said it countless times by now, and now that Evan has heard it, it finally feels like the release of the breath he’s been holding for weeks. Maybe months. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of saying it. He’ll repeat it every single day, reassure Evan about his feelings, while also doing everything he can to back his words up with actions, with still showing Evan how much he means to him.

The first time Evan hears it explicitly stated that Tommy loves him, something in Tommy settles, those feelings simmer quietly around his heart, while still burning just as brightly. Tommy’s more than sure that they’ll just keep growing for the rest of his life, as he’s falling deeper and harder than he ever thought possible with this remarkable man, who’s currently holding onto Tommy like he can’t imagine being even an inch apart, their hearts always longing to be as close as possible.

Evan is his world, his home, his heart, his future, his forever. And somehow, as he’s holding Evan in his arms, the enormity of those feelings isn’t that scary anymore. It’s exciting. Tommy can’t wait to create a whole incredible, wonderful life together.

[also on ao3]

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gyaruwrites · 22 days ago

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Hi! Could you maybe write something about Jade? Preferably a bit of angst and suggestive? The reader is very busy with tending to tasks that they get from Crowley, so they have less time to spend with Jade and get insecure about their relationship and feel unworthy. What would Jade do in that situation to fix it and would he notice?

This is such a good idea!! Hope you enjoy 💕

Pairings: Jade x Reader

warnings: suggestive, hurt/comfort(?)

have a good read 🌺

The long day of winter hit you like a truck. Running around and trying to keep Grim out of trouble while also studying is NOT for the weak. But while doing this, you get tired out, which means not a lot of time is spent with your boyfriend. And Jade doesn’t like that at all, see he isn’t big on expressing his feelings through his face much. But best believe you’re going to notice with the slight twitch of his smile, hands clenching when another task is brought upon you, eyes narrowing at your tired texts displayed on his glowing screen.

Now don’t assume he doesn’t understand you, he understands you have to do these tasks, but he misses the one on one time that you and him spend together. The soft kisses you place on his cheeks now only burned down to 2 kisses every other day. He admits he is a little bit petty with not wanting you to leave when you are summoned, but you keep him sane when he’s dealing with Floyd and other stupid students.

So on the day that these tasks finally made him ‘snap’ was a little surprising. It was during the afternoon, the end of all classes made students scurry around to get to their dorm without any complications. When you were wandering down to Sam’s shop, dropping off some supplies for the man, you were met with a tall shadow looking over you. Turning around quickly, only to be met with a very fake smiled Jade was rather strange.

“Jade? What are you doing here-?”

You sighed out in relief, hands clutching onto the box of paper and writing utensils. Eyes wandering into his mismatched orbs, his smile faltering as he quickly grabbed the box from your grasp.

“Jade-”

You get cut off almost immediately by the slam of the box hitting the stone flooring. Following after was Jade grabbing you by your face, landing a very desperate kiss on your lips. One kiss lead to, two, three, then five.

“Why didn’t you talk to me this morning?”

His usual practiced smile was now nowhere to be found. A frown imprinted onto his smooth face, his hand finding yours as he brings it up to cup his cheek. His eyes searching yours, but you were left panting from the flurry of kisses he had just given to you.

“This behavior makes me believe you don’t have time for me..”

He breathed out, face nuzzling against your soft hand. Then turning his mouth to nibble your palm, teeth grazing your skin, light enough to not break skin, but hard enough to feel a sting.

“Jade, I’m sorry. I really am”

You mumbled as you winced for the light pain radiating from your palm. Gently lifting his head from your palm, a soft and gentle kiss making its way to his forehead. His eyes softened from the earlier frustration as he melted into your kiss.

“then don’t leave me alone for that long. Ever again.. you missed our date last night.”

While it was almost laughable at how emotional Jade had gotten. But to you, it just shows how comfortable and caring he is around you. And you certainly have to make up those kisses, won’t you?

💕💕💕

I hope you enjoyed!! Sorry; I’m still practicing on how to write angst, but I hope it was just the right amount of suggestive!!🌺

#disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst #twst wonderland #twst fanfic #twst jade #twst jade leech #jade leech x reader #twst jade x reader #twst x reader #twst headcanons

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lyn31 · 15 days ago

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Sinceeee i'm still in this zayne and mc on a honeymoon sweetness haze, might as well request another one for my dose of sweetness hahaha can you pretty please write more about their newlywed life, all domestic like them cooking together, going on grocery shopping maybe? Heck even them doing laundry together would be cute 🤣 oh and probably them going to work related functions for the first time since the wedding and introducing each other as husband / wife? Just sending this in before i sleep so good night and thankyou in advance! hehe 💕❤️

Hopefully it's not died down yet 😂🫶🏻 And no worries, seeing that I made a series in ao3, this story would keep coming even if it just a short little scene! And again, I can't choose what activity for them to do, so this is how it ended up being...

Let me know what you think! 👀💕

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New Chapter of Life Together

Summary

You learn what it means to be loved as a wife—not through grand declarations, but in quiet mornings, soft reassurances, and the steady presence of the man who chose you for life.

Ao3 link

My Masterlist ✨

Notes

Pairing: Zayne x MC/Reader Married Life, newlyweds, fluff, banter, silly, chaos, a lot of flirting!

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The first thing you feel is his arm, heavy and familiar around your waist. Then the warmth of his chest, the quiet, steady rhythm of his breath against your shoulder. You shift slightly, testing the morning light that peeks through the curtains—and immediately, Zayne tightens his hold on you with all the intent of someone who has no plans of letting you escape.

"Good morning, wife," he murmurs against your skin, voice still rough with sleep.

You smile before your eyes are even fully open. "Good morning, husband."

The views aren’t new anymore. You’ve lived together long before vows were exchanged, before rings slipped into place. But now—now they taste sweeter, weightier. Even when said half-teasing, neither of you seem eager to stop.

You stretch your leg over his, limbs tangled beneath the covers, and he exhales softly like that was exactly what he wanted. For a moment, neither of you speak. Just the quiet of the room, the drowsy comfort of not needing to be anywhere yet.

"I had a weird dream," you mumble into his collarbone. "You were trying to fight a sentient loaf of bread."

Zayne hums. "Did I win?"

"Only after giving it a heartfelt speech about forgiveness."

"I see." A beat. "Sounds accurate."

You laugh under your breath. He kisses the back of your neck, absently, like it’s muscle memory. You reach behind you, fingertips brushing his chest until they find that familiar, faint heartbeat under your touch—calm and certain, just like him.

"What should we eat?" you ask after a pause, not moving an inch.

"You're asking me that while still in bed?" he murmurs, voice laced with amusement.

"No dirty thoughts! I’m manifesting brunch."

"You’re manifesting it from the arms of your husband, who is also very comfortable."

You twist slightly to glance over your shoulder at him. "Fine, I guess we’ll starve together."

Zayne’s smile is small but unmistakable, the kind that barely lifts the corner of his lips and still somehow makes your stomach flutter. He leans in, brushing his mouth against yours—slow, warm, and just the right side of lazy. It deepens as your fingers slip into his hair, and for a moment, you both seem to forget everything else. His touch drifts lower, and the kiss turns languid, coaxing.

But then, your stomach lets out a loud, undeniable growl.

You freeze. Zayne stills. And then, against your neck, you feel his shoulders start to shake with laughter.

"Okay, okay," you groan, burying your face in the pillow. "Rude."

He kisses your temple, still grinning. "Brunch it is."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You pad into the kitchen behind him, still barefoot, hair a mess, wearing one of his oversized shirts like you always do on mornings like this. Zayne rolls up the sleeves of his sweatshirt, sets his tablet on the counter, and already you can see that look in his eyes—the one that says he’s taking this way too seriously.

"Let me help," you say, even though you both know what that usually means.

Zayne glances over his shoulder with that soft, amused expression he reserves just for you. "You sure?"

"Of course! It’s brunch. It’s meant to be spontaneous and unhinged."

He blinks but nods all the same. "Alright. But no cinnamon in the eggs again."

"That's one time," you mutter, grabbing a pan anyway.

It’s controlled chaos from there. Zayne measures ingredients with military precision, he stirs with careful, deliberate movements. Meanwhile, you’re humming whatever’s stuck in your head, tossing in seasonings by instinct, ignoring every suggestion he tries to gently offer.

"That’s not... two teaspoons," he points out mildly, watching you sprinkle something into your pan with reckless abandon.

"It’s two teaspoons in spirit."

He shakes his head, reaching around you to grab a cutting board, only for your elbow to bump his side. You dodge in front of him, stealing his spatula just to flip your own food. He frowns, but there’s no heat in it. Just the usual dance of coexisting in a space too small for both your styles.

At some point, you flick flour at him.

It catches him clean on the nose, dusting his face like powdered sugar. He doesn’t react at first—just stares at you, completely deadpan, as if deciding whether to reprimand you or kiss you senseless.

You burst into laughter.

"You have flour—" you wheeze, pointing, "on your—"

Zayne calmly wipes his nose with a dish towel. "I’m married to a gremlin."

"Excuse you, I’m a culinary genius."

"You’re a hazard."

Still, when everything’s finally cooked and plated, the result is... actually edible. Good, even. The eggs are a little crisped on one side, the toast slightly uneven, but the flavors are warm and comforting and somehow perfectly them. You both slide onto the counter, plates balanced on your laps, legs swinging lazily.

The window’s open. The breeze smells like spring. He hands you a fork, the barest hint of a smile tugging at his lips again as he watches you take your first bite.

"...Not bad, right?" you ask, mouth full.

"Brilliant," he says dryly. "I might survive after all."

You nudge your foot against his, eyes catching his in that soft, slow moment that doesn’t need anything more than just being here.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The shower is—miraculously—efficient. Warm water, quiet kisses, just enough lingering touches to feel indulgent without dragging the hours into full-blown distraction. You both dry off in sync, navigating the shared space like muscle memory, and by the time you're dressed and slipping on your shoes, it's afternoon.

Sunday means errands, but it doesn’t feel like a chore. Not when it’s the two of you.

You stop by the dry cleaners first, where Zayne handles the transaction with his usual quiet grace and you eye the mystery stain on one of his button-downs like it personally offended you. Then it’s light bulbs, of all things, which somehow turns into a debate over wattage because Zayne is, of course, reading the box like it’s a research paper.

"I swear you overthink these," you mutter, nudging his arm with your elbow.

"And you under think everything," he replies, without even looking up.

Fair.

But the best part of the afternoon is the plant shop. It’s a cozy little place that smells like soil and citrus, and you make a beeline for the corner where the leafy, drooping misfits live. One in particular catches your eye—a slightly crooked snake plant with a tilted pot and far too much charm for Zayne to ignore.

"We just re-potted three last month," he says, arms crossed.

"He’s different. Look at him," you coo, lifting the little guy carefully. "He’s got personality."

Zayne gives the plant a long, assessing look, then you. Then the plant again. "...You’re going to forget to water it."

"I won’t."

"You will," he says, but takes the pot from you anyway, one hand cradling the base like it’s fragile. The way he does it makes you grin—he’s already accepted the adoption, whether he admits it or not.

Outside the store, an elderly woman fumbles with her bags, and before either of you even speak, you step forward to help. Zayne’s hand settles briefly at the small of your back as you assist her, steady and quiet. She thanks you both sweetly, eyes crinkling, and you flash her a smile that lingers longer than necessary.

Zayne watches that smile with a softness he doesn’t say out loud.

The rest of the outing passes in that same easy rhythm. You hand him your drink without a word, and he takes a sip like it’s routine—no need to ask. You lean into him while waiting at a crosswalk, forehead briefly brushing his shoulder. At some point, you bicker about whether taking 3rd Avenue or looping around through the back road is faster—Zayne with logic, you with stubborn gut feeling. He humors you and takes your route anyway.

By the time you hit the grocery store, you’re both ready to knock out dinner prep. But the snack aisle derails everything. Zayne sneaks bags of cookies into the cart like you can’t see it or something. You remove one, replacing it with the lower-sugar version, only for him to sneak another one in from behind your back.

"You know we came here for, like, eggs and rice, right?" You say, grinning, crossing your arms.

"And chocolate," he adds, tossing in a novelty-flavored candy bar. He casually looks at his phone that has the grocery list like he didn’t just add sweet into it.

You scan the nutritional label like it just betrayed your trust. Seriously—if you didn’t stop this man, all his teeth would rot and he wouldn’t even regret it.

Eventually, you give up pretending to be responsible and accept that your cart now contains enough snacks for a week. Maybe two.

On the way home, you both realize brunch wore off faster than expected. Zayne’s stomach growls first. You don’t say anything—just raise an eyebrow and gesture toward a café at the corner.

Ten minutes later, you're inside, warm and cozy, sunlight filtering through the windows. He’s reading the menu with that familiar furrow between his brows, like choosing between a croissant and a danish is a life-altering decision.

"You look so serious right now," you tease, sipping your drink. "Like you’re solving a medical mystery. For pastries."

"I like to be thorough."

"You're adorable."

He lowers the menu slightly, eyes flicking to yours. "...You’re not getting out of deciding the movie tonight." But despite how steady his tone is, the tips of his ears are turning red.

You grin around the rim of your cup. "I’ll let you pick—if you get the strawberry tart and let me steal half."

"...Deal."

You end up splitting three pastries anyway. Conversation drifts from movies to work, to the idea of maybe cooking something light for dinner, to whether or not that plant is actually going to survive under your care. It’s nothing flashy. Just the rhythm of being you and Zayne—shared smiles, knees bumping beneath the table, the world soft around the edges.

And for a lazy Sunday? It’s perfect.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Monday morning hits different after a slow weekend. There’s a light chill in the air, one that creeps in through the kitchen windows despite the soft warmth of dawn pressing through the curtains. You pad across the tile floor, barefoot, still slightly sleepy, wearing nothing but one of Zayne’s button-downs—loose, wrinkled from the laundry basket, and hanging just enough to tease.

You’re not really trying to make a statement.

...But you're also not not trying.

You're mid-pour with the kettle when you hear the bathroom door open and soft footsteps cross the hall. Zayne steps into the kitchen, towel around his neck, hair damp and curling slightly at the ends. He’s wearing his usual morning expression—composed, alert, too calm for someone who just walked in on his wife looking like that.

Except for the smallest shift in his gaze, the stillness in his steps as he takes you in.

He says nothing at first, only moves toward the counter like he always does. Pours himself a mug of coffee. But you catch the flicker. That very specific pause as he lifts the cup to his lips and doesn't drink—just watches you over the rim, quiet, assessing.

And yeah. You know exactly what you're doing.

"Morning, husband," you say sweetly, voice innocent as you stretch just slightly to reach the sugar jar.

His eyes trail the motion, linger a second too long. "...Good morning, wife."

He sets the mug down with a soft clink. That’s all. No teasing, no smirking. But you feel the tension in the air anyway, coiling subtle and slow between your bare thighs and his calm restraint. This man, composed even now, does nothing by accident.

"You're going to be late," he says, finally turning back to his coffee.

"So are you," you reply, sipping yours, perfectly unfazed.

But his gaze dips once more as he walks past you, deliberately brushing the edge of his hand along the curve of your waist, kissing you slowly before going on his way out of the kitchen, as if staying any longer would mean neither of you would get out of the house today.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A few hours into work, you’re back on base, half-distracted during reports when something ridiculous happens—Tara gets her coat stuck in the door and tries to play it off like it didn’t happen. You manage a sneaky photo just before she notices.

You send it to Zayne with no caption.

A minute later, your screen lights up.

Mine💕: Is this why you were wearing my shirt and nothing else this morning? To not get attack by door?

You grin and fire back.

You: Well, I had to arm myself with something. Your shirt felt appropriate. Has… sentimental value.

Mine💕: It had strategic value this morning too.

You almost laugh out loud.

You: Are you suggesting I distracted you?

Mine💕: You walked into the kitchen half-dressed. On a Monday. After a weekend where we barely left bed. So, yes.

You: Oh no. What will I wear tomorrow?

Mine💕: Nothing, if you’re trying to get me to skip work.

Your cheeks heat—part laughter, part memory, part anticipation. The texts keep going, drifting more playful, more suggestive, until you're both balancing professionalism with escalating tension.

Eventually, somewhere between paperwork and lunch, he sends one last message.

Mine💕: I’m picking up dinner tonight. So you can go straight to not wearing anything when I get home.

You don’t reply immediately. Just stare at your screen, biting back a smile.

But oh yeah—you’re both very much looking forward to tonight.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You get home before him. The house is quiet, the kind of peaceful that makes you want to hum to yourself while moving through it. Zayne said he’d bring dinner, so technically you didn’t have to do anything—but a sudden idea takes hold somewhere between opening the fridge and spotting the unused chocolate in the cupboard.

Dessert.

You’ll make dessert.

Well… a dessert.

You tie on the apron—his apron, naturally. It's one of those neutral-toned ones with deep pockets and a tie that loops around your waist twice. The only thing beneath it is skin and a whole lot of mischief. It’s half a joke—just the apron, no clothes—but it doesn’t stop you from fluffing your hair and checking the mirror before you start.

You’re not just teasing. You want to see what that calm, steady husband of yours does when he walks in and finds his wife waiting with nothing but his apron.

The baking part goes better than expected. It helps that you’ve done this before, and that you know exactly how he likes his sweets, although he’ll eat any sweet you give him and this is just talking about actual food.

You’re plating them when you hear the lock click.

The door swings open. Zayne steps in, dinner in hand, something warm and likely perfectly portioned. His eyes lift—routine, casual—until they register what they’re seeing.

He stops mid-step.

You’re standing there at the kitchen counter, apron tied neatly, dessert on display. The light catches your skin, and maybe it’s your imagination, but the air seems to still for a moment.

He blinks.

“Welcome home, husband,” you say, voice light, innocent.

He sets the takeout bag down on the nearest surface. Doesn’t even glance at it. Just walks straight toward you, loosing up the tie on his shirt, walking slow and with controlled, like he's handling something fragile. Or dangerous.

His hands slide to your waist—cool, sure. His voice is low, close to your ear. “I thought we agree on nothing.”

“Isn’t this more exciting?” you murmur, tipping your head up just slightly, pulling at his tie.

He kisses you like he has no intention of stopping. And for a long, breathless stretch, he doesn’t.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By the time you actually sit down to eat, the food is lukewarm and the desserts are nearly forgotten. You both laugh about it, halfway through your second bites, a little dazed, your hair mussed, his neck full of kiss marks. Both of you barely dress.

The kitchen still smells like sugar and vanilla.

And Zayne? He still hasn’t taken his eyes off you.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s just past midnight when he wakes up.

No gasp, no cry—just a sharp inhale through clenched teeth and the sudden tension of his body beside you. You feel it immediately, even through sleep. The shift in the bed. The way his hand curls slightly, like he's still trying to hold onto something that slipped away.

You roll toward him, reaching out before your eyes are fully open. “Zayne?”

He blinks once, twice, eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering in from the streetlamp outside. His breath is still uneven. There’s sweat at his hairline, his shirt sticking to his chest, his jaw tight.

“Sorry,” he says quietly. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

You don't reply at first. Just press your forehead to his shoulder, your arm slipping around his middle.

“Was it… another nightmare?”

He doesn’t answer, but you feel the nod. It's small. Heavy.

It doesn't happen often—not anymore. But every now and then, something cracks through that carefully maintained calm. Close calls. An impossible case. A moment when the scalpel trembled, or worse, when it nearly slipped. Or sometimes... sometimes it's you. A memory he tries not to relive, no matter how old or how faint.

“You’re here,” you whisper, voice soft against his skin. “We’re safe.”

His arms come around you after that. Slow, a little hesitant—like he still thinks he doesn’t deserve to be comforted—but when he exhales, it’s shakier than he means it to be.

“You were…” he trails off. “In the OR. I—”

He stops again. Shakes his head.

You don't need the rest. You've heard enough versions of this dream to know where it leads. And you know exactly how deeply it sinks into him, even hours after it ends.

So you pull him closer, shifting until you’re almost on top of him, fingers threading through his damp hair, grounding him. “You made vows,” you say, quiet but steady. “So did I.”

His hands press against your back, anchoring. He doesn’t reply, but you feel the moment he lets go of the dream. Not entirely—but enough. Enough to stay here. With you.

“I’m not going anywhere, Love.”

You press a kiss just below his ear. “Not now. Not ever.”

And finally, finally, he breathes like he believes it.

He falls asleep not long after, arms still around you, the warmth of your body pulling him back to steadiness. And you stay like that, wide awake, watching the faint rise and fall of his chest.

You know he’ll be okay in the morning.

He always is.

But you stay anyway—because that’s what you promised.

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Bonus

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The event is held in one of the hospital’s private conference halls—high ceilings, too-bright lighting, waitstaff weaving between clusters of formally dressed doctors and researchers. There’s soft music playing in the background, more ambiance than melody, and a spread of hors d’oeuvres on white-clothed tables no one quite dares to touch.

Zayne stands beside you, tailored suit perfect down to the pressed collar. He blends in seamlessly with the rest of them—composed, unbothered, clipboard conversations flowing around him like water. But you can feel it in the way his hand rests at the small of your back. Gentle. Protective. Anchored.

He leans in slightly when someone approaches. “This is my wife,” he says simply, voice calm but warm.

You hear the words more than once tonight—always offhand, always soft. But every time, they catch you a little off guard. My wife. It shouldn’t feel so new anymore, but somehow, coming from him, in this polished, clinical space where everything is usually professional and precise… it does.

It feels like a tiny rebellion.

You smile, offer your hand, try to keep your voice steady as you greet whoever he introduces you to—department heads, residents, researchers you only know by surname on articles he's sent you. And you do well enough, even as you notice the subtle double takes. The way eyes flick between the two of you. Like no one expected this pairing. Or maybe they just didn’t expect you.

“She’s even prettier than you described,” one of the cardiologists from another hospital murmurs with a smile, a little in awe.

Before you can react—before you can wave it off or stammer something awkward—Zayne’s already answering.

“She always is.”

He doesn’t smile when he says it. Doesn’t smirk or make a show of it. He just says it like it’s fact. Like gravity. And suddenly you’re the one left flustered, heat blooming in your face.

Zayne offers you a drink then—water, always observant—and you accept it more for the distraction than anything else. His fingers brush yours briefly. Steady. Sure.

Later, during a lull in the presentations, you find yourself pressed shoulder to shoulder with him by the tall windows overlooking the city. He doesn’t say much, just watches the traffic below. But his fingers curl around yours, his thumb tracing the back of your hand slowly, absentmindedly.

You lean into him a little.

“You know you’re going to make it hard for me to show my face around here again,” you murmur.

“Why?” he asks mildly, but there’s the ghost of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

“You just… announced me like I was the highlight of the year.”

“You are.”

You laugh, bury your face briefly against his arm, cheeks still warm. He says nothing else, just lets you stay close, thumb still moving in slow circles. The rest of the evening passes in the blur of names and speeches, but you hold on to that moment.

To the quiet certainty in his voice.

To being his wife—not just on paper, but here. Beside him. In his world.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Notes

They're too cute for their own good 😩🫶🏻 I'll be back 👀 Here's the proposal and wedding fic, How it all happen, and here's the honeymoon fic, Honeymoon part 1 (Smut) and Honeymoon part 2 (Fluff) This is a bit of a jump but here's where they attempt at trying for baby lol 2 years into their marriage! Try For Baby (Fluff)

I was editing to add the rest of the series part but it was too long ahahaha so here's just the whole list: Parenthood AU Masterlist ✨

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trulyy-yourzz · 8 months ago

Text

So in love with you

Billie Eilish x fem!reader

Something short for the time being 💕 (notes at the end.)

Summary: you and billie make cupcakes on a Saturday morning

Warnings: fluff fluff fluff and more fluff 🐰

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌୨୧﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

It was Saturday, you and billie were bored, and she suggested you guys made cupcakes. You weren't the biggest baker, but you made little sweets from time to time. Billie, on the other hand, loved to bake. She would always come knocking on your door with a tray of all sorts of things she made. Cookies, cake, cupcakes, you name it.

"My love, be careful." Billie insisted, worried you might hurt yourself. You were using a knife to cut the butter, but she was watching you like a hawk and noticed you almost cutting yourself by accident. "I know, I know. It's okay, baby." You laughed, leaning in and kissing her on the cheek. She smiled and put down the hand mixer, grabbing you by the waist.

Billie tilted her head. Like a cute little confused puppy. "You look so beautiful." You smiled, and she instantly folded. She absolutely loved the way you smiled so brightly around her. One of the many things she loved about you. "Thank you, baby." Billie pulled you in closer, resting her head on your shoulder and taking in your heavenly scent. Fresh, a hint of fruity, and... God, you smelled so good. Like a field of blooming flowers in the middle of spring.

You giggled and twirled your fingers through her soft hair. Billie lifted her head off of your shoulder, looking at you and smiling. You smiled back and secretly flung cake batter on her nose. She flinched and gasped. Realizing what you had just done, she laughed and raised a brow. "Seriously??? Oh, you're getting it."

Billie picked up the bag of flour from off of the counter, grabbing a handful and throwing it at you. You squealed and laughed. You began running away from her, leaving a trail of flour as she chased after you. For about 20 minutes, you guys ran around the house throwing flour, pillows... anything you could find and making a total mess of the place. But you guys didn't care. Too lost in the moment to care... too happy... too in love.

Notes: Thankfully, it didn't accidentally delete again like last time 🥲 this is actually my first time writing fluff in literally forever sooo I hope you like it 🤗 also, send me some requestss!! your girl loves to write but most of the time can't figure out what :,)

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

#billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish #billie eilish imagine #billie eilish x you #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish fluff #billie eilish x y/n #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish fic #blurb #i think?#billie eilish oneshot #💕#oneshot #imagine #fic #fanfiction #fluff

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physics-of-one-piece · 3 months ago

Text

Merlot & Primroses (Doflamingo x Reader)

Chapter 2

(read on AO3)

Summary: Your husband’s brother finds you. Life with him and his sham of a family is as cold as the snow your husband was found buried in. You're going to wilt slowly living with Doflamingo, you’re sure. No flower can survive in such snow.

Chapter Navigation: 1 , 2 (you're here), 3

Tags: Doflamingo x Reader, Rosinante's Wife!Reader, Civilian!Reader, Female!Reader, Rosinante x Reader (mentioned through flashbacks), Canon-Typical Violence, Attempted Murder, Gun Violence, Threats, Blackmailing, Kidnapping, Manipulation, Attempted Gaslighting, Mentions of Murder, Body Control (Doflamingo's Devil Fruit), Forced Proximity, Mentions of Fratricide, Grief, Angst, Hurt, Post-Minion Island, North Blue Doflamingo, Red Suit Doflamingo, Touch-Starved Doflamingo, Doflamingo is His Own Warning, Protective Donquixote Doflamingo, Donquixote Brothers, Adult Themes, Oda Made Us Cry Over a Ship I Will Attempt To Make Us Cry Over a Couch

Word Count: 9.6k

A/N: Y'all were so supportive on Ch1 I was blown away like Doffy after Luffy hit him with Leo Bazooka, THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH ❤️❤️🫶🏻🫶🏻😭😭. Thank you all so much for the comments, I'm sorry I was late replying to some, but work and life and all that boring stuff. Thank you for all the reblogs and likes and the tags in your reblogs+comments in your reblogs, I loved them all 🥹💕 There is a dangerous lack of Red Suit Doffy GIFs, and I will single-handedly change that. I absolutely adore every single comment you guys left, thank you all so much for the support. Enjoy Red Suit Doffy kidnapping you 😉❤️ P.S. get your "punch Doflamingo in the dick cus you can reach there" here 🦩🍆💥🤛🏻

Taglist: @fanaticsnail @moonbaby26 @daydreamer-in-training @queenmimi2817 @dummyduck44 @pinejayy @tellynojelly @capycapy-bara @dilf-destroyer-04 @yataidiot @orioncipher @isabeauwolf @r-amenegg @skullfacedlady @wrennyx @yan-love-reader @caldrien @rujellyroll @bonzaibaby @emilyfeetumbrella @ghostiequill @pipsterz @graceland321 @panthorastormheart @thesmolestsage @thesaltycrisp @hurricanebrownie @heroinicyfingers @t-sarah @aganhim @smol-flower-kiddo @vaniiiavengeance @sagyunaro @froggiewrites (I think you might be interested 👉🏻👈🏻🥺) @saracrossing02 (if it's your vibe)

Also... DO NOT READ THIS CHAPTER IF YOU HAVEN'T WATCHED EPISODE 706 OF ONE PIECE. THERE ARE SPOILERS FOR EPISODE 706 IN THIS CHAPTER IE MENTIONS OF HOW ROSINANTE DIED.

Chapter 2

A month after moving into your house in North Blue for Rosinante’s mission, the only thing you two didn’t have was a couch. So, your first outing off the island you moved onto was a trip to Mall Island, an island full of shopping malls. It was only a three hour sail away, and with the marine ship transporting you and Rosinante, you and him found yourselves standing in front of a massive building of the most popular furniture store in North Blue an hour later.

“Rosinante… I don’t think this is the shop for us… are you sure you want to go shopping for our couch here?”

“Of course I do!” Rosinante said. “This is the best furniture shop in North Blue!”

‘It’s a good thing I pulled out the money from my paycheck slip as Corazón this morning from the bank.’ thought Rosinante. ‘I’d go broke if I shopped here with my paycheck as a commander.’

“This is one of the places where royalty shops, isn’t it?” you asked as the two of you entered the massive building. From inside, it looked like a palace, with marble staircases and pillars on the walkway supporting the other four floors. The people passing through the lobby and walking to the moving staircases were dressed in expensive clothes. Feeling incredibly self-conscious — normal people like you and Rosinante didn’t belong here — you leaned into his leg. You would have dressed into something nicer than a sweater, blouse and trousers, but Rosinante had done the same.

Then again, Rosinante was rather lax about dressing. His formal outfit for formal events was his commander outfit. You were lax about clothing too, most times. This time, though, you certainly felt underdressed.

“Yeah,” said Rosinante cheerily, picking up a guide flier to locate the living room section quicker. He noticed the way you leaned into him; he wrapped his long arm around your waist, his large hand settling on your hip, bringing you a sense of safety and comfort.

“Don’t worry,” He pulled out thick stacks of money he brought in his pockets, smiling at you. “I’ve got extra money if we need it!”

You frowned. It didn’t take a genius to know where he got the money from, from who he got it from, and for what he got it as payment.

“Your pirate older brother’s money,” you said.

You didn’t very much like Rosinante using his paycheck as Corazón for you. You wanted him to keep it for his undercover mission. Doflamingo would get suspicious if Rosinante suddenly asked him for more money and told him he’d spent it fast.

Rosinante started to sweat. “W-We can look at it as his present for our wedding!”

“Rosinante,” you said sternly. “Do you want to have sex on that couch or not? Because the mere thought of our couch being bought by Doflamingo’s blood money makes me as dry as the desert of Alabasta.”

Rosinante flushed red. “We’re in public!”

“At least we’ve got a new safe word,” you said.

“Doffy cannot be our safe word!” cried Rosinante.

“Flamingo, then.” you decided, fighting back from smiling; your husband's gawping, handsome, shocked, blushing face was adorable.

“Y/N!” your husband cried.

You giggled. “Speaking of Alabasta and deserts... Doesn’t Crocodile have this drying power with his Sand-Sand Fruit? Isn’t that a bit... You know... Unfunctional when...”

“He’s a Logia, he can deactivate his powers at will, including his drying power.”

“Devil Fruits are weird...” you mumbled. “Well, if I ever see your brother, I’ll just run.”

Rosinante looked at you with a severe, serious expression. “You can’t.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“You can’t run away from Doffy.” said Rosinante; it was his Navy commander tone, no longer relaxed, but calm and steely. “It’s not about speed, or height, or how long your legs are. You can’t run away.”

“The strings can cut flesh, but they can’t reach that far...” you said.

“I thought so, too.” said Rosinante. “Then I saw Doffy decapitate a man fleeing from him because the guy got a lucky cut on my arm. The poor bastard was thirty meters away.”

“But they’re strings!” you argued. “Strings! Strings shouldn’t be that long!”

“The limit of Devil Fruits is your imagination. As long as you imagine it, possibility is, you can do it.” Rosinante frowned. “And Doffy’s got a big, wild, dark imagination.”

“Don’t worry. You two will never meet.” Rosinante gives you a smile; it looks rigid, and forced, uncertain in a way you’ve never seen before. “So don’t worry about it.”

You and Rosinante went to the first floor where the living room section was and headed to the section of four meter couches.

Rosinante fell to his knees when he saw the price of a sectional couch he liked, tested out and loved the feel of; it cost four million berries. His soul appeared to leave his body as he muttered, “F-Four... M-million?”

In the end, the furniture was too luxurious and too tacky for both your tastes. It was comfortable, yes, but it didn’t validate the massive price tag.

You could see Rosinante started thinking the same thing; it was all in his face, growing more sullen and depressed the more you two browsed through the big four meter long L-shaped and sectional couches. You wondered if the furniture reminded him too much of the furniture in Mariejois, or of his home in that island before people burned it down.

You were feeling quite discouraged yourself. You wanted Rosinante to be happy with the couch. After all, he would be the one mostly napping on the couch while you cooked lunch or dinner, and it needed to be of good quality, including the soft cushions for your husband’s bones.

“Maybe we can transport our couch from our apartment in Marineford to here?” you suggested as you two sat in the cafeteria of the marine ship transporting you back to your island.

“No! I want to buy one!” yelled Rosinante fiercely.“You’re going to be spending more time in that house than I will! I want you to be comfortable, and I want you to be happy with how the house looks!”

Your eyes widened, your chest warming up. “Rosi...”

“We’re gonna find the perfect couch for us, no matter what!” yelled Rosinante, clenching his fist in the air determinedly.

“Y-Yeah…” you said, not sure how to react at the surge of inspiration your husband showed over a couch except to stare at him, awed and in disbelief that such a wonderful man was your husband.

Oh. you think, staring at your husband’s older brother. I get it now, Rosi.

I really can’t run away.

Wulf lit his cigarette and took an inhale. He puffed out smoke through his lips. He and Rosinante stared at the white, sectional, four meter long couch in front of the porch wrapped in plastic wrap.

“So, of all people, why call me?” asked Wulf. Rosinante stood beside him, in his Corazón disguise, black coat, make-up, pink shirt and all, smoking alongside him.

“Well,” replied Rosinante, smoke coming from his cigarette, “it was either you, or actually calling my brother and explaining to him why I have a house and a wife and then if he doesn’t try to move in to bother us and cockblock me for the rest of my life and flirt with my wife every second, asking him to lift this with his strings because no way would Doffy bother with carrying furniture, saints forbid he does something as plebeian as that -”

“Okay, I get it!” yelled Wulf. “Your blame card has been successful, heart boy! Just let me finish smoking and then we’ll move it in!”

Rosinante smirked victoriously.

“I can’t believe you listened to my advice and took a white one...” said Wulf.

“Our kitchen’s blue, and right next to the living room, and white goes with blue.” said Rosinante.

“It’s quite a big one,” said Wulf, walking around the couch. “Is it modular?”

“Yeah. The sections can be separated, so it can be two couches. I think I’ll just put the ottoman as a footrest.”

“Make sure to put a blanket over it,” said Wulf. “If you get your muddy boots on it, your wife will kill you.”

Rosinante chuckled.

After they were done smoking, cigarettes discarded on the ashtray on the coffee table on the porch, Rosinante unlocked the doors of the house and he and Wulf decided to lift the left sectional first.

“Where’s the missus?” asked Wulf as he lifted the couch sectional under its base, hoping to seas Rosinante wouldn’t trip over a stair.

“Out in the market buying groceries for lunch,” said Rosinante, lifting the couch at a higher angle to get it up the wooden stairs. “I only came back thirty minutes ago, and the couch was delivered fifteen minutes ago.”

“Talk about nice timing,” said Wulf, chuckling. “It’ll be a nice surprise.”

Rosinante beamed brightly. “Yeah.”

“Where’d you find this one?” Wulf asked.

“In one of the furniture magazines Doffy gave me,” chirped Rosinante. “I went to the island where the store is and tried it out and it was the perfect one.”

“Furniture magazine?” asked Wulf, confused, blinking repeatedly. “Doflamingo gave you a furniture magazine?”

“Ah, um,” said Rosinante, blushing. “I stacked up on them to find the perfect couch, and Doffy caught me reading them. I told him I like reading furniture magazines. He’s started buying loads for me. I’ll have to read furniture magazines until I’m done with this entire undercover now, though...”

Wulf let out a “pf” before he burst out laughing.

Rosinante frowned at him. “It’s not funny, Wulf.”

“Oh, it is!” said Wulf, cackling, his chest shaking with his laughter. “It’s hilarious! Your evil older brother buying you all furniture magazines just so he can get his little brother his most fun stuff to read! Oh saints, I’ll die laughing!”

Rosinante, however, was growing more serious by the second.

“Don’t laugh at him.” said Rosinante, turning serious. “He might be evil, but he’s still my brother. Don’t laugh at him. Not over that. He’s buying the magazines because he thinks I like reading them. He has no reason to buy them. He buys them because he wants to make me happy, in his own way. Don’t laugh at him over that.”

Wulf sighed. “All right. Sorry. I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

“I know,” said Rosinante. They made it into the living room. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. Let’s put it here. Three, two, one…”

The two marines put down the sectional. They both let out huffs, and sat down on the sectional, panting for a few moments, catching their breath.

“It really is good… ah, like a cloud…” Wulf smiled happily.

“Told ya,” said Rosinante, smiling happily as well. “It’s so comfy.”

The two marines sighed in bliss.

“Let’s get the other one,” said Wulf.

Rosinante groaned.

“Come on, big guy,” said Wulf, grabbing Rosinante by the arm, pulling him up as Rosinante groaned some more.

Five minutes later, you walked through the fence gate and closed it behind yourself, entering the large front garden, carrying bags of groceries.

When you climbed the porch, you heard Rosinante’s and Wulf’s voices.

“We did it! Screw you, Doflamingo, I’m Rosi’s number one guy to call for moving furniture! High five, Rosi!”

Your heart leapt in joy. Rosinante was back. You fumbled with the keys in your excitement — you had far too many keys on your keychain — and after unlocking the doors, you heard the two marines squawk.

“Shit! Your wife’s back! Act natural!”

“There’s a four meter long, white sectional couch of eight hundred thousand berries in my living room, how am I supposed to act natural?!” asked Rosinante.

“I don’t know, light yourself on fire?” Then, “Not on the couch, Rosi!”

“Saints, she’s gonna kill me.” said Rosinante. “Maybe I shouldn’t have bought this...”

“No, no, she’s gonna love it.” Wulf assured. “All this space for the fun times you two can have. She’ll love it, and so will you. This is the best use of money. For sex.”

“Is that why you said it should be four meters?!” shrieked Rosinante.

“Duh!” said Wulf. “Why do you think you took a white one?!”

“Gah!”

Your heart racing in your breast, you stepped into the living room, and felt your breath hitch.

Rosinante was sitting on the large white couch.

The black feathers of Rosinante’s coat flattered the white couch, like a black-and-white checkerboard. For a moment, you were too mesmerized by Rosinante’s beauty, sitting there on the couch in the setting sunlight casting a heavenly glow on his frame, that you forgot to speak.

Rosinante lit up like the sun the moment he saw you, his brown eyes glowing with joy.

“Heya!” Rosinante says cheerily, showing you a peace sign, giving you his big, goofy grin. “Surprise!”

You dropped the grocery bag and leapt on him, hugging him. Rosinante doesn’t fall, catching you in his arms with ease, slightly shocked and wide-eyed.

You hold him tight, so tight your knuckles turn white, holding onto the black feathers tight, basking in their softness in your hand.

“Welcome home, Rosi.”

Rosinante’s entire body softens. All the makeup he masks himself with melts away, and he puts away the mantle of Corazon within a moment, returning to you in full, all soft and gentle, his strong arms lifting, wrapping around you, and all he is now is your husband.

“I’m home,” he whispers lovingly, smiling into your shoulder. The two of you bask in each other, in your heartbeats, your bodies, your touch, in comfortable, loving silence.

“And with a new couch!” said Wulf, breaking the silence.

“And look!” said Wulf, hopping over the backrest and onto the couch beside Rosinante, grabbing your husband in a headlock.“It can take a full ton!”

Rosinante tapped furiously on Wulf’s forearm for his best friend to release him from the chokehold, which Wulf did.

“What, did you two suddenly go from hundred-ninety kilograms to five hundred kilograms each?” you teased, smiling at them.

The two men gasped.

“(Y/N)-chan, how could you call me — and sweet, sweet Rosi here — fat?”

Rosinante nodded furiously, tears in his soft brown eyes.

“You’re the one who said a ton,” you said, lifting your eyebrows at Wulf.

“It’s a manner of speech from South Blue! Darn!”

You could feel Rosinante’s gaze on you.

“Wulf,” you said, staring at Rosinante; he was staring at you longingly, but was too polite to tell Wulf to leave. “We’ll hold a barbeque tomorrow if you leave in the next ten seconds.”

It didn’t take Wulf a single second to realise the meaning.

“Oh, I’m out the door, Mrs. Donquixote!” sang Wulf cheerily, giving you and Rosinante a wolfish grin, getting up from the couch, heading straight to the doors. “You know me and barbeque and my best friend! Can’t betray either of them!”

Rosinante blushed. “Thanks, Wulf. I’m getting you beer with that barbeque.”

“Don’t mention it, Rosi.” said Wulf. “Bye! Have fun, lovebirds!”

You and Rosinante waved Wulf away. The moment the doors shut, you and Rosinante broke the distance with a desparate, long kiss, your lips meeting. His large hands settled on your back, hugging you tight, and your own arms settled around his neck before burying into his soft, fluffy hair.

When you parted after numerous kisses, needing air, you whispered into his collarbone, “I hate your brother.”

“Why?” asked Rosinante, laughing. You leaned away from his chest, and looked up at him; Rosinante froze. He could see it. He could see how much you missed him, how much you worried for him; it was written all over your face.

“Because he’s keeping you from me,” you whispered, full of ache and longing.

Rosinante went quiet. Carefully, he grabbed your hips and settled you atop of him; it was your turn to gasp, to blush, to clutch him tight.

“I’m right here, mi amor,” he said, deep, warm brown eyes staring into yours. His fingers caressed your cheek, took your hand, brought it to his mouth, and placed a firm kiss on it, leaving a lipstick shape on your knuckle. He looked at you again, offering you a small, soft smile. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m all yours for the next two days.”

You smiled, staring lovingly at him. You ran your fingers gently through his hair.

“Do you... like the couch?” Rosinante asked nervously.

“Yes, Rosinante,” you said softly, smiling at your husband. “I love the couch.”

Gently, Rosinante leaned down and kissed you again, uncaring for his lipstick; you found you rather loved getting lipstick marks from him, and ever since you’d told him such, he wasn’t as hesitant to kiss you with his make-up on.

You pulled your arms tighter around his head, pulling him down, the black feathers of his coat tickling your arms and face. You wanted him closer, until there was no space between you two. Gravity and weight did the rest, and you ended up laying on the softest couch you’d ever laid on. Rosinante fell atop you, bending his legs beside your thighs to support himself well enough to keep his weight from pressing into you, kissing you deeply. You sighed happily into his passionate lips, holding him tight, relieved he was back.

Rosinante’s lipstick tasted of roses.

It’s wrong, you think, staring wide-eyed at a man that doesn’t belong here, that shouldn’t be near you, that isn’t your husband. It’s all wrong.

Doflamingo’s slicked up, spiked up blond hair is the same colour as the bouquet of primroses sitting on his thigh. The blond spikes reminded you of a golden crown worn by a king.

His face was completely different from Rosinante’s; where Rosinante had round cheeks, Doflamingo had lean, sharp ones. Doflamingo also had a more narrow facial structure and chin than Rosinante. Some things were similar, so similar the resemblance deeply unsettled you. They both had the sharp, refined, thin nose, the strong jawline and beautiful lips. Their facial shape was different, giving entirely different impressions. Where Rosinante’s face was angelic and gentle — even boyish from some angles — in shape, fitting the picture of a kind, sweet prince charming, Doflamingo’s face was tough-looking, masculine and extremely aristocratic, painting the picture of a devilishly handsome mob boss or a cruel, cunning, ruthless king. Doflamingo’s forehead was bare, tanned, with furrow lines above his sunglasses.

Doflamingo’s entire appearance looked incredibly threatening and unfriendly. If you met him on the street, you would have kept away from him and shivered after he finally passed because of the air of danger surrounding him.

Draped over his broad shoulders, fluffy and humongous, covered with thousands of flamingo feathers, was his extravagant pink feather coat, spread along the white surface of your husband’s couch. You were used to the black feathers on the whiteness, not pink ones.

The change of colours startled you. Doflamingo was a malignant juxtaposition of colours that didn’t have a place in your home. Red and black instead of blue and white, pink feathers instead of black ones.

Doflamingo spoke.

“Don’t try to run, or call for help.”

Doflamingo’s voice was deep like thunder, commanding like a god’s, unsettling you deep to your core, your limbs freezing up with instinctual, animalistic fear.

Despite it, you bared your teeth at him, full of hatred and anger, because he shouldn’t be here, he shouldn’t be sitting on Rosi’s couch, it was supposed to be Rosi sitting there, not…

Him!

“Otherwise, I’ll turn this entire island bloody.”

You don’t move. You don’t move a single inch, but your lungs lift and fall rapidly in absolute fear as you stare at the tall demon in terror.

Are you breathing?

You don’t know.

You can’t think about breathing, too busy frozen by terror.

“By that look, I suppose you know who I am,” he said conversationally, his dark, deep voice resounding all across the safe haven of your house which Rosinante’s soft laugh used to fill with warmth and comfort.

Doflamingo turned his head fully toward you, flashing you a sharp, malicious smile full of teeth.

You felt cold under the massive, powerful weight of his gaze. And small. So very, incredibly small.

How? How did he find out about you so quickly, how did he find out where you live?

The spy.

The damned spy.

If you ever meet that spy, you’ll strangle them.

Doflamingo was the kind of terrifying that would send you running, but you knew you wouldn’t make it far.

“You’re Donquixote Doflamingo.” you said shakily. Maybe you’re already dead, and this is hell, with your husband’s older brother as your assigned tormentor. “Captain of the Donquixote Pirates.”

“Yes. And you’re Donquixote (Y/N).” He said this with the nastiest, most evil smile, speaking the name Donquixote arrogantly and smugly, like the royal title of godhood he must see it as, and most likely didn’t consider someone like you worthy of. “My dead brother’s wife, and my sister-in-law. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Dead brother’s wife.

The words stung at your heart.

“Yes. Very nice.” you said with an impressive amount of politeness considering how much you loathed him. “I’d like you to leave now.”

Doflamingo burst out laughing; you jumped at the sound. He howled with laughter. He cackled, throwing his head back with a wheeze, bursting out into a full on raucous demonic laughter, loud and uproarious, the sound crescendoing into unnatural territory. The sound of his laugh made the hairs on your nape stand on end; it truly sounded like the laugh of an evil demon from the darkest, deepest pits of hell.

You didn’t know someone’s laughter could freeze you in terror, but here you were, proven wrong. You wished to never hear such a thing again. The sound of Doflamingo’s laughter would haunt you for the rest of your life.

“Mmm…fufufufufu! Fufufufufufufufufu!”

You put down your grocery bag — slowly, because you weren’t a fool. Even if he was holding his stomach and trying to stifle his laughter with his hand over his grinning, stretched out mouth, you knew he was keeping you in his sights.

“You’re hilarious!” he chortled, gasping. “I haven’t… hahahahaha… laughed this hard since… I forgot!”

You stayed silent, waiting for him to be done laughing.

“It breaks my heart, you know.” he said conversationally, moving his tanned, long, large fingers around the air, crooking them like a puppeteer. You froze on instinct, all your limbs going stiff; your body’s misguided attempt not to be caught in the strings that could come out any time, like the concealed claws of a tiger.

You didn’t know where to look; at his face or his hands. Doflamingo was so big that if he weren’t five meters away from you, sitting on your couch, your eyes wouldn’t be able to see all of him within your range of eyesight.

Doflamingo knew you were watching. He used his fingers like a lure he knew people would fall for all too well, and he’d managed to hypnotize you with their movements, too, forcing your attention onto them without you realising.

“I wasn’t invited to the wedding,” he said, smile completely gone, and somehow, his downturned lips were worse.

What?

“He didn’t...” you started.

Speak, dammit.

Unfortunately, it’s hard when your lungs are barely grabbing in enough air. The pressure of his presence suffocated you.

“...want you there.”

Doflamingo’s chuckle is as dark and deep as his voice.

“Fufufu, I bet.” Doflamingo said. “Must’ve been paranoid I’d steal you away. In the end, I found you, anyway.”

He smiled again. It wasn’t a nice smile, nothing like Rosinante’s smile. It was the sort of evil, triumphant smile the devil smiled knowing he’d won.

“What do you want, Doflamingo?” you asked coldly, tone icy and full of restrained anger you fought to bury.

“What do I want?” he asked, and laughed again. He lounged back on the couch, the picture of arrogance. His entire body language told you the truth Rosinante’s been telling you since you met him — his older brother was an arrogant, overconfident asshole who thought he deserved the world because of what he was born as.

“For starters, I’d like you to come live with me,” said Doflamingo.

What?

Nevermind, you thought. He’s actually insane. He’s mentally unstable.

“I refuse,” you said firmly.

Doflamingo laughed again, startling you once more.

“That’s not how it works, though.” said Doflamingo through his chuckles, placing a hand on his bared forehead, continuing to giggle; he sounded like he needed to be admitted into a psych ward. His entire body shook with his amusement; his chest, his shoulders, the feathers of his coat swaying. “That’s not how it works at all, Mrs. Donquixote.”

What do you do? He’s not going to kill you? He wants you to come live with him? That sounds worse, so much worse.

Do you run? There’s no way. You can’t run. You’re barely forcing yourself to stand as it is, full of terror from being in Doflamingo’s mere presence, in the same room as him. If you try to run, you won’t get far. He’ll stop you with his strings, or just catch up to you in no time with his long legs that are longer than your entire body. Who knows what he’ll do to you if you try to run.

You still have the revolver in your back pocket. You need to get it. It’s the only chance you have.

You cast your eyes around the room in an attempt to find something to help you. What you noticed on the side table near the seat where Doflamingo sat, however, grabbed all your attention.

An empty plate with only chocolate syrup.

You knew what the plate had held.

Somehow… somehow, that little thing was the last straw. First he kills your husband, then he breaks into your house, and then, like he hadn’t already done enough, eats the pancakes you made like he’s got any right to them.

“Where are my pancakes?” you asked. You hated how weak your voice sounded.

“Ah,” said Doflamingo. “I ate them.”

“You...” Your brain was scrambling to make sense of it. “Ate my pancakes?”

Those pancakes were supposed to be your last meal, and the pink-feathered fucker couldn’t even leave that alone?

Doflamingo shoots you a grin, big and remorseless. “They were delicious.”

For a moment, you were flabbergasted by him. First, he killed your husband, broke into your house, and as a cherry on top, he decided to make himself at home and eat what was supposed to be your last meal. Had he not done enough to you? Did he enjoy twisting the knife? You were already dead inside. Now Doflamingo was just kicking your corpse for fun.

If you didn’t shoot him, you were going to smash his skull in to wipe that big, cocksure smile off his face.

But how... How to draw the gun without Doflamingo stopping you?

“Move his eyes,” said a calm voice, and you froze. It was Rosinante. Rosinante’s voice. You felt gosebumps on your spine; it felt like he was standing right beside you; your eyes filled with tears. “He needs to move his entire head away from you. His entire field of sight needs to be away from you. Distract him with something he wants, something he’ll immediately go to investigate. A sound, an object he’s looking for, a threat.”

Something he wants...

“There’s more in the fridge,” you said calmly, with the resignation of someone who could do nothing to stop someone like Doflamingo from doing whatever he wanted.

You didn’t even offer it. However, it was like how pirates were with treasure. Apparently, Doflamingo considered your pancakes delicious enough to treat them as such — like treasure — because he turned his head completely away from you, over his back, pivoting his body to the left to be able to fully look where the light blue kitchen was.

With immense speed, you pulled out the revolver hidden beneath your shirt, aimed it at him, and pulled down the safety hammer.

The moment the safety lock clicked, Doflamingo turned his head to you.

“Woah, woah!” he called, laughing again. “You’re that angry about the pancakes?”

He’s laughing. You’re aiming a gun at him, and the bastard is laughing. He killed his little brother, his little brother, he killed your husband, and he’s laughing.

He really is insane.

“Rosi was right,” you growled, fury and anger spitting past your lips, a snarl on your lips. “You are crazy.”

“Fufufufu! You’re the one aiming a gun at me, woman!” he said between his bouts of manic laughter.

“You’re the one with a devil fruit that can control and cut people, and the one who killed his brother, pirate.” you hissed.

Doflamingo smiled, sharp and wide, yet despite the smile, you couldn’t tell what was going through his head at all.

What now, Rosi?

“Start stepping back. Get out of there. Keep your pistol pointed at him. Do NOT look away from him.”

You could do none of those things. You knew you should, but you couldn’t. If you did those things, if you ran away, you wouldn’t be able to look at Rosinante in heaven. It felt like it would be the greatest dishonor to him.

“How about you lower the gun?” asked Doflamingo.

The way he said that pissed you off. Like he was talking to a pet that decided to try to bite him when he went to pick it up.

“How about you burn in hell, you piece of shit?” you growled, baring your teeth like a wild, wounded animal at the predator circling you.

You didn’t know how to fight. You didn’t have a Devil Fruit. All you had was this gun in your hands, the grief welling in your eyes, stinging in the shape of tears, and your angrily beating, shattered heart in your chest.

“(Y/N), run! Run, run, run!”

Doflamingo gritted his teeth. “It’s not my fault he’s dead.”

You feel a vein on your forehead snap.

“Huh?” you growled, baring your teeth.

“It’s not my fault he’s dead,” he said firmly, angrily, as though he didn’t do it, as though he didn’t shoot him. As though he was innocent.

“Rosinante died because he was weak.” Doflamingo sneered in disgust. “Because he had that same dumb worldview like our father, believing he was human. He let his stupid emotions and misguided, worthless sense of justice interfere, and betrayed me.”

You saw red. Red like blood stains on clothes, leaking on white snow. Red like flames enveloping a city, eating away at every building and life they touch. Red like the lipstick Rosinante wore.

All the fear vanished from your blood.

“You. You bastard. Shut it.” Your voice was different. Cold. Enraged. Deadly. Full of hatred. Your eyes were full of icy fury, your face cold and expressionless. You were ready to kill him, and you wouldn’t feel a thing when you did. “Don’t talk about my husband.”

“Why are you angry?” asked Doflamingo. “I’m only telling you what happened.”

“You're not,” you said, your heart shaking in your ribcage. “That’s not what happened. You’re badmouthing him. I know what happened.”

“Do you?” he asked, frowning. “My brother betrayed me. He betrayed me. He stabbed me in the back, he nearly destroyed my entire life. What part of that isn’t getting through to your head?”

“Lower that gun,” he ordered, sneering, the command making you momentarily freeze. Your muscles nearly obeyed him before you got a grip on them. “I’ve had enough of my family pointing guns at me.”

Your hackles raised. Doflamingo was not your family.

Doflamingo stared you down with such a cold-hearted, apathetic expression you felt your stomach drop, as though trying to escape from that heartless gaze. You could see yourself in the crimson lenses of his sunglasses.

“You’re not going to shoot me,” Doflamingo said, frowning at you, frightening and intimidating all at once; he looked angry with you, offended by the perceived weakness he thought you held, which infuriated you further. “You’re just like your husband.”

Rage brewed inside you. You never knew such a storm was possible for a person to feel. You hated hearing his voice. You hated hearing him badmouth Rosinante.

To you, Rosinante was the very very strongest. To you, Rosinante was the most kindest, bravest, fiercest man in the entire world. Doflamingo didn’t hold a candle to Rosinante.

“He’s baiting you.” Rosinante sounded panicked; he sounded scared. “He wants you inside here. Don’t let him. Get out. Get out and run!”

You put your other trembling hand on the grip of the revolver, glaring at him, your grip steady around the gun, staring at the man who killed your husband.

“Do you want to stake your life on it?” you asked in a deadly calm, cold voice; it didn’t sound like your own. It sounded heartless.

“Before you shoot me…” said Doflamingo slowly. “Do you want to know how he died?”

Your breath hitched.

“Your husband died alone,” said Doflamingo calmly, the red-orange lenses of his sunglasses reflecting you. He was not smiling, his frown deeper and deeper, angrier and angrier. “He died cold and alone, buried in his own blood, lying in the snow.”

Your eyes blurred with tears holding the memories of Rosinante, your lips quivering from the lack of his lips’ warmth on yours, your teeth gritted in a vicious snarl, your knuckles turning white how tightly you clenched the grip of the gun.

Rosinante’s voice came back to you, the last words he said to you, and you remembered all of him, of his smiling face and warm, loving eyes as he said...

“I love you!”

Rosinante couldn’t press the trigger because he loved Doflamingo. In the end, no matter what Doflamingo did, to Rosinante, he was still his older brother.

That’s why Rosinante couldn’t press the trigger.

But you can.

You will.

It frightens you how easily you can pull the trigger with Doflamingo on the other side of the barrel.

You have nothing but pure hatred for Doflamingo. To you, Doflamingo is nothing but your husband’s murderer.

That’s why you didn’t hesitate, didn’t linger, or felt any guilt at all.

You pulled the trigger.

The bang of the gunshot filled your ears, but you didn’t care. You didn’t stop with one press of the trigger, ignoring the whiplash in your arm given by the gunshot. You pressed the trigger five more times, in quick succession, filling the house with five more deafening, explosive bangs rending through the air, aiming the barrel at Rosinante’s older brother.

You hear Doflamingo click his tongue. A glimpse of strings shimmering under the light catch your gaze, a sound of wires, Doflamingo moving his hand —

The bullets, which were the size of a peanut, clattered to the ground together with your gun, both in pieces.

Doflamingo lowered his hand. You had only seen him swing his fingers in a slashing motion, barely able to follow the swift movement of the red sleeve and glove with your eyes, but you were sure he cut the bullets into numerous tiny fragments.

Doflamingo’s cold look never wavered, his face never twitched to show a single sign of panic. There was no hesitation or fear in him before or after cutting the bullets into tiny shreds. He just sat there with his usual calm presence.

“Did Corazón teach you how to shoot?” A dark smile split across his face, more a sneer than a smile. “Too bad it won’t work on me.”

You stared at him, and he stared right back.

“Are you done now?” he asked, rough tone both deceptively curious and mocking in its amusement, the scythe-shaped grin pasted on his strong face.

“What do you want?” you asked through gritted teeth.

“I told you what I want.”

“And I told you,” you hissed, breathing hard. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Are you hiding anything else from me?” Doflamingo asked you.

“I don’t have anything else,” you said, knowing you were lying.

“Is that what we’re going to do?” Doflamingo asked. His tone wasn’t mocking, but sharp and direct, unforgiving in a rough, terrible way, his smile gone, the sight of his frown turning your blood to ice; you feel like you’re going to throw up from fear. “You’re going to lie to me, just like your stupid husband did?”

You opened your mouth to reply, to tell him to go throw himself into the sea…

“Purupurupurupuru.”

You froze, your eyes widening.

Doflamingo’s frown fell into a deeper one. He stared at you in dead, terrible, lethal silence. You never knew someone could look so mad without saying a single word.

Damn it.

“Purupurupuru… purupururupurupuru…”

Damn it!

Wulf must be calling. He must have gotten a ship.

“Unbelievable,” said Doflamingo with a sigh, his merlot suit deflating with his chest, his voice full of disappointment as the snail continued to ring.

“Pull it out, then.” said Doflamingo, sounding resigned in his dissapointment.

You didn’t want to test your luck anymore. You pulled out the snail. Your breath hitched when a string latched onto it and it came flying into the space between Doflamingo’s fingers.

“Look at that,” said Doflamingo, holding the tiny white-blue snail, his tone oozing with patronizing superiority. He spoke to you with such thick condescension, it pissed you off more and more. “A transponder snail. A marine one at that.”

It looked like a chocolate bar between Doflamingo’s long fingers. The transponder snail was still ringing.

Another sound of wires — no, they sounded like the pulled taut strings moving across the surface — and you watched, helpless, wide-eyed, as the snail was cut to pieces.

Doflamingo let it go, discarding its slimy remains on the floor.

A small gasp left your lips, your eyes stinging with tears for the small snail that had done no harm. It was the snail Rosinante had given you before he went on his mission. The snail was a life, a living creature, and Doflamingo killed it. He could have shut it off and put it on the table, but he killed it.

All to teach you some sort of lesson about not lying to him.

You clenched your jaw, glaring at him with hatred which grew more fiercer by the second.

“You want to test me again?” he asked dangerously, his smile gone, veins throbbing on his forehead. “Maybe the next thing I cut to pieces is this house.”

Your heart stopped.

“Me telling you what I came here for, that I’d like you to come live with me...” said Doflamingo, staring at you. “That was me asking. That was me being chivalrous. Showing manners. Showing you respect, which you keep failing to show me.”

“You don’t deserve my respect,” you spat hatefully. “And I don’t want your false chivalry.”

Doflamingo’s brows furrowed.

“Fine,” he huffed. “I won’t ask this time. Do you know how it looks like when I don’t ask, darling?”

His voice was still so terribly condescending, but now it was darker, turning more malicious, more cold.

“Let’s see…” said Doflamingo coldly. “You can come with me quietly, or you can try to fight me.”

Fuck you.

“If you resist… I’ll kill every single person on this island.”

Obey or people will die.

“The choice is yours.”

The choice was not yours. All you could choose was whether he would hurt everyone or not. It was a choice, but it was a shit one, and you knew it.

The smile Doflamingo smiled was dark and giddy, almost delighted by the prospect of you saying no, of you giving him a reason to use his powers. Like he wanted to carnage another island, as casual as going for a walk and buying groceries.

This wasn’t what you signed up for. You signed up for death, not life.

But you couldn’t let people die. You had friends here. There were families here. And what would saying no do? Doflamingo would grab you and take you either way. It would be better to make sure he doesn't hurt anyone.

“I’ll come,” you forced through your trembling voice. “Don’t... Kill anyone.”

If you could protect the island from Doflamingo’s murderous whims and tendencies by obeying and not fighting, you’d do it.

“Fufufu… What a reasonable little sister-in-law I have. Cute, too.”

Your skin crawled uncomfortably.

Doflamingo took the primroses off his lap and offered them to you.

“For you. To cheer you up.”

You didn't want to accept them.

Just do it. Just take them.

You clenched your teeth. You just had to do it. You reached forward and took the bouquet from him.

“Thank you,” you said.

That caught Doflamingo off guard. His frown fell away, his browline and forehead relaxing, his downturned lips parting slightly.

A small smile quirked on Doflamingo’s lips; it unnervingly reminded you of Rosinante's small smiles, the kinds he smiled in secret with you, when you told him something that made him happy, or the first time he’d given you the same flowers and you were overjoyed to get them, as they were your favourite.

How did Doflamingo know these were your favourite? Did he pick them randomly? You didn’t know, and you decided you didn’t want to know.

“Can I bring my —” His deep voice cuts you off, “No.”

“Why?”

“Your clothes aren’t good enough,” Doflamingo said.

You were too tired to try to make sense of that.

“No, that’s... why don’t you kill me?”

“You have nothing to do with the marines, or my brother’s failed mission,” said Doflamingo. “I checked.”

“I work for the Navy,” you said.

Doflamingo waved it off. “Civilian servants work for everyone, that doesn’t make them loyal to the institution they happen to be employed in.”

You frowned.

“Do you want me to kill you?” asked Doflamingo.

“Honestly?” you ask, feeling like there are a thousand worlds of weight on your shoulders, the emptiness in your chest spreading more and more. “Yes.”

The demon in red chuckled. “I see. I’m not going to kill you. And nobody else is, either.”

“Are you sure?” you asked.

“Fufufu... I’m sure, little one.”

Doflamingo stood up from the couch, standing at his full height, and you felt your gut drop.

Doflamingo was huge, standing above three meters of height. You were used to huge men — Rosinante was huge himself after all, and both brothers had the exact same lanky build — but the way Doflamingo held himself upright, with class and confidence, gave him an air of intimidation you never experienced with your husband, whose legs were taller than your entire body. The same went for your brother-in-law; you were quite below his waistline. And he was taller than Rosinante; you noticed it just by looking at him. With Doflamingo, you were left staring eye-to-eye with vivid merlot suit pants, above his knees. As you did with Rosinante when he stood close to you, you tilted your head upward to look at his brother. Fear struck you.

You stepped back from him.

(You never stepped back from Rosinante in all the years you’ve known him.)

Idiot. Don’t step away.

It was too late for that now. The damage was done.

The pink feathers of his coat brushed the couch as he approached you. His face looked heartless and cold, looking down at you with a condescending arrogance, like you were a pebble that got in his way.

“Well? Won’t you greet your brother-in-law properly?”

What?

“Tch,” he said, annoyed. “You’re a translator, but you don’t know the Dressrosan greeting custom?”

“I know the custom,” you said, glaring up at him. The Dressrosan greeting custom for women when greeting men and men greeting women in family interactions were cheek kisses, one on the right cheek and one on the left cheek. “I just don’t want to do it with you.”

Doflamingo chuckled, putting his gloves back on, slipping his fingers into them. “Too bad.”

He bent down to be at your height, and his hand grasped your face. His fingers could easily wrap around your head and crush it; his palm was bigger than your face.

His face got close to yours.

You stopped breathing. You froze. You could see your own face reflected in the sunglasses now. Doflamingo’s face got closer, and you clenched your eyes shut, your entire body tensing up.

Doflamingo kissed your right cheek, then your left cheek; his lips were soft and warm. The smell of his cologne enveloped you; a fresh, clean scent of coconuts and salt.

“Now you,” he said, tapping his right cheek, grinning at you devilishly, the painting of arrogance. “Right here. And then the other one.”

He even turned his head to the side, offering you his right cheek to make it easier for you.

Oh, you never wanted to slap a man as much as you wanted to slap Doflamingo in that moment.

You inhaled, gathering your guts, and kissed him on his right cheek, then on his left. It was neither quick or slow, but the usual tempo of the greeting, the same speed he’d done it with — though his had been slower, most likely to freak you out.

His cheeks were warm, his skin smooth and soft under your lips, and you could feel the way his cheeks stretched with his smile.

You leaned back, fighting back from wiping your lips on your arm.

“Give me a hug.”

What the hell?!

Before you could react in any way, Doflamingo hugged you under the arms, crossed his long arms over each other on your back, his large hands covering half of your upper back, and hugged you tight, cradling you to him until your face was smushed against his red tie. The fabric of his black dress shirt was soft and smooth as your breasts pressed to his broad, strong chest. He settled his head on your left shoulder, and that was that.

It was a nightmare. You were absolutely horrified. You didn’t move; you couldn’t. You were too numbed by shock.

You felt his right pinky finger lift from your back, and before you knew it, your frozen arms started lifting, going under Doflamingo’s arms.

My arms...

No. you thought, realising what was happening. You hadn’t even felt the string, how...

No no no no —

The next instinct that came to you was to break free. You could feel your arms, and you tried to tug them, move them, but it wasn’t working. They were moving on their own. It made no sense. Your brain was telling your arms to move away, you even attempted to jerk the muscles but it was like your bones themselves were under the control of Doflamingo's string.

You couldn’t control your arms. You couldn’t control your arms!

They slid around Doflamingo’s back, gliding across his suit before wrapping completely around him — you could feel how strong he was, could feel the thick muscles on his back — and squeezing him to you. You felt the feathers on the inside of his coat brush against your palm and fingers. Your fingers, which Doflamingo controlled to clench around the fabric of his suit, holding him tight.

Doflamingo hummed; it sounded like the sound a person made when they were having a nice dream.

You were on the verge of a panic attack. He was close, intimately close, far too close, so close you could feel his chest rise and fall as he breathed, so close you felt the thump of his heartbeat against your breast. You were small and tiny against him; he completely enveloped you.

Breathe. Breathe. Calm down. It’ll only get worse if you panic. Breathe. Just breathe.

You tried to move other parts of your body. You blinked, you breathed through your nose, you cast your eyes around the room, you parted and closed your lips. There were no weird thoughts going on in your head, and your heartbeat seemed... as fine as a heartbeat could be when the most dangerous pirate in North Blue was hugging you.

Doflamingo couldn’t control your facial expressions, or anything on your face. He couldn’t control your eyes. He couldn’t control your heart, your mind, or your soul.

All he could control was your body. But that was already terrible enough.

Doflamingo sighed through his nose, the flutter of his breath caressing against your neck, tickling your skin. “See? This is what you do when you see your brother-in-law.”

“A nice -”

This was not nice. It did not feel nice. It felt like a cage more than an embrace. Doflamingo was squeezing you to him like you were his new favourite, human-sized teddy bear.

“— warm —”

This was not warm! You felt cold, like you were surrounded by a thick, impenetrable wall of ice which would make you bleed if you tried to move out of the embrace. You were shaking so much you forgot to breathe.

“— hug.”

Help! you prayed to whatever god existed, begging for salvation, tears stinging at your eyes, your heart thudding fearfully in your chest. All the anger you managed to gather was gone, replaced by the cold, massive sense of fear.

Doflamingo was going to crush your bones, your organs, your muscles. You didn’t think it was possible to squeeze someone to death, but you were starting to believe a man of his size could do it without trouble.

The Demon of North Blue leaned to your ear. His hand slid up your body, cradling the back of your head; your head was like a small ball in his grasp.

“I’m going to pick you up,” his voice was deep and warm against your ear; you fought back from whimpering at the closeness of his mouth to your skin. “And you’re going to be a good little sister-in-law and stay quiet. We’re going to head out, and you won’t squirm. You won’t make a single sound. And if you do that, I won’t touch this house, or this island, or its people.”

“Yes, sir.” you said before you realised what words you were saying, the instinct from work kicking in all because of Doflamingo’s commanding, authoritative tone. The moment you realised what you said, you were horrified. Your face burned with shame.

It wasn’t your fault. Doflamingo’s was the sort of voice and tone people naturally obeyed to.

Doflamingo huffed disapprovingly. “Not ‘sir’. Doffy.”

Your stomach sunk. No. No, you couldn’t call him that. That was how Rosinante called him, because they were brothers. You couldn’t just call him that.

Rosinante had asked you to call him Rosi a month after you started dating.

“It’s how…” Rosinante’s thumb drew more circles on your palm; he was stumbling over his words slightly, a pink blush rising to his cheeks. “The people dear to me call me… so… if you want to… you can call me Rosi.”

At his request, you’d called him Rosi — it sounded so cute to you, and you loved how it felt to say it — and after that, he blushed, fell to the ground, and started rolling on the grass of Marineford Park while giggling and kicking his long feet.

“Aaaa! I can’t! It’s so cute!” he opened his palms, revealing his reddened, smiling face; he was smiling from ear to ear, gazing at you with those big brown eyes of his. “Call me Rosi again, please!”

You giggled. Rosinante was so wonderful; he looked so happy, his smile was so infectious you started smiling too.

“Rosi,” you whispered lovingly.

Rosinante let out a squeaky sound in his throat. He went back to rolling on the ground to try to cool off his heated body.

Then, suddenly, Rosinante stopped moving. When you turned to check on him, he was bleeding out of his nose. A lot. So much it was getting on his collar.

“Help!” you called, and as the park was filled with people who worked in the Navy, medics and marines in civilian clothing came running to help you. “My boyfriend’s gonna die!”

You could move your hands and arms normally again. You didn't even feel the strings let you go.

Dressing like a gentleman does not mean being one. Doflamingo, in no polite terms, manhandled you like a brute. He picked you up by wrapping his immense hand around your wrist, his long fingers completely encircling your arm, the width of his hand so large it covered your forearm. Without giving you a warning, he lifted you off the ground - you yelped when the solid ground vanished beneath your feet.

Doflamingo settled his gloved hand beneath your curled knees, his arm wrapped around your body like a wing, the back of your head resting in the crook of his elbow. You felt like a puppy being carried like this.

Doflamingo exited through the doors, climbed down the staircase of the porch, and then looked up at the sky. Now that he was in the sunlight, his hair really was the exact same colour as the bouquet of yellow primroses you held.

Doflamingo didn’t warn you before he launched into the sky, his left arm firmly keeping you in place beneath his chest.

You let out a shriek as you ascended up into the sky, the ground getting further and further away until it looked like a terrain on a map in books. Your left arm flailed for purchase out of panic, on instinct, grabbing onto the closest support; his red suit jacket.

Before you knew it, before you could process it, you were high up in the sky, the sea passing by in a blue blur beneath you, the wind gathered by Doflamingo’s flying movements pushing into your face and waving your hair around.

Understandably, you screeched again.

Doflamingo laughed.

“You screech like a canary, fufufu!” he said, his chest shaking with his laughter.

Your entire body clenched up and froze, your eyes closing shut. You thought you weren’t afraid of heights. You were definitely afraid of flying, it seemed, because that was height and moving quickly over a large height.

You wondered how quickly the marines would figure out you got kidnapped.

It wasn’t anything new. Pirates always targeted a marine’s family and spouses, especially if they were civilians. A team would be sent out to find you. Unfortunately, you didn’t leave any signs of struggle, but the next rule of action would be to call your personal transponder snail, which you were to keep at your side at all times. The transponder snail Doflamingo sliced into bits. At least that would alert the marines something happened to you.

Wulf would know. Your plan worked. Wulf had free reign to find Law while Doflamingo had wasted his time travelling to get you.

You let out the breath you’d been holding.

The chuckle reached your ears, his chest rumbling with the sound. “Look who’s breathing.”

You flick your eyes open.

“You could’ve… warned me,” you said, wondering whether he heard you over the wind his movements created. Your mouth felt dry.

“Now where would the fun in that be, little canary?” he asked with a sly smile, the wind ruffling at his blond slicked up hair, pushing at the pink feathers of his coat; they looked like the flapping wings of a flamingo.

Something stirs in the void of your chest. It feels like anger. Or something close to it.

“The fun in that would be that I wouldn’t hold my breath for an hour, cuñado.” you say in full Dressrosan.

Doflamingo makes a slight, barely audible sound of surprise. He tilts his chin down at you, surprise on his face as you frown up at him. Then, he grins, and you think you may have made a grave mistake.

“My cute little sister-in-law knows Dressrosan.”

“Translator, remember?” you said.

Doflamingo was too busy grinning down at you like you gifted him the best birthday present he could ask for, offering a simple hum instead. You wondered how his cheeks didn’t ache from smiling so wide.

“Fufufu! Guess we have our secret language, then.” he says, switching effortlessly back to Common, just like you did seconds prior.

Getting kidnapped by a pirate wearing a full formal red suit like a wealthy businessman is one thing. Being carried in the aforementioned pirate’s arm as he flies through the sky over the sea is completely another. That pirate being your brother-in-law who your husband died to protect you and Law from was just the cherry on top.

“While we’re here, I’ll tell you about the family,” said Doflamingo. “You need to know about them.”

Family? What a joke. Doflamingo killed his real family.

“I know you have three top executives, Trebol, Diamante, and Pica. I know you have officers, and I know you have apprentices. There’s the underlings, too, but they’re not part of the family.”

“Corazón’s been running his mouth, huh?” asked Doflamingo. You felt your face grow pale. Doflamingo chuckled. “Well, that’s fine. It’s nice to know he actually talked about me in some way to you.”

“You might know about them, but you don’t know them. You should make your own judgement, not depend on my little brother’s subjective view.”

Doflamingo flashed you another of his wide smiles. You had to admit, with it on, he lost that rough, ruthless look. He looked handsome in a devilish, charming way, like a ruffian.

Instead of the smile soothing you or making you drop your guard, it made you feel deeply uneasy; there was something wrong about his smile. It didn’t feel like a smile. More like an evil grin.

You glared at him. Why on earth would you want to know about criminals who kill people, plunder and destroy cities without any sense of remorse or thought to how many lives they ruin?

“Let’s see,” said Doflamingo thoughtfully. “I’ll start with Lao G. He’s the oldest among us. He likes to make puns with words containing the letter g, and is a martial arts master…”

“Please drop me,” you begged hoarsely.

Doflamingo guffawed, the wind pushing at his blond hair, his raucous laughter carrying across the sky.

“Then there’s Giolla. You’ll love Giolla. Everyone loves Giolla. She loves art, and she’s great at making clothes.”

You braced yourself for a long, tiring flight of Doflamingo talking about his crew.

Rosinante… you thought, fighting not to cry. You didn’t say your brother loves to talk!

***

A/N: Just fyi, Doflamingo was being condescending because man was jealous, seething with jealousy, and you know, bcs he's an asshole and likes to play with his prey. This is the only time he will speak like this to Reader. North Blue Doffy is quite calm in speech but also commanding - you know he means business. It's just how he talks, which makes it harder for anyone to tell how he actually feels which is the fun part about North Blue Doffy. He can look at you like he's bored by you but is actually deep in thought planning your wedding. The moment Reader walked in, Doflamingo's heart skipped a beat. Love at first sight. He is also quite angry with Rosinante for not fucking telling him he has a wife, and not fucking asking him to be his best man - Rosinante might as well have shot him instead, it would have hurt Doflamingo less! In short, this is the only time Doffy will speak THIS patronizingly to Reader. I mean, he'll taunt, he'll act like the "man of the house" but it won't be so rough considering how this first time got. Guy's going through his emotions in his own way. Current emotion - seething with jealousy cus goddamn Corazón is a lucky bastard and how could he leave such a sweet thing like you while also absolutely adoring Reader cus the woman actually took the shot, and not just one but ALL THE SHOTS. That did it for him. Doflamingo adores you now. Good luck.

Some fun Japanese words for my fellow Sub fans:

義兄 (gikei) - brother-in-law (especially older brother of your spouse) -> word Doflamingo uses for himself when referring to himself to Reader, if he says "your brother-in-law" it is "omae no gikei"

otouto no tsuma - "(younger) brother’s wife"

義妹 (gimai) - younger sister-in-law, a more archaic formal word in Japanese, how Doflamingo refers to Reader when talking to her/about her, "my sister-in-law" would be "ore no gimai"

Japanese section, done! 👍🏻

#doflamingo x reader #doflamingo x you #doflamingo x y/n #x reader #one piece x reader #donquixote doflamingo #doflamingo #doflamingo one piece #op doflamingo #one piece #merlot & primroses #one piece fanfic #fan fiction #doffy x reader #doffy x you

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