#a few days ago I posted something here and just copied the genre and pairing and all that stuff from another fic

[presleyhearted]

How Long Will I Love You ?

pairing : Elvis x female reader

genre: angst, fluff, mystery.

summary: In which you suddenly find yourself having consecutive dreams of a particular rock ‘n’ roll star whom you have never met and who died 45 years ago.

words: 5495

warnings: angst. A nightmare or two. Collapse.

A/N: Hi! As I said in my previous post, this is a one shot of my series “yours truly.” I’ve decided to discontinue the fic and turn it into a one shot. Please find my full explanation in the post I wrote. Thank you. So here we are. Prepare some tissues and I have some recommended songs if you look at the playlist I posted. Please comment, I read every single one. Enjoy reading!!

“Gatsby waited five years for Daisy,” The literature professor said, tapping the desk in emphasis. “Five years building a dream around a woman who existed only in memory.”

The projector flickered, casting pale light across your open notebook. You sat near the front, hair pulled into a loose twist, a few wisps framing your face. Your eyes scanned the page, tracing the words that Professor Lloyd just uttered.

You underlined the line again.

“Do you think Daisy ever dreamed about him during all that time?” someone said softly from the back.

No one answered.

You closed your book quietly. For a moment, you weren’t sure if it was the classroom air or something inside you that had gone cold.

——————————————————————

The apartment buzzed with warm light and soft chatter. You lingered near the entrance, glancing over your small table of birthday presents. Colourful wrapping paper, cards, ribbons. Your eyes settled on one package, worn and simple, the paper frayed at the edges.

Curious took hold of you, as you reached out and carefully peeled back the wrapping. Inside was a battered copy of The Great Gatsby. The spine was cracked, the cover faded from years of handling. There was no card. No hint of who had left it.

Your fingers traced the title, a strange pulse stirring beneath the calm.

The party eventually comes to a close, and as you lay in bed - the events of the day took hold of your mind. You sighed heavily, attempting to focus your mind on one singular thought. You make a birthday wish, one that almost feels like you owe yourself to push to come true, ‘I wish to finally be brave enough to step outside my comfort zone.’

Before you knew it, darkness took you like a wave.The steady rhythm of train wheels drumming beneath you was the first thing that you noticed when you woke. Then the scent - faint smoke, polished wood, something old and lingering.

You blinked, disorientated. Outside the window, the world blurred - trees, flickering lights, shadows you couldn’t name. You sat upright, heart tightening. This wasn’t your apartment. This wasn’t anywhere you knew.

‘How the heck did I get here? This has to be a dream.’ You thought.

Your fingers clutched the edge of a worn leather seat. The fabric was rough beneath your palm- real, tangible. How the-

“I found you… finally,” a voice said, full of relief.

You froze, your head snapping toward the source.

A man sat across from you in the train compartment. The moment your eyes met, your breath caught.

His eyes were impossibly blue—ethereal, almost unreal—and so piercing they made it hard to hold his gaze. Her throat went dry. That strong jawline, those high cheekbones, and the perfectly symmetrical face made him look like he’d stepped out of a myth. Black hair fell effortlessly against his tanned skin, and his lips were curled into that infamous smirk—the one the whole world knew.

It was impossible not to recognize him.

“I… how? You?” You stammered, pointing at him, lost for words.

He chuckled, shaking his head with amusement. “Hi, honey,” he said, voice thick with a familiar Southern drawl.

You inhaled sharply. “You’re… him. Elvis Presley.”

He nodded, the smirk never fading. “Yeah. . . yeah I am.” He stood up, slow and steady, “Just hold on now.”

He left the compartment briefly and returned with a glass of water. “Here, darlin.”

You took it with a stunned “thank you,” barely processing the moment. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him. His presence surrounded you, heavy and electric, and your mind swirled with questions.

His gaze never wavered. Within those piercing blue eyes was disbelief—but also undeniable joy. Only sparking even more confusion within you.

Then he leaned in, smiled gently, and said, “I’m glad you’re awake, ___”

You took a few more sips of water, then gently set the glass on the floor, noticing there was no table. You looked back at him.

You shook your head firmly. “No. . .this… this doesn’t even touch reality.”

Elvis smirked, eyes twinkling. “Well, darlin’, what makes you think you’re dreamin’?”

You glanced away, trying not to get distracted by the way he leaned on the windowsill, thumb and finger resting on his lip. Then you met his gaze again. “I was in my bed seconds ago. At the end of my birthday party. Now I’m on a train — one I don’t remember boarding — with Elvis Presley sitting right here.” You gestured between you two, emphasizing the absurdity.

His blue eyes locked on you. “You got that right.”

“So you agree I must be dreaming, then?” You pressed.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “No, honey. I’m sayin’ I’m who you say I am, and we’re on this train.”

“But none of it makes sense!” You scoffed, rubbing your temples, “Dreams are from the subconscious mind. . . I’m not even a fan of yours, no offense.”

Elvis pretended to look hurt and laughed, “You wound me, honey!”

Her eyes drifted to the window, where lush green hills rolled past beneath evergreen trees, the quiet hum of the wind soothing her restless mind. Then you looked back at him, catching his intense gaze and feeling heat rise to your cheeks.

“When I opened my eyes, you said you were glad to finally find me. What exactly did you mean by that?”

Before he could answer, the train screeched to a halt. He patted his knees and stood. “Looks like we’re here.”

“Wait, what?”

“Come on, you’ll see.” He offered his hand.

“You haven’t answered my question.”

His forehead creased in thought. “I have.”

“No, about why you said that.”

Elvis looked down, then chuckled and looked back up, hair falling messily around his face. “You.”

“I know you said those words, but—”

“No, I mean… you. I said it because you found me.” His eyes searched yours, waiting.

Seeing your confusion deepen, he sighed. “Don’t worry ‘bout it, honey. You coming with me, or staying here?” He gestured outside.

You sighed, “This dream just keeps getting weirder and weirder.” You muttered under your breath, “Fine. . . where are we?”

“Trust me, okay?” He squeezed your hand.

You raised an eyebrow at him.

“Hey, you said you don’t know me. So come with me. Get to know me.”

It’s just a dream. You reminded yourself.

You nodded, and he flashed that infamous smirk, licking his bottom lip. “Let’s go.”

———————————————————————

Unbeknownst to you, that was only the beginning. Elvis showed up in your dreams consecutive times. In each dream, he tried to push you to your limits. Pushing you to try new things. He made you cross a bridge that was so high up you swore your heart would’ve dropped to the ground, but you managed to cross it - facing your fear of heights. Then there was a dream where you were on a hot air balloon, and you couldn’t for the life of you open your eyes because of fear. The uncertainty. But Elvis somehow managed to talk you into calming down and appreciating the view, or ‘bird’s eye view’ as he calls it. Even managing to get a laugh out of you, as he amusedly said “My, oh my, Miss___, aren’t you somethin.”

It didn’t stop there.

In one of the dreams he was riding a motorbike, with you right behind him - arms wrapped tightly around him. Then, he suddenly turned to you and told you to stand - yes, STAND - whilst the motorbike was moving. Of course, you had to call him out for his insanity, but Elvis being Elvis simply grinned and never took no for an answer. So you did, with shaky hands at first, but eventually you yelled out in a joy of euphoria.

He found this beautiful lake with a waterfall, and that became the time you got over your fear of swimming. Then that time you crashed a party - the pure spontaneity of it. But then there was when it was a heavy, torrential rain - and somehow you ended up dancing with him. Just you two, clothes drenched, in the midnight moon with neon signs lighting up your figures.

There are many others. So many more dreams. In each dream, it was always an adventure with Elvis - and unbeknownst to you, you were changing in your waking world too. It was subtle, and maybe small, but it kept happening. You took a different route from your apartment to your literature class, took yourself out on a date at a cafe that you haven’t heard of before, joined a painting class that you saw advertised at your local library. Your friends and family noticed it too, and they couldn’t help but be happy for you and also curious. They asked you about it, specifically asked if there was someone new in your life - a boyfriend? that brought about these changes.

But you shook your head at this, as it wasn’t even close to the truth. But when they asked that question, your mind loved to trace back to that laugh, the cheekbones, tanned skin, and the grin of that man in your dreams.

Because Elvis changed you, for the better. You never told anyone about the dreams, of course, worried that they’d call you crazy. You wouldn’t blame them if they did, but how do you even begin to explain something that you cannot understand yourself?

You don’t know when or how, but you somehow just accepted the dreams. Elvis being in your dreams became normal. Even if you couldn’t figure out, why him, out of all people? You weren’t a fan of his. Sure, you knew who he was, heck, he was the center of American culture. Everyone knew his name.

Surely, only people who are fans of his would dream of him - right? That would make more sense. Fans dreaming of their celebrity idols, now that wouldn't be an unusual phenomenon.

But you? It doesn’t make any sense.

That was not the only part that rendered you speechless.

As the dreams went on, you formed this sort of. . . bond with him. You would be lying to yourself if you called it friendship. That would be an understatement. No, it wasn’t that. It’s this bond. You felt it. It felt so. . . easy to talk to him. You found yourself never thinking twice about what to say, not like you normally do, you just say it and he always listened.

Always.

With that same look in his blue eyes. Intently listening, but also as if he was memorising every inch of your face and the way you spoke. As if you could vanish any moment, which is logical, since there is the dream and the reality. But no, it’s something else. He looks at you like he is desperately trying to not to reread the chapter of the book that he already knows all too well.

All too well.

There have been moments in these dreams. Moments that make you believe that Elvis is hiding something. He talks, but you notice him changing the subject, and there is always that glimmer in his eyes - a teardrop he is holding in, never letting it fall down his face. He would say certain things that made no sense to you, but seemed to have an emotional impact on him and you couldn't figure out why.

You told yourself this is just your subconscious. But then why did everything feel so real every time you wake up in this dream world? Every touch, every scent, every sound, each laughter. Why did he seem so real?

And most importantly, why does he look at you like he knows you?

No, gosh, you must be going crazy. Elvis Presley knowing you? Heck, you weren’t even alive when he existed. It hurt your brain to think, but why did that organ - right beneath the center of your chest - beat differently?

In the dreams, sure there are adventures. But there are also the other moments.

That moment when he ordered red velvet cake. Your favorite. Without letting him know that it is your favorite.

The moment when Elvis would talk about his life. His army days, the death of his mother, what it felt like performing on stage for the first time.

The moment when you asked Elvis why he keeps appearing in your dreams, and he said “a promise.”

And that moment when you wake up in the dream world and told him, “You always know how to make an entrance.” In which he replied to you saying, “And you always know how to find me, hi again.”

He always repeated this. About you finding him. It could mean nothing, if it wasn’t for the fact that he kept saying it, and you cannot help but feel like it does mean something.

But what?

It’s been three months now. Three months since you started to appear in your dreams, and changed your life.

It was the end of a long day, and so you closed your eyes with a smile on your face because you know you’ll see him again.

And so, another dream begins. You two appear to be in a quiet bar. All amber light and shadows. The atmosphere felt intimate and peaceful. There were a few people. You don’t know why, but when you saw the empty mic on the small stage and the guitar. Your feet took hold before your mind could do anything, you were talking to the stage and looked out. Elvis smiled at you, it was a smile that brought that rise in your cheeks and made you want to look away. Because it wasn’t just a smile, it always came with that gaze of his.

Those impossibly beautiful blue eyes of his.

“Um, hi everyone,” You greeted, as you held onto the microphone on the stand. You managed to get a few ‘hellos’ back.

“My name is ___, and I’d like to sing a song if that’s okay.”

Everyone cheered.

You took a deep breath and began strumming the guitar. It felt a little foreign to you, your fingers on the strings, but quickly became familiarised with it. It’s been a while. You decided to sing the song ‘All through the night’ by Cyndi Lauper.

It just came to you. It felt fitting.

‘All through the night

I’ll be awake, and I’ll be with you

All through the night

This precious time when time is new

Oh, all through the night today

Knowing that we feel the same without saying’

You didn’t look at the crowd. Your eyes found him. Like they always do, as if it was the most natural instinct in the world. Familiar. Elvis was sat at the back, trying not to look like he was hanging on every breath you took. But his gaze, as it always did, betrayed him. Warm, fixed on you like he’d known you his entire life. The longing. Your eyes, for the first time, was focused and steady and unflinching as you met his.

Elvis watched you. Not with hunger or possession, but with something quieter. Something deeper. His jaw was set, his expression unreadable to most, but you could see it in his eyes. That flicker of softness. The weight of everything you haven’t said to each other but could feel it.

Your heart felt like it was climbing up your throat as you finished the song. You were met with applause by the crowd, in which you sheepishly smiled gratefully and bowed, before heading off the stage. Never in a million years did you think you’d do that.

Elvis walked towards you, and you wrapped your arms around him. He was taken aback, but quickly recovered and returned the warmth of your arms.

“Thank you,” You whispered, voice soft and your breath hitting his neck - an action he tried not to think about too much.

“For what, honey?” He asked.

“For everything.”

Then you woke up. It was always like this, there is no warning. But you found that it became harder and harder to not feel frustrated to be pulled back into the real world.

As you get pulled back into the real world, Elvis sighed. Your figure vanished from his grasp, an action he knows all too well. But it doesn’t mean it hurts less.

Elvis walked out of the bar and it started to rain. He lets it soak his clothes. He stood there, lost in thought and quiet frustration.

Suddenly, he noticed an umbrella hovering over him. The act of the figure beside him, and Elvis already knew who it was without turning around.

“Not yet.” Elvis said, already knowing the reason for the appearance of the man cloaked in black.

“You are only exhausting yourself.”

“No.”

“Mr Presley, need I remind you there is a limit. It is not wise of you to take hold and attach yourself like this. You know the inevitable. For your sake, I am here to warn you.”

Elvis shut his eyes as he shook his head and let out a bitter laugh, “Warn me?”

“You have done more than enough. Let go.”

“No, I can’t,” Elvis’ voice cracked, “I need more time with her. Please.”

The man sighed, “Let go.”

“No.”

“I shall see you soon, Mr Presley.”

———————————————————————-

“And then one fine morning- so we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.” Professor Lloyd dramatically read out the final line of the Great Gatsby. It was the day you submit your assignment.

From the first time you read that line you knew immediately the book was going to be your favorite.

Now, with it being read again…why do you feel a sense of dread in your chest?

———————————————————————-

Whispers. Shadows. More shadows.

You tried to squint your eyes at the bright light that seemed to grow brighter and brighter in your direction. It suddenly dimmed and you are met by pitch black nothingness. The whispers seemed to have stopped. But different sounds replaced it.

Rushed footsteps. Yelling. Camera flashes.

And is that beeping? The kind of beeping that seems to be triggering the worst headache of your life.

“Control the crowd!”

You hear a voice yell out, in a tone of panic.

“Careful!” Another voice yelled out.

The nothingness merged into a blurred scene. But you still can’t figure out what is happening around you. All you see is white, pristine white it seemed.

What is happening?

Why can’t you remember how you get here? What even is here?

“I’m here, I ain’t leavin’ you. I’m here.” A gentle voice says to you, and why does it sound so familiar? But your brain can’t place it. His voice is clear and you swear you can match it to a person, but it’s like your brain has built a wall - preventing you from passing through

Your voice caught in your throat.

“Please, I love you.”

Suddenly, blaring sound. You bolted awake. Hand on your chest. You are in your bedroom. Your alarm ringing. You hit the snooze button, still trying to control your racing heart. Sweat stuck to your skin.

What the heck was that?

It must be a nightmare of some kind, you thought. The intensity of it all.

It was the first dream you’ve had without Elvis in it, you thought.

What’s happening?

————————————————————————-

The memory of that strange, intense dream remains at the back of your mind.

Before you knew it, it was Christmas. Your favorite time of the year. Luckily, the joy of Christmas never faded away. You still feel that same excitement you did when you were a child.

Your day was spent cooking and opening presents with family around you.

After the eventful day, you drifted off to sleep.

Your eyes shot open. You were wearing winter clothing, as you appeared to be stood in the middle of a beautiful vast landscape. All covered in the rich, heaviness of winter snow. Snow fell delicately around you.

“Merry Christmas, honey.”

You turned around to see Elvis. Also in winter clothing. He appeared to be the 1960s Elvis. In each dream, he tends to show a different era of himself. He still looked as good as ever in any era, anyways. His hands were tucked in his pockets, as he grinned at you.

But there was something different. Something else in his grin - it felt small. Hesitant.

“Merry Christmas, Elvis.”

“I-,” He stopped, running a hand through his hair and muttered something under his breath.

He bit his lip, smile gone. Expression serious. The only time you’ve ever seen him like this.

“What’s wrong?”

“Walk with me?” He asked, offering his hand in which you accepted without hesitation.

You ended up at a train station. Elvis was quiet on the walk there. An unusual thing for him, it made you nervous.

He stopped and turned to you. He looked like he was having an internal battle with himself, stopping and starting his sentences.

“Elvis, just say it. Please, it’s only me.”

He looked at you then.

“That’s what makes it harder, darlin.”

“Did I do something wrong?” You said, a frown on your face. Elvis cursed himself and held your hands, planting a kiss on them.

“No, no. Baby, don’t think that.”

You sighed in confusion, “Then wh-“

“I’m in love with you.”

You froze.

The words were there and he said it and you both knew it all along. But to hear it - that’s a different thing entirely.

“Always have been, honey. And I-I-I know it don’t make sense when I say that. I know I keep leavin’ you with questions. But I, I can’t answer them as much as I want to. But just hear me out, darlin. Please.” He ran a hand through his hair again, you nodded.

“You’re the most extraordinary person I’ve ever met in my life. It’ll take me seven goddamn lifetimes to get over you. And I wished I didn’t have to do this. . but I need to say goodbye.”

Your vision was blurred a little, that’s when you realised that you were crying and Elvis had tears streaming down his face.

His words were overwhelming and painful. Like waves you are trying to handle.

“You’re leavin?” You said, your voice sounded soft and there it was again - the heaviness in your throat.

“This is all a loophole that I found. Gave me one last chance to see you ____” He gestured around the surroundings.

“Elvis, I-“ Your heart felt like dropping out of your chest. But you caught it just in time, you grabbed his face and kissed him. Lips soft and cold and the kiss was tender, and mixed with tears.

You broke apart, forehead against each other.

“I can’t explain it. But I, I feel like I’ve always loved you. It doesn’t feel new. It feels familiar.” You confessed to him, in which he smiled in the middle of the tears.

He took your hand and placed it above his chest.

Suddenly, the screeching tracks of a train made you both turn. The door of the train opened by itself. Elvis sighed, he knew it was time. He looked back at you, and admitted to himself that this will be the hardest thing he’ll ever do.

“I’m so proud of you, Baby. I want you to keep livin. Keep chasin’ life.”

You broke into a sob, “Elvis, please don’t leave me.”

“I wish I didn’t have to.”

He pressed your foreheads together again, “I have a Christmas present for you, honey. One day. You’ll see. For now, thank you ___, for letting me have one last adventure.” He looked at you in the eye, and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

Elvis breaks apart and you watched him walk to the train.

“Elvis!” You yelled out.

He turned and tried to smile.

“Goodbye, ______. Remember that I love you.”

————————————————————————-

Two years later

You stirred your tea absentmindedly, eyes flicking up to the entrance every few seconds. You didn’t know why you said yes. The email had been vague — “Someone from the Presley estate would like to speak with you privately. It concerns something he left behind. Very personal.”

You almost deleted it.

But something in your gut… tugged.

A man in his eighties, dressed simply in a black jacket and dark jeans, approached your table...it’s Jerry Schilling. You recognised him. Saw him in a red carpet interview when the Elvis movie was released.

“Miss ___?” he asked.

You stood slowly. “Yes.”

“I’m Jerry Schilling,” he said, offering his hand. “I was one of Elvis’s closest friends.”

“Oh,” you said, stunned. “I…know.. wow. Okay. Um—please sit.”

He did, eyes searching yours with a gentle urgency.

“I know this is strange,” he began, “but I need to show you something Elvis left this with me years ago. Told me to keep it safe until… well, until I met you.”

He pulled a worn leather journal from his bag, placing it on the table with reverence. It looked decades old, the corners softened from handling.

You stared at it.

“I’m sorry, I think you’ve made a mistake,” she said carefully. “I never met Elvis Presley.”

Jerry just nodded slowly, patiently. “You don’t remember. I expected that.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

He pushed the journal closer. “Just read the first page. Please.”

With reluctant fingers, you opened it.

June 1956

“She ran straight into the fire for me. Knocked me out of the path of that falling light rig like she knew it was coming. She looked right through me. Like she’d seen me before. I asked her name. She didn’t answer. Then she vanished.”

Your heart dropped.

You flipped forward.

1968

“Same woman. Still the same face. She doesn’t age. Doesn’t belong to this time. But she keeps saving me. And I keep falling in love with her more each time.”

Your throat tightened, “What is this?”

“It’s all real,” Jerry said gently. “He loved you. He never stopped.”

You shook your head. “No. No, that’s impossible. You’re saying Elvis Presley - the Elvis - wrote about me. . . like he knew me?”

Those dreams. You thought to yourself. Oh, God. Were they real after all?

“He didn’t just know you. You were the love of his life. Even if time didn’t let you stay.”

You stood too quickly, your chair screeching. You were breathless.

“I don’t remember this. Any of it. Why would I—how would I have ever—?”

Jerry’s voice was soft, breaking. “Because you saved his life. Over and over. You were a time traveller. And when your body couldn’t take it anymore, Time made him choose. He chose to save you. Even if it meant losing you.”

The journal trembled in your hands. You pressed a palm to your forehead, overwhelmed, your mind spinning.

Your breath caught. Your vision blurred.

Jerry whispered, “He waited for you. All the way to the end.”

You sat down again, the journal still open in your hands. This time, you didn’t look away.

Your hands tremble as you turns the page. Jerry watches you closely, his eyes damp. Your pulse races. The scent of the leather journal — old, worn — mixes with the clinking of cups around them.

Then it happens.

As you read the next entry, your surroundings fade.

FLASHBACK #1:

Location: Backstage – Louisiana Hayride, 1956

The world explodes in sepia and static.

The sound of a crowd screaming. Your younger self stands just offstage, wide-eyed, denim jacket out of place in the old world. A heavy rig above Elvis shakes as he sings.

You see it coming.

You sprint.

Tackle him out of the way just as the light crashes to the stage where he was standing. Gasps erupt from the crowd.

Elvis groans, winded, and blinks up at you.

“You alright?” You pant, your hand pressed to his chest, his heartbeat racing beneath your palm.

He’s staring at you — astonished, grateful, transfixed.

“You… you saved me.”

You tried to stand. You’re already fading, the air shimmering around you like heat.

“What’s your name?” he calls, reaching out.

But you’re gone.

FLASHBACK #2:

Location: NBC Studios – 1968 Comeback Special

Black leather. Hot lights. The echo of amplified strings.

You are backstage again, more confident now. You knows something bad is coming — one of the backup speakers shorting out, overloaded. You move fast, pulling Elvis’s stool away just as a burst of sparks erupts behind him.

He jolts back. Confused. “You again?”

You smile. “Hi.”

“You’re not real,” he whispers, walking toward you. “You don’t change. You ain’t from here.”

“I’m real enough to keep you breathing.”

He touches your face gently, like it might disappear. “You’re from the future, aren’t you?”

Before you can answer, you begin to shimmer again.

“No, don’t go—wait—!”

Gone.

FLASHBACK #3:

Location: Graceland – 1972

A quiet evening. Rain taps against the stained glass windows.

You sit across from Elvis in his private music room. For once, there’s no threat. No rescue. Just time — fragile, precious, ticking.

He’s playing something soft on the piano. You hum along, your voice faint.

“I don’t get to keep you, do I?” he asks, not looking at you.

Your voice cracks. “I wish I knew.”

“You feel like a dream I had once,” he says, barely audible. “One I didn’t wanna wake from.”

You reache for his hand. “You’ve always found me. Even across decades.”

He presses your fingers to his lips. “And I always will.”

The vision blurs.

FLASHBACK #4:

A heart monitor beeping.

Panic.

Your body in his arms. Cold. Shaking.

1972.

He’s shouting for help. Desperate. Uncaring who hears.

And then, a presence — not human. A force, a whisper in the space between seconds:

“She cannot remain. Her presence fractures time. One of you must pay the price.”

Elvis doesn’t hesitate.

“Take everything from me. But let her live.”

Light floods the room. Your eyes flutter shut.

Darkness.

————————————————————————

You gasped sharply, nearly falling off your chair.

Jerry steadies you, eyes wide. “You saw something.”

“I… I remember,” you breathe, clutching the journal. “Oh my God. I remember him.”

Tears roll silently down your cheeks.

“He loved you,” Jerry says, voice rough. “You saved his life — and he gave up everything so you could have yours.”

You nods slowly, a single tear falling on the page. You thought back to that final dream, that last goodbye with Elvis. How he spoke about a loophole. A final chance to see you again.

The journal. This must be what he meant by a Christmas present.

Oh god. He was real.

You go home that day in shock and overwhelmed. You glance back at the journal that reads on lap, its pages worn, your fingers tracing each sentence as if touching his voice.

The last entry isn’t like the others. It’s not a date. It’s not an account.

It’s a letter.

Folded carefully, tucked in a pocket at the very back of the journal, yellowed with time and sealed with a trembling kind of care.

You unfold it, and Elvis’s handwriting sprawls across the page in rich, familiar loops.

Hi Darlin’,

If you’re readin’ this, I reckon time finally did its thing — took you away for good. But that don’t mean I ever stopped waitin’. Hell, I’d wait forever if it meant knowin’ you were somewhere out there still breathin’, still smilin’, still makin’ the stars jealous.

You showed up like a bolt outta heaven — never aged a day, always disappearin’ before I could even ask what your favorite song was. And somehow, I still knew… I loved you. Deep down in my bones. The kind of love that don’t care about rules or years or reasons.

I don’t pretend to understand time — but I know it don’t scare me half as much as losin’ you did.

When they gave me the choice… it wasn’t even a choice, not really. I picked you. Every time, I’d pick you. I just wish I had a little more of you to keep.

Now I don’t know if you’ll remember all we had — maybe you won’t. Maybe you’ll feel it in your chest sometimes and won’t know why. But if there’s ever a moment where you hear my voice on the radio and your heart skips… baby, that’s me.

You were more than a dream. You were a miracle.

And I’ll love you ‘til the stars burn out.

Yours truly,

Elvis

The letter trembles in your hands, ink faded but every word burned into you.

You almost knock over your drink onto the Great Gatsby copy on your table. You remember back to when you opened this at your birthday party, back before the dreams started happening. You picked up the book and opened it, and right there in the corner - a message you didn’t notice before.

‘I’ll wait forever for you - E.’

This made you sob harder. Music from your record player plays in the background, a lyric from a song catches your ears and goes straight into your heart:

‘I’ll be getting over you, my whole life.’

THE END

[sageluvsjoel]

Lost and Found

part two to; a different kind of miracle

jackson!joel miller x reader x autistic! daughter

Requested HERE

masterlist

summary: A couple years after Joel had accepted and learned to adapt to his daughters autism, he loses his temper with her and she disappears

genre: hurt to comfort, post outbreak, fluff at the end

wc: 1.4k

likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!

i do not authorize plagiarism or copying of my work!

It had been an exhausting week, one of those stretches of days where everything seemed to go wrong. Winter was coming early to Jackson, the temperatures already biting through the air, and Joel was on edge. Supplies were running low, and the town was trying to organize runs to gather essentials before the weather turned too harsh. He’d been so focused on making sure everyone was prepared—on doing something—that he hadn’t noticed how much it was weighing on him.

And, of course, his little girl, now ten years old, had her own struggles. Lately, she’d been more withdrawn, more prone to sensory overloads. Jackson was a safe place, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t noisy, chaotic, and unpredictable—three things that sent her into a spiral. Joel knew this. He understood her in a way he hadn’t a few years ago, but that didn’t mean it was always easy.

She had a routine—one she relied on to get through the day. That routine kept her grounded, kept her focused. But life in Jackson didn’t always allow for perfect routines, and today had been a prime example of that. Joel had asked her to do something simple—help him clear a path outside their house so they could prepare for the coming snow. She’d been reluctant, focusing intently on the puzzle she was working on, her mind miles away from the task he wanted her to do.

At first, Joel had been patient. He always tried to be patient now. But with everything else gnawing at him, his frustration had bubbled over.

“I need you to listen, alright?” Joel had snapped, his voice harsher than intended. “I’ve asked you five times now, and you’re just sittin’ there like I’m talkin’ to a wall!”

She had flinched, her small body going rigid as her fingers hovered over the puzzle pieces. Joel immediately regretted his tone. But it was too late—the damage had been done. She closed herself off, retreating into her own world, her face expressionless, her eyes downcast. Before he could soften his words or try to reach her again, she was gone—out the door, moving fast.

“Hey!” Joel called after her, but she didn’t stop.

He’d thought she needed space, so he let her go, figuring she’d come back when she was ready, as she always did. The town wasn’t big, and she often found quiet places to be alone when she felt overwhelmed.

But hours passed, and she didn’t come back.

The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the snow-dusted streets of Jackson. By the time dinner came and went, you and Joel were growing increasingly worried.

"Have you seen her?" you asked, anxiety creeping into your voice as you looked out the window. The sky was bruised with dusk, and there was no sign of her.

Joel shook his head, trying to keep his own fear from showing. “She’ll turn up. She just needs some time. You know how she gets.”

But as the hours stretched on, and the cold deepened, doubt started to gnaw at him. He’d checked the usual spots—the quiet corners of town where she liked to hide when she needed to be alone—but there was no sign of her. And with each empty space he searched, the knot of fear in his chest tightened.

You grabbed his arm, your face pale. “Joel, what if she’s… what if something happened?”

It was the question he had been trying to avoid, but he couldn’t deny the possibility any longer. He had seen too much, lost too much, to take anything for granted in this world.

“I’m gonna get Tommy,” Joel said, his voice strained, the panic rising in his throat. “We’ll start searchin’ in pairs, see if anyone’s seen her.”

Tommy didn’t ask questions when Joel showed up at his door, his face drawn and tight with worry. Within minutes, half the town was mobilized, everyone searching every corner of Jackson, calling her name.

The minutes dragged on, turning into an hour, then two. The cold was biting now, the wind picking up as night settled fully in. Joel’s heart pounded in his chest, each passing minute heightening the terror that something had happened to her.

Had she wandered too far out of town? Had something—or someone—gotten to her?

The questions battered his mind, a relentless barrage of worst-case scenarios, each one more terrible than the last. He tried to keep it together, tried to stay focused on the search, but the weight of it—the thought of losing her—was suffocating. It was his fault. He’d yelled at her. He’d made her run.

You found him pacing near the stables, his breath coming in harsh, ragged bursts. “Joel,” you called softly, your voice trembling, “we’ll find her.”

But Joel barely heard you. His mind was already lost in a sea of guilt and fear. “What if… what if somethin’ happened to her? What if she’s out there, and it’s my fault because I couldn’t keep my temper in check? I should’ve never—”

Before he could spiral any further, a voice crackled over Tommy’s radio. “Hey, we think we found her.”

Joel froze, his heart leaping into his throat as he grabbed the radio. “Where?”

“She’s in the old storage shed behind the library. Looks like she’s just sittin’ there.”

Joel didn’t wait for a response. He was running before Tommy could finish speaking, his boots crunching through the snow as he sprinted toward the shed. You were right behind him, both of you breathless and frantic.

The door to the shed was slightly ajar, and inside, huddled in the corner, was your daughter. She was sitting cross-legged, her arms wrapped around her knees, staring down at the ground, completely still.

She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t panicking. She was just… sitting there, lost in her own world, oblivious to the chaos she had left behind.

Joel fell to his knees beside her, his heart hammering in his chest as he reached out to touch her shoulder. “Baby girl,” he rasped, his voice thick with relief. “Where have you been? We’ve been lookin’ everywhere for you.”

She blinked slowly, as if waking from a dream, and looked up at him with wide eyes. “I didn’t know you were looking for me,” she said quietly. “I just… needed to be alone.”

Joel’s heart ached at the simplicity of her words, at the quiet truth of them. She hadn’t run away because she was scared or in danger. She had run because she was overwhelmed, because the world had gotten too loud, and she needed space to breathe.

And he had panicked because he hadn’t understood that, because he had let his fear take over.

You knelt down beside her, brushing a hand through her hair. “You scared us, sweetheart,” you said gently, your voice shaking. “We were worried something had happened to you.”

Her brow furrowed, her expression soft with confusion. “I was just sitting here. I didn’t mean to scare anyone.”

Joel closed his eyes, the weight of his relief crashing over him like a wave. “It’s alright,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “You’re alright. That’s all that matters.”

You pulled her close, and Joel wrapped his arms around both of you, holding on like he was afraid to let go. For a long time, none of you spoke. The only sound was the soft rustling of the wind outside, the quiet hum of the world moving on.

When you finally stood up, Joel kept a hand on his daughter’s shoulder, his grip gentle but firm. “Next time, you tell me if you need space, alright? I’ll give it to you. Just… don’t disappear on us like that again.”

She nodded, her face still calm, but there was a flicker of understanding in her eyes.

As you led her out of the shed and back toward home, Joel couldn’t shake the lingering fear in his chest. The world was still dangerous, still unpredictable. But as long as they were together—as long as he understood her, truly understood her—he knew they’d be okay.

She was his miracle, and he would never lose her again.

dividers by @kodaswrld

to be added to my tag list click here and comment or comment below

[one-silly-cart00nist]

The Diary [Mark/David]

(ao3 is back up but I might as well finish uploading all my fics here as well. proof of how extensive the Elder brainrot is atm)

Rated: G Word Count: 2k Non-binary David, Pre-slash, Crushes

Where a store-bought anime themed notebook which David turned into his personal diary turns out to be an actual book with ultraviolet hidden text of the official epilogue of an anime franchise. Nerd problems. 

The blinds were drawn over rain-drizzled windows. Three pairs of feet and an empty popcorn bowl were set on the table of David’s living room, where the Elders just finished watching the animated masterpiece of its genre, a mahou shoujo classic, Super Glitter Mew. 

It was a journey. They finished the last season all in one day, a goal rarely achievable at the Elder Rock where they were constantly interrupted by children, and distracted by all the other anime merch they squirrelled into their dungeon. 

But maybe it was for the better that they’ve been stretching out the run for distractions, taking it one arc at a time — they wouldn’t have come to face the ending that soon. They wouldn’t feel so invested and eager to see the finale. 

It wouldn’t feel like such a stab in the guts that many questions were left unanswered. 

Like, seriously! Was no one gonna answer what will happen to the remaining glitter warriors after they sacrificed their superpowers to defeat the evil? 

The three friends shared this sentiment of disappointment, bouncing headcanons off each other while they let the ending credits roll. 

“The final lines made it super clear that evil will make its return! What are they gonna do then?” 

“I think Ichigo becomes a scientist to, like, figure out how to restore their powers.” 

“Didn’t they hint in the second season that these aren’t the only glitter warriors? It will be someone else’s turn to save the planet…”

David trailed off when something on the screen caught his eye. A post-credit scene in which the main character, Ichigo-chan, held up and advertised what looked like a merch notebook: 

“Don’t forget to pre-order the special epilogue book that follows our heroes on their final adventure! Comes with an ultraviolet light and a Glitter Mew Mew random charm. Not suitable for kids under…” 

Barry sprung upwards. “We need that!” 

In seconds, the screen was paused, and Mark’s phone was pulled out to start hunting down the item. 

The first few searches brought him to sold out shops in japan and tumblr blogs showing their old merch collections. 

The anime finished airing in 2016, which feels like it was three years ago but is somehow actually closer to ten, and so, unsurprisingly, the stock has run out since then. And even less surprisingly, the few resellers there were on Amazon took the opportunity to price their copies in hundreds of dollars. 

Frustrated, Mark threw his phone between the couch pillows.

“Whose fucking idea was it to make an epilogue only accessible through these vintage priced books?” 

“It probably wasn’t even that good.” Barry tried to comfort him, his big hand landing on Mark’s shoulder. “Besides, we already agreed how it ends in our hearts! What do you think, David?”

“I think it’s funny.”

That wasn’t exactly a response that made sense. It prompted both of his friends to turn towards him. 

“What do you mean–” Mark began to ask when he didn’t elaborate further. It was like David was in a trance, still looking at the frozen screen. 

Suddenly, he jumped to his feet. “Give me a second. I’ll be back.”  

Then he was gone, loud footsteps running up the stairs. 

Mark and Barry exchanged confused looks—sure David was prone to getting distracted and running off the road a lot in the creek but it was usually clear what his attention was drawn to. What could he possibly be looking for? 

“Yeah! It’s here!” David exclaimed after a while. He sounded delighted. “I knew it looked familiar!” 

“What did you find?” 

“My old diary! It looks just like the Glitter Mew book!” 

That’s all Mark needed to hear to spring onto his feet and sprint upstairs. Barry heaved himself off the couch and followed behind him. 

Already from the doorway to David’s room Mark could see the undeniable resemblance to the item on screen. It had the heart planet logo of the show and everything. He could barely keep his excitement in. “Wha– give me that!” 

David backed away when Mark reached out. “Wait— Mark no! Let go!”

Mark wasn’t just going to let go of the valuable merchandise item, hell no. But he wasn’t going to rip it out of David’s hold either, although he probably would have had the strength to. He needed David to stop making a scene.

“Please—! I told you it’s my old diary—”

“I don’t care about the diary part, I just want to see the epilogue!” Mark reassured him. He had no interest in reading about elementary school field trips and booger competitions and whatever else that they found cool at that age. He didn’t need to hear about middle school drama either. 

“But it’s underneath!” David insisted, like that wasn’t clear. He sounded almost guilty. “I had no idea there was hidden text on the pages!”

Barry took the bait, turning into his overprotective mode like he so often did when David got whiny. Mark couldn’t exactly blame him for that instinct, he was more than ready to punch anyone for his shorter friend, but he didn’t consider it justified right now. 

“Yeah, Mark, stop butting your nose where it doesn’t belong. A diary is too personal to share.” 

“We’ve been best friends for a decade, what possibly could there be that I don’t already know about!” Mark didn’t relent. 

By focusing on Barry for a moment, David gained an advantage in their wrestling competition, and before Mark knew it the sparkly book slipped out of his hand. He reached towards it, but David halted the attempt with his free hand. Then, following a series of conflicted facial expressions, he threw the book across the room. 

That right there felt way too dramatic for the situation in Mark’s humble opinion. He sighed, pulling onto David’s arm instead of running after the diary. Maybe there was one more thing to clear out. If David was hiding anything it must be this. “Sit down. I already know that you’re nonbinary.” 

“Ah—!” David squeaked in panic. 

“You have that pin on your desk that sometimes shows in video calls,” Mark rushed to explain. He didn’t mean to fluster him. “The point is, we don’t treat you differently for it.” 

“Mark! We agreed we’d let David share that when he’s ready!” 

Mark covered his mouth when he realised. “Oh sh— I’m sorry.” 

They figured it out about a year ago. Barry pointed it out on a random funny screenshot of one of their skype calls, the one where Mark was holding up his hair to make a little fountain on the top of his head. It was pixelated, but it showed up on a later call with more resolution that made no room for debate. 

Barry had no idea what it meant. Mark, on the other hand, for no particular reason if you’re wondering, had the variety and history of LGBT+ flags well-researched. He spent the following evenings reading up on all information the internet provided about being non-binary.

“I… I was gonna tell you eventually… I just… needed some time to figure things out for myself,” David explained, rubbing his arms self-consciously. 

“We tried to respect that, we really did,” Barry spoke gently. “Because that’s your story to tell. Or to keep locked in a glittery pink diary. It’s none of our business. Right, Mark?”

His voice rose at the end of the sentence in challenge as his eyes flickered towards Mark. 

“Right,” Mark agreed reluctantly. He didn’t exactly agree it’s none of his business, but he was in favour of letting David take all the time he needs to come out. It was very much their business to protect David from anyone’s hurtful words before and afterwards. 

“It’s okay though. That isn’t in the diary anyway,” David shrugged. He tried to appear much more nonchalant than he felt, but at least the nervous tension was already gone from his voice. 

“It isn’t? Then?” 

“Mark, come on!” Barry groaned. 

“Barry! It’s the limited edition epilogue book we’re talking about!” 

“No! It’s the privacy of our best friend we’re talking about!” 

“There’s no need for secrets!” Mark shouted. This was getting on his nerves. He doesn’t care about the contents of the diary, he made that clear! “Not because I’m nosy. It just shouldn’t matter. We’re gonna be friends no matter what.” 

David eventually relented, walking up to the diary. But. Mark had to stay out of reach and not peek while he read the text hidden underneath ink. 

“It’s efficient. At least we won’t have to be squeezed on each other.” 

Mark agreed with that. And he was gonna stand on his word. Except… 

Except at some point, at the dramatic part, David can’t properly see the words anymore. He trails off a bit too often, and at some point admits that he’s just made up what the last sentence probably means because it’s so scribbled over. It’s frustrating. 

They finally have the epilogue in their hands…! 

And that’s when Mark makes the mistake of walking over, squatting next to David to look over his shoulder and letting his eyes roam over the ink—and the mistake is that he sees his own name. Followed by a heart.

“Cheating! Not cool, Mark!” 

He only looks long enough to understand that this must be what David was so reluctant to show. David has a crush on him. Or had, at some point in time when he wrote the diary. That piece of information makes him forget about the epilogue story altogether. 

He coughs and looks away. “Right.” 

He pretends he didn’t read it, and that he isn’t currently losing his mind, because Kami-sama that’s a lot to process. 

He doesn’t dare to look over to David even when he puts a hand over the diary to gently close it. “Sorry. For pushing you to read it. It’s illegible at this point.”

“But we appreciate you were still willing to try,” Barry adds. He pats the place next to him on the bed, where Mark should still be sitting if he wasn’t so impulsive before. “Come here. We’ll look up if it’s spoiled on Reddit.” 

Mark follows suit, carefully sitting down next to David close enough to see the screen but not enough to touch. He suddenly doesn’t know if that’s appropriate. 

It probably isn’t a big deal. The diary must have been written a while ago, so chances are David doesn’t even see him that way anymore. Everyone had an embarrassing crush at some point, be it an anime waifu of your lifelong best friend. 

Yeah. So he doesn’t have to act any differently to how he’s used to. 

But what if… 

What if David still likes him like that? 

He’s still dead spirited at home, admitting to Elder Mark the Second that he saw something he wasn’t supposed to and that now he has to consider whether he likes David back before David tells him. Otherwise he’ll hurt him again. He doesn’t want to hurt him. 

He doesn’t even know if he wants to let him down. He hadn’t ever really thought about it—about liking people who aren’t printed on manga pages. 

And he doesn’t even know if David still likes him. But the more he thinks about it, the more time they spend together, the more he finds himself fond of the idea. 

He wonders if he should have seen it coming. If all that affection he now feels when spending time with David was always there just unrecognised, or if it slid into his inventory like the annoying dog from undertale while he was stunned by the contents of the diary. 

And he concludes that he doesn’t know, but that if he wants to keep further records of its development, maybe it’s time to get a diary of his own…

[httpiastri]

Hi! I just read let's knock everyone's hats off and i loved it ❤️ just as someone who identifies as non binary, i just wanted to let you know that reader is described as daniel's girlfriend which is fine but the title saying it was a gender neutral reader, it caught me off guard so i was wondering if you could change it to fem!reader? I don't mean to be rude or cause harm and I really hope you won't read it like that because it isn't my intention at all, it's just a bit discouraging to think that i finally found a gender neutral fic for my fav driver and then to realize that it isn't really a gender neutral fic 😅 again I don't want to upset you or anything I just thought I'd let you know but you're of course free to delete this, I really hope you won't be offended, I assure it isn't my goal. Also sorry if english is a bit off, it isn't my first language 😭 anyway i did enjoy your writing and I hope you'll keep on writing, it was great ❤️

hello! thank you for your message. i’d like to say that i am really sorry for my mistake. i was really tired when i posted the danny blurb yesterday, and i had no energy to even come up with a title nor a summary (it still has no summary…..), so when i was gonna write the genre, pairing and such i just copied the one from another blurb. i must’ve forgotten in the moment that i had mentioned the reader as his girlfriend, so i just didn’t change it… you’re not rude or offensive or anything (and your english is great, don’t worry about it!), thank you pointing out the mistake so that i could fix it. again, i apologize!

thank you for your sweet words, hope you have a great day ❤️

[koosbabygrl]

hunger ↠ kth

↠ genre: smut, angst, yandere ↠ summary: taehyung’s kept you captive for months and he’ll do anything to taste you ↠ pairing: yandere!taehyung x reader ↠ tw: yandere, non-con, obsession, non-sexual slapping, kidnapping, oral sex (female receiving), manipulation, starvation, blackmail, shame, guilt, forced orgasm (sorta), pussy smacking, fingering, name-calling, degradation, humiliation

this is dark yandere. please do not read if these things trigger you. i do not condone or support these acts. my writing is purely fictional and does not truly represent any member.  

please don’t copy, steal, plagiarize, re-post, or otherwise use without permission  

Your stomach was rumbling as you lay on the bed. You hadn’t eaten anything all day and you were practically starving. It was times like this you hated Taehyung the most. You hated how he made you rely on him. How you hated him but he made you need him.

Taehyung had lured you here, to his house, months ago and had never let you leave. You’d taken a job as a cleaner, absolutely desperate for money after COVID had closed down your place of work. This particular listing paid extremely well, almost twice the average wage of the other listings and you’d have been a fool not to apply.

Things that seem too good to be true usually are, and you learned this quickly when you showed up at Taehyung’s, your newly purchased cleaning supplies in tow. You probably should’ve been suspicious when you got the job with no prior cleaning experience and a very brief interview. But you didn’t think too much of it. The meagre balance of your bank account didn’t exactly allow you to be choosy about your employment.

So now here you were, waiting for him in this room that he hadn’t let you out of for months. Honestly, it wasn’t like him to leave you in here all day without food. He’d usually come in a few times a day, with meals, snacks, or other treats like books or games to keep you occupied while you were in here with nothing to do. He liked to talk to you, have conversations about his day. He’d attempt to touch you, but you had never let anything get past awkward cuddles, and you didn’t think you ever would.

The fact that he’d just completely ghosted you had you a little worried. What if he had abandoned you? Left you in this room to rot? It wasn’t as though you could do anything about it. You’d starve to death alone, without anybody you loved knowing where you were.

As your thoughts began to spin to darker and darker places, you heard footsteps approaching your door from the outside. Relief flooded you as you heard the door unlock and saw Taehyung’s tall figure step through. The undeniably handsome man had made it clear on multiple occasions that you were to stay away from the door when he was entering and the consequences for not doing so would be severe.

“Hey,” you said, sitting up straighter on the bed. You saw that he wasn’t carrying anything in his hands, which was odd. Surely he should have brought you something to eat now. Had he simply forgotten?

“Hi baby, how’re you holding up?” Taehyung asked, sweetly. Something was off about his tone, you knew him well enough by now to sense it right away. He was up to something and you didn’t like it.

“I’m alright,” you replied, carefully. Navigating Taehyung’s moods was another thing you’d had to learn to do. “I haven’t eaten since yesterday though. I’m pretty hungry,” You pouted, hoping to elicit some sympathy from your captor.

He smiled and you didn’t like it, “Yeah I bet.”

Taehyung sat down beside you and placed one of his large hands on your inner thigh. You were mostly used to things like this now. Taehyung liked to be affectionate and it always made you uncomfortable, but you’d been conditioned to hide your displeasure. Angering him never ended well.

Taehyung had never forced himself on you, not in that way, at least, and you hoped that if you allowed him these little things, putting his hand on your thigh, stroking your hair, cuddling you as you both went to sleep, that he never would. Maybe it was naive to believe that you could keep him satisfied like this but what other choice did you have?

“Baby, I’m hungry too,” he said to you.

“Well, okay...so we should eat? Did you order something?” You asked him, somewhat confused. 

“No, I’m not hungry for food,” he said, devilishly. “I’m hungry for this.”

“Huh?”

Taehyung moved his hand up your inner thigh, up your dress, brushing your skin with his delicate fingers, all the way up until he got to your clothed cunt.

“This. I want - I need to taste you.”

His words made your blood run cold. You tried to push his hand off of your centre but he was much too strong for you, and all you succeeded in was irritating him. He grabbed you by the back of the neck with his other hand and whispered menacingly, “Don’t. Fight. Me.”

Your eyes filled with tears and you shook your head and squeezed your legs together as best you could, “No, please. Please, I don’t want, I can’t…” you trailed off, sobs replacing your desperate pleas. It had been so many months of living in fear of this and as much as you had tried to prepare yourself for the inevitability of it, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to.

“Baby...I just want to eat your pussy, okay? That’s all,” Taehyung said, soothingly, trying to calm you down, “I promise, you’ll like it. I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

You kept on shaking your head no, barely able to speak at this point. Everything he was saying was just making it worse, you thought you were going to have a panic attack. You couldn’t do this. The thought of it disgusted you and it only made you sob harder.

Suddenly, Taehyung got up off the bed and stood in front of you. His looming figure was as intimidating as he meant it to be and you shriveled into yourself even more than you already were.

“I’m not that bad, am I?” Taehyung asked, gruffly, looking down at you. You couldn’t believe he’d ask you such an insane question. He was holding you captive, for fuck’s sake. 

“You’re worse,” you spat back, venomously. 

You paid for your second of bravery. Taehyung narrowed his eyes at you and smacked you hard across the face. It was strong enough to knock you over on the bed. When you tried to get up, he smacked your other chee. He then turned around and began walking to the door.

“Taehyung, wait, please! I’m sorry,” you called out, desperately. “Please...I need food. Is there any food?” You hated that you had to ask him, and that you had to apologize to him even though you hadn’t done anything wrong. But you were so damn hungry you couldn’t help it. “Please.”

“You’ll eat once I have,” Taehyung said, turning around to face you. The anger of a few seconds ago had dissipated and was now replaced with a diabolical smile. “It’s up to you.” And with that he left, leaving you hungry and alone.

***

The next few days passed by agonizingly slow. Taehyung visited you once each day, to bring you a single slice of bread each time and to ask you if you’d reconsidered his offer. You’d said you hadn’t, pathetically attempting to keep some semblance of dignity, even though you both knew you’d eventually cave. You had to.

And you did. Four days later, with only water and barely any food in your system, you cracked. You were tired, and delirious, and all you could think of was how you needed sustenance and that you were prepared to do anything to get it.

Taehyung, once again, showed up to your room with that damn slice of white bread and you broke. You got down on your knees in front of him and began to cry.

“Taehyung, I’m sorry. Please, do whatever you want with me. Just...please feed me. I’m so sorry.” You looked up at him, expecting a smile but all you saw was a look of mock confusion on his face. 

“Do what I want to you?” He asked, his brow furrowed, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I just meant...like...you can um, do stuff to me,” you said, somewhat awkwardly.

“Do what?” He pressed. The sadistic bastard was having fun with this.

Swallowing the scrap of pride you had left, you answered him, “You can eat me out.”

Silence hung heavily in the air for a second, and you wondered how much more of this you were going to have to take.

“Oh. Is that something you want?” Taehyung asked, still playing dumb.

“I...yes?” You said, carefully.

“Are you sure? I wanna make sure you want it. That you’re consenting. I’m not some rapist or something. I’d never force you to do anything. Tell me you want it.”

His words were like another slap in the face. It was one thing for him to force you to allow him to do this, it was quite another for him to force you to pretend that you wanted him to do this. It was cruel and it was humiliating, the ultimate power play. To force your consent and pretend that he hadn’t. There was a small part of you still that wanted to fight, to tell him to fuck off and leave you alone, but the thought of another day without a proper meal was too much to bear.

“Yes. I want it,” you said, thoroughly defeated, and both of you knew it.

“You want what?” Taehyung prompted, his eyebrows raised. 

“I want you to eat my pussy, please.”

“How bad?”

He wasn’t going to let this go easily and you hated him for it, “So badly, Tae. I need it.”

Taehyung smirked, “Of course, baby. Get on the bed.”

You got up on your shaky legs, weak from days of near starvation, making your way over to the bed and laying down on your back. You reached up the skirt of your dress and took off your panties, hoping to get this over with as quickly as possible, putting your knees up and spreading your legs for him.

Taehyung got on the bed and knelt between your legs, getting to look at your pussy up close for the first time. He didn’t bother to ease you into this, like you thought he might. He didn’t kiss you up your inner thigh before making his way to your core. No, Taehyung dove right in, giving a long lick to your slit.

The feeling made you recoil, but you said nothing, you didn’t even make a sound. You were going to bear this, as awful as it was.

Taehyung then kissed your clit, tenderly, like one would do to a lover, before he wrapped his arms around your thighs, truly locking you in place. He began licking and sucking on your nub, his skilled lips and tongue working together. He wanted you to enjoy this. Nothing would make him happier than getting to taste you whilst humiliating you in the process.

You hated this. Him, yourself, everything. You hated his mouth between your legs, but you especially hated the tiny jolts of pleasure that indicated how your body was betraying you. You tried to resist against the way you could feel yourself responding to him. You could feel yourself becoming wet as he kept on working. He slid his tongue down to dip into your cunt while thumbing your clit and to your shame, you felt yourself clench around him.

Taehyung snickered against your pussy. He raised his head up to make eye contact and you looked down at him, his mouth coated with a mixture of his own saliva as well as your arousal. “Are you enjoying this?”

“No,” you replied pathetically, and Taehyung gave your cunt a hard smack, making you let out a tiny shriek.

“Don’t you fucking lie to me, you little slut,” he said, although he sounded more amused than angry. He took two fingers and pushed them into your pussy, pumping them a few times. “My fingers are sliding in and out of your cunt so easily,” he continued. “You’re soaking wet.”

You bit your lip, trying to stop the sounds of pleasure threatening to escape you. Seeing this, Taehyung curled his fingers, finding your sweet spot with such such ease that you might’ve thought he’d done this with you before. You let out a moan despite yourself and that of course encouraged Taehyung further. He latched his lips around your clit while his lithe fingers worked you from the inside. 

There was no holding back now, you couldn’t stop the sounds that were coming out of your mouth. His hunger for you felt palpable. His lips and tongue were moving even faster now, getting sloppier, as though he really was a man starved. Your whines and whimpers were fueling him. Your hips were bucking in turn, you’d completely forgotten about how much you hated him. He used a forearm to hold you down so he could properly continue his assault on your pussy. The undeniable feeling of your orgasm was rushing up on you, and you didn’t think you could hold back now.

Taehyung must’ve realised how close you were because he stopped abruptly, moving his head up, although his two fingers were still lodged deep in you. He scissored them, making you squeak a little, before he said, “Are you going to cum on my tongue, you fucking whore?”

You nodded, and Taehyung attached himself to your clit again, growling against it. It didn’t take long for you to become undone. “Oh, god, yes, Tae,” you mewled, unable to help it. You let go, allowing your orgasm to wrack your body, cumming all over Taehyung’s mouth. He licked it all up, unable to get enough of you.

Your post-orgasm haze had you feeling more relaxed than you had in days, despite what you’d just gone through. You blinked sleepily at Taehyung. The thought of eating something and going to bed was a pleasant one.

“Tae, can I have something to eat now?”

Taehyung looked at you malevolently as he began to unbutton his pants. “Of course baby, I think you’ve finally earned a good meal.”

[gojosoath]

Wilted Grace — Nanami/Gojo Fic

MINORS DON’T INTERACT! // 18+ ONLY! 

pairing: nanami kento x gojo satoru x fem!reader (uses she/her pronouns) x poly relationship 

genre: romance x angst x smut x polyamory x AU (no sorcerer stuff in this au, nanami and gojo are just normal dudes living in a normal world, lol) 

warnings: SA x smut x a bit of an age gap (everyone is a consenting adult fyi) x explicit language

Summary: (AU) The story follows Y/N, Nanami and Gojo in a polyamorous relationship; the three of them navigating the new dynamic relationship for the first time in their lives. The three of them begin exploring aspects both emotionally and sexually, finding themselves on a complex journey of facing their inner demons and also healing themselves. 

DO NOT REPOST/COPY MY WORKS ANYWHERE ELSE. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED ©gojosoath  

Table of Contents

a/n: This is my first fic being posted on here! I’ve had this idea for several months and I’m so excited to finally be writing this! I’ll admit first chapter is pretty boring, but I promise it will get more interesting in the next upcoming chapters. Enjoy xx 

Part 1: A Choice (wc: 2.1K) 

Nanami couldn’t believe that this was the route he had chosen to take; choosing to respond to you after a few days you had messaged him on the dating app that you two had matched on. He quickly swiped out of the app after responding to your message:

Y/N: Hey! It looks like we matched :) Let me know anything you want to say about yourself. As it said in my profile, I’m currently in college. I hope to have a cat as a pet someday and I am lactose intolerant but I still eat cheese hehe. 

Nanami: Hi Y/N, it is a pleasure to be talking with you. This is my first time using a dating app.

Nanami felt embarrassed, like he was doing something wrong. He knew the strange dynamic he was getting himself into when he saw the age difference the two of you had; by eight years. When you first came upon his swipe feed, he found you very pretty. The picture you had was one where you were sitting at an outdoor table, a glass of what looked like coffee as you held the straw and smiled brightly, hair down past your shoulders and wearing a sundress. He had stared at your profile for a solid five minutes, he hadn’t expected someone as young as you to show up on his feed. You were the first one he messaged back. In all the other matches he had he wouldn’t even open the messages, too afraid to even see the introduction they had sent to him. 

Nanami decided to open up a dating app account after he found his yearning to be in an established and long-term relationship too unbearable. The last time he was in a long-term relationship was a couple of years ago, when he was twenty-four. He had dated Julia. He met her through his office job, she worked in a completely different department but the two of them got along well and he was drawn to her soft and gentle personality. They dated for two years until Julia broke it off with Nanami when she was moving out of the country, her explanation being that she’d never be able to handle a long-distance relationship. 

He won’t deny it, he had hoped that Julia and he would have lasted enough to where they would have settled down together, gotten married, and whatever would come after that, would happen. Sure, Nanami had gone on several dates here and there the past couple of years after his breakup with Julia, but they never lasted any more than the first dinner. The farthest one of his dates had gone was a date he had been set up by one of his friends where the two of them had a make-out session in his car when he was dropping her off back at her place. The two of them never spoke after that. 

Nanami stared at his computer screen at his desk but he wasn’t making focus out of anything listed on the screen. His leg bounced under the table, and he lightly tapped his pen against the desk. His eyes kept darting to his phone screen, afraid it would light up with a notification from you any moment. He couldn’t stand it so he opened the drawer of his desk and set his phone inside it. He blew air out from his mouth and went back to bringing his attention to the work he had originally planned on finishing tonight.

“Nanami!” A familiar voice came into the dark office, the voice seemed too loud with the way Nanami liked to keep it dim after everyone left around five. Nanami didn’t bother to look up from his computer screen, the familiar voice came right next to his ear, “Hmm, you are always such a hard worker,” followed by the figure blowing air into his ear.

Nanami flinched and put his hand over his ear, giving Gojo a death glare. “What do you want?” 

Gojo sat on the edge of the table, he had his blazer thrown over his shoulders with the sleeves of his button-up shirt rolled up to his elbows. He already had his black notable sunglasses set over his eyes, even being in a dim room and indoors. Nanami knew the true reason why Gojo wore his glasses. 

“Don’t keep me waiting too long, Kento,” Gojo pushes down his glasses and looks at Nanami, “you promised me we’d have dinner together, remember?”

Nanami clicks away at his mouse, “I know.”

Gojo lets out an exaggerated sigh, “How long are you going to overwork yourself on the stupid project?”

Nanami deadpans, “Until I’m done.” 

“So are we eating in or doing take-out?” 

Nanami exits out of the screen and logs off, “Take out, my place.”

Gojo snaps his fingers and stands up, “Whoo! I’m starving!” 

┅ 

Nanami and Gojo are seated at Nanami’s kitchen island at his apartment. The two of them eating at the take-out they grabbed, both of them decided on getting chicken wraps at a restaurant they’ve eaten before at. Nanami and Gojo knew each from their college days. They met in each other’s marketing class, and have both been together on the same career path. Nanami never fully understood why Gojo chose the dull and dreary career path of working in business due to his outgoing, charismatic personality. He knew Gojo went down this path due to his wealthy family’s expectations, but just that Nanami felt Gojo was selling himself short. 

Gojo is talking to Nanami about the set of documentaries he had binged watched over the weekend, when Nanami’s phone rings with a message notification. Gojo looks over at the phone screen. Before Nanami can take it out of his sight, Gojo is already giving Nanami a shocked look. 

“I didn’t know you were on a dating app!” He throws his arm around Nanami’s shoulders.

Nanami sets his chicken wrap down and groans into the heels of his palms set against his eyes, “Gojo, please don’t…”

“When did you get back into dating?” Gojo goes back to taking a large bite out of his wrap.

Nanami feels flustered, his ears hot and his heart hammering, anxious to see your response to his message. Nanami would open it, but he feels his privacy is already invaded by Gojo from noticing the dating app icon. 

Gojo asks Nanami through a mouth full of food, “Are you gonna open the message?”

Nanami places his phone so the screen is face down, and he mumbles, “Not right now.”

Gojo nudges Nanami with his elbow into his side, “Open it! I wanna see what they said, too.” Nanami gives him an arched brow at his comment and Gojo nods his head. Nanami sighs and wipes his hands down with a napkin. He unlocks his phone and opens up the app to see what you messaged;

Y/N: No problem, I haven’t really used dating apps that much either. Maybe twice, but I never actually met up with anyone! What are some of your hobbies?

Gojo lets out a loud, obnoxious laugh, “Wait! That’s all you said to her first message?!” 

Nanami locks his phone and brings his hand over his face, groaning into it, “If you’re just going to be an asshole, you might as well leave right now.”

Gojo ignores Nanami’s comment, “What do they look like?”

Nanami points an accusing finger at him, “No, you’ve already done your part, no more.”

Gojo frowns and gives him doey eyes, “I’m sorry, Kento. I promise I’ll be nice.” Nanami gives him a lingering death glare and then he silently goes to unlock his phone again, pulling up your profile. Gojo right away comments when he sees your age on display, “Wait, you’re into younger women?” 

Now Nanami’s face becomes red, and he slams his phone against the kitchen counter due to how flustered he feels. “No,” Nanami says, hoping he doesn’t sound defensive, “I honestly feel sort of disgusted that I swiped on her. I was not expecting that we would match, to begin with.” 

Gojo taps his chin, “Hmmm, I’ll admit, it’s pretty odd, that age difference. She in college?” Nanami nods his head. Gojo continues his interrogation, “And she knows you’re twenty-eight?” Nanami nods his head again. “Is she into older men?” 

Nanami puts his face against the kitchen island and says in a muffled voice, “I don’t know, okay? As I said, I feel pervy.”

Gojo smacks Nanami’s back, “Hey, I say go out on a date with each other and see how it goes! Both of you are legal, so I think now it’s about if you two like one another!” 

Nanami lifts his head, he feels his lack of sleep suddenly catching up with him, “I don’t know…” 

Gojo is slipping his blazer and glasses back on, “Give it a try, if it sucks, then you know —” He clicks his tongue and swipes his hand across his neck, “it’s not meant to be.” 

“You’re giving me advice like you’ve had girlfriends.”

Gojo shrugs his shoulders, a wide smile at his lips, “I’ve been around.” 

In a tired voice, Nanami says to Gojo, “Goodnight, see you tomorrow.”

“Hey, get some sleep!” Gojo calls out before exiting Nanami’s apartment. Nanami is left by himself, left with the yearning that always calls out to him the loudest when he’s forced to be by himself. The yearning reminds him of a child, a child who needs to be tended to intently. Nanami picked up his phone and responds to you;

Nanami: I’m glad to know we both are pretty new with the dating app scene. Some of my hobbies are reading, taking walks, and baking. What are some of your hobbies, Y/N? 

He hits send and quickly locks his phone again. He finished the rest of his chicken wrap and started getting ready for bed. Most nights, he doesn’t go to bed until almost after three in the morning. For some reason tonight, he wanted nothing more but to collapse in bed and knock out until his strict daily routine would begin at six in the morning. He couldn’t help but hope that by the time he woke up, he’d see a message notification from you. 

┅

You weren’t planning on telling any of your friends that you had matched with a guy that was eight years older than you. You weren’t going to lie to yourself, you were nervous about swiping on someone with such an age gap, but you found him so damned handsome. Based on Nanami’s profile, he was someone who didn’t use social media a lot, as his profile consisted of;

Nanami. 28. Work in an office. Looking for a long-term relationship. 

He had two photos of himself on his profile, one of them looked like a headshot for his office workplace like mentioned in his profile. And the other picture was of him sitting on the grass, playing with a dog. He had shades on in the second picture, wearing a short-sleeve shirt tucked into dress pants. 

You were just getting settled at your desk to start on your homework at almost nine in the night when your phone vibrated with a new message from Nanami; 

Nanami: I’m glad to know we both are pretty new with the dating app scene. Some of my hobbies are reading, taking walks, and baking. What are some of your hobbies, Y/N? 

Nanami: I’m going to bed. Goodnight Y/N. 

You quickly scrambled to pick up your phone, paper on your desk shuffling around as you rushed to open up the messages. You didn’t realize you hadn’t seen the first message he sent earlier. You found it endearing that early on he was already sending you goodnights. You stared at the two messages he had sent you and wondered if you should wait to respond until the next day. You wondered if sending him a message now would disrupt his sleep. 

“Fuck it,” You whispered to yourself and typed out a response;

Y/N: I’m sorry for the late response, I didn’t see your message until now. Some of my hobbies are painting, watching movies, and lego building!!! Also, I know this seems fast, but if you’re up for meeting up for dinner and talking in person, I’m up for that! Goodnight :D 

Your hands were slightly shaking, adrenaline buzzing throughout your body. The door to your dorm opened and your roommate walked in, taking their earbuds out. 

“Hey,” You greeted them, “how would you feel about coming to watch me have a date with someone to make sure I’m safe?” 

[bxngchxn]

Elevated || h.js

pairing: jisung x female!reader

wc: 2.85k 

genre: friends to lovers, fluff, smut, college!skz

warnings: explicit content, fingering (f recieving)

description: stuck in an elevator with the cute boy from science class? you’re curious as to how the situation will escalate.

a/n: i am so sorry i said i’d post this last night and i never did but i am here to make it up to you (also some other works coming soon! keep a look out)

send me an ask if you’d like to be on the tag list!

this is a work of fiction and not meant for anyone under the age of 18

You really hate Mondays.

They’re always the longest, and for some reason things happen to go incredibly wrong on the first day of the week. Always.

Waking up and realizing you only have 10 minutes to get dressed and get to class, running across campus seems to be the only option if you want to make it there on time. The professor is strict, and won’t let you in even if you’re only a minute late to class.

You ignore the weird looks you get from students as you sprint across campus, just wanting to make sure today doesn’t get any worse.

The door to your classroom is already shut, and you know that if you try to walk in now, you’re going to be yelled at by the professor and kicked out anyway. It’s not a surprise to you, with the morning you’ve had, you kind of expected things to continue downhill.

Now having some extra time to kill, you head to the school cafe for a cup of (desperately needed) coffee, and then the library for some extra studying for your anatomy class that you’re going to walk into within the next hour and a half. It was your hardest class, and easily the most stressful one as well.

Luckily, your study session went uninterrupted and with no hiccups. Looking at your watch and realizing you need to get moving, you stand up from your spot at the library table only for a student walking by to knock into you, spilling your remaining coffee on your shirt. “Are you fucking kidding me?” you ask in your head, telling the girl who ran into you that it was fine, and that you’re okay once she started apologizing profusely. Of course, now not only are you running late again, but you have a giant coffee stain on your shirt.

“Are you alright?” You hear someone chuckle next to you, and you look to your left and see Han Jisung, looking at you with concern but also a slight bit of humor in his eyes. 

You’ve spoken to him a few times, the two of you sharing your anatomy class. He’s cute, you think, with his bright smile and energetic attitude. You also had a few mutual friends, Seungmin and Changbin, so you had heard more about him than you’ve actually spoken to him.

“Yeah, Jisung, I’m just fine. Thank you for asking,” you quip back, and he arches an eyebrow at you out of curiosity.

“Seems like someone rolled out the wrong side of the bed today,” he says, and it makes you pout. “What makes you say that?” you say while looking away from him grumpily. “No reason, just saw you sprinting through campus out the window this morning, plus you’re like..covered in coffee” he says nonchalantly, and it makes you want to smack him. You both need to get to class though, and the thought makes you groan. “Ugh there’s no way I’ll be able to get to my apartment and change in time..” you say to yourself, looking down at the giant coffee stain on your shirt.

“Here,” Jisung says, and you look up to see him taking off his hoodie and handing it to you. “Jisung I can’t, it’s really okay I’ll just change after class,” you tell him. He shakes his head, and shoves the hoodie into your hands. “I don’t want you to have to sit through class like that,” he says. You slip the hoodie on over your shirt, relishing in the scent of his cologne and how it makes your head spin just a little bit.

Not wanting the coffee to stain the inside of Jisung’s hoodie, you quickly maneuver your arms inside the oversized piece of clothing, and take your shirt off while making sure Jisung’s hoodie still covers you. Pulling your coffee stained shirt out from the neck hole of the hoodie, you look at Jisung who is staring at you with wide eyes. Before you can laugh at his state of shock, Jisung speaks up. “Let’s go, we’re gonna be late!” He says, making his way towards the library exit.

You have no other choice but to follow him because he’s right, class is going to start and you’re not even in the science building. He notices you lingering behind and grabs your hand, leaving you completely shocked as he decides to take off once he steps foot outside, with you in tow. You try to keep up with him, stumbling over your feet while yelling at him to slow down, although it seems like he isn’t going to.

You make it inside the science building and book it up the stairs, praying that you’re not late. Seems as this time, luck is on your side. You and Jisung make it inside the classroom not thirty seconds before the professor does. The two of you exchange victory smiles, still catching your breath while the professor starts the lecture.

You tried to stay focused, but your eyes continued to wander towards Jisung every now and again. He managed to sit right where the sun was shining through the windows, and to put it quite frankly, his beauty was distracting. His tan skin seemed to be glowing, and he would bite his lip in concentration every now and again as he copied the notes from the board. Something about the way his lips looked made you want them against your own, and you were taken aback by your thoughts. You hadn’t even had a real conversation with him until two hours ago, and now you were thinking about kissing him? What is this feeling?

Your eyes move from focusing on his lips to his hands, watching the way they move as he takes notes. You can’t help but imagine what those hands would feel like on your body. His hoodie was warm enough, but you were sure his hands were something else.

You hear Jisung laugh quietly, and your eyes shoot up from their current focus to realize that Jisung had caught you staring at his hands. Your cheeks flush a bright red, and you turn your head back to the front of the classroom, hoping he’ll ignore it later.

“Well, thank god my classes are done for the day,” you say once you realize Jisung is waiting for you after lecture is over. Your cheeks are still a little pink, and you’re just waiting for the boy to make a joke about your obvious staring. Jisung laughs, too, and the sound makes you feel a little lighter. “Yeah I know right? Especially since the weather is getting cooler and I seem to have lost a hoodie,” he quips, and you playfully smack him on the arm. The playful smirk on his face sets something off inside of you, but you try and ignore it as much as possible.

“I told you I didn’t need it!” you say, and he shakes his head. “It’s alright, you don’t need to worry about it,” He insists, but it still doesn’t sit right with you. “No, no I feel bad. Here, come to my place really quick? I’ll change out of this and throw my shirt in the wash so you can have this back,” you ask him. “Well, I think I have some time...” he says playfully. You roll your eyes and lead him in the direction of your apartment building.

On the walk to your apartment, you get to talk to Jisung more than you ever have before.You definitely regret not getting to know him sooner. The stories you’ve heard about him definitely don’t do him justice, either. He’s really quick witted-- able to make you laugh harder than you’ve laughed in awhile. Pair that with his soft brown eyes and his bright smile, he’s basically a knock out.

Once you reach your building, Jisung opens the door for you and it just adds to the tiny feelings you could sense growing in your stomach for this boy. You walk up to the elevator and press the call button, and the presence of Jisung behind you waiting for the elevator makes the hairs on your neck stand up. He was really, really close to you, and you could feel his warmth radiating off of him. Not to mention you were still wearing his hoodie, the smell of his cologne fogging your senses.

The doors open, and you step inside first, turning around to press the button to head to the 9th floor. Jisung follows, standing next to you and leaning against the rail behind him. It’s quiet, but comfortable.

That is, until you hear a weird noise coming from the elevator.

You look up at Jisung to see if he heard it too, and the way his grip tightens on the bar behind him doesn’t go unnoticed by you. The elevator shakes, slightly, and out of reflex you move to grab onto Jisung. His arm goes around your waist, pushing you to him while keeping a hand on the bar holding him steady. Just like you thought, the elevator shakes more strongly and then comes to a stop. The lights go off for a moment, but the backup lights come on almost immediately, bathing the small space in a soft, dull light.

You let go of the breath you were holding once you’re sure the elevator isn’t going to plummet 7 stories. Jisung feels you relax in his hold, and moves away slightly to look at you. “Are you okay?” He asks you for the second time today, except this time his voice is very clearly concerned. “Yes, I’m fine. What happened? How are we gonna get out of here?” You say, checking your phone and realizing you don’t have any cell service.

Jisung steps away from you, letting his arm fall from your waist. You miss the feeling of protection, but watch him anyway as he makes his way over to the elevator door. Taking a look through the gap, you hear Jisung mutter some curses under his breath. “Looks like we’re stuck between floors, which is why your phone isn’t working,” he says, trying to further inspect the situation.

“So what do we do then? Sit here and wait for someone to come save us?” You ask, eyes wide. He shrugs, and turns back to the door. “Hey! Can anyone hear us? We’re trapped in the elevator!” He shouts, and it’s quiet for a moment before a stranger’s voice is heard from a few feet above you.

“We heard the rattling of the elevator! We’ve called maintenance and fire, but they said it’s going to be about 20 minutes until they can get here. We hope you’re okay!” The voice says. Jisung nods his head and yells a thank you to the stranger before making his way back towards you in the small elevator.

You’re happy to know that help is on the way, but what if something happens before they get there? What if the elevator -does- decide to fall before they can get there? You don’t want to live out your final moments in your college apartment’s elevator.

You start to freak out a little bit, and Jisung can sense it. “We’re gonna be okay, you know that right? Help is on the way,” he says, and moves to take a seat on the floor. You join him, hoping it will calm your nerves even just a little. “Yeah, I just hate elevators..” you say, and he doesn’t answer you. You want to say the quiet is calming, but you can’t help the anxiety you feel in the pit of your stomach. You start picking at the carpet of the elevator out of nervousness, and Jisung takes notice.

He scoots a little closer to you and grabs your hand, the size difference of his hands compared to yours is almost baffling. You feel that blush rise up again, reminded of what happened in class earlier. Jisung is playing with your fingers absentmindedly, both of his hands grabbing at them and lightly pulling them in different directions, the pad of his thumbs smoothing over the back of your palm. You can’t look at him, too embarrassed for getting worked up at the gesture.

It seems like God is out to get you today, because Jisung laughs that teasing laugh of his again, and this time a finger under your chin brings your head up to make eye contact with him.

“Y’know, I was going to let it go earlier, but now I don’t think I can..You seem to be pretty fascinated with my hands, huh baby doll?” He asks confidently, and the tone of his voice makes you want to jump down the elevator shaft out of shyness. The new pet name brings those same feelings back to your stomach, and you’re at a loss for words. Jisung takes notice of this, and his smile turns from playful to something a little more serious.

‘Awe now why are you getting shy? You sure weren’t when you were checking me out in lecture earlier,” Jisung says, his tone condescending as he moves closer to you. “I promise, Y/N, I’m not going to bite. I mean, not unless you want me to,” he whispers. He’s not even an inch away from your face, and now you can’t seem to break eye contact with him. His hand moves from your jaw to the back of your neck. “If you don’t want this, you need to tell me..” he insists, but you don’t even need to think twice. “I want it. I want you.” you say quietly, and that’s enough for him to close the distance and pull you on top of him.

Being seated on Han Jisung’s lap is nothing short of an out of body experience. His lips are soft against yours, nipping at your bottom lip and asking for entrance which you gladly grant him. The kiss is fast and passionate and full of tongues but neither of you seem to care. You can’t think of anything except that you were right; the feeling of his hands roaming your body is better than you could’ve imagined. By now your fingers are tangled in his hair, pulling slightly every now and again and listening to the beautiful sounds of Jisung groaning against your lips.

“You are absolutely gorgeous,” he says, his fingers trailing to the button of your jeans. You busy yourself with moving your hands underneath his tshirt, his skin warm and soft under your fingers. You can feel the ridges of abs that you didn’t know existed, and as Jisung is whispering sweet nothings into your ear, you whine at the sensation of his fingers that have found their way into your underwear.

“You look so pretty like this for me,” Jisung continues, his fingers rubbing circles on your clit in slow circles as you whine at him. “I knew I wasn’t going to be able to control myself the moment you slipped this damn hoodie on. You look so small, baby.”

You’re sure that you’re going crazy the more that Jisung talks to you. In order to preserve even the tiniest bit of your sanity, you connect your lips to his once more. You hear him chuckle into the kiss, Jisung sensing your urgency as you grind down onto his fingers with a newfound energy.

“You really like my hands that much, huh? Gonna get off just on my fingers baby?” He asks once again, this time inserting a finger into your core. You moan at the new sensation, but Jisung isn’t having it. “Words, baby. Tell me how you’re feeling,” He orders, and something about his tone sends you up a wall. “S-so good Jisung.. I.. fuck,” you breathe out.

Jisung snaps back to reality for a moment and remembers: You’re on a time crunch. Maintenance could get the elevator back up and running at any moment. He adds another finger inside of you and quickens his pace at the same time. The speed has you reeling, the knot in your stomach tight but not quite ready to snap.

“I need you to cum for me baby, someone could walk in any minute. We don’t need anyone else seeing how much of a slut you are for my fingers alone, now do we? Or would you like that?” He asks, and the idea has you clenching around him. Jisung senses this, and laughs. “Something to keep in mind for another time,” he says to himself. You bury that comment at the back of your mind, focusing on the pleasure that’s rising in your core.

Once Jisung starts rubbing harsh circles on your clit, the combination of that and his fingers inside you has you arching your back. To Jisung, you are the most ethereal being on the planet right now; the soft light of the elevator highlighting your features, making you look oh so beautiful and almost unreal as your orgasm washes over you.

Jisung helps you ride out your high, your hips slowly coming to a stop as you begin to catch your breath. “Th-thank you, Jisung..” you say quietly, moving your hair out of your face. “Trust me, baby doll. The pleasure was all mine,” he chimes, and a small laugh leaves your lips as you finally gain your composure once again.

The two of you stay sitting like that for a few minutes, basking in the glow of this new found relationship until you hear voices a few feet above you again. “Hello? Are you alright in there? This is the fire department, we’re going to get you out of there, don’t worry.” The faint voice says. You both sigh in relief, Jisung’s arms falling around your waist once again.

It doesn’t take long for the elevator doors to be opened, and you’re both pulled up by the firemen who came to your rescue.

Once safe and sound, it doesn’t take long for you to pull Jisung into your apartment to make up for something very, very important, either.

[kreidewaltz]

top of the castle | t.k.

pairing. tsukishima kei x f!reader

about. your only goal is to be on top of everything. every change he gets, he pushes your buttons and does things that stirs something inside you. it's totally not your heart beating wild in your chest.

word count. 6.3k (this is my baby)

genre & warnings. fluff. angst. swearing. sky castle and highschool au. lots of swearing. happy ending. parents are kind of a jerk. subtle pining. enemies to lovers. bestfriend!kuroo. film major!tsukishima and y/n.

author's note. ik i posted this super late but here it is!! this is part of the promptly yours collab by issy :D ty for being understanding kisses you !? this is my first time writing an e2l go easy on me pls :( quick overview: sky castle is a neighborhood for the rich, and they do everything to be ahead of the other families! big thank you to @rintsuru for beta-ing this mwah i'll edit some stuff here tomo :') reblogs & feedbacks are appreciated ty <3

part of the promptly yours collab ✪

“during the dinner, entertain the guests, and kaa-san will be proud of you.” your mom says whilst brushing your hair multiple times. she sends you a threatening smile in the mirror which forms annoyance in your mind, yet a fake smile ghosts your lips. you clench your fist on your pockets, fingernails digging hard into your palms. last night she came to your door, unannounced, and mentioned that she’ll be having a private party after sending your applications to SNU Medical School.

“time to relax after working hard, a reward too for the parents.” you recall her saying, while running her fingers on your head before she shuts the door. the excitement evident in her movements when you hear the repetitive clicks of her heels. you play with the hem of your pajamas as you mimic your mother’s voice in distress, huffing after while you cross your arms on your chest. if she sees you roll your eyes or heave a disappointing sigh, expect a lecture about manners that'll go on for a few minutes.

when you entered middle school, she started to be strict and always repeated that you’re “only going to be successful when you’re on the top of the castle”. the metaphor she often forces in your mind—enjoying your success and growing money. watching other people force their way to the entrance, but this is where her persona morphs into something sickly sweet. she uses her shit ton of money to compromise, and those people leave as if they never disturbed your castle. in her eyes, you’re the embodiment of an independent, hardworking, and stepping on others kind of student which is something you want to erase.

“sit straight, act interested, act modest—”

“bring down the rivals, except kuroo.” you cut your mother off while a subtle smirk appears on your face, running your makeup brush on your powder blush before putting it to your cheeks. she stops for a moment, the silence makes your palms sweat on your school blazer, but relief washes over you when she murmurs okay, good. the moment is interrupted when your dad screams on the other side, assuming that he’s finding her and checking the table set-up for approval. she gives your shoulder a harsh squeeze before leaving you alone in your room, looking at yourself in the mirror.

“bring down tsukishima.” raising your brows, you try to keep yourself sane because people saying his name irks you. his stupid voice and looks down on you just because of the height difference. he looks down on you when he’s done harm to you years ago, and to the Hara family. when the school year started, you had no clue that he attended Yongsan School for Seoul. his presence immediately annoys you to your bones and when he talks, you have the urge to tape his mouth and watch him struggle and enjoy that he’s suffering. when he enters the room, you almost stand up from your seat and protest but you keep your lips shut. attempting to bottle your resentment and continue with the basic introductions and orientations for the school year.

what he did in middle school is the main factor why you resent him.

-

“your highness!” he yells as soon as you enter the classroom, sending tsukishima a sarcastic smile before you sit comfortably. you try your best to not be grumpy at eight in the morning. good thing that the teacher isn’t here, or you’re in for another lecture about that you should get along and be humble with your classmates.

lame lame lame.

“yeah, i’m a princess hm!” you point a finger at him while you put on a grumpy expression before putting your hands on your waist. huffing a few seconds later, you look through your bag and prepare your cute notebook and pencil. you begin to check the schedule for the day on the first page before reviewing the past few lessons, skimming it with attention that you mentally practice yourself, and clench both of your fists in excitement when you got the right answer. you cross your legs while checking your notes, eager to start the day because you're feeling productive, and seeing the stamps of stars on the first page makes you ecstatic.

-

“hara y/n, did you hit tsukishima?” your teacher’s voice is stern which scares you, but what frightens you is your mother hearing about the issue. you fiddle with your fingers as you rub your eyes, desperately trying to hold the tears threatening to fall. you and tsukishima are left alone in the classroom, with the teacher sitting across from you. the beautiful sunset view from the window is giving you temporary solace, releasing a sigh before answering.

“no, sensei! he- he hit me!” your voice unintentionally going higher, not realizing that you’re getting defensive. you stand from your chair and stare at him, fuming with anger when you see the smirk forming on his face. the teacher sighs in disappointment since he knows you’re one of the top students this year. your attendance streak is all green, never missing a day. what they don’tknow is how your mother forces you to always go to school no matter what happens, that school is the only path to success.

i hate tsukishima, hmph.

“she did, sensei. you saw her holding the book.” your patience is on thin ice because he has the audacity to lie in front of the teacher when he knows he did it. he slaps the book against the back of your desk and you feel the impact on your shoulders, resulting in a high pitched scream and break the momentum of your classmates writing and your teacher narrowed his eyes at you, shaking his head in displeasure before writing on the blackboard. then you hastily grab the book he's holding and about to throw it on his desk but gasps echo on the room. from their perspective, you're about to hit tsukishima with his book while he's looking across, focused on the discussion that's interrupted.

"you hit me with the book!" frustration slowly seeping out while you bounce on your desk angrily. your pigtails get tangled which fuels your irritation. life likes bad boys, you thought while mocking him by copying his expressions, forgetting for a moment that your teacher is watching you make faces on your own. tsukishima waves his hand, fisting his other hand to put it in the pocket of his purple jacket. the loud bell rings and ends the discussion, and you sulk on your seat while he prepares his things. your teacher walks out of the classroom to call your mom, you assume, because of the way he takes a glimpse at you while holding his phone to his ear.

i don't want to go home.

-

“i didn’t do it!” you keep repeating the same sentence as you set a foot in the house. your small hands clutch the strap of your backpack tight, agitated on what she’ll have to say on what happened. your teacher called your mom and had a quick discussion while you bowed to your mom before going home. the awkward silence caused you to grab your backpack and stand behind her, looking down on your shoes to distract yourself. when the both of you entered the car, she didn’t spare you a glance, even on the rearview mirror. the good thing is your favorite song is playing which soothes your worries temporarily. but the car ride was mentally exhausting and your nervousness kept boiling in your chest.

-

"the one time life is well! and you had to do that." sitting on the edge of your bed, disappointment and frustration join forces in your head while you clench your fist tight. tears trail down your cheeks freely and you have to grip your shorts so you wouldn't explode. hearing her sigh loudly makes you look at your hands to distract yourself from thinking while you sniffle quietly to yourself because your mom tells you to mask your true feelings with other people.

"i'm your princess! i didn't do it!" bouncing on your bed to defend yourself while she doesn’t say anything. she goes to your study table and grabs some of your books and pens. you looked at her in distress, tears forming in your eyes, since your mom's punishments are something you avoid if you have the chance.

-

“ah long time no see! come in!” your mom cheerfully greets when you see the Oikawa family entering the house, bowing down in respect with a sickly sweet smile plastered on your face. he acts like a prince charming when he bows, trying to charm your mother. she acts as if she’s swooned by his alluring smile before she rushes the family to enter the extravagant room, eyeing oikawa while he fixes the buttons of his school blazer. you and oikawa had a while you’re flipping the pendant of your necklace, the loud banter on the stairs a few meters away gets your attention.

“oh! kuroo looks dashing as usual!” she clasps her hands together, the gold rings on her fingers clashing and creating light noises which only you could hear. after they pick up on your mother’s voice, kuroo abruptly stops arguing and casually puts his right hand in his pocket. his mother gives you a soft wave and pecks your mother on the cheeks. you’re not in europe. the thought comes to mind while they chit chat. his father comes to the dining table, leaving you with kuroo for a few minutes. you extend your other leg in the front, putting your hands on your waist, and when you catch his monotone gaze. kuroo looks to the side while the tip of his ears slowly become red.

“ah! i’m glad our parents are okay.” you whisper in front of him while you pat your cheeks and put on your serious expression because your mother always tells you to act elegant when there are guests. a sympathetic smile appears on his lips, knowing why you changed your face in seconds—because you have a reputation to hold.

“mhm, okay talk to you later.” he says before lightly bumping your shoulder with his fist which you return with the same force while a smile dances on your balmed lips. the both of you don’t notice his mom’s gaze softening because of your brief chat.

“yuuji! you should’ve brought your vest!” your mom giggles when she hears the voice of the Terushima family. her covers her mouth with her hand (also her way of showing off her accessories). his mom’s voice is pretty loud so you hear her clearly when they’re on the stairs. a childish whine leaves his lips while his almond eyes begin twinkling in excitement seeing the grand decoration on the entrance. “oh hi y/n! pardon me, and yuuji.” his mom is always enthusiastic and humble.

you raise a brow when you notice the piercing on terushima’s ears. “you pierced?” you point a finger at his ear before the smirk on his face grows, knowing that you’re not allowed to get pierced or tattooed under your parent’s household.

“yeah, you want one?” he leans in with a teasing smirk on his face and slowly licks his bottom lip, and you get a glimpse of his tongue piercing. a tsk leaves your lips before you push him away with your clenched hands. your mom intrudes in your conversation and pulls you to her chest. your mom’s thoughts about you not listening to her and actually getting piercings are running like a hamster on a wheel. his mom covers her face with the palm of her hand, thinking that she won’t get used to terushima bragging about his piercings and possibly influencing his friends to get one. your mom giggles about him and repeatedly pats his back, escorting the Terushimas to their seats at the table—a long and wide one she bought for this day, and a few hours later, the cleaners will struggle to put the furniture back on the basement.

“ah n/n! wait for tsukishima, alright?”

your mom waves her fingers with a smile plastered on her face, leaving the entrance in your hands. going rebel sounds intriguing but you decided to go against it. you intertwine your fingers together and put them behind your back, walking around back and forth along with an occasional twirl because the black skirt whirling is satisfying for your eyes. annoyance bubbles in your chest when she mentions his name, and the fact you’ll escort them all the way to their seats at the table. relief courses through you when she picks their seats further away from your vision.

good, i can’t stand his golden eyes at—

-

“dear y/n, always elegant like her mother!” your dad mentions while the food is being served. the maids delicately hold the plates even though the appetizer only consists of green leaves, a drizzle of oil and other vegetables mixed in. a confident smile comes to your face while the boys giggle along with their parents, knowing that they nudge their waist to go with the flow and attempt to be your parents’ right hand and be their disciple. kuroo kicks your feet under the table while a subtle smirk on his face, and before you could misunderstand his intentions, he eyes the other parents then quickly rolls his eyes after. the clanking of the plates and forks begin to ring your ears and you immediately connect the clues on what he likes to say.

look at them, trying to get on your parents’ side.

you lightly slap his knee with your foot to get his attention, and you successfully do so while not realizing that about to take a bite of the vegetables. while kuroo thinks about embarrassing himself, again, despite that your parents and the other boys are lost in their own conversations, you take a big bite of everything that’s on the plate, not noticing your mom’s stern gaze on your figure. when he’s finished fixing his hair, he raises his brow while you cross your arms over your chest, nodding in defeat while rubbing your forehead, mimicking those disappointed adults you’ve seen in dramas. he covers his mouth while his eyes crinkle, controlling the laugh he desperately wants to let out. you massage your shoulder for a moment because it’s getting uncomfortable but you have to keep your act—act like you have your shit together in front of the guests.

“oh! oikawa-kun, how’s the japanese lit for you?” initiating a conversation between your rivals while the parents reacted quietly to themselves, as if they’re going to witness harsh exchange with words until emotions overtake your head. this is the sky castle, you think while straightening your posture, satisfied when you get a glimpse of him jolting on his seat before putting on his charming facade and entertaining your question.

“easy peasy! bet i’ll get a perfect score.” he runs his hand through his hair, fixing his school blazer and acts mighty with the other people around.

terushima begins to tease him by making faces to push oikawa’s buttons, and you tap your mouth with the tissue before dropping the bomb and witness his face morph to dread. “you know that i check the papers too, right? you’ve got three mistakes already.” bring down people so you can walk forward, you think while oikawa’s eyes are large like the globes you use for geography class. you loosely intertwine your fingers as you press your cheek on your palm. your mom peeks at you, amused, at your actions that she fights the urge because a smile is threatening its way on her deadpanned face since the beginning of the dinner. the other parents whisper to themselves, especially Oikawa’s parents who look at you with distaste occasionally when they talk. the maids are astonished with your attitude since you're a sweetheart, in the time where your mom is out and does her daily shopping to further decorate the house.

as the dinner continues, you're mentally patting yourself on the back for doing a great job to keep your castle undisturbed. you didn't notice the blonde fighting the urge to smirk to himself because it's the first time he witnessed you being brazen. he takes a big sip of the water, stretching his hands and resting it on his back as he catches your eyes which widens his smirk. resulting to strengthen your rage—and the fact that you're enjoying how attractive he looks.

ugh, let's get this over with.

-

“what? never expected me to be on top?” a condescending tone laces your voice as you cross your legs, the exhaustion you carried throughout the dinner is dissipating when you rest your back on the chair. feeling a certain pair of golden eyes piercing your soul, you intentionally ignore the sweating of your palms and curl your toes inside your shoes because you keep moving as long as you feel his eyes focused on you. the sassy persona you’ve worked hard lasting long is crumbling, as if tsukishima is taking his time to disassemble the pieces.

“finally we’re away.” terushima whispers to no one before running his fingers on his hair. all of your parents settled on the tea room as your mom calls it to chit chat and relax for a few hours and you know she'll subtly brag about your achievements in school and the furniture around the house that are only available to the rich she quotes.

"away from our parents who force their dreams to us? hell yeah." oikawa added before stretching his neck, the table erupting into laughter because what he said is the truth.

"hey! too mean." narrowing your eyes at him and seconds later you realized how contradicting you are. you scold the brown haired for being mean (when he only said the truth) yet you call oikawa earlier on the dinner for having three mistakes on the test of film studies. the silence stopped you from saying something further so you sit back, looking at the lights and decorations hanging on the wall so you won't embarrass yourself further.

we're even i guess, oikawa whispers under his breath before looking at you, his smile not reaching his eyes. you slap your cheeks while you're looking hard at oikawa, not noticing how the blonde plays with his fingers before looking at you, his eyes glimmering of mischief. since tsukishima knows what pushes your buttons and he always uses it to his advantage.

"stop the good girl act. you feel that way too, idiot." he cleans his glasses with his vest while his eyes narrow and look at you. as you look up and stare at him, you’re perplexed seeing him without his glasses and get amazed on how golden his eyes are. while your arms are flat on the table, his words earlier came back crashing on your head. good girl.

“good girl act, huh? why? you want me to be a bad.. bad girl tsukishima-kun?” you retort back quickly, and you’re pleased with your counterattack since hearing low whistles and gasps beside you fueled your ego. you raise your brow with a mocking smile on your lips to taunt tsukishima even more, intentionally ignoring the repetitive beating of your heart. you felt kuroo kicking your ankle under the table but you dodge his kick since you didn’t want to be bombarded by his remarks because you know he’ll never let you forget about this moment.

“and what if i do, princess?” he raises his brow in return, resting his chin on his palm while cocking his head to the side, amused with your response but he wouldn’t let you know that. you’re obviously dumbfounded, hating the way he uses that nickname casually in a conversation. the uneasiness you’re feeling doesn't go away when you feel eyes on you, eagerly waiting on what you’ll have to say. you clear your throat and you’re about to say something when-

“okay! y/n you got ice cream?” terushima jumped in the conversation before the tension rose on the table. at first you’re bummed when he cuts you off suddenly but you’re glad because you’re not going to talk to tsukishima after this. nope, you keep repeating to yourself. you nodded and led the way to the kitchen, slapping your cheeks lightly with your fingers to snap out of it.

-

“y/n, suck it up and do the first move.” kuroo murmurs louder to mortify you before taking a bite of the ice cream from the glass, his smug expression makes you want to punch him right there. you playfully kick his chair while you mindlessly mix the spoon on the glass, the ice cream melting as time ticks by.

“what- i’m not- you jerk!" their eyes fall on you since your voice tends to get loud when you defend yourself, and you forget about that while kuroo annoys you on purpose. you grumble shut up under your breath, cupping your cheeks while a frown takes over your face. you angrily grab the scooper to get more desert, also denying the thoughts running in your mind and shake your head in the process while whispering no, that can't happen!

"you're screwed, my friend." kuroo waves his spoon in front of you and you grit your teeth in annoyance while a frown takes over your face. a part of you wants to give in and admit you’re feeling something for him but you’ll stick on what you’re good at-denying. you pout in defeat and sulk in your seat, your eyes falling on tsukishima sitting in the corner. he’s in his own world, taking a bite of the ice cream and repeatedly tapping his foot on the floor. you assume it’s because of the music he’s listening to because of his tangled earphones put on. when he caught your gaze you turned away a little late meaning he saw you. shame clouded your head and desperately try to distract yourself from him, and look at oikawa acting high and mighty, anything, so you won’t spiral back to your thoughts full of tsukishima.

“the hell!? no i’m fin-” he waves his hands and doesn't listen to your stalling, since he knows you’re doing that to convince yourself and not him. you scowl at him and cross your arms together, chanting to pull it together since you get aggressive when someone’s caught you so you cross your arms together and clench your fists. (you thought you’ll have wrinkles earlier than others because of how much you’re frowning).

“i saw what happened, don’t even.” he cocks his head to tsukishima’s direction with a grin on his face and he knew he conquered victory between the banter. you sent him a sarcastic smile before checking the others chat to themselves and hear the faint laughter of the adults in the other room. your mind starts to imagine what it's’ like to talk to your crush.

no didn’t say that!

“this is fun.” he added, which deepened your scowl and you clearly heard the teasing tone laced on his voice. you roll your eyes playfully while he ruffles your hair, and you’re bummed because you know he is right. don’t pull the bad girl card, he murmurs and twirls the ends of your hair. your thoughts halted when you heard the two words that brought you back to the situation earlier. you hold your breath while stretching your arms straight on the counter, hurriedly thinking of a witty response.

“hey! he looked good…” you closed your eyes quickly then you got a glimpse of tsukishima smirking and the way the nickname, princess, rolled off his tongue is making the tip of your ears faint red and sensitive. where’s the y/n that hates tsukki with all her guts? kuroo whispers and laughs hysterically after which caught the attention of the others. you know he’s teasing you for fun since you two often have light hearted banters. the urge to punch him in the face crosses your mind because there are times he knows and you know he’s right, it’s on you not wanting to admit it. his hand ruffles your hair once again before smoothly interrupting oikawa’s bragging, while your thoughts go on an overdrive in your head.

-

"miss pres! wait for me!" you stopped in your tracks and waited on the right side when you heard akari jogging to you. a dejected pout appears on her lips. she hangs onto your arm and grips it tight, catching her breath because you didn't wait for her outside after the film classes ended.

purposely digging her nails as her payback, because you didn't wait for her outside after the film class ended.

"damn, it's hard being the best friend of the student council president." she says with a defeated tone while fixing her skirt. your face scrunched up in response before walking together on the hallways. akari begins her rambling about the upcoming output your professor mentioned. you tightened your hold on the folders, frightened that the stack of folders will slip out of your hold since fate can be cruel, you muse while pushing the folders close to your chest.

"i can carry folders too, you know." her laughter echoed in the hallway when she saw your reaction! furrowed brows, a pout on your lips before you hesitantly gave half of the folders in her waiting hands. before you could explain what the folders are, you hear her gasp when she sees the title, in bold letters—CLASS 3 FILM STUDIES TEST RESULTS. she overheard you and the professor and learned that you're also checking the papers because professors trust you that much. akari likes seeing you lose your cool in public so she lifts the side of the folder. though it gets exhausting, you endure akari and her antics since despite her teasing she knows her boundaries. she's a good friend because holding the titles student council president, and top student scares away potential friends you could have. students gossiping about your family and status doesn't make things easier. so when she approached you in the library and blunty said you're taking her seat, you're grateful despite interrupting your study session.

it's safe to say that you didn't give each other good first impressions.

"miss pres, faculty room right?" akari's voice breaks your train of thought and wonders how you didn't hit anyone along the way since you take a few turns before seeing the faculty room.

"mhm."

-

“kari! let’s go back! i can convince sensei.” you whine quietly and stomp on your feet, you’re definitely ignoring your heart about to jump out of your chest when you see a glimpse of a blonde in front of the faculty room. after the party you held a few days ago, you didn’t pay attention to him and avoided him at all costs because you’re trying to figure out if feeling something to your rival is a big deal or not. you tighten your hold on the papers, a pout coming to your lips while akari is amused on what’s happening right now. she’s clearly not expecting you to go to the other way and avoid confrontation with the blonde.

“he’s there! i can’t face him!” you added and jutted your lips into a pout. in your head, you could roast him with other people because you have a perfect reputation to keep. she sighs for a moment while you stand there, she transfers all the folders in her other hand before smacking you in your arm. a shriek leaves your lips, not expecting your friend to hit you in the hallway. you knew you lose the disagreement when you see her as if she’s saying really? i’m done with you through her face. she puts a hand on her waist while she steps on the floor. a habit of hers that you noticed through time. you fix your hair that’s blocking your sight before nodding your head.

“fine… whatever.” you narrow your eyes and point a finger on her direction, acting like you’re threatening her but it didn’t have an effect at her. both of you silently walk towards the faculty room and finally see tsukishima in all his glory. he’s slightly slouching in front of the door because of his height. you quickly look at the other classrooms, acting as if you never saw him and ignore your heart beating at a quick pace. you’re in front of the room, just behind him and realize how tall he is. he looks back and catches your gaze before he smirks and waves at the professor inside. (they are clearly victims of the good boy facade he puts, you think). akari whistles to herself before going inside and gives the folders to your professor while you follow behind.

“ah thank you y/n! and akari. you can have your lunch now.” you bow quickly and smile before you shut the door gently. you fix your blazer and pat your skirt before going to the cafeteria with akari. on the way she keeps teasing you about how you daydream of tsukishima when you’re in class. she keeps mentioning his smirk when you’re eating and you almost choked on the food, since yes, maybe his smirk is attractive you think, maybe, you repeated.

-

“how’s life with rich people?” she whispers since she accompanied you to the library because you’re planning your scenes already and what emotions you’ll pick for the montage output. you stopped writing and closed your notebook, and rolled your eyes playfully because you know what she really wants to ask.

“i know you’re asking about oikawa, so go.” you say while crossing your arms on the wooden table, and stretch your back after writing for twenty minutes. on the time you’re working, she’s humming random songs and twirls her pen on the papers she brought, scribbling lines and occasionally add doodles on the paper.

“tsk, at least i’m proud of it.” she comments while you gasp, wondering why kuroo and her keeps forcing you to admit you like him. it wasn’t that you’re uncomfortable, your answer remains the same, you have a reputation to take care of.

“anyway! i heard you were mean to him.” she adds while burying her head in her open book, it’s obvious that she’s bored but she accompanied you nonetheless. you stopped twirling your hair and you processed what she said. how did she know, you lamented to yourself while your brows furrow.

“terushima… he doesn’t shut up. he might’ve mentioned that.” akari massages her scalp while looking at you, she’s attempting to relieve the minimal pain she’s feeling in her head. you continued to write on how the scene will go but your sentences ended in scribbles. you’re terribly annoyed that terushima talked about the party even, it wasn’t necessary, you thought while biting your lip.

“agh! whatever. it’s the truth.” you cried out after contemplating for a few minutes. you lean back on the chair, drinking from your water bottle to hydrate yourself once in a while. you sigh in satisfaction when the cold water goes to your chest, awakening your sleepy eyes. the silence helps you gain your focus and plan your outfit and makeup on the montage, but akari breaks the silence with a question.

“yeah sure.. the truth. so when are you gonna admit that you actually like tsukishima, huh?” akari prompts her elbow while a cocky smile goes to her face. you hum and stopped writing, utterly confused with her expression.

“well i like him but- what?! you and kuroo should be locked away somewhere.” you rambled after realizing her true intentions of why she asked that question. you kicked her foot slightly under the table to get back at her. she hisses slightly while you bow quickly to apologize. you sigh before grabbing your phone and usher akari to take a selfie in the library, even though her face looks funny on the picture, you’ll still keep it. while she looks through the photos you took, you look at the window and many thoughts keep overlapping but one thought stands out. should i finally admit that i have a crush on him? what if he doesn’t like me though? those are the thoughts you pondered on on the way home and the next few months.

-

it’s been five months since those thoughts spiralled on your head, almost haunting you every night. this day marks the start of vacation, no more school work to do and you’re not pretending to be a good student on campus all year. it's been a few months since you passed the montage output and you remembered how your professor’s mouth is open while watching yours, it boosted your confidence. you picked unrequited and longing which seems two complicated emotions to work on a montage but that’s what you like about it. when you did your shoot months ago, you couldn’t forget the horror on kuroo’s face when he saw the smudged make-up on your face while your dress looked elegant.

you waved him off that time and continued to film the flowers dancing to the wind, the group of birds flying high, and you accidentally filmed tsukishima walking away while the sun hit his direction and it created a warm yet nostalgic vibe. that time he didn’t give you insults or anything but god, he was cocky. kuroo and oikawa noticed how things changed on the two of you, because normally they’d be seeing you going at each other’s throats. but you did your own thing, and you didn’t complain about filming him and instead he saw you giggling to yourself while looking at the camera. the black haired finally connected the puzzles together and came to a conclusion: you’ve come to terms that you like tsukishima.

-

“i really like him! believe me.” you defended and hugged the pillow laying on the couch. you invited tsukishima to your house to convince your parents that you like each other even though you’ve been together for a few months already. when you often walk with your boyfriend (calling him that still makes you blush), you always see oikawa and kuroo snickering to themselves, and you teased kuroo that he replaced you with another. sadly, your mom didn’t like the idea and she went to another country to calm down, you think. that time you realized where you got your sulky attitude from. your dad acts casual and asks questions one at a time. you’re grateful because you couldn’t handle many questions at once and the accusations you’ll hear from your mom isn’t what you wanted right now. your dad giggles when you act pouty and defensive, while tsukishima bounces his leg to relieve the slight to little nervousness he has, he convinces himself. it didn’t help when kuroo grip his shoulder tight and give a little speech on how to protect you and show how to care.

“she does… unfortunately.” he whispers the last word which infuriates you and hits his head with the pillow lightly. your dad didn’t hear what he said so he glares at you, shaking his head, as if he’s saying not to hit your boyfriend. you pout and cross your arms, and give him the face that’s supposed to threaten people but it doesn’t work for him. (one time, you realized you’re friends with people who have resting bitch faces).

“do you want me to be your enemy again?” you threaten him but you fail because a big smile goes to your face. you fix the hair clip on the back of your head to keep your hair away.

“sure if it means i can see you be angry but look cute.” he retorts back and while you're about to explode, from your peripheral vision you see your dad giving him a big thumbs up and an awkward wink. he sends him a nod and acts cool.

"hmm, now i get why you like each other y/n." your dad comments he pats the space beside him. tsukishima gently rubs your lower back before letting you go, even though his heart is beating wild in his chest. you sit beside your dad before tightly embrace him, relieved of his reaction to your new relationship.

"thank you dad. we'll protect each other, don't worry. you can kick him if he broke up with me though." you whisper the last part so the blonde wouldn't hear you (he's suspicious based on the narrowing of his eyes and the gaze you feel at the back of your head). he pats your back while giggling lightly and stand up. he enjoys seeing you lost in your world and see the genuine happiness glowing in your eyes. this is something he should've done sooner, he thought because all these years you're caged in this house, alone and lonely.

“tsu-ki-shima-kun, let’s go?” you tease him because he once told you that calling him like that stirs something inside him. you giggle and look to him softly, an indirect way of asking permission to loop your arms together. you respect his boundaries, always, even though it didn't seem like it a few months ago. he nods and pushes his glasses, and you loop them while seeing his ears down to his neck go a little red.

“hey, let’s go to the library. it’s quiet there.”

you get out of the house and wave to the idiots (kuroo and oikawa) as you call them before going to the library with him. you had nothing to study for and you knew why he wants to go there, with you, you just know.

this is the sky castle, the place where you bring down people to walk forward. but after thinking about it, walking together with tsukishima doesn't sound bad.

[morkleemelon]

off the ice || chapter 6: grab my hand

previous || m.list || playlist || next

pairing: college hockey player! mark x fem. college figure skater! reader

genre: fluff, humor, angst, sports au, college au

word count: 7.7k

warnings: swearing, suggestive material, depictions of bullying

author’s note: huge thanks again to my beta readers @writing-frog and @skiimmiilk I’ve made the executive decision to split up the last chapter since it was so long! Chapter 7, the finale, is done and will be posted in a few days <3 

Distance. Distance isn’t a word you would use to describe your relationship as he pulls you close at night. There’s no distance between the two of you as he lifts you up in the air during your nightly practice, strong hands firmly gripping your waist as you dance across the empty rink.

No.

But if one were to look past your smile, to wipe away the condensation and see clearly what’s really going through your head when you were together with Mark, they might just name the dreadful feeling caving in your chest “distance”. 

Weeks have passed by since the hate message incident in Mark’s room. You tried to pull out the arrow, to convince yourself it wasn’t true and that you could ignore it just like all the rest. Alas, its words struck so deep, you still bleed. 

It poisons your thoughts. Your anxieties had already worsened  and you found yourself pulling away from his affections, afraid of the way the people walking past might somehow be talking about you.

Mark is starting to have his suspicions too, flashing you concerned looks when you uncomfortably shrug his arm off your shoulders in public. To you, it’s because you’re scared of the ‘hateful’ stares from others. To him, it’s a riddle he can’t solve. 

Because when it’s just the two of you, you let yourself relax. Like yin and yang, you fight an internal battle between how much you adore your boyfriend and how terrified you are that you aren’t good enough for him. When it’s just the two of you alone, you stop running and let him close the distance. 

Right now is one of those rare times - the familiar cold and scraping of ice below your skates bringing you peace. 

Mark glides easily beside you on the empty rink. He’s improved a lot, much to your astonishment. A golden boy through and through, he proves that there’s nothing he can’t do as he conquers each move you show him. 

Coach Tanya was surprised when you spoke with her after practice one day to notify her that you’d decided to pair with Mark Lee, captain of the hockey team, for the winter competition. Her thin eyebrows were perked in playful judgement when you started to defend yourself, ready to bring up Yuna’s accident and your financial situation before she stopped you: “You’re my best skater, y/n, and I look forward to your performance. Work hard, captivate your audience, and you just might win”.

Watching Mark skate on ahead of you in the borrowed skates he makes do with, you can’t wait to prove her right.

“What are we going to practice tonight, y/n?,” Mark asks as he arcs a wide circle around you. 

“I think you’ve gotten most of the basics down, so let’s go over the first part of the choreography,” you decide, grabbing onto his hand and giggling as he swings you around with him. 

“We have choreography?,” Mark lifts your arm up to twirl you around. He stops you as you face him, a laugh leaving your lips before he smothers them with kisses. His fingers tickle at the hem of your shirt, cold to your bare skin. You squeal, the sound carrying eerily over the spacious rink.

“I thought about it a lot in my head,” you explain as you shove him away gaily, “and I planned a bit during my own practices. It’s not done yet, but I think we can make it work”. 

“My talented, beautiful girl,” Mark murmurs, catching up to you and wrapping you in a back hug. You sigh blissfully, catching his warm lips in the crook of your neck.

“Mark, we seriously do have to practice. The festival’s only a month away,” you mumble. Some nights, let's just say, you spend more time in the locker room showers than you do on the ice. Using your best intuition, Mark’s lips travelling down towards your collarbones equals not a lot of practice time. And as much as you want for him to distract you all night long, you have to put your skate down and bring your boyfriend back to focus on the task at hand.

He huffs slightly against your skin, but releases you obediently.

“It’s gonna start like this,” you swiftly continue on, positioning your arm gracefully behind Mark’s head, “put your hand here,” you move his hand behind your back like you had planned, “and tilt your head to look at me,”. You tip his jaw slightly so he now peers down at you, face not inches from yours.

Dropping your gaze, you maintain what little self control you have and refrain from thinking about the locker room. It’s right by the rink exit. It’d be so easy to just...

“And then?,” Mark whispers, voice low, waiting patiently in the starting position. His hand is warm against your back, but it tugs at your heartstrings too.

“And then you’re gonna spin me out like we practiced before”. You help him perform the motion, unfurling yourself from his grip and gliding down to spin a slow circle around.

You bring him slowly through the rest of the introduction, Mark copying the moves diligently. 

“Then when I skate back to you, lift me up in the air like we did last time. You think you can do it?,” you question. The move you’re about to attempt is quite difficult - a little dangerous, even, since Mark is still a beginner - but you trust him to never hurt you.

“I can do it,” he confirms confidently, holding his arms out to receive you. 

“Okay, slow at first,” you nod, skating up to him at half-speed, grabbing onto his shoulders to help lift yourself above his head. Mark’s strong hands connect with your body, hoisting you up by your waist and balancing your body carefully above his. Muscles burning, you steady yourself as he twirls you slowly down.

“Alright, again,” you command.

The two of you repeat the move, steadily increasing the speed until the lift is smooth to your satisfaction. 

“I think that was pretty good,” you compliment, slightly out of breath. 

“Only because of you,” Mark endears, panting as he rests his chin atop your hair.

You sigh into his chest, the comforting feeling of his palpitating heartbeat washing over you.

If only it could always be like this.

“y/n?,” Mark mumbles. His tone was almost unsure, as if he was about to say something you don’t want to hear.

You hum an affirmation.

“Is everything okay these days?,” he asks the question you dread answering, “I know,” he continues before you can blurt out your default lie, “I know you keep saying that it is, but I feel like...you know you can tell me anything, right?”. 

Mark changes his phrasing midway, always taking your feelings into consideration. The all too familiar wave of guilt fills you up to your ears and you step slightly away. The stadium is dim, only lit by the natural light of the night sky, but you can see the concern that creases his face out in your peripheral vision. 

Your eyes focus instead on his jacket button. The second from the top has a few loose threads. 

And that’s just how you feel too; the button was made for this coat - it wants to hang on and be there forever. But how could it persist when the world wants to rip it off?

“It’s nothing,” you insist bitterly, your peaceful mood tainted gray. You were so close to successfully ending another day without confronting your demons. Why must Mark sense it so well?

Please stop, Mark. Please stop.

“I don’t think it’s nothing”. There’s nothing but kindness and concern in his voice, but when he reaches his hand out to you, fear overcomes your rationality and you jerk yourself away. 

“It is nothing!,” you exclaim, overly defensive. Half of your mind screams at you to halt, to filter your words before you say something you would regret, but the fuse was already lit and they come tumbling out anyway. “Can you please stop asking? It’s annoying,”.

A beat passes. Two. Five.

The sharp words tear through your mouth like knives, but even then you can’t stop to think. The energy in the rink changed so quickly, your head spins with shock. Turning away from the pained expression you don’t want to see, you skate quickly towards the exit. 

The ice is solid as ever, but why does it feel like you’re sinking?

Slamming the dormitory door shut behind you, your skating bag hits the floor before you do. Back pressed against the concrete wall, shaking sobs rack through your body as you sink down to your feet.

“y/n, what happened?,” Yuna peers over her computer screen. Your roommate had finally returned home a few days ago after her leg had finally healed enough to be discharged. 

You don’t answer, only burying your teary face into your arms as you cry harder.

The metallic creaking of crutches ensues as Yuna approaches your slumped form. A comforting embrace wraps around your shaking shoulders and the smell of her daisy perfume engulfs you. Her scarred hands stroke through your hair as she says nothing, waiting for your hiccups to calm down.

Guilt eats away at you like nitric acid. It mixes with your frustration, concocting a perfect poison that destroys your last thread of self-respect. 

“Can you please stop asking? It’s annoying”

“Can you please stop asking? It’s annoying”

“Can you please stop asking? It’s annoying”

The hurtful words don’t stop echoing in your head. What’s worse is, even though you didn’t stay to look, you can imagine the pain that crossed his face as you left without another word. You feel absolutely disgusting.

This is it. He’s finally going to be done with me.

Moments pass, Yuna sitting patiently by your side as you manage to find your voice. The dam you built around all your secret cracks, disintegrating to pieces as you let everything out to your best friend. 

You tell her about all of the hate messages you’ve been getting for months now - how you tried to ignore them, but some of them hit too way deep to forget. You tell her about the dilemma with Mark. He’s never done any wrong to you, ever, but you feel like you can’t keep forcing your problems on him. When you confided in your financial situation with him, he dropped everything to help you with the competition. You at least want to be able to handle one thing by yourself, to not be a burden, but it’s tearing you apart at the seams.

“I don’t deserve him and he’s going to realize it sooner or later,” you lament, gripping onto Yuna’s arms for dear life. Gasping sobs ensue, even as you hold your breath desperately to stop them. “He’s probably already realized it after what I said. Yuna, what do I do? I’m horrible”. Bitter tears choke at your throat.

“Oh honey,” Yuna coos into your hair, “you don’t even know, do you?”. 

Hiccupping uncontrollably, you take gasping breaths, trying to calm down. Your roommate understands, patting you gently on the back. 

“When you’re in a relationship with someone, the line between having enough communication and enough privacy is tough to figure out. Should you tell him about the lint between your toes? Maybe not. But talking to him about what’s bothering you is not only okay, it’s the right thing to do”.

Yuna lifts your chin up to face her. She looks empathetically down at your watery eyes as she takes her sleeve to dry the fallen tears. You press your eyelids shut, taking deep breaths punctuated by hiccups.

“And Mark,” she continues, “this guy, he looks at you like you’re all the stars in the sky and he’s the first astronomer. There’s not a thing you could tell him that would bother him, that’s what I think. And I think he’s dying to know how he can help you”. 

“Yuna I- you don’t understand. I just left him there after saying that. And I can’t even go on a date with him without feeling like people are talking about us,” you gasp out, “So the person sending the messages is right; I’m not good enough for him and he deserves someone way better than me. Maybe this is for the better”.

“y/n, don’t you see?,” Yuna snaps sternly. You open your eyes. They’re pink-red, matching the tip of your nose. “You’re letting other people ruin a once-in-a-lifetime relationship for you. Do you know what happens when you leave to go to the bathroom when we’re all hanging out? Mark’s looking towards the women’s room every two seconds, waiting for you to come back. This guy will manage to find a way to bring up your name at least twice in the five minutes you’re away. He likes you so much, anyone with a brain knows, so it’s not fair to him for you to tell him what, or who he deserves. At least let him make his own decision”.

The advice resonates in the air. Your hiccups calm to a sniffle as it sinks in. Yuna’s right, you’re being so selfish right now. Actually, you’ve been selfish this whole time. By forcing everything to yourself, you were creating an even bigger problem than any of the ones you were trying to hide.

“Yuna, what do I do now?,” you whisper, dread setting in.

“Girl, go talk to him. Now.”

You must look a mess, but you don’t bother fixing yourself up before you’re out the door.

Yuna sends you off with a ‘good luck!’ as you run down the corridor. Rushing down the metal stairs, your frenzied steps echo through the empty stairwell. They sound as desperate as you feel.

Oh god, please let it not be too late.

Once you reach the first floor entrance, you notice through the glass door that it is now, in fact, pouring rain. You were too distracted before to notice the heavy sounds of precipitation pelting down over you. 

Hands shaking to send Mark a message, you tell him you need to talk and you’re coming to him. You have no umbrella, but you push open the door anyways. The freezing rain soaks into your skin but you run on, unfazed.

You’re drenched and shivering by the time you stand panting in front of his building. Dying street lights illuminate against the dark, night sky. Waiting, the rain stings your eyes.

Through the blur, Mark’s figure finally appears at the door window. You can’t quite make out his face, but you know it’s him. The metal frame creaks as he pushes it open.

“y/n, what are you doing?”. His voice is raspy and as he comes closer into view. You notice that his eyes are pink-red, matching the tip of his nose.

“I have to talk to you,” you state, voice wavering as fresh tears mix with the ice-cold precipitation. Mustering up all the courage you have, you ready yourself to tell him everything you’ve been holding back.

“Let’s go inside”. His voice is soft as he tugs at your drenched jacket sleeve. 

“No I-,” you choke, “I want to say it right now”.

The rain bears down hard as he lets go of your sleeve, allowing the frigid water to soak through his own self, waiting.

“You asked me if something was wrong,” your resolve comes crashing down, “and a lot has been wrong”. You squeeze your eyes shut to force out the unwanted raindrops. “The truth is, I’ve been getting hate messages every day since we started dating. Probably even before that. They say I’m a slut, or I’m fat and ugly. The details don’t matter”.

Mark takes a step towards you, the concerned expression creasing his brow in full view. 

“But then they say I’m not good enough for you,” your voice breaks as you admit the most painful part of all, blinking up at him, “and I can’t help but believe them”.

Futily, you swipe your drenched sleeve across your eyes to dry them.

“But even if I don’t deserve anything that you are, I need to tell you right now that I didn’t mean what I said today and I need to know if you still want me-”

Before the next raindrop could hit your skin, you feel yourself lifted up into a crushing hug.

There’s no sound except the heavy pitter patter of rain around you, but you can swear that there’s a symphony playing as he spins you around. His breath huffs against your neck. He’s crying too, you realize.

“y/n,” he croaks, body quivering with tears and from the cold, “I always want you. I-, you-”. Mark pulls you in extra tight as he struggles to find the right words.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” the words strain against Mark’s throat, “when I first saw you, I dropped my shit and ran away”.

You pull slightly away, looking up at him quizzically.

He shakes his head and continues, “You were so beautiful and even when I thought you hated me, I couldn’t stop thinking about you all the time. I don’t want anyone else-”.

Grabbing your face with both of his hands, he presses desperate kisses to your forehead. The rain bears down hard, lightning cracking in the sky, but you’re numb to everything else except the feeling of his lips pressing their love onto your skin. 

“You’re it for me,” his voice wavers. The vulnerable confession sends you into a fresh wave of emotions and you grip onto the back of his neck, crying into his shoulder. “You’re my heart. I knew it from the first moment I saw you”. 

Pulling back just enough to look you in the eyes, he brushes back the wet strands of hair stuck to your face. You’re tempted to do the same, the once golden locks now almost black against his brow. 

“I love you”. 

The words leave his lips so suddenly, but they’ve been at the tip of his tongue for so long they roll off with ease. Your heart drums against your chest as time seems to stop. 

“You love me?” you choke, not believing your ears. His forehead is pressed against yours.

“I love you,” he repeats, “I love you. More than anything. So much that I can’t breathe. I was so scared when you left today because I thought I did something wrong and I was thinking of what I said and I was sitting at my desk waiting for you to call because I wasn’t sure if I should call you first after what happened but then I almost did and then-,”

You shut him up with your lips. 

He sinks into your touch, responding naturally as you kiss him with everything you have.

Your mind spins with a mixture of relief and excitement as you let all of your worries go. It was never about other people, you realize, it was about your own insecurities and you were tearing yourself down. Without realizing it, you forgot to take into account the other half of the relationship: Mark’s opinion.

But now you know for sure, the opinion that actually matters, not the anonymous person who doesn’t know better. He loves you. It’s you he’s chosen. Out of all of the people he could pick from, Mark holds you in his arms, whispering soft ‘I love you’s’ between each kiss. Kisses to your lips. 

How could you ever want him to be with someone else when you’re the one he wants?

“I love you too,” you reply breathlessly into his open kiss. 

We deserve to be happy.

He doesn’t say anything, instead responding by tugging your waist closer to him, moving his jaw feverishly to indulge you deeper. Water drips down from his hair, splashing onto the bridge of your nose.

“Let’s go inside,” you gasp. The heat of the moment made you temporarily forget, but the icy November weather slowly started to soak past your jacket. You shiver as a strong gust of wind blows past your drenched body.

Mark leads you inside and you hustle up to his suite. His hand is warm against your wrist and you can’t wait for it to be tangled in your hair again.

Slamming open the door, Mark’s arms are around your waist before it could drift shut. You jump up, wrapping your legs around his hips as he carries you to his room, lips never leaving yours.

Jeno, unsuspecting, is lying on his bed with a book in his hands. If your eyes were open, you would flush at the incredulous look the poor boy shoots towards you. 

Meanwhile, your boyfriend works at your jacket zipper quickly, removing the wet outer layers as he sits you on his bed. 

Pausing a second, he turns his head to speak to his roommate. 

“Out”. 

You don’t have time to feel embarrassed before Mark’s jacket is on the floor and he’s lying you back, hovering over your body. The bedroom door rams shut as Jeno scurries out, not keen on seeing the scene progress any further. 

I’m sorry, man.

Your mental apology doesn’t last long as your wet hair soaks into the pillowcase beneath you. Mark kisses a line from your jaw down the side of your neck, raindrops wet on his tongue. The heat of his body contrasts the cold of yours and you want all of it against you. 

Rain-stained articles of clothing gather on the floor in no time.

“God, I love you so much,” Mark hushes against your ear. His gruff tone sends shivers down your back and you scratch your nails through the base of his hair. Your legs find their way around his hips again, pulling him down impossibly closer.

“I love you too,” you gasp back. 

He kisses between your collarbones, then looks back into your eyes, “do you want this?”. 

You nod frantically, your voice nothing short of breathless. “I want this”.

Peace you haven’t been able to feel for a long time blankets you as you lie on your lover’s chest, the two of you fresh out of breath. Such a revelation- him telling you he loved you was. And you want to savor the feeling forever.

It feels as if there was a thorn lodged in your heart, festering for months from your terrible, insecure thoughts and you’ve finally yanked it out. It feels like you can finally breathe.

Well, metaphorically. Physically, you may need a few minutes.

Mark’s hair sticks up in every direction, frizzy from being half-dried and from your constant tugging. Nonetheless, he looks beautiful to you in the dim, lamp-lit room. His chest rises and falls in your embrace and your fingers work to delicately trace the toned muscles of his torso. Mimicking your movements, he grazes his thumbs over the blue-purple masterpiece he’s painted across your neck and chest.

“Good?,” he asks nonchalantly.

You let out a soft snort at the sudden question.

Men will always be men.

“Great,” you admit. Heat creeps into your face as you recall the last hour or so. 

You guess there’s more benefits of hockey than just the uniform: the stamina and athleticism. 

His inflated ego fills the room palpably as he shifts in the messy bed, tugging the covers more over your tangled bodies. Noises arise from the kitchen, probably from his other suitemates. Embarrassment fills you to the brim when you realize that everyone probably heard the two of you. You were far too busy caught up in your passionate feelings to consider this, and now it’s come back to bite. 

Huffing shyly, you hide your growing blush into the nape of your boyfriend’s neck. Clanging of kitchenware resonates clearly through the room’s thin walls. You can’t help but distress over how clearly the others could hear you. And for such a long time too.

Oh my gosh. How will I ever face them?

Mark seems to sense your thoughts and lets out a light chuckle. 

“Babe, we’re fine. They all hookup all the time. And Yuna-,”

“I don’t need to know, thank you,” you interrupt sharply. Squeezing your eyes shut, you fight off the disturbing imagery.

Ten’s voice drifts through the suite and the sound of the front door shutting rings through them with unnerving vigor. You jolt at the bang, stiffly turning your neck towards the locked bedroom door, as if it would reveal any answers. Mark looks at you, the confused expression on his face making it apparent that he doesn’t know what is happening either. Slowly, he shifts up into a sitting position.

“You’re fucking kidding me - it was that bitch?”. The senior boy’s voice cuts through the nighttime quiet abruptly. Struggling to stitch together the context of the overheard conversation, you force your sore body to sit up as well. From how it sounds, it seems like Ten is on a phone call.

You look at your boyfriend for confirmation. With a nod, the two of you mutually agree to silently withdraw from the comfort of the covers and get dressed. 

“I don’t - listen to me, do they know for sure?,” Ten asks anxiously from the other side of the door.

With increasing concern, you hastily pick up your wet, discarded clothing. The cold, uncomfortable sensation makes you wince. Mark grabs your wrist, preventing you from putting on the still-soaked yoga pants. Shaking his head, he takes the garment and tosses it over his desk chair. From his dresser, he hands you a dry set of his own clothing. 

The gesture makes you smile and you gratefully pull on the warm sweats and hoodie. They’re obscenely large for your frame, but it’s a sure upgrade from your sad, rain-ruined outfit. Mark ruffles your hair, cheeks like strawberries as he kneels down without a word to roll up your pants. 

A small giggle escapes your lips. He’s just seen you naked, but of course it’s this that gets him blushing.

The happy expression is quickly wiped off your face as Ten continues abruptly, anger apparent in his voice. 

“Fucking hell! Hillary Choi? The bitch even admitted to it?”. The senior captain’s voice is nothing less than a yell now. Mark’s mouth hangs open in shock as he stares towards the door. The concern and shock shining in his eyes allude to how uncharacteristic his friend’s behavior is.

“Hillary Choi…,” you mutter under your breath, the name ever so familiar to your ears. 

“Wait she’s…,” Mark turns his gaze to you carefully, silently confirming his correct assumption.

“She’s the one who hates me…,” you confirm bitterly with a nod. 

Mark stands up, grabbing both your hands as you sit back on his bed. His expression is sad, perhaps also peppered with anger - something you’ve never seen in your boyfriend. Gently, he tugs you to your feet.

As you push the bedroom door open slightly, the common room comes into view. Ten’s figure is hunched over the kitchen sink, listening intently to the person on the other side of the phone speak. His breathing is rushed - you’ve only ever seen him this mad the day Yuna entered the hospital. 

Then it all makes sense.

Opening the door fully, you reveal Jeno and Haechan sitting on the common room couch. You make eye contact with them as you and Mark stand at the doorway, listening. Their expressions tell that they’re equally as concerned as you.

Mark’s hand in yours, you tiptoe your way to join the two friends on the sofa. 

“The fucking psycho bitch,” Ten spits. His hands run furiously through his raven hair as he begins pacing around. The senior sees all of you gathered together, but makes no move to acknowledge any of you other than a hard stare.

The tension is suffocating. Everyone wants to say something, but the waters seem too rough to test. Anxious glances are exchanged, but not a word leaves any of your mouths as Ten continues pacing around, the other speaker on the phone relaying more information. You conclude to wait until the call is over before you try to ask.

“Okay so she’s at the police station right now? ”.

Mark’s hand squeezes yours in silent shock. 

“Okay… fuck,” Ten rubs tiredly at the bridge of his nose, “alright okay, thank you, officer. I- yeah I’m okay, thank you. Tell Yuna I’m on my way now”. 

A moment of silence suspends heavily over the air as he hangs up the call. The breath you didn’t know you were holding escapes in relief as Haechan clears his throat awkwardly and takes one for the team.

“Uh…,” the sophomore calculates for a bit, eyeing the enraged senior carefully, “Ten, what’s going on?”.

For the first time ever, it seems, the mischievous boy’s voice rid itself of its usual snide tone, replaced by refreshing sincerity. 

Ten sets down his hand, revealing tears building up in his previously covered eyes. Jeno doesn’t waste a second, getting off the couch without a word and wrapping his arms around his crying friend. 

You hesitate before asking, “It’s Yuna’s case?”. Keeping your voice as steady as possible, you hope you’ve succeeded in masking your growing fear.

Ten sniffs, patting Jeno’s back, prompting the younger to let go. Wiping away the stray tears, he nods. Everyone waits patiently as the distraught senior calms himself down with deep breaths.

“They caught the person who tried to kill her- or is it people? I don’t even know. And yes - they tried to kill her,” Ten rubs a stressed finger between his brow, “It was Hillary Choi, some junior girl who’s obsessed with Mark - she’s in our fanclub or whatever. They said she confessed it was all part of a plan? I don’t- I don’t know,” his voice breaks off as he tugs at his hair before heading over to grab his keys. 

“Wait, I don’t understand. If she’s obsessed with me why would she go try to hurt Yuna?,” Mark’s voice rings with alarm. A sinking feeling of dread sits in your stomach like a block of cement.

“It’s-,” Ten huffs into his hands, “let’s go to the station first and the bitch can tell you herself, she’s there apparently. Yuna is too. I don’t want to keep Yuna waiting there alone any longer so let’s go”.

The drive is silent, save the rumbling of the pavement below the car’s tires. Mark’s hand grips yours like a vice, but you don’t say anything. In fact, it kind of keeps you grounded as your anxiety goes through the roof. You’re no Sherlock, but hearing news that a girl who’s obsessed with your boyfriend (as has been sending you hate messages for months, no less) tried to kill your best friend, almost succeeding, bodes terribly for you. 

It had stopped raining a while ago and the five of you hurry your way through the fresh puddles dotting the police station lot. 

“Yuna?,” Ten calls out as the glass doors slide open. 

“Here,” a weak reply voices from behind a partition. 

Rushing over, you see that Yuna’s usual perfect composition is instead worn-down: her platinum blonde hair falls limply down her shoulders and her face is gaunt with distress. 

You had just seen her a few hours ago and she was even the one comforting you then. But now it’s your turn as you carefully kneel down beside her chair and pull her instinctively into a hug. 

“Officer, can you please tell us what’s going on?,” Mark stops a nearby woman in uniform. 

“You’re all friends of Ms. Kim?,” she inquires, continuing as a chorus of confirmations fills the room, “Okay, just a second”.

The woman appears visibly tired, probably pulled out of bed at an ungodly hour to cover this shift. Taking a long sip of her coffee, the white curls of steam prance around the air as you itch for answers. Setting the hot beverage down on the desk beside her, she straightens her badge. ‘Detective Jeong’, it reads.

“We have a confession,” Jeong relays finally, “earlier today- or yesterday, I should say- we received a call from our traffic security team detailing that they spotted the same model of car as the one thought to be involved with the accident on September 15th the uh-,” she stops to check her clipboard, “black 2018 Audi A4. We issued a warrant to interrogate the driver as quickly as possible, although not much was needed since the perpetrator, Miss Hillary Choi, confessed to the hit and run almost immediately”.

You hug Yuna tighter, Ten embracing from her other side. 

“You have the confession, did she say why?,” Jeno asks sternly.

“This is where it gets slightly more complicated and I want to ask, is a Miss y/n here?”.

The mention of your name makes you perk up, surprised. 

“That’s me,” you stand up slowly, “why?”.

Mark places a hand at the small of your back in concern. 

“y/n…,” Yuna sobs softly, gripping your arm. A thousand thoughts run through your head as your struggle to understand what is happening. 

“Yes?,” you brush the fallen strands of hair behind her ear.

“I want her to say it,” Yuna directs, speaking to the detective now. 

“Now we do have Miss Choi in our custody right now, but you’ll have to move back into the interrogation room if you wish to speak with her, for safety reasons”.

You nod, helping Yuna onto her crutches as everyone moves towards the back of the station. It feels as if you’re dreaming, that reality has separated itself into a different plane than the one you’re in and your existence has become but a construct. Your legs move on autopilot while your eyes are fixed ahead, but not really looking at anything in particular. 

The room you enter is dark and stuffy. Even with Haechan and Jeno opting to wait outside, it is far too crowded for the four of you. The room is divided into two; the other side is fully visible but unreachable due to a large plexiglass window in between. It’s eerily isolating. Yuna is ushered onto the only fold-up chair on your side of the room.

As the late-night officers go to bring Hillary in, the apprehension in the air is thick enough to be spread on your breakfast toast. The only comfort that comes to you is Mark’s arms wrapped around your waist. It’s the only thing that you can make sense of right now.

The door on the opposite side slams open suddenly, drawing a sharp gasp from you. Mark’s fingers curl protectively into your hoodie as Hillary enters.

It’s surreal. This woman - handcuffs and all - carries a plain, calm expression as she sits down casually in her own fold-up chair. You hadn’t seen her in a while, but her beady-eyed gaze is as intense as ever. The red streaks in her hair are outgrown, falling awkwardly around the bright orange of her jumpsuit. 

“What’s up?,” Hillary asks, tone cool as if she were not being held for attempted murder at the moment. Her dark eyes settle on you, the arms around your waist, then back to you. Hillary’s stoic face is unreadable, yet it sends chills down your spine like a thousand spiders.

“What’s up? You absolute psycho bitch-,” Ten rails, banging on the glass barrier with a clenched fist. He pulls back as the officer gives him a warning. Yuna pulls him back to calm him down.

Your eyes don’t leave hers. They’re a dark brown, almost black, and you find yourself sinking into them - pulled into them like they’re black holes of concentrated hatred.

Closing your eyes, you pull your mind back to yourself. 

For months on end, you’ve been the recipient of her constant torment. It not only affected your mental health, but almost cost you the relationship of a lifetime. This whole time, you’ve been afraid of her words, letting them eat away at your dignity from inside out until you were nearly gone. 

But if you had the weapon of confidence - if you had simply chosen to stand up and reply, to say ‘no, you’re wrong’, her arrows would have fallen limp to the ground and she couldn’t have hurt you. Hurt your friend.

You open your eyes, this time staring back hard. Hillary’s expression is unfazed, but you imagine she’s surprised at your change in mentality.

“Tell me everything,” you demand firmly. 

Hillary scoffs, as if the situation is amusing. 

“Fuck you, tell us everything,” Ten hisses.

Hillary rolls her eyes. “Fine. Only because she wouldn’t want me to be mean to you, Ten”. 

“Who?,” you ask rigidly.

“I’ll get to that, bitch,” she sneers.

“Hey, don’t call her that,” Mark warns.

The psychopath in orange laughs maniacally, though you can’t place your finger on what she finds funny. 

“Funny,” she gasps for breath, slapping her knees vigorously, “funny how now you talk to me!”. 

“She’s nuts,” Yuna states.

“The whole damn Planters factory,” you agree.

“You people wouldn’t know a thing!,” Hillary fires, pointing an accusing finger around the room. Her face is red from her laughing fit, almost as red as her disgruntled bangs. Eyes now glistening with rage, you press back into Mark’s embrace when her personality flips 180 degrees in under a second. “You don’t know anything!,” she screams, “You don’t know! You don’t know!”.

The four of you watch in shock as Hillary melts down, the guard coming up and restraining her to the chair. She’s thrashing around, chanting the phrase over and over again.

“You’ll never know how much I love you, Mark,” Hillary shrieks, smiling hauntingly as she’s forced back into the chair and cuffed to it, “and you’ll never know how much she loves you, Ten”. 

“What the fuck?,” Ten rightfully shouts.

“Tell us who!,” you raise your voice. 

“I’m getting there, b-,” she stops in the middle of the slur, glancing at your boyfriend. In the blink of an eye, her expression jumps from pure disdain to sickly sweet, “baby”. 

Anger flushes through your body. Wanting to provoke her a little, you turn your gaze to your boyfriend. Predictably, he immediately turns his full attention to you. A scrunch of his brow asks you if you’re okay. 

“Did you enjoy them?,” Hillary’s voice is ‘normal’ again as she asks the out-of-context question.

“What?,” Ten pries, unamused.

“Did you,” she points her finger directly at you, “enjoy my messages?”.

Oh boy, oh boy. I was waiting for you to ask that.

The words rush to your mouth, every comeback you’ve ever made manifesting into the pinnacle of all comebacks, “As a matter of fact, I did,” you smile brightly, “I especially enjoyed the one’s where you said Mark doesn’t love me and doesn’t want me. I like to think of the irony of it all when we’re sleeping together and he gives me these”. 

You tug down the collar of your hoodie (that’s actually his which makes it even better) to reveal the hickies blooming down your neck. “If only you could know how good it feels, but you’re undoubtedly alone”.

Yuna snickers beside you, but Mark’s signature laugh shamelessly fills the limited space around you. The mood of the room changes completely at your words, the seriousness dissipating like sugar in hot water. It’s so refreshing, the feeling of being in control of yourself. Hillary, the person you used to be so afraid of looks so small in her isolation. There’s nothing to her at all, now that you know to stand up for yourself. You’ve never felt so… powerful. 

In any other situation, you would have died in embarrassment from sharing personal information like that, but you’re on a roll. And it’s bitch ass Hillary we’re talking about here. Even Ten looks mildly impressed by your new attitude, a tiny smile quirked on his lips.

“You-,” Hillary pouts, “how could you, Mark, how could you do this to me? You and I both know we loved each other first. We still love each other”.

“I have literally no idea what you mean,” Mark emphasizes, moving his hands to grip your shoulders, “you need some serious help, man”.

“I’ll fucking kill you!,” she screams at you again. 

“No you won’t,” you chuckle, “you’re locked up! At this point it’s a little amusing.

“You wanna know what the plan was? Me and Seojung were gonna kill you both. I take the bitch that’s dating Ten and she takes the slut who took Mark from me. I got so close, following you, blondie, to the party, but you just had to live-”

“The fuck did you just say?”

“Sick psycho oh my god”

“Yeah good luck doing that from prison, asshole”

The room erupts in replies that cut her off. 

“Alright, time’s up,” the guard announces. The door on your side of the room opens, a gust of cool air welcoming you as Detective Jeong appears to usher you out. Turning around to give Hillary one last word as the officer drags her back to her cell, you’re not surprised to meet her menacing eyes. 

“He loves me,” you state confidently, “and he always will. Enjoy hell”. 

With that, the door shuts behind her and the worst chapter of your life dots its last concluding period. It’s the last one that you’ll let someone else write for you. You’re more than ready to pick up the pen and turn the next page. Excitedly, you head out to your friends waiting on you outside.

“Don’t worry, we’ve monitored that whole conversation and everything will be used against her in court,” Jeong assures, “Miss y/n, you might remember Choi mentioned a ‘Seojung’ and we want to make sure you know that she has been detained and held at the Gangnam Police Station. We’re waiting on her statement, but if what Choi testified is true, we’re looking at life in prison for both parties”.

“Not death?,” Ten scoffs.

“Not death, no,” the detective shakes her head.

“So basically, they’re both insane. And they did all this because they thought Ten and Mark belonged to them,” Haechan follows slowly, having just been filled in.

“We gotta put an end to this fanclub shit. Why are our lives controlled by these freaks,” Jeno groans.

He’s right. He’s so right. The whole thing is disgusting, especially when none of the Lee’s ever asked for it to be formed. If it’s already gotten to the point where members are caught in homicidal attempts, there’s no way the Lovelees club can continue to exist.

The station is nearly empty now, almost all of the officers handling the case calling it a night and heading home. Not wanting to keep Detective Jeong any longer, the six of you head out to the car. It’s nearly four in the morning and the adrenaline is wearing off, exhaustion replacing it.

“Hey but y/n, you were so good in there,” Yuna smiles, bumping you with her shoulder as you walk through the parking lot. The night air is cold against your skin, filled with the scent of petrichor.

“Yeah, you,” Mark looks at you with doe eyes, arm slung around your shoulders.

Letting out a short laugh, you press your lips quickly to his cheek.

“And I’m assuming based on how this looks, the conversation went well?,” Yuna adds.

“Only thanks to you,” you appreciate, turning from your best friend to Mark, “I think we’re all good now”. 

Mark beams at you as Ten unlocks his car, bringing you in for an elated kiss.

Groans erupt from all around. 

“You’ve seriously been going at it all night, none of us have gotten any sleep,” Haechan whines loudly.

“Bruh,” says Jeno.

“Then get yourself a girlfriend, fatass, I don’t know what to say,” Mark retaliates.

You reluctantly pull away as everyone piles into the vehicle. Haechan, you don’t feel bad for. He could cry and pout all day and you wouldn’t bat an eyelash. Jeno, is a different story. 

Memories of earlier cause your fingers to curl up in cringe; the way he was minding his own business in his own room only to be caught in the middle of your… make-up methods. 

“Hey…,” you apologize as you cram into the seat next to him, “I’m uh- I’m sorry about earlier”.

“I don’t want to talk about it”. The blue-haired boy massages the crease between his brows, stressed. 

“Right okay,” you nod. 

“Not to ruin the mood, but are you okay y/n? I feel like we’re moving too fast past what you’ve been dealing with for the past few months. I mean… I just want to make sure I’m not in the dark about your feelings again,” Mark asks softly.

Silence falls upon the car as the group awaits your answer. You look to the passenger seat, to Yuna, as Ten cruises down the city street. 

“I’ll never forgive her,” you finally admit, “either one of them. They can literally rot in hell for all I care. But for me, I’m okay. If anything, this whole thing has taught me a lot and I’ve grown a lot from it. Both of them are locked up, so I’m not scared anymore. Oddly, I feel really free”. 

Packed into a tiny car, cruising down the streets of Seoul, you admire the friends around you. You’re surrounded by love. Your best friend and the love of her life. Your soulmate and his two best friends (who have become like family to you). Back on campus, Hope and Lisa sleep away, unaware of the chaos of today. You can imagine the looks on their faces as Yuna and you fill them in. Irreplaceable, every one of them. 

Life is full of way too many amazing things for any number of crazy bitches to ruin. Just as your friends have become irreplaceable to you, you are irreplaceable to them too. It’s due time that you give some credit to yourself. 

I am truly confident. I am worthy. I am loved.

previous || m.list || playlist || next

[bangtanbetchfics]

friction | knj (m)

genre: office au, romance, smut rating: explicit // 18+ pairing: kim namjoon x reader word count: 7.0k suggested listening: 1 billion views - exo-sc | creme brulee - gfriend | underwater - baekhyun | playlist warnings: m/f, m/m, explicit language, explicit/casual sex, masturbation, enemies to lovers, light bondage, light dom/sub, sex toys summary: your pesky and overworked assistants meddle in your relationship with your sexy rival -- kim namjoon -- and find themselves caught in the crosshairs of love and all-out war. notes: enjoy enjoy enjoy! a true labor of love. navigation: ch. i | ch. ii | ch. iii | masterlist | ao3

FRIC·TION | conflict or animosity caused by a clash of wills, temperaments, or opinions.

Taehyung yawns, interlacing his fingers and pulling his arms above his head in a stretch. He moves his neck side-to-side until he hears a satisfying crack, indicating the adequate stretch of the muscle. He waits for his computer to finish powering down before clicking the lamp on his desk off.

Taehyung’s hand reaches for his coat, but he hesitates as he looks over at your office.

The blue glare seems to amplify your stressed expression and the mildly dark crescents under your eyes.

“Ma’am?”

Taehyung quietly raps at the glass door to your office and it startles you from your concentration.

“Hmm...yes, Tae?”

You respond, mildly annoyed, as you pull a neon post-it note from its pad to stick to the desk.

Taehyung looks at you, his eyes forming wide circles as if he's ready to convince you of something. You can immediately sense his question before you exhale through your nose.

“It’s just that it’s getting late and I-” Taehyung starts, wrapping a hand around the glass doorframe.

You shake yourself out of your funk and look at him fondly, your brows coming together in compassion.

Before your mouth can form a response, the phone at Taehyung’s desk rings. 

He gives you a small bow to pardon him before he jogs to his desk to pick up the phone.

“Yes, Sir. Yes, yes. Yes, yes, yes. Of course, Mr. Min,” Taehyung looks at you a few times, pointing at the phone. “I’ll send her right up.”

Taehyung's eyes widen at you before hanging up the phone.

You come to the threshold of your office, leaning your head on the frame.

“Was it Min?” You ask, and Taehyung nods in response. 

“He wants to see you immediately. Didn’t specify what it was for.” 

You chew at your lip and then dig in your pocket, tossing him your corporate card.

“I’m so sorry, Tae. Do you mind staying until I come back? There’s just a lot going on this week with the product launch, and I’m sure he’ll add more to my plate,” Taehyung puts his hand up and shakes it.

“Of course. Anything you need.” He responds, slipping the plastic card in his pocket.

“Thank you.” You whisper, your hands in a prayer. He bows as his eyes watch you walk off.

Taehyung rolls his chair up to his desk, and he hits a few digits on the dialpad.

“Gonna be another long one,” Taehyung sighs out into the receiver.

“Same here Tete,” The singsong voice responds, equally as disappointed.

“I should have your cock in my mouth right now, but I’m here ordering takeout for the third time this week,” The voice whines.

“Jimin!” Taehyung growls into the phone, but the sound quickly dissolves into a laugh.

“What’s so funny? It’s not good for my figure,” Taehyung can tell there’s a pout in Jimin’s voice.

“Especially my ass.” Jimin continues, the pout growing deeper.

“I love your ass. Shutup.” Taehyung chuckles. “You said you’re stuck here late too?”

“Yeah. I know the product launch is coming, but Joon never stops working.” Jimin whines. “He got called upstairs by Min a few seconds ago.” Taehyung gasps and sits up in his chair, rolling it closer to his desk.

“Hmm…” Taehyung hums. He places his elbows on the surface, using his free hand to ruffle his silver locks.

“What? You sound interested.” Jimin inquires, and Taehyung drums the desk with his fingers.

“My boss did too.”

✹✹✹

Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

The slow ticking of the clock snips through your veins. You press the nail of your index finger into the flesh of your thumb, creating a small crescent-shaped indent in your skin. 

You feel your heart picking up pace in your chest; steady thumps beating at your ribcage. You turn your hand around to stare at the indentation on your skin, waiting for it to vanish. It does, slowly.

You look at your boss through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of his office, his mouth busy moving in response to someone on the other end of the phone’s receiver. His hair is a textured bowl of platinum blonde, and his long, bony fingers move through a mass of papers on his desk.

You’re unsure of why you’ve been summoned; Yoongi never summoned anyone to his office unless it was serious. Being two days out from a product launch with you at the marketing helm...well, that was never a good sign.

After a moment, heavy, confident footsteps echo through the hall.

You see a man -- all legs in his dark, smartly tailored pants -- and he immediately diverts attention from your buzzing thoughts. His aura fills the entire space, and you sit up straight in your chair.

The man’s long wool trench coat brushes at his ankles, the black fabric stiff at the tips of his shoulders. He shrugs the coat off and carefully folds it in half, placing it on the chair behind him.

He suddenly feels your eyes on him from across the room, and his sharp gaze snaps over to meet yours. His eyes crinkle at the edges, and he extends his hand across the coffee table between the two of you.

“Kim Namjoon. I’m guessing you don’t know why you’re here either?” His voice comes out in a dark, velvety tone, catching you off guard. Your eyes can't help but fix on his as you shake his hand.

“Not a clue,” You respond coolly, and the dimples in his cheeks make themselves known.

You clear your throat as his eyes hang onto yours in return, and you feel your lips subtly part. Snapping yourself from his aura, you quickly release his hand and look around the room to find something else to concentrate on.

“Guess we’ll find out...” Namjoon shrugs, sliding back in his seat. You offer him a nod in response, nervously swallowing the exchange down your throat.

You then cross your legs, pretending to be busy on your phone. 

After processing the interaction, Namjoon licks the inside of his cheek -- his head hanging down in a mild defeat for a second. He reaches into his pocket to pull out a tattered copy of The Art of Loving.

As he reads, your eyes peel from your phone and notice the way his turtleneck hugs his form, the dark fabric dipping in at the valley between his firm chest. A few lavender-tinted hairs slide from Namjoon’s slicked back style into his dark brown eyes, and his smokey gaze suddenly rises up to meet yours.

Fuck. He’s caught you.

Your eyes widen in a few seconds of brief panic and dart back down to your phone. You move your thumb around through the pages of apps; it’s all you can manage so suddenly.

Namjoon smiles to himself as he looks back down, quietly dipping a finger to his tongue to stick to a page of his book. 

Before he’s able to turn the page, Yoongi pops his head from the office.

“You ready?” Yoongi asks, turning his head in your direction.

You nod and watch Yoongi shuffle back to his desk.

You inhale and smooth your skirt as you stand, noticing Namjoon’s eyes following your fingers as they glide over the red fabric adorning your curves. He calmly looks back down and blushes as you catch him; his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously as he pretends to continue on with his book.

“Wish me luck,” You notice the way his gaze lit something sexual afire in you, but you couldn’t pay any attention to that right now. “Nice meeting you.” 

Namjoon looks up at you again, his fingers tense on the pages of the book.

“Likewise.” Namjoon’s smouldering eyes are fixed on you as he responds, and his gaze continues to follow you into Yoongi’s office.

You reach a chair across from Yoongi’s desk, sneaking a glance at Namjoon one last time over your shoulder.

Namjoon exhales the tension from his body as he watches you take a seat.

✹✹✹

You sit in the chair across from Yoongi’s desk, admiring the glittering cityscape behind him.

“I love being in here. It’s so refreshing.” You sigh, your eyes floating back to Yoongi.

“Yeah, kid? Well, it could be yours soon,” He chuckles. “I’m actually sick of looking at it. I’m ready to move onto my next venture.” Yoongi says this as if he’s in his forties, but he’s the youngest CEO in the vicinity. It's indicated by a giant, framed magazine cover of himself on a wall in his office: Top 30 Under 30 in Technology.

“C-Come again?” You murmur as you’re taken by surprise, and you sit up in your seat.

“You heard me. I want either you -- the CMO -- or Kim, the CTO running things," Yoongi says, standing up. He calls you over with his finger, motioning for you to sit in his chair. "Either of you are my best shot.”

You plop down in the cushy leather fabric, and your eyes meet Namjoon’s again. You purse your lips together and swirl the chair around to face the cityscape.

“How’s that feel?” Yoongi asks as he adjusts his cream turtleneck.

“Damn good.” You growl, your nails digging into the armrests.

“Well, there’s no reward without risk,” He says, and you raise your head in interest. 

“Try me, Min.” You demand as you cross your legs, leaning back in the chair.

“I want you to launch the product in my place at TechX this week.” He mentions casually, and you shriek in response as you shoot up from your seat.

“You can’t be serious, Min!” You throw your hands on your hips. “Isn’t that in two days? In Vegas? And like, the largest product launch ever for this company? ” You inquire, looking over at Yoongi.

“See! You understand the gravity of this launch. And yeah, and I haven’t even finished the keynote yet,” Yoongi cackles, slapping his thigh. “Partner with Kim on the presentation. It’s in front of twenty-thousand too, so make it good.” He sits down, racking away at the keys on his laptop. 

“You and Kim are both equally matched in terms of qualifications, so whoever can secure the biggest investors to ensure the longevity of the company will get a leg up in interviewing for the position.” Yoongi continues nonchalantly.

“Got it?” He taps one last key, stopping only to look up at you.

“Yes, Sir.” You nod, feeling a tightness creep into your chest.

✹✹✹

“Jimin, can you book my accommodations, please?” 

Jimin hands Namjoon a bag of takeout before he rolls his chair up to his desk. 

“Vegas, leaving tomorrow. Business class. King bed. That hotel that’s hosting the conference. You know the deal.” He rattles out, taking the bag of food. 

“Of course, Sir.” Jimin nods, watching Namjoon walk into his office.

Jimin navigates through a few windows on his screen before settling on a corporate travel portal. He’s able to book the flight without a problem, but the hotel is where he’s running into issues. He quickly dials up Taehyung, waiting for the other side of the call to pick up.

“Are you seeing the same thing?” Jimin asks, and Taehyung clicks his tongue.

“No rooms, right-” Jimin starts. “Just one left…” Taehyung cuts in to finish his sentence.

“But shit, there’s your boss and my boss.” Jimin twirls his finger around the coiled cord, pondering what to do next.

Jimin hears a eureka snap on the other end of the line.

“Crazy ass idea here, Jiminie,” Taehyung chuckles. 

"What is it Taehyungie?" Jimin purrs out, the curiosity rising in his voice at the end of the question.

“What if...they just stayed in the same room together? There’s only one King room available, and it’s the last room in the hotel. They’re both so...particular.” Taehyung continues, pressing his mouth into the receiver to keep his voice low.

Jimin throws his head back so far in laughter that his chair tips over. Taehyung hears a crash on the other end of the line, and hears shuffling noises as Jimin gets back up.

“Fell off your chair again?”

“Y-Yeah. God you're a genius! An evil one,” Jimin gathers his breaths. 

“I mean...she’s fucking hot. And she’s single as fuck because she’s holed up here every night.” Taehyung whispers into the receiver, making sure to glance over to check that you’re immersed in work.

“And Joon’s smoking hot, too. He’d melt her icy panties right off,” Jimin clicks his tongue before he slaps his desk.

“Dammit, we’re doing it. Think about it. Off work by five? What a world.” Jimin chirps, clicking away at his screen. “To add an extra layer of fun, I’m checking the romance option.”

“Jimin! Jimin. They’re gonna kill each other.” Taehyung giggles, gasping to catch his breath.

“Either they share a room and let romance bloom, or its whack-a-roach at the Motel 6.” Jimin’s tone is confident, but it makes Taehyung erupt into another fit of laughter.

“What? What’s the worst that could happen?” Jimin commands a response, but Taehyung continues to laugh.

“Mmm...we lose our fucking jobs?” Taehyung responds darkly.

The two pause for a second, but continue laughing into their phones.

✹✹✹

“What’re the topline details for the trip, Tae?” You ask, sliding on your sunglasses and pulling a handle up on your hardside luggage.

“Your flight...as you know is in three hours, and your car’s outside right now.” Taehyung walks up to you, handing you an iPad with a copy of your itinerary. “You’ll be staying at the Palazzo where the conference is held, and check-in should be getting started as soon as you arrive.”

“Mwah. You’re the fucking best,” You chef’s kiss your fingers. “This is exactly why I hired you.”

You pull your luggage behind you, but Taehyung puts his hand up. 

“Try not to get too excited. Please note that the room I was able to secure for you was the last room at the hotel two days before a conference of this size,” Taehyung says, pulling his hands behind his back.

“Okay...your point being?” You ask, pulling your sunglasses down to look into Taehyung’s eyes.

“Uhm, so, how do I put this?” Taehyung asks himself rhetorically, drawing his foot across the floor nervously.

“Tae...” You growl, your gaze slowly turning into a glare.

“Erm, you’ll have to share the room,” He starts. 

“With Kim Namjoon.” He winces as he gets the words out.

Your mouth drops open in shock, and your iPad crashes to the floor.

✹✹✹

You peruse through a luxurious spread of food in the airport lounge: crabsticks with melted butter drizzling from them, exotic finger sandwiches, spreads and dips and the like. You grab tongs, dropping a few items onto a small plate. You quickly look through the drinks on display and decide on sparkling water. 

Suddenly, you spot Namjoon arriving in the lounge and you quickly tuck the bottle of sparkling water into your armpit. You grab your plates, quickly followed by your luggage and make a mad dash for a secluded cubby in the back area.

You quickly throw on your headphones and prop up your iPad as you swipe through a few documents. 

Just as you stuff a crabstick in your mouth, you feel a tap on your shoulder. You look at the fingers, then up the veined arm wrapped with white cotton fabric, and you see Namjoon.

He licks his lips, letting out a shy chuckle just before he speaks.

“Did you really just try to avoid me?”

“Mm-maybh, ‘nd wh-r about it?” You blink at him, your words unintelligible as you slowly chew a mouthful of seafood. You furrow your brows, slightly irked by Namjoon seeing you in this state.

“I’m sure those two jokesters told you,” He continues, and you shrug as you delicately bite a small cucumber and cream cheese sandwich. “That you’ll be my roommate for the next two days.”

“I didn’t hear it, and I won’t acknowledge it,” You retort, dropping the last bite of the sandwich in your mouth. “I’m going to find another room if it’s the last thing I do.” You dust crumbs from your hands but stop as Namjoon lets out another light chuckle.

“There aren’t anymore in the whole of Vegas. I checked myself. The only other hotel left in town is the Trump Tower,” He crosses his arms and then shakes his head. “And no one wants to be caught dead there.”

“Fuck!” You can’t help but scream out, and a few people turn to look in your direction. You bury your head in your hands, and comb your hands through your hair in frustration.

Namjoon taps your shoulder again and you look up.

“Finger sandwich?” He asks, licking a finger as you glare up at him.

✹✹✹

A flight attendant walks by the two of you to do a visual safety check, and you’re in the middle seat -- Namjoon in the aisle. 

“Champagne? Champagne? Water?” Another attendant walks by with a tray full of alcoholic beverages. You spot her, reaching over Namjoon to grab a drink off the tray. She lets out a gasp, shock entangling her features. 

The beverage quickly makes its way down your throat, and you slam the plastic cup back on the tray. 

“Sorry. She’s not having the best of days,” Namjoon whispers to her and finishes his off as well, handing it to the attendant. She scoffs, continuing on down the aisle.

You shuffle your hand in your bag to locate your iPad, slipping it from its sleeve. As you look at the screen you sigh, your eyes roving over the deep cracks.

“Please turn all devices to airplane mode as we prepare for departure…”

The plane starts to rattle over the tarmac, turning to face a new direction every so often.

“What the heck happened to that thing?” Namjoon asks, leaning over to look at the fractured device.

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” You respond without looking at him. You swipe through a screen of apps before clicking into Keynote. “I scanned through the presentation, and Yoongi was nowhere near done. We’ll need to wrap up by tomorrow evening.”

“We’ll also need to submit some requests to the photographer and Design team so that the remaining graphics and specs will be ready by the time we land in six hours…”

Namjoon nods, watching as you swipe through the slides, breezing through improvements for each. Your words seem to fade out, and he finds himself enamored by your gung-ho nature as he watches you speak.

“Got it?” You ask and notice Namjoon is silent, causing you to turn your head in his direction.

You search his eyes for a response, noticing his pupils are blown as he looks at you. He covers his throat so as to not give away the unexpected heat rising up his skin.

“Sure thing. I’ll have the Product team get right on all of that,” Namjoon responds before he looks down to type an email into his phone.

You look back down at your iPad, nibbling at the inside of your lip as you tuck your hair behind your ear.

You take a second to press your head back to the seat as the plane takes off.

Namjoon reaches below the seat in front of him and pulls out his iPad to begin typing information into the slides. He glances over at you furiously typing and swiping before you grimace.

“Ow, fff-” You growl, looking at your index finger. 

Blood starts to pool in a small cut, and Namjoon takes notice. You look over at him and watch him reach into his bag to pull out a travel-sized first aid kit. He takes out a small alcohol wipe and grabs your finger, pinching the towelette to it. You wince, sucking air in through your teeth.

“You should really get that fixed.” He says as he takes a small bandaid and covers the cut.

“Uhm, I will. Thank you.” You say quietly as you search his eyes, and then tuck your hair behind your ear again. 

You break eye contact with him as your heart starts to patter in your chest...and fuck. You know you're in trouble from here on out.

Namjoon chuckles to himself through his nose as he takes a world newspaper from an attendant.

The newspaper covers his face and you sneak to observe your finger -- trying to not let a smile curl up on the edges of your lips.

✹✹✹

“Checking in?”

A woman asks you in a singsong voice and you nod, motioning for Namjoon to give you his identification card. 

You're tired, hungry and irritable from the flight and certainly not willing to engage with this ultra-chipper woman right now.

“Ugh, beautiful! How long have you two been together?” She asks, smiling as she looks at the two of you.

“We’re not a couple and we’ve only just met, why do you ask?” You inquire, swiping through a few things on a digital screen anchored to the desk in front of you.

“Oh...you’re not?” You stop what you’re doing and look up at her. “No. We’re here for the TechX conference.”

The woman releases a nervous breath from her throat and readjusts her blouse.

“Well...oh my, the room I have booked for the two of you is one of our most romantic rooms.” She giggles out nervously, not sure what to do as she hands you a sleeve of keycards.

“I’m gonna fucking kill Taehyung when I get back,” You grumble, taking your credit card and the sleeve before you march off toward the elevator.

The elevator lobby is packed, and both you and Namjoon slip into a crowded elevator.

You find yourself suddenly sandwiched between the back of a woman and the front of Namjoon, and you tighten your muscles so you don’t make bodily contact with either of them.

The elevator jerks as it reaches the floor before yours, and Namjoon collapses over you. He looks down at you as his hands land to press on the wall on either side of your head as he holds himself up.

“God, sorry,” He groans as he waits for other people to exit before he can steadily stand on his own two feet. Your eyes grow wide as you look up at him, a prickly heat creeping up your throat. His face is so close to yours from the fall that you can feel his breaths on your skin. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, looking over at you as he’s able to stand up straight.

Namjoon thinks nothing of the brief moment, but you gulp and give him a silent nod.

“This is us.” He says before he clears the way, watching you walk out in front of him.

✹✹✹

As you enter the room, you hear smooth jazz floating from a digital radio.

You drop to your knees: you see rose petals on the bed, a bucket with ice and champagne, a towel swan and a bouquet of additional roses wrapped with packages of chocolate. You drop your head into your hands and laugh out loud, and Namjoon looks down at you. His eyes quickly scan the room and he lets out a screech before he covers his stomach to laugh.

“I-I s-swear we were set up,” You gasp for air through your laughs. “God.”

“The wall between the shower and our room is frosted. Frosted!” Namjoon yells as he waves his hand through it to show you as you approach. 

You both can’t help but giggle.

“God. I haven’t laughed that hard in so long,” You mention, swiping a tear hanging on at the edge of your eye. Namjoon smiles, his dimples lighting up his face.

There’s a sudden silence as your eyes meet, and you try to find something to busy yourself with -- deciding on unraveling the towel swan.

“Anyway, I’m gonna shower. We can just relax for now as we wait for everything to come in.” You quickly open your luggage and pull out a swimsuit and a cover up before heading into the bathroom.

“And oh. Please be an adult...no peeking?” You raise your brows as you pop your head from the bathroom. 

Namjoon nods in agreement, beginning to unpack his luggage. He grabs his clothes nonchalantly to head to a nearby drawer, but he unintentionally catches your silhouette in the shower.

Namjoon gulps as he feels a tightness growing in his jeans. He clears his throat, continuing on with placing his clothes into the drawer.

✹✹✹

“Okay, okay, yes. I’m so sorry. It was the best we could do under the circumstances, and yes-” Taehyung nods his head as Jimin takes another bite of a sushi roll.

“Oof, was that her?” Jimin asks, swiping his mouth with a napkin. 

“God, yeah. She’s pissed. And she yelled. She never yells at me, Jiminie.” Taehyung pouts.

Jimin laughs as he throws his head back, rubbing Taehyung’s back.

“Don’t worry Taehyungie,” He giggles. “I’m sure they’ll thank us soon enough.”

Taheyung smiles at him and opens his mouth to receive one of the rolls on his tongue.

The two giggle as they look at each other, mouths full.

✹✹✹

You swim in the Olympic-sized pool at the hotel before you pop up from underneath. 

A hand runs through your hair to smooth it on your head before you start to float on your back. The intense rays of the sun start to heat up your skin, but you nearly moan at how good it feels.

Namjoon settles down in a lounge chair before he sees you with your eyes closed on the water. 

You only have on a swimsuit, but in a man’s mind it was the near-equivalent of seeing you in your underwear. 

Namjoon attempts to sneak away before you can spot him, but your eyes open just as he does.

“Hey! Kim Namjoon! Is that you?” You shout, paddling up to the edge of the pool. He grimaces and meets you at the edge, looking down at you.

“Did you really just try to avoid me?” You throw his question from earlier back at him, smirking.

“What? No.” Namjoon scoffs and clenches his jaw -- a bit delighted, a bit turned on.

You tilt your head and raise your eyebrows, still awaiting a real answer. His thoughts are still racing for a clever response and you can tell he’s caught off-guard.

You emerge from the water, toweling your hair and body. His eyes widen as he tries to keep them focused on your face, and you smirk at him again. 

"Cat got your tongue?" You tease, wringing out your hair.

The devilish look in your eyes shoots straight to his water trunks and he presses his legs together. He quickly wraps the towel in his hand around his waist to cover himself before you detect anything, and your eyes follow his movements.

“Uhm, you know what...I don’t feel too well,” His voice trembles. “I’m gonna go back to the room.”

Namjoon takes off in a hurry, and you scoff as your brows come together in confusion.

✹✹✹

Namjoon lets out a few strained moans as he tugs at cock -- now rock hard and bulging with thick veins. His eyes squeeze shut as you come into memory, and he attempts to regulate his arousal through deep, frantic exhales. 

The way the sun was kissing your body, the movement of the water as it drizzled down into the valley between your breasts, the smirk and banter that lit his desire alight. He gasps as he strokes his cock faster, his grip growing firmer by the second. He feels his balls tighten, his cock growing stiffer with lust. 

He growls as he nears cumming, taking a moment to spit on in his hand and spread it generously over his shaft. He jerks his cock as fast as he can, his wrist snapping in different directions to switch up the sensation of his movements. He bucks into his hand at the last few moments, wondering what it’d be like to have you atop his cock instead. 

Namjoon cries out before his cock hardens, his thick load pulsing in random patterns across his chest. 

"Fuck," He suddenly hears footsteps floating down the hall and he swiftly pulls his trunks up.

He grabs a few tissues from the night table to quickly wipe himself off.

“Namjoon? I’m back,” You announce as you open the door. “The pool’s great, you can’t miss it.”

You enter and he tosses the tissues to the ground.

You observe that Namjoon’s form is rigid and that he’s sitting up on the bed as he scrolls through his phone. Something’s weird and quiet about the energy in the room, but you just shrug it off.

“Hey.” His tone is stoic, but you can sense his voice is caught in his throat before he clears it.

“Should we close out the final pieces of the presentation tonight?” Namjoon continues, his eyes now following you as you walk around the room.

“Sure thing, eight sound good?” You ask, smiling in his direction.

All he can do is look at you with his eyes wide and nod.

✹✹✹

“How’d you find this place?” You ask, picking up one of the books stacked on the table for display.

The rest of the bar is almost like a library -- straight from Beauty and the Beast. You look up and around as bookshelves from every angle are filled with books.

"Your drinks." A waiter arrives, carefully placing each drink on the table.

"I like to wander and I stumbled upon it. I frequent here when I come to Vegas," Namjoon smiles at you, satisfied with himself. "It's a nice place to unwind and get work done outside of the hotel." You nod, impressed with his response.

"I love all of the giant KAWS figurines here, too," You mention, and he turns his head to look at you. "The valuation on those in a few years is gonna be insane."

"Oh, you like art, too?" He tries to hide the gush in his voice, but you chuckle to yourself.

"Sure do." You reply, taking a few small sips from your cup as you look at him.

As Namjoon sips at his Jameson whiskey on the rocks, you can't help but absorb his carefully slicked back hair and the leather jacket on his frame.

Namjoon notices from his peripheral and bites his lip as subtly as he can, drawing his iPad from his briefcase.

After a few minutes, he looks up from what he's typing to see you've already downed half of your drink. You drop the cup from your lips and your eyes grow wide with embarrassment.

"God, sorry, please don't judge me," You chuckle as you peel the drink from your mouth and lick your lips. "They only have good French Martinis in two places in the world. Vegas, and Europe."

Namjoon chuckles back at you, and you notice his eyes float down to your lips. 

Your breath quickens for a second, but he breaks eye contact by looking down. He purses his lips and his dimples pop out before he looks at you through his lashes.

"You've got a little something..." He motions at the foam on your upper lip, and you attempt to swipe it with your tongue. He shakes his head a few times as you continue licking your lips to no avail.

"May I?" He asks warmly. With a nod from you, he takes a miniature napkin to wipe your top lip. He's so close that you can smell the spice of his cologne, and you look into his eyes. 

A slight panic forms in his gaze before he pulls back.

“There.” He says without looking at you, placing the napkin on the table.

Both of you shake the interaction off, and you reach into your bag to pull out your iPad.

"I had Taehyung drop in the graphics. All we have to do is finish up the text," You say as you start to type, and Namjoon brings his focus back to his slides.

"Got it. I had Jimin drop in the brief outline he retrieved from the Product Lead, so we can just work from that as we go along." Namjoon chimes in, and you nod.

"I'll activate the full social strategy and content team back at the office," You continue as you type. "I'll let them know that we're almost locked so they can get ready to fire up the site and social promotions."

Namjoon smiles to himself again, absorbing the incredible synergy between the two of you. It only pushes him harder...and makes him harder. He clenches his jaw as he feels the sensation filling his lower half, but he shakes his leg to stay focused.

"Is there something wrong?" You ask, looking down at his leg.

"Hmm?" He asks, not even noticing his leg still moving. 

"Oh!" He says looking down and stretching his foot out, but it bumps yours instead.

"Fuck. Sorry!" He yelps. You chortle, continuing on with writing. 

You look at him for a bit through your peripheral, admiring his absolute focus on the task at hand. He picks up a pen to draw it around his plump lips, and you can't help but feel a twinge between your thighs. You inhale and let out a breath to take your focus off the sensation.

Just as you do, a crackle of thunder rips through the air and a few customers gasp and break into a din. 

You and Namjoon look at each other, and a few flashes of lightning light up each of your features in the dim bar.

"We should get going before it rains," Namjoon says as he starts to pack his bag. "We can finish this up at the hotel." 

You follow suit.

✹✹✹

As the two of you walk outside, the rain begins to trickle. Despite the warm Vegas air from earlier, the temperature significantly dropped in the evening and it made you shiver.

Namjoon notices, and despite him being cold -- he drops his coat on your shoulders.

"Oh. Please don't do that on my behalf." You say as you look up at him, but he keeps walking.

You couldn't worry long, noticing as raindrops begin to soak Namjoon's white tee.

"Just up here," He looks down at you and points at the hotel, but it suddenly starts to pour. He grabs your hand to quickly pull you across the street before the light changes, and you pull his jacket over your head.

Namjoon doesn't stop running until the two of you land in an empty elevator. He sighs, slicking his wet hair back with a hand. You notice that his shirt is soaked, seeping into the grooves of his firm chest and abdomen.

You arrive at the door to your room, nervously shuffling in your bag for your keycard. You can feel Namjoon's warm breath at the back of your neck, and you feel goosebumps form on your skin.

"Here." He says, reaching around you to insert his key. You feel as his body heat radiates around you as you walk through the door.

As you enter the room you shiver at the blast of air conditioning -- pulling Namjoon's coat further over your shoulders.

Namjoon returns from the bathroom with a towel, and removes his jacket from your frame. 

“Sorry, it’s totally my fault for suggesting a place so far away,” He wraps the warm fluffy towel over your shoulders, and you close your eyes in comfort.

"No, it was really fun," You open your eyes after a few seconds, shaking your head as you look up at him.

Namjoon almost looks away as you open your eyes, but his gaze fixates on yours -- causing you to lose the breath in your throat as you quickly look down.

"Thank you." Your voice only manages to come out in a whisper. You somehow get the courage to let your eyes scan his body, and then look back up to meet him still looking down at you.

Namjoon’s chest lightly rises and falls as neither of you break eye contact -- his eyes floating to your lips. He tucks your hair behind your ear, and your breath catches in your throat. His thumb moves to trace over your jawline and your bottom lip as he moves in to hover his lips over yours.

The air buzzes with a sparkling heat as your lips brush together -- neither of you wanting to be the first to make a move.

“We shouldn’t do this, right?” He whispers, the tip of his nose grazing over yours.

"No..." You whisper back, a bated desire in your voice. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” You give him a slow nod, drawing your bottom lip in-between your teeth.

You lick your lips and he tilts your head to the side, his own lips inside the shell of your ear before he speaks.

“That red dress...from yesterday? It was all I could think about for the rest of the night.” The deep vibrations from his voice causes you to let out a satisfied moan as you tilt your head back.

“Does that turn you on?” He asks, his hands sliding down your body to grip your hips.

A heated lust overcomes you, and you let your lips feverishly embrace his. Your hands roam up his wet body and land over his shoulders before you pull him closer to you by the back of his neck. The momentum dizzies you both and your back slams into the wall.

His hands move to your waist as he covers you, pulling you flush against his hard, wet body. It causes your lips to part, and he slips his searing tongue into your mouth. You easily lose the upper hand as he grips your ass, causing you to let out a whine into his mouth. His plush lips kiss at your neck, and you run your hands through his damp hair as his kisses reach your collarbones.

Namjoon moves to wipe all of the items off a cabinet near you, and the chocolate and roses crash to the floor. He throws you on top of the surface, his lips eagerly gliding over yours.

Namjoon's hands roam up your dress and on the outside of your thighs as his fingers tuck under the top of the fabric of your underwear. He tugs at the fabric as if he's going to remove it, but he jerks it up hard instead -- soothing the growing ache between your thighs. He twists the fabric in a bunch so he can keep pulling at it in intervals to soothe your clit.

Your head falls back in desperation and he takes the opportunity to suck a hickey into the exposed skin. He nibbles at the skin harder and you gasp, gripping the back of his mullet.

Namjoon growls into your ear as you pull his hair, and yanks your underwear down each of your thighs.

Just as he does, he feels his wrist buzz. He pulls from your lips to look at his watch.

[Assistant: Park Jimin.]

Namjoon lets out a long exhale through his nose. He rests his forehead on yours, both of your lips still swollen and vibrating from the session.

"I have to take this," He lets out in a deep exhale before touching a green icon on his watch to receive the call.

"Are you alright, Sir?" Jimin asks, hearing Namjoon’s intense breaths cooling on his end.

"Just came from the gym, don't worry about me. What’s on fire?" He breathes out, and the edges of your lips curl upward at the lie.

"Nothing at all, Sir. I've just called to give your daily rundown as requested." Namjoon sighs, forgetting it’s something he did in fact ask for.

“Can I call you back in five?” Namjoon asks, and you shake your head.

After Jimin hangs up, Namjoon immediately dives back into your lips. You savor it for a few seconds, but you tease him a few times as you pull away.

"I think we should finish up in the morning and get to bed," You whisper, your hand floating down his cheek. "Long day tomorrow." You bite your lip as you look into his eyes.

Namjoon lightly growls in disappointment as he pulls you down from the top of the cabinet.

You lift your hair up into a ponytail, and you turn around and look over your shoulder.

“Mind helping me with the zip?” You ask, and you feel the heat from his breath at the back of your neck drawing goosebumps from your skin. His breaths shallow out with every inch of the zip, and he lets out a light groan as it ends at the curve of your back -- just before your ass.

“Thanks.” You whisper as you head toward the bathroom, looking over your shoulder once more with a grin before you disappear around the corner.

Namjoon waits to make sure you’re gone before he screams into his fist out of frustration.

✹✹✹

“Seeya, I’m gonna head over to the conference hall to start getting prepped,” Namjoon mentions, stuffing a croissant in his mouth as he picks up his briefcase. “You said you’ll be a few minutes behind me, right?” He asks, using his free hand to push his glasses up his nose.

“Uhm, sure! Yes! Yesyesyesyes. Have a nice day!” You nod eagerly, your eyes wide as you watch him head toward the door. He furrows his brows, finding you a bit too enthusiastic.

As the door shuts, you hear his footfalls disappear down the hall and you toss your robe to the ground.

You take in a deep inhale. You knew you needed to be focused for this presentation, and you definitely couldn't have what happened last night top of mind.

Where to start? Him eyeing you in the office? The wet t-shirt? Oh, yes. There.

You sink down in the bed and slowly spread your legs, your fingers gliding over your already wet lips. You gasp in pleasure as you recall his plump lips dragging on your neck -- his teeth embedded in the sensitive flesh. It’s enough for you to dip a finger inside of yourself -- make it two -- before you let out a moan.

The thing that really made you wet, though, was his mind. The fucking book bar? Kudos. His knowledge of the product? Points. A tattered copy of a book about love? You were practically dripping down your thighs at the thought. Those nerdy glasses he wore before he left this morning? Fuck me.

It’s all enough to make you cum until-

Bzz. Beep.

You quickly draw the covers up on your frame and you can feel your cheeks burning as Namjoon enters the room.

“I...left my coffee...” He says cautiously, seeing your robe on the floor before his eyes meet yours. “Uhm, sorry?” His voice comes out in a high, questioning pitch -- and he grabs his coffee before he hurries himself out the door.

As the door shuts, you kick your feet around in the bed and then slap your forehead.

Fuck. He caught you.

[stopeatingwhales]

vinyl searching (pt. 1) x graham coxon

okok i'm so sorry i haven't posted in such a long amount of time, but i'm back! (and hopefully for much longer this time haha). this was requested to me a very long time ago and i fell in love with the entire concept immediately - i'm sorry it took so unbelievably long to post it!! i might make a second part to this as i felt like i haven’t properly put the story to an end so look out for that!

Pairing: 1999 graham coxon x reader

Warnings: nothing!

Word count: 3.421

part two

Requested by anon (I’m so sorry this is so late) x

༉‧₊˚✧

Cutting open my last box of new vinyl, I quickly scanned through the contents, figuring out what genres it had consisted of. I discovered a brimmed box of popular 80s vinyls ready to be organised as I allowed my nimble finger to slowly caress every bump that was conveyed whilst it went through every single record. Working in a record shop was often tiring due to the amount of physical labour you have to commit to doing (it really takes a toll on your back sometimes), but it overall was a magical experience, with a lot of perks: free vinyls every once in a while, the ability to snatch a first copy of a highly anticipated album before it got sold out, and ultimately being able to be surrounded by art constantly. It was a genuine blessing to be able to work in a shop that abides and requires your whole passion, because it can never go to waste. What was beautiful about music was that, regardless of personality, fashion or who you genuinely were, everyone can connect to some form of it, whether it be rock, pop, hip/hop, rap, anything. A simple strum of a guitar or mumble of a lyric can manipulate one’s mind so diligently that you become so enthralled by that rhythm to the point it consumes and dictates your entire outlook on existentialism and surroundings of life. You are free to interpret what you like from either lyrics, melodies or even music videos; music is there for one form a bonding with it, not to be told specifically what this or that means, otherwise it loses its enchanting wizardry. Unsurprisingly, you are never able to free yourself from the affiliation that you receive from music, as it is infinite, absolute, limitless without end. Every day, every hour, every minute, there is either a small group, or just one person, attempting to create melodies and cadences that can resonate with people for the rest of their lives - and once they’ve cracked that specific coding, that in which takes overwhelming amounts of dedication, you have created something that is unforgettable to maybe a nation, or a couple, or just one single person. Regardless of the amount, with such ability, you carry the ultimate power that no grade, mark or report card, can ever prove to show. 

Exhaling, I began to stock up the few crates that were beginning to gain empty space in between the few vinyls that embraced them. Attempting to organise them as quickly as I could, I hummed along to the soft music that was escaping out of the radio. Usually, during the day, there wouldn’t be much activity in the store, so having to care for the place by myself wasn’t something out of the ordinary. The shop tended to be more of a second home to me; it never became excessively stressful, and being able to conversate with customers about opinions on specific albums or ‘which album by this or that artist is their best?’ was always an enjoyable part of the day as it simply felt as if it was a random conversation instigated in a bar. Almost as if you’re discoursing with a long lost friend; you gain this sort of connection between specific albums that both mean something to you, and despite the fact that it could mean completely opposing ideas, you were both able to share that connection the music was able to provoke. The shop was moderately small, with 6 rows of 5 crates (two on either side of the wall) aligned neatly, three quarters of a metre separating each in order to allow those to walk around. Having the space quite compact yet overflowing with all sorts of music was what made the space so enthralling. You could have your favourite album of all time sitting there, patiently lingering for your grasp and attraction to seep in, and eventually your purchase - all you seemingly had to do was rummage for it. That in specific is what makes record searching so entertaining, simply scanning through crates of records until you find something that appeals to you. And although you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, if a band has put enough effort in their covers, it would appeal to people more, and therefore allow more sales to seep through. Situated on the end of a high street which had countless amounts of civilians walking into multiple stores each day, only a few customers had come in every so often as it only sold vinyls, and CDs were becoming more of an attraction these days. It didn’t bother me all that much - I definitely preferred having only a few customers in and out every couple of hours in comparison to groups of screaming teenagers begging for the chance that I might have the Californication vinyl by the Red Hot Chilli Peppers. 

Once I had completed distributing the vinyls to their designated boxes, I put the large - now empty - cardboard box behind the counter to place in the rubbish after my shift was over. As if on cue, I was met with the light ringing sounds that escaped from the bell at the top of the clear glass door, indicating that someone had arrived in the shop. Swiftly turning my head to figure out who it was, I was met with the sight of Graham Coxon, a usual customer, and an amazing lead guitarist in one of the most known bands in Britain as of this moment due to their latest album titled 13, Blur. News had surfaced that the band were having troubles between each other, and it became apparent that Graham hadn’t played on the album that much. He looked a little scruffy, his short hair untidy but that didn’t make him look horrible, it suited him very much. There were small dark circles forming on his eyes, exposing ideations that he may not have slept, or been able to sleep, which played on my heart strings a little. Although he was a heart-throb of many young girls over the coming years, especially during the height of the Britpop era, he had the demeanor completely contrasting against those projected to the nation by his other bandmates. Graham was quiet, reticent, composed, and it was obvious that the entire Britpop era didn’t work to well for him - being put up against Oasis to fight for the supposed ‘king’ of a genre proved its mental strains on him, to the point he had began drinking to escape his struggles. Me and Graham had become quite good friends over the months that he had been visiting the store, so a shocked face and beg for an autograph was something that by no means would be happening in this given moment. I always felt that because of Graham’s restrictive attitude, it caused him to be quite secluded from maintaining a lot of friendships - although that may just be an assumption. “You alright?” I asked sweetly, putting on a soft smile as I made my way over to the counter. 

“Yeah, fine thanks. You?” He replied, exchanging the same smile which caused my heart to patter in an unsteady rhythm as he paced over to one of the crates, beginning his search for something new. Over time as mine and Graham’s friendship had bloomed, I felt myself forming a sort of tenderness for him. The way he stared at the ground whilst speaking to someone; the way he ruffled through his dark coloured hair ever so often; the way he bit his lip when conflicted against what album he should buy, were all things that I had taken into note after I had caught my eyes staring at him repeatedly, every single time he had entered the shop. And of course, he was immensely good looking, which only added to the long list of things that made me so captivated by his presence. Sometimes he would meet my eyes, to which I would instantly look away, hot flushes forming on both my cheeks over the sudden embarrassment I would receive from being caught admiring someone. Then again, would you not continue to stare at someone who carried an undeniable amount of beauty, that they were so oblivious to understanding that they had?

“I’m alright, we’ve got a couple new 80s records in the crate over there if you’re interested.” I said, exiting the counter as my finger pointed towards the freshly updated crate. Whenever Graham had come into the shop, he tended to spend a good chunk of his time in here, which made me almost addicted to his presence there constantly. We would talk about a lot of things, bridging from best albums of specific decades, to what our favorite candy was. It was a joyful experience, talking to someone that you would have seemingly looked up to for such a long period of time, watching them grow musically, but also physically. In ‘91, all the boys from Blur had charmed themselves with tattered bowl-cuts, which indirectly emphasised their innocent-yet-psychedelic look. Now, his hair was in a much different state, almost completely short yet there was still a small chunk of hair covering his forehead. I much preferred this look of his, though. He looked mature, and pairing with his personality that I have come to be somewhat close with, it boosted his attractiveness. Whenever he left the shop, I would be accompanied with such boredom and sadness right afterwards. I seemingly wanted him here, all the time, adding to the fondness that I had formed for him. 

Shifting his gaze to interlock eyes with mine, I felt my heart begin to form into the same unsteady pattern it composed when he had reciprocated my smile. “I’ve pretty much listened to everything that had appealed to me from that decade, it was when I was growing up you know.” He chuckled, which caused my cheeks to heat up a little at the sound of his lovely laugh that I sadly didn’t hear so often than I would’ve liked. 

“Well, what have you been coming in here to search for then?” I questioned, slowly making my way to stand next to him as I analysed his actions, his index finger grazing over each album name, mirroring how I was earlier when scanning through the vinyls I needed to unpack. I was able to gain a whiff of his aroma standing near him - he smelled like cigarettes and cologne, a combination that when mixed would sound quite disgusting, but they somehow complimented each other. I attempted to edge my body closer to his, to take a greater look at what exactly he was doing, without it coming across as suggestive. I would have no courage to do something that evocative, anyways.

I allowed my arm to rest on the other crates as my hand held my face. I felt Graham’s stare switch from the vinyls to quickly take a look at me, noticing my new positioning. A very short silence was shared between the pair of us, almost as if Graham was trying to find the right words to say, whilst the music from the radio had continued on playing. “Not too sure, just want to find something to listen to,” he began, slowly trailing off his sentence as he pulled a record out and examined its cover. “I’ve worn out all of my records at this point so I’m practically desperate for something else.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place!” I grinned, making eye contact with him for a short second, before switching to look at the album he was looking at. He was holding up Pavement’s 1997 album, Brighten the Corners. The cover was quite colourful and artsy, almost as if it had come straight out of a cartoon. “Play that on the record player, see if you like it.” 

Moving over to the record player that was situated by the cashier, he took the record out of its sleeve, placing it on the turntable as carefully as possible. I turned my body around to watch him place the stylus on the grooves of the record, my body fixated in place. Every so often I would glance at the walls of the shop, which were decorated messily with band posters and tour-dates of multiple bands that you were able to purchase in-store. Although it was untidy, it added to the sensation of music; you don’t need to be the smartest, the most organised, the most put-together person in order to make an amazing album. All you could have is three chords that you are unaware of the names, and you’ve got a song. The Sex Pistols done it, and the message they portrayed was that no matter who you are, you can make music. It’s universal. Sometimes my gaze shifted to look through the window that portrayed the cars passing down the road, with the occasional person walking past. The comparison of outside, where it professedly looked very dull and unhappy, and the liveliness of such a small shop, is what proves the power of music. Life is tedious without some colour in it. Regardless of anything though, my eyes would always trail back to Graham, whose back was resting on the counter where the cashier was, intently listening to the music draining from the turntable. The sweet sounds of pop songs that were once splashing out of the radio were now inaudible; the record player emitted music that was much louder, so it was now the only thing you could hear inside the closed space. By the look of Graham’s expression it seemed that his desperation to listen to something new was much needed than I had come to expect; it was almost as if he depended on the new music to soothe him away from whatever thoughts, or distressing moods that were battling his mind. 

Once the song had ended, I decided to ask for his opinion on it. “What do you think?” 

I watched him intently as his eyes fluttered back open, examining his facial features slightly. Our eyes had met, and they stayed fixed in place as I began admiring his honey-like orbs. “It was good, might as well get it to hear the rest of the album.” He answered, sighing slightly at the end of his sentence. It was quite obvious, to me, that he had been going through something that he wasn’t able to quite mention or bring up to anyone - especially me, as I am only just a worker he knew quite well inside a record shop. It enthralled me slightly, how mysterious he was, although he was completely projected to the limelight of Top Of The Pops and many interviews countless amounts of times over the years. The thought of asking him how he was always played in my mind; his reaction however, frightened me to the point of me avoiding the topic. I didn’t want to come across as patronising, I simply cared for him, for someone I didn’t even know all that well, too much. 

Graham placed the vinyl back into its sleeve gently, and then made his way to where he previously stood - next to me. Although our bodies weren’t touching, I felt as if my skin was entering the gates of hell due to the amount of heat that had been emitting from my skin. He began looking through the same vinyl crate that he did before, whilst my eyes inspected his hands, allowing my thoughts to randomly drift on the feeling of his hand in mine. How soft his palm may feel, how warm it would be - like a hug from a loved one when you needed it most, their touch, caressing, having so much impact that it completely changes your entire mood for a short period of time. How they could perfectly merge together, his and mine. Or not, though either way it would release a sensation of my teenage-girl like self, squealing inside over the fact that a boy that I've seemingly fallen for is in grasp of my palm. I doubt that he was feeling the same things that I was, but in moments so silent but loud, exactly like this one, it was all I could muster a thought about. “You have lovely eyes.” 

I noticed Graham pause in his movements once those accidental words slipped off my mouth. Mentally cursing myself, my gaze was fixed on him. The air was a little tense, the pit in my stomach completely empty from my unneeded slip-up of words. “Thank you…” He replied, shifting his gaze over to look at me. He seemed taken aback to my sudden compliment, which made me feel a little embarrassed, causing my cheeks to heat up slightly. “Yours are lovely too.”  

My heart fluttered slightly towards the compliment he passed back to me, my lip sinking into my teeth in anticipation towards where the conversation was headed. Graham’s awkward self carried on searching through vinyls, and began walking over to different crates in search for something else. I moved to position myself behind the till, where my gaze followed him as he preoccupied himself in the cover art of multiple vinyls he had taken out, admiring them or looking perplexed by them, then putting them back into their original place if they weren’t appealing to him. I began humming along to the new song that began playing on the radio, as I played with my fingers, deciding on forwarding the conversation to something else. “What are you up to this week?”

“Nothing much… I’m probably going to stay at home. There’s not much to do these days.” He answered, his eyes glued onto the vinyls he had now found. My heart sank after those words left his mouth, almost in pity for him - he didn’t seem like he was fully okay, then again no one is, but it came across as if he had been struggling quite a bit mentally and that he needed someone to be there for him, yet he didn’t know exactly how to ask for it, or maybe he felt cowardly to ask. He began to walk over to the cashier, instigating the fact that he had found the records he’s decided to buy - filling my stomach up in an unusual mix of sadness and anticipation. I wanted him to be here, all the time. 

“So I assume you’re not doing anything tonight?” I questioned, taking the vinyls from his hand in order to scan them and place in a bag. I avoided his stare whilst asking, though I could feel the burn of his eyes intently staring at every move I made. 

“Yeah, the most I’m going to do is probably listen to these vinyls at home.”

With the little amount of courage I had spared inside, I decided to take a big leap of my conscience and ask him a question he’s undoubtedly been asked so many times before. Lifting my gaze to connect eyes with him after I had finished neatly placing everything into a plastic bag, I handed the vinyls to him. “Do you want to go out tonight?”

“I mean I’d like to go out.” He responded, completely oblivious to what I was egging towards, which only bubbled the apprehension inside me even more. I began to second guess the idea of me asking him out to do something together.

“Graham.” I sternly responded, a hint of annoyance laced between my voice when I spoke his name. 

“What?” 

Sighing to myself, I realised that his oblivion wasn’t on purpose, which brought the same feeling of a sinking heart in my body. I came to realise that Graham had been so isolated, so deserted from society, that he was completely blind towards someone taking an interest in him. Inhaling sharply, I asked, with my sweetest smile. “Would you like to go out with me tonight?” 

Graham’s expression had completely changed from his delirium to shocked. His eyes widened, a reddish tint forming on his cheeks as his lip sank into his bottom teeth. A couple seconds were shared between us staring closely at each other's eyes, as I tried to decipher what was going through his mind. “I- Uh- Yes, sure.” 

The little stutter that rolled off his tongue warmed my heart as the beam on my face began to widen. I noticed a small smile starting to curve at the bottom of his lip. “That’ll be fifty pounds, please.”

[nyctophilin]

Stay Winning

@txtmoalove​⤀ Hey! As for my first request here , can I request a Felix smut? Something that'll include voice kink for his deep voice? 🥺 Maybe even an enemies to lover's au! I hope it's not too much !! 💕

Description⤀  He was always making remarks about her and making fun of her work. He was speculating about how her work was always chosen as the best and was creating rumors. She despised him. Or did she?

All rights reserved © nyctophilin 2020. Re-posting, copying and translating any of my works is prohibited.

Pairing⤀ Felix x fem!Reader

Word count⤀ 3k

Genre⤀ Office!AU, Enemies to lovers, Smut, Angst(?)

Warnings⤀ dom!felix, grinding, fingering, spanking, unprotected penetration, spelling/grammar mistakes 

Pearl Note⤀ This was so fun to write. I really hope you like it! Please don’t hesitate to tell me what you think!

      “This concludes our meeting today. I’ll see everyone again on Wednesday at the same hour. Mrs L/N and Mr Lee I want you both to present your ideas and we will see which we can choose or if we have to combine them. Have a good day everyone!” Mr Bang spoke as he got up from his chair and left the room to go to his next meeting. Everyone else started gathering their things right after the CEO left and a general bustle settled in the room. Disturbing screeching sounds were made by the pushed chairs of the people who hurriedly wanted to reach either the cafeteria or their cubicles to get some more work done.

      Y/N wasn’t in a hurry like everyone else. She gathered her things calmly and was the last to leave the meeting room carelessly making her way towards her cubicle to leave the unnecessary things there before going for lunch. The clicking of her hills could be heard every time she stepped on the marble floors. Upon reaching her destination she left everything on the desk and took her purse with her.

      She walked up to another cubicle and used her knuckles to knock on the plastic walls. The raven-haired man lifted his eyes from the manuscript he was currently trying to check and a smile coated his facial features at the sight of her. “Can I steal you from your work for half an hour so we can eat? I’m paying.” She brought her purse to the same level as her face as further reassurance to the man that she meant what she said.

      “I thought you’ll never ask. I was starving there!” The man got up from his chair abandoning his files on the desk and put one arm around her shoulders. “Lead the way, Ma’am!” Y/N chuckled at his childish gesture and they both started walking towards the cafeteria. “How did the meeting go?” The man asked when they sat down at a table in the busy room.

      “It went well. Mr Kang is really excited to work with us and he thinks that everything will turn out great.” She hummed satisfied after taking a bite from her food. She will always be grateful to Mr Bang for choosing to actually give a shit about his employee’s health. Immediately after a bittersweet taste let itself in her mouth. “I have to work against Felix for marketing though. Mr Bang said he’ll choose whichever he likes best so I have to work hard to beat that loser.” She was squeezing the chopsticks in her hand at the thought of him.

      “Why does it matter that much? It’s not like there are infinite ways to market a book and Mr Bang seems to be fond of your work. If he wins once what is so bad about that?” Y/N sighed at her friend’s naive statement.

      “Jeongin, let’s say you are in a really good soccer team and you always win. Would you let the other team win once just because you did so many times before? If I purposely don’t do a good job right now, Mr Bang might think that my skills are not as good anymore which might result in me getting fewer opportunities to work on books that I really like. Plus that little shit is always trying to pick a fight with me.” She rolled her eyes when she remembered the kind of treatment she gets from her superior.

      “You always say that. What does he even say that get you so worked up all the time?” Jeongin’s question was a genuine one. He has worked at the publishing company for over two years now and ever since Y/N has started working there a year and a half ago he can’t remember one time when the two weren’t at each other’s throats. At first, he thought the rivalry between the two was because they both had the same job and it was normal for them to want they work to get chosen but then he realised that it was more than that.

      “He always looks down on me and thinks that just because he is older and has been working there longer his ideas should be chosen more often. ‘Even a kindergarten student could think of that.’, ‘He chose you just as an encouragement.’, ‘Maybe if I also had a short skirt Mr Bang would choose me as well.’...”

      “Don’t forget about the cleavage.” A deep voice suddenly ringed in her ear making her jump in surprise. She immediately turned her head in that direction and her nose was only one centimetre away from Felix’s nose.

      “What?” This is all she could say since she was still shaken by his deep voice in her ear.

      Felix got up from his bent position and a smirk tugged at his lips when he realised the effect his sudden appearance had on her. “I also say about the cleavage. I’m pretty sure that if I had boobs I’ll get just as many deals as you.” His eyes travelled from her face down to where her shirt had the first two buttons undone. He visibly licked his lips at the sight before looking back at her eyes and winking.

      His eyes made her uncomfortable but she stood her ground and rolled her eyes back at his gesture. “Oh sweety, it’s so funny that this is what you tell yourself to feel better about your failure. We both know that Mr Bang doesn’t do this kind of thing. And unlike you, he does not need to get on my good side. I’d fuck him even if he was choosing your work.” A fake smile was painting her lips as she finished talking. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to finish eating so I can go back to making a better marketing strategy than yours.” She turned back towards Jeongin and continued eating her food.

      As she heard his steps getting farther away from her she let out a breath she was holding in for a long time. She hated the way his voice affected her. He might be an asshole but damn he had a nice voice. She ignored the moist feeling that started forming between her legs and continued talking with Jeongin about different topics the rest of their lunch break.

      Y/N let out a sigh and rubbed the back of her neck trying to ease the pain she was feeling. She squeezed her eyes shut trying to calm the burning sensation from looking at the computer screen for too long. It was currently 11:36 PM on a Tuesday and she was still in the office. For the last couple of days, she didn’t have enough inspiration to work on a marketing strategy for Mr Kang’s book that would satisfy her so she just did something lousy in order not to show up with nothing. An hour prior, however, she got a really good idea and she had to stay over program to do it.

      She was pretty sure there wasn’t anyone else in the office with her at that hour and if there was they were far away from her and awfully quiet. She stretched her tired arms moaning at the pleasurable sensation of tension leaving her body after a long time. She leaned back on her leather chair deciding to take a short break from work for a few minutes. She kicked her stiletto’s off her feet letting another moan leave her lips at the free sensation. She really hated hills for always making her uncomfortable and hurting her feet.

      She closed her eyes and started humming a calming melody while trying to relax both her brain and her body. “I see that you are enjoying yourself.” The same deep voice that annoyed and turned her on so much was heard in the room and she opened her eyes with an exasperated sigh.

      “What are you doing here?” She questioned him as she turned her chair towards the door of her cubicle.

      “I heard you moaning and I told myself that it is impossible for sweet perfect Y/N to be masturbating on the job. The second time I had to come check it myself.” Y/N rolled her eyes and looked to the side sucking her cheeks in. She absolutely despised the way his voice could soak her and his words could make her want to stab him with a pencil.

      “Are you serious right now? That’s low even for you.” She was so done with his bullshit.

      “You are right. It would have been more logic to think that you were in here with Mr Bang. I doubt he would take you to his house.” She rolled her eyes at his words before getting up abruptly.

      “You know that you are really pathetic? Just because someone else took something YOU think you deserve that doesn’t mean they did something unethical to obtain it. I don’t care what you think about me as a person but. Don’t. Insult. My. Work!” She was now right in front of him and she pushed her index finger against his chest when she said the last few words. “You are 23 years old and you behave like a pre-teen. Making comments about my work and the way I talk and my clothes. Do my clothes bother you in any way?”

      Y/N lets out a yelp as Felix picks her up and carries her to her desk and harshly puts her down, definitely making some of the papers on it to wrinkle. He leaves a trail of kisses from her jaw to her ear before speaking. “Do your clothes bother me? They sure as hell do, darling! How do you think I feel every time I see your thigh ass in one of your pencil skirts or when you have your boobs out for everyone to see?” His deep voice was vibrating in her ear making an involuntary moan leave her mouth. Her private parts already started becoming wet and that was just from a few words from him.

      She tried freeing herself from his grip wanting to escape from that embarrassing situation. Her pathetic attempts only stirred Felix more and a sound resembling a growl left his throat. The sound went right through her cunt and she pushed her thighs together while throwing her head back and letting a groan out. Felix raised an eyebrow as he looked at her ecstatic form. He let another groan out and when he noticed the way her body jolted a smirk appeared on his face.

      “Do you like my voice darling? Does it turn you on? Is this why you always get flustered every time we fight?” His voice went an octave lower if that was possible and Y/N smashed their lips together taking the male by surprise. She desperately pushed her tongue into his mouth wanting nothing more than to shut him up so she can regain her composure.

      Y/N backed away leaving his lips for only a second before he forced her back into the kiss. With one hand he grabbed her thigh and yanked her towards him pressing their hips together and tilted her back more. The contact of her drenched pussy with his already erect shaft had her bucking her hips against him. A delicious groan left his lips and Y/N whimpered into the kiss repeating her action.

      Fed up with her actions Felix pushed her to lay on the desk, the sudden contact with the wooden surface making the oxygen leave her lungs for a few seconds. His hand made its way up her inner thigh until it reached her dripping core. Upon feeling her wetness through her panties a smirk appeared on his face. “Fuck, you are already so wet, darling. And all from my voice, just like a slut.” She whimpered at his words and bucked her hips into his hands desperately needing to feel any sort of relieve.

      A loud noise echoed through the empty office as his hand smacked her thigh in an attempt to make her stop moving. “Now darling, stay put or I won’t touch you!”

      “Fuck you!” She spit taking one of her hands and placing it over her clothed heat. If he won’t help her then she will do it herself.

      “Oh darling, trust me. I will!” Felix harshly yanked her hand from her sensitive parts and in a swift motion, he stripped her of her panties. His touches were feather-like as he explored her cunt for the first time. He felt his dick jolt at how wet she was and without warning pushed two digits inside her. Y/N let out a surprised yelp both her hands instantly grabbing his and her back arching dramatically. “Fuck, I wish you could see the way your pussy swallows my fingers so eagerly. Can’t wait to get my dick in there.” His voice was raspy and a pleasurable shiver crossed her body.

      “Maybe if you stopped fucking talking we would actually get there.” She was moving her hips on her own making his fingers go in and out of her dripping pussy. A dark aura enveloped him at her words and he started pumping his fingers at an impossibly fast pace. Breathy moans and occasional groans were leaving her mouth as she struggled not to squirm around too much.

      Y/N could feel a knot forming in her stomach and she started moving her hips in time with Felix’s hand. Feeling her cunt squeeze his fingers desperately he caught on the fact that she was close and he removed his fingers from inside her at once.

      “You asshole! Why did you…” She couldn’t finish her sentence cause Felix flipped her over pushing her face into the desk.

      “Did you really think I would let you cum on my fingers after you cried for my dick like a slut? You better stop complaining and take what I give you.” She heard how he unbuckled his belt and the faint sound of a zipper before feeling his head slide over her moist lips. Felix bent down over her and inserted his shaft in slowly giving her time to get used to his girth. He let out delicious groans as he felt her tight cunt squeeze around him and her sense went in overdrive from him groaning in her ear.

      His dick stretched her perfectly and she bit her bottom lip suppressing a moan. When he bottomed inside her, he stilled for a few moments under the pretext of giving her time to adjust to him but in reality, he was afraid that if he moved he’ll come instantly just like a teenage boy having sex for the first time. Soon after Y/N tapped his hand urging him to start moving. He started moving slowly, savouring every moment he was inside of her.

      Moving his hands in front of her, he ripped open her shirt somehow managing not to bust any buttons. He pulled her bra down and pinched her erect nipples adding on to her pleasure. His trusts became more urgent and he smacked her right boob ripping a moan out of her. He moved her hips in sync with his, meeting him halfway. She could feel the knot forming again in her stomach and she grabbed the edge of the desk for support.

      “Felix, I’m cuming!” Y/N managed to breathe out between moans.

      Felix moved his hand to her clit and started circling it frantically bringing her closer to her release. “Cum darling!” The ringing of his voice in her ear tipped her over the edge and she released with a loud moan that she was sure could be heard from a few blocks away.

      Felix quickened his pace chasing his own high and overstimulating her at the same time. Y/N’s cunt was squeezing him so heavenly that he thrusted a few more times before pulling out and releasing on her ass. The office was filled with their heavy breaths as they both tried coming down from their highs.

      “Y/N, what are you doing here?” Jeongin gave her a concerned look, confusion present on his face.

      “What am I doing in my own cubicle?” Her voice was dripping with sarcasm as she turned around in her chair to look at him.

      “No, I mean what are you doing here now? Didn’t the meeting for the marketing strategy started 48 minutes ago?” His eyebrows were furrowed and he checked his watch a few times in a row to make sure that he was correct.

      “I told Mr Bang that I came up with no idea and I would rather not take part in the meeting. Plus they have Felix there, it’s not like they actually need me if I got nothing.” She said that nonchalantly turning back on her chair to resume her previous activity.

      “Why would y…”

      Before the man could finish his sentence Felix stormed inside and went to hug Y/N tightly. “Thank you so much, darling! Mr Bang loved the idea. I promise I will make it up to you. Now I have to go. We have a meeting with Mr Kang to present the strategy to him. Love you!” The man cupped her face and placed a tender kiss on her lips before hurriedly getting out and completely ignoring Jeongin.

      Y/N turned her head towards the entrance of the cubicle and noticed how Jeongin was leaning against the plastic wall, hands crossed and a smirk on his lips. She bit her bottom lip before gulping visibly.

      “So tell me Y/N, what was that thing with the soccer team?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

      “Oh, please! Like I actually know anything about soccer!”

[jaeminscoffee]

The midnight man | l.ty

Pairing- Lee Taeyong x reader

Mentions- Lee Donghyuck, Na Jaemin, Liu YangYang, Nakamoto Yuta, Seo Johnny, Kim Doyoung, Ten Lee, Lee Dong Wook.

Genre- Horror!au, angst, crack, part fluff.

Warning(s)- Evil entity!Taeyong, Manipulation, Major character death (lmao you'll actually punch yourself towards the end), sexual themes suggested, impulsive decision making, talks with religion.

Word count- 11.83k

Synopsis- 'Lust though pleasurable, innocent and vice, thee shall stay loyal to thy partner regardless of wants. To betray thy partner is to deceive thy people and hence the kingdom. Thou shall pay for thy soul shall remain wandering, driven by the desires but, shall not be able to feel the human love thou took for a grain of salt. And all who shall follow thy steps shall face the same wrath.'

@kpopscape

This story is pure work of fiction and therefore doesn't speak about the mentioned members' personality in real life. I, in no manner, am trying to encourage hate speech towards the members so please don't come at me. This story was written using a mix of a bunch of urban legends and few made up by myself and therefore it isn't going to be spoken about the same way as it is in google. I also worked really hard on this piece and it's by far, the longest story I've written so feedbacks would mean a lot!, also it could get a little boring since i took time to focus on the side characters too. Make sure not to repost my works and sign it off as your own because that's a little disheartening and mockful towards the writer. So all credits reversed to @jaeminscoffee 2020©®

If anyone here doesn't know the story behind the midnight game, then read on! Because I've described it throughout the story! Happy reading!

29/10, Thursday, 10:57PM

"We need to do something this halloween man, Y/n come on!" 

Your friends all collectively whined as you constantly kept rejecting their proposal. 

Halloween is bullshit. It's overhyped and in all honesty, childish. You'd rather prefer staying home than go house to house and make a fool out of your existence. Not to mention you were all past the age of trick or treating. And to add on top of that came all the sugar rush you'd all go through at the end of the day. "For the last time, Hyuck we're not dressing up like crewmates and going trick or treating. I've got other things to do for the love of god" you grunt, rubbing the scrunched up skin to soothe the pain at the temples. University has been acting up again and so has life. "If your 'other things to do' is binge watch high school musical then no, you have no other better things to do" Yangyang bites back. 

"It's just, I don't feel like it anymore, alright? It feels too weird going out asking for candies when we're all literally 19 and above. It's time to up the notch." you say, plopping down.

When Haechan called for an emergency meeting in pure 'among us' style back at the guys' dorm, you'd expected it to be about something along the lines of having to console Jaemin or someone for having been stood up on a date. What you didn't expect was to have the boys prepare an entire presentation on who'd dress up as what character from among us and who'd be the impostor, do a little play and then say 'red is sus' and then ask for candies. What made it worse was that you thought they were just pulling a prank on you when in all reality, they were dead serious which made you go, 'oh, oh they aren't pretending to be stupid, they're just in their original form.'

"It won't be that bad, doll. It's a genius plan if you ask me" Jaemim chirped in on the conversation finally after looking back and forth between you, Donghyuck and Yangyang caught up in a meaningless fight. "I don't see how any of this is genius, Jaem. If this plan's anything, it's stupid." You pull out your phone after making your way all the way to the headboard of Jaemin's bed. "How about we try out one of these creepy pasta games?" Yuta finally spoke up. Jaemin's brother, an early graduate, senior and of course a dear friend of yours. Yuta, despite the age difference between your classmates and you, had little to no trouble blending in with the tiny group of yours. Probably the only one who didn't behave like a toddler and the most sane one according to you. Yuta's been an amazing planner since junior year where you first met Jaemin, Yangyang and Donghyuck who then proceeded to introduce you to their senior friend group that consists of Yuta, Johnny, Doyoung; Donghyuck's cousin and Ten. You guys had a friendship the entire campus was envious of. But two year after you getting into the university, the seniors had to graduate. But that didn't stop all your bonds from staying as strong as ever. Not even after Ten got his posting in a town a little far away from the one you guys lived in. The distance didn't change anything between you guys and you were as close as you could ever get. 

"Creepypasta?" Donghyuck inquired, looking straight at the guy who aimlessly scrolled down the screen of his device as Yuta didn't even bother looking up while passing the confused boy a nod. Sitting up cross legged from his previous side sitting posture, Yuta showed his phone screen to Donghyuck, who immediately got surrounded by the other two while you stare at the oldest in the room, slightly intrigued by the idea. "Creepypasta's like these horror-related legends that have been copied and pasted around the Internet by people who're too bored for their own sake." you explain as Haechan took the phone out of Yuta's hand who agreed to your explanation. "I read some sick games that I kinda wanna try out and see for myself," he said, looking at you with expectations and then the rest who seemed too immersed in surfing the website. 

"Yuta, you of all people should know better than to think all these made up crap's real" you say nonchalantly. 

Yuta's a huge skeptic, and so were you. Which is why you got along really well despite the mentioned age gap. The night gatherings back at the boy's dormitory or the girls (in this case, girl, yours) would always end up in narration of on spot made up stories of all genre, mostly horror because apparently according to Jaemin 'Rom-com's overhyped, sci-fi won't be fun when you narrate it out loud, mystery can easily turn boring, comedy, meh i guess, but a good horror story narrated properly, -yes, like you, Haechan- while adding jumpscares here and there could actually result in y'all being too scared to use the bathroom on your own'. And yeah, you'd startle here and there but the stories weren't believable enough for you to actually be scared. On the other hand, Haechan and Jaemin were scaredy cats. Literal toddler's who're so gullible, you could literally tell them there was an alien invasion news flash two minutes ago and they'd be hiding under their bed. And then there's Yangyang, he just doesn't care. He goes along with the plans solely for the fun of it and for the other's' (Haechan and Jaemin) reaction. "That's the point. I don't" he shuffled around to shift closer to you,

 "Which is exactly why i want to try them out" 

Maybe it's the feline that crossed over his body, maybe it was the fact that his spirit just wasn't ready to leave the human realm yet. Maybe it's the mourning of his family or maybe it's him himself knowing full too well his potential was truly wasted due to the fast departure. Whatever it was, his spirit was definitely made restless. 

The world is a cruel place where harsh actions are always sugar coated by honey like words. It's how he knew the doings of his people were wrong that made him disappointed. The practices of the people, his people, were stupid, meaningless and only harmful to the human kind. They fend off the satisfaction of their almighty even if that means that there needs to be sacrification of their loved ones, their nemesis, or them themselves. And it was his ancestors fault for starting all these practices. 

Passed down generations from generations was the curse put on the first of their bloodline by the princess he'd defied to go out and be ruthless by disregarding his duties as a husband, a father, a member of the royal courts and as a human being.

Lee Dong Wook. The root of all evil, the main reason the males of the family line faced the same wrath as him, all cursing at him but one namely enjoying his role. The pagans, dating back to the roman times era had a very, let's say, interesting method of punishing. The said lords they'd worship, the people following the religions had a strong belief that nature is sacred and that the natural cycles of birth, growth and death observed in the world around us carry profoundly spiritual meanings. Gods and goddesses of life, or say, death or anything else that exists beyond life and death, they believed in all. 

The doings of his ancestors started off innocent. Sacrifices to the lords of goodness and tranquility, a peaceful life by the towns and outskirts, forgiveness for wrong doings and of course, happiness. It's how any religious rituals would go about and all were happy until the said betrayer of the group came in with that curse of his. 'The doings of his shall be repented for all the men following shall be the one paying it,' 

At first glance when the man returned back to his royals, there were little to no suspicions of a curse being casted on him. He seemed normal to his family, his people except for the occasional forcing people to do something they despised. And it wasn't just the men of the family instead, it was all. But mostly the men, unless the same sin were to be committed by the females. Obscure behaviors have been asked to follow starting exactly at midnight to the witch's hour be it hurting your loved one, your enemy, doing sinful things, allowing self to get manipulated and mostly, shortening their own life time in the human realm. It was all unexplainable. Why was he asking people to do things like this but most of all, why are they even listening to him? 

It wasn't until they discovered that Dong Wook, for one, was never the one who returned home. On a second note, he, 'Dong Wook' mainly only targeted the men whose doings were similar to his that was fueled by the same sin that had him going. Which only remained undiscovered. The curse was unbeknownst to all still, Dong Wook himself remained undiscovered. Or proposed by the elders of the community, his body remained undiscovered while his spirit roamed restless among the people. 

The pagan romanticists are, in most cases, ignorant of the “paganism” they praise—the redeemed paganism of Christianity depicted in the transfigured water of the True Well of Life. Wrestling with the Greek gods, however, leads us to see the hyper-anthropomorphization of the gods with one intention in mind—justification of sexual lusts and displays of power over the weak.

The oldest written account of the Greek deities is from Hesiod. His Theogony, literally “birth of the gods,” charts out the genealogies of the major and minor deities in two branches. The first set of gods come into existence without sex. The second set of gods come into existence with sex; often very graphic and violent sex and they continue to have violent sex after their birth. 

As Hesiod continues to describe the birth and death of the gods and great monsters of antiquity, the chaining of Prometheus to his eternal torment is described. So too is Hades’ rape of Persephone. Battle is depicted left and right, and “a terrible din arose from their dreadful wrath, and the work of power was revealed”. Lust, sex, and war reign supreme in Hesiod’s telling of the birth of the gods. Moreover, it is from this brutality and carnality that Hesiod gives them praise—only those with enough cunning and ambition are worthy of having the praise of the muses.

That the gods birthed through sexual lust are themselves lustful was not missed by Christians of the pagan community. Though St. Augustine received the Romanized version of the Greek myths, he goes to great lengths and laborious pains—using the pagans’ own prophecies —to highlight the moral depravity of the gods in Confessions and City of God.

His sin, after all the years, was lust and the want to dominate. 

'Lust though pleasurable, innocent and vice, thee shall stay loyal to thy partner regardless of wants. To betray thy partner is to deceive thy people and hence the kingdom. Thou shall pay for thy soul shall remain wandering, driven by the desires but, shall not be able to feel the human love thou took for a grain of salt. And all who shall follow thy steps shall face the same wrath.'

Oh, how lust was a dangerous feeling. 

29/10 continued. 11:28PM

It's how you all circled around in the living room like any other day that was comical to you. Instead of reading out your own made up story, it so happened to be the Creepypastas Yuta screenshotted for what he wanted to try out and see for himself. It wasn't even his idea to read them out. Haechan and Jaemin's 'too curious for their own sake' selves were the ones who wanted to read it out loud. "How about we sit in the order of who's gonna read out what and when?" Yangyang suggested, standing up from his seat. "Yuta read out the topics and we'll pick randomly." 

"No fun! Hold up," Haechan did some pretty exaggerated hand actions before getting up and heading to his room, well, Jaemin's room to do who knows what. "Okay? I'll get the candles!" Yangyang said, him getting out of his seat too, "And I'll go get the bible, jesus christ" and Jaemin was out of his seat too. You look at Jaemin in a funny manner, as though questioning him with your eyes if he's actually going to get a bible or not, "What? I don't want to die young, I'm too hot for that" he said, before following Haechan's steps to his bedroom, "Yikes, you aren't going to die dude" 

"Okayy, I'm back, make way bitches" Haechan dictated to which he earned a few groans and a smack on the ankle from Yuta, "Jaemin! I can't find the candles!" "It's beside the Reese's cups! Second rack inside of the refrigerator!" Jaemin says while walking back up to your tiny circle with an empyre comic in his hand and a cross pendant dangling off of his neck, "That's a bible?" you question. "Shush, do not question the power of avengers and fantastic four." Jaemin replies, holding the comic up close to his chest. You all collectively dismiss it with a concerned look directed towards the male, "Are we not going to question the fact that Jaemin keeps his candles inside the fridge?" 

"So here's what we're going to do, I've got these tiny papers which have numbers from 1 to 5,because we're five people and I've folded the paper into chits, once i toss it, we pick random sheets and the number you get is when your turn to read is, any objections?" Haechan explained, "Even if you have any, keep it to yourself because I don't care" he bites in again while juggling the folded sheets in a closed palm while the other supports his body by it being planted behind him. "Okay I'm back with the candles" Yangyang finally joins in on the circle, completing it, "You took that long to find one candle?" Yuta asks, "No i was eating the reese's cups" he replied, wiping his hand on your jean clad thighs earning him a loud whine of 'Eww that's disgusting man' and a little too far from soft smacks on his shoulder, "You piece of sh-" Jaemin starts, "Okay all, Focus!" Haechan cuts him off, ready to throw the bits onto the space between the five of you in front of the now lit candle (Thank you, Yuta), and so he tossed it a little high up from the ground, letting the paper fall of his palms and onto the floor while being cautious of not throwing it anywhere near the flame. 

"Now let's arrange ourselves according to the numbers, who's number one?" Haechan asks, Yuta raises his hands while pointing at where he's sitting, "I'm not getting up, y'all arrange yourself so that the person going second is to my right and the last person would be to my left", you all look at him nonchalantly, "What?" with a shake of your head, you proceed calling out numbers, "Number two?" Haechan shoves Yangyang back to take his place beside Yuta, "bitch." Yangyang seats himself beside Haechan, followed by Jaemin and lastly, you. 

"First, Yuta!" Jaemin slurs the elders name, receiving a death glare from his cousin. Nevertheless, Yuta cleared up his throat and switched his attention to his phone screen, "The first urban legend is from Japan, ironically." He states as a matter of fact, "It's called Aka Manto."

"Aka manto is an urban legend related to toilets—particularly those in elementary schools.-"

"Is that why you take a relatively long time inside of the bathroom? Are you, you know? Tickling pickles with Aka Mant-ow! Sorry!" Yangyang was wasted as he was tackled onto the floor by Yuta, while the rest of you cracked up, "Now let's get a little serious, come onnn!" Haechan whines. 

"This phenomenon is known all over Japan, with countless variations on the same theme. It usually takes place in a specific stall in a specific bathroom in the school. Usually it is an older or seldom used bathroom, often in a stall with an older style squat toilet.  Often the fourth stall is the cursed one, as the number four is associated with death." "I'm so glad our university has only two stalls," Jaemin chimes in, suddenly grasping the cross pendant. 

"Most stories follow this general pattern: while at school late in the evening, a student suddenly finds him or herself in desperate need of a toilet. The closest restroom available is one that is normally avoided by the students; it is older and less well-kept, separated from the rest of the school, and is rumored to be haunted. But with no time to search for a different restroom, the student enters. He or she does their business, and when they have finished, they reach for the toilet paper only to find that there is none. Then they hear a strange voice" Yuta looks up from the phone screen, "“Do you want red paper? Or blue paper?”" 

"None bitch, give me the classic white,"

With a roll of his eyes, Yuta continues, "If the student answers, Red paper, moments later, they're stabbed and sliced up violently that blood seeps out of them, painting the walls of the stall red and it soaks up into their body, making them appear red", "And if the student responds blue paper, then their blood is going to be sucked up dry, leaving them dead and blue-faced on the floor."

"But! If you try to outsmart Aka Manto, by replying to question with, i don't know, "Yellow paper" then too, dead is inevitable, you will be shoved onto the floor where the spirit is said hold your head down in the dirty toilet water until you drown and well, die" Yuta ends with a shrug of his shoulder, "Seems pretty bullshit to me" and you agree alongside, though, it could be a little creepy if the existing legend did turn out to be true. "Okay next!"

Yuta leans back a little more, pressing onto your side which you took as an invitation to lean on his shoulder. When you did so, all Yuta did was beam at you and wrap his arms around you to keep you close after handing the phone over to Haechan, "If you want me to start reading you have to give it up for me. Give me the grand welcome that i deserve" the lad said in a childish voice which again only earned him a few smacks and half hearted applauds. "So this one is apparently called, the one man hide and seek" though all narrations were being taken on a lighter note, the mood set in the room gave you enough space to picture the stories, added to that came the factor that Donghyuck knows exactly how to narrate what. 

"The "One-Man Hide and Seek", also known as the "One-Man Tag," is a ritual for contacting the dead. The spirits, which are wandering restless on the Earth, are always looking for bodies to possess. In this ritual, you will summon such a spirit, by offering it a doll instead of a human body." He lowers his voice while focusing solely on the screen.

"The warnings say that if you have any psychic abilities, you may feel unwell or be prone to accidents during the ritual." He raises his eyebrows, looking at all four of you in a curious manner. The things you need for this game seems lowkey sketch"

"One stuffed doll. It must have limbs, Rice, enough to stuff the doll full. One needle, and one crimson thread. One pair of nail clippers. One sharp-edged tool, such as a knife, glass shard, or scissors. One cup of salt water. Natural salt would be best. A bathroom, with a bathtub and some form of counter. A hiding place, preferably a room purified by incense and ofuda. There must be a TV in there." Haechan's face contorts with each requirement for the game. Letting out a defeated sigh, he hands the phone over to Yangyang, "Of all the stories i could've narrated, i got chosen for this and for what? Just to contact stupid poltergeists. Just play a ouija board and go" 

Giving Haechan a sympathetic pat on the back, he takes the device. Looking through the screen he cracks up a smile, "Alright, listen up closely. This is an Urban legend classic"

"The Slender Man-" a bunch of 'aahhs' of realization resonate through the room

"-is a supernatural creature that is described as appearing as a normal human being but he is described as being 8 feet tall and he has vectors or extra appendages that are described to be as sharp as swords. The creature is known to stalk humans and cause many disappearances. He is described as a shadow creature that has a missing face. The creature fits into many mythologies in legends from nations such as germany and celts which brings up the possibility that he could be real." Yangyang pauses to add in a little more life to his reading while all of your paid full concentration to him

"A man named victor Surge found this legend and made his own version of it which he called slender man. The slender man is not exactly evil according to mythology but victor Surge’s version shows him as an evil creature that stalks humans to kill. In mythology he was actually trying to save you from a painful death by taking you to the underworld early." he ends, placing the phone down in front of him, screen down. "Kills you to save you from a death and collectively shortens your lifespan? Seems legit to me" Jaemin chimes in while the rest of you chuckle whereas Haechan pouted at the device in front of his friend, "I should've gotten that story" 

"My turn!" 

"So, ahem-" Once the focus is all on him,Jaemin  looks down onto the device containing his part of narration. "- This is an urban legend about a girl named Daruma who was a young Japanese woman that died in the bathroom, which upon entering to take a bath, it stumbled and her forehead ended up against the edge of the tube, destroying it the brain, at the same time that her eye embedded in the tube , leaving it in consequence, one-eyed key and later , dead by bleed out."  "Oh god ouch" You hiss as though your forehead was the one that hit the edge, " Her appearance as described is apparently; black hair that is entangled, her clothes rotting and made shreds. She only has one eye. Her left eye is completely open and injected with blood." "That's gruesome," Yangyang adds, earning a nod from Jaemin who's eyes were still fixated on the screen. "And apparently there's a ritual that you can follow to summon her into your house for twenty four hours straight" At the silence, he continues. "I'll shorten it, so you have to begin it right before your bedtime, shed all your clothing and enter your bathroom, turn off all the lights and fill in your bathtub, climb into it while being seated facing faucet, close your eyes and start washing your hair while chanting "Daruma-san fell down" and keep chanting that until you're done washing your hair, and yeah don't open your eyes."

"If you did it right then you'll get this image of a japanese who'll slip and fall in front of you. Even if you hear a noise behind you, do not open your eyes, no matter what it takes, Ask out loud, 'why did you fall in the bathtub' and let that hang in the air. With your eyes still closed, get up and out of the tub and be careful not to slip and do not drain the tub. Go to your room, don't turn the lights on, shut the bathroom door closed and sleep. Wake up the next day and carry on with your day and you'll apparently feel her presence alongside you all day. She'll constantly try getting close to you, when she does, scream 'Tomare!',"

"That means stop," Yuta adds to which you all hum in understanding.

"To end the game, capture her gaze from over your shoulder and say 'Kitta' which means 'I cut you loose' while swinging your arm in a chopping motion. If you followed the procedures then you'll be rewarded but if not then, run. That's all it says here" He stops, looking a little shaken at how he created an image of it all in his mind. "They didn't say how to get rid of her if you fail following the procedure?" you ask

"No." Jaemin shrugs it off

"Alright boys, my turn"

30th October, Friday, 10:53PM

It's probably how you read out your part of story telling, or it was how he felt the game was a little too unrealistic that had Yuta hooked onto the urban legend. 

Yuta found himself at his dorm doing a little more research on the midnight ritual. A backpack already consisting of all the elements required for the game, 'could it really be played just by one person?'. Whatever it was, he really wanted to do the game. He wanted someone to accompany him, of course. But knowing his friend group, not many would be ready to play it alongside. Doyoung was probably busy preparing his resumes for his job interviews. Johnny's all the way back in Chicago for a little family time. Ten was a little too far from your town so he'd feel bad calling him all the way over just to perform a probably demonic ritual. Donghyuck and Jaemin are out of the question, they'd obviously say no. Yangyang has a company party to attend as the heir. And you had to study for your test on Monday so he didn't really feel like disturbing you though, he did inform you that he was going out to have some fun and that you could join him anytime. Closing his laptop with a sigh, he gets up and walks over to where his bag was sprawled across the floor, picks it up and makes his way out of the studio apartment like dormitory after grabbing his car keys. 

Not like he believed it was real, it's incase if the legend turns out to be even the slightest of reality, he wasn't going to get his dormitory haunted, instead opting to perform it at the house he grew up in, his childhood house. That was left abandoned ever since they moved out months before his younger brother was born after his father had an episode still unknown to him inside the place. It was convenient enough to perform the ritual in and no one lives there anymore, and it was just a few minutes from where his house was anyways. 

Reaching the place and swinging the backpack over his shoulder, he makes his way into the surprisingly still intact house. Not much time to waste, looking around, Yuta slowly made his way up the wooden stairs, the wood creaking with each step he took to prove the existence of this house dated long back. The guest room shut lock from lack of human souls even when they used to live there. The paintings still hung off of a single screw, nostalgia hitting him straight as he recalled the one time he was playing catch with a neighbor's kid and ended up breaking the glass frame. The wallpaper's adhesive seemingly had gotten weaker from how they had started coming out from nooks and crannies of the walls. The place, without doubt, looked a little creepy but nonetheless felt homely. 

Switching on all switches from the main controller that was in the control room right by the end of the hallway, the entire darkness was replaced with light as the bulbs shockingly still seemed to function. The warm white colour of the lights took Yuta all the way back to his growing up years, missing all the fun he'd had there and all the memories he'd created. He, though grew up mostly by himself from how busy his parents were on the weekdays and sometimes the weekends, missed them more now that they live far off in Japan with his mother's family. Especially now that he was in the place they spent the most time together in. Shaking his head, he had no trouble navigating his way to his childhood room. Where he set the bag down.

He reached out to his back pocket to get out his phone, switching it on as the screen illuminated, 11:28PM, the screen read. To kill the time, Yuta set up all the items required in place to proceed the ritual smoothly. He pulled his laptop out of the backpack once he was all set to maybe watch something on the internet. It being other peoples attempt at the ritual he was about to perform.

11:55PM.

Yuta inhaled, having only a few more minutes until he had to proceed. He recalled your words,

"Alright boys, my turn" You snatch the phone out of Jaemin's hand who seemed really immersed in finding out more about the legend he just read out about, earning a pout from him. "I was reading" he let out in a whiny tone immediately going stoic after receiving a 'do i care' look from your end. "Okay, so the story I'm going to read out is called the midnight man, or the midnight game" You scroll back and forth through the pages the oldest of the group screenshotted. "From what he's gathered, there's not much backstory, but apparently it's a ritual or mostly a punishment that the pagan's use to punish the betrayer of the group who failed to stay loyal to their lords or the group. One of the people of the religion will summon the midnight man to an abandoned house where they lock up the said betrayer who'll then be put through god knows what by the midnight stranger," You stop to look up from the screen to look at each of your friends before letting out a sigh. 

"My take on this though is that it's highly impossible since the rules here state that once you start the ritual you aren't allowed the leave the place until the game is completely done unless you want the midnight man to follow you around for as long as you live, so unless the midnight man actually favored the pagans, there's no way they could punish the betrayer without one of the loyal ones passing away along with the one being punished" you state, "But what if, it's the midnight man that they preach? You know, like, they could be praying the midnight man" Haechan adds in a point which seemed to make sense, "That's possible too" 

"Why would someone preach an evil entity? That's so sketch" Jaemin asks perplexed. "They did a lot of sketchy things back in the days, Jaem. I wouldn't question it," Yuta chirps. "Is there any other backstory given about the midnight man?" Yangyang finally speaks up, "Well not really, but when i was taking screenshots of this it apparently started with a curse on someone whose identity is unknown to most. There was no such thing as the midnight game or ritual until the said bewitched man came back into town. I only know up to there, but there are high chances that he's probably the origin of the ritual." Yuta explains. "Why does Y/n get the best always, that's so unfair"  Haechan's dramatic self whines while leaning onto Yangyang who rolled his eyes but nonetheless threw his hands around the latter's shoulder, "Anyways, the procedure for the ritual is given here."

"You need one candle, a lighter or a match box or anything that ignites fire, a piece of paper, something to write with, a sharp object, it could be a pin, it just needs to be something sharp enough to draw blood, a wooden door, and salt for protection-" You read out, "Now why the fuck would they need blood," Jaemin asks, shaken up. "That's for them to know and us to find out" 

"Here's how the invitation for the midnight man goes. Begin prior to midnight," 

Yuta stood up from his bed, and walked up to the backpack on the floor, picking out the papers he'd brought along and took out a blunt pencil. 

"Write your full name- first, middle, and last- on the piece of paper with your writing implement." He wrote syllable by syllable, Nakamoto Yuta. "Prick your finger with the pin and squeeze until a drop of blood appears. Dot the blood on the paper and allow it to soak in. Turn off every light in your home." He took out the small safety pin he brought along from his jean pocket, pressing his fingers hard and pricked into the skin as hard as he could, keeping in mind to not draw too much blood. Yuta let the droplet fall right in the space between his last name and first. 

"Place the paper with your name and blood on it in front of the closed wooden door. Light the candle using the matches or lighter and place it on top of the paper. If you are using a taper, make sure it is placed in a candle holder." He walks up to the door and places down the paper with his name and blood on it, with the half melted scented candle he brought along. Yuta took out his phone once again, 11:59. "Knock on the door 22 times. The final knock must occur precisely when the clock chimes 12am. Open the door; then blow out the candle and close the door. Relight your candle immediately." He starts to knock on the door, drumming on the dusty wood, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22.

He checks the time once again, 12:00AM.

He leans down to pick the glass jar containing the candle, relighting it, 

"I welcome you."

Taeyong loved the tiny creatures in the human realm. They were so naive and so, stupid but weirdly smart at the same time that made playing with them ten times more interesting. The callings from them, or the way they say it in the human realm, summoning the spirit was the only way he could gain access to enter the place. Summoning wasn't even necessary. Saying his name out was more than enough for him to go up to you. Midnight man, midnight stranger, midnight visitor, pagan's god, What not had the human's named him. 

The only one besides his ancestor of said curse that enjoyed the power of punishing people was Taeyong himself. The youngest of the bloodline and the freshest of pagan's spirit, he loved the power he had. Sure he had no access to love, instead besides lust and range he felt nothing, maybe amusement too, but none other than that and he seemed perfectly fine with that. Human's always seeked lust more than love either way so he found no problem in being void of feeling a vulnerable emotion. Instead, he found love pathetic. Watching human's from where he lived, he'd seen all from men and women seeking love by going to heights of trouble only to waste away your remaining life with one partner. Leeching off of pleasure at times when you had a significant other. He always got a hearty laugh from all of that. According to him, if you want someone, get them. Instead of tailing them and trying to be a goody two shoes, just make them yours in a way that's inevitable for them to fall for you. Control how they feel. Easier said than done since he was the only one with the ability to do so, 'how fucking pitiful'.

So when he saw you and your small group of friends discussing about him, laughing at all the assumptions you made along the way, he wanted each of you to himself. "My take on this though is that it's highly impossible since the rules here state that once you start the ritual you aren't allowed to the leave the place until the game is completely done unless you want the midnight man to follow you around for as long as you live, so unless the midnight man actually favored the pagans, there's no way they could punish the betrayer without one of the loyal ones passing away along with the one being punished" you're smart and that was intriguing to him. He liked the way you thought of things and the male beside you too, you both seemed to take tales of him as a grain of salt and that, besides angering him, made him feel the want to prove himself to you. Taeyong found the other three cute, seemingly scared of him just the way he liked it. 

His ancestor's who held the same power as him, the curse actually, came to be known as said lord because of their power of manipulation and to inject in their worst nightmare into their minds that had the people divide themselves into groups. One that believed the power they had was for the good and considered them to be their god, their savior. And the other being the one's scared of their power and the fear that the same faith would bestow upon them that had them pray for forgiveness for sins they never committed. So your friend had the point a little, but it was inaccurate. They believed him. Believed Taeyong and feared his power. He loved people bowing down in front of him, eyes trembling and body shivering. It gave him a sense of dictatorship. And he had set his mind to have both of you non-believers fear him. 

Having been brought up with little to no love, Taeyong followed down the same path as his great grandfather. Not having enough time to feel the vulnerable emotion, he chose to go down the path of pleasure and power play. His powers though, seemingly stronger than the past generations, probably due to the fact that he was young, ruthless and free of care. He could make himself appear physically in the human realm in any shape and form, though he always preferred to go in his original, but less scarier form. His visuals were out of the world. He didn't have to scare people to make them obey, instead all he had to do was pretend to be there and just be himself and that only made humans seem even pathetic to him. 

"Relight your candle immediately"

12:01PM, The main event. 

"Keeping your candle in hand and your salt and matches or lighter close by, begin to move about your home. Should your candle go out, you must relight it within the next ten seconds.  If you are successful, continue moving about your home. Do not stop moving until 3:33 am. If you are unsuccessful in relighting the candle, immediately surround yourself with a circle of salt.  Remain inside the circle until 3:33 am. At 3:33 am, it is safe to stop moving or to step outside your circle of salt. You may also turn on the lights. The game Is Over."* You conclude. Hissing slightly at the sudden pain by your shoulder that was exposed from the minimalistic clothing you'd adorned, the stranger looking over it all smirked to himself. 'Got it'

Yuta opened the door again, mindful to keep his phone back in his jean pocket along with the lighter and of course, the salt be brought along. Starting from the end of the hallway, nothing seemed to change except now, the eerie silence was starting to bother him, 'Just 3 hours to go,'. He didn't miss a single corner, walking room to room, corner to corner, mindful to stay inside all the way. The temperature of certain rooms seemingly lesser than others. A cold pocket. 

"There are few warnings too," you swipe the image to go to the next one, "At 3:33 am, the Midnight Man will leave your home. After he has left, you may safely end the game. Do NOT turn on any lights during the game.  Do NOT use a flashlight during the game. Do NOT go to sleep during the game. Do NOT use a lighter instead of a candle during the game." Check. He had a lighter on him just to relight the candle anyways. 

Taeyong, following the guy seemed to be quite impressed by his bravery. Not even the slightest of shaken up as he proceeded to walk about the villa. That's good, no slip ups and he seemed too good to mess anything up either ways, and that bored the entity. Where's the fun if he just succeeded? 

To avoid the candle from going off at the sudden flickering, Yuta covered it up the best he could with his hands and checked around whether any windows were left open. Darkness engulfed the surrounding all of a sudden, the lad being taken aback, 10 seconds. He rushed to take out his lighter, 9,  pressing the button repeatedly to ignite the flame only to get a small blue flame instead, huh? 8, running back full speed happy that he was in the premises of where his backpack is, he pulled the spare lighter, a brand new one out of the side pocket, 7, repeating the same process of flicking the button over and over, 6 until a bright orange flame engulfed the dark room, 5, he immediately grabbed his candle from besides the bag, 4 reaching in close by the wick, burning himself slightly in 3-, the process. Yuta heaves out a sigh of relief, while the spirit laughs at the frantic boy. 'He's cute.'

For a breaker, he took out his phone, looking at the time that seemed to pass by quickly throughout the ritual, 2:47 AM. A little more while to go until he'd finally get it over with. "Do not attempt to provoke the Midnight Man during the game." You ended for the nth time that night, "Which idiot would-" Yangyang asks "Haechan-" Jaemin pretends to cough while blurting out his best friends name, the mentioned feigning offence while tilting his head to the side, tongue poking at the insides of his cheek. "Seems like that's pretty much it." you shrug while the older guy beside you leaning back on both of his hands, "I kinda wanna try that out" Yuta raised his eyebrows at you. "Halloween night? We all go together" you chirp in, both of you whipping your heads to look at the three perplexed boys. "Uh, I have to water my fish on halloween? She'd get pretty thirsty". Jaemin's eyes wandered about, coming up with an excuse, "And I gotta walk my rock yo, physical fitness." Haechan adds, "Can I bring my fish along? She could use some exercising". 

"Come on guys, it won't be that bad, we'll stick in a group?" You pleaded, trying your best to muster up the cutest puppy eyes. "I'm down" Yangyang shrugs. You do a tiny seal clap, looking expectedly at the other two, Yangyang and Yuta doing the same. "We stick together?" Haechan asks, to which the three of you nod your head, 

"Alright then we're down too"

[3:04AM 30th, October. ]

A few more minutes left until he'd succeed, Yuta was starting to grow tired of constantly roaming. He'd usually not the one to wear out that quickly, but for a reason unknown to him, he felt utterly sleepy, tired, hungry and just wanted to lie down. He decided to take a small break, the candle still light, dangerously flickering but yet still intact. Yuta sat by the foot of the stairs as Taeyong looked at him with the same cocky smirk on his face, contemplating whether to pop out or not. 'Maybe let's make it subtle? '

Taking up the form of a black humanoid figure, Taeyong makes his way towards Yuta whose eyes seem to be dropping low with each passing second. Upon hearing the sounds of footsteps Yuta looks up, a hand on his forehead from the sudden throbbing headache. Letting out a loud yell at the figure in front of him that disappeared almost immediately, he rushed to grab his lighter again. The sudden temperature drop made him shudder. Taking out the new lighter, he pressed the button again and again as the time limit started to exhaust, 6, at a successful fire, he reached for his candle, only for the flame to go off when it neared the candle wick. "what the fuck.." 5, "come on.." he stated in a rushed voice, sure that he just saw whatever he saw once again. Finally flicking the button one last time, he succeeded in lighting the candle. 

Contrary to popular belief, the midnight man didn't always radiate death. Sometimes he just messes around with the humans because the underworld could get a little boring. And as the curse states death and wrath is only to be faced by those who sinned and the boy playing right now seemed to be of no threat. All Taeyong wanted to do was get the guy to believe in his existence. Skeptics were like an insult to him. So if he had to prove himself and his existence on his own, then so be it. He gets some pretty good experience out of it anyways. 

Yuta stood up immediately, remembering the warning's you'd stated, "Do not stop moving until 3:33am", walking back up the stairs, he took out his phone to check the time, 3:29am. Almost. 

The same sounds of footsteps resonated from behind him, Yuta took an immediate U-turn. Going back down the stairs and roaming the empty, dark hallways, making sure to enter each and every room, keeping a mental note to thank his parents for having a slightly confusing infrastructure. The wax was almost completely out in the glass jar, but he had to hang in there for a little longer than 2 more minutes when he felt something brush his shoulder, much similar to how a friend would drape their hands over his/her friends' shoulder. He could've brushed it off as anything if it weren't for the sharp pain he felt right after the feeling of someone touching him. He's getting the proof he wants. Almost as if someone pulled his hoodie, Yuta stumbled back, letting out a shaky scream, tripping on his own foot, landing butt down onto the floor, catching a glimpse of the same humanoid figure he'd been seeing. He needs to get out of there. 

Stumbling back onto his feet, Yuta bolted it upstairs, grabbing his phone once again to check the time, 3:32am. Reaching his room, he set the candle down right beside him, vary of the windows and doors, starting to back his backpack, the sounds of rushed footsteps running start to where he is ringing through his ears, hands shakingly packing his bag. Keeping the candle closeby, contemplating whether to draw a salt circle or not since there was only less than half a minute left when the same humanoid figure neared him with fast footsteps, reaching by the door frame with a loud agonizing scream only to disappear immediately. 

Not realising the stress of tears flowing and the tresses sticking to his forehead, Yuta looked at the door frame in a perplexed yet confused manner. What the fuck was that. 

Taking out his phone once again while grabbing his backpack, laptop and the car keys in the other hand, 3:34 am. He'd made it through. After reaching the front door, not even bothering to close it, he rushed to his car, starting it before pulling up your contacts, seeing the messages he'd never sent you. 

Yuta san 1:39am: The boys said they won't make it tomorrow, it's gonna be just you and i

Y/nleE 1:43am: Why not? 

Yuta san 1:45am: Dk, they said they aren't interested. So come near xxxx tomorrow at 11:30. I'll meet you there. 

Y/nleE 1:48am: Coolsies. 

Yuta san 3:38am: Y/n don't come here, gather the boys and meet me by Haechan's dorm tomorrow. The game's no fucking joke. 

And with that he started driving away quickly to his dormitory, not once looking back at the house to see a human. Or a human like figure standing there, A bright red hair standing out due to his blood drained looking pale skin. A smirk on his face

Message not delivered. 

31st October, 22:37PM, 2020.

Today was a weird day, 

Having all plan's set two days before, you'd make sure to keep yourself ready for whatever you and your friend group were supposed to do today. You finished up all your assignments earlier that day to keep yourself free from afternoon and on. 

The weird part was that, no matter how much you kept your phone for charge, each time you tried calling one of the guys to ask for the sudden bailing out on plan, which is a shocker because they've never done that, your phone kept switching off. You could've gone all the way to their apartment, well, dorm, but you decided to wait until later to do so. Maybe a few minutes before leaving to the place Yuta texted you so that they'd have no choice but to come along. Since your last time texting with Yuta, you hadn't heard from him. Granted, he did text you quite late at night saying he's going to do god knows what and to tell you of the sudden plan change, but you hadn't heard from him after, that being weird since he literally lives a floor below yours, he could've come any moment but nope. You kept a mental note to tell him off later. 

You took out your phone once again to check if they'd sent any messages or missed calls only to have an empty chat box, other than that of your other friends that is. Added on top of that came the constant pricking feeling on your shoulder blades from the last day you hung out with the boys. The pain would appear randomly and it would be hurtful enough to draw blood, which is weird considering the fact that you kept yourself away from all sharp objects and had a full sleeve covering the area. 

One stone, two birds. Taeyong's motto. 

After having interfered with your phone, your friends, trying to keep you away from them until you'd go through the same as your other skeptic partner, Taeyong made sure that Yuta would be sick enough after returning home to keep him from even getting up from his bed. Temporary paralysis. Your other friends, of course they tried reaching out to you, only for him to cut the service to keep you away from them for a while. They got easily distracted from you ignoring their texts as they were focused on reaching out to Yuta. 

Unknown: Hey Y/n, I'm Yuta's friend. He told me you aren't replying to his texts so asked me to do so. 

Y/n: Who's this? 

Unknown: Oh! I'm Taeyong! A close friend of well, your friend XD. 

Y/n: Nice to meet you, Taeyong. I'm Y/n but it seems like you already know that. 

Unknown: Yeah :). Yuta's on his way here and told me that you'd be joining us? Are you nearby?

Y/n: He left? No, actually, I'm just leaving my place. I guess I'll meet you there? 

Taeyong: Meet ya :)

[23:22PM, 31st October, 2020 continued. ]

Hailing a cab to the address Yuta had sent you with his friends, Taeyong's number saved on your phone in case the later won't pick up, you left your place. Still feeling a little eerie from how Yuta just decided to leave you behind when he could've just offered to go together, which is pure Yuta style. He probably wasn't in the best of moods but he could've at least texted you letting you know of his departure from the apartment building. 

The journey to the given address didn't take that long surprisingly. A little towards the outskirts of the town in a much aloof part but nonetheless, doable. It's not like you'd be alone there any ways. Paying for your fare, you took your purse, brushed your fingers through your hair to tame it a little from the ride, and turned towards the building, jumping slightly at the bright haired guy sitting by the front porch. Adorning the simplest of fit, a black knee slit jeans, with a graphic tee and a black leather jacket with a chain or two. He, in no doubts, was ethereal. His pale skin stood out the most in the street light if you could call it that and his lips seemed a little drained of blood, eyes hollow yet captivating when he looked up from the dirt below him to you who still stood yards away. Smiling, he got up, making his way towards after brushing off the invisible lint from his jeans, "Hey" he offered you his hands for you to shake upon reaching you. "Hey..? Taeyong, right?" 

Wanting so badly to smirk, he only looked down with a silent snicker, looking up immediately to not look suspicious, "Yeah, Y/n..?" you nod in response, shuddering from the coldness of his skin, "Have you been out for too long? You're freezing," you exclaim, looking at him with a guilty expression and taking a mental note to hit Yuta for not arriving earlier. "Oh no, i just reached a minute or two prior to your arrival." you nod in understanding, withdrawing your hands from his hold, "By the way, Yuta called me a few minutes ago, telling me that he wouldn't make it and to just carry on" Taeyong said, looking at you with his eyebrows raised at your confused, innocent expression, his humane form threatening to change into his original form. "What? Why? It's like,-" you look down at your wrist watch, "11:50! And he's bailing out now?", smiling at you in fake sympathy, he replied, "he said he had other things to take care of," "But you said he'd left the place and was on his way here?" you ask, hands on either sides of your hip, "Last minute plan changes" Taeyong shrugs, "Anyways, let's get inside?" 

He pointed towards the front door with both his hands, gesturing you to go forward first. And so you do. You offer him a smile before turning your back towards him and making your way towards the old house, the door seemingly open. Climbing up the stairs with caution, humming at the sound of dried leaves crunching up below your feet with each footstep. Taeyong stood behind where you two had introduced yourselves for a few minutes, a few more minutes. "Taeyong? Are you not coming?" you turn around slightly, looking over your shoulder at lad standing still, "Yeah, I'm coming" he replied soullessly, still standing his group until he saw you open the door ajar and then took his first step forward. Not bothering to go too quick. 

The insides were simple, very very simple yet magnificent. The flooring seemed to be that of wooden finishing that creaked with each step you took, implying that of how old the infrastructure must be. You look around in awe, clutching at the sling bag that you carried along. You go corner to corner, not bothering to look behind to see if the friendly stranger was hot on your trail, instead seemingly being captivated by the olden time-ish wallpapers and paintings and antique pieces that the wall adorned. Taeyong on the other hand was just growing restless, 4 more minutes until he could play his next victim, he was growing frantic. He did follow you inside, instead opting to walk the opposite direction as you, towards where he'd hidden the paper with your crimson blood and name written on it, contemplating whether to just tear it and carry on proving his existence to the female in the room. 3 more minutes, he bit into his lips, "Taeyong? Look, i found something!" He heard you scream.

Puffing out a breath of frustration, Taeyong replied "Coming!" and he walked out of the room, hands in his pocket towards where you stood by the bottom of the stairs, looking at the lighter in your hand that seemed relatively unused. "I found lighter down here" you look at him with a tiny pout evident on your lips, looking back and forth between the candle and the guy, puzzled. "It must be some thugs who came here to smoke or something" He shrugged it off, taking the lighter out of your hand. It must be you over analyzing things but without a single light turned on in the villa with only your flashlight acting as a source of light, but Taeyong looked even more lifeless than before. Eyes dark ebony and dangerous, somehow intimidating, lips adorning a bright shade of red in contrast to how you saw it the first time, and his aura had seemingly darkened. 2 more minutes. You shake your head and walk up the stairs and towards a room which has it's door wide open. Choosing to lay out your things there, you stretch out a few stiff limbs, "So, me and the boys were planning on doing the midnight game, you know. One of those stupid creepy pastas? I can't believe all of them bailed out on me last minute," you speak particularly to no one in the room, assuming that Taeyong was listening to you, whose ears only perked up at the words midnight and stupid. Midnight. 00:00Am. The devil smirked to himself. Midnight, at last. 

"I mean, Yangyang, Jaemin and Haechan came off as no shock to me- they're the other friend's by the way, but Yuta, it's weird for him to at least not let me know." You keep going, scrolling through your phone screen, only for it to load suddenly, No internet access. Sighing, you pull out offline downloads, "Did he tell you anything else? Like if he's feeling unwell or something?" you ask, letting the question float in the air, waiting for a reply. Getting known even after the passing of a few seconds, a minute too maybe, "Taeyong?" you stand up from the bed, well, the bed frame and make your way outside, "Tae?" you look left and right, searching for any moving soul when you feel your phone vibrate in your hands, and the sound of notification resonates through the eerie silence. You look down at the device in your hand, one new message from Yuta san and an immediate black out of the screen. Impossible. 

You remembered full well charging your phone to a hundred percent before leaving your dorm. Hell, you even kept it on airplane mode your whole cab ride. Shrugging it off, you keep your phone beside your bag and then proceed to go out to look for your new friend? acquaintance? You didn't even know how to classify him as yet. "Tae, if you're trying to scare me, I'll give you heads up, it doesn't work on me." you chuckle, walking to the room beside the one you were previously lounging in. "It's past midnight and we both seem too uninterested to try out whatever we were supposed to anyways, how about we just head out?" you start, looking down at your wrist watch which displayed 00:09 on the screen in neon green. "I mean, it was stupid enough that my friends and i even decided to try it out knowing it's some made up shit to scare some seven olds, probably" you continue, feeling as though you're talking to the walls at the lack of response. "Taeyong, come on. I'm growing bored." 

"Tae-" "You know, the way you logicised made it seem like you're smart enough. It was impressive," you hear his voice, a little too hoarse and plain for your liking, he continued before you could muster up a reply, "But seems like you aren't all that smart after all, seeing how you believed a total stranger and are even ready to spend time with him." you look around the place, only hearing his voice but his figure to be nowhere near you, "Taeyong, what are you talking about?" you head out of the room you currently stood in, jogging to catch his voice.

"It was a little angering you know? The way you spoke about me and my followers, it was disrespectful. And I could've taken you then and there, but what to do. You seemed too cute to take your soul without a small game? Is that what you humans call it?" You feel breathing fanning the nape of your neck and a cold air following it right after, making you turn back, "Your friend got his share of play" you whip your head forward, finally seeing the male in front of you, standing by the door frame of a connective hallway, you swore you felt his presence behind you though. His infamous smirk still adorning his features. Figure a little more towering and intimidating. If you thought he couldn't have seemed more lifeless a few minutes ago, then his appearance now only seemed to prove you wrong. "So it's only fair if you got your part of the play too, right?" 

"Taeyong, you're only making your existence weird for me, let's go if you're done." He only tilted his head in amusement, "Oh it's only about to get weirder, darling" You turn back to face a blood red shot eyed male, well, Taeyong, eliciting a gasp from you, you look over your shoulder to see the place where Taeyong stood a blink of eye ago. "How..did-" His chest visibly vibrated from the hearty laugh he let out, "How did I do that?," you step back as his voice dropped even lower, only for you to bump your back into something rigid, something cold, making you let out a yelp as Taeyong seemed to stand still in front of you, "I can do a whole lot of things," you feared turning back, the insides of your stomach hurdling around as whatever was behind you reached their arms up and held you still in a vice grip. "Y/n!" you hear a voice scream from downstairs, "Y/n! Come out! We need to get out of here!" you recognize the voice as that of your friends, Yuta's. 

You squirm hard to loosen the person's grip on your shoulder. Once succeeding, you bolt down the stairs, skipping a few steps, tripping now and then but nevertheless making it down without landing face first as you hear Taeyong's laugh thunder throughout the place. You take a turn to reach the front door, where Yuta stood in all his glory. You immediately run into his embrace, ignoring how his body seemed just as cold as the one you felt from whatever Taeyong was, "Y-yuta, he's sick, let's go, we need to go!" you try pulling Yuta's body a little closer to the exit, only for him to stand his ground, wrapping his hands around you even tighter as he caressed your hair, "Oh, Y/n.." your body goes stiff as your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, that sounded nothing like your best friend, "Yuta..?" 

You try pulling your head away from the nape of his neck to look at him, "No darling, it's 'stupid made up shit''," his body vibrated once again from the laughing against yours, as you feel yourself growing scared each passing second. You try mustering up all your strength to bring it to his sides and push him away when you feel a plush yet cold muscle press against your neck, only for it to go futile. "Still made up for you?" you feel a sharp pang of pain flow through your nerves, result of him biting the skin in a manner far too away from soft, "Taeyon-g- lord--midnight man, whatever you are.. I'm --sorry" you say in a hushed voice, scared that if you voiced out a little louder, he'd pounce at you. You feel him nibble at the soft skin, making you whimper, "Oh no, darling, do not apologize. Your doings really intoxicated me. Kept me entertained for a while." 

"But now, it's angering me to know a feeble creature as you kept poking fun at my people. At me. And I want no more than to turn you into something belonging to me. Who'd worship me the way 'my people' do." He whispered against the area, lifting his head up and leaning down, making sure not to let go of his grip on you, "oh no, pretty girls aren't supposed to cry. Tsk tsk, what is this, Y/n" His eyes bore holes onto the crown of your head. "Look at me." he acted on making you look at him faster than you could, "Could you beg for forgiveness? Give me a piece of yourself?" he inched closer to your face, a small snarl escaping his throat at your scared and trembling figure, "Or you could just be my queen and come below with me, and you'd not have to cut down your lifespan" 

"Are you turned on by all of this, Y/n? Or is it out of fear?" you let out a shaky breath as the tip of his nose touched yours, "Because i can smell you from here and oh," he let out what sounded like an animalistic growl, "Is it delicious.". "Taeyong, please let me go.. I'm sorry. I really am, just please don't hurt me,-" you let out a whine of pain when you feel his other hand knot his fingers in your locks and pull it back with much aggression, immediately planting his lips onto your trembling once, bearing his fang like teeth into plush flesh to draw out blood, earning a loud high pitched scream from your end as you try your best to push him away, futile once again. His hands tighten their grip at the waist while his other hand pulled your head further back, latching onto the firm skin of your neck, treating it with the same aggression, puncturing through the skin with his teeth as your hands go limp beside your body, nevertheless, letting out a whimper from the harsh treatment, which, in all your defense couldn't be help since you still are a human with all emotion any human would feel, that including lust. You feel his cold lips curve into a smirk against where blood flowed out, lapping it up with his tongue as you feel your vision blacken the more as time went by. 

"Oh darling you're no different than me.."

4th November, 19:48Pm, 2020.

"She's awake!!" you blink multiple times to get accustomed to the blaring lights in the room, a comfortable white filling your eyesight. You move your head towards the side to find all your friends sprawled out on each side. A drip connected to your hands making you squint in confusion, "Can you hear us, Y/n?" you feel your shoulders being shaken as jolt, "Hey? Yeah i can hear you, why won't i be able to?" you ask, confusion still laced in your voice, "Because you hadn't responded to us the last time we called you. And because you've been laying dead the past few days" Jaemin spoke up first, earning a smack from his elder brother 

"Why didn't you stop when we screamed your name the other day, Y/n? You literally weren't breathing the day we found you" Yangyang inquired and stated, "And why did you leave us all on seen??" Haechan added, "Most of all, where were you even??" Yuta spoke. You hiss at all the questions being thrown at you as you try sitting up by the inclined hospital bed, "Screamed? Didn't respond? I left you on seen? That's highly impossible and where was i??" you stare blankly at the plain wall in front of you, trying to remember any such episode. The more you strained your head, the more clueless you grew. Your throat starts to grow dry so you turn your neck to check if there are any water bottles nearby, only for a sharp pain to flow through your nerves at a particular spot in your throat. You yelp at the sudden pain, "I'll get the doctor," Haechan rushed outside, when you reached out to touch your neck, feeling it with the tips of your finger, feeling in the swollen skin, the dried up blood when it all hit you. Your eyes grow wide as you start shaking, for it to be first noticed by Yuta, "Yuta, that house! The game, it's all real! I saw hi-him, his name! I swear he's real!" growing concerned at your sudden frenzy behavior, Yuta kneeled down beside your bed, holding your non-injected hand giving it a comforting behavior. 

"Calm down, angel. Tell me point by point," he encouraged you to take in a long breath, as Haechan rushed in along with the doctor whose face was half covered with a doctor's mask, "Doctor, he-he's probably out for me, you need to get me far away from here! Please" you beg with your eyes stinging with all the tears, "No one's going to get you from here, Ms. Y/n, you're safe here" You pause your frantic actions for a while. That voice sounded a little too familiar for your liking, making you think you're over analyzing everything again. The doctor gestured to your friends to leave you up to him to have a doctor to patient talk. All of your friends nodded in understanding, giving you one last reassuring smile before collectively leaving the room. 

The doctor, once after making sure that everyone left, removed his mask to reveal the oh so familiar smirk and the hair protector, rustling the same, familiar bright red hair with the same familiar pale fingers of his. Your eyes widen, mouth falls wide ajar

"Oh wait, there's one last warning, Do not assume that the Midnight Man has left your home for good at the conclusion of the game. I'm for real done now" You laugh at your friend who snatched the phone away from you,

"Pleasure to meet you again, darling"

[jungwooisms]

gekokujō | k.dy | official teaser

pairing: kim doyoung x female reader members: suh youngho (johnny), lee minhyung (mark), nakamoto yuta, lee jeno, kim jungwoo, jeong jaehyun genre: historical au (early 1900’s)/historical fiction, angst, fluff warnings: smoking, language, alcohol word count: 13k/? summary: kim doyoung left his home in search of himself; yet when a collection of both familiar and unfamiliar faces surface, he finds that he may just be a a part of something much larger than he anticipated.

| this will be a part of @puppywritings’ historical collab |

[1909.04.01. Boston, MA] ‘John,

I feel enough time has adequately passed to allow me to write to you. Although, there is not much news from home to tell you of. 

The snow is fast disappearing now. I came across an article in the paper the other day about Boston and it said that 14 or 15 years ago bears used to roam around the northern end of the city, but there seems to be nothing around now except the wild fowl, and an uncountable number of deer. 

How are your hands now? I know that the winter air dries yours as it does mine. Mine are very cut, so scattered with paper trails that I fear I should bleed ink from all the books that you left me. Have you been able to acquire any more on your travels? I find that the supply you gave me is running rather low now. 

You left for Munich inquiring after Daniel Lim if I recall the name correctly, I hope you found him in good health on your arrival. I also hope he does not overwork you, you said as much happened the last you worked under him in London.

I am very pleased to say I am keeping very well, and I trust you are the same. If anything happens, know that I will gladly storm my way across the sea and give your wrongdoers what for.

I miss you, John. And I hope you return soon, you know I love to hear about your travels.’

A short chuckle to yourself as you pull the pen away from the paper after signing your name, ink stains settling into the grooves of your fingers as you aren’t cautious enough with the writing implement. Short blows over the thin paper as you try to dry the ink as quickly as possible, although this isn’t the sweltering heat of the summer you’re unsurprised the ink hasn't run but so much. Carefully standing from your seat you begin your search around the room for an envelope, fingers brushing over various stacks of papers and novellas lying around your workspace. Eventually you find a weathered, but perfectly usable one underneath a dog-eared copy of Jane Eyre. You address the letter to his newest residence, some boarding house in Germany, but you aren't sure if he was even staying there anymore. If that doesn't work out and one of your letters was stamped “Return to Sender” once more, you’d just have to wait for him to send you something first. It seemed like you were always waiting after John. Not that you mind much, you had been as thick as thieves as teenagers and that had hardly ever changed, even after he’d decided to go abroad and study, then go onto some teaching stints wherever the wind blew him.

As you return to your seat you hear a gentle meowing outside, head peering over your desk and out of the glass panes into the garden below you spot a small black and white tabby looking up at you. A sigh escaping your lips as you move to grab your pen once more, beginning to write a post scriptum,

‘p.s. Your lovely feral cat has now decided that I take ownership of her in your absence. Is there a name you prefer I call her?’

You hope he can understand your tone, it’s an issue of yours that the words you write sometimes don't hit their mark. Regardless, you’d send the letter and hear his thoughts on it whenever he has the gaul to write back. You straighten your back from your hunched position and move through the house, your fingers tracing along the smooth walls until you reach the door leading into the garden, it lay nestled in the corner of the kitchen. There’s a faint scratching as you approach, only opening it to find the same tabby waiting for you, it barrels inside once it sees an opportunity.

“You wretch,” tsking as she begins brushing up against your leg. “What am I going to do with you?”

[1909.04.30. 今出川, 京都] The ground crunches underfoot as Doyoung walks; the pavement, covered with a thin layer of grit from a small windstorm that had picked up an hour or so prior, feeling as if it’s shifting as his leather soled shoes move over it. Storm having left its mark and not going to disappear until a rain shower decides to wash it away, he breathes in the particles still floating through the balmy weather. A small frown as he fans his jacket, allowing some air to circulate under the thick fabric. Had it not been impolite, he would have shed the garment as soon as he stepped out of the train station only minutes ago. His hand still wrapped around his bag he looks to the signs adorning the tops of businesses along the road. Doyoung was never great at learning hanja, so when it came time for him to begin learning the already different kanji and further hiragana and katakana that would come along with his trip abroad, he thought he might set out to find a tutor during his time here. Hand moving to rummage around the inside of his jacket, he procures a worn letter from its depths. ‘今出川 居酒屋,’ it is the only thing foreign to him within the contents of the scripture, the sender had asked to meet him there for lunch on the second day of Doyoung’s arrival to Kyoto.

Doyoung finds the bar after walking a few more blocks, north from the station and hidden away behind a bookstore in a back alley. Before he enters, he pauses. His grip on the letter tightening, the parchment creasing from the increased pressure as the slight tingly pervasiveness of guilt begins to wrack him from the inside out. A look to his left, and then to his right, a ghost of a figure in his peripheral, deterring him from running from the drinkery. It drives him closer, away from an inevitable future and towards the uncertain present. 

A haze of smoke blankets the air as he enters, that of tobacco intermingling with the small fire stoking in the back of the bar. It invades his nose rather viciously, itching the back of his throat and causing tears to form in the corners of his eyes as he greets the hostess with a small ‘Hello’ and ‘A table, please.’ She guides him and he settles down at a chabudai towards the front of the building, almost with enough of a view so that he can peer past the two small curtains at the entrance and into the street.

The letter now resting atop the table and his bag by its side, he reaches into his jacket yet again to procure an almost empty pack of cigarettes and a newly bought lighter. He had run out of fluid during his journey across the sea and he thought that buying a new one would be a novel idea to commemorate his trip. Doyoung’s eyes wander around the enclosed space as he scans the faces of the patrons. Most were men but there was the occasional woman mingling among the crowd as well. Cigarette placed on his lips, lighter spewing to life and igniting the end as he takes a deep breath in. Doyoung hates smoking, hates the way it pierces his lungs with its inky black vapors. It leaves his breath smelling awful, but it is just something people do to pass the time. Fingers finding the cigarette, he removes it for a moment, tapping it against a small silver dish atop the table, the ashes pooling at the bottom as he continues to look for someone he hasn’t met yet.

“Did you want to order anything else?” A voice to his right calls out, he jumps slightly before turning, only to find the kimono clad waitress at his side. She sets down a tray of dishes, some foods he recognizes, and some he thinks to be the local cuisine.

“Oh, no thank you.” As his eyes look over the food he moves to rest his cigarette in the ashtray to come back for later.

The woman gives a short smile and brief nod before speaking again, “Please let me know if you need anything.” Even after she had walked away, Doyoung could feel her eyes lingering on him like a child seeing some sort of marvel for the first time. This is not to say that he thinks that highly of himself, just that he knows that he is an outsider in a foreign place, his accent could tell anyone as much.

“I think she likes you.” A voice speaking up when Doyoung goes to take a bite out of the onigiri on his tray.

Mouth half full and brow furrowed in confusion, Doyoung turns to face wherever the voice had come from, “What did you say?” Chewing his food and swallowing rather harshly, he almost chokes as he thinks he’s going insane after hearing what sounded like Korean. This time it was a man who spoke, he was sitting at another table across from him, a shifty grin on his face. Something about him seemed different from everyone else in the bar, but the man couldn’t quite put a finger on it in this dimly lit room.

“She’s still staring at you.” The other man answers, now standing up and proceeding to walk over to him. “But it’s not like she’s hearing me say that anyway,” He laughs, brushing his hands against the lapels of his jacket.

Now in a better light, the man can get a better view of this stranger. “Are you Korean too?” He asks in his native tongue, feeling much more relieved that the burden of speaking a different language is momentarily sated.

“No,” Another laugh as the man settles down in the seat adjacent. “Just familiar with the language, is all.” He pauses for a moment, his eyes staring into Doyoung’s as if he’s trying to memorize his facial features. “You wouldn’t happen to be Kim Dongyoung, would you?”

“Doyoung, actually.” He clears his throat. “I am,” Eyes glancing at the letter still atop the table, Doyoung comes to a realization, “Are you Nakamoto Yuta?”

“I am,” A smile as he extends his hand. Less practiced with western formality Doyoung looks at the greeting for a moment before raising his own to formally address him, “It’s nice to meet you.” After a moment they drop their hands away from each other, Yuta’s gaze shifting to watch the hostess move his food from his old table to the one he now shares with Doyoung. “With an accent like that you must be from the south, Daegu, maybe?”

“Guri, actually.” He returns to his food for a moment, Yuta taking this time to also take a few bites from his own bento. “Where did you learn Korean?”

“Did Youngho not tell you?” Youngho is their mutual friend, he’d given Doyoung Yuta’s contact information to inquire if he had any availability to tutor him. “I studied with him when we were in college, I moved back here a year after we graduated, my mother fell ill and wanted to come back from living in Hanseong.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Doyoung frowns, shifting as he sets his chopsticks down. The two must have met after Doyoung had left his schooling to return to his family, per their wishes. 

A smile, “She made a perfect recovery, but now that she’s home she never wants to leave again.” Yuta reaches for the porcelain flask of sake the hostess had brought over, pouring himself a small glass then offering one to Doyoung. The younger politely refuses, still not accustomed to the savoriness of the drink, as Yuta nods and knocks back his own cup before speaking again. “When can you start classes? We typically meet for an hour or two every day if we can.”

“We?” Doyoung’s caught up on the word, he thought these would be private lessons, not an actual class. He leans forward, somewhat anxious at the thought of his abysmal language skills to be put on show for more than one audience member.

“Just a handful of other students from all over the place,” Shoulders shrugging Yuta leans backwards, hands placed atop his knees as he stretches his back. “We have a few Korean and Chinese kids, even a Canadian student as well. Not everyone’s at the same level so you shouldn’t worry too much about it.” He smiles, toothy and carefree as if there wasn’t an unhappy thought that had ever crossed him, Doyoung somewhat resents the uncertain assumption he made. “The schoolhouse isn’t too far away from here actually; did you want to stop by?” Hand motioning towards the doorway, Yuta’s head tilts inquisitively.

“I actually have to check in at the hotel I’m staying in, my parents told me to write whenever I got here and I’ve been putting that off for a while,” A sigh escaping him. Doyoung had been thinking about what to pen for the past day and a half but couldn’t muster the strength to go through with it. He’d left on rocky terms and was expecting to be hounded whenever they responded. “I’ll stop by tomorrow when you have class if that’s alright?”

“Fine by me,” He’s now searching his own pockets, finding a pen and reaching out for the letter near Doyoung. Yuta scribbles down something, a few kanji that Doyoung can’t decipher, and hands him the paper back, “Classes start at ten, when you’re in the area just ask someone if they know where this is and they’ll point you in the right direction.”

“Thanks,” Doyoung looks down to the paper, seeing in his periphery that Yuta was already on his feet, straightening his jacket as he begins to head over to the waitress.

Doyoung sees him say something but can’t make out what, it’s only when Yuta turns to him and speaks that he can ascertain the meaning, “Don’t worry about paying this time, you’ll have to treat me to lunch some other day.” And with that Doyoung finds himself alone once more in the tavern.

 [1909.04.30. Boston, MA] The letter had arrived early in the morning, but you had been out in town with your mother attending some group function that you didn't want to be a part of in the first place. So, when you walk into your own little study and see it lying atop your things you race over and tear open the seal adorning it.

‘When I arrived in Munich, my work left me so urgent that I could not write in time before I left again. I thus deferred it to a point where I once again found myself with solid footing. It rains heavily in Seoul today, my travels have taken me here instead of crossing the Atlantic.

Currently I am holding a tutoring position for the American consulate’s son. I expect to hold this position for some time before I return home to Boston. 

Tell my mother not to fuss over me too much, if anything I implore her to look after you. Of all people, other than your own family, she knows of the antics you pursue.

I was able to sneak out a few books from Munich, upon my return I swear to you that you will have the greatest library in all America- no, the world, even.

If I were a better artist, or wealthy enough to photograph, I would show you how beautiful my journey across the world has been. Although, so much has changed in Seoul since I held my studies here. I cannot help but have the inklings of melancholy eat away as I recall the memories and compare them to what I see now. This will come to pass, I hope. 

I hear the boy calling for me now— My writing will have to cease here, I fear. Send my affection to your family, I know they miss me as much as you do.

With all the love I can muster,

x John

p.s. I think I have decided to call her Minnie, please refer to her as that accordingly.’

While scattered with his familiarities and humor, the letter seems all too short, all too hurried. Your lips purse as you read over it, brow furrowing as a small knot in your stomach begins to form. Thumb rubbing over the x marking his name the worry only grows ever more prevalent, you pull your eyes away from the words and begin to rummage around for your own writing implements and paper, wanting to respond to him as quickly as possible.

‘John,

Your letter left much to be desired. Seoul? Your mother anxiously awaits your return any day now, before you left you said you would only be gone until early May at most. I hope that nothing unsavory has happened, God knows you find yourself in trouble more than any other man I know. 

Please let her know that you are safe, I fear that she may follow after you should you be gone any longer. A son should never burden his mother with his absence for an extended period, I can only keep her company for so long before her weariness sets in and she longs to see you. 

She also knitted you a pair of gloves, seeing as you left your moth-eaten ones behind. I know the air is growing warmer, but it is somewhat endearing to see how doting she is over you. Please, ease her mind by writing.’

[1909.04.30.-1909.04.31.  今出川ホテル, 京都] Doyoung eventually finds himself standing at the small entrance of a hotel, the name written in cursive English on a wooden sign above the doorway. Youngho had recommended the inn, saying that it would be one of the more accepting places to stay at as a foreigner. It has a somewhat Victorian looking façade, contrasting the traditional Japanese styled buildings around it, he wonders why that is as he ascends the handful of steps to the door, struggling ever so slightly while lugging his bag behind him. As the door swings open, he’s greeted by an elderly woman with a rather round face, “Good evening,” she smiles and ushers him inside. “Did you need a room for the night? Or do you have a reservation?”

Mind fogging as he struggles to keep up, “Apologies, my Japanese isn’t—” The stone floor clicking underfoot as he follows her to the main desk.

“Ah, Korean?” It’s accented, but he appreciates it nonetheless. “Do you have a reservation?” Her hands dance along a worn leather book atop the desk, flipping it open as she looks down a list of names, some of those which are crossed out and some of which are not.

“I do,” He nods his head with a short smile, “It should be under Kim.”

Humming as she runs her finger down the list, as her head turns upward it causes Doyoung to return his attention to her, “Kim Heesung or Kim Doyoung?”

“Doyoung,” he says, shifting his weight from foot to foot, mentally hitting himself as he should’ve been more specific. Eyes scanning the list, Doyoung takes a short look around the interior of the inn.The space is smaller than he imagined, but rather cozy. A glowing fire going to warm the chill of the night, large armchairs beside it and the largest bookshelf he’s ever seen built around the hearth.

“Wonderful,” She smiles, turning her back to him to find his room key from a small drawer behind the desk. Before she faces him again fully, she shifts through a small stack of papers atop the desk, “This also came for you,” The woman reaches to pull out a thin card from the stack, it has both hangul and kanji printed on it so it was easy to assume it’d come from his homeland.

“Thank you,” He smiles back before taking the telegram and tucking it into his jacket pocket. She hands him the key and he’s off to find his hotel room. It lays up the staircase and down a winding corridor, as he passes by some of the rooms, he can hear the muffled voices of a few of the other patrons, speaking languages he can mildly understand and others that sound alien. Once he finds his room, he’s all too giddy to throw himself onto the bed. Door locked, shoes and suitcase strewn aside he falls onto the plush bed, his eyes watching the ceiling as the weight of sleep begins to take over his vision.

Broken sunlight filters into the room, the shades drawn enough only to allow sharp slants of light to come through. The city outside is bustling whereas the hotel room seems almost vacant of any form of noise, save for the sound of soft breathing as the occupant sleeps. Kim Doyoung continues to snore  softly, dreaming of something sweet enough to add a slight curvature to his lips. He rolls in his slumber, the telegram received in the night folding under his weight, unbeknownst to him.

Three swift knocks awake him from the depths of slumber. He bolts up, raising a hand to run through his hair as a frown of confusing forms on his lips, wiping away whatever essence of his dream remained. “Are you awake?” A voice rings out seconds after the rapping. It’s the woman from the night before, Doyoung was too tired to connect the dots quite yet.

“Yes,” He responds groggily, moving to allocate his footing onto the floor. He hears soft footsteps leading away from his door, he supposes his wakeup call is completed. Rummaging around his wrinkled jacket-pocket he pulls out his timepiece, the clock reveals that it is seven forty-five in the morning, he has two hours before his lessons begin. Letting out a soft groan, he places the watch away and pushes himself onto his feet. His knees creaking and cracking as he rises and stretches out his arms, signaling that his sleep must’ve been docile. Once again, his hand moves to his jacket as he recalls the telegram, now crumpled in the crevasses of his pocket. Doyoung pulls out the letter, walking to draw open the shades to allow more reading light in.

“Kim Dongyoung,” He mumbles out, reading over the first, short line as the sleep is rubbed from his eyes. ‘Mom and Dad are going to kill you if you continue to ignore them. For my sake, please write. - Donyun’

An audible scoff after he’s finished reading, he can almost hear his brother’s tone. Doyoung does care about his family, but his brother is as much on his parents’ side as he is against it, it is a giant rift in their already teetering relationship.

The telegram tossed onto the bed as Doyoung takes off his jacket, he’d been avoiding his familial issues for a while now and it seems as if they’re coming back to bite him in the ass. It wasn’t entirely his fault for doing so, his father was never a good listener and Doyoung’s ideas were always pushed asunder.

A few moments later he finds himself in a fresh set of clothes, ready to face the day. In truth, he is dreading his lessons but at least it will provide some relief from thinking about the drama happening back in Guri. His shoes drag along the wooden floor as he steps out of his room, locking it with the small gilded key behind him. Once in the hallway, his posture straightens as he begins to make his way towards the staircase that would lead him into the main lobby. The crushed emerald green velvet railing runs under his fingers as he descends, swiftly moving into his pockets once his feet land on the granite tiles splaying out an ocean of deep gray below him.

A thin beam of light shines in through the slit in the door of the entranceway, the windows attached to the door are covered in the same crushed velvet encasing the staircase via curtain. It feels like he is in a black hole with how dimly lit the interior of the building is. Eventually he makes his way through the lobby, past the plumes of smoke belonging to the lackadaisical men resting in overly decadent armchairs smoking out of their kiserus.

Doyoung shuffles his way to the front desk, a younger woman manning it instead of the elderly woman from the night prior. “Can I help you?” Voice sullen sounding, or maybe tired, Doyoung still isn’t awake enough yet to dissect it fully. 

Reaching into his pocket, pulling out the letter from Yuta with the name of the school, “I’m looking for this?”

The girl leans over the desk, it’s easy to tell the yukata she wears is inhibiting her from her full range of motion. Eyes reading the characters carefully, “Whoever wrote this has awful handwriting,” She mutters under her breath and Doyoung can’t understand it entirely. “It’s about a fifteen-minute walk that way,” Hand raising to motion southward, “When you see the sweets shop you should turn right, and it will be a few buildings down on your right.”

A nod of his head as he thinks he caught most of her instruction. He takes the paper back and tucks it away, thanking her as he makes for the door. The heat greets him with a gentle breeze, an inkling of warmth as to what’s in store for later in the day. Doyoung looks to the sky, to see where the sun is positioned so he is able to gauge the direction he was supposed to go. He sets off, pace not brisk or lax, merely at a stride to absorb what’s around him. It’s still early in the morning, plenty of time before the school day begins to wander the streets for a bit.

The street’s crowded, thinning in places where it seems more residential than not, it reminds him of home. Different feel, different language but it has a strange nostalgic aura about it. A sweetness hitting his nose as he approaches a small wooden building, he can’t read what it is but by the smells emanating from it he supposes that it’s the sweet shop the girl at the hotel had told him to turn at. Head tilting to peer down the street, it looks like nothing of note. As he stands there, presumably looking more confused than the average local, he feels a finger gently tap on his shoulder, “Are you lost?”

The voice comes as a surprise, turning Doyoung on his heels to come face to face with a stranger. Eyes wide as he looks the boy over, “A little bit... I’m looking for,” reaching into his pockets as the other stops him.

“Are you Kim Doyoung?” It seems as if everyone here knew of him before he could introduce himself. Before he can speak, a nod of affirmation rattles through him and the other smiles, “Yuta said that we’d be getting a new student in today.” Hand outstretching, Doyoung’s a little more practiced with the greeting now, “My name’s Lee Minhyung, I can show you the way to the school if you want?”

“It’s nice to meet you,” He gives a brief smile before another nod of his head, “I’d really appreciate it.”

[1909.05.05. San Francisco, CA] If anything were to be your downfall, it would be that of your impatience. You’d been sitting down with John’s mother, a woman you likened to your own family when the one back home was too involved in her own business, when the news broke. She was kind, offered you tea and as always had the little tin of biscuits you loved when you were a child sitting atop the tea tray, and then graciously divulged to you that her son was currently under police custody in Tokyo when the last you’d heard he’d been in Seoul. It would explain the absence of letters, or inability to write. Upon questioning her further you realize that maybe he was in far greater a circumstance than he left you off thinking.

It isn’t a matter of asking your parents to ship you off to a foreign land, it’s a matter of when and how soon you can leave. The money sitting in the dank vault of your late grandmother’s account had laid in wait for some sort of use, and she had wanted you to use it to fulfill some sort of errant dream of yours after her passing. You couldn’t find it within yourself to touch it, seeing it as too prized and too treasured a thing to take away from for some frivolous means. But your grandmother had liked John, the late one on your father’s side and not the vile one from your mother’s. She had treated him kindly whenever he had stopped by, sometimes even saying that she had wished him her grandson more than the monsters that were your cousins. You think that is reason enough to pull from your funds and splurge on a rescue mission to Japan. There were several people you’d known that had been there before, detailing it as a curious place but had neglected to tell you why; you don’t think of the language or cultural barriers separating you until you’re standing on a pier in San Francisco, waiting for your ship to dock.

The brine of the sea had never settled well in your stomach, salty on your lips and your cheeks as the coastal winds torrent towards you. Your ship doesn’t leave for a while yet but the queasiness felt on the decks of other ships returns to the pit of your stomach with a ghostlike vengeance. Perhaps it is anxiousness that riddles you instead of the fear of the sea.

 “Im-a-de-ga-wa Gai-ko-ku-jin Ni-hon-go Ga-kko” words falling from your lips in strange and oblong vowels and consonants that were almost completely incorrect. John had mentioned it in the letter to his mother, detailing that should she not hear from him for another month to contact the school and ask for the aid of a Mr. Yuta Nakamoto, a friend that he’d talked about in passing a few times. Apparently, he is a persuasive sort that would most definitely help him out should the occasion arise. Or so John had put it, you aren't really sure what to think of him.

John’s mother had insisted that it had been a mix up at customs but a bitter taste in your mouth and gut wrenching feeling in your stomach told you otherwise. He was a rebellious spirit and had probably said a few choice words that had gotten him in trouble, he had said his Japanese wasn’t great but he had learned a handful of colorful phrases from the aforementioned friend in University that could definitely be taken the wrong way by unknowing ears.

If the seas were steady and your luck good, maybe you can reach him within a month. If not, a week or so longer but you’re not sure if the anticipation of it all would let you, you might jump ship and hope to swim there faster should such a situation arise. Again, impatience being your downfall you can barely stand just watching the large metal steamship land at port and empty its passengers before you were to board.

The air is salty, the gentle spray of foam from the shore landing on your cheeks carefully as you look towards the ship that is to be your dwelling for the next portion of your life. Maybe you shouldn’t have come alone, taken a chaperone or a friend with you, but you were worried, too crunched for time to even entertain the thought as you packed your bags and told your mother you were taking the first train out of town. Your face still stings with the remembrance of the slap she’d given you in her frenzy, calling you something along the lines of a girl too thoughtless to know her role. By no means a heartfelt way to leave her, but your father had said to go, knowing a little more than your mother how much John means to you.

Your bags, brown leather and worn from the days when your father was still youthful enough to travel, lay at your feet as the thin paper ticket folds under your grasp. The chatter from the crowds around you mixing in with shouts of vendors and merchants lining the docks over the squalls of seagulls overhead. It’s all too much when your mind is racing with concern, not too much though to deter you from a gentle tapping on your shoulder.

“I think you dropped this?” Deep voice causing you to turn on your heels and face the perpetrator. When you do, you’re greeted with your passport being held out to you and a dimpled smile to go along with a rather dashing face.

“Oh,” Eyebrows raised as you reach out to gingerly take your own booklet from the other, you hadn’t realized its absence since you had thought it stowed away in the depths of your handbag. “Thank you—?” A pause as you wait for an introduction.

“Jaehyun, or Jeffery, whichever is easiest for you,” he nods and then you offer your name before he speaks again. “It was really no problem,” he continues with a smile as he looks down to the bags at your feet, “Did you just get back or are you going somewhere?”

The innate curiosity of the stranger mildly perplexing, “I’m off to Tokyo.”

“Tokyo,” his tone faltering as his hand drops down to his side after you begin stowing the passport back away in the small purse slung over your shoulder. “What business is taking you there?”

You pause as you think, it isn’t exactly family troubles or business matters that are taking you across the Pacific, stubbornness, and inability to take your friend for everything he said, more like it. “A friend settled there a little while ago,” a nod after a moment of silence, “it seems that he has gotten himself into a little trouble so I am going to make sure everything is alright.” Absentmindedly patting the bag as you can see the other mull it over in his head, “What about you? Are you heading in or out?”

“Out,” The answer is almost immediate, a shift on his feet as he straightens his posture. “I’m heading to Korea; I haven’t seen my family in almost seven years.”

“Seven years?” The most John had been gone was the three years he spent studying abroad; you can’t imagine someone gone from your life for that amount of time. “What were you here for?”

“I was staying with a group of missionaries as I went through college,” Hands in his pockets as he turns to the blue horizon overlooking the ocean you were both meant to traverse, “Now that I’ve graduated there’s nothing keeping me here.”

“What will you do when you’re-” you begin to speak when a loud whistle blares from the port your ship had saddled up to. Growing quiet as you begin to hear the general buzz of the people around you grow as they begin to shuffle towards the bridge that linked the port to the steamship. “I guess it’s time,” Reaching to pick up your bags, the leather against your palm somewhat soothing your nerves, “are you boarding too?”

A shake of his head, “My ship doesn’t leave until the afternoon.”

“Ah,” the sound leaving your lips as the thought of, perhaps, having someone to accompany you on your journey was swiftly diminished. “Well,” A small smile gracing your lips, “It was nice to meet you, Jaehyun.”

“It was nice to meet you too,” smile returning, “Safe travels.”

“And to you,” You nod as you begin to walk towards the front port, looking down to your hand to make sure that your ticket is still in hand.

[1909.05.16. 今出川外国人日本語学校、京都] “It’s not kūremashita it’s agemashita.” writing on a chalkboard, the dust from the small white stick clinging to the ends of Yuta’s jacket as he scrawls out the hiragana. “Unless you’re thankful that Doyoung’s parents give him money?” A smattering of laughter echoing the room as he tries to teach the handful of students how to show appreciativeness and the reporting of it to others. “Try one more time.” Doyoung sits back in his chair and looks at a pink-cheeked Jungwoo who leans over his notes in an attempt to reconcile his verbal mistake.

There’s another try from the dark-haired man, it sounds good enough to Doyoung but apparently, the structure of the sentence needs more tweaking, as seen by Yuta giving out a small sigh before walking to Jungwoo’s side. Doyoung takes this time to look around the small, confined classroom. It was in no means shabby, but one could tell this building wasn’t meant to be a school, Doyoung thinks Yuta told him that it had been some sort of distillery prior to the deed falling into his hands.

From eleven in the morning, when the sun slants in through the two glass windows of the classroom just enough to see the dust flying through the air, to noon is when Yuta teaches the native Korean speakers basic Japanese grammar and vocabulary. It’s only a handful of students; Minhyung, whom Doyoung had met on his first day, Jungwoo, who is somewhat timid but roaringly confident at times, Jeno, a kid on some sort of exchange trip who hopes to build up his language skills before his university classes start in the fall, and of course, Doyoung himself. It is an intimate learning experience, perhaps that’s why Doyoung now feels miles more confident in his speaking ability now than he did a month prior. Hell, he could now converse freely, albeit somewhat confined in his topics, to the front desk woman at the hotel he still resided at.

There’s a knock at the classroom door, pulling the attention from the room’s occupants away from their work and now to the dark wooden door that leads out into the small foyer where the next group of students is presumably waiting for their lecture. “The next class doesn’t start until noon,” Yuta looks to the clock placed atop his desk, “You’ve got five minutes.”

The door opens with a small creak, shadows from the entranceway spilling in as Doyoung catches a familiar face standing there to greet the class. “I was actually hoping to sit in?” A voice Doyoung hadn’t heard since his university days accompanied the creak of floorboards underfoot as Youngho strides into the room. “I think my Japanese is a little rusty.”

A small laugh from Yuta as he recognizes his friend, “There’s the jailrat.” Yuta returns to the front of the room to stand in front of the taller, no doubt feeling the confused gazes of the students behind him staring past him and to the stranger. “I’m surprised they let you out that early.”

“You know I’m persuasive,” Smile lingering on his lips as his head turns and he catches sight of Doyoung looking at him quizzically. He is still caught up on the word jailrat and the connotation behind it, when had Youngho been incarcerated?  

“Well,” Yuta turns on his heels to address the class, “Why don’t we end early today?”

Minhyung’s already leaned over his desk to get Jeno’s attention, Doyoung thinks he hears him say something about grabbing lunch at the nearby market, but his interest is far too deterred to be paying full attention to the younger men. The class packs their bags, Doyoung taking the longest time of all as he tucks away his books into his makeshift bag. In all earnest it was a bag he’d borrowed from the reception at the hotel, he’d neglected to bring or buy a suitable bag for school when he left home and arrived in Japan. The worn canvas of the thing almost wearing through at the bottom, he slings it over his shoulder and makes his way towards Youngho and Yuta, who look to be in deep conversation.

Youngho spots Doyoung approaching in his periphery, turning to greet him with a jovial smile. “I see you made it here in one piece?” His eyes looked tired, his face gaunter than the last time he’d seen his elder, but he wasn’t going to question, it was neither the time nor the place.

“Mostly,” Doyoung replies, “Yuta’s been a great teacher.”

“Thanks for the ego boost,” Yuta’s fingers dance on the lapels of his jacket in mock vanity, only then moving into his jacket pocket for a lighter and his infamous pack of Chūyū cigarettes. He offers one to Youngho and then to Doyoung, to which they accept, pulling their own lighters out of their pockets and lighting the butts of the sticks.

“God, these are shit,” a grit through Youngho’s teeth after he pulls in a drag. “They confiscated my Lucky Strike back in Tokyo.” Doyoung’s brow furrows as the other begins to speak again, “Let me know when you’ve got a free night. I’d love to grab dinner and catch up; it’s been a while.”

“I should have time this Saturday?” Doyoung thinks of his schedule, it’s not that he had massive time commitments here, but he was making a point to travel around the city in his free time. “If that works for you, of course.”

“It sounds doable,” A nod as Youngho moves his hand to tap his cigarette against an ashtray atop Yuta’s desk, the wood around the tray stained with the ashes of past smoking ventures. “Are you still staying at that hotel I told you about?”

Doyoung shifts on his feet, “I am, are you staying there too?”

“Yuta has offered me residence in his home until he is sick of me,” Youngho nods to the aforementioned, “I can meet you in the lobby around five then?”

“Sounds good,” Doyoung agrees, looking at the clock hanging on the wall, “I think Jungwoo wanted to go over the homework together so I should go and help him out.” It’s something of an excuse but Doyoung could feel as if there was some sort of pregnant secret looming over the heads of the other two.

“Would you mind sending Sicheng and the others in?” Yuta asks as Doyoung snubs out his cigarette in the ashtray and makes his way to the door.

Metal knob in hand, Doyoung turns and gives him a brief nod, “Of course.”

There’s something that doesn't sit right with Doyoung. Youngho had noted that he’d planned on staying in Hanseong for a while in the letter he’d sent to Doyoung a few weeks ago. It’s not as if plans can’t change or anything of the sort, yet he’d seemed vehement about it, detailing something about a someone he was going to visit before heading home to America. He isn’t one to question where questions aren’t due, if his friend was to stay in Kyoto for the time being, he’d be nothing more than appreciative of having a familiar face around.

[1909.05.18. 今出川ホテル、京都] When Doyoung ascends the staircase, hands tucked in his jacket pockets, he can immediately tell that Youngho sits in one of the large armchairs by the hotel’s unused fireplace in the lobby. Although his face is obscured by the wings, with the way his hand taps in rhythm with the song wafting through the air, the excitedness of the movements are a telling sign that it is his friend. 

A glance to the victrola that lies in the corner of the room, the audio scratchy and soft as it emits a tune that Doyoung does not know. He strides over to the plush chair, glancing down to its occupant before speaking. 

“Good afternoon,” the words escape him and Youngho turns to him with a jump and widened eyes before he realizes who it is. 

“Dongyoung!” Youngho smiles from the armchair, rising to his feet to greet the other with a quick embrace, “Long time no see.”

“Actually I go by Doyoung now,” he nods awkwardly as Youngho steps back from him, his hand rising to scratch the back of his head, “helps me forget myself for a bit.”

“Still having family issues?” Youngho’s brow furrows as they break their embrace, “I thought you wrote that you had sorted that mess out?”

“More or less,” another awkward smile, “But enough about me— I thought you were supposed to be in Hanseong?”

“Change of plans, there was someone I was meant to meet in Tokyo, but they left during the time while I was imprisoned.”

“Yuta mentioned something like that when you first came in, what happened?” Youngho’s holds out his hand, motioning to the door, as Doyoung questions. The latter begins to walk forward, towards the entrance of the hotel as his friend trails behind him, “Were you really taken into custody?”

“They thought I had ties with Homer Hulbert,” A laugh as the two make their way out the front door, trapezing down the steps and onto the sidewalk, “Which is correct, but they had no grounds to imprison me on the idea that I know him alone or had one of his books in my possession.”

“Hulbert— is he the one that—?” 

“The very same,” he nods, “But that is more than contrived at this point, let me know how you are. It sounds like things are the same with your family the last I saw you.”

“If things were okay then I would have stayed home,” A huff of heated breath leaving him in something of a passive laugh. “My father is still trying to set me up with that girl, the past runs deep, I suppose.”

“I cannot agree with you more,” Youngho agrees with a nod, “Have you even met her yet?”

“The last time I saw Seungwon was when I was thirteen, even if I saw her I cannot say I could point her out in a crowd if you asked me to.” Doyoung's hands find purchase in his pocket, hidden away from the sunlight that falls onto his head and burns the back of his neck as Youngho and he walk further down the street, through the masses of people.

The older nods solemnly, almost as if he understands the situation, "I have a friend who's nearly in a similar situation as you. Although her parents haven't found her a match or approved of anyone she's liked, I'd say her feelings mirror your own."

"Is that right?" Doyoung questions rhetorically as Youngho digs through his jacket pocket for a pack of cigarettes, "Is that the girl who you spoke so much about during our classes together?"

Youngho sputters, his hands failing to ignite his lighter at Doyoung's words, a cigarette dangling from his lips, "Did I really talk about her that much?"

"So much so I feel like I know her," Doyoung smiles and shakes his head, a familiar pang hitting his stomach once he looks back to the street before them. "Do you want to grab something to eat? I don't think I've eaten since lunchtime yesterday."

"Too busy studying?"

"Something like that..." In actuality, he'd received yet another telegram, this time from his mother, scolding him for staying away again.

"You always were more studious than me," the other nods and looks to a small restaurant they begin to pass on their left before stopping in his tracks, "What about this place?"

"Soba?" The intensity of the sun once again baring down above him as he looks to the sign on the door, he nods quickly, "Sounds great."

The pair make their way inside, settling down at a small table in the back corner of the shop as they wait for their food to arrive. Doyoung moves his hand to unbutton a few fastens from the front of his jacket to allow some of the shop's cooler air to hit him. His hands then move to rest atop the table, his long and slender fingers tapping as Youngho smokes the last of his cigarette, snubbing it out on the ashtray settled at the end of the table.

"How's your family doing? Is your father's business going well? I saw a few copies when I was in Hanseong.” Lackadaisical in question, Doyoung can hear something edging behind his friend’s tone that tinges upon suspicion. 

“It’s going well,” a silent nod as a server comes to their table, the two order quickly, leaving little room for questions before Doyoung asks, “What about your family?”

“Willfully ignorant as ever,” Youngho frowns, shifting in his seat. It looks as if bitter words reside on his tongue but he swallows them down with a redemption of a smile. 

“About what?” Doyoung pauses as he reaches for the pot of tea the server had brought on her arrival, his hand hovering over the handle. 

“Everything.” Youngho’s shoulders shrug as Doyoung eventually pours himself and his friend a cup of tea. “Korean politics, American politics, hell- even the politics of their own inner circle. I refuse to believe they aren’t intelligent, they refuse to accept anything that isn’t affecting them personally.” 

“I see…” He winds off his acknowledgement with the abating of his words, woefully aware that his parents are of the same mindset. His own father being the worst of all of them, claiming that any interaction or deals with unsavory business men were for the benefit of the family, not to the detriment. 

“My father’s own brother died in ‘07 and he seemed unfazed by it at all,” Youngho huffs out, “At the hands of the Imperial Army, and yet, still, he said nothing.” 

Doyoung’s eyes widen and he raises a finger to his lips as if to tell the older to lower his voice, unknowing if anyone within the shop understands Korean. “Even if he did, there would be nothing your father could have done about it. Not only is he in America, he holds no authority in Joseon.” 

“No one wanting to do a damn holds any authority in Joseon anymore, you know better than me what the yangban have gone through, what everyone’s gone through.” Youngho leans in closer to Doyoung, ceding as he lowers his tone, “It may be easier said than done but I believe we have the ability to change that.” 

“How would-” Doyoung begins but is interrupted when the server comes back with their food, carefully setting each dish atop the table before retreating back into the depths of the kitchen. “How could ‘we’ possibly do that?” 

“There are ways, I know there are. I just need time to think of a proper solution,” Youngho nods as he reaches for his chopsticks, eager to sate his own hunger that had risen during their conversation. “If you’re interested I’ll tell you more when I have an idea.”

[1909.05.27. 今出川外国人日本語学校、京都] Doyoung’s mind doesn't return to that conversation with Youngho until a Wednesday afternoon about a week later. The sun begins to sink down in the sky as Youngho, Minhyung and himself were cleaning off some blackboard tablets in the main room of the school. Yuta was busy teaching a class and Doyoung’s fingers were pruned from what felt like endless scrubbing with a rag and vinegar ridden water.

“You know,” Youngho speaks up after what feels like an eternity of silence, brushing his hands on his pants after setting down a board onto the floor below. “I think we can really change something here.” His shoes quickly tapping on the floor in some sort of anxious apprehension, “Yuta and I have been talking and the resistance effort in Korea seems to be strengthening again.”

“What are you implying?” Doyoung asks, confused at the sudden statement. His brow wet with perspiration, even having the windows cracked open doesn't allow for much wind to travel throughout the building.

“I am saying that we can try and do something to change the… trouble happening back home,” Youngho shows no anger but a passion resides in his voice that remains hard to mask. “Do something before something more is done to us.”

“That is…” Minhyung begins, looking up to Youngho from his task of drying off the boards.

“Idealistic?” Doyoung interjects, biting his lower lip before continuing, “Youngho you do realize if someone hears you talking about that you’ll get thrown in prison again?”

Eyes trailing around the space as if he hadn’t already known they were alone, “Every one of us are sitting ducks. You know that,” a point to Minhyung and then a point to Doyoung, “and you know that. Is fighting back against that such a bad thing?”

“How do you propose we do that? Drop everything now, hop on a ship back to Korea and just roam the countryside looking for this supposed group?” Blood rushing to his ears as it sounds like waves crashing on a beach’s shore. 

“Not at all,” A shake of his head. “There are ways of resisting that do not rely on fighting, think peaceful, diplomatic.”

A nervous laugh escapes Doyoung, it’s involuntary but he can’t help it. “Suh Youngho I knew you were insane, but this is another level.”

“I— uh— I’m going to get some chalk refills from the storage room,” Minhyung excuses himself from the conversation, a glance at him as he walks away tells Doyoung that he doesn’t know how to interact with the situation and was looking for an easy escape.

“Doyoung if you would just listen to me and get that stupid doubt out of your head you might just be able to make some sense of it all.” A sigh from Youngho as he stands, reaching into his jacket to rummage around for a pack of cigarettes. “Can I bum one off of you?”

Cheek bitten as he grabs his pack out of his pocket and tosses it to the other, “Do you have any idea what they would do to my family if they knew we were having this conversation? Your family and Minhyung’s are across the world and have no worries about what they say or do. The other student’s and mine are not privileged with that.” Cigarette carton tossed back, the sound of a lighter igniting and the smell of smoke pervading through the air as he tucks the pack away into his pocket.

Youngho thinks, an exhalation of smoke through troubled lungs as his outward breath intermingles with the dust thick in the air. It dissipates without a sound, quietly invading the space as Doyoung is overcome with a sense of trepidation from the other, he picks his words meticulously, trying to string them together as carefully as possible, “This is not just about you or me or my family or yours. It is the fate of a nation on the line, is that so hard to understand?”

It causes the younger pause for a moment, his hand falling to his pocket, hovering there before he pulls on the fabric as if he’d meant to straighten the coat all along. His throat clears, thinking of his parents and brother he’d left behind in Guri, what any actions that Youngho’s ideals cause may entail for them. Even if he was trying to get away from his obligations back home, he’d never want to intentionally put them in any sort of danger. 

Doyoung opens his mouth to speak, before catching a bright glimpse of color passing by one of the front windows, followed by the school door opening with a large slam against the wall. Silhouette standing in the setting sun for a moment, not looking at all familiar to Doyoung. An equally confusing circumstance when the words, “John Suh,” spill from your lips.  It’s a confounded expression that crosses your face, standing in the front door of the school as the taller leans leisurely back against one of the walls. 

Cigarette in hand, Youngho turns at the call of his name, nearly falling over in surprise to see you standing there. No, not surprise- bewilderment, shock or some form of abject horror as you take a few long strides to stand in front of him. It’s as if a child’s been caught by his mother and Doyoung is playing witness to it all.

Doyoung watches the scene in a state likened to childlike curiosity, he understands not one word that falls from either of your or Youngho’s lips, but he can tell you’re angry and him beyond apologetic. Hand movements gesticulating, he catches the words ‘Seoul’ and ‘Tokyo’ at some point as you huff something out under your breath. Voices raising, Doyoung’s surprised Yuta hasn’t come out to tell them to be quiet, but if he were in Yuta’s shoes he wouldn’t as you sounded royally pissed. When you turn on your heels Doyoung looks to Youngho for some sort of explanation, but his gaze is solely locked on you leaving.

“Shouldn’t you chase after her?” Minhyung asks, the two others not realizing he had returned, box of chalk in hand as the three men watch you storm out into the crowded streets.

“She needs to calm down before I talk to her again or she might really kill me.” Youngho sighs, bringing the cigarette to his lips before taking in a long drag. A hand runs through his hair as it looks as if all of the blood had drained from his face upon your arrival.

“Is that the friend you mentioned a while ago? You showed us a picture I think.” Doyoung questions, somewhat relieved at your intrusion into their previous conversation.

“It is,” the answer not coming from Youngho, but from Minhyung. “And by the sound of it she’s ready to pack you into her suitcase and take you on the next boat home.” Head nodding as he looks to the space you once occupied, “You really didn’t tell her you were coming here?”

“You understood that?” Smoke leaving him he turns to the younger, “You didn’t tell me you speak English.”

“It never really came up.” Shoulders shrugging as he sets the box of chalk he’d been fiddling with down onto a nearby chair. “And I am from Canada, after all.”

“Son of a bitch, Yuta told me you were from Hanseong.” Youngho muses, tossing the cigarette from his hand and smothering it with his shoe. “But yeah, that’s her. I may have neglected to mention that but I was a little held up,” he looks confused as he pushes himself off the wall and makes his way to the door, peering out in the street. “I just don’t know how in the hell she found me.”

“She probably used the wrath of God to do it,” Minhyung suggests, “That’s how my mom says she knows everything I’ve ever done wrong.”

“Wouldn’t put it past her,” A shake of his head as Youngho turns to Doyoung. “She said she’s staying at the hotel you’re in. Would you mind meeting up with me tomorrow morning in the lobby to talk some sense into her and get her to go back home?”

“I don’t even know her though?” Hands dried on a nearby towel, Doyoung stands and reaches for the bucket of now dirty water. He walks past Youngho and into the street to dump its contents out, “I don’t even speak that much English.” 

“It’s more of moral support than anything,” Youngho steps aside to let Doyoung back in, “I wasn’t joking: she might actually kill me if she gets the chance.”

“Fine,” Doyoung sighs, walking to pick up his bag from the corner of the room. His hands smell of vinegar and he rubs his still pruned fingertips together as he thinks of what the next morning would hold. “You owe me, though.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” Youngho breathes a sigh of relief as Doyoung makes his way to the front door once again, this time with the intent of leaving. “Nine work for you?”

“Nine works for me.” A nod as he walks down the two steps and onto the dirt road below, the indentations from your shoes leading off down the almost empty road. He glances back to Youngho with a, “See you tomorrow,” and then to Minhyung with a question of “Do we have a quiz on Friday?” before waving it off and beginning his trek back home.

The night descends on Kyoto quietly and without noise, the stores closing long after the sun has fallen behind the western mountains in Arashiyama, lanterns aligning the street as Doyoung shuffles his way to the hotel. It’s quiet, the city typically is at this time of night, he’s learned over the course of his stay in the ancient former capital.

Before he goes inside, he stands outside of the entrance, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat as he stares up at the night sky blooming with stars. His bag lays at his feet, more worn now than it had been on the first day of class. Crumpled in his fists, buried away into the depths of his coat lies a letter, the ink that had adorned it far too smudged and water damaged to read now. Doyoung hadn’t meant to ‘accidentally’ drop it into a puddle when it had arrived that morning, so the contents lie unknown. However, on the corner of the envelope, a blurred name, ‘Seungwon’ stays virtually untouched as if to remind him of former obligations. 

It’s as if there’s a clock ticking in his chest, counting down to a day, a time, when he’s meant to take up the holstered responsibility of his family and place it onto his own shoulders. A burden not yet ready to bear, he sighs out into the balmy night and makes his way inside of the hotel. 

[1909.05.27. 今出川、京都] Doyoung wakes to the knocking on his door, his head burrowing into the tangled blankets and pillows from a restless night’s sleep. It takes a moment for him to find himself, writhing around the sheets before pulling himself out of his own stupor. Feet hitting the floor with a dull thud, he drags his lethargic body to the small bathroom, running his hands under the cool water of the faucet before splashing some onto his face to wake himself further. He meets his own gaze in the reflection, tired eyes and the slightest shadow of stubble beginning to darken on his jaw and upper lip. He’d have to visit the barber at some point in the coming days before he becomes totally unkempt.

He dresses himself in casual attire, a white linen button up, the most breathable thing he’d wear today, before he dons the dark blue of his three piece suit, a light gray and black one still residing in his wardrobe. He notices the threadings are nearly worn as he buttons the bottom half of his jacket, the things threatening to fall off should he exert too much force. The soles of his shoes too lie in disarray, wearing thin from endless wandering the streets of Kyoto after his classes have finished. It’s not that he’s searching for anything in particular, maybe a solution to his current situation. But he can’t find that at a merchant’s stall.

The route to the dining hall located on the first floor is a path easily tread, remembered in his first few days of arriving in Kyoto. The carpeted floors giving way to a wooden expanse the further he delves into the hotel, the scents of varying breakfast foods calling out to his aching stomach. 

His hands keep busy with the morning paper, perhaps yesterday’s or the day prior to that one. It takes a while for the Korean post to arrive in Kyoto, the postage system seems to take years for important things to arrive, yet the letters from home seem to be weekly. A sigh as he sets down the news, reaching out for the carafe of coffee situated some ways away from where he’s seated. He begins to pour himself a cup of coffee, only pausing when he catches something out the corner of his eye. 

A few darkened drips from the coffee pot settle into the white linen of the dining room tablecloth as he spots you stalking towards him. His eyes go wide and his breath hitches when your gaze narrows on him, almost causing him to choke on coffee he’d just brought to his lips.

The way you saunter over to his table reminds him of his mother when she’d be out to scold either him or his brother. Doyoung doesn’t know you but can easily tell that you’re not a force to be reckoned with. 

“Where’s John?” You ask, standing before him, arms crossing over your chest as you look down at him expectantly. “You were one of the men with him yesterday, right?”

“What?” Doyoung asks, trying to make some sense of what you were saying. When he was a young boy, his parents had allowed him to take English lessons with a handful of the Christian missionaries that had drifted through Guri, but seeing as he understands nothing of what you just said, it’s obvious he hadn’t retained much, if any, of his vocabulary. “What are you looking for?” He sees no glimmer of understanding in your eyes as your brow furrows, probably trying to decipher what he’d just said. “Youngho? Are you looking for Youngho?” It’s the common connection the two of you seem to have, it’s his best bet on trying to figure out what you want. 

You nod at the name, recalling that his mother shouts that at him whenever he’s angry. “Where is he?” If you’d taken up John on any of his invitational Korean lessons, you may have had much better luck in this situation. But you’d gone off to learn French because you were enamored with one of your classmates at the time, you could almost hit yourself seeing where it’s gotten you. 

“Whe-” Doyoung pauses, lips pursing together as he thinks of the word. Youngho was meant to be in the lobby when she came downstairs, but it’s now clear he’s nowhere to be found. 

 “School.” It’s one of the words he can pull from memory. “He’s probably at the school,” he says again and gestures in the general direction of Yuta’s academy. 

“The school- Imadegawa Gaikokujin Nihongo Gakko?” You’ve said the name of the institute hundreds of times to yourself that you think it’s the only Japanese you know. Not that you fully understand what it means, just knowing that it’s the name of the place. 

Doyoung nods, somewhat surprised that you know the name. 

“Can you take me?” The question falls out quickly and you see he’s confused, so you repeat it again slowly in hopes that he comprehends it. It seems that he does, reaching for his coffee and finishing the cup before rising to his feet, motioning for you to follow him as he heads towards the exit.

The walk to the school is painfully awkward, drenched in a silence that neither of you want to address. Both of you are not confident enough in the other’s mother tongue to make small talk as the two of you begin to walk the streets. 

“Hey!” Doyoung hears Minhyung call out as the schoolhouse nears, “Took you long enough, you’re almost late.” When the younger sees that you’re accompanying him he gives you a small wave, “You’re Youngho’s friend, right?” 

“I am,” You say after a moment, not having expected to hear English today. But with the company that John keeps, you can’t be too surprised at anything now. “Do you know where he is?”

“No, he’s not here yet,” he shakes his head and turns to Doyoung, “Didn’t Youngho say that you’d meet him at the hotel?”

“He did,” Doyoung’s lips curve into a frown as the three of you make your way into the school. “She’s been interrogating me about him, I think. Although I can barely understand what she’s saying.”

Minhyung laughs at the older and then turns back to you, “My name’s Minhyung, but you can call me Mark if that’s easier for you.” His demeanor has a lightness to it that descends onto you as something of a godsend. It’s an ease that you’d probably find with John if he were here and you aren't still angry at him. 

“It’s nice to meet you Minhyung,” you offer him a smile before your eyes go wide and you turn to your partner, “I uhm, I never asked him what his name is.”

“Doyoung,” Minhyung answers, another chortle leaving him and the elder looks confused as to why his name’s just been called out. “What’s your name?”

You respond quickly, glancing over your shoulder to see if John is on his way in, to your misfortune, he isn’t. Minhyung quickly introduces you to Doyoung, probably so he has a gist of who you are. It’s hard to tell if John’s said anything about you to these men, but it doesn’t look as if he’s said much.

“We’ve got class soon,” Minhyung’s voice pulls you from your search and you turn back to him, “I’m sure Yuta would let you sit in on the class if you wanted to, although I’m not too sure that you’ll understand much, I don’t even get all of it.”

“It’s alright,” you shake your head at him, “I’ll just wait out here for Joh- Youngho.”

The man in question strolls into the school around thirty minutes later, the local paper tucked under his arm as his brow raises in surprise to see you, “I thought I said I’d meet you at the hotel.”

“I got impatient,” a frown as your gaze flickers over to him. “Jail John? Jail?” You fume, storming over to the taller, “Do you have any idea how worried I was, how worried your mother was? God- If you don’t write to her today and tell her that you’re okay, I'm stuffing you in my suitcase and taking you back with me.”

He laughs heartily, despite you glaring him down, “I wrote to her as soon as I got out. I wrote to you, too, but it doesn’t seem like you got the message.” A few more chuckles escape him as he holds his arms out, “I missed you.”

You sigh, falling into his embrace, “I missed you too.” After a moment you pull away, stepping back from him, “I’m glad to see that you’re okay, but if you ever do something like this again-”

“I’ve missed your hollow threats,” John smiles and glances around the school’s empty halls, “Do you want to get out of here for a while? I know a good cafe nearby.” 

“Don’t you have class?” You question with a tilt of your head, the gentle murmurs from the classroom some ways away drifting out into the hall. “Minhyung said that Doyoung was already late, I wouldn’t want to stop you from your lesson.”

“I’m not a student,” John shakes his head, “I’m just… in town for a while and Yuta’s putting up with me for a bit.” He flashes you a grin before you have a chance to ask him exactly what he means by that, “Now come on before they run out.”

The two of you walk out into the dense heat of August, passing by a group of students as you do so. John recognizes some of them whereas you don’t, him saying something to them that elicits a laugh or two before you’re both back on your way to the city center. 

“Why were you arrested?” You can’t stop yourself from asking the question as you turn onto the main road from the alley in which the school is situated. There are only a handful of people perusing the streets, but none look interested in what you’d just said. “It wasn’t serious, right?”

“Of course not,” he reassures you and looks to a few buildings ahead, “We’re almost there.” John walks in silence for a moment, his fingers rubbing against his palm as he looks back to you, “I lost my passport, can you believe it?” You recall when you were leaving San Francisco and you had lost your own passport, if it hadn’t been for the man that found it for you, you’re not sure where you’d be.

“Well, actually, I didn’t lose it, it fell between the pages of one of the books that I bought, which reminds me- I have a few for you, I wrote you about them, just remember to tell me to give them to you,” John says quickly as you approach the building he’d been eyeing earlier, walking into the opened door confidently and heading to the nearest open table. 

You can tell he’s lying. You’ve only known him since you were children and he’s the closest person to you, you know almost every little quirk about him. And one of the first things you’d learned was that he talks quickly when he’s not being truthful. Yet, you don’t question him on it, seeing as you’d just calmed the tension between you, you don’t want to ignite it for the second time today. So, you just nod and follow him inside.

More oft than not, you hide your feelings behind a veneer of snark, of a bite that seems to sting but never lasts. It’s a sham way to hold yourself together, for if you let the dread of reality seep into your veins any longer than you allow it, you may just become the person you’re trying to hide. A vulnerable being who longs for the company of others but finds errant ways to keep them close instead of just outright saying it. 

John offers out a seat to you and you sit, hands folding neatly atop the tabletop as you look to the menu scrawled onto a chalkboard near the cafe’s counter. You’re not sure why you do, the mix of Japanese alphabets is still foreign to you.

“I’ll go grab something, just wait here,” he says, noticing your confusion, still standing before he turns on his heels and strides over to the counter. You turn away before he begins to speak to the barista, looking out of the glass window at the front of the shop, 

“How long were you planning on staying in Japan?” John’s voice stirs you some time later, the gentle sound of two cups being placed on the table making you turn in his direction as he sits down across from you. 

“As long as it took me to find you.” You smile at him, reaching out for the small cup, “I guess that means I can pack my bags and leave now.” The smile placated on your lips is joking, but you hold a sincerity in your gaze as if to ask him if that’s what you should do next. He was the entire reason you were here, to find him, to make sure that he was okay and to bring him home if you could. 

John’s finger traces the rim of his own coffee cup, gently lifting after a moment to tap along the surface of the tabletop. He hums, low and obstinate, as if to ponder the significance of you being here. 

“I guess you could,” a slow nod of his head, “You know, you were never obligated to chase me half-way across the world to try and get me back home. I’ve been detained before-”

“You have?” eyes widening as you look from your coffee to meet his eyes, “You’ve never mentioned that.”

“I’ve been detained before but,” he continues, gaze hardening at you as you interrupt him, “I really thought I had lost my papers so I sent my mom a letter saying I may need my official documents back home to get me out of the mess I found myself in. This was a little more serious than the others.”

“What happened the other times?”

“Well, in London they stopped me for taking too much tea out of the country, I guess they thought I’d run them dry of it,” a teasing smile twinges on the corners of his lips, “and in Cairo, I tried to sneak off with a few things from Cleopatra’s tomb.”

“You know,” you lean back in your chair, a snide frown on your lips, “lying less might help you out in the future.”

John laughs, reaching into his jacket pocket to procure his pack of smokes, it isn’t until he’s got a lit cigarette dangling from his lips that he speaks again, “Where’s the fun in that?”

He suddenly gasps, the smoke he’d been inhaling filtering into his lungs and causing him to sputter for a moment. You reach for and hand him his cup of coffee  so he doesn’t choke on himself. After a moment of hitting his chest and extinguishing his cigarette into the ashtray on the corner of the table, he speaks up, “You didn’t use your grandmother’s money to get you here, did you?”

“Well, technically it isn’t hers anymore,” a guilty exhalation of a chuckle, “but yes, I did.”

“Oh,” He’s crestfallen in the most faux of ways, “You said you’d take me to Italy with that.” It’s a joke, but you can see his concern wavering behind the sincerity of his words. 

Your hand falls to run over the textured brocades of your dress, a wavering smile delicately tugging at the corners of your lips, “I was just worried about you.”

“And I appreciate that, I really do,” brow softening as he reaches for his coffee, voice still a bit hoarse from his earlier choking. “But you don’t need to throw everything you have away for me, I know the trip probably wasn’t cheap.” 

John’s not wrong. It had taken quite a large portion from your deceased grandmother’s account to get you here, and the subsequent stay in the country. 

“I had to make sure you were okay,” you shrug your shoulders with a coy smile, reaching out to pick up your teacup and bring it to your lips. It’s then you realize something, setting the cup back down and looking around the shop, eyes wide.

“What is it?” John questions, noticing your shift in demeanor. 

“I haven’t ever been abroad before, I thought maybe I’d travel to Paris or London, Milan, even… Never…” A small hum as you turn to look back at him, “Never to Kyoto.”

“I’d have loved for you to see Seoul,” John smiles softly, his fingers tapping along the sides of the cup, “It’s beautiful this time of year.”

“You make it sound as if it’s impossible to go,” a tilt of your head. John had told you stories from his time studying abroad, of the antics he and his friends would get up to and of the history he’d learned. 

“It would be a little difficult to go back right now,” the smile lingering on his lips looks sad now, almost wistful in a way, “I’m sure we could go in the future if you want to.”  

“I’d love to,” you nod, glancing out of the window once more to watch the passersby walk up and down the crowded street.

[justjeonday]

Always you | jeon jeongguk

You usually hate walking to the convenience store, but with Jeongguk it’s anything but boring.

— pairing: jeon jeongguk x reader

— genre: established relationship, fluff - so much fluff, boyfriend!jeongguk

— word count: 2,690

— warnings: none

— notes: so, this is my first time ever posting something I’ve written on here - and I’m really nervous. Idk if I’ve done all of this right lol, I tried. I spent a few days working on this piece, and it’s nothing huge or anything - just a simple idea that popped into my head. I hope you enjoy, feedback is very welcome. Thank you :’)

— disclaimer(?): I spell ”Jungkook” as Jeongguk throughout this whole thing, cause that’s just how I naturally tend to spell it out. I hope this won’t bother anyone, if it does I’m sorry lol. I also apologize for any typos, it feels like I might’ve missed some although I looked through it multiple times.

Your boyfriend’s hot breath against your neck leaves goosebumps rising on your skin, but you manage to ignore it - waiting for the woman behind the desk to pack your bag. However, just a few seconds later you feel him leaving light kisses over the most sensitive area just below your ear. You turn slightly to nudge him away with your shoulder.

”Will you stop it?” You whisper as you look at him.

Jeongguk just looks back at you with amusement visible on his face. He sure loves teasing you in public. You snicker at him, shaking your head as you turn back to grab the bag of snacks the cashier is holding out for you. You thank her and make your way out of the small store, Jeongguk following closely behind.

”I’ll take that for you,” He insists, taking the bag from your hand before you can protest.

The cold air hits you just as hard as when you left your apartment twenty minutes ago, causing you to shiver as you step outside.

Snow had been falling ever since this morning, a white blanket now covering the ground beneath you. It looks beautiful, sparkling as the city lights reaches the surface of it. It’s rare snow actually stays on the ground here in Seoul, only occurring once or twice a year. You love it like this. Even though the temperature feels unbearable at times, with the weather getting colder it prompts for a lot of cuddling.

And in your opinion, there can never be enough cuddling.

In fact, before this very spontaneous adventure to the store you and Jeongguk had been cuddling while enjoying some random K-drama you found. After watching the two main characters share a bag of snacks, the two of you started craving just that.

”Should we go?” Jeongguk had asked, shifting his head in your lap to look up at you.

You removed your hand from his hair, reaching out to check the time on your phone.

11:39.

You looked down at him. ”Should we?”

After much contemplating whether you should go or not, you guys put your jackets on - getting ready to go to a nearby convenience store despite the fact that it was close to midnight by the time you guys left.

You’re now on your way back home, walking side by side with interlaced fingers. Seoul at night is probably one of your favorite things. You love how all the lights and neon signs beautifully illuminate the world around you, how they gracefully dance across Jeongguk’s honey-colored skin.

”Wait.”

You stop at your boyfriend’s sudden demand, turning to him in confusion.

You see him searching for something in the pockets of his jacket. ”What’s wrong?” You say.

A few seconds later, you see his fingers wrapped around his vintage camera. In spite of the smile sneaking its way onto your lips, you roll your eyes at him. ”Really?”

”What?” He says, smiling.

”When did you even manage to bring that thing?”

”This thing happens to be my favorite camera, do you know what I use it for?” He begins, fiddling with it as he speaks.

You raise your eyebrows questioningly, gesturing for him to continue.

”I use it to capture things I find beautiful-” He says, eyes locking with yours. ”- Being with someone as beautiful as you, I’ll always have it with me.”

He looks at you with a smirk on his lips, knowing you’ll be blushing at his words. You do, feeling blood rushing to your cheeks as your heart swells in awe. You truly feel as if you don’t deserve someone as good as him, but oh how happy you are that the two of you found each other. With him you feel like the luckiest person walking this earth.

”Now smile for me please,” He brings the camera up in front of his face, ready to take a photo.

You do as told, letting him take all the pictures he desires before intertwining your fingers with his again and continuing your walk home. You never really like being in photos, but since you started dating Jeongguk you’ve gotten used to him randomly wanting to take photos of you. Even if that’s in the morning when you’re making breakfast, your hair still a mess — you let him take a photo, knowing he’ll keep it to himself unless you give him consent to do otherwise.

It makes you feel special, like you’re one of a kind.

”Ah, cold,” Your boyfriend says, sucking in air through gritted teeth and holding your hand tighter.

You look at him, a giggle escaping your lips. ”I told you to wear your gloves.”

”I couldn’t find them,” He says with a frown forming on his face. ”How come your hands never get cold?” He pouts.

It’s kind of strange actually, how rare it is your hands get cold.

”I don’t know,” You laugh.

”It’s so unfair, I bet you have superpowers or something.”

”Like what?”

”Heat manipulation.”

”How epic, feel free to use me as your personal hot pack!” You joke.

He laughs out loud at that, throwing his head back — his eyes becoming crescent moons. You automatically smile at the sound, happy you made him laugh.

”I can carry the bag if you want,” You offer, holding your hand out.

”No need,” He chuckles, only pulling you closer into his side.

You think nothing of it until you feel his fingers creep up the inside of your jacket and under the fabric of your, or should you say, his hoodie. As he lays his hand flat against the warm skin of your lower back, you squirm and jump away from him in response.

”What’s the matter?” He says, a made-up look of innocence on his face.

You just frown at him for a moment, but with it being impossible to act annoyed at his adorable ways — you let out a laugh before proceeding to walk. ”You can’t do that.”

”Why can’t I?”

”Your hands feel like ice,” You say. ”I’m not kidding.”

”I thought you said I could use you as my personal hot pack,” He says, acting disappointed as he looks down at his feet.

You push him playfully. ”You are so annoying, Jeon Jeongguk.”

He chuckles and walks past you with his arms stretched out. ”But you love me anyway,” He sings.

But you love him anyway, of course you do.

Deciding to get revenge, you lean down to pick some snow up from the ground. You form it into a ball, then you aim and throw it at his back. He stops in his tracks, turning around with a mischievous grin on his lips.

”Oh love, I hope you realise what you’ve just started.”

It’s a stupid idea really because you know very well that he’ll win, he always does. He has this annoying tendency of being above average at anything he does, even when it’s his first time doing it. Although, being the sweet boyfriend he is — he lets you win sometimes.

Before you know it you’re both running around outside your apartment complex throwing snowballs at each other, the bag of snacks left in the snow at the side of the street. You earn a few looks from people walking past, most of them just in wonder of what’s going on. It’s probably not so often you come across to adults running around in the middle of the street having a snowball fight, let alone in the middle of the night.

While you’re leaning down to make yet another snowball, you feel Jeongguk behind you. He grabs the collar of the hoodie you’re wearing, pushing it aside and letting the snow in his hand fall down the inside of it — the cold coming in contact with your skin. You squeal and start chasing after him with snow in your hands, and a few seconds later you manage to copy his actions.

He hisses as the snow falls down inside of his shirt, capturing you in his embrace before you can run away again. ”Caught you,” He says, smiling.

The both of you are breathing heavily, your breaths visible in the cold air surrounding you. As your chest is pressed against his you feel your heartbeats becoming one. You put your arms around his neck and look up at him, his bunny smile making butterflies swarm in your stomach.

Even though you’ve been with him for what seems like forever, not really remembering what life was like without him — everything with him still feels like the first time. You still feel your heart skip a beat every time he enters the room, butterflies going crazy in your stomach at the sight of his smile and the sound of his laugh. You still get lost in the galaxies that are his eyes, and every time you look into them you swear you see stars shining in them. Like people look at stars scattered in the dark above, you look into his eyes - and that’s your way of stargazing. At every little thing you can feel yourself falling in love with him over and over, and there never seems to be an end to it.

”What’s on your mind?” He asks, noticing you’ve wandered off somewhere in your mind.

”You,” You say, looking at him with a small smile on your lips. You run your thumb along his cheekbone softy. ”Always you.”

His nose and cheeks had been painted a shade of pink because of the cold, making him look even more adorable — if even possible. You put your hands on each side of his face, cupping his cheeks before leaning up to press your lips against his. He instantly kisses you back, exhaling through his nose as if he’d been waiting for it to happen. You can’t help but smile into the kiss. Warmth spreads throughout your body, the cold air around you suddenly becoming less cold. You then pull away, having to catch your breath.

You run your fingers through his hair, your forehead pressed against his. ”We should probably get inside before we catch a cold.”

He just hums in response as he lets his eyes flutter open. He licks his lips, the taste of your raspberry lip balm still lingering on them.

After making sure to remember the bag of snacks you initially had come outside for, the two of you head inside. You shiver as the warm air inside engulfs you. You’re quick to get out of your outerwear and run into your bedroom, wanting to get rid of your hoodie — in which is now soaked at your lower back. You undress deciding to steal one of Jeongguk’s shirts. You put it on, and with the hem falling just above your knees you figure you’re in no need of pants.

As you’re about to leave you bump into Jeongguk’s bare chest, the shirt he had been wearing earlier now in his hand. He stands in front of you with exposed abs and sweatpants hanging low on his hips.

Now the sight of this — you can confirm — is more mouth-watering than any snack in that bag.

You tear your gaze from his body as you hear his voice, eyes meeting his.

”Hey you, I was about to ask if you happen to know where me long sleeve is,” He says. ”But it appears someone stole it,” He nudges a finger against your side.

You grin. ”You don’t need it,” You argue as you walk past him, heading towards the sofa.

”And why’s that?”

”You look better without clothes.”

”Oh, if that’s the case you don’t need it either then,” He steps in front of you, stopping you from reaching your longed for destination.

”I can’t just walk around in my underwear,” You laugh.

”Sure you can,” He says, a smirk on his lips.

You hit his chest. ”Shut up.”

He picks you up by grabbing the back of your thighs, making you squeal and put your legs around his waist. He carries you over to the sofa and let’s you fall onto your back on top of it, then he lays down next to you.

You gasp.

Jeongguk looks at you with worry in his eyes. ”What?”

”The lights need to be turned off,” You say, gesturing to the light above you. ”Technically, you laid down last so that means you have to go turn them off.”

He groans, but gets up to turn them off nonetheless — making you smile in satisfaction. On his way back he brings the bag of snacks, placing it on the coffee table. He lays down next to you again and reaches over for the remote to press play. Shadows start dancing around the room as the K-drama starts playing. Jeongguk sighs as he cuddles into your side, laying his head on your chest and pulling the covers over the both of you.

You lay like that for a while, legs tangeled, sharing snacks and making stupid jokes about the things you see happening on the TV — laughing at stuff that wouldn’t have been funny if it weren’t for the lack of sleep. After a few episodes you can tell the late hours are getting to your boyfriend as you notice him getting quieter, his breaths slowly becoming deeper.

You too feel your eyelids getting heavier so you grab the remote to turn the TV off, then gently placing it on the coffee table. You get yourself comfortable, but you soon realise you’ve left your phone in the bedroom — making you sigh in frustration. Despite the very comfy state you’re in, you decide it’s best to go and get it in case your boss gets the idea to call you in the morning.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, carefully pushing Jeongguk so his head falls softly onto the pillow next to you before you lift his arm off of your waist. Trying your best not to stir him out of his sleep, you sit up slowly but realise you’ve failed as he groans and brings his arm around your waist — pulling you back down next to him.

”Jeongguk, I have to go get my phone,” You whisper, trying to remove his arm yet again.

”Nooo,” He whines, putting his leg over your hips under the covers.

You can’t leave, even if you try.

”I have to,” You say.

”Please don’t,” He pouts.

”I’ll be quick I promise.”

And with that he let’s you go against his will, keeping the pout on his lips. You try to keep your promise, being as quick as you can despite your eyes not really being adjusted to the darkness yet.

You luckily get to the bedroom without stumbling over something, fumbling to grab your phone that you had thrown on the bed earlier. After finally finding it under a pillow, you make your way back to the sofa.

Jeongguk immediately puts his arm around you as you lay back down next to him, laying his head on your shoulder.

”Missed you,” He says with sleep laced in his voice, making you chuckle.

”I was only gone for a few minutes, Gguk.”

Half asleep, he shifts so he’s lying on his side and pulling you against him so your chest is pressed against his. He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck before leaving a few light kisses just under your jaw. You put your arms around him and bring a hand up to run your fingers through his hair. Your other hand draws circles on his back, your fingertips delicately skimming over his soft skin. You feel his body relax against you, a sigh escaping past his lips — his breath hot against your skin.

You could stay like this forever, close to him like this while just enjoying the presence of each other. You kiss his shoulder before laying your head against his, feeling the melatonin take over you once again.

”I love you,” Jeongguk mumbles into your neck.

You smile. ”I love you too.”

[limjaeseven]

The Day (7/8)

VERSE 2: PART 7 OF 8

Pairing: Jinyoung X Jaebeom ft Seulgi of Red Velvet

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Word Count: 2,217

Summary: Jaebeom is gone and Jinyoung is broken. But there's one last thing that the elder left for his best friend.

Warning(s): sad Jinyoung, mental breakdown, eulogy

[a/n]: I know this part is pretty late but it’s been sitting ready for a long time and has been up on my ao3 for a while but I hate posting stuff here cause it never shows up in tags :/

Jinyoung’s memories of his last few days were hazy at best. He only felt the reality of the situation sink in as he was on an airplane, flying home. He didn’t remember leaving the hospital, the only thing that was on his mind was the news report. Even though he didn’t understand a word of it, the picture of Jaebeom, face down on the road plagued him.

Jaebeom was gone. Jinyoung wished he could wake up from the horrible nightmare he was living through but regardless of how many times he pinched himself, Jaebeom was still not in the room next to his. He tried to tell himself it was just Jaebeom ignoring him again, but the sound of the elder’s mother crying was enough to tell him that it was real.

Jaebeom was dead. The funeral was held three days after he passed away, in a small cemetery close to their house. Jinyoung thought of the day they had come to bury Jaebeom’s cat in that very same place. Jaebeom had been devastated through it, Jinyoung sat there by him, letting him cry on his shoulder for hours as the evening turned to night.

Jinyoung had to physically drag Jaebeom home because the elder refused to leave. He was 21 at the time, still high off the success of Icarus. Jaebeom had loved her a lot and letting her go was one of the hardest things he had to ever do. Or so Jinyoung thought, blissfully ignorant of the sword of Damocles hanging over his head. 

Jaebeom’s mother had been able to get him a spot right next to his cat, where the two had often joked they would lay to rest together when they were to die. There was still a spot empty next to Jaebeom but Jinyoung tried not to think about it. He was supposed to give Jaebeom’s eulogy but all he could do was cry. Jinyoung was never one to cry but seeing Jaebeom like that, knowing that it would be the last time he would ever see him, it burst the dam inside Jinyoung.

As he was beating himself up for not being able to say one word about Jaebeom to the people crowding around him despite the fact that he was Jaebeom’s best friend, a pat on his back pulled him out of his head. He turned around to see Seulgi standing there, a sombre smile on her face.

“He promised me to never tell you. I was the one who blocked your number, I was the reason you weren't able to get to Jaebeom. I hope you don’t hold it against him, he just wanted you to be happy, Jinyoung'' Despite Seulgi’s attempts to calm him down, her words just multiplied the guilt in his heart. Of course Jaebeom would never ignore him just like that, how could he have been such a fool? How could he have hurt Jaebeom so bad? Coward, Jinyoung thought as he looked at Jaebeom’s father trying to console his mother. He didn’t even have the courage to say a word about Jaebeom, a man that meant so much to him.

Jinyoung took deep breaths as he felt himself sink into his mind, it had been happening a lot since Jaebeom left. Jinyoung found recluse in a part of his mind aloof from the real world, he spent hours there, not thinking, not feeling. He didn’t know what else to do. Thinking about the days he cried about his hyung not being in the other room felt like a lifetime ago, because he knew Jaebeom was never coming back. 

The memories of Jaebeom rushed to his mind, from the day they had first met to their time in school together, random moments from high school, scenes from Icarus and it was just too much. Just as they were about to leave, Jinyoung cleared his throat, looked at the ground where Jaebeom was resting and wiped his tears with the back of his hand.

“I met Lim Jaebeom when I was five,” Everyone looked up in shock at Jinyoung but the younger continued, just thinking of the elder, “He was the most grumpy, lazy, good for nothing, kind, caring, and talented people I had ever met in my life. We had our ups and downs, sure; there was a time we both thought our friendship was done, sure; but not once did he ever not be the rock in my life, the only person that kept me going when things were hard. He never told me about his illness because he knew it would hurt me. That was the man Jaebeom hyung was. He was selfless to a fault, and he took my rage because of it. There are a million things I want to apologise to you for, hyung, and a hundred times as many things for which I want to thank you. I couldn’t possibly ever truly be able to express everything that you were to me, but I can say this much; thank you for always being there for me, even when I was horrible to you. Thank you for loving me when I hated myself. Thank you for coming into my life and showing me a world that I never knew existed. Thank you for being you. I’m sorry I was never good enough, but I will try to live on, just for you, because that’s what you would have wanted. I love you, hyung, and I always will. Look after me from up in the sky if you can.”

Jinyoung hugged Jaebeom’s mother tightly as he helped her into the car, waving her and Jaebeom’s father off as they drove away. Jinyoung didn’t want to go back home, it reminded him too much of Jaebeom but he didn’t have much of a choice. He wanted to return Jaebeom’s possessions to his parents so he had to pack everything as soon as he could.

But that didn’t end well, because less than five minutes in, Jinyoung was curled up on the floor with Jaebeom’s leather duffle bag clutched against his chest, tears streaming down his face. The item still smelled like him, Jinyoung thought, picturing Jaebeom with the bag slung over his shoulder as they boarded the plane to Hokkaido.

It was too difficult to even be in a five meter radius of the room, let alone going through Jaebeom’s things. Just being in the same space that the elder was in not days before made Jinyoung’s eyes well with tears. He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t part with the things that showed that Jaebeom was a part of his life for so many years. Even though he would always be in Jinyoung’s heart, he had already seen what the room looks like when empty and he hated the mere thought of it.

It took a while for him to muster up enough courage to tell Jaebeom’s mom that he wouldn’t be able to return his things, but she immediately shut him down, telling him that she wanted him to have Jaebeom’s things. She knew how much they meant to Jinyoung and wanted him to keep them for as long as he wanted them.

Jinyoung took two weeks off work to put himself back together and spent the entirety of it in Jaebeom’s room. The place had become a sort of safe haven for Jinyoung, reminding him of Jaebeom enough for him to still imagine that the man was alive. He cleared up the mess in his room, folded and arranged all his clothes, dusted his shelves of records. 

Just as Jinyoung was finishing up with Jaebeom’s closet, he noticed a box at the back of the shelf. Pulling it out, he realised it was the box for Jaebeom’s watch, and the tears were in his eyes before he could even process what he was doing. Placing the elder’s watch which Jaebeom’s mother had given to Jinyoung at the funeral in the box, he closed it shut and shoved into a corner, not wanting to look at it ever again. His own watch had mysteriously started counting the same second over and over again, the time same as that of Jaebeom’s death and burial; 1:31:23.

Looking through Jaebeom’s desk was probably the hardest task of all. The drawers were full of photos of the two of them at various points in their friendship, from the photo Jinyoung took of Jaebeom with his father’s camera when they were five to selfies they took with a disposable camera in Paris while Jinyoung was shooting a movie. Memories that Jinyoung knew he would never get to relive ever again. Jinyoung cried more than he probably had in his entire life in those two weeks. 

Jaebeom’s computer was just as bad, full of more videos and photos of the two of them, including a couple of songs Jinyoung had never heard of. He thought they were by some indie artist Jaebeom listened to but after seeing the producing software and notebooks full of lyrics, he realised what they really were.

Listening to one was painful enough, Jaebeom’s deep voice reaching Jinyoung’s soul, talking about people he loved, about feelings he had, the hardships he faced. There were at least fifty songs that Jaebeom had written that Jinyoung had never known about, just one mildly familiar one which he realised was part of the score for Icarus. He had never questioned where the song came from, never realising it was part of Jaebeom’s craft.

After having gone through every bit of Jaebeom’s room, Jinyoung downloaded a copy of Jaebeom’s songs on his phone and grabbed just the watch box and Jaebeom’s duffle bag before stepping out of the room and locking the door behind him. He was still to go through said bag before he was just too scared to. It was the last thing that Jaebeom had on him before he left Jinyoung, the younger was just not willing to part with it.

He wanted Jaebeom’s parents to have something of his present, or at least recent past, other than the things they had for Jaebeom’s childhood. The watch and bag were his best bet at something symbolic enough that they didn’t resent him for keeping that part of Jaebeom away from them. The bag especially, Jinyoung remembered the smile on Jaebeom’s face when he’d received it from his dad. 

Jaebeom had joined their school athletics team after Jinyoung had gotten selected for it, which Jinyoung realised was something he probably did for him knowing how bad running was for his condition. He unfortunately only had a tattered, old bag he carried to school for his shoes and uniform, while all the other members had owned fancy bags from big brands and they had often made fun of the boy for it. Even though he never told his father anything about the incidents, he received the bag for his birthday and it was one of Jaebeom’s favourite possessions ever since.

So the bag for his dad and the watch for his mom, Jinyoung thought, standing at the edge of the pathway at the edge of the road that led to their house. Before he got too far in though, curiosity took over Jinyoung and the strong urge to look inside the bag latched onto him.

Sitting down there, on the gravel on the pathway to Jaebeom’s parents’ house, Jinyoung zipped open the bag to find a few pairs of clothes, a small notebook and an mp3 player with a pair of headphones. Flipping over to the first page of the book, Jinyoung saw the familiar scribble of Jaebeom’s handwriting. But instead of it being a normal diary entry, it was a list of instructions, addressed directly to Jinyoung. 

With shaking hands, Jinyoung followed what was said, and before he knew it, he was having a full mental breakdown, crying his eyes out and scratching at his own face as he read, and heard, what Jaebeom had to say to him. He couldn’t hate the elder he realised, he knew that well, but he did have hatred in his heart, towards himself. Knowing that he’s the reason Jaebeom lost so many precious moments of his life, he’s the reason the elder suffered, it was enough to make Jinyoung lose his mind entirely. He saw the watch box next to him and it tipped him over the edge, Jinyoung used his hands to dig up the mud around him and bury it in the ground, never wanting to look at it ever again.

The next thing Jinyoung knew, he was being shaken awake by a woman he’d never seen before. She kept calling him by his name but he didn’t know how she knew that. He looked around himself and he had no idea where he was. He just had a soft song playing in his ears, a deep voice singing about losing himself, and Jinyoung liked that voice. He wanted to listen to that song live someday. The woman kept trying to pull him out of his world but he didn’t know her. He realised he didn’t know where his own home was, who his parents were, he just knew his name and a ghost of a name that he couldn’t bring himself to say it.