#but YES. once again thank u for the ask and thank you for reading !!!

[stllmnstr]

every fragile thing

pairing: park sunghoon x f reader

genre: enemies to lovers, figure skating au, college/university au

word count: 12.3k

warnings: alcohol consumption, jealousy, non graphic descriptions/depictions of injuries, use of the american (usa) university system, a kiss or five

soundtrack: get him back! / brutal / jealousy, jealousy / good 4 u / the grudge / bad idea right? / drivers license - olivia rodrigo

After an ankle injury lands you in mandated physical therapy sessions instead of on the ice where you should be training for nationals, you're absolutely certain you must be the most frustrated, emotionally volatile figure skater on the planet. Park Sunghoon proves you wrong.

or,

every fragile thing has one of two choices: become stronger or shatter into a million pieces.

note: hi hello yes this is me on a new blog with the same name. I deleted my old one and wasn't sure if I planned on remaking/reposting but here we are! if you've read this before, then I hope you enjoy just as much this time around. and if you haven't, I hope you love figure skater sunghoon just as much as I do! happy reading ♡

Silence. One word, two syllables. A fairly straightforward term with a meaning that can be easily deduced from a quick scan of its Merriam-Webster definition. 

But unlike many words, silence is one that’s typically learned through experience. Through stilted moments, pregnant pauses, dreamlike moments in the dead of night while the world around you is at a standstill. 

In the moments just before the music starts, when it feels as if the audience around you is holding their breath. And you stand at the center of it all, blades of your tightly laced skates against ice, chest rising and falling in time with your heartbeat, mind spinning with possibility. In those moments, your long trained muscles take over, following the memory of countless repetitions as your body prepares to do what it knows best. 

There’s a question in that silence. One that’s asked with baited breath. 

Will I land this skill? Will I go home with a medal around my neck, cold weight a familiar comfort against my skin? Will this be my best performance yet? Will they love it? Love me?

That, as you’ve come to learn, is your favorite kind of silence. The kind that’s filled with endless possibility, with the promise of something beautiful or disastrous or some odd mix of the two to come. 

The feeling of freedom, of flying as blade cuts through ice, as your body defies gravity with every jump, every spin. 

But that is very much not the kind of silence that greets you where Dr. Min eyes you warily over the top of his pristine clipboard, a crease forming between his dark eyebrows. Frowning, he glances at the paper once more before returning his gaze to you. 

“You’re sure you’ve been resting? No weight on the fracture at all?”

It takes a good chunk of your willpower not to roll your eyes. Mostly because you’re lying through your teeth, but who’s keeping track? 

“Yes, I’m sure.” Gesturing to the thick black boot the lower part of your left leg and foot have been imprisoned in for the better part of a month, you add, “This thing’s still coming off in two weeks, right?”

Two weeks is pushing it, but you’ve done more with less. Two weeks puts you exactly three months out from regionals, which gives you exactly ninety-one days to pull together the most jaw dropping program you or the judges have ever seen. One that’s certain to land you on the podium and secure a spot at nationals. 

Once again, you thank your lucky stars for Coach Lee. She’s been with you since you were still struggling to lace your own skates, and there’s no one else you’d trust to have you ready for regionals in such a short time frame. No one else you’d bet your fate on like this. 

“That was our original time frame, yes…” Dr. Min trails off, avoiding your gaze in a way that has your stomach dropping unpleasantly. 

“And we’ll be sticking to it, I’m sure.” You hate the way the end of your phrase turns up like a question. 

Dr. Min sighs. “Look, ___, our original time frame was ambitious to begin with, and I hate to tell you this, but your ankle is not healing as well as we’d hoped. Fractures don’t heal overnight, and the best thing for you right now is rest.” 

The argument is already forming on your tongue. “But—”

“I know it’s hard to believe, but I’m not trying to ruin your life, ___. Truly. I’m saying this to you as the parent of an athlete and a former athlete myself. Pushing yourself now will only lead to reinjury in the future and will also very likely shorten your career. Your ankle needs to heal before you skate on it again. It needs to heal before you so much as put weight on it. And you need to let it heal completely.” The sincerity in his voice is hard to stomach when he says, “Believe me when I tell you that you’ll regret it for the rest of life if you don’t.”

And logically, you know he’s right. Know that this will be nothing but a minor setback if you allow it to run its course. If you follow his advice to rest and heal. But skating has never been something you’ve done with the logical parts of yourself. And Dr. Min doesn’t get it. You tell him as much. “You don’t understand what you’re asking me to do. Regionals are in less than four months, and—”

“I hear you. Believe me, I do. But this is your third year of university, which means you have another shot at nationals next year. If you push it and try to skate before you’re ready, you may very well lose that chance too.”

“So I’m supposed to do what? Sit around and do nothing until my ankle decides to cooperate?” Even voicing the possibility has you suppressing a grimace. 

But Dr. Min has different thoughts. “Yes. That is exactly what you need to do.”

You don’t avert your gaze. Neither does he. Finally, after a moment, he sighs. “My recommendation at this point is still rest, but—”

“But?” Your excitement is impossible to contain fully. 

Dr. Min levels you with a cautionary look over his clipboard. “But, if you’re going to do anything, our athletics department does also run a physical therapy program, which I think could be beneficial. It would help to retain flexibility, mobility, and agility in the areas of your leg that support your ankle. It could help get you back on the ice faster and maintain the leg strength you’ve built. There’s a group session that runs on Tuesday afternoons—”

“Yes,” you nod, not bothering to hear the end of his statement. “Yes, I’ll do that.”

“I… okay.” As much as you want to hate him for it, Dr. Min has a point. And while you doubt physical therapy will be anywhere near as grueling as your usual workouts, it sounds a hell of a lot better than doing nothing. 

…

You’ve never liked hospitals. The odd juxtaposition of white, lifeless sterility and a culmination of some of life’s most painful moments has always left an unpleasant taste on your tongue. 

It’s one that has you double checking the address Dr. Min forwarded to you as you enter the oddly cheerful building that is apparently home to a renowned athletics physical therapy facility. Despite the medical purpose, there’s a distinct liveliness that envelops the space. 

The woman at reception informs you that this is indeed the right building and the session you’re attending has just begun in the room to your left. 

Pausing at the door, you’re struck with a sudden timidness. A physical therapy group for athletes will obviously be filled with, well, athletes. And although you can’t speak too harshly on that particular subsect of people, being one yourself, they can be intimidating. It must be the competitiveness, you think. The drive to push, succeed, win that gives off such a distinct aura.

Steeling yourself with one last breath, you remind yourself that’s why you’re here. To get back to that version of you that has everyone else feeling a little shier. That version of you that eats, breathes, and sleeps with ice skates laced on your feet and visions of the top of a podium driving your every decision. 

With determination straightening your brow, you push open the door. 

And immediately find yourself grateful for the mental preparation as three heads snap in your direction.  

Hitching your bag up an inch on your shoulder, you try not to melt under the sudden awkwardness. Thankfully, one of them is better at breaking ice than you.

“Hi,” the boy closest to you is the first to fill the silence. He’s all smiles where he gives you a friendly wave, moving a stray hair out of his eyes with a flick of his head as he tells you, “I’m Jungwon.”

You offer your name in return, trying on a smile to match his friendliness. You have a feeling it comes more naturally to him than it ever will to you, though. 

Regardless, he offers an equally cheerful, “Nice to meet you.” Glancing over to where the second boy is moving through a series of stretches, Jungwon makes eye contact, silently telling him he’s up next. 

Even mid-stretch, he acquiesces. “I’m Niki,” the second boy follows. 

“And I’m Jake.” The last boy doesn’t need any prompting from Jungwon. Nodding towards the walking boot that covers the bottom half of your left leg, he glances at a similar one that he wears on his own. “Looks like we’re twins. Tore up my achilles pretty bad in my last soccer match,” he explains. “What about you?”

“Fractured my ankle,” you return, a rueful smile dragging your lips up. “Figure skater.”

“Ah, man.” Jungwon winces. “That sucks.”

You shrug, forcing a nonchalance you don’t feel. “No worse than a busted achilles.” 

“That’s cool that you skate though,” Jake offers. “Kind of a funny coincidence, actually. There’s another—”

Whatever it is, he doesn’t get to finish the thought. At that moment, the door opens again, this time revealing a middle aged woman in a white physician’s coat. Her name tag reads Dr. Kim, and she introduces herself as such to you. 

“Looks like everyone’s here, including our new members.” She gives another cursory nod in your direction. “Welcome again.” Glancing around, the instructor pauses. “Oh, wait. Except for—”

“I’m here, I’m here.” For the second time in the span of a minute, the door behind you opens. You don’t miss the glance that passes between Niki and Jake. You turn to face the new arrival, but his back is to you as he sets his bag down and begins the process of switching his shoes. 

The way the new member enters with a dismissive wave of his hand and lack of proper greeting has you thinking tardiness is not an uncommon trait of his. Even from behind, you can feel the waves of arrogance he exudes. That seems to align more with your preconceived notions of athletes. 

Studying him for another second, a sinking feeling of dread begins to build in the pit of your stomach. Long, dark hair. Unnaturally graceful movements, even if all he’s doing is digging through his bag. Tall stature, broad shoulders, long legs. 

An athlete’s build through and through. Perfectly suited for the ice. 

“Great.” Despite the statement, Dr. Kim’s tone is flat. “Well, we were just getting started and introducing ourselves since we have someone new joining us today.”

“Hi,” he offers, still fixated on his bag, yet to offer as much as a glance in your direction. If anything, it only serves as a confirmation of his identity. “I’m—” You don’t even need to hear him say it. 

“Sunghoon?”

At that, he does finally look up. 

Gaze locking with yours, a moment of confusion is quickly replaced by a furrow in his brow, the slight downturn of his lips. He’s not thrilled to see you either. 

A beat passes. 

Two. 

Neither of you break eye contact. 

The silence extends to the point of discomfort for all four onlookers, each of them hesitant to break the tension that’s rising by the second. 

Finally, Dr. Kim takes a knife to the tension. “Do you two know each other?” 

Park Sunghoon. Renowned figure skater at your rival university. Someone with such a natural knack for carving lines through ice that whispers of prodigy have been shadowing his footsteps since the minute he put them on a rink. 

Someone with his head so far up his own ass you’re not sure how he can see half the time, much less keep his hair looking so perfect. 

Oh, you know him alright. 

“___?”

And it would seem he remembers you as well. 

It also answers Dr. Kim’s question well enough. 

“Ah, good.” It sounds like a question, like she’s hoping your acquaintance will be a positive thing instead of a disaster. You don’t have the heart to tell her otherwise. “The figure skating community is tight knit, I suppose.”

You suppress a scoff. That’s one word for it, you guess. 

You remember when it felt that way to you, too. Before tight knit became too small. Back before university, when it felt like it was you and Park Sunghoon against the world, instead of against each other. Back when the two of you didn’t skate for opposing teams but instead were members of the same club. A time when you took the ice together, skated as partners until he—

You force your thoughts to stop in their tracks. Your blood pressure has spiked enough in the last few days, and thinking back on long days spent with Park Sunghoon will only send it skyrocketing again. 

If anything, you’ll use this opportunity to practice perfecting your poker face for when you inevitably run into him at future competitions. 

And future competitions means you need a healed ankle, not a bruised ego. And certainly not an unpleasant trip down memory lane. 

Turning away from Sunghoon, you’re the first one to answer when Dr. Kim asks if you’re ready to get started. 

“Yes,” you tell her, determination written across your brow, in the set of your shoulders, and perhaps most noticeably, in the way you avoid Sunghoon’s wandering gaze for the next two hours. 

…

Without the rink, days are quick to meld into one another. It may be concerning, considering that you still have a set schedule of classes and homework to follow, but your life has revolved around training for so long that it’s hard to tell Mondays from Wednesdays without a set practice schedule. 

Thankfully, you do still make it back to the clinic at the right time on the right day, this time for another session with Dr. Kim and your fellow band of broken athletes. 

Including him. 

Aside from the glaringly obvious exception, you’re not as bothered at the thought of returning as you feared you might be. 

Jungwon, Niki, and Jake have proven themself pleasant enough company, and Dr. Kim seems to have built an understanding of how difficult it is to be forcibly removed from the sport you love. As such, she’s one of the least aggravating medical professionals you’ve spent time around. 

“Hey,” Niki greets when you arrive. “Did you have a good weekend?”

You shrug. “Good enough. Mostly just catching up on homework.” Setting your bag down and switching out your shoes, you join him on the mat, beginning the series of warm-up stretches Dr. Kim instructed you through last week. “What about you?”

“Not too bad. I got some good news from my doctor, actually.” He switches legs in his stretch, and you’re almost envious of his flexibility. He’s a dancer, and an exceedingly good one at that. One with an unfortunate knee injury at the moment. “My x-rays are looking a lot better. He thinks I might be able to start easing back into regular use by next month.” 

“That’s great,” you smile, even as a pang of jealousy stabs somewhere near your gut. “I’m really happy for you, Niki.” 

“A month still feels like forever, though, doesn’t it?” He sighs. “I can’t remember the last time I was out of the studio for this long.” 

Jungwon slides down onto the mat next to you, joining in on the stretch routine. “Consider yourself lucky, man. They told me at my last check-up that I probably won’t be able to do any jumping or kicks again for at least three months even though the fracture is already mostly healed.” He shakes his head. “No jumping or kicking,” he echoes, sarcasm dripping from every word. “You know, things that are super easy to avoid in taekwondo.”

“If it’s any consolation, I just got told that I’m gonna have to sit out of regionals this year. Which means I’ll have no way of qualifying for nationals.” You wonder how many times you’ll have to admit that particular reality to yourself before the sting starts to fade. 

“That sucks.” Jake agrees, coming down to the mat and occupying the spot next to Niki. “I’ll probably have to sit for this entire season, too. I love my team, but it’s so frustrating watching them play when I know I could be an asset on the field.”

“That’s true.” You’re struck by a sudden wave of sympathy. “At least skating is an individual sport, so the only person I have to disappoint is myself.” 

“Speaking of skating,” Jungwon sounds hesitant as he approaches the subject. “Do you and Sunghoon, uh…” he pauses for a moment in search of a neutral way of framing the unmistakable tension that surfaced the last time he saw the two of you together. “Do you two know each other?”

Grimacing internally, you suppose an explanation was bound to be solicited after your icy reunion. “We skate for rival universities.” Your gaze fixes on a spot on the ground. “And before college we used to, uh, we used to skate for the same club.”

The three boys share a glance. It’s hardly an explanation for the venom you said his name with but before they can press you further, the subject in question enters the room. 

Again, he takes his time setting his bag down, getting his things ready. This time, he also pulls out an obnoxiously big pair of headphones, secures them over his ears before he bothers to turn around. Despite the fact that all three boys offer him friendly smiles and waves, he returns the gesture only with a tight smile, making his way to the mat on the opposite side of the room before he begins his stretch routine.

It’s a message that rings loud and clear. A frown passes between Jake, Jungwon, and Niki. It’s obvious to you, then, that you’re the reason he chose to set himself up as far away as physically possible. 

So be it, you think, letting the slight roll right off of you. It’s not the first time he’s given you the cold shoulder for something he plays an equal part in, and you doubt it will be the last. 

Besides, it will only make your sessions pass by quicker, if the burden of avoiding gazes and minimizing interactions falls on his shoulders instead of yours.

With nothing but a shrug, you adjust slightly, ensuring that the only view he has of you is of your back. 

…

It’s a pattern that continues as physical therapy sessions start to become a regular routine in your week. Sunghoon, with his apparent disdain for anyone’s time but his own, is always the last to arrive. He also continues his habit of picking the spot in the room furthest away from you. 

Despite the fact that you’d like to chalk it up to his social ineptitude alone, that explanation doesn’t track. Although there’s still a certain aura of aloofness that follows where he goes, it’s too often that you see him smiling at a joke cracked by Jake or sharing easy conversations with Jungwon and Niki.  

Hell, he even interacts with Dr. Kim with a level of warmth you didn’t know was possible coming from him. If there’s any disdain in their conversations, he directs it all towards his right wrist. It’s why he’s here, you assume. Encased in a brace similar to the one you wear on your left ankle, his right forearm seems to be the reason for his attendance. 

It’s hard to not be envious. While a wrist injury is nothing to scoff at, it doesn’t necessarily keep you off the ice. Not in the same way a fractured ankle does. 

Refocusing your thoughts, you push the boy across the room firmly out of mind as Dr. Kim helps adjust you into the next stretch.

“How about now?” Dr. Kim pushes your spine a fraction of an inch further, pressure light but demanding. Before, this much flexibility would have been an easy request of your body, but lack of use has your muscles feeling tight. “Any tightness or pain?”

“No.” The bead of sweat on your brow begs to differ, as does the way the negation slipped through gritted teeth. 

But you’re frustrated. Annoyed at the progress you’ve lost, at the new limits of your body, at the way you feel like a stranger in your own skin. 

Across the room, you miss the flicker of annoyance that flits over Sunghoon’s features. Headphones on as always, you imagine you’re nothing more than a blip on his radar, a pesky intruder that’s easily ignored as long as he has his back to you. 

“Hm,” Dr. Kim muses. “You’ve retained more flexibility than I expected.” She offers you a smile. “That’s a good thing, a sign of a quick recovery.”

You suppress a grimace. It should be a good thing. You should be recovering quickly. If only you could get your stupid body to cooperate. 

Stealing another glance at the boy across the room, you can’t help the way a small burst of rage bubbles in your stomach. Prodigy. Why does he always get to be the anomaly, the exception to the rule? His injury is already less severe than yours, and he’s probably recovering quickly, too. Without even having to fake it.

Easing you out of the stretch, Dr. Kim jots down a quick note. “I’ll have Dr. Min run another x-ray at your next visit.” Nodding towards your ankle, she adds, “I think there’s a good chance that things are looking a lot better, and updated x-rays will help guide our next sessions.” She pauses for a minute. “I don’t want to get ahead of myself or get your hopes up, but I think we might be able to start putting some weight back on it soon. Start getting it stronger again.” 

You’re hesitant to let your excitement grow too much. But it would be a lie if you weren’t already counting the days until your next visit with Dr. Min in your head. “Thank you,” you tell her. “I’ll hope those x-rays come back looking good, then.”

“Me too,” she smiles. “I’ll see you next week, then. Hopefully with good news.”

You nod, returning her smile before heading to the door to gather your things. Jungwon catches you on your way out. 

“Hey, ___, hold on a sec.” When you turn back towards him, he tells you, “The rest of us are gonna grab lunch at a place nearby, if you want to join.”

Your uncertainty must write itself across your features, because he’s quick to add, “Don’t worry. Sunghoon won’t be there. He’s got a class right after this.”

Slightly embarrassed by the way he read you so easily, you nod. “Sure. Lunch sounds good.” Despite their friendliness with Sunghoon, you’ve come to like the three of them. And it’s been far too long since you broke up the monotony of class, homework, and medical appointments with something as simple as lunch with friends. 

And as long as he’s not there, you imagine it will be nothing but pleasant. 

It doesn’t take long for them to prove you wrong. 

Niki barely lets you get one bite in before he asks, “So, what exactly happened between you two?” Even without the name, the question is obvious. 

Still, after choking on the sip of water you’d been taking, you answer, “Who?”

Jake just gives you a look. 

You sigh. “Like I said, we used to skate for the same club. We, uh, never really got along, I guess.” Avoiding eye contact, you add, “And now we skate for rival schools. I suppose it’s only natural to not like each other.”

Niki doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, that sounds made up.”

Jungwon swallows his bite, parts his lips like he has something to say. Internally, you heave a sigh of relief. If any of the three of them spare you, you have a feeling it would be him. “I mean, it does seem like something else must have happened.”

Or not. 

“You don’t have to tell us,” he adds. “But it’s just… I mean, the two of you can’t even look at each other.”

Sighing, you suppose the circumstances do look odd from the outside. “There was… an incident. Back when we used to skate together.”

“What?” Jake asks. “Did he steal your skates right before a show or something?” 

“No, no.” You shake your head. “It happened on the ice, actually. During a program.”

“Wait,” Niki interrupts. “You said you used to skate together. Do you mean like, as partners?”

The guilt on your face says it all. 

“No way.” Jake says. 

Jungwon’s eyes grow bigger. “What did he do?”

“Yeah,” Niki turns to face you fully. “Wouldn’t being his partner be a good thing? At least on the ice, I mean. I know he can be a little insufferable, but isn’t he some sort of prodigy—”

“Prodigy, my ass.” You’re so sick of that goddamn word. “Wasn’t a prodigy when he dropped me in the middle of our program at junior nationals, was he?”

The way all three or their jaws drop in unison is almost worth the admission. 

But the thing is, he was. No accusatory fingers pointed in his direction after it happened. No one blamed prodigy Park Sunghoon for the mishap. 

No, it was decided fair and square by the jury of public opinion that the mistake was entirely your fault, your burden to bear. And it’s not like you were immune to the criticism. Whispers followed where you went. And you always, always managed to hear them. 

Maybe if you’d trained a little harder, completed the second rotation a little sooner, the skill would have gone off without a hitch, they mused. Hell, maybe if you’d stuck to your diet a little better, those last two pounds would have spelled the difference between a perfect landing and your ass on frozen ground, program music still crescendoing as onlookers watched with horrified fascination.

“Oh,” Jungwon grimaces. 

“That’s rough,” Niki agrees. 

And they don’t even know the worst of it. Don’t know that back then, at fifteen, you’d had a giant, soul crushing, earth shattering, massive crush on your skating partner. That you searched for his approval just as eagerly as you’d sought out your coach’s. 

That you’d squeezed in as many extra practice sessions as physically possible for five months leading up to the routine just to make sure you were as close to flawless as possible, just to make sure you were chosen to be his partner on the ice. 

That you giggled, giggled, when you saw the matching costumes the two of you would wear for the first time. 

That you followed where he went with long sighs and lovesick eyes. That you looked forward to the grueling hours you spent on the ice with him, turning perfection into something even greater. 

That your heart skipped a beat every time you ran through your program, every time he caught you with sure hands and a strong grip. 

That Park Sunghoon never made a mistake, never let you fall, not once. 

Not until a spotlight was spinning dreams into reality and you were already anticipating the secret smiles you’d share with matching gold medals around your necks. 

Not until it all shattered in a single moment. 

It was cold, as you laid there on the ice, sprawled out and unable to move from the sudden shock of it all. Luckily, you’d avoided any critical injuries. You had staggered off the ice with nothing but some bad bruising, the worst of it staining your ego and your heart. 

And after it all, no matter how many times you passed him on your way to the locker room, shared the ice with him, or searched for the gaze he pointedly avoided across the room, Park Sunghoon never uttered the two words that just might have made you forgive it all. 

Instead of an apology or even the decency of an explanation, you got a cold shoulder and a lost friendship you were too confused by to mourn. 

In the end, you’d decided to turn it all into a blessing in a very thorough disguise. From that moment onwards, all of your time on the ice was dedicated to you and you alone. Never would you let anything but the sheer strength of your own will, your own goals, motivate you to become better, faster, stronger. 

And you found that victory tasted even sweeter, when the full weight of it could rest on your shoulders alone. When no one could whisper behind their palms that the only reason you stood on the podium was a prodigy of a partner. 

So fine. Park Sunghoon didn’t owe you shit. Not an apology, an explanation, or even a second glance. 

And if he was a prodigy, an ice prince or whatever stupid title he’d earned alongside his medals, well, you’d just have to be even better.

But now, sitting across from new friends with a fractured ankle and a ruined shot at medalling this year, a quiet part of you admits for the first time that maybe, just maybe, part of that resolve is nothing but spite in disguise. Part of the anger you’ve clung to for so long isn’t directed at him, but at yourself. 

That it was embarrassing to fall in front of a crowd, yes, but it was also humiliating to know that he was hearing all those little comments about your inferiority too. To realize that his silence meant he probably agreed. That you were a liability of a partner, unequal in both skill and importance. That he could move on from the incident, from you, completely unscathed. 

That your little crush was entirely one-sided, just like the respect and admiration you’d once felt for him. 

You stare at the half-eaten lunch in front of you, appetite suddenly completely gone. 

“What a coincidence that the two of you ended up injured at the same time,” Jake muses. 

“And in the same physical therapy group.” Jungwon nods. 

“Yeah,” you echo hollowly. “What a coincidence.”

…

When Park Sunghoon speaks to you for the first time in five years, it’s completely by accident.

As the weeks have continued on, you’ve fallen into a perfect routine during your shared physical therapy sessions. A routine of avoidance, ignorance, and as much space between the two of you as physically possible. It’s become so easy that the two of you navigate it with the kind of grace only two elite figure skaters could ever manage. 

If anything, it’s more awkward for the other members of your session than it is for the two of you. Jungwon, Jake, Niki, and Dr. Kim are the ones suffering as they try to stay friendly with both of you without icing out the other. 

It must be why he doesn’t even bother to check who it is that’s standing right next to him as he reaches for his bag on the shelf near the front door at the end of another session. Must be why he says it in a voice so casual you don’t think it’s him at first. “How pissed do you think Dr. Kim will be if I’m late again next week?”

Even though the voice doesn’t quite fit, you half expect to see Jake standing next to you when you turn to the side. 

Sunghoon realizes his mistake at the exact same second you do. You watch as shock flickers across his features, quickly replaced by something guarded, unreadable. Just as completely closed off to you as always. 

It pisses you off, the way he’s so utterly and completely unaffected by you. The way he can brush you off as easily as a piece of dust. Insignificant. Unimportant. Unwanted. It has you freeing the reins on comments you should bite back instead. 

“Hard to say.” Ice and resentment drip from every syllable. “Then again, I’m surprised you care about what she thinks. Doesn’t seem like something that would bother you.”

That at least earns you some of his emotion. Another bout of shock crosses his face before it shifts to confusion and falls finally to anger. You can see it in the furrow of his brow, the set of his jaw. The flare of heat in his eyes. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

If he falls to anger, you’ll rise above it. At least on the outside. There’s no accounting for the way your gut twists in rage. Still, you offer him a smile that’s almost as fake as it is sickeningly sweet. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out if you spend enough time thinking about it.” It’s patronizing, and intentionally so. You hope it annoys him enough to keep him up tonight. 

Reaching for the front door, you take your exit first. The hallways of this building have become familiar over the weeks. Even with anger clouding your vision and a bad ankle, you trace a steady path to the parking lot. You’re halfway to your car when the sound of your name stops you in your tracks. 

You freeze for a moment, turning the sound of it over in your brain, stuck on the way it almost sounds like a plea, a prayer coming from his lips. The sound of footsteps draws nearer. They fall quickly, as if he’s running. Your indecision still renders you immobile. 

“Hold on a second. Did I… Did I do something to upset you?”

If you thought you were angry before, you’re surely seeing red now. How dare he. 

Spinning around, you only hope you sound as outraged as you feel. “Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?”

“What? No.” His brow furrows. “I mean, I know our schools are technically rivals and all, but we haven’t really seen each other in years.”

“Right, because you’ve been so sunny and welcoming since I joined the group.”

“I was giving you space. You practically bolted like a scared cat when you saw it was me.” He runs a hand through his hair. You hate the way it falls perfectly back into place. And you hate the way he looks so good doing it. “But clearly you’ve got something against me.”

The audacity, the sheer, utter audacity. There’s no trace of humor when you say, “You’re hilarious, really.” And there’s no room for debate when you turn away from him again, continuing to walk towards your car. 

“Wait,” he tries, but it falls on deaf ears. “God, ___, would you just hold on for a second, I—”

You turn. To do what, you’re not entirely sure. But before you can decide, the grip he has on his car keys loosens, the fingers of his right hand less dexterous than usual thanks to his arm brace. He still has his reflexes though. With his other hand, he manages to stop them from falling completely. 

“Better take care of that.” You jerk your chin to where he awkwardly fumbles with his keyring, trying to find a better grip. “Wouldn’t want to drop those too.”

His gaze snaps to you, eyes wide, mouth slightly slackened. The keys fall from his grasp, metal clinking delicately on the pavement. A million questions swim across his features, none of which you’ll give the grace of answering. 

Instead, you turn around once more. You make it all the way to your car, all the way out of the parking lot, all the way home. 

And he never says your name once. 

…

The following Tuesday, you are the last one of the group to arrive. And while you would usually never pass up the opportunity to best Sunghoon at anything, including being the latest arrival, competition is not the reason for your tardiness. 

It’s avoidance. That, and the fact that you had to spend eleven minutes giving yourself a pep talk in the car before you could work up the nerve to approach the front doors of the clinic. In the end, it’s a glance down at the boot on your left foot that does it. You’ve let Sunghoon ruin your chance at a gold medal once, and you’ll be damned if you let him do it again. 

Besides, your last visit with Dr. Min was a good one. Your ankle hasn’t healed quite as much as Dr. Kim suspected, but progress is progress, and you’re making plenty of it, according to your most recent x-rays. 

You enter the session with an apology for Dr. Kim and concentrated efforts to not let your gaze wander to the back corner of the room as you make your way over to where Jake and Jungwon sit. Starting your stretches, you assume Niki is over with Sunghoon, but you can’t work up the nerve to confirm that. 

Despite her initial annoyance at your tardiness, Dr. Kim is equally pleased at your latest x-ray results and gives you the green light to switch out the resistance bands you’ve been using for the next level up. Just as you’re reaching for the set of red bands on the shelf next to the treadmills, a set of obnoxiously smooth hands gets there first. 

Turning to Sunghoon with narrowed eyes, you grab the end of the band set he just snatched out from under you, eyes ablaze. 

The little fucker has the gall to roll his eyes. “What are you doing?”

You yank on the band. He doesn’t even flinch, grip steady. “I’m trying to follow Dr. Kim’s instructions,” you inform, tone flat. 

This time when you yank again, he yanks back. Much to your annoyance, he’s able to exert enough force to have you stumbling forward. “You’re trying to provoke me.”

“And it’s working,” Niki whispers to Jake and Jungwon in the back corner of the room. Dr. Kim just shakes her head. 

“Just take the green bands,” Sunghoon suggests. 

“They don’t have enough resistance. I need these ones,” you argue. “Why don’t you take the green ones?”

“Pretty sure if one of us takes the lighter bands, it should be you.” Sunghoon tightens his grip. “Or are you seriously trying to claim that you’re stronger than me right now?”

“I’m using them for my legs, you absolute jackass. Which are definitely stronger than your forearms.”

Sunghoon cocks a brow. “Should we put money on it?”

“You are such a dick. Dr. Kim literally—”

“Has another set of red bands,” the woman in question interrupts. She levels the two of you with an exasperated look as she holds them out in front of her. “There’s another set of every color on the equipment shelf next to the door.”

“Oh, right,” you nod, pulling back a little on your end of the band before you release it, just to hear the small cry Sunghoon lets out when it snaps against the skin of his good wrist. “Thanks.”

And the satisfaction that comes from completing your usual number of reps with a higher resistance is almost as gratifying as when you see Sunghoon rubbing at the still reddened skin on his left wrist as you pack up to leave for the day. 

“Those two are gonna kill each other,” Jungwon tells Jake and Niki as the three of them walk to their cars, brow creasing in concern. 

“Or something,” Jake agrees. 

Niki hoists his bag up on his shoulder. “My money’s on ___.”

A contemplative look passes between Jake and Jungwon before they nod in unison, “Yeah.”

…

You’re in the middle of passing a medicine ball back and forth with Jake the following week when he asks, “Are your school’s finals next week too?”

And although it’s hard to believe, first semester is already drawing to an end as the days get shorter and assignments get longer. 

“Yeah,” you nod. “I’m up to my ass in essays right now.”

“Same,” Jake agrees. “Sometimes it makes me wonder how I do it when I’m training, too.” Although you agree, a pang of jealousy is the only thing his words inspire. Of the skaters on your team that are preparing to compete as you speak. That have already choreographed their routines and selected their music and are spending every waking moment perfecting each and every detail of their program. 

It’s hard. It’s brutal. You’d be the first to admit that. But you miss it all the same, so much it hurts. 

A moment passes before he continues. “Well, anyway, Jungwon, Niki, and I were thinking that since none of us are training right now, we should celebrate the end of the semester like everyone else does.”

You arch a brow. “You’re gonna have to be more specific than that.”

“Right, sorry,” he apologizes. “Consider this your formal invitation to get absolutely shitfaced with us next Friday.”

The laugh that bubbles in your throat is so unexpected you can’t quite bite it back. While you have your fair share of good, old-fashioned fun, he’s right. Every other semester, you’ve celebrated the end of finals season with a cup of hot tea and an early night in bed. Traded one source of stress for another as you woke up bright and early the next day to hit the ice. 

You send him a smile, tossing the medicine ball back in his direction. “Count me in.”

…

The following Friday night finds you double-checking the address on your phone before tentatively knocking on the front door of what you hope is Jake’s apartment. In the middle of the university district across the city from your own, you can’t say you’re familiar with any of the buildings outside of the athletic complex, which you’ve only ever visited for a handful of competitions. It strikes you then that this is also the university Sunghoon attends. And, stomach dropping, that you never actually asked who all would be attending tonight.

Before you have the chance to spin on your heel and high-tail it down the stairs you just climbed, the door swings open. It’s not Jake. 

“Oh,” you mumble. The boy who opened the door is not Jake, but he is very much attractive. “Sorry. I’m looking for Jake Sim’s apartment.” Your voice turns up at the end like a question. 

“You’re in the right place,” he smiles, and it’s gorgeous. “I’m Heeseung, Jake’s roommate. You must be ___.” He opens the door wider, allowing you space. “Come on in.”

“That’s me.” You offer him a grateful smile as you enter, hanging your coat and sliding your shoes off. 

The interior is surprisingly sophisticated, for a college boy’s apartment. It’s clean, for starters, and as you follow Heeseung down the hallway towards the kitchen, you can’t help but be impressed by their choice in decor. 

“Help yourself to anything.” Heeseung gestures to the impressive spread of snacks on the table. “But first, can I get you something to drink?”

“Um…” Your lack of alcohol-related knowledge is apparent, and the uncertainty must be obvious, because Heeseung just smiles again. 

“I’ve got you.” There’s an undertone of something in his words. Something playful, something bordering on flirty. But it’s too subtle to tell for sure, and you’re not one to bet on losing odds. He reaches for a glass and a handful of ice cubes. “Do you like fruity flavors?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “That sounds good.” Besides, it’s been a minute since you’ve been well and truly flirted with at a college party by a boy that looks like he could spell trouble in his sleep. This could be fun, you think.  

Glancing towards the adjacent living room, you notice the usual familiar faces. Jake and Niki are sitting on the couch while Jungwon chats with a pair of boys you don’t recognize. Eyes tracing the perimeter, you feel your shoulders tense when they land on a familiar silhouette. Sunghoon has his back to you, but his identity is just as unmistakable as it was on your first day of physical therapy. Like Jungwon, he’s talking to another person you don’t know. 

Oh, well. It’s too late to back out now and too early to make an exit. If you and Sunghoon can coexist in a room once a week without starting too many fires, you’re sure you’ll manage to get through tonight just fine. 

Heeseung hands you a full glass. It’s cold where it meets your fingertips. 

“Should we join them?” He inclines his head toward the living room and you nod. 

Following in his footsteps, you wave a quick greeting to Jake before taking a seat next to Heeseung, enough space between you and Sunghoon for you to relax slightly.

“How do you and Jake know each other?” You ask, searching for something to fill the silence, to keep the conversation flowing. “Do you play soccer together?”

Heeseung shakes his head. “No, we’ve been friends since elementary school. But I am on the basketball team, which helps. I feel like student athletes just kind of get each other, you know?”

You do know, and you tell him as much. The crazy schedule, the unwavering commitment. It’s much easier to explain to someone that’s living through the exact same thing. 

“Speaking of which, you’re a figure skater, right? For the university across town.”

You arch a brow. “I’m surprised Jake told you so much about you.”

“Not nearly enough,” he flirts, and this time it’s blatant. 

You take another sip of your drink with upturned lips, weighing a response on your tongue. Before you can decide how many cards you’d like to show, you make eye contact across the room with the one person you were hoping to avoid. 

Sunghoon looks equally—scratch that—even more displeased to see you. Jawline so taught you could cut your finger on it and lips drawn in a straight line, he’s pissed where he locks eyes with you from his seat. Sunghoon is the one to avert his eyes first. Throwing back whatever’s in his cup, he slices through the moment of tension with a knife. 

If Heeseung notices the way your breath splutters, he doesn’t comment. Thankfully, Jungwon chooses the next moment to say his hellos and introduce you to the boys you hadn’t recognized earlier. 

“Sunoo,” he nods towards the boy he’d been sitting with earlier, who offers a friendly greeting. “And that’s Jay, over by Sunghoon. And you’ve already met Heeseung.”

“And you all go to school here?”

“Yeah,” Jungwon nods. “Jay and I live together, and Sunoo is Niki’s roommate.”

“You’re deep in enemy territory,” Heeseung elbows you lightly, teasing. “What are we gonna do with you?”

You lift your now empty glass towards him, grinning. “Get me another drink, hopefully.”

Sending you a wink, he takes the glass from your outstretched hand before standing from the couch. “On it.” You watch his back retreat into the kitchen, oblivious of the second one that follows it a handful of moments later. 

Jay, as it turns out, is not an athlete, but does play guitar for a local  band your friend has been raving to you about for ages. He’s already promising you two sets of complimentary tickets to every one of their upcoming shows by the time you realize Heeseung’s been gone for a while. Too long. 

Excusing yourself, you head toward the kitchen. And it’s just your luck that you find the person you’ve spent the evening avoiding, instead of the one you’re searching for. Even with the buzz of your first drink fading rapidly, your inhibitions are feeling low. 

Sunghoon barely has the chance to register your presence before you’re laying out accusations. 

“I know you don’t like me, but do you really have to spend the whole night glaring at me like that? In front of everyone?”

Sunghoon’s shoulders tense, a confirmation that he hears you, but he says nothing. Instead, he just swallows the remainder of his drink in one large gulp. His eyes are still flaring, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think you did something to piss him off. 

But it’s just like him, to avoid conversations he doesn’t want to have with the end of another drink. To treat you like someone not even worthy of a response. You don’t know why you expected anything different. Scoffing, you notice the full drink sitting on the counter. Heeseung must have had the chance to refill it before disappearing. 

You move to step around Sunghoon and reach for it when he finally says, “I’m not glaring at you.”

The gaze you level him with is incredulous. “Do you think I’m stupid? I have eyes—”

“For all I know you are stupid!” Sunghoon sighs, drags an open palm down the length of his face. “I mean, are you really gonna let some guy you just met pour your drinks all night?”

“Heeseung?” You’re confused why all of his rage seems to be directed towards something so insignificant. “He’s Jake’s roommate”

“And a complete stranger to you.”

It’s infuriating, the way he assumes his opinion should hold any weight in your life. The way he thinks he has any say in your decisions. “So should I avoid all the food now too?” You’re being petty now for the sake of it. “I mean, since you’ve been in here unsupervised for quite a while now.” You take another step towards your drink and he moves, blocking your path with his body. 

When you look up, you find his eyes already trained on you, and there’s no ice in them now. Just pure, unadulterated heat. Fire. Flames that lick the base of your spine. “You’re so fucking agitating, you know that?”

“I’m agitating?” You take another step forward, hoping the proximity will force him away. It doesn’t. If anything, he leans into it. Into you. 

You reach for the drink again. This time, he stops you himself. Fingers of his unrestricted hand wrapping around your wrist.

“Yeah.” His words are low, voice a caress even as it drips venom. You feel his breath ghost across your cheekbone. “Real fucking agitating.”

Your eyes are still locked on his, and you search them for a hint of something coherent, something that makes sense. Every bone in your body drawn taught, it’s as if muscle memory reverts you to the last moment you were like this, the last moment he held you this close, body entwined with his own in a familiar embrace. Your wrist slackens in his grasp. 

Last time, he dropped you. Sent you scattering across ice until the only thing you could taste was the bitterness of defeat and the sharp sting of humiliation. 

Last time, he let you fall. 

You have no idea what he’ll do now. 

In the end, it’s the sound of approaching footsteps that has the two of you springing apart, your wrist falling from his grip. In the scramble, you remember your original target. 

Despite the long melted ice, this drink feels even cooler in your grip, a stark contrast to the simmering heat just beneath your skin. 

When Heeseung enters, he’s tucking his phone into his pocket with an apologetic look. “Sorry, I had to take a call. My brother gets chatty at the worst times.” Nodding to your hand, he smiles, “You found your drink.” 

“Yeah, I did.” You take a step closer to the living room, closer to Heeseung. Further from Sunghoon. 

Glancing between the two of you, there’s a hint of uncertainty when Heeseung asks if you want to rejoin the others in the living room. 

You put his worries to ease and your questions to rest when you agree easily, not even bothering to give Sunghoon a second thought. 

You do seek his gaze one last time, though, before you follow Heeseung back to the party. Looking directly at him, you raise your glass in a mock toast. Without breaking eye contact, you bring the cup to your lips, swallowing half the drink in one long sip. When you do finally turn away, it’s to find the empty seat next to Heeseung. 

The rest of the evening passes in a pleasant blur, trading stories and laughs with the people around you while Heeseung keeps the seat at your side warm. Sunghoon does you the favor of disappearing from sight after your stand off in the kitchen.

It’s easy to relax into the company of everyone else, so much so that you don’t see Sunoo until you’re running right into him, the contents of his cup saturating the front of your shirt. 

It’s a problem Heeseung is quick to solve, and the gray hoodie he offers you is cozier than any of your own with a scent that’s almost addicting. 

He’s sweet, you think. Sweet and charming and forward in all of the right ways. It’s solidified when he offers to join you on the porch when you tell him you’re stepping outside for some fresh air. It’s cemented when he accepts your refusal with nothing but a smile and the request that you “come back quick.”

Stepping outside, it takes you a moment to realize that you’re not alone. It would appear that your earlier assumption that Sunghoon must have gone back to his place was wrong. There’s no drink in his hand, but the way he sways with the gentle midnight breeze makes you think he’s still working through everything he downed earlier. 

Silently, you glance up at the cloudless night sky, at the way the stars seem to wrap around you. Gaze returning to Sunghoon’s back, you suppose the simplest course of action would be to leave before he realizes you’re here. You turn to do just that, to make good on your promise to Heesung, when the sound of your name stops you in your tracks. 

Or at least, you think that’s what he says. It’s hard to tell, with the way his syllables and sounds slur together. Turning back towards him, you find him already looking at you. He repeats your name, and this time around, it’s a bit clearer. 

His eyes trace a downward line from your face to your change in clothes. Something in his face crumples, withers. 

“‘M sorry,” he slurs, words not lining up quite right through the inebriation. 

“What?”

“That day.” The sudden onset of sincerity in his tone makes him seem more sober than he is. “I should have caught you.”

The stars in the sky suddenly don’t seem so far away. You must have heard him wrong. A crease forms between your eyebrows, eyes scanning over his features. They’re laid open in their honesty, no trace of deception. 

“I wanted to catch you. I tried to.” He sighs. “Was my fault.”

“I…” You search for words, for the vindication you’d always imagined you’d feel at his admission. In its absence, you find only confusion and an odd pang of regret. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. 

“Sorry for what? Why are you bringing that up?”

He just shakes his head, eyes falling to his feet. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again. Like a broken record. His pain is wrapped up in there too, trapped in a loop time has never quite let it escape. 

When you return to the party, it’s with a jumbled excuse of needing to check on a pet cat you don’t have. 

In the haste of it all, you forget to so much as exchange numbers with Heeseung. But you do find the time to pull Jake aside on your way out the door, to make sure that he helps Sunghoon get home safe. 

…

The next morning greets you with a pounding headache and an unfamiliar hoodie draped over the back of your desk chair. It takes a moment of searching through hazy memories before recollection of that particular string of events finds you. 

With a sigh, you head out in search of water and Advil, sending Jake a quick message that you’ll stop by his apartment later to return Heeseung’s hoodie. 

Even a handful of hours later, you can’t decide if you hope Heeseung is home or not. It’s a Saturday afternoon after a long night, so you figure the odds are high. But you still can’t pinpoint whether that feeling in your gut is excitement or dread. 

In an effort to delay the inevitable, you take a detour before visiting Jake’s apartment again. Your rival university’s sports complex is just as nice as you remember it, large, pristine buildings that hold everything an athletics department could dream of. Fondly, you remember the first time you skated in this stadium, back in middle school. It had felt so big, then, so special, to be skating for such a large crowd. 

It felt even more special to be sharing the ice with someone who put dreams in your head and butterflies in your stomach. Still fairly new to pair skating, the two of you had put on a program with a less than favorable amount of deduction. 

But still. It was yours. It was special. It was shared. 

You wonder if he knew then, that one day he would be the reigning king of this very same rink. 

Probably, you think. Park Sunghoon never had the habit of letting things feel impossible. 

Looking down at the boot on your foot, you miss it, all of it, all at once. The late nights. The early mornings. The bruises and cuts and aching muscles. The determination after defeat. The elation after glory. The feeling of flying every time blade touches ice. 

The sign posted next to the stadium is an advertisement, a reminder, of the upcoming regional championships. There’s a pang of loss, a moment of grief, for your program that will have to wait for next year. 

But your x-rays are coming back better every time, and Dr. Kim is sure you’ll be back on the ice by the time spring comes. 

For the first time in a long time, you think it’ll be okay. You know you’ll be okay.  

In front of you, the stadium door opens, and you realize you’re standing right in front of the exit. 

“Sorry,” you mutter, quickly moving to get out of the way, but then you take a closer look. “Coach Kang?” you ask, just as she says your name with the same air of disbelief. 

It’s an odd feeling of synchronicity, to stumble into your childhood skating coach just as you’re reminiscing on the past. 

“It’s been so long,” she beams, pulling you in for a warm hug. “What are you doing here?”

“Just visiting a friend. What about you?”

“Coaches’ meeting,” she explains. “Trying to see if I can get some of my junior skaters in to watch a few practices before regionals.” Nudging you with her shoulder, she adds, “speaking of which, how’s your program coming along? Are you getting excited?”

You shake your head. “I’m actually off the ice for this one.” Glancing down, you lift your booted foot in explanation. “Ankle fracture has me out for the rest of the season.”

“Oh, no.” Coach Kang places a consolatory hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry. That has to be so hard.”

“It’s okay, actually.” You don’t know who’s more surprised, her at your admission, or you at the fact that you actually mean it. “Everything is healing up nicely, so I’m looking forward to an even better program next year.” 

“Well look at you, all grown up.” She smiles. “I can say that thirteen-year-old you would not have had such a good attitude about it. Honestly, I’m surprised a fracture was enough to stop you. You were always so stubborn about things. You and Sunghoon.” She lets out a short laugh as your shoulders tense at the mention of him. “I was just thinking about you two the other day, actually. We had a skater fracture his tailbone and argue until he was blue in the face that he still wanted to compete.” Shaking her head, she adds, “It reminded me of that time Sunghoon insisted on skating even though he’d just sprained his wrist.” She shakes her head again, releases a small laugh. “Never could keep you two off the ice.”

It all checks out, the stubbornness, the determination even when it was stupid. But you’re hung up on one detail. You’re sure you could list every one of Sunghoon’s skating injuries just as thoroughly as he could. But before the current one, you can’t recall any wrist injuries. “What? When did he sprain his wrist?” 

Coach Kang waves her hand flippantly, like the sinking feeling in your gut isn’t intensifying with every passing moment, like she isn’t about to confirm a realization you’re already dreading. “Oh, you remember. It was just a few days before nationals that one year.”

That one year. She skirts around it, for your sake probably. But you know exactly what she means, when she’s referring to. 

And suddenly, you’re falling through air again, plummeting towards ice as a hand makes a desperate attempt to catch you. As sheer will alone is no match for injury weakened bones and ligaments and muscles. As you’re sliding across frozen ground and he’s gripping his wrist with pain on his face and terror in his eyes. 

As your head spins, spots clouding your vision from the force of the impact. Before the world goes black, your eyes search for him. 

And in those last few moments of consciousness, you watch as his mouth moves to form words you can’t hear. 

“I’m sorry.”

…

Raising your fist, you pound at the door again. One, two, three times. At this rate, your knuckles will be bloody before you get a response. 

But before you can start your assault on the wood in front of you again, the door swings open slowly, revealing a familiar frame. 

“You absolute idiot.”

“Well hello to you too.” Rubbing at his eyes, you appear to have just woken him from a nap. If his head is feeling anything like yours was this morning, you almost feel sorry. 

But there are more pressing matters at hand. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

“That I’m an idiot? Probably not.”

“That you sprained your wrist three days before nationals? That you skated anyway? That you attempted to catch a person quite literally spinning through the air with a wrist injury?”

A beat of silence passes. 

And then another. 

Sunghoon suddenly looks wide awake. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. What the hell were you thinking?” There’s fire in your eyes, an anger that’s directed towards him but not in the ways he’s used to. 

He pauses for a moment, eyes searching your features for another beat. Finally, he sighs. “Would you have let me skate if I did?”

It’s not the answer you expect. And it’s just like him, to answer a question with one of his own. “I… what?”

“You heard me.” His eyes don’t leave yours. “Would you have let me get on the ice if you knew I was hurt?”

And what is it, him and his habit of asking ridiculous questions like they don’t have obvious answers. “What kind of question is that? Of course not. No one in their right mind would have let you do that program with a wrist sprain, much less your partner. And I love Coach Kang, but I’m about to file a negligence suit against her, because what the hell kind of—”

“Stop talking.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry,” he grimaces, and you’re still getting used to the way apologies sound on his lips. “That came out wrong. What I was trying to say was that you… Well, I… I mean…” He trails off for the third time, casts a tentative look at the way your eyebrows only raise higher and higher every time he stops a train of thought in its tracks. His gaze falls down, somewhere between your nose and chin. An exhale passes through parted lips. Something in his resolve slips. “Oh, fuck it.”

And then he’s kissing you. 

Lips against lips and hands in your hair. It’s messy and awkward, and you can’t quite get the timing right. 

Sunghoon pulls back a fraction of an inch, catching his breath and letting you do the same. 

“What are you doing?”

There’s heat in his eyes and fondness too, a soft sort of expression that only melts further every time he looks at you. But now there’s anxiety in the mix, a crippling fear that he’s misjudged everything entirely, done something horribly wrong. 

“I’m sorry.” Before today, you could count his apologies on one hand. Now, you’re running out of fingers. “Did you not want—”

This time, it’s you that pulls him down, hands lacing around the nape of his neck, exhaling a soft sigh against parted lips that sends his mind spinning. 

And it’s only the second time, but it’s already better. Already a natural rhythm that the two of you seem to fall into with a little more grace. 

The expanse of his door is cold against your back when Sunghoon pulls you into his apartment with his good hand, and he’s a quick study. Attempt number three is an even greater improvement as hands search for new skin to discover and things start to fall into place, one at a time. 

Reaching for Heeseung’s forgotten hoodie, Sunghoon breaks the kiss only to toss it somewhere outside your current plane of existence. In this moment, you exist only within the space the two of you occupy, everything else an afterthought. 

And you have the feeling attempt number four will be your best yet. 

…

epilogue

“Are you ever gonna join me or do I just have to stay out here looking stupid forever?”

You don’t even take a moment to consider. “The second one.”

“Come on,” Sunghoon pleads, skating back towards you where you remain planted firmly to the bench on the perimeter of the rink. He moves towards you with a grace that used to inspire a raging, stomping green monster of envy. Now, you just admire the way he cuts across the ice with the agility of a dancer. “It’s fun out here, I promise.”

Avoiding his gaze, you let your eyes fall to your feet instead. They’re already laced up in your favorite pair of skates, black boot all but forgotten since you had it removed at your last visit to Dr. Min’s office. Since he gave you the green light to return to the thing you love most. 

You had been ecstatic then. Brimming with so much extra energy Sunghoon had to physically intervene to prevent you from accidentally knocking over an elderly lady on your way out of the hospital. But now, with the opportunity you’ve been dreaming of for long, hard months at your fingertips, something in you hesitates. 

Sunghoon says your name, and suddenly he’s serious. “This is all you’ve been talking about for months.” Sliding down onto his knees in front of you, you’re suddenly at eye level. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He casts a doubtful glance. “Really, I just…” It’s hard, to speak your fears into existence, to let them take flight. Even if the boy in front of you makes it a little easier. “What if it’s not what I imagined?”

It’s a million little worries wrapped up in one. What if your ankle isn’t the same? What if it’s never the same? What if you’re not as good as you were? What if you’re not good enough? 

Sunghoon hears them all, and puts them to rest with a smile, a gentle touch as he rests his forehead against yours. “You and that big brain. Always worrying about the wrong things.”

“Hey! I—”

“It won’t be what you imagined.” He draws back a few inches, and your eyes have nowhere to land but on his own. “It will be different. It will feel weird, and your legs will feel wobbly, your muscles will feel weak, and your ankle might give out.”

Your lips flatten into a thin line. “If you’re trying to make me feel better, you’re doing a terrible job.”

Sunghoon just pinches your cheeks together, forcing your lips to purse. “So you’ll show up. Over and over again. Every day until your skates start to feel like a second pair of feet and the ice starts to feel like home again. Until your ankle and your muscles and your stamina are all built back up, in a way that’s different from before but will feel familiar before you know it.” He presses a single, delicate kiss to the tip of your nose. “Until I’m dragging you off the ice instead of onto it, because your boyfriend needs attention and is feeling a little jealous of all the time you’re spending here instead of with him.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re so needy. It’s gross.”

Sunghoon only smiles. “Only for you.”

This time, when he gets back on his feet and extends a hand, you take it. You follow him onto the ice and headfirst towards your insecurities feeling a little bit like a newborn deer, a bike without its training wheels. 

He laughs when you stumble and brushes hair out of your face when you pout. 

After an hour, you’re already feeling more solid than before. After two, that feeling of flying is starting to return. 

It’s somewhere just before hour three when Sunghoon says, “Remember how I told you earlier that you’re worrying about the wrong things?”

“Yeah.” You drag the word out slowly, not liking the hint of deviousness in his sudden grin. 

“This is what I was talking about. Instead of worrying about getting back on the ice, you should be worrying about how long it will take you to be able to beat me on a lap around the rink.”

“You absolute asshole. I fractured my ankle!”

Already halfway around the rink, Sunghoon just laughs. 

…

outtake—five years ago. 

Sunghoon’s vision is blurry. It’s a terrible combination of things—the exhilaration of the spotlight, the pain in his wrist, the grief of an egregious error. The sudden onset of tears that sting in the corners of his eyes and fall without his permission. 

Despite all of it, he finds his way back to his dressing room. Choking back a sob, he reaches for the glass of water he’d left out earlier. It tastes acidic on his tongue, burns like regret on the way down. 

Stupid, he was so stupid. His hands tangle in his hair. He wants to pull it out. Wants to scream until his throat is raw and he can’t anymore. 

It was a terrible enough decision to gamble his own fate on an unhealed injury, but as the reality of the situation comes crashing down around him, he realizes he’s done something much worse. 

Eyes open, eyes closed. It doesn’t matter. All he can see is you, sprawled out on ice, limbs bent unnaturally, eyes dazed at the impact. 

The unexpected impact. Because you trusted him. You trusted him so much that of course you’d never considered what you would do if his hands failed, if his wrist gave out. If he decided to risk your program, your fate, you, all on a whim, on an inflated sense of self-importance and a lack of regard for the injury he was so certain he could power through. 

He couldn’t imagine it, three days ago. Telling you that he was injured, that he couldn’t skate the program. He couldn’t imagine watching as the features he bashfully considered so, painfully pretty twisted into disappointment. Into anger. 

So he turned his shame into resolve, into determination. One that allowed him to catch you with a fractured wrist in every practice run, every time, except for the time that mattered. Biting back grimaces and cries of pain all for the fool’s hope of seeing you smile in a few days’ time, a gold medal around your neck. 

Instead, he got to see you spinning through the air, slipping through his fingers, landing with a sickening thud. He wants to ask what hospital they took you to, wants to ignore the pain in his wrist a little longer and run there himself, just to make sure that you’re okay.

But then he imagines the way you’ll look at him when you see him. The way all that disappointment and anger he’d wanted to avoid so desperately will surely be all you have to offer him. 

He understands. He does. He wouldn’t want to see him either. 

Turning away from the mirror, he tucks away his shame for the future. But that only leaves his gaze landing on the bouquet of flowers sitting on the table. The one he’d spent nearly an hour agonizing over, the one his mother had assured him a dozen times you would love. The one he made sure had all of your favorite colors. 

He snuck his own favorite in there too, in hopes of what exactly he can’t be sure, but he knows he likes the way they look together—your favorite color and the deep blue irises that represent his own. 

It seems to stupid now. After everything, after this, he can’t imagine you want his flowers, and even less his favorite color. He can’t imagine that you want anything to do with him. 

So he doesn’t seek you out. Not in the hospital that day, not when you’re cleared to practice and back on the ice again, not when chance has the two of you colliding five years later. 

Not until he watches you walk away from him with all that anger and resentment and disappointment he’s been so avoiding for so long. Not until it strikes him in the face and he realizes that he can’t live with it, can’t let bygones be bygones and hope time and the absence of him in your life have healed you for the better when it still hurts to even look at you. 

On a dressing room table, five years in the past, a bouquet of flowers wilts. 

And Sunghoon learns that with love and patience and a little bit of sunlight, beautiful things, even the fragile ones, bloom when you water them.

.....

note: thank you for reading! as always, comments, reblogs, and asks are very much appreciated :D

[junkissed]

bad neighbor

member — neighbor!dino x f reader genre — smut, college au word count— 6.3k synopsis — pros of living next door to a frat house: your neighbor is really really hot. cons of living next door to a frat house: probably everything else. smut warnings — descriptions of female anatomy, fingering, lots of making out, facial (cum on face), semi public sex (hooking up at a party) content warnings — slightly introverted!reader, chan is in college but reader isn't: can be interpreted as older!reader but that's up to you tbh, mentions of weed & alcohol (chan & reader are both sober), cameos from cheol & hoshi hehe notes — thanks again to @onlymingyus for helping me get my brain in order <3 please reblog or send an ask if you enjoyed reading!! it means a lot to me and it helps me continue writing :) i hope you like this fic!

it's still early in the evening when the music starts.

the sound of voices and cars honking outside your house draws your attention away from the latest episode of your favorite new show. you get up and walk over to the window, peeking out through the curtain at the bright headlights beaming at you.

with a sigh you push the curtain closed again, heading into the kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea. if tonight is like any of the other nights, then it'll be a long time before you fall asleep. hopefully the chamomile will help—is what you tell yourself every time. and every time, it doesn't help.

living in the same neighborhood as the frat houses from the nearby state university was certainly a choice, but the rent in the area was the cheapest in town and you didn't have many options left. with the fall semester coming up fast, every other apartment complex and condo in the city was already rented out. after moving in, you'd quickly discovered why the rent was so cheap: not because the house was in bad condition or because the location was inconvenient, but because of the parties. nearly every fucking night.

you might actually be impressed at how these college kids find the energy to party so often, if you weren’t so fed up with them. every friday and saturday night, and even sometimes during the week, at least one house on your block was throwing some kind of wild party.

by now you'd seen it all: drunk girls throwing up on your lawn, shirtless guys doing keg stands in the middle of the cul-de-sac, people making out literally everywhere. and yes, including that one time on halloween when you found two playboy bunnies having sex with spider-man in your backyard. how they got back there was anybody's guess, but from then on you’d started double and triple checking that your back gate was locked every night. 

tonight, it seemed that the festivities were being hosted at the house across the street. and the man behind it all? none other than lee chan, president of the fraternity and owner of the house.

you'd only officially met him twice, once on the day you'd moved in and once the day after. his red honda had pulled into his driveway at the same time you were unloading your boxes from the u-haul, and he'd jumped out and offered to help carry your furniture inside.

at the time it had felt like this was finally your meet-cute moment, the friendly and unfairly attractive boy-next-door that sweeps you off your feet with love at first sight. but once the final box had been moved, he'd simply given you a smile and a wave and went back inside his house. no cute bonding, no exchanging phone numbers, no asking to see each other again. he just left.

of course, that had been before you found out about the parties, and the shock you were in for that same night when people had started showing up in droves had nearly led you to call the cops. so the next morning you'd put on a nice outfit and went to knock on his door, and it was then that you found out more about the neighborhood you'd found yourself living in.

with the same polite tone he'd used yesterday, he'd been friendly and apologetic for the noise, promising that he'd make sure everyone stayed on his side of the lawn and that no one disturbed you or your house. he'd explained that it wasn't a quiet neighborhood, no matter the time of year, but repeated that if anything happened he would take full responsibility for it. he said that you were welcome to come over any time, whether you needed something or you just wanted in on the fun.

you'd taken his word for it, sheepishly waving goodbye as you crossed the sidewalk between your houses, though you figured you would probably never set foot inside his house while there was a party going on. and as you’d walked away, you had tried to ignore the feeling of your heart fluttering with the beginnings of a crush on your neighbor.

tonight, however, your heart was doing anything but fluttering. music blasted outside, definitely a lot louder than usual, and the sound of car engines revving was already getting on your nerves.

you dunk your tea bag into the boiling water at the same time a loud banging on your door makes you jump, and you narrowly avoid spilling it all over yourself and the counter.

quietly you rush over to the door, looking out the peephole to see a group of people carrying cases of beer, looking around at your front porch.

before you can figure out how to react, you hear someone yell something distantly and the group turns around in the direction of the sound.

"shit, wrong house," one of the guys says loudly. "sorry, whoever lives here! have a good night!" he calls as they walk away, the others laughing over a joke you can't hear. 

with the crisis averted, you head back into the kitchen and pull the tea bag out of your mug, chucking it into the trash with a huff. full responsibility, your ass. 

and then… you have an idea. 

chan had been so insistent that you could come over if you ever needed anything, so you might as well take advantage of his offer. because tonight you did, in fact, need something. you needed the party to not be so goddamn loud that you can literally feel your living room floor vibrating beneath your feet.

you stick your mug in the microwave to reheat later and quickly change out of your pajamas and into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. presentable enough that you don’t embarrass yourself, yet comfortable enough that you don’t feel so awkward.

with a deep breath, you pull open your front door, keys tightly in hand as you lock it behind you and start making your way across the street.

you're almost at chan’s front door when a man steps in front of you out of nowhere, stopping you short. "hey, here for the party?" he asks, holding up his hand for a high-five.

"um… kinda," you say, lightly tapping his hand. you figure he must be the bouncer of some sort, from his friendly yet confident no-nonsense attitude and the way his thick biceps strain against the sleeves of his t-shirt. "i'm looking for lee chan, he owns the house?"

"gotcha," he nods. "gotta check your age before i let you in, though."

you pause, his words sinking in as you realize why he's asking. "oh, sorry, i didn't think i'd need my id," you apologize. "but i live next door, my driver's license is just in my wallet, i can go grab—"

"are you over 21?" he interrupts, and you frown at the question.

"uh, yes?"

"cool. head on in, then," he says.

you look at him suspiciously. "you're sure you don't need to see my id? what if i was lying?"

"dino will probably be downstairs, his room is the door at the end of the hallway on the left," he says, pointedly ignoring your questions. "and while you're down there, tell him cheol sent you. ask him to grab another beer for me."

he waves towards the open front door, and hesitantly you make your way inside. you have no idea who the hell dino is, and you can only hope it's just a nickname of some kind and the man you're about to go find isn't some stranger.

the second you set foot inside the doorway, it's like entering a completely different world. the air is stale and humid, clinging to your skin as you push through a crowd of what must be hundreds of people packed like sardines into every corner of the room.

the music gets louder the further inside the house you go, and you have to focus on repeating cheol's instructions in your head so you don’t get lost in the maze of hallways and doors. downstairs, end of the hallway, left. 

you soon find out where the music is coming from. unlike the normal house lights on the first floor, downstairs everything is dark except for colorful flashing led lights around the room. a man stands on top of a table between two huge speakers as people crowd around him, jumping and shouting lyrics to the song that’s playing.

there’s so many people that you have to push your way through the crowd, but most of the people around you either don’t notice or are too drunk to care. but finally, you make it to what looks like the hallway that the man outside—what was his name, cheol?—told you about.

you open the first door on your left and find four people sat quietly on the floor passing around a bong, a thick cloud of smoke hanging over the room. all four of them look over at you at the same time, glazed eyes silently asking who the hell are you?.

"sorry, wrong room," you squeak, slamming the door and retreating back into the hallway as you try your best not to step on anyone's feet.

with a deep breath you crack open the door directly beside the one you'd just opened and poke your head inside, and relief washes over you when you see chan inside.

he's sitting on a couch with a couple girls sitting next to him and a guy slumped against his shoulder, eyes closed and brows furrowed.

he looks up when the door opens, and a look of shock spreads over his face when he recognizes you. he calls your name and you step inside tentatively, saying his name in response. "chan?"

"close the door behind you," he says, and you jump to turn around and shut it with a click. he must notice you standing like a deer in headlights, because he motions you closer to him with a friendly smile. "sorry," he explains. "people will think it's an open room if you leave the door open. i don't want anybody in here without a reason to be."

you nod, but your eyes dart over at the girls sitting beside chan. he makes eye contact with them and clears his throat, and without a word they stand up, understanding the message.

he helps the man laying against him sit up, then helps him stand up and hands him off to the others. "don't let hoshi drink anything else tonight except water, okay? keep an eye on him until your driver shows up."

they nod and slip their arms around their friend, helping him stumble out of the room as he grumbles about something incoherent. "thanks, dino," one of them says with a little wave. "see you monday for that bio test."

the girls open and shut the door quickly, suddenly leaving you alone with him in the room.

"hi," you start, not knowing what else to say. it's been such an ordeal just trying to find him that you've almost forgotten why you came searching for him in the first place.

"hi," he repeats with a laugh. "honestly, i never thought i'd see you here. you don't seem like the type. so, what brings you over tonight?"

"you've only met me twice, how would you know what i seem like?" you reply defensively, thought he's spot on. this is not your usual scene at all, and you’re sure that anyone at this party who’s even a smidge sober must be able to tell how out of place you look.

he shrugs, patting the couch seat next to him. "alright, fair point. come sit down."

you carefully take a seat, purposefully avoiding eye contact with the collection of ambiguous stains on the couch cushions.

"oh, before i forget. somebody named cheol told me to tell you he wants a beer?" you say awkwardly, relaying the message.

"bastard," chan mutters, but he's smiling, and you assume the guy you met earlier is a friend of his. "fine, i'll grab him something when i go back outside." pausing, he turns his attention back to you. "but really, why are you here? i don't wanna make any assumptions, but i doubt it's for the free alcohol."

"if i was, you'd have to tell me where to find it," you say with a shrug, and he laughs but stays quiet for you to finish.

you fold your hands together nervously. "anyway, i just came over to ask—could you maybe turn the music down, like, just a tiny bit? and also… can you tell people to stop having sex in my yard?"

he winces and gives an apologetic smile. "yeah, of course. sorry about that. i told vernon to keep it down, but you know how he gets when he's…" he stops as if he’s just realized something. "nevermind. i'll go let him know right now. do you wanna come with, or you wanna stay here?"

"no offense, but i'd rather not go back out there," you laugh awkwardly. “it was bad enough just trying to find you in the first place.”

"all good," he replies with that friendly smile of his. "it's not for everyone, that's for sure. just make sure the door stays closed, and you'll be fine in here by yourself. shouldn't take too long."

he opens the door and slips out, slamming it closed behind him. you sit unmoving on the couch, finally glancing at your surroundings.

unlike the first room, the air here is fairly clean, other than the faint smell of alcohol and weed wafting in from under the door. you realize this must be chan's actual bedroom, when you see the posters that cover the walls and the bookshelf full of knick-knacks and textbooks.

you start to wonder who else lives in this house, but soon the door opens again and chan returns, the sound of voices and music flooding in while the door is open but quickly falling quieter once the door is shut again.

"alright, he'll keep it down. i'm sorry about the noise," he apologizes again, but you wave him off, suddenly feeling shy around him. with him still standing and you still sitting, he towers over you in a way that makes the butterflies in your stomach flutter back to life.

"no, it's fine. really, it's not that big of a deal," you rush, trying to ignore the growing feeling in your chest. was he always this hot? for the first time tonight you notice how his blonde hair falls in waves around his face, perfectly framing his soft features.

he shakes his head. "really, i mean it. vernon will make sure it doesn't get out of hand, he’s good at that. i can't exactly give you a quiet evening, but i can give you the best i've got."

you take a deep breath and stand up. you're already way outside of your comfort zone even just coming to this party, but maybe this experience hasn't been all that bad. after all, you got to see chan again, and you got to exchange more than a handful of words with him like you did all the other times you’d met him.

"well… what is the best you've got?" you ask him, and you almost see him raise an eyebrow.

he puts his hands in his back pockets, pausing for a second as he looks at you. "mm, best i've got? probably this room. my room. quietest in the house, and nobody will come in to bother us."

your heart races as you take a small step towards him, standing close to him but still keeping some distance between you.

"so does this mean you're not leaving?" he asks when you don’t say anything, just barely loud enough for you to hear him.

"do you want me to stay?"

he takes a step closer to you. "only if you stay with me."

"do you say that to all the people you bring in here?" your question is joking, but a part of you still worries that he thinks you're just another girl at the party looking for a one night stand. though honestly, you wouldn't even really mind if that's all this was. hell, maybe all the secondhand smoke is getting to your head and clouding your judgement, because hooking up with your neighbor seems like a pretty fantastic idea right now.

"the only time i let people in my room is to let them use my bathroom and to make sure they don't die of alcohol poisoning," he says in a low tone, a little laugh escaping him. "and now, i guess i let my hot neighbor in here, too."

"you think i'm hot?" you ask, taking another small step forward.

he matches your stride, taking one last step towards you so that you're finally standing toe to toe with him. "i'd be an idiot not to."

"but how would you know, if we've only met twice?"

he laughs. "well, you had just moved in. i wasn't gonna hit on you when you hadn't even finished unpacking your furniture yet."

"so you did want to hit on me, then," you say confidently, straightening up a little.

“did i ever say i didn't?” he rests his hands on your hips and gently pulls you towards him, closing the last of the distance between you. his eyes never leave your face, gauging your reaction and looking for any hesitation.

you wrap your arms around him and lean forward, a smile on your lips. "good to know."

he leans in the rest of the way and presses his mouth against yours, and everything else just falls into place. your hands reach up to find his hair, threading your fingers through his blond waves and tugging experimentally, and when he lets out a little noise of pleasure you kiss him harder.

the noise of the party fades into the background as his hands slide down your body to grip your ass, and you can’t help the little moan that escapes as he starts to back you up against the wall. his hands stay put, kneading your ass as you try to keep your legs from giving out already. it’s painfully obvious how bad you want him, but it’s equally obvious how he feels the same way.

“fuck, been dreaming about this since the day you moved in,” chan says, pulling away from you with a shaky breath as your fingers tug at the hem of his t-shirt. 

he pulls it off over his head before leaning over to kiss you again, his tongue tracing over your lips. he’s good at this; not like you’re surprised by it or anything, but it still catches you off guard.

he seems to be able to sense the tiny bit of lingering hesitancy, so he breaks apart from you but still keeps his arms firmly around you, loosening his grip just a little. “is this okay?” he asks in a low voice, but you can hear the concern laced in it.

you nod quickly, tugging your shirt off quickly and letting his hands settle at your hips before you pull him back closer. you never do this. maybe you really had inhaled too much secondhand smoke on the way in and you aren’t thinking straight. but deep down, you know that’s not the case. 

as much as you hate to admit it, your harmless crush on your neighbor has grown into something much, much more. you can’t say you’ve never been a little jealous when you see girls leaving his house on sunday mornings after parties. you can’t say you’ve never let your eyes linger a few seconds too long when he goes out to check the mail and he’s wearing that tight black tank and thin silver chain he never takes off.

or the fact that he works out in his garage with the door open, and you aren’t really purposefully trying to look but it’s not your fault that your window just happened to be open. and it wasn’t your fault that you just happened to look outside and see him shirtless and bench lifting a very large amount and if you were really really quiet you could almost hear him groaning—

he slides his hands down your bare skin, hesitating again at the waistband of your jeans, but you arch your back a little to push yourself closer and he takes the hint. he easily undoes the button with one hand, and you try not to think about how many times he must’ve practiced that in order to get that skilled at it. but that thought is quickly pushed out of your mind when his hand makes its way into your pants, his fingers experimentally sliding down past your underwear and brushing through your folds.

you let out a groan, rolling your hips into his hand encouragingly. you’re already hot and sweaty, standing with your back against the door in just your bra and jeans, but it’s hard to tell if the heat is from the crowded, stuffy house or from something else.

“god, you’re so wet,” he murmurs under his breath almost incredulously as he presses his fingertip against your clit, circling the swollen bud before dipping back down to collect your arousal on his fingers.

you squeeze your thighs together out of instinct, trapping his hand between your legs, and he looks up at you for confirmation. “more,” you whimper, just loud enough to be heard over the music and the noise on the other side of the door. “chan, please.”

he groans and puts more pressure on your clit, starting to rub a little faster and a little messier. he slides his middle and index fingers inside and you let out an involuntary yelp, clenching and bucking your hips in search of more friction. he starts out slow, curling his fingers in a beckoning motion as his other hand massages the bare skin of your waist.

after more of your pleading he finally concedes, sliding his fingers out and wiping them on his stomach, leaving a glistening trail of wetness on his tan skin. he glances back up at you in questioning, but he finds no hesitation in your expression as his hands start to push your pants down your legs and you kick them away, leaving you bare in front of him.

“you sure you're ready?” he pauses to ask one more time, but your quick nod has him jumping back into action in seconds.

he follows hurriedly, stripping out of his pants and shoving his boxers down to free his cock. his length springs up and slaps against his stomach, the tip looking flushed and heavy, and your mind goes blank, replaced only with the thought of him inside you. he holds himself in one hand, lining his cock up at your entrance as you adjust your position in preparation.

you groan as he finally ushes into you, your fingernails digging into the back of his shoulder blades as you struggle to balance.

“feels good?” he mumbles as he lifts your thigh, wrapping your leg securely around his hip. he doesn't move yet, his hips still as he lets you move however you need.

you barely manage to nod in return, keeping your hands firmly planted on his shoulders, slowly but surely adjusting to his size. “god, yes,” you manage, trying to keep your breathing steady. “if i'd have known you felt this good i would've come over way sooner.”

“mm, well. you're welcome over here any time.” he grins at you. his dark eyes get hazier with desire as he holds you firmly against his pelvis. “for any reason you'd like.”

the best response you can come up with is “sure”, barely listening as you start to roll your hips, but you can tell the sincerity in his statement. your attempt at movement doesn't work very well in this position, but chan quickly takes the hint, pulling back and letting his cock slip halfway out before he drives back into you.

the first thrust has you seeing stars already, and you let out a broken moan as he starts to build up his pace. your back slides against the wall as you feel the bass reverberating through your bones, and it only enhances the feeling of his cock dragging against your walls.

“if there weren’t so many people in this house, i’d have you screaming my name right now,” chan huffs against your lips, pulling your body closer and wrapping his arms around you tighter.

“mm, but the music is so loud they probably wouldn’t be able to hear it anyway,” you bite back with a brazen smile. you're feeling bold, the party atmosphere filling you with a cockiness that you don't usually possess. but something about the environment, the fact that you're fucking the hottest person here while hundreds of people rave obliviously outside the door, is a thrill you've never felt before.

he rolls his head back with a groan, and you feel his thrusts suddenly getting harder and deeper. you have to fight to stay standing, using all your energy to keep yourself upright and leaning most of your weight on him, but if he notices it he doesn't let it show. all those push-ups and bench presses that you ogle him doing in his garage must be good for something, from the way he hoists you against the wall and drives his cock into you without even barely breaking a sweat.

“say it, then,” he goads, his fingers digging into the flesh of your thigh as he holds your leg up. “you want to, don't you? you wouldn't have come over here tonight if you didn't.”

the worst part is that you know he's right. your own curiosity is what brought you here tonight, masked by the claims of noise complaints. the noise isn't even really that much of a bother: you could've gone to bed, turned on your fan and played some white noise, and you would've been perfectly fine. but some part of you longs to know what goes on at these parties, to see your devastatingly sexy neighbor in this setting you've never witnessed him in yet. so now that your curiosity has been satisfied, you really have nothing to lose.

“chan! fuck— mmph, yes—” you whine loudly, unintentionally clenching around him as the words fall from your lips. there's no way anyone would hear over the music, and even if they did, there's a high chance they wouldn't care either way. it's just what happens at parties.

his eyes light up at the sound, a moan of his own leaving his mouth as he thrusts into you over and over again, burying his cock as deep as he can go with every stroke. a familiar heat burns in the pit of your stomach at his movements, winding tighter and tighter with each passing second. your walls throb around his length, filling every inch of you until you can't take it anymore.

“chan…” you groan again, pulling him towards you with your leg around his waist. “please, keep going… c-close, i'm close—”

he leans in and presses his lips to yours, swallowing your moans with his eager mouth. “god, please cum for me,” he says breathlessly, pulling away but leaving just enough room for your lips to stay connected by a thin string of spit. “need to feel it, need to feel you. please, baby, fuck…”

he slams into you even harder, driving his cock right up into the spot that makes your knees nearly buckle. you manage to whimper out his name one last time before your lips go slack against his mouth, your eyes squeezing shut as you crash into your climax. the force of his steady, constant thrusts combined with the force of your orgasm leaves your body tingling, every nerve alight from the waves of pleasure pulsing through you.

his movements don't ever slow, but you can see the emotion twisting in his face in reaction as he watches you cum, squeezing around him so warm and wet and perfect that it takes every ounce of his self control not to immediately follow you over the edge.

his eyes bore into yours, watching your face until he's sure you've recovered enough to handle him. he pulls out and keeps his hand firmly wrapped around the base of his cock, jerking himself with tiny flicks of his wrist to keep the momentum going.

immediately you drop to your knees in front of him, tilting your head back to stare up at him between his thighs, your eyes wordlessly pleading with him as your tongue nearly rolls out of your mouth.

“fuck, you're so…,” he groans, keeping his fist tight around his cock with a few final motions. “you're so fucking hot, god, i'm gonna—”

he whines and his hips buck as he spills across your face, thick white ropes landing on your tongue and your cheeks. your smaller hand reaches up to replace his and you take him into your mouth, gagging only slightly as the salty taste fills your mouth. you wrap your lips around him and swallow, letting your tongue swirl around his sensitive head to collect it all until he's finished.

he pulls back and his cock slips from your mouth, leaving you gasping and licking your lips to catch the stray drops of his cum. his voice is low and strained as he reaches out his hand to help you up, his thick biceps flexing as he pulls you to your feet. despite the blissed-out look on his face you can see the guilt in eyes and it makes you pause, wondering if he didn't enjoy it the same way you just did. but it's only another moment before he speaks again, and your short-lived worries are put to rest.

“i'm sorry it was so fast,” he says almost shyly, pulling you over to sit at the edge of his bed. “i can go again if you aren't done yet. or we can do something else… or i could walk you back home. whatever you want, i'm happy to do.”

you expression softens into a grin, still a little hazy but definitely not finished. “oh, i can go again, for sure. i've got all night if you'll let me.”

his eyes crinkle with an eager smile, and you're already spreading your legs to give him space as he falls down onto the bed between them, landing on top of you. his hand cups your chin ans he pulls you into him, his lips finding yours and melting into you with a satisfied hum. his tongue finds its place once again in your mouth, prodding inside as he kisses you with a level of passion and desperation you haven't felt in a long time. 

he groans into the kiss as he tastes himself on your lips, exploring your mouth and the bitter taste he left inside. you feel the vibrations from it in your jaw and down your neck, and it only makes you kiss him harder in an effort to draw out more of those pretty sounds.

"hey, dino, didn't you say you'd bring me a beer? it's so boring standing out there—"

the door opens and you jerk away with a scream, hiding yourself under chan and using the nearest piece of clothing to cover up as someone barges into the room.

"cheol, get the fuck out!" chan shouts, wrapping his arm around you and keeping you pressed tightly against his chest, using his back to shield you from view. "fucking knock next time, dude, you know better!"

"jeez! how should i have known? i thought you said you didn't hook up at parties," cheol mutters as he turns around, slamming the door shut behind him. "i'll get the damn beer myself."

the door slams shut once again, and chan sighs and hangs his head, his forehead leaning against your chest before he reluctantly crawls off of you and crosses the room to lock the door.

“you don’t hook up at parties, huh?”

he turns around to look at you, and you pause to take him in. his hair is messier than it was when you got here, glued to his forehead with sweat and sticking up at odd angles from you tugging on it. his broad chest is tinged red with tiny scratches from your nails, and it makes you want to bite him all over, but you contain yourself for now.

your voice is teasing, but cheol’s words have honestly made you feel a million times lighter. you hadn’t expected to be anything special to chan after tonight; at the very least, you hoped that it wouldn’t be awkward when you see each other, but you’d figured you were just the next in a long line of girls waiting to have their turn with him. for once, you’d never been so happy to be proven wrong.

“i’ll make an exception for the pretty neighbor girl. just this once.”

“oh, so now i'm just pretty. i thought i remembered you saying that i was the hot neighbor girl,” you giggle, watching as he hops on one leg to put his boxers back on.

“two things can be true at once,” he says with a grin as he walks back over to you still lying on his bed. “besides, i still haven't taken you out on a date yet. would be kinda forward of me to call you hot when i haven't even bought you dinner yet.”

you smile at him, trying to fight the warmth burning in your cheeks as you reach up to ruffle your fingers through his soft hair. he lets out a satisfied groan at the feeling, and it gives you an idea.

“do…” you trail off, suddenly unsure, until you see the warmth in chan’s eyes as he lays on top of you and it fills you with confidence again. “do you wanna continue this at my house? i’ve got the quietest room, and nobody will bother us.”

“mm.” he grins at the way you repeat his words from earlier, enamored with your shy yet playful tone. “if we’re at your place, does that mean i get to give you the noise complaint this time?”

“i’ll allow it.” you roll your eyes and pull yourself to sit up. “i need a shower, and i’m sure you would like one, too. plus i have food that hasn't been spilled on the floor or soaked in alcohol.”

he picks your shirt up off the floor and hands it to you with a smile, moving around his room with a quiet confidence you find unbearably hot. “does this mean anything to you, or is this just a tonight thing?” he asks.

you bite at your lip as you shimmy back into your jeans, shaky fingers sliding the button into place as you sit back down on the bed. “it does,” you reply simply. “you did tell me you'd buy me dinner, after all. i'm gonna hold you to that.”

he leans over you, pressing another chaste kiss to your lips. “and i plan on keeping that promise.”

you stumble your way through the house, squeezing chan’s hand tightly as he pulls you up the stairs, following him towards the door. you're not worried about anyone noticing you anymore: everyone's too wrapped up in their own business to care, including you. the party seems dulled now, the music fading and the people around you becoming blank faces. all you care about is chan, your eyes roving over his broad back muscles that peek through his shirt as you trail behind him. you must look no different than every other drunk college kid here with the giddy smile on your face, but you haven't had a drop of alcohol. it's just the effect he had on you.

finally you make it outside, and the cool night air feels sharp compared to the humidity inside the house. already it seems quieter as you start to walk the distance across the street, moving away from the party and towards the comfort of your own home. chan moves up beside you, wrapping his arm around your waist while you lead the way, but you're stopped once again by the same man from earlier.

“hey,” he greets chan, only sparing half a smirk in your direction but otherwise not bothering you, despite the heat that instantly rises in your cheeks at the fact that you were caught. “did you get my beer?”

“no. you said you were getting it yourself.” he rolls his eyes, and cheol whines and gives him a look that you swear almost looks like a pout. “if anyone asks about me, tell them i'm not home. tell them i had to…” he looks over at you with a cocky grin. “…had to go take care of something. noise complaint.”

cheol groans, making a face. “god, whatever. i don't want the details. but just don't make me stand outside next time. i'm doing you a favor here. i'm supposed to be working on my thesis.”

“sure,” chan replies, but he's still stuck staring at you, barely processing his friend's complaints. “yeah. anyway, i'll catch you tomorrow.”

he tugs gently on your waist and you start walking again, leaving cheol without so much as a goodbye or even a proper introduction. you'll deal with that later, you guess. there’s a lot of things you'll have to deal with, but at least the wild parties your neighbor boyfriend throws won't be one of them anymore.

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[jiniretracha]

I Don't Want You Like a Best Friend - Lee Felix

Pairing: Felix x fem!reader

Warnings: smut!!, fluff (like so much), angst (if you squint), felix and readers being oblivious idiots in love.

Summary: You have been in love with Felix, your best friend, since the first time you laid your eyes on him. But you never said anything about it, too afraid to ruin your friendship that you treasured so much. So, when a pretty boy asks you out on a date, you accept, figuring it is the best way to get over your stupid crush. But your best friend doesn't seem so happy about it. Based on "Dress" by Taylor Swift.

Word Count: 6k

PS: I uploaded this on AO3 and thought it'd be fun to post it here as well!

MASTERLIST // my Ko-Fi

There’s an indentation in the shape of you

“And? What do you think?” 

Felix lifted his head up as he heard you walking inside the room once again wearing the dress. His eyes widened and his heart started beating faster and louder. His gaze raked your body up and down a couple of times and he tried to play nonchalant.

“U-uh, you look very pretty, Y/N. He’ll love it” Felix smile.

Yes. He’ll love it. 

Truth is, you had met this cute guy at the coffee shop you and Felix frequently visit before you drop him at the studio every day. His name was Ashton. He had a charming smile and he had been brave enough to ask you for your phone number while complimenting your looks. You were almost a stuttering mess while you typed in your number in his phone, then he winked and left the coffee shop, leaving you with a slight blush in your cheeks. 

Felix had returned to you with both of your orders with a smile. You told him about Ashton and he had promised he would help you with him. Later that day, he asked you out on a date. Today’s date. 

You turned around and looked at yourself in the mirror, you liked the dress. It was a pretty cream colour with little flowers on it, a heart-like cleavage and lace on the pretty top. 

You were oblivious to Felix’s adoring eyes behind you. He was trying to memorize every single detail of your beautiful form. The heavy stone in his stomach was a bother, it was pure jealousy. And sadness too. 

He would’ve given anything to be the one who takes you on dates. 

“Thank you, Lix” you smiled at him. “Could you pass me those earrings please?”

“Of course, darling” he said, standing up and walking towards your nightstand. He came back with the earrings and gave them to you, as you smiled and thanked him. 

As you put the earrings on your earlobes, you started thinking. How would you like for Felix to be the one who is taking you on this date. You would love to be with him. It’s the only thing you’ve yearned and craved for years. You’d give up anything for Felix to crumble into his knees and beg you not to go. 

To stay with him. To be with him. 

You sighed as you looked at yourself in the mirror. You noticed that he hadn’t stopped staring at you. Why doesn’t he say something?

You turned to look at him and your gazes met. His breathing turned a little choppy, from the nervousness. He pressed his lips together, like he was about to say something and your eyebrows arched in desperation. 

“I-“

And then your phone started ringing. You clenched your eyelids and grabbed your phone that was sitting face up on the bed, making Felix catch who was calling: Ashton. 

“Hey” you said after clearing your throat. 

“Hey, Y/N” Ashton said. Felix frowned. No ‘pretty’, no ‘beautiful’, just Y/N. “I’m right outside, would you mind coming down?”

“Of course. Give me a couple of minutes” you faked a smile. He caught it. 

All of this silence and patience,

pining and anticipation

You got to the door and grabbed the keys. “I don’t even know why I’m nervous” you tried to shake off the anxiety lurking in your head. 

But Felix could read you like a fucking book. 

You weren’t nervous. 

You were aching. He knew you didn’t want to go. But why couldn’t he just say something?

“I- Y/N-“ he stammered. 

You looked into his eyes. “Yes?”

“I- I just-“

Ashton’s honk made you both startle. “What’s up?” you said impatiently. 

“N-nothing. Have a great time. Ashton’s really lucky” he said, giving you his signature tight-lipped smile and walking towards his room. 

You sighed as soon as he was out of view and pressed your eyes shut tightly, praying not to cry or else you would ruin your makeup. Or give yourself away. You opened the door and walked the steps of the stairs down. 

Felix locked himself in his room, his fists clenched against his sides as his back pressed itself to the door. He was so angry at himself. 

When did he become such a coward?

He heard commotion outside, from the open window of the balcony. He walked outside, and looked down. He saw Ashton, who had dark black hair, was big and bulky and was wearing formal clothes. 

Ashton was the total opposite as him. Felix had blonde hair, brown eyes and he liked to use beanies and wear baggy clothes with jewelry. 

Felix noticed that Ashton’s hands were empty. No flowers. 

He rolled his eyes. He just wished you would notice that he wasn’t right for you. Because what was right for you, was standing right above you. 

Staring hopelessly as you drove away.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You arrived at the restaurant and Ashton led you towards the table he had reserved. 

“You like pizza, right?” he asked with a smile, as he sat down on his seat. 

With a blink of your eyes, you just stood staring at him. You were waiting for him to pull your chair out and help you in. Felix does that. You mentally rolled your eyes and smiled at him. “Yes, yes, I do” you slightly lied as you took a seat. It’s not that you didn’t like pizza… it’s just that it would’ve been nice if he’d ask you what you like. Felix would’ve- STOP. 

You scolded yourself mentally and tried to focus on the man in front of you. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“So, what music do you like?” Ashton asked. 

You put your glass down and smiled. “Oh, well, I’m into pop music, mostly. I like k-pop, too. A lot” you nodded. “My best friend’s in-“ you stopped yourself. 

“He’s…?” he trailed off waiting for you to continue. 

“He’s in a band”

“A k-pop band?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowing with a smile.

“Yeah. They’re great, actually” you smiled. “What do you listen to?”

Ashton sighed. “Well, I’m into country music”

“Oh, like… what? Taylor Swift, Shania Twain, Little Big Town?” you asked, remembering a couple of bands and singers you liked.

“Nah, they sound too pop for me” he nodded with a shrug. “I’m more into Morgan Wallen”

Yikes.

“Right” you trailed off. 

“He’s great. You should listen to his music, actually” 

I pass. “Yeah, sure. I’ll listen to some of his stuff” you faked a promise. 

You couldn’t stop thinking about him. Every little thing he said or did, you compared it to what Felix did. He was so different from him.

Ashton kept talking and you couldn’t help but wander your eyes around his features. He was so different. He wasn’t ugly. Not at all. He was very handsome. You knew that you could easily date this guy. He was sweet. But he was nothing like him. He wasn’t Felix. 

“Hey, you okay?” Ashton woke you up from your daydreaming by putting his palm on top of the back of your hand. “You look like you were gone for a couple of seconds” he chuckled. 

You smiled slightly at him and then shook your head. “Y-yeah, it’s just uh-“

“Here you go, guys” the waiter came with their order. “A margherita with garlic” he said and placed the pizza in the middle of the table. 

“Thank you” Ashton nodded. 

Once the waiter was gone, Ashton smiled.

“Shall we?” 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Felix was staring at his phone. 

He was busy texting Chan, who was the only person that he had confessed his feelings towards you. The other band members were aware, because Felix made it too obvious, but the blonde hadn’t said anything to them. 

Felix: I don’t know what to do, man.

Chan: Why didn’t you try to stop her?

Exactly. Why didn’t he try to stop her?

The answer was pretty simple.

Felix: Because I’m a coward.

Felix: That’s why.

He sighed, staring at the ceiling. It was eating him up. 

Chan: You’re not. But seriously, you need to tell her, man. 

He’s right. 

Chan: Or else, when will you do it? What if Y/N really likes the guy and decides to pursue a romantic relationship with him?

Shit. 

What if you really liked this dude?

Chan: Think about it. 

He really needed you home. 

He needed to tell you.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You chewed on the pizza while Ashton was telling you an anecdote from one of his friends. You had lost the story’s thread a long time ago and at this point, you were just staring at his forehead with only one thing in mind: getting home to Felix. 

“Y/N?” he asked with a frown. 

Shit. This was like the third time you had zoned out. 

“Hey, are you okay? I promise I won’t get mad, but is there something going on?”

You bit your lip and then released it. “No- I mean, yes” you stammered. 

“What is it? Do you feel okay, do you-“

“No, Ashton, just-“ you cut yourself off with a huff. “I need to go home”

“Oh-“

“By myself” you clarified when you saw him start to grab his stuff. “I’m so sorry, really. You seem like a very good guy but-“

“You like someone else, am I right?” Ashton smiled sadly.

You pressed your lips together. “No.”

Ashton nodded. “You love someone else”

He wasn’t asking. It was a statement.

And then you nodded. 

“I get it. I do, too” Ashton said, his face red. “I- I’m sorry too. I used this excuse of a date to get over someone. And I’ve been trying so hard but-“

“You just can’t get them out of your head” you completed.

“Exactly” Ashton said with a chuckle.

“I know” you smiled. “I’m sorry”

“No, don’t apologise. I figured” he shrugged. 

“At least let me pay. I mean, you really tried to be nice and I just kept zoning out” You tried.

“It’s okay, Y/N, I promise”

“No, it’s not. Really” you pleaded.

Ashton smiled. “Alright. But only if we split the check… and I get to take the pizza home” he smirked.

You chuckled. “You got yourself a deal, mister”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Felix opened the kitchen cabinet and took out the brownie jar, leaving it on the counter. He then stared at it. 

You made your mark on me,

a golden tattoo

You were everywhere. Including in that stupid jar of brownies. It reminded him how he had made them for you. Because he knew you absolutely loved his baking. 

A key digging into the keyhole startled him and he put the jar away, choosing not to eat due to the heavy anxiety sitting at the pit of his tummy. 

You got inside the apartment, panting heavily. 

His eyebrows furrowed as he saw you close the door quickly and throw your stuff on the couch. “Hey, you’re home early. Everything okay?” he asked, getting worried. 

“I know… I’m fine” you said, getting nervous all of a sudden. 

Felix nodded, leaning against the counter. “How did it go?” he asked shyly. 

You sighed and looked away. “Um… terrible” you chuckled to yourself.

Felix felt ashamed, but he was kind of glad to hear that. “Oh. I’m- I’m sorry to hear that, darling” he told you, lying. 

“Well, I’m not” you said, feeling your heartbeat getting louder and faster by the second.

His eyebrows furrowed. “Why’s that? Did he do something to you?” he asked, getting angry. 

“No, no, no” you quickly shook your head. “He was nice, and… polite. But he wasn’t… he just wasn’t…” you stammered. 

Felix started walking towards you. “Hey… tell me” he said, putting his hands on your bare shoulders. “He wasn’t what?”

You swallowed, feeling your throat getting dry, like sandpaper. “He just wasn’t you” you whispered.

But he caught it. He felt his heart drop. You couldn’t have just said that, did you?. “What?” he asked, confused. 

You looked away and took in a deep breath. “I was just dressing up for someone that I wish that it was you… I wished you would’ve told me not to go on that date. To stop me. I wish the date I went on today… I wish my date had been you, Felix” you confessed. 

He blinked a couple of times, trying to let the new information sink in, while his hands on your shoulders dropped to rest by his sides. 

“I kept… comparing him to you” you told him. “Every single thing he did, I just kept thinking what you would’ve done. Or said. Or the things he didn’t do, and how I know you would’ve done. Like- fuck, like pulling my chair for me to sit in” you chuckled slightly. “Cause you’re in my mind all the time. You’re all I think about, Lix. And it drives me crazy”

Felix shook his head. “Y/N-“

“I know. I’m sorry” you apologized. “This is a lot. I know. And I get it if you don’t feel the same, I do-“

Your rambling was cut short when a pair of hands grabbed your cheeks and pulled you into the most magical kiss of your entire life. He was holding your head still, angling it so he could kiss you as he liked, pushing his tongue into your mouth, while it curled with yours. His kiss had swallowed your surprised gasp, turning into a moan that vibrated against his lips. 

Felix pulled away from your mouth and pressed his forehead against yours, your breaths mingling together as you panted from the intensity of your first kiss. 

“Y/N…” he mumbled in a desperate hush.

Say my name and everything just stops,

I don’t want you like a best friend

“I love you” he whispered, making you gasp internally. “I’ve always loved you, in fact. I was just- just so fucking terrified of you rejecting me and I didn’t wanna ruin our friendship” 

You smiled, shaking your head. “Felix… how is it possible that you didn’t notice how head over heels in love I am with you?” you asked him, with a chuckle.

Felix pressed a long kiss to your lips. “I love you” he said, looking into your eyes. “I-“ kiss. “love-“ kiss. “you-“ kiss. “so-“ kiss. “much” he finished with an open-mouthed kiss that made your knees wobble. 

His kiss made you warm inside… and another place. You shifted, pressing your thighs together as he continued kissing the life out of you. 

With a pant, you pulled away slightly, your noses rubbing against each other’s. “Lix…”

“Yeah?” he asked, pressing a kiss to your nose. 

“Take me to bed” you whispered.

He pulled his face back with a pained groan. “Y/N, I want to, I swear but… I wanna do this right. I want to take you out on a date and-”

“Me too, I know, but I need you right now. So bad” you pleaded, your eyes searching his. 

Felix was only human. He couldn’t resist such temptation, and the fact that you were literally begging him to fuck you. He saw it in your eyes. 

He took you by surprise by crouching down slightly, placing his palms on the back of your thighs and hoisting you up, making you squeal in surprise. You crossed your legs behind his back and pressed your lips against his as he walked with you in his arms towards his bedroom. 

You didn’t know how he managed to walk with you in his arms while kissing him without bumping into anything. He kicked the door open and walked towards the bed, throwing you into the center of it. You bounced on the mattress with a surprised gasp and stared at him with doe eyes as his hand went to the back of the neck from his shirt, pulling it over his head, and throwing it on the floor. 

Felix decided to give you a show and clenched his stomach, showcasing his very defined abs. 

That motherfucker, you thought to yourself. 

“See something you like?” he teased you, with a smirk, as he watched you stare deeply at his stomach.

Your eyes met his and you let your head fall onto your shoulder. “Oh, yeah, pretty much everything” you said, letting your eyes dance over his figure. 

Felix smirked and moved his hand to the belt of his jeans, unfastening it torturously slow and throwing it where he had thrown the shirt before. He then crawled up to your shivering frame and put his hands on each side of your head, dipping his head to catch your lips into a drugging kiss. 

Your hands grabbed at his back, trying to pull him to drop his weight on top of you and he obeyed, pressing his hips first so that his bulge was pressing against your crotch, making both of you groan. Your nails dug into his back as you continued kissing, definitely marking him up. 

His hands traveled to the edge of your dress, his hands dipping under it and caressing your soft skin. His kisses drifted to your neck, biting your soft flesh, making you gasp. 

“You’re so beautiful” he mumbled against your skin. He licked at a certain spot in your neck and then bit it, making your arch your back. “So, so beautiful” 

Suddenly, he pulled away completely, grabbing your arms to sit you up. He turned you around softly, making you kneel on the bed, facing the wall. His soft fingers caressed the zip of your dress, grabbing at it and slowly pulling it down all the way. His hands dipped inside of the dress and pulled it off, and he stared at your braless back. The dress was pooling at your waist by now and you swallowed, trying to find the courage to turn around and reveal yourself. 

He dropped a kiss to the side of your neck, sensing your nervousness. 

You turned around slowly, looking into his eyes, as his dropped down immediately to your chest, noticing how they were black at this point from lust. 

You felt nervous under his gaze and you couldn’t help but say something.

“It’s for you…” you breathed out. 

His eyes fluttered a couple of times and looked at you. “What?” he mumbled, confused. 

“I bought it for you. The dress…” you said, licking your lips and trying to find the words that were threatening to die on your throat. “I wanted you to see me in it… I wanted you to take it off from me” 

Only bought this dress so you could take it off. 

Felix let out a ragged breath out, cupping your face and bringing you into another drugging kiss. His hot breath hitting your upper lip and the way his hands slid from your cheeks to your back, made you arch your back and press your bare chest against his. The skin to skin contact made you shiver and you both groaned. 

Your hands were gripping his wrists, as he continued kissing you as he liked. 

His hands drifted to where your dress was sitting, bunched on your waist, and he grabbed it, pulling it off. 

The action made you stumble on the bed slowly on your back as you lifted your hips up so he could take off the dress completely.

Once he got it out, he chucked it on the floor and got on top of you once again. He dug his face into your neck, kissing and nipping at your skin, and his mouth started to drift further down your body. At this point, he was leaving dark purple marks on your skin, but you didn’t mind. Not one bit. 

His hot mouth stopped at the valley of your breasts, his hands enveloping each one and letting his thumb run across your nipple, making you shudder and let out a whine. 

Felix bit into your skin and then pressed your breasts together, burying his head into your chest, letting his lips suckle and bite at your nipples. Your hands carded through his hair and held him in place as his ministrations made you moan. 

“Lix, please” you whined, pressing the back of your head against the pillow. 

He suckled once and lifted his head to stare at you. “What? What do you want, baby?” he asked in a whisper. 

“I- I just…”

“Use your words” he urged.

You swallowed and propped yourself on your elbows, staring at him with a soft panting. “I want you to go lower” you told him, trembling and slightly scared of his reaction. 

You had asked him to do something that no one had done to you before. 

He smirked and pressed a soft kiss to your lips, then pulled away to continue kissing his way down to your stomach. He bit at the skin close to your navel as his hands caressed your skin down to your thighs, opening them up. 

Felix pressed a kiss to your pubic bone, over your panties, and then his fingers curled on the band of the lace, tugging them down your long legs torturously slow. 

You got shy and nervous all of a sudden and pressed your thighs together. You felt a little stupid, knowing that you were the one that had asked him to do that. His hands grabbed your thighs and gently pulled them apart, sending you a wink and a little smile, reassuring you it was okay. 

His gaze settled on your core and you blushed, feeling your face turn hot. Felix let his fingers dance your slit, collecting the wetness pooling there. He then pressed his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean with a groan. 

With an animalistic groan, he dove his face into your core, dipping his fingers inside of you and sucking on your clit. Your back arched violently as your fingers gripped on his hair, pressing his head into your heat. You moaned in surprise and tugged on Felix’s hair, making him groan against your flesh. He liked that.

He scissored his fingers, dragging them against your walls. 

“Yeah, just like that, Lix. Fuck” you moaned breathily. 

His free hand caressed and gripped your thigh as he continued his ministrations. He pulled out his fingers and licked them clean, once again. Then, his tongue licked over your hole and pressed the tip of it inside of you. 

“Fuck, I’m close, Lix” you said, continuing to grip his hair tightly, pressing him against your cunt. 

His thumb rubbed tight circles on your clit, making your back arch and release your orgasm on his tongue with a long moan. You laid gasping, with your hands on your stomach as he pressed kisses on your shaking thighs and caressing your skin. “You okay, beautiful?” he asked, crawling towards you to press a kiss on your cheek. 

You nodded, curling your arms around his neck and bringing him closer. His mouth went to kiss your neck once again, laying half of his weight on top of you.

“This is all I’ve wanted” he whispered against your neck, his deep voice vibrating against your skin making you shiver. Your fingers caressed the back of his neck, his words were making your heart beat louder. “All I’ve dreamed about” he whispered, kissing your flesh.

“God, me too” you whispered back. “You’re all I want”

Felix lifted his head and pressed his forehead against yours. “I love you” 

“I love you” you said to him with a smile and kissed him, trying to show him all the love you held in your heart for him. 

Inescapable, I’m not even going to try

And if I get burned, at least we were electrified

One of his hands made its way to your head, holding you in place while the other drew patterns on the skin of your waist, gripping it a little. He pulled away from the kiss, stared at your mouth and pressed two more kisses.

Your hands that were on his neck, made their way down to his jeans, unbuttoning them. “Take them off” you whispered against his mouth, kissing him again. 

He pressed two more kisses to your mouth and lifted himself from on top of you to take his jeans, letting them drop on the floor as he stepped out of them. 

The bulge in his boxers made you whimper and bit your lip. He saw your face and smirked, hooking his fingers in the waistband and pulling them down his legs, standing naked in front of you. 

He crawled back on top of you, claiming your mouth in a kiss full of tongue and heavy breathing. You moaned, grabbing his arm with one hand and the other one pressed against his chest. 

The hand on his chest drifted down to his pelvis, curling around his erection, making him groan and bite your lip. 

“What- what are you doing?” he asked, pulling away from your mouth, his eyebrows furrowing and twisting in pleasure as your hand started moving up and down over his shaft, his thumb wiping his tip. 

You smirked, sticking your tongue out and licking his lips sensually. “Returning the favor” you whispered hotly against his lips. 

He let you continue for a few seconds before grabbing your wrist and pulling it away from his shaft. “Next time, okay? I wanna come inside of you” he said, kissing your cheek. 

You nodded and smiled when he pressed more kisses to your cheeks. “Do you have a condom?” you asked. 

He pulled away and stuck his arm out to his nightstand, pulling out a condom from the first drawer. Felix lifted himself up slightly, rolling the condom on his cock and then went back to his last position on top of you. 

The head of his cock nudged your entrance, making you gasp and dig your nails on his shoulders. His nose brushed against yours as he slid inside of you, swallowing your gasp with a kiss. 

He bottomed out, giving you a couple of seconds to adjust to his thick length. His hands were gripping the sheets tightly, trying to refrain from driving into you at a wild pace. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, sounding kind of strangled. 

“Yeah, yeah” you nodded breathily. “You can move”

“Fuck” he whispered, pressing his face against your neck and started to snap his hips against yours. “Fuck, you’re so tight, baby” he groaned. 

You moaned with every thrust, your nails raking his back. “Oh, God, Lix” you gasped in a whine, feeling full and overwhelmed, in the best kind of way possible.

His hips were moving steadily as his mouth enveloped yours, trying to hold the urge to slam his hips against yours. One of his hands went to one of your breasts, gripping it tightly, his thumb sliding over your nipple, making you cry out. 

“Lix, faster… please” you pleaded, and it was enough for him to grab your thigh, pulling it over his waist and fucking you deeper and faster, the sinful sound of skin slapping on skin invading the room in a constant echo. “God! Just like that” you continued whispering his name over and over, like a prayer.

“You’re so beautiful” he whispered against your lips before claiming your mouth with a kiss. “I love you. You’re the love of my life, Y/N. It’s always been you” he continued whispering against your lips, getting closer to the edge with every thrust. 

“I’m yours… yours. All yours” you gasped when you felt his fingers starting to rub circles on your clit, trying to get you closer to your orgasm. “Lix- Lix, I’m close, so fucking close”

“Good, come with me, baby. I need you to come” he said, sticking his tongue out and licking your throat and then biting your skin, making you clench around him, finding the action super hot. “God, you’re so tight” he babbled.

You arched your back as you felt your orgasm rush through you in a hot wave across your body, making you moan and curl your fingers on his bicep, digging his nails against the skin. 

Felix’s face fell to your neck as he thrust hard a couple of times before spilling inside the condom with a moan muffled against your skin. His body shook with aftershocks from the earth-shattering orgasm he just had as he felt his body go limp and fall against yours.

You wrapped your limbs around him, holding him tightly against you as you both tried to regain your breathing. Your hands caressed his back while your nose nuzzled against the shell of his ear. 

Felix lifted his head up and looked down at her, his eyes searching yours. He then smiled, pressing his mouth against yours, his hand caressing your hair. 

He pulled away and you saw the love in his eyes. How lucky you were.

You could live like this, knowing that there was so much love inside of him. For you. He loved you. 

Yes, you were so lucky. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You threw your head back in laughter, holding your glass of wine as Felix made you laugh, telling some stupidity as you both felt the effects from the alcohol running through your veins. 

You both decided to jump into the bath after two more rounds of passionate sex and treat yourselves with some wine. 

“God, I don’t know how you dated her” you laughed. “She was so dumb”

“Yeah, I know” he nodded, looking away. “She- truth is, and I’m gonna sound like an asshole, but… I dated her because she looked like you” he said. 

You pulled your face back in surprise. Felix had dated this bimbo named Julia a couple of months ago, and now that you recall her face, she did look like you. 

“Wow” you giggled. “Yeah… she did” 

Felix groaned, burying his face into the palm of his hand. 

“Don’t be embarrassed” you told him, getting closer to him, placing your palm on his cheek, urging him to look at you with a nudge. “Hey, look at me” you said, and Felix slowly looked at you and you noticed the pretty blush sitting on his cheeks, giving his freckles a colorful background. “It’s alright, we’ve all had our moments to forget about someone. I mean, I cannot blame you. I literally just came from a date hours ago, one that I went to forget about you”

“Yeah, and look how that went” Felix said with a smirk.

“Oh, it went good” you smirked, climbing on top of him, with the glass in your hand. Your knee slid a little, making you stumble a bit and he grabbed your waist to steady you, the movement causing to make you spill some of the red liquid on the water. 

“No! Careful” Felix laughed, making you laugh back.

“I almost slipped, I’m sorry” you chuckled, leaving the glass on the floor and curling your arms around his neck. 

You two stared at each other and you felt his wet, warm hands sliding over your back in a sweet caress. “You’re so beautiful, you know that?” he said, pressing kisses on your face. “Ethereal, I swear to God” he whispered, making you bite your lip.

“Are you even real?” you whispered. “I think I’m just imagining you” 

Felix made a movement with his pelvis, making his hard on nudge against your core. “Do you think that’s fake?” he asked, his deep voice making you clench around nothing.

You gasped, your nails digging into his back. “No… no, that’s definitely real” you gasped. 

I’m spilling wine in the bathtub

You kiss my face and we’re both drunk

Everyone thinks that they know us, but they know nothing

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You looked at yourself in the mirror after finishing the last touches of blush on your cheeks. Your fingers glided over the pretty dress that you had bought. For him. For the right person. 

Your person.

A vibration made you look down to the phone laying on the bathroom counter. 

Felix: You ready, my love?

You giggled at the message, feeling like a little kid. You quickly replied, telling him that you were going and left the bathroom, putting your stuff inside your purse. 

Sliding your shoes on your feet, you felt your heart starting to beat faster in nervousness, but in excitement as well. 

This was going to be the best date ever. Not because of what you were doing. But because of who you were going with. 

You opened the door of your bedroom and saw him standing there with a nervous smile and a bouquet of flowers in his hands. Your favourite flowers. 

With a gasp, your hands flew to cover your mouth. 

“Baby” you whispered, extending your hands to grab the bouquet. “Oh my God, I don’t know what to say. They’re so beautiful”

Felix smiled in pride, seeing your face and how it lit up when you saw the flowers. “Do you like them?” he asked, getting a little shy.

“Like them?” you gasped with a smile. “I love them, honey. I love you” you said, curling your free arm around his neck and bringing him into a passionate kiss. 

HIs hands fell to your waist, pulling you closer against him. 

“I love you” you whispered again into his lips.

“I love you” he whispered back. “So, so much” 

As he continued to press kisses into your mouth, you started to wonder: how were you deserving of such a wonderful man? So attentive, so caring and thoughtful. 

“I don’t deserve you” you let it slip up.

Felix’s eyebrows furrowed, pulling his face back, getting serious out of a sudden. “Don’t say that” he whispered. “Of course you do. We deserve each other. We deserve to be with each other after so much waiting. After so much pining” he said, caressing your cheek with the back of his fingers.

You looked at him, tears pooling in your eyes.

“Hey, no, don’t cry” he said with a smile, making you mirror his expression, letting out a laugh as a single tear rolled down your cheek and he caught it, brushing it away. “Come on, as much as I’d like to stare at your pretty face all day… we have a date going on” he smirked.

You bit your lip and you kissed him. “Let’s go” you smiled at him.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

And I woke up just in time, 

now I wake up by your side.

With a content sigh, your eyes fluttered open and stretched your limbs, feeling your cheek squished against your lover’s chest. You cranked your neck to stare at his pretty face, still asleep. 

Hoisting yourself on your elbows, you admired all his facial features. His beautiful nose.

His perfect lips. 

His lashes.

His freckles.

God, his freckles. Did they made you weak in the knees. 

You bit your lip, wondering how the hell was this man yours. He had seen you at your worst. And he still stayed. 

Even in my worst times, you could see the best in me

Flashback to my mistakes,

my rebounds,

my earthquakes

Even in my worst lies, you saw the truth in me

He was everything to you. He had you, in the palm of his hand. He could crush you, in any second, he could do anything he wanted with you. And he chose to cherish you. Love you. Worship you. 

He was your angel. And your sunshine. 

His eyes fluttered open and smiled when he caught your face. 

“Hello handsome” you whispered, placing your hand on his cheek, caressing his supple skin. 

He let out a breath, out of content. “Hello, beautiful”

Yeah, he was your everything.

My one and only,

my lifeline.

[vivvangel]

fantasize | sim jake (extended ver.)

synopsis: nerd jake who's known to be quite self reserved, but he cannot seem to get you and your skirt out of his mind. › pairings & contents: nerd!jake x classmate reader, dom!jake x sub!afab!reader. smut with plot ✧ warnings: kissing and teasing!! - perverted thoughts, jealousy, fist-fucking (jake), blowjob, doggy position, guided mastrubation, jake has a thing for skirts, heavy degradation.

can be read by itself, however, reading the headcannons is advised !

wc: 1.5k

ever since he jerked off to the imagination of fucking you in that pretty skirt — jake thinks he's lost his mind. jerking off so often, getting horny so often, that wasn't his thing before, but you absolutely ruined his brain wearing that skirt.

"ah, fuck" he hisses, rubbing his tip. every time he closes his eyes and strokes his cock just a little faster, jake can't help but fantasize about the ways you probably would swallow all of his cum, maybe even whimper his name,, how your pussy would be throbbing, dripping wet for him only. he didn't even know he could crave someone so much, so desperately, so fucking desperately.

with his swift hip movements, jake continues to thrust his cock into his tight fist, in desperate hopes of recreating the sweet tightness of your perfect cunt. he was mentally cursing at myself for fucking his fist so many times at just the mere sight of you, but nonetheless, he tightens his grasp around his cock to mimic the tightness of your, what he imagined to be your perfect pussy, his head falls against the bed's headboard of his bed, as literal shocks of warm satisfaction blurred his peripheral vision — "f-fuck", jake grunts, letting his eyes roll back.

this can't be this way. he has to have you, one way or another. he scoffs, thinking to himself that this is completely ridiculous. why would someone like you even look at someone like ... him? he brushes his thoughts off, and goes to his desk to finish some assignments off.

the day after went as bad as it could. he was sitting in his usual place, a row or two behind you, and what does he see? he glares at the guy next to you, with his arm around your shoulder. he wants to approach the guy in question, and do something he would regret. he groans to himself, and as the lecture continues, he grows more and more restless, and if it was even possible, even more jealous. once the lecture finally ends, he's the first to get out of the room, and to his other class. that night, jake didn't get off to you, resulting in him being extremely, ungodly, horny the next day.

he can't bring himself to approach you, knowing you might have a boyfriend, but he gets over his nervousness and goes up to you — and holy shit, you're wearing a short skirt again. "hey, uh y/n -- do you have-" he pauses, his eyes travelling down to your legs and thighs, but he looks back at you. "uh, yesterday's notes?", you tilt your head, as a smirk spreads on your lips, but you play dumb to his sudden question, you nod. "you could've just texted me, jake", you softly say, taking out your notebook out of your bag. he has no idea how he's keeping his cool, but you know his name? oh fucking hell. "u-uh, i could've but, i don't have your number" he awkwardly scratches the back of his neck, making you chuckle. "give me your phone, i'll put it in if you need me next time" you smile, giving him your notebook. jake almost hurriedly takes his phone out, motioning it to you and letting out a dry chuckle, "t-thanks" god, he felt fucking stupid. how did you have him stumbling over his words? little did he know, you thought he was so fucking cute.

you grab his phone from him, putting your number in, saving the contact as "y/n baby💋" and when jake reads that, his eyes widen. "y/n baby?" he hesitantly asks, "yes?" you respond, the smirk never left your face, and his jaw drops. "no, i meant --" he's unsure of what to say, he's literally flabbergasted. you let out a chuckle, "i'm messing with you, i get it" — "don't you have a boyfriend, though?" he abruptly asks, his tone almost coming off as protective. "me? what?, no" you tell him, completely confused as to how he came to that conclusion. "the guy, yesterday, arm around your shoulder and all-"

"you were watching me yesterday, too?"

"that's not what i asked"

"so, you were watching me yesterday, too"

"for god's sake, y/n — wait, what do you mean 'too'"

you stand up, crossing your arms. "do you think i don't see you staring at me, jakey?" you smirk, and he's trying to form a coherent sentence. "i'm not-- 'm not staring, just.." he trails off, unsure how to end that sentence. you break the silence, "jake, i have another class in a bit, i'll see you later today? i'll text you! bye?" you wave, rushing out of the room to get to your class. all while jake stood there, dumbfounded.

jake has no idea how he was in deep inside you and you on the other hand, had no idea how someone that cute could be this hot. you felt almost stupid for thinking he'd be the submissive type. boy, were you so so wrong. you didn't know that that a mere skirt, and some teasing was all it took jake to smash his lips onto yours, and pulling you onto his lap — in his dorm, may i add. you were flustered, how could someone who looked so innocent be so . . . sexy?

and what exactly followed afterwards?

his hands explored your body under your crop-top, and you couldn't help but let out a moan into his mouth, in the heat of the moment, riling him up further. he pulls out of the kiss, slapping your thigh, making you whimper. "what a fucking slut, do you just let anyone touch you, huh?" you shake your head, signalling a no — you expected him to be nicer with your response, but you earn another slap on your exposed thigh. (you think to yourself, "maybe wearing a skirt is useful after al"l)

"wear skirts these days intentionally, don't you? you like the attention you get? what a desperate slut" he scoffs, resulting in you biting your lip. how was he degrading you so bad, but you liked it? "j-jakey.. please do something, anything" you breathe out, and he lets out a dry, almost dark, chuckle. "anything? mhm, you'll take anything i give you like the good girl you are, right baby?" you nod your head, feeling your panties drenching by the second. "hmm, 'm not gonna let you off so easily, earn it, slut" — your eyes widen,, "are you okay with this, pretty?" he asks, his tone coming off more kind and soft, it's almost like a whisper. "treat me like the slut i am, jakey" — "is that so?"

you don't understand why, but his voice makes your core keep tingling. you choke over your own words, making jake smirk. "on your knees, pretty girl" he demands, and you reciprocate immediately, getting on your knees on the floor, as jake slouches on the couch, you can see his raging boner under his sweatpants — and holy shit. your hands hurried pull down his pants, quietly gasping at his length, making him smirk. "too big for your pretty little mouth, mhm? too bad, baby". you wrap your hand around his cock, jake's own hand enveloping yours, "fuck slut, cmon, it's all yours" he uses your hand to stroke himself up and down, jerking himself off while you look up at him with glazed eyes. "f-fuck baby, your hand feels so good, mind letting me how your pretty mouth feels?"

you would never ever deny, wrapping your lips around his cock, your tongue eagerly licking and teasing his cock, making him grunt. "d-don't tease, baby". jake suddenly felt your lips sliding up and down the head of his length, feeling his cock hit the back of your neck. jake groans when you take him deeper, and deeper into your mouth. he brushes a strand of hair out of your face, his hands then going to the back of your head, holding you as he starts thrusting his hips unintentionally. you almost gag, but you control it. as jake pushes his dick down your throat for one last time, he lets go. his cum filling your mouth, and dripping down your chin, "fucking hell, baby. you look so pretty my baby" he says, picking you up. you'd think as a nerd, jake wouldn't have time to work out, but you were so wrong. he was rather . . . strong, to your surprise.

taking you to his bedroom, he wastes no time. "i'm asking just to be sure, though you're clearly more than ready, but-- can i do this, baby? fill your cunt to the brim, baby?" he asks softly, putting you down on his bed. "please, jakey, please..." is all you could say, and that's all it took him to undress you, not taking your skirt off, you tug at your skirt, but he puts your hand away. "what?"

"want the skirt on" he simply answers,

"you have a thing for skirts?"

"just on you, i guess" he awkwardly chuckles.

"should wear them more often"

"that-- that, you should"

he kisses you, "day dreamt about this, baby, got off to the thought of you so many times" he whispers in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "on your stomach for me, please, pretty?"

what can he say? he can't get over the thought of fucking you in a skirt

and, let's just say, assignment completed !

viv's note 💌: thank you for waiting so patiently for this, lovies. hope yall like it. and before u complain about the ending!!! i wanna give you guys a separate smut drabble of that instead of having it here! hope you all aren't disappointed:/ love u guys sm<3

taglist: @strayy-kidz @raelyaa @myspamera @spabrin @ikaw-at-ikaw @kenzory @yaatrickyaaa @nakedsim @heelvsted @isa-2007 @keepingupwithjaeyun @jellyporo @woooooya @sussyjake @jaeyunology @maryismad @maoyueze tagged some of my moots too ♡

[churipu]

Idk if u take requests rn, but if you do, could you write fluffy moments with jjk men (pls include toji, i rlly wanna see him w fluff because there is like none) you fav would be cuddling, but you do whatever you want <3 Also, don't stress yourself when writing i, and please take breaks <33

JJK MEN + FLUFFY MOMENTS (๑ > ᴗ < ๑)

featuring. toji fushiguro, gojo satoru, nanami kento x reader

warnings. jjk men being softies

note. i just read the most heart wrenching nanami fic, i think i'm not okay at all </3 but hi anon, thank you for requesting this — this is exactly what i needed after reading angst. i apologize if it took a long time to get this out omg, i hope you like it.

and guys, omg???? 700+ followers? i genuinely never expected my works to be recognized by so much, and meeting new writers here and there, making friends, makes me so happy (i'm not crying) i love u all so so so so much, u guys rock, ily all <;33

TOJI FUSHIGURO

hated talking about the future, but ever since he met you — he rambles about it.

toji has always thought his future was nothing interesting, he kills people for a living, gets money off of it and he gambles. that's about it, so what was there to think about in the future?

meeting you was the firsts to a lot of things in his life.

toji grew up in a loveless household full of anger, and lust for power. which is why he is who he is today. distant, aloof, detached. people tell him he'd be nothing without his strength and face, there is no denying that toji fushiguro has a face card. he knows that.

so when he first met you, all he expected was like every other day. people caring about his face, and only that — and he'd play along although he's had enough of it, but no; you didn't care about all that.

face, money, strength. none of that.

he vaguely remembered the first time you spoke to him: "hey, mind helping me grab that box of cereal?" and he expected you to hit on him after, but you left it at that, muttering out a thanks and then leaving him in the aisle alone.

then for some reason he meets you again, the very next month. asking him the exact same thing, asking for help to take the cereal box which happened to be on the very top of the shelf. god knows why, both you and him just made it a routine every month after that. no communications about meeting and all. you both kind of just, met right in the cereal aisle on one particular day in the month, and then leave.

on the fifth month, he finally asks for your number.

"toji, is that your way of asking me out? because if it is, i'm disappointed."

"maybe."

and then you both kind of just sealed it; you're dating. nothing much changed, every month both you and him still go to the cereal aisle — he still helps you with grabbing the box from the shelf. the only difference was that now the two of you leave together.

toji hates talking about his future. but with you? he could go on for a whole day. he rambles about what he thinks and what he wants in the future with you.

"i wan' to get married. i wan' to marry you," did it caught you by surprise? yes. yes it did, "i wan' to have a family with you, a nice little family. i wan' to have a son so i could throw him around — but a girl is okay too, i can protect her from boys, i'll love them both equally. but i don't think i'll be a good dad to them. i'm scared they won't like me."

"toji, what? where did that come from?"

his back was pressed to your chest as you both lay down on the bed, one of your leg draped over his torso and he has his hand on your plush thigh, squeezing it every once in a while.

"i don't know. just a thought, i never talked about my future with anyone before," his body vibrated as he grunted, leaning his head back a bit, "i just don't think i'll be a good father, y'know?" he squeezed your thigh.

"why do you think so?" you asked him, placing your chin on the crown of his head.

"i just think so."

"stop thinking then," you chuckles, draping an arm around his neck, caressing his throat so softly it made the male shudder under your touch — but he didn't mind, he took comfort under your skin.

"can't." his voice was not stern or bold, it was soft and serene. he laced his fingers with yours, kissing your knuckles gently, "i can't believe 'm saying this, but 'm worried about my future. 'm a little scared."

just the fact he was admitting that he's scared about something was mind boggling, because the toji fushiguro? who kills people? was admitting that he was actually terrified of something, which wasn't even the strongest sorcerer. it's his future.

you were silent, letting him talk because when else would he be able to be like this?

"'m terrified. 'm scared i won't make you happy. what if i don't make you happy? what if my kids hate me?" so many questions that you don't even have the answer to, but you placed your hand over his lips, shutting him up.

toji grumbled, he swiped his tongue over your palm.

"ew!" you laugh, wiping your hand on his shirt, "but why're you suddenly talking about this all? which videos have you been watching again?"

"nothing, can't i think about my own future with you?" he shuffles, turning to face you, prepping an arm under his head as he stares down at you. not in the condescending way — he stared at you with so much desperation for love, he slowly blinks, the glint in his eyes never changing.

"why out of the blue?"

"jus' because."

you poked his cheek, "liar."

he sighs, latching his hand onto your hips, pulling you close. he buries his head into your shoulder in content, "jus' worried about it, i never think about my future in the past. but now — with you, i jus' worry about it because i didn't think i'd make it 'till now."

you chuckled, rubbing the back of his head lightly, "you remember that one time in the park when you see that little boy crying over spilled ice cream?"

he hums softly.

"and you bought him another ice cream, but asked me to be the one to give it to him because you were scared you'd scare him off instead?" you ask him, your fingers tangling with his hair lightly.

"yeah."

"you'll be fine, toji." you tell him.

"y'think so?" he retorts back, squirming a bit.

"i know so."

GOJO SATORU

he has to know about everything that you like, he needs to know why you like them. every. single. thing.

gojo chased after you. you were one tough cookie, he likes a chase. he's so used to people fawning over his looks that when you didn't — he just has to know your name.

the curiosity to know your name ended up pulling him in a spiral of this little thing called "love". gojo swore it was just curiosity, but everyone else besides him thinks otherwise, he promised himself and people around that he didn't like you, he was just, well, curious.

but curiosity doesn't look like that. gojo finds himself asking people about what type of boys you like, and when he finds out about it — he tries his best to be your type. he promised he was just curious.

gojo tries finding out what your favorite flower is, and when he finds out about it, he's out there sending big bouquets of it to you. he promised he was just curious.

gojo tries finding out what your favorite genre of music is, and when he finds out, he listens to them so he could talk about it with you. he promised he was just curious.

gojo tries finding out what your favorite series or movie is, and when he finds out, he watches them all intently so he could talk about them with you and hate on characters together with you. and he still promises that he was just curious.

he was just curious, he kept telling that to himself. so why does it bother him when you were out with another guy? another guy that's not him. not gojo satoru.

gojo asks you about who it was, and when you tell him it's nobody important, he gets upset about it.

"why are you so upset?"

"i'm just..curious."

"it's none of your business."

he left it at that. his whole week was ruined, he couldn't stop thinking about it. about you. and then he finally realizes, he wasn't curious — he was in love. so there he was, in front of your door at two in the morning.

"what?"

"who was that guy?"

"gojo, you're still onto that?" you ask him, tired, "i said it's none of your business. you're here at two just to ask me about that?"

"it's my business because i'm in love with you, damn it!"

gojo was half grateful when you told him it was your distant cousin, but half embarrassed as well. all's well ends well. he gets you in the end, and he doesn't have to worry about anything else — nothing in the world matters to him but you.

"baby, what do you recommend?" was one of the most spoken phrases he has delivered to you.

in restaurants, dessert bars, convenience store, movie theaters, anything you could recommend him, he'd ask for it.

"why do you always ask? don't you have your own preference, satoru? i'm not even sure if you'll like my recommendations though," he smiles at you, tracing small circled on the back of your hand.

"i want to know about everything that you like, and why you like them. i want to know everything about you," you look at him and smiled, honestly, what did we ever do to deserve him?

"why?"

"because i love you." yeah, he wasn't just curious. he's in love. and deep.

NANAMI KENTO

he always orders food that you like, and shares some with you — even if you didn't ask for it.

nanami never expected to be in relationships. in fact, relationships was the last thing in his mind — but when he met you, he just kind of felt attracted. he seeks for your comfort whenever he's tired, and when you weren't there, nanami just sort of drowns in himself until he could see you or hear your voice.

at the beginning of your relationship, nanami was never the one to initiate things because he wasn't an experienced male in relationships. you ask him and he just sort of do it without any other complaints.

but as time goes on, he get the hang of it. what he should do and what he shouldn't — it's adorable, he's started doing things that he never thought he would do in his life, but here he was sitting by your side; peeling apples for you because you wanted them.

"kento, eat some. it's going to be finished by the time you finish peeling every one of them," you joked, your legs on top of his thighs.

nanami hums softly, "it's okay. as long as you like it."

nanami doesn't realize the weigh of his sweet words sometimes, he does it and asks himself to why you were reacting like that. sweet talk is his vocabulary. he says it with no worries, telling you things you've always wanted to hear but never say.

but one thing that always stuck to him and you from the first time you got close up to now was: nanami always orders things that you like. you never understood the reason behind it, and when you tried asking him about it, he just tells you he was craving it.

it didn't seem odd at first — but as time goes on, his whole taste was just an exact copy of yours.

if you get something different than your usual menu, nanami will get your usual menu because he knows damn well that you're going to end up wanting them. although you don't tell him when the food comes, nanami makes it his job to share with you. and that's really sweet of him.

but when you get your usual menu, nanami orders something with elements that you like in them and shares them with you even without you asking for a bite. and not only that, he didn't share a spoonful — he shared a lot.

"ken, you don't have to share with me. i have my own food." you tell him, despite your heart tugging you to just let him share because you were too shy to say that you wanted a bite.

"it's alright sweetheart. i'm a little full." he lies. he ends up snacking on something on midnight, and it's now a routine.

so in exchange for that, you always make it your job to stock up foods ranging from small snacks like biscuits, chips, up to instant or pre-heated food. even cutting up fruits so nanami could snack on it, and he caught on to it pretty quick.

but he didn't complain, he likes it when you do it.

"ken, i cut out some mangoes and dragon fruit. you can eat them if you're hungry."

"thank you y/n."

mutual wins.

© CHURIPU 2023 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE

[screampied]

HELLLOOOOOOO i really love ur drabbles so muchhh 🫶🏻🫶🏻 reall fun to read tehee

if its okay can you do like a dad’s best friend higuruma? Where higuruma cares for reader more than her own father did (i have daddy issues) and always tries to comfort her by having sex </3 (if u can maybe like a soft dom hiromi as he always gives her praises and sweet words?)

dont force yourself okayyy? remember to always take a break! Love youuu 💐

❤︎ ໋𓈒 dad’s best friend trope w higuruma <3

warnings. fem! reader, praise, cowgirl, soft dom higuruma, mdni.

an. thank uuu love u too !!!

you never knew you’d take such a strong liking towards your father’s best friend and trusty colleague, higuruma hiromi.

he always gave you the attention you were neglected — it started off with simple gestures, small talk . .

asking about your day, complimenting your outfits, or even going to run errands with you. although, it was always his sweet praises towards you that you were never used to. all you wanted was to be told that you were good, doing something right, and he always gave that to you.

higuruma never failed to take his time with you, even while you were in his bed. he was so sweet, big hands of his traced down the sides of your hips, your curves . . warm breath fanning against your skin, kiss after kiss. “you adore my praises, don’t you, princess?”

“y-yes,” you’d sniffle, feeling your heart throb. you’d be leaning against his chest, cock buried into you and it’s so good.

his words ran straight towards your heart…

or perhaps it went towards another place, specifically in between your thighs.

he’s so tender, marking your neck with a plethora of invisible kiss marks, which turns into sucking overtime.

your lips press and smother together as you subdue a single incoming moan, his body heat against yours had you burning up. just craving for more of his touch. “h-hiromi, ‘m gonna cum again.”

“you think you’re gonna cum or you know, baby?” he murmurs, skimming a thumb beside your waist. the way his hands gingerly roamed all over your body.

you faced the other direction as you rode him, a hand grips on his knee as a tiny whimper escapes past your lips. it was a firm simple question—yet he didn’t expect you to answer.

“oh sweetheart,” he coos, a soft low chortle tickling against your right earlobe before he gives it a kiss. “you’re not used to being told how good you are, are you?”

“no,” you moaned, feeling him then bring both hands to grip onto your waist, softly rocking your hips in place against him.

so…slow.

you stabilize your knees for a brief moment. he’s making you rut back against him before he pecks another kiss near the inner part of your collarbone.

“sorry if it’s dumb, just—i just really like being told that i’m doing something good . . for once.”

a smile presses against his lips as your hips tilt and stutter against him.

“but you’ve always been a good girl, at least whenever you’re with me,”

he hums, playfully tapping his fingers amongst your skin—you moan, chasing another incoming orgasm and you glance down to see your thigh bob and ricochet against his own leg.

higuruma’s dick had your eyes rolling…it was simply addicting. the way he’d brush up amongst that individual spot, you whine out a shaky moan before your hand finds his.

“…just relax, okay? if it makes you feel any better, i’ll praise you right until you make a mess on me, princess.”

“okay,” you’d whimper, feeling him bring you back and forth beside him. he’s so slow and precise, you feel every inch and it makes your mouth water. you lie back against higuruma’s chest, and he plants a kiss near the top of your forehead. you can’t remember the last time you felt so cherished.

a hand of his was flat on your torso, whilst another one slings around you. you moan, feeling it reach its incoming peak, you bite your lip.

“don’t hide your voice, i wanna hear you, princess,” he’d murmur, dragging your hand away from your mouth - you pouted, and he simpers, leaning in to give your cheek a soft kiss.

his rhythm, it wasn’t hard to follow. you’re rocking your hips sturdy against him before you start to impatiently grind.

you moan, feeling higuruma’s hand softly wrap around your throat, a thumb stroking your passageway before he whispers, “c’mon baby, give me another one. think you can do that?”

“yes, okay, okay,” you’d babble, and he’s so deep, stirring all around you—you throw your head back against him, mouth open, lips barely parted while you feel the nerves coarse inside of you. “fuck, hiromi, ‘m gonna cum s-so soon.”

“it’s okay, give it to me princess,” he murmured, making your hips slow down just a bit with a soft tug of his hands. you shivered a bit, feeling the band of his watch skim across your hips before you start to spasm. he watches with warm eyes, leaning in to kiss all beside your neck, your ear, and then you whine. “i know, i know. you’re doing so good already.”

the moment you came, it was sticky and like always, you slump back against higuruma. your legs trembled and quavered - sucking your teeth, your breath was so shaky.

he smiles at your body’s reaction — witnessing how sensitive you were, and he slides a thumb against the hairs near the nape of your neck before whispering. “such a good girl,” before hugging your waist. “do you . . do you think you have one more in you, princess?”

[incogrio]

omg I loved your soobin fic btw! I was wondering can you do ot5 txt being jealous/protective of the reader?

ot5 - jealousy, jealousy

pairing: ot5 x reader (separately)

genre: fluff, bit of smut and angst

synopsis: how the members show jealousy!

warnings: jealousy, possessiveness, smut, anger etc!

a/n: thank you so much for the request!! hope u enjoy!! this isn’t proof read don’t kill me pls!!

yeonjun:

i feel as though yeonjun would show his jealousy in a more whiney manner

like, he wouldn’t outright say anything to you or the person making him jealous in the moment

i imagine you’re also an idol, maybe even in txt and an interviewer makes comments about your appearance and how you’re the most desirable of the group

yeonjun, being ever professional simply smiles and laughs

lingers behind you as you reject the guy once the cameras are off

but after… he’ll come to you like a big baby all like

“he flirted with you right in front of meeeee..!!” he’d whine out with a slight high pitched tone as he tucked his head into your neck

“i rejected him, i only want you jjunie,” you’d reassure

only for him to respond with, “but i was right thereeeee!!! don’t i look boyfriend enough!!!!” and his perfect lips would form a perfect pout and you couldn’t resist but to kiss his sad face away :(

that would most likely lead to him smiling against your lips and the craziest sex ever.. like full on

“bet he has a smaller dick than me, huh? bet he couldn’t make you drool the way i do. he wishes he could see you like this doesn’t he? too bad only i can see you all disheveled.. only me, right baby? just daddy right?”

yes jjunie has a daddy kink argue with the WALL.

as for what made him jealous, i think he’s a little crazy and would be annoyed when someone so much as looks at you for too long

he would never blame you or your outfit, simply the pervs who wish they could have you

thinks it’s funny whenever you’re jealous, doesn’t really see that he’s just as hot as you

also finds it crazy that you’d think he’d want anyone else

just remind him that you only want him and kiss his pouty lips and maybe give him a blowjob and he’ll be fine…

until you do promotions again

soobin:

sigh… loser soobie doobie.

i feel like soobie would be annoyed by it if anything

also VERY passive aggressive

let’s say you’re in a library, looking at a book that you might want

a rando comes up mansplaining the novel you’re holding and soobin comes up behind you like 😒🤨

FR LOOKS AT HIM WITH SUCH DISGUST.

yall know that clip of him during that live where he’s looking at the members w that disgusted look? yeah that’s him rn

the guy reaches forward to touch your arm all like “i just think this book might be too complicated for you”

ha. ha ha. soobin pulls you back into his chest before the guy can touch you and looks at him so angrily. “they’re fine. they can pick their own book.” he says it with such an eerily calm tone despite his aggressive gum chewing and fingertips digging slightly into your waist.

mf just gives an awkward smile, raises his hands in surrender and walks away

soobin literally mutters “pussy” under his breath LMFAO

he doesn’t really say much after that, only keeping a hand on you till you get to the car

“bunny, do you think i should read this book or this one first?” you ask, lifting up both books as he pulls out of the parking lot.

he rolls his eyes slightly, driving (hotly) and looking only at the road before saying: “dunno. ask your new book expert boyfriend.”

you literally have to stifle your laugh. for soobie, he’s a sucker for your cuteness

soooo u just pout at him cutely and rest your elbow on the console and your head in your hand

“don’t be mad bunny… only want you :(“

he does that thing where he smiles and pokes his tongue to his cheek in faux annoyance (i’m horny)

just smiles and shakes his head, reaching to you and holding your thigh tightly, you rest your hand on his

he may seem all tough right now, but don’t worry soon you’ll have him tied up and whimpering after making him cum over and over to make sure he knows his worth 💋

tbh seems like the type to bring it up randomly too LMFAOO

beomgyu:

beomgyu… hehehe

i imagine this to happen outside of a food truck

he’s waiting w you, probably talking to you about something stupid and you suddenly get a poke on the shoulder

you turn around, and beomgyu looks with you and sees a guy

as you’re rejecting the guy, gyu is literally snickering and giggling to himself

you are so embarrassed by him this mf is literally cackling

you’d think there was a witch behind you

the guy is definitely STILL in earshot as he walks away dejectedly, and beomgyu immediately giggling and smoothly tugging you to be in his arms

“did you see his face???? he thought he had a chance w you???!!! my girl?? yahhhgh!!! he’s soooo stupid!” he says all loudly and dramatically. he has that little smirk on his face as he says this, but has his arms tightly around you as though the guy would come and kidnap you

you see behind the facade, simply reaching up and pressing a kiss to his lips. “only want you,” you mutter, and he hums and smiles against your lips

“ahhh i knowww!! that’s why it’s so funny!”

he’d rather die than admit insecurity in the middle of a goddamn food truck line.

probably doesn’t talk about it until it’s late at night and you’re cuddled in bed

he might even start crying :(

for gyu, i don’t see sex being a good reassurance thing for him

i think he’d prefer to just sit with you, watching a bad movie and making fun of it together

randomly kissing you and every time you know what he wants to hear: “only want you, bear”

if you were to fuck, he’d deffo want to eat you out

“only i can taste this pussy, only your bear,” he’d grumble as you twist his long hair in your fingers, tugging him closer to your sopping cunt

taehyun:

mickey mouse voice: oh boy!

if you think you’re getting any other reaction other than silence, you’re WRONG.

hmmm let’s say you’re at the gym, watching him work out bc wow free show

at one point he walks away to grab weights from the other side of the gym and you wait for him to come back

suddenly, a sweaty yucky man is getting closer to you, and oh wow look he’s staring at you

as taehyun turns around, he sees you talking to him but doesn’t really mind because he knows you’re his

but then he gets closer and hears the guy complimenting your body… he just pauses for a second, making brief eye contact w you and continuing to set up his little work out thing (i don’t work out can u tell)

he knows you’ll tell the guy why you’re actually here

“so… why don’t we go grab protein shakes after you finish working out?” you wanted to scream. you were wearing jeans. WHO WORKS OUT IN JEANS?? you hadn’t touched a single machine and you hate protein shakes. is this guy a dunce.

“oh no thank you, i’m here to watch my boyfriend. he’s right there,” you point at tae, who is now bench pressing over 100 pounds and woah.. hehe

yeah no the guy could not have left faster. tae still doesn’t say anything.

you keep watching him, now sitting on the floor until he gets up from the bench and sits in front of you

before you can ask, he gestures for you to hold his feet and starts doing sit ups

except, after the first one, he starts puckering his lips when he sits up

oh!

sit up after sit up, he kisses you as he comes back up

he literally did over one hundred and you were drunk on him by the time he finished

his way of staking his claim i suppose… probably made sure that the guy was watching too

tbh… that’s all the reaction you’re gonna get

after, you ask why he didn’t say anything and he just shrugs and is like, “i know you’re mine. and you know i’m yours. i don’t need to prove anything.”

then you’re like, “so why did you do the sit up thing”

“i was horny.” you literally choke on your smoothie

when you guys get home he definitely fucks you but not super roughly or anything… super romantically actually

his thought process, conscious or not, is: you could go out and fuck someone and they’d do it emotionlessly. he’s going to fuck you like you built the very universe your souls found each other in. (you did)

huening kai:

just a warning… he’s my bias so this might be a little crazy

you’re in a grocery store, he seems like one of those cringy bfs who’s steer the cart but have you in between him and the cart

i want him.

every few moments he’d press a kiss to your hair or simply lean down and have his face near yours until you got the hint

his chest is against your back… his huge broad chest… i’m ill.

OKAY LET ME GET TO THE ACTUAL JEALOUSY PART

okay so you guys stopped to look at the cereal because you wanted to get the one w his face

as you’re looking, hueningie squats down and checks the very bottom shelf

and thus, the worker that goes up to you does not see him

“hey! you need any help over here?” you look over, pointing to yourself in silent question. the guy nods. kai is immediately tuned into the convo as he pretends to look for more cereal

“hm? oh no! we’re good, just looking for a specific cereal,” you remain vague as to not reveal kai’s identity.

lol imagine you’re like “yeah my bf has a cereal w his face on it! yeah my bf who’s a famous idol!” LMFAOO

the guy nods, and you think the convo is over so you keep looking for cereal as you reach down and pet kai’s hair absentmindedly. you don’t know how reassuring it is to him.

“okay well… i just saw you and thought you were so super cute. like.. how do you not have a boyfriend?”

“i do actually,” you respond without evening looking at him. you tug kai’s hair, silently telling him to make himself known. he gets up, all six feet and muscles wearing a fitted top so you could see all of his strength and hard work as an idol.

“they’re not here,” he says plainly, without the usual sweet tone he’d give you. he also doesn’t even look at the worker.

the guy doesn’t even have enough time to apologize before kai’s leading you and the cart elsewhere. he gets quiet, but a different quiet to the other members. a sad one.

the moment you get home, he breaks down

he sobs, barely able to get out the fact that he doesn’t understand why you’re with him, why you wouldn’t want someone w a normal life, someone who’s more attractive (no such thing), someone who could love you publically

oh my baby :(((((

you pull him into a hug, his head ducking to be hidden in your neck, reassuring him quietly.

“huening… i promise you, you are the most attractive man on earth to me.” you say sternly, “the universe, even. it pains me that you can’t see that. i don’t want anyone else, just you, hyuka. and i love you enough to endure the fact that you can’t be public with us.”

he’s just whining now, not responding. he’s holding you so tightly that you’d think you’d turn into thin air.

after a lot of cuddles with his plushies, he’s okay :)

but then his members come home and see the tear stains on his face

they don’t know what happened and call him a baby and make a bunch of maknae jokes

yeah that’s the last straw. he takes you to his room and shoves you onto the bed (makes sure that not only are you comfy, but also that all his plushies are turned away)

he fucks you until you’ve both cum at least 4 times, and he’s borderline shooting blanks.

he’s moaning so loud, hips are shaking as he keeps pumping into you, filling you up

you’re even louder, legs shaking and hands pushing against his stomach in a faux plead for him to stop

every so often, he’d say something like, “not a fucking baby,” oh negative kai i want you.

“could a baby maknae fuck you like this? oh fuck honey, clench me like that. could that guy at the store make you shake like this? hm?

OH BROTHER!!

yeah neither of you can walk after that. and the members for SURE heard your moans and are now never calling him a baby ever again

unless he does aegyo bc come ON he’s baby then

probably becomes an inside joke between you guys

comment, dm, or ask to be added to the taglist!

enjoy my fic and want to make a request? go here! want to check the rules? go here!

[luveline]

hi honey, i love you so so much!!

what about stripper!reader with derek morgan?? he's on a case where strippers are being murdered, and while hotch is driving morgan calls you and tells you not to go into work because of what's going on, and emily is listening in on the conversation from the backseat and they tease him

thank youu!! love you!

ty for requesting lovely!! ilysm ♡

"I know you don't like listening to me, but could you do me a favour? Just this once?" 

Emily leans over in her seat so Spencer can see her side eye. "Who's Morgan talking to?" 

"Stay home tonight. No, this isn't a jealousy thing, you vixen–" 

Spencer shrugs. "No idea. But–" 

"But," Emily agrees. They've just left a crime scene with a specific victim, and now Morgan's on the phone asking someone to stay home. That someone would have reason to visit said crime scene's location, and the word vixen suggests female rather than male, which means, "Morgan has a secret stripper girlfriend." 

Spencer's entire face takes his frown, eyebrows pinched, mouth quirked into a telling line. "I like the implausible," he murmurs, "but that feels illogical. Where would they have met?"

"Uh," Emily says, widening her eyes at him. "Where do you think, Spence?" 

"Morgan doesn't need to go to a strip club." 

Emily understands what Spencer's saying. There are lots of reasons that people frequent strip clubs or gentlemen's clubs and none of those reasons apply to Derek. It's possible he could go socially, but it's just so unlike him, it doesn't add up. 

"I'm telling you the truth. I can't give you more detail than that, I just need you to stay home tonight." Derek pauses, laughs. "Alright," —his voice takes on a mechanical rendition, clearly having been fed a line he has to repeat aloud— "I, Derek Morgan, am an ignorant, jealous man, who can't cope with the fact that you don't want me, and am making up sad and childish lies to get you to stay home from your job. Is that what you wanted? Yeah, laugh it up." 

Emily laughs and grabs the headrest as he hangs up on you, pulling herself forward to taunt him as is required. "Care to explain yourself?" 

Derek sighs. "This is why I didn't tell you guys." 

"What!" Spencer says, though his smile is more audible than his incredulity. 

"So you have something to tell us?" Emily asks. 

Derek knows he can't weasel his way out of telling them, and he doesn't really want to. "I don't have a secret stripper girlfriend," he says, rolling his eyes, "she's not my girlfriend. She is an exotic dancer at one of the clubs downtown, and I met her at Home Depot." 

Emily isn't perturbed that Derek heard their gossiping. She's shameless. She doesn't even care that Hotch is frowning behind the wheel. "What was an exotic dancer doing at Home Depot?"

"Weirdly, Emily, she has a home. She wanted help finding renter friendly flooring." 

"Can we meet her?" 

"Never," Derek says with a smile. Emily couldn't know this, but he really likes you. You're sweet, super funny, and yes, you're a stripper. You work hard. Pole dancing is as physically demanding as any manual labour and you're damn good at it. "Ever." 

Spencer interjects the ensuing argument with a statistical analysis of strippers who are homeowners (unfairly few), but Morgan doesn't answer, trying to read a new text from you discretely. 

Sorry if I embarrassed you at work :( is it really not safe to go ?? Maybe u can come and be my bodyguard. I won't even make u tip me 4:10PM

He sends back, Really not safe. Stay home for me, relax for a few days. Call you tonight even if nothing changes 4:11PM

My hero <3 I trust u, but be careful OK ? and pls if it isn't too much trouble can u bring back some of those weird candies again? thank u thank u <3<3<3 4:14PM

Hotch makes a quiet sound of approval, eyes on the road. "The same girl you were with at Docklands? Rossi said she was cute." 

"She is." 

"Rossi met her?" Emily asks. "Oh, you're the worst."

[astraystayyh]

Echoes of love

"to love someone is firstly to confess; i am prepared to be devastated by you."

Chapter ii. to remember

genre : memory loss trope. angst. slow burn. unrequited love except you were in a loving relationship and everything changes overnight.

pairing : minho x reader. (3racha cameo)

summary : if given the choice would you love minho again? yes, you would've once said in a heartbeat. but now, you aren't sure of your response anymore.

cw : depiction of a nightmare and anxiety attack. allusion to mc having a bad family history with alcohol. suggestive in the end (allusion to sex but no smut). reader had she/her pronouns.

word count : 11k words.

song recs : the night we met/terrible love/black friday/cover me/already gone/enough.

chapter i. skz quotes series masterlist.

A.N: PT. 2 IS HERE!!!! i hope you'll enjoy this one, she's my baby and i put so much work and thought into her, so feedback is highly highly appreciated!!! thank you to my @forlix for being with me every step of this journey, i love u the most<33

Day 33. 

With a gentle, absentminded sweep, your fingers trace the delicate contours of your wrist, a faint dance with the pulse beneath your skin– the cocoon of the soul you’re gradually growing accustomed to. It is a trying task, you've found out, to no longer yearn to flee from your body, leaving the weight of your worries for your bones and flesh alone to bear. 

A subtle fragrance floats in the air surrounding you- the familiar gardenia and honey tones of your sweet perfume. It is a scent you reserve for special occasions, such as this one- your first date, in three months according to the world, in more than a year for your memory. 

You swiftly retrieve a mirror from your pouch, checking your appearance for the tenth time in mere minutes. Your nude lipstick is still, unsurprisingly, in place, and you smile reassuringly at your reflection. She smiles back, though sometimes you half-expect her not to. In defiance, perhaps, maybe even repulse. 

The melodious chime of the café's bell captures your attention, and the man you've been awaiting finally enters. He confidently strides in, clad in a blue polo and black slacks, an evident effort poured into his appearance. 

Standing before you, his warm, gleaming eyes meet yours, effortlessly melting your lingering worries. You smile at him, he beams at you. 

“Did I keep you waiting?” Changbin, your date, asks as he pulls the chair adjacent to you. 

“No, just in time.”

Two weeks ago. 

Day 17. 

“Use me. Use me to remember,” Minho whispers, the distance between your lips resembling the thin edge of a blade. 

You close your eyes, the world narrowing down to the sound of your heartbeat, a rhythmic drum drowning out any attempt at coherent thoughts. Kiss him, your heart chants, kiss him and all your memories will flood back. But what if they don't? What if the abyss persists before the brightest beam of light?

A tender kiss lands on your forehead, gently interrupting your tumultuous thoughts. Minho’s lips are as warm, as soft as you remember them. They're now imprinted into your skin, no longer a hazy memory beyond your reach.

His hands cradle your hair, smoothing it down, making the ringing in your ears soften. You surrender to his gentle embrace, to the soft tide of emotions rippling from him to you, pulling your wounded soul to safe shores. 

“You need to forgive yourself,” he whispers, his words echoing against your skin, lips still pressed to your forehead. A rush of warmth overwhelms you, all your senses coming to life, ringing the alarm- he sees you, he sees through you.

“None of this is your fault,” he assures, a sudden cooling balm against your scorching wounds. These are the words you've been aching to hear. You didn't know, but Minho did, reading between the lines of your quivering lips and your reluctance to look into his eyes. 

He knows you better than you know yourself. 

“Don’t blame yourself, please.”

“But all I do is hurt people,” you confess, tears streaming down your face like a relentless downpour, soaking Minho's hands. 

You expect punishment to strike you, bolting lighting aiming straight for your heart as you finally admit to your biggest sin- the shadow of sorrow that trails your every step. It is the way it has always been since you were a child. It is what you fled from. 

What you don't expect is for tenderness to cradle you instead— in Minho's warm hand as he gently guides you to his chest, your ear resting above his steady heartbeat. Its rhythmic cadence akin to a lullaby- you shouldn't apologize for existing, you hear it sing to you. 

“If you need forgiveness, I’ll give that to you. you’re forgiven, okay? I forgive you. Today and tomorrow. I'll forgive you until you'll forgive yourself.” 

“Okay,” you nod, muffled words against the fabric of his shirt.

“Now, will you please come back with me? The cats will miss you a lot if you don’t,” he suggests, pressing his cheek onto the crown of your head. 

“I don't want to leave them,” you reply in a small voice, dewdrops gathering in your eyes at the thought of running again. 

“You don’t have to. It’s your home too.”

“Okay,” you sigh in acceptance, relief, encircling his waist with your arms. He is all inviting, like an open book, and you're resting between his pages, scribbled with love confessions for you. 

The world stills, waves slowing their relentless crash against the shore, as you draw in a deep breath from the pits of your soul. You don't remember all you’ve once felt for Minho. But you know it must have been safe, like stumbling upon a haven and then learning it was specially carved for you. 

“I miss you, Minho.”

“I know, I miss you too.”

Day 19. 

“Minho, can you come to the kitchen please?” your voice reverberates through the house, weaving through the air and reaching the bedroom where Minho has been ensnared, his less-than-graceful complaints echoing loudly for the past hour. You had sealed him within without explanation, only making him promise not to leave the room until you told him to, much to his dismay, and deep down, amusement. 

He chuckles lowly to himself as he rises from the bed, before making his way to the kitchen. There, he finds you near the doorway, hands concealed behind your back, dusty flour adorning your cheek like an artist’s absentminded paint stroke.  

“So…,” you trail off and Minho smiles, crossing his arms before his chest.  

“So?”

“A situation may have happened.” 

“Which situation?” he inquires amusedly, attempting to peer past you into the kitchen. Your extended arms block his view.

“You know how I got a concussion from the car accident,” you ask. 

“I do.”

“I think it may have affected my cooking abilities.”

“But you didn't have any to begin with?” he muses, tilting his head to the side innocently. 

“Shut up,” you playfully admonish before clasping your hands in a silent plea. “Will you help me?” 

“Mm, what are you making?” he inquires, leaning against the doorway.

“Pudding.”

“Pudding?”

“For you.”

“Oh.” 

A blush creeps up Minho’s neck as he grapples to find a reply, his surprised gasp hanging into the air. You giggle faintly, entertained by his sudden speech impairment. 

In response, Minho takes a step forward, delicately brushing away the flour on your cheek, his thumb hovering near the corner of your mouth. “How did this get here?”

“Huh?” you sputter, pink splashing across your cheeks like spilled Rosé. 

Minho is testing your waters, dipping one toe in, hoping he’ll find your reassuring embrace lurking beneath the surface. Did you blush from the heat of the stove or his touch? Minho doesn’t know. Minho needs to find out. 

“And you also forgot this,” he lightly pouts, reaching over your head to the hanger behind you, caging you between his arms. 

He’s sacrificing his heart, placing it on the frontlines of hurt once again. Yet, when you look up at him, dewy eyes flickering to his lips, Minho feels a single match lighten up in his core, not enough to burn all his doubts. But enough to signal hope. 

Hope is a perilous possession, akin to cradling a fragile glass that threatens to shatter at the slightest tremor. Hope is the only thread Minho can now hang onto. 

“You forgot your apron,” he finally says, withdrawing two aprons from the hanger. He drapes one over your head before placing a hand on your shoulder, gently turning you around. He silently ties the strings into a ribbon, his fingers brushing against your spine. He can distinctly remember the feel of your bare skin beneath his fingertips, silky, smooth, intoxicating. 

“There, a pretty knot,” he whispers, not moving back an inch, waiting for you to swivel around. Yet, you remain silent, undoing your hair from its loose ponytail. Your hair cascades over your shoulders, resembling the unveiling of curtains, and Minho senses something unfurling in the depths of his stomach.

“Tie it for me?” you whisper, handing him the hair tie without looking back. Your fingertips brush against each other, and Minho inhales deeply.

“Sure,” he says, voice thick with emotion, he needs to drink water. He needs to drink you in. 

He gathers your hair strands in another low ponytail, trembling hands as they brush against the nape of your neck, akin to powerless leaves before the autumn breeze. He’s close, so close to you, so much his chest almost brushes against your back. 

As soon as he’s done, Minho swiftly steps back before doing something he’ll surely regret, like placing a tender kiss on your shoulder, or worse, confessing that he misses the simple act of brushing your hair at night. 

“So, pudding,” he clears his throat, rolling up the sleeves of his white hoodie. your eyes follow his movement, lingering on the veins protruding on his forearms. Minho feels a bit foolish for wanting to flex for you. 

“It’s really easy actually. bring me two eggs?” 

“Sure,” you grin, heading for the fridge as Minho retrieves sugar from the cupboard, throwing away the odd liquid mixture you managed to conjure. 

You stand beside Minho, eyebrows furrowed as he explains why the milk needs to be brought to a boil before adding the cornstarch, or how adding the vanilla at the very end will help preserve its flavor. You listen intently, nodding along, and the tension between you dispels, leaving place for something comforting, familiar– you’re erasing the remnants of his sobs, the sight of him crumbling over the green kitchen tiles. 

“Let's leave it to chill,” he finally says, closing the fridge’s door. 

“Okay,” you nod, packing away the butter. Minho leans against the countertop, an ember of curiosity ablaze at the tip of his tongue

“Why did you want to make pudding?” he asks and you freeze in place. 

“To see if I’m capable of not being a lost cause,” you respond playfully but the undertones of your voice indicate otherwise- laden, charged. One more match that you could light up? 

“Really?” he says softly, taking one step toward you. 

“No,” you giggle faintly and he nods, a gentle smile unfurling on his face, gradual as the eclipse of a moon.

“It was supposed to be your birthday gift. That's why I locked you in the room. I even bought little birthday hats for the cats, silly I know, and very late, but, turns out I’m a horrible-” 

“I wanna see the birthday hats,” he cuts you off.

“Really? They’re really ugly.” 

“It's my birthday gift, right?”

Five minutes later, you and Minho are seated on the floor, legs crisscrossed, three perplexed cats before you, and on their heads, obnoxiously neon green hats.

“They look so…” you tilt your head, assessing the view before you. 

“Stupid?” Minho suggests, eliciting a startled snort from you that swiftly transforms into an almost maniac cackle, which in turn, catches Minho off guard. He gazes at you bewilderedly before succumbing to a fit of giggles, which intensifies your laughter, as you punctuate his shoulder with light hits, tears streaming down your face in an attempt to regain composure.

One hundred matches light up in Minho’s heart at the sight, all at once.

“My God, they look so stupid, I’m so sorry,” you laugh harder, your body collapsing to the ground, hands tightly clutching your stomach. 

They can laugh again, the house sighs in relief, something other than sobs can still echo within my walls. 

Day 22. 

“I miss the sea,” you sigh softly, cradling a cup of chamomile tea between your hands. Minho, absorbed in his book, glances up to find a melancholic expression etched on your face—a poignant blend of sorrow and longing that he knows weighs heavy on your heart. 

“We saw it over at the bridge, no?” he ventures tentatively, setting the book aside on the living room table.

“Yes, but I miss the sand, and the waves lapping at my feet. I miss feeling the sea, not just seeing it.” 

“I’d take you, in a heartbeat,” he says assuredly, ready to bring you the moon if only you dare ask. “But it's far, and you can't get into a car.” 

“I can try.” 

“You can?” he questions, hope budding in his eyes.

“I mean- I want to, it's just… I don't know,” you retract, nails drumming anxiously against your cup, gaze lost into the amber liquid.  

“Talk to me, yeah?” he smiles softly, draping a reassuring hand on your arm. His thumb swipes across the slate of your shoulder, and an impossible knot in your throat untangles. 

“The accident took a lot from me. My health, my memories, a year of moving forward.” You quiet down, eyes meeting his in a barely veiled vulnerability. Silence speaks of your hardest loss— him. 

“Can you help me get the sea back?”

Minho’s radiant smile is louder than any spoken agreement.

…

Thread by thread, drop by drop, your fears unravel as Minho lowers all the car windows’ before gently guiding you into the car seat, dispelling any prospect of feeling confined within the vehicle. 

He remembers everything, even the panic that gripped your being when you went into his enclosed car, nearly a month ago. 

“Can I blindfold you? It might help, so you wouldn't see the car lights since it’s night,” he suggests.

“Yeah, that'd be nice,” you agree, your hand lightly gripping the car seat.

“Hey, hey,” he calls out gently, “I'm here, okay? The second you feel overwhelmed I'm stopping this car.”

“Will you drive safely?” 

“Of course. I promise you.” 

Your nod is met with the softening of Minho's eyes, as he delicately tucks a strand of your hair behind the curve of your ear. 

“I'm proud of you,” he whispers, tone laden with so much tenderness, love, that your throat becomes a garden, vocal cords bound not by thorns but the delicate blossoming of flowers. 

With a gentle touch, Minho wraps a tie around your eyes, cocooning you in a tranquil darkness. His hand seeks yours instinctively, fingers intertwining with yours akin to the wind weaving through the strands of your hair.

In this moment, every fracture within you is delicately filled by Minho.

He starts driving, a soothing piano instrumental playing out of the car’s speakers- his hand still in yours. “Breathe,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing a soothing path across your palm. 

“Follow my touch.” A gentle sweep to the right, an invitation to inhale slowly. “In,” his voice guides, and you draw in a deep breath.

Another caress to the left, a silent directive to release your confined breath. “Out,” he whispers, and you exhale, surrendering to the rhythm orchestrated by his thumb.

He raises the music’s volume, his touch becoming a maestro, speaking silently to you. You’re grateful for it, for the way in which he’s driving- avoiding curbs and speeding, safely, making the wheels float across the road. 

Your heart still constricts in your chest, anxiety squeezing your veins, bleeding them dry, but you focus on Minho’s thumb, you let it guide you, like a compass navigating the dark tunnels of your heart. 

“We're almost there,” he reassures as he stops by a red light. 

“I look silly, right?” you reply, giggling a bit. 

“What?” he asks, confused. 

“I can feel you looking,” you clarify. 

“How so?”

“My right cheek is tingling.” 

Minho snorts incredulously. “What does that even mean?”

“You have a piercing stare. You're like melting through my skin and vibrating my bones.”

“Idiot,” he chuckles. My my my idiot, Minho grieves to say once again. The human heart is peculiar, he learns day after day, mourning the loss of a myriad of minuscule things, even words. 

“And, you don't look silly,” he clears his throat minutes later, as he finally parks by the beach.  

“You look pretty,” he utters, unraveling your blindfold, and you blink, caught between the sudden light and the weight of his words. “You always do,” he concludes, a whispered confession that lingers like the afterglow of a sunset, painting your world in golden hues.

“Minho, I…” you trail off, eyes landing on the vast sea ahead, blending into the sky in an alluring shade of turquoise. “We're here!” you shout bewildered, a magnificent grin on your face. 

“We are,” Minho smiles, drinking in the delight in your expression. 

“Oh my god I missed the sea!” you giggle as you undo your seatbelt, quickly opening the car’s door and taking off running. 

Minho follows closely behind, captivated, as he watches you glide across the shore, the sand ricocheting off the soles of your shoes. You look like a fairy, bending the wind to your will, coaxing it into a choreography that mirrors the rhythm of your movements, your messy footprints marking your pathway to happiness once again. 

Upon the sand, you finally settle down, and Minho walks over, sitting beside you. Both of you quietly gaze ahead, entranced by the moon's silver glow caressing the water’s surface. Each shimmering wave resembles glistening diamonds, a celestial mirror reflecting the lights in the sky.

“Have I ever told you why I love the sea?” you speak after a while, tone softer, more content. 

“You did.” 

“Can I tell you again?” you say. Can I tell you what I still remember? He understands. 

“Of course.” 

"There was a beach near our home, back then," you reminisce, a nostalgic aura enveloping your words. “And whenever I felt lonely I used to go there and watch the waves, to calm me down. But, one time, I was really overwhelmed so I ended up crying. And then, coincidentally, it started raining too.” 

Your eyes widen slightly, a hint of amusement in your voice. “At that moment, I chuckled at the timing, how the sky was crying with me.”

“Ever since that day, I liked to believe that the sea is made up of the sky’s tears, the ones that fell in sync with those of humans, so it'd comfort us. And the tears grew from a pond to a river, to a vast ocean, as humans cried more and more. That's why sometimes the sea’s waters are gentle because those are tears of happiness falling somewhere. Sometimes they're stormy, since someone is crying out of anger. Sometimes they're melancholic, just relentlessly crashing against the shore, because someone is in pain. Like we are.”

A tranquil hush falls over the night as you quiet down, before turning around to meet Minho’s teary eyes, mirroring yours.

“And if the sea persists through tempests and tranquility, if it goes on despite the myriad of emotions it holds within, then so will we.”

Hope isn't fragile, as Minho once believed. Hope scrapes its bloody palms against the rough surface as it climbs defiantly to the pinnacle once again. Hope picks out rugged stones with weathered hands and builds a home out of them. Hope is strong, it clutches onto the thinnest threads so we’d endure and endure once more. As many times as we need to. 

“Well, the sky isn't crying right now,” Minho notes.

“I know,” you smile softly, “Because we're holding on to hope.” 

Day 26. 

Under the soft glow of the TV, Dori settles comfortably on your shoulders, nuzzling her tiny nose onto your face every now and then. Soonie and Doongie are a bit far away, playing with a piece of yarn, captivated by its vibrant red threads. 

It is an ordinary, comforting setting to watch a movie with Minho, on a Sunday night, a bowl of popcorn nestled on his lap while his cats lounge around. So familiar that the world around you blurs, like the vague brushes of an impressionist painting— a vivid déjà-vu sensation clinging to your body. You’ve lived this scene before. You want to live it again, now and in the future. More and more. 

However something is different— your skin tingles, a buzzing sensation that travels from thigh to knee to hand, as if your body knows that something’s amiss. Minho’s touch perhaps, his palm casually resting upon your skin. 

You don’t know where this urge is coming from— to lay your head on his shoulder, to have him run his fingers through your hair. Even more, to lose yourself in the nutmeg and peppermint notes of his cologne, to disintegrate your worries into his hold and rest. 

“Would you mind if some of my friends came over?” Minho speaks up suddenly, cutting off your trailing train of thought. 

“Hm?” you hum absentmindedly before clearing your throat. “I mean, no, I don't mind. Who are they?”

“Han and Chan. They’ve been asking about you for a while now.” 

“Sure, this is your home.”

“It is yours too,” he says, gaze locking onto yours. His eyes are like a dark tapestry woven with threads of stardust- you’d never tire of looking into them, into the universe they seem to cradle within. 

Do you know that there is a galaxy inside you? You almost slip out, words in an urgent race against your mind. You barely stop them at the tip of your tongue, before smiling and peeling your eyes away from his, painfully, like scratching a burn scab long before it heals. 

…

“They’re here,” Minho announces as someone knocks on the door. 

“Okay,” you smile, a tad nervous. You’re not even sure what for. 

“If they annoy you too much tell me, I’ll kick them out,” he reassures, raising his brows playfully at you. 

“That's mean,” you giggle, albeit soothed by his words.

“They already love you,” he grabs your wrist, his thumb gently swiping over your pulse. “No need to be worried.” 

He drops it, as though a countdown is ingrained into his brain— never to touch you for more than ten seconds. Wouldn't it be selfish, pathetic even, to ask him for more? 

As Minho heads to open the door, you linger in the living room, idly fidgeting with the hem of your sweatshirt. It is a weird circumstance to greet strangers who know you— you may have brushed against their shoulders in an alley and not known who they were. 

Your thoughts dissolve as two men saunter into the living room, stopping in their tracks once their eyes land on you. They’re both beautiful– that is the first thing you note, closely followed by how relieved they seem to see you. Simultaneous soft sighs escape them, gentle smiles blooming across their faces. Tentatively, you return the gesture.                          

Minho takes the initiative to introduce them. “Yn. This is Chan,” he points to the man on the right, clad in black from head to toe, his smile grows wider, his eyes disappearing into moon crescents, two dimples peeking gleefully on his cheeks. 

“And Han,” the younger man, sporting a Supreme t-shirt despite the cold, beams at you, highlighting his round cheeks, and an adam-apple that weirdly resembles a heart. 

“I want to hug you but Minho put us on a strict no-touch notice because of your ribs,” Han speaks first, a small pout tugging at his lips as he glances at Minho, who simply rolls his eyes at his words. 

“You can never keep something for yourself,” Minho sighs, rubbing the space between his eyebrows. You stifle an amused giggle. 

“And she technically doesn’t remember us so it’d be weird for her to hug a stranger,” Chan notes, offering you an understanding smile. 

“Hey, I didn’t mean it in a creepy way! more of ‘Oh my god I’m so happy you’re alive, thank you for still being here, I was so worried about you’.”

“But were you worried?” you ask, tilting your head to the side.

“Of course, I-”

“Then why weren’t you at my bedside?” you question, an eyebrow raised, and Minho chuckles at your words. 

“W-what?” Han asks, glancing worriedly at the two men by his side. 

“Why weren’t you there sobbing when I woke up? It doesn’t look like you were worried,” you muse, throwing a wink to Minho who walks over to you.

“Right, you should’ve sent her a pic of you crying,” Minho adds, as you drape a hand on his shoulder. 

“A picture for every day you didn’t come see me,” you say solemnly as Han’s face grows paler by the second. 

“I-I didn’t, I really was worried, I swear, I kept asking Minho every day about you and…” he trails off as giddy smiles break out on your face and Minho’s before you both burst out laughing. 

“You guys are evil,” Han laments, as Chan pats his back in faux sympathy, a string of giggles falling from his full lips. 

“I’m sorry. we made you dinner to make up for it,” you grin and Minho looks at you pointedly. 

“He made you dinner,” you correct with a huff, and Minho smiles, satisfied, raising his brows smugly at his two friends. 

“Let’s choose a movie then!” Han claps, turning to the TV as Minho sidles by his side.

“I’ll set up the table,” Chan announces.

“I’ll help you,” you offer, and he nods, clearly grateful for your assistance.

You’re taking out four plates from the cupboard, Chan effortlessly bringing out the glasses, clearly familiar with the nooks and crannies of your home, when he suddenly speaks.

“How are you, Yn?” 

“Do you want the truth?” you ask back, and he grins. “Always.”

“I’m okay. Right now. I don’t know if I’ll still be tomorrow, you know? It all fluctuates so much.” 

“Mm, I understand,” he says, and something about his tone indicates that he isn’t saying this just to comfort you. “And that’s okay too. What you went through wasn’t easy, but good times will come again. They always do, you know, just like the sun always comes back after the rain.”

“The sun,” you repeat, as you glance out at the living room, where Minho is laughing at something Han just said, his head tipped back, bunny teeth peeking out. 

Perhaps the sun rays were by your side all along. 

“Thank you, Chan,” you beam at him. “Truly, for being worried about me too.”

“It's nothing to thank us for. We care about you, even though you don’t remember us,” he pouts, a hand on his heart in mock offense. 

“Hey, it’s not my fault I got amnesia!” you chuckle. 

"Excuses!" he drawls with a playful tone as he exits the kitchen, and you can't help but laugh quietly to yourself. You recognize what he's doing—making light of your accident to alleviate the weight on your heart.

The night blurs in your memory, but this time it is tinged with happiness and laughter. The three men recall fun stories of their time together, a seven-year bond rooted in love and care, albeit silently. You witnessed it in the details—Chan ensuring the food was on their plates first, Minho peeling shrimp for Han, the latter rubbing Chan’s arms when he complained of being cold.

Then you saw it directed towards you– how they put on the movie you wanted and watched in anticipation as you took the first bite of food, draped the fuzziest blanket around you, and rushed to your side simultaneously when you stumbled on your feet.

You were loved, although you didn’t know of it. The accident took away your memories but it didn’t plague theirs. 

“Thank you,” you beam at the two men as you walk them to the door. Opening your arms wide, you invite them in for a hug. Han embraces you first, a large smile on his face, and you gently beckon Chan in too. “Easy,” he whispers in Han's ears, careful not to put any pressure on your ribs. They both pat your back as you wrap an arm around their respective shoulders before leaning away.

“I’ll call you,” Minho bids them farewell, tipping his chin forward. They wave to him before finally leaving

You close the door, leaning against the auburn wood. Minho watches you, a soft smile playing on his face.

“Good?” he inquires, closing the distance between you.

“Mm, good,” you reply with a smile as he halts just an inch away. His intoxicating scent envelops you, permeating your bones and flowing through your veins like liquid warmth.

A torrent of memories floods your mind—images of you pressed against this same door. It is dark, a stark contrast from your first memory, a lone lunar beam of light slashing through the night. Minho’s hands grip your waist with a fevered urgency, while yours entwines around the nape of his neck, in passion, in hunger, almost as if you were deprived of him for so long.

You angle his mouth closer to yours, his lips pressing against your own repeatedly, a desperate attempt to brand the contours of his mouth into your soul. His hair, a cascade of midnight silk, tickles your fingers with an electric charge, like the crackling of the air before a storm. His tongue sweeps across your lower lip, seeking entrance, one you willingly surrender, white flag easily thrown to the ground. With every kiss, your bodies meld together, so much so that you could merge into the door, disappearing into the shadows as one.

“What's wrong?” Minho breaks your trance and you snap out of your reverie, a bright flush adorning your cheeks. 

“N-nothing,” you stammer. 

“You’re all red, do you have a fever?” he asks, coming closer, his hand pressed to your forehead. His woody scent envelops you once again– everything about him is enticing— his cologne, his lips on you, his fingertips dragging underneath your shirt, his eyes piercing yours, undressing you before his hands ever could.

“Yn?” he questions and you grab his jaw, angling his face away from you. 

“Stay like this, don’t look at me for a moment.”

“What?”

“Just… please,” you say and he chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief, and yet he complies, his side profile now facing you.

How does he live with these memories each time he looks at you? 

You take in a deep breath, focusing on his silhouette. It might seem counterproductive to fixate on the same man consuming your thoughts, but how could you not when he was mere centimeters away, his eyes averted from yours?

You exhale softly as your gaze glides along the graceful curve of his neck, a solitary mole resting just beneath his sculpted jawline, leading the way to his plump lips, a cupid's bow delicately carved by the hands of the divine archer himself — crafted to be kissed, to be adored.

Your eyes trail up, tracing the high bridge of his nose, another mole perched at its pinnacle, sharp and smooth as if chiseled by a master sculptor, one who dedicated months to perfecting his artistry. His eyes are a mesmerizing brown, punctuated with long lashes that flutter like the delicate wings of an angel with each slow blink.

Minho sweeps aside strands of his hair, his fingertip delicately fluffing them upwards. It dawns on you, a sudden revelation of the necessity of art — to immortalize such beauty for generations to come.

You imagine admirers gazing upon Minho, sighing in sheer amazement, their hearts tightening with emotions that words struggle to encapsulate in the face of this epitome of beauty. Inside and out, you reflect, inside and out. 

“You told them not to drink around me, right?” you ask softly.

A blush grows from the base of Minho's neck to the tip of his ears, like roots expanding into the soil. He sighs before finally looking at you.

“I did. How’d you figure it out?” he wonders.

“I asked Han if he wanted a drink, but he refused so categorically that I assumed he didn't like alcohol. But most of his stories were of him drunk,” you chuckle quietly, and Minho shrugs sheepishly.

“We get loud when we drink. You don’t like that,” he says simply as if it’s a given, an absolute certainty that he’d do anything but make you uncomfortable.

He's beautiful, the light of his heart basking his face in a glow that even Michaelangelo's skillful hands wouldn’t be able to replicate.  

And he loves you. 

Till when? Your heart sounds out in alarm. Till when will he love you? What if the grains of sand slip away from the hourglass before you can reciprocate his love? Two stars colliding at disparate speeds, never converging into a singular entity, destined to erupt and scatter into cosmic dust.

How long do you have left? How many more days will he love you for? 

How many more days do you have to love him back? 

Day 30. 

Minho is sick. 

He tried his best to conceal it from you, as he came back from his dance studio, strands of his hair clinging to his forehead, a thin sheen of perspiration above his right eyebrow. Yet, his uncharacteristic silence betrayed him, as he quietly retreated into the shower, emerging with a solemn expression on his face. 

Seated on the bed, book long forgotten by your side, you bit your lip tentatively. “You're okay?” you inquired, perched on the edge, concern etched in your gaze.

“Mm, just tired,” Minho responded, his attempt at reassurance falling short as he laid down on the floor mattress. “Can you turn off the lights?” he softly requested. “Hurts my eyes.”

“Yeah, of course. Will you sleep now?”

“I think so.”

“Okay then. Good night, Minho,” you uttered gently, the veins in your heart tangled with worry. “Good night,” he whispered in return.

In the stillness of the night, you were roused by soft whimpers escaping Minho's lips. He writhed in apparent discomfort, his features contorted with an unseen anguish. His pupils moved furiously underneath the thin layer of his eyelids, betraying the tumultuous thoughts raging in his mind. 

You've never seen Minho so disrupted in his sleep, mouth slightly hung agape as if he struggled to breathe in the depths of his dreams. Your worry for him came back to haunt you ten times fold.

You lean over the bed, gently shaking his shoulders. “Minho, wake up.”

“No... no-no, don't-don't go,” he whispers, caught in the vines of a restless dream, seemingly wrapping around his mind, trapping him in. “Minho, come on wake up,” your pleas grow more insistent, but so do his. “Don't go, s-stay,” he implores, voice broken, prompting you to abandon your bed and join him on his mattress.

“Minho!” you call out, shaking him until his eyes finally flutter open. He gasps for air— as if inhaling his first breath on this earth, shooting upright, wide-eyed and disoriented. 

His gaze locks on yours and he instantly cradles your face in his sweaty hands, bringing you closer to him until your noses bump into one another. “You didn't go,” he whispers, and you shake your head. “I'm here.”

“Fuck,” he swears, releasing his hold on you and sinking back into the pillow. 

“Minho, what's wrong?” you ask softly, afraid you're treading on stormy waters.

“I… I don't know. I don't feel good,” He admits, fingers tugging at the collar of his shirt, as if the fabric morphed into a vise around his throat. A flush creeps up his neck, red dots splashing across his ivory skin. A droplet of sweat traces a slow path down his temple, as the white fabric clings uncomfortably to his warm skin.

“Do you have a fever?”you ask, placing your hand on his forehead, sensing an unusual heat radiating beneath your touch. “Minho, where is your thermometer?”

“Bedside drawer,” he breathes out.

Fetching the thermometer, you gently tug at his chin, opening his mouth to check his temperature. “Stay still”" you instruct, watching anxiously as the numbers climb steadily.

“40°C, fuck Minho, you have a really high fever,” you exclaim as he shuts his eyes, an unmistakable weariness claiming him, rendering him malleable, akin to the silk pillow he's resting on. 

“I feel dizzy,” he admits, burying his face into the covers. 

“You need to take a cold shower now,” you urge a sudden lump materializes in your throat at the sight of his suffering. 

“It's okay, I'll just sleep.”

“No, no, it's far from okay!” you almost exclaim, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes as if you were peeling an onion—your own emotional layers unraveling, exposing the depth of your concern for Minho.

“Minho, please, you have a really high fever,” you plead, feeling an unexpected surge of panic at his unwillingness to cooperate.

“Yn… are you worried about me?”

“I am.”

“It feels nice. Please be worried about me more,” he mumbles, eyes still closed, eliciting an incredulous laugh from you. 

“You are so unbelievable, my god,” you pull him up and he doesn't resist, nearly stumbling on his feet.

“Okay?” you ask, running your hand through the nape of his neck.

“Mm,” he hums, burying his head in your shoulder. “Sleepy.”

“I know, you'll sleep after the shower,” you reassure softly, guiding him to the bathroom, his entire body weight leaning onto yours. There, you turn on the light, your right hand holding Minho's waist tightly as you lead him to settle atop the toilet.

“Can I take off your shirt?”

“Are you planning to undress me?” he smiles lazily, hooded eyes locked onto yours.

“No, I just-” you stammer, but he’s quick to cut you off.

“Because I don't mind.”

“I can't believe you're flirting with me while you're sick.”

“I always am, I can't help it,” he says, raising his hands as a silent signal for you to remove his shirt.

“You're awfully candid tonight,” you observe, seizing the edges of his shirt and drawing it over his head. His tongue glides across his lips, his gaze drawing tantalizingly slow over your form, and you clench his shirt tighter in your hands. He's the one with the fever, yet it's you who feels ablaze, flames of longing licking at your every sense.

“Come here,” you beckon, the icy water now flowing as you turn the knob. He reaches his hand out to you, and you grasp it, guiding him under the frigid cascade, soaking you both.

“C-cold,” he stutters, and you nod, your breath escaping in short, visible puffs.

“I-I know, just a little longer,” you reassure.

2 a.m. is a peculiar time to shower, the water droplets echoing against the tiled floor is the only sound that can be heard. That, and your labored breaths in tandem with the chilly embrace of the water filling your bones. The quiet makes way for other unspoken sentiments to surge forth, electric and palpable, heightened by the way Minho gazes at you through the liquid curtain, his hands clinging tightly to your arms for stability.

Droplets of water weave seamlessly through his hair, and an unexpected pang of jealousy grips you— you envy the liberty of those water beads as they thread through his locks, tracing the contours of his broad shoulders, nestling in the enticing recesses of his collarbones, without fearing the consequences of such acts. You don't dare look further down, wary that the rivulets on his skin may lead to your own undoing. Instead, you close your eyes thanking the stars that you weren’t wearing a white shirt, which would have turned translucent by now. You don’t even want to contemplate the consequences of such a premise.

After a few minutes, you turn off the water, stepping out of the shower and swiftly enveloping Minho in a towel.

“Go change, I have some spare clothes in here. Oh, and don't wear a top,” you instruct.

Minho chuckles quietly and you roll your eyes. “Shh. Make sure to dry your hair too.”

Taking your time in getting dressed, you peel off each wet layer, depositing them into the washing machine, before donning a spare pajama from a cabinet. You stroll to the kitchen to pour Minho a glass of water and retrieve medicine from the drawer, lingering at the counter long enough to ensure he'd be dressed by the time you return to the room.

You knock softly before opening the door, and the sight of Minho freezes you in your tracks. The room basks in warm, orange hues from the lamp's glow, playing upon Minho's skin and casting enticing shadows on the contours of his muscles—a masterpiece created by the skilled hands of light. His toned arms rest between his legs, back against the headboard, and an inexplicable urge to flee washes over you, your heart sinking to your knees in the face of his long-avoided vision of beauty.

You swallow the tumultuous thoughts raging within you before handing him his medicine, which he drinks diligently. Pressing your palm to his forehead, you're relieved to find a slight reduction in his temperature. “It will go down more once the medicine takes effect,” you assure.

“One of my students had a nasty cold. I think I got it from him,” he explains, and you nod, your hand lingering near his. Your fingers twitch as his pinky brushes against yours—akin to birds fluttering their wings in anticipation, awaiting, aching for a release from their cage, at last.

“I'm tired,” Minho sighs, closing his eyes. “Lay down,” you gently instruct, and he complies, resting his head on the pillow.

“It's cold,” he whines, swaying like a child throwing a bedtime tantrum. He's endearing, melting the frost that had gathered in your heart.

“You have a fever, silly,” you chuckle, pushing strands of his hair from his forehead, twirling them around. “Your hair's gotten longer,” you muse as you braid a tiny section of his bangs, only to undo it again.

“Can you play with my hair some more?” he requests softly.

“Of course,” you reply, threading your fingers through his locks, jet black as if all the stars in the sky collided, leaving behind nothing but a dark abyss.

“Please stay healthy, Min. Take care of yourself too.”

“But I like it more when you take care of me,” he pouts, before sighing shortly after. “I'll probably regret a lot of my words tomorrow, right?”

“Why is that?” 

“Because you don’t feel the same for me,” he confesses, leaving you silent, grappling with the echoes of his words. What do you feel for Minho?

The question jolts the breath from your windpipe violently, an unyielding force crashing against your lungs till the answer finds its footing on your tongue.

“Can I ask you something?” you finally speak, cringing at the sound of your voice disrupting the fragile quiet. 

“Anything.” 

“Where did your scar come from?” you inquire, gesturing towards the mark just below his belly button.

“I got surgery a long time ago. I’m kind of self-conscious about it,” he confesses, a bit shyly. 

“Really? But it’s beautiful, it looks like a strike of lightning,” you sincerely remark, coaxing a tender smile from Minho, unfolding like the gradual sunrises of autumn.

“This is exactly what you told me months ago.”

“Did I?”

“Mm, and then you traced it with your fingertips,” he grabs your hand, hovering it over his stomach. You can easily slip out of his grasp; you choose not to. 

“Like this?” you murmur, tracing his scar gently, fingertips grazing his skin like a lit fire, subtly enough not to scorch. His flesh tenses beneath your caress, muscles constricting as you navigate from right to left—a trajectory of dusty stars akin to the Milky Way, his skin soft to the touch, rippling beneath you with thinly veiled goosebumps.

“Yes,” he breathes out, his gaze wide, running furiously over your face. Yet, your attention lingers on his skin, shadows dancing across its surface, its honeyed hue a shade you wish to sear behind your eyelids. Your hands ascend and descend, mapping his body which blushes in response, as if his very being memorized your touch, imprinting your fingerprints onto its memory. You slide down his forearms, pausing over his fragile veins, seemingly offering you his life.

Silence envelops you, punctuated only by the weighty exhales escaping you both, for there are feelings that words cannot encapsulate, no matter how much human languages strive to, ultimately succumbing to the profundity of silence— the one language only souls comprehend.

Your hands ascend to his neck, thumb grazing the tender skin cradling his pulse. It resonates throughout your bones, echoing from his being to yours as if you’re harboring two lives within you.

“You… you could've kissed me over at the bridge,” you whisper, bringing to light the question that’s been lingering at the back of your mind. “Why didn't you?”

“I wanted you to kiss me because you wanted to. Not because you longed for our past or our future. I wanted you to want me in the present,” Minho explains, vulnerability seeping into his words, like honey melting into a warm cup of tea. 

“I’m scared,” you admit, your voice a fragile murmur, even as your head leans forward, hair cascading around Minho’s face, enclosing him in an intimate curtain. Minho gently grabs your hand and cradles it against his cheek, pressing a tender kiss to the center of your palm. 

“Right now. Do you want me?” he asks simply, offering himself openly to you. 

Do you want him?

After a momentary pause, you tentatively lean in, planting a gentle kiss upon his forehead. A resonant exhale escapes him, as your lips trace a path along his cheeks, leaving behind a trail of tiny kisses. Moving to the tender skin beneath his eyes— as easily bruised as your emotions—you bestow soft pecks to it as if seeking forgiveness for every tear he shed in your name.

His eyes remained closed, his trust evident in the surrender of his being to you. The answer to your internal query is written all over his features— the hushed exhale escaping his body, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the tranquility nestled between his eyebrows. 

Yes. Yes, you do.

Your lips finally meet Minho’s in a delicate union, unmoving like rose petals folding onto one another. A surge of warmth emanates from the depths of your heart, coursing through your entire being like sunrays, submerging your soul in a tranquil white glow.

Leaning away ever so slightly, you press a tender kiss on his lower lip, enclosing it between your own. Your hand cradles his jaw, running gently through his damp strands. Your lips move against his slowly in a saccharine kiss, parting, only to meet again, in the same tenderness, perhaps a growing one as you become accustomed to the contours of his lips, to the languid moves of his mouth, following your rhythm. You were leading the dance, his lips mere puppets to your heart’s wishes. He didn't rush you, only allowed you to kiss him, whichever way you wanted. 

A pause, a moment suspended in time, your hands trembling as they rest upon his cheeks, his palm hovering above your own, offering a comforting press. The gesture reassures you in your curiosity that won’t be satiated, urging you to seal your lips on his with a tentative fervor. The world outside dissolves into a distant murmur, the seconds blending into a timeless run, you slamming the door before your worries protesting at the entrance of your mind. Tomorrow, you’ll find the answers. Tonight, you are kissing Minho.

As you press a final, lingering kiss to his velvety mouth, visions of you at peace flood your being. You see yourself sinking into the warm pool of your aunt’s country club, you see yourself walking on the beach with sand molding to the contours of your feet, you see yourself laying on the grass while observing sunrays weaving through the trees. And then, amidst your most serene memories, the act of pressing your lips to Minho stands out, the warmth of his mouth against yours eclipsing all other sensations.

Leaning away, you rest your forehead on his shoulder, and Minho's hands cradle your hair.

"Which lip balm do you use,” you giggle against his bare skin, relishing in the sweet taste of his lips.

“Yours.”

Day 31.

Minho’s nose is buried in the crook of your neck, his arm draped across the expanse of your stomach. He sinks further into you, binding himself to your body, anchoring his hold on your being. You are warm, your skin is soft to the touch and Minho doesn’t want to wake up from this tender dream, akin to plummeting into a sea of silky pillows, falling into a blanket of clouds. 

Except, he's awake, Minho realizes with a jolt. He blinks repeatedly, allowing the sunrays to stream to his eyes, his pupils dilating once they settle on you— so much their obsidian depths swallows the brown of his irises whole. You stir beneath his touch, making your cheek press upon the crown of his head. He's fully awake now, snatched from the velvet threads of his dreams made up of you, thrown into your arms once again after thirty-three days. 

A soft gasp escapes Minho’s lips, the air stolen from his lungs as if it was yours to claim. Echoes of the night replay in his mind— a fever, you tending him to me, a cold cascade of water, you tracing his scar, and then, the kiss.

You kissed him. A long shiver runs down his spine at the memory, a subtle twitch that stirs you from slumber once again. 

What does one kiss mean? The question dances wildly in Minho’s mind. More importantly, what do you want it to mean? 

Minho whines softly, closing his eyes for a few seconds, relishing in the fragrance of your hair, in the serenity that floods his being each time he’s around you. This was his most restful slumber in weeks, because you were near, his mind recognizing you, relaxing underneath your touch, drifting to a mindless sleep. 

Reluctantly, he untangles himself from you, a bittersweet departure from your arms. Work was calling his name. 

He prayed you’d call his too soon. 

….

You wake up to an empty bed, the only lingering trace of the night you spent being the tingling of your lips, as if aching to be kissed once again. You sigh, running a hand through your face. It was much easier to succumb to your heart’s wishes when it was late at night, when minho laid bare beneath your touch, so enticing in the gentlest of ways. When you were cradled by the moon’s soft glow, blanketed by the night’s cloak of darkness.

But it was light now, the sun was glaring as it streamed through the windows, exposing all the flawed ways of your mind.

What does one kiss mean? 

Nothing, if it wasn’t minho who you had kissed. If it wasn’t as tender as the meeting of your lips. 

The tomorrow you believed far quickly came, and you still beheld no answers. A few hours drifted by and you still knew nothing. What does this kiss mean? It's late afternoon and you’re strolling through the park nearby and you can't find an answer. The question rings in your mind as you sit by a bench, and you still don’t know.

“You seem preoccupied,” a voice quips up nearby and you startle. You hadn’t even noticed the man sitting by your side. His arms crossed before his chest, making impressive muscles constrict beneath the snug fabric of his black shirt, a cascade of fluffy black curls sat at the top of his head, a slight smirk etched on his lips.

“Pardon?”

“I said you seem preoccupied.”

“No i heard that,” you roll your eyes subtly, “do i know you?”

“No. You just look worried, that's all.”

“You really don’t know me?” you ask, a tad apprehensive, unsure if this was someone else your memory faulted you of. 

“No? Are you a celebrity of some sorts?” he inquires, tone much more cheerful, angling his body towards you.

“No, i’m not,” you giggle, before quieting down, an exhausted sigh escaping your body. “Is it that obvious then?”

“Yeah. I’m afraid so,” he pouts sympathetically, tone almost desolate and you huff, burying your face in your hands.

“Do you need help with something?” he offers after a while, his concern evident in the frown of his brows. You are comforted by the anonymity of talking to a stranger, you were but a blank canvas to him. You wouldn't see him again, anyways. 

“I feel lost. I can't seem to find the answers I'm looking for.”

“Maybe you’re just not asking the right questions.”

Oh. 

The guy claps his hands suddenly, long before you could dwell on his words and their implications

“I actually have a question for you!” 

“Ask away.”

“Do you want to go on a date with me?”

“No?” you chuckle, amusement dripping from your voice. “I don't know you?” 

“That's the point of a date.”

“Are you this bored?” you smile, arching an eyebrow at him. 

“I'm not bored. I just need to take my mind off things,” he shrugs, a slight smirk on his face. but you somehow see beyond it, right into the dull twinkle of his eyes. Maybe he also couldn’t find the answers he was looking for.

“So you're using me?” you fake outrage and he giggles, a high pitched sound that reverberates through the playground, making some kids nearby stare at you. You stifle a surprised laugh. 

“I'm not using you if I tell you upfront why I asked you out.”

“You are right, but i decline your kind offer,” you say solemnly and he nods, shaking his head in defeat.  

“Here is my card, in case you change your mind. Or need a little escape, call me,” he smiles, handing you a sleek black card before getting up and dusting his pants. “See you,” he says, as if he was sure you'd call him back. you stare in disbelief at his retreating figure, before glancing down at the card. 

Mr. Seo Changbin, you read, CEO of Gold’s Gym— the largest gym branch in the country.

Oh wow.

The amused smile lingers on your lips as you gaze ahead, lost in thought, contemplating the words spoken by Changbin. Maybe he was right; perhaps you are afraid of asking the right questions. Sucking in a deep breath, you decide to take the longer route home, eventually finding yourself outside your favorite bakery; the one you discovered on one of your many walks with Minho.

You go to open its door when an unexpected tingling at the back of your neck freezes you in your tracks. Your heart tightens in your chest as you turn around slowly, greeted by the sharp eyes of two familiar faces—Lia and Mari, your coworkers from before your accident. A tentative smile graces your lips, but the alarms of warning in your mind intensify. 

“Hey, yn!” 

“Hey, guys,” you greet back, taking a step backwards from them. 

“How have you been since… You know, your accident,” Lia pouts, but the question lacks sincerity, as if they were wearing masks before you, concealing their true intentions. You wonder which one they'll put on next.  

“Good, i’ve been good,” you force a smile, as their eyes move up and down your body, judgment dripping from their gaze.

“We wanted to come see you but we didn’t know if you were still at your listed address. Since your boyfriend lives there.”

“Oh, um, yeah, I still live there.”

“But didn’t you forget about him?” Lia feigns ignorance and you feel anxiety picking at your skin like relentless protruding needles. You want to run. 

“Lia that’s rude. I think he's her ex-boyfriend now," Mari chuckles, mockery palpable in her tone.

“Poor Minho, he must suffer a lot. Say hey to him from me,"Lia smiles, a chilling feline grin, her eyes narrowing down like a hawk peering at his prey. 

“I will.”

“We’ll see you at work. If you’re still able to keep up with the tasks,” they leave, ugly laughs echoing after them, and an urge to throw up overtakes you, the scent of pastries furthering your nausea. You hasten your steps toward your building.

You’re almost safe, almost, keys trembling in your hand as you struggle to enter your apartment, when the door adjacent to you opens. Your neighbors smile at you, although it is a gesture tinged with pity. You painfully smile back before slamming the door.

Yeart hammering in your chest, you press your back against the door, hand clawing at your throat. 

“Did you know she got into a car accident, and apparently she forgot her boyfriend?”

“Really? They were so cute though.”

“Yeah, it’s a shame.”

Their words suffocate you, stepping atop your lungs, syllables choking you from within. Is this what everything thought of you? Did they all pity you for the accident? For forgetting your lover? Did they see you as a burden, a parasite plaguing his life? Is this what Han and Chan saw when their eyes lingered on you? Is this what the librarian and florist whispered to each other each time you passed by? 

You didn’t know these people and yet they had their minds set on you, fixated storylines you couldn’t change, no matter how much you tried to rewrite them.

Your thoughts spiral like the unloosened screws of a ticking clock. Minho, the unanswered questions, the expectations of others—everything converges in the base of your mind, making your ears ring cacophonically within your skull.

You slide down the door, fingers trembling as you take out your phone then Changbin’s card from your pocket. You dial his number with haste. You needed a breather, to talk to someone who knew nothing of you, of who you were, of who you could be. 

“Hello?” his voice booms clearly through the phone.

“Changbin,” you breathe out. “Let's go on a date tomorrow.”

You were asleep when minho came back from work, your back turned towards him, soft exhales escaping your body. He didn't want to disturb you, so, he made sure to come earlier the next day, a strawberry and cream pastry in his hand that he knew you loved. Perhaps, you’d both talk about your kiss today, what it meant for you both. 

But, he doesn’t find you home. The only indication that you had just left was the lingering scent of your perfume, tickling his nose as if to mock him. Poor minho— the gardenia and honey tones spelled out in the air; the one fragrance you strictly reserve for dates. The one you used to put for him.

It looked like you found your answer after all. 

Day 33. 

“Did I keep you waiting?” 

“No, just in time,” you smile as Changbin pulls the chair in front of you, settling down with ease, a pang of confidence coloring his movements.

“How are you, today?” 

“Better, i think,” you falter under his scrutinizing gaze, your facade cracking. “I don't know, it’s all complicated,” you sigh and he nods, signaling for the waiter to take your drinks order. Chai latte for you, hot chocolate for him. 

“Spill, what’s preoccupying you?” he leans forward, arms crossed on the table. 

“You don’t even know my name,” you giggle, looking around at the warm interior. Cozy, faint music playing in the background, taupe chairs and amber tables, the smell of cinnamon rolls wafting through the air. Minho would like it here. 

“What's your name?”

“Yn.”

“Okay, Yn,” he emphasizes, a slight smirk on his face. “Spill.”

You shake your head as the waiter places down your drinks, wrapping your fingers around the heated cup, hoping the warmth would seep into your being through your palm lines. 

“Did you want to become a therapist by any chance?” you muse, arching an eyebrow at him.

“No, it’s just fixing others' problems helps me forget my own,” he winks and you snort at his honesty. it was admirable, how frank he was to a complete stranger. 

“Fine, it’s a long story, but basically…” you lick your lips, wondering what’s the best way to go on about this. “I got into a car accident and I lost my memory of the past year and so.”

Changbin winces at your words and you sigh. “Yeah. Except I was in a relationship before…”

“And you totally forgot about it?”

“I did. It hurt him a lot.” 

Changbin nods in understanding, taking a sip of his drink. He places his chin on his palm, carefully eyeing you. 

“But how does that make you feel?” 

“Me?”

“Yes, you. You're the one who lost your memories after all.” 

“I feel guilty for forgetting such a relationship.” 

“Why is that?”

“Because everyday i can see why I fell in love with him.”

“And you don't love him now?” 

“No,” you quickly say before pausing, shoulders dropping under the weight of your questioning. “I don't know. It's complicated.”

Changbin absentmindedly tugs at the charms of his bracelet, gaze flicking down to his wrist for a couple seconds, before locking on yours intently.  

“Describe him to me in one sentence.”

“You sound like my annoying French teacher,” you roll your eyes and he huffs, not offended in the least. “Look, I just want to know my competition.”

“Do you have a retort for everything?”

“What can I say? I'm witty and all that,” he shrugs confidently and you giggle before quieting down, muling over his question. “In a sentence…” you muse, fingers drumming along your cup. You don't even realize that a fond smile has unfolded on your lips, but Changbin does.

“He's the light rain that falls during spring, that makes the flower bloom and the smell of earth waft through the air. He brings things back to life, in a way.” 

Changbin smiles softly, tilting his head to the side. “Can you really not see it, or are you hiding the truth because you're scared?”

“What do you mean?” 

“Yn, he brought you back to life.” 

“I… no.” you pause, voice faltering. “Did he?” 

You see Minho pushing you on a wheelchair to your home. Minho protecting you from your mind. Minho washing your hair. Minho making you tea. Minho baring his soul to you. Minho helping you cook. Minho bringing the sea to you. Minho holding your hand. Minho comforting you before comforting himself. Minho forgiving you so you'd forgive yourself. Minho devastating himself so you'd piece your heart together. Minho, minho, minho.  

“Fuck, he did,” you whisper in realization, as a grand feeling swells in your heart suddenly, pushing your heart against the confines of your ribs. Flowers bloom into your entire body, petals melding into the coursing blood in your veins, butterflies fluttering their delicate wings across your chest, an effulgent light flooding in like the sun was spilled inside your very core. 

“Aren’t I so smart,” Changbin grins, satisfied at the awestruck expression on your face.

“What should I do?” you ask anxiously, gripping the edges of the table. 

“Go talk to him. Don't waste any more time.”

“You are right, oh my god,” you grab your purse, standing up abruptly. “I have to go, I…”

“It's okay, don't worry about me, I'm always the side chick,” he sighs in faux sadness and you giggle, swatting his shoulder. 

“Thank you so much. I'll repay you for this, I promise!” you start walking before stopping and turning around. 

“Oh and Changbin?”

“Yes?”

“You know what to do too. They made you that bracelet right? You haven't taken your eyes off of it.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, “those are my lines.”

“They are mine now too,” Laughter dances from your lips as you flee the café, taking off running to your home. It was near, merely a five-minute walk, nestled beside the playground where you encountered Changbin. Yet, urgency propels your steps, a fervent need to reach Minho swiftly. You had wasted thirty-three days, three million seconds that could’ve been spent with Minho. You don’t know how many more breaths the universe might extend, what if the stars tire of your reluctance and blow the winds of his love to another soul? You couldn’t stomach it. 

You climb up the stairs, chest heaving, breaths escaping your being in an erratic rhythm. you didn't even know what to say, your words remained unscripted, unsure of what confessions will spill forth when your eyes will meet Minho's. Yet, you're not worried. You know that whatever surfaces would be surging from your heart. 

What you don’t anticipate is for an uncharacteristic silence to find you at home, the scent of your perfume faintly wafting into the air. Minho sat in the living room, a bag by his side, his head downcast. The cats watching you from the corner of the room. 

A desert- dry sensation clings to your mouth, your tongue heavy as if crafted from lead. Your once vibrant excitement extinguishes, much like a match blown out, leaving only a lingering stench behind. 

“Minho?” 

“Yn,” he responds, eyes actively avoiding yours. “I was waiting for you. I... I'll be gone for a few days, a week at most.”

“What? Where to?”

“I already told my parents to come pick up the cats so you don't have to worry about feeding them. The fridge is stacked, so you-” his voice falters, “so don't worry about that either.”

“Minho... what-what are you saying?”

“I need time away, alone. I'm sorry, I tried, I tried so hard, Yn, but there is only so much I can take,” he whispers, and your heart shatters, tiny million pieces blown away by the wind.

“Minho, look at me,” you crouch before him, your hands resting on his knees. He still avoids your gaze.

“Minho, please,” you plead, and his eyes finally lock on yours. They glisten with tears, reflecting light akin to a celestial mirror.

“My heart hurts so much, but it's not your fault. Loving me once doesn't mean you'll love me again, and it's okay if you want to see other people. I just... I need to go somewhere, for a little. I need to make room for the pain because it's overwhelming me,” he confesses, his words eating at your insides. Was it too late? Have you lost him?

Minho gently takes away your hands before standing up. Fear overwhelms you as you watch his shoulders drop, his eyes glazing over the walls one last time. He will come back, but not here, not to you. He's bidding goodbye to the home and you because you killed his hope. He would leave everything behind but echoes of him that you'd be sentenced to hear alone, every day, every night.

“Minho,” you seize his wrist, “Minho, don't go.”

"Why?" he asks in the smallest voice you've heard from him. He's like a river cut off by a dam, yearning to run back home, to flow the way it used to, back to you. His heart rings loudly in his ears, pain overwhelming him, yet your touch calms him down. You are the knife and the medicine, the scorch and the cooling balm; you are everything at once.

“I'll make room in your heart, I'll take out all the bad weeds and start again. Just don't go.”

“What do you mean?” He's breathless, hope inflating in his heart, clouds parting to reveal the sun.

“I know things won't go back to the way they used to. I don't think I'll ever remember everything, but I want you to tell me,” there is a lump growing in your throat, but you push it away. Your voice breaks and cracks, yet you still speak. You need him to know.

“I want you to take me to all the places we've visited and then tell me how we fell in love in them. I want you to show me how I loved you,” your hand trails down his hand, intertwining your fingers with his, pulling him closer. “I want to learn you, what you like, what you hate, what makes you angry and what makes your heart flutter.”

“And I want to love you, not because you love me, but because my heart chose you," your hand travels up his arm, settling right down at his cheek. Your thumb swipes across his tender skin. “I choose you over and over again. It's you, Minho, it's always been you.”

“You want me again?” he says tentatively, eyes wide, pouring onto yours—your galaxy to love, to admire, to peer into for the rest of your life.

“I want you. Please don't go.”

“Swear it, please.”

Instead of ephemeral words, you softly press your lips to his, as you did last night. “I swear,” you whisper against his mouth. “I'm falling in love with you,” you peck his lips, hand snaking up against his neck, moving his mouth closer to yours. “Not falling,” you say, pressing your forehead to his, nuzzling his nose against your own. “I'm coming back. I'm coming home.”

“You came back to me,” he whispers, voice hoarse.

“I'll always do,” you promise, a grin overtaking your mouth. “Can you kiss me, Minho?”

Minho blinks in amazement, his eyes darting all over your face, each blink resembling the capture of an image. He's stitching this moment into his mind, the hue of your cheeks and the gleam in your eyes. He missed the way you're looking at him, the slight shiver running through you as he brushes his lips against your own, slowly savoring the feel of you so near. His hands find your jaw, cradling it softly, and then he kisses you, just like how he dreamed of doing for the past month.

The kiss is dizzying, far different from your previous one. You’re no longer grasping at elusive cigarette smoke, fleeting through the gaps between your fingers. You are no longer awaiting a beacon of remembrance to shine upon your mind. You have minho, and he's delicately nibbling your lower lip, eliciting a soft gasp from you. His tongue glides across the tingling expanse, soothing down the pang of hurt, asking you for more. You willingly give it to him in a fervent, whirlwind kiss, his hands finding solace in the curve of your waist, while yours become poets, weaving tales in his hair, tugging at his strands the way you've always yearned to. 

It is muscle memory, to press your body against his, to gasp into his mouth, to match the rhythm of his tongue, the way it circles tantalizingly around yours, the way you groan against his mouth, as he briefly parts from you, his giggle a sweet prelude to meeting your lips once again with increased fervor. His tongue weaves words against the roof of your mouth— I missed you, I want you, I love you.

Minho snakes his hand around your lower back, guiding you back until his legs find the couch. He eases you down, fingers hooked through the loop of your jeans. You kiss him again, a cadence as natural as breathing. Time unravels, rewinding to mend the fractures in his heart, erasing thirty-three days of heartbreak in mere seconds. You kiss him, again and again, thirty three days of longing exploding in your touch.  

“Are you crying?” you whisper against his lips, your thumbs delicately swiping across his damp cheeks. Unaware of his flowing tears, he closes his eyes, embarrassment coursing through him. “I'm here,” you reassure, peppering his face with kisses – from his ear to his nose, cheeks to the corner of his mouth. “I'm here, honey. I want you.”

“Only me?” he questions, tone fragile.

“Only you,” you kiss him again, tenderly, inhaling life through his lips. “Let me show you how much, hm?”

Your lips trace a path down his neck as you draw his shirt over his head. An ivory canvas, he is meant for you to mark, to touch however you desire. Your lips graze the scar on his stomach, kissing it in the way you've ached to do since two nights before.

You're sinking to your knees before him and yet you’re the one in control, rippling shivers all over his skin. He’s impatient, needing you close, so he quickly pulls you up, before hovering over you, his hands drawing everywhere, running wild across your body. He missed the plush feel of your skin, the contours of your body that he yearned to explore once again. He's a prisoner deprived of the light for so long, sinking into the sun once again. 

Minho's eyes never leave yours, as he touches you, moves in you in ways your soul seems to remember. He's gentle, removing strands of your hair out of your eyes, smoothing down the side of your head. All encompassing, drinking in your moans and groans, burning you up and soothing you all at once. “Good?” he asks, again and again, waiting to hear your affirmation before picking up speed again. Your answer is yes each time he asks, as he seals the void in you, the one he's been carefully stitching up for the past weeks. You store his glazed eyes and scrunched eyebrows in the gallery of your mind, you make room for new memories with Minho. 

You're overwhelming him, in the most beautiful ways, contradicting feelings coursing through him like a rain flood. He's aching yet relieved to have you beneath him, lost in waves of pleasure so he grabs your hand to anchor himself, entwining his fingers with yours, before bringing it to his mouth, placing a tender smile on your palm. You beam at him, trust reflecting in your eyes as you bare your being to him. It is a rare fortune to be chosen by you not once, but twice, he can't believe how lucky he is to have you as his guiding star.  

Your eyes never leave Minho’s, a shimmering pool mirroring your emotions. You see everything you feel in him—your better reflection. You had missed him, you were home now. “Miss you,” he whispers as he buries his face in your neck, seemingly hearing your thoughts. “Missed you so much,” he mumbles as your hands tangle in his hair, tears descending gently upon your cheeks, as they are on his. “Please don't leave me again.”

“I won't- I won't,” you promise, as light floods your vision, reaching the pinnacle of your pleasure. Colors burst before your eyes in a kaleidoscope, resembling shades of Minho— the warm brown of his eyes, the honeyed hue of his skin, the pink tint of his ears whenever he's embarrassed, the red of his lips, swollen as they kiss you. Tonight and tomorrow and every day after this one. 

Day 1.

In the hushed aftermath, your head rests upon Minho’s bare chest, listening to the quiet rhythm of his heartbeat, calming down as the seconds trickle by. His arm curls around your body protectively, keeping you from slipping off the couch. Your knuckles trail up and down his shoulders, soothing the places where you had scratched too hard. His hand seeks yours, delivering a kiss as tender as the silence enveloping you—quiet and secure. The forgotten past doesn't matter; you will rewrite your story once more.

“Do you think our designated stars are sad somewhere far away?”

“Why would they be?” 

“I don't know. Don't you think it's bittersweet how they missed out on so many days of loving one another?”

“I don't know, did they?” he muses, planting a tender kiss on your shoulder. “I think mine loved you all the same.” 

[222col]

"i'll sign an autograph later, but right now, you're in my seat." I ALMOST MOANED. The entire fic was the hottest thing i have ever read in my entire life. I know this is probably a bad idea but can you make a part 2 of Womanizer Art where he takes her out and end the night with them sleeping together just for him to stop texting her again but when he asks her to be in a committed relationship she rejects him and tells him to stop texting her. After the rejection Art tries to go back to his old ways sleeping with other girls but they don't feel like y/n or just gets depressed and only focuses on his career but he realizes that he's falling more and more for y/n no matter how hard he tried distracting himself while y/n is living her life as if nothing happened. So Art starts stalking her, going to places she goes and sabotaging her relationships with other men and he keeps texting her and sending her gifts and flowers to her house literally doing the kind of things he's has never done to another woman before until she gives in and agrees to be his girlfriend 😩 pretty please PLEASE PLEAAAAAASE 🧎‍♀️

!!!!!! thank u thank u thank u xxx yes omg love that idea but this will never be as good as @lovetrt's stalker!art but i will try my hardest 🧎🏻‍♀️ part two of this <3 | cw: slight forcefulness

"get out my fucking house." art orders the blonde in his bed when she attempts to hold him. "but-" he cuts her off with just a look. scrambling for her belongings and running out of his room. he slips his boxers back on and reaches for his phone on the nightstand. he sends yet another text to you.

can you stop being a brat and just text me back?

scrolling through the endless messages he's sent you before locking his phone and attempting to sleep once he hears the front door close.

it's been a month since your date with art. he took you to dinner and then of course back to his, where he fucked you silly on his bed again. you stayed the night, had breakfast with him before returning home. you enjoyed the date, and art's company, but as you told him, relationships weren't your thing. art isn't used to being told no, especially from girls, so when you stopped replying to his texts and wouldn't answer calls, he had to take matters into his own hands.

he's been fucking anything that moves and spending all his other free time on the tennis courts. agreeing to more brand campaigns, just in the hope that you'll see him on an ad somewhere and coming running back to his bed. art wakes up the next morning, checking his phone first thing, as he always does now, praying you'll have text him back.

not even if i actually let you fuck me with a racket?

art got in touch with patrick's buddy's now ex-girlfriend, begging for your address, telling her some bullshit like you left your watch at his and he wanted to mail it to you. she doesn't buy it, but she likes art, and does as he asks. he's been sending you flowers and presents every few days, but he knows it's time to take the next step. throwing on shorts, a t-shirt and his baseball cap, he drives to your apartment. there's a coffee shop opposite, ordering a drink and sitting outside, waiting for just a glimpse of you. he's sat there for a while, until the door to your building opens, and he sees you. an oversized t-shirt hides your underwear you lean over and kiss the man you're ushering out the door. art grits his teeth, his mind full of thoughts of fucking you on the stoop of your building.

the guy leaves, looking too smug for art's liking. he can't help himself. running over and stopping him in his tracks. "how do you know that girl?" he asks. "woah, hello? what's it to you, buddy?" the guy questions art. "just fucking tell me." art pushes, closing the distance between them, intimidating him. "she's just some girl i fuck." stepping back away from art. "how often?" art needs to know, he needs to be told you haven't slept with this random gym bro more than you have him. "alright, twenty questions, like twice a week." art's angry, tempted to knock this guy out, except that yeah, art may be taller, but he doesn't think he's as strong. "for how long?" art keeps questioning. "christ man, look i'm sorry if she's your girlfriend or something, i met her like two months ago, we've been hooking up since then." art's eyes narrow, looking down at him. "stay the fuck away from her." he seriously doesn't know what's come over him, normally he can't stand to look at a girl after he's come all over her, but now, here he is, squaring up to a stranger that fucked you.

art comes to the coffee shop opposite your apartment most mornings, warning of any of the guys that you walk to the door. spamming your phone with more and more texts, he can't take it anymore. arriving at the coffee shop again, waiting for you to kick the guy out of your bed. he catches the door to your building as someone leaves, no more than ten minutes after you showed the latest guy out of your apartment. he runs up to your door, turning the handle, silly little girl not locking her door, he thinks as he enters your apartment. you've driven him crazy, he could get anyone else he wanted, but he's here, breaking into your home because the five minutes he sees you every morning aren't enough anymore. he needs to feel you, breath you in, taste you.

there you are, stood in your kitchen, making coffee in nothing more than a bra and panties. he's already hard, coming up behind you, covering your mouth with his hand, immediately kissing your neck. you try to scream, eyes wide as you extend your neck, trying to get a glimpse of your perpetrator. art fucking donaldson. you push your body off of him. "you're a fucking psychopath!" you shout, trying to steady your breath. his hand reaches between your legs. "why are you so wet then?" he's right, you're soaked. you hate how your body is secretly loving what he's doing. he's so fucking desperate for you, you've never seen anything like it. you slap him across the face, he turns back to you, his eyes are dark and he's smirking. he reaches over and grabs you by the throat, "stop acting like you don't want to fuck me right now." a moan escapes your lips, satisfaction spreading over his face.

"tell me, tell me you don't want me to fuck you and i'll leave." pulling you closer by the grip around your neck. you can barely breathe, forcing your words out. "fuck me, please," it takes seconds for him to spin you round and bend you over the counter. pulling your panties down your legs. "good girl, you even said please." he pushes his shorts down his legs, spanking your ass before pushing himself into you. your knuckles turn white, gripping the side of the counter so hard, his hands on your hips, bruising your skin as he thrusts in and out of you. "such a dirty little slut aren't you, baby," he bites your earlobe, all you can do is nod your head as your eyes roll back. he spanks your ass again, gripping and biting and sucking every bit of your skin he can.

"you missed this dick, didn't you princess?" you're not lying when you tell him yes, he's the best sex you've ever had. he lifts one of your legs on to the counter, pushing himself in deeper. it's mere moments before you're a mess before him, screaming his name as you orgasm. he kisses your back as you do, not slowing down until he pushes himself over the line, pulling out of you as his come drips down your legs. you both stay still for a few seconds, collecting your breath before art spins you round to face him. "will you please, please, be my girlfriend, fuck me," he's kissing all over your face. "art, you've only taken me on one date, and i told you, i don't do relationships." he only stops kissing you to reply. "i don't fucking care," he wraps his arms around your naked body. you hate commitment, it petrifies you, but something, somewhere in you is screaming at you to say yes. "if i say yes, will you stop sitting at that damn coffee shop every morning?" you're teasing him, and for the first time, you see art shy. "i'm sorry, i don't know what's happening to me, i'm not usually this fucking obsessive, you've done something to me." his head is buried in the nape of your neck. "fine, yes, i will be your girlfriend." his head shoots up, kissing you so intensely. "fucking finally."

[rafesslxt]

SUPP IM BACK WITH ANOTHER REQUEST!! How about professor riddle marks ur work but u didn't get good grades so he punishes u? xoxo mattheosslut22

omg i smiled at this like a fool and my boyfriend asked me what I was smiling about hahaha - yes my real boyfriend, not mattheo duh

thank you for requesting doll 🫶🏻 I‘m already writing a professor one shot right now but with more plot, just have to finish it 👀

Bad student | Professor!Mattheo Riddle

summary: Professor Riddle and you have a special agreement.

warnings: professor x student so don‘t read if you don‘t like, kissing, teasing, fingering, unprotected p in v

words: 2,4k

I looked down at the paper I got back from Professor Riddle. I got an F. Fuck. My gaze wanders up as he looks at me with raised eyebrows and a kind of disappointed look on his face. "You might want to come to me after class." he says in a chilli tone.

Professor Riddle and I have an agreement. A secret one. If I continue to write bad notes, he stops fucking me. As a motivation. And If I get good ones, I get a reward - which is his dick. As a motivation of course.

I sigh and nod but he already left to give the rest of the students their papers back, which of course were all better than mine.

He continues with class and tries to explain everything but I only can concentrate on what‘s going to happen after this class. It is the last one I have today which means I have time and don‘t need to rush out, which is good. Or bad? I don‘t know yet and that‘s exactly what worries me.

The ring interrupts my thoughs and brings me back to the reality. That I‘m alone with him. I swallow the clump in my throat down and gather my things together.

As I walk to the front of the classroom and towards his desk he doesn‘t even look at me. I breath out, loudly. " Sooo.." i start and try to get him to look up but he still doesn‘t.

While correcting another test and sqribbling something on it he talks " You know what our arrangement was,right? " "Mattheo I - I mean Professor I‘m really sorry okay? I promise it won‘t happen again!" I almost begged. I couldn‘t imagine losing him and our sessions, they got me addicted.

"Yeah you said that the last few times you got a bad grade but now an F? No y/n." "Pleease, fuck there has to be something that I can do! I‘m literally begging you."

I saw him smirking a little and I knew he loved to hear me beg like this, litte fucker.

"I swear I‘m always paying attention I just - I didn‘t have had time to study with quidditch and everything." I wasn‘t even lying on that.

"Prove it. I‘ll ask you Questions and you‘ll have to get at least.. 8 out them right. If not, you can come back when you write good once again after the holiday‘s"

I looked at him in shock. "Holidays?!“ "Yeah, the next test we write is after the holidays." I shook my head, not able to live that long without that dick. I know how desperate I sound, but that was exactly how good he fucked me. I tried to forget him, tried to find fun somewhere else but It was useless with these boys at school. He just knew every single move to get me trembling under his touch.

"Okay okay.. give me those questions." "Sit down." I did as soon as he told me to and looked up at him as he stands up and walks to the desk I‘m sitting on.

"First question: Let‘s start with a easy one.. Which spell will cast a body bind upon an enemy?" he asks me, looking directly into my eyes. I lick my lips before answering. "Petrificus Totalus."

"What‘s the strongest love potion in the world?" I started smiling when the memory of him showing it to us last week came back. "Amortentia." I answered him. "What did you smell?" he asks curious as he slowly places his hands beside me on the table, getting closer to my body. "Does that count as a question?" i ask him in a teasing tone. "Answer." he says in a demanding one but I didn‘t miss the excitement in his eyes." So I answer him. "You."

"Smelled you too.“ he mumbles as he gets closer to my neck which leaves me nervous and with goosebumps all over my body.

"What is your only defense against the Imperius Curse?" I felt his lips brush against my skin but still not kissing it which made me even more desperate. "There is no defense.." i answer lost. "Wrong." he whispers and bites the skin on my soft spot. I whine and squeeze my eyes shut. "M-maybe I need a little motivation.." i started and looked down at his shirt.

He rolled his eyes but still smirked a little as my hands found the buttons to his shirt. While I opened them he took out his wand from his back pocket of his jeans and spelled the door shut.

When I opened the last button I pushed the material to the side and let my hands glide over his abs which he knew i love so much. "Don‘t get too eager baby. You already got one wrong." Now I rolled my eyes as my fingers followed the contour of his abs. "Won‘t happen again."

"No matter how many legs you have, they'll all dance if you're cursed with what jinx?" I snort and answer "Tarantallegra. Easy." He nods and asks his next question, his face now on my throat again. "Which potion acts as a truth drug?" I swallow as I feel his soft lips now ghost over my skin again. I open my mouth a few seconds before answering. "Veritaserum."

His lips now meet my skin and I moan. "Correct." He murmurs, leaving wet and passionate kisses all over my throat. His hands find their way to my knees, leaving them there.

"One side effect of the Draught of Peace, If done incorrectly?" he asks me while letting his hands wander up my legs towards my tights slowly. I press my lips together as I feel myself getting wetter.

"Answer, I know you‘re a smart girl." he grins, kissing along my jaw, sending shivers down my spine.

"Irreversible sleep. " "That‘s right, good girl." he starts playing with the hem of my skirt.

"Who created the main ingredient in the Elixir of Life?" "Nicolas Flammel." He nods and wanders towards my mouth with his lips. I start to get impatient and shift slighty on the table, making him smile again. "3 more baby."

"What is the final ingredient needed for Polyjuice Potion?" " Hair." As I answer correct, his lips connect with mine. My mouth almost opens itself when it feels his tounge gliding over my bottom lip. His hand moves further under my skirt, his fingers now right in front of my underwear. "I can already feel the heat from you." he groans against my lips before his tounge explores my mouth.

I let my hands wander to his back, where I scratch his skin slighty, sending shivers down his spine this time. "Hmm love when you do that." "I know."

He pulls away from my mouth a few inches and looks into my eyes. God his eyes. "When must Wolfsbane Potion be taken to be effective?" Shit. I really don‘t know. I think he saw it in my eyes when he lifted his eyebrows at me. "Uhm –" "Come on. We had this topic only a few weeks ago." "The week leading up to a full moon?" I ask more than answering.

I see a smirk forming on his lips and his head shaking. "So much for 'i listen to your classes', huh?" I groan in frustration. "Are you enjoying the thought of not fucking me for that long?" I ask him almost a little mad.

"No baby, my hand doesn‘t feel like you. But I know you‘ll feel even better after weeks of not riding my cock like you love to do." Wait. His hand? Doesn‘t he have like a tons of women at his feet? But I didn’t have that much time to think about it.

"Name me all of the Unforgiveable Curses." "Uhm – Avada Kedavra, Imperio and .. Crucio." He nods in approval and suddenly I can feel his fingers ghost over my damp underwear.

"Fuck baby, are you always this wet while answering your tests? Maybe I should help you next time so you don‘t write F‘s in my class hm?"

"Ask the last one." I say in a desperate voice. If I get this one right I can fuck him, If I get it wrong, these holidays will be the longest I ever had.

"Okay baby, now concentrate yeah? We had this last potion lesson. How long does Felix Felicis take to prepare?" I smile brightly at him as I instantly knew the answer to it. "6 months." i answer.

"Fuck thank god." he groans and pulls me closer to his body, my legs wrapping around his hips. "10 would have been enough." I answer him, my hands already in his soft curls, tugging at the ends which made him groan even more.

He picks me up and sits me down on his desk, pushing my upper body back. "Gonna give you your reward now baby. You were such a smart girl." he starts praising me. "Well, have a good teacher." "Oh yeah?" he smirks and pulls my skirt off. "Hmm, Professor Snape is actually really nice." Suddenly I feel pain flowing through my thigh, making me hiss.

I look down at him as he starts to kiss the skin he just bit. "Careful baby, don‘t forget who‘s in charge here." he mutters against my thigh, nibbling on it and preppering it with wet kisses. My hands find their way into his curly hair. "Please.." i whisper as he does the same to my other thigh.

"I would miss those little begs so much If I wouldn‘t have had them to hear over holidays." he mumbles against my skin, his lips now on my underwear. He groans as he pulls it down and sees my glistening folds.

And just like a starving man he pushed his fingers through my folds before lapping at my clit, making me bite down on my lip instantly. "Shit.." I breath out, closing my eyes too. "Nuh uh baby, look at me while I eat that sweet pussy of yours." he smirks when my eyes opened up again.

I look down at him, seeing just his eyes and a bit of his nose. Not once does he look away while eating me out and I can see the desire he's holding back right now clearly.

I feel him sliding two fingers inside me without a warning, groaning when they just slipped inside like nothing.

"Fuck me, please.." I beg, not being able to wait any longer. He lets go of me, his mouth and chin glistening from my wetness. I see him licking his lips, with half a smile, almost making me come just from the sight.

"Gonna pound that pussy numb, baby. Just preparing you for what will happen over the holidays." Since we had that agreement, I stayed almost every holidays here so I could spent them with him. "You're staying, right?" he asks as he sees me in thoughts. I start smiling and nod. " Of course." "Hmm good girl."

He pulls me closer to him again until my legs wrap around his hips. His hands open his belt, pushing his jeans and boxer shorts down, revealing his already throbbing cock.

He lets the tip glide over my clit teasing me. His mouth is open, breathing heavy and looking at me through his lashes. "Ready Baby?" "Uh-huh." I mumble, nodding before he finally pushes inside me.

"Fuck yes, so fucking tight." he groans as he slowly pushes inch for inch inside. I let my head fall back and bite down on my bottom li to not moan too loud.

He starts thrusting forward with his hips, making the table squeak against the floor and echoing through the classroom. "I swear I will never get tired of this pussy." he smirks down at me while his words send butterflies down my stomach. I let out a little whine as his right hand wanders up to my throat, cocking me just so slightly but good.

"You still gonna write bad grades, huh?" he ask me, thrusting harder now. "N-no?" I answer but it sounds more like a question. Suddenly he pulls out and turns me around so I'm laying flat with my stomach on the desk. He spreads my legs and pushes inside me again, putting his whole weight on me.

A moan slips past my lips but he puts his hand over my mouth, grinning arrogant. "Let me guess, 'oh daddy it's too much', right?" he mocks while rocking my whole shit into the table.

He pulls his hand away from my mouth and wraps it around my throat again, squeezing with more pressure than before. "Shit Mattheo" I groan, letting my eyes roll back into my head.

"What is it baby? Thought you're able to handle it hm? Should I stop?" "No, no don't stop." I whine out at the though of losing the feeling of him.

Suddenly I feel a sharp pain going through my body. I look behind me over my shoulder and see Mattheo smiling at me like a innocent angel. Yeah, right. He slaps my ass again, this time harder.

"What? Did you think this is gonna be all nice and shit? You still wrote a bad grade. Gonna have to punish you at least a little hm."

He does it again, over and over again until my whole ass is fire red. His thrusting of course continues without faltering. "Fuck I'm close." I groan, my eyes already shut. His hand slides under my body towards my clit and starts rubbing circles on it with his fingers.

"Come around my cock baby." And shit, I did. I feel my walls clenching around him, milking him almost. I hear him groan behind me and his thrust getting more uneven. "O-oh fuckk.." I feel him coming inside me, his head falling down against my shoulder.

"Shit, you always do this to me." he says before kissing my skin. "What do you mean?" "You always pull me in, would have fucked you no matter what grade you got. You just got me wrapped around your finger." I smile at his words, knowing damn well he got me hooked too.

The end was Kida rushed I'm sorry, let me know If you liked it 👀

Taglist: 💞💗💕

@justarandomcanadiantransdude @sofa-couch26 @nevereverthem @little-miss-naill @kolsangel @atadoddinnit @auxcordlawd @helena-1105 @itsarajr @jolly4holly @hisparentsgalllery @slytherinscreamqueen @mixvchelle @miribenh26 @azalea3leaza @littlemadamred

thank you for every support 🫶🏻

Sorry it took so long but had a writing block

xoxo sarah <3

[stuffeddeer]

okay but..... pathetic yearning beast!stalkerzai... he's so quiet abt his obsession with u making up any excuse to have u around for subordinate purposes and when ur not around him he makes sure he can still keep tabs on u AHHH hes so sad and so smitten

"pathetic" i dont need to hear any more. im on board.

The continuous knocking on your apartment door leaves you anxious, quickly pulling on a comfy sweatshirt before answering the door. A breeze flies into the room, causing you to shiver, before you make eye contact with,

"Why aren't you at work today?" Dazai crosses his arms, an angry expression on his face. Though, the pout he wears causes it to be less intimidating than he'd normally be.

You glance into your apartment briefly, still feeling chilly while exposed to the outside air. "Um... I don't work?"

"You always work."

"Right. Which is why I have today off." Awkwardly, you itch your arm. "Am I… needed, Boss?"

Dazai sighs before walking into your apartment (with no invitation) and closes your own door behind him. "You're freezing."

"I'm slightly chilled," you shrug, brushing off the notion. Any other subordinate wouldn't dare correct the boss of the Port Mafia, but he'd always been more lenient with you - supposedly because you ‘aren’t as dumb’ as the rest. "But that's what the hoodie is for."

Without another word, Dazai plops down onto your couch, making a show of looking around your apartment. It’s tiny - the whole thing barely the size of his office at HQ — and Dazai wonders if you’d rather move in with him. For more space, of course. And he guesses you’d be saving on rent that way, too.

“How do you know where I live?” You ask curiously. Sure, it’s probably somewhere in your files, but your boss never seemed like the type to care.

Shrugging, he murmurs, “It’s my job.”

You want to make this visit quick, but kicking out your boss didn’t seem like a smart idea. “Are you thirsty? Would you like a cup of tea?..”

Yes, Dazai wants to try your tea. Just because you’re his subordinate, and he needs to make sure it’s up to par. What if he needs you to serve tea to some associates in the future? “I’d love one.”

Biting back a sigh, you fill your kettle before placing it on the stove, watching as your old gas stove flickers on. Silence hangs between you two - you had no intention of carrying the conversation when he just barged in uninvited.

Dazai seems to have a similar idea, sitting laxly on your couch and waiting for his tea. You pour one cup, uninterested in making one yourself, before placing it on the coffee table in front of him. “Sugar? Milk?”

“This is fine, thanks.” He takes a sip. Heavenly, he’s sure. Well, all tea tastes the same, but something about it coming from your hands… delectable. It’s as though he can taste the love you must pour into every cup.

Mouth shut, you take a seat on the chair across from him. “May I ask, sir, why are you here? Am I needed?” The question is posed once again as you hope for a quick resolution. Kicking out your boss is wrong, but hopefully he’ll read between the lines and show himself out - the same way he showed himself in.

A long sip of tea permeates the otherwise silent room. He’s doing this on purpose, you’re sure of it.

“…I was worried,” he mumbles into the mug, sound muffled and quiet.

“Sorry?”

“You should be,” he replies, uninterested in repeating himself. “I needed you today, only to find out you vanished into thin air.”

“I didn’t run, if that’s what you’re implying,” your eyes narrow. You would not be mistaken for a traitor.

“No, no,” he grins. You were at your most entertaining when you became combative. Dazai much prefers you like this rather than subservient. “You took today off.”

Correcting the boss of the Port Mafia was risky, but, “You gave me today off. A month ago, after that mission, you told me to pick a day to relax.”

That’s… true. It was a strenuous mission, and while Dazai made sure to keep you out of the fray, he thought a gift like that would make you feel touched and indebted to him. Annoyingly, he’d nearly forgotten, since Dazai had planned on reneging at the last minute to trap you with him. For your work ethtic, of course.

A pout graces his lips, unhappy at your disappearance from his side. And that he had no rebuttal to it. “Well, I still need you. I made dinner reservations for two accidentally, and the restaurant is rather strict. You need to come with. The meal will be comped, of course."

“Sir, I don’t— “

“Don’t want your job?” His eyes narrow, pout vanishing immediately. You had to go along with it. “I’m sure you don’t mean that, over something as silly as a nice dinner.”

“...Of course, sir.” You tug on the strings of your hoodie, wanting to emphasize that you aren't exactly dressed for something 'nice.' "What time am I expected?"

Dazai has to stop himself from swooning. How adorable. Well, it’s not you that’s adorable, of course. It’s the juxtaposition of such n oversized hoodie on you that he finds adorable, not you yourself. Definitely. “We can leave now, actually. Get changed, please. I wouldn't say there's a dress code, but it's not a 'hoodie' establishment."

Rather than lashing out at him for the snide comment, you choose to bite your tongue and head into your bedroom.

Exhausted was too light a word to describe how you felt. Donned in a 'nice' outfit that was rather uncomfortable, you stood outside in the cold air and harsh breeze as Dazai suggested to the host to let him in. This bastard didn't have reservations for one, much less two.

After the manager is called over and recognizes Dazai, you're quickly ushered in beside him. Dazai pulls out a seat at a secluded table in the back, gesturing for you to sit. "Come."

Without a second thought, you sit in the very seat he'd pulled out, stifling a yawn as he pushes you in. You’re Dazai's best employee - he must keep you close at all times. Which is why he takes advantage of your position as his subordinate to orders you waste your day off in a fancy restaurant across from him. If you want time off of work, you’ll have to spend it with him - just so he can keep an eye on you, of course.

[alexa-fika]

HEY! HEY! HEYYY! IT'S MEE

Anyways today is now birthday 😍🎂 (A.k.a April 4)

Can I request a whitebeard pirates x fem child reader?

Like the reader is like nezuko from demon slayer

Let's say that reader comes with ace to find a cure

So basically ace was figthing jinbe and whitebeard arrives and then ace and whitebeard starts fighting until ace pass out but before ace can pass out reader attacks then because she's very protective of her family 🥺

Then they basically distract reader so that they can aboard ace into the ship then out of nowhere reader starts running around because the sun was rising and she has no option but to go with the whitebeard pirates

So basically everyone was suspicious because why was reader wearing a muzzle? And why does reader only comes out in the night or stays in shades?

But if anyone tries to question ace gets really defensive because he thinks they'll kill reader because she's a demon

So in the end whitebeard first found out then Marco then thatch (f u Blackbeard) then izou then everyone?

Thank youuuuu ✨✨

Demonically adorable (Whitebeard pirates x f!child!reader!)

Part 2 (Reactions)

A/N, im not gonna lie cosmo, I was totally gonna skip this one and leave it for later but I got to actually reading and looking back at when ace joined and omg the ideas just started flowing, some things are not exactly as your prompt or don’t go as in depth so I really hope you enjoyed this, because I certainly enjoyed writing it

Reader here is replaced by dokucha which stands for Reader in Japanese

Dividers by @/saradika

Dokucha's eyes widen as she runs towards Ace, trying to shake him awake, growling at the giant in front of them

“Hmm? So he has a little brat with him?”

The only response he receives is the sound of hisses and growls behind the child’s muzzle

“Back down, Dokucha, you’re no match for him…my father’s rival,” he grunts out

“I won’t lose,” he growls, beginning to stand up and ignoring the worried fussing of the child

“Heh, so you've still got some fight left, huh? Look, I'm not going to kill you today; you are far too valuable to someone to die here”, the man said, gesturing at the small child next to him

“Join me and become my son,” he says, reaching out his hand to the flame man

“Don’t screw with me, old fart,” he growls, slapping his hand away and launching himself toward the Emperor, only to be knocked back

Dokucha let out a sound close to a cry as she ran towards Ace, trying to shake him awake once again, snapping her head up at the sound of Whitebeard’s steps approaching them

She growls, standing in front of Ace, shielding him, her eyes shrinking to slits as the man continues to approach the two, her eyes glancing behind him as a blue flame approaches them

She watches as a blue flame grows closer until she is able to discern the shape of a bird landing next to the man

“Are we taking him with us?” He asks, glancing at Whitebeard

“Yes, he’s knocked out. He will be no problem, but I reckon the little one won’t go as easily.”

“I can handle her, Pops; Thatch will take care of the boy and his crew.”

“So I said, but you aren’t making this easy,” he sighs, evading another lunge from the girl

“And here I thought the other one would be the troublesome,” he spoke, catching a kick that he sent his way and pushing her back

She catches herself, gripping the ground with all fours as she immediately leaps towards him again, growling at him and showcasing the sharp canines now on full display, the muzzle long gone as her body begins to mature rapidly.

He quirks his head at that,

“That body of yours, is it the Toshi-toshi no mi?” He questions, flying out of the way to avoid her attack

She grits her teeth, looking at the airborne phoenix, preparing to jump up to meet him in the air until he suddenly flew down and trapped her between his talons

He hums, glancing at her expression, noting how the angry expression she had worn at the beginning had shifted to a worried one as she kept glancing around, presumably looking for Where they had taken Ace

“Hey,” he calls, frowning as she ignored his call as she tried to free herself

“Oi, Calm down, I'm not gonna hurt you,” he hollered, trying to settle her down

“You’re just trying to protect him, right?”

She pauses her attempts to free herself at the question

“We’re not going to hurt him; all the contrary, we want to help him,” he explained, huffing as she narrowed her eyes suspiciously

“I promise,” he said, returning his upper body to his human form as he raised his hands in a surrendering motion

“Listen, how about I take you to him? You can stay with him, and we can talk about this in the morning.”

She looks at him, nodding, as her body slowly returns to her original childish state

He kept her for a few seconds, trying to determine if she was really giving up, removing his talons when it was clear she had no more fight on her

She yawned, glancing around her to take in the room she was in; remembering the events of last night, she jumped off the bed, grabbing her umbrella, and poking her head outside of the room.

“Hey, pumkin’, I see you’re awake,” a voice pipes in

She looks towards the voice, spotting a man dressed in Chef clothes smiling back at her

She looks at him for a few moments before reaching one of her hands towards him, opening and shutting it as her other hand held the umbrella

He grins and easily picks her up

“What’s with the umbrella sweetpea?”

She points her hand up

“Hmm? The sun?”

She nods

“Are you sensitive to sunlight?”

Another nod

“Well, I’ll be damned, Marco did mention you were quite unique,” he said, looking her over, deciding not to comment on the bamboo piece between her teeth

“But just as cute, aren't ya, darlin?” He said, tickling her neck

Muffled giggles escape her at the action as she nuzzles deeper into him, trying to escape the sudden attack

They both turn at the sound of a door slamming open, looking as a disheveled Ace left the room, looking around, confused

“Looks like sleeping beauty finally woke up; how about we go say hi?

She leans the umbrella against his shoulder to free her hand as she pulls at his clothes

“Something wrong?”

She points at Ace, puts her hands together, leans her head against it in a sleeping motion, and then puts her wrists together, joining and separating her hands

“A sleeping crocodile?”

She shakes her head, repeating the motions

“Are you… are you trying to say he is snappy when he wakes up?”

She beams, nodding her head

He snickers at that

“I like you,” he said, walking closer to Ace as he threw himself against the walls of the ship, sliding all the way down and gripping his head only to snap it up at the sound of Thatch’s voice

“Hey, there; I'm Whitebeard’s fourth division commander, Thatch. I'm a good friend to have if you’re going to be joining us he said, sitting down on the railing, gingerly placing Dokucha on his lap

“Shut up!” He growls

“And give me back my sister he said, standing up and snatching the small girl from him, returning from his previous position as he hugged her

“Hahaha! She was right; you are kind of snappy when you wake up,” he teased as he continued to explain what had happened when he passed out, teasing him further when he questioned the lack of restraints on him, replying that such a thing was not needed on him.

The next few weeks were but a blur to the small girl, every day following the same pattern for a while. Every day, Ace would ask her to stay behind as he would go after Whitebeard only to be launched back repeatedly. During these times, Dokucha took to bonding with the different brothers on the ship, as they cared for her when Ace was busy with his assassination attempts.

“How many times has it been already?” Questioned Vista as he watched as once again Ace was thrown out of the Captain’s quarters

“More than a hundred”

“How could such a sweet thing be able to deal with that hothead, always madder than a wet hen, ain't that right pumkin’?” Thatch questions as he bounced the small girl on his legs, smiling at the muffled laughs that escaped her.

“Stop moving so much, Izou,” grumbled as he continued to work on the girl’s hair upon her request

“There you go,” he said, backing up with a smile

She beamed, jumping off Thatch’s lap and twirling around, showcasing her new hairdo

“Say, how come you wear that muzzle all the time?” Someone questions

“Mind your own business,” Ace grumbled, dripping wet as he passed them and snatching the small girl up as he went, who gave the men behind her a wave as she left

“I think your brother should be about done with his daily attempt. Should we get this to him?” Marco questioned the girl on his hip as his other hand held a bowl of soup, smiling as she bounced her head up and down

He chuckles at the action as he exits the kitchen and walks over to the spot where Ace laid, gently putting Dokucha and the bowl of soup next to him

A whine escaped the girl as he left, running after him as he took his leave

“Hey, what’s wrong? You can stay here with Ace. “ his actions differed from his words as he picked up the child again

“Tell me, why do they call him pops?” Ace grumbled, watching the interaction between the first mate and his sister

“Because he calls us sons, it’s just a word, but it’s nice, isn't it? Most of us are hated by everyone and don’t have families of our own, so that alone means everything to us,” he said, watching him for a moment and sighing, walking over to him and kneeling down, placing the girl next to them

“Hey, when are you going to stop this? I'm sorry to rain on your parade, but you aren’t strong enough to kill him, so you have two options: leave and start anew or stay and bear Whitebeard’s mark on your back,” he spoke

“Do try to keep your sister in mind when you make your choice, will you?

I do hope you decide to stick around; we’ve grown fond of the little miss.”

Ace found himself deep in thought; it seemed like only a day ago he had been mulling over if he would stay or if he would go; now he found himself mulling over if he should become a commander under Whitebeard or not; he glanced behind him as Dokucha ran circles between Marco and Thatch, the men struggling to keep up with her zigzagging.

He sighed as he made his final decision.

“Dokucha, come here”

So I don’t have full fledged scenarios on the reactions the crew members would react to the news but I do have already thought out how they would react so maybe I can do it in a headcannon format? 👀 Also I really tried to lean in into southern Thatch, without making it too much, what do yall think?

Taglist:

@imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

@h0n3y-l3m0n05

[tasteracha]

test me

word count: 1.8k

warnings: fingering, slight degradation, strength kink

synopsis: you and changbin get into a playful argument… (thank u @woahfruity for the idea and for reading it before i posted <3)

it starts with a normal movie night, when the on-screen female lead is swooning over a muscular man like she isn’t capable of doing of doing things herself. you say as much to him, sitting indignant with your arms crossed. 

“men are just stronger than women, it’s biological,” he says, throwing a handful of popcorn into his mouth. he said it so nonchalantly, like he didn’t know you would immediately take offense to it. 

he did know, though. that motherfucker. 

“oh yeah?” you drop to your knees in front of the living room table, positioning your elbow on it with your hand raised. “prove it.”

“you think you can beat me?” he asks, one eyebrow arched in a perfect curve as he looks at you. “in an arm wrestle?”

“only one way to find out,” you throw back, wiggling your fingers at him, your arm not moving from its position. he looks at your for a moment before sliding off the couch to sit in front of you, the table between you. he mirrors your position, sliding his hand into yours and gripping it tight. 

his hand is so warm, fingers strong around your palm and you have to hold back a shiver. not the time to be thirsting after your best friend. 

of course, he bears you almost immediately. and again, when you ask for a rematch. and again. and again. 

until you’re so frustrated that you half-crawl on just youe knees around the table to push at him or swat his arm with the back of your hand or just do something to show him that you’re not happy with the outcome of this competition. 

or you would have, if you didn’t lose your balance at the last second and fall face-first into him, sending you both to the floor. 

you land on top of him, his balance being broken by your weight, your face ending up centimeters from his. you’re close enough for your breaths to mingle against each others. your hands are bracketed on his upper arms, the muscles bulging as he supports your weight from the grip he has on your waist. 

his eyes flicker down to your mouth and back up to meet your gaze, and your lips part just as he leans in with his own. the thought that of my god, this is my best friend doesn't cross your mind for more than a second. it’s the first time you’ve kissed, other than on the cheek or on his forehead when he’s been particularly grumpy or frustrated. 

his lips feel like cushions under yours, sliding lazily together as you close your eyes and let out a sigh into his mouth. he takes the opportunity to lick into your own, a quick swipe of his tongue that would have had your legs weak if you were standing. your fingers grip his biceps harder when he pulls back, just enough to look into your eyes. 

“can i?” he says, an unfinished question made complete when he slides his hands up and down the skin of your waist under your shirt. 

“yes,” you breath out, dropping your forehead against his. “do you know how hot you are? i’d be crazy to say no.”

you’re past the point of caring about how desperate you might sound; every inch of your body is touching his already, and you can tell how he’s affected by you too, you can feel it against your upper thigh. 

“so you only want me for my pretty face?” he teases, moving to press his lips to yours once, twice, before pulling back again. 

“shut up and kiss me properly,” you roll your eyes, grinding your hips down against his as you capture his lips once more, biting down gently on his bottom lip. if he’s not going to give you what you want, you’ll just take it yourself. 

his hand slipped inside of the waistband of your sweatpants, fingers dancing over your clothed pussy and he lets out a sharp breath through his teeth when he realizes you’re already wet. he slides the fabric over, letting his fingers dip into your slick folds and you shudder, leaning your weight further into him as you continue to make out. 

he circles around your clit with two of his fingers, flirting around the sensitive bundle of nerves without touching it directly. it was too much and not enough at the same time. 

“please,” you bite out, grinding down onto his hand, reaching for the stimulation your body was craving. his lips are red and wet, and the sight of him like that because of you makes you even more desperate. 

“i’ll give you anything,” he whispers, almost reverent as he slips his other hand into your shirt to play with your breast, fingers gently pinching at your nipple. “you just have to ask.”

the embarrassment floods you as think about the words that want to come out of your mouth. fuck me until i can’t breathe, make me come over and over, make me choke on my own tears. 

“touch me,” you gasp out instead, your head falling to his shoulder with a thump when he finally moves his fingers to rub at your clit. he’s touching you with just the right amount of pressure, just enough so that the waves of pleasure begin rolling over you like a tsunami. 

your nails were digging into his bicep in what had to be a painful way, but he either didn’t care or didn’t bother to say anything about it. 

you can feel your orgasm building faster than you want to admit, and you bite down on his shoulder when it finally washes over you. your hips jerk down against his hand as you ride through your high, finally slumping against him when it was over. 

his hand leaves your pants and he wipes your slick off on his own, but you don’t have time to scold him for being gross - in a split second you feel weightless and you scramble to wrap your arms and legs around him as he lifts you both up. it shouldn’t be that easy for someone to carry you, but he doesn’t even break a sweat as he walks you to his bedroom and dumps you on his bed. 

fuck seo changbin and his insane muscles, really. 

“see, i told you,” he says, lifting his shirt up over his head and throwing it onto the floor, followed by his sweatpants and boxers. “i am stronger.”

“you’re so annoying,” you can’t help but laugh, cutting yourself off when you realize that he’s standing completely bare in front of you. he’s beautiful, from the smooth planes of muscle running down his torso to the perfectly curved cock standing proud in front of him. 

“you love it,” he says as he climbs onto the bed in front of you, his hands sliding up your legs to the waist of your pants. he tugs then down with your underwear, throwing them where he threw his own clothes. 

“fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he breathes out as he stares at your glistening pussy, laid bare for him. “you’re fucking perfect.”

you aren’t perfect - you haven’t shaved in a little too long, you’re wearing an oversized t-shirt with stains dotting the hem, but when he says it like that you can almost believe him. 

“next time, i’m eating you out until you fall apart on my tongue,” he states, eyes breaking away from your core to look you right in the eyes. his pupils are blown out wide, mouth parted like he’s staring at the last drink of water in a dry desert. 

“next time?” you ask, meeting his stare. “what are we doing this time?”

instead of an answer, he climbs over you until his entire body is covering yours, his weight kept off of you from how he’s perched on his forearms. 

he lines himself up with your hole, letting your slick coat his cock as he drags it in between your folds. he pushes himself into you slowly, letting you feel the drag of every inch as it enters you. you whine when he bottoms out, feeling more full than you ever have, than you ever could have imagined when you thought about him at night in the company of your own fingers. 

“fuck,” you stretch out, your head falling back against the pillows. 

“shh,” he presses a soft kiss to your cheek, nuzzling his nose against the skin afterwards. “let me take care of you, baby. you don’t have to worry about anything anymore, okay?”

it’s condescending, the way he’s talking down to you like his cock could fix all of your problems. it’s the exact thing that started this, the man acting like he can fix his girl’s problems just because of his biology - but the words send sparks shooting up your spine anyways. all your thoughts fade away, tucked into the back of your mind, as he starts sliding out only to stuff himself back in, over and over. 

“you feel so good,” he breathes out into your skin, a gentle promise branding you in invisible ink. you’re making him feel good, too. “so good around me, like you were made just for me.”

“yes,” your voice is strung out, the word stretched out into more syllables than it needed to be. 

“yeah?” he says, his hips moving faster as if spurred on by your one word of agreement. “this is mine?”

his hand moves to circle your clit again and you clench around him, overstimulated in the best possible way. your legs press together, moving like they had a mind of their own, but he pushes them apart with one hand effortlessly. every push of his cock inside of you is complemented by a swipe of his fingers, he’s handling you like you’re an instrument that he’s mastered playing. you hear sounds coming out of your mouth, whines and thready moans that you can’t control even if you wanted to. they’re complimented by his own groans and grunts as he moves, head bowed so he can press open mouthed kisses to your neck and ear and shoulder, wherever he could reach. 

you feel him twitching inside of you when he comes, groaning into the junction between your neck and your shoulder as he grinds down into you in short, aborted motions. his hand is still fluttering over your clit and the combination of that and him spilling inside of you sends you over the edge as you topple into another orgasm. 

he fucks you through it even when he gets too sensitive, and he collapses onto the bed next to you once he’s satisfied with how your entire body melted into the mattress. you turn into him, needing him close. 

“why have we not done that before?” he asks, almost bewildered as he stares down at you where your head is cushioned against his heaving chest. 

“i don’t know,” you settle on. something about not ruining the friendship you had was at the tip of your tongue, but that seemed like a conversation for another time. “but we are doing that again. right?”

“if we didn’t, i think i would die.” he says, completely serious until the two of you meet eyes and break down into laughter. 

no ruining the friendship, here. 

[love-belle]

about damn time !!!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ in which he finds out that his pregnant fiancée can really hold a grudge.

or

for when you love them too much to stay mad at them. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

real life // carlos sainz jr. x fem!reader

warnings - language, pregnancy talks.

author's note - had too much fun writing this, hope u like it as well!! thank u so much for reading, i love you <3 requests are open!!!

≡;- ꒰ °real life ꒱

"charles?"

"yeah?"

"can you tell your friend to stop poking me with that damn stick?"

"carlos," charles sighed, rubbing his face tiredly as he sat between his two best friends.

"yeah?"

"stop poking y/n with that damn stick."

"tell her to tell me that herself."

"y/n?"

"yeah?"

"tell him to stop poking you with that damn stick yourself."

"tell him to stop poking with that damn stick before i break it and shove the pieces high up his ass."

"carlos?"

"yeah?"

"your fiancée is really fucking scary."

"i know."

"why are you guys even fighting?" charles asked, looking from y/n, who was very pointedly ignoring carlos who was watching with a nervous smile on his face, trying his best to get her attention for the past hour. he wasn't very successful and resorted to more inconvenient methods, which included poking his pregnant fiancée with a small wooden stick that he had found in god-knows-which cursed corner of their house.

"ask your friend that because apparently i'm too stupid," y/n snapped, standing up and leaving the room without even sparing carlos a glance.

"shit, what'd you do?" charles asked as he watched her retreating form. "the only time i have ever seen her pissed was when max ate her last cookie. i have never seen a man so terrified."

"why is it you always assume i did something?" carlos whined, burying his face into a cushion.

"because it is always you, that does something," charles retorted, moving to lay back against the couch.

"fair but doesn't mean it's nice," carlos narrowed his eyes at his teammate. "and it was a stupid thing i said this morning. word of advice, it's always better to stay silent when you have a pregnant fiancée with anger issues."

"holy shit," charles laughed in disbelief, not really understanding what stupid thing could his friend have said to make y/n this mad. "what did you say?"

"well, since we found out that we were gonna have a baby, she's been so invested in knowing what's the size of the baby like it's the size of a grain of rice, two grains of rice, end to end, a — "

"what's the size of your crotch goblin right now?"

"first, it's about the size of a blueberry right now and second, don't ever refer to my child as a crotch goblin."

"pet sperm?"

"what is wrong with you?"

charles shrugged, motioning him to continue with his account of what had happened in the morning.

"uh — and she also tells me that the baby grew a heart today, or that the heart is 's' shaped right now and soon it'll have limbs and all, yeah?"

"uh huh," charles hummed, his eyebrows furrowed as he thought about what ever could carlos have had said about this for them to be like this.

"and today, apparently the baby developed a brain or something and y/n came in all excited and she was like 'mi amor, i grew a brain today' referring to our child and i said that..."

"that..?" charles raised his eyebrows, sitting up straight as he watched carlos inhale deeply before he finished his sentence.

"i said that it was about damn time," carlos whispered, as if afraid that y/n would hear him once again.

"oh."

"oh."

"you said that?"

"i said that."

"to a pregnant woman?"

"if the doctor's appointments are legit, then yes, to a pregnant woman."

"who happens to be your fiancée?"

"i'm not sure anymore, to be honest."

"do you have a death wish?!" charles exclaimed, looking at carlos with wide eyes.

he knew how well y/n could hold a grudge and her anger was something you would never want to be on the receiving end of. and a pregnant y/n was a force to be reckoned with. the mood swings were already heavy on not just carlos, but their entire friend group, no one wanting to get yelled at by a woman who wore fluffy socks and sang taylor swift during long drives.

"i knew i fucked up as soon as i said it," carlos groaned, running his hand through his hair. "i thought she was gonna get mad."

"she didn't?" charles asked, surprised at the revelation. he knew if he had said that to her, he would on the next flight, any flight, out of the country.

"no," carlos grimaced, as if reliving that moment. "i thought she would, to be honest, her mood swings are wild this week but she didn't. she just stared at me for a minute before walking away."

"woah," charles nodded, not knowing what to say. "that feels worse."

"yes, especially because i think i made her cry," carlos admitted with a frown, fiddling with his fingers. "i hate it when she cries because she hates it when she cries. something about her feeling overdramatic for crying at every single overwhelming thing, even though i tell her that it's okay. it's just those hormones. she hates crying and this pregnancy is really challenging that and i think i made her cry this morning. she was just excited to tell me about our baby and i unintentionally and indirectly called her stupid."

"you're stupid," charles immediately said, looking at carlos with an incredulous look on his face. "i feel bad for her. i mean, i know that she's mean sometimes and she yells at us when we're being stupid but her crying feels, i don't know, wrong."

"yeah," carlos sighed, standing up and nodded towards the direction of the master bedroom. "i better go and try to talk to her. you'll be okay in the guest room, no?"

"yes, i will be, thank you," charles smiled at his friends before making his way towards the guest bedroom, leaving carlos in the living room.

the man sighed, switching off the tv that played a random movie before he turned off the lights, making his way towards their bedroom.

he paused in the front of the door, his hand lingering on the handle before he pushed it open carefully, thinking that she was already asleep. his eyes took a few seconds to adjust in the dark as he moved blindly towards the bed, reaching for any furniture in his vicinity. he tried his best not to make any noise as he moved as y/n was asleep not even three feet away from him and he would not have her any more mad at him.

he finally found himself by the edge of bed and quickly got in after discarding his t-shirt and pulled the covers over him. he didn't dare move, in fear of waking her up. he knew that it was sometimes difficult for her to fall asleep, always one thing not being right, sometimes it would be the pillow and the other times it would be the texture of the bedsheets against her skin. he had found her in the living room all by herself at three in the morning too many times to count. so, whenever she finally fell asleep, he would do his best not to wake her up.

he sighed, feeling weird, not having her right against him as they both slept. instead she was there, all over her own side of the bed, a good few inches between them.

carlos couldn't take it anymore, he'd gotten used to having her lay next to him, her arms around him while his rested on her stomach, tracing random patterns. with a swift movement, he reached across the bed and pulled her towards him, whispering a soft 'sorry'.

y/n exhaled deeply, her hands unconsciously going around carlos as she shifted to get more comfortable against him.

"this doesn't mean i forgot what you said this morning," y/n's voice spoke, barely above a whisper but carlos heard it loud and clear.

"i'm sorry, hermosa," carlos kissed her forehead, moving to place kisses down her face, sighing softly. "forgive me?"

"you know, i already do," y/n whispered, holding his hand that rested on her stomach. "i'm sorry, i was being overdramatic earlier."

"no, no, no," carlos rushed to correct her, holding his face in her hands as he shook his head. "you were not being overdramatic. you just wanted to share something about our baby with me and i said something stupid and made you cry. i'm sorry."

"technically, these stupid pregnancy hormones made me cry," y/n answered, a slight giggle escaping her making carlos chuckle.

"i love you," carlos sighed, pulling me her impossibly closer to him. "so fucking much."

"i love you so much more," y/n turned head and pulled herself up so she could plant a kiss on his lips, smiling slightly when he pulled her back into another one. "you're the best."

"i think you confused yourself with me, sweetheart."

"of course i did," y/n laid her head back on the pillow, her hands fiddling with carlos' fingers. she couldn't help but feel her heart swell up with love for her fiancé and for her baby, who would be soon joining them.

she stayed there, for god knows how long, thinking of her perfect family before she turned her head towards carlos, not really seeing his face in the dark. with the way he was breathing evenly, the fact that he had not spoken in minutes and the hand that had been tracing shapes on the exposed skin of her stomach laid limp, she reckoned he fell asleep. and even though he was asleep and couldn't hear her, she couldn't help but say it one last time.

"i love you, so fucking much."

[burntsaltsblog]

hi hi!!

if you could write a billy butcher x reader about finding out that butcher is using temp v and the reader finds out that he could die.

orrrr

when billy comes out of mind readers trance, angst on lenny and his family, comforting him, him pushing the reader away but then needing to be comforted.

just a thought, i love your stories, thank yooou!!

hello!! thank u!! ur so kind <3 i wrote an imagine a little while back about the reader finding out about butcher taking temp v right here

thank u for ur request and i hope u like this little imagine i whipped up based on ur second request <3

tw: this story contains a retelling of abuse. pls don’t read if that may be triggering for u.

༺༻∞ ✧༺༻∞ ✧༺༻∞ ✧༺༻

"I'm not waking him up," declared Mindstorm once again. He was quite bold for someone so old, frail, and, most noticeably, naked.

"Alright then," I shrugged. "Say goodbye to one of your eyeballs." I strived forward, pocketknife outstretched, before Huhgie grasped my shoulder tightly, halting me in my tracks.

"Stop. There's no need for violence," Hughie said, trying to calm me down.

"Haven't you lived long enough in this world to realize that violence is the only way to get what you want?" I growled at him, tearing myself out of his hold. "You're not leaving until you wake up our friend," I continued, facing Mindstorm. "And I don't care how many fingers of yours I have to cut off in the process."

Mindstorm narrowed his eyes, and I quickly looked away so as not to meet the same fate that Butcher did mere hours ago.

"I'll teleport you. Anywhere you want to go," Hughie offered, and I sighed at his meek attempt to reason with the stubborn supe. "The options are endless. I can take you to fucking Anartica if you want, and then you'll be far, far away from Soldier Boy. All you have to do is wake up our friend first."

Mindtsorm studied Hughie, and I could see the cogs turning in his head as he pondered this proposition. "You haven't seen the inside of that guy's head like I have. He's real messed up."

"You're one to talk," I muttered, glaring indignantly on Butcher's behalf. Hughie promptly elbowed me in the ribs, signaling me to shut up, but I scowled at him as well. I was highly protective of Butcher, and this situation only intensified that. Hughie should be thankful I hadn't sunk my knife into Mindstorm's jugular for his little comment.

"Just think about it," Hughie said, his voice significantly quieter. "Wouldn't it be nice to live in a place where you wouldn't have to worry about Soldier Boy breathing down your neck?"

Mindstorm grumbled under his breath, reluctantly agreeing. "Fine. I'll wake him up. And then," he pointed to Hughie, "You're taking me to Jamaica."

"Yes, deal." Hughie nodded vigorously. "I heard Jamaica is lovely this time of year." He chuckled nervously, and I rolled my eyes before stomping over to Butcher's body, falling to my knees beside him.

I hyper-analyzed Mindstorm's every movement with narrowed eyes as he sunk to the forest floor and placed his hands on Butcher's temple. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes, whispering unintelligible words.

Anxiety riddled my body as each silent second passed by. I laced my fingers through Butcher's lifeless ones and willed him to wake up. "C'mon, Butcher. Please wake up," I whispered as unwanted tears stung my eyes. Until now, I hadn't considered that Mindstorm might not be capable of waking him up. But I was wrenched from my worries when Butcher gasped loudly as his eyes flew open.

"Oh, thank fuck," I sighed, full of relief that was soon replaced with worry.

Butcher's pupils were blown as he frantically looked around the woods we were gathered in. His chest rose and fell unevenly, and panicked apologies fell from his chapped lips. "M'sorry. I'm so fucking sorry."  

"Sorry for what?" I asked, confused.

"S'all my fault," Butcher mumbled. "It's all my fuckin' fault. I killed him."

"What is your fault?"

But it was as if he didn't hear me. Butcher continued looking in every direction as if the trees held a secret he was searching for. "Butcher, look at me," I shook his shoulders gently. "Butcher, please."

Butcher's eyes finally landed on me, and I cupped his cheek, tracing the tense lines to soothe him. "There, we go," I praised softly. "Good job. Now, can you breathe for me? Give me a nice, deep breath, yeah?"

I inhaled slowly, showing him how to do it, and he mimicked my actions. "That's it." I smiled. "You doing ok?"

Something inside Butcher snapped, and his demeanor hardened as he forcefully shoved me away. "Get your bloody paws off me. M'fine," he grumbled, rising to his feet on shaky legs. Hughie immediately reached forward to help steady him, but Butcher slapped his hand away. "Oi, I said I'm fine; I don't need help from either of ya' cunts."

I was stunned as I watched Butcher walk several yards away before fishing a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and swiftly lighting one.

"Here," Hughie said, offering me his hand and helping me stand.

"What's wrong with him?" I asked lowly, continuing to eye Butcher from afar.

"His mind is just catching up to the present time. He'll be fine in a little while," Mindstorm interjected.

I looked at the supe, wanting to know more details about Butcher's recovery timeline, but saw that his attention was already on Hughie, regarding him expectantly. "You owe me a trip."

"Oh, right," Hughie replied before turning to me. "You stay here with Butcher while I take Mindstorm to Jamaica, ok? I'll be back as soon as I can."

I nodded wearily and watched Hughie and Mindstorm disappear with a resounding pop.

༺༻

"I'm worried about Butcher," I mumbled to Hughie as we perched on our motel bed together. "We haven't heard from him since we checked in hours ago. How do we know he's still in his room?"

"He has the same locator app on his phone like the rest of us. If he went somewhere, we'd know," Hughie replied, keeping his eyes trained on the cracked television displaying re-runs of old sitcoms.

I shook my head, rising to my feet. "I don't know. I have a bad feeling. I'm going to go check on him."

"Are you sure?" Hughie asked, glancing up at me as I headed for the door. "Butcher hasn't been in the best mood since waking up."

"And that's precisely why someone needs to check on him," I said, slipping on my boots and unlocking the door before pocketing the rusted motel key. "I'll be back in a minute." I looked back at Hughie, but he was distracted by Chandler Bing singing "I Will Survive" on the TV and giggling profusely.

I decided to leave him be and wordlessly slipped out of the door.

Butcher's room was next to ours, so the entire trip consisted of three and a half steps. I lightly knocked on his door and waited for him to grant me entrance, but that never came.

"Butcher? Are you in there?" I called through the door and strained my ears for an answer. But I heard nothing besides an ambulance that wailed on the highway behind the motel.

I sighed, biting my lip before I made the rash decision to try opening the door. To my surprise, the knob turned easily before the door swung open on hinges that squeaked in protest.

I peered inside as I hesitantly stepped over the threshold. "Butcher?" I tried again as I slowly roamed the room. The bed was still made, and the only proof that the room was inhabited was Butcher's overnight bag that he'd dropped on the floor by the door.

I was just considering leaving when I heard a small clamor from the attached bathroom, and I tiptoed over to peek through the cracked door. My breath caught in my throat at the scene before me, and I swiftly shoved open the door before falling to my knees beside Butcher's crumpled form.

"Jesus," I breathed as I closed my fingers around his chin, angling his head to better look at his face. His eyelids were drooped, and I was about to question him for his lethargic state when I spotted the empty bottle of whiskey that he clutched to his chest.

"Butcher, can you hear me?" I asked, tapping the side of his face, trying to revive him. He groaned, popping his lids and staring blankly into my face. His eyes were bloodshot, and he reeked of the alcohol he had ingested.

"Butcher," I prompted again. "How much did you have to drink? Please do not tell me you had the entire bottle in one night."

"Oops," he said, pursing his lips lazily.

I sat back on my heels as I cursed harshly. "Fuck, are you trying to die of alcohol poisoning?"

Butcher chuckled softly, running a hand down his face. "Don't worry 'bout me, love. It would take a lot more than a little bottle of booze to send me to God's front door."

I squinted at him as I deliberated about how to handle this situation. There was no way I could leave him here on the dirty bathroom floor. "Can you stand?" I asked, wanting to move him to the bed so he could lie down properly.

"As it so happens, m'quite comfy here. Why don't ya' come and join me?" Butcher drawled, holding his arms out unevenly and curling up the side of his mouth in a smirk.

"As delightful as that offer sounds, I'm not really in the mood to curl up on a floor that I'm fairly certain has about fifteen different STDs on it."

"Well, I’m all clean, doll, and that's the only thing ya' need to worry about."

"You know, I hate to break it to you, but you're a terrible flirt when you're drunk," I snorted. "Now, can you at least try to stand for me?"

Butcher huffed out gruffly. "Fine. But if I fall over on me arse, it's your fault."

"Fair enough."

I guided his arm around my shoulder and slowly stood with him. He was a little wobbly at first, but after gathering his bearings, we shuffled out of the bathroom and into the bedroom with my assistance. Butcher collapsed on the bed before gazing around, puzzled. "Where's me whiskey?"

"You drank it, remember?" I snickered, gesturing to his disheveled appearance. "That's how you ended up like this."

"Huh."

I sat on the edge of the bed and cautiously ran my fingers through Butcher's dark, tangled hair, pulling it back from where it had stuck to his forehead, slick with a light sheen of sweat. At first, I thought he might push me away as he did earlier today, but to my surprise, he closed his eyes, and a slight sound of contentment vibrated in his throat.

"S'nice."

A smile played at the edge of my lips, and I kept repeating the action, watching the tension that the whiskey couldn't remove from his body dissipate. I thought Butcher had fallen asleep when he whispered almost too quietly for me to hear. "You're too good for me. All of ya'"

"That's not true, and you know it," I replied immediately.

"But I'm a bleedin’ murderer," he said louder as he opened his eyes, and my heart clenched when I saw he had tears in them.

"Butcher, we've all killed people. You're no worse than I am. Or Frenchie or MM."

Butcher shook his head adamantly. "No. I killed him, an innocent fuckin' person."

"Who?" I pressed, wanting to understand the source of his pain. "Who did you kill?"

"The one person I was supposed to protect." Butcher's voice broke, and he coughed weakly. "I shoulda been there to protect him, but instead, I fuckin’ killed him when he needed me the most."

Even in the midst of my confusion, I didn't cease stroking Butcher's head, wanting and needing to console him in any way possible. "I'm sure it was an accident. You're not a killer, Billy. And there's nothing in you that would ever convince me otherwise."

"Ya' don't understand," he croaked, looking up at me with sad, hazel eyes. My throat tightened, and I swallowed harshly to clear my emotions. Seeing Butcher so tormented clawed at my heart, especially when I didn't know how to help him.

"Then explain it to me," I plead softly.

Butcher looked unsure, and his unease was palpable. "I've never told anybody before," he admitted lowly.

"You don't have to tell me. But, Butcher, it might help to talk about it." I paused briefly as I carefully chose my following words. "Does this guilt you're feeling have anything to do with what Mindstorm did to you today?"

Butcher nodded, closing his eyes. "It's the one thing from me past that I've tried to outrun. But today, it finally caught up to me."

I was quiet as I watched the internal battle rage within Butcher. After several deliberary minutes, he omitted a sigh and began to tell his darkest tail.

"I had just turned eighteen. I'd been counting down the days until my birthday when I'd be a legal adult and could get the fuck outta my mum and dad's house. My old man...he was a fuckin' cunt. His temper was uncontrollable, and he loved to take it out on my younger brother, Lenny, and me."

Lenny.

I had heard a bit about Lenny from Butcher's aunt last year, right before her house blew up, but I never got any details. All I knew was that he had committed suicide as a child. It was tragic and involved a sort of heartbreak that I couldn't even comprehend, so I never asked Butcher about it.

"I tried to take the brunt of my dad’s shite to shield Lenny, but I was a kid, so there wasn't much I could do. There were times when little Lenny would be so hurt-" Butcher's voice wavered, cutting off the ending of his sentence, and he pinched the bridge of his nose as he composed himself before continuing. "Our mum never hit us, but she never tried to protect us either. That twat of a woman never lifted a fuckin' finger as she listened to us scream."

Butcher's eyes drifted behind me as he recalled the painful memories. "I couldn't fuckin' take it anymore. I decided that on my eighteenth birthday, I'd run away to join the army. The idea of being shot at was worlds betta' than living under the roof of my piss-poor excuse of a father. But I couldn't take Len with me." Butcher paused, hesitating. "Even after he begged me to."

"Our father was awful to him," Butcher said, meeting my gaze, and I saw fresh tears well in his eyes. But he couldn't suppress them this time, and they ran down his face, wetting his cheeks. "He beat Lenny far worse than he ever did me. I think he was bitter that I'd been able to escape, and hurting me little brother was his act of revenge."

"I'm so sorry, Butcher," I mumbled, knowing that my apology did nothing to ease his pain.

"After six months, the army gave me a short leave of absence, and I used it to visit Lenny." Butcher's tears increased as his voice grew strained. "He looked terrible. He'd lost so much weight and was covered in bruises, so he didn't even look like the same person."

I softly dragged a finger under each of Butcher's eyes, wiping away his tears, but every tear I collected was quickly replaced with a new one. Carefully, I urged Butcher closer so his head could rest in my lap. I resumed running my hand through his hair, hoping it would have the same calming effect on him that it did before.

"He blamed me for our father's behavior," Butcher continued. "He said that I had abandoned him when he needed me the most. He said he couldn't fuckin' bear it anymore, and he'd rather be dead than be beaten every night by the one person who was supposed to love him more than anything."

Butcher closed his eyes and breathed shakily through his nose as he uttered the tragic ending of the story.

"And then he pulled out a gun and shot himself."

His words hung in the air and settled over us, blanketing Butcher and me in a morbid and melancholy feeling.

"And it was all my fault."

I was startled by Butcher's accusation of himself. "What are you talking about? It was your father's doing. You weren't the one beating Lenny halfway to hell every night."

Butcher looked up at me, slowly shaking his head. His eyes were puffy as they continued to dispel tears of his anguish. "If I hadn't left, Lenny woulda been safer, and he wouldn't've been driven to suicide. I practically signed my brother's death certificate."

"Butcher-"

"If I had just stayed, then my father wouldn't have-"

"Butcher-"

"So it's my fuckin’ fault that-"

"Butcher! Your brother's death was not your fault, do you hear me?"

I hauled Butcher up from my lap and grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket, forcing him to look at me. "How dare you try to take responsibility for the actions of a fucking monster. You are a good person, Billy. And I will spend every day telling you if that's what it takes for you to believe me because I can't bear to sit back and watch you punish yourself for a crime that you did not commit."

Butcher looked stunned by my outburst as he opened and closed his mouth without dispelling any words. I had never seen Billy Butcher speechless, but I assumed it looked like this.

"You're one of the best people I know," I continued, wanting to finish everything I had to say. "And I'm going to personally hunt down Mindstorm and rip his stupid, little shrimp dick off and shove it down his throat for forcing you to relive something so horrific. And then I'm going to cut his toes off and- what?"

Butcher had lowered his head, and his shoulders shook ever so slightly as he chuckled.

"Oh, you think I'm bluffing? Hughie dropped him off in Jamacia, so all I have to do is get on a plane and- seriously, Butcher, what are you laughing at?" I asked incredulously. How on earth could he laugh at a time like this?

Butcher raised his head, regarding me softly as his laughter died down. "No one has ever protected me like you do."

His profession took me aback, and I raised a brow, needing him to elaborate.

"Hughie said ya' almost carved Mindstorm's eye out after he put me to sleep."

"And I would've carved out both eyes if he didn't stop me. Buzzkill."

A smile played on the edge of his mouth as he shook his head back and forth. "You're something else, ya' know that?"

I bit my lip as I looked down, but Butcher grasped the side of my jaw so it'd meet his eyes again. "Why do you do it?" he whispered.

"Do what?"

"Take care of me. Anyone else on the team woulda let me drown in me whiskey on that bathroom floor, but not you. Why?"

I swallowed audibly as I stuttered. "I, uh, just thought it was the right thing to do."

"No, s'not it," Butcher murmured, raking his teeth over his bottom lip. "There's more to it. I don't believe you spent your whole evening consoling the broken mind of your boss because ya' thought it was the right thing to do."

When I didn't reply, Butcher sighed, leaning his forehead against mine and closing his eyes. "Why are ya' so hellbent on convincing me that I'm not a fuck up like I know I am."

"Because I care about you. More than I probably should."

Butcher pulled back, searching my face for any hint that I may be joking, but when he saw nothing but the raw truth, he nodded. "C'mere."

He drew me close before pulling me down on the bed till I was curled up on my side, and he was directly behind me with his chest up against my back. Butcher slung an arm over my waist as he nuzzled his nose in my neck, breathing me in.

"Stay for the night, please. I don't wanna be alone."

I reached for his hand, which rested on my stomach, and intertwined our fingers. "I'm never leaving you."

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