#d gray man fluff

[alienaiver]

now that its cold again and i am, once again, too cheap to turn on the heat in my apartment, i am back in my allen era...

"but why won't you turn on the heat?" he asks, confusion laced into his question. it's not out of place, his inability to understand your logic.

mostly because you don't want to tell him your plan.

hanging out at allen's small apartment is always cold and you always sneak in a way to have his arms wrapped around you. but lately, ever since his stove stopped working and the landlord's taking his sweet time to fix it, you've been spending time at your place.

allen's not good at initiating cuddle times - it's awkward and straining for him to ask for the affection you'll freely give and you can be stunted too, in making the moves that are sometimes needed to push you both.

so, after lavi's suggestion, you decided to let the heaters stay turned off, because this will make sure that you're cuddled up for warmth shortly after dinner. it's a secure deal.

except, allen won't stop asking questions.

he does it out of worry. are you short on money? did the heater break and you dont know how to fix it? are you suddenly self-conscious about his choice of letting it stay off for as long as possible? should he take an extra shift at work to help you replace it?

you try to shrug off his question again, wiping down the countertop after dinner and deflecting, "should we continue 90 days fiance tonight?"

(allen's official stance will always be that reality tv like that is staged and shallow - but that won't stop him from being dramatically invested in the bad choices of these people desperate for love.)

he huffs out a breath and lets his shoulders sag. then, he shakes his head and reaches out for your hands.

with both of his. a recent development you've been more than thrilled about - yet you're too afraid it will make him uncomfortable to mention it.

you squeeze his and muster up the most nonchalant expression you can before you lean in close and talk before he can ask another question, "we can bring the duvet and bedcover into the livingroom with us."

if you think it's rude that he rolls his eyes at you, you don't say it out loud. instead, you inhale sharply before you kiss him. he grunts unexpectedly - he loves kissing you, feeling the shape and warmth of your lips, but he's not used to it yet.

he sighs and locks eyes with you, "you promise everything's okay?"

you laugh and swat his shoulder, "yes."

he eyes you for a moment like he sometimes eyes kanda when his definitely-not-friend-but-also-close-friend says something suspiciously kind to him.

you kiss him again, "it's embarassing to say out loud but i promise that my intentions are good and that there literally isn't any issues. can you please be a good boyfriend and come cuddle with me now?"

he thinks it's underhanded, how you use the term boyfriend, fully aware of how flustered it makes him. you smile victoriously before you grab onto his left hand and drags him into the living room, caressing his scarred skin with your thumb all the way. you can't wait to be covered in blankets, duvets and the scent of him for the rest of the evening, listening to him revert to his rude speech pattern as the people on screen makes the worst choices or says the worst things publicly. it's still early, but you think you love him.

[commytator]

 ❤❤❤

[keulixeutin]

Acquiescence

a/n: this is super old, now revamped.  i was just thinking about it and thought i’d clean it up and send it back out into the world.  i would absolutely not count on me to write any dgm right now; that requires an entire reread since it’s been a while lmaoo.

summary: kanda can’t sleep, so he opts for the back-up plan he swore he’d never use. kanda x gn!reader 

cw: light fluff if you squint lol, some skin touching skin. nightmares, comfort. gn!reader, gender neutral pronouns used.

wc: 955.

Kanda shoots up out of the bed.  Sweat clings to the back of his neck and edges of his forehead.  He sweeps his hair off to one side of his shoulder to try and dry his skin, and then he pulls his knee close and rests his head against it, catching his breath.  His heart is loud—embarrassingly so, considering it was just a nightmare.  His reality as an exorcist is worse than whatever his brain can conjure up in sleep.

Or maybe, his brain didn’t conjure up false images.  Perhaps, it was a memory.  It certainly felt…familiar.  Or maybe it’s just a reoccurring dream.  He doesn’t know.

Kanda sighs, groaning internally.  H knows from past experience that he’s either staying up all night, tossing and turning, or jerking away every time he falls too deep asleep.

A thought strikes him then—a voice.  Your voice.  

Plan B.

—No, fuck that.  He’s not doing that.  His pride is strong and it’s late in the night.  Plan B is simply out of the question, he tells himself.

He lays back down.  He’ll just have to tough it out, he thinks.

However, just as he expected, he spends the next thirty minutes shifting and twisting his body in various positions.  His body sinks into the sheets in exhaustion, but sleep feels so far out of reach.  He has just come back from a three-week long mission; the fatigue has been building, and this is supposed to be his first night where he gets more than four hours of sleep, and yet here he is, eye-bags burning in the dark.

When another minute ticks by without any sign of sleep, he rolls over to face the wall and growls irritably.

 Plan B, he hears you say again.

He doesn’t even know why it’s called Plan B.  It should be Plan Z, because the next step should be banging his head against the walls until unconsciousness. 

With a soft snarl at himself and the universe, Kanda swings his legs over the bed.  He grabs a thin shirt form the chair and slips it over his head.  The cool air hits him quickly when he opens the door and steps out.  The hallway is lit with candles and torches; large and ominous shadows dance along the stone beside him as he steps toward your room.  

When he hears a noise, he pauses, tense, but it’s just the machinery and loud groans from the Science Department.  Nothing else but the flickering flames moves in the halls, just the way he likes it—the last thing Kanda wants to do is explain why it is he’s outside his room in slippers and sleeping clothes.

He picks up speed, taking a left, then a right, and another left.  The memory is strong, even though he’s only been there once.

Soon, before he could talk himself out of it, he’s in front of your door, hand hovering over the wood in hesitation.  He tries the handle—it’s unlocked.  He doesn’t bothering knocking.

You aren’t awake, but the sound of your door opening, however soft it is, pulls you from your sleep.  You shift through sleepy sands, back to reality, and push up on your elbows.  Lit gently by the glow of faint flames, Kanda stands in your entrance, hair undone around him, sweat beads along his temple, and eyes glued to the wall right behind you.

“Plan B?” you ask, yawning.

He grunts.

You pull back the blanket and pat the spot beside you.  “Come on,” you say.

He should go back, he thinks.  He shouldn’t be here.  Over a nightmare?  A stupid dream?  A—

“Hurry up,” you say, interrupting his thoughts.

He swallows his pride and then closes the door behind him.  The first step is hard, but the second is easier.  Before he knows it, he’s at your beside and sipping in beside you.  Your body heat immediately greets him; he pulls his shirt off and throws it on your floor to balance the new warmth.  You turn your back to him and face the wall, eyes closing quickly.

He’s suddenly doubting his decision, feeling uncomfortable and unsure and embarrassed.  Plan B is stupid.  A terrible, awful, idiotic idea.  How is this going to help him get any sleep?  How are you going to keep the nightmares—the memories—away?

Suddenly, you reach behind yourself and grab his wrist.  You pull him closer and lay his arm around you, placing his hand on the peek of your skin below the hem of your shirt.

Kanda’s stiff, but he hears you say, “Relax.  Never know until you try.”

“Shut up,” he mutters.  He doesn’t need you to tell him that, he thinks irritably, but the annoyance is just hiding the frustration and fluster.

“Relax,” you whisper.  He thinks you’ve fallen asleep immediately after, and all he wants to do know is follow you in those peaceful shadows.

Kanda closes his eyes and forces his body to unwind and soften.  He tilts his head toward your smooth neck, breathing in your scent of soap and tea.  The hand at your stomach slips an inch under your shirt, pressing against your beauty marks and battle scars.  He hears you sigh serenely.  You reach back and tug on his hair gently; his dark locks spill around the two of you.

He sighs into your skin and finally—finally—falls asleep.

And he dreams.

He dreams of you; he’s sure of it, but he can’t quite remember.

In the morning, though, when you roll over and grin groggily at him, his hair twirled around your fingers like a question and his hand on your waist like the answer, he thinks maybe it was something like this.

[frelonshi]

Introduction & Rules

Masterlist | Currently working on

Presentation

You can call me Frelon, Guepe or Abeille (or any bug name in french, I'm curious what you'd come with). I'm an adult, and write for adults. I won't go hunting minors, but I'd appreciate if minors don't interact with my content, at least the smut/nsfw ones. I go by he/him, sometimes they/them. If you're curious about anything, feel free to send an ask.

Rules for requesting

For the content: I'm interested in writing everything, from tooth-rotting fluff to the most heart-wrenching angst and the filthiest smut. I will only write headcanons and MLT (Most to Least), no one-shots for the moment. I don't write underage, scat and parents/children incest. You may request as many characters as you please, but I won't necessarely write them all. I mostly write for reader/characters (it can be poly); or just general character headcanons. I generally write for gender neutral reader, so don't hesitate to tell me if you want a gender/sex in peculiar.

For the posting: You feel sad because you sent your request a year ago and I haven't answered? Don't worry dear, I'm not ignoring you, I'm just very busy and a slow writer in general. I don't like getting reminder, though. I understand it can be frustrating, but the more I'm pushed (even if I know there's no mean attentions behind it), the less I get into a writing mood.

For the requesting: I may refuse any ideas I don't feel skilled enough to write or don't feel to. I'll delete it with a notice (to distinguish from the one I'm simply slowly working on). Also, I love details! It's a bit difficult to work only with "chubby!reader" or "tall!reader", tell me about what aspects you would especially like to see explored!

Fandoms

I mostly write for Naruto and My Hero Academia but I also venture towards FullMetal Alchemist Brotherhood, D.Gray-Man and Saint Seiya: The Lost Cancas (only Albafica, Aldebaran, Manigoldo, El Cid, Degel, Kardia and Asmita). I also write for Arcane and The Witcher.

I know other fandoms, so don't hesitate to send an ask about a fandom!

[fanaticsnail]

You're The Cure

Masterlist Here, Pollen Masterlist here

Word Count: 4,300+

Synopsis: Law bought you a pretty flower from a port, wanting to impress you with it, and perhaps use it as a courting gift should you want him. As the Polar Tang's Herbalist, you know there is more to this flower than meets the eye. Trafalgar Law got more than what he bargained for with this little gift.

Themes: Pollen!Law x afab!reader, dubcon, desperate Law, Smut, mdni, NSFW, 18+ content, solo Law, edging, premature ejaculation, creampie, fluff

Notes: This little fic was brought to you by an incredibly recent ask that took control of my laptop. @sweetly-sicken, thank you for your ask - I hope you enjoy. @sordidmusings, @feral-artistry come get your man. He needs help (and thank you both for your help and your ears today while I wrote it).

Tag List: @sordidmusings @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @feral-artistry @gingernut1314 @vespidphoenix @carrotsunshine @i-am-vita @mfreedomstuff @sexc-snail

Hunched over the desk in the greenhouse aboard the Polar Tang, Trafalgar D Water-Law scrunched his eyes tightly shut and sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. His body was alight with a foreign passion he had never seen make it's equal. His clothes scratched and ignited his skin, the material of his heavy jacket weighing down his torso under the thick shroud of gray. 

Peeling his hat from his body and tearing at the iron zipper of his coat, his body began moving on instinct alone. His mind was screaming at him for his appalling behavior as his hands scorched hot trails along the glistening skin on his stomach. Sweat poured from his temples, his lips parting and huffing as his hands moved at a will of their own below the waistband of his pants. 

As his right hand gripped his achingly hard cock, he viciously began pistonning it within his fist, writhing and thrusting within it to match his brutal pace. His left hand snaked its way up his chest, pinching and circling the peaked bud of his right nipple as he mewled in desperation. He felt the approach of an impending orgasm stampede him towards release, the relief of the finish line almost within sight as he continued abusing his shiny knob and pummeling his shaft. 

Just as he felt his body begin to tip its way over the edge, it fell away just as hastily. Panic wrote itself over his face: his eyes wide, his mouth agape with a thin trail saliva trickling down his chin in stringy strands. 

“No, no, no, no,” he begged, pleading at his body to respond to the stimuli, picking up the pace and attempted to seek out his impending eruption for the second time, “No-... f-fuck-... Please.” 

Choking his shaft, a momentary clarity sifted in his mind as his eyes snapped to the single, innocent, pale flower poking out of an unsuspecting, ceramic pot. The top of the flowers danced within the aura of the puffs of breath he was panting, the yellow hue of pollen tinting the air with a tang on his tongue and a burn in his nose. 

“It’s that f-fucking flower, isn't i-it?” he chastised himself in a harsh whisper, laying his right hand flat over the desk as he thrust into his vice-like grip, “F-Fuck, it's the f-flower. Fuck.”

The sweetness of his release was once again in sight as he scrunched his eyes tightly shut. He released his nipple from his fingers, gripping the steel rim of the desk as he continued to writhe into his fist. 

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh sh-shit,” he choked on his words, desperately chasing an end that only rewarded him by sprinting away from within his reaching grasp. Again, the panic seared through his mind as he doubled down on his efforts, “No, no, no, no-o!” 

Without any further thoughts about his elusive orgasm, he immediately elevated his left hand and splayed out his fingers. He growled out a desperate roar, his ink-tainted digits shaking as he attempted to activate his devil-fruit ability to expel the pollen like a foul demon from claiming his soul. 

“R-Room- Ah fuck!” he exclaimed, his body immediately flopping over the desk as his body doubled its efforts against his iron-will. The intensity of the spouted dust increased it's crippling hold over his body, burrowing down deeper into every aspect of his body. 

“Sh-Sh-... Sh-...” he arched his back, his brows knit in a tight furrowed concentration. Glancing at the flower once more, a pool of saliva began spilling over his bottom lip as sweat poured from his temple, “Sh-Shambles- AH NO!” 

His cock danced with unresolved release, twitching within his fist as the intensity of his desire amplified. The devil-fruit abilities were doused by the fiery spray of the pollen in his respiratory system and blood stream. His body was not responding to his commands to expel it from himself by the supernatural means, nor the natural. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted, falling back into the chair behind him and gyrating his hips rhythmically upwards to continue to match the pace of his pistoning fist. 

As a final ditch effort to release himself from not only this spell, but to force himself to cum into his fist, he attempted to activate his Haki. Scrunching his eyes shut tightly before opening them once activated, the sparks of energy he intended on seeking fogged his mind with too frantic a stimuli. 

Suddenly, he was aware of every white-hot wave of lust coursing through his veins. Everything ignited into a bright wave of light, his eyes not able to adjust to the flashes of the augmented hue. He shook his head, immediately shaking off the use of Haki from his widening eyes. 

“H-Help,” he choked out a whimpered whisper, “I n-need help.” He mewled out a keening sob, desperately chasing his high within his right palm. He thrust his left hand into his hair, balling the sweat-damp strands into his fist and cried out for his release. 

The bob in his thigh, the lightning bliss within reach again within the coiling band in his abdomen, everything was right there. Right there, until it wasn't. 

“C’mon, Law!” He roared at himself, chasing his high. He focussed his ministrations on his frenulum, pinching and flicking his hand over the tight band of flesh, “You can do this. Gotta keep strong for the team. C-Can’t lettem’ know. You're better than th-this.” 

He whined as his left hand once again chased the channels of his inked art up his chest, swirling his nipples beneath his calloused fingertips. 

“F-fuck, fuck, fuck!” he cried in desperation, his cock refusing to spill over even the smallest amount of precum over the slit, no relief in his release being welcomed into his hand, “Why can't I do this? I-I need-... Shit-... I need-... Mmmfph-... I need help.”

-

“Anyone seen our captain?” You asked the crew gathered in the communal dining space. Downturned lips, shrugs and soft shakes of the heads from your crewmates unified in their puzzlement. 

“Why? What's going on?” Bepo asked, his pale fur reflecting the buzzing illumines of the artificial light. 

“Oh, he said he had something for me, is all,” you smiled at Bepo, clapping your hand over his shoulder with a polite smile, “Something about a flower he picked up from that strange port earlier today. Wanted me to have a look, see if I could extract anything of it.”

Bepo let out a small squeak of joy, stifling further joy from fleeing from his lips by clapping his paw over his muzzle. He sought out the corners of your face, gauging your emotions responding to a gift from the captain. You shook your head at the large, fuzzy bear with a small smirk. 

“That kinda makes sense,” Penguin smirked up at you, shoveling his food into his lips and chomping down on the crunchy texture, “Seeing as though you're the herbal remedy spooky witch, and all. He's likely in your office, maybe even the greenhouse.”

“Herbalist, Pen,” you corrected him with a soft smirk and the shake of your head, “I didn't go to study permaculture, horticulture, botanical remedies alongside my bloody medical degree for you to refer to me as ‘herbal remedy spooky witch'.” 

Cackles erupted from the table around you, your own chuckle joining with the crew as you rose to your feet. Discarding the contents from your tray, you then placed the empty tray atop the metal shelf for the cleaning crew to easily manage. 

“Alright, family,” you called to your crewmen with a smile, “I'm off to take a look at that flower. I'll see you all for dinner later.”

“Bye, spooky witch,” Penguin chuckled at you, “Don't forget your broom on the way out.”

“Penguin!” Bepo scolded your hat-wearing crewman, prompting you to laugh in response. Shaking your head, you approached Penguin from behind, leaning down to lean into his ear with utter seriousness. 

“Be sure not to test this witch’s patience,” you smirked, purring into his ear in a sultry whisper. Penguin's blood ran cold, feeling the warm heat cascading from your body as your cool breath met with the shell of his ear, “Or I may curse you with something as sinister as impotence.” 

You laughed to yourself, turning and exiting the dining room to make your way towards your office. Noticing a dim light beneath the door, you cocked your head to the side as you narrowed your eyes. 

A small wave of tinted dust swirled beneath the door, your eyes widening at the hue of the pollen particles. You immediately reached into your boiler suit, seeking out your personal mushi-shell and raising it to your lips. 

“Bepo, you there?” You called to your fuzz-covered crewmate, “Important, honey. You there?” your snail jumped, Bepo’s voice expelling from the box with a hasty confirmation of, “I'm here, what's going on?”

“I need you to open the vents in the greenhouse and pump the room with clean air,” you ordered him, reaching for the door of your office and knocking on the cloudy glass of the window. 

Rough panting, cursing and growling echoed from a masculine voice from within the room, your heartbeat increasing the longer you were standing outside the door. You had read about this pollen, recognised the hue immediately beneath the crack in the door, and you knew almost exactly what sight was going to meet with your eyes as soon as you turned the door handle. 

“Bepo, did you flush the room?” You hastily hissed into the shell, a curt, “yes!” was confirmed in response. 

“Good job, sweety,” you praised him, before knitting your brows up in concern with a very cautious question, “Bepo?”

“Yes, Herbalist?” Bepo asked into the shell, “Is there anything else I can do for you? You sound kinda panicked.”

“I just-... I don't know how to put it plainer than this at the moment…” You trailed off, unsure of how to pose this question without further questions being asked of yourself, “...You're the captain's closest confidant, Bepo. Do you know if he's taken a lover aboard the ship? Anyone he fancies that might reciprocate his-... Uhh-... Affections?” 

A lull in the crackle prompted your heart to skip a few beats, patiently waiting for Bepo to answer your question. You were likely certain there were a few, including yourself, that took a shine to the broody and serious captain that manned the Heart-Pirates. You were aware of the cure for this disease he'd likely inflicted on himself, truly desiring to give him the treatment he'd actually consent to adhere to. 

This was pollen from the pale-lust plant, a plant that only the smallest amount of dust could amplify and magnify the sexual experience of the person who inhales it. It was usually manufactured into perfumes and body oils for those who wanted to ‘spice up’ their love lives. And your Captain had likely doused himself in it. 

“I'm not sure if it's my place to say, but from your tone of panic…” the shell muttered in Bepo’s calming cadence after several moments of silence, “...H-He hasn't ever thought about buying anyone aside you a gift at port before. A-And he really thought you'd like that flower he brought back for you.”

“Okay, Bepo,” you managed to choke out a small squeaked order, “I need you to block off all access to the botanical bay for the rest of the day. Captain's orders, okay? You're in charge.”

“Is everything okay? Do you need help-?” He questioned over the shell, you halting his voice by speaking over him. 

“-The captain is likely experiencing some systemic shock at the moment,” you confessed, adjusting your uniform at your neck in an attempt to stifle your blush, “Judging from the hue of the dust, it's likely the plant he brought back had an effect that I doubt he would've prepared himself for.” You bit your lip, truly concerned for Law's wellbeing within your office, “I need you to take charge until either I, or Captain Law, tell you otherwise. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

“Aye, sir,” Bepo’s practiced reply barked into the speaker, you could almost visualize the salute on the other side of the transponder. 

“Good boy,” you praised him, your hand moving down to the door handle and beginning to turn it, “I'm going to be out of contact for a while. I might still make it to dinner, but if I can't - please save me and the captain a plate!”

“Aye, sir!” he uttered again into the speaker, with a final, “Good luck with the captain!” Clicking aside the portable transponder, you thrust it into your pocket and shook aside your nerves. 

Hastily, you flung wide the door, turning immediately upon entering and facing the door as you clicked it locked behind you. As soon as you entered the space, the sounds of rough slapping of hands meeting skin, huffs of exasperated panting, groans and pleads falling from your captain's panicked lips alongside his panting mewls of pleasure flung themselves loudly and carelessly into the air. 

“Captain,” you whispered, your hands holding firm to the cloudy glass of your office door, “I know you're likely out of your own mind right now, but I'm going to tell you this anyway-.”

“-Fuck, what's happening to me? T-Tell me, please. Know I'm h-here. My h-head is here, I-I just-... ngmmh-...” he whined for you, the taste of your name tainting his tongue with desire and lust, “...don't judge me, please. I don't want this to change the image of myself in your head.”

Anticipation and a shameful wave of desire spread itself through your chest and ignited a throbbing need for your captain in your core. You knew this wouldn't be happening without this douse of pollen coursing through his veins, the raw need to chase his ecstacy within his fist behind you. 

“All th-this because I wanted t’get you a-... f-fucking gift t’ court you-...” Law confessed with a whispered hiss, his eyes raking over your body with lust and need, “...M’guessing this's from that f-fucking flower I got for you. Is-s there a cure?” 

A gasp flew from your lips at his confession, prompting you to almost glance over your shoulder at him. Deciding to give your captain a further shroud of decency, you halted your movement and chose your next words carefully. 

“There's no cure I can manufacture here, Sir,” you whisper over your shoulder, “But there is one that I know of-.”

“-F-Fuck, please get it. Whatever it is. Get the fucking cure before I lose the final bit of control I h-have,” he roared your name, barking his orders as the skid of the iron legs of the chair backwards, raking against the steel floor. You jumped in shock, the shifting of material scattering prompted you to become more aware of his feral urges further.  

Just as you began to turn your body to face your captain, two inked hands slammed against your own on the cloudy glass, prying them apart with a vice-like grip. Fingers laced between yours, his face fell in the crook of your shoulder as he deeply inhaled the scent of your perfume. He groaned at the feeling of his bare cock grinding in between the divet in your ass above your boiler suit, a shocked gasp fell from your lips in response. 

“Fuck you smell good,” he moaned, his lips latching on your pulse as his tongue swirled against you, “Taste even fucking better.” You whined as his teeth sunk into your neck, his rhythmic grinding not easing against your clothed flesh. 

His mind was hazy, his body was reacting to every subtle change in your voice and wavering breaths. As soon as you entered the room, it took all of his strength and will to not enter a state of frenzy and fuck into you with the deep ferocity of a wild beast. He owed you better than that. He wanted you to want him too, and if that meant holding onto his sanity by tooth and nail: so be it. 

“Captain-,” you gasped as his right hand left yours to paw at the front zipper of your jumpsuit. 

“-Law,” he growled his correction at you, “It’s Law, or anything other than my title or ‘sir’. Y-You-... fuck, sweetheart-... I n-need you. Please let me? Let me have you? Please?”

Slotting his hand over your chest, his fingers eagerly sought your left breast beneath the cup of your uniformed lingerie. He hastily rolled the peaked nub within his thumb, index and middle fingers; a cry of pleasure emanating from your throat as you threw your head back onto his shoulder. 

“We can talk about it later,” he whispered into your ear, pinching at your nipple as he bit your earlobe, “Know that I wanted you before all this-... F-fuck-...but I need you now.”

He hastily turned you in his arms, splitting the top part of your boiler suit back and shedding it from your body as he claimed your lips beneath his. Allowing his primal desires to take the reins, he continued breaking you out of your clothes to match his own nudity: pinning you against the door with his rutting hips. 

“What do I need to do? Tell me,” he moaned into your skin, his teeth catching on your own as you reciprocated his touch, “Guide me, my north star. Show me wh-what I gotta do.”

“Law,” you moaned for him, his body immediately pulling to you like iron to a magnet. Shedding the last of your clothes over your ankles, he used his feet to kick off your shoes. Cupping your thighs, he hoisted you into the air and hooked your knees over his hips. 

“My north star,” he moaned into your skin, his lips clinging to every amount of flesh exposed to him, “You're the cure. You're the cure, aren't you? My body is telling me you are.” You moaned for him as he carried you over to your desk, lying you on the cool surface and hovering over your body. 

“Anyone can be the cure for this, Law,” you confessed to him in a whimpering whisper, “It's the joining of bodies together that ends the torment. It's not me-.”

“-It is you,” he growled at you, hovering his lips just above yours and shaking from the amount of stress he placed himself under by holding back, “It's only ever been you. I need you. Better yet…” he lines his cock up with your glistening opening, the tip rubbing against your core prompting a small sob to exit from his lips. 

“...I crave you,” his arms shook beneath his weight, the sheen of sweat pooling from his temple beneath his only hair down to his whiskered chin, “Always wanted you. Let me have you. Please say you'll let me have you.”

“You have me,” you confessed, tracing your arms over his quivering forearms down to his hips, clawing him to draw him nearer. Guiding his cock within your entrance, you angle his hips as his brow sets deep within its furrow. 

“I feel like I'm gonna explode,” he confessed in a strangled whisper, “I-I’m sorry. I'm so, so sorry.” 

“It's okay, it's okay,” you soothed him with your calming voice, your thumbs pressing circular motions against his hip bones as he slid his cock to the hilt within you, “Use me, it's okay.”

As soon as the length of Law's cock slid to the back of your walls, he entered into a bliss he never would've imagined. His vision struck white, electricity sparking the flames of his encumbering lust as he shot you deep with spurts of his sticky cum. 

Barely having time to adjust to his size, he was already crying out for you. He immediately burst with his passionate release painting your gummy walls white, praising you for your gift to him while sobbing in deep pleas of anguish. 

“Fuck, I'm c-cumming. I'm f-fucking cumming. I'm already-...” He mewled your name, huffing as he barely began moving within you, “...I'm s-sorry, I'm so sorry. I-I-... hhah, fuck-... I'm sorry-... nngh- s-so good.”

You pawed at his ass, clutching onto his checks and held him deep within you, hips flush with your own. The twitches of his muscles all rippled with the expulsion of the final waves of his cum deep within you. 

“I'm sorry,” he repeated in a whisper, alongside chanting your name like a prayer, “I'm so sorry.”

“It's okay, love, I know,” you hushed him, his body collapsing atop your own and caging you beneath him on your desk. You drew your hands up to his damp hair, fingers brushing away the strands and cradling him close. 

Finally collecting his breath, his heartbeat slowing to a more forgiving beat, he refused to tear his face away from the crease of your neck and shoulder. Embarrassment at, not only, the hasty release of his cum within you had a red hue illuminating Law’s face. He was also appalled at the fact his surprise gift for you was a toxic aphrodisiac, one he fell within the snare of with no known cure. 

“Law, look at me,” you cooed down at him, prompting him to nuzzle his pouting face deeper into your skin. You tried your best to stifle your giggle to no avail - your laughter aimed at his utter childishness. 

“Law,” you chastised him, angling the heels of your palms down to collect his cheeks, “C’mon, love. Let me see those pretty eyes of yours. Look at me.”

He huffed out a breath of exasperation, finally tearing his face away from your shoulder and bringing his pouty face up to meet yours. His eyebrows were knit in a single point in the middle of his face, his eyes wide and filled with shame. 

“I'm sorry, herbalist,” he acknowledged your formal rank, his cock still deeply held within you, “I am better than this. I-I promise I'm better than this.” You arched a single brow up with your growing smirk. 

“Herbalist?” you parroted back at him, brushing your nose against his, “What happened to my name, or ‘my North Star’? I quite liked that one,” his blush deepened, the dark dusting of vibrant red cascading over his nose, cheeks and tips of his ears. 

“Well, what happened to ‘love’, huh? Where'd that go?” he quipped back at you, gliding his reducing cock out of your walls, releasing the floodgates of his excessive load of cum expelling from your pussy. He shifted himself away, glancing down at the expulsion of his cum dripping onto your office floor. 

“Fuck,” he shuddered out in a small whispered groan, “That was a bit more than I thought there would be. Room…” he extended his left hand upwards, the spatter on the floor and still within you vanishing with a further utterance of, “...Shambles.”

A small splash of water fell onto the floor, and a small spurt against your groin. You shot Law a quizzical look, prompting a smirk to rise on his cheeks. 

“I tried washing my face in your sink as soon as I got a waft of the flower dust in my face,” he shrugged before nodding his head over to your herbalist station, “Water was still in it.”

Smiling, you leant up with your elbows behind your back, looking at the man who was priorly all consumed with feral lust. He looked accusingly at the pale flower in the small pot beside your naturopathic remedial herbs, eyes narrowed and lip snarling. 

“It's the last time I'm buying you a fucking plant,” he muttered, turning to meet his eyes with yours, “Without checking with you first, of course,” he reached down with his right hand, smiling as you accepted his hand, “I want to buy you all the plants you could ever want,” he aided you to rise to your feet, guiding your hands to lace behind his neck. 

“Thank you, love,” you smiled at him, prompting his eyes to crease with his own joy at the return of your name for him. 

“Anything for my north star,” he pressed a gentle kiss atop your head, “My guiding light,” his lips trailed down to brush against the apple of your cheek, “My pretty map spiriting me home to hold you in my arms again,” he snaked his forearms around your waist, his smiling lips collecting yours beneath his. 

Parting your lips, he angled his head to the side and pressed several waves of passionate caresses against your mouth. He sucked in a sharp breath through his nose, dipping his knees to elevate you within the air, his smile widening at the small squeak of surprise you released from your mouth to his. 

He placed you onto the floor again, chasing your retreating lips as you arched your back to press your exposed chest against his. The warmth of your skin spread from your body onto his, the heat radiating from his body engulfing your own with a warm infusion of radiant bliss. 

“You absolute sappy romantic,” you teased him as you broke from the kiss shared with him, “Didn't know you had all that in you. You must really like me.”

Scoffing back his laughter at your taunt, he squeezed your body against his. You laughed at his playful expression, leaning up to press a small kiss against his whiskered chin. 

“Alright. Fuck you, you brat,” he laughed, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous grin, “I was gonna let you top me, use me to get your own release from me, but now- ohhhh, now,” he shuddered a sinister whisper down at you, “Now you're gonna get it.”

“I'm absolutely shaking,” you taunted him further, your teeth nipping at his jaw, “Shaking, quivering and cowering.”

“Not now, you're not,” he growled at you, lifting you within his arms and hooking your knees over his hips once more, “But you fucking will be when I'm done with you.”

[1800titz]

HI. HELLO. Here is my Valentine’s Day contribution. POTTERYINSTRUCTOR!HARRY!! POTTERY MAN! WOOO. Basically almost 7K of clay sexualization and sexually charged fluff (ish). Enjoy! :D

CONTENT/WARNINGS: ridiculous sexualization of clay (I think I’ve managed to fetishize clay in this one??? OOPS), overly suggestive usage of pottery terms, a red-hot, hands-on tutorial for wheel throwing, and embarassingly long descriptions of Harry’s fingers coated in wet clay.

WC: 6.6K

slip: small bits of dry clay mixed with water to create a thick, creamy consistency

Clay is innately erotic. 

Wheel throwing is, arguably, the most pornographic art form, its only competing opponent being, maybe, literal body-painting. And that latter one still falls as a close second. Close, but second. 

Y/N decides that when she wanders into a little ceramics shop tucked away in a busy plaza downtown. There’s no method to her exploration, but the broad glass windows are adorned with dripping, colorful graffiti and its innards call to her. GLAZED, reads the large sign over the awning in blocky, white lettering, stippled with un-glowing light bulbs that she’s sure light alive in the night. 

It’s a cute shop. 

Upon entrance, the young woman discovers tables, as if set up for arts and crafts, crackling, clay covered wheels with shorter stools, and long, tall rows of shelving brimmed with colorless sculptures lining the walls. Despite its packed interior, the studio seems empty of people and quiet besides the soft notes of RÜFÜS DU SOL leaking from the overhead speakers. She roams beside the line of wheels over to a shelf by the door, admiring the myriad of statues there, some obviously crafted with expertise and elegant artistry, and others lopsided efforts that probably deserve a pitied gold star for effort. 

Her eyes are caught on an unpainted little ashtray that’s got a crooked sort of bee in the center when her gaze breaks away to the sound of footsteps. Maybe the shop isn’t as abandoned as she’d previously believed — a man appears from behind a row of white shelving stacked with more unfinished pottery. 

He’s a pretty man, that much she can decide from the downturned slope of his nose and his distracted lash line, focused on twisting the navy rag in his left hand over the tip of his right index finger. A dark baseball cap shrouds his hair, but little brunette tufts sneak out in curled bunches around his ears. That’s where Y/N finds a fun, little red-tinted pearl dangling from one lobe. He’s tatted in patchwork art — a mermaid with its tits out peeks at her from his forearm, soaked over and shining. She assumes he must have just been rinsing clay from that forearm, from his hands, no longer visible over his skin. However, streaks of dried gray stain over his white tee in crackling lines, like an old lamination on a well-loved t-shirt that’s been cycled through the washer one too many times. When he pulls the rag away, she discovers a shade of bright red that’s been painted over his nails.

Almost as if he can sense her presence without looking, his sneakers pause on the tile and he steals a peer up. Yes, he’s quite a pretty man, even when his features shape something caught off guard.

“Hello.”

His voice is rich — this smooth, bass-deep sort of sound driving a foreign lilt, and Y/N thinks that if it weren’t for his lengthy fingers and his cherry polished nails, if it weren’t for his handsomely sculpted face, if it weren’t for his seemingly innate effortless demeanor and style, that voice alone could make her fold.  

“Hello,” she returns, aware that a nervous note plucks at her cadence, unlike his own casual greeting. I promise I’m not shoplifting clay pots in silence, she nearly tells him. 

Thank fuck for the ability to physically bite your tongue. 

“What can I help you with?” the man asks, sauntering forward a bit. It’s probably sort of a polite manner to say what the fuck are you doing here, and the longer the young woman stands in the middle of the empty shop the more out of place she feels, almost like this a private, little haven and she shouldn’t be in here right now.

The song shifts into its choral bass drop of electric keys. That fills the void of the silence as she swallows and fixes a little smile onto her face, fingers tightening over the strap of her tote. 

“Oh, I’m just looking.” 

The man purses his mouth and walks over to the counter, where the register is littered with paperwork and an eclectic collection of faux plants. He sets the rag down beside a floppy one with its green tendrils dangling over the edge. 

“See anything you like?” his hand pinches over his nose, like he’s scratching an itch, before he sniffs and pivots to apparently decrease their proximity, “We’ve got loads — you can make something yourself, or,” another step, and Y/N’s eye bounce from his shorts to his tattooed knees to the hems of his white socks. “…If you know sculpting isn’t your craft, we’ve got ready-to-paint-one's on that shelf there.”

Her gaze follows the direction of his finger, where pasty ceramic bunnies, and angels, and cars line the shelving in multiples. 

“I think—“ the young woman’s tongue peeks out to swipe over her mouth, words growing drier the longer she captures his stare. She focuses back on a lopsided rendition of strawberry, its leaves cradling over as a disconnected lid and its stem a crooked handle. “I like these. They’ve got so much character.” 

She blinks back over to him and watches a soft smile shape over the cushiony pink of his mouth.

It only takes a moment — one where her sight draws back to the strawberry jar for a smidge of a second, before he’s so close that she can smell his cologne, spiced and clean. She ogles his arm, his hand, the way he reaches out between them to cull the piece, mildly appalled by the way he palms the sculpture and dwarfs it in his easy grasp. It’s such a casual maneuver, made almost as if he’s not fondling over something it’d take anyone else two hands to hold. Y/N imagines the dimpled form of clay coated over to match the color of his nails.

“They do, don’t they? I like this one, too. S’a little …ugly, but, s’in, like, a…” the man’s features twist into something silly and pinched, and the young woman rolls her lips into her mouth to avoid exposing her amusement at the brutal candor. His words catch in his throat and bubble as a short laugh, “I dunno. It’s art.” 

He sets it back onto the shelf with a light clink, and turns to face her, posturing against a post in the shelving where the tiers have a break. An exhale becomes paired with his nonchalant lean, arms crossing over his pecs, and Y/N tries intensely not to stare like a hawk at the muscle there. 

“I’m afraid people are coming back for these, though. This row came out of the kiln…” forest green skids to the assortment and then bounds up to the ceiling like he’s in thought, before he casts his gaze back onto her, “…yesterday. And there’s a month-and-a-half window for someone to come back and glaze before we toss or sell them to be painted.” 

He’s chewing gum. Y/N realizes it when she admires the soft stubble coating his jaw, his cheeks — that’s when she notices the work of his jawline over the minty piece. He tips his head. “Did you want to try sculpting something?” 

The edges of her lips break bashfully. “I don’t know if I’d be any good at it.” 

One corner of the man’s mouth curls up lopsidedly, and the beginnings of a dimple nudge into place. He blinks and chews a little slower, “Have you ever worked with clay before?” 

Her delayed, little no is met with the lopsided beam growing even. He nudges with his chin, deliciously bulging arms still tucked over his chest, his playfully raised eyebrows like a wordless notion of have more faith in yourself, “Then you may just be the next Magdalene Odundo. We’ll make a pro sculptor out of you, yet.” 

Magdalene Odundo. Somehow, the name isn’t familiar, but simultaneously, somehow, it feels like a compliment. 

Y/N inhales as his digits shift over his tri’s. “Okay.” 

“Okay,” plush pink shapes a handsome smile, bordering bright white teeth in straight lines. The man tips his head towards the curved berry vase, and then looks back at her, “Did you want to do something like this? All these over here were made on the wheel.” 

Y/N muzzles telling him that she’s no inkling of an idea how someone can morph a lump of clay into a vase, nevermind on a big, spinning platform that moves faster than her eyes can keep up with. The man seems to pick up on the hesitation in her silence. 

“S’easy, I promise. I’ll show you how to throw.” 

Show her. Okay. At least she’s not going to head into vase-sculpting or wheel-throwing or …whatever he’d called it blindly, fumbling over a block of clay on a twirling tray like a slapstick skit personified. At least it means she’s going to stay in his presence. After a moment of thought, though, (and the way she notes that his eyes make unwavering, relaxed contact with her face the entirety of the silent pause), Y/N decides she’s not sure whether that last bit is actually a good thing, considering she’s probably milliseconds away from, like, bracing a hand onto a the shelf to match his level of coolness, or something. And then subsequently sending ceramic pots spilling and shattering over the tile.

She blinks. Her shoulders rise on her nervous inhale, and he makes one of those playful faces, like he’s waiting for her to agree. The young woman’s eyes wander to the line of chairs pressed to its counterparts of wheels. 

“I don’t wanna, like, trouble you—“ 

“You’re not. S’my job,” he tells her, crimson fingertips drumming. She catches sight of his fabric-clad pectorals flexing when he leans forward a little to tack on, “…And to be honest, it’d give me something to do besides fucking around with clay, which is what I’ve been doing for the last hour.” 

Her mouth purses and then settles. “Okay.” 

“Okay,” he says again, and then winds around through a row of little tables that resemble the set up of an art classroom, like the kind she’d have in school. She’s ashamed that her gaze wanders down the back of his arm to ogle the rest of his ink. 

“You can have a seat at one of those wheels,” he tosses over his shoulder as he heads, she assumes, to wind back around the same shelf he’d surfaced from behind, “Just give me a mo’, and I’ll be right back with some clay.” 

It takes Y/N a moment — mostly because she admires the view of his stature from behind as he migrates to a back hallway, irises roaming down the projection of muscles in his back showcased through his tee. They skim down his legs, down the backs of his knees, rest on toned calves. He’s gone far too quickly for her viewing pleasure. The young woman takes another glance at the uneven strawberry-esque vase, and then she pivots to step around the crowded assortment of wheels to crouch into one of those little roll-y stools, feet crossing and uncrossing in the cramped space. 

He’s a sexy man, Y/N decides. That’s the word she’d been looking for all along, although pretty would match the descriptors of his long lashes and his pouty pink mouth. He’s sexy, though, in his baseball cap and his little six-inch-inseam shorts (which show off the sculpt of his tanned thighs and the ink over his kneecaps). He’s sexy when he comes out from the back over to her wheel, a gunmetal gray ball of clay cradled in his palm like it’s not the size of two of her own. He’s sexy in the green eye contact he makes when he settles into a stool similar to her own, right across, when his thighs splay because he doesn’t have enough room to sit otherwise, when he rests his elbows over his knees and stretches one arm out to pass off the clay. That’s when their digits brush, because it’s sort of unavoidable. He manages to make eye contact through that, too. Sexy. 

“Okay. Clay,” the chilled ball the man hands off weighs her hand down, and Y/N’s gaze flickers up to meet his own when he instructs, “Toss it onto the wheel. Aim for the center.” 

The young woman pauses like she’s calculating her aim, gearing up without visibly gearing up, and a little smile tugs at the instructor’s mouth as he waits. The clay lands with a thud onto the plate. 

“Great,” he tells her, monitoring the centering, and then jade bounces back up to her face as he coaxes, “Smack for good luck.” 

Y/N curbs the corners of her mouth out of mirth, hesitating for a moment before her palm lands over the smooth, gray lump in a halfhearted pat. She blinks up, hoping for assurance. The handsome man’s mouth purses like he’s restraining a grin. 

“Harder,” he encourages after a second, the corners of his muted raspberry mouth seeping up a smidge, more openly, “S’not gonna cry. You can go a little harder than that.” 

The young woman rolls her lips into her mouth, raises her hand, and follows his request, molding it flatter under the solid thud of her palm. Evidently, it’s a better attempt, because she earns a, “Very good,” in response from him.

She casts her gaze up to find him dipping his hands into the pot of murky water beside the wheel before a fist knocks lightly at the pedal-resembling lever on the opposite side, sending the wheel into a speeding twirl. And to add to her list of shame, the liquid that coats his fingers — that’s. 

Yeah. 

Y/N swallows and watches those wet hands cup over the clay, partly mesmerized by the way he coaxes the priorly deformed lump into a symmetrical cylinder, stroking up from the base up and back down, and partly mesmerized by the way the cherry polish becomes daubed with slicked clay. 

“I’m just gonna get it nice and easy for you, and then you can get to the fun bits,” the man tells her as if he isn’t currently awakening some deep, deviously sexual desires in her by fondling clay. Jade flickers up. “M’Harry, by the way.” 

“Y/N,” the young woman tells him in response, unsure whether to focus on his searing eye contact or the gentle press of his hands over … oddly erotic artistry in motion.

Harry unwittingly makes the decision for her by breaking the eye contact and glancing down at his work. 

“Y/N,” he says, as if testing the taste of her name on his tongue. 

Y/N takes a breath, smoothing her hands down her thighs. 

“Y/N,” his strawberry mouth parts a tad for a soft breath in, honey smooth cadence glazed in concentration as he presses a flat palm over the top of the clay, keeping his other hand cupped over the length. 

She watches the cylinder mold under his grip into something shorter, and then back up. She watches the way his arms flex, anchored to his body as he presses with the heels of his palms to sculpt. 

“This is called coning. Makes the clay centered so your grip stays nice and even when it spins. Otherwise, s’gonna wobble, and you’ll feel it when you’re trying to work with it.”

Sure enough, after a few moments, when the man takes his clay-sullied palms away, what’d priorly been a lopsided hunk twirling over the platform stands symmetrically, shining post his wet grip. When he balls his hand into a fist and punches over the lever a handful of times, the plate slows to a stop. He blows out a breath and the music shifts to the next track in the background.

“Take your bracelet off for me.” 

The comment is made totally innocuously. Its purpose is solely to preserve the condition of her jewelry — she knows that when his eyes go to meet hers again and he mentions, “Otherwise, it could get covered with clay, or break. Wouldn’t wanna ruin such a pretty piece.”

But it’s the way he says it, right? Two little words, so easy off his tongue. So nonchalant, so purely intended with no ulterior motive. For me. For me, for me, for me. 

It’s shameful — she’s ashamed. She’s no better than a man, Y/N decides, as she peers to the silver bangle with the sliver of warmth slithering through her chest and snaking to her tummy. She’s no better than a man, objectifying this poor, effortlessly sexy ceramics instructor and his casual commentary on a Wednesday. She swallows. 

“Right. Thanks— thank you,” the young woman tells him, her tone garbled with nervous enthusiasm as the fingers of her opposite hand wriggle under the clasp to pop the piece off. 

She’s still feeling dubious about the morality of her thoughts once she’s slipped the bracelet into her tote by her feet and sat back up. 

“Alright,” Harry starts again, elbows braced to his sturdy thighs, “We’re gonna go over what this little thing over here does, because it’s good to know. It sets your speed. We’ve got options—“

Y/N watches the way his arm stretches, she eyes the tail of the mermaid, the lines of scales etched into his skin. His eyes meet her own again. 

“…Fast,” Harry knocks over the lever again with the butt of a vertical fist, a couple more nudges rocketing the wheel into a motion that dissolves priorly visible remnants of clay rings into fast-moving swirls with no decipherable borders. 

Another few nudges has the wheel skidding to a full-stop, and then stuttering back up into a spin when he taps over the pad once more. 

“…Slow,” Harry fixes his gaze back onto her face and watches the curious concentration there. The man sits back up a tad, elbows bracing over his splayed thighs and fingers crooked and lax, coated with slippery wetness and clay. “Find what feels good for you. S’different for everyone.”

Despite the way the directions are made so innocently, so obviously stated as a tutorial that’s not intended to be taken as something suggestive, Y/N finds a heat teeming over her cheekbones. 

“But, I recommend—“ her teeth lodge into the inside of her cheek with subtlety as the instructor hunches a little again, just a tad, to rap over the lever in a pair. The wheel speeds. “—Sticking to something around this.”

The pace of the wheel settles into an easy spin — something that’s still too quick for her eyes to keep up with, but apparently not the fastest setting, judging by the higher speeds he’d displayed moments prior. 

“Alright. Here’s where you come in with your undiscovered ceramic talents,” the instructor tells her, the edges of his mouth so obviously restrained, like he’s amused with his own playful banter. His eyes glinting softly under the buttery light cast by the overhanging lanterns,”M’gonna show you how to drill, but you’ll need to get your hands wet first.”

Harry sits back, elbows still braced to his thighs, hands now coated with slippery clay as he waits for the young woman to douse her own into the bucket. The liquid greets her palms with a welcome chill, and when she lightly cups over the cylinder, it slips under her hands with ease. The man clears his throat, and their digits graze again when he touches over her fingers to guide her grasp. Y/N tries not to focus on the way his hands make her own look as if they belong to a child. 

“You’re gonna take your thumbs—” Harry coaxes, all concentrated seriousness now, and the pad of his own brushes against the knuckle of her left, “—and press over the top, here. Right in the middle, just like that.” 

He takes his hands away and the clay rolls under her fingertips, a divot forming from the pressure of her thumbs. 

“Good. Now what you’ve done is you’ve indicated where you’re going to make the opening. And to do that—“ his hands return, unintentionally persuading her own to fall away and sort of hover stagnantly mid-air, in sullied awe, as he dips the tip of his index into the cleft they’d created together. 

As if hungry for the finger, the clay parts to swallow the pad of the digit. It broadens its starving mouth, and Harry steadies the spread with his thumb, his pointer delving against the inside of the deepening wall. His opposite hand cups over the body as he molds the opening wider. 

Anyways, what Y/N manages to learn from the impressive showcase, before Harry steals a glance to make sure she’s been observing (which she has, very focused, actually), is that clay-working is a dirty, dirty, lustrous art form. Especially under his fingertips. This is all very educational stuff. Perhaps the most impressive step of his tutorial, thus far, is the way that, in mere moments, he cups and strokes and caresses over the clay, drawing the opening tighter. It shrinks until it disappears, and when he smooths his hands over the rounded edges a few more times, the vessel that’s left is an entirely clean slate. Almost as if she hadn’t just spent the last few seconds ogling a weirdly pornographic display of a clay cavern opening in response to the touch of his long finger. This was a horrible mistake, Y/N thinks pitifully — she’s getting aroused by clay working. If there was ever a blaring red indicator that she needed to get laid, this is it. 

“I want you to try now,” Harry directs, totally nonchalant. This is just a casual Wednesday for him, Y/N realizes. He casually fingers clay with his sexy, long fingers, and thinks nothing of it. Maybe she’s just a horribly wound-up pervert. 

Still sort of stunned, she reaches out and cups over the cylinder, clumsily positioning her thumbs in a replication of the manner he’d shown her, aiming for the center and driving a divot into the top. 

“Mm. That’s good. Keep your elbows closer to your body,” he prompts, eyes flickering from her posture to her hands. “Like this.” 

Following his body language, Y/N mimics, ducking a tad and tucking her arms to her torso. After a few moments, she lifts her thumbs to find a centered indent, one that’s similar to the one they’d created together. 

“Lovely. Now,” the chair makes a little rolling sound over the tile as Harry shifts forward, clay-slicked hands (warm, despite their cool coating) cradling over her own to position, “You’re gonna cup here, and then take this finger and push here. Yep. Jus’ like that.” 

The instructor takes his grip away and encourages, “If you need more water, get your hands wet. You can tell you need it if there’s friction — you want it a little wet.” 

She wants it a little wet. Y/N decides, as she dunks her hands into the bucket and returns to the clay, she in fact does not want anything wet right now. This is the last place she wants something wet. Her thoughts are disturbed by the way he grasps her at her hands again and repositions — twisted by the slippery feel of his own wet fingers. The clay over his palms has begun to dry now, morphing lighter and crackling, but the tips of his digits are still soaked and darker in shade. She’s awed when the cylinder gives under her touch, the same way it had for him to encompass her finger. It’s like magic, sort of. Very slippery, wet, weirdly erotically undertone-d magic. 

“There you go,” Harry tells her, baritone soft, “You’re a pro.” Then, after a moment, “You can go a little harder. Don’t be shy. Open it up.” 

She’s not blushing. She’s not blushing, because that would be silly. She presses harder, and the opening widens until it gapes. 

“How long have you worked here?” the young woman asks, naturally trying to change the subject from wet and hard things. Hopefully in an organic enough manner that doesn’t imply how affected she is by said wet and hard things. 

“I bought this place a few years ago,” Harry responds after a second, tone concentrating as he reaffixes the firmness of her grasp (she tries not to verbally apologize, glancing up), “…Both units. It was a smoke shop before, I think.” 

“Oh!” her hands stutter again in surprise, “Are you the owner?” 

He fixes them again, brows pinched, and when he glances up, his brow bone is smooth and there’s a soft smile playing over his mouth. “Indeed I am.” 

“It’s …beautiful in here,” Y/N tells him, gaze walloping from shelf to shelf for a moment, lantern lined ceilings to vine-coated crown molding, trusting that his hands will keep her own grounded to the piece. 

“Thanks. It’s a little crowded, but if you manage to get lost among the …phallic statues and the clay bongs,” he cocks his head, blatantly bridling a simper as he shrugs. At the response of her snort, jade flickers up and the plush of his mouth curls more obviously, “…You’ll find your way out of the maze soon enough.” 

As the walls of the clay grow thinner, the instructor takes his grip away, swiping at his forehead with the back of his hand. “Alright. What are we going for here? A mug? A vase? A bong masquerading as a vase?” 

Y/N takes the lack of his touch as an indication to lighten her own. She purses her lips thoughtfully. “A vase.” 

“A vase,” the instructor parrots, voice low, and then he hunches back over and cups the clay. The young woman returns her hands to meet his own. “I can work with that. We’re gonna build it up. You’re gonna squeeze and lift. Right—“

If his fingers keep brushing hers for the duration of the next …half hour? Hour? (How long does throwing take?), Y/N decides she’ll simply combust. His hands cup lightly over her own, two digits pressed to hers, and hers pinned to the inner wall of the clay in sin. 

“—Here. That’s it. You can be a little aggressive. We’ve gotta get it tall.”

Y/N swallows.

“You said you own both units?” she ponders aloud, “Is there …more?” 

“My place,” Harry tells her nonchalantly, as if it’s the most casual, normal, every day thing to live over a ceramics studio, “S’just over on the next floor.” 

“That’s—“ she realizes her grasp has lightened again, the integrity of the structure mostly only crawling up under the pressure of his own (steady, firm) grip over hers, “…so cool. To have, like, a whole studio right under you.” 

“Mm. I think right now…” Harry cranes his neck to peer up at the ceiling, “We’re under my kitchen.” 

A little breath of mirth tumbles from her when he grins and tacks on, “I think this is way cooler, though.” 

This is The Turning Point. 

And if it was a scene title in a play, Y/N thinks it would be capitalized to denote the importance. It’s important, because somewhere along the trail of her perversions, as Harry had guided her hands into the innards of the clay — fittingly describing it as the body — when he’d pressed his hands against her own to widen its base, when he’d shown her the sponge, things had clicked. It had clicked because she realized she wasn’t fucking crazy. Because Harry then said this thing — this one little thing that would have launched her into a frenzied, internal mess of dubious morality on the basis of her perversions—

But then it clicked. 

“Careful with the amount of water you’re using now, yeah?” he’d told her, maneuvering her grip over the sponge as they’d smoothed over the lip together, “S’all about balance. …If you go too hard, you’ll make a wet mess.” 

Y/N had glanced up. That’s when she’d noticed the way the instructor gnawed into his cheek, almost immediately, almost as if he was amused by some sort of devious inside joke. And then his blocky front teeth had dug lightly into the plush of his pink bottom lip. It was nearly unnoticeable — but she had noticed. Clay was innately erotic, and he was doing it on purpose. It was one, or the other, or both. 

For a little while from there, they work in blatantly charged silence. It’s a very short while, all things considered, and she’s willing to clam up altogether and daydream about his digits for the duration of the lesson, but the tone of his next words nearly gives her whiplash. 

“So what are you doing on this lovely Valentine’s day?” Harry breaks the silence, once again, his tone so even and nonchalant that Y/N can’t begin to fathom where his composure comes from. 

The young woman clears her throat, “Oh. Y’know. Trying my hand at ceramics. The yuzh.” 

Jade doesn’t immediately jolt up when he ponders aloud, “Dinner plans?” 

“Not any on the calendar …that I’m aware of.”

His touch doesn’t lighten, but he does glance up, mouth all (apparently) disbelieving mirth, “You’re telling me you’re not being wined and dined tonight?” 

Feigning offense, the young woman sets her mouth into a line and nudges with her chin in a nod, joking, “Thank you for the reminder.” 

Harry laughs softly, one of those little breaths expelled through his nostrils, and he looks back down to the vase-in-progress, gentle grin undeniable. Y/N matches his amusement, faux indignation crackling. 

“You’re too pretty not to have a Valentine,” the instructor tells her, then, decibel low, almost like it was meant to be under his breath but also entirely not, and all Y/N can do is sit there with instant heat seeping to her face. Because that’s flirting. That’s definitely flirting. Her sexy ceramics instructor is helping her craft a vase out of clay on a wheel with his sexy hands, and he’s openly flirting. 

Y/N stuffs down how initially stunned she is to chew into her bottom lip and volley, “I bet you say that to every girl that comes in here.” 

Harry shrugs. It’s still almost an enraging level of cucumber-cool and composed. 

“Just the pretty ones.” He tacks on, after a moment, “And only on Valentine’s day. Don’t think that line would fit well on a random Wednesday.” 

Y/N snorts. She’s still basking in the pleasant warmth of the flattery when the man peers up and tells her, “I do accept tips, by the way, so. Feel free to leave a tip for the friendly service.” 

“I will—“ she snorts, restraining her open amusement at the way his brows crinkle in concentration as he helps her grip, “—definitely do that.” 

“Sick,” his tongue peeks out to swipe over his lips, disappearing back into his mouth as quick as the pink had showcased. Jade flits up, the corners of his mouth curled up in a little pause of silence, almost he wants to make it crystal clear he does not actually want a tip for hitting on her. 

Anyways, this is all a flustered mess. All of it. Y/N, the pot she’s sure will grow off-center and wobble under her shaky grip, all of it. 

“What about you?” the young woman takes a deep breath, hoping some sort of breathing exercise will help slow the buzzy flutter of her heartbeat, “Any wining and dining? For Valentine’s day?” 

“Not on the calendar,” Harry responds, sliding her own words back to her, his gaze still honed on the work ahead of them, now impressively morphed from a lumpy, shapeless ball into the beginnings of a vase, “As for how I’m spending my Valentine’s day, I did just show this one pretty girl how to shape and smooth. And now, …m’gonna show her how to shape some more.”

Y/N bats her lashes, and then she observes the work of his clay caked fingers, the way they curl and press over the vase in different points of the body, some motions widening the rim and some drawing it more narrow. He bids their tutorial a pause shortly after, explaining, “I’m gonna give you some creative freedom now. Figure out what shape you like.” 

Despite the slight disappointment budding at the close of their conversation, for now, the daunting task of unsupervised throwing is what probably surfaces on her face, more. The instructor catches it when he rolls back in the stool and stands, ogling her for a moment, mirthy mouth caving up in a way that suggests she must look like a deer in headlights. 

“It’s intimidating, but I believe in you. I’ll just be in the back for a sec, give me a shout if you need me.”

Y/N shifts her legs, pressing her thighs together when he adds, “Play around with it.” 

All in all, they manage to end the wheel session with (Y/N thinks, impressively) only a couple of hiccups, both being opportunities presented with unsupervised sculpting. When she’d played around with it (his words) a little too much and had coaxed a priorly even shape into something lopsided and petrifying, it’d swung around on the wheel, each turn quickening its slow but sure collapse. She’d called out for the instructor with a frantic note to his name. Of course, both times, Harry had come out from the back and patiently squeezed over the clay, hands and forearms jolting and flexing deliciously as he’d encouraged it back into something centered (yet another opportunity to stare at slick clay glazing over his fingers all over again), reassuring her that it was normal to struggle, especially with her first time. 

Y/N wonders if he’s constantly full of innuendos, or whether a ceramics studio is just innately an opportunity for double entendres. 

She tries not to make it too obvious when she stands on wobbling legs, when she brushes past him and catches soft notes of his cologne, clean and musky. When he directs her to the bathroom where she rinses clay from her hands into one of those artsy, utility sinks. When she sits at one of the tables, waiting for him to bring the vase over to her, torched and ready for additions, when he gives her another colorless lump. She tries not to make it obvious when she ogles more of his arms, the peek of his nipples through the white, clay-stained fabric of his tee shamelessly. She fears it’s utterly obvious how affected he’s made her, though, when she blinks up at his face, when he shows her what the different little tools in the cup do for sculpting. Y/N doesn’t even look away from him at the introduction of the first tool. She thinks that’s the one that must cross-hatch, driving little lines into the clay. 

“This is called slip,” Harry explains, dipping the tips of his index and middle fingers into the cup near the brushes with no hesitation. The consistency over his fingers, when he pulls them out, is like a wetter, creamier, sloppier variation of the same clay she’d worked with. 

Christ. 

“You put it over the lines you’ve carved to make more clay stick,” the instructor expands. 

Y/N swallows when he smears the consistency coating his fingers onto the lines he’d drawn, his gaze bouncing from his touch to her face. 

“Like, if you wanted to add a handle to a mug, you’d use this method. Or, alternatively,” the young woman focuses on the way the pads of the digits rub over the lines. They fade away. “It’s like an eraser. Careful with erasing, though. …Wet mess.” 

The latter is tacked on as a reminder, and it wonderfully reminds her of the heat coiling in the pit of her tummy. Wonderfully. She swallows again. 

“You can probably use that brush to apply the slip, though, if you don’t want to get your hands dirty again.” 

Flowers. She sculpts flowers with a searing heat between her thighs, because his added little comment of, “I don’t mind,” as he glances to the slip still glazing his fingers, implying that he doesn’t mind to get his hands dirty, does that to her. Y/N sculpts flowers and they settle into a comfortable sort of silence. It’s one where the only sounds are the soft music playing over the speakers and the occasional noise of pages turning from behind the counter as he leans over it and works through some kind of paperwork. She draws lines into the vase, and brushes on the slip, and presses creased flowers to decorate the bulbous body, concentration etching her features. 

She doesn’t notice when she goes over the hours of operation, and Harry doesn’t disturb her, doesn’t tell her that the shop’s been closed for nearly half an hour by the time she peers up and declares, “I’m done.” 

“You’re done,” the man repeats and sets the paperwork down, making his way over to the table where she’d set up, “Let’s have a look.” 

Y/N sits back admiring her artistry. All things considered, it’s sort of an ugly vase. Despite this, a sense of accomplishment buds in her chest as she stares at her creation. 

“I like it,” Harry tells her, nodding like he’s proud of a promising protégé, “It’s quite sweet.” 

“Thank you. What now?” 

“Now—“ the instructor props one hand onto the countertop and the other against his hip, “You wash your hands, you take a picture, and you come back in three weeks to sand it and glaze it.” 

Simple. It’s a simple set of instructions. Y/N brushes crackling, dried clay off of her fingertips against the cloth laid over the table, instinctively reaching for her purse. 

She blinks up at him expectantly, “How much?” 

Dimples wink awake with his soft simper, and he shifts his stance before he asserts, “Don’t worry about it.” 

The young woman’s features shape into something crinkled, something bemused and unwilling of a discount. She shakes her head and glances back down to the tote, “No, I have to pay you. What about your tip?” 

Harry crosses his arms over his chest, pecs flexing with the motion. Flexing, flexing, flexing, when will his muscles stop rippling? He sighs, cushiony mouth still smiling, “I think I’ll live. My tip was that I’ve helped you discover a hidden talent—“

Y/N snorts, eyeing the sloppy attachments to the shapely base, fingers still tucked over her wallet. 

“—It’d defeat the satisfaction and all the pride I’ve got now,” the man declares, shrugging. 

The unconvinced look she gives him coaxes him into a good-natured roll of his eyes, and Harry tuts before he compromises, raising his eyebrows, “But if you must tip me, you can tip me when you come back in three weeks, yeah?” 

Begrudged, the young woman takes her hand from the edges of her wallet. “Fine. Okay.” 

“Okay. Three weeks,” the man reminds her, a little smile playing over the plush of his mouth.

The world of ceramics is oddly pornographic, Y/N decides. But maybe clay isn’t innately erotic. Maybe it’s the way the man’s fingertips mold its shape, the way his digits look soaked in slip, the way his hands cradle over it as a wheel spins under his ducked stature. Maybe it’s the way his jade irises flit to her face when he makes an educational comment that’s obviously suggestive, Maybe it doesn’t have to do with clay, at all. Maybe it’s Harry.  

Maybe it’s the way he tells her, “If I were you, I wouldn’t miss it. Glazing is my favorite part.”

[hyunsvngs]

𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐩𝐥𝐮𝐦 - modern royalty au!lee felix x female reader

wc: 16.2k words (i’m sorry)

rating: 18+. MDNI

cw: felix and mc being dumbasses part 2, no use of y/n, again a vast use of sickeningly sweet petnames, MORE ANGST, MORE FLUFF, unrequited feelings (or is it), chan being a sweet but teasing older brother, feminist bang chan, smut warnings under the cut!

synopsis: it's getting close to your arranged marriage to your best friend, and you're getting more and more conscious of the guilt you feel that he doesn't know you love him. why can't you just be honest with him for once?

a/n: this is part 2 to my fic fairy flowers - thank you all for showing so much love :D I HOPE U LIKE THIS PART TOO

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

sw: making out, use of petnames in bed (again), oral (f&m receiving), fingering (f receiving), felix talking u through it, dirty talk (not too graphic i swear), handjobs, cum eating, loss of virginity (both), maybe a slight breeding kink or a major one idk, felix crying cos it feels too good

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You’d loved Lee Felix since the day you met him, and you were soon to be married to him.

It was something that you’d hoped would diminish with age, but the feelings only seemed to get stronger with every inch you grew in height. You dreamt of your sunshine the night after his brother - the Crown Prince - interrupted you two, the scent of baby’s breath filling your nostrils. It almost distracted you from the feeling of dainty fingertips traveling softly up your thigh to between your legs. It had, of course, been only a dream, much like any of your others about your best friend.

Other than your not-real sexual trysts, the pressure of becoming a Princess was heavily weighing down your mind. You wouldn’t be able to do all the things you used to do - gone would be lazing in the meadow on a Saturday, and you could probably forget about your book club altogether. You had little freedom beforehand given that Felix was a Prince, but that little freedom would be stripped away completely once you two were married. You’d be expected to appear by Felix’s side as an almost monarch, with a solemn but friendly expression on your face. You had to be careful, you had to be perfect.

Needless to say, you felt like a fucking fraud. There you were, completely and utterly in love with your best friend, and having to pretend that you were only pretending to be. You hoped this wasn’t obvious by your flustered facial expression while you sidled up close to Felix during your engagement party, dressed in all of your finery and feeling like a dickhead, to be honest. Felix had made sure that he had a tight yet comforting arm around your waist the whole time, a hand resting above your hip conservatively.

As if he hadn’t been making out with you a mere few hours before. That was something you hadn’t really addressed yet. It hadn’t been awkward, it had been far from it - you hoped that anything could make the atmosphere awkward between you and your prince - but you still felt guilty. You’d been going along with it, agreeing to it just being practicing. In reality, you felt like you were flying a bit too close to the sun, like that fucking Icarus guy in the Greek mythology tale Felix had forced you to read when you were still spotty teenagers.

“My lady?” You focused back on the man standing in front of you, Felix’s fingers digging into your side softly to bring you back into reality. He was some sort of noble, you weren’t sure of his name - he stood there with graying hair, a salt and pepper beard trimmed neatly and beady dark eyes staring at you. He didn’t even seem like a noble, really, more like a reporter designed purely to get information from both you and Felix.

“I’m sorry. What did you ask? I just got lost in my own thoughts. The excitement, y’know,” You mumbled in response, making Felix smile at the man in way of an apology. You tried not to play with the hem of your sleeves, another dress your mother had forced you in. You always thought you were of reasonable education, even having etiquette training, but you still felt out of place as the prince’s intended wife. The prince’s betrothed, even. You wished for a moment where you and Felix could be alone and more like yourselves again. 

“That’s alright, my lady. I was asking about your love. I’m just curious, when was it that you realized you were in love with each other?” The man cocked his head to the side. You were flustered, leaning further into Felix’s side. He was beautiful tonight, he always was really - and he was ever so eager to save you when you were in an awkward position. 

He did so at that moment. “I think we’ve always been in love. Just took a bit of thinking to notice it, right, sugarplum?” You blushed at the cringey nickname, elbowing Felix. The man chuckled at the display of banter and bid you both farewell, entering the crowd of bustling nobles. Felix’s statement weighed on your mind. You wished to believe that he meant it, that he loved you too. 

You turned to Felix, humming as you placed your hands on his shoulders. His shoulders were broad now, unlike the way they had been when you were younger and he was smaller, narrower. You brushed off nonexistent dust on his dark navy suit jacket, playing with the soft blonde tendrils of hair at his nape. He’d been placed in sophisticated wear not dissimilar to yours, a dark velvet matching suit with a white shirt underneath. “Thanks for the help, Lix. I’m really nervous, to be honest.”

“You should always be honest with me,” Felix gave you a toothy smile, his eyes forming crescent moons. “You’re doing amazing, you know that? I know it’s awkward for you, so I had an idea. How’s about… do you want to sneak into my room tonight? I have to speak to Chan about some stuff once we’re done here, but I was thinking we could make a blanket fort and just talk. Just us, like old times?”

You smiled at the memory. You and Felix, prior to it being frowned upon to be in each other’s chambers, building blanket and pillow forts and reading books draped over one another. Your mothers would both smile upon finding you two drooling in the morning, books still open and more often than not fallen on your face and giving you a sore nose the next day. You were still as enchanted by him as you were years before, staring at the constellation of fawn freckles on his face. 

“Of course, Lixie. I’ll be there.”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You had a plan.

A plan to confess, actually. You’d never made such a brave decision in your life, not even those times you kissed Changbin when you were younger. You’d been studying, investigating, brainstorming - much like those detectives in the television shows Felix made you watch who stand with a board adorned with pictures and red string, going insane. You’d had an idea following the ending of the engagement party, and decided that you were going to recommend a book to Felix. It was an action that wasn’t out of the ordinary, and you had just the right idea. It would be a confession without being so explicit and embarrassing.

Following the party, you made quick work of your plan before your blanket fort date with Felix. Were you allowed to call it a date, now that you were going to be getting married? You decided you could. It was your turn to discuss a book for your book club, and you decided you were going to recommend Emma by Jane Austen. It was one you’d never discussed, and once you flicked through the few copies of the novel in the palace library, you were sure Felix hadn’t read it. His signature dog-earing of the old pages was nowhere to be seen in all of the pages you flicked through, so you tucked a random copy under your arm and returned to your room.

You hadn’t even read the book yourself, but you knew the gist from studying it briefly. It was a tale of multiple relationships between different characters, with a particular focus on a slow burn love that sprouts between protagonist Emma and her close friend Mr. Knightley. You hoped Felix would read between the lines and take notice of what you were trying to say when you handed him the book that night. You liked the concept of Mr. Knightley’s character - considerate, fond of Emma and had extremely high morality. He reminded you of Felix. Emma was nothing like you, however, apart from the fact that she made regular mistakes. That was exactly like you, you mused as you pulled your pajamas on to head to Felix’s chambers. This whole thing could be categorized as a mistake, but it was the boldest thing you’ve ever done and you knew Felix would be proud of you if he knew you were planning on doing it.

Or, he’d be absolutely scandalized. It was concerning him, after all.

You raised your hand up to knock on your Prince’s bedroom door, only to have the door swing open right in your face. The friendly, casual smile you’d plastered on dropped as soon as you laid eyes on him. He was dressed in a tight black tank top, joggers slung low on his hips and hair still slightly damp from a shower. You felt subordinate in a baggy hoodie - that actually previously belonged to Felix - and pajama shorts, a flimsy linen tote bag slung over your shoulder with a toothbrush and the copy of Emma laying inside. Your eyes were widened, staring at his almost bare shoulders, freckles littered all over the exposed skin. You hadn’t even put shoes on, for Christ’s sake, only a pair of fuzzy slippers with a baby chick on your feet. 

“Hey, sugarplum,” Felix smiled brightly, before his dark eyes flicked to your tote bag. His smile fell, focusing on the rectangular shape concealed by the linen. “Please tell me that’s not a copy of Princess Diaries. I can’t do it again, I’m sorry.”

You scoffed, pushing past him and throwing your tote bag on the bed. “It’s a fucking book, Pixie. For our club, remember?”

Felix let out one of his award winning giggles, throwing himself down onto his plush bed. His room was obviously more lavish than yours, and you took a second to take it all in, given that it had been so long since you’d entered the room. The sheets were soft - the type of comfort that was obvious just from gazing at them, and the four poster bed was adorned with a sheer beige canopy that hung over the bed frame. You tried to avoid looking at Felix as you spun around and stared, taking in the moonlight flickering in through the curtains. The room was lit only by two bedside lamps, giving it a cozy ambience and making your Prince look even more ethereal - if that was possible. His hair fanned out around him as he waited in silence. 

When you finally looked at him again, the signature Felix smile was plastered on his face. Dumb Felix comment incoming, you registered. “I have two issues with this current situation, sugarplum.”

You groaned, throwing yourself onto the bed. You made quick work and shuffled your slippers off, letting them drop to the hardwood floor unceremoniously and hiding your face in the pillow. You let one eye poke over the pillowcase as you looked at him, speaking, “and what would that be, your majesty?”

Felix elbowed you playfully at the quip before rolling over onto his side, his light blonde fringe taking up a lot of the beautiful face that you wanted nothing more than to stare at. “Firstly, it’s not book club day, which means all talk of books is strictly prohibited and also frowned upon. It is the agreed upon rules.”

“By whom? Who agreed to that?” You were teasing him, grinning into the pillowcase.

“Me!” Felix yelled. “And you. You established the rule! Secondly, you should be staring at me, your smoking hot fiance, not the room! You’ll have plenty of time to lay in this bed when we’re married, plenty of time to stare at the walls while we-”

“F- Felix!” You screamed, trying to push him off the bed with your feet, using all your body weight. He simply smiled at you cockily, pushing your feet off of him and widening his eyes to taunt you. “I- Don’t talk about us doing that! It’s… uncouth.”

“Uncouth? Were you thinking of us having sex?! I was going to say watching films together, but seeing as you’re so focused on what almost happened earlier…” You were lost for words as Felix stared at you, raising an eyebrow. You tried to stutter out a few things before just giving up, groaning in response to Felix’s giggle at your struggle. 

You jumped up from the bed, grabbing the pillow with one hand and hitting him with it. Felix squealed, kicking his legs out playfully. You avoided looking at the sliver of skin that was revealed through the action, courtesy of his loose-fitting joggers. You sighed. “Blanket fort, Pixie. It’s game time.”

After half an hour of you and Felix bickering over the construction of your blanket fort - he insisted on using the bed frame and the canopy to make it cozier, but you tried to explain you had nothing to use to attach his spare blankets to the frame. He quickly realized that you were, in fact, correct once the blankets fell off of the wooden posts and onto your head, blinding you with fluffy cotton - you were finally settled. You both laid wrapped up snug as bugs in the blankets, only your heads poking out as you stared at each other comfortably.

“Let’s sleep like this,” Felix chirped. “Burritos.”

You giggled, nuzzling further into the blanket wrapped around you. “We should’ve put a film on before we got all cozy like this.”

“No need, we can talk about the book you brought here. What is it you wanted me to read?” 

You blanched, staring down at the blanket. Felix’s head barely poked out of the fabric. He gazed at you as you struggled to speak yet again. “It’s- no book club talk. It’s not book club day.”

Felix rolled over and hit you in his blanket burrito, headbutting your chest softly. Now that he’d rolled over on the mattress, he was closer to you, almost nose to nose. You bit your lip, not noticing his eyes flickering down to your bottom lip. 

“It’s called Emma,” you began. “One of, um… Jane Austen’s books. It’s- It’s. It’s good. I just thought… you’d enjoy it, y’know? Then we can like, discuss theories, or something. Discuss the book. The characters. The plot. There’s, like- yeah.”

This had to go in the top three, if not the top of worst confessions ever. Felix was simply staring at you, nodding, letting you speak. He’d always been understanding. Okay, you thought. You can say it.

“There’s two characters that remind me of us. Emma, she’s um- the main one. She’s the main character, the protagonist, or whatever. Then there’s Mr. Knightley, he’s like… you. Like you. He reminds me of you, and then Emma would be me, and then-”

You were cut off with a chaste peck to your lips, your eyes remaining open and widening with shock. Felix pulled away with a smile. You didn’t even have enough time to process it before he was speaking again. He was acting like the kiss was normal.

“I’ll read it, sugarplum. Sounds really good! I mean, if that guy is like me, he must be really fucking hot, right?” He was smiling ear to ear, trying to encourage you by joking around. He must’ve noticed that you’d never been so shy to talk about a novel you’d found before. You were normally the one who spoke more between the two of you, gushing about all of the language analysis and plot devices you’d discovered. You even went so far to link it to historical context around the novel most of the time. This was different though, you’d used yours and his love language of books to confess and he’d have no clue until he actually read it. 

You briefly registered that you’d maybe made a mistake by doing this. First of all, you knew this could ruin your friendship. That was something you had actually considered, and you’d still decided to do it, because you were impulsive and nervous. That was by the by. But, now that you’d decided to give him this book, it meant that you had to wait until he’d actually read it and realized what you were trying to say - if he even realized, actually. Princes live very busy lives. Perhaps he wouldn’t even read it until after your wedding, in which case it was just plain fucking awkward. 

Wedding. It still hadn’t really sunk in for you yet, the fact that you would be a princess by marriage. 

You shut your eyes briefly, taking a deep breath. “Anyway,” you trailed off, desperately wanting to change the subject. Felix hummed in response, going with the change of pace. “What did Chan- erm, Chris, want to talk to you about?”

It was Felix’s turn to get flustered, shifting awkwardly in his cocoon and repositioning so his head was on your chest, pushing you flat on your back. You pulled your arm out of your own blanket to rest on his head, stroking through the strands. “Okay, so you know my mother is abdicating before she gets too old?”

“Yeah, it’s just a matter of time, really. Palace gossip has been running wild since Chan got married.” You felt awkward addressing Chan by his Korean name - it always felt too personal, but Felix didn’t react, simply nodding against your chest. 

“Well, the Queen isn’t the only one who’s abdicating,” Felix began. His head was still on your chest, as if he refused to look you in the eyes. Was he insinuating…? “Um, yeah. So, Chan is abdicating so that his wife can rule her own kingdom, something against two heirs being married and both being monarchs. That means that I’m gonna be the King, so then you’ll be the, um…. Queen Consort. I didn’t want to- well, no, I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want you to be scared off.”

“I’m not scared.” You really fucking were. 

“You should always be honest with me,” your Prince chirped again, a familiar phrase. He shifted onto his forearms, chest looming above yours and his face mere inches from your own. You stayed cocooned in your blanket, your one arm hanging out and still positioned uselessly on his head. “Are you scared, sugarplum? It’s a lot of power. I understand if you’re scared.”

You sighed. “I guess I am, maybe a little bit. But I’ll be okay with you by my side, Pixie. I suppose I’ll be fine being your Queen,” You tried to joke, grinning, but the look in Felix’s eyes was anything but amused. He stared at you with his facial expression showing nothing but timidness. Your smile fell and you blinked owlishly at him, jaw dropped. “I- Sorry, was that not funny?”

“That’s… shit, sugarplum, that got me fucking turned on?” Felix admitted, his eyes darting down to his crotch concealed by the joggers and the blanket. You gasped, your eyes following his own as if you’d be able to see his naked cock through the layers of clothes. “I think it was the Queen thing.”

“The Queen is your mother, Felix.”

“Don’t- Don’t ruin the mood,” Felix groaned, throwing himself down so he was lying on top of you, chest to chest. “I meant like, you being the Queen. ‘M gettin’ all hot because of that. Sorry, sugarplum.”

Oh. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Felix’s cheeks were blazing while he pushed the blanket down to his waist with his right hand, fanning himself with the left. “Just you like, I dunno - being mine? You being the Queen? Yeah. That does it for me. Shit, it’s so warm in here. Are you warm?” He was still wrestling with the blanket, starting to grab yours in frustration. Your sunshine Prince was looking shy, and he rarely got shy. He rambled when he was shy. You wanted to save him from his awkwardness.

“Um,” You stated, rather intelligently. Good start. “I guess. Yeah. I’m warm. Do you want to like, maybe… practice? The wedding is soon, Pixie.” It wasn’t for another few weeks, at least. They were bringing the marriage forward, previously for an unknown reason to you. You knew after Felix’s explanation that it was because the Queen was planning on giving up the throne to Chan, who would then abdicate, leaving Felix to be the heir. She clearly wanted you both to be married before Felix took the throne, and you assumed the whole situation would take a lot of paperwork and celebratory parties.

You quickly registered that you wouldn’t even be able to sneak off and get drunk with Changbin at the parties because you were now officially a public figure. Shame. It was probably the only thing that helped with your nerves.

Still, you were now feeling the tell-tale fluttering of butterflies in your stomach and a growing tingling sensation between your legs at the idea of your best friend being horny while in the same bed as you. While on top of you, actually. You wanted to punch yourself in the face.

Felix went still on your chest. “I mean, that is actually such a great idea. Maybe my stupid brother won’t walk in this time,” He didn’t even look at you. “Actually, we should probably stop talking about my family members right now.”

“Yeah, you should shut up, Lix,” you chided him, trying to lighten the mood. You tried to seem false-intimidating, but you couldn’t even do the false part given that you were still half wrapped in a blanket. With a soft ‘hey!’ and a quick scolding tap to your ankle, Felix was shifting again, moving so he was looking directly at you. Your Prince, you thought, staring into his dark doe eyes and following the slope of his button nose down to his full lips. 

You wondered if it was strange, what you two were doing. Chan hadn’t really acted like it was - he had teased you more than anything, but isn’t that what big brothers do? You wondered if anyone else had ever been in this situation, in love with their best friend and completely aware of the fact that they were taking advantage of the situation by being able to kiss said best friend.

You decided you didn’t care, especially when Felix was shooting forward to press those full lips against yours and immediately keening softly into the open mouthed kiss. This was something you knew how to do, considering you were making out earlier that same day. Was that weird? It had only been a few hours… Were you insatiable? Yeah, probably.

Felix did well to distract you from your racing thoughts, his dainty hands going up to your jaw and gripping softly. You always thought his hands were well matched for someone of his status - small and delicate, but when clad with rings they looked to be nothing but powerful. You let out a soft sigh when his tongue started to dance against yours, hands going up to rest on his shoulders. You loved the feeling of his lips against yours and decided you’d never get sick of it as you returned the kiss with just as much energy. You let your hands slide up to his hair, pulling softly at his mullet. 

Felix liked that, apparently, since he groaned softly in his deep timbre into the kiss before pulling away. His chest was heaving and flushed crimson with a blush that showed over that fucking black tank top. 

He looked shy again. “I want to touch you, like, in that way,” He blurted out, your eyes focused on the expanse of skin showing on his chest. You glanced up at him, seeing him biting his lip. “Is that strange? I mean, we’ll have to do it when we get married anyway, right?”

You nodded, shrugging your shoulders and trying to act nonchalant. “I guess we would��ve ended up doing it earlier anyway,” Felix smiled, more confident at your agreement. “I just don’t really know what I’m doing, Pixie.”

Felix cooed, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks and squishing them together. “That’s okay, sugarplum. Neither do I, to be honest, but I’ve been researching.” He hadn’t done anything like that either? Had he… he hadn’t waited for you, right?

You immediately wanted to change the subject, not wanting to be disappointed. “Researching?”

“I asked Chan,” Felix admitted, his cheeks pink with embarrassment. You scoffed, kicking his leg softly with your foot. “Hey! He ‘bones’ a lot, you said it yourself-“

“No talk about family members, remember?” You chided, smiling. You felt so relaxed with him - as you always had up until your recent love crisis - and you decided that if you were going to do anything sexual with anyone, it had to be Felix. Your Prince. You wriggled out of your blanket burrito, kicking your legs out triumphantly once you were free of your confines.

Felix did the same, pushing the rest of his blanket off and letting the fabric fall around his feet. He looked at you, smiling fondly and shifting so he was comfortably on top of you, your legs slung over his hips. He licked his lips. “Mm, come here.”

With a swift move forward, your Prince was kissing you again, this time with a renewed intensity. His lips were almost harsh against yours, but the fullness made up for his aggressive nature. His hands went up to your hips, pushing up the fabric of your shirt and his thumbs rubbing circles. Felix breathed heavily into the sloppy kiss you were sharing, and you shifted impatiently as you wished for more.

He was getting antsy too, something you noted when his mouth separated from yours and instantly pressed against your neck, licking and biting at the skin but making sure not to leave any marks. You couldn’t have people believing you’d had sex before marriage, of course, but you still whined the same as if he was giving you a million marks and claiming you as his. You thought about earlier, when you’d been caught by Chan. What would have happened if you kept going?

“We- Lix-” You were cut off with your own whine when Felix’s teeth nipped at a particularly sensitive spot on the crook of your neck. “We can’t have- Lix, fuck, listen to me! We can’t have sex.”

Felix’s head poked up at that, his eyebrows raised in shock and amusement. “We’re not going to have sex. Jesus, you just want to jump straight into it, don’t you-”

“No! I meant that we can’t have sex until the wedding. You seemed to be getting pretty excited, so I thought I’d just remind you,” you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest and trying to shift away from him. He didn’t permit this, his hands pulling you back to your old position by your hips. Your mind went blank at the show of dominance.

“We’re not going to have sex, duh. I want to touch you. I said that, didn’t I?” Felix was giggling again, flicking your forehead as a way of teasing. You frowned, and Felix immediately pulled his hands away from your hips, resting them in your hair instead. “Is that okay? Do you want me to touch you, sugarplum?”

He was asking for consent. You didn’t think Felix had ever asked you if it was okay if he did anything. Then again, this situation was different, and you smiled softly at the reassuring question. Of course you wanted him to touch you. You thought someone would have to be blind to not want Lee Felix to touch them. You personally wanted his hands touching intricately all over you at every second of every day. “I- Yeah. I want you to touch me.”

At your consent, Felix gave you a quick smooch to your nose and started to kiss down your body. He didn’t remove your shirt, only pushing it up at the hem so that it rested just underneath your tits. You’d foregone a bra for comfort, but you were quickly regretting it when you saw the hard peaks of your nipples poking through your shirt. This didn’t go unnoticed by Felix, and he grinned against your tummy when his eyes landed on your nipples, reaching up to brush his thumbs over the sensitive buds teasingly. You moaned softly in response, a high-pitched, embarrassing noise - but Felix seemed to like it, if the kick of his hips against the mattress was any indication.

“Never fucked anyone, you know that, sugarplum? Wanted it to be you,” he breathed out against your tummy, button nose nudging at the top of your underwear and bottoms. You squirmed, sighing out loud. “Wanted it to be you, always. But you’re so fucking…”

You almost forgot to reply when his teeth grazed against the fabric, heavy breathing now being spilled over your core. The sensation was hidden by the two layers of clothing, but it sent shockwaves up your spine just the same. He looked to be going insane, hair mussed with sweat and darkening the strands to a milky coffee shade while his eyes were blown wide with lust. His mouth was slightly open, exasperated, pouty rose lips permitting the erotic breaths of air to escape from his lungs. They rang off the walls like church bells, incredibly pleasant to your ears, juxtaposing the precariousness of your situation. “S-So what? Felix, just… please…”

“So fucking oblivious,” Felix whispered. His thumbs found themselves yanking both layers down at once to expose your dripping hole, clit swollen and throbbing, aching for the touch of your best friend. You felt yourself blush while he took you in, a deep groan rasping through the air at the sight of you wet and needy for him. Only for him, you thought, legs spreading wider to let him get a better look despite your embarrassment. He was looking at you in your entirety, eyes tracing a path over your labia and down to your twitching hole. He was murmuring incoherently, his jaw dropped in shock. “You’re so wet, sugarplum. Jesus, you’re so fucking wet, what the fuck?”

You groaned, throwing your arm over your face to hide. “Lix, shut up. It’s not like I can help it. You were kissing me, and- and stuff.”

“And you think your bestie is so totally hot, yeah, I get it,” You huffed again at the comment. He was getting closer now, breaths warming up the wet slick that had accumulated around your bottom set of lips. Your hands dropped to your sides, gripping the sheets awkwardly as if you didn’t know where exactly to place them. “I’m gonna taste you. That's okay, yeah?”

You nodded, shifting around impatiently once again. He let those small hands go up to hold your hips down, the show of power once again going straight to the pit of your tummy. The feeling was meant to be reserved just for your dreams, but here Felix was, reenacting everything that you’d tried to push to the back of your mind. 

Just as you hit that realization, Felix was shooting forward once again, delivering a fat lick up the middle of your core. He groaned as he tasted you. His precision was anything but perfect, but he was eager, licking through your folds and cleaning you of all of the sweet dew that had accumulated there. He pressed a soft kiss to your clit, those plump lips wrapping around your button and giving it a quick suck before he pulled away. 

Felix swiped his middle finger through your folds, groaning in that deep voice as you got wet despite him just cleaning you up with his tongue. “You taste so sweet, like fucking sugar. I knew there was a reason why I was calling you sugarplum.” 

You whined when his finger breached your hole, immediately curving upwards to find that spongy spot inside of you. Chan had told him how to do some good things, you’d muse afterwards - but your brain was too fuzzy to think about anyone else when your best friend reattached his lips to your clit and sucked hard. You wondered if his finger would reach so deep inside of you, given his small hands, but he had clearly hit the exact right angle and pressed on it just as he sucked. Your hands went down to his hair gripping harshly. You didn’t realize just how hard you were yanking the strands. “Mm, fuck- more, more, please-“

Felix hummed in response, his tongue swirling around your clit while he continued to suck. You writhed and whimpered out loud, not caring of who heard you. That was something you’d also consider later, when your brain wasn’t so foggy with lust.

Looking down at Felix between your legs, you wanted to paint that image onto your eyelids so that you saw it every time you blinked. His hips were still kicking up a fuss against the mattress, small, aborted thrusts as if he was a bit too embarrassed to do it fully. His hair was messy from you grabbing onto it, something that made you retract your hands immediately. His eyes were practically rolling back into his head as he tried to keep his eyes on you to see your reactions, and his free hand was still pinning your hips down to keep you from moving too sharply away from his ministrations. He looked beautiful, as he normally did, but even more so now - your Prince looked thoroughly debauched. You hadn’t even touched him. You couldn’t wait to touch him.

You quickly noticed that just the image of him was making you hurtle closer to the edge. You’d felt this before, of course, many times when you shoved your hand down your trousers in your way of settling down to go to sleep. This was stronger, though. Every cell in your body felt like it was igniting with white hot lust, your toes were curling as you tried not to squirm and your jaw was dropped, unabashed moans and whines tumbling out. Your hands subconsciously went up to your tits, yanking the hem of your comfy t-shirt up and pinching the buds of your nipples harshly. 

“Lixie, please, just a bit more, I’ll-“

Felix let go of the button between your legs with a wet smack, keeping his finger moving rhythmically as he came to lie next to you. His free hand moved from your hip into your hair, pulling you to face him. His eyes looked to be trying to figure out where they wanted to look - darting around your pussy, your fingers tweaking your nipples or the euphoric expression on your face. “Can you cum just from my finger? I want to see you when you cum. I want to see you when it’s all me, just me doing this to you.”

You whined, nodding as your hips started to pick up, thrusting into the rhythm of his hand. You briefly thought of how embarrassing this was - cumming from just your friend’s finger inside of you, only one finger at that, but you decided that was just the effect Felix had on you. “Yeah- yeah, I can cum from this, fuck- aah! Lixie, Lixie, please!”

“What are you begging for, sugarplum? I’m here,” He kissed your face, peppering small pecks all around the expanse of your flushed skin. He had positioned his hand to grind his palm into your clit. “I’m here. I’m all… I’m all yours.”

He seemed hesitant to say that, but it worked its intended effect anyway. You gasped and hurtled into an almost silent orgasm, but as if expecting a loud, nosy climax, Felix’s lips instantly attached to yours. Your toes curled as the bubble finally popped, so to speak. An euphoric sensation took over your body, beginning from the pit of your stomach and feeling as though it traveled all the way to the tips of your hair. You whimpered softly into the kiss, your hands gripping onto Felix’s wrist as he steadily slowed down his pace.

Your chest heaved with exertion. You were acting as if it was you who had done all the work, cheeks flushed and legs feeling stiff. You groaned as you stretched, your arms above your head until you realized Felix was pointedly staring at your exposed tits. Your nipples were still hard, perking upwards and Felix was almost salivating. A quick look down at his crotch revealed he was still sporting an extremely rock solid erection that looked fit to burst out of its confines.

“Was it… good?” He was licking his lips while he asked you. He wasn’t even looking at you; still staring at your tits with hunger in his eyes. You blushed, nodding. 

You motioned at his erection. “Do you want me to…?”

Felix blinked owlishly. He had that deer in the headlights facial expression again. “Yeah. I mean, if you want to? ‘M really fucking hard, sugarplum, and if I’m honest, my dick will hate me forever if I force it to enjoy my own hand again, y’know-“

You shut him up with a kiss, giggling into his lips. A darting of his tongue into your mouth made you taste yourself on his lips, and you moaned, sucking on his tongue filthily. You had a burst of confidence then, as if it had only just hit you what you were doing. Your hand went down to his length and gripped it firmly through his trousers.

“Jesus, you are hard,” you stated, shocked. Felix choked back an embarrassed giggle, simply blushing and nodding with the teasing of a smile on his lips. “I’ll… yeah. Can I take these off, Pixie?”

Felix nodded eagerly, making you smile fondly at him. Rather than allowing you to take them off yourself, his hands were pushing at his joggers and wrestling them off in one go with his boxers, quite like he’d done with your clothes. He flipped you both over, positioning so you were on top of him with him laying on his back. You tried not to notice how you still weren’t wearing anything on your bottom half and your t-shirt was barely covering your pussy.

You instead focused on the skin newly revealed to you. He’d shucked his tank top up so his abs were exposed to you - those fucking abs. You thought you’d get over seeing him shirtless once you weren’t sixteen and hormonal anymore, but the tell-tale clenching of your pussy when you looked at his body told you otherwise. Your eyes went down to his length, chestnut hair trimmed neatly above the shaft and his cock resting against his tummy, hard and leaking. You felt bad for what you’d put him through minutes before. No wonder he was grinding against the mattress.

Taking initiative, you wrapped your hand firmly around the base of his cock, pumping twice in quick succession.

“Fuck-“ Felix was whining immediately, hips canting off the bed. He yanked you down next to him by your free hand, your legs slung over his thighs and your head right next to his. He wasted no time, grabbing your head and bringing you in for another kiss. 

You tried to focus on kissing your Prince back while you stroked his cock, but you knew you were kissing him very badly. He didn’t seem to mind, just breathing heavily and whining into your mouth. His voice had shifted several pitches higher. It was so fucking hot to you.

“Mm- sugarplum, tighter as you get to the tip- and- and… hnng.. use the, um, the precum to make it wet. ‘Kay?” You smiled, nodding at his instructions. You knew you weren’t brilliant at it, knew you hadn’t done research like he had, so you appreciated the tips he gave you. You swiped your thumb over the head of his cock, through the slit, and dragged the wetness down to his shaft. The pumping sounded wetter now, a slick noise that was simultaneously pleasing and distracting to your ears.

“God, can you spit on it? Sorry, sugarplum, just feels really good when it’s wet,” Felix whispered. He looked embarrassed and horny at the same time. It looked fucking amazing on him, you thought, as you spat in your hand and returned it to his length. He immediately shot his hips up, toes curling into the sheets and his jaw dropping. “Oh God, yeah. Like that, Jesus, you’re good at that.”

“I’ve had a good teacher,” You rested your head on his shoulder, staring down at your own hand pumping his length quickly. He was leaking precum steadily, adding to the mix of the already leaked substance and your spit on his cock. You wanted to taste it.

Before even processing what you were doing, you were shifting again, settling between his legs.

“What are you-“

You sucked the tip of his cock into your mouth. The precum tasted like nothing, really, but it had a slightly salty aftertaste that wasn’t unpleasant. Felix’s jaw dropped in a shocked moan, his hand going to your hair and pulling on the strands softly. 

“Shit, I won’t last long,” he admitted. You simply hummed and sucked harder, bobbing your head on his tip. You could’ve sworn you were meant to use your hand too. You had seen porn, after all. You reached up, squeezing the rest of his shaft and pumping it along with your hand. “Sugarplum, oh-!”

Felix moaned and bucked his hips up, stammering and trying to stutter out sentences. You weren’t sure what he was trying to say, so you assumed it was blabbering in the throes of passion and continued. 

His fingers linked into your hair then, pulling your head off of his shaft. You blinked at him, hand resting still on his cock. 

“Sugarplum, I was going to cum in your mouth.” 

You frowned. “That’s the point, and you say I’m the fucking dummy-“

Felix sat up, pushing you down into the mattress once more and sitting between your legs. You tried to ignore how his cock was so close to your pussy, rather unsuccessfully as your core gave a betraying clench and leaked another rivulet of wetness. “I want to- sugarplum, I want to cum somewhere but it’s literally so weird.”

You tilted your head to the side in confusion. You reached down and gave his cock another few pumps. “Tell me, Lixie.”

“God- I want to cum on your pussy. Is that weird?” 

You pulled away and sucked your thumb into your mouth, cleaning it of the fresh precum. Felix groaned at the sight and started to pump his own cock, pushing your shirt up again to expose your tits. His eyes immediately settled on them as he waited for your response. You didn’t even need to consider it. “Do it. Nothing’s ever weird between us, right?”

Felix nodded quickly, moving closer to you and positioning his cockhead above your clit. It rubbed against your button teasingly, making you squirm and writhe underneath him.

“Shit, be careful, sugarplum. I could slip inside,” He leaned fully over you, kissing your neck. He was breathing heavily into your ear now, making you play with the swollen buds on your tits again. “Could… could slip inside, and fill you up, and-“

“Y-You could. Can. Please.” you whined, wiggling again.

“No, no, can’t. Fucking can’t, not yet. Fucking want to- fuck- fuck-! I’m g’na…” He was panting, barely able to get words out that weren’t littered with profanity. You shuddered. 

“Cum, Lixie, c’mon. I’m yours, all yours.”

You hadn’t even noticed what you’d been babbling in response, but his body seized up and you felt hot stripes of white cum shoot from his cockhead onto your clit. He was loud through the orgasm, swearing and whining in a high pitched tone. You were making noise too, little noises as if you were shocked. The warmth of his cum on you was erotic, yet weirdly comforting. Strange. Maybe it’s because it was his, like he was marking you as his territory.

“Shit,” Felix panted, flopping down next to you with a loud sigh. “Shit.”

“Shit.” You agreed.

“That was fucking good though, right?” He turned to you. You looked at him and noticed he looked like he needed some validation, eyes soft and vulnerable. 

“Um, duh. It was amazing, Lixie. Thank you,” You smiled. “We should get cleaned up now though.”

Felix nodded, as if realizing the urgency of the situation. He darted around the room, using a small face towel to quickly wipe his softening cock and then he threw it at you for you to wipe yourself. It landed on your head unceremoniously, blinding your vision as the blanket from the blanket fort had done. You groaned. Felix giggled. Of course he did.

“Um, your underwear is still… wet. I’ll grab you a pair of my boxers, okay, sugarplum?” You nodded, slightly embarrassed. You made quick work of wiggling the boxers he threw at you up your legs, yanking your t-shirt down to cover yourself. It didn’t bother you being so uncovered in front of him, just like it didn’t bother you wearing a pair of his boxers. You’d done all of this a million times before - just not after doing… what you just did. You couldn’t even fathom saying it, not even in your head.

Felix switched one of the bedside lamps off on his way back into bed, a hairband pushing his hair back and a fresh pair of underwear on. He wiggled underneath the quilt, putting himself back into a cute burrito and gazing at you expectantly. You sighed, kicking the hand towel onto the hardwood floor and wiggling into the blanket with him. It was like you could read each other's minds in situations like this.

“Yay, sleepover,” He chirped quite happily. You let out a small laugh. It didn’t feel awkward. The relative silence was comfortable. You couldn’t wait to marry him, your best friend, your Prince. “I guess Chan told me some good things then, huh?”

“Oh my God, shut up,” You giggled. You let your face fall, giving him a serious look. “It was alright, I suppose.”

Felix gasped theatrically. “Take that back! I’m a master at it already, I know it.”

“You’re not a master if you had to ask your fucking brother-“

You huffed as Felix wrestled you to the bed, pinning your arms down and tickling your skin. You squealed when he hit your sides, thrashing around and trying to kick him off of you.

You hoped that you were right, that it could never be awkward, not even after he read the book and knew you were madly in love with him.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You stood on the day of your wedding two weeks later wearing a dress that had been worn by the Queen to her own wedding, many years earlier. You were grateful that the Queen had trusted you with her own dress, showing how much she approved of you, you supposed. It had been altered by one of the palace tailors so that it wasn’t too old fashioned, but still, the feeling of the satin against your skin reminded you of the many memories the fabric held. 

They’d fast tracked your wedding to your best friend and it was a lot sooner than you’d hoped. You hadn’t seen Felix in a full week, due to him being preoccupied with wedding plans himself, and the only hint you’d had that he’d still been thinking of you was the bouquet of baby’s breath flowers that were dropped off to your chambers earlier on that day. You’d decided that would be your wedding bouquet. You didn’t even know if he’d read the book you recommended, if he’d even realized what you were trying to say.

The anticipation was killing you. Your dress was an off-shoulder beauty, a tight form fitting design that clung to your figure and flared off into an a-line hemline. It was conservative nonetheless, a bright shade of ivory that was almost blinding along with your mother’s necklace that she’d insisted you wear. She was fussing with your hair while you stared into the mirror. You weren’t displeased at what you saw, but you still felt a bit fake, like you weren’t meant to be the one standing across from the nation’s favorite Prince in the next hour. 

Your mother sighed in frustration at someone entering the room, because your head spun to face the intruder and forced her to promptly drop the ornate clasp she was holding. Chan stood there, holding a box of chocolates with a cheerful smile.

“I come with a gift for the bride,” He chirped, placing the box of chocolates on the small coffee table of your dressing room. It was a spare room in your designated section of the palace that had been repurposed just for the day. You wanted to slap Chan because he reminded you of Felix, and more importantly, the fact you hadn’t seen Felix. You shut your eyes and pursed your lips, reminding yourself that it really wasn’t Chan’s fault. When you opened your eyes, Chan was motioning to the bouquet of baby’s breath on the table. “You got Felix’s flowers then.”

“Yeah, and no sign of the actual Felix,” You sounded petty, and you knew it. Even your mother scoffed at your statement as she fled the room to do something else - probably flitting around in panic, trying to get the tablecloths at a perfect angle. Chan laughed at you nonetheless, sitting down on a chair and still grinning at you. You pulled the off-shoulder sleeve up self consciously. “Have you seen him much? Is he okay?”

“Eh, not really. When he’s not preparing for the wedding, he’s had his nose in that book you gave him.”

“Huh?!”

Chan’s smile dropped, looking at you with confusion. “Well, yeah. He always reads the books you gave him. Why’s that a shock?”

“B-Because… no. It’s not a shock, just- I don’t know.”

Chan hummed. “Today’s probably got your head feeling fuzzy, I don’t blame you for feeling weird.”

“Yeah.”

He came behind you and you stared at him in the mirror. He kept his distance, but was smiling at you cheekily. He shoved his hands in his pockets in a nonchalant manner. “I mean, I’d probably be nervous too if I was in an arranged marriage with my best friend. Especially if my best friend also didn’t know that I was madly in love with them.”

Your eyes widened. How did he…? Okay, no. It was probably super obvious to everyone apart from the actual love interest in your life, to be honest. Instead of berating him, you did actually stomp your feet in anger. “Okay, well. The book was sort of my way of confessing. There’s two characters who are friends that fall in love, and I told him they reminded him of us. It’s sappy, I know-”

“‘S not sappy at all,” Chan cut you off. “I think that’s really fucking sweet, to be honest. I’m not entirely sure he’ll understand what you’re trying to say, though. He’s oblivious like that.”

“And he said I was oblivious,” you muttered. Chan’s head tilted to the side, as if asking you to repeat yourself louder, but you simply shook your head. “I’m going through with it.”

“Well, yeah, I know you are? You’re standing there in a wedding dress?”

“It’s going to be awkward when he knows. I’m regretting everything.”

Chan shook his head. He stalked across the room, placing his hands on your shoulders comfortingly. “Nothing could ever be awkward between you two. Who knows? Maybe he even feels the same?” 

You groaned in distress. “He doesn’t feel the same, Chan. Shut up.”

Chan shrugged. “I mean, how would I know, anyway?”

You blinked at yourself in the mirror as Chan left the room with no further comments. How would he know? Um, maybe because he’s his fucking brother?

Wait.

You sighed, ridding yourself of the thoughts in your head. You had to leave now, to walk down the aisle, given away by your mother rather than your father and given away to your best friend. You didn’t have time to consider what Chan was saying. He was being fucking cryptic and annoying. 

It was all backwards. It shouldn’t have felt right, but it did, weirdly enough. You’d been freaking out about it all day. You had been told by your mother to wear heels with your dress, and although they were only simple white kitten heels, if anything, you still teetered precariously on them and had horrible thoughts about flying ass over tit on the aisle in front of everyone. Felix would laugh. Hell, Chan would probably cry laughing too, but you’d be actually crying of embarrassment.

Your mother returned shortly after Chan left, and she had clearly given up on your hair. It had decided today of all days to be classed as an unruly mane, and so she’d tried to clip it up with some clasps but your hair just hadn’t obeyed. She huffed, brushing through it and letting it hang limply over your shoulders. It was your wedding day and you felt like a pig with makeup on. You sighed, pulling the veil over your face while your mother linked arms with you.

You looked at you both in the mirror. Even with your face obscured by the sheer veil, you were both so similar. Similar in height, similar in stance. 

“Are you ready, dear?” 

You felt tears welling in your eyes. “No. I don’t think I am.”

Your mother sighed, her fingertips brushing down the hair that she could access. “I know. I promise you, dear, everything will be just fine. You and Felix will always be fine, no matter what.”

You knew she knew. You knew she was trying to comfort you, despite knowing. She’d always been like that. Even when you’d been getting up to no good with Felix and his friends as kids and you ended up crying and throwing a tantrum upon being caught - she still comforted you. She was your mother, your inspiration. 

You nodded solemnly in response to her statement, and she smiled a comforting smile on her face that was so similar to yours, yet weathered and aged like the books you and Felix enjoyed flicking through. She must have so many secrets, she must have known and seen so many things - yet she was still by your side, because you’re her daughter. You were grateful she was ignoring her job duties to comfort you and make sure you were feeling decent enough for the wedding. It had always been the two of you, after all.

You were led out of the dressing room by your mother, her arm wrapped around yours and her dressed elegantly, similar to you. She looked better, more comfortable in her own skin and more important, demanding authority everywhere she walked. You hoped you’d become even a fraction of the woman she was one day. 

She led you down to the hall where the Queen normally took court, repurposed for the reception. You assumed everything would be taking place there, but then she was leading you out to the palace gardens and you were astonished. It was like having your wedding in a forest, beautiful greenery everywhere and the sound of soft tinkling music coming from a piano. You were being taken down the aisle before you even registered what was happening.

The guests all stood up politely, turning to look at you. A few of them even looked in awe, and you really hoped there was a God who would prevent you from falling flat on your fucking face as you walked down. Your sweaty palms clenched onto the plastic paper of the baby’s breath bouquet, crinkling under your touch. You were just staring at the crowd, jaw dropped rather embarrassingly. 

Your mother spoke to you in a hushed whisper. “Smile, dear.”

They can’t even see my fucking face through this veil, you thought, but you smiled dutifully anyway. You noticed people starting to murmur, and you could’ve sworn you heard that people were saying how elegant and regal you looked. You wanted to scoff. Fat chance. You still felt like a peasant being forced to marry a Prince in a medieval show, or something.

Your eyes finally landed on him. There he was, your Prince, standing at the end of the aisle underneath a wooden wedding arch covered in forest green vines and baby’s breath littered all over the structure. You almost forgot how to breathe, and almost did fall on your face. He looked amazing. Well, he always looked amazing, but even more so on that day. The greenery made him look like some form of faerie prince. They’d dressed him traditionally, a white shirt with frills on the sleeves being exposed just underneath a black suit jacket. The frills went all the way up to his neck, clasping tightly beneath a silver chain necklace. Most importantly, on top of perfectly tousled blonde waves, a crown full of ornate jewels sat. You really did forget how to breathe, then.

You smiled softly at Chan and Hyunjin, stood on Felix’s side as his best men. Hyunjin looked beautiful, as he always did, straight out of a magazine. He wasn’t a patch on your Prince, though. You chided yourself mentally for that. It’s not as if you’d kick Hyunjin out of bed, it’s just that you’d now had, erm… bedtime activities with Felix and knew that he was a sex-god. Sexprince. Whatever. On your side, where you were meant to arrive, Chan’s wife stood as your one and only bridesmaid. You didn’t have many real friends in the palace, only Felix really, and she’d been fucking ecstatic when you had asked her to be by your side at the wedding. She didn’t have many true friends either, it turned out.

Before you knew it, you were standing across from Felix, eyes gazing into eachothers.

He mouthed a sentence, a simple “you’re fucking beautiful”. You’d slap him later for swearing at your fucking wedding. Seriously, he needed to have some respect.

The wedding officiant - another random noble - began to talk at that moment, now that everyone had sat down and settled. Your mother was staring at you with a kind smile on your face. You avoided her eyes. She’d pissed you off, but you weren’t exactly sure what she’d done this time. Maybe it was her being so nice. Maybe it was because everyone kept mentioning the fact you’re in love with Felix. “Repeat after me, I, Lee Felix, take you…”

You honestly zoned out, staring at your Prince. He didn’t even seem to be listening either, but you’d gone over this part in the wedding rehearsal. You knew what you had to say to solidify the marriage, but in all honesty, your mind was on what you’d have to do afterwards to consummate the marriage. Having not seen him for a while, your hand had become acquainted with the inside of your knickers rather frequently, and you’d come apart way too many times to the thought of him to be considered normal. You wondered if he’d done it, too.

In your train of thoughts, you almost missed that it was your turn. “Ah, sorry,” you mumbled, making everyone in the audience chuckle. You even heard a faint ‘the Princess is cute’, making you feel flustered and want to throw your shoe at whoever said it. You got on with your speech. “... f-for richer, for poorer. Um. In sickness, and in health, to love and cherish always.” It felt like you’d been reading it off a script. In all honesty, you kind of had been - you’d been staring at the space behind Felix and squinting to remember what had been written on the piece of paper placed in front of you so many times.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

Don’t use that fucking tongue, Lee Felix, there’s children present, you thought. He, as if reading your mind once again, leaned forward and pressed a chaste peck to your lips, lifting your veil before doing so. You smiled, satisfied, and he took your hand, leading you out of the ceremony. The reception would be straight after, a gathering of people of high status drinking expensive wine and doing that stupid fucking laugh they do. You couldn’t say much - you’d been educated and instructed to do the exact same.

Only one thing was on your mind though, amongst the cheers and applause of the public at their favorite Prince getting married. You couldn’t help thinking that this was the beginning of a union, so why did it feel so much like an ending?

Once everyone was seated, you sighed and began to pick at your food in front of you. It was some posh recipe made by the palace cooks - everyone sitting in the reception was eating the same thing, and seemed to be enjoying it a whole lot more than you were. The whole room was decorated similarly to outside, green vines and flowers hanging everywhere from potted plants. Felix sat next to you, thanking everyone who wished you both well. 

“I want to apologize, sugarplum,” He began, eyes staring at the plate of food in front of him instead of you. “I haven’t had a chance to read the book you recommended. You know, with all the preparations and stuff.”

Wait. What? Someone’s fucking lying here. Was it Chan or Felix? To be fair, you hadn’t had much time to do anything else either. But Chan had told you that Felix had his nose in that book all the time, and Felix was intensely avoiding eye contact with you now. Unless…

Oh, fucking hell. He read the book, knew what you meant and is choosing to expertly say nothing about it - because he doesn’t feel the same. He wants to just act like nothing happened. You felt tears brimming in your eyes. It’s not that you didn’t expect this outcome, because perhaps a small part of you did, but it still fucking hurt your heart nonetheless. A large part of you had hoped for something cheesy, like a large declaration of love and you two running to each other in the meadow and maybe him spinning you around in his arms or something.

This was reality though, not one of your romance novels. You blinked to try and destroy the tears in your eyes, before giving him a smile. “That’s okay, Pixie. I’ve been busy too, I get it.”

Felix held your hand under the table, clenching it tightly. He was smiling ear to ear. “‘S fucking sick though, right? We’re married now.”

You tried to return his energy. He’d sounded absolutely gushing, full of happiness, practically over the moon. “Yeah. So fucking cool.” You sounded devastated.

Felix glanced at you quickly with concern, his eyebrows furrowed. Before he could manage to say anything, Chan and his wife were standing in front of the table, looming over you. It was intimidating. She looked beautiful, dressed in a tight floor length pastel blue dress. It matched Chan’s own blue suit, and pastel blue had been your intended color for your bridesmaids dresses, had you had more than one.

Chan clapped his hands together. “So, we are excited for tonight?!”

You blushed, turning to Felix. He looked just as shy as you for once. His eyes were widened and he was finding the white linen tablecloth very interesting all of a sudden. Chan’s wife slapped him on the arm, grumbling about having etiquette. “I’m so sorry about him.” You found it funny, their dynamics - you followed Felix around like a lost puppy, whereas Chan’s wife seemed to have him on a tight leash. 

In reality, it was extremely fucking daunting. You found yourself still nervous, even when the festivities had ended and you were standing in your own chambers. It all felt too formal. You hoped that in another lifetime you and Felix would’ve been able to do this whole thing at a more casual pace. Maybe you even would’ve been able to lose your virginity to him before you got married.

You were greeted with a white slip of chemise laying on your bedsheets when you returned. You knew you’d be expected to wear something like that but it still shocked you, and you stared at it as if it was an illegal piece of evidence for a solid few minutes. It was delicate, the satin between your fingers, a perfect juxtaposition to what you’d be doing in less than an hour. You took your wedding dress off quickly, laying it out on the bed and putting it on the hanger. You wondered if your matching white lace underwear would be okay for Felix, before realizing that it was actually a miracle that it was even matching.

Once you’d slipped the chemise on, you stared at the mirror next to your armoire. You looked at yourself in surprise. It actually looked good, and you’d chosen to leave your bridal leg garters on. The dress met your legs mid-thigh, meaning the garter on your left leg was about one gust of wind away from being exposed. You thought you were meant to leave it on anyway, that you were meant to have your newlywed husband take it off for you in a sign of like, possession or something. The whole thing was so fucking medieval to you. 

Slipping your coat over your shoulders, you decided to forego proper shoes and just slipped your white sandals on. Well, they were white, until you and Felix had commenced a full on wrestle in the meadow one day and now they were permanently stained beige from your efforts of planting your feet in the mud to punch him. Playfully, obviously. He still whined when you did it as if you’d battered him black and blue.

Stalking over to your Prince’s chambers, you realized something. Soon, probably in the next few days, you’d have to move all of your things here and then you’d be living with Felix in the palace. It would be both of your chambers, not his. The thought made you feel giddy with excitement but it also made your head dizzy with confusion. You weren’t sure what you wanted anymore. You were in love with him, sure, obviously - but you didn’t know how long you could keep up the facade if he wasn’t about to address that fucking book you gave him in all of your bravery.

You stood there awkwardly. Were you meant to knock? Surely you were meant to knock. Or maybe you just open the door. You’d be moving in soon, anyway, so it would make sense if-

The door swung open in front of you. “Oh, hi! What a nice surprise. How long have you been-”

“Just got here, like, this second,” You grumbled, arms crossed across your chest. Felix laughed behind you as you pushed past him into the room, clearly knowing that you had been standing there for a solid minute just staring at his bedroom door. You turned around when Felix pushed the door shut. He was wearing just pajama shorts and a t-shirt. You wanted to scream. Maybe you weren’t even meant to wear the stupid fucking nightgown. He’d clearly dressed for comfort. 

“Why are you wearing a coat? It’s summer.”

You blanched. You looked down at the coat. You’d have to take it off eventually. “Okay, don’t laugh.”

Felix nodded. He was already holding back a laugh, and you could tell by the stifled look on his face. “Not gonna laugh.” 

“You so are,” you huffed, unzipping your coat and letting it fall to the floor. You scrunched your eyes shut tightly, waiting for the impending cackle to come from your best friend. You felt like an idiot. You’d walked in here, all dressed up to the nines like some fucking prize for him to unwrap, and you’d been met by him in his comfy pajamas. Not even the nice, princelike pajamas! 

After a moment of silence, you opened your eyes. Felix was staring at you, jaw dropped and a visible tent in those stupid shorts. Any sign of a smile had disappeared from his face.

Your brain was working at 100mph, deciding to have a severe case of word vomit. “Okay. So, this was on my bed. I’m assuming Chan’s wife left it there or something. I don’t know. I didn’t… I wasn’t sure if I should wear it. I feel really stupid now, and you’re staring, Lix, so can you just say-” 

You were cut off by his lips against yours. He was pushing you backwards onto his four poster bed with ease, moaning deeply into the kiss. You squealed with surprise, hands going up to his hair to try and keep yourself steady. Once he had you situated on the mattress, Felix was immediately in between your legs, bunching the fabric of your nightgown up in his fists and his tongue dancing around your mouth. 

You hummed, spreading your legs wider to accommodate him. You found your lips sucking on his tongue in a filthy kiss, much like the one you’d done weeks prior before his head was between your legs. You desperately hoped he would do it again. His plump lips were harsh against yours, his hands traveling everywhere across your body as if he was trying to be able to draw your body by memory after this. 

Felix pulled away, breathing heavily. It seemed he really enjoyed kissing, because after everytime you kissed he looked fucking debauched. His hair was scrunched up everywhere - courtesy of your hands - and his chest was heaving. “Trying to- fucking hell, sugarplum. Trying to fucking kill me, I swear,” You giggled. He liked it. He liked the dress. You felt like a thousand rocks had been lifted off of your back. Felix smiled back at you, letting out a small laugh and shutting his eyes as if he realized the severity of the situation. His eyes opened, looking down at you. They were a deep brown, blown wide with lust. “I- Jesus. Do you want me to fuck you? We don’t have to, y’know-”

You shifted, bringing him back down into another heated kiss with a hand on the back of his neck. He moaned, his hands going to grab your nightgown again. This time, his hands went further down, sliding up your thighs and then he positively keened into the kiss. 

He pulled away again. “Tell me you’re fucking joking.”

“H-Huh? Joking about what?” You sat up on your forearms. Felix yanked you closer to the edge of the bed by your hips, moving backwards with you and landing on his knees. You squeaked in response. He was sitting on the floor, right in front of you as your legs hung over the edge of the bed. His hands went up to your nightgown, pushing it up, and you finally realized what he meant. The garter.

Felix groaned, loudly, so loud you were worried that everyone else would be sending noise complaints to… well, who? They’d probably just pass an angry note under the door in the morning if anything. His button nose went to your left thigh, nuzzling into the lace garter. He was breathing heavily, harsh puffs of air being spilled all over your skin and making you feel warm. You squirmed, feeling ticklish. 

Felix looked insane. He looked like he’d thoroughly lost his mind, all over you arriving at his bedroom door in a satin nightgown and a bridal leg garter. He looked up at you, his eyes dark and vast, as if he was looking for approval, licking his lips. You didn’t know what he was looking for approval for, but you nodded anyway. His teeth immediately bit into your garter, catching the skin just a tad and making you whine. He dragged it all the way down your leg, spitting it out on the floor before his head was back between your legs, licking fast stripes over your clothed core. The dress obscured his head just a tad, making you feel like you were doing something you shouldn’t be.

“Lix-” You whined, spreading your legs wider. He moaned against the fabric, using his hands to push your legs up and against your chest, to where you dutifully held them up for him. You had no idea why he’d made you do that, but all of a sudden, your underwear was shifting to the side and his middle and ring finger were sliding into your wet hole. It was all so fucking fast, you couldn’t keep up - your brain felt ten steps behind. “Aah- hnng, fuck, Lixie, so quick, Jesus- a- ah-”

“I’m sorry. Need- need to make you cum, so then I can fuck you,” you nodded at his words, hips canting into his hand. Felix stood up, sliding back on the bed to loom over you as he finger fucked you. You’d never had two fingers inside before, but God the stretch felt amazing, and it had you wondering what it’d be like when he finally got his cock inside of you. “I’m sorry. Wanted- wanted to go slow, shit. You’re driving me fucking insane, sugarplum. We don’t have to- we don’t gotta-”

“I want to, God- I want you to fuck me so bad, Felix,” you moaned in a high pitched tone. You were almost embarrassed about the way your words came out, but Felix was smiling, curving his fingers to hit your g-spot.

“Yeah? Do you want it that bad, sugarplum? Thank God, because I can’t wait to make you mine.”

You nodded eagerly, trying to wiggle your hips to get some stimulation on your clit. Felix shifted then, his palm rubbing up against your clit like he had done before. “I’m- I’m already yours, Pixie.”

Felix groaned, a deep groan that came straight from his chest. His fingers went faster, his palm rubbing your clit sloppily and giving you barely any friction. It was enough though. You could feel yourself getting closer and closer. He’d started to actually suck marks into your neck, something you knew you’d have to cover afterwards but you didn’t care so long as he kept bringing you this insane pleasure.

When he shifted again, bringing his thumb up to rub your clit more precisely, you dropped your legs and whimpered. You couldn’t focus on anything, head dizzy at the biting pleasure that was mounting and mounting up and bringing you close to your climax. He was so good with his hands. You wanted to feel him finger fucking you everyday, and a sick part of you reminded you that you could now. You were his legally, married, you were his wife. 

Felix let your legs drop and came up to nuzzle at your earlobe, biting it softly with pearly teeth. You were babbling again now, hips canting rhythmically to meet his thrusts. “You getting close, sugarplum? You get nice and squirmy when you’re close.”

“Y-Yeah, yeah, gonna- g’na, yeah, g’na cum-“ You managed to stutter out. Felix simply hummed, and kept his rhythm the same. His thumb continued to swipe precisely over your swollen bud. That combined with the dainty fingers inside of you made you whine, and you grabbed the back of Felix’s head to kiss him as you came.

You moaned into the kiss, him dominating your mouth while your eyebrows furrowed and you let go around his fingers. He moaned back, feeling the slick from your pussy coat his digits and making the thrusting in and out much more slippery.

“Got so wet just for me, sugarplum. Mm,” Felix slipped his fingers out. You almost short circuited and died when he sucked them into his mouth, letting out a puff of air through his nose while he licked them clean. He giggled at your facial expression. “‘S sweet, sorry. You still wanna… do more?”

Felix giggled again when you nodded eagerly, a sweet chime of happiness. You were happy to please him. You wanted to fuck him anyway, because you weren’t blind and could see how fucking hot the Prince was, just like the rest of the nation could. 

Felix was laying by your side, nuzzling your cheek when you spoke. It was probably the most declarative, decisive thing you’d said in a while. “We need a condom.” 

Felix’s head shot up. He was looking at you with a guilty expression. “Um… I don’t have any, you know, heirs and all that.”

You hummed, saying “that’s fine” just as he said “kidding, lol”. You wanted to berate him for saying the word ‘lol’ out loud, but you were more taken aback by the fact you were fine fucking your best friend raw and hadn’t even put a second thought into it. 

“That’s fine?!” Felix shrieked. “I was kidding! I totally have condoms, I was just winding you up-“

You punted him in the shin, sitting up to wriggle your nightgown off. It successfully distracted him and he went quiet, staring at your tits confined in your bra. “Get a condom then, Pixie. There’s nothing stopping you.”

Felix gulped, audible in the room. He was still staring at your chest. “Well, now that you’ve said it, I’m kinda thinking about fucking you raw. It’s hot.”

“Fuck me raw then?” You shrugged. Felix looked like he was about to die. He immediately shot up, wriggling his pajamas off. His cock sprang out of its confines, even more hard than it had been two weeks ago - if that was even possible. It was leaking just like it was before though. Without another moment to think, he was back on the bed, hands tracing shapes on your thighs. 

You managed to unclasp your bra and flick it off to the side, and he was on you instantly. His mouth was wrapped around the bud of your right tit, sucking and making you moan. You tried to shift out of your underwear while he was occupied and he conveniently shifted upwards to allow you to do so. 

With red raw lips from the suckling, Felix pulled back. “I… Please? Can I?” You nodded, spreading your legs. He took in the sight of you again with your pussy on display and groaned, pumping his cock a few times before positioning it at your entrance.

Surprisingly, it didn’t hurt. You’d heard horror stories of women bleeding on their first time and even feeling like they were being torn open, but all you felt was a bit of an uncomfortable sensation when he pushed in. It was a stretch obviously, but you found yourself wanting more of the feeling as soon as you experienced it. You could feel the stretch it gave your walls, wet core stretching to accommodate his length. He gave you a second, giving you kisses around your face in anticipation as he bottomed out. 

Felix wasn’t faring too well, by the looks of him. His cheeks were flushed red beneath the fawn freckles and his lips were wet, as if he’d almost been drooling. He hadn’t moved yet, only just buried to the hilt inside your sopping wet hole, but his eyes still brimmed with tears at the pleasure.

“That feels… sugarplum, oh, please.” He whined.

You nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck. You pecked his lips fondly, before pecking both of his flushed cheeks. “C’mon. You can move, Pixie.”

Felix immediately started grinding his hips at a slow pace. It was inexperienced, but the speed worked to make you feel a little bit more open and pliant for his cock to bully inside of you. It hadn’t really hit you yet, that you were losing your virginity to your best friend who you’d also just married. That could be because of the immense pleasure you were feeling, or maybe because Felix looked so fucking beautiful whining on top of you. Fuck, if the feeling wasn't heaven, just because it was him - you were getting fucked by your best friend and you knew you'd able to come back for more.

You moaned as he jolted into an extremely sensitive spot inside of you, making you clench your walls around him. “Oh G-God, yeah, like that. So good.”

Felix nodded, chest heaving. He positioned his hips so that he was thrusting directly into that spot, still at a slow pace but just deep and hard enough to feel fucking amazing. “Good? There? Is it- am I… am I good for you?”

You blinked. You took just a second too long to respond as Felix’s newfound submissive nature registered in your brain, and you smiled, brushing your fingers through his hair. “Yeah, s-so- ah- such a good boy for me, Lixie. So good.”

Felix’s hips stuttered at that, him wanting to go faster but not knowing if you could take it. He was terrified, worried about hurting you since he knew of horror stories, too. He also knew that it felt so fucking good that he could cry. He was about to cry actually, you’d noticed, his eyes watering just a bit more with every thrust. 

His abs rippled above you with exertion at every thrust, his legs pinning yours to rest either side of his. He leaned down, kissing up your neck as he started to pick up the pace just a tad. His hair fanned out around him as he breathed heavily, eyes scrunched shut. He looked ethereal. He was clearly trying not to make too much noise, but deep moans and whines were ringing out when it felt especially good. "God, not gonna last long, sugarplum, I'm sorry-"

"Don't apologize, Pixie. F-feels really good for me too," You moaned out, stretching your legs out further. You just needed it a bit deeper, just rub your clit a bit and you were sure you wouldn’t need much else. He was staring down at your core, where his cock was entering and reentering you at a steady pace. "Mm, Lixie?"

"Y-yeah?" Felix responded instantly, head raising to look at you. He looked as if he wanted to stop to check you were okay, but his hips had a mind of their own, pushing back and forth into the wet hole you'd provided willingly for him. His eyes were nearly rolling back in his head.

“I need… can you rub my c-clit, please, need- need it, need it to cum around you,” Felix nodded eagerly, groaning. He used one hand to reach down and rub your clit. You thrashed your head around in response, letting out the most guttural moan you ever had. “Oh, oh yeah, so good for me- hnnf- I’m not gonna last long!” He kissed your nose in response, heavy breaths and moans panting right into your face and only doing more to turn you on. He was beautiful, perfect, and all for you. He was listening so well, caring the most about your pleasure and the way you wanted him to do it.

All of a sudden, his pace picked up, his hips moving in a frenzy. You whined when you felt it, hand going down to his abs in an effort to get him to slow down. It felt way too fucking good, his fingers still rubbing your clit. “G-Gonna cum with me, my Queen? God, please cum with me, need to feel it, I-" Felix was stuttering now, his head thrown back as he tried to keep a solid rhythm on your clit. You decided not to address the title he gave you. You also decided not to address how fucking wet it made you. “Sugarplum, my Queen, fuck, where do I- can I- inside?”

You moaned, feeling your orgasm building up. You pressed further into his hand and length using your hips, gripping onto the sheets behind you with your hands. His eyes were watering as he waited for your response, hands gripping your hips.

"Yeah, yeah, inside- in- inside, Lixie. Pixie, Pixie, oh God, you gonna cum in me? You gonna give me an heir?” Felix moaned loudly at your words, his hands clenching you tighter. You were babbling, going on and on about him letting go inside of you. He was loving it, hanging off of every word, tears now coming from his eyes at the pleasure.

“Yeah, ‘m gonna- Gonna fill you up, sugarplum, mine, mine, gonna- gonna- fuck, ‘m gonna give you an heir, gonna make you full of me-“

You whined out, clutching onto his arms and pushing back against his thrusts. “S-So good for me, Lix, gonna cum-'' You groaned, clenching down on his length one last time and positively exploding around him. You felt it all get wetter between your legs as his hips halted, pressed firmly against your asscheeks. His cock spurted ropes of white inside of you, making Felix let out a loud groan.

Felix collapsed on top of you, making you let out a “hmph” at the added weight. You let out a small laugh nonetheless when he started nuzzling into your neck like a cat, very nearly purring and smiling into your skin. 

There were a few moments of silence before he decided to speak. “That was like, so fucking good. I’m g’na need that everyday, mmkay?”

You shook your head, grinning. “Should’ve never given it to you. Now you’re gonna want it all the time.”

“I just want you all the time,” he whispered. “Love spending time with you.” 

“I…” You began, flustered. Felix was looking at you with pure admiration in his eyes, his now softening cock still inside of you. It was weirdly comforting. “I love spending time with you too, Lixie.”

“Mm, good. You’re stuck with me now, sugarplum.”

You fell asleep naked that night, cuddling your best friend after getting cleaned up and talking about the meaning of life. He hadn’t mentioned the book, and you weren’t sure if you were relieved or upset about it. It felt right, being in his arms. He was giggling, happy, poking fun at you when you said something stupid and kicking you playfully when you teased him. It felt domestic, like you were meant to be together in bed after sex for the rest of time.

You wished you could allow yourself to do it more often, but you just had no clue what he felt for you anymore.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You woke up next to your Prince, freshly married and freshly fucked. You let yourself laugh internally at your own joke before realizing the actual situation.

You’d fucked your best friend. More importantly, you and your best friend had just lost your virginities to each other and you’d loved every fucking second of it. What the fuck were you supposed to do now? You couldn’t even look him in the eyes during this, after moaning his name while he pummeled his cock inside-

Okay. You needed to wise the fuck up. You also needed to get out of Felix’s room, fast. You had to run. You’d never run from Felix before, but with the anxiety mounting in the pit of your stomach and your head feeling like you’d been dangled upside down for hours… yeah, no. You needed to go.

You shot out of bed, looking at your Prince still tucked up in bed. He was letting out deep breaths, not quite snoring but obvious he was still deep in his slumber. You felt guilty for leaving him, but you were due a long advice session with your mother. You hadn’t heard from her or seen her, apart from the note she left you on your bed with the chemise dress.

The same chemise dress that you’d now have to wear back to your mother’s room. You sighed, pulling the material over your head and slipping your shoes on. You’d worn basic white sandals over, and had thankfully worn that oversized coat, so it should hide you from judging eyes. 

You looked at Felix again. You felt so fucking guilty. He looked so beautiful in bed, quilt pushed down to his hips now and showing off his body. The sunlight was blaring in through the curtains and highlighting his abdominal muscles, and you just wanted to bury your face in his tummy and bite hard. You shook your head. You needed to speak to your mother. You were driving yourself insane at this point.

You scurried over to your mother’s chambers, thankful that it wasn’t too far from the Royal Family’s side of the bedroom wing. You’d always been placed close together. You did get a few confused murmurs from staff in your direction, but a quick scathing look from you had them shutting up immediately. Perks of being a Princess now, you supposed. People needed to mind their fucking business though.

You raised your hand up, knocking one knock, and three quick ones after. She’d known it was you from the knock, and the door swung open almost instantly. Her face gave away her surprise to see you at her door so early. You immediately crumpled, throwing yourself at her chest and sobbing.

“Oh, dear. Oh, no,” She soothed, stroking your hair. She led you into her room and sat you down on the chair, kissing your forehead. You felt immediately a bit better upon being in her company, but you couldn’t shift the guilt that you left. You’d done it for yourself, but when did you ever do anything for yourself? Apart from marrying Felix just so you didn’t have to see him with anyone else. You’d done that and disguised it in your head as being so that he didn’t have to marry someone he didn’t know, but in reality, you’d been selfish. It had fucking backfired in your face massively. “You… consummated it, I assume?”

You groaned at your mother’s words, reaching up and almost tugging your hair out of your scalp. “D-Don’t wanna talk about it. I need to… I can’t. I fucking can’t.”

Your mother sighed at your language. She kneeled in front of you anyway, placing her hands on your knees. “It’s a bit too late for that, I’m afraid.”

Sniffling, you tried to blink your tears away. It was of no use. They were tumbling down your cheeks freely like the summer rain you and Felix used to dance in when you went to your meadow. You groaned internally. Could you just not think about him for five fucking seconds?

“I… I’m not upset I married him,” you whispered. Your mother nodded, waiting for you to continue. “I think marrying him was one of the greatest things I’ve ever done. I also think it was the worst. I’m… I’m in love with him, and I tried to tell him, and… I just can’t process it. I can’t think straight. I need to get away, just for a bit, just so I can get over my feelings-“

“Going away is not going to rid you of the love you have for that boy, my dear. Things like that are eternal,” Your mother was firm, but soft. She hummed, looking at a space on the wall behind you before nodding. “How about you go and visit your dad’s brother? Your uncle? You’ve not seen him in a while, and it wouldn’t look out of the ordinary at all to go and visit family in the next town after getting married.”

Trust your mother to always think of the way the public would view it. Her job duties still ensured she was a diplomat in every case. You looked at her, in her eyes the same color as yours. It was a good idea. “That’s… yeah, okay. I’ll pack a case and I can go today. Is that alright?”

Your mother smiled again, her long nails going to scratch your scalp. “No longer than a week, my dear. Is that okay?”

She was approving of it. She must understand. You wondered if perhaps your mother had been in a similar situation years ago where she was in a catastrophe and needed to get away. She seemed understanding, and she was telling you what you needed to hear. 

You wiped your eyes once more, giving your mother a quick hug before returning to your chambers. You managed to find a large duffle bag that you hadn’t used for years. You struggled to remember what you had even used it for before, before realizing you've used it to smuggle alcohol out of the palace and to a party. Made sense, because now you were using it for another bad fucking decision. It seemed to be all you did.

You shoved a few items of clothing in there, chucking your barely used phone and your charger in there too. Just in case he tried to call, you told yourself. As if you’d pick up anyway, you never used the fucking thing. Quickly getting changed into something more presentable and comfortable for the bus ride over, you slid your shoes back on and slung the duffle bag over your shoulder.

This was it. You were fucking running, like a coward. A part of you knew a week wouldn’t be long enough to rid you of a lifetime full of love for your Prince. A part of you still wanted to try. Seeing family would be the cover - you would actually be seeing family, but you were thinking of it as more of a mental health retreat than anything.

Padding softly out of the palace grounds, you gave a soft wave to the guards posted at the front. Luckily, they didn’t question you. You got a confused facial expression but you simply walked out, making your way down the street to try and find a bus stop.

You almost stopped when you heard quick footsteps behind you. You’d know the sound of those footsteps anywhere - you’d heard it enough times running up and down the palace trying to find you, or trying to run away from you when you were playing some dumb game. You shook your head. Not now, not fucking now. It’s too soon.

“Hey- wait!” It was Felix. You sighed, picking up the pace and dragging your heartbreak along with you. It was hurting you to leave your best friend, your only love, the one that had you enchanted by something a lot more complicated than fictional magic - love. You reassured yourself mentally that you just needed a week, just a few days to process everything and hopefully try to sedate your feelings.

“Jesus, when did you become a fucking athlete, oh my God sugarplum, stop running so fucking fast! Please, just hear me out!”

You stopped dead in your tracks. His pleading always got to you, and you were met with puppy dog eyes you knew you’d see when you spun around to face him. He was dressed casually, baggy sweatpants clad on his legs and a loose hoodie almost falling off one bare shoulder, exposing the freckles littered on his skin. He hadn’t even put proper shoes on - he stood in front of you in sliders. No wonder it had been so hard for him to keep up, you thought, rather pettily. The fucker hadn’t even put shoes on.

You huffed nonetheless, crossing your arms over your chest. “What is it, Felix?”

“I- I just wanted to tell you something,” he bent over, trying to catch his breath and putting his hands on his knees. You wanted to roll your eyes, but he still had you under his spell, and you felt sorry for him. Why had you been running so fast? Why didn’t you just slow down and let him catch up? “I… I know it’s hard. I roped you into marrying me, and it clearly upset you so much you wanted to leave, and I understand that. But then, the book you gave me, the fucking book! And… I know it’s difficult, I know you’re mad at me especially since we had sex, but I’ve been feeling this for like, ever, and-”

You blushed, arms dropping to your sides. “Lix!”

“I just wanted to say that…” Felix huffed, finally returning to his standing position and running a hand through his hair. His hair was wet with sweat, no doubt from running to catch up to you and in his thick clothes. You felt guilty for even wanting to leave. You knew you wouldn’t even be gone long, a week, max - but Felix was nothing if not dramatic. “This is so fucking hard to say, sugarplum. I had a whole thing planned, a big one. That’s why I never mentioned the book. But then you left.”

“God, Lix, will you just get it out?! I don’t have forever-”

“I’m in love with you.”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

taglist: @moasworld . @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad . @queenofthegardengnomes . @boomfrogg . @hoeinthehouse . @msaddictions . @sunnyhonie . @hizliyuruyen . @jyu037 . @jouoy . @drhsthl . @seungincore . @jellylver . @veedoesntknaur . @meloncremesoda . @k-poplv . @livieloo914 . @fekixfmp . @fawnpeaks . @minnielvr . @imastraykidsfan . @hanjisung2023 . @hoelynecujoh . @kyrviu . @sxgeofprohets . @everydreams-penumbra . @chaneomma

[suguruplsr]

Let me be your cure

featuring.. Alhaitham

✰ ✰ ✰ You gave up on love after being affected with the infamous hanahaki. With pity and sadness slowly swallowing your life whole, you end up in the hospital. Reluctant to getting surgery. And your boring, sadly hot, doctor doesn't seem to care. At least until he finds himself thinking about you.

,, x fem!reader , reader had an ex fiancé who was shitty , fluff w/ angst + comfort , mentions of blood and bruises (caused by the disease) , purely fictional! i know nothing about how hospitals actually operate or if things in my story are or are not allowed! so as you read, remember its purely fictional!

+ disease used is called hanahaki! and it is fictional, and used in many fictional stories, like mine. in shorter terms, a character affected by this disease coughs up flowers and, usually, blood, because of rejection or the loved character not loving them, (without it being said too!). it’s mostly solved with the loved character realizing their love for mc and saving them. or in other cases, the mc getting surgery and losing feelings for the loved character.

↬ 1K Event Masterlist

wc: 5K+

- divider @/benkeibear

“Why are you staring?" You huff, making the gray-haired man in front of you nearly lose his composure. There’s no reason why someone like him should be stuck with some bratty woman. Okay, maybe he should have some sympathy. considering it’s a part of his job. “Ma’am, I'm just evaluating your physical health by sight for now.” You groan, turning your head away.

You’re literally going to die within this year and You can’t even at least get someone who is a bit more bubbly and nice to be around! not some cold guy with looks that could kill.

His eyes were unique. like targets or darts, probably? Your confuzzled mind couldn’t make sense of most things at the moment, but you felt strange underneath his gaze. intimidated. even without looking at him.

“Maybe if you wiped that scowl off your face, you wouldn't be in this situation. Probably drove the guy off." Alhaitham mutters. Yeah, yeah, it’s unprofessional, but he wasn’t disappointed with your reaction. His eyes lingered around your face, noticing how your tired, red eyes widened. But your lips curled, as if satisfied, mixing with the disbelief in your words. "Oh, you must be the funniest one around. What? Was I supposed to just smile? Say, 'Oh, I don’t mind, you’re fucking your secretary! Let’s plan our honeymoon, though!’ And hope to continue our romantic story?” You sneer, rolling your eyes dramatically.

“Well, it clearly didn’t work.” Alhaitham almost snickers. finding amusement in your extroverted attitude. He jots down a few more noticeable signs of your defect. Your lips look like they’ve been bit a lot, your nails are brittle, and your hair is frizzy and not taken care of. These are pretty normal things that the nurses should be able to help with. But he does eye the areas that aren’t just normal, like the bruises that reached to your neck or the ones on your arms that the gown does little to hide.

As you ramble on about your not-so-perfect love story, Alhaitham flips through the history of your visitors. It’s been three weeks since you were hospitalized, and there has been only one visitor since the day you came. which he’d assume was your mother or father. “Not a lot of friends or family?” He interrupts, his tone maybe a tiny bit softer than how firm it usually is. simply out of respect, of course. “Yeah, well, when you choose to die on your hill, not everyone wants to watch." You chuckle, smiling a bit.

He’d think that smile wouldn’t meet your eyes—cliche, right? But it did—a smile that wasn't too happy and an expression that wasn't too happy. But he merely hums in agreement, having no words of comfort and fixing his binder.

“Anyways, a female doctor will come and do a physical inspection before we prepare for your x-ray appointment in a few days. Although it seems that the roots of the flower may be growing and causing damage from the inside, His words make you waver, looking down at your lap. Was this really a good choice? It’s probably too late for surgery—not like you want one, but...

Alhaitham studies the visible emotions crossing your face before heading towards the door. “Make sure you ask for some food; you’re heavily malnourished."

The next few weeks have been bland. You wake up around 10 AM, and usually the nurse you’ve learned to call, Ms.Candace, is bringing your food inside and having a small conversation with you. Eventually, she begins the morning routine, doing your hair with a nice side of warm herbal tea. Chapstick, nails, and a light pair of pajamas, and then talking about what you’d like to do for the rest of your day.

But just when you think you won't ever have to see that snobby doctor,

“Unfortunately for you, you won’t be able to go outside.” Alhaitham steps into the room, clipboard in hand, and shoots a look of no remorse towards your huff. “And why not? I haven’t seen the light of day for what feels like months."You scoff, making the blue-haired woman beside you sigh. "Well, miss, your body is already becoming slower, and there’s signs you are getting weaker in general. I'm sure he’s just wanting to prevent your state from getting any worse.” Yet her sweet words do little to calm the bubbling feeling within your chest.

You shake your head as she goes to walk out, giving the gray-haired man one more look before the door closes. He ignores it, “Anyway, after the results of your recent checkups, the estimate of how much time you have left to live was determined. but I doubt it’ll affect you considering you’re one stubborn woman." Alhaitham raises his eyebrows at you, anticipating your rebuttal before you can even get it out. but instead, you suddenly get into a fit of coughs. It’s like an eruption within your chest. the tiny tree within, sending an array of attacks.

You hate it—the prickly feeling that wells up, like knives cutting your insides as flowers sputter and fall into the palm of your hand. Your eyes water from the odd sensation you’ve lived with, and you question yourself with the same old question you uttered the day you made your decision.

Was it worth it?

Was it worth sticking with a man who never had to even speak of his loss of love for you? The yellow carnations were enough. Symbolizing the rejection you’ve faced from him, something you never thought you’d ever have to endure after your relationship was taken to the next level,

Alhaitham had grabbed the new form of medication you were going to start using, a syringe filled with yellow liquid. He grabs your arm, his eyes quickly traversing around your body, especially your throat, for signs that may be more alarming than they should be. He looks into your eyes, seeing the panic and fear that have swelled within them. “I know it hurts, but breathe...” He whispers, keeping your arm firmly still as the syringe prickles into your skin. You look away in fright. You hate needles, but you hate this even more.

The spiky feeling in your throat slowly subsides as you spit out some blood. "I'm fine now...” Your croaky voice makes him jeer, swiftly grabbing a band-aid for the little spot of blood on your arm. "You aren’t. You’re, quite literally, dying. Although it seems like you may be dying way faster than I thought.” He sighs, moving around the room and grabbing a few of your medications. “We'll have to give you stronger medication to reduce the pain. I'll have Ms. Candace and a few other people come help you," he says, leaving almost as quickly as he came.

The nurses come in within a short time, the room bustling with movement and questions being directed towards you. The blood staining the pretty gold ring on your finger makes you finally wake up.

You’re actually dying.

And it’s for a man who swears he could never love you again.

Oh, how tricky fate can be with those stupid I love you's.

“How’re you feeling?” Alhaitham mumurs. You’ve been ignoring the man who sat in front of you, all silent, ever since the fiasco yesterday. You could only stare down at the ring around your finger, twisting it and sometimes daring to fully shed it off your finger.

You don’t have the guts to do that, even if he did. without any hesitation either.

“With how much you talk, I'm surprised you aren’t yelling at me for just existing.” He muses, his eyes flickering from his clipboard up to where you sit on the hospital bed. You don’t have the energy to banter with him, "I'm not that childish.” “You’d be surprised." His mutter makes you jolt, your face twisting into a pout.

“It sounds like you just have a problem with me!” you gibe. but Alhaitham’s eyebrow raises. as if you hit the target with that one. "Possibly," he mumbles, focusing back on the papers in front of him. Your fusses fall dead on his ears.

His problem with you wasn’t bad—more like pity. Something he rarely feels for patients, only understanding their situations, giving affirmations, and moving on. but he finds your situation simply ridiculous. Not only are you dying for a man who left you for another, but he doesn’t even have the respect to pay for your medical fees. Not to mention, literally, your mother was the one who paid, only stating to him that she has no plans on visiting and that he was allowed to do whatever once you died.

What a heartless woman!

“Since you’re so absorbed in that paper—“ “You must not have an ‘off’ button.” His eye twitches at the tone of your annoyance, all sickly and sweet. He could practically hear the joke Cyno would make. "Actually, I do. and it’s counting down. Speaking of, you never told me how long I have left.” Okay, maybe you were a bit funny. and it’s something that should definitely not make his lips almost form into a smile. However, he clears his throat, not bothering to flip through the mountain of pages. considering he already memorized the information. “Two months at least. With the rate at which your body is deteriorating, the best you’ll be able to last is maybe an extra week or two.

Alhaitham’s stomach strangely twists at the sight of your mood dampening once again. your head looking back down to your arms, and your lips pressed tightly together. But it wasn’t like he cared; it’s just interesting to see how fast the light can disappear from one’s eyes. something he realized long ago that he'd see a lot of.

It’s probably just from how tense the room got all of a sudden. nothing he can’t handle.

Before you know it, droplets of tears fall onto the blanket bunched around your lap, like a rainfall that just doesn't stop. no matter how fast you bring your hands up to wipe them away. "Sorry, I'm just going—" “Go ahead. I see it every day." Alhaitham doesn’t let you argue. He pulls out a small handkerchief from his chest pocket, inscribed with the letter A in cursive. but he doesn’t mind your slight humiliation, or whatever it is making you uncomfortable in front of him, looking away and grabbing a piece of paper.

Once your blurry eyes are clear, you see that he has left you in silence, leaving behind a sheet of paper. clutching the white cloth, you read the words, a smile blooming on your face. Make a bucket list.

“Abiding by our policies, you can’t get your nails painted.” Alhaitham shuts down the 20th idea you had. He sat in the chair in front of you, avoiding the glare you threw at him and skimming through the third row. Maybe she should’ve predicted that a dying person would want to do exactly, one hundred and one, things before their death.

But it’s not like he’s done this before.

"Okay, what, can I do?!” You huff, already fed up with the word ‘no’. "Well, since you can’t go out, we can watch that movie, ’scream’, here." Alhaitham sighs, watching how your whole mood lit up, your eyes almost sparkling. This is going to be a long two months.

“mhm! what else.” You giggle, clapping your hands together. It’s almost comical to him to see how expressive you are. Looking back down at the paper he held, he began picking out some of the activities you would be able to do.

And in the end, you ended up winning him over in a few things, like being able to use some make-up for fun, more movies, specific snacks that you’ll have to eat at very specific times, board games that you convinced him to play with you, and basically anything and everything that you can do with the tiny little home of your room.

You even managed to persuade the silver-haired man to let you get some press-on nails. nails, which Candace, thankfully, went out to buy. but surprisingly, the doctor decided to put them on you himself. since Ms.Candace was attending to another patient and he had some free time. Well, at least that was his excuse. Not like you know, he was simply curious to see your excitement over something so small.

“That one fits the ring finger more.” You correct Alhaitham again, making him squint his eyes, mumbling under his breath, and moving his fingers to hold your hand firmer. And you just so happen to be right. He sets it aside carefully, putting it in the line of pretty pink and black gemmed nails. He picks up the last smaller nail, the one that finally fits your index finger perfectly.

“Isn’t it pretty?” You smile, adoring the nails, as he concentrates on applying the fake nails. He gives a low tsk, a faux look of confusion on his face. "Well, I dunno, they’re kinda...” he trails off, a neatly structured, stoic expression on his face that makes you roll your eyes. “They’re cute!” “If you say so.” Your adorable little glare makes him want to egg you on, but he stays silent for now.

Wait— Adorable? Maybe he has a headache from your nagging or something; there is nothing to worry about now.

You study his expression unknowingly; your eyes just so happened to need something to latch onto. And he’s clearly got a nice view. better than the nails. The small scrunch of his eyebrows is obviously dedicated to something so simple that it almost concerns you. Even the way he holds your hands up is tender, contrasting with his slightly calloused hands. He has a beautiful face too, and you think you can see some muscles hidden under his coat.

Sculpted so gorgeously. Funny, for such a snarky man.

“How old are you?” You blurt out, looking up at him as he glances at you in confusion. “Why?” He asks softly, almost done with your second hand as you contemplate. “Just curious.” “Curiosity killed the” “but satisfaction brought it back.” You finish before he can fully say the little saying. A small smirk of victory forms on your lips when he gives you a look that just radiates sass.

“Twenty-seven.” He gruffed. Perfect. “How did you even become a doctor so young?" You question him, a look of surprise crossing your face as he shrugs. “A few golden opportunities.” “Wait, are you not going to ask me how old I am?” You’re so clueless, Alhaitham thinks. “I’m your doctor. You must really not have a brain.” And you scoff at his words, but yet another question pops into your head. “Anyways! Favorite color?” “Are you serious, right now?" “If you don’t answer, I will personally file a complaint." "Green."

You two eventually ended up having a long conversation, with you asking him questions and him answering reluctantly. But what made it so long was him turning it on you and asking a few questions that you gladly responded to. All the while, he held one of your hands, not ever thinking to let go and just studying the ring you still wear. What a bubbly woman you are.

Alhaitham nearly let a curse out to the man who wronged you when you mentioned him once. He doesn’t care much, but how can someone be so stupid?

Alhaitham looks at the time on his watch. Two-thirty. Zipping up his lunch box, he heads towards the elevator, making a small stop in the room full of medicines. He ignores the calls in his name from other doctors or nurses who simply want to know more about the quiet man. He hates spending his breaks around people. Sadly, this just so happens to be one of the times when he’d love to have his headphones.

But duty calls.

He taps the button to go to the ninth floor, where your room is. Today is your movie day. That just so happened to land on Friday, the thirteenth too. He swipes through his notes, finding the password to his Hulu subscription. He only bought that for the movie series you like to watch on the smart TV installed in your room. *’Scream’ was it? Today you two were watching the fifth one, and you somehow logged him out for the third time within a week. Ms. Candace said you were snooping through the account settings or something like that.

What a hassle you are!

He reaches the high floor after a few seconds, making his way to your room and memorizing the password that he surprisingly always forgets. But, when he opens the door, he’s greeted with the sight of you fast asleep. Something makes him dread the energy you’ll have later in the evening, but he’s mindful of your rest. Placing his bags on the table silently and taking off his coat, he put it on the hook of the door.

The silence within your room is nice, for once. Usually, only the tension of your attitude or sadness would lie in the silence of this room. But only your light snores and the small drag of a chair were heard. Alhaitham moves to sit in a corner, thinking about leaving and having an extended break or waiting for you until you wake. But he picks the latter, crossing his arms and legs, leaning back, and letting his eyes drift onto your figure.

His mind was maybe a bit more active than before. He doesn’t know why, but he finds himself thinking of you more often: your health, your many expressions, your cheeky smiles, the dumb stuff that comes out of your mouth, and your eyes. To him, eyes are the purest form of honesty. like how yours can look like saucers when you’re shocked or diamonds when you're happy. or a pit of sadness.

Sadness. Alhaitham would think your only source of sadness in life was that fiancé of yours. Well, ex by now. A man who caused you so much pain that you’ve decided to live and die with. How could you ever love again if you’re so committed like this? But Alhaitham won’t ask you such things, out of respect, of course. It’s not like he’ll be pondering over them in a few weeks.

He shakes off the weird thoughts, dozing off.

You woke up to the sight. ‘What a sight for sore eyes.’ You quote in your head. You almost want to wipe away your eyes with how fine that man looks. Despite how creepy it was to notice the doctor in the corner of your room, His head was leaned against the wall, and his body stilled like stone as he slept. And his arms—Oh his arms. His arms were practically bulging out the scrubs he wore, so muscular. You almost want to touch them. Well, at least you know he keeps up with his gym regimen. Good thing he’s sleeping; now you can admire him more.

“You must have a staring problem.”

Maybe not.

His voice was a bit raspy, laced with tiredness as his eyes fluttered open, straight to you. “Why didn’t you wake me?” You divert him. Eyes away from him with an obvious flustered expression on your face. Alhaitham’s lips tug into a tiny, knowing smile, humored. But he decides to play along and not tease you any longer. “I’m not going to interfere with a patient's sleep.” He sighs, standing tall and going to put back on his coat. He checks the time. 4 PM.

“Before you watch your movie full of blood, you need your dosage.” Alhaitham ignores your whine in response, picking up the wrapped syringe in his white bag. “Ugh, why do I have to do three a day anyway? I’m feeling well.” You huff, holding out your arm as he walks to you, closing your eyes in anticipation. “That’s exactly why.” He mutters, holding your arm gently. “Breathe.” He says it softly, feeling your fast heartbeat on your wrist. “I clearly am." "Well, calm down.”

You purse your lips, complying and taking some deep breaths. Once his thumb presses the familiar spot between your forearm and arm, you feel the prick in your skin. Then comes the tingly feeling of fluid entering your body. You shiver, unexpectedly clutching his hand as your chest tightens. Alhaitham watches in interest, allowing you to hold onto him until the pain passes. "Can we watch that movie now?" You mumble, making him give your hand a final squeeze before letting go.

He grabs the remote on the table, turns on the TV, and flicks through the streaming services. “Hmm, I’m not sure. I think you like looking at something else,” he offhandedly mentions, giving you a small jab at your earlier actions and glancing down at the little funny face you gave him. “Oh c’mon!”

“What? It was just an assumption."

“But! Ugh!”

“Again!” You groan before Alhaitham can even slot his red chip into the blue holder. You’ve lost maybe five or six games of Connect Four now, sitting at this stupid table with this stupid game for maybe an hour and a half. "No, I can do it." Alhaitham says this while sitting back into his chair with that signature cross of his legs. “And why is that?” “It’s getting late.” And you pout, laying your head on the table as he watches you.

Those little target-like eyes of his drill into you. Moreso, the purple veins that have formed on your neck over the past month The area is dark, and the veins are even darker. There were parts of your body that suffered from the disease; your health was deteriorating so badly that it made him sick. You’ve become slower, unable to even stay awake for longer than eight hours. He and Ms. Candace have been hovering over you with every last second of your life, with the knowledge that you could drop dead at any moment.

“Not a good look, huh?" You murmur, feeling awful under his watchful gaze. And Alhaitham’s cocks his head, not entertained by your words. “Did I say that?”

"It's on your face."

“You have poor judgment, then."

And your face scrunches up, looking at him with an annoyed look. “What else would you think, then?” Alhaitham bites his tongue. something he doesn’t do a lot. Well, not at all. It’s not like him to interfere with a patient's choice, but...

“I’d think that you should get that operation.” He sighs, not bothering to take his eyes off you as you turn your head away. “Doctor. You know I—“ “Are you seriously letting a man who isn’t here dictate how your life ends?” He scoffs, letting a tone of disbelief creep into his voice before realizing his own words. But Alhaitham doesn’t correct himself.

He was already correct.

"Okay, well, why do you care? And yes, I know you’re my doctor and everything, but, you don’t act like this." You give him a pointed look, sliding the lever of the blue grid and letting the coins fall into the bin. “I’m just saying. Anyone in their right mind would at least be honest with you about this.” Alhaitham shrugs, but the truth is that he truly could not stand to see you like this. So in his right mind, he did the least he could do.

It's not like you know his true feelings.

You ponder over his words, playing with the ring on your left hand. He was right. But perhaps you expected too much from that damned man, the man you fell in love with classically, high school sweethearts who swore to marry, and oh, how so close you were to that dream.

Not every story has a happy ending.

But who were you to let some shitty man write your story’s ending while he goes to some fucking island with his fucking bimbo?

An idiot is what you’d be.

“Sure.” You whisper, bringing your elbow up and laying your head on your hand. Alhaitham gives you a look of satisfaction, a knowing smile forming on his face as he stands up. “I knew you weren’t that dumb.” “You know nothing!” You scoff, your chest bubbling with excitement for your future as you get ready to put away the board game. But he pulls the grid towards him and says, "You won’t need this here. I’ll just take it home.” He says it casually, making you pause.

“But it was a gift to me? Why—" “Do you seriously not know how to take a hint?” What’s with this man always interrupting you? You scowl. Hint? What hint—"Oh, wait—are you like, inviting, me over or something?” And Alhaitham only makes a sound of agreement, dropping the chips in the bin into the box. “yea, and I won’t be your surgeon, obviously. But once the day of your appointment comes, you won’t see me around. Just talk to Ms. Candace after they release you."

Alhaitham cleans up as you tuck yourself into bed, playing the background show of your choice before leaving with a small click of the door.

You can’t believe it. You aren’t dying in three weeks. and you’re going on a date. Well, in a month, but still!

“Um, should I just call him? I don’t want you to trouble you any longer. You were dressed in a fine black dress that Candace willingly gave to you. Your body healed after the operation within a few weeks of rest and food. You hadn’t seen the doctor—well, Alhaitham—since the day before your appointment.

So basically, a long time.

But after getting released from the hospital, Candace took you in and helped you familiarize yourself with life. And she just so happened to tell a specific man that you made a full recovery. which his immediate reply was, for you to come over to his house for dinner.

It was about time for him to properly pursue you.

“Oh? You must be eager to see him. He’s just a little car ride away, but if you insist, Candace teases, her eyes glimmering in amusement as she hands you your phone. You look at yourself in the mirror again; it feels so refreshing to actually see yourself healthy, not scrawny and filled with scotches of purple on your skin.

You spent over an hour in the mirror, buttering yourself up with some light makeup of your choice and admiring yourself.

You take the phone from her hand, chewing on your bottom lip nervously as you get to his contact. "There is no need to be nervous. I’m sure he’d swoon just from the sound of your voice.” She smiles, making you laugh, and clicks the call button. "Oh, please, he’s not that—

"You finally called."

You shiver at the sound of his voice. Who the hell answers the phone so quickly? “Sorry, but, uh, I was wondering if you could come pick me up." You aren’t sure how the tone of your voice got meek so quickly, but for some reason, it makes him chuckle. “*yea? I’m already on my way.” Maybe you were too sick to realize how hot his voice actually is, even just on the phone.

Candace notices how stiff you are, clearly flustered and shy. She leans to the phone and says, “What a gentleman you are! I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you! She might lose her head if you don’t hurry.” She sings, clicking the red button as you fall into her hug.

You two talk about some things you might be interested in doing in the future, like continuing your career and education in technology or finding a job soon so you can get out of her hair. It really feels nice, like you’re actually becoming something rather than being a little housewife with a fiancé who never took the time to love you.

You drift away from the conversation on cereal before milk when you hear a honk outside. Candace jumps up, holding your hand and guiding you to the door. “I feel like a mother,” she smiles, making you give her a grin. “You’re younger than me!” “But I’m wiser. Have a nice night, hun.” She opens the door for you, giving you the sight of a Black Cadillac parked beside her driveway.

You walked down the driveway nervously, clutching the sides of your dress with your purse in your other hand. Just as you reach the car, Alhaitham gets out, walking around to open your door but stopping you with a hand just barely ghosting your waist.

You two stare into each other's eyes, a light breeze blowing through the evening air as he looks you up and down. while you do the same. It felt like a blessing to be able to see his figure without those stupid scrubs. He wore a gray button-up with black slacks, simple but fitting. with some small amounts of jewelry that complement him well. Before you can even try your hand at being confident, he speaks before you: “You look decent." "I spent over two hours on this outfit! And you say, "Decent?"You huff playfully, the weight of your heart already dissipating when he gives an airy laugh, opening the door.

“Then I apologize..gorgeous." “That is so corny.” You jest, despite the increase in blood flowing to your cheeks. “I tried. But I was honest.” He sighs, almost disappointedly, but is careful of your legs before closing the door. Your mind races as you get comfortable in the car, noticing the light scent of cologne. How fancy.

At least it was better than those strong perfumes. like a dark, regal scent, but brisk.

“I was hoping to make you dinner, and then we can play another game I bought for you.” Alhaitham gets in, buckling up before giving Candace, who stood at her door, a small wave. “Yea?” “Yea.” You smile bashfully, your cheek bones betraying you as you hold your hand out. “I’d like that.” And Alhaitham returns your smile, examining your hand.

No ring. But he already has one in mind.

It’ll be silver.

He puts his hand in yours, interlocking it and squeezing firmly. “And I promise you’ll love it.”

Hopefully, you’ll love him too.

[justthatwwegirl]

"She's My Wife, You Idiot!"

(Grayson Waller x Female Reader.)

(This has been on my mind for a while now, AND I CANT GET ENOUGH OF THIS MAN!)

Summary: You and Grayson have been married for over a year now and have kept it a secret. But after taking a terrible bump in the ring, Grayson can't help but come out to check if you're okay, and after Grayson said something to the ref, people find out your relationship.

(Warnings: Some cursing, fluff, a tiny bit of angst, secret relationship, injury, shitty summary and ending, cringe writing.)

Y/N had came to the arena with Grayson but eventually separated from him to go to one of her friends, Naomi, while Grayson went off to Theory.

"Hey boo!" Naomi said with her positive attitude, giving Y/N a hug in which Y/N returned.

Y/N gave Naomi a smile, talking about her upcoming match against Tiffany while the two walked to catering.

They grabbed their plates and sat down, talking even more.

"Yeah, I got to talk to Tiffany soon about the match, hopefully nothing goes wrong. She's a pretty good wrestler though, so I'm sure it will go as planned." Y/N said and Naomi nodded her head but it seemed like she was more focused on something else.

"Don't freak out, but it looks like Grayson is staring at you again with those stupid heart eyes." Naomi whispered and then Y/N turned around to her one and only husband staring at her.

"What a creep." Naomi said and rolled her eyes before pulling Y/N's gaze away from Grayson.

"He's probably staring at something else that happens to be in our direction." Y/N says, excusing it off.

Naomi looked at her and shook her head, taking another bite out of her food.

While the two went back to talking, Grayson had told Austin that he had to go back to his lockerroom and grab something, leaving catering.

Grayson had given Y/N a look that she immediately recognized.

After a Grayson was gone for a little bit, Y/N had made her excuse.

"Um, I'm going to go use the restroom, get my makeup and hair done, then chat with Tiffany about our match. I'll see you later Trin." Y/N said with a smile and Naomi nodded her head before hugging her goodbye.

"See you after the show boo!" Naomi said in her cheerful tone.

Y/N waved her bye before walking toward a secluded place.

She looked around and just before she turned around, someone had picked her up.

Y/N elbowed the person in their stomach but then heard a familiar groan.

"Grayson! I am so so sorry!" Y/N immediately apologized but Grayson waved it off.

"It's fine." He said clutching his stomach. "But damn can you elbow somebody." He said and Y/N cracked a smile which made Grayson smile.

Grayson gave Y/N a kiss, which then eventually turned into a makeout session.

"Grayson- Gray. I have to... go to hair and makeup, and your... lips are gonna be full of my lipgloss." Y/N had said in-between kisses.

"One more..." Grayson whined when she pulled away from the kiss.

Y/N sighed. "Your lucky I love you." She said before giving Grayson one last, long, and passionate kiss before she had to go.

"I'm very lucky, especially since your my wife." Grayson said in his Australian accent that always made Y/N weak.

They gave each other a hug, Grayson kissing Y/N on her head before she had to leave.

"I'll see you after your match." Grayson said as his match was later on than hers.

"Alright, I look forward to seeing my amazing husband." Y/N said which gave Grayson the biggest smile on his face.

"I love you." He said as she was leaving. "I love you more!" Y/N had to shout a bit but blew a kiss to Grayson, in which he caught it and put his hand over his lips.

She rolled her eyes before going to hair and makeup.

Grayson had returned to Austin and Austin just looked at Grayson weird.

"What mate?" Grayson asked Austin.

"What did you have to grab that you had to to take so long, and where is it?" Austin asked, looking Grayson up and down.

"It wasn't in my lockerroom and I had to use the restroom!" Grayson defended himself.

Austin sighed and turned away. While he did that, Grayson quickly wiped Y/N's lipgloss off of his lips.

-

"Alright, our match is next." Tiffany said as the two walked to gorilla.

"We got this Tiff." Y/N said, giving Tiffany a hug before their match in which Tiffany returned.

"I know girly, confidence is key." The barbie had said as my music had hit.

Y/N walked out to the ramp, the crowd cheering her on while the ring announcer introduced her.

She was a baby face, and the crowd loved her. Y/N was a like sunshine.

Grayson was a heel. The crowd always booed him and Austin.

They weren't that different, but even if people found out about their relationship, they would wonder how the hell the two even ended up together.

-

"And Y/N is on the ground! No! Please don't end like this!" Wade Barret screamed into his headset.

"Oh please! It's Tiffy Time!" Corey Graves said as they watched the match between the ladies.

Tiffany was positioned at the top rope, ready to give Y/N her finisher.

But just has she did, Tiffany landed a little awkwardly. But this didn't hurt Tiffany much, instead it hurt Y/N a whole lot.

Y/N had already hurt her leg during the match but it wasn't like this.

Her ribcage was throbbing in pain while Tiffany stood up and had her hand raised up high.

The ref had went over to check up on Y/N and after he realized what had happened, he called over the medics.

Grayson was backstage with Austin right by him. Austin was talking about something while Grayson was watching the match.

"Really focused on that match huh?" Austin said out of no where as he realized that Grayson was paying him 0 attention.

"Dude, it's so obvious you like her." Austin said, snapping Grayson into reality.

"Shit. It's that obvious?" Grayson asked, playing along.

"Yes!" Austin said, looking at Grayson with a shocked look.

"You always stare at her when she's in catering, you shamelessly and badly flirt with her so much that it makes my ears hurt and to the point where her friends think you're a creep." Austin says in a sorta rant.

"Her friends think I'm a creep?" Grayson asks Austin and Austin nods his head.

"Yes, Naomi always catches you staring at her, Tiffany has to endure you shamelessly flirting with her and by the looks of it, it makes her wanna throw up, and then Bayley and all of damage control look at you weird when you do all of those things." Austin says and Grayson stares at him with shock.

"And then! You are always talking about her. All I hear every day is, Y/N this, Y/N that. You are OBSESSED! Even Kevin has to hear it before we have a match." Austin said while staring at Grayson, finally finished with his rant but then looked back at the TV then at Grayson.

"I don't care, after this match you gotta tell her. I'll buy you ice cream after." Austin says.

"What-" Grayson starts before looking back up at the TV.

There was his wife, the woman he loved so dearly, lying in the ring hurt and being taken care of by medics.

He didn't give a damn in the slightest if anyone tried stopping him in what he was about to do.

"Grayson!" Austin tried calling after him but he was already gone.

-

"Well, it seems like Y/N has been seriously hurt..." Corey starts off before being interrupted by the random crowd pop.

"What in the hell is Grayson Waller doing running out to the ring?!" Wade Barret shouts again into his headset.

Y/N clutched her ribs as she heard the crowd and looked up to see Grayson and the ref holding him back.

"Why won't you let me help her?!" Grayson shouted at the ref while the ref held him back.

"What is going on?!" Wade Barrett and Corey said at the same time.

"Are you serious?" Grayson said as the ref wouldn't let him help Y/N.

But the words that would leave Grayson's mouth made the crowd start gasping and then cheering.

"She's my wife, you idiot!" Grayson shouted as loud as possible and the ref looked stunned as nobody knew about their relationship.

Grayson help up his hand with his ring finger, the wedding ring shining bright. He held it up to the crowd to prove that he was indeed Y/N's husband and that she was his wife.

Wade and Corey looked at each other confused.

"Marriage?!" Corey shouted.

"Y/N is married to HIM?!" Wade said.

The ref had finally let Grayson help her and as soon as he did, Grayson was already at Y/N's side.

"I'm here baby, I'm here." Grayson said in his Australian accent.

Y/N immediately reached to him and pulled him into a hug. She winced when she tried to get up, almost falling down but Grayson had caught her.

Grayson had let out a nervous laugh which made Y/N smile as she heard it.

Grayson had kissed her head while they walked down the ramp with the medical staff still checking up on her.

The both of them were hearing random shit from the crowd.

"YOU TWO ARE MARRIED?!"

"I DID NOT EXPECT THIS!"

"HOW THE HELL DID YOU TWO EVEN GET TOGETHER?!"

And a lot of other things. But they didn't care.

Grayson noticed Y/N struggling and swept her off her feet, carrying her bridal style.

The crowd cheered once more, a few awes here and there.

-

"Well, there's nothing majorly wrong with her your leg but you have sprained your ribcage." The doctor informed the couple.

"How long will I be out?" Y/N had asked, gripping onto Grayson's hand tighter that she previously was.

Grayson noticed her anxiety and slowly rubbed her hand, trying to make her feel better. In which he did.

"A good 6 weeks." Y/N had looked at the doctor dumbfounded but ultimately accepted the news.

Once the doctor left to give Y/N some space, tears were forming in her eyes.

Grayson and noticed and pulled his wife into a hug.

"6 weeks?" Y/N said softly as she held onto Grayson.

Grayson looked at her face and he could have broke down right then and there from seeing his wife like this.

"It's going to be okay." Was all he said though.

"It's 6 weeks of me not being here!" Y/N shouted with a cry.

"I don't even... and it's just my fucking fault, and I hate it so much. If I had maybe agreed to Tiffany doing her other finisher instead of her moonsault, maybe I-" Y/N's rant was interrupted by Grayson kissing her.

After a little while, Grayson pulled away, leaving her to want more.

Y/N turned away but Grayson made her look at him.

He wiped away her tears and held her face in his hands.

"It isn't your fault." He said quietly.

"Everything will be okay. You will be back in action in no time." Grayson reassured Y/N.

"I can't stand to see my beautiful wife cry." Grayson said his damn Australian accent that Y/N had always loved.

Y/N looked down as she blushed but looked back at Grayson, leaning in for another kiss.

But before they could, they were very rudely interrupted by someone barging in the room.

Or should I say people.

"Wife?!" Austin shouted. Grayson smiled at Austin's shock and confusion.

Naomi and Bayley came in, standing next to him.

"You are MARRIED, to HIM?!" Naomi said loudly and looked at Grayson and Y/N.

Bayley shook her head and whispered something.

The rest of damage control came into the room and Asuka started laughing making everyone look at her.

"Sorry-" She said in Japanese.

"I did not expect you two to be together, despite the awful flirting." Dakota says, Bayley nodding her head.

Then that's when Tiffany and Kevin came in.

"I am so so sorry!" Tiffany said running up to Y/N and giving her a big hug. It genuinely sounded like Tiffany was about to cry.

"I just came in here to check up on you but out of everybody to be dating, this guy?" Kevin said, pointing to Grayson.

Grayson scoffed and rolled his eyes at Kevin.

"I brought you your favorite snacks too." Tiffany said, giving Y/N chips.

"Tiff, I'm fine, really. But thank you for all of this." Y/N said giving Tiffany another hug.

"And you to being announced as a couple, especially a MARRIED couple, was not on my bingo card." Tiffany said pulling away from the hug.

"I mean..." Grayson said, and the couple both showed their hands with their wedding rings.

"It's really hard to miss this." Grayson said.

"Yeah, especially when you've had it for over a year." Y/N said.

"Over a year?!" Everyone in the room said in unison.

Grayson and Y/N looked at each other before laughing. Y/N then lied down on Grayson's thigh while everyone became even more confused.

"Yes, we have been together since our nxt days." Grayson explained.

"Wait..." Bayley and Austin said together.

"How long have you guys been together, not married but together?" They both asked.

Grayson and Y/N looked at eachother again.

"4 years and a few month. Our anniversary was just in December." The couple said.

"4 years?!" Kevin yelled first and then the whole room started chattering.

Grayson laughed and looked down at his wife to see her staring back up at him.

"Secret's out." She whispered and Grayson nodded.

Y/N sat up and looked at Grayson again with a smile.

"What?" He asked.

"You're perfect." She whispered and now it was time for Grayson to blush.

"I still don't know how I'm this lucky to be with you." Y/N said while going in for another kiss that Grayson gladly accepted.

"I'm even more lucky for you to be my wife." Grayson said as he continued to kiss Y/N.

"Alright lovebirds, I'm getting sick." Dakota said and Austin gagged.

The couple rolled their eyes at their actions but shooed everyone out of the room.

Y/N was actually happy that their relationship was now out. She didn't mind everyone being shocked about them being a couple, in fact it made her laugh so many times.

She could finally hang out with Grayson and everyone would stop thinking Grayson was a creep.

Overall it was amazing.

-

"Babe, come back to bed." Grayson said in a drowsy voice due to him being tired.

"I have to take the medicine the doctor prescribed me." Y/N explained as she took it.

Grayson groaned but eventually Y/N came back to their shared bed.

Grayson held her, peppering her should and neck with kisses while Y/N tried to sleep.

"You I love you, right?" Grayson had asked and Y/N smiled.

"And you know I love you even more, right?" Y/N had asked.

Grayson shook his head. "Not possible." He said before continuing to hold his lovely wife.

"But it is." She whispered, making Grayson look at her with literal heart eyes.

Grayson hid his face in Y/N's neck so she couldn't see him blushing but slowly after a while, the couple drifted into a deep slumber.

The End. ♡

[essenteez]

𝐑 𝐎 𝐎 𝐌 𝐌 𝐀 𝐓 𝐄 || m i n g i

"She is rare and real. I'm not letting her go."

"He was attracted to rawness and realness, to sharp edges and straightforwardness. And when suddenly, you dropped the act of perfectionist he, in fact, disliked and revealed your true nature, you became all what he needed in a woman that his hands, lips and tongue were so eager to worship."

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : after failed attempt to impress your handsome roommate, you decided to stop making a fool out of yourself and went back to the old, unimpressive you. Lack of dress code around the house and general chaos came back for good. Little did you know, the "hard-to-impress" roommate began to see you with very...very different eyes.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : m i n o r s d o n o t i n t e r a c t , explicit language, fingering (f/recieving), intense cunnigulins, doggy style, cum on a back, unprotected sex, mdom, hair pulling.

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : Mingi x (f)reader

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : smut, little fluff, body imperfections appreciation

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 5k

07.35 pm. Friday evening. Everyone's favorite. 

A moment of relief and appreciated freedom. A precious time of your boss having no power to control you. Your annoying coworkers are nowhere to be found to screech above your head. A piece of paradise where you can begin to enjoy the weekend to the fullest.

Of course, it depends on people and their individual understanding of what "to the fullest" means. To you, it meant laying in bed, in the most comfy clothes, binge watching anime while devouring not so healthy food, drinks and snacks. 

You craved McDonald's today. No, you actually had been craving it since the early hours of Monday. And now it was time for you to treat yourself, give in to pure indulgence. No one could oppose this polygamy relationship between you, BigMac, chicken nuggets, fries and Sprite tonight. 

Thankfully, you could skip the usage of the restaurant app, many a times they screwed up your order. You overheard your roommate talking something about leaving to help his friend with something. He could easily pick up your food on his way back and bring it right into your gluttonous arms. What a lucky day.

You giggled in pure happiness.

*

The man's movements stopped abruptly. His arm hung midair with half of it already in the sleeve of the black jean jacket.

Your sudden disgustingly adorable giggles caught Mingi's attention as he stepped in the living room, trying to get to the hall. He unconsciously gazed in the direction of the sounds of joy. His sight was flooded by the light inside your room, door opened just enough for his eyes to almost see your bare bottom on display.

Only God knew how much he wished he didn't look.

"Fuck." He mumbled as quietly as he could, thanking the noises coming from your laptop for hiding the growl his throat pushed out.

The rapid increase of his pulse and need for deeper breaths, made him throw spirited curses to his own self. Nevertheless, the black eyes studied you in silence.

He seemed to examine you like one of the paintings on the Sistine Chapel's ceiling, even though you laid there on your belly, only in your oversized, gray T-shirt and cotton panties with some pink ribbons on it. You were kicking the air with your feet hidden in socks that dazzled eyes with bright yellow baby chicks. 

With resistance, his arm finally submerged into the jacket's sleeve, but still, Mingi didn't move from his spot. His legs simply refused to listen to their master. Boldly watching you, he seemed to be studying your uncovered parts by heart.

Your full thighs that looked as if they were inviting him to grab a handful of them. The slight cellulite that only proved how juicy your flesh was. It was almost painful to watch you, so unaware that you were fulfilling all his kinks and fantasies.

He clenched his teeth at the sudden throb between his legs.

He had to leave. Now. Of course due to business to tend to, but mostly because he was a heartbeat away from falling on his knees, crawling to you and begging you to let him touch you.

Despite the rational realization, he did not move an inch.

Your stretch marks glistened in the lamps light like translucent tattoos. He couldn't stop the sudden images of him kissing each one of them in his head.

The worst was yet to come as his eyes landed on the folds of your ass emerging from underneath the panties. The rolls of flesh where your thighs connected with your butt awakened a destructive urge to sink his fingers around them, to kiss and bite.

The unforgiving pulsing in his pants almost made him storm in your room. He needed to try to gain control again, he was not a wild beast after all.

Pinching the skin on his forearm, Mingi hissed at the unpleasant feeling.

"I'm leaving! I'll be back in two, three hours!"

He yelled this information more to remind himself rather than you. With clenched fists, he forced his legs to walk up the door.

"Mingi!"

No, please stay where you are, he thought panicked.

He didn't dare to turn around in case you jumped out in front of him 

"Yeah?" No one knew how much effort he put in that one word.

"Could you buy me McDonald's on your way back? The usual!?"

Thank God, you were too lazy to leave the room but the sweet tone you had made him wrapped around your finger, made the devil on his shoulder laugh like a Disney villain. You must sound absolutely heavenly when you begged for other things in your mouth.

"Ok!" he agreed, voice slightly breaking but firm. He shook away the thoughts before he turned back around and said them aloud. 

***

Mingi's tone sounded somewhat annoyed, making you think.

"Maybe I should've used the app instead."

Feeling bad, you looked in the darkness outside of your room after hearing the door begin to shut. You didn't manage to see him but what you did notice was your door being way more opened than what you remember it was.

Your frowned eyes lowered to your lower body. Slightly judging your naked legs, you realized your shirt was rolled up your waist which revealed your whole ass and your favorite panties.

"Oops."

Mingi either walked right past your room and didn't notice anything or he saw you with all of your grace. It took you a long second laying in stillness, trying to look for some sort of embarrassment in yourself, but eventually you rolled back on your belly.

"Ah, never mind" you shrugged and went back to drool over the tattooed Sukuna on your laptop screen.

Mingi had never shown any interest in you for all these years of living under the same roof. He was nice and a great friend but that was where it ended. Nothing more. 

Oh well.

When your friend moved out to live with her boyfriend, you had a hard time finding a new roommate. The house, despite being an amazing place, was pretty far from the city center. Not a lot of people would decide to take long journeys to their workplace.

You lived alone for six months until one day you got a call. The man on the other side was interested in the room beside yours as he worked from home and liked being away from the city noises. 

You had to admit, you preferred to live with another woman but that time you were desperate so you offered him to come and talk about the deal.

The memory of his frame still roamed in your mind, as it took up almost all the space of the entrance. You loudly gulped before even greeting him. And you were nervously swallowing for the next few months when he officially became your roommate.

At the beginning you tried to shape his view of you as the best. You changed your "house outfit" to more covered and neat, to make him think you have class and to hide the unattractive marks of your body. Meals you made were more sophisticated, and you followed a more healthy lifestyle. Even the gym lived to see you within its walls. Your room was cleaner than the ones in the ads of cleaning products. And most of all, everything about you had to look and smell like a volcano of femininity.

How lame of you.

To those days, you still wondered why you were doing all of that, to impress a dude that had absolutely no obligation to fall for you. All just because you were single and he was hot? Well, he was more than hot and you were basically covered in dust from singlehood. Still, it was unnecessary and you wasted time on doing things you didn't even enjoy. 

After realizing your own stupidity, you went back to your old habits which actually allowed you to get more comfortable around him and in your own house. As the ties of attempting to impress someone disappeared, you quickly slid back to your messy, untamed, normal self.

For his misfortune.

The change of your aura around him was rapid and it took a 180° turn. One day you seemed to calculate every step you took and the next day the scheduled life was gone. It gave its place to chaos.

Truly, he disliked your visible chase after perfection and social media influence victimhood. It made you look almost robotic. You also seemed to force yourself to do most of it, especially going to the gym.

He did not know what dictated the sudden change but Mingi was glad that somehow due to it you finally became more relaxed and looked more like yourself. 

However.

While you quickly found your comfort, he began to fall into a void of crushing lust and decreased self control, more and more everyday. The views like the one he just saw, were now on a daily basis. It was exhausting - pretending he was unaffected while in reality it trapped him entirely.

He was attracted to rawness and realness, to sharp edges and straightforwardness. And when suddenly, you dropped the act of perfectionist that annoyed him and revealed your true nature, you became all what he needed in a woman that his hands, lips and tongue were so eager to worship.

The way you moved, unaware of how feminine you were with something so simple like reaching for a coffee cup. The way you smelled, even after you stole his shampoo since you forgot to buy yours. The way you were all blushed after the steamy shower and paraded in only a towel around the apartment. The way you laughed out loud without trying to hold it in. Mingi melted at the sight of how excited you got for food, or when you got a text the postman was on their way with the new books you ordered. Or that a new season of your favourite show was out. Everything now was like sweet bait for his bee-like mind.

Mingi halted beside his car and looked at his reflection in its windows. Despite the twilight, he still saw the flames in his own eyes as all these thoughts of you flashed before them. The flames were just a tiny portion of the hellfire devouring him from inside.

Did he officially reach his limit? Somehow his mind kept fighting his body, however it began to realize it was outnumbered.

The first thought is the best.

Instead of the car keys, Mingi reached for a phone in his pocket. He didn't wait long for his friend to pick up the call.

"Sorry, man. I won't make it. You need to find someone else to help you with furniture." He informed the man on the other side with no words of greeting.

Hearing the need for explanation, he sighed like all he carried were troubles.

"Old case came up. I have to deal with it at last."

***

Fictional men. Book ones or 2D ones, it didn't matter. Your all time guiltiest, of guilty pleasures. Oh, how you wish they suddenly came to life, knock at your door and solve all your problems and fulfill all your fantasies.

"Ganbare, ganbare." you heard from the speakers as one of your new anime daddies spoke up.

"What the fuck, Sukuna?" You whined at the scene, burying your face in the pillow placed under you. You wanted to whine some more at the perfectly matched dubbing but the sound of doors abruptly opening and shutting caught you off guard.

Mingi left not whole five minutes ago. It had to be him. You hit the space button to stop the video.

"You forgot something?" you asked, listening closely, hopefully you were right.

"Yes."

The slight panic and insecurity that began to shape disappeared at the voice of your roommate. You turned your head back to the screen and restarted the video.

The music and a fight scene was loud enough to mute the sound of steps that entered your room. Only the sudden weight, pulling the bed down made you realize someone was indeed inside there with you.

You tried to look at Mingi, expecting to see him sitting on the edge of your bed for some unknown to you reason. But before you could even turn your head around, out of nowhere his arm appeared above your head, closing your laptop with his finger.

You couldn't look up but you felt it with all your being. Mingi hung above your entire frame, his arms on both sides of you, your legs trapped between his. His mouth, dangerously near your ear.

"I forgot to make something clear." He let out a growl he didn't have to control anymore, sending chills that were like a rifle series, from your head to your toes.

You were too stunned to form a word, feeling the temperature rise incredibly fast. Mingi took it as a chance to continue.

"If we're going to live together, we have to compromise, (y/n). I don't know what you're trying to accomplish, being so careless around me. If you wanted to seduce me, you succeeded. Congratulations."

Seduce him? No, you stopped trying three months ago. Now you were just living your life. How could he get it all backwards? Was it possible that the you being comfortable in your own skin, the chaotic you kept him awake at night?

You would scoff from the irony but, the position you were in and the whole man above you — with his lips so close to your neck, did not allow you to do anything but lay there like a mouse snared in a trap. 

"If you didn't then please have mercy on the poor me and restrain yourself a little, so I could eat, sleep and coexist with you in peace and not fight the urge to pin you down to the first surface in sight and beg you to let me worship every inch of your body."

You were still silent, which made him spread his arms further and lean closer to you.

"Got it?" He asked, which sounded more like a threat.

Mingi had seen you in your most vulnerable  position, and that had him speaking like he was a slave to your body. You smiled to yourself, at the confidence boost. 

It was time to make a move.

He flinched at the unexpected touch on his crotch. He looked down to see your feet in bright socks brushing his clothed dick in wave-like motions.

"So, no McDonald's then?" You asked, pulling your head back to show him the fake disappointment on your face.

"(y/n)..." he begged, fighting the need to grind his hips.

"What can I do?" You shrugged, still not letting go of the act.

You did have him in your hands.

You suddenly turned around on your back and positioned yourself more comfortably as he pulled away a little in surprise. He looked you up and down, at your hands playing with your shirt, legs spreaded as if they were inviting him in. His grasp on the sheets tightened, trying to maintain maximum control.

"And what if I told you that I won't restrain myself?" You taunted with a pout, holding his dark gaze that came back to your face.

You were challenging him. He licked his lips at the lavious sight. The tightness in his pants bothered him more with every second of the view underneath him.

Your smile faded, giving its place to sultry expression. One of your legs raised and began brushing on his side.

"What if I also told you, you can pin me down to the first place you see and do whatever you want to me?"

The joy of having an upper hand didn't last for long. His move was fast and decisive — Mingi grabbed your flirting leg, stopping it from escaping as he lowered himself down onto you, pinning you to the bed with his weight.

The man's lips brushed yours, "I have a rule, you know."

"And what rule is that?" You battled the impulse to lick his plum mouth.

"No sleeping with roommates just for the sake of a peaceful life under the same roof." He enlightened you, putting your legs on his hip, next grabbing a handful of your plushy thigh. You inhaled sharply at the power he did it with, "But you make it absolutely impossible to follow."

You smiled devilishly, "So, you had a rule."

His lips felt juicier and softer than you imagined. And you imagined them an ungodly amount of times. It felt like biting onto the ripest fruit with all the juices exploding. It would've been a salvation on a hot summer day. But in this case, an unforgiving heat fell onto your body, burning your veins and showing on your cheeks.

The kiss quickly turned from delectaing, getting familiar to a violent clash of teeth, tongues and mouth, all of it accompanied by loud wet noises. The kiss broke as every ounce of oxygen left your lungs. You grabbed your shirt to finally get rid of it but he halted your plans.

"Leave it. I'm fucking you in this." He promised, at the same time groaning as his eyes filled with your breasts falling out of your only top piece. 

He'd seen them unbrotherly bouncing under your oversized shirts almost everyday. Most of the time with no bra. Many times with erected nipples. They were teasing him while covered, which definitely woke a fetish in him. A fetish he never knew he had. A fetish he developed because of you.

"Why?"

Seeing you like this everyday got him laid in his bed and spent many nights imagining these scenes. Too many to not let it come to reality.

"Don't ask." He breathed out, while pulling the pillow from underneath you to put it on a side.

You didn't even have time to be confused as your nipples caught in his attention. One grabbed by his teeth and lips, the other twisted between his impatient fingers. Your back arched giving him all the access he needed. Mingi got the sweetest of whimpers out of you while kissing, sucking and massaging your tits that desired to fit in his big, untamed hands.

With kisses down your belly, he left your soft breasts, pulling your down shirt onto them. You squirmed in disappointment when your bosom lost his attention. But then he got dangerously close to your clothed cherry.

"I always admired your underwear collection but that is something else", he grinned, with his face hanging above your pussy like a cloud with a heavy rain over thirsty ground, "I thought these were ribbons…"

Once again he looked at the little pink tits painted all over your pelvis. 

"I also have a version with little vaginas. Wanna see?" You grinned back and grabbed a string of your panties on your hip. Pulling it, you quickly let it go which made a sound from a contact with your flesh.

His grin faded away at that little gesture of yours. Why did the bare minimum have him raging in lust? What kind of sorcery did you use?

"Maybe later."

He grabbed the side of your underwear as you and pulled all of it down. Your cute panties landed somewhere behind him.

You were all exposed to his darkened, lusty eyes.

"I have a real one to look at…" with every word he made sure his hot breath embraced your throbbing pussy. "...as well as lick, suck and fuck." 

"Mingi…" you immediately responded with a moan to his taunting. Your hips began to slightly twirl in front of his face when he positioned himself between your full thighs. They went up the next second, held by his decisive hands. He revealed every inch of your quivering womanhood to himself.

"Fuck, (y/n)" he whined at the sight of you, "Stunning. "

You felt cold air blowing on your folds. This little fucker. Your eyes darted onto him. Your roommate seemed to have fun, watching you struggle and wiggle while all he used was just air.

"Mingi, please" you begged shamelessly, "Hold on to your words, would you?"

"...as well as lick, suck and fuck."  Oh you were funny.

"Right." he scoffed in amusement.

His giggles were muted by his lips attaching with your dripping pussy. Air got caged in your lungs, fingers immediately tangled in his fluffy hair.

Tongue lapped at your poor clit, mouth mercilessly sucked it in between. Raw sounds of your juices blending with his building saliva resonated in the room as well as deep in your soul.

"Fuuck." You were melting at the touch of his warm muscle, wandering around your folds.

Mingi was quickly advancing with his actions. His left hand went around your right thigh, fingers reached to the upper part of your pussy.

Your folds were spread, reminding him now of butterfly wings. He licked his lips at the vision of the source of all the nectar he was tasting. You were wet beyond his expectations.

The index finger of his free hand now traced around the edges of your soaking hole, that were closing and opening under his touch.

You spasmed at the quick, single and almost dramatic licks that were gracing your opened clit. His eyes fed on the lewdness, glowing in yours.

"You won't let me cum so quickly, will you?" You almost cried out.

Damn that grin of his.

"Oh no, baby. I will make you scream in a second."

Sudden invasion of his finger made you raise your hips, however he quickly pinned back down. The movement was slow at first as if he was doing a recognition of your interiors.

"So soft and warm, as I imagined it to be." He complimented you with a hum, "So inviting." 

The middle finger answered the invitation, and join its neighbor inside you. There were no slow movements this time, no teasing. The pace was brutal, accompanied by your clit being violently sucked by his plumb lips.

"Mingi, fuuuck!" You screamed as loud as you were allowed in this condition.

The flood of pleasure, as much as it was welcome, came unexpectedly fast and powerful. It detuned your senses, took your breath away, controlled your body and whole being. You didn't know what to do with your hands, what to grab onto. Eventually they landed on your breast, adding more fuel to the fire happening between your legs.

His fingers pumped in and out of you, your rich juices made it much easier for them to move. Mingi sucked on you mercilessly, hamming loud which sent vibrations in the spot he was sending all his attacks towards. 

With the last ounce of sanity, you quickly registered the knob forming in your abdomen and that it was about to come undone, brutally.

"I'm cum-ming" you intended to scream but all you could master was a whisper.

At those words his fingers gave up on leaving your walls and stayed deep inside them. You felt them curl inside, gluing to your core while rubbing and pushing onto it.

"Yes! Yes, right there!" You grabbed his head again to keep him in place, "Right fucking there!"

"Give me all of it, baby!" he said and reattached with your clit again, quickly shaking his head to have you absolutely crashing, "All of it!"

Legs, framing his face began to tremble. Cumming intensively, you were crying out the curses of pure euphoria. Your vision blurred. You saw no shape, no color as his fingers hadn't stopped. He led your orgasm in all the directions he wanted. 

You had always been loud during sex but his skills made you reach new volumes. Your essence flooded his fingers, leaking out onto his mouth and chin. He began slowly moving inside you again to ride your ecstasy. 

Mingi took his time before finally leaving your throbbing cunt. Fingers slowly slid out of you, all wet, glistening in the light. No drop was left as the man collected everything off you and of himself, ending the act with a loud pop sound. You used this moment to calm down and regain your breath control.

You didn't say anything as he climbed up on you with kisses and your heated faces aligned. Both breathing heavily, you looked at each other. You didn't stay silent and still for long but those few seconds were worryingly intimate. There was something between you two. You couldn't say what it was but it was there, tangible. You saw it in his eyes, that he in fact noticed that too. 

Mingi allowed you to strip him off his black shirt and take your time to touch his chest, shaped abs and veiny hands that now rested on your sides. He felt his ego grow, seeing you worship his sun kissed muscles with awe.

"How do you want to take me?"

He raised his brows at your sudden question. 

That reaction of his made you smile. Maybe he wasn't that hard to impress after all.

"You want to tell me you've never seen me in certain positions?" 

"I have." He spoke before even the thought of other options of answer occured. However, Mingi didn't feel embarrassed with his honesty. Oh yeah, he'd seen you in many positions, but there was one specific simple fantasy that constantly appeared in his mind.

His hand reached for something above your head and next second you heard the sound of anime resonating in the room again. 

Now you were surprised.

"Turn around, on your belly." He uttered, his eyes looking at you but his thoughts were somewhere else, deep in the dark corners of his brain.

You bit your lip as you realized.

Mingi wanted you in the position he had seen you almost everyday. In the position he saw you also today before leaving and coming back to take the business in his hands. He wanted to fuck you while you lazily laid before the screen. In your oversized shirt, colorful socks and your ass up on display.

How many times did he have to control himself to not let everything go loose when he saw you like that? How many times did he fight his corrupted mind while you walked and laid around the house unaware? You would never know.

Turning around, obeying him, you let him know you take all of it – all his needs and fantasies.

He helped you position the pillow underneath your pelvis and with the kiss on the back of your head, he got up to get rid of his jeans.

You felt familiar excitement as you looked at the anime going off but all you heard was a sound of an unbuckling belt. Wetness between your thighs increased along with the temperature, and you felt dizzy. It seemed like you were about to stand in flames.

His weight sunk in your bed again and you shivered at his mouth close to your ear.

"What you're doing, baby? Just keep watching your show."

The man's act of confusion was too good, his unearthly deep tone making you swallow a moan. Was it a punishment for you being so mindless about what you were doing to him?  

His still wet fingers sunk in the flesh of your ass. He was massaging, squeezing and smacking it until he was satisfied. You looked at the screen but you saw nothing, entirely focused on his touch and sensation. You bit on the collar of your shirt as you felt Mingi sitting on your thighs like on a cushion. He put most of the weight on his hand but you still felt his hot skin pushing onto yours. 

"Mingi…" his name in your mouth carried heavy pleas. 

But he didn't answer. Instead you found yourself gasping at the velvet touch of his tip, rubbing between your cheeks and folds. 

Up and down. 

Up and down he spread his precum on all of you. 

You couldn't see it but you felt his impressive width. You dig your nails in the sheets as your hips begin moving. You needed him inside, demolishing you.

"You're so soft and wet." He praised you. "All for me to finally enjoy."

"I'm begging you…" you mumbled with your shirt still between your clenched teeth.

He seemed to like bringing surprises as he slid into you without a warning. 

"Aahh." You whimpered at the sudden stretch of your walls. 

He went into you slowly, letting you adjust to his size. Mingi felt you were engulfing him more and more with every push. 

"You're adorably tight." He wanted to sound playful but failed as your walls cramped around him and a set of pleasure went through him. "Shit."

He raised up a little on his knees and used your waist to support himself. Your lower body was caged, he could've done and was doing anything he wanted. He rolled his body at an even pace while going in and out of you. The bed rocked along with you, the frame hitting the wall behind it.

You face dropped from the screen as you tried to look at the cause of your state. Your loud moans, now drowned the sound of the anime in the background. They became even louder as his hand suddenly wrapped your ponytail around its wrist, pulling your head back. 

You were facing the screen again.

"Watch. The. Show, (y/n)." He hissed. 

And you were. You couldn't focus on the graphic, characters and especially not on the plot. All that filled your mind was the absolutely superior pleasure as your roommate was bulldozing you from behind. But still, your eyes were glued to the screen.

The tempo fastened as he let go of your hair. He pinned into you crazily, his balls smacking your sensitive clit from behind. Skin to skin, birthing clapping noises at an even pace. 

The grab on your waist tightened. His moves became desperate, chasing the promising high. Mingi began to lose it. So did you.

"I'm clo-ose" you breathed out, shutting your eyes.

The laptop closed again, cutting the irritating noise. All he wanted to hear was your moans and mumbling, signs he owned you.

"Cum all over my cock." He demanded. 

His hand was now positioned on both sides of your head. He raised up and with all his weight he fell onto you, sinking deeper than ever. His thick cock and every pulsating veins, adorning it, rubbed all the right places to make your sanity go to sleep and sexual madness to wake up. The power he was invading now you was too much for your body's ability to control.

"Min-gi, aah!" You came undone once again because of him and with the way he made you feel, you knew it wouldn't be the only time. 

Heavenly bliss made your eyes roll in the back of your head as it fell on the bed from withering pleasure. A string of saliva oozed from your parted lips. You grabbed firmly onto his wrists and just let him ruin you until he felt like the work was done.

"Fuuuck!" he moaned as your walls grabbed his hard cock in whole, sucking him mercilessly, "Fuck, (y/n). Fuck, fuck aah!"

He quickly pulled out of you as a part of his fantasy was finishing on your naked back. Humping himself onto your ass, he took his time to shoot all the hot load, painting your skin in white as well as watch you laying there, nicely fucked up by no one else but him.

Leaning his forehead to the back of your head, he inhaled your scent as if he breathed comfortably for the first time in a very long time.

"There's no way I'm keeping my hands to myself from now on." He said, having a hard time speaking from the tempo he graced you a minute ago, "No matter what you or I will be doing."

You stroke his forearm, enjoying his closeness. You had no strength to open your eyes so you just smiled.

"Same."

He kissed your head, having dozens of butterflies going crazy in your stomach. 

"What are we gonna do?" He broke the comfortable silence. Mingi tried to hide it but you picked it up - the worrying hue to his voice.

The bridge was burned, true. There was no return from what you two did. But you had a choice and made it. You chose to accept your needs and desires. 

"We'll figure something out." You hoped, keep smiling as every cell in your body was telling you it might be a start of something beautiful. 

After all, he saw the real you. The imperfect, flawed and raw you and it made him let his armour break. You were not letting him go that easily.

He smiled in the crook of your neck.

"Does it mean you will be walking naked around the apartment from now on?" 

You recreated the same joyful giggle that made him look inside your room and began it all.

"Maybe."

[here2bbtstrash]

it's sweet (explicit)

genre: a fluffy lil sickfic

pairing: taehyung x reader

summary: you forgot to call out sick from your dick appointment, but he stays anyway.

word count: 4.3k

contains: no smut just fluff????? new year new me 😎 but as this is fuckbuddies to maybe-lovers and there are certainly a few references in here to sex, because of who i am as a person, it's enough that i'm tagging it explicit anyway lmao. but this is all fluff! reader has the flu, tae is a sweet sweet boi and takes care of her, it's all a bit sappy~ 🤧

A/N: happy new year!!! and a very happy belated birthday to my capricorn prince 💜 this soft little idea got stuck in my brain and wouldn't let go, and i had a lot more fun writing it than expected. plus i feel like i only wrote tae as a menace in 2022 (sorry to tae 👹) so i had to right my wrongs with this one lmao. it was a nice interlude before i jump into LDOMLT ch11 (the final chapter 😭) - i hope you all enjoy and that your 2023s are off to a pleasant start!!!

read on AO3!

~*~

You genuinely enjoy being single.

With your last relationship officially in the trash, you’ve found yourself settled into a comfortable peace. There’s no man in your life to mess up your plans, to force you to have to compromise or share anything, to suck up your energy and domestic labor like some kind of emotional vampire. You can do what you want, whenever you want, and you have a reliable rotation of both sex toys and fuckbuddies to keep you physically satisfied when the need arises.

Being single, you have come to learn, is fucking great.

Except when you get sick.

A knock at your apartment door drags you out of your DayQuil-induced slumber. You move to sit up with a sniffle before letting yourself drop back into your veritable nest of blankets on the couch, struck with the immediate recollection: it’s just the food you ordered. You’d specifically put in a request that they leave it at the door, but maybe the delivery person is just being nice and letting you know it’s there.

Except then they knock again.

And ring the doorbell.

“Jesus,” you groan to yourself, aggressively enough that you’re nearly sent into a fresh coughing fit, but you manage to choke down the spasm in your lungs as you drag yourself to standing. You cross the short distance from your couch to the front door, sure you look like death warmed over, and swing the door open.

At first, you’re certain it’s the DayQuil fucking with you.

“Taehyung?”

The corner of his mouth pulls up as he blinks sweetly at you, expressive almond eyes peeking out beneath untidy dark hair— extra fluffy today, like he’s just washed it and waltzed out of the house without any styling. His clothes tell the same story, a plain gray hoodie and joggers, creased a little like he’d just pulled them off his bedroom floor, though everything looks fresh off the runway on him.

As your eyes trail down his frame, you take in the container of ramen you ordered, held easily in one of his large hands, his long fingers hooking over the side.

His presence is typically a welcome one, particularly on Friday nights like tonight, but those are circumstances where you tend to be a little more… put together. So why is he here tonight?

“When did you start working for D—”

The food delivery service name dies on your tongue as your thoughts finally catch up with your mouth. He’s here tonight because it’s Friday, and this is what you do on Fridays. He’s here because you didn’t cancel. You’d had the thought in a drowsy half-awake state between naps, then had promptly rolled over and pressed your face into the pillow, telling yourself you’d remember to text Taehyung when you woke up.

Which of course, you did not. And so here he is, having clearly intercepted your delivery. And, it now occurs to you, having to witness how absolutely godawful you must look in your stained sweatpants, your hair surely a mess from a day spent napping on the couch.

“Oh fuck,” you mutter, quickly crossing your arms over your baggy t-shirt, suddenly very aware of the fact that you’re not wearing a bra. Why that matters when you’re standing in front of a man who regularly leaves hickeys all over your tits, you’re not sure, but in this moment it somehow feels like it does.

“Tae,” you take a step back, trying to keep him out of your germ radius. “I’m so sorry, I forgot to text you. I’m super sick, I think it’s the flu. You should go.”

He frowns a little, his eyes jumping from you down to the takeout container in his hands. “This is like, barely warm.”

That makes you smile a little despite yourself. A very Taehyung greeting.

“Yeah, well.” You roll your eyes. “I pay twice as much so it can take an hour and be cold by the time it gets here. Makes sense, right?”

His dazzling smile at your sarcastic remark only heightens your own self-consciousness, and you quickly extend a hand for the container.

“Sorry to make you come all this way. Hopefully next week I’ll be back to normal.”

Taehyung nods, yet makes no move to hand over the soup he’s currently holding hostage. “You should rest. Let me heat it up for you.”

You can’t help but wonder what he expects to happen when he crosses the threshold, and that makes you heave a sigh, then quickly bury the cough that chases after it into the crook of your elbow.

Thankfully your voice doesn’t give out when you manage to answer him. “I’m serious, Tae. I’m not—” you pause, considering how to phrase it: desperate to be railed? “—you know, the way I usually am on Fridays. Nothing’s gonna happen tonight. Except maybe you’ll get sick.”

He shrugs, like there are worse things. “I get it. But you shouldn’t be alone.”

At least he’s been sufficiently warned, you think to yourself, and then you relent, leaving the front door of your apartment swung wide as you step back across the living room to promptly collapse onto the couch again. You bury your face in the blankets with a muffled groan as you hear Taehyung shut the door behind him, then make his way into the kitchen.

As is typical with any man that enters your kitchen, you expect to have to walk Taehyung step-by-step through how to do everything. But, to your surprise, he asks no questions: he seems to find a good-sized pot and figure out how to work the stove all on his own, and you can hear him humming softly to himself as he goes.

Truly a credit to the male species, you think to yourself with a bitter laugh.

You collapse back against the cushions, a little too aware of the fuckbuddy in your kitchen to be able to drift off to sleep entirely. Nevertheless, you still find yourself slipping into a haze, your eyes dropping shut just to snap open again at the tap of a bowl being set down on the coffee table in front of you.

Your eyes widen as you sit up and stare down at your ramen, only to find two halves of a soft-boiled egg staring back up at you. You’d ordered from your favorite place in the city, which is easily the best ramen you’ve had in your life, but you know those fuckers charge extra for an egg. Which is why your cheap ass never orders one.

But here one is. So that means…

Taehyung drops down onto the couch next to you before you can even finish compiling the thought in your brain, but he must be able to read the look on your face. “Oh, do you not like eggs?”

“I— no,” you answer quickly. “I mean yes. I mean, I like them, I just… Thank you.”

You glance up in time to see him shrug, his mouth twisting a little, like he’s suddenly made shy by his own kindness. “Gotta get your protein in,” he offers casually, and you laugh over the steam rising up from your bowl.

He keeps a tentative cushion’s distance away from you, but you can feel his eyes watching as you take your first sip of the rich, warm broth. While you slurp it down, you tell yourself not to get greedy with Taehyung’s time: you expect this will be it, that with his act of kindness done for the day, he’ll get to his feet and be on his way. As soon as your front door slams shut behind him, he’ll probably be pulling up his text messages with one of the many other options that must be available to him.

You try to ignore the way that thought makes your stomach twist, to just eat your damn soup and not think about it. It’s fine. It doesn’t matter.

But to your surprise, Taehyung leans forward and snatches the TV remote off your coffee table with a triumphant sigh before slumping back against the couch, like he’s settling in. “Do you wanna watch something?”

You shake your head as you take another sip before answering. “You really don’t have to stay, Tae. I can appreciate that I’m not a lot of fun to be around tonight. And obviously you didn’t come here to watch me eat ramen.”

Already starting to scroll through your streaming services, Taehyung runs his free hand through his hair with a knowing, slightly horny smile. “Depends on what you mean by eat ramen.”

You nearly choke on a noodle, but he’s otherwise distracted, mouth dropping open a little as he clicks into one of the options.

“Oh, I know what we can watch.”

When he pulls up A Charlie Brown Christmas and promptly presses play, you can’t help smirking. “Christmas? You’re, what, five days late?”

Taehyung’s mouth opens again, like he’s going to say something, and then he just smiles that same self-conscious smile. “Ah, I just like the music.”

His long fingers splay out in front of him, miming along to the opening melody while he adopts the faux-cool expression of a jazz pianist. You hide a giggle in another sip of broth, and he quickly shrugs the impression off, crossing his arms over his chest as if to keep his limbs under control.

“And it’s cute,” he adds, voice halfway between shy and sentimental. “The little tree.”

It occurs to you now that you’ve never seen Taehyung so… your brain can’t find the right word. He’s just different tonight.

You nod as you slurp up a strand of noodles, and you can’t deny that he’s right as the movie plays on. It’s been years since you’ve seen it, not since you were a kid, but it’s just as enjoyable now, somehow timeless. You find yourself smiling softly as you finish your meal and settle back against the couch, tugging the blanket up to your chin.

All at once, Taehyung jumps up, and you watch dumbfounded as he silently scoops up your dishes and disappears off to the kitchen. When you hear the tap switch on, your jaw drops in sheer disbelief, and you sit up again, peeking over the back of the couch to get a glimpse of him: he’s pulled on the dishwashing gloves you keep tucked next to the sink and is making short work of not just the bowl and the pot, but the takeout container too, and your various other sick-person dishes you’d regrettably let pile up. Humming to himself along with Vince Guaraldi, like it’s something he does every day.

Your head spins as you drop back down against the cushion. What is happening? Did you take too much cold medicine?

That thought only reverberates louder in your brain when he returns, still humming the last few notes of the song. This time he chooses to settle in right beside you on the couch, as if entirely unconcerned about the contagious virus running rampant in your body— he just pulls you into his side, one arm wrapped over your shoulders, fingertips casually starting to play with the ends of your hair. Like it’s that easy.

You glance up at him, shaking your head a little, and Taehyung looks down to meet your gaze. “What?”

“This is just…” An incredulous laugh cuts off the end of your sentence. It’s hard to believe you’re looking at the same person. This can’t be the man who wraps his hand around your throat as he spits into your mouth, who will keep you in his bed for hours until you’re crying from overstimulation, who fucks you so good you can hardly walk the next day.

“I didn’t expect you to be like this,” you admit, pairing the words with a finger driven gently into Taehyung’s ribs. He squirms a little. “You’re… sweet.”

Taehyung’s lips part, and then he pauses, clearly considering how exactly to answer you. His mouth turns up soft at the corners, hesitant, as if he’s embarrassed to say what comes next. And then he says it. “You didn’t seem like you wanted sweet.”

The words settle over you, offered quietly in the low, rich tones of his voice, and as you keep gazing up at him, it strikes you: he’s not wrong. If he’d pulled this cozy domestic housewife act on you any earlier, on a normal Friday, you would’ve sent him packing without hesitation.

That thought makes you a little sad.

You tuck back in against Taehyung’s side, trying to refocus on the TV screen as you snuggle in under the blanket. Pressed close like this, you can feel the sturdy thud of his heartbeat in his chest, at a rhythm not dissimilar to yours.

“Well, I won’t tell anyone,” you breathe, and you swear you can hear him smile.

His touch lingers as the last few minutes of the movie play on: slipping from the ends of your hair to trace over the fabric of your shirt, then sliding further up to dip beneath the collar of it. The talented fingers you’ve become well-acquainted with work their magic in a new way, pressing firm circles into the muscles of your shoulders, muscles you didn’t realize were pinched so tight until he starts to work them open.

“Fuck,” you murmur, shifting a little to allow him better access as he continues. “That feels so good.” You can’t quite help the laugh that flutters out after your words; it’s certainly not the first time he’s made you say them.

There’s a small huff of breath from Taehyung beside you, and then his hand moves up to cup the back of your neck and give a gentle squeeze. It’s a comforting motion, and just arousing enough to make you sigh a note, your eyes briefly dropping shut. When they flutter open again, you realize the movie has ended, that he’s looking down at you, a knowing smirk toying at his lips.

“Don’t start,” you warn, unable to keep your voice entirely serious. “I meant what I said, I’m tapped out for the night.”

Taehyung raises his palms in the air, as if to claim his innocence, and you find yourself instantly missing the heat of his hand on your skin. “All I was thinking is that I kinda want dessert. Too tapped out for that?”

“I’ll never say no to dessert,” you admit with a soft smile. “I think I have ice cream in the freezer.”

Something glints in Taehyung’s eyes at your words. All at once he untangles himself from you and, rather than standing up and walking the long way around like a normal human, chooses instead to vault himself over the back of the couch, as if to get your freezer as fast as possible. You tip back against the cushions, momentarily overcome with laughter, and thankfully, it doesn’t trigger a cough attack.

After a second, you cocoon the blanket around yourself, then get up to follow after him, dropping unceremoniously down onto one of the barstools tucked on the far side of your kitchen island.

Taehyung glances up, clearly surprised, then continues trying drawers until he finds the silverware and retrieves two spoons.

“Just want to keep you company,” you say by way of explanation as he hands you one, and you reach down to pry off the lid of the pint of chocolate ice cream he’s set down on the counter. It’s only as you glance up again that you realize he’s grabbed something else, too, and is continuing to rummage through your cupboards. “Wait, what are you doing?”

There’s an innocent look on Taehyung’s face as he rights himself, the handle of a pan clutched in one hand. “I found something when I was looking for the ice cream. It’s my favorite. And I thought it might make you feel better, too.”

“Uh huh,” you intone, though your mouth is already starting to tick up, endeared. “A completely selfless act, I’m sure.”

“Of course it is,” he answers with an over-exaggerated wink, flipping the pan cooly in his grip. You squint at the bag as he thuds it down on the counter beside him, then sets the pan on the stove and flips on the burner beneath it.

Hotteok. You’d completely forgotten you’d even picked the bag of frozen sweet pancakes up a few weeks ago, that you had purposefully tucked them into the back of your fridge for a particularly good— or bad— day.

“Chef Kim,” you ask, feigning the tone of a journalist conducting an important interview as you fish your phone out of the pocket of your sweatpants. “Can I interest you in some background music, or do you prefer to cook in absolute silence?”

Taehyung glances back over his shoulder at you, his grin nearly too big for his face. “How about Sinatra?”

You raise one eyebrow at the admittedly unexpected suggestion. “Frank or Nancy?”

He pauses for a moment, as if considering. “Either.”

It’s only a few taps, and then Come Fly With Me is floating out of your Bluetooth speaker, and Taehyung is singing along to himself as he drops a frozen disc onto the heated pan, occasionally turning back to deliver lines to you with an extended hand.

You roll your eyes as you drag your spoon through the top layer of softening ice cream, sucking it into your mouth in an attempt to hide the grin that’s spread over your face.

By the third song you find yourself humming along too, trying not to put too much strain on your still-weak throat. The kitchen has started to smell of sweet, toasted dough as Taehyung works diligently at the stove, and he finally flips the burner off before turning back to you, a plate in each hand and a thick pancake stacked atop each plate.

“Sous chef, will you please apply the ice cream?” he asks, eyes wide and blinking as he sets the dishes down.

Quickly playing along, you nod as you begin to scoop a healthy amount onto each plate. “Yes, chef!”

“And sous chef, do you, uh… have any chocolate sauce?”

You bite back a laugh as his roleplay falls apart as quickly as it began. “It’s in the fridge.”

Taehyung promptly turns and pulls the door open, eyes searching the shelves before he finally spots the dark brown bottle and lets out a triumphant hum. He nudges the fridge shut again with his hip before striding back toward you.

“Plating is key,” he muses. You answer with an appreciative nod and a giggle when he uncaps the sauce, then leans down close to the plates, feigning intense focus as he drizzles each dollop of ice cream with stripes of chocolate.

Once his artful design is complete, he steps back, his tongue toying at the corner of his mouth as he spins one plate to admire his handiwork.

“What do you think, chef?” you tease, and he nods once, decisive.

“It’s perfect.” He glances up, shooting you a grin that knocks the breath from your lungs, and you try to collect yourself as he nudges a plate toward you, encouraging you to take a bite.

You carve your spoon through the pastry, right down the middle where it’s stuffed full of sweet brown sugar syrup. The flaky layers pull apart at the impact, warm enough that you can see steam rising off of the golden dough. You pair a small piece of pancake with a wedge of ice cream on your spoon, then bring both into your mouth at once, and the contrasting mixtures linger on your tongue: hot and cold, sticky sugar chased by rich chocolate. It’s so good that you can’t help but make a soft, appreciative noise as you press your hand to your mouth and chew.

“Do you want to know something?” Taehyung’s voice pulls your attention back, and you look up at him.

“What?”

“Today’s my birthday.”

There’s a split second where you wonder if this is another imagined scenario, and then your eyes widen as you take in the look on his face and realize he’s entirely serious.

“Wait, Taehyung, really?”

He nods once, bringing a spoonful of ice cream to his lips.

“I-I had no idea,” you stammer, suddenly feeling like an asshole. His birthday, and he’s here waiting on you hand and foot, while you haven’t so much as said a word of felicitations. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, he’s waving away your apology with his spoon, then proceeding to answer around his bite of food. “It’s not like I expected you to know. I don’t really make a big deal of it.” He shrugs. “I tend to… I don't know. I get sort of melancholy this time of year. The holidays, my birthday. It’s a lot all at once. A lot of pressure. To be happy. To have everything figured out.”

Nodding slowly, you let his words fully wash over you before you respond. “I get that,” you finally murmur, working off another piece of hotteok. “Nobody ever talks about it, but I feel like birthdays are kinda weird as an adult. You have enough of them and it just starts to feel like a day, you know? Not special.”

“I usually find myself just hiding out, waiting for it to be over,” Taehyung admits.

You take a second to think back. “Yeah. I didn’t even do anything on my birthday this year.” A self-pitying laugh rises up before you can stop it. “Honestly, this whole year was such a flop. I’m glad it’s nearly done.”

Taehyung makes a face like he can’t disagree. “Hey, sometimes that’s life.” He pauses, brow furrowing slightly, then reaches a palm across the table. “Can I play a song?”

“Go ahead,” you offer, pushing your phone into his hand. You scrape your spoon along your dwindling dessert, and haven’t even managed to bring the assembled bite to your mouth before the music changes— from one Frank Sinatra song to another, this one with a driving blues rhythm.

Taehyung is already on his feet, hips starting to sway. “Ah, come on. You have to dance with me.”

He’s closed the distance between you before you can even protest, his hands smoothing across the blanket still wrapped over your shoulders.

“Let me take your coat, ma’am.”

You shift off the stool and onto your feet with a smile as he unwraps the blanket from around you and tosses it toward the back of the couch, missing by at least a foot.

“Why thank you,” you tease, feigning some kind of Transatlantic lilt to your voice that makes him really laugh. “Such a gentleman.”

Taehyung turns to face you again, and then you feel his large hand pressing to the small of your back, warm even through the fabric of your shirt, and your heart stutters a little. You take his other hand in yours and let him lead, let him pull you all the way in until you can turn your head and press your cheek to the firm plane of his chest.

Frank Sinatra croons on about how you can’t let life get you down, and suddenly there’s a weight settling in the pit of your stomach.

“I feel bad, Taehyung,” you admit, and when you glance up at him, he’s looking right back down at you. “That you’re here with me tonight.”

“Why?” he asks, like he really doesn’t know.

“Because,” you shake your head. “I don’t know. There’s a million better places you could be. I can’t even give you birthday sex.”

“I wouldn’t have stayed if I didn’t want to,” he answers simply, then leans back, guiding you under his arm for a spin.

A little giggle bubbles up in your chest, catches on the first syllable of your reply as you twirl. “A-are you sure?”

Taehyung nods, thoughtful, when you come back to center again. “This is a good reminder that… I like taking care of people. It’s been a while since anyone’s let me.” The hand holding yours gives a gentle squeeze, and you can’t help but squeeze back.

“Well, thank you for taking care of me,” you answer softly. “You did a good job. Pretty sure I’m on the mend already.” You blink up at him through your lashes, and the way his eyes are fixed on you makes your heart squeeze, too.

It’s nearly overwhelming, taking him in like this, close enough that you can see every stray beauty mark kissed over his handsome features. Fluffy-haired, big-dicked Kim Taehyung— who would’ve thought?

Taehyung’s adam’s apple jerks in his throat as he swallows, and you feel a sudden rush of heat all over, one you don’t quite think you can blame on a fever. It hardly even occurs to you that the two of you have come to a complete standstill now, barefoot in the middle of your kitchen, Taehyung’s palm pressed to your back, the fingers of your joined hands now shifting to lace together.

“Taehyung,” you’re breathing his name before you even realize it. “Would you… want to stay here tonight? Like, sleep together, literally?”

The smile that flashes over his face is nothing short of brilliant. “Yeah, okay.”

Your voice dips a little lower, teasing, as you smile back. “I really do think I’m feeling better, so. Maybe in the morning I can take care of you, too.”

Taehyung’s fingers brush the length of your jaw, then reach up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear as you continue.

“I’ve got this spray that makes my throat totally numb, so.”

He pauses, his mouth so close to yours that you can feel his breath ghosting over your skin, but he can’t quite keep a straight face. “Fuck, why is that so sexy?”

You’re laughing against his lips when he kisses you.

[alienaiver]

i know allen would be struggling with his birthday; he even hid it from you for as long as humanly possible, dodging the question of birthdays alltogether.

"oh y'know.. it's once a year, like everyone else." he says it as a finality, smiling with his eyes closed and head tilted. its clear its meant to signal you to stop asking, the polite smile clearly annoyed but you pout and defy his will, "sure, al, we all have birthdays. but when?"

he says a date and a sparkle goes into your eyes until you realize.. wait a minute.. thats your birthday!

the pout returns and he avoids your gaze. you reach out for his hand, his left hand, and squeeze it. then you sigh and try to sound as gentle as possible, hoping to sooth him,

"i promise i wont make a deal out of it. all ill give you as a present is a kiss."

he's about to roll his eyes, to deflect you again when he realized the last tidbit of your sentence. he stops in his tracks and stares blankly at you, his pale skin - ever so prone to blushing - turns a deep crimson before he starts sputtering. you can't be serious!

you lean close to him, "oh, im serious. i can even give it in advance?"

he pulls away from you quickly, desperately. but interestingly, he doesnt let go of the hand that wrapped itself around yours. you smile and pull at it. the unexpected movement makes him stumble forward and you lean in to kiss him.

you hit the corner of his lips, more his cheek than anything, but you're satisfied. this will be a good enough step in the right direction.

maybe he won't give you the date tonight, but youll find out soon enough. you've gotten a christmas present early already.

[commytator]

they are in love

[callmelola111]

my summer of you ♡ part two

✄ - - - -   part 1 , part 2   - - - -   inspo track (till there was you)

synopsis: being sent to your grandparents for the summer was supposed to be a punishment, but when you came face-to-face with your neighbor, you knew it’d be quite the opposite.

      | 𓆣 | pairing & wc: loser!ellie williams x neighbor!reader. wc: 4.5k

      | ❀ | cw (by part): 18+ themes (MDNI), modern au, fem reader, lots of fluff, marajuana use, profane language, mentions of tense family relations and childhood trauma (brief), joel cameo, ellie is so loser nerd it's actually adorable, ⭑ SMUT ⭑ … soft dom!reader, sub!ellie, mommy kink, fingering (e receiving), oral (e receiving), pet names (baby, special girl, etc.). MINORS DNI !!

a/n: hi lovelies, last part!!! ellie is just a sweet little angel baby who deserves to be taken care of!! sorry not sorry. i know dom!ellie is a fan favorite (trust me i love her too) but i feel obligated to write loser!ellie as an actual inexperienced, obsessed, space loving loser. kinda unplanned, but the end just turned into me living out my mommy fantasies tbh. ha i need her so bad, anyways... thanks 4 the love ♡~ lola

A twinge of anxiety hit the pits of your stomach as you stood, fist at the ready, face-to-face with your neighbors white front door. A deep exhale finally sent your hand into motion producing a loud knock on the wood— one you repeated 4 times before finally being answered.

The door handle rattled a bit before completely twisting to the right and revealing an older gentleman. His hair was brown, short and messy. The man's face was shrouded in a thick beard full of grays and his brows seemed permanently furrowed. You would’ve been a little fearful if it wasn’t for his sweet southern greeting that immediately softened you.

“Well, hello there little lady. What can I do for you?”

“Uh, hi… I live next door. You’re Ellie’s dad right?” you questioned.

“Mmm… kinda, I’m Joel. But um, if you’re looking for Ellie she’s still at work.” he replied, quickly moving past your question. It felt odd but you could see that asking him to elaborate wouldn’t be in your best interest- or his for that matter. 

“Oh okay… do you know when she gets off?”

“Six I think. I’m sure she’d love to see you though. Girl hasn’t stopped smiling since you moved in next door.” His answer made your cheeks hurt from the widest grin you’d ever made. 

“I guess that makes two of us.” You looked at the ground feeling somewhat bashful as you admitted how smitten you were with his “kinda” daughter. “Well uh, thanks Joel, it was really nice to meet you.”

“No problem kiddo, you too.” The man waved you off down the concrete steps and you waved back before he shut the door behind him.

Without a 2nd thought you trekked 4 blocks over to the bookstore where Ellie works, practically skipping the whole way. That sweet little bell rang once more as you pranced inside. A comforting smell of old paper immediately wafted through your senses.

Running your fingers along the yellowed edges of tattered books, you waited for Ellie to detect your presence. The girl seemed to be completely consumed by the small paperback resting against the edge of the counter she was positioned behind. The intentional clearing of your throat is what finally broke her focus with a slight startle. 

“Hi Els.” 

“Hey, what are you doing here?” she attempted to question nonchalantly, but the excitement behind her voice was clear. The frantic taming of her auburn locks and crimson colored cheeks was also a dead giveaway, and just as she tucked a stray hair behind her ear, it quickly fell back to its rightful place- in front of her lovely face.

“Wanted to see if you’d wanna go to the boardwalk after your shift?”

“With you?” Ellie could hardly believe it.

“Of course with me… But, I mean that’s only if you wanna go.”

“Yesyesyesyesyes.” she slurred out frantically at a volume that was definitely not suited for a bookstore.

“Knew I could count on my special girl. You’ll be done at six right?”

“Yeah, how’d you know?” You almost lied to Ellie, as the topic seemed like the kinda thing that was supposed to go unsaid. But you didn’t.

“Uh, Joel told me…” 

“Oh? You talked to Joel?” Ellie seemed to withdraw at his mention, fidgeting with the pages of her book.

“Yeah… just for a second. I went over to see you and he answered the door.”

“Gotcha…” She lingered on her words like there was more to say but ultimately refrained from speaking out. You couldn’t help but pry just a little, it was in your nature.

“You seem kinda off when he’s brought up. Can I ask why?” Your bold question made you wanna squeeze your eye’s shut until the moment was over, and the growing silence made it even worse.

“Another time?” Ellie answered begrudgingly. You felt bad for even asking.

“Yeah yeah of course. I- I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” All the sudden your hands were clammy and the long thread hanging from your top was wrapped around your index finger, restricting circulation. Anything to distract from your social slip-up.

“No, no, don't feel bad! I promise you did nothing, I- it’s just me.” She gave you an apologetic smile and suddenly everything felt okay again.

“We’re still on for the boardwalk though, right?” you questioned, motivated by the need of reassurance. 

“Yes. Please.” she affirmed. “If you want you can just hang here with me until then? I’ve still got like half an hour left.”

“Okay, yeah.” you gave a shy smile feeling less in control than in your usual interactions with Ellie. The fast growing feelings had suddenly clouded your incessant need to flirt and tease 24/7. What was this girl doing to you?

✄ - - - -   ♡   - - - - 

As the sun set south in the watercolor sky, the green tinted waves crashed just past the dock where you stood. Ellie was positioned beside you with both hands awkwardly in the pockets of her distressed jeans. Nerves were obviously eating her up.

“Chill out Els, this is gonna be fun!!” you smiled all teeth and nudged at her tattooed arm which she eventually released from the denims tight hold. You snatched her free hand, which was concerningly wet, and dragged her through the crowds of people. Ellie didn’t complain once and if you had asked her to jump off a cliff too she probably would have done it right then and there. 

You looked up at the towering ride in front of you and then turned to give Ellie some puppy dog eyes, “Can we pleaseee ride the ferris wheel?”

“Yeah of course, whatever you want.” And she meant it. The only thing Ellie asked of this night was to see your gorgeous smile and hear the symphony that was your giggles. She wanted you to be happy– happy with her.

After waiting in a short line of babbling kids and adults, a small blue pod sheltered by white, plastic roofing swooped down to load in more passengers. You slid onto the bench attached to the left side and Ellie situated herself opposite, hand anxiously gripping the edge of the seat. The wheel began to move as you sat face-to-face, only a thin white pole separating the two of you. You gripped it between your hands before peaking around to question her.

“Are you scared of me or of heights?”

“Huh? Wha- what do you mean?” 

“I meannnn… you’re huddled up in that corner like I’ve got Covid or something. Come sit with me Els. I miss you.” You batted your eyelashes and gave a pout like you were a sick puppy who only Ellie could cure. She could barely keep her composure when you flirted like this and was of course already embarrassed enough for sitting so far away. But how could you blame her? The poor girl was so anxious and had basically zero play to go off of.

In frantics, she scurried over to the other bench causing the apparatus to rock back and forth with a screech and you let out a little squeal in return. Ellie came to your protection leaving only centimeters between each other and you essentially lost all brain function.

With a sheepish laugh she apologized, “Sorry I’m so fucking stupid sometimes.” 

“Hey don’t say that!” You scooted to the right, closing the gap between her jean-clad thigh and yours. “You are not stupid Ellie Williams.” 

“I kinda am.”

“What makes you think that?” you asked, placing a comforting hand to her tense shoulders.

“I don’t think you wanna know…”

“I do Ellie. Seriously, you can tell me.” 

“Well, uh- I guess I just feel stupid cause… I can’t tell if this is supposed to be a date.” She looked down in shame at her confession. “And I- I feel even more stupid for wondering that.” 

Moving your hand to her thigh you gave a long sigh, “Oh els, don’t feel stupid for my shortcomings. I know it’s childish, but even now I can never seem to find the courage to say how I really feel.” Ellie’s face was teetering on the verge of surprise at your admission.

“Well, how do you really feel?” she appealed.

With slight hestance you spoke the truth, “I feel like… I also want this to be a date.” The girl smiled wide and patted your knee with care.

“I guess we’re on a date then, huh?”

“Yeah I guess we are.” you poked back. But before you could even take in the view from your spot on the ferris wheel, your pod had already reached bottom and the metal door swung open to exit. Maybe another time when you weren’t so captivated by the girl in front of you.

After a few games and an ice cream stop, the sun had set and crowds dissipated. Although it was obvious that neither you or Ellie were ready for the night to end.

“Sooo, what now?” you looked all around trying to think of an excuse to stay out longer.

“I have a joint in my bag… if you’re up to smoking. We can light up on the beach.”

“Ellie�� I’m always up for smoking.” Problem solved.

✄ - - - -   ♡   - - - -

Sitting cozy in the sand, Ellie reached into her navy blue backpack to grab the weed and you watched dotingly. As she zipped the front pouch back up you noticed a small pin– a rocket ship

“What’s that?” 

“Just a pin. I’m into space shit.” she answered, pulling out a forest green lighter from her back pocket.

“Ooo tell me more!” Ellie released the joint that was about to be lit, genuinely stunned at your interest in her nerdy fixation. 

“Well, I wanna be an astronaut. Kinda like Sally Ride. That’s why I’m a STEM major.”

“Hell yeah, women in STEM! But ummm, who’s Sally Ride though?”

Her eyes went wide, “You don't know who Sally Ride is??” This spun her into a long tangent about the famous astronaut, and the strides she made for women, and how it’s even cooler because as Ellie put it, “she was gay!!”. As she rambled on you felt your feelings multiply. You had never seen her talk so much, and with so much passion too. It was a sight to see– one that you’d save to memory.  

“Sorry, am I talking too much?” she questioned.

“No, not at all Els! I love it. I love hearing you talk.” You gave a reassuring beam as Ellie finally lit the joint that had been rolling around in her lap after the conversational detour. The salty air picked up making it hard to ignite the paper so you offered a helping hand to shield the wind. Ellie accepted graciously, eventually taking the first inhale and passing it over to you. Sitting criss-cross in the sand, you held the burning substance between your pointer and thumb before taking a savory puff. 

“God, it feels like ages since I last smoked.” 

“Have you not been able to find a good plug here?” Ellie wondered.

“Not exactly…” you took a pregnant pause considering if you even wanted to mention it. “I haven’t been completely honest about the real reason I’m staying with my grandparents.” Ellie didn’t seem to phased at this. She had suspected something was up after the odd cigarette incident with your grandma. 

“You know I’d never judge you ____. You can tell me, really.” 

“It’s embarrassing but… my parents banished me here for acting out at school.” you admitted.

“Really? What’d you do?” she questioned, taking another drag from the lit joint.

“My smoking and drinking habits were a little ‘out of whack’. And apparently so were the little escapades that those habits got me into.”

“What do you mean by… ‘escapades’?”

“Umm, sex. With girls.” You plummeted your finger into the sand, feeling way over the situation already. “My parents swear they’re not homophobic but sometimes I wonder if they would’ve reacted the same if I was hooking up with some frat dude instead.”

“Damn I’m sorry. So they must be really mad then?”

“I guess, they rarely even call. But I’m not sad about it anymore so it’s okay.” Ellie noticed a gloss form on your eyes and refused to believe that there wasn’t at least a little part of you that was still hurt. Like instinct she roped you into a tender hug and you reciprocated with your hand around her neck. When she pulled back a small tear fell to your cheek and you quickly wiped it trying to stay tough.

“Now you owe me an explanation after that one.” you sniffled once more, eventually moving past the momentary sadness.

“Fine.” Ellie almost had to convince herself to keep talking. “Joel isn’t my dad, but he’s like my dad, and everyone thinks he’s my dad which just makes things weird.”

“Not to pry, but uh could you maybe elaborate?” Ellie stared off into the sea as she dumped her heart out.

“My real parents didn’t stick around for long. I was bouncing from home to home for a while until I turned 14. Joel found me, he was a family friend, and we’ve kinda been inseparable since. I hate when it’s brought up though. It’s a reminder that the people who were made to love me just didn’t. I had to find it elsewhere. And even now, years later with Joel, I still sometimes feel so void of worth.” Finally looking back to you she was met with streams of your tears. 

“Ellie what the fuck. That’s heavy... I’m so fucking sorry.” You just wanted to hold her for eternity and tell her that everything was gonna be okay. Tell her that she was worth something– she was worth everything.

“Hey, hey no need to cry. I’m alright now, I promise. Joel is awesome.” she reassured, using a rough thumb to brush away the drops littering the apples of your cheeks. You placed your hand on top of hers feeling the comforting warmth. 

“Els, I-” Before you could even finish her lips had met yours in a spur of the moment kiss. You reciprocated as both of her hands flew to the sides of your face to pull you in deeper.

It felt like you were the only 2 people in the world and this moment was all that mattered. Passion rose as you slid your tongue into Ellie's mouth, playing a game of tag with her own pink muscle. The girl—more confident than you had ever seen—found your wrists and sent you back into the sand with purchase, obviously hungry for something.

But just as things were getting good your phone began going off like crazy. After about 7 buzzes and Ellie’s lips traveling down your neck, you had to swiftly roll out from under her to see what was up. The poor girl looked like a kicked puppy at the loss of your touch. She watched as you read through messages and immediately jumped to your feet, grabbing your bag along the way. It was Grams. And she was mad.

“Fuck fuck fuck!! I’m sorry Ellie, I have to leave. Like now.” you blurted anxiously.

“Wait what?” 

“I’m sorry! I promise to explain later but I have to go.” Ellie sat confused and unresolved as she watched you disappear into the darkness with only the moonlight to guide.

✄ - - - -   ♡   - - - -

The night after coming home late, Grams had smelt the weed and in turn confiscated your phone, along with all freedoms you once possessed. “As much as it hurts to do this, I promised your parents I’d enforce some rules” she had told you as you pleaded for mercy. You were officially fucked and didn’t even have your phone to explain it to Ellie. What was she gonna think? How could you get around this? But as you lay on your bed a certain book catches your eye and that’s when it hits you. 

With a pen and a brightly colored index card you scribbled out a simple note. It read...

Dear Ellie, if you’re receiving this then my plan has worked. I’m currently writing from the confines of my bedroom which I will be isolated in for the next week. I’m sorry it’s taken so long to communicate this but my grandparents weren’t too happy about breaking curfew to go “smoke pot” (which i reeked of). I don’t have my phone either, but god I miss you Els. So… if you can ever forgive me, come knock on my window late tonight and maybe I’ll let you in ;).

You slipped the small, highlighter-yellow note into the pages of The Bell Jar and handed it off to Grams to run next door, arguing that “Ellie needs it back immediately” and “it just can’t wait”. She eventually gave in after some well thought out begging and delivered the borrowed book to Joel. He then handed it back to the green-eyed girl who at first didn’t even wanna touch it.

Ellie was convinced you’d purposefully abandoned her– just like everyone else in her life. Her heart was broken and all she had done since that night was play Valorant, high out of her mind, while ignoring the rest of the world. Luckily, Joel noticed the bright yellow peaking from the paper and urged her to crack it open and take a second look. And after a quick thumb of the pages she fell upon your note which practically gave her a heart attack as she read. Ellie instantly dropped the controller at your whim and hopped in the shower to get ready for that night.

✄ - - - -   ♡   - - - -

The girl sported some heather gray Champion sweats and an oversized band tee as she slipped through the back door of her house. She opened the back gate to a small strip of grass that was the space between your house and hers, but just as the clock hit 12:00, the automatic sprinklers shot up to do their duty. Ellie was pinned to the edge of the fence as water began spraying at all points of the yard. There was no way she was getting to your window– at least, not dry. Assessing the situation, the only thing left to do was run straight through the line of fire and hope you were keeping a close ear. 

She bent her knees, digging the toe of her converse into the moist dirt and then bolted over to the glass. Ellie was being pelted left and right as she knocked on your window to be let in, but you were taking your sweet damn time, and those polite taps soon became desperate ones. After about 8 chaotic bangs you eventually opened up, scolding Ellie for the loud noise and then taking note of her current state.

“Sprinklers–” she gasped, out of breath. “You never told me about the sprinklers.” 

“Ellie- oh my god.” you put a hand to your mouth trying not to laugh but miserably failing. She climbed inside, rolling her eyes.

“Hey! I did this for you, fuck off.” 

“Sorry, sorry I know!” You traveled to your closet still laughing as you grabbed a spare towel and clothes. “Sit. Let’s get you changed” you commanded.

Ellie placed herself on the very edge of the bed, eyes locked on your figure. She raised her arms up and peeled off the drenched T-shirt leaving her in a simple sports bra which you couldn’t help but ogle at. Then followed her sweats which stuck to the flesh of her toned thighs before finally dropping at her ankles. She wore the sweetest plaid boxers, and now naked before you, she looked so shy.

Towel in hand, you straddled her knees which dangled off the mattress just slightly. Any thoughts of self doubt had left and all she could think about was you and how close you were to her heat. You ruffed up her dripping locks of hair with the soft linen and soaked up what you could. Ellie’s arms fell back into the bed, trying to fight the urge to grip both of your thighs in her strong hands, right then and there. The silky, sheer pajama shorts adorning those thighs were not helping her case either. 

“There, all better.” you smiled, doing some final scrunches to the ends of her hair. “Wanna put on some dry clothes now?” Ellie gulped down some fear and slipped her hands to your waist.

“No, not really.” she muttered.

“Oh yeah?” you teased, slinging your hands over her shoulders and connecting them at the back of her neck. 

“Yeah.” Ellie affirmed and then slid her hands down to the fat bunching at the crease of your thighs. She pulled forward till your crotch was on hers and breaths became irregular. 

“I missed you Els.” you said, before planting a juicy kiss onto her slightly chapped lips. 

“Missed you too ___” she murmured between lips locking. “I was starting to think you hated me.” You pulled back quickly, both hands on her face. How could you ever dislike someone as perfect as Ellie? And how could you ever let her think that?

“Never baby, never.” you said, smooching the damp hairs on her head. “Let me make it up to you, okay?”

“Okay.” She agreed and the kissing resumed but this time on her neck. Wet, purple marks of your doing sent butterflies to Ellie’s stomach, and as you started to roll your hips her head flew back with a gasp. She quickly caught on, gripping your sides to assist the fervent grinding. Your fingers traveled down her abs, tracing the v-line, before finding themselves in the vats of her boxers. 

“Is this okay Els?”

“Yes, yes please” she gasped. You dipped down further and were greeted with strings of slick and Ellie already bumping against you for pressure. 

You gave a sly smile, “All this for me?” She nodded, almost proud at her quick arousal. “Here lie back and let's take these off. I’m gonna take care of you tonight.” Ellie of course followed in suit, scooching against the headboard and revealing her bare cunt. On all fours, you climbed towards her with the intent to please and only that. She slammed her lips into yours as soon as you were in reach, it was impatient and primal– a side you rarely saw from Ellie. Through breaks of tongue, teeth, and spit you discarded any and all clothes covering your flesh.

The sight of your breasts quickly shifted Ellie’s attention. Goosebumps exploded up your body when she soon took them in her grabby hands. She twisted at your hard nipples as your hands found their way back down to her anticipating folds. Your fingers split between middle and ring then gliding through Ellie’s slick, capturing her bundle of nerves with each pass. The pleasure was indescribable except through the gasps and moans she was making into your mouth. Coated in Ellie, you couldn’t help wiping her mess across the expanse of your tongue and sucking it clean.

“You taste fucking perfect.” you elated and Ellie went red. She wasn’t used to dirty talk like this. In all honesty, she wasn’t used to any of it. But god was she willing to learn. With a short preview of her taste, you inched down to try the real thing. You couldn’t wait any longer and pushed up and open at the girls knees to get a better angle. Her hole clenched in prospect as you playfully ghosted your lips past her clit a couple of times.

Finally taking it between your lips Ellie’s eyes completely rolled back, jaw going slack. You gave a gentle suck before sticking out your tongue to make slow, tight circles. This one really drove her wild which you noted from the arch of her back and guttural moans echoing off the walls.

“Els baby, you gotta be quiet for me.” She whined at your request, however complied. There’s no way you were getting caught with your tongue inside the next door neighbor, but god were her little noises music to your ears. 

Next came your fingers and she squirmed with the insertion of the middle one. You pumped in and out slowly and it was obvious that Ellie was trying her best to keep quiet. She was practically drawing blood from the strong bite she had on her bottom lip, whimpering ever so often.

Rubbing circles at her thigh and adding another finger, you praised, “You’re being such a good girl for mommy.” Ellie’s hips jolted, and olive-colored eyes went wide at the name– something she never thought would turn her on. It was something that had just slipped from your lips, too caught up in the moment, but now that it was out in the air it just made you all the more wet. Your pace picked up and it grew harder to penetrate through the desperate clenches of her walls. You took it as a challenge and added your mouth back into the mix, really trying to push her to the limits.

“Ahh f- fuck” she cursed out with ramblings of your name. Knowing how good you made her feel drove you crazy, and through swipes of tongue and fingers you found yourself grinding into the stiff mattress below. Ellie was obsessed with the way you rocked your hips and even sat up a little bit to get a better view. This, combined with the work you were doing on her core, forced her to the brink of satisfaction. Her stomach sucked in tight, feeling the build-up of pleasure inside. 

“J- just like that, a- almost there-” she sobbed through the wet squelches of her folds.

“You gonna say please for me?” you questioned, slowing down your movements just enough to make her listen.

Stuttering through it she obeyed, “P-please mommy, please c- can I cum?”

“Go ahead baby.” Just hearing those words made you almost gush right along with her so you rewarded the girl with an unfaltering pace. Ellie was right where you wanted her, clenching every muscle at the bliss you so graciously gave her. With your thumb on her clit and fingers curling up to hit just the right spot, she buckled along with attempts to muffle the groans she couldn't hold in any longer.

“Shit, I- I’m cu-cumming.” Her thighs flew shut but you quickly parted them back as you coached her through the euphoric feeling.

“You’re doing so fucking amazing Els.” You planted kisses across her thighs as she rode out her orgasm to a limp state. Ellie had yet to open her eye’s after the second finger and was still coming back down to Earth. Climbing up the bed to lay next to her, you brushed all the hair stuck in the girl's freckles, occasionally giving a slight peck of comfort. She finally fluttered her lids open and her pupils exploded with love. No one had ever taken care of her so well, and she’d thank you for it until the end of time.

✄ - - - -   masterlist   - - - -   ♡

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how to unsubscribe to dating

SUMMARY: on april 18th, hansol likes his favorite youtuber’s instagram picture. not because of her content—though, he finds himself laughing at all of her weekly videos—but because he thinks she’s gorgeous. that is how it ends. just a like on a picture that no one will see.

three years later and after a tough break-up, the internet hates her and a misstep has hansol dragged into the drama. now, everyone thinks they are dating and what a better way to gain subscribers and have millions on views on their videos? just let them think it’s real and work on a whole season of dare videos for the world to enjoy.

only that it is not so easy, one can subscribe to a youtube channel but not really unsubscribe to falling in love.

TITLE: how to unsubscribe to dating.

PAIRING: chwe hansol x reader

GENRE: youtuber!au ; fake dating-ish!au ; youtube drama!au ; strangers to friends to lovers!au ; idiots in love!au

WORD COUNT: 14,014 words

GENRE: fluff ; humor ; drama ; angst if you squint ; suggestive

NOTE: this was a kofi request! if you want me to write anything, you can go over there and request something from me.

The secret to color theory is that there are primary colors, and the rest are just blend-able shades that would not exist without bases, foundations and ‘trials-and-errors’. In some sense, we correlate the color of our lives to that primary stance—we are red, we are yellow…the intensity that we want to be. How we want to counterpart in a main role that, inherently, sometimes won’t be settled upon us. The saddening truth of being a purple, or a lime green.

She would have never imagined herself to be anything more than a yellow. She said, when she was younger, that her voice would be so high that the annoying tone that came with her made her stand out in any crowd. Yellow. And then came heartbreak, teenage years, the blending with a pure gray or a black undertone that could never get her to darken her soul. It was more like a mustard yellow. Lulled. Not as bright. Just wishing upon standing out again, blending nicely with everyone, but always sticking out like a sore thumb. Hard to look in the eyes.

For the past two months, she felt like she was back to her bright yellow. To smiles with all teeth, shared with Jay as he wrapped his arms around her shoulder; to late-night talks with the phone screen glaring across her vision as she whispered small ‘I don’t want to go’s. Relatively, that comes to a stop. Because, in the eyes of a man that she dated with the dumbfounded hope to finally meet the love of her life, she was never yellow. God, he’d cringe at the mere sound of the Coldplay song. She was brown.

As in shitty brown.

Jay should be better than this. In actuality, after how everything fell down with a break-up text that he never really responded to, she doesn’t think he’s better, but hey, common sense is a thing still, isn’t it? As a YouTuber, quite like her, who shared the same interests and niche with a commentary channel based on pop-culture, one would think that he would not incorporate their ‘not-that-talked-about’ relationship in a Tweet. Though, maybe she had seen him as a bright blue, when he’s nothing but—at best—a plum or a dark gray.

You know, like having concrete between your teeth. Not that pleasurable, neither something she wants to try again.

@notthatjay_lee: how does that song go? a, b, c, d, e, f…thank you for wasting my motherfucking time.

She chuckles. Actually, full-on laughs when sitting on the counter at her kitchen, trying or supposedly about to edit her newest video commenting on Disney’s old shows and how she binge-watched them on a brim. Not that the viewers should know that she watched the entirety of Hannah Montana in a week because she was going through a break-up and crying for the asshole that Jay Lee is, but she needed to update after being a month away.

She continues scrolling, watching the thread that has formed in the tweet and the hundreds of comments that tag her. They weren’t precisely out as a relationship, but it was known. They went to conventions together, appeared in pictures with fans tagged together. It wasn’t hidden under the rug, but it was also not blasted out of proportion like Jay is doing right now.

He responded to a fan.

@jaysassissick: We are here for you, Jay! I can’t believe what some bitches can do for fame.

@notthatjay_lee: imagine getting cheated on by someone who can’t even reach a million subscribers. lol. can sadly relate.

“You just didn’t…” She mutters to herself, standing up and closing her laptop with a bang. More notifications pop up, from all social media that she could muster. Pictures tagged of the two of them together coming up with headlines that read commentary-channel YouTubers feuding. Cheating. Cheater, out of all things.

And that’s the thing about women. If they are not colors that blend well with the primary ones, like men expect to be, they are tarnished and burned to ashes to stay in the ground. That was her case, in which her silence was the ignition of a chain of events that now are out of her reach. None of those people that keep harassing her online can know that Jay had been distant the past month; that he’d spend more of his days running away from her than actually trying to put effort into the relationship.

That it’d be more looking through social media to see him commenting on pictures of his supposed ‘friends’ wearing bikinis and his phone hidden with his face down whenever they were together. It was not confirmed, of course, she didn’t have enough proximity with him, neither did they live together for her to confirm that her suppositions were true, but something she knows. Jay is not a saint, neither is she for the rage that builds within her like a Lego house that burns with the unsatiable need of revenge.

She almost believes that the best way to go about this is making it as public as he is. However, she knows she’s better. Yellow, bright, shining, as she has always been, just shadowed by someone who was envious of how burning her colors could be. Hence, she puts her phone down after turning it off, quite like he did whenever a fight ensued between the two and he would play the victim card with a pout to his lips. She thinks about it—the video she is supposed to edit, the pictures on her phone she has yet to delete and the revival, that word that speaks about new beginnings and definitely, a smirk that tells the past that she’s doing much better.

For now, she’s just alone in her apartment. With a bowl of noodles that has gone cold and a heart that is palpitating far too fast, for heartbreak isn’t easy, much less when it’s this open, but she can think of ways of getting back to Jay, whether the public knows it’s directly thrown his way or not.

She owes this man nothing.

“Jeonghan, I need you recording my shit. Not looking at your phone.”

With a hand quipping closed as if asking for Hansol’s lips to remain shut, Jeonghan remains as relaxed as he had been when they started recording this weekly’s recap. Though, while Hansol had been stumbling over his lines—as per usual on a Saturday morning, that’s the only time they could meet up because Seungcheol was going on a trip this weekend for his cousin’s wedding—, Jeonghan had frankly lost his mind to whatever is showcased in his phone. So far in the text he’s reading, which Hansol is certain is not a book, that he leaned back on one of the love seats in Hansol’s office, propped his knees to his chest in fetal position and lurked through whatever caught his interest like a lion looking for his prey.

“The moment you can get a word out without stuttering is the moment we start recording.” Jeonghan runs a hand through his black hair, covering the rudeness of his words with a soft smile. Hansol knows better than to take Jeonghan’s words close to heart, but still.

“I just needed some more coffee.”

Seungcheol enters the room then, with a new Starbucks drink since Hansol decided to steal his. “You drank my macchiato.” With a slap on the back of Hansol’s head, the man takes a seat on the other empty love-seat, as if there is not a whole video to be recorded and posted on Monday. “But Hansol’s not wrong. I have to get on that plane at four and it’s nine in the morning. We can get through this video if we just start recording it.”

Jeonghan doesn’t respond and Hansol takes this time to sigh deeply and toss his head back. Things were easier when posting a YouTube video wasn’t so…meticulous. At the beginning, just over eight years ago, Hansol had posted a video on social media that had gotten quite visibly viral. He had over a million views in just fourteen hours, breaking records somehow, making it to meme accounts and Vine compilations. Stupid as it could get, it was a video of Hansol wearing a swimming hat and those aesthetic sunglasses that resembled John Lennon’s style, with Jeonghan zooming in on the frame and him saying: ‘bitch’ before the video came to an end.

It had literally no context, but he made a living out of it.

That’s how he launched his career, changed the name and created an online persona. He called himself Zach, sporting bright and quite frankly unfitting outfits and making meme weekly recaps. He spoke about what was new on the Internet, made fun of some videos, never quite made it to the commentary channel spectrum but became a voice that over ten million people had subscribed to. No one knew that his real name was Hansol, or that he wasn’t as outspoken as he was in his videos. Never an opinion that breaks or makes a room.

Jeonghan grabs the coffee mug from Seungcheol’s hold, ignoring the man’s complaints to take a sip. “I think I have a topic we need to add to this week’s review.” He finally pulls away from his original position, biting down on his lip like he does when he has an idea that he can’t keep on the depths of his chest. “Have you heard about the newest drama with Jay Lee?”

Hansol crosses his arms across his chest, sitting on the edge of the desk that holds his computer, always in front of him in his videos. “Jay…Lee? Doesn’t ring a bell for me.”

“You know, the TikTok guy who makes POV’s videos.” Jeonghan urges on, tossing a glance towards Seungcheol who finally snatches his drink before giving a curt nod.

“Even I remember who he is.”

“How many guys don’t make ridiculous videos on TikTok?” Hansol prompts, only to have Jeonghan sighing.

“He was known on YouTube for his music videos and parodies. You know how that went a little bit downhill lately, so his niche has changed. Makes videos every once in a while.” Jeonghan includes in his narrative, turning his phone around to show a picture of a man he now recognizes. Damn, even in his beginnings as a YouTuber, Jay Lee already had a bunch of people under his name. With long, tossed back black hair, tattoos that scatter across a slim, tall body and a pair of glasses that always rest on the brim of his straight nose. He was of interest for a bunch of people on the Internet, even to this day.

“What about him?” Hansol questions, only to have Jeonghan clapping his hands once.

“He’s burning the Internet with his latest allegations. He was dating a commentary channel YouTuber, though they never accepted it, but he’s making the allegations that she cheated on him and has announced that he’s releasing a diss track to explain everything.” He’ll never understand how the world revolves around drama, but Jeonghan gives more explanation by saying her name and giving him the phone once again.

The picture shows a couple together with a fan, and he recognizes her with far more ease. He remembers last summer, when he would spend most of his afternoons laughing about her videos with the graphics she made. Very rarely does her face show on her videos, but she draws a little character that speaks, through her commentary, about the topic at hand. Always a show. A video. A meme. Hell, he thinks that she once talked about him on a video years ago.

Jay is much taller than her, with his arm wrapped around her shoulder, squishing their cheeks together as they hold peace signs, her hand interlocked with the young fan’s. They didn’t look necessarily in love, but close enough to it. Like the beginning of a love that had just started to flourish.

“What has he said?” Seungcheol questions, now interested in the topic.

“What hasn’t he said? He has spent the past three days creating a YouTube war. He has even dropped her name a few times, tagging her, asking her to be upfront because she has escaped the internet. MIA and all.”

Hansol can’t imagine how tough it is to go through a break-up where the other person is trying to plot everyone against her. Sure, he’s not certain if she cheated, but he takes his own phone to look through Twitter, seeing him post pictures of the two of them together—clearly personal, never seen by anyone but them—, adding thread after thread of how in love he was with her and how badly she broke his heart. It seemed like he was bleeding through a wound that was never quite as open as he made it out to be.

“What an asshole.” He mutters, getting closer to the computer and writing something down on his script. “I think we can add it to this week’s episode. The last bit. Just for a few clicks and because…he’s really getting out of control.”

“And everyone is supporting him.” Jeonghan adds, shrugging his shoulders. “Would be nice to give an opinion that isn’t sided one way or the other.”

“…That’s putting Hansol against a man that has just about the same following as him. Including him in the war isn’t going to do the channel any good.”

Hansol looks up at that moment, raising his eyebrows and weighting the options. Seungcheol isn’t wrong, but he knows this is a topic that needs to be talked about. Break ups on the internet. Where some people post videos crying and hugging for the last time, while others take their following to side with them as if it was a parent going through divorce.

“Yes, but this whole Zach character is about that. Speaking about what I think is wrong, right or funny…and these tweets? Stupid, borderline funny, over-line worrying.”

Seungcheol takes a sip of his macchiato, bringing a shoulder up in nonchalance. “I’ll have to take care of the mess after, but if that’s what’s going to bring the views, go for it.”

Is he really doing it for views, though? Or maybe, he just thinks it’s inherently wrong to destroy someone’s career that way, until they are too afraid to go on the internet because of hate. Jay Lee will have to learn a lesson about being made fun of.

@notthatjay_lee: glad to know the mystery’s resolved. @chwethatzach you’ve cleared the rumors up. song coming in three days!

Hyeji had said it seven months ago when she started liking Jay, as she flipped on tarot decks, spread them neatly on the coffee table between them, speaking through a cloud caused by the blunt between her lips. Jay Lee’s an imbecile, he’ll break your heart. She didn’t listen, because in her mind all men go through a phase of being overly-confident and, quite frankly, assholes. She opted to believe that Jay was willing to change and talk, venturing into a friendship and then, into whatever kind of relationship they had held that now is a complete disaster.

Her best friend, Moon Hyeji, runs her fingers through her dirty hair after showing her the tweet that Jay had just posted. Tagging her after, nonetheless. Hyeji, as wild as she is, with long locks of wavy hair and a rose tattoo on the column of her neck, had called Jay just a day ago, telling him to back off before she took legal actions. Taking it from the woman who is the daughter of one of the richest men in the country, a businessman nonetheless, Jay should have taken it a little bit more seriously. Hence, he doesn’t.

“What the fuck do I even have to do with that dude?” She questions, finally standing up from her position on Hyeji’s lap. Ever since this issue went to absolute hell, with the diss track incoming and a handful of people making drama videos about the timeline of their very short-lived relationship, Hyeji had travelled all the way from London to get here and eat piles of ice cream while bad-mouthing Jay. Only that it didn’t help her the slightest.

She wants to talk, but she doesn’t know how to go on about the issue. Fueling the problem even more if just going to have his fans speaking with more fervor, and just like how he doesn’t have proof of her cheating, she also doesn’t have anything to defend herself with about not cheating.

“There’s a video, apparently…” Hyeji roams through her phone with long nails before she displays her screen on the TV in front of them. The image that loads is of the start of a video of someone she knows somewhat well, for she really likes Zach Chwe’s videos, or at least, she can catch up on them every once in a while.

Zach has always been a little different than most. He feels like a true friend that one can talk with as he launches in that green chair of his, always wearing clothes that leave everything to the imagination and would have everyone talking about him. He’s wearing a tie-dye hoodie, as per usual in some of his videos, with an apron on top of it that reads ‘the chef’s dead’ and a pair of sunglasses that rest on top of his brown hair. His soft eyebrows move with each of his words, firstly greeting his audience, then speaking about the newest memes found on the internet.

“He must have spoken about your issue with Jay.”

“How so? He never talks about drama.” She asks, getting a look from Hyeji who clears her throat soon after.

“People believe he’s the one guy Jay is saying you cheated with.” Her best friend whispers, moving through the video, getting fast glimpses of Zach laughing, tossing his head back, speaking through slim lips and using his ring-cladded hands to express his points. Only three minutes before the video ends does the image of Jay with her and a fan comes on the screen, earning Hyeji a few taps on her shoulder.

“There! There! Stop the video there!”

The darkness of her room, reeking the smell of orange chicken and diet soda, is bathed in the light of Zach Chwe as he rolls on his chair and says: “There’s a reason us men are called assholes and I think it’s because Jay Lee exists. Okay, I’m not anyone to be putting my opinion here and I usually stay away from these things, so I’m not sure if she cheated or not…but isn’t it, at least, the best thing you can do to spell correctly as you’re dissing your ex?”

Then, the screen shows screenshots of Jay’s tweets, bathed in hate, writing in the worst possible way and yet, with a few errors.

She hadn’t noticed that as she got drowned into the drama that he had created, so she smiles for what feels like the first time this week.

“You don’t even spell that well, Zach!” Someone shouts from the background, and she knows Zach Chwe normally has his friends putting in some words for spice on his videos, but she actually laughs along with him.

“More of a reason to critique, I guess.” He shrugs his shoulders. “But hey, remember those Facebook videos we talked about a few weeks ago? If you haven’t checked it out, I’ll leave the link to that video on the description, but we were making fun about those mom videos where they make their daughters fearful of sending nudes because some creep will post them on their Facebook page. I thought men like that didn’t exist, until I figured out this whole Jay Lee thing. He’s a hair away from posting a picture of her feet, I tell you so.”

The video doesn’t last much long after that, with Zach making fun of Jay’s tweets and then, the camera zooming in on his face for an outro recalling his beginnings online. However, Hyeji has fallen silent, with her knees propped under her chin, using her free hand to caress the column of her ear, as always, seeking for a way of making her feel better through touch.

“This sounds…like the internet is going insane.” Hyeji then reaches for her phone, shaking in the air. “Come on, unlock it and turn on your notifications again!”

“What? Why?” She is not sure she’s ready to lurk through social media once again, Hyeji has been doing that for her instead, like her little manager, blocking the hate that gets real and personal.

“Jay is playing it off as if Zach Chwe is the one that you’re dating, or the one you cheated on him with.”

“I didn’t cheat on him—

“I know, but he’s trying to get views and I need to know if Zach’s team contacted you, so open that phone and get a pair of balls for what we’re about to face.”

A pair of balls would be little to what she needs once she opens Twitter and Instagram.

On Instagram, she has been tagged on a bunch of pictures. Headlines that include her profile picture on YouTube and Zach Chwe’s picture. Titles that go on the rampant lie of ‘YouTube Stars Zach Chwe and OfDrawingsAndWords on a relationship!’ scattering across her vision on every platform she comes across of.

“I’m doomed. Jay keeps winning no matter what I do—”

“Because you haven’t said anything. You’re protecting him even when he’s trying to destroy you.” Hyeji advices, pushing on her Instagram notifications until she sees it, a direct message from the YouTuber who is implicated on this drama with her, nonetheless. “So, you either take the reigns right here, right now or Jay Lee is going to drown your career before it even reached the shore.”

Shaking fingertips reach for the Instagram message, closing her eyes tightly until she opens it.

“Read it.”

“Come on…” Hyeji trails, clasping the phone in her hands. “I know it’s been tough, but I don’t need you hiding away.”

“I’m scared! This guy has nothing to do with me!” She screeches, slapping her hand on her shoulder only to have Hyeji looking at her. With that softness that characterizes her under all her strength.

“Alright…” Hyeji whispers, soon after reading out loud. “Hey, it’s Zach Chwe. I’m sorry that my comments involved us in a mess bigger than what you already had going on and my team and I want to make mends on the issue I just created. Do you mind talking about it, in person or with my PR team getting in contact with you? Sorry for the inconvenience once again.”

Hyeji takes in a deep breath before tossing herself onto the half-done bed.

“We’re talking about it in person.”

“…Uh, we’re not.” She finalizes, trying to snatch her phone back but Hyeji isn’t relenting. Though, she’s not as rude as one would imagine, she still consenting by looking her way and expecting her to change her mind. “Hyeji, I don’t want to see anyone right now. Jay’s blowing everything out of proportion—”

“Reason as to why you shouldn’t hide. Zach Chwe can be a great person to have on your side right now. The internet loves him, and now they’re not as cruel. You have to see the comments, people are torn just because he is involved.”

That makes her ponder, inspecting every portion of Hyeji’s face to find some fun or joke in her features, but she’s full-on serious. Not a drop of insecurity in those quirked eyebrows. She sighs deeply, taking the phone in her hands and seeing the sign that reads ‘you follow each other’. Why is it that people naturally gravitate towards what a man can say or not, even when she has been expecting to be trusted by anyone online and no one seemed to be by her side?

No one but him and a few people. Even the friends that she had collaborated with several times had taken his side.

Hence, she starts typing, not caring about the consequences of fueling the fire a little bit more, because she’s already getting burned, but she won’t relent without a fight.

“I’m down with meeting up so we can sort out how we will go on about this. You select the place and the time. Thank you for getting in contact, by the way!”

Hyeji places a kiss on top of her head, squishing her slim cheek against her scalp.

“We will get past this, love. I swear we will.”

She doesn’t think this unreasonable love war is anywhere near over, however.

“I sure hope we will.”

Hansol thinks making ramen is an art form. He does it when he’s nervous instead of nibbling on his bottom lip or tugging his black beanie down his ears for the umpteenth time. Only he would think it was a great idea to meet with one of his favorite social media creators on a fucking convenience store, but he feels protected by the quietness and the sweet buzzing of the microwave as he wishes upon a start that the stacks of cheese that he poured on his flaming hot noodles becomes a puddle at the bottom that relishes its exquisiteness.

So, maybe, he’s a bit nervous. Reason as to why he had lost his grip a bit when pouring the cheese on the ramen basket.

It passes him how she has been able to spend weeks receiving the messages she does, but the moment he posted that video, the narrative took another turn. Hell, he even thinks he has seen some edited videos of the two of them as a supposed ‘couple’. The song has been released, heard by thousands, even more news coming up about them and he’s…surprised. About the sheltering that came from his pseudonym and how the world is torn. Now, Jay shines as a real villain and people ponder if leaving him for Hansol was the right choice.

How in the hell he got in this situation is misunderstood by him?

However, he rubs on his eye after grabbing the ramen noodles and plopping them on the nearest table, he hears the bells by the door ringing, the worker too occupied in organizing the strawberry milks to even care about her, but he does. None of her pictures online would ever compare to how she looks in real life. With a gray turtleneck for the weather, face ridden of any makeup, sweater half-tucked into her pants and yet, as her sunglasses rest on the brim of her head, she looks like a whole…dream.

She reminds him of the warmth that comes from a gust of breath on top of freezing hands when winter drops around. They are just barely reaching fall, but the weather has fallen significantly. She stands in front of him, looking away from her phone before a small smile reaches the corner of her eyes, not adding a small ‘hi’ as he does with a wave of his hand, but something to the air between them nonetheless.

“You look different when you’re not mumbling ‘bitch’ into the camera.”

Breaking the ice, warming the air, significant matters that only she can do and does in the brink of a second. Hansol plops the two bowls of ramen on the table, watching as she scrunches her nose at the cheese to stir it within the mixture, but he tries not to think too much about his decision. Maybe, she’s just not fond of cheese.

“I take that as a good thing. I don’t call anyone ‘bitch’ unless I get a really good check out of it.” Hansol jokes around, soon after widening his eyes when she quirks an eyebrow at him, the corner of her mouth barely lifting in a smirk. “Not that I’d call you anything of the like. Gosh, I’m being stupid. Uh…hi, I’m Hansol.”

“You’ve already said hi.” She prompts, picking up some of the noodles and unlike him, who has already burned the bridge of his mouth, she twirls them on the chopsticks, blows on them and munches on the cheesy treat. “But I didn’t know you were called Hansol. I would’ve sworn on my life that your real name was Zach.”

He shakes his head. “I want my real life nicely divided from who I am as a person online. Not that I am much different, but Hansol’s the name that I have on my ID and that I use for personal matters, so I don’t want to mix the two.” He shrugs his shoulders soon after, saying her name and earning a nod from her. “Okay, so, uh…to the matter at hand, right?”

“Straight to the point.” She clears her throat, giving him a smile before reaching for the diet soda Hansol had brought. “So, half the internet thinks we are dating…and that you’re that supposed side guy that I had while dating Jay.”

He shouldn’t ask. Shit, this is Jeonghan speaking in his brain, telling him to fucking ask, but he’s curious. He heard the nonsensical beat that Jay released in the form of a diss track that now has fifteen million views, so… “Did you really cheat on him or is he taking everything out of context?”

She spreads her hands across her chest, defending herself. “Here’s the thing, I am a woman. Me breaking up with a guy just because I was unhappy in a relationship directly has to mean I cheated on him. For starters, I didn’t. I liked Jay even after the break-up, obviously until the moment he decided to blow everything out of proportion.” She explains, sighing deeply after. “I didn’t, for instance. I’m sorry that you got involved.”

“No, I am the one that should be sorry.” Hansol shakes his head, rubbing his eyebrow as if something was bothering him. “It’s just—No, I’m sorry but I don’t regret it. I had to talk about it. Part of it was because obviously, it’s a trending topic, but also because…no one deserves to get the hate you’re getting right now.”

She remains silent, playing with the straw in between strawberry lips. Not an ounce of makeup and yet, the inside looks as if they were bitten to utter perfection. Hansol’s embarrassed that he has liked every picture of hers on social media ever since they started following each other.

Things that the public had sadly taken account of and had completely used against them to prove a supposed relationship.

“I don’t regret it either. That you did that, I mean.” She counterparts. “Sure, I shouldn’t be thinking about revenge, but Jay has been so distraught and the public has turned against him, while also not being on my side. They are just on your side.” With a mellowness that, somehow, he thinks should never belong to her, for the twist of her lips on a downwards motion is a terrible contrast to the smile he saw earlier. “Reason as to why my friend got in contact with one of the people from your team. I don’t have a team myself—”

“I’m surprised I even have a team, so I don’t judge you.” Hansol’s eyes twinkle, remembering the words he had shared with Seungcheol earlier. After all, he’s the manager and the one—technically, for Hansol still has his input—in charge of what is posted on his channel or not. “Seungcheol, my manager, talked to me about what your friend and mine talked about.”

Seungcheol was not that happy about the exposure that Hansol got, but after a while, Jeonghan weighted the options and became a mastermind for what the internet was aiming to see. They wanted to learn the other side of the story, just because it would be told by one of the most liked characters in YouTube as of now. Zach Chwe, venturing into the world of a person that no one would have ever thought he’d be compatible with. To break all the rumors with a show, a mini web-series for the world to gnaw at while both teams earned money.

“For the record, I know it’s a difficult thing to think about. I wasn’t in for it at first.” Hansol explains, and he’s not sure he’s ready to have a different light casted on his channel, but Jeonghan was clear to say that he wasn’t intending on a dating show or a couple’s channel. Instead, he wanted something…vague. “They just want us to work on a challenge mini-series. We’d do stuff like go to haunted houses or anything of the like. To make people wonder if we really did date or we were just in it for the show. They’d give us views, hoping to find something or any clues, and we’d leave with a good paycheck and a big question mark after what we were.”

She continues eating, pondering with fluttering eyelashes and a sigh that gets trapped on her throat. “Yeah…I’m okay with it. I don’t think it’s a bad idea.” She responds, and Hansol thinks the deal is almost over, but she continues: “You’ll have to keep in mind that while there may be a huge wave of people loving our series together, you might also get a lot of hate. Jay did a great job at—”

“I don’t care.”

“Huh?”

“You’ll come to learn I don’t care about a lot of stuff. Hate? I don’t care.” Hansol explains, giving her a soft smile. “A wanking old man can tell me I’m the worst YouTuber he has ever seen, and I won’t take it to heart. I’m not a plate to be enjoyed by all.”

“Whoa…” She whispers, plucking a lot of noodles up to show it to him. “Not only are you the antonym of a lactose intolerant person, but you’re also awfully wise.”

“You’re welcome for the visit to the bathroom later.” Hansol comments, earning well-heard laughter by her. She tosses her head back and the laugh comes out in spurts. Odd and yet, cute.

“I’ll have to get used to those comments, Z—Hansol.”

“We’ll get used to each other. We have a whole season to plan, after all.”

WE VISITED A HAUNTED HOSPITAL? | EP. 1 S1 | ZACH CHWE

She’d kill Hansol for thinking of visiting a haunted hospital as the first topic of their new show, but she’s too scared to actually want to murder him right now. What if he came back as one of those ghosts who were supposedly here? She can’t risk it.

Drops of petrichor build on forgotten walls, where once were supposedly patients that needed help but were abandoned to a beckoning fire. Hansol said on the way here that he truly doubted the events happened. If the hospital was burned down to its core, why was it still standing and why were tickets sold for people to go through it like tourists in Sydney? She doesn’t have a clue. All that she knows is that they were placed on opposite ends of the hospital, bound to meet through clues, but she hasn’t been able to move from her position under a table.

She was aware that Hansol’s team and hers, which only includes Hyejin, had insisted on having jump-scares all around. One of those jump-scares could be Jeonghan in a clown uniform, but the moment she saw it, the moment she sprinted away. Now, she has been seated there for more than thirty minutes, ignoring her next mission and the door in front of her, with a beating heart and her knees pressed to her chest.

Great, she’s about to ruin their first episode.

Beheld with destiny, she thinks she’s about to shit her pants the moment she hears that old, wooden door creak under the weight of someone entering. Caught, she’s imagined to be, unable to discern between the group of people there to add spice to the video and the actual ghosts that are supposedly in this hospital. However, the first thing she sees are a pair of converses in light green and soon after, someone is kneeling in front of her.

Hansol’s long hair is clouded by a hoodie so thick his earlobes are red, or so she thinks that’s the reason, because his hand pats on the expanded leg of her jeans. Bell jeans were in once again, and she had opted to have them on her outfit. However, Hansol’s high cheekbones lift in a smile when he counterparts:

“If you’re really trying to hide from ghosts, having half of your leg out from underneath the table is not the way to go.” Hansol spares a look at the corner of the room, perhaps pinpointing where the camera is, before she shakes her head at him. She’s still a little shaken, letting out in a trembling tone what must be the most pathetic thing he’s ever heard.

“What if this place is actually haunted?”

“I don’t know percentages, but I am sure someone has died in every possible place on earth. Here, if it’s haunted, or anywhere.” Hansol drags himself under the table, sitting down next to her and taking up the same position she has, though he presses his cheek to the upper portion of his knees. “So, as a matter of fact, every place should be haunted.”

“You’re not helping.” She adds, turning her face to look at him and my God, is Chwe Hansol actually very handsome. He’s different from Jay, with higher cheeks, rounded eyebrows, and a color that resembles honey on tea in his irises. She should look away, not feed into the idea that people have of them being together, but they were meant to act as natural as possible for this show, and looking away has never been more difficult.

“…Said my mom as I helped with the dishes, and my sister after I met her first boyfriend. Helping is not really my biggest forte, but I try.” Hansol shows a full row of teeth when he smiles, like he does it without a care in this world. He probably does. Something about Hansol tells her that he doesn’t really care what people think of him. “But I found you, so I think that’s us winning the game, isn’t it?”

“Is this a park ride for you or something? You’re all smiley and shit.” She tells him, mimicking his smile though hers is a bit more crooked, like she’s trying to push it away so it doesn’t reach him as the most dumbfounded, surprised expression.

“I like this place.”

She feigns a ringing cellphone with a purr of her lips, folding her hand to mimic a phone only to be caught in between his digits, pressed to his ear as if he’s picking it up.

“Yes, hello?” He asks, fluttering eyelashes in between sweetened laughter. One would think that someone like Chwe Hansol was a punch of pink lemonade, but knowing he’s more like a very sweetened soda is a new occurrence.

“It’s your psychologist. He’s asking for another appointment.”

Hansol chuckles at her words, putting down her hand and yet, leaving her with a tingle that awakens in the pit of her stomach and blossoms like butterfly wings across her chest, filling her in with a breath so profound that every single one of her ribs expands with glee.

“They should.” With that, he stands up,extending a slim hand that wavers its fingers for her to grab. Once she does, she’s up her feet, chest to chest with a man who looks at her with pink lips closed together, hiding the row of teeth that she had grown so fond of in just minutes, for how beautiful and calming his smile could be. “I think we should get out and get to the exit—”

What they don’t expect is for the door to bang open, irrupting on their fort and creating a tense atmosphere when they come face to face with a clown, much of the like of what It could look like. And while Hansol laughs from the moment he sees it, she doesn’t. A shout trips from the back of her throat, much like herself, as she jumps onto Hansol’s back and feels his hands contracting against her thighs, catching her just in time. Her eyes, hidden by his neck, are barely touched by the long hairs on his nape that don’t get to be trapped in his beanie, and when she mumbles for them to leave, Hansol starts sprinting like his life depends on it.

Never does he stop laughing, though, as whoever is dressed on the clown outfit follows after them. He’s secure, for some reason, even when they don’t know each other very well, something about Hansol makes her feel as though she is protected. Sheltered from a world that had always been so tough, but with him is just a tiny bit more complex. And for Hansol, that’s okay.

Something tells her that Hansol doesn’t push himself to understand the majority of things. The reason why the world goes around the sun, or why so many people choose heartbreak. He knows he’s a particle, a mere second in a clock, a reason to laugh or a momentum to flee. While she lives through memories, Hansol relishes on breaths. On moments that are here and now, enjoyable and yet, somehow dreamy in the way that they go by so fast.

She doesn’t know him much, but when they reach the exit and the sun bathes them through peaks in between gray clouds, he is still holding her. Even when Seungcheol points Hansol’s camera at them and he’s talking, he still doesn’t let go of her. She hears a faint joke, a reason to part from his neck, but lord does she wish she would not have looked away.

For his face is too close and that mole on his temple is right there, valuable enough to catch her attention.

So, she drops herself to the floor, falling on her knees and raising her hands in the air before shouting to the camera:

“Good fucking Lord, we made it!”

And Hansol laughs, like he does in these situations, but how she wishes that laugh would not feel precisely like home should feel like.

Thirteen million views and just the third episode of the series has been posted. Now, that is breaking records.

She would have never believed the world would become a big number for her. Flop or not valued by the amount of people seeing you; regardless of interest or not. She seeks for that validation—much more after the break-up—. From people who don’t really know her, but love to give conspiracies about how Hansol and she met. They say they are together, and they don’t really deny it. The closer they get through episodes, the more people seem interested in it, and while she’s in the thrive for more—fame, success, whatever the fuck it is that is sedating her, Hansol stays…the same.

He invited her over to his place. So unorganized, just like his thoughts. He leaves his coats hanging on his poor couch, picking them up per demand, with splashes of coffee on the coffee table from early this morning still forgotten. Tonight, on this Saturday night, Hansol has brought soju with himself, licking off the remaining bits of his black bean noodles from his chopsticks. She still has a bit left on her place, but she has opted to sit with her head hanging from the sofa, looking at him from upside down, maybe a bit boozed because of the alcohol he had prepositioned for ‘idea organization’.

“What if we ate noodles on a rollercoaster?” They have planned up to episode ten. The end of the season, after all. But people have been asking for another season, and while it’s not confirmed, a company had ventured into the hardships of wanting to promote them for a second season and that meant giving them ideas on a silver platter in hopes of them liking it enough to support it monetarily.

“You want a POV of us vomiting on a camera. Got it.” She drags, inspecting the way his cheeks turn maroon and how he puts his bottle of soju down, giving her a smile that, if she had to describe, would call it extremely dumb.

“When you put it that way, sounds incredibly hot.”

“Ew, Hansol.” She has gotten used to calling him that name now, a month into their venture and almost four episodes in. Her head starts thumping and with four bottles of soju, she can’t stop thinking. Hansol has almost been like a bubble; he lets her see on the outside and still, protects her in some way. She knows that the death threads are still there, as well as the ongoing rumors with Jay that include her in a love triangle, but with him, recording and a new group of people around them, she has managed to lose herself a bit more. “I can’t think straight at this moment.”

“Probably because you’re losing blood flow.” Hansol drags himself closer to her, never lifting his butt of the ground, twisting her hair in a bun that falls the moment she sits up straight. Not because he told her so, or because she was afraid of losing oxygen in her brain, but rather the reason behind it was that Hansol was a little too close to her. Enough for her to see those beautiful speckles in her eyes.

Yes, so that’s the thing…Hansol is extremely pretty.

Awfully so.

In a drunken state, that’s multiplied by a hundred.

“What if we made a ‘Show Me The Money’ parody?”

Hansol shrugs. “I’d eat you up.”

“You think so?” She slurs, pressing her cheek to the edge of the couch and almost twitching when Hansol reaches for the corner of her joggers, pulling them down where they had bunched at her ankles. That’s when his skin comes in contact with hers, wrapping entirely around that portion of her leg and letting his thumb caress the joint behind it. “Mm, don’t do that.”

“S—Sorry.” And Hansol pulls away at that moment, cheeks even more flushed with the alcohol, eyes widened. “I—I didn’t…”

“It just feels nice.” She tells him in a whisper, dozing off and letting her eyes close as the only thing she can hear in the background is the faint sound of Drake’s latest record and, of course, his calm breathing. “…And I don’t like getting used to it. You don’t know how many times I’ve gotten used to things only for them to hurt me…after…”

It’s the alcohol talking and the sleepiness losing her, because she doesn’t remember what else she had said or why she falls asleep so fast. What she does remember is what she dreams. She sees Jay in dreams, remembering the way his palm fit so snugly around her knee, and how he’d trace the underside of it with how big his hand was. Now, she sees it in third person, in some cramped-up party of the like of those he went to, with his lips spread around another woman’s, doing the same thing he did to her, and somehow breaking apart the little threads left in her heart. Because that’s what men have always done to her—hurt her until she couldn’t recognize herself.

She awakens with sweat pooling at her neckline and breaths unarranged in a manner that has her clasping the first thing she feels. Hansol has turned down the lights, his back pressed to the edge of the couch, head lulled back in a way that will probably have him aching in the morning. His brown hair spreads on top of his forehead like vices, eyelashes straight and long, jaw squared yet somehow relaxed as his lips part. He’s snoring softly, barely audibly, laying there like he wouldn’t move even if the world ended.

So, she drags her hand across his forearm, feeling every bump and mountain of slim muscle until she reaches his knuckles and touches them, shaking his hand in hopes of getting him to open his eyes.

He doesn’t, but he does hum at the mention of his name.

“Hansol…I had a nightmare.” She has them often. Each time, she looks into the shadows of the night hoping for the real monsters to appear. Not the ones that make their guest appearance in horror movies, but the ones that actually hurt her. People that tarnished her heart in ways that now has it stopping from time to time. “I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, but could…could you please hold me? When I’m held, I can fall back asleep.”

“Yeah, sure.” He rasps out, dragging himself towards the couch as she makes him some space. He doesn’t talk about his room or taking up the bed, because he’s probably too sleepy to even care, when he places an arm under her head and lets him square a leg in between his just to make room for the two.

“I’m sorry for getting so close.”

He drags her until her face rests on his collarbone, humming what she can imagine is a ‘no’. “You’re not doing it for anything bad. It’s okay.” He whispers. “Is this tight enough?”

She looks up at him, eyes still closed. So naturally peaceful and yet, somehow blaring war noises inside her head. Ready to flee away just in case her stomach drops to the ground at the mere sight of him. “It’s perfect.”

Hansol shouldn’t feel perfect. Not if season two is ever going to happen.

Usually, the one with the cruel ideas is Jeonghan. Hyejin has finally met up to that standard. Her friend, not his, and that’s surprising. Hansol has to give her some props for the idea of the ninth episode.

‘Never Have I Ever’. He doesn’t think he has played the game since that one moment he joined college. Only recently did he get his degree, and the engineering degree normally doesn’t get invited to the kind of parties that have drinking games, but Hansol was friends with a bunch of people who would take any kind of game as a reason to drink. This one doesn’t include drinking, but it’s either eating something really nasty, laid in front of them on a picnic cloth—there are testicles in there, as far as he knows—or answering.

Hansol should be concentrated on making her eat the five meals that are meant to be eaten by her, but he is tranced by her. Has been since two weeks ago, when he decided that sharing a couch with her was a good idea. Not only did he have to walk away before she noticed that he had accidentally wrapped a hand around her waist while asleep, but he also had to fight off the thoughts that ventured into his head. He didn’t want to be the rebound, but that’s precisely what he would be if he tried to get with her. If he played the cards he does sometimes, when life is a little simpler, of rubbing the back of his neck and buying someone’s favorite Pokémon cards.

It doesn’t help that she has decided to look absolutely gorgeous while they sat on a bench, in a secluded park that Seungcheol had found fitting for filming. Roses scatter around them in the same color of red that splashes on her dress. A loving heart neckline that has him looking down and—fuck, Hansol, don’t be stupid. She’s way out of your league—

“Never have I ever…” She drags her voice while reaching into the hat that was placed nearby for them. He looks at the shape of her mouth, the length of her eyeliner and he wants to punch himself for a second. For staring with that intent, even with cameras around them. For feeling a bit protected in front of them just because everyone thinks they are dating. Or so. “Eaten or tasted earwax.”

“Do I have the face of a man that has tasted earwax?”

“Yes.” She responds, chuckling at him only to have him scrunching up his nose. He looks down at the plate that is served in front of him, this round’s beverage for anyone to enjoy. “Hansol, don’t tell me you have.”

“I’m not sure, but I was a weird kid! May have!” He tells her, picking up his chopsticks and biting into the testicles that he had repulsed from the moment the game started. She throws her head back, laughing like the child in her had awakened at his response, before she’s shaking her head and tossing the card to the side.

“You’re so nasty.”

“Tell me you haven’t done it.”

“Just because I am sure I did it as a kid as well, I’ll help you out with those testicles.” She picks up the chopsticks from his hands, giving it the slightest of bites before sticking out her tongue and dropping it to the ground. “Gross! Jeonghan, where the fuck did you find this stuff?”

“It was Cheol!”

The game continues, with the two of them a point away from either losing or winning. She has her legs spread in front of her, crossed by the ankles, waiting for him to read the card that he’s just opening when his eyes widen for a fraction of a second. Oh, this wasn’t Seungcheol. This has Hyejin’s name written all over it. He knows it because she has been wriggling her eyebrows whenever he makes his way past her, opting to tease him about the ‘obvious crush’ he has on her best friend.

“Never have I ever liked the person across from me.”

Hansol doesn’t move, and he should be drinking the broccoli lemonade that the team prepared, but she moves with a little more precision, as if her anatomy was made to act in cue. His heart stops when she grabs the glass and brings it up to those lips that had been burgundy red at the start of the recording to drink. She closes her eyes, tosses her head back, and gags at the taste, but Hansol is far too lost.

…She had liked him? Then? Now? When?

“Confessions, confessions. Always coming up from these videos.” She is more of a natural in front of the camera, taking his hand and bringing it up in the air as per a champion from a boxing fight. She has won him over, if only if she knew. “We’ve got ourselves a winner. Give a round of applause for Zach Chwe, everyone!”

Hansol can’t even smile. He’s dumbfounded, staring at her profile and seeing her grin in such an easy going way. Though, the moment they say their goodbyes from the video, she pulls away from him, clearing her throat and looking at him as if she expects an answer. One that never comes and leaves him just to stand up, excuse himself out of the park and lock himself in the nearest bathroom.

Being the rebound is not what he wants, but God, would he be lying to himself if he didn’t accept he has liked her for longer than he’d want to admit.

Two months pass by. The first season becomes a success and still, not a word has been uttered about that episode. The subscribers’ favorite episode, but the forgotten episode for those who were involved.

No one asks questions when they come together for VidCon. It feels natural, actually. She doesn’t think she would have been able to just go on her own anymore. As some kind of way the world had planned it, Hansol feels like her counterpart in whatever this is right now. Friendship, work, whatever they have garnered together that people seem to love enough to have a panel for them, where they speak to fans and take pictures together. She notices then that she’s not the only person awestruck by Hansol’s beauty, even when that’s obvious at this point. He looks like a daydream in his black t-shirt, rounded glasses and skinny jeans, smiling in pictures and even joking around with fans.

Sometimes, she just looks at him from the side and blames him for it. For letting things slide so smoothly in between the two after that forbidden episode. He never said a word, neither did he try to clear her head with a kiss to her lips or even a strict ‘no’ that would have her moving on. It’s his fault for being likeable; for giving her a necklace with her initial as a celebration when their first season became a success. For him to receive her with a bowl of noodles for every recording they had each week. For him to tag her on stupid memes on Twitter, not giving a care what anyone could say.

The venue is packed and Hansol gets a little too lost on conversations with a fan that is talking about his beginnings as a gamer—that wasn’t really good to start with—when she feels someone tapping her on the shoulder. Her hips move from the edge of their table, where an enormous poster of the publicity image for the first season of their show spreads in the background, to turn around and respond to the subscriber that was trying to get her attention. Nonetheless, like a clashing thunder in a summer day, Jay stands there looking like the oddest thing she has seen in the past three months.

Because she’s not used to him anymore. Neither has she felt like she was truly comfortable with the idea of him. He’s a few heads taller than her, with his black hair pushed back and the sleeves of his shirt dragged up to showcase his tattoos. He’s smiling when he greets her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and hugging her briefly before he pulls away. They are lucky that is not peak hour and most people have scattered to look at the music presentation that was taking place.

“Jay?” She questions, only to have him smiling proudly, like he would do whenever he got recognized in public.

“The one and only. I had to pass by when I heard you were making it to this year’s convention.” His dark brown eyes splay across the poster behind them, trailing after every detail of the image of Hansol wrapping an arm around her shoulder, both smiling at the camera as they spread their hands in peace signs, smiling gleefully. “Haven’t watched a season of the show, but I might start. It’s fucking everywhere.”

She should not talk to him, but she scoffs at his words, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms across her chest to portray just how closed she is to him, but she doesn’t miss her sarcastic smile. Not an ounce of hate is within her chest anymore, but she recalls the wounds he opened just to make bigger ones. “…Mhm, it’s not the type of show you’d watch. Too much of a big brainer.”

“Oh, come on, you know I’m smarter than I look.”

For the way he plotted the entire internet against her, she knows for a fact Jay could very much be a lawyer or an astronaut if he wanted to. Misspells or not. “I’m certain. I’ve never doubted you’re a cunning, smart little shit.”

“I like that. Might make it my new motto.” Before Jay could venture into more of a conversation, her waist is grounded by a pair of thin arms wrapping around them. Soft skin connecting with her through the fabric of her pink hoodie has her looking back to see that Hansol is hugging her from behind, hiding his hands on the pockets of her hoodie and pressing his chin to her shoulder before whispering into her ear.

“We’ve got stuff to do, remember? Like organizing our things at the hotel and sign some posters for tomorrow…” He never rushes with those things, but at the presence of Jay, Hansol’s a bit more masculine and selfish with time. When she tries to answer him, far too lost in the beauty of him now that he has pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head, pulling the strands of his hair back, his golden eyes have settled on Jay, not even sparing him a grin out of courtesy. “I’ll have to snatch her away from you.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me.” Jay adds, aiming to hurt and taint, but Hansol doesn’t let him. Instead, he pulls her by the strings of her hoodie, interlocking their hands together before speaking closely to her face.

“So, are we going?”

It’s not a doubt that she says ‘yes’. After all, if her heart had grown a bond for Hansol without him touching her that way, having a glimpse of what it could be like to be with him has her brain going feverish.

Hansol is certain about many things. That he likes the color green. He loves tie dye hoodies. That he would die in a beanie if he could. He enjoys weird scary shows, and he would marathon the entirety of Scream in a minute. He is also certain that he doesn’t want to talk to her, as they sit across from each other in his hotel room. Not just because, but for the matter that she was talking to the ex that had done anything in his willpower to push her to be absolutely nothing.

He sits on a brown leather couch, working diligently on signing posters while she has opted not to do so. For the past ten minutes, she has ventured into all the possible conversation topics in order to get him to look up, even smile, but while Hansol likes living his life in tranquility, he also has his angered moments. His blood felt like it had rushed to his knuckles from how tight he was holding them closed when he saw Jay. He couldn’t bear but admit to himself that, while he had opted not to think about her in that light, the idea of her going back to Jay and not with him infuriated him. Sure, she wasn’t his—neither was she anybody’s, for that matter—but if someone had to have her as the person by their side, it had to be him. Right?

Anyone but fucking Jay Lee.

But preferably him.

Yet, she knows how to get the world to look at her with eyes that had been rose-colored by her voice and eyes alone. After ten minutes, she knows that he won’t talk to her and when the beads of silence surround the cream-colored room, he almost imagines that she has left. Only that he gets to see her jean-cladded thighs standing in front of his knees, his eyes darting to her face for a fraction of a second until he sees her. The closeness, the little smile that splays in the corner of her mouth, and that wave to her eyebrows that tells him that she’s a bit confused, amused, but also a tad annoyed.

“Why are you angry at me? I haven’t done anything to get the silent treatment.” God, she’s one of the smartest women he has met. With the way she can think of matters in the spot and make a drawing on the screen the most interesting thing in the world. He knows her commentaries on movies are the most precise, intelligent words that could be said, and yet, he wishes she could wake up and realize that he has been here, all along, for three months and even a bit more, liking her like a complete fool. “Hansol, you either talk to me or you talk to me. I’m not giving you another option.”

“That man was…okay, I’ll talk to you.” Hansol stops himself when he hears just how mortified he sounds when he starts talking, putting the poster he was signing to the side, laying on the table next to him with the other pile of posters. Soon after, he’s spreading his hands on the armrest, leaning back on the couch. “Jay has done nothing but make your life an absolute hell and there you go, just being nice to him, letting him hug you and talk to you—”

“Hold up,” She interrupts him, spreading a hand on her waist. “If I just ignore him or treat him like shit, I’m giving him even more of a reason to talk. I’ll be the first to admit to say that the stuff Jay put me through wounded me in ways that will take more than a few months to work through, but I also don’t want to give him the benefit of being aware of how much he hurt me.”

Hansol can understand that, but he also knows what men like Jay think. He runs his fingers through his hair, groaning through half-parted lips. “He probably thinks he still has you on the palm of his hand.”

“He doesn’t.” She shrugs. “So, what’s the problem?”

“I don’t want to see you with him. That is the problem.” Hansol says, standing up and staring at her, face-to-face. “I know you won’t go back to him but it makes me angry to think you ever thought of being with him. Not only doesn’t he match up with you on looks, but he never deserved you. You could put him on a pan and drop an entire bag of salt on him and Jay Lee would still be flavorless. The biggest mistake you could ever make, and the thought alone of him wanting to be with you—”

“I don’t want to be with him.”

“Yes, but…” You also don’t want to be with me, he completes for himself. Sure, she had once said she liked him, but what reassures him that it wasn’t just for the camera?

“You’re making a big deal out of it!”

“I fucking know!” He exclaims, widening his eyes.

“Then?”

“I will make everything that happens to you a big deal because I care for you. I’ve liked you for God-knows how long. Sorry for getting jealous, but I don’t regret it one—”

She interrupts him before he could say anything else, with her lips spreading across his, savoring the tremor of his mouth before he opens it to the granting touch of her tongue. His bottom lip fits between hers as if they were made for her, her hands gravitating to his waist and pulling him closer, though the fact that she was the one to make the first move did not stop Hansol from adding his own motions. His hands spread on the back of her neck, thumbs coming in contact on the column of her throat and dragging a sweet stripe down, rising goosebumps all over her skin. Hansol tilts his head to the side, a cloud of humidity building from the breath he lets out before kissing her lazily, albeit strongly, like he knows he doesn’t have to do much to do it right.

She would like to punch him, ask him why he never did anything when she confessed to liking him in that video, but Hansol has seated back on the chair, hands landing on her hips as he continues to kiss her, and her thighs part to settle comfortably on his lap. When she pulls away from him, lips tainted in that romantic shade of pink that he leaves everywhere he goes, she traces the outline of his mouth with a peck before she goes down to his neck, hiding in there for a second.

“You had me guessing for so long, Hansol. That’s what assholes do.”

Hansol’s hands rub at her hips, one of the portions she’s more insecure about, but with him it just feels right. “I don’t want to be your rebound.” He tells her, grabbing her by her chin before pushing their lips together once again. He keeps his eyes closed when he speaks against her mouth, just minutes after biting on her bottom lip. “Please, don’t let me be a rebound. If I am, stop me now.”

She’d be crazy to stop him. Not when his mouth looks like a rose petal and her heart feels the more at ease she has felt in a while. Sure, this is always the start of every romance. She knows that men feel comfortable before they destroy her heart even worse than the last time, but something tells her that this is not the case with Hansol. She closes her eyes, venturing into the shape of his mouth to trace it like the map she should have followed a long time ago.

For now, she’ll get lost in him, in the way he makes her feel like she’s the newest star in the sky and he’s drawing it himself. Calling her something that goes unnamed for now.

The word ‘for now’ is so funny. It prolongs in time, so much that three months turn into six, and then, an entire year.

She had said that Hansol’s idea was a ‘for now’. That him, as a person, was temporary as it gets, but the clock was making fun of her as she rushes to his car, holding onto the coldest coffee she could get at this hour of the morning. Some people feel comfortable, not because they are colored certain way or how they make you feel, but what you two make together. Blue and green are colors on their own, but together they make something different. The creation of new matters is what makes the world a little bit more interesting.

Hansol doesn’t enjoy mornings, not after a short night of sleep, and that may be her fault, but with the way he smiles at her when she opens the car’s door, she’s sure he has forgiven her. For how great they felt last night, she’s sure that there were no grudges held. A camera is pointed her way, though she knows that the second season of their show is still being published on her channel and, no way in hell, he would ever post the videos he takes of her. Little vlogs to remember what it was like here, now, forever. God, forever sounds amazing with Hansol.

“Here we have a whole coffee addict, making her way to my sick Porsche.”

“It’s a Toyota, Hansol. Sit the fuck down.” She completes, entering the car and pushing her hair over her shoulder, leaning over the seat to let him taste the coffee. That makes the camera a little too close to her face, laughing and pushing it to the side the slightest. “I’m sure I don’t look that good in that angle.”

“You don’t, but real love will make me say you do.” He completes, sipping a few more times into her coffee before giving it back to her. He has the hood of his shirt all the way over his dark hair, turning off the camera and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before he starts the car.

Talking about their relationship in public was forbidden, for she doesn’t want to blur the line in between the faux relationship and what became real. In fact, it happened with its bumps along the road. She can’t say that everything has been easy, that sometimes her nightmares don’t wake her up with the idea of Hansol leaving one day, or not precisely leaving her, but stomping on her heart before he flees away, but that idea alone is pushed away with a served kiss and a few words that save her from doubting. Hansol is not much of a talker and yet, when he opens those lips of his, he always seems to say the right thing.

So, while the subscribers have never gotten a real video of them admitting to their relationship, it’s almost public notice. She sips on her drink, looking at his profile and the tranquility of him before asking.

“So, I saw a Tweet not too long ago. As I was waiting for coffee, actually.”

“From who?” His voice grows serious, expecting to hear anything from Jay or anyone else on the internet, but she calms him down by interlocking their fingers together, tracing the small promise ring on his finger with her thumb.

“From a subscriber that wanted to point out our supposed beginnings.” She likes looking at those conspiracies from time to time. They are so ridiculous that she can’t help but be amused by how close and obsessed people can get from someone they saw on the internet. Well, as long as it’s kept like a good momentum on someone’s life, and they know not to blur the line, she’s sure it’s okay. “The first picture you liked of me was on April 18th, three years ago. It was a picture of me on my desk, looking down at my I-Pad as I drew, working on my next video.”

Hansol twists his head to the side, laughing to himself a bit before nodding. “I remember that picture.”

“You do?”

“I do.” He looks at her for a fraction of a second before bringing their interlocked hands up, giving it a soft kiss. “Your hair was shorter then. Way shorter. I thought you were pretty.”

“Sometimes, I wish I had met you earlier.”

“Huh, earlier wasn’t our time, I guess.” Hansol responds, letting go of her hand to grab her coffee.

Holding her breath, she looks at his sleepy profile. At him as a person. It has been so long and yet, the words don’t weight on her mouth when she opts to mumble it for the first time:

“I love you, Hansol.”

His eyes twinkle when she says those words, spreading a smile into his face that show all his teeth before he gnaws at his bottom lip.

“I love you, too.”

[sugalaritae]

the hat (m) - myg

summary: Your world famous boyfriend has just worn his hat to your apartment. It starts things.

pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

genre: smut, fluff

au: idol, established relationship

rating: 18+

word count: 2,688 (unedited - i'm lazy, ok?)

warnings: yoongi's ridiculous and sexy hat is worn, yoongi is a bit of a silly man, penetrative sex occurs, lots of kissing, talk of being in "control", unprotected sex (wrap it up!), creampie

author's note: i'm not entirely sure what this is, sort of inspired by a line i wrote in this drabble and then the conversation that @minttangerines and i had about this scene. it's kind of chaos, completely unedited (so excuse the mistakes) ... happy birthday yoongi!

It all starts with the hat.

The wonderful and absurd hat.

The hat with its gray (polyester) outside that reminds you of pants you owned in the 90s, the kind that made a noise every time you took a step (you had loved that noise when you were younger and once, Yoongi mentioned that he had too). Then there is the white lining, not quite sherpa fleece but something close to it. 

He looks good in hats. 

No. 

He looks excellent in hats — the beanies he wears just slightly above his ears, the baseball caps that make him look simultaneously like a sexy father and the cool-as-shit rapper that he is, the bucket hats that he wears when he doesn’t want to be perceived but has to be — but he looks particularly excellent in this hat. 

It all starts with him coming into your apartment (after a long trip to the States) wearing that hat.

It’s not particularly cold out, but that isn’t what surprises you about it; it’s the fact that he’s wearing it in an apartment building that is not his own and it is … a very recognized hat. 

The hat! Known to be worn by Min Yoongi, Suga of BTS, Agust D. 

Sure, he’s wearing a hood overtop of the hat (you’re not entirely sure how it’s possible but it makes the hat look better), but still you stop a few feet away from the little area where shoes go. He stops too (shoe still on) and looks at you. 

“What?” 

Your gaze shoots to the hat. 

“You’re wearing the hat!” 

He reaches up and slips a finger under the strap of his mask and pulls it off with ease and grace (god! Why does he look good doing that?). 

“It’s supposed to be cold tomorrow, I wanted to wear it. What’s the problem?” he asks as he looks down and undoes the laces of his Nikes (his pure almost mint condition Jordan’s). 

The fact that he’s doing something else while asking the question means that he honestly has no idea what you’re thinking or worrying about. That’s something you’ve learned in the almost year of being in a relationship with him — If he’s doing something else when he’s asking questions it means that he hasn’t thought about it the way you’re thinking about it — and it has caused many a fight. Especially at the beginning. 

“What if someone recognized you?” 

You know that you might be a little too worried, obviously it’s not something he thought about and therefore it means that maybe you shouldn’t think about it too. 

He looks up from his shoes, moving his head in what must be an awkward position as he has to look out from under the brim of his hat that he has pushed up, but given his position of being hunched over, hand still on the laces, he smiles at you. 

“You worried?” 

You nod as a feeling of frustration bubbles up in your chest. Of course you’re worried. You’ve been with him long enough to know that you would like to spend the rest of your life with him but short enough to still be scared of someone finding out and your whole world shifting in a matter of seconds and thousands of tweets. 

“Yes,” you reply. 

You watch as his smile falls just a little with one corner of still meeting his eyes. You’ve seen that look before, the one that tells you he’s entertained by you. It’s a look that you sometimes think is annoying. 

Now, you’re not sure how you feel about it because it both makes you feel silly and makes you feel loved. 

Because oh! How he loves you. 

Finally he steps out of his shoes and into your apartment, walking toward you with his gaze locked on yours. 

Sometimes, when he looks at you, really looks at you, it takes your breath away. Knocks you on your metaphorical feet because he looks at you like you’re the only person he’s ever looked at (which you know to be not true given that he looks at literally thousands of people when he’s performing). 

With his gaze touching you first, his hands touch you second. Those fingers sliding up your bare arm and onto your biceps. The calluses on his fingers (he’s been playing guitar in an almost hyper-fixated way) meet the small little bumps and edges of your stretch marks that decorate your skin in a gentle reminder that you both are human beings (Something that some people forget). 

You look up at him. 

“Jagi,” he says softly. “Jagiya.” 

“Hmmm?” 

“You don’t have to worry. I’m not worried. I wouldn’t have worn it if I was,” he says, confirming that you are being foolish.  “Lots of people have this hat.” 

Your face squishes into a small pout and it makes him let out an entertained breath of air. 

“Lovely,” he whispers and then kisses you softly as his hands move up to your neck, one traveling further to your chin and jaw. 

You melt into the kiss. 

It’s chaste and gentle. You’ve learned he is often like this. His moods are like where the ocean meets the shore — sometimes hard, pushy, and demanding; sometimes gentle, calm, loving, moving with everything around him and then silly, playful, and foolish — he is ever changing. 

He breaks the kiss and his thumb moves over your cheek. 

For a moment he stays like this. Just watching you until your eyes flutter shut and all anxiety and worry slips down your spine, drips onto the floor, and disappears into the space between your apartment and your neighbors. 

Then, suddenly he clears his throat in a shocking noise that forces your eyes open with surprise, he drops his hands and walks around you, smacking your ass on the way.

“Now! What’s for dinner?” he asks. 

“You jerk!” you laugh as he opens one of your cupboards and looks inside for things he could make into something that resembles a meal. 

He peers out from behind the door for a moment and winks at you before his face disappears again. 

You shake your head with surprise, taking a moment to mix the feeling of being looked at and kissed with this one. Slowly, they settle into some sort of sweet and silly feeling that pools in your cheeks. 

You walk to him and wrap your hands around his waist and lean over his back to peek into your very empty cupboards. 

“We’re going to have to order in,” you say in a sly tone. 

“Was this your plan?” he asks. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about?” 

He moves his head to the side in a move of disappointment and clicks his tongue against his teeth. 

“What am I going to do with you?” he asks in his deep, dark, whiskey smooth voice. 

Your mind whirs at his tone. 

He knows it has an effect on you and will stop your brain. He knows this and while your brain short circuits he spins around and grabs you by your waist pulling a surprised shriek of delight out of you. 

He lifts you for a moment and wraps his arms around you to protect you as he guides you into your small living room (really the apartment is just one large room with a loft that looks over the rest). 

His fingers find your ticklish spot on your lower back and the room fills with your laughter and his breath. Which is hot against your neck. 

“Yoongi!!” you cry as you fall onto the couch with him on top of you. 

He is heavier than people might imagine (months at the gym and in pilates class) but he balances most of his weight on his knee that is pressed to the couch between your legs and onto his hand just above where his face presses into your neck. 

He stops tickling you and your breath moves from laughter into something more serious, determined, and lusty. 

“Jagi” he breathes against your neck and for a moment both of your bodies are completely still. 

Then, almost as if you can read each other’s minds, you are kissing, hands working and clashing together to undo each other’s jeans. 

He tastes like coffee. 

Your hands succeed and push the zipper down before you move both hands into his hair and push the hat off, it falls awkwardly against your head (breaking the kiss for a moment) and then onto the couch. 

He breaks the kiss then and pulls back. Your chest rises and falls, clothes pushed up and down on both your bodies, and you watch him with a slightly confused look. 

“What?” 

He looks at the hat and then at you and grins. 

“Come here,” he says and pat his leg before he moves to sit against the back of the couch. 

You move to straddle him but he stops you. 

“These need to come off,” he whispers (in that tone again) and points to your shirt (his, actually) and your jeans. 

With weak knees you stand and slowly slip your shirt over your head. You aren’t wearing a bra and his gaze lazily moves over how they rest against your body. He raises his hand and gestures for you to come closer. You do. Your hips swaying with each step all because of how he looks at you and how it makes you feel. 

Slowly (fucking painfully slowly) he reaches up and slips the very tips of his fingers down your collarbone, then sternum, until he meets the soft curve of your breast and he traces it; following the the movements of your body like they are notes he has played before and is hearing in a cleaner sound. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. 

You shiver. 

He takes your jeans off of your body. Those callused hands moving gently over marked skin, and then as he pulls the denim down, onto the floor, he presses a kiss to your stomach. 

You shiver and slip your hands into his hair again, down his neck and back until you reach the hem of his sweater and pull on it. 

He undresses as you stand watching. Your gaze drifts over how each muscle group moves and works with the others as he pulls off sweater, then shirt, and throws them aside. He arches up on the couch (slightly awkwardly) as he pushes his jeans down and you watch, amused, as he struggles with them until he lifts his legs and nods at them with a playful smile. 

You laugh as you step back to grab and tug them off him. 

Finally you move to his lap and sit down. He kisses you again, fingers dragging over your neck, then shoulders, and down your back. 

“Yoongi,” you whisper against his lips.

“Yeah?” 

“Fuck me, please.” 

He smiles against your lips before he bites your bottom lip. 

“Needy.”

“You started this,” you whisper. 

He lets out another entertained scoff and pulls back to look at you. He studies you for a moment and you can feel the frustrated heat grow in your chest as your excitement slips down your lips and onto your thigh. You push against him, rubbing yourself against his clothed erection (wait! Why the fuck is he still wearing his boxers?). 

He moans.

“Something is off,” he says, still studying you.

“Yoongi, if you make me move because you forgot to take your boxers off, I am going to go into that bedroom and make you listen to me finish myself off.” 

He smirks at this and then shakes his head. 

“The hat.” 

“What?!”

“The hat. You should wear the hat.” 

He says it so casually before he reaches over to grab the hat and plops it down on your head. 

He nods. “Yup, much better.” 

You frown. 

“Take it off and I stop.” 

You stick your tongue out at him and he leans forward and kisses the tip gently which makes you sputter and laugh. 

He moves his hands between your bodies.

“Mmmm,” he moans. “No need for lube this time?” he asks.

“Don’t question it, hat man,” you say as you pull him into a kiss. 

He smiles into the kiss and his fingers dance over your thrumming clit. He moves his finger over it in the way he knows you like it and your body reacts. This is what you want from him but it’s not enough. Your body is screaming more, more, more, more!

“I need you,” you whisper against his lips and he nods, separating his hand from you and you feel him pull the materials of his underpants down his thighs. You shift to help him and then you feel him against your wet folds. 

He moans deep in his throat as he moves the head of his dick along you, gathering as much of your excitement on himself before he slowly (and carefully) pushes in. 

(He stops for a moment as you wince and then with a nod from you, he continues.) 

“Fuck,” you both breathe out and swallow the other’s word. 

You begin to ride him, taking your time, adjusting. His hands roam your body. His mouth falls from your lips to your breast and licks and kisses your nipples. He moves to look at you and laughs. 

“The hat!” 

You slap his chest, trying desperately to hold in your own laugh, before he pushes into you. 

It goes like that for a few moments, laughter mixed with the moans, rising in the apartment like heat in an oven. 

Until finally, the two of you slip back into the feel of each other’s bodies. He presses his thumb to your clit and moves it with you. You ride him fast then slow until he pushes back into you in a sign that he’s desperate for you.

“Stop torturing me,” he says against your neck. 

“I’m wearing the hat, it means I’m in control.” 

He chuckles.

“Oh is that what it means?” he asks as he pushes into you causing you to moan loudly. “That’s what I thought.” 

You slap his chest again and before you can get your bearings he wraps his arm around your waist and guides the two of you down onto the floor. He towers above you, taking in the surprised look on your face. 

“If you think this means you’re in charge then give it back to me” he says as he grabs the hat off your head and pulls it onto his. He smirks (bastard looks so good in that fucking hat, with that fucking smirk) and pushes back into you. 

“Oh! Fuck!” 

He is in charge and he is desperate. His movements are quick and deep. You can feel the stretch around him as you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him closer to you. He groans at this slight change and thrusts faster, almost relentlessly so, until you can feel the build. 

“I’m —” 

“Come,” he commands, then kisses you. 

He kisses hard, your eyes shut tight as you concentrate on the feeling in your core, the ache in your legs, the rug under your back. Then you come. He doesn’t stop, only encourages you to be louder (which you do), and then he comes moments after you. You feel him twitch inside and against your walls. 

For a moment your breaths sync, his head resting against your chest as you hold him against you. 

“So,” he says as he separates from you and leans against the couch, fixing his boxers (you’ll shower soon). “Chicken for dinner?” 

You shake your head, “I want bulgogi gimbap.” 

He sighs and shrugs, “I’m wearing the hat.” 

You exhale with feigned anger and move, only to feel the mess he left inside you slip out of you. 

“You jerk! I can’t move without making a mess and I want gimbap!” 

He smirks. Shrugs. 

“I’m wearing the hat, means I’m in control,” he says. 

(He buys you gimbap.)