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outlawinthisworld1117 · 2 months

Text

And they were roommates…

☆ pairing: Mingi x (fem)reader

☆ genre: Friends to Lovers. Fluff. A sprinkle of angst. Slow burn? I guess…

☆ summary: KQ was holding the raffle of a lifetime - the opportunity to live with Ateez for an entire year. As someone who isn't particularly a K-pop fan, you were intrigued by the opportunity to travel with free housing. You didn’t think that you would actually end up winning… nor that you’d end up getting close to a certain member.

☆ warnings: toxic bf (not Mingi), some cursing, nsfw? suggestive material, mentions of cheating (again, not Mingi), some poorly written angst, there could be more but I don’t think so??

☆ word count: 14.5k (I went a bit insane for my first fic. I could probably cut it down, but I’m not gonna :P)

☆ authors note: This is heavily based on a scenario I had in my notes app for months. Mingi is my Ult! and I’m a hopeless romantic, which was a huge inspiration for this story. This work is fiction and purely self-indulgent (really as all fanfics should be), it doesn’t reflect any of the members personally. Also, I know that Mingi isn’t afraid of heights and actually enjoys rollercoasters, but for the sake of my 20th Century Girl reference… I had to make him the ultimate scaredy cat. Also, Yn is supposed to be the nickname version of Y/N… Enjoy!

Eight pairs of eyes are locked onto you as you awkwardly smiled back at them, waving ever so slightly. Eight of the most stunning men you’ve ever encountered stood before you, and one of them had particularly captivated your attention. His intense gaze, defined nose, and grown-out bleached hair pulled you in, igniting a spark of excitement within you. His stare burned into your very soul, making you break your gaze and scream internally, overwhelmed by self-consciousness, Jesus H. Christ… how did I end up here???

—Two Weeks Prior—

(translator mode on :3, Hinata is Japanese)

Hinata: -Yn, look at this-

You catch sight of the notification glowing on your phone, and curiously you click the link your friend sent you.

-Win a once-in-a-lifetime chance to live with ATEEZ for an ENTIRE YEAR!!! Simply sign up through email, and you could be our lucky winner! If you’re chosen, you’ll receive free housing, travel expenses covered, an incredible job working alongside ATEEZ, and the opportunity to become friends with the group!-

You scoff, wondering, What is this? It seems like a scam. Your phone pings once more, a new message from your friend lighting up the screen.

Hinata: -I thought it was fake at first, but look!!! The raffle is posted on the official Instagram!! *screenshotted post*-

You: -Hina…you are the K-pop fan, what are you telling me for?-

Hinata: -You have been nonstop talking about wanting to travel somewhere you have never been before. Why not take the chance? Just sign up for the raffle. What harm could it do?-

You: -I don’t know, but it’s not very likely I’ll win anyway.-

Hinata: -So? It’s not likely you’ll get struck by lightning either, but we both know that it is still possible. Just do it!-

You: -Fine. Though you have to promise me that you won’t be mad at me if I win. I know how much you love those guys.-

Hinata: -Trust me, I will not be mad. I applied and if I win I’m giving it to you. I love them, but I will not be able to function if I am around them. Ironically, my biggest fear is meeting Ateez lol :3-

-Plus, you know how to speak Korean pretty well because of school, whereas I can hardly speak the only language I do know…</3-

Smiling at your friend’s text, you opened up the website for the raffle on your phone and signed up, thinking with a hint of sarcasm, I’m probably more likely to get struck by lightning… may the odds forever be in my favor, right? Little did you know that just a week later, you’d receive an ear-piercing call from Hinata, her voice bursting with excitement as she screamed that you won the raffle.

The next week was a complete blur for you. Phone calls with KQ executives, packing bags, and getting on a plane bound for Seoul, South Korea. Your head felt so strange as if you were wearing a large fishbowl; everything you heard echoed, yet at the same time was also muffled. Your knuckles were nearly white from the grip you had on your carry-on’s handle. The rhythmic pounding in your chest was so fast you feared your heart might leap out, prompting you to sit down in your cozy window seat and take deep, calming breaths. You reminded yourself that change was a gift, and this was an opportunity of a lifetime. Hinata was beyond excited for you, so why shouldn’t you feel the same for yourself? Finally, a chance to embark on your long-held dream of traveling abroad, and luckily for you, you already had a very solid grasp on the language… it’s almost like it was fate. You shook your head, Fate? Please, since when do you believe in such silly things. You closed your eyes as the plane took off, willing yourself to sleep for the duration of the flight.

—Present Day/End of Spring—

The eight men in front of you began to speak, starting from left to right, introducing themselves one at a time. The eldest, had long, dark hair framing his face, a comforting smile, and eyes full of curiosity. His name, Park Seonghwa. The way he carried himself instilled an overwhelming sense of safety within you, and in that moment, you just knew you would get along well.

The next man in line was much shorter. Actually, out of all of them you noted, he was the shortest, only taller than you by an inch. His exterior had a look of calm composure, but you could sense chaos within when you made eye contact with him— Kim Hongjoong, he was the Captain of the ship. Despite the intense energy he gave off though, you didn’t find his chaotic nature intimidating. Instead, you could tell that you were both quite similar but weren’t sure whether or not that was a good thing.

Moving on to the man with fluffy brown hair that towered above the rest, his smile was radiant and slightly crooked, which you found very endearing. He waved his large hand at you as he said his name, Jeong Yunho. He had a familiar aura, like a home away from home, so you sensed you would be like family.

Shifting over to the shy man in line, who gave off the energy of a Doberman, but looked like a Maltese. He politely introduced himself— Kang Yeosang. His smile was so warm, it made all your anxieties melt away and suddenly you knew that this raffle was a good change for you. He looked over to the man standing next to him and your gaze followed to the sturdy mountain with dimples. His broad chest and confident posture made him seem scary, but as soon as he spoke his true nature was revealed as the very sweet, Choi San. His upbeat and comic personality had you feeling excited. With a newfound burst of enthusiasm, you looked over to the next man in line and felt your face flush a bit.

Song Mingi was his name. His face had such a look of careful observation, disguised as cold indifference. If you hadn’t known any better you would have felt hurt by the look on his face, but something pulled at your heart and you could just feel that he was the most goofy, caring, and kind soul you would ever meet. Fate? I don’t believe in such things… So you brushed off his current expression and begrudgingly moved on to the others in the line.

Next was Jung Wooyoung. He seemed like the polar opposite of Hongjoong, presenting a chaotic exterior while harboring a polite and calm soul that shone brightly through the cracks. You sensed he might be a bit of a handful and would take some adjusting to, but deep down, you could also feel that, once you got to know him, he would prove to be one of the most treasured friends to have by your side. You smiled warmly at him before shifting your gaze to the last, but certainly not the least, man in the group. The moment your eyes fell upon him, memories of the big teddy bear in your room back home flooded your mind. He possessed the most fascinating eyes, somehow managing to be both intensely intimidating and incredibly comforting all at once.

With the final introduction behind you, you realized it was now your turn to speak. You swallowed thickly and took a deep breath, striving to recall all the Korean language lessons you had diligently attended in college.

(translator mode on :3)

“Hello, I’m Y/N and I’m very excited and grateful for the opportunity to live here with you guys. It is so nice to meet you all and I can already feel like we will get along well. Thank you for welcoming me into your home, and I hope that this coming year will be one full of great memories!” You bowed your head quickly and straightened out with a nervous, but excited, smile. The group gazed at you with surprise painted on their faces, though Mingi couldn't help but let a sly smirk dance at the corner of his mouth, as his eyes sparkled with amusement. With all formal introductions fully out of the way, the remaining KQ staff slowly departed from the house, leaving just you and the boys in the living room; the atmosphere was thick with newcomer jitters.

“Aigo! Your Korean is quite good,” Hongjoong praised. He motioned toward the couch for you to sit while the other guys situated themselves in various sitting places around the room. You took note of where Mingi chose to sit, which was on the floor, next to your spot on the couch. Leaning back and propping himself up with his arms, he just focused on you. You shifted a bit in your spot and tried to pry your eyes away from him and onto Hongjoong.

Dismissively you waved your hands, “Ah, it’s not really. I only took a few years of classes during university, but I haven’t gotten to use it much since then, so I am a bit rusty.”

“Nonsense! We understood you perfectly,” Seonghwa smiled.

“Well, either way, I get to practice the language now and I’m very excited to see how much I improve over the next several months,” You buzzed.

“Just talk to Wooyoung, you’ll get plenty of practice in,” San chuckled, casting a playful glance at his best friend.

“Hardy har, I don’t talk that much,” Wooyoung responded, his eyes sending dull daggers toward San.

“Wellll… you kind of do. But we all still love you!” Yeosang chimed in.

“Speak for yourself, Yeo,” Jongho scoffed. Wooyoung lightly pushed the bear of a man, and Jongho pushed back a bit harder. Wooyoung wobbled on his chair trying not to fall over as he regained his balance. You giggled at the comfortable banter amongst the boys.

You looked over at Mingi to see his reaction, but you found that he had been looking at you the whole time. Your breath hitched in your throat as his eyes bore into you, and he opened his mouth to speak.

“So who’s your bias?” He questioned. The other men moved their attention from Wooyoung and Jongho, onto Mingi, and then to you.

“My what?” You asked, brows furrowed.

“Bias? You know, which one of us is your favorite?” He also furrowed his brows, wondering what was with the confusion.

“Who’s my favorite…?” You paused, absorbing the strange requested information from the tall man.

“Yeah… Typically Atiny’s have a favorite member,” he grinned at you, thinking that you were playing a game. Changing his sitting position he rubbed his nose and sniffed, moving to cross his arms smugly adding, “I’m kind of a crowd favorite.” His tongue poked at his cheek mischievously. The others just looked at him with blank stares and shook their heads slightly.

“Are you now?” You teased, looking him up and down. You didn’t doubt for a second that what he said was the truth, he was gorgeous and charismatic, but you and the other guys wouldn’t give him the satisfaction by agreeing with him.

“I’m sure I’ll be your favorite in no time,” He smirked at you and winked. You forced the blush creeping up on your face to go away.

“Well, I’m not really one to play favorites, Mingi,” you teased, feeling comfortable enough with him already to do so, “Plus I don’t know you guys at all, so even if I did, I wouldn’t be able to answer you right now,” you chortled, crossing your arms, shaking your head at the bleach blond man.

Your response had all eight of them looking at you strangely, and you wondered what you said that made them react that way. Yunho decided to speak for the group, “You don’t… know us?”

Oh… right, they were probably expecting a fan to live with them, you thought before answering, “Not really… I mean I know who you guys are. I don’t live under a rock, my best friend is a huge fan of ATEEZ. Personally, though, I don’t really listen to K-pop, so aside from what my friend tells me… I know almost nothing. I didn’t even know your names until you guys said them.”

They all raised their eyebrows as far as they could go, mouths nearly agape. It took a second for them to process what they just heard. Mingi however was just curiously eyeing you, a grin still plastered on his face, as he breathily laughed.

“How ironic that out of the hundreds of thousands of Atiny’s that entered the raffle, the person who won isn’t even a fan of ours,” Wooyoung chuckled, which created a chain reaction amongst the boys, who all started laughing.

Thankfully, they didn’t appear to be upset by your lack of fandom, and there was something about Mingi’s reaction that had you thinking he was actually a bit relieved. You couldn’t help but nervously laugh along with them for a moment, as the sheer absurdity of the whole situation finally hit you, “I guess it’s probably a bit disappointing that I don’t know you guys, huh?”

As the boys calmed down, Mingi took the opportunity to answer, “Disappointing? I wouldn’t say that at all. I don’t know about the other guys, but personally, I much prefer that it turned out like this.” He looked at you with wonder, making you feel like the only person in the room. His eyes are so pretty…you snapped out of it when Hongjoong spoke, “I’m curious though, if you aren’t a fan of us, then why did you apply to the raffle?”

“I wanted to travel to someplace new, and it seemed like a really interesting opportunity. A place to live and a job included? It’s not exactly something I would want to pass up. My friend knows me well I guess, which is why she encouraged me to apply,” You stated simply and the boys nodded in approval at your answer.

“That’s a good friend you have,” San approved.

“Yeah, Hinata, she’s great. Actually, she lives in Japan, so this is the closest I’ve ever been to her, which is kind of nice,” You smiled at the realization, “Maybe I’ll take the chance to visit her next year before I have to go.”

The eight men around you had only known you for a short amount of time, but the mention of you leaving them already had them feeling pangs of sadness in their chests. Mingi just looked at you with a straight face, but his eyes— oh his eyes… he’s like a puppy— tell you everything he was feeling.

“So you speak English, Korean, and Japanese… it’s almost like you’re an idol,” Hongjoong pointed out, trying to shift the mood of his group, laughing weakly at his own joke.

“Ha! I’d make a pretty shabby idol,” You chuckled, a shiver running down your spine at the idea of performing, “I don’t do well when it comes to stages or crowds. If only I didn’t have stage fright though because I do like singing and dancing, and I’m not too bad at rapping either…”

“Plus you’re gorgeous,” Wooyoung added, making you feel bashful.

“Looks like we’ve got an ace in the group,” Mingi smirked in the most sinful way as he continued to stare at you. God, those lips of his…

Hongjoong nearly shouted, preventing your mind from going somewhere it shouldn’t, “Oh! Before I forget, we should go over the rules that have been put in place for the coming year.” He got up and grabbed a piece of paper on the kitchen counter before returning to his spot on the couch.

“Rules? Don’t we have enough already because of Hwa?” Mingi sighed. Seonghwa gave him a poisonous side glare, which made Mingi airily laugh.

“There’s only a couple of them. The managers thought it would be a good idea to have them,” Hongjoong said to prevent any arguments.

“So what are they?” You asked, wondering what could be so important that rules had to be put in place.

Hongjoong cleared his throat before he read off the page, “First rule: no unapproved content of the group or Y/N, whether it be pictures or videos, can be posted online.”

“I don’t even use social media, so that’s the easiest rule I’ve ever had to follow,” You chirped.

“Not even TikTok?!” Wooyoung blurted, shocked at what you admitted.

“Especially not that one,” You shook your head, thinking about the days you wasted away on that app in the past. Sure, you had an Instagram account to keep up with Hinata and your friends from back home, but that was it. You never posted on there anyway.

“Glad I won’t have to worry about you then, Y/N. The rule applies to all of us though… so please-” Hongjoong paused to look sternly at San, Yeosang, and Wooyoung, “-just don’t post anything with her okay? There will be a group picture uploaded to ateez_official to show our winner and that’ll be it for now.”

The three boys just gave sheepish grins and looked at the ground. You giggled, loving more and more the dynamic they all had with each other.

“Okay, final rule, and the managers have it in bold so I assume it’s the most important,” Hongjoong read it inaudibly to himself first, eyes going wide, he coughed a bit before sharing it with the room, “uh- um… it just says You aren’t allowed to date her, so don’t even think about it…”

If you were drinking something you would’ve spit it out. You choked on nothing and started laughing, “Seems like another easy rule… as if that would happen.”

Each of the boys had different reactions though. Hongjoong and Seonghwa kept serious faces, thinking that your response was valid but they knew that the rule was actually very necessary. San, Wooyoung, and Yeosang giggled a bit at it and your subsequent reaction, but they too understood how essential the rule was. Yunho and Jongho just looked at Mingi because they already knew that rule would be needed. Mingi looked like a kicked puppy, and your reaction made him feel even worse.

“Ha yeah… easy rule,” Jongho doubted, feeling that having the rule in place might end up causing more trouble than not having it, “Y/N, you will be living with eight guys around the same age as you. It’s more likely than you think…”

You calm down from your laughter, realizing that you were the only one not taking it seriously, “Oh… um— it’s not that I think it’s unlikely. It’s just that it won’t be a problem. Trust me.”

“The managers didn’t seem to think so,” Seonghwa frowned, giving you a worried look.

“I don’t think you understand, Y/N. Since we will all be living together and spending lots of time around you, one of us may end up developing feelings for you,” Yunho clarified, already glaring at Mingi. You suddenly felt very hot in your seat as eight pairs of eyes stared at you once again.

“Oh…” You addressed calmly, “Well I hate to be the bearer of bad news to whoever that could be, but I’m already in a relationship. So when I said to trust me, that it wouldn’t be a problem, I meant it.”

That’s right, you already have a boyfriend, Yn!! Sure… we’ve technically only been dating for a month and it’s not like we love each other. I was going to end things with him before leaving… I mean for crying out loud your love language is quality time! But I do like him though…and he wanted to try long-distance, sooo why not give it a chance. Right???, You internally screamed, kicking yourself ever since you arrived. You were a loyal person above all else and cheating was something you would never ever do. So they really did have nothing to worry about.

The group of boys had a look of relief on their faces, especially Hongjoong, who was glad that there was a solid reason for the rule to be followed. Mingi, however, had a blank expression on his face, trying his best to hide that he felt like he’d been shot by your words.

“Fantastic…” Hongjoong started, “… well then… shall we show you to your room?”

—Beginning of Summer—

The first month of living with them was truly an experience. Hongjoong and San had the best English, so you turned to them whenever the language felt overwhelming, though before you knew it, you were chatting comfortably with each of them. It felt wonderful to form such genuine friendships with them all. Hongjoong loved to share clothes and always showered you with compliments about your unique style. Ever since he discovered your birthday was the day before his, he affectionately started calling you “twin.” When Seonghwa caught you playing Animal Crossing on your Switch, he insisted you add him as a friend, and now you both eagerly trade items and play events together.

Typically, when you hung out with San and Wooyoung, you found yourself either acting as a moderator or third wheel, but you didn’t mind one bit because they were always so sweet and made you laugh wholeheartedly; And whenever you craved some peace, you’d seek out Yeosang. His calm demeanor always put you at ease, and when he finally opened up, you discovered his hidden sense of humor, leading to a treasure trove of inside jokes between the two of you about the others.

On the days when you deeply missed your family, spending time with Yunho was a comforting relief. He reminded you so much of your brother and always welcomed you to join him in video games, making everything feel just a little bit more like home. Jongho was happy to have you around since you were the youngest person in the house; only by a year, but to him it meant he could say, “I’m not the maknae, Yn is.”

You once thought that living with a bunch of boys would be a challenge, and while there were moments that tested your patience, they became the most incredible roommates you could have ever hoped for. Thanks to Seonghwa, the house always sparkled with cleanliness, and you never found yourself confronted by those gross odors typical of boys back in the States. To your relief, they weren’t overly rowdy either, which was essential since you cherished the peace and quiet. They would only unleash their loudness on game nights, revealing their fiercely competitive spirits.

Playing games with them was a unique experience; there were times when you knew winning was a distant dream, and others when you felt a glimmer of hope. As you got to understand each of them better, devising strategies became second nature, leading you to well-earned victories. Jongho shared that same competitive fire, and when the two of you teamed up, you were a force to be reckoned with. However, it wasn’t long before the others grew a bit weary of your winning streak, and soon enough, everyone was reassigned to new game night partners. You pulled his name out of the bowl, which is how you ended up with Mingi. When the boys found out that your MBTI was INTP they called you and him the “two Ts in a pod”, thankfully though it didn’t catch on.

After the first week, your initial infatuation with Mingi wore off. So now you were able to enjoy having him as a friend. He was always around you when he could be. Watching movies with you in the living room, helping out in the kitchen as you made food, sitting on your bed when you folded your laundry, playing video games with you and Yunho, teaching you choreography at the studio, walking around with you whenever you decided to get some fresh air, doing his lives with you in the room— behind the screen though, as to not break the first rule, whatever you were doing he was there with you. You liked having him around; and now that it’d been a month of living with him, you considered him to be your best friend, and you were his— well… except when Yunho was around. He would get pouty and Mingi would have to reassure him, “She’s my best girl friend, Yun. You are my soulmate.”

“You mean it?” Yunho would sulk until Mingi would hug him.

“Soulmates since 9th grade,” Mingi reassured him, putting their foreheads together to do their little spin, giving you a wink as he faced you.

Your relationship with your boyfriend had been doing pretty well too. He was putting in a lot of effort to keep in touch with you, which was not something you were expecting but still appreciated. He would call you several times a week when the time difference allowed for it. You noticed every time you picked up his call Mingi would give you a look before he left the room. It was always the same look, and you could never tell what it meant because he somehow looked sad, annoyed, and unbothered all at the same time. Those brown puppy eyes of his made you feel uneasy as he closed the door behind him. It feels like guilt…why? Your calls with him were usually short, and afterward, you would go find Mingi and sit in a comfortable silence until one of you spoke. It was a strange routine you had and you still hadn’t quite figured out why you two had it in the first place.

“How’s the boyfriend?” Mingi asked, breaking you out of your head before you could go down a thought spiral. He’d never asked this question before.

“He’s good, about to go to sleep…” You looked into his eyes searching for any clues to fulfill your curiosity. You kept eye contact for a few seconds, though it felt like an eternity. His boba eyes searched yours, secretly hoping you could hear his internal struggle; wanting you to understand how he felt while also hoping you’d never find out. He looked away and put on a sly smile.

“Good, I get you to myself then,” he laughed. You rolled your eyes, glad to have your familiar banter back.

“You’ve always got me to yourself,” You shook your head, “I hardly get any time with him so it’s nice to have the phone calls.”

He just nodded and snarkily protested, “Yeah but you love me, not him.”

“I…” unsure of how to react to that you looked at the floor and thought, I should be offended that he said that, but I’m not. Your face actually felt kind of hot because of his words and you took a second to brush the feeling off before responding, “Of course I love you, Min. It’s different with him though. I may not be in love with him, but I really do care for him.”

He turned and smiled at you, reaching out to ruffle your hair up. You playfully swatted his arm away and smoothed your hair back down. He just sighed, “He better know how lucky he is to have you then.”

Yawning, he stretched and rested his hands atop his head, which lifted his shirt up a bit exposing a small area of his naval. It caught your eye and you found yourself staring, your face felt hot again. He looked over at you and smirked, “You hungry?”

“Wha—h-huh?” You looked away quickly, meeting his gaze as he lowered his hands back down, a small tint of blush was visible on your face.

“I’m hungry. Do you want to come eat with me?” He rephrased, giving you a knowing look.

“Sure,” you smiled sheepishly, trying to will away the butterflies you were feeling.

—Middle of Summer—

Your job certainly kept you busy, and you were feeling the rush of it all. It had been a few weeks since you started; KQ had graciously allowed you to settle into the house before handing it over to you.

“What’s your dream job?” Hongjoong queried. You thought about it for a moment. Having a job was never something you dreamed of, but you liked having something to keep you occupied, and of course, having money was always nice. Going to college meant you got to be independent for a while, so you did it for the sake of the experience. You majored in art and design since it had always been a passion of yours, but after graduating you weren’t too sure that you wanted to make it a career. It was always more of a hobby anyway.

“Hmmm, I guess I don’t have one,” Your face looked contemplative, but not sad. You were okay with this aspect of yourself, “My dream has always been to travel, so maybe if my job lets me do that then I’d be happy.”

Hongjoong nodded, thinking over your response and then smiled, “Lucky for you then that your job with us will have plenty of that.”

You perked up, “My job?” That’s right, that was part of the raffle. I almost forgot… wait, “What will I be doing?”

After weeks of traveling to multiple places alongside them on tour, you were finally back home, even if just for a little while. That’s how you found yourself sitting on the floor in the middle of the empty studio late at night, staring at your reflection in the large mirror. Ateez’s newest assistant manager… has a nice ring to it I guess. You’re basically a glorified nanny— picking up food for the boys while they were practicing, running errands, and ensuring they didn’t overwork themselves. But, honestly, you didn’t mind at all; you had already been doing these things for them before anyway. It just meant you got to spend all day with them and get paid for it, which made you happy. The work wasn’t hard, and the salary was generous— far more than you ever earned at any of your jobs in the US. As you laid down on the floor and gazed up at the ceiling, you reflected on the long day you had. Watching the boys pour their hearts into perfecting their art deepened your admiration for them tenfold. You stretched out on the floor and yawned. I probably should head back to the house, I’m sure they’re all wondering where I’ve been. As you sat back up you heard a light knock at the open door. Mingi walked in and sat next to you, nudging your shoulder with his.

“You good?” He smiled warmly, giving you a much-needed energy boost. You smiled back at him and nodded, looking at his eyes— those eyes, gosh I never get tired of looking at them, full of so much emotion. He always looked at you with such care and it made your stomach flutter.

“Aigo, what time is it?” You opened your phone to check and noticed a missed call from your boyfriend, “Shit…”

Mingi’s eyebrows raised, “Where’d you learn to talk like—” He stopped as he saw the notification, taking a sharp inhale, and furrowing his eyebrows. You tried calling him back but it just went to voicemail.

“Shit. He’s probably upset that I didn’t pick up,” You put your phone down and flopped back onto the floor, looking at the ceiling once again.

Mingi had never seen you upset like this before and he hated it. Hated that he was the cause of it. He laid down next to you, your arms brushed up against each other, and he looked over at you, “Maybe he’s just asleep… I’m sure he’s not mad about one missed phone call.”

You could feel your eyes getting misty and you tried to blink away tears before they could form, “It’s not just one missed phone call. He’s been a lot busier lately and with my new job, our schedules just don’t line up anymore… I— I haven’t talked to him in a few weeks. I just don’t know what I’m doing with him anymore, Min. I’ve been with him for over three months… I thought by now that my feelings for him would have grown stronger, but they haven’t. Maybe I should’ve ended things with him like I had planned before coming here…”

Mingi thought hearing you say something like that would’ve made him feel ecstatic but it didn’t. He looked over at you and saw a single tear break free, rolling down your cheek. He thumbed it away and grabbed your hand, rubbing soothing circles on it. You covered your eyes with your other arm trying to hide as you started to softly cry. Mingi could feel tears threatening to bubble up to his eyes, but he forced them away trying to focus on consoling you. He continued to rub circles on your hand, slowly as you calmed down until the tears stopped. Your face felt hot and your eyes puffy. Using his free hand, Mingi slowly caressed the tear stains on your face. It made you understand just how much he cared for you, whether it be as a friend or as more, you didn’t care. What you truly cared about was the realization that you had devoted more time and affection to him, your best friend, than to your own boyfriend— you felt immensely guilty like you had been emotionally cheating. You know what you have to do, Yn. You turned to look at Mingi, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, his gaze offering you comfort.

“Thank you,” You whispered to him.

“For what?” He whispered back.

“For always making me feel better, for always being here,” You comfortably sighed.

“I’ll always be there for you, Yn. Always,” A stray tear started to roll down his cheek and you wiped it away, carefully caressing his face with your thumb. He closed his eyes and melted into your touch. You waited a bit to enjoy the moment before you spoke.

“I have to break up with him… don’t I?” You whispered so quietly that he almost didn’t hear you. His eyes opened when your words registered with him, making his heart beat faster.

He cleared his throat before answering, “Is that what your heart is telling you?”

You thought about it and nodded slowly. Your heart wasn’t telling you he was the one, and maybe you always knew it would end up this way. You knew with full certainty though that you’d be fine, as long as you had Mingi by your side.

It took a few days, but you were finally able to call him. You expected that he wouldn’t take the news well, but what you didn’t expect was him yelling that you didn’t even try, nor did you ever care for him. The phone call ended with your face once again tear-stained, shocked at his reaction, left wondering if you really knew who he was in the first place.

As you opened the door to your room, Mingi was waiting, leaning against the wall. His arms were crossed and his face looked angry, you assumed that he could hear your boyfriend— no, ex-boyfriend— yelling at you. You were tired and didn’t want to deal with trying to talk him down, but as soon as he saw your face, his angry expression dropped, and he pulled you into a deep hug. His chin rested on your head, hot tears finding their way to the corners of his eyes. You wrapped your arms around him tightly, his warm embrace being everything you needed in that moment. The other boys had heard the yelling too and were huddled at the end of the hall, feeling a range of emotions, but most of all aching that they couldn’t do anything to help you right now. They each went back to their rooms, letting Mingi do what he did best. Love.

After what seemed like hours, he graciously guided you to your room, helped you prepare for bed, and laid down beside you. That night, you found solace in his embrace, holding onto him tightly as tears streamed down your cheeks until you finally drifted off to sleep, comforted by his tender strokes through your hair.

—Last Day of Summer—

It’d been four months since you moved in and three short weeks since the breakup. The morning after, you had woken up to find yourself in bed alone, assuming that Mingi must have gone to his room quietly after you had drifted off to sleep. The events of the night before had been intense, you couldn't shake the memory of how furious he was. Though, strangely enough, you didn’t feel guilty like you'd expected. Instead, an overwhelming wave of relief washed over you. You hadn’t fully grasped the mental toll that relationship was taking on you, and now that you were free from him, you could finally see just how toxic he truly was. You felt silly for not seeing it before.

So now that it’d been a few weeks, you were getting ready for work and found yourself feeling the happiest you’d ever been—enjoying single life and the moments spent with your eight amazing roommates. Feeling especially grateful for your best friend and the depth of his care for you. You thought back to when he helped you get ready for bed, even when all you wanted was to curl into a ball and sob until you lost consciousness. He chose your favorite pajamas, turned away while you changed, and gently helped you through your skincare routine. He even grabbed his toothbrush from his bathroom so you could brush your teeth together. Then, when it was time to sleep, he laid down beside you, ensuring you fell asleep with a sense of peace.

Mingi was truly a blessing in your life, and your love for him ran deep. You couldn't help but smile, thinking about how his personality did a one-eighty from when you first met him to now; you laughed as you remembered the little crush you used to have on him. Used to? You stopped laughing, eyes shooting wide at your intrusive thought. You shook your head trying to clear it away like you were an etch-a-sketch, Yes… used to. I don’t anymore. I love him, but I’m not in love with him. Deciding to move past it, you finished getting ready and headed to work with the guys.

————————————-☆-—————————————

Today was a rare day, everyone had a free afternoon in their schedules and the boys had decided it would be fun to do something together.

“How about karaoke?” San suggested. Everyone looked at him with blank expressions and side eyes, deflating him a bit.

“Really? We just got back from the studio, no more singing today,” Yunho groaned, “How about an amusement park?”

Yunho’s suggestion made San perk back up, liking that idea much more than his own. The other guys and you agreed too, and you felt a rush of anticipation—an amusement park sounded like a blast, and luckily there was one not too far away. Memories flooded back; could it really have been so long since your last visit to a theme park? Maybe Disney World when I was ten? The thought sent a thrill through you, especially at the idea of the roller coasters, knowing how much joy they had brought you back then. A harsh reminder brought you down from your excitement though; a famous boy group in a crowded park? Not a good idea. You sulked, which grabbed the attention of Mingi.

“What’s got you down? You seemed so excited just a second ago,” he prodded.

“Did you guys forget who you are for a second? We couldn’t possibly go to such a popular place so close to a comeback, you’d be swarmed,” You looked at each of the boys, some of them already sporting a new haircut or color. Mingi’s grown-out bleach job was replaced with brown dye and blonde streaks. It made him look a bit like a calico cat actually, which you thought was really cute. Yeosang had neon green hair peppered with black stripes, Yunho’s hair was silver, and San’s flaming red hair practically begged for the attention of everyone within a kilometer radius. A few of them furrowed their brows, a flicker of understanding passing over their faces as they realized you were right. They slumped a little, the weight of disappointment settling in as they felt their fun afternoon slipping away. Hongjoong, however, pulled out his phone and smirked.

“Give me a second,” he says, dialing a number.

A couple of phone calls later, you found yourself in an empty, Lotte World, a surreal playground all to yourselves. The entire park had been closed for the rest of the day just for the eight boys standing beside you. Sometimes, you forgot about the immense power they possessed, and you found it extremely intimidating. The only other people around were you and the few park staff members left to keep the rides running. Oh— and a crew of cameras—Hongjoong only managed to convince them to go along with the idea by agreeing to have content filmed. So, while you were technically working, your only real task was to have fun.

This was the very first time you’d be on camera with them since the group picture that was taken when you first met. It sent a wave of unease through you as if a million prying eyes would be scrutinizing your every move. Mingi noticed the change in your demeanor as the cameras were being set up and turned on.

Instinctively, he draped his arm over your shoulders, his hand offering a gentle, reassuring comfort as he slowly rubbed up and down your right shoulder. You eased into his touch and felt your anxiety levels decrease as you searched for his familiar cologne to envelope your senses; he always smelled of wood, citrus, and mint, a combination you’d grown to love. Today though, his cologne smelled a bit more musky, like warm sage and sea salt. To your surprise it made your mouth water a bit; breathing in deeply, you asked him, “New cologne?”

He looked at you with a smirk, hoping you’d notice. He gave a quiet mhmm in response, as he moved you in front of him and started massaging between your neck and shoulders. The varied pressure made you close your eyes and quietly sigh, melting beneath his ministrations. Pulling you a bit closer to him, he leaned down next to your ear, and just slightly above a whisper asked, “Alrighty then, where should we go first?”

It made you jump a bit and squirm out of his hold on you, your ears felt hot. What the hell is in the air here? Mingi looked more attractive to you than ever and you swallowed a thick lump in your throat you didn’t realize was there. You coughed a bit to clear it, and the feeling, away before you spoke. Thinking about what you wanted to do most here, your eyes gleamed with excitement, “How about we go on a rollercoaster?”

As if it was now his turn to have his demeanor change, Mingi’s aura shifted. He no longer had that flirty air about him, instead, he froze. He tried hiding it, but his face went pale and eyes wide. The calm breathing he had before was replaced with shallow breaths as his heart rate picked up. He really was a big scaredy cat. You didn’t seem to notice though as you grabbed his hand and dragged him along with you to find the nearest rollercoaster, yelling out to the others, “Who wants to come with us?”

Wooyoung, Yeosang, and Yunho eagerly joined in, and San, wanting to stick close to you all, tagged along as well. However, when you reached the coaster, he suddenly hesitated, backing out and opting to wait at the entrance. “Are you sure?” you asked, disliking the thought of him waiting alone. He nodded quietly, but before you could offer to stay with him, Mingi interjected, “I’ll wait with him, it’s okay.”

Mentally, he let out a sigh of relief, grateful for this easy escape from having to ride what he considered to be a death trap. You watched as they walked away from the empty line, heading towards the outside of the ride. Turning your attention back to the exciting rollercoaster in front of you, you felt a rush of anticipation as the employee prepared everything. You shared a glance with Yunho, both of you silently agreeing to sit together. Outside, San stood captivated by the sprawling metal structure of the coaster, while Mingi's gaze was fixated on the entrance.

Once the initial sense of relief passed over him, a different feeling began to settle in—regret. Now that he was away from your side, he couldn’t shake the longing feeling that he wished to have stayed and pushed through his fears. It wasn’t until he was out of breath, one hand resting on Yunho’s shoulder, that he realized he had sprinted back. You were already situated in your seat on the coaster, and Mingi had just reached Yunho in time before he boarded. Yunho, recognizing the urgency in Mingi’s eyes, nodded with understanding, aware of his friend's silent plea, and quickly left to accompany San. You looked over with confusion in your eyes, but a smile on your face when you saw him sitting down in the seat next to yours, pulling the bar above over his shoulders to secure himself in. There was no going back now, but he didn’t care, as long as it meant he got to be beside you.

Despite how he felt on the inside though, he couldn’t stop his body from reacting to his fear. As the ride slowly started to go up the incline towards the first drop his eyes screwed shut and his breath began to match his erratic heartbeat. You heard the labored breathing next to you and saw that Mingi was absolutely terrified, worried for him you asked, “What’s wrong?”

“I…” He struggled to speak, hyperventilating by this point, “I’m scared of heights…”

“What!” Your eyes blew wide, full of concern, “Then… why did you get on?”

He grabbed your hand, and squeezed it tightly, hoping that your touch would help ground him, “I… I wanted to be with you.”

The coaster was now only a mere meter away from the drop, but all you could do was look at him. His desire to be with me outweighed his fear… Your eyes remained locked on him, brimming with a mix of love and concern. You gently intertwined your fingers, and he finally opened his eyes to meet yours. In those familiar brown depths, you could read his every emotion. His gaze had always been a window to his soul, revealing his true feelings. While on the surface he looked mortified, his eyes whispered a different truth—that he had never felt more at ease and secure in his life. As the coaster finally dropped he exclaimed, “Y/N-ah!— I love you!”

The exhilarating rush of adrenaline from the coaster intertwined with his confession left you feeling truly electric. You raised your hands high, savoring every second of the ride, and slowly, he lifted his hands too, a radiant smile blossoming on his face. Seeing his huge smile as his fears melted away tugged at your heartstrings so deeply that whatever had been holding you back from embracing your feelings for him shattered completely. You found yourself swept up on a rollercoaster of emotions, realizing with extreme clarity that you were truly in love with Song Mingi, finally allowing yourself to believe in the magic of fate. Just loud enough for him to hear you gushed, “I love you too, Mingi-ah!”

You couldn’t see his face very clearly, but you could feel his warmth as he shifted your conjoined hands to press a heartfelt kiss against the back of your hand, causing the butterflies in your stomach to flutter uncontrollably. As the coaster finally came to a stop, your hand still remained tightly interlaced with Mingi’s, it just felt so natural; but when an employee approached to assist you both out of your seats and a camera crew waited for you to get off, ready to capture the moment, you found yourself reluctantly having to let go. Holding hands was a sweet, innocent gesture between friends, yet the presence of the camera made you hesitate, it felt too intimate in front of the lens. It took a bit of time to finally pry yourselves away from them, but once you did, you were hit by a sudden desire to get a bag of theme park popcorn.

Making your way back by yourself from a concession stand, you stumbled upon voices speaking in stern, hushed tones. You hadn't intended to eavesdrop, but when you heard your name being mentioned, it froze you in your tracks. Discerning the voices from each other you realized that, Wooyoung, San, Yeosang, and Yunho were talking to Mingi.

“I’m not stupid Mingi, and neither are they, we can clearly see that something is going on between you and Yn,” Wooyoung exasperated.

“Woah, woah, I never said you were stupid,” Mingi rebutted, feeling a little hurt, “Do you really think I would call you that and actually mean it?”

“Woo—” San warned, trying to bring his friend down to a level-headed place, “careful…”

Wooyoung glanced over at San, then to Mingi, and back to San again, taking a deep breath to calm himself because he wished to avoid making things worse, “Right sorry… what I mean is; We heard you on the ride, loudly confessing to her, and then you’re expecting us to pretend like we didn’t?”

Mingi looked at the ground and shuffled his feet, unsure of what to say. You listened intently once he found the words, “I’m not going to ask you to pretend. Feel free to shout it out like I did, but before you do, think about how it affects her. Not me. She’s the one that would face the consequences of my actions. If anyone is stupid here, it’s me. I was selfish instead of being smart. I don’t want to have to regret saying it to her, so please… not for me but for her, could it stay between us?”

There was a silence as Wooyoung thought over the proposition he was given, and Yunho was the one that commented next, “I can’t say I’m surprised. I figured it was only a matter of time before you told her how you felt.”

“It’s just a shame you can’t do anything about it,” Yeosang added, always being one wanting to see love win.

“Well… not exactly,” San grinned, “We can pretend to not know anything. It’s just a matter of making sure that Joong, Hwa, and the managers don’t find out.”

“And Jongho,” Wooyoung added, finally breaking his silence, finding it hard to stay upset when Mingi’s puppy eyes were present.

“Jongho already knows about Mingi’s feelings, and he would figure it out pretty quickly if we acted like nothing was going on. Getting him in on it is better than keeping him out of it, he’s less trouble that way,” Yunho disagreed, earning concurring nods from the other three.

“Are you guys going to let me in on it too, or am I to be kept in the dark as well?” You chimed in giggling, deciding it was probably a good moment for you to join the conversation.

“How long have you been there?” Mingi asked, his face feeling hot.

“Long enough…” You smirk, giving him a knowing look.

“None of that…” Wooyoung butts in, “It looks hella obvious when you look at each other like that.”

“Like what?” You inquired, tongue in cheek, playing dumb. You felt frustrated by the assumptions being made, especially since you and Mingi hadn't yet had the opportunity to discuss it together.

Wooyoung sighed heavily, and once again Yunho spoke in place of him, “Look… we’ve all been away for a while, and people are going to start noticing. For now, let’s just head back and enjoy the park while we can, we can figure this out later. I’m sure we’re all hungry; where should we eat after?”

————————————-☆-—————————————

You once thought the world to be anti-romantic, but that wasn't always your belief. You grew up filled with hope, longing for the kind of love that danced through the pages of books and lit up the screens of movies, and you were certain that such love would one day find its way to you. It was, without a doubt, your heart's deepest desire. So when you got your first boyfriend, you believed that this was it, your dream was finally going to come true. Except it didn’t— you were only in middle school and two days later he dumped you for the girl you sat next to in class. It was okay though. You were a resilient kid, determined to not let a fleeting moment with a silly boy dim your spirit, so handling it with grace you moved forward. Throughout high school, you experienced crushes that flickered like candle flames, but nothing ever truly ignited, and slowly your hope began to dim. Your standards had become impossibly high molded by the enchanting stories of fictional romance that no ordinary teenage boy could ever hope to match. It wasn’t until college that you entered your first real relationship, the taste of first love felt exhilarating. It lasted for a couple precious years, but it all came crashing down when you discovered your only love had been cheating on you. You were heartbroken, utterly shattered, and this time, your hope didn’t have the strength to bounce back. You couldn’t help but wonder why you even bothered getting into that relationship with your most recent ex-boyfriend, especially when you hadn’t any hope it would work left within you. That is until you met him— the man sitting in front of you who you hadn’t realized took your shattered hope and pieced it back together with his gentle love. So now, as you watched him set a piece of food on your plate, you could say with full certainty that you no longer believed the world to be anti-romantic, and that true love does exist, it just takes its time to find you once you’re ready for it.

You paused in eating, eager to capture Mingi’s attention. He was always so completely immersed in his food when he truly enjoyed it, and you couldn’t help but find that trait of his really adorable. When he finally looked up and caught your gaze, a wide smile appeared across his face, making your heart swell. Looking down at your shared table, you made sure that no one was looking before you turned back to him and mouthed, I love you.

You didn’t know it was even possible for him to smile bigger, yet somehow he did. A soft giggle slipped from your lips when you noticed the tips of his ears turning a cute shade of pink, and with an adorably flustered expression, he cupped his face in his hands, trying to hide as the color deepened to a vibrant red. Your heart raced at his reaction, and you could feel a warm blush creeping onto your cheeks. Wooyoung, sitting beside you, caught onto what was going on and lightly nudged your shoulder and Mingi’s foot from beneath the table, delivering a silent reminder that you both needed to tone down the obviousness. Eventually, he uncovered his face, scratching at the back of his head as he struggled to redirect his focus back to his plate. Just when you thought the tension might linger, Hongjoong came through with a perfect distraction— a drinking game. He set down on the table a lottery spinner, and the balls inside held rousing questions just waiting to be unleashed. Rules of play were simple; a spun fork chooses who gets to go, when you get a ball from the cage you have to answer its question, and if you don’t, take a shot.

Hongjoong started off the game with the first spin. You watched the fork tantalizingly go round and round before it stopped on… you. A nervous grin was plastered on your face as the spinner was passed down to you; you gave its handle a couple of turns before a ball popped out. Opening up the small plastic container, you pulled out a folded piece of paper, and smoothed it out before reading aloud, “What physical feature do you find the most attractive?”

A small wave of ‘ooo’s and looks of curiosity passed throughout the group. You weren’t expecting the questions to be risqué, yet here you were, staring down at one that made your stomach do a flip. Your throat felt suddenly dry, and everyone staring at you in anticipation made your seat feel hot. Out of all the people there, Mingi was the last person you expected to say, “Oh, this’ll be good…”

He had his arms propped up on the table, his chin resting on his hands, and a sinful grin playing at the corner of his lips. To you and the guys who knew, it was painfully clear what he was up to, but to those who didn’t, he appeared to be nothing more than a playful, teasing friend. You gave him a warning glare, to which he responded by mischievously poking his tongue slightly between his teeth and scrunching up his nose. He’s cute… so I’ll let it slide.

“Welll? What’s the answer!” Wooyoung poked, wiggling his eyebrows, earning an amused chortle from you. Figuring there’d been enough suspense for the night, you cleared your throat and then quickly answered, “Lips.”

“Any size?” San inquired, joining in on the apparent group taunt fest.

Face getting red, you answered, “No… I like big lips the most,” Looking down you quietly added, “ I-I mean…I really like kissing and it makes it more enjoyable. At least it is for me anyways, I don’t speak for anyone else.”

Not realizing the effects your words had on him, Mingi’s leg was nervously bouncing, and his cheeks had a slight dusting of blush on them. Ending your turn, you spun the fork and silently prayed that it wouldn’t land on you again for the rest of the night. Round and round it went, coming to a stop on… Mingi. He opened the ball that the spinner spit out for him and read it aloud, “Who was your last spicy dream about?”

His head whipped up in shock, his eyes wide with mortification reaching for his glass to take a shot, receiving a few disappointed groans from his curious friends. After downing his drink, he locked eyes with you, giving you a silent answer that secretly you had desired to know. Smirking you decided to take the opportunity to mess with him like he did with you.

“Come on man, not even going to humor us?” You teased. Wooyoung had stifled a cackle at the look on Mingi’s face— a nervous side eye as he shook his head, spinning the fork to end his turn. You just snickered, feeling content with his reaction.

————————————-☆-—————————————

Nighttime had fully settled in by the time everyone left the restaurant and the hot humidity of the day had dissipated from the air. It was a warm, refreshing walk back to the house, and with the bittersweet knowledge that it was the last day of summer, you felt a deep yearning to do one last thing before it slipped away, “I want to get some ice cream, any of you guys want to join?”

The guys paused for a moment, weighing their options, but after a long and exhausting day, they ultimately decided to head home for some much-needed rest. As expected, Mingi chose to stay behind, lingering in the promise of alone time with you. Once the guys had walked out of view, you felt slightly awkward, uncertain about how to move forward now that things had shifted between you. Almost immediately, though, Mingi reached for your hand, intertwining your fingers in a gentle embrace that brought a sense of comfort through his familiar presence. He always had a remarkable ability to put you at ease in those moments of tension, making your world feel just a little bit lighter. As you started your journey towards the nearest convenience store, he cleared his throat, “So… big lips huh?”

You playfully punched his arm with your free hand and then covered your face, embarrassed you admitted to that truth earlier. He moved your hand away gently so that he could look at you. One of the first things you noticed about him was his lips, and every time you looked at them it stirred something within you. Deep down you’d always wondered what it would be like to kiss him, how his plush lips would feel on yours. Would they be firm? Soft? Slow or hungry? You couldn’t help but stare at them now. He smirked as he realized where your gaze was directed and he licked his lips, “What kind of ice cream do you want?”

You looked away to find that you were already in front of a freezer stocked with the sweet treat. When did we get here? He pulled out a banana flavor for himself and waited patiently, thinking quickly you answered, “Uhhhh… strawberry.”

He picked one out just for you, went inside to pay, and then returned to settle beside you on the bench outside. In the warm air and a comfortable silence, you both savored your ice cream; every now and then stealing glances at the other, before returning back to your delicious treat. You both were acting like giddy kids with their first crush. As you took the last bite of your ice cream and discarded the wrapper in a nearby bin, out of the corner of your eye you spotted a playground and booked it for the swings. Mingi, caught off guard by your sudden movement, understood quickly and followed after, tossing his empty wrapper away.

You loved the swings, always feeling a rush of freedom when you soared through the air like a bird. Slowly, you swung back and forth, tilting your head back to catch a glimpse of the stars, though you could only catch faint glimmers due to the bright city’s relentless light pollution. Mingi mimicked you, but he ended up losing his balance and tumbled right out of the swing seat. He hit the ground with a soft thud. Instantly you rushed over, anxiously checking if he was okay. His small, infectious laughter reassured you that he was fine, and you couldn’t help but join in, finding it hilarious how he always seemed to forget just how tall he was.

You grabbed his hand to help him sit up and dusted the dirt off his shoulders, not realizing how close you ended up to his face until you felt his warm breath on you. He was biting at his lip as he stared at yours, causing your heart to flutter. Your faces merely a couple of centimeters away from each other, you’d only have to move just a bit to— Mingi pressed his lips upon yours, closing the gap between you. His lips were soft, like a velvety pillow against your own. You could feel the gentle tickle of his breath beneath your nose, as his fingers wove through your hair. He pulled you closer, deepening the kiss as you both lost yourselves in the intoxicating sensation of each other’s touch. His tongue brushed against your bottom lip, and you happily parted, granting him access into your mouth. In that moment, you realized you would forever love the combination of strawberry and banana that flooded your senses. After what felt like a blissful eternity, you finally separated, your breaths mingling as you rested your foreheads together. He smiled gently, eyes sparkling, and he gave you a quick, tender peck that held a world of affection, “I love you so much, Yn. Ever since I laid eyes on you, I knew you were the one for me.”

His words made you absolutely melt, making you feel like the main character of an early 2000s rom-com movie, “You gave me the hope to believe in love again, Song Mingi.”

You gave him a deep, heartfelt kiss, pouring into it every emotion you desperately wished to express for him. He grinned against your mouth, glad that he finally had you.

“I’m going to safely assume that this means we're dating now, in secret?” He said looking at you with his beautiful brown eyes that made you feel weak in the knees.

“Oooh, this will be fun. Dating in secret, like we are in some kind of sitcom or something,” You grinned, assuring him he was right in his assumption, “We should head back soon though if we want to keep this a secret.”

—Middle of Fall—

Six months since moving in and over a month of secretly dating Mingi. You two have become quite skilled at creating the illusion of being just friends, though really the only thing that had changed was that now you shared kisses when no one else was watching. For Halloween, you had a couple's "besties" costume; you dressed up as Fred and Daphne, and somehow you had convinced Yunho, Yeosang, and Jongho to be Shaggy, Scooby, and a gender-bent Velma, to keep suspicion at bay. Hongjoong and Seonghwa seemed none the wiser, and you and Mingi were as happy as ever.

—Beginning of Winter—

7 months. You began researching apartments in the area, knowing that you’d much prefer to stay in Korea than return to the States. This was home for you now. During your secret sleepovers, Mingi would eagerly share his thoughts on which neighborhoods offered the best apartments, that somehow were always conveniently within walking distance for him. You weren’t going to complain though.

—Christmas Day—

8 months. Mingi surprised you with a gift you had always hoped for over the years, and you couldn't help but wonder how he knew that you wanted it. He must be able to read minds… oh, Jesus, I hope not. The thoughts I’ve had about him… You gave him a handmade gift, which made him cry; he was such a deeply emotional person, which you loved more than anything.

Christmas was one of your favorite holidays, and you had always wanted to share a kiss with your boyfriend under the mistletoe, a sweet moment you had never experienced before. When you had spied some dangling over a door frame, you scanned the area for watchful eyes before you pulled him in for a quick kiss. Well, maybe not so quick… he pulled you back in, turning it into a fervent, hasty make-out session that left you both breathless.

—New Year's Eve—

Only a few days later, the guys and the KQ managers had organized a team New Year’s Eve party. As the clock struck midnight, you and Mingi locked eyes from across the room, playfully blowing kisses to each other, not daring to do it for real in front of everyone. Though, once everyone had gone to bed, you finally got to share your New Year’s kiss, “Happy New Year, Yn.”

“Happy New Year, Min.”

—End of Winter—

10 months. It was nearly a year since you moved in, and today was your five-month anniversary with Mingi. You both were fortunate enough to have the day off and at last, you could finally celebrate together. Since Hongjoong and Seonghwa dedicated their entire day to fine-tuning their Matz performance at the studio, you two were free to do as you pleased, without having to worry about getting caught. He surprised you with a wonderful breakfast, that he made himself, and after you finished eating together, he excitedly told you to get ready because he had something special planned for the day.

As you were getting ready though, outside rain began to pour, heavily; the moment the first crack of thunder rolled in, it became clear that your plans were dashed. You heard a soft knock at your door, and Mingi poked his head in with a warm smile that brightened the gloomy atmosphere, “Change of plans, put your pajamas back on. Let’s make a blanket fort.”

So you did, and it was amazing. It was enormous, full of soft pillows, twinkling string lights, and an array of fluffy blankets to lay on. The fort’s opening was perfectly positioned right in front of the TV in his room, and you had a double feature of each of your favorite movies.

—Beginning of Spring—

Work comeback was happening in a couple of months and the festival performances were starting to pick up, and after the long winter break from the last tour, you were excited to be traveling with them once again. KCON was upon you in just a few days, and you felt like a hamster tirelessly running on a wheel amidst the whirlwind of preparations. Yet, despite the chaos, everything felt just right because you got to spend every day by his side, watching him passionately rehearse until he deemed the routine to be perfect. He always looks so hot when he’s dancing.

“You’re drooling, Yn,” Yunho laughed.

“Ha ha… am not,” You snapped out of the trance Mingi had you in and you wiped your mouth, it was dry, Yunho was just teasing you.

“You practically were,” San jumped in, also noticing how you were staring, “Gotta be more careful, you’re gonna give yourself away.”

You looked over to where the managers, Joong, and Hwa were, talking to each other about KCON details, “Yeah… they’re too busy to notice anything right now. Thank god…”

“You were looking at him like some horny teenager,” Wooyoung chimed in, joining the bandwagon, “Heck if I didn’t know any better I’d think that you two haven’t— nah, you two have had… right?”

You looked at him with big eyes, face red as ever, whispered yelling at him, “Shhhhhut up, Woo.”

“Are you serious? You two really haven’t slept together yet?” He looked shocked. Yunho pushed him a bit, signaling him to cut it out.

“Who cares if they have or haven’t. It’s none of your business,” Yunho defended.

“Thank you, Yun. It really isn’t his business,” you huffed.

“Yeah, Woo, we all live under the same roof. We would hear them if they were,” San theorized, thinking that he was helping, causing you to hide your face in your hands out of embarrassment.

“They could go somewhere else,” Wooyoung rattled on.

You let out a muffled groan, “Why do you want to know so bad…”

“Know what?” Mingi had walked over to take a water break, wondering what had you so flustered.

“Why you two haven’t fucked yet,” Wooyoung said nonchalantly.

Mingi choked on his water, sending him into a coughing fit, he croaked out, “Wh-what? W-why are you talking about that?”

“The way Yn was looking at you earlier… let’s just say it wasn’t very PG,” Yunho attested. You glared daggers at him. So much for defending me earlier, huh?

Mingi looked at you with a smirk, “Oh really?”

“Please not you too. This is four against one now, it’s not fair,” You whined quietly, “It’s also not a very safe topic of conversation, there are people here that aren’t supposed to know about us, remember??”

They all looked over at said people, who were still not aware of what was going on, you continued, “It’s far too public to talk about that.”

“Careful there, Yn. Your words sound borderline suggestive,” Wooyoung jested.

You got up and started to leave, “Yeah no, not doing this anymore. I’ve got things to do, gotta work ya know.”

“Ahh come on, I’m just having fun,” Wooyoung pouted, Mingi pushed him slightly, causing him to fall over. The three boys just laughed at him as you left the room, taking a much-needed calming breath as the studio door closed behind you.

————————————-☆-—————————————

There was a team meeting in fifteen minutes, and you found yourself preparing coffee for everyone, standing in quiet anticipation as you waited for the coffee maker to finish brewing. Suddenly, you felt a pair of arms wrap gently around your waist, drawing you into a warm back hug. Mingi rested his chin in the crook of your neck, “I’m sorry for earlier. Woo has no filter when it comes to that sort of thing.”

You turned around and hooked your arms around his neck, “Oh I know. It’s fine really, no harm done, just extremely flustered is all.”

He nodded, moving his hands so that they settled on your waist and lazily rubbed circles, “Still, he shouldn’t have kept messing with you. So what if we haven’t? Why rush? We have the rest of our lives together.”

“The rest of our lives?” You grinned.

“Of course, you’re not getting rid of me that easy,” he laughed.

You smirked, “Well I hope I won’t have to wait that long…”

He raised his eyebrows, mouth slightly agape, you continued on, “Do you plan on making me wait, Princess?”

His face flushed at the nickname, caught off guard by how it was used. With a spark of newfound confidence, you playfully continued to tease him, letting your hand glide down his chest before using your pointer and middle finger to slowly walk in a line back up. He leaned in closer, his voice taking on a graveled tone, “Of course not, I just never wanted to make you feel pressured, that's all.”

“You could never make me feel pressured, Min. We don’t have to rush, but it’s been pretty long already… don’t you think?” You whispered, faces close enough to feel each other’s breath.

Mmm, was all he could muster in response before crashing his lips against yours. Unlike the first time you kissed, this one was filled with a deeper hunger and a passionate fire that burned for the other. He lifted you effortlessly and set you down on the counter, continuing to kiss you with fervor, moving from your lips to your ear, and then trailing down to your neck. A soft gasp escaped your lips, and you felt him smirk against your skin, a mixture of desire and longing building inside you both. His hands snaked up under your shirt, resting his hands above your waist, and you carded your fingers through his hair, while your other hand pulled him in closer to you.

“Hey Y/N, the new choreographer is lactose intoler—” Seonghwa entered the room, stopping at the sight before him. You both broke apart immediately. Mingi helped you down from the counter, and you bit at your thumb nervously. Seonghwa just stared at you both, dumbfounded, and then continued as if nothing happened, “—anyways. Just make sure that you don’t put milk in there alright… I saw nothing.”

As quick as he entered, he left, leaving both you and Mingi in shock. You giggled nervously, “Welp! Hwa knows now. Do you think he will say anything to Joong?”

Mingi thought for a moment before he shook his head and laughed, “No, I think we’re good for now, but it’s probably best to save the hot and heavy stuff for when we aren’t at work from now on.”

You flashed him a sheepish grin as the coffee maker chimed, signaling that it had finished brewing. Turning to pour the dark liquid into each cup, you tried your best to recompose yourself after what just happened. Mingi snapped the lids on once you were done, then offered his hand to help carry half of them to the team meeting, a small gesture that made your heart flutter.

—Coachella—

12 months since winning the raffle, and one week until you had to move out. Lord have mercy on my soul, pleaseeeeee, was all you could think when your platinum blond boyfriend walked out of the dressing room. You felt embarrassingly turned on just by what he was wearing; an unbuttoned jacket, and distressed jeans that left little to the imagination, paired with a large faux tattoo scrawled across his chest advertising his signature phrase. It was all too much, you could already feel your face heating up, and the sweltering weather of the valley was not helping; Neither was the fact that you and him still hadn’t found the chance to relieve any of your accumulated tension… since there was always someone around to interrupt your attempts, keeping you from going through with what you both longed for. You had reached a point where sexual frustration was constantly bothering you, with no way to resolve it. Before you and him had talked about the possibility of it, self-satisfaction was enough to ease the longing, but now, not even that could provide the relief you desperately craved. Just seeing him walk around had you involuntary pressing your thighs together. You had never felt more aroused before than you did now and it was becoming distracting to your task at hand.

Your job today was to lend a hand with quick changes and keep track of props. The guys would soon start their last performance and you still hadn’t double-checked that each prop was in its correct spot backstage. Shaking your head to clear your mind, you got up and headed towards the prop table. Everything was in its rightful place and you didn’t have much to do but wait, so you kept yourself busy by fiddling with the cane that your silly boyfriend held during his part in Arriba.

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to play with the props before?” Mingi leaned in, whispering sweetly in your ear from behind, startling you and causing your heart to race. You spun around, eyes wide, holding your chest as if it would soothe your erratic heartbeat. With furrowed brows and a lighthearted faux frown, you swatted at him, but he effortlessly dodged your playful attempt.

“Jesus Min! Don’t sneak up on me like that,” You lightly chastised as you crossed your arms, not actually upset just spooked.

“Sorry, sorry, I couldn’t resist,” He smiled, hands up in the air in surrender, “Anyways, are you excited for the show?”

“Always!” You beamed.

“What do you think of tonight’s outfit,” He did a little twirl, holding out his arms, displaying the large tattoo for you better. Trying to hide the blush on your face you looked away from him, and he grinned, “I’ll take that as a yes then?”

Nodding, you turned your gaze back to him, biting down on your tongue, your eyes lingering on him with a mix of lust and love, “You’re going to be the death of me, I swear…”

“I’ll go put a shirt on right now, I can’t have you dying on me,” He joked.

“No, keep it off. One less thing to take off later,” You teased, feeling proud as you watched his face turn a light shade of red.

“Oh? What’s later?” He flirted back, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes.

“You’ll find out after the show,” You grinned, leaving him hanging, and giving him a reminder, “You’re on in five.”

“Cheer for me?” He said, flashing a cocky smile as he slowly started walking to join the rest of the guys.

“Of course! Knock ‘em dead, Princess,” You winked, blowing him a kiss.

————————————-☆-—————————————

The morning sun poured in through the hotel curtains, gently coaxing you awake. Your eyes fluttered open, landing on tousled, messy platinum locks. As you yawned, you felt the comforting shift of Mingi’s arm around your waist, drawing you in closer as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck. A soft giggle escaped your lips, feeling tickled as his breath brushed against your bare skin, memories flooded in of all that unfolded the night before. Clothes discarded around the room, his strong grip holding you firmly against the wall, his gentle touch igniting waves of unimaginable pleasure as you both came undone together. Wrapped in each other's warm embrace, eventually drifting into blissful sleep.

“Morning, Love,” He smiled softly against your skin, his voice coarse and warm with the lingering embrace of sleep. He started placing soft, lazy kisses along your neck, and you let out a content sigh.

“M’good morning, Min,” You moved your hand so that you could play with his hair. It still felt soft despite all the times it had been bleached. He hummed happily and you wished that you could stay just like that all day, lost in each other’s presence, but there was so much that had to be done. Begrudgingly you said, “We should get up. There’s a music video that needs filming…”

With his morning voice still present he groaned, “No, let’s just stay here. They can get it done without us.”

You airily laughed at his pathetic, and cute, attempt to convince you, “I wish, but alas it’s quite unfortunate that it can’t be done without us.”

He moved above you, propping himself up with his arms, a sinful look in his eyes, “What if I tried persuading you in a different way,” He slid his knee so that it was in between your legs, slowly moving it up, and pressing lightly against you.

“Mmmmm, tempting,” You breathed out, trying your best to prevent yourself from letting him rile you up, “but I would rather not risk getting scolded by Hongjoong.”

He sighed, a smirk on his face as he flopped back down on the bed, “Okayyy… you’re right.”

“There’s always later tonight, though, if you’re still feeling persuasive,” You grinned, planting a quick kiss on his cheek before you hopped up.

He called out to you before you went into the bathroom, “Count on it, Love.”

—End of Spring/Move Out Day—

The year had flown by and your time at the house had come to an end. You cherished every moment spent there, but a thrilling sense of excitement grew within you for the new chapter awaiting in your new place—conveniently just a few minutes away within walking distance, just as Mingi had always hoped. You looked at your empty room in the house one last time, a bittersweet ache settling in as you closed the door behind you. All of the guys awaited you in the living room, ready to help you get settled into your new apartment. As you looked at each of them, you were reminded of all of the great memories you spent with them over the year, and tears threatened to spill from the corners of your eyes. Half of them had already been crying, and the other half seemed on the verge of starting as they pulled you into a warm group hug. As they let you go, Hongjoong spoke, “I guess this means I can finally stop pretending like I don’t know you and Mingi are dating, huh?”

He enjoyed the look of surprise on everyone’s faces; no one knew that he knew, not even Seonghwa who felt betrayed, “How long have you known?”

“I guess I always knew it would happen eventually, ever since her very first day here. I would be quite disappointing as a Captain if I couldn't sense the feelings of my team members,” He explained, “Plus I saw them canoodling on the playground last summer. Way to be subtle guys…”

“Ope! He’s known since day one,” Yeosang cracked up, covering his mouth.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You asked, confused.

“The primary reason behind the rule was to prevent conflict. I knew that if I had spoken up and kept you two apart, it would have created even more problems than simply allowing you to be together. Deep down, I couldn’t help but secretly wish that you both would finally start dating, the tension had become almost too much to bear,” He reasoned, then smiling sweetly he admitted, “I’m rooting for you both, genuinely.”

You heard the soft sound of sniffling and turned to see Mingi in tears, his arms outstretched, longing to hug Hongjoong, “Captain… I love you, you really are the best.”

“Yeah, yeah… I love you too— “ He dodged the embrace, redirecting the topic back to you, “Let’s get you moved into the new place shall we, Yn?”

—Epilogue—

Life started to feel like each day was unfolding in a beloved book or favorite movie. You were offered a permanent position at KQ, which you eagerly accepted, thrilled at the thought of seeing the guys every day. You found genuine delight in going to work; albeit it was a strange feeling for you to actually be excited about your job for once, but nevertheless you had no reason at all to complain. Eventually, you got the chance to visit Hinata on a trip to Japan, and when you introduced her to your boyfriend she damn near passed out. She was absolutely ecstatic for you, insisting that you had to make her your maid of honor since she was the one who encouraged you to do the raffle in the first place. You couldn’t help but shake your head and laugh, reassuring her that there was truly no one else you would rather have in that special role when the day came. Mingi joked with her, “I haven’t even proposed yet and she’s already assigning her maid of honor…”

Jokes aside though, he couldn’t wait for that day to come, already dreaming up the perfect way to do it; And he always seized every opportunity to tell you that you were the love of his life and he couldn’t wait to spend forever by your side. You were his everything— and Mingi was yours.

“I love you.”

“Forever and always.”

Masterlist

#... oh my god they were roomates #ateez #fanfic blog #fanfic #kpop #ateez x reader #atiny #kpop writers #18+ mdni #mingi x reader #mingi #song mingi #ateez mingi #first fanfic #mingi fluff #ateez soft hours #ateez soft thoughts

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melancholyhigh · 11 months

Text

SUNRISE.

ft. brother's best friend!leon x reader

synopsis. even though leon's supposed to be having a sleepover with your brother, he can't help but miss you, sneaking behind your brother's back to fulfil his desires.

content. 2.4k words. smut. subby!leon, handjob, fingering, quiet & sneaky sex, unprotected p in v, creampie, oral (f receiving), come eating, praise kink.

note. i'm finally active and the first thing i do is write for sub leon. old habits die hard.

masterlist. i love reblogs & validation !!

You stare blankly at your ceiling, unable to fall asleep. It’s currently 5 AM, and you’ve spent the entire night twisting and turning, trying to succumb to the sweet escape of slumber.

You believe it’s your body betraying you. Your brain understands his presence near you, but not close enough. It yearns for him and his touch, unable to function without it. He’s in the room across from yours, lying on the grimy couch in your brother’s room as he peacefully sleeps.

Your eyes begin to droop, and you allow yourself to give into the sense of vulnerability. Breaths coming out evenly, your chest rising and falling in sync.

All sense of tranquillity disappears at the firm knock on your door. What could your parents possibly want?

You let out a groan in frustration. In all honesty, you’re about to burst into tears. The comforting rest you’ve been anticipating since Monday swept away because you couldn’t handle your feelings correctly, up late at night just thinking about what could’ve been.

The quicker you get it over with, the faster you’ll be able to get some sleep. You highly doubt that, though.

A few minutes pass, and you rip the smothering blanket off you, shuffling to the door. Gripping the cool metal of the doorknob, you stall before turning it.

The door opens to reveal him. Leon. The source of your nighttime dilemmas. His lips curved into a shy smile, and his eyelids drooped with similar exhaustion to yours. Your anger and frustration dissipate when you meet his tired gaze. It’s astonishing how much control he has over your emotions, over you.

“Can I come in?” he asks sheepishly, his voice hoarse from sleep. You stumble to the side, silently allowing him to enter the confines of your room. It’s second nature to him when he falls not so gracefully onto your bed, snuggling your sheets.

Closing the door, you lock it before joining him on your bed. It wasn’t unusual for Leon to find comfort in your twin-sized bed despite barely being able to fit in it with you, his limbs dangling off the ledge. It was odd of him to entertain the idea while your brother was nearby.

He’s the cautious one despite asking you out first. He’s reluctant to face the consequences of your brother finding him intertwined with you in your sheets. You’re not mad at him for keeping your relationship private, but it’s not like you hate the idea of him showing you off or you, him.

You don’t care if your brother finds out. He’d get over it, but your brother’s a bitch when he wants to be. Though you’ve dealt with him for most of your life, it would be nothing new.

So, it confuses you why he’d want to doze off on your bed, risking facing your brother, and your silence doesn’t go unnoticed by him.

“I’m sorry for waking you up. I couldn’t sleep without you,” Leon mentions, words slurring from his drowsiness. If you were unable to sleep before, now you’re wide awake. He could’ve lied, saying that shitty recliner your brother got on a ‘deal’ was terrible support for his back. But no, he needed you just as much as you needed him.

“I missed you too,” you reply, nose almost touching his as you rest your head on his pillow. Every moment shared between you two, you can’t help but admire him. He’s so pretty, even like this. Blonde hair draped messily onto your pillow, his cheeks rosy, and his half-lidded eyes shine brighter than any of the stars you’ve gazed at.

A grin graces his usual pouty lips. Leaning over, he presses his mouth to yours — it’s less lust and more intimate, reminding you of the first kiss you shared. You had never been more grateful for your dumbass brother getting locked in the theatre’s bathroom stall.

Your mom had forced you to pick up your little brother and his friend from the movie theatre, and you hadn’t anticipated his cute friend, whom you may have liked, sitting in the passenger seat as you both waited begrudgingly for your brother.

You had seen him around, playing fighter games with your brother on his PS1 in the living room. He was your favourite of his friends. Not only was he handsome, but he was also a good influence on your troublesome brother. And you may have developed a teensy crush on him. You didn’t take it seriously because you’re his best friend’s sibling — why would he even consider you an option?

Until that evening when he proved you wrong, your brother was gone for 20 minutes, and you had no other option but to talk to the boy. He was a bit awkward, you were too, but you both began talking and surprisingly hit it off.

After mindless chatter, he confessed, which confused you til no end. He really wanted you? Your silence startled the poor boy, ultimately leading you to return his feelings with a simple kiss to end the night.

But it's different now as you entangle your fingers into his hair, tugging softly, a soft whimper falls from his parted lips — why was everything about him so pretty?

“Don’t be so loud, baby. Do you want him to hear you?” you whispered teasingly against his lips. His warm hands trail under your sleep shirt and grip your hips roughly.

“Fuck off,” he huffs quietly. The walls are thin, incredibly so. You’ve heard the movies Leon and your brother were watching during the night, and you’re sure they’ve heard you listening to music, so it was plausible that he might hear Leon’s moans and whines, but your brother slept like a rock.

And, even though the prospect of people knowing how good you please Leon was hot. The mortification of your brother, let alone your mother catching you, certainly was not.

Taking your hand in his, he guides it to his crotch, his erection straining his plaid pyjama pants. He lets you feel how badly he wants you, nuzzling into the crook of your neck and leaving kisses down the column of your throat.

The sun slips into your room through the gap in your curtains, and you ponder how long you’ve been making out to get him so aroused.

“Let me feel you, baby,” Leon breathed into the crook of your neck. Your hand slips into his pants, fingers teasing the head of his sensitive cock, stringy precum sticking to them. Your own arousal pools in your underwear, clinging to your drenched cunt.

Deft fingers encircle his shaft, lazily stroking the base of his dick. Between shared kisses, Leon sneaks his hand into your shorts and underwear, rubbing your needy clit, and a sharp whimper falls from your lips. He tantalizingly glides his fingers through your slicked folds, teasing your sensitive nub with each pass of his digits.

The movements of your hand on his cock become messy and frantic, precum continuing to spill onto the material of his pants with each buck of his hip.

You’re not faring better when he plunges his fingers into your tight hole, thrusting, resulting in your cunt producing slick and embarrassing noises. Your combined gasps and whines fill the room despite being quelled by each other’s lips.

You melt away in each other's arms, forgetting about the conflict that would arise if anyone found you and him in such a predicament.

Drawing away from your swollen lips, Leon stills his fingers in your pussy, pulling them out, and you cease your hand on his dick. He groans at the loss of pleasure from your hands and the slick accumulated on his digits, unaware he made you so wet for him.

“Can I cum inside you, angel?” he whispers breathlessly into your ear. He’s thoroughly lost in pleasure, uncaring if your brother finds him knuckles deep into your cunt. His cheeks are flushed pink, the blush leading to his chest under his black graphic tee. Chest heaving up and down with each breath as he admires your equally fucked out expression.

“Mhm, okay,” you hummed, and Leon shifted his back flat on the mattress, allowing you to straddle him with shaky thighs when you rid yourself of your shorts and underwear. Leon’s palms instinctively went to your waist, gripping the flesh as he stabilised you, your ass sitting flushed to his clad thighs.

His shirt rides up, exposing his v-line dipping into his pants. Gasping softly when the fabric of his pants grazed his sensitive head, your hands eagerly dragged them down, revealing his pretty dick, flushed red to the tip oozing with precum.

Hovering over him, you guide his cock through your glistening folds with your hand's help. You collectively groan when you slide down his cock, taking every inch of him into your tight hole. As you adjust to his size and girth, you lean down, kissing him as he encircles his arms around your waist.

You rock your hips gently, and Leon groans into your parted lips. He trails his lips to your collarbone, biting on the exposed flesh. A sudden moan escapes you when he thrusts his hips upwards into your pussy. His needy and feverish behaviour reminds you of your first time together.

The squeaky opening of the door opposing your room results in you halting your movement on top of Leon, and he whines in protest. You clasp your hand over his mouth, glaring at him. With the tightening hold of your waist and the muffled moans, Leon is acting careless. He doesn’t give a fuck about your brother right now, too focused on the constricting grasp your velvety walls have on his throbbing cock.

The footsteps pad down the hallway, and you assume your brother is making his way down the stairs.

“Be a good boy f’me, Leon,” you whisper, moving your hand away from his face. You don’t know what overcame him for him to be acting so recklessly. Cupping his blotchy red cheeks, you note how dazed he looks, his blue irises hidden in his dilated pupils.

“Ah, don’t stop fucking me,” he breathed in response, his hips continuing to rut into your warm cunt. The intimacy of it all makes it even more challenging to delay his release, you moving up and down his cock, riding him slowly and passionately in the morning, beams of sun sprinkling into the room, setting the euphoric scene.

It almost makes him forget the absurdity of it. Letting his best friend’s sibling fuck him into an incoherent mess at 6 in the morning, yet he regrets nothing. He can’t help but grip your soft thighs encompassing him as he thrusts half-haphazardly into your hole, dripping down and sticking to his skin.

He spills into you with a soft moan, staining your walls with his cum at the combination of your teasing words and soft lips on his.

“Good boy, Leon. You did so good,” you coo at him, and Leon whimpers at your praises and your tightening cunt around his overstimulated cock.

Slipping his softening dick out your hole, you collapse next to him, chest heaving as his cum trickles out of you, staining your thighs. Your eyes flutter shut, and drowsiness finally takes over your overworked body.

Though, next to you, Leon brews in self-thought. He came after you did all the work, leaving you high and dry. What kind of boyfriend was he?

“You didn’t cum.”

“S’fine, Leon. I don’t want you to hurt yourself,” you grumbled, blinking your eyes open to glimpse at him. He’s pouting, and despite how endearing you found it when he couldn’t control himself around you, cumming prematurely like some bumbling virgin (he was), Leon still feels like a selfish lover.

“I can still make you cum. Please? You deserve it.” Before you can disagree with him, your brother is awake downstairs, probably looking for him — Leon quickly situates himself between your thighs, eager to satisfy you.

“Y- Yeah, okay, sure,” you stammered, because how could you deny your pretty boy, peering up at you through his long lashes between your thighs?

Spreading your thighs open, hooking them over his shoulders, Leon admires his cum leaking out your hole, stretched out due to his fat cock. You feel bashful as he marvels at your stuffed cunt, moaning in surprise when a glob of his spit falls onto your messy folds mixing with his release.

Hungrily he laps at your cunt, his skilful tongue nudging your overly responsive clit. Leon loves to make you cum with his mouth. He loves to make you feel good, and it’s dirty the way he grinds his once again hardening cock against your sheets, chasing the friction while he messily eats you out, your cunt dripping with arousal mixing with his cum.

You entangle your fingers into his hair, shoving his pretty face further into your cunt, your back arching. Biting your lip, you nearly draw blood, trying to conceal your groans.

He enjoys your pussy like it’s the main course after an appetiser, tasting his salty cum and your contrasting sweet juices as he delves his tongue into your hole. His fingers rub your throbbing clit, and your thighs shake around his head. Leon’s muffled moans and whines reverberate throughout your body, adding heat to the coiling in your tummy.

“Am I doin’ a good job?” he questions, desperate to be good enough for you before he returns to your cunt, dragging his tongue flat against you.

“You’re amazing, baby. ‘M so close.” His nails dig into the fat of your thighs, leaving indents. You roughly pull at his hair as you climax, your body trembling when Leon moans into you.

He continues to sloppily make out with your pussy even after your high. When he pulls away from you, a gloss of your combined cum stains his plush lips. He kisses you softly, allowing you to taste both him and you on his lips.

He helps you into your shorts, pulling his pants up, attempting to look presentable, which is unlikely with the dried cum that stains the fabric of his PJs. He lays in your bed with you, cosying up to you with him in your arms, face in your chest. Caught up in his fantasies, he fails to face reality.

“I think you should leave. My brother might be looking for you,” you mumbled into his hair. Leon huffs in annoyance before untwining with your limbs. He wants to ask since when do you care so much about such trivial things, but he complies. He knows you’re just looking out for him.

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #re4 remake #resident evil 4 #leon kennedy x you #leon s. kennedy #leon kennedy smut #resident evil 4 remake #resident evil #leon kennedy resident evil #resident evil smut #reader insert #smut #re4 smut #re4 #✩‧₊˚ fics

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phfenomena · 9 months

Text

❝dancing in the refrigerator light.❞ || tom blyth x f!reader

| request- tom and reader baking while the background song is stand by me (let us all be delusional)

| A/N- i love this so much you have no idea. this shit got me ENTHRALLED also i imagine this as like right after ‘you’re my best friend’ happened…a part two perhaps..

| WARNINGS- food, dancing, touching a burning hot pan bc you’re too busy looking at tom, and big ole kissies

(divider by @v6que)

you stand in your kitchen humming along to the quiet music flowing through your house, mixing the blueberry muffin batter. it’s well past midnight at this point but you find it impossible to fall under the blanket of rest.

you left tom snoozing soundly in your bed, not wanting to bother him at this hour. a small smile plays on your lips as you zone out while mixing and think about how well everything played out so well with him. you hone back in to your mixing before you feel tom rest his chin on your shoulder.

“you’re supposed to be asleep.” you whisper, leaning you head onto his as he hums and closes his eyes. “can’t stay asleep, what’re you making?” he questions right next to your ear making your face slightly warm, your crush on him will never go away. “blueberry muffins. my mom always used to make them when we couldn’t sleep.” you confided in him softly.

you slide the baking pan into the oven with a slight screech from the metal on metal. you sat on the kitchen floor in front of the oven and set your timer, tom taking a seat next to you. “what are we doing?” he whispers through the silent air. “watching the muffins.”

the ‘watching the muffins’ eventually turned into you guys sitting on the couch kissing and telling stories. he’d tell you his set stories and you’d laugh and shake you head at him. the sight of them engrossed with each other was saccharine and sickeningly sweet. the familiar ding from your apple timer caused you to sit straight up and pull tom towards the kitchen again.

as you open the oven you look over to see tom, shirtless only clad in pajama bottoms licking the remaining batter off the spoon, illuminated by the moonlight and small warm lamps scattered around. before you can even realize that your hand was still moving, your skin came into contact with the boiling metal. you draw your hand back with a hiss and swear under your breath.

tom quickly turns the faucet to cold and places your hand under it, turning around to take the muffins out and turn the oven off. you start to quietly giggle as you pull him apart with your eyes, once again. “what happened, love? i thought you were a whiz in the kitchen.” he runs his hand up and down your back and you lean into him.

“i was, i am, i just couldn’t stop looking at you. you’re like a literal angel that i can’t believe is real.” you whisper to him while turning your head up to him and smiling. you hold your injured hand out to him “i almost died for you. that shows my dedication.” he scoffs and rolls his eyes before pushing your hand back under the water.

you both sat cross legged on the kitchen floor, each with a glass of milk in front of them and a muffin in hand. “so worth it. i don’t even need my left hand if i can have muffins forever” you joke with your mouth full with the pastry. tom raises his eyebrows at you “i, however, do think you might need both hands to function…and other activities.” he confidently spat out his sentence causing you to throw your head back laughing to hide the blush that made home on your cheeks and the warmth that tom manages to propagate throughout your body.

the speakers, who had been forgotten about, start to quietly leak out ‘stand by me’ and toms face lights up and pulls you up to meet him. he bows and sticks his hand out to you, asking for a dance. your smile cannot be contained as you take his hand and quickly remember you also cannot dance. the pair of you looks almost like a baby giraffe- although the giraffe might dance better.

you eventually give up on the waltz and wrap your arms around toms waist and hug him. “i’m really fucking tired.” you say into his chest and you feel his body vibrate when he laughs. you lift your head up and his comes down for your lips to meet. after more than enough kisses tom tries pulling you back to bed. “i thought you said you were tired?” “i am, i’m grabbing a muffin for the trip.”

you feel as if a piece of the sun had fallen down and nestled itself into your ribcage, but that’s just tom.

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #tom blyth #tom blyth x reader #billy the kid x reader #coriolanus x you #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tom blyth fluff #william bonney smut #william bonney fluff #william bonney x reader #william bonney

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epigstolary · 9 months

Text

Real Talk

TW: Medical fatphobia, health issues, fat shaming, toxic masculinity

Dude, you say you want me to help you, but you’re going to have to get serious if you really want to start losing weight. I’m a trainer, not a miracle worker. I mean, look at you; you know your body’s fucking disgusting, right? You let yourself get so huge that even your fat guy clothes can’t hide your belly anymore. Every inch of you is covered in blubber. Everywhere you look. And you have to push all that fat around every time you want to walk or move. It’s so gross watching you try to go anywhere. You’re just waddling around under hundreds of pounds of fat, wheezing like you just ran a marathon. Like… people aren’t supposed to get to the size that you have. And don’t give me that “health at any size” bullshit. You’ve got to have some serious problems to get this big and think it’s ok. Nobody your size is healthy. Your body’s a fucking disgrace, tubbo.

You gotta realize just how bad being this fat is for you, right? Think about it. All that fat’s wrapping around your organs. Either they work harder, or they just quit working. Your joints are getting annihilated having to move all that extra weight around. Your heart’s having to work so much harder just to do its thing because you’re so fucking big. Your body’s not supposed to work like that. It feels like it’s under attack 24/7 — because it is — so you’ve got anxiety, you’ve got inflammation, your hormones are all out of wack. Your body chemistry is basically fucked once you get fat. And fucking forget about it when you weigh as much as three normal people, like your flabby ass does.

Not that you seem to care, since you pay zero attention to your diet. It’s just fucking scary, bro. I’ve seen you pound an entire pizza or a bag of burgers and be ready for more. And that’s just, like, a regular lunch for you. There’s so much saturated fat and sugar in all the shit you eat for every meal, it blows my mind that you’re even able to function. Where do you think that shit goes after you cram it down your throat, meal after meal? It’s blowing up your body even fatter. It’s clogging up those arteries to make that overworked heart work even harder. It’s running through all the insulin your body tries to pump out so that it can deal with the abuse you put it through. I bet if I went through your kitchen right now, I couldn’t find one goddamn vegetable — all sweets, and takeout, and chips, and junk food, am I right? Yeah, you love kicking back on the sofa and working through a big pile of garbage like that, don’t you, fatass? I bet you sit there just belly out, crumbs and shit all over your tits, like a big fucking blob, huh?

Keep eating like that, and you don’t have a fucking chance. You’re just gonna keep blowing up until you finally have the fucking big one. That shit is so, SO bad for you. You want to not be a total embarrassment, fatty? You’re gonna have to throw the snack cakes in the garbage. You’re gonna have to cook stuff that’s not loaded with butter or grease or sugar. You’re gonna have to eat something green that grows in the ground every once in a while. And yeah, you’re probably going to feel like shit for a while because your body’s used to getting fed lard nonstop all the fucking time. But you gotta get a little self-control. The whole reason why you look like a fucking enormous cow, why you’ve got that belly packed full of fat fucking garbage, is that you’ve never had any.

I guess what I can’t figure out is, why the fuck did you do this to yourself? It’s so much harder to make it through life when you’re this fucking heavy. You can’t even go anywhere or do anything because you’re too fat to leave the house. Everyone you meet has to be shocked at what a lardass you are. Nobody who sees your disgustingly obese body is gonna want to fuck you, except the fucking weirdos who get off on that shit. Maybe that’s who you have to settle for, since there’s no way you’re reaching your dick with all that fat in the way. God, I can’t even imagine letting myself get too fat to be able to fuck. That’s so fucking gross, bro.

Like, look at me. Look at this rock-hard bicep next to that big flabby fucking water wing of an arm you have. Look at these abs next to you and that belly hanging down to your knees. It doesn’t even have a fucking shape. Look at these tight glutes next to that wide, wobbling, fat ass you’ve gotten from sitting in front of the tv stuffing your fat face for years. With a body like this, I can fuck anyone I want. How do you think that same hookup’s gonna go for you, huh? Nobody out there’s going home with a pile of jello like you You’re going home, alone, to try and figure out a way to get yourself off.

And dude, I’m not saying all this just to shit on you. I’m worried about you. It sucks to see my bro blow up into a fucking whale and get all mopey ‘cause he can’t get any ass. But you need someone to be real with you. Someone’s gotta tell you how much of a fatass you are, and how much of a fatass you’re gonna be until you get to the gym and shut this fast food and shit down. You can’t blame anyone but yourself for how you got this way. Keep complaining, and you’re going to keep being a gross fatty. You’re gonna have to go out, get some fucking exercise, and deal with being embarrassed at being the fattest guy at the gym until you’ve put in the work to fix it.

Trust me, bro, you’ll thank me later.

#feeder fiction #gainerfiction #ssbhm #weight gain fiction #wg fiction #extreme weight gain #wg story #gaining #gainer stories

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ugh-yoongi · 7 months

Text

the very last thing i decide | pjm

(or, the one in which a love exists that's easy and instinctual as much as it is painful and self-destructive.)

✘ PAIRING jimin x f. reader ✘ SUMMARY you learn what it means to love with blood on your hands. ✘ GENRE hitman/assassin au; angst, smut ✘ RATING explicit. minors dni. ✘ WARNINGS they are both hitmen (hitpeople?) so there's all the content that goes along with that: violence, death, mentions of blood (a lot) and weapons, murder, but no explicit gore. everyone is morally grey at best and downright psychotic at worst (especially yoongi). reader gets stabbed. no one knows how to be a functional human being. swearing, smoking, light smut (penetrative & oral sex), miscommunication and unrequited love but not really, i drop a classic tumblr meme in a line of dialogue. ambiguous/hopeful ending!! some of the themes here are kinda heavy and i am not entirely sure how to tag them so if you have any questions pls don’t hesitate to ask! ✘ WORDCOUNT 12k ✘ LISTEN TO manchester orchestra - telepath ✘ THANK YOU i cannot remember everyone i’ve showed this to over the years. @the-boy-meets-evil for looking this over and brainstorming with me today. @hot-soop for always being a help. @effortandmore because you told me an embarrassingly long time ago this was worth finishing. and i’m pretty sure i also sent this to @jihopesjoint at some point too. i did a quick edit of this on my own, but after nearly three years i just wanted it posted and out of my wips so i'm sure i missed things. pls ignore them. ✘ AUTHOR'S NOTE fic drops two days in a row?? who am i?? i started this in may 2021 and it was supposed to be a simple pegging fic. i abandoned it bc i was convinced no one would want to read it. between today and yesterday i have written thousands of words and made it across the finish line. i hope you like it. the violence is a metaphor for love or whatever.

[37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA]

Jimin’s hair had been red the first time he met you.

How fitting, he thinks, considering he’s currently bleeding out on a table.

Well, there’s still a bit of fight left in him. He hasn’t lost consciousness yet, which he assumes is a good sign; he can still hear Hoseok barking out orders quite clearly. The edges of his vision are fuzzy and the pain in his abdomen is sharp and unrelenting, but he still has enough brain power left to wish he’d died instead.

Because you’d saved his life. And now he’s further indebted to you.

(Jimin never leaves a debt unpaid, but he’s not sure how to make even on something like this.)

Jungkook and Taehyung are fetching supplies faster than Hoseok can ask for them. Two pairs of frazzled, spaced-out eyes. Four sets of trembling limbs. Namjoon’s wearing burn marks into the floor, his cuticles bloody and nearly worried to the bone since he can’t keep them out of his mouth.

And then there’s you.

Sitting cross-legged in a chair as you scroll through your phone. Jimin’s blood is still drying on your hands, leaving smears as you drag your thumb back and forth across the screen, and this doesn’t seem to faze you one bit.

Behind you, Yoongi takes a seat at the piano and starts playing Toccata and Fugue in D minor, and Jimin simply cannot die like this. He can’t die on a wooden table in a room with a piano on which Min Yoongi is playing Baroque organ pieces.

“What is this, a fucking funeral?” Hoseok snaps, though there’s a desperation creeping into his tone that Jimin does not like, does not want to hear. “Cut it out, Yoongi.”

Said man staunchly ignores the doctor, transitioning flawlessly into the fugue. Jimin barely hears the tinkle of your laughter but he hears it all the same, and he wants to pretend it doesn’t calm him, bring him back down to earth when he starts drifting too far away. But you do, and it does, and all he can think about is: will you miss him if he dies? Will it take you long to wash his blood from your hands?

Hoseok’s absolutely incensed, pushed to the limits of his stress at the thought of not being able to save Jimin’s life, and Jimin appreciates this, really, but not when Hoseok pushes two gloved fingers deep into the wound in his stomach so hard all he can do is cry. “Yoongi—”

You snort. You don’t even look up from your phone.

Namjoon, for all his leadership and stoicism and poise under pressure, is just as frantic and panicked as the rest. It’s not everyday one of his people is inches from death ten feet away from him. Most people usually die in the shadows. Kim Namjoon has faced down death more times than most, yet watching the life slowly fade from Jimin’s eyes is too much even for him. “Yoongi, please—”

But the fugue keeps going, tempo change after tempo change, the two pillars of this organization spiraling completely by the time the coda starts, unfocused and sweating and praying. To gods they don’t believe in, to hope, to chance—whatever and whoever might be listening. Jimin usually loves hearing Yoongi play. It’s the only thing that humanizes him, and Jimin had spent so many restless nights shoulder to shoulder with him on that exact bench in the blue hours of the early morning, hypnotized by the way the older man’s knobby fingers moved across the keys.

This is it, he thinks.

Jimin’s going to die with Toccata and Fugue in D minor playing in the background.

He’s imagined his death so many times. Stupid not to in this line of work. Violent, quick and painless, in his sleep, drawn out and gory, a message. And in all of those scenarios, it’s either jarringly silent or there’s someone screaming. Usually him, sounding much like he is now, two fingers stuck in his gut. In all of those scenarios, Min Yoongi is never playing Bach as everything fades to black.

You sigh. “Shut the fuck up, Yoongi,” you say, your tone as blasé and inconvenienced as ever.

Shocked at your audacity, one of Yoongi’s fingers slips and hits the wrong key, something dissonant and metallic as it rings out. But the music stops all the same, the silence nearly giving Jimin whiplash. Now he can hear the clinkof Hoseok’s tools, the squelching of his wound, Jungkook’s desperate pleading for him to just be alright, please God, just hang on. He wants the music back. He doesn’t want Jungkook’s crying to be the last thing he hears. Doesn’t want the sound of his own organs imprinted into his memory.

“What’d you say?” Yoongi asks, because no one talks to him that way. They wouldn’t dare. Most people try not to talk to him at all.

But you do.

And, inexplicably, Yoongi listens.

You roll your eyes. “You go deaf in your old age? I said shut the fuck up. Hoseok’s two knuckles deep in Jimin’s fucking stomach and you’re over there having your little Amadeus moment.”

He bristles. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” Yoongi repeats, and Jimin can’t see him, but he knows his eyes are narrowed, lips pulled back in a snarl, fists clenched at his side.

“Oh, princess,” you coo, and Yoongi’s fury is palpable, permeates every inch of this place, overrides all the fear and anguish. “I’m talking to you, baby. I know Jiminie’s busy trying not to die and that’s stressful for all of us, but please do try to keep up.”

Jimin hears the flick of Yoongi’s switchblade. Then he hears him say, “Please let me fucking kill her,” in that lazy Daegu drawl of his, like forming full words are beneath him. Not worth the effort when they’re directed at you.

Still seated, you uncross your legs and, through blurred vision, Jimin watches you grab Yoongi by his belt loops to tug him closer, grab the wrist that holds his knife and press it to your own throat. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Yoongi. Be a good boy and make it hurt.”

Jungkook’s near hysterics at Jimin’s side. “What the fuck is wrong with you two? He’s dying!”

Jimin tries to say I’m not, Kookie, I’m okay but the pressure on his abdomen is too intense. He can barely breathe, and Hoseok’s still digging around, still looking for that stupid fucking bullet, had to do something and do it quick so there’d been very little anesthetic and finesse, and he’s silently screaming for someone to just comfort Jungkook, tell him everything’s going to be okay, but instead—

“Serves him right for being a fucking idiot,” you say, words muffled by the knife still pressed to your throat. “What a painful, permanentlesson in not forgetting your fucking vest.”

“Stop it!” Jungkook sobs, fingers ghosting along Jimin’s matted fringe.

Yoongi’s still scowling. “Just say the word, Joon-ah. I’ll make it quick.”

You actually laugh at that. The kind of full-belly laugh Jimin would kill to be able to produce. “You wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

Someone snarls. Probably Yoongi. “You’d look so good gutted on the floor like a fish,” he replies, and if Jimin knows him at all, he knows he’s got that dreamy, faraway look in his eyes. The one he always gets when he’s about to kill—the one that makes him so unhinged and dangerous. “Left there to bleed out and die all alone like the trash you are.”

No one’s survived that look before, but you just grin, as if being on the receiving end of it is nothing more than another simple inconvenience. “Do it, then,” you prompt. “You’re so big and bad, yet here you are, waiting for Namjoon’s permission like some kind of pathetic fucking dog.”

“I’m no one’s dog.”

Your eyes slowly flick over to Namjoon. “No?” you ask, smile widening as Jimin watches you drag your heeled foot up the inside of Yoongi’s calf, his thigh, stiletto coming to rest in the center of his sternum. “That’s a shame, princess. That pretty neck of yours was just made for a collar.”

There’s no doubt in Jimin’s mind now that he actually died back in that penthouse and is now residing in whatever level of hell is watching you give his associate a semi despite him being a millisecond away from murdering you.

Yoongi would do it, too. No hesitation. You’ve been on his shit list for as long as Jimin can remember, and you’ve been daring him to put his money where his mouth is and just kill you already for just as long.

Taehyung groans. “Can you two just fuck already so the rest of us can be spared of this?”

You click your tongue, tone melting like butter. You’re fond of Taehyung, soft on him. “No can do, angel. Yoongi here knows I only have eyes for our Jiminie, and god does that hurt his little feelings.”

Your wicked smile gives away nothing—whether you’re telling a bold truth or just unnecessarily needling Yoongi further—but Jimin’s caught off guard and chokes on your words nonetheless.

Hoseok’s forceps still digging around in his stomach, there’s a quiet hurrah of triumph as he finally locates the bullet. Jimin feels nothing as he retrieves it and plucks it out, a reverberated clank! as he drops it into a kidney dish, your words the anesthetic he’s needed as they play on a loop in his head.

When he finally blacks out, either from the pain or the adrenaline or both, it’s your face that greets him. He never gets the chance to tell you why he forgot his vest.

[64.1466° N, 21.9426° W | Reykjavík, ICELAND]

Jimin’s hair is blue when it happens the first time.

It’s November. Namjoon has sent the two of you to Reykjavik and it’s dark all the time, the midnight hue of his hair blending into the impenetrable nighttime that surrounds you. Jimin works best like this—out of sight, part of the shadows. He’s light on his feet, lithe in ways no one else is, not even you, and he’s impossible to anticipate under the cover of darkness.

That’s why Jimin always takes care of the appetizers.

It’s your job to clean up the main course.

The two of you are two halves of the same lethal coin, working together flawlessly after years of carefully honed practice. Jimin slams an unsuspecting man’s head into a wall and you’re right behind him to put a bullet in it.

It’s just how it goes.

And he trusts you. He has to, otherwise he would’ve gotten taken out years ago. You’re not always in his line of sight, but he always feels you, senses your movements before you’re even on your feet. The times it’s gone wrong—and it’s gone wrong so many fucking times, despite how cautious and skilled the two of you are—you’re always right there to catch him before he even hits the ground. Just like a ghost, as if your only purpose in life is keeping Jimin safe and alive.

(It isn’t, but it sure feels that way.)

Tonight it’s another hit carried out in an overpriced penthouse overlooking the northern shore. You’re in and out, don’t waste a second more than you need to. Jimin doesn’t spare a glance at the carnage left behind. Nothing he hasn’t seen a hundred times before. All blood bleeds the same, but he still wonders, foolishly, if his looks different to you. If it feels wrong when it stains your hands and seeps into your clothes.

Jimin has never been covered in your blood before, but he likes to think it would.

The two of you don’t speak until you’re in the quiet safety of yet another hotel room, chain lock thrown across the door, deadbolt secured. A small arsenal of weapons is retrieved from ankles and waistbands and cleaned and packed away meticulously. Jimin’s the one who makes the call to Namjoon, tells him in code that the job’s done. You’ve barely broken a sweat, but under the fluorescent light of the bathroom, Jimin can see a small smattering of blood just along your temple when he closes the distance between you.

Someone else’s, of course.

Anyone who made you bleed your own blood wouldn’t be a quick, clean kill. Jimin would make sure of that.

There’s less to be done about the half-inch scar in the hollow of your throat—a pearlescent reminder of the twin scar he has just below his navel; a callback to the day your devilish mouth said the words Jimin can’t stop thinking about.

“No can do, angel. Yoongi here knows I only have eyes for our Jiminie.”

Maybe it’s stupidity. Maybe it’s the feral, years-long build up that’s been simmering between the two of you—low enough to keep warm, contained enough to never evolve into a rapid boil. Maybe Jimin’s just finally desperate enough to go seeking out answers to questions he’s far too scared to put a voice to.

(Really, Jimin knows it’s adrenaline. Nothing more than chemicals. The two of you high on it, heads floating above the clouds. Powerless; or, at the very least, indifferent to stop the very clear path that’s unfolding on the ground below.)

But, god, he needs to know.

Needs answers.

Needs to know if there’s even a chance you feel it, too: the magnetic ebb and flow the two of you have been dancing around for years. If you see how fondly he looks at you. If you have any idea how easy it is for him to get lost in you. If you know he’d let someone put a bullet between his eyes before he placed his life in the hands of anyone else.

Jimin knows he loves you. He’s known it for a long time, just like he knows all those other things that are second nature to him. Loving you is easy and instinctual as much as it is painful and self-destructive.

At least that’s what he’d thought. Until your devilish mouth said those devilish words and sent him into a tailspin he’s yet to recover from.

You have to feel it. God, can’t you? The way the air crackles between you. The way his skin ignites with a simple look from you. The trembling of his fingers at his sides, desperate to just reach out and touch you—fingers that have been bathed in blood, that have taken life. Fingers that now just want to graze softly across your cheekbones, catch on your bottom lip. Fingers that want to hand you the world on a silver platter. Jimin would do anything for you, give you whatever you wanted. You wouldn’t even have to ask.

Can’t you feel that?

He needs to know.

Jimin is composed, elegant. He kills with grace and still maintains as much of his softness as he can. Isn’t ruled by emotion the way Yoongi and Jungkook are. But now, as he teeters on the edge of the unknown, all he wants to do is jump. Wants to buck all his training, all his resolve and forethought, and jump.

“Did you mean it?” he asks, voice thick. Fingers curl into the expensive silk of his shirt just so they have something to do—something to keep them from reaching out and touching you. “Back in Seoul.”

You’re the smartest person Jimin knows. When you ask, “Did I mean what, Chim?” he knows you’re fucking with him. Dragging this out. You know exactly what he’s asking and he knows you’ll never give anything away so easily.

“What you said to Taehyung,” he answers.

You tsk, eyebrows raising in intrigue. As much as Jimin trusts you, as well as you know him, know all those dirty, dirty secrets he’d never tell anyone else, he’s never been so bold with you. “That those long fingers of his would look good wrapped around my throat? Yeah, I meant that.”

Jimin’s jaw clenches at your taunt. “Don’t play games with me.”

A smirk graces your lips. “Trust me, sweetheart,” you say, voice sickly-sweet as the affection starts popping at the last seams holding him together, “if I wanted to play with you, there’s nothing you could do to stop it.”

With Jimin pressed into the wall behind you, you turn to meet his eye in the mirror. Another smile, teeth bared as you run your tongue across your lips, and this one is his undoing. Makes his cock twitch in his dress pants. Makes him bold. “Do you want to, then?” He takes a step forward—close enough to smell the gunpowder stuck to your clothes, your hair. Close enough for the sulfur and metal to sting his nostrils each time he breathes you in. “Do you want to play with me?”

You love Jimin. Maybe it’s a trauma bond or the implicit, unwavering trust the two of you have in one another, but you know you love him limitlessly. But you also know you can’t love him the way he loves you, the way he deserves to be loved by someone, which is why your mask slips as you say, “I can’t give you what you want, Jimin.”

You try to make him understand that. Really, you do—because Jimin is the smartest person you know, and you know he’s thought about every possible consequence down to the most minute detail and has decided this is worth it anyway. You want to believe in something the way Jimin believes in you, even though he’s wrong. You want something worth throwing all of this away for.

Maybe it’s Jimin, maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s just been so fucking long since someone has looked at you with any gentleness in their eyes at all that when Jimin meets your gaze and says, “I don’t want anything more than you’re willing to give,” you take his hand and jump, too.

And there’s nothing gentle about the first time.

It’s all raw, urgent need, Jimin trying desperately to convince himself it’s more than it is while you convince yourself it’s less.

It’s the two of you finally giving up and giving in, letting yourselves be pulled taut by that invisible string tying you together.

It’s Jimin’s sharp intake of breath when you fully step out of your clothes, the sight rendering him immobile. Whatever plans he’d had before seeing the curves of your body, all the scars from years of working by his side, the mottled yellow-greens and purples from the bruises lining your skin—he has no plans now. Can barely think. Wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes away from you with a gun to his head.

It’s the final bricks of the wall he’d built around himself—around his heart, around all those words and feelings he’d never put a voice to—crumbling into ash at his feet. Now he knows he can’t go back. Can’t return to a reality where this isn’t his truth. Where there’s no you and him, him and you. Where it’s just a physical exchange, a give-and-take, tit for tat.

And god, he knows he shouldn’t think like this; knows he’s keeping the truth buried somewhere deep behind lock and key.

…But now that he knows how it feels to move inside you, what else is he supposed to do?

You’re everywhere. Clenched around him. Your taste on his tongue. The feel of you on the pads of his fingers. The smell of you making a mockery of all logical thought. No—no, he can’t do a goddamn thing to stop the avalanche now it’s started.

“Fuck,” he whines, fingers digging into your hips. The soft skin he finds purchase in such a contrast from your hardened exterior, but Jimin knows. He knows you, knows the person behind the mask, sees straight through you each time it slips.

What stared back at him had always been just out of reach.

Taunting him.

Screaming come and get me, come make me yours, come and fucking take what you want.

Until now.

Now it’s tangible. Now it’s breathy, fractured moans that echo off tile walls. Now it’s the sound of his name thatleaves your lips like a prayer. Now it’s the sheen of sweat that covers both of you. Now it’s nails scraping down his back, tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck.

(And Jimin won’t tell you this, but those red welts are proof that this is real, this happened, and later on when he’s alone, when his mind is working overtime, he’ll look at them and he’ll smile. Because they’re real. Because this happened.)

Now, it’s the way blue becomes his favorite color. Because he can see his reflection in the mirror as he unravels and comes to his own demise as he spills inside of you; can see the fluorescent lights reflecting off the hue of his hair.

Jimin’s hair is blue when he realizes he’s in love with you.

[34.6037° S, 58.3816° W | Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA]

Jimin is blond when Namjoon sends you to South America.

The details had been scarce: a diplomatic advisor with a rap sheet of human rights violations that have been continuously swept under the rug and his equally-corrupt lawyer. A candid photograph paperclipped to another manila folder, Namjoon a fan of all those old cliches. Likes being a little cheeky that way when he can get away with it, because god knows he can’t get away with much, doesn’t have much of a sense of humor.

It’s a simple job. You and Jimin will have it dealt with in a matter of hours. Less if you’re lucky and the universe is agreeable. But the humidity sticks to your skin, has sweat seeping into your clothes and rolling down your temples, and if there’s one thing you can’t stand it’s the heat. Makes it hard to think. And Namjoon—Namjoon, who makes sure all of his agents want for nothing—is a cheap bastard. Rarely approves nice lodging, says it’s too risky despite your arguments to the contrary, that people don’t care what you do when you have money, so you’re stuck in some shithole motel room with an aircon unit that keeps blowing out stale, warm air.

And maybe you shouldn’t, maybe you should be more cognizant of Jimin and all his feelings, but it’s fucking hot, so you peel your shirt over your head and undo the button of your pants. Sit on the edge of the bed and try to think about anything other than the temperature, how it’s starting to prick uncomfortably at your skin.

Jimin clears his throat, keeps his eyes glued to the disgusting carpet. “Got a text from Seokjin-ssi,” he says, words strained. “Looks like they’ll be solo jobs.”

You groan. Leave it to Seokjin to change the plan at the last minute. “Tell Kim Seokjin he’s a useless piece of shit.”

“Done. Anything else?”

“Tell Kim Namjoon if he ever sends us to South America in the summer again I’ll kill him myself.”

Jimin has a laugh like an anodyne. A laugh that takes all those broken, bleeding parts of you and soothes over them like a balm. “Seokjin-ssi says he’s not passing along that particular message.”

“Tell him he’s a bitch, then.”

“He’ll kill me if I say that.”

“He hasn’t done field work in years and he’s probably too vitamin D deficient to leave the basement. He couldn’t even kill a fucking rat.”

There’s another laugh. More forced, less tinkling. You recognize it right away, the sound of anxiety. Solo jobs aren’t common for the two of you. For Yoongi and Taehyung, sure, but not you and Jimin. You’re a team for a reason, and though you’re more than capable of getting this done and out of the way, it doesn’t feel right. Settles in your gut like something rotten, knowing you’ll be without Jimin.

And you know he’s thinking it, too. How he turns the burner over and over in his hands, as if there’s some combination of words he can send back to Seoul to get Seokjin and Namjoon to reconsider. Plans don’t change often; not like this, anyway. These have been declared solos for a reason, and that’s a thought you can’t linger on too long.

“Are they leaving it up to us?” Jimin nods, still not meeting your eye. “Do you have a preference?”

He shrugs, tossing the phone on the small table in the corner. Nothing else to be done. “Not really. What do you think?”

“Nah, don’t care, either. Just toss me one.”

Santiago Aguirre… 47 years old… Resides in a high-rise luxury apartment in Retiro…

Your eyes skim the file, study the black and white photograph of the lawyer. Read over the list of all his high-profile, degenerate clients and all their high-profile crimes. You read about the previous attempts on his life, the seemingly never-ending list of people who want him dead. Your eyes go back to his photograph, frowning at the smug look on his face. What stares back at you is a man who thinks he’s invincible, who thinks a penthouse apartment on the top floor and a security team in the lobby means he’s impervious to harm. A man who has made money off people just like him: dirty, corrupt, hands stained red.

“Okay?” Jimin asks, looking up from his own file.

He’s so striking. So safe. And you know what he’s done, giving you the hit he thinks is easier, willing to risk himself on a solo mission to ensure you make it out. There’s no guarantees in this line of work, in life in general, but Jimin’s brand of selfless love is certainly one.

So you just nod, knowing someone slimy like this can quickly go sideways, and decide you can do the same.

“I’m gonna get ready,” you say. “The plan is the same as all the other solo jobs. Get in, get it done, get out as quickly as possible. Lay low. Don’t come straight back here.”

Jimin rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Anything else?”

You exhale. Try to quiet the nerves roiling in your stomach. Barely resist the urge to press a lingering kiss to Jimin’s forehead before you swallow hard and say, “Yeah. Stay alive.”

It comes out more like a plea.

—

You’re good at your job.

Rarely feel much guilt over it, either, which—well, you’re not sure what that means. That something is permanently broken in your psyche, probably. Being able to take life so easily and without remorse. It’s not natural.

Kim Namjoon is a man who plays God, is the one who decides who gets to live and who has to die. His word is the only law you adhere to. And that’s… that’s something. Makes it less burdensome, takes some weight off, because Kim Namjoon wouldn’t accept a morally-ambiguous job. He wouldn’t ask you to put your life on the line for some petty bullshit.

This is how you’ve lived for the last four years. Four years of blindly following Namjoon’s word, of being a good little soldier and doing whatever is asked of you. Four years of being responsible for not only your own life, but Jimin’s as well, just as he is for yours. Four years that have served you well, all things considered.

Until now.

Something about this job hits you hard. Doesn’t settle quite as quickly as the ones that have come before. For the first time, you’d looked down at the lifeless body at your feet and couldn’t stop the trembling, could barely quell the nausea. Thought what the fuck am I doing, what kind of life is this for the first time. Thought back to that day four years ago when Kim Namjoon saved your life and offered you a job and wondered, for the first time, what would’ve happened if you’d said no.

Now, as you suck on a cigarette, legs dangling off the roof of a building looking not far from collapse, a new thought:

Would Namjoon let you go if you asked?

He’s taken care of you. For four years you’ve wanted for nothing. Have socked away more money than you’ll ever be able to spend, even if you live to a thousand. You could go anywhere, become anyone, and no one would suspect a thing. There’d just be you and a million lifetimes’ worth of transgressions, alone under the weight of all that burden; alone, except for all the ghosts that come to greet you every time you close your eyes.

Doesn’t matter. Namjoon might be willing to let you go, give you the chance to salvage something from this life in the name of normalcy, but Yoongi would gladly put a bullet in your head before he let you disappear with all his secrets.

Doesn’t matter.

You stub out the cigarette and put the butt in your pocket. Make your way down to the street. Stay under the shadows—just visible enough to redirect any suspicion shot your way. You pretend to take a call, flawless Argentinian Spanish falling from your lips as you tell the imaginary person on the other end all about your fucked up day at work. How your manager never gets off your ass, doesn’t trust you, thinks you’re too fucking stupid to run a simple executable.

No one spares you a second glance.

Not here, on this nondescript street in a nondescript Argentinian neighborhood, and not when you stumble into the tiny lobby of your shithole motel. The poor kid behind the desk doesn’t even glance up, just mutters a good evening, miss under his breath that you return in a voice far too high-pitched to be your own.

Better to be seen and be unremarkable than draw attention to yourself trying to stay invisible, you figure.

The cameras in the stairwell are broken so you take the steps two at a time. Pull the room key from its place inside your boot, happy to no longer have it digging into your skin. Pause just long enough to make sure you don’t hear anything on the other side of the door before you’re unlocking it with your free hand wrapped around the trigger of your gun.

It’s empty.

Of course it is.

Jimin stashed the burner in a place no one but you would think to look. You text one simple word to Seokjin—Hey!—and you get two in return: Who’s this?

You know who it is, you fucking dickhead.

It takes a few seconds, but the reply is a simple—

Sorry.

Then you toss aside the phone and float in the darkness of the room. There’s nothing to do but wait, because you don’t dare to do anything alone. There’s sweat and blood and fuck knows what else stuck to your skin, your hair, but you can’t risk taking a shower. Can’t risk the water dampening your senses. Can’t risk being cornered in a moldy bathroom, only one way out. Can’t risk doing anything alone. Can’t take a fucking shower.

It’s this thought, more than anything else, that has your body flushing with rage.

What kind of life is this?

Namjoon had never mentioned repaying your debt. He’d never insinuated you owed him anything at all for saving your life, but you know something like that never comes for free. Namjoon doesn’t do anything just because. Has no goodness in his heart to do anything in the name of it. Watching Jimin nearly die in front of him had been the exception to his usual nature; a rare slip-up by an otherwise detached, uncaring man.

Still, whatever you owe him has surely been repaid by now. Tenfold, if the bloodstains along your collar are anything to go by.

It’s time for Namjoon to let you go.

—

Something is wrong.

Two hours have ticked by and there’s no word from Jimin. No word from Namjoon or Seokjin, either, which is the only reason you’re still in this nauseating motel room and not out on the streets searching for him. Solo jobs don’t go like this. The two of you are always in and out, tragically efficient. Back to where you started and then back on a plane, nothing left behind except a singular bullet hole and another fragmented piece of your conscience.

You’ve had a lot of jobs go wrong, but never two hours.

You’re about three minutes from coming out of your skin. Sick to your stomach with worry, anxiety weighing you down like an anchor. You wouldn’t be able to go out searching for Jimin like this even if you could, and there’s no point in dwelling on that, examining it further. All you can do is wait.

It’s another hour before you hear the click of the lock. You’re nearly on your knees in relief, but you stay rooted to the flimsy mattress. Try not to think about how you’ll have to sleep on it, even though you’ll be up half the night with residual worry. All those lingering ghosts.

Jimin doesn’t say anything, so neither do you.

[55.6761° N, 12.5683° E | Copenhagen, DENMARK]

Jimin’s hair is orange when you go to Copenhagen.

Not for a job, just to breathe. You wanted to see the city at Christmastime; Jimin’s never been.

You crack a joke. Point out buildings of similar color, have him stand in front of one as you take a picture. Everyone smiles when they pass the two of you on the street, Jimin’s eyes fond even though he rolls them as you pose him how you want. Still stands against an apricot-colored wall and flashes a smile and a peace sign, cheeks pink from the cold. Does a good job of pretending the two of you aren’t here just for fun, that this is something more.

It’s not.

The two of you fucked in a hotel room in Reykjavik and haven’t spoken a word of it since.

You nearly lost your mind over him in Buenos Aires and haven’t spoken a word of that, either.

Instead, his hand finds yours as the two of you walk around Tivoli Gardens. You marvel at the lights and Jimin marvels at you. You share mulled wine and spiced doughnuts. Jimin tries to drag you on the swings but you plant your feet and refuse, laughing through your refusals. As dangerous as your lives are, motion sickness might be the most. He gets his revenge and poses you in front of a giant nutcracker, then again in front of one of the endless Christmas trees.

Jimin pays for the two of you to decorate honey cakes. You’re surrounded by families with shrieking children and palpable adoration, and it’s all you can do not to wonder if anyone you’ve taken out had ever had something like this. Something that makes your soul warm; something that still lingers in your bones years later.

The two of you take a selfie when it starts to snow. It stings when you have no one to send it to, so it just lives in your phone. Maybe it’s enough.

On another day, Jimin holds your hand through Torvehallerne. This time you marvel at him while he marvels at all the food, eyes wide each time he turns to ask if he should buy something. You always say yes and he always shares, and it’s all you can do not to think about why you don’t have to budget yourselves. Why you’re able to walk through the market and buy whatever you want; how you could buy every item for sale and it wouldn’t make a dent.

(You pick up small trinkets for Taehyung and Jungkook. Not because you want to, but because it feels nicer than remembering that you have no one to buy gifts for. Not really. Not anymore.)

Jimin wants to ice skate, so you do. He holds your hand then, too. More out of necessity than anything else, and he has none of his usual grace. Someone hands you a free cup of hot chocolate, just because. Jimin pouts and then it’s his hot chocolate. It’s all you can do not to kiss away the whipped cream on the corner of his mouth.

Back in your lavish hotel, after countless days have blurred together and Jimin’s fresh from a shower, skin flushed, you finally ask yourself if it’s worth putting up such a fight. If it’s really all that bad to care for Jimin and be cared for in return. If it’s all that bad to be someone else, just for a little while: someone with a normal life who makes a normal living and has a normal capability to love. Someone who isn’t damaged beyond repair.

That will never be you. Not fully, and certainly not in this lifetime, but maybe it could be, a little.

“Jimin,” you say, because you need to try. Jimin loves you in ways you’ll never understand, and you want to be better for him. “We should talk.”

Your voice is small and hesitant, and Jimin hates it. Sees trouble where there’s only vulnerability, so he misreads. Shakes his head. Takes a risk and stands between your legs at the edge of the bed—yours, because there’s two—as he tilts your head back, thumbs pressing into the contours of your cheeks. The scar still sits in the hollow of your throat, and that version of you feels so far away. That life feels so far away.

There’s no violence here. There’s no blood, no fugues. There’s just you and Jimin, whose voice is small like yours when he shakes his head and says, “You should kiss me instead.”

The second time is nothing like the first.

Jimin moves delicately. Feels like silk lace, tastes like spun sugar. Moves both his mouth and his body fluidly, no hesitation, yet he still takes his time. Still pauses to look at you with endless devotion; with awed reverence. Makes a map of your body and marks all his favorite places with his lips.

“Tell me what you want,” he says. Speaks the words against the skin just beneath your ear. “Anything. I’ll give you whatever you want, just have to ask.”

What you want isn’t tangible, isn’t possible, so you stay quiet. Thread your fingers through Jimin’s hair, gasp when he mouths along the column of your throat. Jimin reserves all his softness for you. Bathes you in it. Would kill anyone to keep it that way.

So you say, “Want your mouth,” and let slip a quiet moan when he gives you what you’ve asked for. When he situates himself between your thighs and sucks and licks until you’re writhing, making a mess, grasping fruitlessly at the sheets, his hair, his shoulders, only calming when his hands find yours and your fingers interlock.

Jimin mouths at you until you’re trembling. Until you’re needy and desperate, hips moving on their own, fucking yourself against his face. Until nothing exists except the heat in your belly, the stars behind your eyelids, the heady, fucked-out sound of Jimin’s voice as he talks you through it, murmurs praise against your cunt.

Jimin mouths at you until you forget.

This isn’t your life. This is not something you can have.

But, in the grand scheme of things, what does it matter? You’ve made peace with death, and there’s only one of two ways it’s going to come for you in the end: by Namjoon’s hand or someone else’s. So what does it matter?

This time, Jimin fucks you slow. Kisses you with your taste still in his mouth. Thumbs over a hardened nipple just to see what earns him a reaction, and what you truly want is more time—something else that’s impossible.

Jimin’s hair is orange when you think you might be in love with him.

[ 48.8566° N, 2.3522° E | Paris, FRANCE ]

Jimin’s hair is pink when—

“Sit,” he says, gesturing to the toilet.

Soaks a washcloth in warm water. Wrings it out. Stands in front of you, and there’s water dripping onto the floor and Jimin doesn’t care, doesn’t seem to see anything in this moment except for you, your hands covered in someone else’s blood, and he reaches out, gently grabs your wrist. Palm up. Someone else’s blood. Everything smells like copper and iron. Looks too surreal beneath the fluorescent lights of this hotel bathroom for your mind to make sense of it.

There is care in the way Jimin cleans your hands. There is tenderness in the way he both refuses to see what you really are and the way he’s the only one to ever see you so entirely, when you look down at the blood he’s washing away and all you can see is stigmata. When all you see is sin.

“I know you don’t love me,” he says, and there is a conviction in his words that stuns you into silence. “Not the way I love you, anyway.”

That tenderness is still there as he says this. As he presses the wet fabric into the meat of your palm, wipes the stains away, and the warmth is as calming as it is undeserved. It feels like something forbidden. It feels like salvation and condemnation all at once, like whatever sick depravity permeates you is contagious, will take over Jimin, too, just from touching you.

Jimin is close enough to reach out and touch. Close enough to see the violence that he exists in alongside you: the rips in his clothes, the scars that decorate his skin. Close enough to know he smells sickly-sweet, just like death. Your hand shakes as it reaches for him and never follows through. Doesn’t want to contaminate him.

“I do,” you finally say. Whatever is in your voice is not conviction. “I can’t.” You suck in a breath, try to steady your breathing. This is where it all comes crashing down, you think, because in all the years you’ve done Namjoon’s bidding, you’ve never cried. You can take life so freely and without thought, but you cannot love Jimin. “Someone like me isn’t capable of it.”

Jimin pauses, the washcloth stuck in the space between your ring and middle fingers. “And who is someone like you?”

Water is still dripping to the floor. Serosanguineous: blood tainting something untouched. Not something one thing or another but both, watery-pink. Looks like Jimin’s hair. “I’ve killed a lot of people,” you answer. “More than I can count. More than I can name. More than the ones that come to haunt me at night.” Your free hand moves to your chest, covers your heart. “There’s nothing here, Jimin. I’m not sure there ever was.”

The washcloth drops to the floor, and all that blood belonging to a man whose name you never bothered to learn before you put a bullet between his eyes finds a new place to rest. “I think,” he begins, clasping your unclean hand in his own, voice dropping to a whisper, “you forget, sometimes.” You gasp as he places your palm to his cheek, drags it across his face, smears a stranger’s blood across his skin. “That we’re the same.”

Jimin is always overwhelming, but the love he has for you is even more so. It consumes you entirely, embeds itself beneath your skin, makes a home, would tear you apart, body and soul, to return to him.

[ 47.4979° N, 19.0402° E | Budapest, HUNGARY ]

Jimin’s hair is lavender when it all goes to shit.

“You’re being followed.”

Seokjin’s voice is garbled through the earpiece, tinny and metallic, and you roll your eyes. Some things don’t need to be said, because you’ve known someone was following you for the last three blocks. Average height, black peacoat, close-cropped haircut. Not the kind of person that’d stand out here, and that’s exactly why you’d sent Jimin in the other direction.

“No shit,” you respond in Hungarian, because you already know the man following you doesn’t speak or understand it. “Give me somewhere to go.”

It takes Seokjin a few moments to run the translation. “There’s a side street up on your right,” he answers. “It’s tight, but there’s an alleyway at the end. You can buy some time if you’re quick.”

“Where’s Jimin?”

You pass a vendor selling lángos and duck into the street behind the stall. Just as Seokjin had said, there’s a small alleyway up on the left, and your footfall is near-silent as you break into a sprint to reach it. “Safe,” is all Seokjin says.

You take a second to steady your breathing, knowing you’re good on time—the man following you was close enough to know where you’d turned, but, if you’re lucky, not much after that. That plays on a loop: if you’re lucky, if you’re lucky, if you’re lucky. What is luck, what does it look like, in a life left entirely to chance? In a life with no guarantees?

You tuck yourself away, focus on Seokjin’s metallic breaths. Think about his basement in Seoul, why he’s in it. Ask, “What happened in Addis Ababa?” because it feels important to know.

There’s not much you know about Seokjin’s life. Whatever happened in Ethiopia had been before your time, reduced to hushed whispers and gossip fodder after your arrival. No one spoke of it, Seokjin especially, but every now and then something would slip in the same way weeds grow in sidewalk cracks.

A job gone wrong. A bombing at the consulate with Seokjin inside.

His reply is simple, words spoken carefully: “I loved someone once, too.”

He can’t see it, but you nod nonetheless; an answer that doesn’t require a response, because you know. It’s enough to fill in the rest. What Seokjin’s trauma looks like. Why he doesn’t do field work anymore. Why he prefers the solitude of the basement, rarely a sound beyond the electric thrum of the server racks.

Who had gone in to retrieve him, and why Yoongi has the scar over his eye.

“You loved someone,” you conclude, “and he would’ve been willing to die for you.”

“Yes,” Seokjin says, and it’s like the word’s been punched out of him. Sounds like something repressed, something left to rot in the darkest corner of the world.

Love, to Seokjin, looks and sounds the same as death.

“I think most people spend their entire lives searching for a love like that,” he continues, and if you could see him you think he might look dazed, off-kilter. You think he might be an avatar. Seokjin is prying his ribcage apart, unwrapping the barbed wire from his heart, saying I once was in love and this is all I know of it. “But, to me, in this life, it’s a prison. Once someone is willing to die for you, how do you keep them alive? How do you—I kissed that skin. I worshiped it. I pressed my lips to it with whatever softness was left in me. How do you look at that same skin and know you’re the reason it’s mangled?” He exhales, all tremor. “You can’t. You can’t.”

You know this all too well. You know what it feels like to look at Jimin and know, intrinsically and subconsciously, that you wouldn’t even hesitate. You’d take and give life to keep him alive and safe. You know that when you exit this world at someone else’s hand his face is the last thing you want to see.

You know it’s a liability.

You know it’s a target painted on your back. Between your eyes.

You know there’s nothing left to say, that this particular conversation has run its course. The two of you sit in an amicable silence, and you hope Seokjin can hear the life that surrounds you, however mundane. Hope he can hear the lángos vendor trying to hawk his goods; hope he can hear a city 8,000 kilometers away; hope he can hear these regular, everyday people going about their lives and remember there’s hope beyond his four walls.

I think you’d like it here, you think, but you don’t dare to say it aloud.

Time passes in a meaningless blur. Could be minutes, could be hours. No one’s come to kill you, so you reckon you’ve long since been in the clear. And maybe it speaks to Seokjin’s idea that love is a prison, because you know something’s happened to Jimin long before Seokjin speaks it into existence.

You’re up and out of the alleyway before you’re told to move. Have no idea where you’re going, but you’re racing through the streets of Budapest with a panic you haven’t ever felt in your life. Feels like quicksand; feels like molasses; feels like you have to wade through all the blood you’ve spilled, now congealed, to get to him.

“Where am I going?” you demand. Your lungs are on fire. In the split-second of silence it becomes a desperate scream. “Seokjin, tell me where the fuck I’m going!”

“The—fuck, the wa-warehouse up on your right.” You can’t think about why he’s crying. “I don’t—I don’t know wha-what’s there, you need to be careful. Please, you have to—”

Twenty seconds and you’ll be there, you’ll be with Jimin, you just need to keep running. You need to keep your head on straight. Remember your training. Remember you’ve built a life in a viper pit.

A man in a uniform is unloading a shipment around the back of the building. Faces away from you, bent at the waist. Takes very little effort to smash his head into the stone exterior and knock him unconscious, pocket his badge. You can’t get stupid now. Tell Seokjin to make sure all the cameras are cut, ask what floor when you shut yourself inside the freight elevator, unwilling to take the stairs and run into anyone who might be waiting. All the way to the top, he says, so all the way to the top you go.

—

Over the course of your life, you’ve made peace with death. Have stared it in the eye more times than you can count. Have dealt it out, evaded it, shook its hand.

You are wholly unprepared for the sight that greets you.

Red. Everything is red—the walls, the floor, what used to be a beautiful parquet pattern in the wood. In the center of the room: two bodies, maybe three. Not much that’d be able to identify them beyond a pile of teeth, no saying whose is whose. Slaughterhouse scraps.

And this is not—Jimin doesn’t work this way. Isn’t his MO. Jimin’s kills are elegant and neat, topped with a bow. What you see before you is ultraviolence. It is unhinged, it is fury, it is a complete loss of control. It’s what love looks like to Jimin, because he sits at the very edge of a rotted chair, legs crossed. Face streaked with blood, clothes covered in it.

“Jimin,” you say, because what else is there?

He tilts his head to the side, smirks a little, looks at you beneath his lashes. Eyes that used to find you across a room and calm you. Eyes that have locked onto you in the throes of pleasure. Eyes you’ve seen yourself reflected in, bathed in love and adoration.

Eyes that now contain nothing.

“Jimin, what the fuck happened?”

He removes his gloves with his teeth and doesn’t flinch away from the taste of iron. “They said they hurt you,” he states simply, “so I did what needed to be done.”

“What—” Nausea claws at your throat; for the first time, it’s all too much. This isn’t Jimin. This isn’t your Jimin, who smiled as you posed him against apricot walls in Copenhagen, who took a bullet to the stomach to protect you and never, ever told you. This is not the Jimin who wasted the last of his goodwill on loving you. “What did you do?” you whisper.

He rises to full height and it makes you flinch. You are scared of Jimin for the first time in your life: scared of who he is in this moment, what he’s capable of. And he sees it, lets that brand of anguish overtake him. Reaches for you before he decides against it and lets his hand drop to his side. Says, “I would never hurt you,” as if the words could brand themselves into your skin so you’d never forget.

“No, you’d just—” You squeeze your eyes shut. Don’t think about how one of the men nearly embedded into the floor was the one trailing you earlier.

Instead, you think about Seokjin: Once someone is willing to die for you, how do you keep them alive? You think about: How do you look at that same skin and know you’re the reason it’s mangled? You think about: In this life, it’s a prison.

You drop to your knees. Let the blood seep through your clothes and into your skin, undeserving of shying away from it.

Namjoon should’ve let you go.

You think about the men in front of you. Who they were, who they loved. The grief all of this is going to leave behind, and it becomes impossible to breathe. You grasp at your throat, think about all the times you’ve been strangled and who’d been there to cut the rope. There is no limit to Jimin’s devotion, and you understand now, how it drove Yoongi to madness. How he loved someone so much he would’ve retrieved their corpse from a building and how that same person can no longer bear to look at the damage they’d caused.

“This isn’t love, Jimin,” you choke out.

He stands in front of you. Stigmata. You’re worshiping at the altar of some kind of devil. At least his hands are clean when he places his fingers beneath your chin, forces you to look up at him. “What is it, then?”

“Destruction.”

A quiet huff of cruel laughter. “See, this is the difference between me and you, darling.” He takes back his hand, runs it through his blood-streaked hair, and your chin sags to your chest without his support. “Because I already knew that. Because I have destroyed myself every single day loving you.” He squats down, eye-level, and he says, “I need you to listen to me when I say this, sweetheart: you do not love me the way I love you, because I would do worse. When it comes to you, there is nothing on this earth I would not destroy to keep you safe.”

He clears his throat. Collects whatever’s in his mouth and spits onto one of the bodies. “If this is enough to have you tucking your fucking tail between your legs, then go, because this doesn’t even scratch the fucking surface.”

You can’t bring yourself to say anything, and sometimes that says it all.

Jimin presses a kiss to the top of your head. Makes a call. Cleaners will be here soon, he says, better get going.

You watch him go.

[ 37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA ]

Jimin’s hair is black when Namjoon calls the meeting.

He takes the seat across from Namjoon’s desk because they don’t meet like this often. Assignments are usually manila folders slipped under doors, hushed whispers in hallways confirmed with a nod or a text on a burner phone. Assignments are not last-minute assemblies in conference rooms and offices.

But the way Namjoon is looking at him, with his clenched jaw and a gaze that’s meant to look barbed to anyone who doesn’t actually know him—Jimin doesn’t need to ask what this is about.

Had he bothered to look, he would’ve known by the way you stood in the far corner of the room, face obscured by the mid-afternoon shadows. Yoongi’s close to you, for some reason: dressed head to toe in black, perched on a lateral file cabinet, using a metal corner to sharpen his switchblade. Just like a harbinger of death. Some sort of fucked up omen, a warning that’s come too late.

Didn’t I tell you this would end badly, he hears Yoongi taunt in his head. This is what happens when you lay with trash.

Easy for Yoongi to say when he doesn’t know what it means to be cared for by you. Doesn’t know how it feels to give in to the freefall and plummet at your feet, stripped back and laid bare. Doesn’t know how it feels to kiss secrets into your skin like constellations, to map his tongue along every unspoken confession.

Easy for Yoongi to say, because he doesn’t have to survive the aftermath. Doesn’t have to feel the heartbreak, the agony of having you and watching as you slip through his fingers. Yoongi doesn’t have to struggle just to breathe, doesn’t have to endure the nights staring at the ceiling, watching as the daylight creeps into the corners of his vision. Doesn’t have to watch you looking so unaffected.

“Jimin.” Namjoon’s tone is flat, needlelike.

Behind him, Yoongi chuckles lowly. “What?” Jimin asks, his gaze trained on the painting behind Namjoon’s head. Looks like one he’d seen in Berlin, the time the two of you had gone just because and spent an afternoon ducking in and out of museums to escape the rain.

When he closes his eyes, he still sees the raindrops stuck to your eyelashes. The beads of water rolling off the sleeves of your leather jacket. How blinding your smile had been. The laughter in your voice as you ordered beer after beer after beer for the two of you in flawless Berlinisch. A brief, fleeting glimpse at normalcy. At the kind of life the two of you could have if you were just… different. Lived different lives. Were different people.

“You’ve gotten sloppy.”

Namjoon’s words are a cold bucket of water. Snap him back to reality, yank him back to the present where he’s forced to leave those river-lined streets behind. You’re silent and Yoongi’s still snorting laughter. “Okay,” is all Jimin can bring himself to say.

Jin had gotten sloppy once, too, and Namjoon stuck him down in the basement to work logistics. Might not be so bad, Jimin reckons. He’d be away from you, spared of this fucking misery. “So you know that’s unacceptable.”

Jimin just shrugs, resigned to his fate, whatever it may be. “I’m reassigning the both of you,” Namjoon continues. “You’ll both have new partners for your next assignments, since you clearly can no longer be trusted together.”

“Who?” Jimin manages to choke out.

Namjoon raises an eyebrow, clearly having expected an argument. “You’re being sent to Shanghai with Jungkook. You,” he says, turning his attention to you, “are going to Moscow with Taehyung.”

She’s fond of Taehyung, Jimin wants to say. But you’d been fond of him too, once upon a time, and that’d only ended in heartbreak, so who fucking cares.

They’re cruel, the tricks Jimin’s mind plays on him. How he convinces himself you look pained. How his fingers wring together at the thought of entrusting his life in the hands of someone else, someone new. At your life being just as at stake; at Taehyung being tasked with keeping you alive. Would you die for him, too, the way you’d always told Jimin you would for him? Would Taehyung take a bullet to the stomach to keep you safe the way Jimin had?

Even more cruel is the way you scoff, pushing yourself off of the wall as you fold your arms across your chest and say, “That’s bullshit, Kim Namjoon.”

No one talks to Namjoon that way except you.

Yoongi’s knife stops twirling. Just like a bird sensing a storm, senses on high-alert as he flicks his gaze over to you. “I’m sorry?” Namjoon says. “What part of Jimin losing his mind and nearly outing all of us seems like bullshit to you?”

“Hm, let me think,” you retort, a manicured finger tapping against the hollow of your cheek. “The part where you’re reassigning me for someone else’s mistake?”

Which part was the mistake? Jimin wants to ask. Needs to know how much you regret. Was sleeping with you the mistake? Falling in love with you? Getting too caught up in all these daydreams and letting reality get away from him?

“This organization is more important than Park Jimin getting his goddamn dick wet,” Namjoon snaps. “Keeping all of you safe—keeping you alive—is more—”

You scoff. Take an entire container of gasoline and pour it right on top of Namjoon’s flammable ire. “Then perhaps you’d be so kind as to explain to me why Min fucking Yoongi can fuck damn near everyone in this establishment, yet I have to sit here and listen to your goddamn mouth—”

Jimin doesn’t think Yoongi even knows his arm is moving.

There’d just been the trading of barbed words. His own name being spoken into the ether. Yoongi’s arm moving away from his body, switchblade clasped tightly between his fingers as he plunges it into your flesh.

Jimin watches it puncture your arm in slow motion. Feels the bile in his throat, the heat in his belly. Looks first at Namjoon whose jaw has gone slack, skin pale, as he stammers over words that won’t come. Then he looks at Yoongi—expects to find shock or guilt but finds only a muted disinterest and flared nostrils.

Finally, he looks at you. Watches the white cotton sleeve of your shirt slowly turn red and sticky-wet. Watches as your lips move around syllables and vowels and consonants Jimin can’t decipher.

“—fucking piece of shit, this is my favorite shirt! I’ll never get all this goddamn blood out of it—”

Jimin thinks he hears Yoongi say you deserve it. But Jimin isn’t really thinking much as he clambers out of his chair and moves in Yoongi’s direction. Doesn’t think at all as he lets instinct take over, lets adrenaline steer him headfirst into yet another bad idea.

He’s always known there’d come a day he’d be face-to-face with the sight of your blood. Had always known it’d come from someone else’s hand. Had always promised himself that hurting you would be the last thing anyone ever did.

Jimin has his fingers wrapped around Yoongi’s throat and he finally understands it—the joy Yoongi finds in taking life.

“What’s the matter, Jimin-ah?” Yoongi taunts. Jimin tightens his grip. Suddenly hates that fucking scar across Yoongi’s eye. “You’re never on clean-up duty. Always make your girlfriend do the dirty work. Finally grew some fucking balls, huh?”

“Fuck you,” Jimin says stupidly. Can’t think of anything more to say. Not that he needs to. Wrapping your hands around someone’s throat sends enough of a message, he thinks.

Namjoon’s still tongue-tied as you yank Yoongi’s blade from your arm, immediately pressing your other hand over the wound to stem the bleeding. The sight of your blood is making Jimin dizzy; the smell of the iron hanging in the air. All he wants to do is choke the life out of the man in front of him, but more than that, he just wants to hold your hand. Wants to comfort you, even though he knows you don’t need it. Not from him, not from anyone, but he still wants to. Wants to press his lips to the sweat at your brow.

And Yoongi can see it, too, because he starts laughing. It’s an odd, fractured noise. Jimin isn’t sure if he’s ever heard him laugh before, decides he also hates the way it sounds. Feels all wrong watching it leave his crooked smirk. Makes Jimin’s stomach plummet to the ground.

“Oh, you’re fucked, aren’t you?” Yoongi teases around Jimin’s slackened grip. “You weren’t just fucking her, you’re in love with her.”

Weird how Jimin is the one with his hands around someone’s neck and feels like he’s the one suffocating.

[ 31.2304° N, 121.4737° E | Shanghai, CHINA ]

Jimin watches the life drain from an innocent woman’s face and feels nothing.

Jimin watches Jungkook cut a man down and feels even less.

When it’s over, he cleans up wordlessly and doesn’t eat for three days.

[ 37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA ]

Jimin’s hair has faded to brown by the time he returns from Shanghai.

The more complicated job had gone to you and Taehyung. Jimin had tried not to take it personally. The Russian hits are always unnecessarily violent and Jungkook still isn’t fully trained. There’s still a phantom pain in Jimin’s stomach that warns him of the consequences of taking on more than he can chew. So, sure, Shanghai had gone fine, but his mind had been nearly 7,000 kilometers away the entire time.

Good thing he’d returned to Seoul unscathed, too, because he’s sure Namjoon would’ve eliminated him without a moment’s hesitation if he’d fucked up again.

But Shanghai had only served to prove the leader right. Jimin can’t work with you anymore. Can’t focus, can’t stomach the violence, can’t keep his goddamn head on straight.

He sighs as he glances at Jungkook to his right. Jimin had watched him murder two men in cold blood not even thirty-six hours ago and now he’s doe-eyed and sucking down his third banana milk of the morning. It really makes his head spin, being paired with this grown-up infant of a man now instead of you, but for all of Jungkook’s apparent shortcomings, he’d kept Jimin alive. He isn’t dead.

And then you walk in with Taehyung and he wishes he was.

Because you’re laughing and Taehyung’s got his arm slung around your shoulder and you look happy. It’s the kind of happiness that should be contagious, bloom warmth in his chest, but it doesn’t. It just takes the last frayed strand of hope he has and sets flame to it.

You don’t look like you miss Jimin at all. Don’t look like you’ve lost sleep or skipped meals.

“Didn’t take you long, did it?” Jimin says, because he’s wounded and lashing out. Not because he means it.

You must know he doesn’t, too, because you don’t react. “Watch your mouth, Park Jimin,” Taehyung warns, because he doesn’t know, and this only sets Jimin off more. You don’t need defending. Or had you, and Jimin had simply thought it wasn’t his place to provide it? That you wouldn’t want it?

“Or what, Kim Taehyung?”

Taehyung is cherubic. It’s part of his charm, one of many reasons why he’s so effective. If you’re looking to die, you look for the guy who looks like Yoongi, not the one who smiles wide and warm like Taehyung. So when he sets his jaw and pokes his tongue into his cheek and says, “Or I’ll cut your fucking head off, you stupid fuck,” your attention is finally piqued.

“I’m so sick of this,” Jungkook wails, banana milk tossed carelessly in the trash. “All of you need to get your fucking shit together!”

Taehyung rolls his eyes at the same time you pretend to inspect your nails. “Is that why you’re so temperamental, Chim?” Taehyung prods, looking every bit the pretentious, murderous angel he is. “Because you got sent to China on a babysitting mission while the grownups did real work?”

“Fuck you,” Jungkook snaps, rising to full height. “I’m not a fucking child.”

“Oh? Could’ve fooled me.” Taehyung’s words are razor-sharp and smell like kerosene. “Tell me, then: were you on babysitting duty? Had to look after our precious little Jiminie while he nursed his broken heart?”

You sigh, full of faux-exasperation, and place a gentle hand on Taehyung’s forearm. Dig your nails in just enough to be a warning, and if Jimin hadn’t been looking he’d miss it: the way Taehyung deflates instantly, anger dissipating like smoke, back in control. Just because you’d touched him. Just because you were there. Jimin knows that touch, how it feels to be under your control, and it makes his chest ache. Makes everything feel like it’s sitting wrong in his stomach, and he’s either going to be sick all over Namjoon’s overpriced fucking rug or wrap his hands around Taehyung’s throat the way he’d done to Yoongi.

He’s out of his goddamned mind; he feels untethered. Helpless. Like it was always going to end like this, and maybe Jimin knew that and had just ignored it. Maybe now he’s paying the price—maybe he’s finally found something he can’t afford.

Jungkook’s still going off, nasty gaze set on Taehyung because he’s the only one playing along. They’re exchanging words Jimin can’t make heads nor tails of. Words he doesn’t care about. Words that ring empty and hollow because they sound nothing like the way you say his name. Shapeless, unlike the way your lips move around those syllables.

“Jimin,” you say, the sound finally registering and bringing him back down to earth. All he can do is stare. “Can we talk?” Taehyung and Jungkook are still trading barbs.

Wonders how he got here. Looks around the room and wonders if each and every one of them is destined for this same fate, this madness. Wants to tell you why he forgot his vest, why he was three hours late in Argentina. Wants to grovel and beg and leave this place and never look back.

More than anything, he wants to know what it feels like to actually be human.

So he shakes his head. Tries not to be haunted by the way your face falls at the rejection.

There is a scar on his abdomen and a scar on your arm that both tell the same story. There is a man in the basement who is in love with a man above ground and is too weighed down by guilt to do anything about it. There is a man here who plays god, has soldiers to do his bidding, and there is very little here that Jimin has only for himself.

The two of you will have that conversation, but he needs to be human, first.

[ 34.6901° N, 135.1956° E | Kobe, JAPAN ]

This is a waste of your fucking time.

Whatever Namjoon had thought would be here doesn’t seem to exist. Yoongi can barely tolerate you on a good day, threatens to stick a dagger in your neck at least twice an hour, but the more time the two of you waste chasing ghosts, the closer he comes to unraveling entirely.

“Stop fucking staring at me,” he snaps, blowing the smoke of his cigarette right in your face.

You tut. “But you’re so beautiful, Yoongi, I just can’t help it.”

He digs his switchblade from his boot. Makes a show of flipping it open. “I can cut your fuckin’ eyes out of your skull,” he intones. “Maybe that’ll help.”

In your ear, Jimin’s laughter rings like crystal.

Ricochets off of all the corners of Seokjin’s basement, makes the echo sound warped through the earpiece. “Please tell Yoongi-ssi to keep an eye on the man with the shaved head. In front of him, roughly sixty degrees to his right.”

You relay the message. Watch as Yoongi transforms—sharpened gaze, rigid posture, disappears into the shadows. More apex predator than man. “And me?” you ask.

“Backup,” comes Seokjin’s voice. “We haven’t found your mark yet.”

You hum. Pick up the cigarette Yoongi left behind and stick it between your lips. Smoke it nearly to the filter. “You got it, boss,” you tease, just because it flusters him.

“I’m—that’s not—knock it off.”

Exhale. Stub out the cigarette. Butt in your pocket. “Anything else?”

“Yeah,” Jimin says, and his voice is soft, sounds like spun sugar. “Stay alive, all right?”

Jimin’s hair isn’t dyed at all.

if you've read this far: thank you so, so much! i am more appreciative than i can put into words. this is very different from what i typically write, but i hope you enjoyed it nonetheless.

i would love to hear your thoughts if you have any. <3

#jimin x reader #jimin smut #bts x reader #bts smut #jimin imagine #jimin scenarios #jimin fanfic #jimin x you #jimin x y/n #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts fanfic #bts x you #bts x y/n

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hauntedhowlett-writes · 1 year

Text

title: those vacation blues

[part two of karma is my boyfriend's dad]

pairing: boyfriend's dad!joel miller x female reader

rating: explicit 18+ MDNI

word count: 2k

summary:

It's the last day of vacation and Joel intends to make it count.

dear reader:

back by popular demand, boyfriend's dad!joel. inspired by this anon. banners below by @saradika

content warnings:

explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), explicit language, no use of y/n, alternate universe - boyfriend’s dad, age difference (21F and 56M), power imbalance dynamics, infidelity, asshole boyfriend, dirty talk, praise, pet names, almost getting caught, unprotected p in v, shower sex, joel miller having feelings. let me know if there are any that i've missed!

Joel has been dreading the last night of this vacation. He’s been sneaking around with you the last two days, fucking you at every opportunity and in every conceivable way. Sean continues to make the rare appearance before disappearing off to the bars and clubs to party, leaving Joel plenty of time to spend with you before the vacation bubble bursts and you return home and inevitably walk out of his life.

He’s supposed to be packing and getting an early night’s sleep since the flight back to Texas is another 4 am wake-up call, but all he can think about is you. He thinks about the squeeze of your thighs around his hips, the warmth of your pussy or mouth wrapped around his cock, the sweet way your voice sounds panting, moaning, or crying out his name. He’s shamefully hard as he tries to focus on folding his clothes and fitting everything back into his carry on bag with the addition of some souvenir cups he’s collected going to restaurants with you.

After adjusting himself in his shorts for a third time, he can’t take it anymore. He has to taste you, has to feel you one more time.

Joel grabs the extra key to your room he had made and crosses the hall, knocking on your door. If Sean answers, he figures he can spin some lie about just wanting to make sure you’re both packed. But if you answer, he’s going to fuck you senseless.

After a moment of no response to his knock, he lets himself in with the key. He can hear the shower running from the bathroom and the sound of your voice singing a song out of tune.

“I’m drunk in the back of the car and I cried like a baby coming home from the bar! Oh!”

Joel smiles, stripping himself of his shirt and shorts and quietly entering the bathroom.

“I don’t wanna keep secrets just to keep you!”

He wonders if there’s a reason you’re singing that specific song. Is that how you feel about him?

A man can only hope.

Joel slides the curtain aside and your head whips toward him, eyes wide with surprise that morphs quickly into happiness, your lips stretching into a matching grin.

“Well, hello,” you say, stepping back to give him room to join you. “This is a pleasant surprise.”

“Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you,” he murmurs, sliding his hands over your wet body, mapping the now familiar curves until he reaches your ass, his fingers digging into your cheeks and pulling you close. He flexes his hips, his hard cock dragging over the soft skin of your tummy.

You reach between your bodies and wrap your hand around him, pumping him slowly. Joel tilts his head to capture your lips with his in kiss that makes his blood run hot and his pulse beat frantically. A traitorous part his mind tells him that this is it, this is the last moment he’ll get with you.

He better make it count.

He pulls back, reaching up for the detachable shower head he’s grateful the resort has in all of its bathrooms. “Turn around, sweetheart.”

As you turn, Joel adjusts the settings on the shower head to the massage function, a steady jet of water hitting the opposite wall. Your back is pressed to his chest and you lean your head back on his shoulder, grinding your ass against his cock and making him groan.

“Behave,” he warns. “Put your foot up on that ledge.”

________

Your heart feels like it’s going to break free from your chest as you lift your leg and rest your foot on the edge of the tub, Joel’s solid body at your back has a shiver running down your spine despite the heat of the water clinging to your skin.

One of Joel’s broad hands palms your breast, squeezing roughly and pinching your nipple until you gasp. He runs the stream up your leg, the water pressure strong but not unbearable.

“I’m gonna get you nice n’ wet,” he says, the water creeping closer to your sex, “And then I’m gonna fuckin’ ruin this little pussy.”

He holds the shower head a few inches away, aiming the fierce jet of water just above your clit so that the pulse of water brings you pleasure without being too overwhelming.

“That feel good, baby?” Joel asks, voice a low rumble next to your ear. You nod your head quickly, chest heaving with labored breaths as water of all things has to you barreling towards release so quickly it’s making your head spin.

“Joel, Joel, Joel,” you sob, writhing against him as the water continues to pound against your clit. “Joel, I’m gonna cum!”

Your muscles go tense as your release hits you like a strike of lightning, every nerve lighting up deliciously. Joel pulls the water away slowly as your orgasm subsides, setting it back in its cradle while you catch your breath. He’s supporting your body with a strong arm wrapped around your middle, his other hand coming up to your cheek to turn your face so that he can give you a sweet kiss.

“Bend forward for me, put your hands on the wall,” he says. You follow his instruction, your back arched and hips pushed back. He runs his hands over your ass, the soft caress almost reverent but quickly turning dirty as he grips each cheek and spreads them. “Wish I could’a had you here, too,” he says, rubbing a quick circle over the pucker of your ass.

Your face feels hot from the foreign but not unpleasant sensation. “There’s always later,” you reply.

Joel clears his throat, his hands leaving your abruptly and for a moment you wonder if you said something wrong, like you weren’t supposed to suggest that something could happen between the two of you beyond the days spent together in Florida, but just as quickly you feel the thick head of his cock pressing to your entrance, the tip breaching you with ease as you gasp.

He grips your hips tightly, the spots beneath his fingertips aching from his strength as he slips his full length into your tight heat with a groan. He holds himself still, hips pressed to your ass for a long moment before he draws back, the head of his cock dragging across a spot inside of you that makes fireworks burst across your vision.

“Christ, sweetheart,” Joel groans. He thrusts his hips sharply and you cry out, flexing onto the tips of your toes at the sudden rush of pleasure. “How am I supposed to go back home and pretend I’ve never felt heaven like this?”

You moan, your cunt pulsing around him as he pounds into you. The water is starting to go cold but you hardly care with how hot your blood is running.

Joel brings a hand to your clit, rough fingers rubbing quick circles on the over sensitive bundle of nerves, his pace growing more frantic as he chases his own release.

“Give me one more,” he growls, “Be a good girl, baby, cum around my cock one more time.”

Your eyes roll back as you do just as he commands, the combination of his hard thrusts and his quick fingers, along with his dirty words, making you break for a second time. He groans, pulling out to finish over the curve of your ass, warm cum painting your skin before being washed away by the lukewarm water.

Joel urges you to turn around, pulling you close and kissing you deeply, his tongue tangling with yours in a way that feels like a goodbye you’re not ready to say. You pull back and search his face, finding a furrowed brow and a clenched jaw that makes your chest go tight.

“Joel—“

The door opens, uncoordinated steps entering the bathroom, followed by a loud, “Babyyyyy! I need to shower.”

“I’m almost done! Can you wait in the room, you’re letting out all the warm air!”

Sean leaves the bathroom with a mumbled curse, slamming the door shut behind him. Joel takes his first breath since the door opened.

“What the fuck do I do?” He hisses.

“Give him three minutes, he’s going to pass out,” you say confidently.

“How do you know?” He asks. You raise your eyebrows at him.

“Trust me, Joel, this isn’t my first rodeo.”

He huffs in exasperation but remains still and quiet as you count down in your head to the window of opportunity to get Joel back to his room. You exit the shower, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around your body.

“Wait here,” you instruct Joel before carefully opening the bathroom door and peeking through the crack.

Sean is lying face down on one of the beds, messy brown hair the only thing you can see with his face turned away from you. One leg dangles over the edge of the bed and his chest rises and falls with even breaths, punctuated by loud snores. Turning back to Joel, you hold a towel out to him.

“Like clockwork,” you whisper smugly. His lips pinch together like he’s fighting a laugh while he wraps the towels around his waist. You open the door and he dashes across the room quickly, hand gripping the towel for dear life.

You spot his discarded clothing on the floor and gather it in your arms and rush after him, catching him as he opens the door to the hall.

“Here,” you whisper, handing over the bundle of clothes. You wrap a hand around the back of his neck and tug his face to yours for a quick kiss. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Joel looks like he wants to say something, mouth opening like a reply is on the tip of his tongue, but something passes over him and a wall goes up instead, words dead on arrival. Instead, you receive a curt nod before he crosses the hall and disappears into his room.

________

It’s just after 7 a.m. when Joel pulls his truck up to the curb outside of your apartment. Sean is once again asleep in the back seat while you’ve been riding shotgun in tense silence, your hands twisting in your lap. Joel wants to say something, wants to ask what you’re thinking and whether this is the end of the line for him, but he can’t. He can’t find the words, he can’t find the courage, he just…can’t.

When you open the door, Sean startles awake, looking around briefly in confusion before realizing he’s not at home. “You’re not comin’ back to the house, babe?”

“No, Sean, it’s over,” you say with a sigh.

“What do you mean?” His son replies. You pinch the bridge of your nose.

“I mean, I’m done faking orgasms and pretending that I don’t know you’ve been cheating on me.” You slam the door shut with finality and Sean slumps back in the seat with a pout.

Joel exits the truck and helps you with your bag, carrying it up to your door. When you unlock your apartment and cross the threshold, he remains rooted in the hall on the other side.

“Thank you for the trip, Mr. Miller,” you murmur. He hands you the suitcase, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

“You’re welcome,” he says. “And…if you need anythin’…let me know, alright?”

You smile, leaning forward to kiss his cheek, your lips lingering there. “You’ll be the first person I call.”

Joel feels his heavy heart lighten the tiniest bit.

________

Three days later, a text comes through to Joel’s phone when he’s just getting home from work.

It’s a photo of a new shower fixture with a detachable head, still in the box, set on a bathroom counter in front of a vanity mirror. In the reflection, he can see the curves of your body hugged by black panties and a matching bra.

Know anyone who could install this for me?

Joel grins.

Be right there, sweetheart.

Joel Miller masterlist.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel tlou #no use of y/n #joel x reader #boyfriend's dad!joel miller #bfd!joel #tw age gap #tw age difference #cw age gap #cw age difference

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bitethedevil · 5 months

Note

Am i delulu or does raphael admire tav/durge? I know its him performing, but as gale says "inviting to dine with devil is devils equivilant of serenade and roses" and first scene where we meet him he does eye tav/durge througly from bottom to top. Also he says "im fan of your work" to durge. So idk?? It lowey feels like raphael is fond of us in game but i need proof/ professional analysis. [Ahem you are the professional mouse afterall heehee~]

He Loves Us, He Loves Us Not: What is Raphael’s Relationship with Tav/Durge?

*Puts on my little mouse glasses* I’m glad you asked. I’m summing up a few points that I have also written about in another analysis called ‘Raphael and weaponized mortality’, so if that sounds interesting, you can find it in my reading list.

Everything about Raphael screams wolf in sheep’s clothing (or a cambion in man’s clothing if you will). Here are a few points illustrating this:

Cambions naturally have a really predatory kind of stench to them because they are entirely carnivorous. Yet, he is described as a perfumed trickster who smells of cherries and sulphur, most likely because he is trying to cover up that smell.

Poetry, an art that is very dependent on nasty mortal concepts such as ‘feelings’, is something we know he uses a lot. He’s not really good at it and he even says it’s not his ‘main interest’ to Karlach in the second act. His theatrical nature and use of poetry humanizes him, and I think he is well-aware of this.

When you call him out as a devil in front of Mol, he says something about how she wouldn’t believe them anyway, ‘not with his angelic complexion’. We also know that Gortash’s parents sold him to a ‘warlock’ and that’s how he ended up with Raphael. I’ve seen multiple places that that warlock is supposed to be Raphael himself.

Now this all makes me believe that he usually does not reveal his true nature to his clients unless: 1) they’ve already signed, or 2) they are so utterly fucked that they have already reached the point of no return with him and are forced to take his deal no matter what.

Yet, he reveals his true nature to us from the get-go. Yes, one could argue that the tadpole-gang does fulfill option 2) according to him and that’s why he does it, but I think it could also be something else. I think he knows from early on that we are his best bet, so he chooses to lay out all his cards on the table and tries to build as much trust as he can from the beginning.

This is also the function of helping us with Astarion’s scars. Dealing with a devil when you’ve never dealt with one before? Scary. Dealing with a devil when he has proven once before to keep his word? Much less scary. He’s ‘grooming’ us for trusting him to keep his word with THE deal (and he gets to fuck over Daddy Meph by potentially robbing him of a lot of souls. Win-win.)

I think Gale is right on the money when he says that it’s ‘a devil’s equivalent to serenades and roses’. Raphael is like a bird or something. He’s showing off, charming us, but also reminding us that he is big and scary. Although despite the fact that he is big and scary ‘he simply wants to help us’.

He’s done his research and already knows everything about us, so he knows exactly how to play us. This is demonstrated in the comment to Durge in the beginning and the thing he says in Last Light if you tell him he knows nothing about you: “Don’t I indeed?.

I really think that we turn into an obsession for him at some point and that the lines between the obsession about the Crown and his obsession about us blurs. This seems definitely to be the case in his journals. I mean the poor guy has nightmares about us…

I also am so sure that he is not even trying to trick us into anything with the Orphic Hammer. He truly does believe that the Emperor is a threat to us. See this:

I DO think he admires us or at the very least is heavily rooting for us. I don’t remember the exact quotes, but Korrilla tells us in Sharess’s that her and Raphael made a bet about if we would make it to the Gate, and Raphael won that bet because we had. He really believes in our merry little band of idiots.

His reaction if we betray him is also very telling I feel like. Notice how his eyes widen for a moment before they narrow and say the ‘You’ line. He seems surprised. In that whole sequence he is obviously pissed, but most of all I also just get the feeling of a man that has been humiliated and who is angry that he had put so much time, work, and trust into us.

He says that ‘he is fond of us, in his way’ and that I completely believe. It might not be out of love or affection or anything like that, but he is as fond of us as a cambion can be of someone. We’ve grown on him, and he sees potential and use in us. We fascinate him and I’d even go as far to say that he respects us. I feel like even if you give him the Crown of Karsus and he gets to rule the Hells, he will not forget the people who brought him there. He would not flaunt the fact that he had mortals help him get the Crown, but I think that when he goes on his spree to fuck up the realms outside the Hells, Tav and gang would at the very least be spared or even given privileges in that new world order. Is that a bit fucked up? Yeah…But we have to remember what he is: a devil.

(Thank you so much for the ask <3 That became a long answer. I love to yap lol)

#raphael the cambion #raphael bg3 #bg3 raphael #bg3 #baldur's gate 3

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eamour · 7 months

Text

all about techniques.

there are so so many techniques and methods that people have come up with to make manifesting easier and more entertaining. so, let’s talk about the most important points when practicing those techniques!

manifestation techniques.

a technique in terms of manifesting is a method to make you experience the satisfaction of your desire within your imagination. it does not only make manifesting easier and more enjoyable for you but it also helps you to shift your concept of self. you can use any technique to help you embody or identify with your desire.

techniques don’t manifest.

the problem with techniques in manifestation (such as visualisation, affirmations, sats, the "i am/void"-state) is that people tend to assign power to these techniques — more power than to themselves.

again, a method is supposed to HELP and ASSIST you. it’s not doing any of the creating-your-reality work, unlike you. YOU are indeed manifesting things into your reality, with or without a technique. remember. you are manifesting at all times, you are occupying all sorts of states throughout the day, making your current state of consciousness manifest. are you scripting for each state which you NATURALLY shift to? no matter what technique you do, its only purpose is to help you create experiences you would like to have mentally. that’s where all manifestations take place first — in the MIND. not because you have written it down on paper.

all techniques are equal.

when i say "equal", i'm not saying that each technique is the same in terms of what you're doing and how you're doing it. no, all techniques are equal because they all FUNCTION equally and guarantee the same results. no technique works better than the other. no technique is either superior, or inferior.

here's the thing: the reason why people say "this technique works so much better and faster for me!" is because they favour it. they enjoy doing it. doing the technique feels natural to them and doesn’t require a lot of effort. it’s not something that they have to bring themselves to do with force — they LIKE doing it. that’s because we are all different. i know people who could write a fucking novel with the scripts they have in mind. then i know people who love to affirm whenever they can because they think it’s convenient for them to do. and then there is me who loves to listen to music and visualise my desired scenes. what we have in common is that we do all these techniques because they suit us and we can choose to try any other technique whenever we want. we aren’t tied to one technique only. sometimes i end up writing a whole list of things that i want to have, accept it as mine, and go on with my day. works JUST as well as visualising.

please, do not …

... force it · for example, the scenes you could visualise when trying to fulfill yourself or let yourself experience a scenario you desire should come to you naturally. the affirmation you would like to use should feel natural to you. a technique is always something you choose to do voluntarily. it isn’t a rule you need to follow. you're not obligated to do this exact technique for this long and that many days, and so on.

... perfect it · when you do a technique, it’s not your goal to do it as perfect and as accurate as possible. you don’t have to visualise a picture perfect scene, nor will you fail to manifest if you miss to affirm the rest of your affirmations-list. you can forget details when scripting, be as detailed or vague in your visual scenes, or only affirm one single affirmation — that’s perfectly fine! your perfect scene in imagination or your affirmations aren’t what makes it perfect in the physical world, it’s the FEELING you get from it. if you can perfectly FULFILL yourself, then it will be perfectly reflected back to you in its physical form. inner acceptance is what creates fulfillment, not the perfection of a technique.

... complicate it · a technique cannot put you into a spiral and make you question your whole reality just because you think you haven’t done it "correctly". there is no right way to do a technique and no fixed way to practice it. do whatever you like and however you like it!

... follow others · now, you can definitely try a technique that seems interesting to you, that has been introduced to you by others or that you think will be enjoyable. nevertheless, a technique that feels normal and natural to others doesn’t have to feel normal and natural to you. don’t commit to doing something because you think or you've been told that this is the technique you need to do in order to manifest your desire.

no have to's, only want to's.

the premise of each and every technique is that you WANT to do it. there is no forcing, no pushing, no "need to" or "have to". it’s personal, it’s something YOU like doing, not what the bigger collective seems to be practicing. this is what i always remind myself of when practicing anything loa related: you cannot commit to something you dont love, you’ll cheat. meaning, you won’t be able to do a technique properly (as in, having and being), therefore won’t change self and remain the exact same.

if you like visualising, do it! if you like affirming all the time, do it! if you like counting your affirmations, do it! if you like scripting, do it! if you do the lullaby method before going to bed, do it! if you like rampaging after you wake up, do it! again, you are the creator and you choose which technique(s) suits you the best.

what to do.

when manifesting with the help of a technique, focus on inner acceptance. accept your desire as factual. make it a present, undeniable fact. because accepting your desire to be true means to identify with it in imagination, therefore you BE or HAVE it. that’s your goal, that’s your priority.

with love, ella.

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solar-wing · 1 year

Text

⚣ Forever 💛

⚣💛 A/N → This is a testament to how I'm unable to write anything under 1.5k words. This was supposed to be a short drabble/prompt writing and turned into a whole fic. Lord help me...still super cute though. WARNINGS: none really. just fluff. comfort vibes. emotional tingz. kind of neglectful parenting.

⚣💛 Summary → After an accident during a training session earlier, Conner and you are cuddling on a couch with your Kryptonian wanting to make sure you're safe and cared for. That includes keeping you from going back to your boarding school which is doing the opposite of that. He really doesn't like your parents.

⚣💛 Words → 4.1k

REBLOGS and replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛

⚣ ENJOY 💛

It was late at night. You and Conner were laying together under a blanket on the couch for a few hours, watching movies and random episodes from your favorite tv shows.

You were laid against a pillow on the arm of the sofa with the Kryptonian on top of you between your legs, his head lying on your chest, and arms wrapped around your body. He almost resembled a child hugging their favorite teddy bear.

You had your arms rested over his shoulders with one of your hands rubbing up and down his back while the other massaged his head, fingers threading through his dark hair while you both watched the ‘Graveyard Shift’ episode from Spongebob Squarepants.

“I still don’t get it,” Conner spoke gruffly, “How is he a talking sponge? What gives him the ability to speak and walk?

You chuckled at his words, feeling how he nuzzled his head against your chest from the vibration of your voice.

“I don’t know. It’s a cartoon. Not everything is supposed to make sense.”

“How am I supposed to follow along if I don’t get how the world functions?” He responded, taking one of his arms from under you to gesture at the TV. You couldn’t help the sigh and eye roll that came from your lips at your boyfriend’s antics.

As Spongebob screamed frantically while running to throw the trash out, you removed your hand from Conner’s head to grab your phone. He let out a disgruntled noise, turning to look at you with one of his signature frowns, “Oh, calm down, you big baby. I was just grabbing my phone.” You laughed.

He eyed you with a disapproving look before reaching to snatch your phone out of your hand before you could look at it.

“Conner!”

“Shut up and rub my head.” He mumbled, laying his head back down on your chest while tucking your phone away in his grasp under your body.

“Conner, give me my phone.” You insisted, trying to squeeze your hand under your body to retrieve it from his hands.

“Watch the talking sponge, Y/N,” He replied, scooting himself up a little so more of his body rested on you, limiting your movement.

Now, it was your turn to huff as you raised an eyebrow at his antics. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”

He didn’t respond to you, but you knew he was holding a smug look on his face.

It had been the same thing for the past few nights. You and Conner would hang out with the team after a mission or training session. Then, you both would separate from everyone else to spend time with each other whether that was reading, sparring, laying out by the beach, watching television, or other stuff.

At some point, you’d realize how late it was and would check your phone to see the time.

The boarding school you attended had a strict curfew policy, and while you had broken this rule multiple times (sometimes in a row) for team missions, you couldn’t count on Batman or Red Tornado to write you an excuse as your ‘parents’ for the simple reason of cuddling with your boyfriend.

Thus, whenever you reached for your phone to check the time, Conner knew it meant you were about to leave. So, for the third night in a row, your boyfriend attempted to prevent that by keeping your phone from you.

The first night, he simply kept it in his pocket. Everything was fine as you hadn’t even noticed it was missing until you were making out with him in his room, and your roommate had called, wondering why you weren’t back yet as it was close to curfew.

He smiled sheepishly at you, cursing himself for forgetting to silence the ringtone.

The next night, the Kryptonian remembered to place it on silent and decided to leap up to one of the high walls in the Cave to hide it up there. You could’ve left without it if it wasn’t for the fact that the locks on the door to your dorm were Bluetooth-enabled, requiring a link from an app you could only access on your phone, which you now regretted telling him.

When you spent half an hour searching around the Cave for it, you demanded he tell you where it was since you had already searched his pockets and room. He promised to give it to you in the morning with a cheeky smile thinking he’d won since it was getting late.

The smile was quickly wiped from his face when he discovered the beauty of Find My iPhone after watching you use it on your computer to locate the phone and make it ring.

Though, remembering where he left it, he kept his smirk since he knew only he’d be able to reach it, at least until he watched you fly up and grab it, landing in front of him with your arms crossed eyebrows raised in mocking victory.

He forgot about that as well.

Now, he resorted to simply holding your phone hostage, figuring as long as you couldn’t get it out of his grip, you’d have to stay, and he could cuddle you all night.

“Conner, I’m so serious right now. Give me my phone.” You demanded, starting to get annoyed with your boyfriend’s childish antics.

“No.” He responded, tightening his arm around your body.

“Conner, come on, please!” You grabbed at his black shirt, pulling it back and forth to shake him.

“Why can’t you just stay here? You could transfer to Happy Harbor with M’Gann, Zatanna, and me.” He whined when he realized you weren’t going to give up easily.

Another sigh escaped your lips as you pinched the bridge of your nose in frustration. This was also the third time you had this conversation.

“Conner, you know why I can’t do that.” You said, even if there was nothing more you wanted to do than exactly what he suggested.

But you couldn’t, and he knew it, hence the unhappy grumbling under his breath.

It wasn’t your school that was the problem. It was your parents.

You hailed from one of the wealthiest families on the east coast, right up there with Lex Luthor and Bruce Wayne, who they both knew through social events. But, they shared ideologies that aligned more with Lex regarding his view of Superman.

It didn’t help when they realized their son possessed abilities similar to the Man of Steel. Minus the heat/X-ray vision and super strength, you could fly, manipulate energy fields, move at inhuman speeds, and possessed enhanced durability. Not the same as invulnerability but somewhat still close.

Your parents sent you to your boarding school under the guise that they wanted the best education for you, but in reality, they wanted the scientists at the school to find a way to ‘cleanse’ you of your powers. Something Lex Luthor was happy to help with at their request.

Eventually, during another one of Lex’s attempts to destroy Superman, the Justice League found a way to hack into LexCorp, discovering your existence and the experiments being performed on you through an encrypted file. When Batman, aka Bruce Wayne, recognized your picture, he along with Superman and The Flash showed up at your school (in disguise) to meet you.

When they revealed who they were, you excitedly showed them the extent of your abilities, thoroughly impressing them. You told them about your parents and their wish to rid you of your powers and that you didn’t know where they came from, but you had been teaching yourself how to control them. They told you they could help you learn more about your powers with time and study, especially on the newly discovered possibility of you gaining new ones over time from the information they found in your file from LexCorp.

With little convincing needed, they recruited you to The Team without your parent’s knowledge, and that’s when you met your boyfriend, Conner Kent, aka Superboy.

Of course, this posed many potential problems.

You couldn’t risk tipping off your parents or Lex Luthor that you were with the Justice League since it could put you and the team at risk, but also your parents. Plus, the scientists couldn’t be allowed to continue their experiments on you with any success. Thankfully, you were smart enough to never reveal all your abilities to them.

The most they knew was that you could fly and move really fast. So, you had to find subtle ways to sabotage it, which the Dark Knight was more than happy to help in that department.

He did advise not to tell your story to your teammates yet, especially Conner until they found a way to shut down Lex’s little project without hurting your parents. Of course, you agreed.

You may not have seen eye to eye with them all the time, but you didn’t want any harm to come to them because of you. Plus, with someone like Lex Luthor involved, even you knew there was more to his words than he let on. There was a very real possibility of him using whatever came out of those experiments in a ploy against Superman and the entire Justice League. It was almost definite.

It wasn’t until Conner overheard one of your conversations with Batman in the main room that the team started to get suspicious about your mysterious origins, so they sent him to try and figure it out. He overheard you on the phone with your parents saying how much you had been ‘enjoying’ your time at the school and that ‘Uncle Lex’s’ tests were very effective.

They were all lies, of course, but Conner didn’t know that when he rushed back to tell the others.

Leading to a mess of complicated events, including a fake mission, you tied to a tree, and Wally, for whatever reason, throwing peanuts at you. Thankfully, Batman revealed the truth to your ‘captors,’ leading them to give you embarrassed apologies.

Accepted by the team now, you got a suit to conceal your identity from not only Lex but also your parents. And you chose the alias, ‘Primus.’

This also sparked the beginning of your and Conner’s relationship with you both sharing a connection over being subjects of Lex Luthor’s experimenting, which is an odd way to bond, but slay queens.

Of course, there was already an attraction between the two of you when you first joined that had the Kryptonian confused, but the fact that he and your other comrades thought you were some molerat sent to spy on the team got in the way of him exploring that attraction.

But, not that everything was in the air, he was free to pursue his interests in you which also led him to want to tell you the truth about his connection to Lex Luthor.

The day he told you was one to remember. You were hanging out with the team on the beach and decided to ask why Batman told you to specifically never mention your background to Conner. When you saw how everyone tensed, you became nervous but he still told you, not wanting to have any secrets between you two. He was scared to tell you, thinking you would look at him differently and not consider him an actual person.

Your response left everyone speechless.

“Wow. You are a miracle to all the gays around the world.”

He held a confused expression on his face as well as M’Gann. Wally, Artemis, and Zatanna couldn’t stop laughing while Dick and Kaldur tried to hide their chuckles.

After that, you two became inseparable. He and M’Gann had already broken up due to him realizing he only felt a friendship for M’Gann, considering he didn’t understand feelings and emotions that well when he came out of the pod hence him having to ‘explore’ his attraction to you. And explore he did…

Wait, are we keeping this PG-13? Well, no one told—Ugh, fine.

He was very very very interested in you.

Happy?

Anyway, when he discovered the world around him, he only saw guys with girls and girls with guys, figuring that was what he was supposed to do.

Then, you came into his life, and, well…he thought his stomach was broken for a week and a half.

It was butterflies.

As you and he discovered your feelings for each other and soon entered a relationship, Conner began to see how some of the experiments were affecting you. Batman and the League still hadn’t found a way to shut down Lex’s operation quietly and safely, and he became frustrated with the time and danger it posed for you.

Even with Batman’s sabotage attempts, the scientist’s tampering with your powers was causing various side effects putting a strain on your body. There was never a moment when the topic of your ‘schooling’ came up that Conner did not make clear how he felt about your parents.

Plus, since he made it his personal responsibility to walk you back to your campus every night (wearing a disguise, of course) to make sure you got back safely, at some point, he was bound to meet your roommate.

Conner had accompanied you to the gate of your campus, insisting that he walk you to your room to make sure you got back, but you didn’t want to take any chances of Lex discovering him here and linking you two together. Then, your roommate Mason decided to appear at that very moment.

You’d be lying six ways to Sunday if you said the expression on Conner’s face was neutral, at a bare minimum.

After an awkward exchange, your roommate headed to your shared dorm, saying he got you some food from the dining hall, which, for whatever reason, Conner did not appreciate.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Conner’s first words were, ‘I don’t like him.’ That was the first time he suggested you come live at the Cave with him and the others. When you told him you couldn’t, he suggested (demanded) you switch rooms, to which you reminded him you’d just get placed with another guy. So he circled back to the first option, and you chose to kiss him and run back to your room before he decided to drag you back to Mount Justice (which you had no doubt he would do given the opportunity).

So yeah, it was safe to say Connerhated when you’d leave back to campus every night.

“I don’t like your parents,” He growled, the 1000th time you’ve probably heard him say that exact sentence.

“Conner, I need to get back,” You spoke softly, rubbing his head again, hoping he would give in. But, knowing him and how stubborn he could be, there wasn’t that much hope in the world.

“No, you don’t! You need to stay here where I can keep you safe.” He remarked, pushing himself up and throwing the blanket to the floor before standing up to walk toward his room with your phone still in his hand.

“Conner…” You groaned, getting up yourself and following after him.

You continued to call out to him as you walked through the hallways, eventually reaching the door to his room just as your phone began ringing in his hand.

“Oh look, it’s your little boyfriend now.”

You could see Mason’s contact appearing across your phone screen before he opened the door to his bedroom walking inside. And even though you could hear the sarcasm dripping from his voice, the urge to make a joke was hard to resist.

“I have another boyfriend? Wow. I must be hot stuff,” You chuckled, flipping imaginary hair out of your face while following him inside the bedroom before closing the door behind you.

Conner held a sour look at your words, very much not impressed. “Not funny,” He huffed.

“What! You said it. Come on, Conner. You know what will happen if I don’t go back.”

“And I know what will happen if you do go back!” He shouted.

You froze right where you were, surprised at the outburst while he continued his tirade, “You barely could keep up today with training. You’ve got so many drugs and serums running through your body, not to mention Batman’s dilutions to nullify their effects and it’s clearly taking a toll on you! You think I didn’t notice how exhausted you looked when you put up that shield? Let’s not forget you basically fell out of the air mid-flight and would’ve hit the ground from 50 feet up if I hadn’t caught you in time. These experiments are hurting you, Y/N! And you think I’m just going to keep letting you go back so they can do more twisted shit to you? Do you really think I’m going to be okay with that?!”

At this point, Conner had grabbed you by your shoulders, his voice almost in hysterics.

You could tell he was trying to sound unaffected, but the trembling in his voice was unmistakable. His hands clenched at your shoulders, dropping your phone on the ground which probably cracked and broke it, yet, you couldn’t find an ounce of care in your body about it seeing how distressed your boyfriend was standing in front of you.

The experiments were becoming more extreme, there was no denying it. You were the one on the end of the needles and syringes, so you’d definitely know.

Conner was right, it was definitely putting more stress on your body from constantly fighting the drugs and ‘medicines’ they injected into you. Batman thought adding what he called a ‘dilution’ solution (rhyme unintended) to counter the effects of the drugs would help. But, your body’s immune system saw it as another foreign virus and attempted to flush it from your system.

He and the Red Tornado were concerned when they saw how you were barely keeping up with the others during training. Usually, you were easily the most combative fighter on your team, picking up your lessons and training easily when you joined. But, the last few weeks had been different with today being the worst out of all of them.

Just trying to fly felt like you were pulling 10 truckloads of bricks, and that was usually the easiest thing for you to do. When had basically fainted during an exercise and fell out of flight, Conner had to leap up to catch you before you hit the ground head-first.

Everyone came to make sure you were okay while the Kryptonian lost it on the Dark Knight. Not only was he yelling and shouting at him, he was also blaming the entire League for allowing you to stay in this situation as long as they did and threatened that if they didn’t find a way to get you out of that school and away from Lex’s experiments soon, he’d take matters into his own hands.

He carried you away to his room to rest, stating you were done with training for the day. When you woke up to him staring at you while caressing your face, you jokingly asked if you should be worried about this in the future.

You were still slightly confused on why you were in his room and had asked him what happened only for him to respond with a kiss on your lips before nuzzling his face into your neck, breathing in your scent.

When you figured he wasn’t ready to speak about it, that’s when you suggested going to the lounge room to watch movies and TV, figuring he wouldn’t let you out of his sight from his behavior. He carried you the way there and was going to let you rest against him, but you said you liked it better when he laid against you (which he did too but he would never admit it).

Your friends had stopped by to check on you when they were passing through, and while thanking them and letting them know you were okay, you had to pinch at your boyfriend’s back a few times feeling how tense he got from his arms tightening around you whenever one of them came closer than he liked.

He was almost like a guard dog that was on full alert, seeing anything that came near you as a possible threat. Somehow, you got the sense that a part of him needed to be near you and constantly holding or having some type of physical contact with you, assuring himself that you were okay and safe. You figured it was a Kryptonian thing.

Now, you knew exactly what happened and why he had been so clingy with you and grumpy at everyone who came by, especially Batman. He looked like he wanted to snap his head off.

And the look on his face communicated his feelings clearly as day without him having to say a word. He was scared, terrified really. You figured the sight of you falling and hitting the ground like that had more than an impressionable effect on the Kryptonian. If the roles were reversed and it was him that almost got hurt like that, you’d probably (definitely) be acting the same way (worse actually).

“Conner, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize-” You started to apologize but he didn’t let you finish, pressing his lips against yours.

You stood there lost in each other for a moment, forgetting about the world outside the bedroom door and all the problems you had. It was a blissful moment, one you wish you could stay in forever.

Eventually, though, you had to come up for air, breaking the kiss as Conner once again brought a hand up to caress your face.

“Don’t apologize. None of this is your fault, but the only way you’re going back to that school is if I’m going with you. And if not, then you’re staying here.” He declared to which you raised a playful eyebrow.

It was no secret to anyone but you that you very much enjoyed how protective your boyfriend was over you, liking to poke at him a few times just to get a reaction.

“Do I get a say in this?” You asked, twirling your fingers through the hair at the back of his head.

A slight smirk appeared on his lips before he leaned his head down between your jaw and shoulder. You leaned to the side, allowing him more access while he traced his nose up and down your neck.

“Nope,” He stated.

“Rude.”

“Don’t care.”

You stood there in silence for a few more minutes with your head resting on his shoulder while he still traced your neck, planting a few kisses now and then. His hands were rubbing up and down your back with one slipping under your shirt to press against your skin which left you shuddering in his hold. How was it a man who ran so hot could have hands that felt so cold?

“Why can’t we stay here forever?” You muttered, nuzzling your face into his chest.

“We could if you’d just move in here. We could wake up and have breakfast together. Go to school together. Have movie nights all the time. You could sleep in my room, which means we could even-”

“Ah ah ah, watch those hands, tough guy!” Your hands shot down to his wrists, stopping them from reaching into your pants with a laugh.

PG-13, remember?

Ever since he was introduced to the world of corny but with an ‘H,’ you’d had a hard time keeping his hands off you. His libido was something else. Another Kryptonian thing, you figured.

He playfully whined as you dragged his hands off you before leaning down to grab your phone off the floor. Surprisingly, it didn’t have a scratch on them. There were missed calls and messages from Mason, alerting you that curfew was soon and asking where you were. Conner grumbled as he watched you reply to your roommate's messages.

“Oh, hush you, big baby. I’m asking him to cover for me since I’m apparently spending the night. You’re lucky it’s Friday,” You laughed before he snatched your phone again, “Conner!”

He held your phone above you, using the phone’s camera to snap a picture of you two before quickly sending it to Mason. You launched yourself off the ground to snatch the device back while flying above the room to see what he sent.

“Seriously?”

“Had to make sure he knows whose room you’re gonna be sleeping in,” He joked, though you knew part of him was serious. The boy was so freaking territorial.

You loved it though.

A hum sounded from your lips though when a thought came to mind and a mischievous grin appeared on your face as you tapped your phone against your chin, “Maybe I’ll tell him I’m bored and ask him to come to get me.”

That wiped the smirk off his face quickly, “You wouldn’t…”

You played like you were typing a fake message as Conner jumped at you, chasing you all over the room.

Yeah, you knew you wanted to stay here forever.

☀️ | Conner Kent/Superboy | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

468 notes · View notes

earthtooz · 2 years

Text

𝟐:𝟎𝟑 𝐀𝐌

fluff, hints at a fight that happened so minimal hurt/comfort, sooo much swearing, ooc rin bc he's so hard to write wtf he has a personality of an apple but i love him <3

it’s 2 am.

it’s 2 am and someone is knocking on your door like a madman.

you were simply trying to catch some shut eye, exhausted from a day of grieving and almost breaking down into tears on several occasions. the accumulation of a shitty day, a stressful deadline, and the massive fight you had with your boyfriend, itoshi rin, two days ago, really committed to keeping your day melancholic at best. sleep was everything you needed right now, both for its regenerative and escapist purposes.

yet again, you really cannot catch a break from the spite of the universe because it is out of rage that you find yourself walking towards your front door; an anger that dissipates when you see who it is on the other side.

1/3 of the reason why your day sucked. your painfully beautiful boyfriend.

the argument you had with rin was left open-ended on whether the relationship should continue or not. to you, it seemed as though both parties were at different opinions, with you wanting to maintain what you had. after two days of not responding to your texts, you suppose that that had been a short way of answering the ambiguity.

willingly, although reluctantly, you open the door, preparing to end something that you were not ready to let go.

he’s sweaty and he’s panting. did he run up the stairs or something, why is he so puffed? how is he so pretty despite that?

“hey,” you begin, feeling small in his presence. rin bores through you with his teal eyes, not saying anything. you cringe at the silence.

“i appreciate the effort but y’know, if you wanted to make our breakup official couldn’t you have done it at a reasonable hour, rin?”

his eyes narrow at that statement, betraying his usually stoic expression with furrowed brows and an agape mouth. confused. he’s confused, but you don’t see any of it because you find the floor more interesting than your boyfriend (?).

with a deep inhale, you just decide to go for it. if he’s not going to declare it, then you will. “look, rin, maybe you’re right, if this relationship is holding you back then maybe it is best we-“

“-the olive theory.”

“excuse me?”

the first words this man utters to you after two days… is the olive theory?

the dark-haired continues. “the olive theory, we’re- we’re supposed to be compatible.”

you are way over your head right now. did you even wake up? is this a dream? why is your, usually all-straight-talk, boyfriend talking to you about the olive theory at 2am, stammering whilst doing so? what kind of hallucination is this?

“rin, what?”

“i like olives, you hate them, we’re meant to work, and i don’t think i can continue on like this.”

you blink once, twice, three times before pointing at him. “you’re telling me that we’re compatible, yet in the same sentence, telling me that we should break up?”

"i didn’t want to break up?”

“but you just said you can’t continue on like this, what else do you mean?” your voice is at a hushed whisper at best, and although you wanted to raise it louder, you fear that your neighbours would not be happy.

“i meant that i can’t continue on without you!”

silence.

“i’ve become so co-dependent on you that i fucking hate it. i can’t fucking function without you, even that fuckhead isagi knows that i’m off and it’s all because of you. it’s only been two fucking days and i’m not landing 60% of my goals, i’m not receiving 20% of my passes correctly, and i keep tripping over myself, you’re ruining me, y/n.”

the flurry of emotions within you triples, and you’re so flabbergasted that no words can escape your mouth. truthfully, you can't think straight, but if you could, the words would fizzle out in your throat before they even saw the light of day.

“if i have to suffer any more of this stupid silence between us then i might kill a bitch. that bitch being the antennae freak.”

even more silence, and rin is practically begging you with his gaze to say something. funnily enough, the next thing you murmur is out of reflex: “don’t say that about shidou.”

he groans. “if i didn’t love you, i would choke you right now.” wow, itoshi rin has a way with words.

the threat causes you to crack a smile. “well, good thing you love me,” you mutter whilst grabbing him by the wrists to pull him inside your apartment. “and it’s a good thing i love you too.”

“well no shit, we’ve been in a relationship for-“

“-shut up and kiss me, you smooth talker.”

the soccer player smirks in amusement before leaning forward, closing the physical and metaphorical space between you, soothing the heartache with gentle touches and a fervent need to love one another.

༊* BONUS:

“why are you here at 2 am? i thought you, of all people, would be fast asleep.”

“tried to, can’t sleep without you- you’re a real pain in my ass, you know that?”

you smile fondly as he hooks an arm around you waist, collapsing into you as a way of saying that he doesn’t mean his rough words. “so i’m just another bedwarmer?” you ask teasingly.

he grumbles a ‘tch’, digging his nose into your nape. “you’re an idiot.”

“thank you, love. speaking of bedwarming, can we go to sleep?” perfectly paired with a yawn, rin looks at you with slight guilt in his eyes before dragging you down the memorised path to your bedroom.

once there, he wastes little time in dragging you into the sanctuary of your bed, and you let out a sigh of content when rin turns off the lights and pulls the covers up. instinctively, your hands retreat to his hair, carding through them.

he’s holding you close, hands resting protectively around your waist.

“we have a lot to talk about in the morning, but did you not get any of my texts?”

“you texted?”

“…yeah?”

“oh yeah, i remember now that i blocked you after our fight.”

you mercilessly smother him with your pillow.

#this was shitty- but if you enjoyed feel free to reblog !!!!! 😁😁😁#i'm so tired and sleepy #i can't be fucked to tag this #but i will #itoshi rin x reader #rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #itoshi rin fluff #blue lock fluff #itoshi rin x you #rin x you #rin itoshi x you

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darkdevasofdestruction · 1 year

Text

Honey, I’m Home! ~ Alhaitham x Liyue!Reader

“Girlfriend?! You?!” Kaveh’s face showed nothing but utmost shock. “I don’t believe a word you say! Nobody would! I mean -- You?! There’s no way any sane woman would stay around you!” “I am not one to respond to baseless provokation, however, I have to point out that you directly insulted my partner intellect and mental well-being, to which I cannot remain silent - Though, I suppose you are intoxicated and there’s little I should care about. No word coming out of your mouth is ever worth taking into account to begin with.” Alhaitham, much to his mate’s irritation, didn’t even raise his gaze from the book he was reading. “Hey, you--! You’re SO insufferable!” the poor architect growled in anger. “Since when? You never told me about her, and we’ve known each other for enough years! You’d have let it slip somehow - Or, at least, your arrogance would’ve!” “Your impression on my personality has nothing to do with any kind of potential slip you think I might have had. As a matter of fact, the existence of a significant other had never been a secret to begin with. You just never asked, therefore, I had no reason to go out of my way and brag about my perfectly accomplished life, considering not only your living conditions, but your infinitely tragic luck. I did not want to bother with you crying again, out of nowhere.” Kaveh threw a random book at his mate’s head, which annoyingly enough, he masterfully caught without as much as blinking. “GAHH, I HATE YOU SO MUCH!” the man whined, slamming his face into the table. “FINE! TELL ME! ENLIGHTEN ME! WHO IS THIS MYSTERY WOMAN THAT MANAGED TO IGNORE THE INFINITE AMOUNT OF NEGATIVE TRAITS AND THAT STUPIDLY ARROGANT AND UNAPPROACHABLE FACE OF YOURS?! IS SHE BLIND?!” “There is nothing wrong with her eye function. In fact, she often compliments my appearance.” the scribe pointed out. “We have been together since a year before we presented our graduation thesis.” poor Kaveh spit out the beer he was drinking. “HOW LONG?!” he was absolutely convinced he was lying. “There’s NO way that is, in any way, true!” “If you don’t believe me, there are plenty ways to search for proof on your own. The only thing I would have to warn you about is not to use your usual barbaric ways of speaking to her, if you manage to find her. You will scare her away.” Kaveh couldn’t help but glare at Alhaitham, though, considering the amount of unceremonious yelling he just did, he couldn’t refute much. “Fine, whatever - Tell me about her. How you met. Something. Anything relevant. I’ll see after if I believe you.” Alhaitham had to fight the smirk off his face as he hummed in amusement - It was so easy to get a rise out of this fool. “Y/N is originally from Liyue, although you can say, after finishing her Amurta course and graduated, she would spend about half a year back home to take care of her family and help with the medicine aspect of the country.” Kaveh’s eyes suddenly shot open and he gasped. “Hold up! Is this the Liyue friend that Tighnari mentioned? They were in the same Darshan and -- They worked on their thesis together a lot and -- And Cyno too, on enough occasions -- Is that her?!” Alhaitham shrugged his shoulders, though he knew it was the truth. There were a lot of references that one must use in the bibliography, and the practical percentage of her thesis she did on the comparison of Fauna and Flora from Sumeru and Liyue was done for the most part with Tighnari. Y/N often mentioned the fennec boy being her only friend for the many years she in Akademiya.

Alhaitham knew, no matter how nice of a person you were, if you had a unique brilliance, the common flock of mindless sheep were bound to be rude to you. He was no stranger to the endless amount of insults he received from many, although, in almost the same ponder, he also had many more compliments of all kind, be that on his intelligence, on his work, or... His looks especially. Tighnari and Cyno were no strangers to this kind of treatment, but at least they had each other - For the most part.

Back then, having a new student, from another country no less - A country with a rich history, though not as much focus on studies as Sumeru - A new student that, through thorough examination, was able to start her Amurta studies not from the first year, but skipped about a half of the years required to graduate.

From the get-go, Y/N was a bit of an odd one, and the students of Akademiya were no less lenient with her, nor did they bother teaching her about cultural differences and what not. Alhaitham, too, noticed something strange, but it was different from everyone else. Was it that he never heard her speak, even once? Or that, were it not for the amount of gossips and bullying he witnessed, she’d have been walking the halls of the House of Daena like an invisible ghost, unseen, unwanted, unneeded by all around her?

Or, perhaps, it was that there was a large amount of books that she was reading - Manuals, text-books, works, thesis of all kind, from different Darshan courses even - And for the most time, she’d read them all outside, in the forest, far away from the Akademiya; As far away as possible, if need be.

And despite the awful treatment she received, and the amount of diligent hard-work she was putting into her courses, she never seemed to frown or let things affect her. She wasn’t smiling either, and her tiredness was showing - Still, it almost looked endearing; A brilliant woman, so effortlessly beautiful and graceful in everything she did, wearing a passive, demure smile on her face, even if none wanted to appreciate it.

Were all women from Liyue like this, he wondered? Most Sumeru women he had the displeasure of conversing with were so obnoxious and emotion-driven; Oft times, he even wondered if the inspector examining them did his job well enough, because he himself could see no ounce of anything clever in their bleak, dark minds of theirs. No that the men were any different, but they had the courtesy of avoiding him like the plague, to which, Alhaitham was grateful. He never cared for idle chatting for no reason.

Hence why, he needed to concoct a proper conversation reason, otherwise, there would be no sense to start speaking with the new student.

Luck had always favoured him for some reason, and instead of wasting his time with needless research, it was Y/N herself who came over to him. She nodded her head at him as a courtesy greeting, and introduced herself as Y/N from the Amurta class. She explained that, although her thesis was based on biology, she had plenty of interests in many other areas, and having heard him as the most remarkable student from Haravatat, it was a no brainer that she’d come to him requesting aid for some book and course recommandations.

Though his reply was a simple yet positive one, informing her that, once he gathers some time, he will see what he could do, she offered him a grateful, princess-like smile, and this time, a brief courtesy, before leaving. For a split second, Alhaitham had to wonder if this Y/N had any amount of noble blood in her lineage - No woman could act so perfectly elegant all the time without some proper training from before you even begin breathing into this world.

Regardless, Alhaitham found himself completely abandoning his work for a whole day in search of accommodating Y/N, and when he searched for her with the piles of books he had for her, all of them old, dusty and tattered, she was outside, under a tree, reading a story to a little fox. Such odd behaviour - Though the fox seemed to enjoy it, as it was purring in her lap as it was being stroked. It was quite the sight for sore eyes, he had to admit.

“Ah, so fast, you needn’t! You are far too kind - There is no way to repay you for your kindness. Allow me to treat you to some tea and a meal tomorrow, please.” Alhaitham shook his head, sitting down next to her. “There are few people actually interested in proper research and academics. If someone came to me, willing to learn, there is no reason why I should decline.” he answered simply. “I do not require any reward. Simply put, I did it because I wanted to. However, if you want to repay me, then tell me - Why do you read so many books, when a lot of pointed information can be found out by simply asking through the Akasha terminal.” Y/N smiled at him enigmatically. “That is a question to which I cannot provide an answer. Not because I am unwilling to disclose the information - In fact, it’s quite silly, rather. The reason behind my silence is that... Due to this device you are wearing, if there is anything that I tell you, whether you wish to share this information with anyone or not, the whole network of people using the Akasha device are going to know, by simply asking. The people wearing this device cannot control the information they disclose - It is actually quite frightening, I might say.” Alhaitham’s jade-like green eyes peered deep into her own; They were so gentle and warm, almost resembling those of a fawn, yet even he could discern the tint of sorrow and loneliness pooling behind them. “You almost sound like a criminal speaking like that.” at the faintest hint of a crystalline chuckle, Alhaitham’s heart skipped a beat - Just one, of course, he simply wasn’t expecting such a sound as a response to his words. Was there something amusing in what he said. “Well, I suppose, considering nobody taught me the laws of Sumeru, there is little I can say to refute such a statement. Who knows, perhaps, in my ignorance, I might have managed to stray away from the right path. Regardless, what I can say is - I am forced by conjuctures to personally gather the information I am seeking. Whatever you wish to do with that information, it is up for your own interpretation, and I am unable to either approve or disprove it.” the man couldn’t help but scoff a little, though he came up with an answer easily.

Somehow, this pretty little princess was just about as much of a fairy as he was, and she, for some reason, managed to trick her way into not wearing a Terminal - Or she made it malfunction. Either way, it would make perfect sense.

“Fascinating as it is to guess, I am no philosopher, I am a researcher who bases his work on the factual, not on stories. I will not lose time coming to an uncertain conclusion.” for some reason, his words made the woman next to him chuckle again, for the second time in less than half an hour. Interesting. “Then, may I be so bold as to ask for your aid again, should I require again some kind of help oh some kind?” the woman asked, seeing as he got up, picking up the large pile of books, yet he seemed to have no intention of handing them other. “If the time allows me to take a detour from my work, then I suppose I see no reason not to help.” he answered briefly. As Y/N stepped in front of him, placing her hands over his own, in an attempt to burden the heavy weight of knowledge, he simply stepped past her. “Just show me where to get them. You may be ignorant of Sumeru’s own law code, but I doubt you would be foolish enough to ignore the laws of physics and even delude yourself that you could carry them yourself and reach home without as much as one of them at least being damaged.” he spoke, walking ahead.

Y/N couldn’t help but blink in surprise at the rather adorable and gentlemanly reaction of the otherwise stoic in inabordable man, however, she couldn’t help but smile in amusement, catching up to his pace and leading the way. “Judging by your your looks, there is no way you weight more than these books, therefore, given their mass, Newton’s law says that an object can only move another if its mass is greater. A single kilogram equals to exactly 9,81 Newtons. With this knowledge, we have to exchange the parameters with actual numbers, in the Law of Force, which says that Force equals the multiplying of the mass and acceleration of said object; And since acceleration is measured in meters per square second --” he continued ranting on and on about the laws of physics and the approximates he took, only to feel a hand powerfully slap the bottom of the book stack, making them all fly aimlessly in the sky - And be caught with the aid of Y/N’s Dendro vision powers. Y/N was smiling like an innocent child, though, with the way she was fighting back a smirk, it only made her look like a playful, mischievous vixen. “Alhaitham --” she said, a hand covering her smirking mouth. “Has anyone ever told you how adorable you are when you’re rambling with no sense?” the man couldn’t help but be rooted to the spot, completely unresponsive.

What did she mean? Him, ranting idly, for no apparent reason whatsoever? That was completely unlike him - Surely, she must be mistaken - He was trying to educate her; There is reason in everything he says. “Come along, I recently brought over some fantastic bamboo dew tea -- Oh, and I suppose, if you’re interested, I have some sweet Osmanthus wine also, the finest batch. Mr. Zhongli himself vouched for the quality, and there’s no other like him, a true connoisseur in everything fine.” with a delicate hand wrapped gently around his wrist, Y/N guided the speechless man toward her home - A pretty, tall house made out of wood, vines and leaves of all kinds, all of it, carved inside a grand tree. With a wave of her other hand, she created a staircase out of liana, allowing them to get up to the top-most part of her house, where her library was. “It isn’t much, but I hope you feel comfortable enough during your stay.” still, Alhaitham couldn’t utter another word as he went to sit down on the couch. Though he couldn’t help himself and analysed every inch of the chamber, he could still faintly feel the slight rise in his cheeks’ temperature, biological and physiological truth which irked him greatly, as it gave away the speed with which his heart beat, and, consequently, the fact that, despite his ration-based life, he was somehow able to be weak before the effortless charms of a woman like Y/N, who made him act like a fool.

But unlike him, Y/N seemed to be his own personal anti-thesis; Y/N seemed so calm and friendly, so warm and with just the right amount of conversation lines that didn’t border on the obnoxious type of talkative. In fact, Alhaitham might even have to admit, he didn’t mind the sound of her voice, in fact, he might as well admit that he found it rather pleasant to his ears. In only she’d know the stimulant effect her presence alone has on his heart’s rhythm, as though someone had secretly injected him with adrenaline... There must be something to be done about this.

As he asked her about her thesis, he swore, he could see sparkles in her eyes - Her infinite amount of love and dedication for the flora and fauna of both countries was insurmountable - Y/N was writing her thesis out of passion of the living beings, not necessarily out of sheer interest in research, though everything that she’s assimilated clearly set her on the right path. In must have been some kind of miracle that his plan on working on a thesis with that good for nothing Kaveh from Kshahrewar; Simply, he erased his name from it, and moved on to a singular part of the research, though he had to admit, the environmental conditions weren’t the brightest - The subject, at least, was highly fascinating.

“Would you be interested in writing a project together?” he found himself asking all of a sudden. “A senior had previously proposed a thesis subject that interested me, alas, due to differences of opinions and views, the project fell through. The topic of my half of the thesis was the decoding of the ancient runes from the Ruins of King Deshret's Civilization.” “That does sound like quite the intriguing thesis, and I have to admit, I would also be interested in researching the history of the old civilization... But I’m not used to the harsh environment of the desert, I... Am not sure I would be a proper asset to the team.” Alhaitham hummed in understanding - Even Sumeru people had a hard time dealing with the desert, and knowing the landscapes and the weather from Liyue, he could see the reason behind her reticence. Still, he was passionate not only about this project, but about spending quality time with the woman before him, doing what they know best to do - Study. “As long as you’re willing to join the project, I can deal with accommodating you during the practical field research, as I’m more familiar with the country.” despite her skepticism, Y/N couldn’t help but accept, completely uncaring about any risk whatsoever. As long as she was able to spend time with the man in front of her, everything was going to be fine. “Alright, Alhaitham. Let’s make the most outstanding project the Akademiya has ever seen.” her positive outlook was a rather welcome change of pace, unlike Kaveh and his constant wish to either bicker with him, or complain.

For the rest of the years it took for both Alhaitham and Y/N to graduate, they went on a vast number of adventures - Considering the amount of time it took for them to reach the graduation, it was only fair that they extend their thesis for three major regions - Deshret’s desert area, Greater Lord Rukkhadevata’s Sumeru forests and Rex Lapis’ Liyue - Each of them, with their own distinct and fascinating manuscripts, writing styles, flora, fauna and civilizations that have been rapidly evolving throughout the years. Their project ended up truly being one worthy of envy, but not without merit.

The amount of times they got lost in the desert or had to fight mercenaries and treasure hoarders, got trapped inside pyramids, ruins and underground catacombs, had to solve puzzles and decipher codes, decode runes and languages lost to time, found relics and fossils, cave paintings and old manuscripts describing never-seen and never-heard before wildlife from all over the two countries.

“Are we ever going to find a way out of this mess of a tomb? I feel like a grave-robber that’s about to lose her sanity from the lack of food and water.” Y/N dramatically joked as she used her vines to propel herself up to some suspended platforms and activate some intricate mechanism that was going to open up the door - Hopefully, at least. “We haven’t done all this for all our work to be thrown down the drain.” as the door opened, he readied his sword to attack the activating perpetual robotic monsters, and together, they would fight - Yet Alhaitham especially felt a sense of protectiveness over Y/N - Whether it was over the fact that he’s practically responsible for her life, as he got her into the project... Or perhaps it was the fact that he feared anything happened to her. She was a talented healer, and she often used her vision power to shield him from imminent danger or mend some of the wounds he got from direct confrontation against multiple enemies that came in waves at once.

Though they had lots of practical field trips that involved a ton of travelling, the simpler parts of theoretical research was often done in far calmer environments, be it either of their homes, or a neutral place, namely the popular tea house, so they could also catch a bite. Unfortunately, Puspa cafe often hosted a ton of Akademiya students, and that more often than not meant some of their own classmates, that due to exceeding envy, ended up ruining their pleasant leisure time. Just like that one time when a junior from his own Darshan of Haravatat came over to their table - Masterfully and tactically chosen to be the farther-most, retreated from the majority of the people and in a corner away from the prying eyes - And put her hands on her hips, frowning down at them.

“What are you doing here?!” the stranger asked in a rather irritated voice, yet neither of the two even bothered raising their gaze and acknowledge her presence. “Hey - Don’t ignore me, you -- Gosh, you’re so rude.” still, no answer. “Alhaitham~! Why do you waste your time around such a boring woman? She’s no good, y’know? You don’t need to help her with her studies - She’s a plant lover from Amurta - Nowhere near our above-brilliant Haravatat intellect!” the girl whined, hoping to get the man’s attention, yet once again, she was met with no response. Infuriated, the girl threw herself on the couch next to him, clinging onto his arm and cuddling on his side. “Alhaitham~! You are my senior! You promised to help me with research. In fact - Let’s do our thesis together!” Much to her indignance, the stranger was shrugged off the sofa, and received an irked glare. “I have no idea who you are, nor am I interested in your identity, but I would like for you to stop bothering our study session, otherwise I will be forced to ask the patron to kick you out of the cafe for disturbing other customers.” the flabbergast expression on her face would have been amusing, were it not for her disgusting hostility. “Wait, no -- You can’t do that, I -- Alhaitham, don’t you remember me? I’m your Junior, Emiya! You gave me a book about deciphering ancient texts a month ago, remember?” she tried to plead, but was met with a firm, negative reply. “And you -- You have to stop parasiting him already! Do your own work, for once! Can’t you see you’re inconveniencing him?!” Y/N said nothing. “Say something!” “The Phoenix does not lose sleep over the idle chattering of mice.” Emiya’s eyes widened in complete confusion, though Alhaitham couldn’t help but let out a breath of amusement. She fancied herself an Empress, how lovely. “Wh-What?! You make no sense -- Hey, you’re in Sumeru, not in Liyue anymore, y’know? Get it right already.” for the first time, Y/N rose her gaze to meet Emiya’s; the junior shuddered slightly, realising the cold passiveness of her intimidating demeanour. “I don’t know what kind of delusions you like to feed yourself, but I would ask you to leave our table, unless you wish to get permanently banned from Puspa. I would like to return to the research I was doing for our thesis, until you so rudely interrupted our tireless work. Unlike you, we are not so carefree and leisurely.” Y/N curt voice had a frozen edge, intimidating the girl. “Well, whatever! Go back to your stupid grass work. Alhaitham and I have more intelligent research to conduct - And some practical research, perhaps?” Y/N had to turn her head slightly to the side, demurely hiding her mocking chuckle. “I believe it unethical, stealing one’s project partner. Alas, willow blossoms go in dreams, only to find sorrows hidden on the moon.” Emiya’s eyes were wide, and her jaw to the floor - Her mind had gone numb from stupidity. “You pride yourself with being a Haravatat student, yet you fail to comprehend even the most forward of poems. I have no intention of associating myself with mediocre people.” Alhaitham dismissed the tearing up girl with a bored wave of his hand; Y/N and him had to look away from each other to avoid chuckling, “So... I actually found this interesting Zaytun Peach wine recipe -- And I have some Glaze Lily flowers and Sweet Flower to make tea - I’ve got this snow kept for special occasions - I find tea made out of melted snow to have the richest aroma.” Y/N said, disclosing the contents of the book she was reading; The farthest away from being a research-based book. “The history of the Guili plains and the Guizhong ballista are also rather intriguing. I would be interested in finding out the blueprints and the thought concept behind it and its making.” he hummed in acknowledgement, enjoying reading about the past of Liyue and what similarities and differences exist between it and Sumeru. “Do we have any more of that special delivery Dandelion Wine from Angel’s Share?” “Of course! Master Diluc just recently had a few bottles delivered to me through his brother Kaeya, who was on an errand here in Sumeru. He didn’t stay long for catching up, but he brought the goods, so it’s fine either way.” with a shared look, the two got up and moved their leisure reading back to Y/N’s home, delighting themselves with the most quality wine that Teyvat had to offer. “That’s a fine deal.”

At some point, just a year before their graduation, Alhaitham was going to purchase some alcohol to celebrate a massive breakthrough he had in his research - And consequently, escaping yet another death-nearing experience - His ex-project partner, the senior architect student from Kshahrewar, spotted him. This blond man with a volcanic personality ended up shredding his joined thesis in a fit of frustrating rage, only to end up gluing back together out of regret, once he ended up all alone, bankrupt, and realising his once friend’s harsh words were actually viable advices that he should have heeded long ago.

There was no reproach in his words - Alhaitham had nothing to gain out of making Kaveh feel even more humiliated by his own failures, brought upon him mostly by his overly empathetic nature. He had to admit, bit of this precious and rather naive selflessness he could very often see in Y/N, which only made him feel more afraid that there might be some brainless deadbeats upsetting her or taking advantage of her benevolence.

Still, interestingly enough, after getting drunk enough to spill out all of his grievances, Kaveh found himself speaking of some rather interesting rumours. “Ever heard of the flower fairy rumour?” he asked. “They say once a month, at midnight, there’s this mystical being, beautiful as no other woman, and she dances on the sheen of the lake.” “You don’t seriously believe such ridiculous children stories, do you?” Alhaitham scoffed, raising the beer bottle and drinking a bit, yet his eyes never once left the blond. “I believe it more than the Wisdom Seelie, the children of the forest or the Aranara.” the architect grumbled. “How ridiculous.” still, he couldn’t admit, Alhaitham had his own suspicions on who this might be, and his professional curiosity had him want to come to a concludent answer. “Honestly, if that flower fairy is real, she might be the only living being capable of liking someone as arrogant and insufferable as you. No human woman could ever stand you.” Kaveh hiccuped as he sneered at his refound friend. Such a proposition sounded so much like a challenge, that Alhaitham found himself internally accepting.

Thus, every night for a whole month, Alhaitham hid behind a tree and investigated the lake area for any signs of this supposed fairy - And finally, his hard work came to fruition. From the direction of Y/N’s home, followed by an array of forest animals, the glowing silhouette of a gorgeous woman playing a sorrowful tune on the flute piqued his attention. Indeed, it was Y/N, just as he suspected, yet now he could see why she would be mistaken for a fairy. Wherever her barefeet would step, flowers would grow. Her long, light pink dress, flowy and embroidered with the finest gold thread, made her look like a lotus bloom. Her long hair of the most beautiful shade was embellished with royal-looking jewellery, and even her make up, so soft and delicate, yet so feminine, made her face look prettier than the moon itself.

Placing the flute inside her sleeve, Y/N stepped on the mirror sheen of the lake that seemed to sparkle with zircons from the silver light of the celestial body up on the dark night sky, and accompanied by what no doubt was an old Liyue melody, Y/N performed a dance, so enticing, so fluid, like a willow tree in the gentle breeze of spring. Every move she made, every little twitch and tweak of her joint, her body, all of them were perfectly calculated, even the amount of green dendro magic that made her performance even more alluring and worthy of being mistaken with a fictional mythical being.

By the time she was done, Alhaitham was leaning back on a tree, applauding. From the shock of being discovered, Y/N’s cheeks flared red with warmth and embarrassment. “Of course it had to be you who would find me out.” “It was actually a senior of mine who mentioned the rumours of this supposed flower fairy. I had my suspicions, and I felt compelled to have them approved or denied.” the corner of his mouth slightly twitched upwards in a smug smirk. “It seems my intuition hasn’t failed me yet.” “Tian na!” Y/N found herself softly shaking her head, a gorgeous smile gracing her features as she stepped on the soft grass next to him. “Fate sure has the weirdest ways of bringing people together.” Alhaitham found himself scoffing in distaste at the sheer notion of destiny. “Don’t use such foolish words. We are humans, and we create our of path in life. It is our actions and choices that define us, not the biblical or religious concept of a life already chosen and woven for you since before you are conceived and brought into this wor--” before he could continue rambling on about his own views on fate, Y/N reached up to pick his chin, bringing him down to her level, and with one hand on his shoulder to lean up, she captured his soft lips into a kiss that left him speechless from surprise. “For years we have been friends, yet I cannot tire of how adorable you are when you’re so flustered that you end up ranting over the weirdest things.” Alhaitham wanted to scold her for doing something so uncharacteristic and unexpected, wanted to refute her claim of him ranting over ‘weird’ things - Or simply, the idea of him ‘ranting’ was ridiculous - Somehow, instead of all that, his body moved on his own and his brain took a short break, and the otherwise stoic man found himself cradling dearly Y/N’s form in his strong arms and sharing a much more loving and intimate kiss that seemed to allow the river of emotions to flow and come undone and expose itself in all its glory and vulnerability.

“You are bulshitting me because I’m drunk.” Kaveh growled at his friend. “You just randomly remembered those stupid rumours about the fairy thing and use that against me.” “I already told you, it’s not my job proving to you that I’m speaking the truth.” Alhaitham simply took another gulp of his beer. “But you said the fairy was just a stupid joke! And you never mentioned working on a thesis with someone else! Or having a friend, let alone a girlfriend! Hell, I thought nobody liked you! I still do!” the architect pointed an accusatory finger in his face. “I refuse to bother replying to your ridiculous disbeliefs anymore.” the scribe huffed, ready to take out his headphones and tune out the noise pollution that Kaveh was providing. “HEY, DON’T IGNORE ME! GIVE ME ANSWERS! I DON’T BELIEVE THAT STUPID STORY--” just as Kaveh shot up to his feet, slamming his hands onto the table, the front door was opened, and a beautiful woman entered the living room. “Honey, I’m home~!” her crystalline voice chimed, making Alhaitham smirk smugly and putting back his headphones in his belt pouch. “I brought some Osmanthus wine and moon cakes!” Kaveh’s eyes bulged out of their orbit and his jaw was to the floor, watching the beautiful woman plop down on the couch next to his friend and sharing such a tender kiss with him. “Oh - You must be Kaveh! I heard so much about you! I’m Y/N. Alhaitham’s fiance. I came to Sumeru from Liyue and enrolled in the Amurta Darshan course and graduated with a joined thesis written with him.” “F-F-Fi... Fi... Ance...?!” the blond fell back on his seat. “I-I thought you said... Girlfriend...” “I actually used the word ‘partner’, to be precise. You simply assumed, and I didn’t bother correcting you. If I were to correct every wrong supposition you’ve had since we’ve met... Well, I have better things to do with my time.” Alhaitham declared, his arm around Y/N’s waist, pulling her subtly to lean on his side, planting a kiss on her temple, purposely annoying his friend. “S-So... You mean... She -- And the Fairy -- And Tighnari’s friend -- And your Thesis partner -- They’re all the same person?!” the crestfallen expression on his face only made the beautiful lady hum in amusement. “Yes, I suppose that is me - I should thank you for the nickname - I think being called a Flower Fairy is highly flattering. Here is my gratitude.” with a graceful swish of her hand, Y/N created a flower crown on the architect’s hair. “...You may be lovely, but I swear, you almost have the same kind of mocking cruelty as he does, hidden behind a pretty smile.” Kaveh groaned, getting up and stumbling towards the other chamber, where his bedroom was. “HEY, HOLD UP! IF YOU’VE BEEN TOGETHER FOR SO MANY YEARS, WHY HAVE I NEVER SEEN YOU OVER?!” “No thirds wheels allowed on our dates.” seeing that annoyingly taunting smirk, and the implication behind those words, Kaveh let out another frustrated groan and shot into his room, not wanting to see either of the two anymore. “Perfect timing as always.” Alhaitham praised, pulling Y/N onto his lap. “Yes, well, I have to admit, I was getting cold out there, leaning on the door and waiting for you to finish that story already. Regardless... I think it’s adorable that Kaveh didn’t pick up that the reason you were so intrigued to continue speaking to me was because I fooled the Akademiya not to wear that Akasha device.” Y/N laughed lightly. “One of the many.” he said, bringing her flush against his chest. “Or perhaps, one might say, I was trapped under the charming spell of a certain flower fairy.”

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