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brokenbarnes · 3 months ago

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Echos

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky's worst nightmare comes true. You come back to him after taking a turn in Hydra's electric chair.

Warnings: mentions of canon level violence. Memory loss.

A/N: Probably the longest fic I've posted to date. Send me ideas!!

Read part two here: Convergent

There are very few things in his life that Bucky holds near and dear to his heart. His backpack of possessions, including a notebook of scattered memories and pamphlets from the Smithsonian, his dog tags that were returned to him after his pardon, Steve; his best friend in the universe, and you.

The word girlfriend doesn’t even begin to describe what you mean to him. What started out as shy romantic intentions has blossomed into what one would not dare to call codependency; but an unyielding show of love that has kept you both out of the madhouse.

You’re his partner in everything, sparring, ping pong tournaments, missions and most importantly in life. It is rare to find one of you without the other.

So when he watched in horror as you, gagged, handcuffed and unconscious, were stuffed into the trunk of a car and all he could was watch. His body was temporarily paralyzed by electrical cattle prods, the enemy left him laying in the wet gravel and took you instead.

He tried to yell, to call out but all that could come out of his mouth was a weak moan. He watched in horror as the car peeled out of the parking lot, spraying gravel and taking his heart with them.

It wasn’t until Steve found him a few minutes later and through awful gasps in his voice, that he explained what happened. Steve had him sit, pushed his head between his knees until he was breathing evenly again. He promised his best friend that he would find you.

It took a month to even figure out a possible location of where the car could have taken you. A month of sleepless nights, intense meetings and trying to keep his hopes up as search and rescue missions turned up empty. Bucky could barely step foot in the bedroom you shared with him without feeling like he got sucker punched in the gut, doubling over with yearning and guilt.

It didn’t help his hopes that he insisted on going on every search and rescue operation. Clearing warehouses, abandoned Hydra facilities only to go home to an empty bed where the nightmares of his past found him.

The day that he found you will forever be seared in his scarred memory. A Hydra base, his head pounding with what he thought was déjà vu but was probably former memories trying to find the correct keyhole in his mind.

Together, him and Natasha cleared rooms in effective silence. They’ve done this countless times over the course of the month. Both of your best friends wouldn’t stop until they found you.

“Barnes, we got a heat signature in the next room,” she murmured, pressing the small earpiece. Most likely getting the information from Sam and Redwing. “There’s no way to tell who it is.”

He nodded, staring at the heavy duty door in front of him. His mind was already calculating the best way to access whoever was inside. Should he hit it with the arm? Shoot a few bullets into the lock?

Natasha reached over and tried the handle, finding it unlocked with only a shrug of her shoulders; she forged ahead.

Bucky blinked, regaining his senses. He followed Nat into the room only to stop suddenly in his steps.

He had been in this room before, many times in fact. He knew that because of the chair, the electrodes attached, the metal tables and equipment scattered around the room. This is where they wiped his memories.

So when he saw you slumped in the chair, his heart stopped.

“No,” he whispered, surging forward. He dropped his weapon, sinking to his knees in front of you. “Y/N?”

You looked asleep, knees pulled up to your chest, too thin arms wrapped around your shins, head pressed towards your lap.

“Y/N, Doll,” he whispered, reaching out to lay a hand on your arm. As soon as you felt his touch, you jolted as if he was the one who had been administering the electricity. You raised your head quickly, scooting back as far as you could in the chair, arms gripping the arm rest. Fear had blown your eyes wide, staring into the face of your long-term boyfriend.

Bucky’s stomach twisted, from your reaction, from the blood drying in splotches on your face, from the burn marks pressed into your temples.

“Hey, you’re okay,” he tried reaching out again, but you shifted farther away. “It’s okay.”

He turned to look back at Nat, who was radioing to the team that you had been located and to send in a medical team.

“Y/N,” he whispered, a sinking feeling in his stomach. “We’re going to get you home.”

You were shaking, fear still in your eyes as you continued to blanch at him. Bucky watched your whole body tremble violently, a question he didn’t want to ask on the tip of his tongue.

“Y/N, do you know who I am?” His voice was soft, understanding.

You shook your head, pressing yourself as far back in the leather chair as you could. Nat approached slowly, making your eyes flicker over to her, Bucky could see your pulse beating wildly in your neck.

“Nat, let’s give her some space,” Bucky whispered, rising on shaky legs. He turned away from you, pressing his flesh hand over his eyes to hide the tears prickling in his tear ducts.

Nat took a step back, pressing her hand into Bucky’s shoulder but keeping an eye on you. You had shrunk into yourself again, curled up into a ball and shivering against the dark leather.

“This isn’t your fault, Barnes,” Nat murmured to him as he struggled to keep his composure. “She’s going to be alright.”

He took a deep shuddering breath and straightened his shoulders. Nat looked over at him once more before stepping into the hallway to lead the medical team in.

Bucky turned to look at you, you were watching him with wide, careful eyes. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he shook his head. “I’ll never hurt you.”

Your eyes were skeptical, body language extremely closed off. You had never once looked at him like this in your life and it felt like someone had punched through his chest and ripped out his heart.

You screamed when the medical team got close to you, a horrible, blood curdling scream that Bucky had only heard one other time in his life. Sam and Nat had to hold Bucky back as they pressed a needle to your arm full of enough sedatives to knock out a super soldier. You slumped in the chair soon after, eyes closed, lashes brushing against bruised skin.

“Let me carry her,” Bucky said firmly as the medical team prepped to transfer you to a gurney. “Please.”

Reluctantly, they let Bucky scoop you up in his arms and led the way back to the sunlight. He cradled you close to his chest, concern ripping through his chest at how light you felt, bones and joints instead of plush flesh he usually felt.

In the Quinjet, he laid you down on the gurney and took a step back to let the medics work. He didn’t stray very far, hovering over shoulders, trying to stay out of the way as they assessed you for injuries.

Nat eventually grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to a seat, handing him a bottle of water. He dropped his head into his hands and tried to focus on taking deep breaths.

You didn’t remember him. You didn’t remember anyone. Hydra wiped your memory like they did his.

When the landing gear touched the tarmac, Nat held him back as the medical team rushed you to the infirmary. Sam squeezed his shoulder before brushing past him, following you into the building.

“Barnes, you gotta listen to me,” Nat spoke in a firm voice. “She’s going to be confused when she wakes up. She’s not going to remember a whole lot. You gotta get her to trust you.”

“Nat, they… they…” he trailed off, eyes faraway.

“I know,” she nodded. “We’re going to get her back, it’s just going to take some time.”

He nodded, bending his head to wipe his eyes. The redhead pulled him in for a hug, patting his back over the layers of Kevlar he wore. She pulled away, he schooled his features into a little emotion as possible before heading down the ramp to find you.

It was some hours later before you finally woke. You had been cleared of any major physical injuries, just some minor cuts and bruises; everyone’s main concern was the mental damage that Hydra had done.

Bucky hadn’t left your side since you had been admitted, still in his tac suit, sitting in the uncomfortable plastic chair that had been shoved next to your bed. Your hand looked so small in his, knuckles carrying fading bruises that made him smile knowing you didn’t go easily.

Despite the sedation, you weren’t sleeping easily. Shifting and mumbling in your sleep, expression pinched into an unpleasant expression Bucky has only seen once in a blue moon.

He watched your eyes flutter open, hazy and confused; most likely from the amount of drugs being filtered through your IV.

“Hey Doll,” he murmured, setting your hand gently on the sheets covering your legs. “Welcome back.”

Your eyes attempted to concentrate on him, blinking and shaking your head to try and getting the lens of your eye to focus. When they did, panic pumped through your veins and you jerked away from him.

“It’s okay,” he said in a gentle voice. “It’s okay, you’re okay.”

Your eyes scanned the room in a hazy sweep, taking in the medical equipment and the different environment. You scrambled away, throwing your legs over the side of the bed and pressing yourself into the corner; tripping over the legs of medical equipment and various cords.

“S-stay away,” you stammered, holding out your hands in front of me. “I can’t do it anymore.”

Bucky didn’t move from his spot in the car, despite his heart pounding in his chest. “Y/N, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Please,” the whimper broke his heart. “Please, I want to go home.”

“Where’s home, Honey?” He asked, tilting his head at you, trying to hide the hurt in his voice.

You faltered, confused by his question. The wheels started spinning in your mind when you realized what you had said; the uncertainty on how to answer sent your head spinning.

The door opened, a team of medical professionals entered which sent you sideways again. Bucky locked eyes with Dr. Cho as she held a syringe loaded with sedative.

“No,” you sobbed. “No, please!”

“Y/N, this will just help you sleep,” Cho moved forward with the needle, cap still on.

Bucky stood as you started to scream, the same as when you were found. An ear splitting shriek that turned his stomach.

You were extremely combative, taking the entire staff to restrain you as Cho administered another fast acting sedative. They tucked your limp form back into bed, fixed your IV and other external monitors before leaving.

A hand on his shoulder startled him, he turned to find Sam standing behind him. He gave the soldier a sympathetic smile before handing him a backpack full of fresh clothes and toiletries.

“Get changed, she’s not going to remember you smelling like that,” Sam tried to smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

When you slept, Bucky let himself hold your hand. He’d press your knuckles to his lips, fighting back tears as he remembers the confusion and panic that comes with memory loss.

You wake a few more times, less confused each time as your surroundings stay consistent. Including the big bulky man sitting in the chair beside your bed.

“Who are you?” You whispered, staring up at the ceiling.

Bucky blinked his tired eyes open, setting your hand back down on the bed from where he had it pressed against his cheek.

“My name is Bucky.”

“Why do you stay?” Your voice was weak.

He bit his lip, holding back a response that might confuse or overwhelm you. “Because I understand.”

“What do you mean?” You swiped a hand across your damp eyes, trying to focus on his face.

“What they did to you, they did to me too,” he whispered. Without thinking, he reached out to the bandages on your temples, where the electrodes had zapped you without enough voltage to burn your skin; and wipe your memories.

As he leaned close to you, you were able to focus on his face. A headache formed behind your eyes, making you squeeze your eyes shut and press your hand to the bridge of your nose.

“What is it?” He pulled his hand back, cursing internally for forgetting himself.

“My head,” you gasp, sitting up. “It hurts.”

“I know,” the soldier nodded sadly. He still gets that same headache sometimes, when he can feel the memory rattling around inside his brain but it doesn’t know how to file it. “It will pass.”

You let him rub your back as you sit with your head between your knees. He allows himself to enjoy pressing his palm between your shoulder blades, pretending that this is any other day and you remember all the love he has given.

Eventually, you raise your head and look sideways at him, cheek resting on your forearms. “They’ve done this to you?”

He nodded, placing his hand back in his lap.

“I’m sorry,” your eyes water again.

“It’s okay, it was a long time ago.” He murmured, then after a breath twists his fingers together. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

You lay back down, covering yourself up with the thin blankets. “’s not your fault, Bucky.”

He blinks back tears as you drift off to sleep.

Eventually Nat strong-armed Bucky into taking his place for a while, she sat in his chair while he went upstairs with instructions to shower and eat before coming back down.

After throwing together a quick sandwich to eat and downing a bottle of water, he finds himself in the bedroom you share.

It hasn’t looked the same in the month you’ve been gone. He’s tried to keep it neat, but it’s losing it’s touch. The way you fold a knit blanket over the end of the bed, the multiple drink cups that clutter the bedside table, the messy bookcase you continuously arrange and rearrange based on an order inside your mind.

The shower is too hot, but it keeps his mind off you. His skin is bright red and raw by the time he turns the water off, wrapping a towel around his waist.

The closet brings a tidal wave of emotions he wasn’t expecting. He realizes that you might want some clothes of your own, that might help you feel home in the echo that is your mind.

After getting dressed, he picks out a few pairs of clothes for you. Some of your favorite comfortable clothes, a worn t-shirt, a stretchy pair of leggings, slipper socks in case your feet get cold. He packed them up in a tote bag with some local bookstore’s logo printed across the front and slung it over his metal shoulder.

When he returns, Nat is talking to you in a soft voice that trails off when he steps through the door. He tries to smile at you, but you turn to hide your face in the hospital pillow. He feels as if someone has reached inside his chest and squeezed his heart in a vice grip.

“I brought you some clothes,” he set the tote down on the end of your bed.

You waited until he backed away before reaching into the bag. He watched as you tentatively reached into the bag and pulled out the t-shirt out. With a start, he realized that it was once his. A SHIELD-issue grey t-shirt, he had somehow ripped a hole in the sleeve and had retired it to the back of the closet. You picked it up out of the laundry and claimed it as your own.

You closed your eyes, pressing the fabric of the shirt to your sheet, turning your nose into the collar to breathe in the scent. His heart stuttered.

“This is mine,” you murmured, making him crack a smile.

“It is, Sweetheart,” he breathed.

Nat squeezed his shoulder before making her exit. He moved without noise to sit in the chair, resting his forearms on his knees.

You moved carefully off the bed toward the small en-suite bathroom with the bag in your arms. Fearful eyes caught Bucky’s, making him sit up straight.

“What is it, Sweetheart?” He tried to keep his voice calm.

“Can… can you keep watch?” Your voice trembled and his heart broke.

He nodded, standing up to follow you in the direction of the bathroom. You slid the door shut, but kept it open just a crack. Bucky put his back to the door, remembering the feeling all too well.

The vulnerability Hydra forces out of you is something he is still working to break. You never want to turn your back, to undress, to be unguarded in case they made their next move.

When the door opens next, you seem a little less on edge. Dressed in the grey t-shirt and a pair of dark leggings, you almost look like who he once knew.

You tuck yourself back into bed, pulling your knees up to your chest. Bucky settled back into the chair, scrubbing a hand across his eyes.

“Bucky?” You ask so softly, he’s not sure he heard you at first.

He lifted his head, smiling at you. “Yeah, Honey?”

“I told you I wanted to go home,” your voice shook, picking at the seam of the fuzzy socks.

He nodded.

“And… and I didn’t know where home is,” your voice cracked and his heart splinter even further.

He nodded, trying his hardest not to speak in order for you to continue.

“Can you show me where home is?” Tears were in your eyes now, chin wobbling with the effort to contain it.

“Of course, Honey,” he nodded. “You wanna go right now?”

You nodded.

He stood up and held out his hand to you, you took it to help you off the bed. You had been unhooked from all your monitors earlier in the day so there was nothing to worry about with the nurses.

Physically you were fine, but he was still holding out hope that your memory would return. You never lost hope with his recovery, he could only offer you the same curtesy.

He felt already better with your hand in his, leading you out of the infirmary and into the elevator. You don’t let go of his hand in the enclosed space, in fact stepping closer as the floor rises.

Bucky fights the urge to hook his arm over your shoulder, tug you in close against his chest. You’re standing in his space, leaning on his ability to protect you from whatever comes through the door.

You’re quiet as the doors open, eyes quickly taking in your new surroundings. Bucky tugs on your hand, leading you out into the space you’ve shared with him for quite some time now.

“I live here?” You whisper, taking in the foyer and kitchen area. Too many shoes scattered by the door, umbrella leaning against the linen closet door. A whiteboard calendar holding onto the drywall for dear life with two command strips and a thumbtack.

“You do,” Bucky confirms, toeing off his shoes and leaving them by the door. “Are you hungry? I can make you something.”

You shake your head, which concerns him because you haven’t exactly eaten since you returned. You go into the kitchen anyway, leaving Bucky behind in the foyer; he mourns the loss of your hand.

He finds you staring at the mug left by the coffee maker. You had left it there that morning you disappeared, drank half before running out the door. He looked around the messy kitchen and feels a hint of shame that he should have cleaned up before bringing you in.

You press your hand to your eyes, the way you do when your brain is lost. You grip the edge of the counter, he moves quickly to your side.

“It’s all familiar,” you grit your teeth through the pain. “But I can’t… I can’t…”

“It’s okay,” he sooths a hand over your shoulder blades. “Don’t push it. It will come back.”

From the kitchen, you wander into the living room like an echo of your former self. Bucky watches from the doorway, letting you take your time.

A paper back novel placed face down on the coffee table. Slippers, half jammed under the couch from where he had carried you to bed per your pleading request. A half-drunk mug of tea, the contents separated and half evaporated that makes you wrinkle your nose as you peer inside.

Your fingers dance over the knitted throw that is draped over the back of the sofa. Countless hours you’ve spent with it thrown over your lap, pulled up to your chin or pressed under your cheek.

Bucky follows you in silence, never wanting to overstep, to allow you to remember the comfort of your own home at your own pace.

Your eye catches the framed picture beside the tv. You shuffle forward, maneuvering around the furniture with ease despite your eyes being focused ahead.

The picture is one of your favorites. A beach trip sometime last year, the two of you huddled around the bonfire Sam built, a blanket draped over your shoulders. Bucky’s first big smile he allowed others to see, rather than just you. The smile could be contributed to the burnt marshmallow on the end of the roasting stick, how he warned you to just keep it by the coals.

You reached out and rested your fingers on the glass of the thrifted frame, he remembers when you found it in a hidden thrift shop somewhere in the city. He dutifully carried all the bags for you, loaded with hidden treasures.

“You and I…?” You murmured, wrapping your arms around yourself. When he didn’t respond, you glanced over your shoulder at him.

He nodded slowly, avoiding your eye contact by hovering his gaze over your shoulder.

Your expression wavered; taking a hesitant step toward him. “I’m sorry, Bucky. This must be so hard for you.”

He didn’t speak, just swallowed hard and watched your socked feet approach. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Another slow step forward, keeping your arms wrapped around yourself. Chipped nails digging into the bare skin of your under arm.

“Anything look familiar?” He asked, mirroring your posture.

You press your palm between your eyes, unsure if it hurts or maybe thinking it will help you remember. “A little, maybe.”

“C’mere, let’s try this,” he tried to smile, but you watched the sadness return to his eyes. It set an uncomfortable feeling in your chest, you felt like you needed to do something to change that.

You reached out and slipped your hand into his, he stopped in surprise before smiling down at you. Better.

He led you down the hallway, past the spare bedroom, the half bath that you spent Memorial Day weekend completely redecorating.

Pushing open the bedroom door, you’re hit with a tidal wave of emotions. The rumpled duvet cover, squashed pillows, Bucky’s pillow always has half the pillow case on no matter how many times you fix it.

Your soldier pauses in the doorway as you walk the perimeter of the room. Pausing at each framed picture, art you purchased from the little gallery in Brooklyn that you fell in love with, the tiffany lamp you begged Bucky to come with you to pick up that was found on Facebook marketplace.

You picked up a tube of Carmex chapstick that lay on the crowded bedside table, smiling. “I love it in here.”

Bucky smiled sadly, from this angle he couldn’t see the awful healing burn wounds on your head and he could pretend this is any other day.

“You put a lot of time into making this place a home,” he offered, voice gentle.

Your fingertips traced the duvet, moving as you sat down, head hurting again. You winced, squeezing your eyes shut.

Bucky was quick, kneeling in front of you, his hands went to your hips before he could stop himself.

Twisted over in pain, you pressed your forehead to Bucky’s, eyes still shut. “Bucky I want to remember… I… I.”

He shushed you softly, curling his hands around your waist, bringing you closer. “It’s okay, Doll. They’ll come back, I promise.”

You straightened up and wiped your eyes. Bucky took his hands away which brought a feeling to you that you couldn’t categorize. “Can we do something normal? Something I would usually do?”

He smiled, scooting back with a nod. “Sure, Honey. We can do that.”

Bucky told you to get comfortable under the covers while he disappeared into the kitchen for a few minutes. You pulled back the duvet and settled back against the pillows, looking around the room while you waited. Although you were alone for a few moments, you still felt at ease in this environment.

He returned with two mugs, both filled to the brim with steaming tea of your favorite brew. Handing one to you, he squatted down in front of the bookshelf and found your favorite book. It took him a moment to locate it, you had some down time the week before you disappeared and rearranged it again.

Climbing into bed next to you, he watched as you flipped open the cover and smiled at your handwriting in the corner of the title page. He took a cautious sip from his mug and set it his bedside table.

He hadn’t pick up his own book since you disappeared from his life for a month. So it took him a moment to reorient himself in the chapter and what was happening.

He watched you start to get absorbed into the book, eventually you leaned over and rested your head on his shoulder; curling your knees in toward him. Just how you always do.

He blinked tears out of his eyes, watching the words on the page grow blurry. Despite the missing memories, you were mirroring your own self unconsciously. Every once in a while, he would see echos, proof that you were still there and would come back to him.

Hydra thought they could wipe you away completely, erase the person you once were. They had failed once again, you would come back to him just as the two of you always do.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #sebastian stan #bucky imagine #captain america

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wndaswife · 1 month ago

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escape into you | wanda maximoff & fem!reader

Babysitting has been a lucrative side job, and an escape from your life as an overworked college student. But when you come to babysit on a day you weren’t scheduled, Wanda improvises.

Word count: 7306

Tags: smut, fluff, fingering, cunnilingus, suckling, kinda nipple play, age gap, mommy kink, ageplay (i have limited knowledge, so not heavy), mommy wanda, completely self-indulgent fic

It wasn’t only your workload that got overwhelming during the semester, but your lack of stability. You lived alone in a small apartment, but a heavy workload made for constant change, a constant drive forward, and never any time to settle.

It was so often that you yearned for an escape from it all that you wondered if you really were the responsible and independent college student that you sometimes felt you were merely masquerading as.

So often did you imagine yourself as someone younger, so much more vulnerable and needy for another’s care, that you wondered how much more realistic that version of yourself was.

Who was it, then, who went through your day-to-day life? And who was it who sat in the back of your mind, waiting to be cared for?

It was through a chain of good fortune that you landed a job as a babysitter for Wanda Maximoff and her twins. You told your friend that you were searching for a casual side job just to make some extra money. Your friend’s aunt, who was going through a divorce, had just brought up to her that she was looking for a babysitter for some extra help now that it was just her and the twins at home, which made her work hours difficult. Since your friend wasn’t able to dedicate any of her weekends, she referred you to her aunt.

Wanda worked as an environmental specialist and was often required to do hours upon hours of fieldwork a day, but the slow and time-consuming process of her divorce forced to move around a lot of her time, which shifted around a lot of her typical work hours and schedule at home.

The Maximoffs had become a landmark of stability for you since you started babysitting for Wanda a few months ago. It was typically every other weekend that you babysat for her and scarcely anything more infrequent than that, though sometimes she’d ask for you the following weekend if something came up and her ex-husband couldn’t take her sons.

It was Saturday, an hour or two before dinnertime, and honestly, all you’d been thinking about was going over to Wanda’s to babysit for the evening.

You’d been in the library more often than you’d been at your place for the last two weeks, surviving on coffee and energy drinks and meals from around campus.

Of course, you enjoyed being with the twins; they were sweet and quite mature for their age, and highly knowledgeable about their video games and on the board games in the house. It was nice to take walks with them and just hang out, and especially to hear how their schooling was going.

But most of all, you liked Wanda. She was smart and beautiful and incredibly accomplished in her field. You admired her, and she always made sure you were taken care of. She never failed to let you know how much you took care of her needs.

Your dynamic with Wanda was quite difficult to explain. It was as if you were a completely different person when you were with her. You couldn’t explain it to anyone else, and no one else could understand aside from the two of you.

It was dusk now, and the air was getting cooler. Evening began to blanket over the town, and the warm amber lights coming from the windows of Wanda’s house felt so domestic and welcoming.

When she opened her front door, she was in a minimalistic linen dress that reached her calves and a brown long sleeve beneath it — something she’d wear to stay home. She had no makeup on and her hair was worn in its natural waves, pulled back by a hair clip.

Any minimal feeling of doubt that you’d come on the wrong day was swiftly confirmed when Wanda stepped forward, looking around behind you for just a moment before asking, “Hi, Y/N. Is everything alright?”

“Wh- Um… Yeah, I’m here for…”

You trailed off, letting it set in that you had come on a weekend she didn’t need you. By how she was dressed, it was clear that Wanda was planning on staying home all night, and that the twins were with their father.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she cooed, stepping forward onto the porch. “I think you’ve gotten the wrong day — the boys are with their dad this weekend.”

You stepped back, a bit embarrassed. It’s not like she could tell from your face how much you’d been looking forward to coming, only to feel like a humiliated and disappointed little kid.

“I think I did,” you admitted, feigning a casual bashfulness to avoid looking too scattered and immature. “Sorry. I must’ve mixed today up with some other deadline.”

As you spoke, Wanda regarded you patiently, watching you closely with a small supportive smile as an older woman normally would towards a much younger girl.

“It’s alright, honey,” she responded kindly.

There was a beat of silence as Wanda regarded you. Her eyes darted down your body for a moment, then towards the porch you were both standing on, her lips parting when she looked back up to offer, “If you have your schedule cleared for the evening, I’d love to have your company tonight.”

You swallowed. “Are you sure? I’m sure you must enjoy having time to yourself.”

“I’m quite sure, Y/N,” she insisted. She stepped to the side, allowing you entry into her house, a welcoming smile on her gorgeous face. “Come enjoy the evening with me.”

Your hands tightened around your backpack straps as you stepped forward, and you felt Wanda’s eyes running over your paled knuckles as you walked past her.

“Are you hungry, sweetheart?” she asked, heading towards the kitchen as you put your bag down and took your things off at the front door.

The place felt different without the twins around. It was quieter and more serious. The divorce papers laying on the coffee table of the living room emanated a threatening aura. You hurried after Wanda to see her peeling some carrots in the kitchen.

“A little, but maybe just for a snack,” you replied, your eyes running over her body from behind. Her long dirty blonde hair spilled down her back in waves. Her smooth forearms dotted here and there with beauty marks and freckles flexed slightly as she peeled and chopped the carrots.

“I’m nearly done cutting these up. Would you mind plating them for us?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at you.

You felt your face flush and you hurriedly looked around for a plate, to which you found a round wooden dish by Wanda’s cutting board.

Standing beside her, you organized the fruits and vegetables she’d cut into a neat setup. She had strawberries, grapes, snap peas, and now the carrots she was slicing.

“How has school been, baby?” Wanda asked. At the pet name, you looked over at her as if called by a dog whistle.

“Um…” You tried to speak, but felt that you were shrinking into yourself. Everything about school seemed far away, and not at all related to you. “It’s been busy.”

Wanda nodded understandingly. The sound of her knife slowly cutting through the carrot seemed to slice right through you, shooting down your spine. “You’re nearing your finals, right?”

“Yeah,” you said. You wanted to say more, but found that you just couldn’t bring yourself to talk much about those things. It was too stressful and… too big of a reality.

“But what have you been up to…?” you asked, feeling a little shy.

It wasn’t only that Wanda was just gorgeous and incredibly smart, but that she was older than you, more mature, more experienced, and always so motherly. She took her time with you, always, so careful and gentle when she spoke, and always regarding you with this knowing gaze, as if she knew more about you than she let on.

“I’ve been alright. Nothing to complain about,” she said, slicing the last piece of carrot.

When she put the last few slices into the wooden plate, she met your eyes with a smile, “Busy. Like you.”

Within your shared gaze was an exchanged understanding, unspoken and quiet. It made something within your chest stir and awaken, tempting you to abandon anything that existed any further than her.

Just for a little bit, at least.

The two of you sat out in Wanda’s backyard on one of the couches, the platter placed on the cushion between the two of you. You and Wanda chatted mostly about herself, since in the moment you felt more like listening. Wanda spoke here and there about her divorce process, which was going as slowly as it had since the last time she spoke about it. She spoke about her job too, but quickly grew tired of that.

When things got busy for you, it was hard to do anything more than study and stay up late and balance your time in a repetitive weary cycle — and mostly on your own. Sometimes being that overwhelmed made it easy to forget how dismal it all was.

Any time with Wanda felt so much more real than the blur of days that flew by, overflowing in papers and mundane hours studying in grim libraries.

Wanda’s backyard was quite large, and her patio was beautiful. Surrounded by the lush plants decorating Wanda’s vast backyard, and blanketed in her patio lights that complemented the purple-blue hue of the evening, you felt detached from the rest of the world.

Maybe it was Wanda’s voice that softened you so much, or her careful fingers and hands that moved like she had a deliberate intention to be delicate with anything she touched. A large part of you knew, however, that it was because of how she was able to coddle you as if you were more of a child than the independent college student you were.

For how Wanda seemed to reach into you, pulling to the surface something that had long lain dormant since the last time she had brought it to life, again you wondered how much more real this version of yourself was — the version of yourself that was quieter, smaller, younger.

“Oh, honey, you must be feeling so stressed,” Wanda sympathized when you told her a little about how you’ve been doing. With how you were sitting close, your legs folded towards each other, she placed a hand on your thigh and rubbed you gently.

You nodded. “It’s been overwhelming,” you conceded.

Wanda’s eyes lifted towards yours as she took a bite of a strawberry. She smiled sympathetically, and her eyes catching onto yours made your breath catch in your throat. “You’re much too young for that kind of workload, honey,” she said.

Sometimes you thought about the times you spent with Wanda when you were deep in your studies or during lectures or while commuting to and from campus. But it was near impossible. The thought of Wanda didn’t belong at school or where you were feeling older and more mature. The woman Wanda was for you didn’t belong anywhere but right here — the person you were with Wanda came to life only here.

“How young…?” you asked shyly, hesitantly looking up at her from your lap.

Wanda placed a supportive hand on your knee. “Much younger than me, sweetheart…” she answered, her expression feigning sympathy though the shifting beneath her dress gave her away.

“Ah… I…” you stuttered, different sides of you tugging at each other. A tension deep in your chest knotted and your cheeks felt flushed. Your arms felt too far from your body, so you closed them against your torso a little.

She squeezed your knee and retracted her hand, leaning back against the arm rest behind her, feeling either intrigued or pleased, or both. She readjusted herself, crossing her leg over the other. “Tell me more about how school’s been, baby.”

“U-Um…”

You shifted, sitting up and getting your thoughts in order. Your hands balled into fists by your hips for a moment as you adjusted yourself.

“You’re right — I’m nearing my exams…” you started, looking at her. You felt like reaching for a carrot to keep your hands occupied, but felt somewhat confined in your seat, as if set into an invisible box. “Right now, I’ve been trying to finish my final assignments before the exam period starts.”

“I see,” Wanda replied. Your eyes darted down to her fingers that were gently tapping against her thigh before you looked back up to her. “That must be very hard, Y/N… It sounds like far too much to think about all at once.”

There was a condescending lilt to her voice, speaking not only as someone who viewed you as younger, but someone who was also somewhat incapable of being on their own.

Swallowing, you nodded, feeling your voice getting smaller though you couldn’t tell if it was all in your head. “It is hard to keep up with all of it.”

Inhaling as she leaned forward in her seat and straightening her back, Wanda said, “Not at all something for a little girl like you.”

Your chest tightened and your thighs clenched together instinctually. When your expression wavered, she met your eyes without moving her focus away from yours. Wanda smiled warmly, always behind her veil of being the supportive, sympathetic older woman.

Perhaps your instinctive reaction was the only response she needed, for Wanda adjusted her position again, letting her leg down and crossing her other leg over it. Her thumb rubbed side to side against her thigh, as if she were pacing herself.

Wanda’s movements were always so natural. She was older and accomplished and far more experienced than you in everything, and everything she did always seemed so calculated and put together. So when the side of her foot brushed against your ankle, you bristled at the contact.

Occasionally you and Wanda would have some extra time with each other after you babysat. She would come home stressed and needing relief, and clear about wanting your company. Wanda wasn’t always so held together as she was today — sometimes she was desperate, wanting you.

Other times, she liked to tease you out when she knew it had been a while.

She eyed the plate between the two of you so quickly that you couldn’t follow her gaze before she spoke again, and suddenly her eyes were back on you.

“I know I always thank you for babysitting, but I haven’t thanked you enough for being here whenever I need you,” Wanda said. “It’s been so chaotic with the divorce and trying to figure things out with work, and you’ve been such a great help.”

You opened your mouth to speak, eager to tell Wanda how much you looked forward to babysitting, and how much it’s been helping you too. But she started speaking again, leaning forward and placing her hands in her lap.

“You know, sweetheart…” Wanda placed her hand down on your forearm. “I’ve always thought you were such a good, obedient girl.” Her voice sounded lower, and her eyes darkened, zoned in on you as a predator would.

How long has it been since you spoke last?

“I do hope you don’t think poorly of me, baby… What, taking you out to my backyard just to have you all for myself, as if I were in need of your babysitting.” Wanda laughed, her hand squeezing your forearm playfully.

You felt yourself laughing too, but your mind felt long gone; you felt dependent on Wanda just to feel comforted.

There was a light buzzing in your head, and the breeze of the darkening evening cooled your cheeks. You felt you couldn’t do anything without Wanda, so smart and beautiful, so much older than you and so much more experienced and knowledgeable than you in everything.

You hoped desperately she wouldn’t let go of your arm.

“I don’t think poorly of you at all,” you responded.

Wanda smiled, pleased by your response. Her hand began to slowly rub your forearm. “No, and that wouldn’t make sense, would it, for you to look after me?” She seemed to look at you expectantly, though you could’ve been imagining it, so you shook your head.

“You’re much too young for that, sweetheart — too little,” she said.

A flood of desperation rushed through your chest, and when you exhaled through your nose, you heard yourself whimper quietly.

The first time you slept with Wanda, you couldn’t fathom ever leaving her, going back to your place to study and commute or do anything on your own ever again. Wanda made you feel so small, so dependent. She let you leave everything you wanted to escape from at the door.

With gentle hands, she would touch your body like it were something born anew, your skin feeling warmer and softer, not belonging to whoever it was that lived and worked and studied alone. With Wanda, your mind was fuzzy, and little, and dependent on her care.

You couldn’t possibly fit this kind of feeling within the short timeframe of freedom the two of you only sometimes had from the lives you lived away from each other. It was rare to be free at all, and much less for this kind of time to align. So Wanda took her time, for she loved to see you get smaller, see the timidity wash over you, pamper you in her care, watch as you melted away from everything that existed apart from her.

Wanda’s hand lifted from your forearm, reaching over to take hold of your chin gently. “Are you gonna let me take care of you, sweetheart?”

“Y-Yes,” you replied as quickly as you could. “I’m…”

A good girl, you wanted to say.

While still holding your chin, Wanda brought a strawberry to your mouth with her other hand. Obediently, you wrapped your lips around it and took a bite.

“Are you gonna be a good girl for mama…?” she asked, her voice quiet as she focused on your lips wrapped around the strawberry, its reddish-pink juices peeking from the edges of your mouth.

Mama…

You felt your body buzz when Wanda finally used the term; you found you couldn’t say it on your own first, and needed Wanda’s help. You felt yourself beginning to need her help for everything.

Her eyes flickered up to yours and you nodded, leaning your head forward and taking another bite of it, your lips grazing the tips of Wanda’s fingers when you then took the rest of the sliced strawberry into your mouth.

Wanda gathered its sweet juice from the corners of your mouth with her thumb and slid it into your mouth, your lips wrapping around her finger. You sucked softly at it, eliciting a pleased hum from her.

“Why don’t we go inside, honey?” Wanda said, carefully pulling her thumb out of your mouth. “Are you getting cold?”

You nodded and Wanda took your hand, carrying the platter with her other as the two of you went back inside. You huddled against her side and Wanda wrapped her arm around your shoulders before kissing your forehead.

Wanda took you into the living room after setting the plate down in the kitchen. With her hands on your hips, she brought you onto her lap. Her arms circled you and you buried your face in her neck.

“Have you been having a hard time at school, sweetheart?” Wanda asked softly, her hand rubbing your back soothingly. She felt you nod into the crook of her neck. “You need mommy to make you feel better, hm?”

When she felt you nod again, she tucked her hands under your shirt, rubbing her warm palms up your sides. You squirmed in her lap and Wanda chuckled against the side of your head.

“I missed my little girl so much,” Wanda said, kissing your cheek over and over until she made her way to the corner of your lips. You turned your head, allowing Wanda to meet your lips with hers.

“You’re so sweet, baby…” she muttered against you, one of her hands coming to the side of your face as she kissed you.

You whined and wrapped your arms around her neck. “I missed mama…”

Wanda hummed and her hands moved further up your shirt, her palms now running against your rib cage until her thumbs met with the sides of your breasts. She began pressing soft kisses down your neck when you lifted your head.

“I love having you to myself, honey…” she muttered, her hands rounding your body to unclip your bra. “You don’t know how much mama loves playing with her little girl.” Her lips suckled softly at your neck, her warm hands cupping your breasts and kneading them gently.

You were a mess of whimpers and whines, your back arching and pressing your chest into her hands to which Wanda responded by rolling your nipples between her thumbs and index fingers.

Seemingly having grown impatient, Wanda stood up carefully so you had enough time to slide off her lap. As you stood, she helped you take your bra off beneath your shirt, dropping it to your feet. “Come upstairs,” she told you, taking your hand and heading up with you.

You cuddled back against her side again.

“I really missed you,” you said, looking up at her.

“Me too, sweetheart,” Wanda said, smiling down at you.

It wasn’t only your age that made you feel so little with Wanda. She spoke to you so gently and touched you so carefully. Your mommy was so beautiful — how she dressed, how she did her hair, her eyes, her nose, her soft lips.

All you wanted to do with Wanda was be taken care of, and she loved to take care of you.

Upstairs, Wanda had her hands all over you, undoing your pants while you unclipped her hair, then running her hands up your sides and pulling your shirt over your head.

“My sweet little girl…” she muttered into your neck, kissing you softly. “Do you like when mommy touches you like this?”

“Uh-huh… I like it, mommy,” you replied, whining softly when Wanda’s hands wrapped around your waist, carefully leading you backwards onto the bed.

She climbed on top of you. Her long hair blanketed over your shoulders as she kissed down your breasts. She took your nipples into her mouth one after the other and groaned at the feeling of the stiff buds against her tongue.

When your hips bucked up slightly at the feeling of tension building between your thighs, Wanda reached her hand down and rubbed you through your underwear.

She lifted her head from your breasts and looked down at you, her hair looking a bit disheveled and a small grin on her lips as she watched you writhe beneath her. Her fingers drew slow circles against your clothed pussy.

“You wouldn’t tell anyone about this, right, baby?” she asked, slightly breathless. “That mommy touches you like this?”

You shook your head adamantly.

“Are you sure?”

You nodded, lolling your head to the side so you could brush your cheek against Wanda’s hair that acted like a curtain down the side of your head as she looked down at you.

In a voice that was low, like a soft purr as she spoke, Wanda said, “Only very special mommies touch their little girls like this, sweetheart…”

You reached up, wrapping your arms around her waist. Wanda lowered herself so her hip pressed against yours, her elbow holding herself up so she could stroke the top of your head lovingly.

“I don’t wanna stop playing with mommy…” you whimpered, looking up at her pleadingly.

“This can be our secret, honey,” she replied before leaning down and kissing you softly. “We wouldn’t want anyone else to know how sweet and little my baby really is.”

When your hand came up to your breast, squeezing it softly beyond her dress, Wanda parted from your lips to moan softly.

“Does mama’s sweet little girl wanna touch?” she asked, her hand moving up from between your thighs to keep your hand in place, guiding you into kneading her breast softly.

When you nodded, she asked, “Do you want mama to take her clothes off?”

“Please, mommy.”

“Honey, you’re so well-mannered,” Wanda cooed, kissing your forehead before sliding off the bed and standing beside you, unzipping the side of her dress slowly as you watched. She put on a show for you, pushing her hair back and letting her dress’ strap slowly slip off her shoulders.

Long hair spilled down her back as Wanda turned, peering at you from over her shoulder as her dress spilled down around her ankles, leaving her in black underwear and her brown turtleneck.

Your eyes ran up the curve of Wanda’s ass, to the arch in her back, then back down to the way her hair spilled down her back and her long, smooth legs.

Sitting up onto your knees and leaning back on your heels, you reached out for Wanda, wrapping your arms around her waist. Wanda laughed as she stumbled back against you. She looked down at you as you rubbed your cheek against her upper arm.

“Are you going to help mommy take her shirt off?” she asked softly, rubbing your forearms that were covering her stomach.

You nodded, finding the hem of her shirt and carefully lifting it up.

“That’s good, baby…” Wanda cooed, helping you the rest of the way until she was only in her underwear. She turned, climbing on top of you again and meeting your lips.

With her lips on your neck, Wanda tugged your panties down, and you instinctively spread your legs when she dropped them off the edge of the bed.

“My sweet babygirl…” she murmured against your warm skin, her hands finding your inner thighs and spreading your legs further apart.

When you looked down, Wanda was looking up at you, green eyes focused on your helpless expression from beyond her mess of hair that curtained the sides of her face. Her lips were parted enough for you to hear her soft pants. The tip of pink of her tongue rested against the bottom row of her teeth.

The sight made your breath catch and your chest constrict in a way that you had to take an extra breath to give yourself air.

“Your nipples are so cute,” Wande cooed, and you watched as her lips wrapped around one of your buds, eliciting a groan from you as you arched your back.

“So sensitive,” she muttered when she switched to the other one.

Meanwhile, her hand circled the space between your hips, the heel of her palm pressing against your lower stomach. Her middle and ring finger traced the hood of your clit.

“Mommy,” you whined, bucking your hips up.

Wanda pressed her hand down and lifted her fingers from your pussy so you didn’t nudge your clit against them. “You’re just a sweet little girl, Y/N — do you think you know better than mama?” she asked after parting from your nipple then looking up at you.

You shook your head.

“No…” she whispered with a soft adoring smile. “My baby is too young to know better than me.”

Looking up at her shyly, you asked, “Is mama going to take advantage of me…?”

Wanda laughed, both at your evident dedication and arousal at the fantasy you were playing out, and at how sweet you were when you asked her.

“Well, now, honey, it’s not taking advantage when you’re my little girl, is it?” she replied.

You giggled a little and shook your head.

She moved up from your breasts and kissed your jaw, and finally her fingers met with your wet folds, sticky and warm against her cool fingers.

With slow motions of two fingers, Wanda moved up and down against your wet cunt, pressing against your hole and meeting your clit before rubbing back down. The wet noises from your parted pussy made you shiver, and Wanda kept her lips close to your neck so she could hear you writhe and whimper.

“I love having you like this,” she said. A soft groan of appreciation came from her when you wrapped your arms around her waist and held her close.

You felt so fluid, so out of control.

You felt yourself stretch to the size of Wanda’s finger, and she lifted her head to watch as your eyebrows furrowed together.

“So little, baby…” she murmured, in awe as you grasped at her, moaning at the way she moved in and out of you. The pad of her middle digit curled softly and applied pressure as she fingered you. “So dependent on mama. You don’t know how to do a single thing on your own, do you?”

You shook your head adamantly. When you opened your mouth to reply, Wanda slid a second finger in, and a low cry was pulled out of you in place of your words.

“Can you feel how your tight little pussy stretches out for mommy?” Wanda asked, looking down at you with a smug expression. “How much your tiny little hole loves mommy’s fingers?”

She groaned softly as you whimpered, and you could feel Wanda squeezing her thighs together, the lower half of her body squirming and readjusting itself as her fingers gained speed now that she had two inside of you.

“You’re so young, honey. Do you even know what I’m doing to you?” she teased, evidently savouring in the fantasy of taking advantage of a sweet little girl. “You don’t know when to tell mama ‘no.’”

Fingers curled inside of you, rubbing upwards against you as she entered and slid out of you. She kept her hand pressed against your body so the top of her palm rubbed against your clit. Wanda knew how you liked getting fingered — she didn’t move her fingers on their own, but her entire hand, so she rubbed against your pussy each time she moved in and out of your cunt.

“It’s okay that mommy touches you like this, right, baby?”

“It- Ah!” Your words were interrupted when Wanda curled inside of you in a particularly pleasing arch. You swallowed and tried to speak again. “It’s okay, mama, I-”

When Wanda buried her face in the crook of your neck again, sucking at your neck softly, she said, “So little and wet for me… Letting mama touch your special parts.”

You grasped at the blanket below you to keep yourself from gripping Wanda too harshly and hurting her as you felt yourself inch closer to orgasm. Your other arm squeezed around her waist.

“Oh, honey, are you gonna come?” she cooed, looking down at you with such admiration. “My babygirl’s sweet little pussy is getting so tight…”

Nodding, you buried your face in Wanda’s neck, whining and just feeling her soft hair against your cheek. “Mhm… I’m gonna come, mama…” you murmured.

“Come for mommy, baby. That’s right, honey…” Wanda cooed, kissing your cheek and your temple. She stroked your hair with her other hand as you whimpered helplessly like the tiny little girl you were. “Come on mommy’s fingers, sweetheart.”

Wanda groaned at the feeling of your pussy squeezing her fingers as you came. You parted from her neck as your back arched and your head laid back against the pillow. She looked down, watching your little thighs tremble.

She carefully pulled out of your pulsing pussy, her moan of appreciation reaching your ears as she laid her eyes on her sticky fingers, coated in her sweet little girl’s cum.

“You wanna suckle, my baby…?” Wanda asked, looking down at your tired little body. She kissed your forehead when you nodded and you cuddled close to her chest. “Fingers first, honey. Open up.”

Your lips parted and your eyes opened in time to see how coated her fingers were before she slid them into your mouth, laying them against your tongue.

She pet the top of your head soothingly as she watched your lips move around her fingers while you sucked them. Your tongue slid between and around them, and Wanda smiled down at you adoringly.

“Your pussy always tastes so nice and sweet, baby. Good girl, licking it off of mama.” She kissed your cheek over and over then slipped your fingers out of your mouth.

Wanda lifted your head and adjusted your body so you could suckle from her. She caressed the side of your face and brought her stiff nipple to your lips. She closed her eyes and let out a soft moan when you latched onto her and sucked softly.

“That’s good…” She looked down at you, continuing to stroke the side of your head. “Mmm…”

You loved doing this with Wanda. She looked so beautiful when she looked down at you, and she regarded you so warmly, making you feel so taken care of. She would hold you in her arms like this while you soothed yourself with her nipple, and the look of pleasure on her face made you feel so special.

She let out a little gasp as the tip of your tongue came out and teased at her bud, and Wanda brought your head closer to her breast, her head thrown back slightly as you flicked and rubbed your tongue against her.

You looked up at her innocently, watching as your mama moaned above you. Her thighs rubbed together at the corner of your eye, and she reached a hand down and pulled her underwear off. She brought her hand up to tease at her other nipple, her finger flicking at it then rolling it between her fingers.

She pulled you off her breast carefully.

“Okay, baby…” she spoke, slightly breathless. “Now the other one.” She adjusted the two of you slightly and brought your lips to her nipple again.

“Ah… Mmm, good girl…” Wanda cooed when you immediately latched onto her. “Such a soft tongue my little girl has.” She looked down at you, holding eye contact as you suckled from her.

She carefully took your hand, interlacing her fingers with yours as you continued, feeling your heart rate go down, your body practically melting into Wanda’s arms and her soft bed sheets.

From the corner of your eye, you could see Wanda’s legs spread slightly, and she brought your hand down between her thighs. She let go of your hand and guided your fingers to her pussy.

“You make mommy feel so excited, honey,” she purred before the pads of your fingers met with her warm folds that you all but slipped through with how wet she was. She guided your fingers up and down her pussy, her hips rolling forward and back ever so slightly. “You and your sweet little mouth…”

Her thumb ran against your bottom lip gently, then, with her hand, carefully removed her nipple from your mouth. She leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips.

When you pushed your fingers through her labia and pressed against her opening, you felt Wanda’s warm breath exhale against your lips as she moaned. You rubbed circles against her wet opening, feeling it clench against the pads of your fingers.

“I need your mouth, honey,” Wanda said, her voice sounding low and raspy. “Are you going to be a good girl and give mommy your tongue?”

“Am I going to make mommy feel good too?” you asked, looking up at her.

Wanda smiled down at you and stroked your cheek with her thumb. “That’s right, sweetheart. You’re going to make mama feel really good… But you need to follow my instructions, because only special girls can do this for their mamas.”

You nodded obediently. “Okay, mama. I can do it. I’m a special girl,” you told her, feeling determined.

She kissed your lips softly then got onto her back, helping you up and slowly leading you downwards. “That’s a good girl…” she said, slightly breathless.

As you descended, you laid your eyes on Wanda’s pussy, her thighs laying on your shoulders, spread open for you. You could smell her arousal and you recalled how her taste differed from your own. You felt yourself begin to salivate.

“Open your mouth, sweetheart. Let me see your tongue,” she instructed. Her hand came to the back of your head, leading you closer to her.

When your little pink tongue stuck out, Wanda brought your head a bit closer, and you ran your tongue through her slit, parting soft sticky folds. The tip of your tongue poked at her opening when you licked her, making Wanda whimper softly.

You looked up at her shyly when you went in for another lick, her flavour spreading across your tongue.

“You’re doing so good, honey… Just like that,” she encouraged.

At the sight of her above you, her hips twitchrd upwards as her back began to arch slightly. You pushed your head further between her thighs and wrapped your lips around her pussy. Your tongue dipped through her soft folds and pressed against her opening, running up to brush against her clit.

Wanda’s hand tightened your hair into a ball at the back of your head and secured your face against her cunt. Her head fell back and she let out a long relieved moan. Her thighs adjusted atop of your shoulders and they squeezed against the side of your head.

“Mama needs this, baby. Good girl,” she encouraged as you lapped at her.

Your tongue smoothed out and steadied, lapping at her rhythmically. She listened to your wet lapping against her and the soft slurps from your lips.

“Eat mama’s pussy just like that… So sweet and slow,” she cooed, rubbing the pads of her fingers against the back of your head.

Above you, Wanda was beginning to turn into a mess of whimpers, her eyes squeezed shut and her hair curling against her damp forehead.

“Oh, fuck, babygirl… You’re making me feel so…” Her head lolled to the side and a sharp whimper passed her parted lips. Her hips began rolling against your mouth, and you stiffened your tongue, nudging it up only slightly when you wanted to press against her clit.

Otherwise, she rolled herself against your stiffened tongue so it pushed through her folds and against her opening, then back up to graze her clit.

“Ah, yeah, baby,” Wanda panted out between breaths, her other hand coming down to take hold of your hair. “I’m gonna come, sweetheart…”

Her thighs squeezed around your head, her ankles linked behind your back with her heel digging against your lower spine. Her back arched and her head was thrown back, her hair dropping from around her shoulders to her sheets. Her collarbone and soft neck were revealed, flushed a subtle pink from how warm her body was.

Wanda always made you feel so special when you ate her out, the way she spread her legs for you and praised you for how well you were doing. You were special and did such a good job just for being you.

It wasn’t scary to be with Wanda or in trying to make her feel good; she loved spending time with you and being touched by you. Everything you did with her was enough — you were never less than, never failing, never out of place.

With Wanda, you always belonged, and she took care of you no matter what state you felt you were in when you finally found time together.

Her body relaxed, her back meeting the sheets as she exhaled with a huff. Her thighs relaxed from around your head and you could hear how she was panting.

“Oh, honey…” she groaned tiredly. She slid her legs from your shoulders and looked down at you with a hazy smile. You felt your heart pick up its pace at the sight of her, a tenderness spreading down your chest and into your stomach like warm maple syrup.

She reached down and pushed the hair from your face with the tip of her middle and ring fingers, admiring your innocent little face, glistening from the mouth down.

“Come up so mama can give you some kisses,” she said. She cupped your cheek and kept it there as you crawled up her body and nestled yourself against her.

You turned your back to her so she could hold you from behind, and Wanda immediately wrapped her arms around you and kissed your neck before taking a deep inhale.

“Mama…” you giggled. Your knees came up to your stomach so you could wiggle around in a ball as mommy tickled your side and gave you plenty of pecks.

“Oh, honey, you are the sweetest…”

Peck.

“Smartest…”

Peck. Peck.

“Most amazing little girl in the whole entire world.”

You kicked your feet a little as Wanda’s kisses tickled your neck while her fingers tickled your side, eliciting a flurry of giggles from you.

“Silly girl. You have a sticky face,” she said, stopping her tickles to wipe your face with her hand. She then lifted herself onto her elbow to reach down and kiss your lips.

You quickly turned in her arms and buried your face in her chest. Wanda looked down the bed to gather her sheets and brought them up to your shoulders.

“You are so special, my sweetest little angel…” Wanda murmured against your ear and rubbing your back.

Tears inexplicably sprung in your eyes at the care she was giving you, and you couldn’t help but let out a whimper.

Wanda just kept rubbing your back and kissing your head and temple occasionally. She went into more detail of how work and the divorce had been going, just so you could listen and not have to talk about yourself; she knew school had you feeling a little overwhelmed, and that you were such a good listener.

When you seemed more laidback, and your responses had turned into little hums of affirmations, Wanda asked you, “Have you been doing alright lately, sweetheart?”

“I’ve just been really overwhelmed and tired,” you answered, not feeling pressured or upset in sharing how you’ve been. Before, it was hard, reminding you only of all your problems, and now, you were simply… talking to Wanda.

It was just Wanda, like it always was when you were together.

“It suddenly caught up to me. I realized that all I’ve been doing is studying and eating on campus to study during meals, then going home right after, and waking up to study all over again.”

Wanda kissed your forehead. “It must be hard, baby. You’ve been working so hard…”

You nodded. “I really want all of this to be over,” you muttered into her chest, feeling more resigned than miserable.

“I know. Soon, honey.”

Since neither of you had dinner, you spent a few minutes in bed discussing what to eat and getting occasionally distracted when Wanda kept teasing you — she knew all too well how ticklish you were, and she truly couldn’t help herself.

You and Wanda decided on ordering takeout because you wanted Chinese food and she wasn’t any good at making it. Back up in the bedroom after the food arrived, you and Wanda had dinner with a movie playing on her laptop.

Wrapped up in her clothes, you savoured the feeling of being with her — not needing to be or do anything but share dinner with her while leaning against her shoulder.

“Are you feeling better?” she asked, looking down at you with a gentle smile.

You looked up and met her eyes, nodding.

“I feel much better,” you said.

She kissed the top of your head, and everything else besides just you and Wanda melted away for a while.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel smut #elizabeth olsen

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lavshaze · 3 months ago

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❤️ | Beautiful thing

Continuation to terrible thing, but can be read as a stand-alone, I'm terribly sorry this took so long, I'm starting to think writing silco smut is my destiny and I should just drop out and do this 24/7

✧ contains ⤐ continuation of the wet dream shenanigans, so naturally also smut! finger sucking and fucking, oral (female receiving), missionary, a lot of feelings, like the yearning truly hits its climax (but so do both of them so it's alright), oh and lovely tween jinx is there at the beginning <3 w.c. ~ 7.7k (big boy)

It’s around 7:35 when you reach The Last Drop.

You could blame it on the amount of time you spent in the shower, staring at the tiled floor and trying to get over the visions you had, but you weren’t going to tell Silco any of that. ‘I almost got robbed’ sounds a lot nicer and just as believable.

You’re greeted with ear-splitting music the minute you walk through the door, a usual for the club, especially at this hour. It was only getting started and was probably going to be a lot worse by the time you leave. You pull your jacket tighter around yourself as you scan the crowd of faceless dancing bodies, looking for your possible silver line for tonight, a tall and strong woman who you’d actually pay to come up to Silco’s office and bully you just for this night.

You visibly deflate when you don’t catch sight of her in her usual spots, not playing poker nor flirting at the bar. All you can see is a lot of sweaty people and a lot of shimmer being passed around. You do, however, spot Ran by the pool table, and you place her in your mind as your backup plan.

Fortunately for Ran, your favorite blue haired devil is at your side the minute you open the door to his office.

“Jinx!”

You yelp out her name in equal parts excitement and surprise. Her hug attack nearly knocks you off your feet, if it weren’t for the door frame you’d managed to hold on to. You can’t help the grin that spreads on your face at the eagerness; the poor girl is stuck with a monologuing villain as a father all day, it’s probably a relief to see you, a normal human being who doesn’t glower and speak in riddles.

“Hello, Jinx.” You fondly run your fingers through the hair at the top of her head. She turns her head to look up at you, pearly whites exposed in a wide grin. “I missed you, sweet girl.”

She's grown taller over the past few months, now tall enough to reach your chest when she hugs you, but she's still as lanky as the day you found her. Or, well, the day Silco found her. She was smaller back then, but just as skinny. You look at the man who took her in, deeply immersed in whatever document is stressing him out tonight— looking just as malnourished as she does— and it all makes sense.

“I've been waiting for you all day,” comes the squeaky whine from below, demanding your undivided attention. “Silco is so busy, he doesn't have the time to check out my new paintball gun, which is really lame, because this one has explosives!”

At the mention of his name, the man looks up from the troubling piece of paper. He stares at you for a minute, eye adjusting to the sight of another human being, then begrudgingly places the wretched document down on the desk and pushes the chair back to stand.

“You're here.”

You smile, absentmindedly petting the girl attached to your waist, “yes, I am. Did you not hear me talking just now?”

He reaches for his glass of bourbon, three melting ice cubes in a nearly empty cup, “I did. I wasn't quite sure if you were a figment of my imagination or not.”

Your smile almost slips into something sinister, all the nervousness from before suddenly escaping your body, “what, you have fantasies about me?” It’s so easy to slip back into the subtle flirtatious routine, the light comments that aren’t supposed to mean much to either of you. The earth-shattering dream almost seems like a silly thought now that you’re here, in his office, breathing in the air that’s tinted by him in every way.

It’s Silco. Things didn’t have to change between the two of you, you could always just enjoy purgatory.

He looks at you from atop the rim of his glass, a flicker of a smile on his face, “only when I'm at my wit's end.”

The moment ends there, if only to protect Jinx.

He makes his way around the desk to settle on the couch, leaning back and finishing up his drink. You observe the way his hands curl around the glass, how he crosses one slender leg over the other, and bite down on your lip like a voyeur— always watching through the glass, never having the chance to lay your hands on the merchandise.

Jinx detaches from your waist and goes over to sit next to him, thankfully pulling you out of the slightly unpleasant thoughts you were having. He puts his arm out, and she automatically goes for a side hug. You smile to yourself, watching The Eye of Zaun growing softer around the edges at the hands of the blue haired menace never gets old.

You sit beside her on the couch, and she draws you into countless conversations. Reminiscing the past week, telling you about the progress she's been making with the explosives/paintball gun, and how she's already tried it on Sevika a couple times— ‘Jinx, that's not nice’ ‘it's sevika, she doesn't deserve nice!’ — and retelling a particularly funny bar fight that she witnessed.

While she’s explaining the process she went through to implement the explosives into a harmless toy gun, your eyes flicker back to the man at her side. He’s leaning back, craning his neck to look at the ceiling, and you take the chance to admire his side profile. Enhanced by the dim light of his desk lamp, the curve of his nose is particularly alluring at the moment. From his nose to his charming overbite to the strands of hair that fall to the side as a result of a long exhausting day, you sneak subtle glances at him, as much as you can without getting caught.

But you know, in your heart of hearts, that he must be aware of your burning gaze on the side of his face. And you know, when he turns his head slightly to lock eyes with you, that the look he gives you is just as loaded and dangerous as this little game you were playing.

“..anyways, I’d really like to show you the gun now.”

Your attention falls back to the child nestled between the two of you, big blue eyes blinking innocently at you. You know she’s not clueless, and you know she’s probably sick of you playing eye games with her father when she’s right there.

“Of course, honey. Silco?”

He removes his arm from around her, adjusting his position so his body is drawn away from yours. Huh, funny. You hadn’t noticed how much it was angled towards you until now.

Jinx sighs in relief the minute the two of you are out of the door and you can’t help but laugh.

“Jinx.”

“Oh, c’mon, it’s impossible to be in the same room with the two of you without you making kissy eyes at each other!”

Thankfully, you’re far enough down the hall to know Silco wouldn’t hear that. “We do not make kissy eyes at each other.”

She stops, turns to give you an unamused look, then turns back around and continues walking.

You follow her down to the basement, where she pulls out her magnificent invention. She shoots it far enough away so neither of you get impacted and you’re thankful to see that the explosions are more like fireworks than actual big booms. You’re proud of her and you tell her as much, she practically glows at the praise.

But then her smile drops and she sighs dramatically— the spitting image of her father when it comes to dramatics, how are they not blood related— “if only things could always be like this…”

You frown, “like what?”

“You and me, having fun, no Silco.”

The statement is so jarring that it pulls a stunned laugh out of you, and Jinx grins, proud of herself. “Kidding! I like him too, I just wish you two would stop your secret messages.”

“Secret messages?”

She nods, “the ones you communicate with your eyes. I wanna be in on those conversations too!”

You smile. She definitely does not want to be in on those conversations, but you'd preserve what was left of her innocence.

“So, Jinx,” you lean down to be on her level, “what do you wanna do next?”

You watch as all thoughts of those secret conversations practically vanish from her head, replaced with much more important things, like visiting Jericho’s stall.

When you make your way back to Silco’s office, it’s with a lot more food than you left with. Jinx is happily satisfied with the meal that she had at the stall, but she carries the extra food bags like ammo. She was nice enough to consider leaving some of it for her dear father.

To your disappointment though, the office is empty. You think maybe something came up and he had to take care of it, as it often happens, and you feel a little relieved that maybe you’ll get to end the night here and postpone the sensual torture he puts you through to a later time, when you're not so hormonal. As you’re about to back up into the hallway to ask the standing guard of his whereabouts, you feel a pair of hands on your hips, holding you in place.

“Careful,” Silco leans forward to speak the words right into your ear, “it’s awfully rude to cause such an injury to your host.” He’s not even whispering, he just always uses that tone.

His hands are gone from your hips as fast as they’d been placed there, and you almost mourn the loss. But the sight of Jinx’s knowing, bored expression diverts your attention back to the girl.

Right, no kissy eyes.

“Jericho’s?” He asks, one eyebrow raised. Jinx nods and rushes to place the remaining food on the coffee table, “we got some for you too!”

“How nice of you, Jinx. Unfortunately, I’m rather full at the moment so I must postpone such an appetizing meal to a later time.” You note the smell of smoke in the air, he definitely had his meal of the night. “In the meantime, I think we should be getting you to bed.”

Jinx groans, “already? But she just got here! I barely get to spend time with her.”

You put an arm around her shoulder, “I’ll come by earlier on Monday if you go to bed on time right now.” She moves to wrap her arms around you for a final time, looking up at you with glossy blue eyes, “you promise?”

“I do,” you plant a kiss on her forehead.

Silco extends a hand and she takes it, small fingers engulfed in his much larger one. She waves at you as he guides her outside his office, down to her bedroom, you wave back as they slip out the door. This leaves you in the dim office alone.

You saunter over to the couch and mindlessly drape yourself over the cushions, your head occupied with the inevitable decision you’re facing now. You either make up an excuse to leave early, one that he’d know better than to believe, or stay and put up with more hidden innuendos and dark, poorly masked looks. It’s not that you’re not used to it, or that it’s a new development, but rather the fact that you’ve come to the harrowing realization that whatever you felt for him ran deeper than you anticipated. It had been bubbling in your chest, threatening to overflow like a boiling kettle on a stove, and the final straw— the thing that truly pushed you over the edge— was that dream.

And it's not the fact that it was dirty, you've had those about him before, and consequently, you’d learned to brush them off as wild fantasies. It happened once in a dream kind of deal, you weren’t going to get hung up over the possibilities of those thoughts ever coming to fruition. The problem with this particular dream was how romantic it was— the heated gaze in his reflection, the appreciative scan of your body, gods, just the feeling of him inside you. You weren’t fucking that man, you were making love to him.

The thought is so cliche it makes you gag, but that look in his eyes when he was watching you in the mirror, your unconscious brain was endlessly cruel to make it look like he held such love for you. The longing, the monstrous yearning that dream instilled in you was dangerous. It planted a feeling inside your chest that now threatens to split it open if you're not careful.

You're not blind to possibilities, there's a chance that Silco shares the sentiment and you're not in this mess entirely alone; but you're also aware that he's extremely mission oriented, and he probably wouldn't consider the prospect of something serious with you as long as Zaun wasn't free. It’s something you respect him for, never losing sight of his goals, you just wish it didn't make him nearly unattainable.

Because gods above, you'd love to attain him.

It’s a thought that’s been brewing in the back of your mind since you first met. Three years ago, a much more distressed version of yourself was too tipsy to feel endangered by his presence at one of the less frequented bars. Back when Vander was in charge, you didn't know who Silco was or the implications of what had happened between them. All you knew was that this strange man had a sexy scar and his eye kinda glowed in the dark, and that made your alcohol-addled brain see stars.

To this day, you aren’t quite sure what about your slurred conversation skills made him tolerate you enough to listen to you all night. You’ve suspected it was the loneliness he was dealing with at the time, and you were likely his least dangerous form of entertainment, or maybe he thought you were pretty and perhaps much more charming when sober. It’s probably the second one.

But that's how your unconventional friendship started, chance encounters in small bars. He was always able to find you alone and you were never sure how he did it but you didn't really mind. Where you found your curiosities being satisfied every time he shared something about himself, he found someone willing to share the burden with him. Eventually, you learned about Vander and what actually happened between them. The river, the betrayal, the blood; the respect you'd had for Vander soured into distaste, and turned into borderline hatred when you learned of the deal he had with the enforcers.

Things were progressing quickly though, and it wasn't long before Vander was out of the picture. The Hound had been overpowered by The Eye, and that's when you met Jinx for the first time, hysterical and wailing in Silco’s arms. Powder, they used to call her, peculiarly fitting for the girl who had crumbled in your hold that night. You held her until the screaming ceased and the three of you fell asleep on the couch.

That's when your relationship with Silco started changing, getting much more intimate. That night where Silco discovered just how useful you could be with Jinx, that was the first domino in a long line that led up to this moment, to the present where you were fighting tooth and nail against the feelings that were threatening to suffocate you.

The sound of the door unlocking pulls you out of your thoughts, the object of your suffering walks in.

“Drink?” He walks over to the bar cart.

You shake your head, “actually, Silco, I'm thinking of going home early today.”

He pours himself some whiskey and doesn't look up at you, “oh, were you now?” He takes a slow, agonizing sip of his drink before he speaks again, “anything important?”

You smile in spite of yourself, “not really, just tired.”

He looks up from his drink, two mismatched eyes settling on your frame. His gaze travels down your body, assessing you as if you were one of the chembarons working under him. But under that scrutinizing gaze, you catch embers of something else, something dark and seductive, something that looks a lot like desire.

Your face burns.

“I guess I shall not keep you then.” He turns, walking over to his desk, “I wouldn't want to distract you from such important appointments.”

He settles back in his chair and is almost immediately immersed in work again. You envy him for being so focused, knowing that if you go home now you'll just keep yourself awake thinking about him. You watch his fingers grasp the pen that he puts to paper and feel yourself grow light-headed, it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that you had to go home and sit with your thoughts while all he touches is paperwork. You wanted him to touch you, put you out of your misery.

You stand but make no move towards the door, instead making your way over to him. He doesn't look up when you pass by, walking over to the grand window that highlights the main wall of the office. You'd always been fascinated by it, the color was certainly a choice, and in daylight it looks mystifying. Right now, it's dark enough for you to catch your reflection, you pretend to adjust your hair.

“You don't really want to leave, do you?”

He doesn't move, doesn't turn in his chair. You know he can't see the gesture but you shake your head, “I don't know.”

“Is there something you'd like to tell me?”

Your body feels a tad too warm for comfort.

“I don't know.”

He discards his work with a sigh. Your lips curl in amusement, knowing that whenever you’re around, he’s too distracted to get any actual work done.

You watch as his reflection comes up behind yours, the heat in your body intensifies in response to the glowing glare of his dark eye. You know he's aware of the effect he has on you, and you know he does it on purpose. You wonder if he's ever haunted with thoughts of you the way you are of him, you wonder if he ever has dirty dreams about you.

“Has something happened?”

You shake your head.

“Is someone threatening you?”

You shake your head again and laugh, of course that's what he would ask.

“Look at me.”

You don't have it in you to resist, especially when he's using that tone. You turn around, coming face to face with his narrowed eyes, sea green and charcoal eyes looking back at you. It’s difficult to miss the hint of concern that you’ve become accustomed to recognizing over the years.

“What's on your mind, dove?”

Your heart sings at the pet name and your lips curl bashfully, “I can't say it.”

“Can't you?” His eyes trail down to your lips, “you can tell me anything.”

In theory, you can. In theory, you have, ever since you first met and you'd spilled way too much about yourself to him, and that leap of faith is exactly how you ended up here. Standing in front of the man who holds your heart so firmly, unable to reach out and touch him, unable to have more than a small part of him.

He draws closer, too close.

“No, Sil. I'm afraid I can't this time,” your voice comes out soft, strained, “I'm afraid I have to leave before I do something stupid.”

He pays no mind to your statement, hands reaching up to cup your face, rough fingertips contradicting the gentle nature of the act. Your eyes gloss over, the spark you've been feeling erupts into wild flames that threaten to consume your whole being. His thumb brushes over your cheekbone with such care that it makes your chest squeeze. Expression unreadable, he observes your face carefully; when his thumb skirts the outline of your lips, your breath catches in your throat.

You part your lips slightly and something inside him understands the silent communication. Something else throbs.

Experimentally, he brushes his thumb over your lips, appreciating the rough texture of the chewed skin. He watches as you open your mouth wider in invitation, assessing the situation before he pushes his thumb past your lips and right into the wetness of your oral cavity. Your mouth closes around him, careful not to bite, as you stare back into his observant eyes.

His breath hitches, pupil of the good eye blowing wider, as he watches you take his finger to the hilt. You think this must be another cruel trick from the gods, another wet dream that you're going to wake up from in frustration, but the feeling of his finger against your soft, wet tongue is unmistakable.

You’re not sure what this means, for you or your relationship with him, but you’re sure that it’s happening and you feel the need to savor what you can. Your hand comes up to wrap around his wrist, thumb caressing the inside of his hand as your eyelids grow heavier.

For a moment, the world stops. For a moment, all you can think about is how he tastes in your mouth, and flashes of the wicked dream you had only a few hours before run through your mind. Weeks of filthy thoughts push at you to do more, to ask for more of him, but you’re insistent on taking it slow, on memorizing every little gesture, just in case you never experience it again.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

You hum around his finger. The tent in his pants may be a visual representation of the effect you have on him, but you’re feeling rather greedy.

“Surely, you must, or else, you wouldn't walk into this office with such pride, so confident knowing that you've got me wrapped around your finger.” Your lips curl into a smile around his finger and he scoffs in amusement, “happy to know that you're my weakness, aren't you?”

He removes his finger and you're left to think about the implications of a ‘weakness’. A soft spot, a passion, a sweetness, a hazard, an obstacle, a problem. Did Silco see you as a problem? And most importantly, as you look into hungry, lustful eyes, does he care about that right now?

You can't help the hand that comes up to grasp at his vest in desperation, you can't help the frantic need to keep him close while you can, to touch him for as long as he deems himself touchable. You can't help the force that makes you pull him closer to press your lips against his in a bruising kiss, and you can't help the shiver that runs through your body when he kisses you back with just as much force.

He tastes like the cigar that you knew he was having earlier, sweetened by the taste of whiskey still in his mouth. The contact overwhelms your senses, unable to process anything besides how he tastes, how he smells, how he feels.

He backs you up against the window so your burning hot skin is pressed against the cold glass, tongue shoving into your mouth with admirable ferocity. You let him tilt your head for better access, place his arms around your waist, push you up against the glass, you'd let him do anything to you right now.

Sharp teeth bite down on your lips and the metallic taste of blood fills your mouth, you find yourself unable to contain the small sounds of pleasure at his vicious probing. You can feel his arousal through his pants, poking at your thigh. Hungry for more, you reach down to give it a stroke over the clothes, to which he groans directly into your mouth.

He draws back and you come face to face with the feral look in his eyes.

“Needy little thing.”

He reaches underneath your skirt and you gasp when his cool fingers make contact with the warm wetness of your underwear. He runs his finger back and forth in slow tortuous cycles.

“So wet, so eager for my touch. Tell me, dove, how many times have you fantasized about this?” Your breath catches as he moves the offending fabric to the side and presses his finger to your bare cunt. “How many times have I made you this wet?”

“Silco, please.”

A devilish smile extends on his lips, “I know. Answer my question.”

You throw your head back against the glass in frustration, breathing deeply.

“More than I can count.”

The fire that catches in his eyes is enough to burn down the greatest libraries in the world, mere embers of it manage to set your whole body aflame. It would be mortifying to witness if you weren’t the object of his affection, the recipient of what pleasure he has to offer.

“You terrible little thing.”

Your answer rewards you with one, long finger easing its way past your lips and into your cunt. Your hips stutter at the contact and it elicits a sharp smile from your assailant as he curls the digit inside you. He watches your face contorting in pleasure, drawing out helpless needy moans from your sweet little mouth. He moves to swallow the gasps with his own, planting soft but relentless kisses on your lips.

He's kind enough to insert a second finger in, working you on his hand as he angles his wrist to reach further inside. You break off from his mouth to peer down at the sight, watching his fingers disappear into your cunt; it’s endlessly obscene and it only feeds the fire burning inside you. You tighten around him when the pleasure gets too much and he grunts into your ear, the sound rolling down your spine.

You force your head back up so he can kiss you again, shoving your head back against the glass. He claims your mouth once more, fingers relentlessly probing at your opening. His thumb moves to rub against your clitoris and your body twitches with pleasure, forcing you to draw back from his searing hot mouth. He observes you with the ravenousness of a predator observing its prey, appreciating the way your mouth helplessly hangs open.

His thumb continues to rub against your clit as you approach the precipice at an alarming rate.

“I should like to see you speechless like this more often.”

The smug smirk that stretches upon his kiss-bruised lips, the sinful tone of his voice, and the burning hot gaze he observes you with— it’s all too much.

It takes a lot of control to keep your eyes open, but you don't strip him of the pleasure that comes from watching you crumble at his hand— on his hand. Those cursed, rough fingers that have committed atrocious crimes in the name of a greater cause, they continue to fuck the common sense out of you until you have no fight left in you.

When he pulls his fingers out, they’re coated with your wetness and you flush in embarrassment. Undeterred, he places the fingers in his mouth and licks them clean, before he leans forward and presses a soft kiss against your lips.

“Shall we continue this in the bedroom?”

Gods above, thank you Janna.

“Please.”

When you're laid down on the silky bed sheets this time, it's miles better than you dreamt it to be.

Silco wastes no time undressing you, having pulled your shirt off on the way to the bed, he figures out how to unhook your bra pretty quickly. You shouldn't be too surprised, those fingers are seriously skilled at everything they do. Once they're off, he dives to catch one of your breasts in his mouth, teeth grazing sensitive nipples. You take rapid deep breaths as you watch him devour your chest, creating bite marks that you'd definitely admire later. The wanting between your legs is overwhelming, but so is the one in your chest. You affectionately thread your fingers through his hair, pulling on it when he bites down on your sensitive skin. You think you could come from this alone.

When he's satisfied with the assault on your chest, he moves lower. Your skirt is unzipped and removed at an alarming speed and his face is between your thighs before you have a chance to protest.

Warm breath fans over your underwear, still wet from your first orgasm. He pauses, eyes peering up at you in such an uncharacteristically serene manner that you almost think something's wrong.

“I've thought about this before.”

You tilt your head, eyelids heavy as you smile down at him. “Have you?”

“You have no idea, darling. I've thought about you in positions much worse.”

You bite your lip, “I know. I've thought about you too.” There's a silent, unspoken implication in your statement that you hope the breathlessness and aching look you give him convey well enough, you're not sure that you'd be able to push out the confession otherwise. His eyes flicker from your face back to your clothed cunt, deep in thought. Almost mindlessly, he reaches up to lace his fingers through yours. He does it on his left, you reach for both his hands, rubbing gently at his knuckles. If it weren't for the position, you'd lean down and kiss them.

“You must understand how badly I've wanted this,” and you do, “you must understand that this isn't a mindless act of the body.” Your breath hitches at what he's implying, and you're thankful that he doesn't declare it just yet, because you think you'd explode under the weight of the feeling bubbling in your chest.

“I do, Silco. I feel the same.”

‘We can talk about it later’ is unspoken, but well understood between the two of you. For now, you focus on the way his body feels against yours, the way he noses at the inner side of your thigh in a slow absentminded motion.

“Are you going to eat me out or should I get up and leave, Sil?”

That catches his attention, eyes snapping to meet yours. His fingers leave yours to curl possessively around your thigh, digging hard enough to leave marks.

“Leave? I would never let you, not when I have you in my hands like this.”

And oh Janna, did he have you in his hands.

The first contact of his tongue against your folds has you arching your back in fervor, eager to meet his mouth with your core. His eyes flicker in amusement as he pins you down by the hips.

“Patience.”

You whine, the amount of need circulating your body overwhelming your senses. He presses his tongue flat against you and licks another experimental strip; your chest heaves, heart beating erratically against your ribcage. The frustration has you untangling your fingers from his to grip onto the sheets. He glances up at you, a dangerous look playing in his eyes, and goes for another lick.

You sharply inhale, “Silco.”

His lips curl in amusement, “good things come to those who wait, my love.”

You throw your head back and release a sound that's a combination of pleasure and frustration. Teasing, evil bastard.

“You've waited a long time for this, haven't you?” You nod, feeling too frustrated to answer. “Tell me, dove, what made you snap this time? What gave you the audacity to wrap your lips around my finger so desperately, looking at me like I hold the key to all your desires?”

Your skin feels impossibly hot, his warm breath fans over your exposed core but he makes no move to relieve you of your suffering, looking at you expectantly instead.

“I had a dream,” you push out through gritted teeth, “I had a dream about you.”

He draws lazy circles on the inside of your thigh, “have you? Did it feature such promiscuous positions?”

You shake your head, smiling down at him, “worse, you fucked me in front of your mirror.”

His breath hitches, pupils going wide at the mental image. He speaks slowly, entranced, “is that what you like?”

“Maybe for another time,” your smile drops, “right now, I'd like you to fucking eat me out, please.”

He chuckles, planting a toothy kiss on the inside of your thigh, “so impatient.”

When his tongue makes proper contact with your pussy, you let out a wanton moan. The relief it provides is inexplicable, allowing you to melt back into the covers, his grip on your thighs keeping them wide open. Your hands travel down to thread through his hair, and you get the wonderful vision of dream-disheveled Silco as a very real projection between your thighs.

“I always knew you were good with your tongue, Sil.” You sigh in bliss. He hums against your core, “gave it a lot of thought, have you?”

“You have no idea.”

His wet tongue rubs against your soft walls, eliciting more needy sounds from your throat. He eats pussy like an experienced veteran, silver tongue curling inside you to reach the deepest spots. If only he could always put it to such good use.

His sharp nose rubs against your clit and your body jolts in pleasure.

“Right there, Sil. Don't stop,” he looks up at you with dark eyes as you continue to beg in the neediest tone known to man, “please, don't stop.”

And he doesn't. True to his nature, he has the stamina of a fighter, and if this is how good he eats you out, you look forward to what comes after.

He works you with his tongue until you approach your second orgasm of the night. Your back arches in anticipation, grip tightening around his hair, all you can manage in warning is a breathless close that he responds to with more vigorous probing. His hands around your hips pin you down, resisting the relentless twitching that's evoked by his tongue moving inside you.

You call out his name in desperate pleas, hips stuttering with every deep plunge into your cunt. His eyes meet yours from between your legs, practically glowing in enjoyment; your heart stutters at the sight, you don't know if you'll ever witness anything like this in your lifetime. He mercifully continues to rub at your clit, providing you with the release you've been begging for.

The tight rope inside you continues to curl and tighten further until it snaps, reverberating through your body like an intense war cry. You come with a broken moan that has you squeezing your eyes under the intense weight of pleasure, unshed tears wetting your lashes.

Silco squeezes your thighs, silently asking you to look at him, and you shakily comply, allowing him direct eye contact while he fucks you through your high.

He detaches from you within a few seconds, and the affection swelling in your chest has you pulling at his vest to pull him up for a bruising kiss. You taste yourself on his tongue, the evidence of your orgasm mixing into your shared spit. When you pull back, you're met with his wonderfully disheveled and flushed face, and you notice— with great amusement— that you've rubbed some of his foundation off on your thighs.

Your eyes trail down to his clothed chest, you realize that there's a great disequilibrium between your states of undress. Your hands rise to trace the gold in his clothes, all the way up to his collar.

“Will you take this off?” You tug at his clothes, “please, I'd like to see you.”

You're aware that it's a big request, that his bare body would put him in such a vulnerable position that he would never recover from if this doesn't go well; but you're not quite sure what ‘this’ is either, between the lust you feel in your core, and the love beating in your chest, the one feeling that courses through you is ‘want’.

You want him naked, vulnerable, offering himself to you just as you have to him.

He looks torn, hesitant.

Your hand creeps up further to brush at what little skin is exposed from his neck. Slow tentative movements over the sensitive area has him twitching in your hands, but he doesn't move away. Your hands creep higher to settle around his neck, feeling for the physical and emotional scar that was left there ages ago, but still burns as if recently instilled.

Discussions about Vander have been few and far in-between, and you understand the wound still runs deep. For a minute, you're afraid that he's going to turn away from your touch when his breath catches in his throat at the incidental scratch of your nails, but he relaxes in your grip when you continue to rub soothing patterns over the sensitive skin.

With what power you have, you trace mindless circles on his shoulders, leaning forward to plant soft kisses along his collarbones. “It’s okay.” You kiss upwards, drawing closer to the junction of his shoulder and neck. His breath hitches as you draw closer to the sensitive skin, but he tilts his head back and allows you unspoken access anyways.

Trust is not easy to come by, especially with someone like him, but the sight of Silco practically melting in your hands while you trace over his most sensitive scar, it feels like a bond even deeper than trust.

The need to be brave for him, to lay yourself bare— even more than being entirely naked under him— is imminent. You take a deep breath before your fingers hook together behind his neck and pull him down for another kiss, once more for courage.

“I like you, Silco,” you speak against his lips, glistening with the proof of your kiss. “I like you a lot, and there's nothing you can say or do that will make me like you less.” Your eyes trail up to his own, the next words feeling much more serious than you intend, “I like you so much that nothing you can show me now will make me turn away.”

It's a reckless promise, a heated confession that admittedly just follows the weight of the moment without much previous thought. Later, you'd have to enforce the idea of boundaries, the things that he isn't allowed to do, but something in your head tells you that you weren't lying. Regardless of what he does, you don't see yourself ever walking away.

His gaze softens, the hesitant look from earlier replaced by a prominent ache, the aftermath of a healing wound.

“Ever the sweet talker, dove.”

You smile, “only for you, Sil. Only for you.”

He draws back, moving to undo his vest before he halts, instead reaching for your hands.

“Would you like to help?”

Your eyes twinkle with mirth, “please.”

Slender fingers wrap around yours, guiding you to undo his tie, take off his vest, push his shirt off his shoulder. You appreciate the sight of his bare, scarred chest, running your fingers across his torso. You lean forward to plant a few soft kisses on his shoulder while you attempt to undo his pants without looking.

You’re forced to draw back with a laugh when you undeniably fail.

“Your pants are killing me.”

He huffs a light laugh, “it takes a moderate amount of skill, dearest,” something flickers in his eyes, “you'll gain experience in no time.”

Your heart squeezes at the implication. You watch as he illustrates how to undo those buttons, burning every movement to memory. Once the pants are off, you reach for his underwear eagerly, grunting out a finally that only amuses him further.

Within a few seconds, he's back on top of you and you're both equal parts naked this time. You wrap your legs around his waist, secure him against you as you exchange more open mouthed kisses. He grows harder against you, rubbing against your thighs and wet, sensitive cunt. You groan into his mouth and he takes it as a sign to reach between your legs and position himself properly.

Your arms squeeze around his shoulder when he slips in. His girth is impressive for someone of such stature and it has you gasping for air. He raises his head to look at your face as you take him in, allowing you the glorious vision of his ruined, flushed face— he's continuously coming undone under your touch. Janna, you could watch him like this forever.

Your fingers dig crescent moons into his pale skin once he begins moving inside you. It starts out slow, he enters all the way until you're taking him to the hilt and then allows you the pleasure of slow thrusts. Needy moans bubble in your throat as your grip on his shoulders tighten so much that you think you're about to draw blood, giving him a more pleasurable sort of scar.

“It's been hard holding back around you lately,” he whispers against your lips. “You're impossibly alluring when you want to be.”

You kiss him once more, “how do you think I feel?” He chases your lips when you part but you speak again, “how long has it been for you?”

“Since the day I took in Jinx.” He drops his head into the crook of your neck, almost like he's shy, “and for you?”

You wrap your arms around his neck, “since the day we met.”

He breathes a light laugh against your skin, you continue. “No seriously, I'd have fucked you back then if you initiated anything. Men with scars are lethally sexy.”

“Aren't you lucky, then.”

He bites into your neck, eliciting a soft moan from your mouth, and sucks until you're sure it forms a nice satisfactory bruise. He licks the sensitive skin and moves to other sites to plant more marks. “Always knew you were a biter,” you say breathlessly, throat constricting under his hot mouth.

Once he's done with his assault on your neck, he stands tall and you watch something shift in his expression. The soft, loving look is replaced with something hungry and dangerous, it has you squeezing around his cock.

“You've waited so patiently,” he hooks your legs higher around his middle, “I have to make sure I live up to your expectations.”

And then something is set off inside him, because his pace changes from soft and romantic to goddamn animalistic. His pace speeds up, drilling so deeply inside you that you think you feel him in your stomach. Your fingers dig into his back for some sort of grounding ritual but it only makes him groan right into your ear and the sound travels down to where you're connected. You can barely catch your breath.

“You, oh my gods, you exceed expectations, Sil.”

“Oh, I know, darling, the way your cunt squeezes around me is proof enough.”

Every obscene word goes right to your core and you feel him tugging on every sensitive string in your body. It's much more than that dream— gods that stupid, wonderful dream that had started the cascade of events that lead to this. There was no need for dreams anymore, his cock inside you was very much real and it was throbbing with need, one that you matched in your own core.

His arms are on either side of your face as he fucks the living daylight out of you, and you turn and burry your teeth in his left hand to feed some of the gnawing need in your core. You think it would be delightful if you could have more of him in your mouth, you consider if you should bite down until you draw blood but you choose to be kind this time. You can save it for the next few times, something he seems to be planning as well.

You turn back to face him and find yourself grinning stupidly at the knowledge that you're going to get this sight again, and again, and again, until you are either satisfied or dead. And if you happen to die during it, that'd be even better.

“Dirty girl, smiling to yourself while you take my cock. What are you thinking of?”

“I'm thinking of how beautiful you are, and how you're going to fuck me over and over again until we're both satisfied.”

He releases a low groan, hips stuttering momentarily before he picks up the pace again, slamming against your bare ass with newfound vigor.

“You're going to be the death of me.”

Then he leans down and catches your mouth in one last sloppy kiss, tongue assaulting yours in a similar fashion to his cock assaulting your cunt. You wrap your arms around his neck once more, whining pleas into his open mouth. The pleasure in your lower abdomen is overwhelming, overstimulated by his bruising kiss and arms coming around you.

It accumulates, all the sensations and the continuous coiling in your pelvis, until it explodes. The ecstasy washes over your body in waves, making you gasp against Silco’s mouth as you come undone. It shakes your whole body and for a second you think you see stars in the glowing orb of his damaged eye. He's endlessly beautiful, even as he brings you to your ruin.

He continues to fuck you through your orgasm and long enough to reach his own, too. He finishes inside, spilling himself deep within you, making you shudder at the sensation. He doesn't stop until he's completely soft inside you.

It's severely disappointing when he pulls out, but you understand that you can't be joined at the hips forever without an unfortunate lab accident. Instead, you settle for his embrace when he puts an arm around your shoulder, cuddling into him— two sweaty heaving bodies and an uncertain future.

When he traces invisible patterns into your bare skin and leans down to kiss your forehead though, it doesn't really matter.

It especially doesn't matter when you look up at him with a smile that matches his own, and it doesn't matter even more when that smile of his turns into a smirk at his next words.

“If that's what one dream can do, I look forward to the rest of them.”

Lovely illustration for silco being an #eater right here ♡

#i have thoughts about whether they'd end up in a relationship after this or not #if ur interested u know where to hmu wink wink #or dont hmu thats fine too... yeah im okay with not spilling my thoughts in the form of long ass rambles .#its fine honestly.#i think u should just go find another writer that doesnt ramble so much if u HATE ME THAT BADLY!!!#sorry #silco smut #arcane silco #silco #silco x reader smut #silco x reader fluff #silco x reader #silco x oc #💌 . the anthology

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lovelettersfromluna · 1 year ago

Text

Not Strong Enough

Summary: Rule number 1 of being best friends with a vampire. Never let them drink your blood.

an: I HEAR YOU ALL YELLING AT ME IM SORRY!! This took entirely too long to get to you guys, but it’s here now! Better late than never right?? Is this heavily inspired by twilight? Yes. Did I use a BoyGenius song as the title? It’s lesbian smut, obviously. Is Ellie going to be a brooding depressed vampire? Oh hell yeah. I hope you all like this! I’m a slut for anything supernatural so this was obvi very fun for me to write. As always, love you all so so much! Thanks for reading 🤍

Warnings: SMUT!!, MDNI!!, scissoring (if ur mad I’m doing another scissoring fic….idk what to tell you it’s hot), messy kissing, Ellie bites reader (outside of blood sucking), mentions of marking, mentions of bruises, mentions of blood, Ellie is kind of insufferable for a small bit but I promise it gets better, please lmk if I missed anything!

Read part 1 here!!

Ellie knew it was a bad idea from the very beginning.

She knew that she was too weak for you, even outside of sucking your blood. You were too fucking good for her, too much of a dream for Ellie to go and fuck up like she did.

Truth be told, Ellie expected all of it. She expected to get utterly addicted to you, she expected the blurred lines of your relationship to become even more blurred when she began sucking you dry of your life source, she even expected herself to lose control when she was in the act, humping and grinding your soft body like a wild fucking animal as if she had no control over herself.

She expected all of it, every single aspect that came with the territory, she knew was coming.

But the hardest part of it all? Was leaving you completely.

Because she knew the moment she felt herself lose control while she was on top of you that night in your apartment, she knew she needed to leave you. She needed to abandon you and your friendship for the greater good, for your sake.

Ellie knew that she wasn’t good for you, and you weren’t good for her. But that didn’t make the pain of not seeing you any less.

She thought she’d be able to do it at first, but the texts from you only reminded her of how much she loved your company, how obsessed she was with simply being around you.

She wound frown every time her phone went off, a low groan leaving her lips when she lifted it up to look at her screen, only to see it was from you.

Ellieeeeee

Where are you?

Haven’t seen u in the longest :((

Ellie can practically hear your pout in the way you text her. She knows you too well, and she knows that you aren’t handling her sudden disappearance well.

At this point, it’s been about two months since Ellie has seen you last? Maybe three? She stopped keeping count because it was driving her insane. It wasn’t even the blood supply that she missed, Ellie would go hungry ten times over, dying from starvation if it meant she could be around you without feeling she was robbing you of your life, ruining things that you were meant to experience because she was too fucking selfish.

Ellie misses you, and it pains her that she hasn’t been able to have you in so long.

Well…not entirely at least. She knew she’d lose her mind entirely if she couldn’t at least be around you for a few moments, so her usual nighttime visits become a bit more frequent when she decides she can’t be around you anymore. She’s a lot more careful when she does it though, knowing how sensitive you were to her presence. It was almost unbelievable how easily you’d woken up to her in your room in the past. She doesn’t know how she’d explain things if you woke up now, not having seen her in so long. So she’s extra aware of how much noise she makes.

Seeing you sleep is almost enough to keep Ellie’s demons at bay, the ones that screamed for you, yearned for you to be by her side, to have your warm skin pressed against her much colder one.

As per usual, she’s scaling up the brick wall of your apartment building, making her way up to your bedroom like thief in the night. You continue to leave your window open every night, and it breaks Ellie’s heart because she knows you’re doing it for her, most likely hoping she slips into your window as she usually does.

It means Ellie needs to be even more careful than she anticipated.

She doesn’t even dare to sit on your bed, standing in the corner of your room as she watches your chest rise and fall. She doesn’t even breathe, scared that the sound of it will wake you.

And she desperately wants to reach out and let her fingers run along your soft skin, desperate for the feeling that you always brought her when you’re near. It makes her fists balk at her sides as she practically itches to feel you, fighting back any and every thought that she had to touch you, if even for a moment.

But she doesn’t. Instead, he stays with you just before the sun rises. She knows it’s risky, and she knows she shouldn’t do it in the event that you wake up and see her. Even if she’s fast enough to dart out of your room before you can even call her name or turn the lights on, you’re too smart for that. You’d know what was happening before she can even begin to gaslight you into thinking it was simply a dream.

She can’t help herself, not when it comes to you. Seeing you sleep satisfies the burning feeling in her chest, the one that yearns so desperately for you, it’s enough to make her knees weak. It’s almost like you’re capable of evoking the same feelings she had when she was a human, when she was weak and stupid and felt nervous around women. Until you showed up, Ellie hadn’t experienced those feelings in a long time, she’d almost forgotten about them.

You always remind her though.

Like when she’s about to leave you, knowing she’s cutting it too close to the time you’re going to wake up and start your day. Her footsteps are practically silence, even against the old, creaky floorboards of your apartment.

She’s almost out of your window, one leg outside as she plants her foot against the fire escape when she hears it. You began mumbling in your sleep, tossing a bit, clearly bothered by whatever dream you were having. While this should’ve been the clearest sign for Ellie to leave as quickly as possible before your eyes opened a bit to see her, she doesn’t. Instead, she stays sat on your window sill, simply watching as you turn to face her, eyes still closed as you pout in your sleep.

If Ellie had a heart that was still beating, she’s sure it would’ve stopped. Because suddenly your mumbling is just clear enough for her to hear.

“Ellie….” You sigh out softly, barely loud enough for the undead girl to hear, but she does. Regardless of the city waking up below her, or the sound of your ceiling fan creaking about, she hears it. It makes her frown deeply, swallowing back the intense whimper that threatens to escape and echo throughout your room.

She isn’t sure if she’s ever left your room so quickly, the girls eyes going wide as she made the familiar path down the side of your building to your side walk.

Even when she got home that night, the vampire practically breaking the front door down of her apartment to get in, she couldn’t get the sound of your voice uttering her name so sweetly, calling out for her even in the depths of sleep that you were in, tugged so deeply by your dreams, you were still calling out for her.

Ellie knew that night, that she had to stay away from her. For both your sake, and her own.

And she’s right, because you were suffering just as much as Ellie was.

Ellie’s presence was always scarce, and while it bothered you a bit before you learned what she was, it made sense. She was a creature of the night, something that seemingly only existed in storybooks, coming to life and living the strange lifestyle that she did.

But you knew immediately that this was different.

The morning after you saw Ellie last left a bitter taste in your mouth. As you woke up that morning, your neck sore with the bruises of Ellie’s lips on your skin, body far too drained and tired even after a night of a sleep that was just a bit too deep. It was similar to almost all the times Ellie had drank from you the night prior.

So, why did you feel so bad that morning?

You knew that you didn’t owe Ellie anything, that you were the one to suggest this in the first place, so there truly wasn’t any room for you to be upset for reasons unknown. What were you even supposed to say to her? That you had a weird feeling? One that you desperately wanted her to relieve by telling you it was all okay?

As much as you wanted to, you knew things between you and Ellie weren’t like that.

You were her friend. You were just her friend, and as much as you wanted more, you knew deep down that if Ellie truly wanted you that way, she would’ve made you she’s a long time ago.

And maybe that’s what bothers you the most when this little dry spell occurs, because the sudden lack of her presence leaves you entirely too much time to dwell on things, wondering what it was that you did wrong, what you could have possibly said to create this sudden rift between the two of you.

Ellie had always been flirtatious, flashing that pretty smile in your direction that made you weak in the knees, calling you sweet names that made your heart beat faster. She was practically dangling it all right in front of your face, the frequent touches, the late night visits at the foot of your bed, all this time when you have her the benefit of the doubt, chalking it all up to her simply wanting to see you and nothing more than that, suddenly made no sense to you.

With time came confusion, and with confusion came anger, desperate to understand why she left you, what you had done to possibly make her so scarce so suddenly. And once the third month had hit without seeing Ellie, you were furious, feeling as though you had one choice and one choice only.

To find Ellie, and get the answers from her yourself.

You don’t go to Ellie’s apartment, not usually at least.

Ellie always told you she liked hanging out at your place, going on and on about how warm and cozy it was being there. She’d never admit it to you because she didn’t want you to think she was a freak, but being in a place that smelled so heavily like you made her brain go absolutely insane.

You’ve been there maybe a handful of times, sometimes heading to her place after a night out, or even stopping by whenever you were in the neighborhood. Bottom line was, your apartment was the designated hang out spot for you and Ellie.

Regardless though, you remember how to get there like it’s written on the back of your hand. You thought about Ellie’s apartment a lot, loving how much the space reflected her. You always wished you had the chance to stay there more often.

You can’t think about that though, not now. Not when you’re storming down the expensive halls of her complex down to her door, and landing a heavy fist on the door. All you can truly care about now, is seeing Ellie and demanding an explanation for her sudden disappearance.

And it’s all so unlike you, so out of your character. If it was anyone else, you’d let it go, giving yourself a few days to sulk before forgetting about it all together and simply moving on. Maybe it’s because it’s Ellie, and maybe it’s because you feel a tad bit used after being her personal buffet for the last few times you’d been around her, just for her to up and leave.

It’s most definitely that. You just don’t want to admit it in fears of sounding selfish.

You land another firm knock on her door when she doesn’t answer in time, feeling yourself grow angrier as the moments pass.

Soon, she’s finally opening the door. The image of her nearly takes your breath away.

Because Ellie always looks beautiful, perhaps it’s the fact that you haven’t seen her in some time, but she looks fucking ethereal standing before you. So tall, so confident, her eyes so fucking dark, piercing through your very soul as she stares down at you. Her lips look like rubies compared to her cold, pale skin, so plump and kissable.

All you can think about is the way they felt pressed against your throat, and it makes you lift your hand to press against the two small circular scars on your neck.

Ellie frowns deeply as she eyes you, eyebrows furrowed and expression virtually unreadable.

“What are you doing here” she mumbles out, shifting on her feet awkwardly. Her question alone sets the fire off in your chest again, making you seethe as you take a deep inhale before responding.

“Are you kidding me Ellie?” You practically spit out, staring up at the girl in disbelief.

She lets out a soft sigh, her tattooed hand coming up to rub her face roughly before it moves up to rub through her hair.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” she manages before she tries shutting her door in your face. “You can’t be here” she mumbles out softly, the girl fully expecting to be able to shut the door.

You however, have other plans.

You’re quick to press your hand against the door, stopping her from closing it before you practically force yourself between it. Ellie’s eyes widen a bit at this, not used to seeing you so forward.

Soon, you’re pushing yourself into her apartment, your palm pressing against your forehead as you began pacing back and forth Ellie’s lavish apartment.

“I don’t…I don’t understand you Ellie. Is it something I said? Did I do something? If so please enlighten me I beg you” you blurt out, all of the words fumbling out of your mouth in one breath.

Ellie frowns deeply as she watches you pace back and forth her apartment, her eyebrows furrowed. She can truly see the damaged shes caused when she sees you like this, because it was much easier to watch you when you slept, so peaceful and unaware of the troubles that came with her absence. She knew you were going to blame yourself, and as much as she knew she couldn’t allow you to do that to yourself, she knew staying away was even more important.

Seeing you like this was possibly the hardest thing Ellie had to ever endure.

You don’t stop there, taking advantage of the lack of a response from Ellie to continue ranting.

“Is it because of the blood thing? If so I’m sorry. I am so fucking sorry for simply caring enough to make sure you didn’t die from starvation or whatever it is that happens to you when you don’t eat. I’m sorry for making sure that you were okay, if that was so wrong please tell me…” your words trail off as you let out an exasperated sigh, your feelings and emotions becoming far too much as you practically sob out to her.

But then you’re pausing, your chest rising and falling quickly as you struggle to catch your breath. Ellie isn’t entirely sure why you’ve suddenly stopped, your back towards her as you stand there, doing god knows what.

When you finally turn around, your eyes are red and your cheeks are wet with tears.

“Were you just….using me? As your personal fucking blood bag?” Your words are shaky as you hold back another sob, your fists balled down at your sides.

Ellie freezes when you say this, because this is exactly what she was fucking afraid of.

It was a common theme throughout…her people. Vampires were notoriously alluring, seducing countless innocent and clueless victims into being their personal meal. The humans were almost always oblivious to what was being done to them, vampires often times using this to their advantage to keep them under their spell for as long as possible. It would most commonly been done in a way that made the humans believe the vampires loved them, dangling them by a thread as they promised them a life of eternity together, to live in immortality, side by side until the end of times. It almost never ended that way though, the vampires would suck and suck and suck until one day they went a bit too far, and their obedient human keeled over and died.

Ellie never wanted things to be that way with you.

She never even wanted you to think it was that way. She wanted you to understand that this was entirely up to you, and it could stop whenever you wanted it to. It’s why she constantly voiced to you that this was still a factor right before she fed off of you. Ellie would rather die than use you for a source of food, because truthfully you were far too good for that, too fucking pure to be used as something as low as a food source.

So when the words leave your lips, Ellie sees red.

Shes in front of you in less than a second, towering over you and staring down into your tear soaked eyes. Her nostrils are flared as she tries to hold back from tearing down her entire apartment complex around the both of you.

“You can’t possibly be stupid enough to think I’d ever use you for something so low..” her voice is low, and there’s a gravel in it that makes your core tighten and your chest bloom with something you can’t quite place, a feeling that can only be shelved in your mind right next to where Ellie takes place.

You don’t hack one, hot tears continuing to spill from your eyes as you stare at her with furrowed eyebrows.

“It makes sense….get your fix and then leave me like I’m nothing…this was probably your plan all along” you grit out.

Ellie licks her lips, knowing that you’re hurting just as much as she is, and your words are simply coming from a place of confusion, desperate to understand why she did what she did to you, why she left without a trace.

She leans in, her face a mere inches from yours. You can smell her minty breath wafting onto your face, and it’s bizarre because even that has a slight chill to it. It makes your cheeks cold, and it makes you want to reach out and warm her up.

“I would rather die a million deaths before using you for that…you and I both know this” she seethes out.

And it makes you whimper, because Ellie’s always been so fucking intense, so poetic. It makes your insides flip upside down, and your eyebrows knit together as you struggle to hold back a whimper.

Your features soften as you continue to cry in front of her. “Then why did you leave me…” you whisper out to the girl.

It breaks her heart how desperate you are for this. Not even for her, but simply for answers. All you want is to understand why she left, what you did to make her abruptly disappear without a single word.

Ellie’s eyes flutter shut for a moment, her pink tongue darting out to lick her plush lips before she finally speaks.

“I’ve never…been so weak for someone…in my entire life” she breaths out.

It surely isn’t what you’re expecting her to say. You think she’s going to say she’s gotten enough of you, or she just couldn’t handle having someone like you around. Hell, you were even beginning to think she was trying to cover up all her roots here and start somewhere else.

“I always have been…from the moment I fucking laid eyes on you, I knew you weren’t good for me…you’re too good for me” she continues, her eyes fluttering open as she finally stares down into yours. You can finally look into yours as you blink away the tears that are pooling in your eyes and blurring your vision, and it allows you to see the pain in her eyes, just how much she’d been struggling with all of this.

“It isn’t even your blood…it made it worse, yes…but just being around you is like…it’s like a fucking drug to me. You give me this feeling that I can’t…I can’t even begin to describe how fucking euphoric you make me feel” each of her words sounds like a plea, a plea for you to let her go, to unhand her from the death grip you have on her.

“And suddenly I’m always in your apartment, and you’re offering yourself to me and it’s like a dream come true and I feel like a fucking monster when I’m on top of you, sucking you dry of your fucking blood” it’s her turn to start pacing, running her hands through her hair as she settles one of her hands on her hip, she moves slower than you were, simply voicing the struggles she’s seemed to have with you from the moment you met.

She finally turns towards you, and she’s slowing make her way to where you’ve been standing this entire time. When she’s right back where she was, stood right in front of you, she takes your hand into hers ever so gently. It’s enough to make you flinch, how cold she is in contrast to your hot skin. She sighs, bringing your hand up to cradle her cheek, and her eyes flutter shut, nearly rolling back as she presses a soft kiss to your palm.

“I’m not strong enough for you…I don’t think I ever will be” she finally admits, and it’s like she’s not only admitting it to you, but to herself as well.

You hold back a whine as she kisses your palm, her lips so soft, so gentle with you.

“Then…then don’t be…why can’t you just let things happen” you sigh out as you stare up at her, in awe as the girl leaned into your touch as if it were her life line.

You aren’t even entirely sure what you’re asking her for, what this so called ‘thing’ is that she won’t let happen. Is it the feeding you’re alluding to? An act of true platonic kindness? Or are you asking for more, are you begging for something that Ellie has deprived you both of for the sake of the greater good?

Both you and Ellie have these same questions running through your minds.

She chuckles dryly against your skin, shaking her head as her hand gives your wrists a gentle squeeze.

“You aren’t even sure what it is you’re asking for…not from someone like me” she admits, eyes opening as she finally looks down at you again.

“I can’t…give you the things you deserve. I’m not capable of being the perfect person for you, not when I am what I am” her words are like venom on her tongue, the girl utterly disgusted with the monster that she became against her own will, the hell that she was forced to live over and over again with no foreseeable end.

“The only thing I can do, is take from you…I take and take and take….” Her words trail off, a soft frown on her lips before she finally looks at you once again.

“Until I’ve taken everything that you have…and there is no more of you to offer” she whispers out, as if the mere thought of a world without you pains her so much to say, she barely wants to say it.

You lick your lips, your eyes searching hers before you quickly shake your head.

“Do you want me? The same way that I want you?” You question carefully, fearful of what it is that she might say, worried that you’d been reading things entirely wrong, even after Ellie basically confessed how utterly obsessed she is with you.

She smirks softly, humming lowly as she gently brings your hand down to her lips, pressing another gentle kiss to it.

“It’s like I’ve waited my entire life for you, baby….saying that I want you would be an understatement” she chuckles out softly.

And you aren’t entirely sure how it even gets to this point, because you marched over to Ellie’s apartment with a purpose, that purpose being to yell at her and get the answers you deserved. But suddenly you’re standing in front of her, and your heart is exploding with so many different emotions and feelings, all of them for Ellie, and she’s just confessed to you that she wants you like you want her.

And you have no choice, but to kiss her.

It catches Ellie off guard, a soft whine leaving her lips as accepts your lips with gratitude, her arms moving down to drape along your waist as she pulls you closer.

It’s everything she’s ever dreamt it would be. Your lips soft and sweet against her own, your skin so warm and inviting, making her drink you up, fueling her with the warmth she’s lacked since the day she died. But despite how good it feels, she knows this is wrong, and it goes against everything she said she’d do for your sake.

Ellie breaks way first, watching as you struggle to catch your breath from the intense kiss. She’s quick to stop you from leaning in again, her hand cupping your face as she stares into your eyes.

“Angel…we can’t…I told you, I’m no good for you” she sighs out, the words paining her to even say.

You give her a soft pout, your arms wrapping around her shoulders loosely as you press your warm body against hers.

“I trust you Ellie….I know that you’d never hurt me” you sigh out softly as you stare into her eyes, your hand coming up to tuck a strand of her soft hair behind her ear.

“We don’t have to do the blood thing…but I just…can’t we just give us a try?” Your eyes are wide as you speak, eager to feel Ellie’s lips against yours again, even if for a moment. You don’t even take into consideration that she could say no, that she could turn you around and throw you out of her apartment without another word, doubling down on what she said she’d do with you.

But as Ellie said before, she’s just too fucking weak for you.

And hearing you ask for it, ask for her, it has her stomach in knots, and she feels like no matter what it is you ask her, she couldn’t possibly say no to you.

“What are you doing to me…” she sighs softly before she leans in to kiss you again, reciprocating the passion and heat that you gave her mere moments ago. You whine against her, your hands sliding back to tug at her hair, keeping her close as your lips moves against hers, your warm tongue sliding against hers.

“Missed you so much…” you sigh against her, and it makes Ellie groan softly as she nods, hands sliding down to grip your waist as she walks you back towards her bedroom, lips never leaving yours.

“Missed you more than anything, angel” she mumbles against your lips as she presses her palm against her bedroom door behind you, pushing it open and leading you further inside.

Ellie’s bedroom smells like her. It’s dark, and cold but oh so comforting. You practically sigh against her lips when you feel her laying your body down against her black silk sheets, the expensive material like butter on your skin. It makes your senses go in overdrive, Ellie’s hands caressing your skin, roaming around your body as her tongue rubs against yours in a dirty, passionate kiss.

“Don’t know how long I’ve waited to have you like this…” she sighs softly, her lips breaking away from yours to kiss along your jaw, down to your throat. You don’t miss the way Ellie kisses the now faded marks of her teeth on your neck, licking the skin softly before she sucks into it, sure to leave dark marks in the morning.

“Missed marking you up baby….” She hums against you, drinking in the sweet moans that leave your mouth, the sound alone like music to her ears.

Your mind is fuzzy, almost blank besides the thoughts of Ellie that stood in the forefront of your brain. It was like she was filling you up entirely, making you almost overwhelmed with her. Her scent, her cold skin, her soft hands, all of it was almost too much, a combination of sensory overload that kissed your skin so deliciously.

Soon she’s kissing down your body, practically worshiping her as her lips work on your soft skin. Her hands are pushing up your t-shirt, kissing your stomach and your ribcage until she’s tugging you up a bit to skillfully slip your shirt over your head. You’re bare before her, her lips matching onto your pebbled nipples as her tattooed hands work on your soft shorts, tugging them down your legs.

You don’t miss the way her tongue swirls around your nipple before letting go with a pop, lips moving up to nip at your collar bone with her flat teeth. Hard enough to leave a mark, but gentle enough to not break skin.

You giggle softly, bending your legs back to help as she tugs your shorts and panties off. She’s slotting herself between your legs, humming softly as she gives you a smirk.

“Something funny baby?” She questions before leaning in to press another kiss to the corner of your lips. You nod, a dreamy smile on your lips as you bring your hand down to tug at the hem of Ellie’s t-shirt.

“Seems like old habits never die, that’s all….need this off” you huff out softly, fingers fumbling between the hem of her t shirt and the waistband of her sweats.

Ellie chuckles at how eager you are before she nods, pulling back to tug her shirt off before she rolls over a bit to pull off her sweats and underwear as well before she makes her way back between your legs, towering over you as she crawls into you like a predator would its prey.

And it leaves your pussy soaking wet, because it’s better than you could’ve ever imagined. Ellie’s tits are pebbled similarly to yours, tattoos littering her pretty skin, muscles so beautiful they could make your mouth fucking water.

You’d always seen Ellie for the beauty she possessed…but this? This was so much more different.

It made your head fucking spin.

You whined softly as you practically tug her into her by her shoulders, moaning softly at the feeling of her boobs squishing against yours as your mouth attacks her in a needy kiss.

“Want you…” you sigh softly against her as your hand slides down between the both of you, cupping her pussy. You feel Ellie suck in a sharp breath at the feeling of your warm fingers against her sopping wet core, and she gives you an eager nod before rolling over, her strong hands gripping your thighs and taking you with her as she forces you to straddle her.

Being on top of Ellie is just as good as being under her, almost better in all honesty. The lighting in her bedroom is dim, but you can just make out her features with the moonlight that spills in through her big windows, and the moody lights she has set up along her walls. You don’t even realize it because you’re too busy gawking at her, but she lifts her leg up a bit and easily slots you down so that your pussy is right against hers, the feeling making you moan softly.

“You’re so pretty Ellie…” you practically sigh out. It makes Ellie moan softly, and she swears the sound of you calling her pretty is enough to bring her back to life, reversing the effects of her undead state.

“Fuck…can’t say those things to me baby…you’re gonna…Jesus..ruin me” she struggles to get out as she grips your hips, forcing you to roll your hips so that your clit and her clit bumps against each other.

Your eyes flutter shut when you feel it. It’s so fucking wet, and soft, and it’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before. Sure you’d done it with other girls before, but this just feels…it almost feels like….

“Like you were fucking made for me princess” Ellie grits out, her teeth caging her words in as she fucks you down onto her pussy, practically using you for both hers and your pleasure.

You’re too far gone to pick up on it, too indulged in the feeling of Ellie’s strong hands gripping your thighs so deliciously, sure to leave marks in their shape when you both wake up in the morning.

Your back is arching almost painfully, your hand gripping her thigh as you find the rhythm Ellie has set for you, finding the perfect spot and keeping it there as you drive both you and her to your orgasms.

“I’m…Ellie you feel so good…you’re gonna make me cum” you squeak out, eyebrows furrowed as you finally look down at the girl beneath you, only to find that she’s just as much of a mess as you are. Her hair is messy and her lips look so pouty and kissable. It’s hard to make out, but her fanged teeth are pressing into her lips, and you’re sure it’s the sexiest thing you’ve seen in your entire life.

She gives you an encouraging nod, one of her hands coming to your ass and kneading it harshly before giving it a firm spank, the sinful noise echoing off the walls of her pristine bedroom.

“I know baby…I know…come on, want you to cum with me…that’s it…that’s my good girl” her praises make your chest burn, and it leaves knots in your stomach. It only drives you further, your hips moving faster as they roll against Ellie’s, desperately chasing both hers and your orgasm.

“Ellie…Ellie I’m…I’m gonna-“ you cry out, back arching as you grip her thighs quickly, feeling your own shake as your orgasm begins washing over you.

Ellie catches it right before it happens, the girl quickly sitting up and wrapping her arms around your body, pressing your chest against hers as she pulls you down to kiss her passionately, her own orgasm washing over her like a fucking train.

Your bodies are so in tune, so in sync that your moans almost mix to create a symphony that can only be described as love, total and unconditional love as her arms keep you close, as if stopping you from running away from her, from the feeling she gives you. Her lips are working against yours as you breath hard, struggling to catch your breath in the sloppy kiss.

You’re a whining mess, your poor pussy far too sensitive to deal with the amount of pleasure that Ellie brought to you, all of it washing over you like an intense sea of euphoria, nearly drowning you as you held onto the girl with weak hands.

She knows you’re weak, because she’s pulling you down to rest your warm body against her cool sheets, all while keeping her cool body pressed against yours to bring you back down to earth with her.

“That’s it baby…I know….did so good for me…” she sighs softly as she leaves gentle kisses against your cheeks and eyes, watching as the aftermath of your orgasm slowly pulls you to the depths of sleep, all of it too much on your body.

“My beautiful girl…my girl…my girl…” she hums out, almost like a song as she watches you cling to her in your sleep, soft hums and huffs leaving your lips, all of which makes Ellie smile adoringly at you as she holds you while you sleep.

And even while you’re settling into one of the deepest sleeps you’ve ever experienced, you don’t miss the soft kisses against your lips and cheeks, all paired with the constant, non stop praises from Ellie.

You especially don’t miss the way she leans in settles against the pillow next to you, mumbling the softest, sweetest words to you as her hands caressing your naked body.

“I love you, pretty girl..”

#ellie williams smut #ellie williams #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x you #ellie tlou #ellie williams x female reader #ellie x y/n #ellie the last of us #ellie x you

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coupsalchemy · 27 days ago

Text

Hothouse Flower [Part 2]

Summary - Your five year relationship with him ended two years ago. You need to move on, have to, since you are the only one stuck in the past. Jeonghan moved on, happy, gallivanting away. When you finally agree to meet up a fellow heartbroken stranger set up by 'Get Love Quick', you didn't expect to see him there.

Tags: Jeonghan x f.reader, exes! au, second chance romance, angst, yearning, fluff, suggestive, SLOW BURN

Warnings: mdni, very suggestive, just a very angry Jeonghan, swearing, and a lot of grammatical mistakes as English isn't my first language.

Word Count: 20k (this part, total 40k)

Please read part 1

A's Note: I've been working on this for like four months. Please get ready for the angst and yearning. The birth of this story took place from Don't Wanna Cry Jeonghan falling onto his knees in yearning, and the song 'no one noticed by the marias'.

I wanted to write a story where reader gets to forget everything and be in the world of the fiction, enjoy momentary bliss instead of the bitter taste of life, at least for some time. So by the time you complete reading this part, next part would have already been uploaded. If I succeeded in making you forget everything and you enjoyed the fic please let me know so I can stare at your message for eternity in happiness.

Also I want to thank my two friends who have been patiently answering my questions, and kept on encouraging me all the time. If not for you two this wouldn't have happened. Thank you!!

divider credits to the rightful owner.

Jeonghan shifts in his chair uncomfortably. You made the mistake of meeting his eyes, the darkness in them pulled you in, his eyebrows pulled in, and a breath escaping his parted lips. You curl the stray hair falling on your cheek behind your ear, “no, I am good.”

Inhaling a deep breath you center yourself. One dinner and you will be on your way again. Nothing will happen. It would be like two long lost friends sharing a meal. Friends who know each other way too intimately. You set your purse on the table, dragging the chair out and sitting on it. The wetness of your palms leaves a handprint on the wooden table.

Jeonghan is still guarded, still holding up his walls. You read the signs, the clench of his jaw, and the fist of his hands resting on the table. Why are you seeing him again and again? Just when you thought you are doing better than you ever are. The cruel games of life always surprises you especially when it picks out your weakest spot and punches you there again and again. Jeonghan is that for you. Jeonghan is for you.

“Hi.”

Hearing his voice rattles the calmness you built with deep inhales and exhales, throws you on a road with oncoming cars and nowhere to go. Something warm, something him, and something you know all too well. “Hi.”

He searches your face, leaning into the table, resting his arms on the table. “How are you?” His tone softens like the whispers shared in the middle of the night.

The world fades away. All you can see is him, his sunken cheeks, tired eyes with black circles around them, and he has lost weight since you last saw him. Questions rest on the tip of your tongue— are you eating? Are you even sleeping? What happened to you? Too scared to ask him. Too scared to hear what you are avoiding to acknowledge.

“I am good.” You answer, your hand rests on the table, a few inches away from his. Your fingers stretch and clamp shut, close but far. “Doing good.”

“I can see.” The fluorescent lights glisten his unshed tears like a star sparkling in the night sky. He tilts his head to the side, “I am happy.”

His forefinger stretches, brushing your hand before sitting back in his chair. His long hair is ruffled, a few strays here and there. He must have trimmed the ends, you remember them being longer in the dark of your room. The black jacket sits beautifully on his shoulders bringing out his collarbones, the white satin shirt dones him well.

“I was scared,” he says, your attention moving from the bare skin to his pink chapped lips. “I couldn’t even hope of you sitting with me,” he pauses, “that too on a date.”

He is laying it down, this is a date and he isn’t going to take any other answer for it. You can run away now, if you want to. One look at him, his focused gaze is all you needed to tell he isn’t going to let you go now, not without a fight. You have seen this look on him when you went on a date with someone else.

You shrug in response, playing with the ends of the menu. “How do you know Sunhee?”

“Are you ready to order?” A waiter pops at your table before he can answer.

You hastily flip the menu reading the foreign words butchering the pronunciation in your head. The date at this restaurant had to be your first clue. Jeonghan has always been big on dining at places like this during your relationship, and it took him a while to tone it down and go to the comfortable ones you love.

“Can I order on behalf of you?” His question startles you. The waiter is scribbling down on her notepad before looking at you expectantly. Pink tints your cheeks, chewing on your lower lip you nod wearily. You feel so out of place. Jeonghan’s gaze lingers longer on you, and without a glance at the menu he just orders.

“No seafood, please.” You budge in hurriedly in case the waiter marches off.

“This is all chicken,” she smiles at you, “if that’s all will be back in a minute.”

You prick your fingers feeling his attention on you. “What?”

He swallows all the words he wanted to say, giving you a feeble, “nothing.”

Your phone vibrates causing the purse to clatter against the wooden surface. You ignore it thinking it might be Sunhee checking up on you. “So, how do you know Sunhee?” You have a lot of questions brewing in your chest but for now you settle for this. For now you will learn about things you can handle.

Jeonghan folds his arms across his chest, “I heard of her. Hansol’s girlfriend?”

You nod.

An affectionate smile curls his lips up, “that kid finally manned up, huh?” Seeing your confusion he chuckles scrunching his nose, “Hansol lives next to me.”

“You live here?” You reel back in your seat. Not in your wildest dreams did you expect Jeonghan to live in a measly town. “In Yangsan?”

“Why? Is it hard to believe?”

You don’t answer. You don’t even want to dare to think of the reason behind his move. Did he come to Yangsan because of you?

“I travel to Seoul every other week.” He answers your unasked question, a knowing smirk on his face. “But I do live here most of the time.” He looks out the glass window, “I love Yangsan. It has a different air. You know what I mean?”

The unasked question lingers at the table, between you and him. He looks at you expectantly wanting to hear it directly from you. A part of you is itching to ask, the part which didn’t die when he broke you apart and is dying to be with him again.

You don’t ask him, flipping the menu your finger trails across the drinks section. Alcohol might help you in sitting for this long dinner.

“You aren’t drinking.” He snatches the menu out of your hands and snaps it shut, setting it beside him. His arm reaches for you, he stops himself from touching your palm. “I’m sorry but I want you to be sober for this dinner. I want all of your attention on me. You can drink on our next date.”

You scoff at his audacity, “what makes you even think there will be another date?”

Jeonghan shrugs, “a feel.”

The waiter appears again by your side setting the cutlery shooting a customer friendly smile. Jeonghan mumbles a thanks. He checks his phone, poking his cheek with his tongue, eyes sliding across the messages.

“You are loved by many.” He sets his phone on the table, “I just got warned to be nice from Hansol. Tell me, how do you know him?”

“My coworker? Isn’t it glaringly obvious that we work in the same company—”you realise“—unless you forgot.”

Jeonghan frowns, “forget? I remember everything about you. Ask me something and I will walk out if I get it wrong.”

You are stumped for words. Clinks of the forks against the porcelain plates fills the space between you two. Your brain is thrown into overworking, stimulated from all the conversations. What is he playing at? He is talking about the next date when the current date is already hanging by a thread.

“I never got to ask Hansol where he worked.” He slices the silence with his sharp words, “knowing things were never kind enough to me in my life to have everything I wanted on a platter, I didn’t expect you to be so close.”

You blink at him, reanalysing the nooks and crooks of his words. Served on a platter? Did he really know that you moved here? Your parents learned that you moved after you got to Yangsan a week later. There will be no way he knows it before anyone, Seungkwan isn’t going to spill the beans, not especially to his mortal enemy.��

“I know everything,” he answers. “I didn’t want to know where you are residing at,” his voice cracks again, “I didn’t want to pry when you wanted space from me.

“I was hoping, if not desperate, for you to pop up at every street corner I take or the beach I spent almost all my time at. To just get a glimpse of you, and want to see you be happy with my own eyes. I’m happy that you are finally happy.”

He is here. For you. For you. Your dead heart starts pounding as if you just ran a marathon, gasping for air, and his hand is clasping yours. Grounding you. His fingers press sharply into the back of your hand turning the skin white. He is mumbling some incoherent words, must be sweet ones because those words are lulling you.

“Jeonghan.” You stabilize yourself this time quickly, not wanting to dwell longer on the what ifs and what have been. “It’s not fair. I told you. I told you I didn’t want you to know.”

His dark eyes examine your features, the unease on his face fading once he makes sure you are okay. You weren’t but you aren’t gonna throw yourself in panic like you did on the blind date with him.

“Are you sure you don’t want me?” He shakes his head, “that’s not it. I just want us to exist together. I am happy as long as I am next to you, boyfriend or not.”

“You’ll be happy if I get another man?”

His eyes flash. The storm in his eyes is brewing, distant, imagining you with someone else. His hold slackens for a second and he grips your hand like his life depends on it. Did he feel the same way when you sent him the pictures of your date? You don’t know what to believe anymore, his radio silence after your break up or this Jeonghan who is absolutely feral about a single thought.

“Your food is here~” the waiter arrives carrying a tray.

You attempt to loosen your hand in his vice grip. He holds onto your fingers in a desperate attempt. One look from you and he lets go. The waitress watches our exchange awkwardly.

She serves a small portion of food onto your plate leaving you gawking at it in disbelief. The anger and the panic subsides, your hunger taking over your body, and these servings won’t ever be able to fill your stomach. You wait for the waitress to magically whip out the remaining portion of the food but she only smiles and leaves you again. Did you say you hate these fine dine restaurants yet?

“Come on,” Jeonghan picks up the knife and fork, cutting the meat into bite size pieces for you. The bracelet on his hands shines under the light, the one you gifted him. “Try it,” he pushes a piece to you with expectant eyes.

Your stomach flutters at his gesture. Damn you, Yoon Jeonghan. You follow his words, chewing on the food, the flavors burst out on your tongue, eyes fluttering close at the heavenly feeling. Alright you don’t exactly hate these restaurants. When you open your eyes Jeonghan is staring at you, his lips parted, and focus on your lips. You dab the juice on your lips, snapping him out of his daze.

“Worth it, isn’t it?” He is occupied in slicing his food into smaller chunks.

You cross your legs under the table, your foot nudging his leg. “Sorry,” you sit back, resting your leg to the side of his so you don’t touch him. “This is good and all but once you eat Halmae’s food you won’t eat anywhere else.”

He chews on the food, his eyes never leaving yours. “Really? Where is it?”

You poke another piece with your fork, “near my office. The perfect time to eat is when you are tired, sun is heavy and you just have to sit before the fan, and eat the first bite of her cold noodles. Heaven on earth.”

Jeonghan rests his chin on his propped up palm, “really? Should do it one day.”

You don’t bite onto his open invite. You are still unsure on why you are dining with him. He chews on his food, a small smile on his lips watching the gears turning in your head. You tap your forefinger on the table contemplating what his end game is. Sitting with him on a date is you being selfish for a bit. You want to see him, have his attention on you. Only you. Throwing caution to the wind and all the repercussions can be dealt later, a future you’s problem.

He didn’t know it was you Hansol set him up with. All these big talks about wanting you and still going on dates? It’s a Jeonghan move. Fresh after break up, coming out of five years of relation and he was going on dates after dates. It bruised your heart and also your self esteem. You have to question him, call him out on his actions not following his words.

“You are thinking,” he sets his cutlery on the empty plate. “Ask me.”

“Nothing.” You set your fork down. It turns out you are scaredy cat than you thought you were. “What are you doing in Yangsan? Working from home?” Last time when you checked his company doesn’t have branches or accommodate the option of working from home.

“Not really.”

He reads through the menu, his lower lip caught between his teeth. You lean back in your chair waiting for him to explain more only for him to divulge deeper into the menu. He isn’t going to expand more on his answer, uneasiness makes you restless in your seat. If he is dodging the questions something must have happened. You are terrified to find out, his answer can be from taking a leave or murdering someone, you never know with him.

“It’s nothing horrible,” Jeonghan says, not averting his gaze from the menu, the frown line between his eyebrows makes you want to run a finger to soften his skin. You catch yourself before falling into the endless abyss of him. “I am in between jobs.”

“In between? What happened to your old one?”

Jeonghan raises his hand signaling for a waiter. “Didn’t like it. Quit it.” He steals a quick glance at you, and talks with the waiter ordering more food. He is one hundred percent hiding something.

It isn’t your place to ask, you say to yourself. Whatever he does with his life, if he rots away or one day gets found in a ditch, it’s not your place to question. But how can you not care? He is yours—was yours. Could be yours again.

“Drop it, please.” Jeonghan says. “Tell me more about you, how’s your life here at Yangsan. Do you like it?”

He is all eyes on you, hands clasped together, desperate to change the topic. You let it slide this time, he isn’t yours anymore to sort his messes. “I love Yangsan,” you answer, and the heaviness surrounding him lifts off at the change of topic. “I didn’t expect to fall in love with a place but you know how life works.”

His smile is soft just like his smile. This is getting too much, the composure you have built till now is slowly chipping away at the ends, his soft smiles, and the loving gaze is reminding you of the days you tucked away in your heart. You want to stretch your hand, run it through him, hide yourself in his arms, and ask him how he really has been doing. But for now you say, “it took me some time to get used to the hospitality, they were so helpful—a little too helpful,” you chuckle, he does too and that sound does wonders to you, colors bursting everywhere, there it is your favorite sound.

Jeonghan’s smile falters, noticing the shift in you, he remembers you guess, he remembers that his laugh is the only thing that kept you afloat. There were times when you were dying to listen to it again, feel it under your fingertips, and let the sound of it give you strength to keep going. You were in shambles thinking you aren’t gonna feel it anymore, but when it is here, before you, so near and yet so far, you settle to just listen to it, a stranger whose laughs you know intimately.

Your phone buzzes in your purse, relentlessly, the messages going off. “Excuse me,” you check your device wondering who can possibly need you at this time of the day. Your breath gets stuck in your throat reading the caller id. Seungkwan. You look at Jeonghan who went rigid, glancing at your phone.

Seungkwan will kill you if he knows what you are up to. If he realizes you are, even if it is for a few minutes, entertaining the idea of having Jeonghan back in your life, one way or the other, he would strangle you to death, or preach you to death on how amazing other men are compared to Jeonghan. Anyone but Jeonghan.

For now, you let the call go to a missed call. You silence your phone and throw it back into your purse. Jeonghan breathes in deeply, dropping his head into his hands, running his hands through his hair. With a shake of his head to himself, he smiles. For now, you decide you want to think about yourself, prioritize what your heart says instead of other’s. Seungkwan will understand, hopefully. He would realize what Jeonghan has, what only you both have and why you can’t find it with anyone else.

Neither of you address the elephant in the room, concentrating on the food the waiter has brought. Jeonghan dismisses her, and serves you the food in a way you prefer, remembering that you like to have your food bite-sized. He wordlessly sets your plate before you, and goes to cut the food for himself.

Who will do all of this for you? No one, except the man before you.

—

The valet brings Jeonghan’s car. He somehow got you to agree to let him drop you home. You watch Jeonghan as he converse with the valet, inhaling the subtle hints of his perfume, his warmth seeping into your side, an ache of want thrums in you, to feel his embrace. You step aside, maintaining distance before you do something you shouldn’t.

“Come on,” Jeonghan’s arm hovers around your waist, not touching. He smiles down at you, opening the car door, you slid down into the seat. He bends over helping with your dress, once you are tucked in safely he closes the door. He runs across the car, his hair bouncing with each step, and he is next to you in a blink of an eye. “Address?”

You enter your address into the GPS. He connects his phone, the songs automatically playing. No one says a word, the uncertainty of the situation you guys are entangled in. Will you meet again? Or is this how it is going to end. A bitter taste spreads in your mouth at the idea of not seeing him again when he looks this good, and so fits perfectly in your life. But he left you. There’s no guarantee that he isn’t going to pull the same stunt twice.

You sigh, resting your head on the window watching cars drive past you. Jeonghan glances at you but doesn’t comment on it. The thirty minute ride is extended to fifty minute ride with Jeonghan missing the turns. He rolls the car to a stop before your apartment observing your neighborhood. This is it.

You unbuckle the seatbelt. Stop me, ask me to stay, ask me if we can meet again. He doesn’t, he wishes you good night and sleep well. You glance over your shoulder once at the entrance of your building, he is there sitting and waiting. With a dejected sigh you walk towards the stairs, tears sitting in your eyes. Your mind chanting his name, only his name. Yoon Jeonghan. Jeonghan. Jeonghan. Hannie.

He is back in your life not more than a couple of hours and he is already messing with your head. You wipe the corner of your eyes as you search the keys in your purse. Your phone lights up, scared it is Seungkwan. You pluck out the device reading his name.

See you soon.

-Hannie

—

Sunhee is at your neck on Monday, trailing behind you like a puppy with hundred questions shooting at you at rocket speed. You dodged most of them with evasive answers.

How was it?

Good.

How was he?

Good.

There's a second date on cards then?

Sunhee is relentless with her unanswered question, constantly at your desk under the ruse of some work when she wants to bug you.

“Jeonghan is handsome,” she whispers, “Hansol showed me a picture of him last night, and god, isn’t he hot.”

It's bait, she is dangling the hook at your face. You press your lips in a thin line, glaring at her boyfriend who is also eavesdropping at your conversation. You fold your arms across your chest, “you two, back to work.”

Sunhee clicks her tongue, throwing a dirty look at you. She picks up her papers from your desk and struts back to her desk, exchanging a look with her boyfriend. Hansol shrugs, mouthing words so fast it's hard for you to read. If they are still talking about the date, they didn’t catch the wind of your past, yet. A shudder passes through you imagining your future when they’ll get their hands on it. You are grateful that Jeonghan didn’t say anything to them.

You check your phone thinking of him. You slept for two hours max, flipping and turning around your bed pondering and dissecting each and every second of the date. You enjoyed your time with him if you turn blind eye to a few things—things that will blow up in your face, but that’s not what you want to focus on now. His message is still sitting unanswered. He sent a good morning.

You lock the phone when Sunhee is approaching you yet again with another set of papers. You groan, giving up. “Fine. Fine. I don’t know about the second date, we didn’t say anything about it.”

Sunhee throws the papers back at her desk, rolling her chair next to you. “What do you mean by 'didn't talk’? You plan your next meeting and kiss goodbye, that’s how things work.”

A coworker gives judgemental looks, overhearing Sunhee’s not so subtle voice while walking to his cubicle.

“Great, why don’t you just announce it to the entire world to listen,” you hiss.

Hansol stretches his arms, standing up stretches his body, picking up his cup he joins your little huddle.

“Wow.” The couple isn’t going to let your ass go. “I think it’s high time for you two to work separately. Need to mail HR.”

Sunhee rolls her eyes, “fine. I’ll let you off the hook.”

Hansol scowls as if saying how could you. You glare at him. Sunhee doesn’t heed to him, adding, “only if you are coming for drinks after work, my home.”

Hansol’s frown morphs into a proud smile. You are ready to throw your hands in the air. She beats you to it, dropping her strong voice to a tiny squeaky voice, “I wanted some time you know, I didn’t get to be with you this weekend—” you genuinely frown at her words “and you already know how much care I put in last time you got drunk.” She blinks her doe eyes at you.

Drinks sounds good. Having your mind off of something or more like someone is what you need now. And it’s not everyday that you can drink as much as you want to.

“You did.” You find yourself walking right into her trap, “but I can’t drink on a Monday. I am not young anymore and my body can’t get up tomorrow for the early meeting.”

Sunhee presses your hand, “I’m there for you. One drink and you won’t be touching any liquid, except water. Trust your knight.”

“But why this impromptu drinking session?”

“To bond.”

—

You should have realised then and there when you thought Sunhee reminded you of someone but couldn’t quite place your finger at. It’s unbelievable how many times you fall for the same tactic and sweet words to get sweetly manipulated to do something you were adamant on not doing.

Sunhee and her long lost sibling (not really) sit opposite to you under the fluorescent light, both conversing about the game that happened last night. She is happily yapping away about the tactics the soccer team failed to implement, and her boyfriend is busily devouring the snacks, pitching in between their talk while you shoot daggers at her (she doesn’t even bat her eyes at you).

“I can’t believe he took that shot when it’s clearly not gonna make it into the goalpost.” Jeonghan clicks his tongue, folding his arms across his chest.

“That’s what I’m saying,” Sunhee slams her hand on the table, “they gave away a match, not the opposite team played cleverly.” She glares at her boyfriend who is a fan of the opposition team, you deduce.

“That’s what losers say,” Hansol quips, and gets hit by a chicken leg on his face. He grabs a tissue from the box wiping away his face as if it's a very common thing to happen.

Jeonghan’s proud smile at his long lost little sister makes your heart stutter. You grab the soju and pour yourself a drink while Jeonghan is busily supporting Sunhee and Hansol is slapping their statements with logical points. This is your chance. Before you can succeed with the plan, a hand holds your wrist stopping you from taking a oneshot.

Jeonghan swiftly snatches the drink from your fingers. He sets the soju glass on the table, shaking his head subtly. He folds his hands across his chest, listening to the younger couple quarrel.

You huff out, folding your arms across your chest. Jeonghan’s attention flickers to you, to your arms, and linger on your chest before he turns away with a clenched jaw. The top buttons of your shirt are undone, Hansol’s house feels like sitting on top of a volcano, and you aren’t a good functioning human being in heat, unbuttoning your shirt till you are still decent is the way you are coping. Until, you had to cross your arms, pressing into your chest, elevating them, higher than unnecessary.

“I hate it when you get all detaily.” Sunhee throws her arms in the air. “You can’t even accept a loss, you sore loser.”

Hansol grins, resting his elbows on the table, clasping his hands, “detaily isn’t a standard english word,” he tilts his head, egging her more, “should I buy you a dictionary next time? Instead of lin—”

Sunhee throws the snack bowl onto his face, he catches the bowl but the contents fly all over the place. Sadly, you are also a victim. You brush off the food from your arms, shirt and you see a food particle on your chest, sliding slowly down. No, no, no. Before you can remove it, it already made its way down. Fuck, now you have to go use washroom, a man’s. Hansol’s home is somewhat tidy for a man’s standard so his washroom will be good, right?

No one saw it, you tell yourself. The embarrassing moment is between you and yourself. The two lovebirds are still bickering, still teasing, the drinks Sunhee is having whenever Hansol’s quips aim at her are making her face flush. She should stop drinking at some point, she might not be a worse drinker like you but she is still a handful. Hansol is laughing at her pout, caressing her face, maybe she is Hansol’s handful.

You stand up from the table, “Hansol, where is your–”

Jeonghan is standing too, reaching for your hand, “come.”

Hansol doesn’t even blink in your direction, too gone to care about anything except for the girl before him. Jeonghan is already leading you out of the house, bringing out the keys from his sweatpant pockets. “You can freshen up at my place,” he says while unlocking his home.

“Jeonghan, there’s no need, Hansol’s place is right over there and I was already—”

He pushes the door open to a dark home. “You aren’t comfortable.” He switches on the lights.

The flat is similar to Hansol’s except there isn't any furniture except for a bean bag. The kitchen countertop is empty, a takeout bag, a bowl and chopsticks sitting on it. Your heart aches seeing the emptiness of his home, the dimmer light from the bulbs make it more lonely and cold.

Jeonghan stands next to an open door waiting for you. You enter a bedroom, a mattress on the floor and a bedside table. Your stomach twists at the sight. Why on earth is he living like this?

“Let me know if you need anything.”

He closes the door behind him with a soft click. You walk across the bed, a picture frame catching your attention. You shouldn’t cross the boundary, if he has a photo frame in his bedroom, and not even a proper bed piques your interest. You hear cupboards opening and closing outside, you pick the frame as this is your chance.

Your fingers shake seeing the picture, you set the frame back in its original position as you hurry into the bathroom. Washing your face with ice cold water you come out of the shock to see yourself in that photo.

It’s a picture of you and Jeonghan, he is kissing your temple with his eyes closed as you grin at the camera taking a picture of you both. You two went on a hike after postponing it for months, and to commemorate your almost dying experience from all the climbing, you took a picture, all sweaty, tired but happy.

The reflection of you stares back in the mirror, eyes moist, and cheeks warm from the heat. The summer is making your hair frizzy, making it hard to tame your hair. Dark circles under your eyes, and chapped lips, you look like a mess. You wipe your face off with a white towel neatly folded on one of the racks. There’s a faint hint of his body wash, he still didn’t change it. You remember picking it out for him.

Everything reminds you of you even when there’s nothing much in his home. Just like yours does. Just like you. Sucking in a deep breath, you regain control of your thoughts, and remember why you are here in the first place. Untucking your shirt you dust off the snacks. You exit the bathroom, turning off the lights. Jeonghan is in the room, pausing mid way from sneaking out. He rubs his nape with a sheepish smile, “all done?”

You nod. He chats off about the snacks he has if you want some. On your way out of his room, you look at the photo frame once again. It is downturned now.

By the time you go back to Hansol’s apartment the two are wasted, giggling and whispering. Jeonghan sighs beside you, checking the time on his phone. “It’s late, do you want to stay over?”

You gape at him. He clarifies, “like you and Sunhee can stay over here or mine while Hansol and I share the other, or however you want it to be.”

Hansol’s arm is draped around Sunhee, nuzzling into her cheek, peppering kisses all over her face.

“I don’t think they want to be apart for the night.” You grab your purse from the floor next to the table. “Next time if you invite me for drinks then let me drink.”

Sunhee just giggles to herself. Hansol comes out of her neck, blinking at you. “If you drink, you’ll be calling someone else,” he shakes his head, “you can’t do that since—”

“I am leaving. See you in the office tomorrow.” You brush past Jeonghan without meeting his eyes. Fuck Hansol and his slippery mouth.

The door doesn’t make the click sound behind you. Jeonghan slips out of the apartment in a hurry. “Let me drop you.” He catches you waiting for the elevator. “I’ll grab my keys and join you in a minute.” You try to cut him off but he beats you to it, “I don’t take no as an answer. At least for this.”

The resolution in his eyes makes you nod. Or the things you found in his apartment. The barriers are crumbling down one by one. This is the Jeonghan you knew.

—

“Where’s your mind at?” Seungkwan glares at you from the screen. “I am here ranting about my sufferings and you don’t even bat your eyes at me. The distance made you heartless…”

A message pops up on top of the screen. You click on it in a heartbeat.

Unasked opinion. Seoul is really boring.

-Hannie

The lines are longer. People are sticky and food isn’t half as delicious as Halmae’s.

-Hannie

Seungkwan barking your name snaps you out of the little happy bubble. He exhales an exasperated sigh, “what’s up with you? What got you smiling like that?”

You frown, “like what?” You immediately close the message app.

“Like you just won something.” He narrows his eyes, “is there a boy in your life?”

“You?”

“That’s funny. Remind me to laugh tomorrow.” Seungkwan deadpans. “But, seriously, who is he?”

A sweat droplet trickles down your temple, another message comes in. You could barely read the content before it disappears. Seungkwan is still patiently watching you, waiting for an answer.

“I would have introduced him if I had someone new in my life.” Not exactly a lie but not the complete truth, you are playing at the cross borders.

Whatever that's been going on between you and Jeonghan since a month, you want to keep it a secret. Neither of the two of your favourite colleagues are aware of your past with Jeonghan. It’s a non-verbal agreement you had with your ex, to keep the secrets under a rug.

“Damn right you will,” Seungkwan says distractedly, looking to his side with a concerned look.

You don’t want Seungkwan to know about your meetings with Jeonghan at Hansol’s place. The deeper the night gets the closer you two end up sitting watching the other two wreak havoc. It’s your little bubble, a happy one, for now.

“Are you okay?” He asks his fiancé, leaving the phone on the bed and hugging her. “It’s not the end of the world.”

Busy?

-Hannie

You quickly type away a message in the gap of Seungkwan talking to his girl.

On call with Seungkwan.

-sent

The bubble pops up as he types and it disappears. It is up again but Seungkwan is back and you close the chat.

“Uhm,” he hesitates, his girl also joined the call, her eyes red and puffy.

“Why are you crying?” Your heart drops to your stomach, she hiccups, tears streaming down without a stop. “Hey, whatever it is, it’s going to be okay. Please, don’t cry.”

Seungkwan wipes her tears, “it’s okay. You are breaking my heart, baby.”

“What happened?” You ask in a whisper.

Seungkwan sighs again, rubbing his face in exasperation. “Her best friend didn’t want to be Maid of honour. They have had some issues over the past few years, but we at least thought for the big event of our life she would be there.”

-Hannie

You avert your eyes off of the cold message. Seungkwan is going on about how they tried contacting the supposed maid of honour only to get a cold shoulder. The wedding is in March, they want to do it when there’s flowers everywhere, blossoming. You gagged at the poetic Seungkwan not really used to that side of him.

“I was thinking—” his fiance butts in Seungkwan’s rant “—if you and Seungkwan don’t mind, can you be my maid of honour?”

Silence ensues at her words. Seungkwan is staring at her and you are blinking at them. “I mean I know you are his friend and all but you are also my closest friend and have seen all of me more than anyone else.”

“I’m more than happy,” Seungkwan smiles fondly at his girl, “I just need my girls near me on my big day. I am down if she is.”

They turn to you, faces squished together to fit onto the tiny screen. “Of course. I am more than happy to be a part of your wedding.” Tears sit on your eyes, you have seen them since they got together many years ago, sailed through countless fights, getting back together and now, finally, marrying. “Honestly, Seungkwan will be eating my brain all the time, so I would rather prefer being with you.”

“What?” Seungkwan barks. “It’s called being perfect. I would like to have my tie navy blue rather than egyptian blue. Thank you.”

—

The office cafeteria is empty as the time hits nine in the night. You are sitting at a lone table with your thoughts as the heaviness of your day weighs you down. The overtime has worn you down, and as if sleepless nights haven’t been enough your client has chosen to lash out on you for something that wasn’t an issue in the first place. Talk about having a bad day.

Your stomach grumbles in protest of not having proper food for the entire day, and the usual busy stalls are closed as it is past the regular hours. Halmae’s restaurant must also be shut down by now, and you don’t have any energy left to go home and cook. Should you just quit your job and roll around?

What are you doing?

-Hannie

Dying?

-sent

Incoming call from Hannie

The call flusters you. You stare at your phone illuminating his name, and it's been so long since you got a call from him. You swipe the call before it goes into a missed call, pressing the phone to your ear hesitantly. “Hello?”

“What happened? Did you trip over air again?” The concern in his voice flips your stomach, and angers you at the same time.

“I don’t trip over nothing, Mr. Yoon Jeonghan.”

You can sense a frown forming on his face at your words, you just feel it in your bones. “Huh, do you remember the time you walked on a plain surface and ended up with bruises on both of your hands, knees, and elbows?”

Before you can defend yourself from the workings of invisible devils he goes on.

“You literally tripping over my foot is how we met. Don’t tell me you forgot that too.”

“Who sleeps on the library floor? Not normal people.”

He butts in, “—ah, ah, not the point.”

“If you are going to be annoying, end the call.” You pout, trailing your finger at the ends of the table.

He inhales deeply, “alright. What happened?”

The light above you flickers, insects crowding over the bright light. You huff, stretching your free arm and body, “long day.”

He hums over the phone, a car door closing sound echoing into your ear. He is still in Seoul, missing all the gatherings Sunhee hosted over Hansol’s apartment. While leaving his apartment you often found yourself pausing before Jeonghan’s locked flat, lingering.

The texts did suffice whatever you two are having right now, an uncertain label over your bond. Are you friends who know each other way too intimately or, you didn’t open the door to the other side of assumptions, still not ready.

“Where are you?”

You hear the headlights flick on his side. “Office. Have to book a cab now. But my fingers can barely move.”

He scoffs, “dramatic.”

“Only for—” you catch yourself before completing the sentence. It’s a banter you used to exchange while dating, he would call you dramatic and you would answer, only for you, and he would press a long kiss satisfied with your answer.

You clear your throat. Jeonghan is silent except for a few car honks. “I miss Seoul.” You divert the topic, take it back to safe waters. “By the way, I am coming to Seoul next week.”

“Oh.” He pauses for a second, “why?”

“You remember Seungkwan?” You bite your tongue at your own question. You officially lost your mind.

He grunts. “Of course. How can I not?”

The venom in his words causes goosebumps on your skin. Why do they hate each other and why do you have to be the middle person all the time taking hits from both sides.

“Jeonghan.” You reprimand him. “I already told you that—”

“He’s a brother you never had. Of fucking course I know.”

You hold the bridge of your nose, temper raising at his words. The hunger also ignites your fire further. “Why do you hate him? He just wants what’s good for me.”

“I’m scared. I'm scared you’ll push me away again because of him.”

You are stunned to the core. The Jeonghan you know didn’t care for anyone or their opinions. To know he is scared of Seungkwan’s role in your life throws you off kilter.

“I was shitting myself when he called during our date. Begging in my head to whoever that is listening to make you stay. I hate it when his one word can break us when you, in reality, don't want that.

“I fucking hate it and him. I am not saying to cut ties off with him. I’m no one to you,” his voice cracks, mumbling a feeble yet under breath. “If you want me out I’ll be out. I’m not going away because of someone else. Not this time.”

You let out a shaky breath. It’s too much. All of this. You don’t know where to start, should you point out that he called your meeting a date, or sit through a wednesday night sorting out the issues and act as a middleman. Seungkwan doesn’t hate you. He hates what you did to me. As if Jeonghan is going to sit prettily and nod to whatever you say.

He sighs on the other side, the headlights of his car flickering again. “We will have this conversation when you are ready.” You blink at your phone at this new version of Jeonghan. He never lets go of an argument until he wins. He continues, “I’m sorry for bringing it up this soon. If you are done with your work, come outside.”

“What?”

“Come outside, baby.”

You stand up picking up your things, and rushing into your office packing up your bag in haste. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Seoul?”

“I’m here now. God, it's chilly. Is it winter already?”

The pitter-patter of your heart takes up a marathon, pounding loud. He is here. You press the elevator button, tapping your heel while waiting for the slowest elevator of the planet to reach your floor. “It’s barely August, Jeonghan.”

“Still chilly.” He grumbles on the other side of the phone.

You enter the elevator pressing on the close door button incessantly. “Just say you are old. A mere wind is making you an ice cube. Is that what you are saying?”

“Ha. Ha. I’m not old. If you call me old again I have to kill you. No other way around.”

“Should I bring you a cane, grandpa?” You snicker, getting out of the elevator.

Jeonghan hums, “I’m not sure whether I prefer you calling me that,” you are out of the building, he pauses, “we agreed on something else.”

Your phone starts making static noise from both of you being in the same vicinity. A tall handsome silhouette is waiting by the car, a hand inside his jean pocket and an oversized white tee. Your stomach does somersaults as he slowly comes into view.

His bottom lip is caught between his teeth, a teasing smile ever present. His eyes trailing down you devouring all the details from your loose hair to the white office shirt to the pencil skirt. You swear you heard a grunt. You avert your eyes from his watchful ones, too shy to maintain contact.

He ends the call once you are standing in front of him. You drop your gaze to your heels, black office heels against white sneakers. His white sneaker nudges against your heel.

“Who do we have here? A runaway zombie from the apocalypse?”

“Ha. Ha. Very funny.” You hold your hands behind your back, his hair is fluffy, the long strands swaying with the wind. Your fingers itch to grab them and pull as you crash your lips against his. You clasp your hands tighter. “Grandpa.”

He grins. “Again not the name we used while—“

You cup his mouth preventing him from airing your past in the public. He smiles against your palm as you glare at him. “Shut up.”

You drop your hand to your side, he shivers when a chilly breeze runs past you two. “Shall we go?” You ask.

He takes your bag from your shoulder, opening the back door and placing your bag gently. He opens the passenger door for you, nudging his chin for you to sit. He closes the door and runs to the other side, slipping next to you into the driver seat.

He grabs a paper bag from the back seat, sets it in your lap. The smell of your favourite burgers causes your stomach to growl. He pulls his seat belt to buckle it in, observing the happiness bloom on your face. You beam at him, wide eyed, a squeal escaping your lips, he laughs shaking his head.

“Han–Jeonghan, you got me this from where? They close early!” You take out the wrapped burger, your entire body vibrating with happiness. An appreciative moan escapes you as soon as you take a bite. “Heaven.”

Jeonghan watches you devour the burger, “are you even eating these days?”

You brush your hair off of your eyes with the back of your hands, careful to not get your sticky fingers on you. “Not much.”

He sighs, he wipes the corner of your lips, licking the sauce off his thumb. “Eat your meals on time.”

You blink at him, he fiddles with settings before rolling you two out of your office. He rests his arm on the window humming along to the song playing on the radio, turning the steering wheel with one hand.

With some food in your system, the alerts in your body go off. What’s happening? He comes from Seoul, brings you your favourite food and gives you a ride home? All the while looking so hot with his nonchalance and at the same time taking care of you.

He steals a glance at you from the corner of his eyes, his lips curling up in a smile. You turn to the last bite of burger in your hands, cheeks warm.

He flicks the right turn signal, “steam is blowing off your head. What’s running?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t think too much. Let things be for what they are.” He takes another turn, you frown at the familiar road you usually take to reach your home on the opposite side. The maps on the GPS adjust to the new route, increasing the time of arrival.

How can you not think about him if he does things like these? The ones you were begging from him before you guys broke up, attention and care. It’s not like you didn’t receive any care from others, but Jeonghan has always shown it in his ways, in the ways you truly wanted to be taken care of. As if he knows your language and speaks it fluently. Only him.

“Why are you going to Seoul?” He breaks your chain of thoughts.

“Ah,” you chew on the last bite, “maid of honour duties.”

“Maid of honour?”

“Seungkwan is getting married.” You wipe your hands with the tissue present in the bag.

“To..?”

“His girlfriend, obviously.” Then it clicks. “Ah, they are still strong. Eighth or ninth year, and still going as hard as a rock.”

He doesn’t utter any word, just drives in silence. Soon the road to your apartment comes into view, if you scroll the window down for a bit you are sure you are gonna hear the ocean waves.

“Did you go to the beach?” You ask.

“Yeah.” His answer sounds vague, distracted, his mind wandering somewhere. “Couple of times.”

You hum. The building you live in comes into the view, this is it. The night comes to an end, he will drive away once you are in the building. But you don’t want to let go of him yet, not when the night has been so perfect like one of those dreams you don’t wanna wake up.

The car comes to a stop before your building, only your apartment windows are dark, you can hear faint sounds of television from your neighbors. Jeonghan stares at the steering wheel, his head for sure lost in his thoughts. An urge ignites in you, burning away the cautious thoughts of how bad that idea is, how much you are repeating yourself, and the past. You want to ask if he wants to come up.

Here you are, being needy again. You unbuckle your seatbelt, and grab your bag from the backseat. If you are starting to be needy, he is back to being himself, silent, elusive. It’s a sign from whoever looks over humans and their mistakes, how you’ll burn again if you indulge in these murky waters.

One look at him, and his dark starry eyes looking back at you, your mouth is speaking on its own. “Do you wanna come up or something? I think I have the beer you drink. Or water. Definitely water.”

Before you realize you two are taking stairs. He is following behind you, observing your neighbor coming out of their flat at the sound of your voice, greeting you but stopping midway noticing a man hovering over you. Great, she got the content for a month long gossip. You lead him immediately to your flat, unlock the door with sweaty hands, and pull him in before she gets more details from him other than his name.

“I’m sorry,” you raise your hands in apology. “Told you, Yangsan has overbearing but friendly neighbors.”

He chuckles, a grin never leaving his face once he is in the confines of your safe space. You take your bag from his shoulder, disappearing into your room to set it in its designated place. He is still standing near the entrance under the automatic orange soft light, you usher him in. He leaves his shoes neatly beside yours, pausing for a moment and taking in the sight. You understand why it takes him long enough, it's been so long since you two shared a space, private space.

He meanders around studying your not so minimalistic living room, coffee table, a shelf covered in decorative items, a lone couch with way too many pillows and a tv. The doors to your balcony rattling, the sound of strong breeze fills in the space, he leaves the book he picked up from the coffee table, looking over his shoulder to you, his hands ready to draw the curtains at your approval. You nod.

The soft breeze hits you once the door is slid open, the chimes you hung up tinkling along with the sway of the wind. Jeonghan shoves his hands in his pockets, stepping outside. The therapeutic sound of waves is smoothing your insides, luring you out along with him. Jeonghan leans against the railings, watching the sea sparkling under the moon.

“It’s perfect.” He mutters under his breath, he turns to you, “Perfect.”

“I know right.” You go back into the living room, the coldness starting to get you. “I had a lot of issues with this flat but when I open the balcony door, everything feels perfect.” He is looming over the door, “like this is where I truly belong.”

Jeonghan closes the door behind him, lingering a minute more before drawing the curtains shut. He picks up the book again, and thumbs through the pages.

You peer from the kitchen, “water?” He shakes his head. “Beer?”

“Don’t you work tomorrow?”

“I do. But I’m not the one drinking.”

“Get me one.” He settles down on the carpet, staring at the black cat knit hung on the wall along with other cute knits. “This is so you.”

You set the bottle in front of him, and sit on the opposite side of the small coffee table. You got the table for this sole purpose, you spent more time sitting on the carpet instead of the couch. This short coffee table was your dinner companion.

“What’s so me?”

“Everything in this flat.” He watches you squirm uncomfortably. “Go and change into comfortable clothes. I’ll wait.”

With a sheepish smile you scurry inside to freshen up and change out of the tight fitting pencil skirt into your comfortable loose tee and shorts.

True to his word Jeonghan has been waiting for you, killing time by scrolling on his phone. He locks his phone once he sees you walk out of the room. With a gentle smile on his lips, he waits for you to settle on the other side of the table. On purpose you chose to maintain the distance from him, wanting to spend time with him is one thing, and crossing the already blurry line between you two is not something you are ready for, yet.

“How’s the beer?” You ask, sipping on your own orange juice.

He mimics you, taking a long drag of the beer, “good.” He leans back, resting his weight on his two palms. “Did you know that the beer tastes different based on the company you are with.”

You roll your eyes. “Typical.”

“What?” He grins, “it's true. Do you want to try?”

You fake gasp, “are you letting me drink, Jeonghan? Are you able to handle the wild side of me?” You give him a glance over, “I’m not sure with all that old age.”

“Try me.”

He pushes the bottle towards you. You grab it taking a small sip, followed by a big one. It’s sweet and bitter at the same time. He snatches the bottle from your hands before you can take another sip to determine if it's sweeter or bitter.

“Enough.” He drinks a few more sips, “how’s mom and dad doing?”

“Good. They are on their own thing.” You add hesitantly, “they ask about you. Sometimes.”

He hums, chasing the condensation on the bottle, trailing behind a water droplet. You continue, “You know how it gets with parents. Stubborn, and my Dad won’t believe his prospective son-in-law is just a dream now.” You should stop, and shut your mouth, “but now he is good. He is even looking for a son-in-law.”

Jeonghan just drinks his beer, the smile on his lips dropping. “Is he now?”

You hum. “His phone calls are mostly about a friend’s son or what the neighbor’s son is achieving and how at a small age he is doing wonders.” You lean in, cupping your mouth, whispering, “do you wanna know a secret?”

“How much did you drink?” He huffs. “Are you always this lightweight?”

You snatch the bottle from him and take the last sip. “Do you wanna know the secret or not?”

He narrows his eyes but complies, leaning his ear to your mouth.

“I stopped taking his calls. He did call me this evening but,” you scream, “no. I’m not talking about some X Y Z when I have you next to me.”

Jeonghan blinks at you, stunned. “Yo-You can’t say things like that.” He opens his mouth and closes it, tips over the empty bottle only to get nothing. “Shit.”

“It's empty, silly.” You stand up to get another beer for him. If he asks why you stocked up on beer when you don’t even drink, and especially why the brand he drinks, you don’t have an answer.

He is behind you, when you shut the freezer. He takes it from you and opens the lid with a fork. He grabs your hand leading you to the table, stops you from going to the other end.

Damn those sparkly eyes looking at you. He scoots a little, giving you space to sit next to him. “I have to talk to him soon,” he says once you settle down.

“Why?”

You take a gulp of the beer, orange juice long forgotten.

“His favourite prospective son-in-law is back. That’s why.” He takes the bottle from your hand, his fingers lingering. “Can't take risks.”

“Ah.” You nod, and nod, and nod.

He chuckles. “Did I ever tell you how fucking cute you are?”

“No?” You grab his shoulder, leaning into him, whispering in his ear. “You are not my father’s son-in-law. I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Yeah,” he bites his lip, resting his elbow on the couch, leaning his cheek into his palm. “Not for a long time.”

You drown yourself with beer, and perhaps gain liquid courage for holding the conversation with him. “Did your parents ask about me?” You know the answer and yet you ask it anyway, “at least once?”

Jeonghan drops his gaze to his lap. You got your answer. Your mouth sours with the realization, a bitter chuckle escaping you, “I couldn’t impress the entire Yoon family. Not his son, not his parents.”

“Look at me. Please.”

You do, the silver chain around his neck catching your eye.

“You have me under your fingertips. And if my absentee parents have any issue then it’s their problem to solve.” He nudges your chin up with two fingers, “I don’t know about you but for me this is the end game.”

You set the bottle between you two, your knee nudging into his thigh, his hand resting on the couch, his fingertips brushing your arm. The chain catches your attention again, safely hidden under his tee. The liquid courage makes you take a brave step, you pull the chain out of his tee, the long chain coming out with a promise ring hanging. Your promise ring.

“Liar.” You tug on his chain, he comes closer. “Lies.”

He licks his parted lips, gaze hooked on yours’. “I’m not lying. Give me a chance. Give us a chance.”

You shake your head, “I’m scared. You will find me a bother one day and just leave. You did it once and there’s no guarantee that you won’t do it again.”

He wipes your wet cheeks with his thumb. “Won’t happen again. Never. I can’t,” he breaks, “function without you. You don’t know the person I became, I can’t do this life without you.”

Your own lips part mirroring his, he licks his lips, his warm breath hitting your face. The chain in your hand presses into your skin as you hold it like it’s your lifeline. His free hand rests on top of your thigh, groaning at the soft skin under his fingers.

“Liar.” You still don’t believe his words. You have seen his dates after the break up, so pretty, so docile and so not you. Why would he want to settle with you if he could get girls that can run for modeling.

His nails dig into your thighs, a growl from his lips. “How can I make you believe me?”

You look into his dark eyes, dark like a midnight sea, dangerous, luring you right into its trap. He leans in momentarily, lips brushing yours. You grab his shirt, longing hitting you like a truck.

“I’m gonna give you one chance.” Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“I’ll take it. Whatever you are willing to give, I’ll take it.”

You nod. “Let’s take it slow.”

“Yeah..”

“Yeah.”

You let go of his shirt. He nudges his nose into yours, before pulling away, distancing himself from you. He pulls his knees to his chest, hiding his face into his knees and groans, “go.”

You couldn’t hear him properly from his voice getting muffled. “What?”

“Go to sleep.” He looks up from his legs, “and lock your door.”

“Oh.” You pick up the empty bottles, and discard them all the while not looking at the man in your living room. “I’ll bring you a blanket.”

You return from your room with a blanket and a yellow pillow. He grins, taking them from you, “my pillow.”

“Good night, Hannie.” You blush, digging your toes into the floor.

“Good night, baby.”

—

The pounding in your head wakes you up from the deep slumber, blinking your eyes to the ceiling, you grab your phone to turn off the alarm. The sound of chair scraping across the wooden floor has you sitting up, clutching your head. Fuck, shit. He is still in your home, his footsteps echoing your silent apartment, sounding too close as if he is pacing before your door.

Previous night you took a step in your relationship with him, maybe under slight alcohol influence, but you are sticking to it, until Jeonghan does too. A quiet groan slips through your closed door, the footsteps hurrying. You frown glancing at the wooden door, his shadow moving beneath the strip of light seeping through the underside of the door. Is he nervous?

The thought excites you more than it should. The Yoon Jeonghan, who enjoys making your life a hell with his teasing, nonchalance where you will be dying on the other hand. How the roles got reversed. Your phone vibrates with incoming texts from your parents, swiping them away to answer later, you pad across your room to the door, and attach your ear to it. The other side of the door is silent, he must have heard you. You smile to yourself, happiness blooming inside you for several reasons, he is finally in your life again, yet you aren’t sure if he is officially your boyfriend or not, and he is in your apartment, just like old times where he used to crash in your spare room.

You open the door softly, your heart pounding in your throat. Jeonghan sucks in a deep breath, slowly coming towards you. His lower lip is caught between his teeth, his gaze taking in your morning glory—you realise, your bed hair, the oversized shirt falling to one side, baring your shoulder. With a gasp you try to shut the door to tidy yourself, at least look like a human. He stops the door with his hand, shaking his head subtly.

“It’s me.” Is all he says, and your stomach twists, pleasantly, deciphering his words. It’s me, your Hannie, who has seen you in worse conditions, and it’s me, with whom you can be however you want.

You cover your face, groaning into your hands. He chuckles, and your ears twitch hearing your favorite sound, his morning voice, and those deep chuckles. You lean against the door frame, he steps in closer, prying your hands off your face, you stare at his chest, wondering if you can just bury yourself in his arms.

“Had good sleep?” His fingers run through your hair making your eyes flutter shut. “Hm?”

You hum in reply.

“I want to ask you,” he says, and you know where he is going, “you remember last night, right?”

You nod. He lets out a sigh, “we are..”

You look at his face now, and, boy, doesn’t he look wonderful. His bed hair, not as bad as yours, sticks up here and there, his watchful eyes stirring your heart, and those lips which used to haunt you in your dreams, part slowly. The mole on his cheek looks so kissable, you tug onto his shirt end, holding it for your life. He holds the side of your face, leaning in. You hold your breath in anticipation, clutching onto his other arm.

Your phone rings, startling you both. He leans away, swearing under his breath. You dash into your room to see who is calling you, your mom. You show him the phone, and the disappointment in his face causes you to laugh. He walks away to your washroom with his head hanging low.

Both of you sit in silence, eating the toasted bread and scrambled eggs. The scrapes of spoon across the ceramic fills the living room, Jeonghan watches the sky through the glass balcony doors. You scarf the breakfast down, hurrying across the apartment to get your things as you are already running late.

Jeonghan picks up both of your plates, washing them. You mumble a sorry as you stuff your notebooks and stationery into your bag, along with chargers. Jeonghan grabs his car keys, putting on his shoes.

You stand next to him, slipping on your office shoes, finally taking a breather. Before you hurry outside, Jeonghan holds your wrist. Confused, you turn around, “what’s wrong?”

He tugs you closer to him, bending down to your height, “good luck today.” He chuckles, his thumb brushing over your pink cheeks, “we are taking this slow?” There's a hint of disappointment in his tone.

You give a feeble nod, your restraint already hanging on loose thread. You want to take your own time, get back into his life, and let him back into yours slowly, but with each minute spent alone with him is hard.

He nudges his nose with yours, pressing a kiss onto your cheek. “Let’s go, you are already late.” He opens the door for you, waiting.

The sensation of his warm lips still linger on your cheek, as you stand rooted in your place unable to move your limbs. He tugs you along with him, dropping you to your office, and leaving with a promise of seeing you tonight.

—

“Why are we always hanging out in my apartment?” Hansol frowns at the three sprawling on the floor in his living room on Thursday night.

Sunhee rolls over on her tummy, “because you have snacks.” She gives him a gummy smile when he narrows his eyes at her.

You gaze at his pristine white ceiling, “because you guys literally drag me here.”

Sunhee scoots to your side, resting her head on your shoulder, “that’s because you’ll be cooped in that house if not for us.”

Hansol agrees. “One week we left you alone and you didn’t step out except for the office.”

Jeonghan clears his throat, humming a song under his breath. You glare at him, the reason for you staying home. His lips curve into a grin feeling your gaze on him.

“When are you leaving for Seoul?” Sunhee cuddles into you. “Take me too.”

Jeonghan sits up, watching you two cozying up, the playful smile slipping off. Oh no.

Hansol calls from the kitchen, “ice cream anyone?”

You all echo in unison, “me.”

Sunhee giggles, wrapping her hand around your waist and chatting away about the club in Seoul she heard from her friends. Jeonghan’s watchful eyes on Sunhee’s hand around your waist, and your slightly ridden up shirt. Your eyes meet his, warning him not to do anything stupid. Your relation with him is kept under wraps on your request, you don't want to reveal anything until things between you two solidify, and, in a small corner of your mind, you aren’t still in terms of accepting the fact that you rekindled with your ex. Still scared of the fact that all this dream might shatter once if he finds you too much again.

“Promise me that at least you will go out and have fun.” Sunhee is shaking you both, almost lying on top of you. Her boyfriend calls for help in carrying the bowls, and you send a pleasing look at your man, who stands up with a clenched jaw and disappears into the kitchen.

Since you got back together, Jeonghan has been different, a little more in your space, attached to your hip, almost needy. He picks you up and drops you off at your office, spends the nights in your apartment, watching movies, lying side by side chatting up missed updates in both of your lifes. If you think back to last week you can barely recall a moment without Jeonghan. And now, he is acting like a possessive man over just a female friend.

“Your phone is buzzing relentlessly,” Sunhee rolls off of you, plucking the phone beneath her, “Hannie?!”

You freeze in your spot as if you got dumped by a bucket of ice. What the fuck is he thinking texting you?

“Hannie?” Hansol peeks from the kitchen, “the same Hannie we are thinking?”

You grab your phone from Sunhee, hiding it behind you, letting out a defensive, “no.”

Sunhee is suddenly in your face, whispering, “you can’t text your ex, that’s like number one rule in ‘how to get over your ex 101’.”

“I never said he is my ex.”

She rolls her eyes, “please.”

“Remember the night when you thought she was calling me?” Hansol hands her girlfriend a bowl, settling beside her, not one single sense of his surroundings. “You were pissed. But, in a way it helped in talking out our feelings.”

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow, giving you your bowl of ice cream, sitting so close to you, his thigh pressing into yours. “Oh, what happened?” He asks, casually, poking his scoop of chocolate ice cream with a spoon.

“Hansol!” You squeak, trying to stop him. Jeonghan presses his knee into your leg.

“What?” He blinks. Sunhee shoves a spoon into his mouth, successfully diverting his mind.

You and Jeonghan have your ice cream, listening to the younger two chat. He knows it's about him, he has to. He is anything but stupid. Hansol and his loud mouth. When you sneak a glance at the man beside you, gone the annoying mood and now sporting a smile. He fucking knows. He catches your eye, sucking his spoon down his lips, you groan. He isn’t going to leave you alone until he gets the details.

Hansol calls your name. “I thought you were interested in Jeonghan hyung.” He snaps his finger, “you know what Jeonghan hyung is also a Hannie.” Sunhee smacks his head telling him to shut his mouth and eat his ice cream.

Is it possible to just dig your grave here, and lie there peacefully? Is it too soon? Jeonghan opens his mouth. Probably too late.

“I’m not sure,” he hums, “from what I pieced together, Hannie must be an ex. I’m a little sad,” he bats his puppy eyes at you, “I was thinking we are going somewhere.” He sighs, turning to Hansol, “What exactly happened that night? How did you two get together?”

This ass, under pretense of knowing their story he is dragging the information he is dying to know. Wanting to keep this relationship a secret is coming to bite you back.

“We were having a team dinner, and she lied that she could hold her liquor,” Hansol shakes his head in disappointment, “you don’t know how she gets once the alcohol kicks in.”

Jeonghan coughs, covering his laughter.

“Had to drag her out and throw her,” Sunhee hits his thigh, “put her to bed. She was mumbling all the way about how her Hannie will like Yangsan and just chants his name. Sunhee thought it was me she was calling, and glared at me like I just killed her favorite dog.”

“I like cats, Hansol, how many times should I tell you this?”

“I still remember the date,” he hurries, pacifying his girlfriend before she can blow up on how he forgets everything. “October fourth. See, I do remember everything.”

Jeonghan whips his head to you hearing the words. You stand up from your spot, excusing yourself to the kitchen. You ignore the desperate attempts of Jeonghan trying to talk with you. You can’t face him, in your raw emotions, after he knows how fucked up you were in his absence.

Everything is sorted now, you got back with Jeonghan, but you find yourself in constant anxieties over the future and past pain haunting you during weak moments. Jeonghan is too good for you, he could easily find someone better, and leave you.

The hot water from the tap burns your skin, hissing you flip the tap to cold setting. Washing the bowl absentminded.

“Baby,” Jeonghan is by your side.

“Go away, Jeonghan.” He winces at the use of his name. “They are literally two feet away.”

“Look at me, please.” He turns you by your chin. “Oh,” he pulls you into his chest, cradling you, you cry into his chest, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He rubs your back.

“Hate you, Jeonghan.” You wrap your arm around his waist, soapy hands and all. “For everything you put me through.”

“I’m sorry.” He kisses your head. “I’m sorry.”

Someone clears their throat. You suck in your breath, here goes nothing. Jeonghan sighs, giving you one more kiss on your head before turning to the person standing at the kitchen entrance.

His hand is around your waist, pulling you closer to him. You partially hide behind him.

“Two of you, living room, now.” Sunhee walks away.

“I told you.” You grumble into his arm.

“Sorry.”

Jeonghan intertwines your hands leading you to the living room, sitting before the couple who has their arms crossed across their chest.

“Spill.” Sunhee looks at you two with hawk eyes. Hansol just blinks with a frown.

“I’m the Hannie.” Jeonghan rubs his nape, smiling sheepishly.

“What?!” Sunhee screeches, “what?” She aims the question to you.

“It’s a long story,” you mumble, “he was my ex, he is.. Hannie, and we are sort of seeing each other.”

Jeonghan frowns at you, at your uncertain labelling of your current relationship.

Sunhee’s jaw is on the floor. Hansol whistles, clearly enjoying the plot twist. “Fate,” he says, after a minute when no one speaks. “Hyung being my neighbor, blind date and now this.”

“If that’s what it is, yeah, fate.” Jeonghan holds your hand, his thumb drawing circles, “few things are meant to be, I guess.”

“What ex?” Sunhee recovers from her shock, “I thought you were dating behind my back but this,” she waves her hands at you two, “is something else. Like one of the plot twists in Hansol’s movies.”

You shrug, “it’s just life.”

“If you are Hannie,” the glitter in her eyes has you pouncing on her to stop whatever she’s going to say. She effortlessly tosses you aside, “she also said her Hannie is as pretty as rain.”

You groan into your hands, regretting every decision of being friends with her.

“Did she now,” he chuckles, grabbing you by your waist making you sit on his lap. “What else did she do?”

You struggle out of his hold, he grunts pressing you down, “it’s been too long, baby.”

With a huff you don’t squirm anymore. Sunhee is squealing on the other side, hitting Hansol’s shoulder. You hide in his neck, “Is this all your plan, Jeonghan?”

He grins, “not really. But I’m happy.”

You shift in his lap, he peers down at you, you whisper, “I can feel it.”

—

“Oh, too bright, is it the sun here?” Seungkwan shields his eyes as soon as curtains draw open revealing Nari in a wedding gown.

You sit down on your knees taking pictures from every angle. “Beautiful.” You take some more pictures, your camera roll filled with Nari in different gowns and Seungkwan bawling at every single one. You are going to have fun with his pictures.

Once Seungkwan calms down, and decides on the dress, it’s already evening. Your stomach is growling, and Seungkwan is still stuck in his dream world called Nari. Lounging on the sofa you wait for them to finish up.

Done yet?

-Hannie

Nope. They are ringing up

-sent

He’s cmg. Don’t text.

-sent

Seungkwan discards the crumpled up tissue, his puffy eyes staring at the ceiling as Nari says something in his ear. “It’s going to be fine.” He mumbles back, waiting before you to join them.

“I’m hungry.” You rub your stomach, “please tell me we are eating before checking off other tasks.”

“We are, we are.” Seungkwan reassures, “how’s Yangsan? Still beautiful?”

You remember your days with Jeonghan, Sunhee and Hansol, the nights spent in Hansol’s apartment scarfing down his snacks, Sunhee’s antics, and Jeonghan. Yangsan has given you the best memories, along with your lover who is patiently waiting for you in Seoul. He tagged along with lame excuse of forgetting whether he turned off the light in his apartment before leaving.

“Still beautiful.” You smile to yourself, “you will love Sunhee and Hansol.”

“I think so too,” he affirms, opening the car door for Nari. “I can’t wait to meet them.”

You slip into the backseat, your phone vibrating in your hand. Nari looks at you through the rearview mirror hearing the vibration going off. Seungkwan starts driving you both to a restaurant listing off the tasks that need to be done in the next two days.

“Cake.” Seungkwan stops at a red light, reaching out to his fiancé's hand, “we need to decide on the flavours and inform them. Or else we will lose our spot.”

You check the messages once your friends are in their world.

Upon thinking, I don’t see the need for not texting you.

-Hannie

What if your friends are there and see my messages?

-Hannie

Are you embarrassed of me baby? I understand the need for you to keep us a private but I don’t want to hide us away.

-Hannie

Am I your dirty little secret, baby?

-Hannie

Jeonghan isn’t happy with stashing him away from the public. Hansol and Sunhee got to know about you two by chance, mostly due to Jeonghan’s nature of can’t keep his hands off you. If you weren’t standing in the kitchen crying over him, and he didn’t cradle you, no one would have known. You aren’t keeping him away because you are embarrassed, you are keeping him away because of the insecurities bubbling in your chest, and don’t want any other person to ruin this relationship which just survived the war. It’s delicate, and you can’t lose him again.

Seungkwan calls your name, snapping you out of your reverie.

“Huh? What was that again?” You lock your phone without sending any reply. Talking over text might create more misunderstanding of your feelings and it can turn out worse. You need to see him, hold him while you explain your feelings.

Seungkwan looks at you through the rear view mirror suspiciously. He doesn’t comment on it, “Please tell Nari to choose anything else and not Vanilla.”

“It’s her wedding. She has the right to choose whatever she wants.”

Nari high-fives you, grinning smugly at Seungkwan. “I know I could count on you.”

“Anytime.” Your attention flickers to your phone screen lighting up, but this time it's a mail notification. Jeonghan should be at his home, waiting for you.

Seungkwan parks the car near a restaurant going off on how it is his wedding too, and he has equal rights. Nari whispers into his ear once everyone gets out of the car, and trudges towards the busy restaurant. Seungkwan calms down, mumbling under his breath, and halfway in agreeing to the Vanilla cake.

Jeonghan didn’t text you again. You pocket your phone, sighing to yourself. How can you resolve this? Two equally important persons in your life, and they hate each other with their life. Seungkwan is happily pulling a chair for Nari, chattering away about his sisters visiting soon. He is happy, it's the time of his life, a big moment looming around the corner. Telling him about the reconciliation with Jeonghan will visibly make him pissed. Jeonghan doesn’t understand the need to keep it a secret until his wedding. Maybe he doesn’t understand how you can’t face the confrontation, scared of disappointing him, and others again.

“So,” Seungkwan puts down the menu after ordering the dinner, watching you stare at your phone for the hundredth time that night. “Any sexy man you hid in your sweet little town.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

First, you feel like barfing at his ridiculous expression, and second, you tread his question carefully, feigning an irritated look and throwing crumpled tissue onto his face.

“Shut up.” You turn to Nari, “so how’s the jitters like? Date is approaching soon. If you ever get cold feet and want to leave this idiot, you know my number.”

Nari winks at you. Seungkwan throws a tissue onto your face, “stop putting ideas into her mind.”

You fold a fresh tissue into a random shape, “what do we have tomorrow? Done with the decorations, and the dress. I think we have to talk with the bakery chef.”

Seungkwan agrees. “Yeah, pretty much it.” After a beat he adds, “We need to have best friends only time, you know, catch up and all, without all this stress.”

“Spending time with you is stressful to me.” You make room for the waiter to place your order on the table, “I don’t think we need to specifically set a time for it.”

“Right here,” he points at his heart, “hurts right here.”

Nari and you chuckle at his antics. Your mouth waters looking at the hot food waiting for you to devour. “That’s the target.” You pick up your cutlery ready to dig in. “I still can’t believe someone is willing to marry you.”

Nari hums in agreement. “Do you think I am influenced by dark magic?”

Your body comes alive as soon as the flavours burst out on your tongue, “heaven.” You recollect yourself answering, “it is a possibility. Who would want to be with someone dictating your life.”

“Wow.” Seungkwan drops his chopsticks, “just wow. I really hate you two right now.”

You stick your tongue out at him. Nari pacifies him with pats on his shoulder. Watching them makes you miss Jeonghan, how nice it would be to have him next to you, and spend time with your other favourite people on earth.

Seungkwan answers his ringing phone, his pleasantness morphing into frown and finally settling on to horror listening to whoever is on the other side. “Why are you early?”

“What happened?” Nari whispers.

“I’m coming. I’m coming.” He stands up, his food untouched. “God, give me time to at least drive.” He cuts the call, “I am so sorry. We have to leave now. My sisters are here and already creating havoc. I need to go and put off the flames.” Nari sighs accompanying him, apologizing to you.

“Let’s meet tomorrow afternoon in the bakery.” Seungkwan says, “and the bill is on me. I am so sorry for leaving abruptly.”

“Tell your sisters that I said hi.” You wave them off, “and give me all the deets later, I’ll bring popcorn.”

—

The key digs into your skin, you glance at the keyhole, wondering if you can just go in. He did give you the spare key this morning for that purpose. You knock on the door.

Door swings open, a confused Jeonghan peeking through the small gap, seeing you standing on the other side, he lets you in. You curl your hair behind your ear, taking timid steps into his home. It isn’t that different from his Yangsan apartment, a table, and a couch is extra in this lonely, cold apartment.

“Did you forget the key?” Jeonghan stands behind you, holding his waist. “I remember giving you one.”

You show him the key, he presses his lips into a thin line. “I couldn’t just, I don’t know Jeonghan.”

He studies you, “I mean,” he takes a step, you take one back, the wicked gleam is back in his eyes, “you should slip in stealthily, before someone sees you.” He whispers in your ear, his lips brushing, “as I’m your dirty little secret.” He nips at your ear.

You grab onto his oversized tee steadying yourself. “You aren’t.” Your voice is feeble even to your ears. Jeonghan traces his lips from your ear to your cheek, pressing a wet kiss. “Hannie.”

“Now I’m Hannie again.” He smiles bittersweetly, “I’ll wait. It’s hard but I'll wait until you are comfortable.” He rests his forehead against yours, staying there for few minutes. “But it’s so hard, baby.”

“I’m sorry.”

He kisses on your nose, “don’t be. I deserved it.” He pulls away, “how was your dinner? It ended earlier than I thought.”

He slips away from you into the kitchen. You follow him, noticing the sad tilt to his lips. “Hannie, you aren’t my dirty little secret.”

He places a pot on the stove filling it with water. You rush to his side, sticking close to him, “I mean you are kind of my dirty little,” he glares at you, you explain, “the stuff we do isn’t family friendly, Yoon Jeonghan. Do I have to remind you the times you had me,” you blush at the endless memories of him bending you over and, you clear your throat. “Anyhow, all I want to say is,” you cling to his arm, “I’m staying quiet because we finally got back together.

“I don’t want anyone else’s opinion infiltrating our relationship. I want to enjoy this small bubble just by ourselves until we are stable and happy, and then we can let the world know.” You wait for his response with bated breath.

Jeonghan adds the ramen to the water, swirling the noodles, “Seungkwan will have opinions, you don’t want him to interfere our relation,” he crosses his arms across his chest, he sighs, “take your time, baby, I don’t want him anywhere near us too.”

You frown, “that’s not what I meant to be precise. I want him around but just not in my love life.”

“Same thing.” He clicks his tongue. “I’m okay with it but just don’t completely shove me away.”

“Never.” You cross your heart.

He laughs, pinching your cheek. “That’s my girl.”

—

The bakery Seungkwan has suggested is one for aesthetics. Strings of lights twirl across the walls like a creeper, the name of the bakery bright against the pastel pink wall. You find yourself a seat at one of the empty tables, shooting a text to Seungkwan saying you have reached and he is never on time.

Jeonghan sends you an image, a polo shirt and another image pops up on your phone, same shirt but in gray color. He tagged along with you, dropping you off at the cafe and passing time at the stores nearby. You choose the gray one, only for him to say not choosing that :p. This man.

Someone calls your name softly, you startle, seeing a stranger’s face right next to yours. He cringes at himself, standing up straight, holding up his arms, an easy grin on his face. He drags the chair across you, making himself home.

The chat with Jeonghan goes up and up with incoming pictures. You lock your phone before checking around the bakery waiting for someone to come up with a camera or anything. There’s no way a complete stranger knows your name and is staring at you like you just cured whatever he is going through.

“Uhm, who..?” You ask.

He smiles, leaning in, clasping his hands on the table. “Mingyu. Seungkwan must have shared some info with you.”

Chills pass down your body, goosebumps eliciting on your arms. Fuck. You desperately hope it’s not something you are thinking of. Seungkwan didn’t pull this stunt on you.

“You are Seungkwan’s friend right?” The easy smile slips off his face watching you frozen in your seat. “I’m sure it’s your images he sent.”

Seungkwan message illuminates your phone screen, Enjoy your date!

Fuck the wedding he is going to get strangled tonight. He tricked you into a blind date, and has the audacity to bail on you. You click on his message, Jeonghan sends another picture along with a hundred question marks.

Mingyu softly calls your name. Everything over stimulates your senses all at once.

What blind date???? I’m going to kill you Seungkwan.

-sent

“I’m sorry,” Mingyu apologises, “I didn’t expect him to not tell you. It must have shocked you.”

“No, no,” you feel worse than the time you were about to give the college entrance exam. “I have to apologize, I’m so sorry on behalf of my stupid friend who doesn’t know the term boundaries.” Your phone lights up again, but now it’s Jeonghan losing his mind.

What blind date????

-Hannie

What the fuck did your best friend do now?

-Hannie

Don’t tell me you are on a date with another man.

-Hannie

Say no baby. Tell me it’s not what I’m thinking.

-Hannie

Awesome, you sent the text to Jeonghan instead of Seungkwan. If you can just fling yourself out on the road then you might find some peace.

“Is everything alright?”

You shake your head, “my boyfriend is losing his shit. I’m so sorry, Mingyu, for the false hope and this news.”

Mingyu winces, “oh.”

“Seungkwan doesn’t know it yet. If he knew, he wouldn’t have done this.” You explain, “don’t get him wrong. But I would have appreciated some warning before.”

He shifts in his seat uncomfortably, the table too short for his height. “Yeah, I understand.”

“I’m really, really sorry.”

“Please stop apologising.” Mingyu smiles bittersweetly, “it’s given that pretty girls do have boyfriends. I guess I’m late.”

Not knowing what to say you remain silent, toying with the tablecloth. He speaks again, “I just wanted to let you know that when Seungkwan showed me your picture, I was excited. And when he said all those stories of you I really thought I hit a jackpot.”

“That’s just him bluffing. Trust me I’m not as shiny as he described.”

The doors to the bakery shoves open, the bells jangling violently. Jeonghan, dressed in all black, strides in, his narrowed eyes on Mingyu, his fists clenched by his side. His long hair sways with each strong step. Fuck.

“Hannie,” you panic knowing damn well what he is capable of doing. “Please calm down.”

Jeonghan grabs your throat, crashing his lips on yours. He nips on your bottom lip, his hand squeezing slightly. You part your lips, he swallows your moan, his tongue swirling along yours, teasingly, making you crave for more. He parts from your lips, a string of saliva connecting yours with his, his blown out dark orbs consuming your entire being.

“Fuck taking it slow.” He grits, holding your hand, helping you up from the chair. He glares at the man who is watching you two with his jaw hung open. Jeonghan leads you out to his car, the entire walk a blur, you follow whatever he tells you to do, stringing along his fingers like a puppet, he says sit when he opens the door for you, you settle on the passenger seat, he buckles you in, biting your lower lip before he closes the door.

He drives you to his apartment, the entire ride you sit still, sneaking little glances at Jeonghan. He turns the steering wheel with one hand, the other one on your lap, dangerously close to your core.

The sensation of his fingers ignites a fire inside you, your lips still tingling with his warmth. Your entire body burning up with the need of him, his hands, his touch, his lips and him, him, him.

Jeonghan parks the car in the basement, exiting the car and slamming the door shut. You jerk up from the thoughts of him, a fear taking over the desire momentarily, he is really pissed. You remember the night you two confessed, the night where you went on a date just to forget him for one night, only to find him waiting in your home, angry.

The night ended with you screaming his name, and him enjoying it with grunts, and praises. You couldn’t move from your bed the next morning.

Jeonghan opens the door for you, observing you for a minute, leaning in unbuckling you, and extending his arm for you to hold him. You comply, following his silent footsteps to the elevator, his grip on you is strong but not crushing.

He unlocks the door to his apartment, you hesitate, he looks over his shoulder, raising his eyebrow. You enter his apartment with bated breath, “I did tell him I have a boyfriend.” Your voice comes out meek and shaky, “I wasn’t expecting a blind date, Hannie, I would have never gone if I had known.”

He frowns, bending down he helps you take off your heels, “I know, baby.” He reassures you, “I know you would never cheat on me,” he sets the heels next to his shoes. “But,” he grabs your bag from you, setting it up on the wooden cabinet. “I’m so pissed, seeing that man,” he trails his fingers on your arm, igniting goosebumps, “thinking he had a chance with you, my girl.”

He tugs you to him, his arm around your waist. “I don’t share.” His teeth sink on your collarbone, “especially you.” You grip on his hair, a stinging pain on your neck. “Now, that lackey will run to your friend, crying over what happened.”

You feel his smile on your skin. Wicked.

“Hannie,” you whine, tugging on his hair.

“Up,” he commands, tapping on the back of thigh once. You jump circling your legs around his hips, he grunts, “good girl.” He rewards you with a slap on your ass.

You bury your face in his neck, pressing soft kisses on his neck, your hands grabbing onto his shoulders, clinging like your life depends on him. An appreciative moan leaves his lips, his fingers digging into your hips, he turns his head to the side giving you more freedom to kiss him.

You stretch your back, kissing his cheek, his jaw, sliding your lips to his, you pull back a little staring at his slightly swollen lips. He closes the distance his mouth pressing into yours, you press your thumb on his lips, he parts them, you slip your finger in, he closes around it, his tongue flicking it. You groan, closing your eyes at the sensation, he nips at the skin. You clasp your legs tighter around him, he closes his eyes, throwing his head back, letting out a loud moan.

“Hannie,” you call his name sweetly, softly.

He presses you to the wall, “again.”

“Hannie,” you coo into his ear, rolling your hips. He shudders, gasping in your ear. You clutch his chin, pulling him to you, staring at his lips, his upper lip protruding slightly more than his lower lip, you take in his upper lip in your mouth, kissing, sucking and biting before letting go.

His hooded eyes on you, “missed that kiss baby.” He nuzzles into your cheek, “had me stay up nights craving for it.”

You resume kissing his jaw, underside of his chin, drag your lips across his neck, he groans, his hips thrusting into you in reflex, you moan rolling your hips, sinking your teeth on his collarbone, remembering all the girls he went out with before you.

He hisses in pain, panting, “baby.”

“I remembered something I shouldn’t.” You detach yourself from his neck, “I hate all those girls you went out with.”

“Yeah?” He looks into your eyes, “did miss bloom_234 hate it too?”

You gasp, hitting his chest, “how do you know?”

He just kisses your lips, “there’s no need for you to be jealous,” he pacifies you, “if you knew how each one ended I think you would be very happy.”

He opens the door to his room, dropping you on his bed, he rests a knee on the bed leaning back taking you in his sheets. “Perfect.” He crawls over to you, hovering over you, “I missed you.”

He pulls up your blue blouse over your head, he licks his lips at your black bra contrasting your skin. You tug at his shirt, he removes it, throwing it somewhere in the room. You slide your hand over his bare skin, grazing your nails all along. He shudders, his eyes fluttering shut, moaning your name.

He snaps his eyes open, eyebrows draw in, he pushes your breasts up, his finger tracing the underside of your breasts. “You have new moles.”

“Really?” You say absentmindedly, tracing his happy trail disappearing into his pants.

He grunts, leaning down kissing the moles, “fucking sexy.”

You grab onto his hair, moaning. Your entire body coming alive under his touch, you squirm under him trying to relieve yourself from the ache. He presses his body on you reading your tics, he rolls his hips into you, your lips parting letting out a silent gasp, his own lips mirroring yours, watching you come undone under him.

“Hannie,” you scream, as his fingers gravitate to your lower half, pressing where it is aching. “Hannie…”

He nods in encouragement, “louder.”

You rake your hand through his hair, moving his hair off his face getting a better look of him. He leans into your palm, you tug his hair, sitting up halfway catching his lips. His tongue meets yours, battling for dominance, you push him back onto his knees, sitting on his lap, you readjust that you are an inch taller than him.

You break the messy, wet kiss, wiping his chin off the saliva. “Hannie,” you call his name just to make sure you aren’t dreaming.

His starry eyes scan your face, he hums. You kiss his forehead, showering kisses all over his face. “I love you, Hannie.” You whisper in between giving him open mouthed kisses.

He flips over, resting your leg around his waist, he rolls his hips right where you need him. “I love you,” he unbuckles your bra, “I love you more than anything.” He sits back, taking in you in all of your glory, “I’m so lucky.” He crashes his lips, making you chant his name, and his ministrations reaching the places where he only went and felt.

—

You feel a nudge on your shoulder, a voice calling your name. You stir awake, your entire body screaming in pain. You groan, moving your legs slowly, lying on your back, blinking your eyes open. Jeonghan is looming over you, his entire face glowing and radiating happiness.

“Morning.” You squeak in a hoarse voice, you clear your throat, “Hannie.” Sleep sneaks up on you, your eyes fluttering shut.

“Baby,” he presses a kiss on your nose, “your stomach is growling. I brought breakfast.”

You whine, covering yourself with sheets and turning away from him, your body sends a sweet signal on why you can’t flip as you want yet. You groan, pressing onto your thighs, trying to salvage the ache.

“I get a feeling that your body can't handle it.” Jeonghan picks up the sheet, settling next to you. He curls himself in the shape of you, pressing a long kiss on your cheek, his hand massaging your thighs avoiding the places that are too intimate. “You need to build stamina,” he chides.

“I want to let you know,” you mumble into the pillow you are hugging, “I will rip your hair if you call me weak one more time.”

He laughs, his morning deep voice echoing in your ear, making you smile in return. “That’s the girl I know.” He presses one more kiss on your temple, “let’s eat. Please.”

“Five more minutes,” you plead.

He sighs, “we will shower together, and I’ll help if you get up now.”

You peek at him, “really?”

He hums, his fingers moving across your soft folds. “Promise, now, let’s get your stomach calm down.”

It growls one more time as if it got offended. You pout, resting your hand on top of his, patting your stomach (his hand), “okay, let’s eat.”

“Finally.” He stretches to the night table next to the bed, retrieving a shirt. He helps you put the shirt on, tugging it down your body, not before pinching your chest in the process.

You slap his arm, “men.”

He smiles cheekily, “beauty must be admired.” He catches your arm before it can punch him in the face. “Okay, okay. You became so violent.”

He grabs the plate from his study table, his eyes taking in your disastrous morning form, he bites on his lower lip, sitting next to you. “You know,” he suppresses his smile, opening his mouth to continue.

“Don’t say it.” You warn knowing he isn’t going to say something nice. That teasing lilt is showing all over him.

He giggles to himself, “just because you begged.”

“That’s not begging.” You point your finger at him. “Stop with whatever you are trying to do.”

He kisses your nose, “okay, baby. No more begging, it makes my heart sad.”

You chew on your lip watching him hum under his breath, spreading peanut butter across the bread. “Anything for you, Hannie.”

He pauses the sliding of the spoon across the bread, narrowing his eyes at you. He doesn’t comment on your faux innocent face. He hands you over the bread, peanut butter accidentally gets on his fingers.

You hold the bread in one hand, take his fingers into your mouth sucking them clean. The spoon in his hand drops onto the plate with a clatter, his jaw hanging open as he watches you look up at him through your lashes. He curls his fingers in your mouth, your eyes flutter shut in ecstasy and you remove his fingers before he gains the upper hand.

“Sorry, a habit,” you smile, shoving the bread in your mouth, not giving him a chance to lure you into doing something more.

“You.” He runs his other hand which isn’t covered in your fluids through his hair, swearing under his breath. Probably replaying last night.

You munch on the bread, enjoying the peanut butter (his agony). “Is something wrong?”

He shoots daggers at you. “No.”

“Okay~” you hum a song under your breath.

He applies the spread on another slice, “are you up for—”

“No, Hannie.”

He pouts, shoulders slumping. “You really need to work on your sta—” he screams when you hold his hair.

“I didn’t even do anything!” You hit his arm, “stop being dramatic.”

He sets the plate on the bed, “did you pull out my precious hair? Am I bald now?”

“I didn’t even pull. You know that.” You are on your knees, towering over him. But you still check your hands for his hair. Not even one single strand is on your hand. “Not even a single hair is harmed.” You show him your hand.

“Oh.” He pulls you onto him by your waist, making you sit on him. “My bad. I got scared.” He nuzzles his face into your chest, shaking it side to side. “My stress balls.”

“Yoon fucking Jeonghan!”

—

The happy bubble pops once you check your phone. In the bliss of being with your lover, the blind date and whole ordeal in the bakery has slipped off your mind. Dozens of texts from Seungkwan and Nari, coupled with missed calls. Seungkwan’s messages go from screaming to cold, distant. Your heart drops to your stomach, rereading that one text.

I didn’t expect this from you.

-Seungkwan

He is disappointed with you. You know that this would happen, heck, this is what you were scared of happening. His words on the screen become bigger and bigger, taunting you, almost accusing you of your changed behaviour. This isn’t how you used to be, that leads to the point of how Jeonghan is already influencing you in the wrong way.

It is a stretch, Seungkwan didn’t explicitly worded those, your mind is conjuring all the unhappened scenarios, fracturing your memories, and simply, making you overthink and panic.

Jeonghan drops a towel on your head, ruffling your wet hair. “Should we go and get real food?” He calls your name twice, thrice before coming around the couch, sitting next to you. “What’s wrong?” He panics, taking the phone.

“I am sorry.” You sniffle, pressing the edge of your palms on your eyes. “I’m so sorry for causing,” you snuck in a breath, “all the troubles.”

Jeonghan throws the phone behind him, somewhere on the couch. He pulls you to his chest, patting gently on your back. “You did nothing wrong. Loving someone is never a crime, baby,” he kisses your head, “you shouldn’t apologize for that, I get that there have been not so great moments between us, and it’s just your friend’s apprehension.”

You look up at him mid snuffle, “who are you?”

He grins, “your most understanding boyfriend. One moment.” He untangles himself from you, disappearing into his room and comes back with a tissue box. He holds a tissue against your runny nose but you take it from him shyly. “As I was saying,” he picks up the towel, resuming drying your hair, “if you just meet with him and talk it through, he will eventually come around.”

“Really? I’m scared he will throw me out of his life.” You voice out your insecurities. “I’m not sure how I would handle something like that.”

“He would never, which is annoying,” your eyes are full of tears again at his words, he quickly amends, “to me, baby, to me. From what I have seen he is going to till the end, if,” he emphasises, “you meet and communicate everything.”

“You think so?”

“I think so.” He pinches your cheek, “now text him to meet.”

—

You are standing outside a restaurant with shaky hands shoved inside your pockets. Seungkwan and Nari are inside, waiting. Jeonghan turns his head from you to the restaurant and vice versa.

He pulls out his lollipop (the one you shoved in as he can’t stop saying nonsense), “we have all day. Take your time.”

You shove your elbow into his ribs, he keels over holding onto your arm. “Oh, didn’t see you there. Sorry.”

“Very funny.” He straightens up after a beat of suffering, taking a step away from you, “how can one night in my arms change you into a violent person? When you should be all lovey-dovey and cling onto me like your life depends—” you shove that lollipop back in his mouth, yet it’s too late.

A stranger passing next to you into the restaurant snaps his head at you in surprise, his face red. He quickly disappears into the restaurant when Jeonghan cuts his line of sight of you, and barks, “what?”

“Yoon Jeonghan,” you grit, grabbing his jacket and dragging him into the restaurant. “Should I worry about Seungkwan or your mouth that doesn’t know when to shut up.”

His arm comes around your shoulder, whispering, “that hurts, baby. How can you say that about my mouth when it only gives you happiness. If you forgot, I'm happy to redo last night anytime.” He stops, pulling you back into him, “on second thought, fuck Seungkwan. Let’s go home.”

You groan into your hands. “Mistake. Mistake. I shouldn’t have brought you here. Stupid. Stupid.”

“There. There.” He pried your hands off your face, mock concern written all over him. “I’m your guide, light and whatever there is in times of your pain.”

You roll your eyes, throwing your hands in the air. “Shut up. This isn’t the time.”

“When it’s you, my love,” he takes a dramatic step towards you, “it is always the right time.” He crouches to your height, “as I always love you.”

You smile at his cheesy lines, and his cheesy face. “Shut up,” you say, but it is feeble to your own ears.

He grins in satisfaction, “let’s go talk with him and go home. And,” he intertwines your hand with his, walking to the table where your two friends are watching like hawks, “walk straight, unless you want your friends to know what we did last night. Or morning.”

You flush at his words. Does that mean all the way here people weren’t looking at you weirdly for the stray strand sticking up? He lied to you? Or maybe he wanted to make you feel comfortable. This man will get you killed someday from the sheer high blood pressure (and he will follow just because he can’t live without teasing you).

He squeezes your hand once as the table is one foot away, he looks over his shoulder, his lips pressed in a thin line noticing the anxiety all over you. He pulls out a chair for you first nudging you to sit, “it’s going to be okay. I’m here.” He kisses your cheek and pulls the chair next to you, dragging it close to yours.

Seungkwan watches you two with distaste, mostly at the man next to you, as if he offended the entirety of his clan and is whistling away at their misery. Seungkwan’s dislike towards Jeonghan turned into hate because of you, the time before your break up was rocky, and Seungkwan did leave your side in the time of your needs.

“I’m sorry about Mingyu.” You break the ice. “I should have told you beforehand,” you drop your gaze to your lap, fumbling with your fingers, “I just couldn’t find the right time.”

Seungkwan exhales loudly, opening his mouth and closing it several times. “Why him? He broke your heart once, he would do it again. That’s classic Yoon Jeonghan.”

Jeonghan leans back in his chair, hand reaching out to yours, he squeezes as if reminding you. Remember my words. Don’t get swayed.

“How can you be so sure of it?” Jeonghan asks, “if all I need is to have done it before, then I did love her. What if I just love her this time? Through thick and thin, hold her tightly instead of letting it go this time.

“I get that you come from a place of love for her, but she's a fully capable adult who can decide for herself.”

Seungkwan scoffs, “don’t make me laugh. She is blindsided, I’m just looking out for her, saving her from an asshole who hits people.” He smirks at the dumbfounded Jeonghan, “thought I didn’t know?”

You snap towards your boyfriend, dread settling in the pit of your stomach. Hitting? What on earth is he doing with his life? He didn’t run into trouble at Yangsan, you would know somehow if he did, it’s a small city and the circle is too close to each other to let go of gossiping this big news. It must have happened while in Seoul.

Suddenly you are back to the night of your first blind date with Jeonghan. Seungkwan spewed something along these lines even then. Now you remember, it’s because of you.

“Don’t overthink,” Jeonghan is on alert from reading your face, “it was really really minute, almost nothing.”

You grip onto his fingers, “tell me what happened.”

Jeonghan throws a dirty look at Seungkwan for putting him into this situation. You tap on his hand, pulling his attention back to you. If Seungkwan is making it a big thing then there must be something.

“Just an ex colleague of mine made a crass comment,” he doesn’t look at you, “I couldn’t hold back.”

You press on, “tell me in detail. What did he say to you? You are good at what you do.”

Jeonghan didn’t climb up just on pure luck. His dedication, hard work and long hours are what made him reach a higher position for his age.

“He was shitting on me for letting go of a girl that he would,” he looks at you, pressing his lips into a thin line, he doesn’t want to say it out loud, you decipher, you nod, encouragingly, “have fun with.”

You have a feeling that he is sugar coating the words. “Did he talk that vulgar of her to make you snap?” You are happy that he stood up for a girl.

He shakes his head once. “Then he brought you up,” his eyes glazed over, anger sizzling in them, “and I couldn’t hold back. I hit him so good,” he smirks, “it was bloody everywhere.”

You stare at him, the perfectly long strands falling onto his face, covering the side, his proud smile. He turns to you, hesitance in demeanour as you don’t speak. He couldn’t stomach someone talking wrongly about you.

“What did he say?”

“I’m not sure you want to know.”

“Please.”

He looks at the curious Nari and shocked Seungkwan, leans into your ear, whispering, “he said sex with you must be boring.” He grips your inner thigh, under the table, “the fuck he knows.” His finger brushes your core before moving his hand to your knees, to a safe place.

You reach for water, taking a big gulp. Nari and Seungkwan watch you curiously, the reddening cheeks grabbing their attention.

“What did he say?” Nari questions. “You can’t leave us hanging!” She points at Jeonghan, “it’s like watching a movie and turning it off at the climax.”

Jeonghan grins, folding his arms across his chest. “Secret.”

“Ugh, Seungkwan, you can get more details, right? Ask the person who told you about the fight. Please, please.”

“That’s not the point here.” He sucks his teeth. “The point is if he is violent with others how are you sure he wouldn’t be with you.”

“He would never.” You say with conviction. “Jeonghan would never.”

Jeonghan presses your knee in appreciation. You continue, looking Seungkwan head on, “he may hurt me, I might hurt him. It is inevitable. He reigns that power over me, one word from him can cut me into pieces but,” you pause, you slouch slowly, “he also can pull me out of my misery with a single word.”

This morning is an example of it. You were shaking, the weight of guilt sitting on your shoulders, mind everywhere. And he walks in with his easy smiles and reassuring words, quickly leads you to a solution, and offers his shoulder to listen to your concerns, more like pries them off your chest. He has always been your sun, shining brightly through your clouded moments.

“All I want from him is to not give up when things get hard. And not run away.”

He promised you he wouldn’t. Since the moment you met him again on the blind date, he has been trying his best, keeping his word. No matter how hard you pushed him away, he gave you time and space to sit with your feelings, some run-ins with him have been purely coincidental, almost like a destiny.

His presence in your life has brought back peace, calm, and love. A pillar that holds you, grounds you down. All you need from him is his love.

“I won’t run away,” he promises. You kiss his cheek in appreciation.

Nari coos in awe. Seungkwan still doesn’t look happy with the relationship. But there’s a crack in his stance, wavering his outlook on Jeonghan.

“I’m sorry, Seungkwan, for keeping it a secret. It hasn’t been that long since we started seeing each other.”

Jeonghan opens his mouth to rebut. You kick his leg. He shuts it back.

“I don’t see the need for you to keep anything from me.” He smiles sadly, “did I not give you that space to talk about anything and everything?”

“I just know that you hate him,” you say, he nods in confirmation. Jeonghan scoffs. You continue, “I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

Seungkwan is taken aback at your words. “Disappoint? I speak garbage when I’m angry but never once I feel disappointed with you. I’m so sorry that I made you feel that somehow.

“I may not be happy with your selection, but if he is really gonna make you feel happy, I’m not the one to decline. After seeing you the last two years all I want is happiness for you. For you, I’m willing to,” he looks at Jeonghan, “try.”

“Really?” You leap from your chair.

Seungkwan chuckles, “yeah. It’s good to see that he was defending your name even in your absence.”

Jeonghan’s shoulders reach his ears in pride.

“But how are you going to do long distance?” Nari asks.

“About that,” you clear your throat, “he is kind of living in Yangsan.”

“What?” Seungkwan barks.

“He moved,” you add.

“Yoon Jeonghan? Moved? Why?”

Jeonghan beats you to answer, “this is nothing compared to the people we love.”

Your heart flutters in your chest. Those are the words you said to him when he asked why you took the transfer instead of Seungkwan. Jeonghan moved because he loves you, he is willing to do everything just for you. Tears well up in your eyes, unable to hold in the waves of emotions hitting you. Does distance really make the heart grow fonder?

“That’s sappy.” Seungkwan rolls his eyes, but smiles for the first time in the evening. Nari laughs, happy with the argument subsiding for now.

You laugh along with her, heart at ease, happy. You are happy with Yoon Jeonghan, the words he says, the teasing eyes before he does any mischief, you are in love with just Yoon Jeonghan, in whatever form he is gonna come in future. He is going to be your Jeonghan.

He notices your loving stare, he grins at you, “see, communication resolved it.” He presses a kiss on your lips, “you got worried for nothing.”

“I love you,” you mutter when he just pulled away, he doesn’t stray far listening to your confession. He comes back to your lips, now, pressing with more conviction, and a happiness that couldn’t contain in himself, coming out in the form of a wide smile and a chuckle.

“Is this what Mingyu saw yesterday?” Seungkwan’s voice snapped you two out of your moment. “Did you know you traumatised that poor soul?”

Jeonghan pulls away with a smug grin, “serves him right.”

You slap his shoulder. “Shut up.” You turn to Seungkwan, “please tell him that we are really sorry.”

“I’m not.”

“Yoon Jeonghan.”

“What? I’m really not.”

Seungkwan throws his hands in the air, “here we go again.”

#jeonghan x reader #jeonghan #yoon jeonghan #seventeen #seventeen fic #svt x reader #angst #fluff #exes au #jeonghan fic #jeonghan x you

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vvifeys · 2 months ago

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This is my first time ordering here. AAAAAHHH It took me a while to gather up the courage.

I want one from the time Violet was in prison. I totally imagine Vi having her first experiences with the woman who did her tattoos (tattoo artist), with her being the only person Vi trusts in prison and more experienced then our fighter. 🫦👀

OOOHH I'm embarrassed now 🙈🙈 Me feel a teenager again

new to this.

sub!vi x dom!reader. tw: smut. fingering. vi is inexperienced. light degradation. praise. men dni! a/n: AWW HI THERE!! i'm glad that you got the courage to ask me for this, because i love this idea so much!! fair warning, i have a kindergarteners level knowledge about prisons, but i know that prisoners typically have cellmates so you guys are cellmates! i'm following a more real life logic rather than arcane 😅 i apologize if this is inaccurate in any way, thank you for this again, anon~

vi was laying on her side in her bed– if you could even call it that. the mattress was so thin it barely covered the wood it was laying on. uncomfortable, but she'd gotten used to it. used to laying on her side staring at your pretty face. you were the thing that made this prison bearable.

you were the resident tattoo artist. most of the inmates in stillwater that had tattoos (vi included) had gone under your steady hand to get them. your work was incredible, and it earned you lots of favors. intel, extra food, cigars even– but you always declined. you had given up on keeping score long ago, not too long after being thrown in here.

thrown in here with... the prettiest girl you'd ever seen. honestly, you didn't understand how such a sweet girl could commit a crime heinous enough to be tossed into a place as horrid as this. you very quickly learned, however, that it was false imprisonment. it wasn't easy, but you'd managed to grow close to your pink haired cellmate, and you'd become quite fond of her. she came to you for all three tattoos she wanted, and thanked you endlessly for the incredible work.

being fond of her was a crime in itself, though. you found yourself staring at her more often than you should've, and you caught her staring back at you more often than not. your gaze often traveled down to her arms, her hands, those thighs... you'd fallen asleep many times with thoughts of her in your head. her constantly getting into fights didn't help– she'd be returned to your shared cell with a bloody nose or a black eye, and you'd take care of her, as always.

tending to her wounds just led to more longing. you hadn't realized how badly you'd been yearning for her until she'd gotten a particularly nasty fork wound on her thigh. she was sitting there in boxers while you made sure to clean the bleeding holes to the best of your abilities. that was months ago, but you still remember the feeling of her eyes on you, the way your stomach flipped at every little gasp or twitch from her, and the way your eyes kept drifting just a little further upward.

months later, here you are in your current predicament. you're staring at her from across the room, both of you holding eye contact. your heart is beating faster than usual. you'd both just gotten done eating, and now it was lights out. there were a couple dim lights on in the hallway, the shadows making vi's face look even softer than it usually did. there was an unspoken tension, and you knew she felt it too if the way she was looking at you like she wanted to kiss you was any indication.

"violet, you want something. i know that look." you state, propping yourself up on your elbow.

"i- hey! i don't like how you know me that well. i just... i've been thinking." vi sighs, you can immediately tell something is wrong. she sat up, but she's not looking you in the face anymore.

"about?" you prompted after a few minutes of silence. vi was obviously contemplating something, and it was making you anxious.

"you? us? i don't know. just... there's something between us, and i know you feel it too." her eyes flicked up to yours, then down to the bedsheet a couple times.

you didn't even speak. you got up, walking over to sit down beside her and grab her hand. vi turned to look at your entwined hands, giving a light squeeze before meeting your eyes. you leaned in, mouth close to her ear.

"do you want this?" you ask, voice hardly louder than a whisper. your free hand moved to rest on her thigh.

"want w- oh. i've never... i'm new to this." vi hesitated, nervous to say it out loud. she swallowed so hard, you swore you could hear it.

"hey, hey, that's okay. let me show you, yeah? we can stop at any time if you want to." you pull back enough to look her in her soft, grey eyes. you bring your hands up to cup her cheeks, making sure she's focused and listening.

"yeah... i'll let you." vi nodded in your hands, eyes closing with a soft sigh.

you kept your hold on her face, but leaned in to kiss her. her lips were softer than you expected them to be, your own eyes closing as you relaxed at the feeling. you pulled back, but before you could even open your mouth to check on her, she presses her lips on yours again.

vi was a little messy with her kisses, but the more you kissed, the more she got the hang of it. your hands started to wander, one moving back to her thigh, and the other coming to hold her waist. your hands on her gave her the confidence to start to touch you. you felt one of her hands slide up your back, while the other held the side of your face. you smile into the kiss, both hands moving to her hips to gently tug her into your lap.

soon enough, you had vi straddling your thighs– knees on either side of your hips as you kissed. you pulled back, trailing your mouth down her jawline and to her neck. you nipped a little just above her collarbone to test her reaction. vi's soft gasp drew a wicked smile from you as you bit harder. you sucked a couple hickeys into her neck, giggling at her soft whimpers.

"can i take this off, pretty girl?" you ask, hands coming up to the hem of vi's shirt. she nods immediately, leaning back to help you pull the shirt over her head.

your eyes widened once her shirt was off. she was toned, you'd watched her work out before but you'd never seen her shirtless like this. you traced the contours of her torso with a hungry gaze, eyes coming to rest on her tits. her nipples were hard, chest flushed a light red from the blush that had taken over her face.

"stop staring! it's embarrassing." vi protested, crossing her arms over her chest.

"ah, ah. don't cover yourself up, vi, you're so gorgeous." you tell her, hands coming up to pull her arms away from her chest.

you used one hand to pull her body closer to you, your mouth latching on to one of her nipples. your free hand came up to twist the other one, drawing a moan from vi's pretty lips. you pulled back, your hand stopping it's movements.

"sshh, don't be so loud. do you wanna wake the whole hall?" you whispered, purposefully squeezing her breast to pull another noise from her. she quickly shook her head, resting her forehead on your shoulder.

"yeah, that's what i thought. c'mon, baby, can i lay you down?" you speak softly, feeling the vulnerability radiating off of the girl in your lap. you feel vi nod against you, and slowly move her onto her back. she's looking up at you through pink locks of hair, her lips parted as she breathes a bit heavier than usual.

you crawl between her legs, leaning over her to plant a couple kisses on her lips. her head tilts back as you kiss down her neck, breath quickening. her hands fist the sheets as you trail down her collarbone, to the valley between her breasts, down her stomach, and finally to the waistband of her pants. you look up, eyes meeting hers and hands coming to rest on her hips.

"can... is this okay? can i take these off?" you slowly rub her hips, keeping your voice soft. you're trying to make her feel as comfortable as you can.

"y-yeah, uh," vi clears her throat, taking a deep breath. "go for it."

you nod, beginning to slowly slide her pants down, and eventually off her ankles. you run your hands up and down her thighs, trying to soothe her.

"you're so pretty, vi. so, so gorgeous. are you okay?" you query, resting your head on her inner thigh as you stare up at her. your breath hits dangerously close to where she wants you, causing her to try and squeeze her thighs together.

"mmh- yeah, fine. want you so bad." she pants, voice taking on a higher pitch than usual. she's doing her best to keep quiet, you can tell.

"yeah? i'm sure you do, baby. let's get these off." you smile at the neediness in her voice, moving to slowly pull her boxers off. it takes everything in you not to let out a moan at how pretty she looked.

vi's pussy was already soaked. she was practically dripping onto her sheets already, you hadn't realized how long you'd been staring until she closed her legs. you immediately pushed them back open, earning a gasp from her. you reached one hand up, running your index finger through her folds to see how she'd react. she almost jumped out of her skin, hips jerking with a sharp gasp.

"fuck! baby-" she whined, immediately covering her mouth with her hands. you smiled, giggling at how desperate she was already.

"aww, what is it? you need me that bad, huh?" you ask, voice falsely saccharine. you ran your finger through her heat again, dragging it more firmly over her clit.

"uh huh! mmf, please, please! i need it." vi begs, turning her head to bury her face in the thin pillow. it wasn't doing much to hide her, but you wouldn't tell her that. you did, however, warn her.

"okay, baby, okay. i'm gonna put one finger in, alright? is that okay?" you continue rubbing her outer thigh with your free hand. you kept a close eye on her face, half of it still visible, for any signs of discomfort or pain.

that's the question that made vi look up at you, her expression already looking fucked out despite you having not even done anything. she nods, a string of quiet begs coming from her. that's all you need to push your finger in, watching as vi's hips twitch slightly. she brings her hand to her mouth, eyes squeezing shut as you push your finger in and out. you do that for awhile, trying to get her used to the feeling.

it doesn't take her long before she's already begging for a second, and of course you oblige. who are you to decline a pretty girl whos asking so nicely? a second finger being pushed in draws a low groan from her, back arching.

"that feel good, sweetheart?" you scissor your fingers, pace gentle as you let her adjust. she doesn't properly answer, just whines and pushes her hips down on your hand faster.

"aww... such a slut for me, huh? so greedy." you tease, voice slightly condescending. your words draw a high pitched whine from her. you watch as her hands move to fist the sheets, eyes looking down between her thighs.

"please? more, i need more- oh god!" vi's words quickly cut off whenever you hit a gummy spot inside her after hooking your fingers. her hips jerk into your hand, moans more freely spilling from her lips.

"ah, there we go. you sound so pretty, baby." you smile, happy she was enjoying herself so much. you angled your fingers to keep hitting that bundle of nerves in her, drawing moan after moan and whine after whine. vi had given up on muffling herself, she knew she was probably waking up the whole block but she couldn't care less.

she felt way too good, feeling the electricity run through her body. the muscles in her stomach tightened, back arching further off the bed as she panted. vi couldn't help it, her hand reached to grab the hand you had on her outer thigh. she squeezed it, and almost immediately, all of the tension in her body released. pleasure washed over her like a wave in the ocean, and her body went lax. she was breathing heavy, eyes closed, hand death gripping yours.

you pull your fingers out of her, licking them clean before trailing kisses up her thighs, over her stomach, all the way up to her face. you take a second to dip down and lick the rest of her clean, not bothering trying to clean the sheets knowing laundry day was tomorrow. once she lets your hand go, you both sit up and face each other.

vi is still panting, but she's breathing easier now. "oh my god. does that always feel that good?"

"yeah, pretty much. god, you looked so pretty." you praise, moving her hair out of her face and gently cupping her cheek.

she blushes bright red, looking down instead of making eye contact. "h-hey! you can't just say that. you were doing all the work." she argues.

"hush, you did good too. i'm proud of you for going out of your comfort zone for me." you smile softly at her, thumb caressing her cheek. "let's get your clothes back on, yeah? you can sleep in my bed tonight." you offer.

vi looks up at you and nods immediately. "sounds good to me! lucky we did this before laundry day..." she shakes her head playfully, standing up and stretching before bending to pick up her clothes.

"i'm tempted to hide your clothes from you so i can see your body for longer." you tease, watching as she slides her boxers and pants back on.

she giggles, turning around to look at you as she puts her shirt on. "you hide my clothes, i'll never get another tattoo." she jokes back, knowing how much you'd been begging her to get another tattoo from you. she looked so pretty inked up, how could you not?

"hey! okay okay, no hiding clothes!" you stand up, grabbing her hands. "you truly are gorgeous, though." you say, sighing as you stare into her eyes with adoration. vi leans to kiss you, pulling you over to your bed.

"whatever you say, babe." she lays down, gesturing for you to lay beside her. you do, resting your head on her chest and closing your eyes.

"i love you, violet."

"i love you too."

a/n: i am SO sorry this took me so long, i was dealing with a lot of shit this week and part of last, on top of going through a big period of feeling more ace so 😅 working on this was difficult, but i'm finally done!! i'm very inexperienced at writing smut, so i apologize if any of this sounds cringy or bad. thank you for the request, anon, and i hope you request again !! i loved this idea <3

#apollo's scribbles ✍️#vi arcane #vi x you #vi x reader #vi smut #sub vi #sub vi arcane #dom reader #virgin vi #arcane x reader #arcane x you #arcane smut #lesbian #wlw

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mymoonisgrey · 4 months ago

Text

B2B

❤︎ ໋𓈒 back to back, love to hate, hate to love— your relationship with gojo satoru was a mess, but, you can’t really leave, can you?

warnings. 18+, smut, satoru is a munch, yearning, brief cameo of yandere!satoru, breeding kink if you squint, borderline obsession and possessiveness, toxicity, masturbation (m)

wc. 7,43k

You were reminiscing on decisions you made in high-school that got you to this point.

You were never the type to generally date. It wasn’t your thing, never was—you once said your perdition would come as a man trying to ruin your life, or ruin you generally, body and soul.

However, the 19-year-old theory hit you hard, because Gojo Satoru weaved himself into your life like a cobweb you can't seem to dust. You didn’t give in so easily, no. You took your sweet time to finally get in the scene, without ever seeking advice from friends because somehow situationships always disappear when you tell a friend about them.

But Gojo? He was persistent. He had his hands in your pockets before you even realized he was slipping his fingers between yours. His charm was something built into his DNA, impossible to resist, even when you swore you would. He knew how to make you laugh when you were furious, knew how to touch you like he was mapping out constellations on your skin. And maybe that’s why, even when it hurt, even when you knew better, you always came back.

The fights were cinematic—shouting matches in rain-soaked streets, doors slamming, voices breaking on words too sharp to take back. But the reunions? They were something biblical. You’d fold into him like he was home, let him press his apologies into your skin, your lips, your throat. And just like that, you’d start again. Back-to-back, love to hate, hate to love. A cycle neither of you wanted to break.

Because both of you had flaws neither of you could fix, but only learn to love. There’s constantly something to worry about—whether it was Utahime’s closeness to him and how it managed to get on every nerve of yours—or how men swarmed around you like ants on glucose, it was fucked up. He once had to verbally warn his ex-best friend to leave you alone.

❤︎ ໋𓈒

OCTOBER

You walk in with a sense of dread—you ‘broke’ up with Gojo two months ago, and it has been like... the longest you two have been separated since high school. Jujutsu Tech was lively and it made you nostalgic for the days you ran around as a student rather than a sorceress-to-be, life was much easier back then anyway, wasn’t it?

You know you’ll see him as usual, he runs this place, walks like he owns it because hell—if someone had the power he did, they’d be a lot cockier and haughty than he is. Satoru is considered humble compared to the rest of the power-hungry geezers you put your neck out there for.

The memories flood in before you can stop them. The late-night missions where exhaustion blurred the lines between camaraderie and something deeper. The way he’d lean into you, mask slipping—only for a second—before the world called him back. The stolen moments in between duty and destiny, the whispered confessions between bruises and battle scars. You remember the way he looked at you then, like you were something sacred, something he wasn’t quite allowed to have but couldn’t help but claim anyway.

And then, the downfall. The slow unraveling, the fights that started small but snowballed into something monstrous. The jealousy, the frustration, the push and pull of two people who loved too hard and hurt even harder. You remember walking away that night, the weight of his gaze heavy on your back, the ache in your chest that felt like a wound that would never close.

You shake the thought away, forcing yourself back into the present. You weren’t here for him, not really. You had a job to do. And yet, as you step further into the familiar halls, you can’t help but feel it—the pull, the inevitability of it all. Because no matter how far you run, how long you stay away, it always leads back to him.

Back-to-back. Love to hate. Hate to love.

Your line of sight drifts to the bright green fields stretching out, where a couple of students train one-on-one—blades clashing, curses forming, sweat glistening under the afternoon sun. Your gaze flickers, unintentional, to those three students: pink hair, black hair, and brown hair with a voice loud enough to carry over the clash of sparring.

Then, your eyes find him.

That white, silvery hair you know the soft texture of like your own name. He’s dressed simply—a white tee, his usual slacks, hands tucked into his pockets. A pair of God-knows-how-expensive sunglasses shields his eyes, but you know what’s behind them. That easy smile graces his lips, effortlessly relaxed as he watches his students, his posture all confidence, all control.

Your stomach churns with something familiar, a tangled mess of longing, resentment, and something you won’t dare name. And then—your heart plummets, crashing straight to the pit of your stomach when his head snaps with surgical precision, turning directly toward you. Of course, he felt it. He always does.

His gaze pins you in place, a tether snapping taut between you, even from across the field. There’s no mistaking it, the way recognition flickers behind those ridiculous shades.

You almost want to disappear, but it’s too late. How the hell—scratch that. Of course, he’d know. Him and those freak-show eyes you love so fucking much.

Your face remains neutral, betraying none of the storm beneath, despite the way your fingers dig into your palms, nails carving crescents into your skin. He doesn’t look away. Instead, he smiles, slow and easy, like he has all the time in the world. His eyes flicker downward, just for a second, shameless and languid, before locking with yours again. And in that moment, through the tinted lenses, you catch it—a glimmer of iridescent blue, a ghost of something unspoken.

His lips part, and you swear you see the tip of his tongue dart out to wet them. His head tilts, the corner of his mouth quirking like he’s thinking something inappropriate—no, scratch that, he definitely is.

Then he raises a hand in a lazy wave, and you can hear it in your head before he even says it. Miss me, baby?

God, you hate him. And even worse? He knows you don’t.

You spare him a nod, offering a brief, almost nonexistent smile, before turning away and heading toward the administration building.

Your pulse is erratic, but you keep your steps measured. Controlled. Like he didn’t just unravel something inside you with a single look.

This is why you never did love—because how the hell are you supposed to just... forget someone and move on? Like flipping a switch? Like love is something that fades if you just give it enough time? That wasn’t you. You weren’t built for that kind of indifference.

And as for him...

You don’t know.

You tell yourself you don’t care. That his life—his thoughts, his wants—are no longer yours to consider. But there’s an itch in the back of your mind, a whisper of doubt crawling up your spine.

Would he ever get over you?

Would he even try?

❤︎ ໋𓈒

Gojo had never moved toward his office as quickly as he did now, his long strides purposeful, nearly frantic, his heart hammering in his chest. Seeing you—hell, even just feeling your presence—had turned his entire world on its axis, and no amount of cocky bravado could hide it. Who the fuck was he kidding? He needed you back. Pronto.

The moment he shut the door behind him, his back hit the wood with a heavy thud, his head tilting upward as he stared at the ceiling. His breath was uneven, hands twitching at his sides.

And then there was the other problem.

The one currently straining against the fabric of his pants.

"Fuck," he muttered, his brows knitting together as the ache in his chest twisted into something darker, heavier. His body felt like it was fighting itself, caught in the crossfire between want and restraint.

He had no idea what the hell he was even horny for—you hadn’t been wearing anything particularly revealing, hadn’t even done anything except stand there looking at him like a deer caught in headlights. And yet, his entire body reacted like it had been starved for you. Because it had.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before unbuckling his belt, frustration coiling hot and tight in his stomach. He palmed himself through his slacks first, the friction barely enough to ease the throbbing pulse of his cock, already leaking against the fabric.

His sunglasses were thrown somewhere across the room as he pulled himself free, hissing at the rush of cool air against burning-hot skin. His cock was hard, thick, an angry red at the tip, drooling precum like it was begging for relief.

The only cure was you.

He spat into his palm, a filthy, wet sound breaking the silence, and wrapped his fingers around himself, squeezing at the base before giving a slow, torturous stroke upward. "Shit," he groaned, his voice husky, dripping with need. His shirt bunched between his teeth as his free hand gripped his desk, knuckles going white.

His pace picked up, faster, rougher, as images of you flooded his mind. You, with your legs spread wide for him, your lips swollen from his kisses, your body arching, gasping his name like a prayer.

"Fuck, baby..." he panted, hips jerking into his fist, his strokes messy, erratic. "Miss this fuckin' pussy... goddamn, you made for me. Shit—gonna fuckin'—"

The orgasm ripped through him, his whole body shuddering as thick ropes of cum spilled over his fingers, his stomach, his mind blanking out in white-hot pleasure. His breath was ragged, uneven, body twitching as the aftershocks coursed through him.

And then...

The silence hit. Hard.

Post-nut clarity slammed into him like a freight train.

What the fuck was he doing?

This wasn’t enough. Not even close.

He needed you. Bad. Toxicity be damned.

Because no matter how fucked up the cycle was, no matter how many times you tore each other apart, he knew one thing for certain.

He wasn’t letting you go. Not again.

❤︎ ໋𓈒

The only time Yaga ever felt generous enough to take his hardworking sorcerers out to dinner—some looked forward to it, others did not. It was just simple barbecue, nothing extravagant, but the company always managed to make it lively—especially Shoko, who was an absolute menace when she got drunk.

The air was thick with the smell of sizzling meat, sweet and smoky, mingling with the distant scent of cigarette smoke. The usual bustling sounds of downtown Tokyo surrounded you—laughter spilling from izakayas, the occasional honk of a car, the chatter of normies oblivious to the weight the people at this particular table carried.

Nanami, naturally, looked like he’d rather be anywhere else, his displeased grunts audible every time someone—usually Gojo—spoke too loudly. His arms were crossed, his beer barely touched, his patience thinning with every passing second.

Shoko was already a drink in, lazily leaning against the table with a lopsided smirk. Her brown eyes were hazy under the dim lighting, and the way she swirled the ice in her glass told everyone she was only just getting started.

You sat beside her, one hand propping up your cheek, the other absentmindedly pushing around the meat sizzling on the grill in front of you. There was something about the atmosphere tonight—lively, warm, yet… off. Maybe it was the way you felt his eyes on you, heavy and unrelenting, even as he pretended to be fully engrossed in whatever ridiculous conversation he was having with Nanami.

Or maybe it was the way your stomach twisted, knowing he wasn’t just looking.

He was remembering.

His posture was lazy, his usual grin in place, but his fingers drummed against the table with slow, rhythmic taps. You knew him too well—his restless energy, his smug amusement—but this? This was different. His legs were spread wide, arms slung over the back of his seat, and beneath the cover of his dark lenses, his gaze flickered, tracing the curve of your cheek, your lips, your throat.

He looked calm. Completely at ease.

And yet, beneath the table, his fingers curled slightly, the ghost of a grip.

Fuck.

The thought hit him like a truck.

He hadn’t been able to get you out of his head since this afternoon. Since the moment he saw you standing in front of Jujutsu Tech, looking like something he wasn’t sure he deserved but wanted anyway. The way you had looked at him—stiff, hesitant, like you were trying so hard to act unbothered—had sent a wildfire through his veins.

He had barely made it to his office before undoing his belt, his mind already painting too-clear images of you, the way your lips parted, the way your legs felt wrapped around his waist. He had gritted his teeth, hissing your name under his breath, fisting his cock like a starved man—fast, desperate, chasing something that didn’t exist outside his head.

And now, here you were. Sitting just a few feet away, oblivious—or maybe not—to the fact that earlier today, he had been thinking about nothing but you while spilling all over his own hand.

His jaw flexed.

You shifted slightly in your seat, rolling your shoulders as if shaking off the weight of his gaze. The movement made the hem of your top ride up just the tiniest bit, exposing a sliver of skin, and Gojo—despite his reputation, despite his control—felt something snap inside him.

His fingers stopped drumming.

The air between you grew thick, unbearably so, like a taut rope ready to snap.

You still didn’t look at him.

And he didn’t look away.

This was bad.

He needed you back.

Toxic or not.

The weight of his gaze was suffocating. It pressed against your skin, coiled around your throat, settled in the pit of your stomach like something dangerous. You swallowed against it, forcing yourself to stay still, to not react—but your fingers twitched, and your heart pounded, and you knew if you sat there a second longer, your composure would snap.

You leaned toward Shoko, murmuring a quick excuse before pushing back your chair, slipping away before your legs could betray just how unsteady you felt. You barely registered the bustle of the restaurant, the warmth of the air thick with the scent of grilled meat and soju. All you could focus on was the pounding in your chest, the way the tension clung to you like a second skin.

The bathroom door shut behind you with a quiet click. You exhaled sharply, pressing your back against it, your pulse loud in your ears.

What the fuck was this?

Two months. Two fucking months. You should’ve been over it by now. Should’ve built an iron wall around your heart, should’ve let time do its thing and dull the edges of what you felt for him.

And yet, it took nothing. Just a look. Just the ghost of a smirk. Just the knowledge that, beneath that cocky mask, there was something else—something darker, something desperate.

A muscle in your jaw ticked. You refused to be the one to break.

But you should’ve known better than to assume Gojo Satoru would let you leave first.

Out at the table, he was still staring at the closed door.

He knew you weren’t running from the conversation at the table. He knew you weren’t going to throw up from too much soju. He knew exactly why you left. And fuck, if that didn’t send a sick thrill down his spine.

With an exaggerated sigh, he pulled his phone from his pocket, the screen blank—but that didn’t matter. His movements were smooth, calculated. He glanced up, feigning distraction, catching Shoko’s gaze. She squinted at him, trying to focus through her haze of alcohol, but before she could voice the question forming in her mind, he was already standing.

Sliding his hands into his pockets, he stepped away from the table, disappearing into the crowd like a ghost.

Shoko blinked slowly, then exhaled, swirling the ice in her drink.

“…This is gonna be a mess,” she mumbled to herself.

❤︎ ໋𓈒

The bathroom door slammed open so hard it rattled against the hinges.

Your breath caught.

Satoru stood in the doorway, tall, imposing, his presence swallowing the small space whole. The door clicked shut behind him, sealing you both in, the air turning suffocating in an instant.

You straightened, fingers twitching at your sides, but you didn’t move back. You held your ground, even as your pulse roared, even as something electric crawled down your spine.

His hands were still in his pockets, his stance deceptively casual, but you weren’t fooled. His broad chest rose and fell in slow, controlled breaths, his jaw tense. Those sunglasses of his—arrogant, infuriating—were gone, stuffed somewhere in his pocket, and that meant his eyes were on you.

Unfiltered. Unhidden.

And you felt them.

The weight of them. The hunger in them. The sharp edge of something between obsession and anger.

Seconds passed.

Neither of you spoke.

The silence stretched, taut and fragile, like something was about to snap.

And then, finally—

“…Why are you here?” Your voice was steady, but there was venom beneath it.

His lips curled, slow, deliberate. His head tilted just slightly, like he was amused, like he wasn’t the one who had cornered you in a fucking bathroom like a desperate man.

“You tell me,” he said smoothly. “You ran first.”

Your fingers twitched. “And you followed.”

His eyes dragged over your face, slow, taking his time, like he was savoring something.

“You left me with a problem,” he murmured.

Your stomach flipped, but you didn’t let it show. “Not my issue.”

Gojo clicked his tongue, taking a single step closer. Just one. Just enough to make the space between you feel nonexistent.

“See, that’s where you’re wrong,” he mused, voice dipping lower, dangerous now. “You’ve always been my issue. Even when you don’t wanna be.”

His scent curled around you—clean, sharp, tinged with the faintest trace of the cologne you still remembered, the one you once pressed your face into his neck to breathe in.

Your pulse hammered against your ribs.

This was dangerous.

You knew it.

And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop him.

He leaned in, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear, his breath warm against your skin.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” he murmured, voice dripping with something dark. “You have any idea what you did to me earlier?”

Your breath hitched.

Shit.

You knew exactly what he meant.

But you refused to acknowledge it.

Instead, you exhaled sharply, planting a firm hand against his chest, shoving him back—just enough to put space between you. Just enough to make it clear you weren’t playing his game.

“Don’t start,” you bit out, your voice cutting, but the effect was ruined by the way your breath was still uneven.

Satoru barely moved, barely reacted. If anything, the corner of his mouth twitched, like he found it cute.

That pissed you off more than it should have.

“Start what?” he asked lazily, tilting his head. “You’re the one running, sweetheart. And for what? You really think you’re over me?”

Your jaw clenched. “I don’t think—I know.”

He snorted. “Sure. That’s why you’re shaking right now, right?”

Your nostrils flared. “Fuck off, Satoru.”

“Or what?” His voice dropped, teasing but sharp. “You’ll run again? You’ll pretend like none of this ever happened?”

You hated how easily he got under your skin. Hated how he knew exactly where to poke, exactly which wounds to press his fingers into.

“I don’t have to pretend,” you shot back. “It already ended. Two months ago.”

His expression darkened, his smile slipping just slightly. “Yeah? And you’ve been real happy since then, huh?”

You crossed your arms, refusing to let him see how your fingers trembled slightly where they dug into your skin.

“Actually?” You forced a smirk. “I’ve never been better.”

It was a lie, and you both knew it.

And for the first time tonight, something flickered in Gojo’s expression.

Something ugly.

Something that twisted and burned behind his eyes.

His lips curled—not in amusement, but in something bitter, something close to anger.

“You really wanna play that game?” he murmured, stepping forward. “Fine. Let’s play.”

He reached up, his fingers gripping your chin—not harshly, but firm, tilting your face up to his.

“Tell me,” he continued, his voice lower now, something dangerous coiled beneath it. “When you’re lying in bed at night, when it’s quiet, when there’s no one else around—do you still touch yourself thinking about me?”

Your stomach clenched, heat flashing through your veins, but you didn’t let it show. Didn’t let him see how that single sentence knocked the breath out of your lungs.

You scoffed instead, eyes narrowing. “You’re fucking disgusting.”

Gojo grinned. “Yeah? But you like it.”

“I don’t.”

“Then why aren’t you stopping me?”

Your mouth opened—but no words came out.

And Satoru saw it.

His grip on your chin tightened, just barely, his thumb brushing over the corner of your lip, his eyes dipping down—watching, waiting.

You hated him.

Hated how easily he broke past your walls.

Hated how, even now, even after everything, your body still reacted to him like this.

Hated how much you fucking wanted him.

And he knew.

Of course he knew.

A slow exhale left him, his breath fanning over your lips, and you felt it—the shift in the air, the way the tension between you snapped from hostility to something darker, something that burned.

“I jacked off to you today,” he murmured, his tone almost conversational, but there was a roughness to it. A rawness. “Couldn’t even fucking help it.”

Your stomach flipped.

“I was pissed, you know?” His thumb dragged down, tracing the curve of your jaw. “Seeing you. Watching you act like I don’t fucking exist. Like you weren’t mine.”

“I’m not yours,” you bit out.

Satoru smiled.

And then he laughed.

Low. Mocking.

Like you just said the funniest shit in the world.

“Oh, baby,” he murmured, and your breath caught at the way his voice dipped into something dark, something possessive. “You’ve always been mine.”

Your fingers twitched.

And then you did what your body screamed at you to do.

You grabbed him by the collar and kissed him.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It was teeth clashing, hands grasping, months of tension snapping like a rubber band pulled too tight. It was resentment, and love, and lust, and every unsaid word swallowed into the heat of the moment.

Satoru groaned against your mouth, his hands snapping to your hips, yanking you flush against him.

And fuck—he was already hard.

You felt it, pressing against you, his body burning hot, his grip rough as he spun you, backing you against the sink.

“You always do this,” you panted against his lips. “You always—”

“Always what?” he murmured, dragging his teeth along your jaw, his hands slipping under your shirt, burning against your skin. “Make you want me?”

You shuddered, fingers tangling into his hair, tugging harshly—and he groaned, low and wrecked.

“You fucking love it,” he said against your throat.

You hated that he was right.

But you weren’t about to let him win that easily.

Your hand slid down, palming him through his slacks, and his breath hitched, his hips jerking into your touch.

“Fuck,” he bit out.

You smirked. “What was that?”

His grip on you tightened, his lips brushing against your ear.

“You’re gonna pay for that.”

And then he was yanking your head back, capturing your lips in another kiss, and you knew—this wasn’t ending anytime soon.

Your fingers curled tighter into his hair, nails scraping against his scalp, and the sharp hiss that left his lips sent heat flashing straight down your spine.

But just as fast as it started, you wrenched yourself back.

Breathless.

Satoru’s grip on your waist tightened for a fraction of a second—like he didn’t want to let go. Like he physically couldn’t. But you pushed against his chest, and he let you slip through his fingers, his hands clenching into fists at his sides as you put space between you.

A smirk curled your lips as you leaned back against the sink, crossing your arms. “What happened to all that confidence, Satoru?”

His chest rose and fell with each breath, his jaw ticking.

“Don’t fucking start,” he muttered.

“Or what?” You tilted your head, faux innocence dripping from your tone. “You’ll break?”

The muscle in his jaw clenched harder. His hands twitched. His eyes—fuck, those fucking eyes—burned into yours with something wild, something unrestrained.

And then, just when you thought he was going to snap—he laughed.

Not his usual laugh. Not the carefree, cocky one he tossed around like spare change.

This was different.

Low. Dark. Wrecked.

Like he already knew he was losing.

Satoru took a slow step forward, closing the distance you put between you, his fingers dragging along the edge of the sink counter, his gaze never leaving yours.

“You wanna play, baby?” His voice was soft. Dangerous. “Fine. Let’s play.”

You didn’t move when he caged you in, his hands bracketing your hips, his breath fanning against your cheek.

“But we both know how this ends,” he murmured.

You swallowed. “Enlighten me.”

His lips brushed against your jaw—so close, but not touching. Just there. Just teasing.

“It ends with you on your knees,” he said, voice thick with something sinful. “Or maybe I’ll be on mine. You know I never minded.”

Heat pooled in your stomach, but you didn’t let it show.

Instead, you let your lips curl into a slow, deliberate smirk. “I think you need me more than I need you.”

That got him.

His nostrils flared. His fingers flexed against the counter. His whole body tensed like a live wire about to snap.

And you had him.

For a split second, he looked like he was going to crack, to give in—

But then—

He stepped back.

The loss of his warmth, the absence of his presence, sent something hollow through your chest.

Satoru exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, his head tilting back toward the ceiling. “You drive me fucking insane,” he muttered.

And then he looked at you—really looked at you.

Like you were something unattainable. Like he could reach for you, but you’d slip through his fingers.

Like he was already mourning the loss of you, even though you were right there.

Something inside you clenched.

Because Satoru never looked at you like that.

Not like he was breaking.

Not like he was crumbling under the weight of you.

And that—that scared you more than anything.

You turned, grabbing the door handle.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice was sharp.

You hesitated. Just for a second.

And that second was all he needed.

In one swift movement, he was there again—right behind you, his chest pressing flush against your back, his fingers gripping your hips with bruising force.

“Go ahead,” he murmured into your ear. “Walk out that door.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers twitching against the handle.

His hands slid down, slow, deliberate, fingers pressing into the flesh of your thighs.

“But we both know you won’t.”

Your breath hitched when he rocked against you, his erection pressing firm against the curve of your ass.

Your fingers clenched around the handle.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his forehead dropping against your shoulder. “I’m going insane.”

You closed your eyes. “Then let me go.”

His laugh was soft. Bitter.

“Never,” he whispered.

And then his fingers dug in, and he spun you—slamming you back against the door.

His hands were everywhere, mapping out the body he had memorized, relearning every curve and dip like he was starving.

“You think I don’t miss you?” he rasped.

Your heart pounded.

He kissed you before you could answer.

Desperate.

Teeth and tongue and months of loneliness crashing into you all at once.

His hands slid under your thighs, hoisting you up, pinning you between him and the door.

“I can still taste you,” he murmured against your lips.

Your breath stuttered.

His grip on you was bruising, his lips trailing down your neck, sucking, biting, marking.

“You think you can just leave me?” His voice was rough. “Think you can just walk away?”

Your head tilted back, breathless, overwhelmed.

“You’re mine,” he muttered against your skin, his hands slipping under your shirt, fingers tracing the edge of your waistband.

You gasped when his hand dipped lower.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered.

You didn’t. You never could.

Because even now, even after everything— You still wanted him just as much as he wanted you.

His fingers hooked into the waistband of your pants, yanking them down with a sharp tug, and your breath hitched as the cool air kissed your heated skin.

“Satoru—”

“Shh,” he hushed, lips dragging along the column of your throat. “S’okay, jus’ me, baby.”

His voice was low, raspy, a dark chuckle rumbling in his chest as he palmed between your legs, fingers running over the damp fabric of your panties.

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he groaned. “What, you missed me that much?”

You bit your lip, refusing to answer.

He didn’t like that.

Without warning, he pressed the heel of his palm against your clit, and your hips jerked involuntarily.

“There’s my answer,” he murmured, lips ghosting against your ear.

Your nails dug into his shoulders as he pushed your panties aside, two fingers sliding through your slick folds, teasing.

“Y’know,” he mused, voice like velvet, “I thought jerking off earlier would take the edge off. But look at me.”

You felt him grind against your thigh, the thick outline of his cock straining against his slacks, hot and heavy.

“Didn’t work,” he continued, dragging his fingers through your slickness, circling your clit with lazy, taunting strokes. “Still fuckin’ starving for you.”

Your breath hitched when he pushed a finger inside, slow, teasing, curling it just enough to make you gasp.

“Missed this pretty pussy,” he murmured, adding another finger, stretching you out. “my pretty pussy.”

Your head tilted back against the door, a sharp moan slipping from your lips.

His pace quickened, fingers thrusting in and out, his thumb rubbing circles against your clit, every motion calculated, precise, like he was pulling you apart piece by piece. “Feel good, baby?”

You nodded frantically, hips bucking into his hand.

“voice, honey, use it.”

“Y-yeah,” you choked out. “Feels so fucking good.”

A wicked smile tugged at his lips.

“Good,” he murmured, his fingers suddenly disappearing—making you whine at the loss—before he spun you around, pressing your chest against the door. “Hands up,” he ordered.

You obeyed instantly, pressing your palms against the doorframe, your breath coming in quick, shallow pants. The anticipation burned through you, every nerve in your body attuned to him.

A loud thud echoed behind you, and when you glanced over your shoulder, you found Satoru on his knees, his striking blue eyes locked onto you with a dark, ravenous hunger. His fingers hooked into the band of your flimsy panties, tugging them aside with ease before his nose brushed against the sensitive heat of your core.

“Ah, fuck,” he exhaled, his voice thick with desire. “Yum.”

The warmth of his breath sent a shiver coursing through you, and then—oh god—his lips parted, his tongue swiping through your folds in a slow, deliberate stroke that made your knees tremble. A deep groan rumbled from his chest as he pulled you closer, his grip firm on your thighs.

“You smell so good,” he muttered against your slick skin, his words vibrating against your core. “Fuck—been thinking about this for the past two months— why’re you depriving me of this, wifey?”

Your face twists from anticipation, and moreover, irritation at how he seemed to always think he owned you. news flash, he does.

“you’re acting like—“ you gasp out breathlessly before—His mouth latched onto you, devouring like a man starved. The wet heat of his tongue worked expertly, tracing and teasing, alternating between languid strokes and eager, desperate sucks. Every movement sent shocks of pleasure crackling up your spine, your fingers clenching uselessly against the doorframe as your body melted into his touch.

“Satoru—” you gasped, hips jerking instinctively toward his mouth, craving more. He chuckled against you, the vibration making you whimper.

“So needy,” he murmured, his tongue flicking wickedly before he sucked your clit into his mouth. His grip on your thighs tightened as he buried himself deeper, his own groans mingling with the wet, obscene sounds filling the room.

Your legs shook, pleasure coiling tight in your stomach. He could feel it—he always knew. With one hand, he slipped two fingers inside you with ease, curling them just right, pressing into that spot that had you biting down on your lip to keep from crying out.

“C’mon, baby,” he coaxed, voice thick with arrogance and lust. “Let me hear you.”

Your hands trembled against the doorframe, fingers pressing uselessly into the wood as a whimper slipped from your lips. Satoru’s pace was relentless—his tongue dragging through your folds, his fingers curling inside you with devastating precision. The tension in your stomach coiled tighter, heat pooling low as he worked you over like he had all the time in the world.

“Look at you,” he murmured between strokes of his tongue. “Dripping all over me—fuck.”

You gasped as he pressed his palm flat against your lower stomach, holding you in place while he sucked your clit into his mouth, tongue flicking against the swollen nub. The pleasure hit you like a wave, rolling through you in sharp, dizzying bursts.

“Satoru—I’m—”

“I know, baby,” he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Go ahead. Come for me.”

And you did.

Your body seized, pleasure snapping through your core as your orgasm crashed over you, hard and unrelenting. Your knees buckled, and Satoru caught you effortlessly, keeping you steady as you trembled beneath his touch. He groaned as he licked you through it, his fingers stroking you lazily, coaxing out every last aftershock.

When you finally slumped against the doorframe, boneless and breathless, he pulled back, licking his lips like he was savoring the taste of you. His eyes, darkened with lust, raked over your trembling form.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, rising to his feet. He cupped your face, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. “You good?”

You nodded weakly, still floating in the haze of pleasure.

His lips curled into a smirk. “Think you can take more?”

Before you could answer, his hands were on your waist, spinning you around to face him. He kissed you—deep, filthy, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. His hands wandered, fingers tracing the curve of your ass before giving it a firm squeeze and letting out a loooowww whistle.

The moment your silence stretched too long, Satoru knew he had you.

A slow, cocky smirk curled on his lips as he rolled his hips forward, pressing his hardness against your core, just to hear the way your breath caught in your throat.

"That's what I thought," he murmured, voice low, rough—wrecked.

His hands gripped your thighs tighter as he lifted you, pinning you between the door and his body, the heat of him searing straight through your clothes. You barely had a moment to gasp before his lips crashed against yours, desperate and bruising.

It was messy. Uncoordinated. More need than finesse.

Teeth clashed. Tongues tangled.

You wanted to hate him for how easily he unraveled you, how quickly he made you forget why you were supposed to be angry, but the way he groaned into your mouth, like he was starving for you, made it impossible.

"Fuck," he muttered, breaking away just enough to look at you, his pupils blown wide. "I've been thinking about this all day."

His fingers found the waistband of your pants, yanking them down in a single, impatient motion, his breath hitching at the sight of your bare skin.

"God, baby," he groaned, voice shaking. "You have no fucking idea."

You swallowed hard, gripping at his shirt as he reached down, palming himself through his slacks. The outline of his cock was thick and heavy, and when he popped open the button and shoved his pants down, your mouth watered at the sight of it—hard, flushed red at the tip, pre-cum already leaking.

He gave himself a few strokes, his eyes locked onto your soaked cunt, before he pressed the blunt tip against your entrance.

"You’re already dripping," he murmured, smug. "Missed me that much, huh?"

You wanted to argue, to shove him back and wipe that cocky smirk off his face, but the second he pushed in, stretching you open inch by inch, your brain short-circuited.

"Shit," you gasped, head tipping back against the door.

Satoru grunted, his hands gripping your hips, keeping you in place as he bottomed out, his cock buried to the hilt inside you.

"Tight as ever," he hissed. "Like this pussy was fucking made for me."

You dug your nails into his shoulders, your walls clenching around him as he gave a sharp thrust.

"Shit—" His head dropped to your shoulder, his breath ragged. "You’re gonna kill me."

And then he started moving.

There was no build-up, no easing into it—just raw, desperate thrusts, his hips snapping against yours, his cock driving into you so deep it had you seeing stars.

Your moans filled the small bathroom, drowned out only by the muffled sounds of the restaurant beyond the door. The thrill of it—the risk, the absolute filth of being fucked up against a public bathroom door—only made it worse.

Satoru must have felt the same, because his grip on you turned bruising, his pace brutal.

"This what you wanted, huh?" he growled, lips brushing against your ear. "Wanted me to ruin you like this?"

You could only whimper in response, your legs tightening around his waist.

"You love it," he groaned. "Love letting me fuck you like this, even when you hate me."

His teeth found your neck, biting hard enough to leave a mark before soothing it with his tongue.

"Fuck, baby," he panted, "I should keep you like this forever. Stuck on my cock, whining like a bitch in heat."

The filthiness of it sent heat rushing straight to your core, your walls fluttering around him, making him curse under his breath.

"That's it," he muttered. "Come on, baby, give it to me."

His thumb found your clit, rubbing harsh circles, and your body jerked at the sensation.

"Fuck—Satoru—"

"I know, baby," he gritted out. "Come for me. Come on my fucking cock."

The coil in your stomach snapped, and you came with a sharp cry, your walls clenching down so hard on him he nearly collapsed against you.

"Shit, shit, shit—"

His thrusts turned erratic, sloppy, his breath ragged against your skin as he chased his own release.

"Fuck, I'm gonna—"

And then, with one last thrust, he buried himself as deep as he could go, spilling inside you with a low, wrecked groan, his body shuddering against yours.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. Just panting, clinging to each other, the aftershocks still rippling through your bodies.

And then—

Reality crashed down.

His head dropped against your shoulder, his arms tightening around you.

"Fuck," he murmured, voice hoarse.

You didn’t respond, still coming down from your high, your mind too fogged to process anything else.

But then he spoke again.

"You’re never leaving me."

Your breath hitched.

"You hear me?" He pulled back just enough to look at you, his iridescent blue eyes burning.

"This—" He gestured vaguely, his chest still heaving. "Us. It’s never gonna stop."

You swallowed hard. "Satoru—"

"I don’t care how fucked up it is," he interrupted, voice cracking. "I don’t care if we tear each other apart." He sniffled, You swallowed, your throat tight. His words pressed against your skin, heavier than his body pinning you to the door.

"You can’t say that," you whispered, voice barely there.

Satoru’s gaze didn’t waver. He just looked at you, eyes burning with something you weren’t ready to name.

"I can," he murmured. "Because it’s true."

His fingers ghosted over your cheek, sliding down the column of your throat, pressing lightly—just enough for you to feel his touch, like he was mapping you all over again.

You closed your eyes, trying to ignore the way your body still ached for him, how every inch of you still burned from the way he took you.

"You don’t own me."

He exhaled shakily, his forehead pressing against yours.

"I know," he admitted, his voice a broken rasp. "But you still belong to me."

Your breath stuttered. "That’s not the same thing."

"Isn’t it?" he asked, his hands slipping down to your waist, holding you like you were something fragile. "Tell me, then. Tell me you don’t feel it, too."

You didn’t answer.

Because you did.

You felt it in the way his body curled over yours, in the way his breaths mingled with yours, in the way he held you—not with possession, but with something deeper. Something unshakable.

He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, then another on your cheek, then lower, down to your jaw. He was shaking. His lips trembled against your skin.

"I thought about you every fucking day."

His confession poured into you like warm honey, thick and golden, coating every inch of your chest.

"I know you think this is just obsession," he continued, his nose brushing the shell of your ear. "That I’m selfish and I only want you because I can’t stand the idea of someone else having you. Maybe that’s true."

His hands slid up, wrapping around your wrists, pulling them down from where they’d been pressed defensively to his chest.

"But it’s more than that," he said, kissing your palm. "It always has been."

Your fingers curled slightly against his cheek, as if testing the weight of his words. "Then why do we keep ruining each other?"

He let out a breath, slow and quiet, like it hurt to say the truth out loud.

"Because I don't know how to love you without ruining myself, too."

Your heart clenched.

Satoru lifted his head, his gaze searching yours, his lips parting slightly before he said it.

"And you can’t leave me anyway."

You blinked. "What?"

His hands flexed at your sides, gripping tighter like he was afraid you’d disappear.

"Something’s already taken root inside you," he whispered, almost reverently. "You know it, don’t you?"

Your stomach flipped, your breath catching as something deep inside you—something instinctual, something unspoken—stirred at his words.

Because you did know.

It wasn’t just the way your body still felt like it belonged to him. It wasn’t just the way your heart raced whenever he was near.

It was something more. Something permanent.

Satoru swallowed, his thumb brushing over your lips, his voice raw, like he was barely holding himself together.

"Tell me I’m wrong."

You couldn’t.

His eyes darkened, something deep and knowing settling in them.

"That’s what I thought."

His hands found your hips, gripping them, his thumbs tracing slow circles.

"You’re never leaving," he murmured, softer this time, like a promise. "Not now. Not ever."

You shivered, your head dropping against his chest, your breath unsteady.

Because for the first time in all the years of back-and-forth, of fights and reconciliations, of leaving and coming back—

You believed him.

And maybe… maybe you didn’t want to leave anyway.

Satoru’s arms wound around you, holding you against him like he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers.

His lips pressed against your temple, slow and lingering, and then—

"Marry me."

The words were quiet, barely louder than the sound of your own heartbeat.

Your body froze, rigid, like glass refusing to budge. Satoru only pulled you closer.

"We both know this is forever."

His hands skimmed your sides, like he was memorizing you all over again.

"So let’s stop pretending otherwise."

Your throat went dry.

Because as crazy as it sounded, as reckless and fucked-up as this love was—

Maybe, just maybe—

He was right.

Back to him, you guess. Forever this time.

FIN.

❤︎ ໋𓈒 a/n. hello loves, i was feeling very uninspired towards my long fic “All I Need” so im posting this. I’ll hopefully be back on track once i jot down my ideas for chapter five. I hope you enjoy this one-shot, based on B2b by charlixcx.

#gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo satoru smut #jjk gojo #gojo smut #satoru gojo #jjk x reader #jujutsu gojo #gojo x you #dividers by cafekitsune #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #smut

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thebluester2020 · 9 months ago

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[RE4] Kinktober Day 11: "In Heat"

Summary: Livestock guardians were rare enough, and training them was no easy feat either. But...being in a bind, you decided to take your chances and adopt one! Only, you weren't warned that his heats would be so...intense.

Warning(s): Perv!Reader (She watches Leon fuck his pillow), Yearning(Leon wishes to fuck the reader but doesn't), Dog!Hyrbid Leon, Whiny! Leon, Begging, Masturbation (Both on the reader's and Leon's side obv), Thigh-fucking, Leon low-key being a horn dog.

Side Note(s): Lol I was going to do Lycaon (again) from ZZZ but— the fact I haven't dedicated any Kinktober days to my favorite baddie Leon Kennedy yet is blasphemous, so here I am <33

Searching for a good livestock guardian dog was hard.

Costs aside, training them and getting them used to the farm animals was no easy task. It took a lot of patience and practice over the years and even then? The dog wasn't promised to be absolutely perfect! In hindsight though, you knew you should've been on the lookout the second you had begun buying the necessary resources for your farm. After all, it seemed like just yesterday when you were still waiting for your house to be built, and now? You were only a month away from moving!

The clock was ticking, you needed a guardian dog and you needed one now. No training required.

Which was how you ended up where you are today, at a dog hybrid adoption center, located in the center of your small town. It was a homey place, plenty of space for the hybrids to wander around, and even a dedicated meeting area for them and their potential owners to get to know one another. At first, you felt almost...strange, for considering a hybrid for your farm.

They were called "hybrids" for a reason. They were human but...with animal features and some tendencies here and there, you probably wouldn't even have been here today if your friend hadn't convinced you to at least check it out and so far? You were having no more luck than you were shopping the market for a traditional dog.

"Do you have any hybrids that are good with livestock? Guarding, maybe?" You asked the front desk worker after another conversation with a hybrid cut short.

You weren't searching for a puppy, they had too much energy and you were certain that wouldn't bode well with the animals! An older dog would have been preferable. "Still no luck?" The woman said with an apologetic smile as she searched through the system.

You shook your head with a sigh. "I'm moving in a month, I want to hopefully find a dog today and bring him home soon so I can get him or her used to me."

The woman didn't respond for a beat or two, her eyes narrowed in focus as she searched and searched...until her eyes brightened and she turned the computer screen towards you. "Leon may be a good fit for you! His background is in government, very calm and dependable." As you looked at the picture, you were shocked that no one had picked him yet. good traits aside, he was handsome and you knew that there was a market for people who preferred to use their hybrids for lovers rather than pets.

Not that you planned to use him in that way of course.

"Is he available to talk now?" You asked.

"He will be tomorrow! We try to give our shyer residents more time to know when they want to be spoken to."

You nodded your head in understanding as the worker passed you a few documents to sign as well as choosing a time when you wanted to talk. You suddenly felt nervous, intimidated even! When you looked at Leon Kennedy's profile, he appeared dangerous and you weren't just talking about the deadly scowl on his face nor the fact that he was a Malinois hybrid. His eyes were a deep baby blue, combined with his dirty blonde hair and his hardened features as well as his muscular frame.

You weren't able to deny that he was handsome.

But...you could worry about keeping your mind out of the gutter once you talked with him.

. . .

The next day came by quick. The second you woke up, you were already getting ready to meet with your potential hybrid and you wanted to make a good first impression! You donned a cute but professional style and even took the time to bring gifts as well as had photos of your current apartment and new home already saved to your phone. You wanted to make sure all your cards lined up to having Leon accept you as his owner.

And...you thought you were doing good so far, hopefully. As you currently sat in front of him, his expression was unreadable as his eyes flicked from the photos of your home that you had given him as well as the treat basket you brought along with you.

"You want me as a livestock guardian?" He questioned.

"Yes!" You chirped. "The animals aren't there yet but they will be pretty soon, about a week or two after I move in."

When he didn't respond, you added on a question. "Are you...good with livestock?"

He slowly nodded his head. "I can learn, it can't be any harder than guarding people."

"Your profile mentioned you were in the government. What did you do?"

"Classified missions." He curtly responded.

"...Like?"

He scoffed at your pushiness. "The word classified is there for a reason."

"Seeing as you're still so loyal, you must've been a good one." You complimented. You tried to withhold a chuckle at the sound of Leon's tail thumping against his chair. "Why did you leave?"

"I—" You tilted your head when he paused, the sight of his cheeks beginning to tint pink a little also making your suspicions go up before his shoulders eventually slumped and he sighed. "It's not important, I was simply no longer fit for the missions they were assigning me." His ears flattened at the memory of him being dismissed. For the last few years since that day, he tried to convince himself that it was for the best but...he was used to being active, constantly on the move and doing things. Trading that lifestyle for a quiet and inactive one here in the shelter?

Although the place was nice, it wasn't for him!

Life on a farm could give him some movement, some purpose again.

"Well, I think you'll be a perfect fit for my farm! If you want to actually come with me that is."

Leon looked you up and down, you appeared hard-working and stern. But kind and gentle, it also helped that you were a pretty thing to look at. After being in the government for so long, so many missions where he'd seen the most unimaginable horrors that no normal person should ever see...it was nice to know that he'd be able to look at you all day, working for you.

So, he nodded his head, his tail once again beginning to wag at the sight of your smile.

You grinned. "We'll get along just fine, you and me!"

. . .

And get along fine, the both of you did.

It turns out that there was a reason why Leon wasn't adopted. His ruts were insatiable.

A week after adopting him, you and he had spent the entire time decorating the room you had dedicated to him! You had learned that before he worked for the government, he used to be a guard cop (the puppy photos he had shown you were absolutely adorable might you add) and he was a fan of old-school music groups. You had struck gold with him, you thought. He was a hard worker and was relatively quiet! Although his jokes were a little dry and he had so many cop one-liners that you couldn't even begin to count them all.

You liked Leon.

And that like towards him...you wouldn't deny that it began to inch towards a more romantic direction, especially after what you were currently witnessing tonight.

"F-Fuck..." Through the crack of Leon's door, he was currently rutting against his pillow feverishly. It was bunched up underneath him, his claws threatening to tear the sheets underneath him with how hard he was rutting his dick back and forth on the pillow.

You should've turned away, you should've ignored that ache that started to build up in the pit of your stomach. It was inappropriate of you to watch him like some type of pervert! And you almost did until...you heard your name. "Y-Y/N..." Leon panted out, you could see the light of the moon shine on the hint of drool that began to dribble out the side of his mouth. He sucked in his bottom lip as he threw his head back with a low growl. "Fucking cute owner..." He whined. "I-If only you would help me..." His words were so whispered that you almost missed it.

The ache in your panties was growing near unbearable, and even as every rational part of your brain told you to keep your hand away from your throbbing clit, to go back to bed and act like you hadn't seen or heard anything. You continued to stay, soon clasping a hand around your mouth in order to withhold the moan that threatened to escape from your lips. Especially as your fingers began to circle around your clit, the aching growing more and more by the second as you continued to listen in on Leon's moans.

"Fucking hell—" Suddenly Leon pushed the pillow away from him before he sat on the bed, his hand quickly rushing to his cock as he started to fist his length, the slick sounds of his hand moving along his cock aiding in your own masturbation as you began to finger yourself to the pace of his hand movements.

And in the process, you imagined what his cock would feel like inside your sex. You imagined the veins along his cock rubbing against your inner walls, the sound of his rough growls against your ear whilst the lewd sounds of his pelvis meeting your ass rang throughout the air. "Y' like that owner?" You heard Leon mutter to himself before his curses steadily turned into moans.

You could tell he was close by the way he began to buck into his own hand, causing you to speed up your own ministrations as it quickly became a struggle to withhold your moans. Until a squeak accidentally escaped your lips, and Leon's ear flicked to the door before his pants began to slowly come to a stop.

Yet his hand didn't. "Naughty girl..." Leon said in your direction.

You quickly tore your hand from your underwear with a gasp, but before you could walk away. Leon stopped you with a sharp growl. "Leaving so soon after watching me fuck my own hand? And while you were flicking your clit." He snapped. "Get in here and help me out!" He ordered.

You hesitated for another moment or two before you slowly inched the door open with an embarrassed blush on your face. However, your hybrid had little concern for your embarrassment at the moment before he suddenly rose to his feet and grabbed ahold of your arm, and forced you to sit on the bed. His eyes were trained on you as he then pushed you gently to lay on your back whilst he lifted your legs.

You softly moaned at the feeling of his hard cock pressing against your ass briefly before he took your chin into his hand. "...Can I?"

You heard the desperation in his voice and how hard he was trying to reel it in. "I just wanna fuck your thighs, promise. Nothing else, just that." He assured you, his hips unconsciously bucking against the back of your thighs. And the second you nodded your head "yes", he let out a deep moan when he finally pushed himself between your plush thighs. "Been thinkin' 'bout this for a week..." He began to babble.

"You and this sexy body," He moaned. "Made my rut come early..." You whined when his hand began to feel up and down your body, all before his hand began to rub at your clit. "Clearly you've been thinkin' about me too, huh?"

You nodded shamelessly. "T-Tried not to..." You admitted with a whisper. "Didn't—oh...—want to make you uncomfortable..."

"With having a slutty owner who likes the idea of her personal dog fucking her needy cunt? Oh no baby, quite the opposite..." Then he leaned down to press his soft lips against your own, the feeling of your lips on his own after so many previous nights of imagining them on his cock...he couldn't help but begin to fuck your thighs with more fervor. "Couldn't get you out of my mind." He mumbled against your lips.

Leon's other large hand then left your waist to begin fondling your breasts, taking more care to give one of them more attention than the other as he began to flick your nipple. Leon's body was practically molding with your own body as he continued to kiss you, his technique becoming more sloppy along with his thrusts. "C-Close..." He whispered, tearing his lips from your own when you lightly smacked him for air.

You moaned. "M-Me too." You responded, a needy whine leaving your lips when he began to speed up his rapid flicking of your clit. Your increased moans and whines were going straight to his cock, nothing but lust and adoration for you as both his owner and the woman he now wanted to breed coursing through his veins as he felt your pussy twitch as his cock rubbed against it. "Cumming!" You just barely managed to get out before your eyes slammed shut and your mouth opened in a silent scream.

Leon wasn't too far behind as a string of curses fell from his lips, his hips bucking against your ass a few more times before he stilled and you felt strings of his hot cum shoot out and onto your stomach and chest. The two of you breathed heavily, the lust in the air hot and unignorable as you both came down from your highs. With a shakey moan, however, Leon slipped from your thighs as he looked over you.

Already he could feel himself getting hard. Something that you quickly took notice of. "A-Already...?" You said tiredly.

He nodded his head, his tail beginning to wag eagerly as he gently began to part your legs. "You're the reason why my rut started early...take responsibility."

It seemed you were in for an even longer night further taking care of your new hybrid...

#smut #leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader smut #leon x reader #resident evil 4 #hybrid! leon kennedy #resident evil smut #leon kennedy fanfic #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #kinktober 2024 #kinktober

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crushpunky · 9 months ago

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drew and actress!reader feel the distance

masterlist | actress!reader masterlist

i casted tom blyth as y/n’s costar in this for no reason other than the fact that i love him lol

When y/n’s agent called her to tell her she got the role she had been stressing over for the past few weeks, she was over the moon and had immediately got to packing. Ever since she had started acting, she had always wanted to do a romantic comedy, and when the opportunity showed up on her radar, she knew she had to take it. Prior to the project, her “romantic” escapades on the stage and screen were fairly limited, and now that she was at a secure spot in her own romantic life, she felt like it was an idea she could finally explore.

It had been a while since she had been on set, taking a break for her and Drew’s wedding as well as to support Drew after the premiere of Queer, and she desperately yearned to be back. Don’t get her wrong, she adored spending time with Drew and her friends and family, but the need to be on set or on stage was entwined so deeply in her bones she felt like she needed it to live.

Now nearly a month into shooting her project, her glamorous and idealistic vision of being back on set had started to dwindle. Of course she loved when the cameras were on, when she could feel herself relax into her element, but as the days progressed reality began to sit in. She missed Charleston. She missed her home… she missed Drew. And as much as she hated to admit it, it was making her job harder.

“You good, y/n?” y/n’s costar, Tom, said, shaking her out of the daze she hadn’t realized she had sunken into. They were resting between takes, the two of them getting their hair and makeup touched up.

“Yeah, sorry.” Y/n said, straightening her posture and flashing Tom a grin. Tom was sweet, a true gentleman, and someone that she came to consider a friend over the course of filming.

“Are you sure? You’ve seemed a bit… off lately, no offense.” Tom looked at y/n, his face full of concern. She looked back at him for a second and, before she could stop herself, her eyes began to fill with tears.

“Shit, could we have a second, please?” Tom asked the hair and makeup team, who nodded before leaving the two of them alone.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what my problem is I—” Y/n began to ramble, dabbing at her eyes with a nearby tissue, praying she hadn’t already ruined the makeup that had just been fixed.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” Tom said softly, handing y/n another tissue. She took it graciously, sniffling quietly.

“I just— god, this is so embarrassing!” Y/n chuckled nervously, glaring around at the numerous people who littered the set. Numerous people, all of which had people and places they missed too, but none of which were pathetically crying like herself.

“I can start crying too, if that would help.” Tom grinned, causing y/n to laugh lightly.

“No, I just… I really miss Drew, a lot more than I was expecting, I guess.” Y/n exhaled slowly, smoothing her hands along her pants.

“When was the last time you talked to him?” Tom asked, resting his chin in hand.

“This morning.” Y/n couldn’t help but laugh at how pathetic she sounded, acting as if she hadn’t talked to him in years when in reality it had only been a matter of hours.

“Have you asked him to come to set?” Tom asked.

“No, I… I don’t want to be a burden. He’s just so busy right now.” Y/n said with a sigh.

“I promise you, he won’t think that.” Tom said, looking past y/n for a moment before standing from his chair and offering her his hand. She took it, allowing him to help her out of her chair as they made their way back towards the stage where they were shooting.

“I know, but…” Y/n trailed off as a girl came over, straightening out her shirt and dabbing a bit of powder under her eyes.

“He won’t.” Tom said firmly, patting her on her shoulder lightly before moving to get into position for their next scene. Y/n smiled softly, her racing mind starting to ease as the cameras began to focus on the two of them.

After finishing their morning shoot, taking a break in her trailer, and returning for a night shoot, y/n was drained. As she trudged back to her temporary apartment, y/n sorted through her keys until she found the right one. With a yawn, y/n unlocked the door and flicked on the lights before tossing her keys on the table in the entryway. What she wasn’t expecting, however, was the navy suitcase near the couch… or the person sitting next to it.

“Surprise.” Drew said, a huge grin on his face.

“Oh my god!” Y/n squealed, rushing over to him before throwing herself on top of the boy. She kissed him slowly, relishing in the intoxicating feeling she had gone so long without.

“What are you doing here?” Y/n asked exasperatedly once they finally pulled apart. They had discussed him coming to visit halfway through filming, but that was still a few weeks away.

“Tom called me.” Drew said, tucking a piece of y/n’s hair behind her ear as he gazed at her softly.

“No he didn’t, oh my god—” Y/n buried her face into Drew’s shirt, hoping to hide her embarrassment. Had he told him about how she was pathetically groveling all week? Crying on set?

“Hey, hey.” Drew lifted y/n gently, sitting her in his lap so she could face him. He ran his thumb softly along her warm cheek.

“I missed you too, y/n. I–” Drew laughed, “I was already planning to visit you next week when Tom called me.”

“Drew I’m sorry I—” Y/n began, but was cut off when Drew ran his thumb along her bottom lip.

“I just wish you would’ve told me.” Drew said gently, placing a kiss to her forehead.

“I didn’t want to be a burden, Drew.” Y/n whispered. Drew sighed, dropping his hand to grab onto her own.

“Darling, I would gladly drop everything if you needed me. You never have to worry about that.” Drew said, soothing her hand. She looked up at him, the soft smile on his face and the sincere tone of his voice, and knew that he was being genuine. All of that worrying about how he would react melted away, replaced with the comfort Drew’s presence gave.

“Thank you, Drew. I’m sorry for not talking to you.” Y/n said, wrapping her arms around Drew. He hugged her tighter, tucking his face into her neck. His warm breath and stubble tickled, causing her to giggle in his grasp.

“What’s so funny?” Drew said teasingly, rubbing his chin against her jawline, causing her to laugh harder and fall onto her back. Drew propped himself onto his forearms, grinning down at her. She reached up, pushing his messy hair back.

“I love you, Drew.” Y/n smiled, looking up at Drew’s wide smile and crinkled, blue eyes. He leaned down, kissing her softly, the soft taste of mint lingering on his tongue.

“I love you.” He whispered, running his hands along her side as he pressed a line of kisses along her jaw. Here, wrapped in Drew’s arms, she was home.

#drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x actress!reader #actress!reader

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ja3yun · 24 days ago

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The Sun that Always Burns | CH.3

sim jaeyun x fem!reader warnings: hurt and lots of yearning, mentions of alcohol and panic attack, honestly i think thats it! anything else lmk w.c: 13.2k synopsis: it has been four years since you left your old life and started building a new one. you have settled, found new friends, just about to graduate university. things are looking up. but when your best friend invites you to her sisters wedding, your new life if about to be flipped upside down. a/n: hi! it has been a loooong time but chapter 3 is here <33 a massive thank you for all your patience, i know you guys have probably forgot all about this but since i have written this part and having posted in like 3 months, it's only right i give you guys smthn! it's also my birthday so take this as a present. this chapter has no smut since it's a story arc but there are looots of emotion and plot in here so i hope you all enjoy it the same <3

chapter 2 | masterlist | chapter 4

Four years have passed since you left. Four years without a word to your family beyond a carefully chosen Christmas card, one without a return address or landmark, just enough to let them know you are alive but not enough to invite a response. Sometimes you stare at the cards before you send them, turning them over in your hands, wondering if it would make a difference if you added something more - just a sentence, a small glimpse into your life now. But you never do. You’re not sure they’d want to hear it. Or maybe you’re just afraid they wouldn’t.

Do they hate you for what you did? Would they slam the door in your face for leaving so abruptly? It’s a constant fear for you to imagine them cold and bitter because of your reckless decision.

You miss them in ways that are difficult to put into words, in the quiet moments that catch you off guard - the smell of your mother’s cooking that no restaurant has ever quite been able to replicate, the sound of your father’s laughter when he’s trying not to, the way your childhood bedroom always had a slight chill no matter the season. You missed every part of it, of your old life.

Sometimes you allow yourself to imagine going back, just for a visit, just to see them again. For your mum’s birthday, maybe, just to see how they’ve aged if at all, changed in any way. But the thought of it makes your chest tighten. You aren’t the person they remember. They knew the girl who ran, not the woman who’s learned how to stand still on her own.

College changed you. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. And you like to think it was for the better.

Eunseo had a lot to do with that. She was the first person to make you feel like you belonged in Avanti, sweeping into your life on the first day you moved in like a summer storm, full of light and noise, already knowing where everything was, who to avoid, which cafés made the best coffee. She was god sent.

You were a mess then, a crying, dismantled version of yourself, and she took you in without hesitation. At first, you thought she pitied you. Maybe she did. But as time went on, it became clear - Eunseo was simply the kind of person who loved with her whole heart, who saw someone in need and decided to stay.

You wouldn’t have made it without her.

Even after she graduated last year, she stayed close, finding a job nearby to remain in the city she loved. You see her often, and every time, you are more than grateful. Grateful for the nights she held you together when you thought you were falling apart after one too many pity parties, for the mornings she dragged you out of bed when all you wanted was to disappear into the blankets. She managed to turn the dark cloud that hovered over you into one with a rainbow, helping you appreciate that there is still some light even in bad weather.

Your college years have been full in the way you hoped they would be - studying late into the night, stumbling into parties you swore you wouldn’t go to, making the kind of questionable choices that are excused by your youth and recklessness.

But one thing you couldn’t do was fall in love.

You started having flings in your second year. Just casual fuck arounds - one-night stands, situationships that never turned into anything real. It was just to get the itch out of your system. A girl has needs and even your broken spirit needed a good fucking every so often - even if it is with questionable men that have so many red flags that you could stitch them together and lure in a bull to the pen.

Eunseo never questioned it either. “I support women’s rights,” she’d say, raising her glass with a smirk, “but more importantly, I support women’s wrongs.”

She never asked why you never settled down despite clearly being someone who craves love more than lust, she never pried, and you’re thankful for that. She was good like that.

However, even if she didn’t pry, your brain did a good job of keeping your reasoning for abandoning love at the forefront of your mind.

Jaeyun’s name hasn’t passed your lips in 1,460 days. A choice you made the moment you stepped off the bus in Pyeongchang. Yet, despite your best efforts, he never really left you. His name lived in the spaces between your thoughts, in the way every touch from another felt hollow, in the way no words ever settled in your chest the way his did. You learned to ignore it. To push it down. But it never disappeared.

Your heart still beats to the sound of his soul.

Still, you’ve built something for yourself here. You’re in your final year of University and oh so content with at least this aspect of your life. Happy, even. You found your way into film by accident, stumbling into a passion you hadn’t expected but now couldn’t imagine letting go of. An internship at Lift Media loomed on the horizon, the kind of opportunity you wouldn’t have dared to dream of before. For once, things felt like they were falling into place.

And yet, as much as your heart is filling up with other loves, you can’t shake the puppy-eyed boy out. He’s always going to take up space within your chest, always there, always loved by you.

You still thought about him every day. Wondered if he was happy. If he was enjoying Busan. If he had moved on. That last thought is the one you try to avoid, the one that leaves an ache in your chest when it creeps in late at night. You want him to be happy. Of course, you do. But selfishly, you don’t want to know if that happiness is because of someone else.

Someone who isn’t you.

“Helloooo? Y/N? Are you even listening?”

Eunseo waves a hand in front of your face, pulling you back to the present. You blink, realising you’ve been staring out of the café window, watching the way the autumn leaves gather in piles along the pavement, so free but connected. You turn back to her, sheepish.

“Of course,” you say, not very convincingly. “You were saying how much you love me and that we should get married.”

Eunseo scoffs, but her eyes are full of amusement. “Weirdly, you’re close.”

Your brow furrows as you set down your coffee. “Wait, really?” You love Eunseo, you do, but you’re not sure marrying her is on your bucket list. Sharing a bed with her for the rest of your life as she kicks purple bruises onto your skin doesn’t sound so appealing.

“Well, not us.” She gestures vaguely, fingers splaying in the air like she’s conjuring an image. “Marriage is involved, though.”

Your stomach drops. “Please don’t tell me you’re marrying Serim after, like, three dates.”

Park Serim; strong, devoted, and the only man who has been insane enough to put up with all of Eunseo’s schemes. She likes to vet her men before committing and it is a gruelling process - another reason you don’t want to tie the knot with her. But Serim is up for the challenge it seems, not phased by the silent treatment, her list of pros and cons that she literally sent to him so he could analyse and add on anything he thought she missed…he’s a perfect match for her.

She barks out a laugh, smacking the table. A few heads turn at her sudden outburst, but she doesn’t care. “I like him, but I’m not that insane. He hasn’t even passed the pussy eating test yet,” she smirks, “I’m testing that out next week.” Her pussy eating test, aka, he can make her cum at least two times from his tongue alone.

You shake your head as you pick up your coffee, taking a long contemplative sip. “So full of romance and wonder, Eunseo.” Your tone is light and carefree as she grunts, knowing you’ll never understand her process of finding a husband.

“Whatever, Y/N,” she leans forward, eyes burning with intent. “It’s my sister getting married.”

You nod, placing your coffee down on the table, remembering her mentioning it in passing. Eunseo doesn’t speak much about her family. Not because she doesn’t want to, but because she knows that it’s a touchy subject for you. You deflect at the mention of family or anything to do with your past, to be honest, so she doesn’t spout too much about the ins and outs of her own.

“She’s a control freak,” Eunseo continues. “Wants everything planned down to the last detail. And someone dropped out, which means there’s a spare seat at the wedding. And guess what? You’re free that weekend.”

You hesitate. You’ve never met her family. Despite her keeping her conversations about family to a minimum, she has invited you to gatherings before out of politeness, but you always declined, not wanting to impose. Or maybe, deep down, you weren’t ready to be surrounded by something that felt too much like home.

Eunseo reads your hesitation immediately, knowing you like her favourite recipe. “Come on, Y/N. Just this once. I checked your schedule and you have nothing on. I even have a dress for you. And you owe me one.”

Your eyes narrow. “For what?”

“Well, not yet,” she admits, grinning. “But I heard the best man is single, older than you and has these ridiculously big eyes that could melt stone. I’m setting you up with him.” Her face is smug and bright as she divulges her plan to you.

“So let me get this straight,” you quirk a brow, “I owe you for something that hasn’t even happened yet?”

“Details, details.” She waves a hand. “Please, Y/N. I want you to meet my family. Think of them as yours, yeah?”

That tugs at your heart a little. Your best friend offering you a place in her family is a privilege you don’t feel worthy of.

“Eunseo-” You’re about to decline, the words on the very tip of your tongue, but she’s already pouting, eyes big and imploring. She knows how to get you. You sigh, knowing you’ve lost before you’ve even begun. “Fine. I’ll come.”

The sun shifts, its light spilling through the window, warming your skin.

“Great!” Eunseo claps, practically bouncing in her seat. “We leave tomorrow.”

Your head snaps up. “Tomorrow?”

“Yep.” She stands, grabbing her bag. “We need to be there early for fittings and all that wedding stuff.”

You groan. “I thought the wedding wasn’t until Saturday?”

“Yeah, but I figured I’d drag you along early. Or, you know, you could drive yourself.” Her grin is wicked and knowing, teasing you.

You deadpan as you stand up to meet her eye level. “Fuck you. You know I can’t drive.”

She laughs, taking your hand. “And I still don’t understand how you’re 23 and can’t even handle a go-kart.”

You roll your eyes but smile. Maybe this will be good for you. Maybe, for once, you can let love surround you without thinking about…

Him.

___________

You fold the last of your clothes with carelessness, stuffing them into your suitcase as if cramming fabric into the confined space might also quiet the noise in your head. It’s been years since you last packed for anything, and as you stand in your small flat, staring down at the open case, it occurs to you how little you’ve really needed to.

Pyeongchang became your sanctuary once you left. The mountains, the crisp air, the rhythm of city life on the outskirts of something wild and untamed. It gave you a semblance of purpose or at least the illusion of one. Between coursework, bakery shifts, and your occasional attempts at being social, you never felt the urge to leave nor have you had the time. Every corner of this place holds something new, something untouched by your past.

And yet, here you are, packing. Again.

Your fingers brush over the worn handle of your suitcase, the same one you clutched so tightly four years ago when you boarded that bus and never looked back. It’s one of the few relics you’ve kept from that life, the only piece of baggage - literal or otherwise - that made the journey with you. Even now, just the sight of it stirs something uneasy in your stomach. The ghost of who you were then lingers in its scuffed corners and fading stitching, a silent witness to your agony.

Something about packing and the memories of your teenage self resurfacing makes you queasy and regretful that you accepted the invitation from Eunseo.

A wedding. Love. Commitment. Things that once felt sonin reach, but now only seem distant and abstract. Love, as you once knew it, is buried within the past, and the thought of surrounding yourself with it, watching people promise forever, eels like an exercise in masochism.

You experienced a love so potent with Jaeyun that it became part of your DNA, something that rooted itself in your bones and refused to let go, like a ghost haunting the walls of their old house as it tries to find its purpose before crossing over to death. It was unfiltered, all-consuming. It was real. Now, you see couples around you, holding hands in coffee shops, sharing quiet laughter in the bakery queue, and it all feels…less. Their love is not your love, not close. It never will be. You tell yourself it’s unfair to think this way, that you’re projecting a lost love onto theirs, planning the failure of each couple in your head to make you feel better about your own dead relationship, but that doesn’t stop the feeling from creeping in.

The ‘what ifs’ come next, as they always do. What if you had stayed? What if you had gone with him? Would you have a ring on your finger? A life mapped out together? Would you be standing in Eunseo’s sister’s place, preparing for your own wedding instead of just attending one? It’s a dangerous path to wander down, and you force yourself to step away before you drown in it.

You check the clock. 10:23am. That gives you roughly seven minutes until Eunseo arrives.

Your eyes drift across the room, checking for any loose ends before landing on the navy hoodie draped over the back of your chair. CERRITOS, bold and white, emblazoned across the chest. You don’t even remember putting it there - it usually stays tucked away, hidden from sight. Out of sight, out of mind. But of course, it never really is.

This was Jaeyun’s. His favourite. The one he pulled over your head when you were cold, the one he gave you after long nights tangled in his sheets, the one that smelled of him long after he stopped holding you. Eventually, it became yours in a quiet, unspoken exchange. He never asked for it back, only ever taking it to refresh his scent on the fabric before returning it to you, as if making sure his presence lingered even when he wasn’t there. He liked knowing you smelled like him - he told you once, with a grin and a kiss to your shoulder, that it made him feel like a wolf marking his mate.

Now, the fabric has lost its scent, but not its hold over you. You still wear it on the nights you miss him most, wrapping yourself in memories you can’t seem to shed. You tell yourself it’s just a hoodie. Just an object. But it’s not, and it never has been.

Your hands tighten around the fabric, pressing it to your chest for just a moment before you throw it into the suitcase. If this trip is going to be difficult - and you already know it will be - you at least deserve some small comfort.

Then, before your mind can spiral further, a car horn blares outside, the sound lingering just a second too long.

Eunseo.

You snap the suitcase shut, zipping it up with a finality that feels like sealing away something far heavier than clothing. With a deep breath, you grab the handle and step towards the door, forcing your feet to move forward. Whatever awaits you at this wedding, you’ll face it head-on.

Or at least, you’ll try.

_____

The drive to Eunseo’s parents’ house is smooth, the kind of journey that allows your mind to wander without urgency. The road bends gently, framed by towering trees that murmur in the summer breeze, their rustling leaves forming a soundscape of whispers - soft and full of life. You roll down the window, resting your head on your arm, letting the wind tangle through your messy hair. The air is thick with the scent of sun-warmed earth and pine, soothing in a way that makes your chest feel lighter, if only for a moment.

Eunseo is quiet when she drives, her usual stream of chatter absent. It’s one of the rare times she lets silence settle between you without filling it. You appreciate that about her - the way she understands when to pull you into her world of relentless energy and when to let you sit in your own thoughts. She knows you love a quiet drive, taking the time to just be. She hums under her breath to the Noah Kahan album she selected as she steers with one hand, the other drumming lightly against the wheel.

The further you go, the more the city thins out. Towering buildings are replaced with green fields, the occasional farmhouse dotting the landscape. It’s the kind of place that makes you forget about deadlines, unread messages, the gnawing ache of old memories. The sun feels warmer here, sinking golden fingers into your skin. You wonder if it’s always like this or if your nerves are just making you hyper-aware of everything.

By the time Eunseo pulls up to her family home, your breath catches.

House doesn’t feel like the right word. Estate, maybe. Mansion. Something too grand for you to comprehend. The building is decorated in cool ash-coloured stone, its towering windows reflecting the afternoon light. Ivy creeps up the sides in a random sprawl, woven with clusters of pink flowers that look bright and inviting. The driveway is lined with cherry blossom trees, their petals fluttering like confetti as Eunseo’s car disturbs the stillness.

The sheer scale of it is mesmerising. You knew Eunseo came from money - she’s joked about it often enough - but you didn’t realise she was this kind of rich. The kind that makes your worn-down suitcase - and you - feel even smaller against the backdrop of something so opulent.

Perhaps you should have known you were walking into boujee territory when you were passing by houses with more than one car in the driveway.

She grins at your expression, tapping the steering wheel. “We’re here!” Her voice is alight with excitement, eyes gleaming. You nod, making a silent promise to mirror her enthusiasm, even if a part of you still feels like you don’t belong here, or want to be here; you can’t ruin her time by being a debbie-downer

You step out, stretching your legs that grew stiff from the drive. The stairs leading up to the entrance are wide, a pristine white door waiting at the top like something out of a film. There’s a moment - just a passing flicker - where the sight of it triggers a memory. Not of this place, but of a conversation.

Those rich bitch houses are so ugly with their grand doors that look like you’re reaching heaven. I want as small a house as possible so I’m always close to you, no matter what room I’m in.

Jaeyun’s voice is so clear in your head it makes you pause mid-step. His bright smile and promise of a future you ripped away from him sit heavy on your heart. But you shake him off quickly, forcing your legs to move, dragging your suitcase up each step while holding your dress bag straight. Halfway up, you curse every rich person’s need to be extra and bigger to flaunt their money because your thighs are already burning.

The door swings open before you reach the top, revealing a broad-shouldered man with a beaming smile. “My baby!” Eunseo’s father’s voice booms, warm and full of unmistakable joy. He pulls her into a hug so tight you wonder if she can breathe.

You miss your father. It’s not a thought you allow yourself to dwell on often, but moments like this make it impossible to ignore. His comforting words, the piggyback rides, the way his oddly spiced cinnamon body wash would cling to his clothes - things you never realised you’d long for until they were no longer within reach.

“This must be Y/N! It only took four years to meet you,” Eunseo’s father laughs, deep and rich, before pulling you into a hug just as tight as the one he gave his daughter. There’s something about the way he embraces you that makes your throat tighten - a quiet kindness, an unspoken welcome. You return the hug with one arm, the other stretched outward to keep your dress from creasing.

“Thank you for having me. It’s an honour to be part of your daughter’s big day.” The words are easy, overly polite, but genuine. He steps back, his eyes crinkling with a warmth that makes you feel fuzzy inside. You understand where Eunseo gets her kindness from.

“You’re more than welcome here. Our home is yours.” He says it so definitely that you can’t help but feel for even a second that you belong here. “The party is in a few hours,” he tells you, gesturing towards the house. “The happy couple aren’t here, off running last-minute errands, but you’ll meet them tonight.” Then he turns, pointing up the grand staircase inside. “Eunseo will show you where you’re sleeping. If you need anything, me and the wife will be hovering around.”

She didn’t mention a party.

You barely have time to react before Eunseo grabs your wrist, practically vibrating with excitement. “You’re going to love them,” she gushes, dragging you inside. “They’re super nice, especially her man, literally like someone out of a hot cowboy Elsie Silver book - minus the cowboy and more geeky.”

You smile at her description. It’s nice that her sister has found someone with so many green flags. You’re not really one to hang around with good men these days, your rendezvous is strictly for men who don’t expect anything more from you than a quick fuck.

Although, if they’re as good as your best friend makes them out to be, you’re in for one loved-up week…Not the greatest outcome considering you still can’t look at a heart themed anything without bursting into tears at what could have been for you.

Still, you push it down, letting her pull you along and up the mansion’s stairs, her voice spilling over with enthusiasm as she titters about the night ahead.

Despite yourself, you smile. Maybe, just for tonight, you can let yourself exist without the weight of the past pressing down on you.

___

A few hours later, the hum of conversation and clinking flutes drifts up from the party below, a telltale sign that the engagement celebration is on full blast. Laughter rises but up here, in the quiet sanctuary of the bedroom, Eunseo is focused, curling a wispy strand of your hair with precision. The soft scent of heat and hairspray lingers between you.

You glance up at her, taking in how effortlessly beautiful she is. The way her bangs frame her face, how her naturally pouty lips curve into a smirk - she’s flawless in that unbothered way only she can be. You’re jealous.

“If you keep staring, I’ll literally take you on the bed,” she teases, flicking your forehead gently.

You laugh, shoving her shoulder in protest. “You wish.”

Puckering her lips dramatically, she leans in close as if she’s about to kiss you. You play along, tilting your chin up just enough to humour her. Life is easy with Eunseo, like floating down a calm river in a dingy, no effort, just the gentle push of the current guiding you forward. You used to be this way with Jaeyun.

Perhaps it’s the similarities between them that make you gravitate towards the girl so effortlessly.

“Alright, go get changed. I need to see my masterpiece complete.” She steps back, admiring her handiwork before marching over to grab the dress. Without warning, she thrusts it against your chest, eyes gleaming. “You’re gonna look amazing. That babe of a best man is gonna fall at your feet. Now, go.” She shoos you toward the ensuite with an exaggerated wave of her hand.

As you take the dress from her, a thought creeps into your mind. You hesitate, gripping the fabric a little tighter before asking, “How many people are actually going to be at this party?”

Eunseo turns back to you with an innocent blink, lips pursed as if contemplating how to break something gently. “Oh, you know,” she hums, twisting a curl of her own hair between her fingers, “just a few people.”

You narrow your eyes. “Eunseo.”

“Okay, okay, fine.” She throws up her hands. “A lot of people. Like, a lot a lot. The bride and groom are crazy popular. And I mean, not just with family - we’re talking old classmates, colleagues, some of their industry friends, all of our cousins… It’s basically a mini wedding before the wedding.” She claps her hands together in excitement.

Your stomach tightens. “Eunseo, I thought this was just a small gathering. Like, a family thing.”

“Oops?” She grins, clearly unbothered by the panic creeping into your expression. “Come on, it’s gonna be fun, and a good 80% of these people are only here for the party tonight, not the entire time.” The reassurance is welcomed but lacks the impact you need. If there are a lot of people down there, you need to find the quietest corner and hope the night passes quickly.

Parties are fine, you like them. It’s the ones where you can’t get wasted and fall over your own feet that are the issue.

“You’ll be the hottest one there, aside from me, obviously,” Eunseo smirks, eyes landing on the bag that contains the mystery dress. You let her pick it because you’re semi-hopeless at picking appropriate clothes for special events. Even in high school, if Yeji wasn’t picking your outfits for occasions, you were not going.

That’s one thing that hasn’t changed.

You groan, pressing your fingers against your temples. “I swear you do this on purpose.”

“Of course I do.” She winks. “Now, get changed before I dress you myself.”

You sigh but comply, stepping inside and locking the door behind you. The mirror greets you, reflecting the version of yourself that Eunseo has carefully crafted tonight.

Never in your life have you looked this beautiful.

For a moment, you just stare, taking it all in. The soft curls, the expertly blended makeup, the way your features seem more refined yet still wholly your own. It’s strange. You feel like you’ve shed something - some old version of yourself left behind to make way for…this.

With careful fingers, you unzip the garment bag. The fabric spills out in a cascade of deep, sultry red. You gasp.

“Um, Eunseo?” you call out hesitantly, holding the dress up against your body. It’s stunning. Silky, form-fitting, allure dripping from the seams - but far too sexy for a family event. “This dress is…”

“Hot,” she finishes for you from the other side of the door. “Now shut up and put it on. My cousins will be wearing something way sluttier, so you’re fine.”

Her nonchalant tone does little to reassure you, but it’s either this or the more conservative dress meant for the actual wedding. So, with a deep breath, you slip it on. The material hugs you in all the right places, cinching at the waist and draping over your hips like liquid. It’s been months, more like years, since you’ve worn anything this beautiful, since you’ve felt this beautiful.

Your fingers absentmindedly reach for your necklace, the familiar weight of the sun settling against your collarbone. The gold glows softly against the red fabric, a stark reminder of everything you’ve carried with you, even when you tried to leave it behind.

Honestly, you wanted to get rid of the necklace and replace it with something that had far less meaning than the burning orb and etched date attached to it. But you couldn’t. This wasn’t a massive blue diamond that you could through into the ocean, this was much more. This represented love.

When you open the door, Eunseo is waiting, now changed into a pastel blue dress that fits her like a glove. It’s modest in the arms and neckline, but a daring slit runs high up her thigh. Your jaw nearly drops at the sight of her.

She eyes you up and down with an approving nod. “Look at you! A literal goddess.” She takes your hands, giving them a little squeeze. “You ready to upstage my sister at her own engagement party?”

Your stomach flips. “Eunseo…you didn’t pick these outfits just to stand out, did you?”

She scoffs, feigning innocence. “Of course not! We’re just naturally hotter than everyone here - including her.” She grins mischievously before grabbing a shoebox from the bed. Inside is a pair of gold heels - the exact ones you had admired earlier while she was unpacking. She holds them out to you.

“Take these. You can kick them off whenever, but for the grand entrance, you need to be complete.” She waves a hand over you like an artist admiring their finished painting.

You shake your head with a chuckle, but there’s warmth spreading in your chest. Maybe, just for tonight, you can let yourself feel good about being seen.

Putting on the gold heels, you instantly gain four inches, rising to Eunseo’s eye level. You wobble slightly, adjusting to the unfamiliar height, but she steadies you with a firm grip on your arm.

“Ready to rock this bitch?” she asks, flashing you a devilish grin.

You take a deep breath, smoothing down the silky fabric of your dress before giving a resolute nod. Without hesitation, she latches onto your arm and drags you toward the staircase.

The moment you descend, you feel it. A shift in the air. Eyes - far too many of them - turning toward you with quiet intrigue. Conversations falter for the briefest moment, and though it lasts no more than a heartbeat, it’s enough to make your skin prickle. You feel like Hilary Duff when she cascades down the stairs at the Halloween Dance - beautiful and awe-stopping

Some gazes are appreciative, admiring even, but others linger in a way that makes your stomach turn. The ones that belong to men at least twice your age. The way they lick their lips makes you recoil. You resist the urge to fold your arms over your chest and focus on the buzz surrounding you instead.

God, you could use some Tequila Rose right about now.

It’s a scene straight out of a film - elegant and absurdly extravagant. Waiters weave effortlessly through the room, trays balanced with hors d’oeuvres so delicate they look like they belong in an art exhibit rather than in someone’s mouth. Champagne flutes glimmer under the glow of a massive chandelier, its crystals refracting light like a sky full of stars. Every surface is polished to perfection, from the marble floors beneath your heels to the sleek, gold-trimmed furniture arranged in intimate clusters throughout the space.

You try not to think about how much this all costs. The thought alone makes your bank account whimper in greed...or is it envy?

“This is insane,” you murmur under your breath, leaning slightly toward Eunseo.

She hums in agreement, though with far less concern . “Yeah, my parents don’t half-arse anything. Wait till you see the wedding.”

You scan the room, taking in the sea of impeccably dressed guests. Men in tailored suits and women draped in silks, their jewellery glinting as they gesture animatedly in conversation. The hum of laughter and clinking glasses creates a steady, lively backdrop.

Your eyes land on an older couple near the grand piano, deep in discussion. The woman wears a string of pearls that likely cost more than your entire tuition, and for a brief moment, you wonder if there’s anyone here generous - or drunk - enough to pay off your student loans.

“Don’t even think about it,” Eunseo says, nudging you playfully. She had a knack for reading your mind and as soon as she sees your eyes bulge out with dollar signs, she knows exactly what you’re thinking.

You scoff. “What? One of these rich dudes could be my knight in shining Prada.”

Eunseo barks out a laugh before snatching two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter, pressing one into your hand. “If you pull that off, I’ll personally bow at your feet and kindly ask you to get your new money bank to pay off my credit cards.”

Perhaps that’s one reason why you never knew just how wealthy Eunseo is. She never got handouts, everything was in her name which meant everything she bought, everything she owned, was entirely through her own hard work. She could easily ask her father for money - you can see that quite evidently now as you stand in the grand living room - but she never does.

Grinning, you clink your glass against hers before taking a tentative sip. The bubbles tickle your tongue. Definitely not the cheap kind you’re used to. You don’t know if you can go back to Tesco’s extra dry prosecco.

“Hey, Eunseo?” Your voice is steady, curious. “I just realised…I don’t know Yeoreum’s fiancé’s name.”

She pauses mid-sip of her champagne, then bursts out laughing, smacking your arm lightly. How could she forget to tell you? “Oh, that’s right! It’s Jaeyun.”

Your heart stutters. There are a lot of Jaeyuns in Korea. Jaeyun from TO1 could walk through that door for all you know. The name alone isn’t enough to set you off balance, not yet.

“Jake is what he goes by, though,” she adds, completely unaware that she has just set off a grenade inside you.

Jake.

Your stomach drops, so fast and so violently you feel like you might actually be sick. There might be a hundred Jaeyuns in this country, but how many also go by Jake? The odds feel astronomically slim, but you tell yourself, desperately, that maybe - fucking hopefully - it’s just a really strange coincidence. Maybe it’s some other Jake. Some other Jaeyun.

But then, the voices in the archway grow louder, and you know you’re out of time.

Yeoreum enters first, radiant and poised, her beauty effortlessly eclipsing every photograph Eunseo had shown you. And then behind her.. he steps in. Jaeyun.

Your Jaeyun.

The air leaves your lungs. Static floods your ears, drowning out the noise of distant conversation and glee. He’s greeting guests, shaking hands, smiling that easy, beautiful smile and all you can do is stand there as panic claws up your throat, like a cat clinging on to a curtain for dear life. Each step he takes towards you feels like a countdown to something catastrophic.

If your body would listen to you, you would be running, bolting out of the nearest exit, disappearing before he could see you. But you can’t move. You can’t breathe. You can only watch, helpless, as he draws closer.

He looks different, yet exactly the same somehow. Sharper, his boyish softness long gone. His face has hardened in the way time does to people, more defined now, but those eyes, fuck, they haven’t changed at all. He’s wearing a black suit, tailored to perfection, he’s wearing no shirt under his low-cut v-neck blazer, exposing tanned skin and the chain resting against his collarbone - the same chain you’ve had dangling in your face as he made love to you. His hair is slicked back, though a few strands have rebelliously fallen forward, framing his face in the way they haven’t before

He looks expensive. He looks effortless.

He looks like home.

Eunseo says something to you, her voice getting lost to the sound of your thumping heart. Because now, Jaeyun’s gaze lands on you, and in an instant, everything shifts.

His body stills. His expression freezes, and just for a second a flicker of recognition, disbelief, and unreadable awe falls over his features. He turns toward you instinctively, as if the force pulling you two together still exists, still lingers after all this time. And that realisation terrifies you.

“Eunseo!” Yeoreum’s voice breaks through the tension, bright and oblivious to the cloud of thick anguish as she rushes forward, throwing her arms around her sister. “Oh my god, I missed you!”

Eunseo grins, squeezing her back. “Missed you too, brat.”

“Jakey, come here,” Yeoreum calls, beckoning Jaeyun closer. He moves without breaking eye contact with you, his steps measured, cautious, like he’s approaching something fragile. He doesn’t quite believe you’re real, you can tell it in the way his eyes are screaming in confusion and adoration, like you’re some sick pre-wedding prank.

“You must be Y/N,” Yeoreum says, beaming at you. “Eunseo talks about you all the time!”

She is stunning. Warm and kind in a way that feels effortless, her presence somehow golden, just like her sister. She is perfect.

Perfect for him.

The realisation claws at your insides, and you feel like you might actually fall apart at any moment.

Still, you plaster on a smile, pushing every emotion deep, deep down. “It’s so nice to finally meet you,” you say, voice just barely holding steady. You hug her lightly, stealing one last glance at Jaeyun while she can’t see you. His expression is unreadable, his lips parted slightly like he wants to say something, but no words come out. His eyes…they are still the same. Still looking at you like you are everything.

You force yourself to turn back to Yeoreum, ignoring the burning in your throat. “Congratulations,” you say quickly, like ripping off a plaster, your skin tearing as the word leaves your lips. How can you be happy when she’s the one holding the love of your life’s heart in their hands.

“Aw, thank you!” she smiles so appreciatively, and you want to scream.

It’s too much. All of it. The weight of the past, the suffocating closeness of him, the way your body still reacts to him like no time has passed at all. It’s too much.

“Excuse me,” you blurt, already stepping back. “I’m just going to the restroom, I’ll be right back.”

You don’t wait for a response. You don’t care if anyone calls after you. You just turn and leave, weaving through the crowd, heart pounding in your ears. Each breath feels too shallow, your chest tightening as you break into a near-run up the stairs.

The moment you reach the guest room, you push the door open and slip inside, shutting it quickly behind you. And then finally, you allow yourself to exhale. A shuddering, ragged breath as you clutch your chest, fingers trembling.

How? How out of every man in this world, out of every best friend’s sister’s fiancé, did it have to be him?

You stand in the middle of the room, eyes squeezed shut as you replay the last five minutes over and over again, like a nightmare on a continuous loop. The sound of his voice, the way he looked at you, the way your body responded before your mind could catch up.

The past was supposed to stay buried. But now, it’s here. It’s him. And there is nowhere left to run.

“Y/N?”

The Australian accent cuts through the air like a blade, sharp and unrelenting. You turn slowly because moving too fast might shatter you, seeing him too quickly might make your bones dissolve and heart shatter all over again. And then there he is.

Jaeyun. The boy you once knew, now a man, standing mere inches away. His eyes lock onto yours, widening in disbelief, and before you can react, his hands are on your face, fingers trembling as they cradle your cheeks, his palms pulsing with fear and excitement, joy and apprehension. His body presses against yours, so close you can feel the warmth of him, the steady, aching pulse of a heart that once beat only for you.

“Baby,” he breathes, the word breaking apart in the space between you. His eyes scan your face like he’s trying to commit you to memory, to prove to himself that you’re not a cruel hallucination. “Where did you go?”

The anguish in his voice nearly undoes you. It’s raw, unguarded, desperate. That way this is his first question, no anger or disdain towards you in the slightest - even if you did deserve it. No. It’s pure love still laced in every syllable. Somehow, you wonder if it would be easier if he just blew up, told you to fuck off and never come back because right now, the way he’s drinking you in like you’re his entire world still, makes everything much harder.

Instinctively, your hands fly up, gripping his wrists as you squeeze your eyes shut. The weight of the years crashes over you, the memories pressing into every crevice of your being. You have missed his touch. Although his hands are a little rougher, they still hold the gentle fondness they used to.

“Princess,” he whispers out the pet name so easily, like not a moment has passed. His forehead presses against yours, his breath unsteady as he finds words to plead. “Please talk to me.”

Jaeyun’s hands drift from your face, tracing down your shoulders, his touch hesitant, reverent yet firm like he’s afraid you might disappear again. His eyes flicker over your features, drinking in the changes, the subtle marks of time. You are older, wiser, perhaps a little more guarded, but you are still you. Still the girl he once loved. The girl he still-

His voice cracks. “What happened? Why did you leave?”

You swallow the lump in your throat, fighting to steady your breath. And then, finally, you speak, holding in a gigantic sob. “You’re...engaged.”

Probably not the first thing he was expecting you to say after four years.

The words land between you like a grenade, blowing up the fairytale and bringing him back to reality. His hands drop from your skin, leaving behind a coldness that seeps into your bones. He stares at you, mouth parted slightly, struggling to process the weight of your statement.

He can’t deny it or pretend it’s not happening. He is marrying someone. Someone who isn’t you. The last time he looked into your eyes, felt you under his fingertips, he had promised you were the girl he would get on one knee for - he even gave you a ring as a placeholder for when the day would come.

“She seems nice,” you add, voice barely above a whisper as you try and act put together.

His jaw tightens. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend.” His voice is quiet, but there’s a storm of anguish brewing beneath the surface. “Don’t act like this doesn’t hurt you too. Don’t make it seem like I’m the only one breaking right now.”

Your breath catches. He’s so raw with his feelings and you can still read every single one of them. He’s upset, delirious, confused, and still stricken with love. That’s why it hurts to watch you pretend that this isn’t affecting you too. In fact, this should be affecting you more yet he’s the one with trembling hands and a bruised heart.

Jaeyun exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair before gesturing helplessly toward you. “I looked for you everywhere,” he says, his voice raw. “I spent months trying to find you.”

You knew that already. Of course, you did. Deep down you would have guessed that his threat to search over the country for you was more than a false promise. But for months? You thought maybe a few weeks, a couple of sleepless nights before he would have left for Busan and moved on. But months?

His voice wavers. “What did I do?”

Your heart clenches. “Nothing.” It’s the first question you truly answer and it only leads to more queries in his fragile heart.

Jaeyun shakes his head as he refuses to accept the answer. “You don’t just abandon people you love, Y/N. Not like that. Not us.” He hesitates, his eyes searching yours. “There had to be something I did to make you fall out of-”

“Jake!”

The voice cuts through the moment like a knife though distant in the hallway. You flinch, your head bowing instinctively as your heart pounds against your ribs.

Jaeyun turns slightly, his body still half-angled toward you as if reluctant to pull away completely. His eyes beg you for something - an answer, an excuse, anything. But you have nothing left to give him.

“Y/N, please,” Jaeyun wants to hold you, kiss you, to have you wrapped up in his embrace the way you should be. He needs to understand what happened but he can’t. Not right now. Not at his fucking engagement party. “Don’t leave me again, baby, please.” His voice is quiet, despair etched within his tone as he cuts you off. He cannot lose you again, not without some semblance of an answer.

His gaze flickers downward, landing on the delicate gold chain around your neck. His chain. The one he gave you years ago, the one you never stopped wearing. He inhales sharply, his eyes tracing the familiar shape of the pendant. There is still some hope within him, the gleam of the necklace in the light mirroring his faith that you still love him somehow. When he looks back up at you, he looks undone but resolute.

“You look beautiful,” he murmurs as though it’s a secret just for you, scared that the girl he’s promised his name to downstairs might overhear. “Just like always.”

“Jake, your dad’s about to give a speech-”

Heeseung’s voice carries through the room but Jaeyun doesn’t move. Neither do you.

Stepping inside, Heeseung’s footsteps falter as his eyes land on you. He freezes, his expression shifting from confusion to something darker. For years, Heeseung tried to let go of his anger, convinced himself that seeing Jaeyun happy with Yeoreum was enough to forgive the past. But now, the resentment simmers beneath his skin, clawing its way back up as he stares at you. The audacity of you.

“Y/N?” His tone is cutthroat, his disbelief barely contained. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

You don’t look at him. You don’t dare.

“You should go,” you murmur, forcing the words past the lump in your throat. “I’ll leave in the morning.”

“Don’t,” Jaeyun pleads, eyes blown out with panic. “Don’t walk away again…”

You shut your eyes. You can’t do this. Not now. Not here.

Brushing past him and Heeseung, you make your way to the door, ignoring the way Jaeyun’s fingers graze your wrist in a desperate attempt to hold onto you. You don’t stop. You don’t look back.

The moment you step out into the hallway, the world feels unbearably loud. His family is here. His friends. People from a past you wanted to erase. Your vision blurs, the weight of it all pressing down on you as you rush down the stairs, each step echoing in your ears.

You aren’t paying attention when you collide with someone at the base of the staircase, the impact jolting you back into reality.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, bowing quickly, hands trembling at your sides.

“Y/N?”

This time, it’s Mr. Sim’s voice that grabs your attention. It quivers with astonishment, his eyes widening as they land on you. “What are you doing here?” He steps closer, his head tilting slightly to level with yours as if trying to confirm that you are, in fact, real, much like Jaeyun had just done. “What-” His voice falters, words escaping him as he looks at the girl he once believed would marry his son.

You swallow thickly, forcing yourself to bow respectfully. “Mr. Sim, it’s nice to see you again.” You speak evenly, though you avoid his eyes. “I’m sure you’re very proud of Jaeyun.”

“Sweetheart, we thought something awful had happened to you.” The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, forcing you to meet his gaze. Heartache carves deep lines into his features, the weight of unspoken words pressing between you. “Your mum and dad haven’t stopped worrying about you.”

Those words almost cause you to break, hearing about the pain you’ve put your parents through, but luckily a gentle hand touches your shoulder, grounding you. Eunseo - your saving grace.

“Girl, there you are! You took one long bathroom break.” She laughs, blissfully unaware of the storm swirling inside you. She bows politely to Mr. Sim. “Ready for your speech, Sir?”

Mr. Sim studies you a moment longer before returning Eunseo’s bow. “I’ve been preparing this speech for years,” he says with a tight-lipped smile, “only needed a few minor tweaks.”

His eyes flicker over you one last time before he heads down the stairs. You know. You know exactly what he meant - he had once imagined giving this speech at your engagement party, the one that everyone who knew you and Jaeyun had already planned - he didn’t think someone else would be in your place.

Eunseo’s grip tightens on your hand, guiding you toward the dining hall, where the room is fully alive, unaware of the inner turmoil you’re facing. Your chest tightens as Jaeyun strolls in behind Heeseung, hands casually tucked in his pockets - until he sees her. His future wife - Yeoreum. A soft smile graces his lips as he pulls her into his side. The action is effortless, instinctive.

And it shatters you.

It should be you.

You should be marrying him, taking his second name, waking up to him every morning for the rest of your life. Your body quakes with a need to be close to him, that quick taste of his touch on your skin clearly not enough to curb your appetite for his love.

A fork clinks against a wine glass, drawing everyone’s attention. Mr. Sim clears his throat, a warm smile spreading across his face. “Thank you, everyone, for coming. I’ll keep this short, considering I’m sure you’re all sick of us talking - especially with a free bar in the room.” Laughter erupts, and you watch as Yeoreum beams up at Jaeyun.

It’s unbearable.

“My son,” Mr. Sim continues, “has always been someone who wears his heart on his sleeve, who gives one hundred percent of himself to the person he loves.” His eyes find yours, and you stop breathing. “Jaeyun deserves someone who loves him unconditionally, without prejudice, without pride, and always with his best interest in mind. And I believe he’s found that.”

The walls close in. Your vision blurs, and suddenly, the air is too thick, the weight of the past and present crushing you all at once.

You bolt.

Bursting through the entrance of the house, you gasp for air, chest rising and falling in erratic movements. Your fingers claw at your collarbone as if that alone will release the unbearable pressure, but nothing helps. The panic sets in quickly and you find yourself falling onto the steps, the cold stone under you doing little to wake you from this nightmare.

This cannot be happening. It can’t be. You’re sick, you’re hurt…and it’s all your fucking fault.

A hand touches your shoulder, warm and steady. Words reach your ears, muffled by the chaos in your head. You don’t understand them at first, but then the voice becomes clearer.

“Breathe for me, Y/N. He-He-Hoo, or whatever.”

You blink, dazed, as you look up to find Heeseung crouched in front of you. His Bambi-like eyes soften as he rubs soothing circles into your arms. “That’s it,” he murmurs. “Just keep breathing.” The world slowly steadies and your vision clears enough to focus on him. “Keep doing that for me, okay?”

Tears well in your eyes, the lingering pressure of it all threatening to drown you. Heeseung notices. He always does somehow. “Hey, look at me, Y/N. Tell me about that band you used to love back in the day.” His voice is gentle, coaxing you away from the edge - it’s a contrast to how he acted a mere few minutes ago in the room. “The one Jaeyun was always jealous of because you had that rapper as your lock screen?”

A small, watery laugh escapes you. “Monsta X?”

His lips twitch into a grin. “Yeah, them. They still together?”

You nod, sniffing as you wipe at your face. “Yeah, some are still in the military though.” Your voice is quieter now, calmer as you focus on something other than the hell surrounding you.

“Sucks, doesn’t it? I felt the same about ONF.” He chuckles, and somehow, you do too - though it’s accompanied by a sharp, aching sob.

“I didn’t mean to come here, Hee,” you confess, voice cracking. “Her sister is my best friend.”

His expression shifts, a flicker of understanding crossing his face before he removes his jacket, placing it over your shivering shoulders. “Y/N,” he sighs, knowing that his next words will tear you open and leave you bleeding on the cobbles, “you can’t be here. He finally moved on.” His voice is heavy with meaning, with quiet pleading. As much as he is angry at you, he still harbours a fondness for you from all those years ago.

“He’s happy.”

A lump forms in your throat because every piece of your heart has just fallen from you, mushed together, and formed a suffocating clog that you can’t dislodge. So instead of words, you nod and pretend to accept it. What else can you do? You know he’s right, Jaeyun is happy, if he wasn’t happy, he wouldn’t be set to marry Yeoreum on Saturday. He moved on.

“Heeseung?”

Jaeyun’s voice strikes you like lightning. Your body tenses, the warmth of Heeseung’s jacket no longer providing a comforting warmth as chills creep up your spine.

“Can I talk to her?”

Heeseung sighs, standing to face his best friend. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, man.”

They speak like you’re not even here, like this doesn’t involve you at all. But you can’t bring yourself to interrupt. The tension thickens between them, and for a moment, you think Jaeyun might argue. He’s always been stubborn when it comes to you.

But tonight, at least, he listens.

His gaze lingers on you - just for a second - before he turns back inside. You watch as he disappears into the crowd, as if this moment between you had never happened at all. And it kills you.

Because for the first time in four years, you saw the love still lingering in his eyes.

And for the first time in four years, you knew it didn’t belong to you anymore.

The party continues without you. The laughter, the speeches, the celebration - it all blurs into background noise as you make your way to the guest bedroom, brushing off questions with a simple, “I’m just tired from travelling.”

But the truth is, the real exhaustion isn’t from the journey.

It’s from loving him.

And knowing you can never have him back.

________

The house is silent now. That heavy silence that comes after a long night of music, laughter, and regret. You wake up abruptly, your throat gasping for a drink and your lips dry because even in sleep, your body has been fighting against itself. You can’t remember your dream - or nightmare - but your body feels heavy enough for you to work out that it involved a certain someone.

For a moment, you think the past couple of hours have been a delusion, you forget where you are as you glance around the spacious room. The unfamiliar plushness of the mattress beneath you, the gentle sway of the curtains in the night breeze, the faint scent of Eunseo’s lingering perfume in the air - it takes a second too long to piece it together. The guest room. The party. Him.

It wasn’t just a dream, unfortunately.

A dull ache pulses behind your ribcage, a reminder of the past few hours, of the words left unspoken and the memories that had clawed their way back to the surface. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing the thoughts away, but it’s useless. Heeseung’s voice echoes, Jaeyun’s eyes blaze into yours - the weight of it all clings to you like damp clothes.

You sigh, shifting onto your side, trying to force yourself back into sleep but the dryness in your throat is unbearable now, no amount of conjured-up saliva doing the the trick. You need water…and a gun at this point.

Slipping out of bed, your feet meet the cool hardwood, a biting contrast to the warmth of the thick duvet. The house feels different now - no longer alive with conversation and celebration, but resting, like a small village unfearing of a giant. The floorboards don’t creak under your careful steps, but the occasional rustle of your own movements sounds far too loud. Everything sounds louder when it’s quiet.

The hallway is dimly lit by the moon, the only illumination coming from the large windows at the end of the corridor. Shadows stretch long across the walls, elongating the picture frames that hold memories of a family that isn’t yours. You see Yeoreum, Eusneo, and their parents in different life scenarios - ones you can’t relate back to your own family. They’re so far removed from you in every way.

As you pass by the slightly ajar door of the bedroom, you hesitate. For no real reason, no real thought, just a flicker of something deep in your chest. You know this is Jaeyun and Yeoreum’s room, you heard them retreat into it after a long night of smiles and congratulations.

You move past it quickly, refusing to let your brain make the decision to barge in and confess your love for the engaged boy and kidnap him back to your boring, mundane life. Honestly, you didn’t think you had a simpleton life but after speaking with the Son family and seeing the extravagant guests tell their stories about weekends to the Maldives and owning football clubs, you realise very quickly that you’re just…normal.

Maybe that’s why fate put Jaeyun into Yeoreum’s arms. Because she is far from normal.

The stairs are bare now as you take them slowly, gripping the polished wooden bannister to alleviate some of the pressure from your feet. Each step is measured to not cause loud creeks. The house is old, and though elegant, it has its age showcased in the wood.

When you reach the bottom, the remnants of the night come into full view. Empty wine glasses left abandoned on tables, a few smudged lipstick stains marking their rims. The long banquet table by the staircase is littered with stray napkins and a couple of shattered glasses, carefully lined up as if waiting to be dealt with in the morning.

It must have been a wonderful night for them. And if things were different, you might have enjoyed it too.

Your fingers tighten slightly around the fabric of your sleeve as your eyes drift toward the kitchen. A leak of light bleeds from the space, a soft glow pooling onto the fancy marble floors. Probably an under-cabinet light left on, a small remaining spark of the party’s electricity. You step forward, your feet scuffing lightly against the cold tiles, but the moment you enter the threshold, you stop short.

A broad back stands in front of the sink, shoulders slightly hunched, head tilted downward. The navy and yellow plaid pyjama bottoms he’s wearing are loose around his hips, contrasting the casual black T-shirt that clings to his form. They don’t match - not in style, not in intent - just something he must’ve grabbed without thinking before bed.

A creak sounds beneath you, alerting them to your presence. The figure stiffens before slowly turning around.

Jaeyun.

His face is softened by the haze of sleep, one eye still half-shut, the other squinting slightly as if trying to determine whether you’re real or just some cruel trick of his half-awake mind. His dark hair is tousled, flattened in places but still holding onto the remnants of styling wax from earlier. There’s something achingly familiar about him like this - undone, caught in a moment where he’s just Jaeyun. Just yours.

Except, he isn’t.

The air shifts between you, thick with words neither of you can say. His gaze never wavers, locked onto you with an intensity that tightens your chest.

“Hi,” you whisper, breaking the stillness as you step past him toward the fridge.

It’s safer this way. To act like this is nothing. Like his presence doesn’t send electricity skittering all over your body. Like Heeseung wasn’t right when he warned you that this conversation - any conversation - was a bad idea. Because Jaeyun was never the kind to yell, never the kind to explode in anger. That wasn’t his way.

No. His love was always the dangerous part.

“It’s late,” he murmurs still hoarse with sleep. It reminds you of early morning rises for school where he kept you in his arms for just ‘5 more minutes’.

“Or early.” You shrug, focusing on pouring yourself a glass of filtered water. “I guess it depends on whether you went to sleep or not.”

Your attempt at small talk feels flimsy and hollow, but it’s all you have. Anything else would break the fragile thread keeping you tethered to reason. You know it will be far too easy to just fall back into his arms. You saw how quickly he went to being your teenage love in that room.

When he held your face in your hands, he looked like he would still give you the entire world, still move mountains to make everything simple for you, and still love you despite your betrayal. It’s better to just…pretend.

Jaeyun watches you, unmoving as he memorises the way your fingers curl around the glass, the way the light catches on your cheekbone, the way your shoulders rise and fall with the shallow gulps.

For him, this moment feels unreal. You - standing here in this kitchen, looking like you belong, like no time has passed, like his world hadn’t crumbled all those years ago. It’s a cruel illusion, a cosmic joke. Because as much as you haunt him, he has never felt more at home than he does right now.

Just you. Just here.

“When did you get engaged?”

The question lands between you like a strike to his chest, knocking the breath from his lungs. It forces him back into reality.

With his head hanging low, Jaeyun traces the rim of his coffee mug with his middle finger, the slow, absent-minded motion showing his hesitation. He exhales sharply, the weight of his own words is too heavy to bear.

“A few months ago.” His voice is quiet, not wanting to admit his new relationship out loud.

He feels like he’s cheating on you. When you left, he didn’t get closure. All he got was a ripped-open heart and no materials to heal it, wounds left open for the world to hack away at. When he started dating Yeoreum, she patched some of those holes but just your presence in this house has opened it all back up again.

His heart bleeding for you.

You nod, lips pressing together as you grip the cool glass of water in your hands. There’s a tremor in your fingers, but you ignore it. You have no right to feel this way, no right to let your heart ache at the revelation. He’s engaged. You knew this. And yet, hearing him say it makes it all the more real.

Jaeyun shifts slightly in his seat, his knuckles tightening around the ceramic mug before he exhales again. “What about you?” He hesitates, scared of the answer. “You seeing anyone?”

“No.”

It’s sharp, clipped, too direct to be casual. You don’t want to elaborate, don’t want to give away the truth - that there hasn’t been anyone, that no one else has ever felt right. That even after four years, even after all this time, he is still the measure against which all others have failed.

Jaeyun sucks in a breath, his Adam’s apple bobbing as if he wants to say something. Tell you he’s relieved? That it makes him happy you’re not with someone. That’s too cruel considering he’s the one promised to another.

In his hesitation, you find your own voice instead. “Eunseo…she’s my best friend,” you offer, the words tumbling out like an explanation, almost an apology. “I didn’t know it was you getting married to Yeoreum. I promise. I’m not…I don’t want…”

You will him to look at you, to see the sincerity in your eyes as your words fail you. But he doesn’t. He just nods, slow and mechanical.

“I’ll make up an excuse to get out of here before the wedding.”

At that, his fingers still. The room, once thick with words made of small talk and tip-toeing around the main issue, suddenly feels suffocating. And then, his voice sparks up, soft but laced with something raw, something close to heartbreak.

“Why did you leave, Y/N?”

The question freezes you in place.

“Tell me why,” he continues, breaking at the edges. “Because for four fucking years, I still haven’t been able to figure it out.”

Your lips part, but no words come out. You don’t even know where to begin. How do you begin? You couldn’t tell him when you needed to most, so how could you now?

Instead, you bite down on your bottom lip, forcing yourself to steady the tremble in your breath. Suddenly, the thought of him looking at you is unbearable. But of course, now - now of all times - his eyes are locked onto you, unwavering.

“You owe me that much.”

Your fingers tighten around the edge of the counter as you grip it, focusing on the feel of it as your mind twists and turns. The glass of water is forgotten as you force yourself to speak.

“I…” The word barely makes it out, caught in the tightness of your throat. “I just left.”

“Bullshit, Y/N.” Jaeyun’s voice is sharper now, frustration creeping in. He shakes his head, his jaw clenching as he leans forward. “You don’t just leave. You don’t just disappear without a word, without a fucking explanation to the people you love.” His hands press against the counter, knuckles paling as they mirror your terrified ones. “I waited. I called, I texted - I even went searching. I thought something happened to you at first.”

His voice dips lower, quieter, but it doesn’t soften the way it cuts through you. “I thought you were hurt. I thought you were dead because that was the only way my mind could comprehend you leaving me. Leaving us”

Your breath catches.

“Then your mum showed me that letter and I…I still can’t wrap my head around it Y/N. We were so fucking happy. Then poof! You’re gone without another word. I have lived four years of my life worrying about you, wishing that you would call. I haven’t even changed my number just in case you finally decided to reach out and we could be us again.”

The hurt in his words fill you with dread. You hadn’t thought about how it must have taken it’s toll at first, but you didn’t really think about how it would still effect him, not in the way he must have lived through it. The sleepless nights. The unanswered questions. The fear.

You feel like a fucking idiot. A selfish one at that.

“I didn’t get into any colleges that I applied for. None near Busan.” Saying it to him, admitting it after all this time feels…less significant than it did when you were eighteen.

Jaeyun’s brows knit together, confusion crossing his face. “What do you mean? I thought you only applied to schools near Apollo. We had planned-”

“My grades weren’t good enough to get into any colleges in Busan.” There’s venom in your tone, but it isn’t directed at him - it’s at yourself.

You inhale sharply, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “If I had told you I wasn’t going with you, I was scared you’d give up your dream school. That you’d just - fuck it all off to be with me.” Your voice wavers, but you push through. “And you would have, Jaeyun. You would have thrown everything away if I asked. I couldn’t do that to you. I would’ve lived with the guilt every day, watching you settle for something less than what you deserved. I loved you, Jaeyun - I couldn’t do that to you.”

Jaeyun flinches at the past tense in your confession.

But he doesn’t linger on it. Instead, he rewinds, his mind struggling to make sense of it all. “So you left our relationship because…it would be long distance?”

You swallow hard. “Jaeyun, it wasn’t just that. I thought about it, I did. But I knew you would grow at college without me. And I kept thinking about what you said…”

His expression shifts slightly, confusion washing over his features. “What I said?”

You nod, blinking against the stinging in your eyes. “About how people grow apart when they’re in different places. How they slowly break away from each other because they become different people.” You laugh, but it’s hollow, tinged with pain. “You said ‘I can’t do long distance’ and it got in my head. I couldn’t bear to slowly lose you. So I-”

“So you thought leaving me without a word was the right way to go?” His voice cracks and the hurt is so evident; the way his eyes are shaking, his voicebox now with a slight trill, the ragged breath escaping from his chest.

Jaeyun stands up, pushing his chair back with a quiet scrape that sounds like a foghorn in the dead night. He crosses the small space between you, hesitant yet resolute. His hands flex at his sides like he’s fighting the urge to reach for you, to touch you. He made that mistake earlier, your soft skin leaving a lasting impression on the palms of his hands and tips of his fingers.

God, he missed how you feel.

“Y/N,” his voice is lower now, pushing his urges down. “We could have worked it out. We would have found a way.”

His hand moves before he can stop it, despite the screaming in his head to tell him to back off. His fingers brush against your cheek - reverent, afraid you’ll recoil. But you don’t pull away and his heart skips. A single tear slips down your cheek, and his thumb twitches, resisting the urge to wipe it away, the act feeling too intimate.

Shaking your head, you finally look up at him, eyes glazed in regret. “I was stupid,” you admit in a whisper. “I didn’t want you to worry about me. You already had so much going on - school, work, your whole future ahead of you.”

Jaeyun says nothing, just watches you with that same tragic expression.

You inhale shakily, willing your heart to stop pounding. “But look at you,” you say, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “You went to college. You grew up. You moved on. Look at what you have.” Your hands gesture weakly upstairs, to where Yeoreum sleeps peacefully, unaware of the storm brewing in the kitchen below.

Jaeyun doesn’t look toward where his bride-to-be sleeps.

He just looks at you. Always at you.

“We could have had this, Y/N.” His voice is meek but the meaning behind his words is heavy. “You could be the one I’m marrying - if you just let me take care of you like a partner is supposed to. If you trusted me enough.”

Your stomach knots, your fingers curling into your palms painfully. “I did trust you, Jaeyun.”

“Not enough.” Jaeyun exhales, frustration bleeding into his words. “Not enough to tell me what was going on when I gave you that ring.”

You look away because you know he’s right. You hate that he’s right. That night when he gave you that ring, that is when you should have confessed your plans and worries. It was cruel of you to promise him a happily ever after and then ditch him the next morning.

That is something you will never forgive yourself for.

“Y/N,” He huffs out loudly and drags a hand through his hair, his chest rising and falling with a deep breath. “That should have been your opening to talk to me about all this. I love you so much - I would have made long distance work.” His voice is edged with desperation, his dark eyes searching yours in the dim kitchen, waiting for something. Maybe a sign that you regret it, maybe a sign that you still love him the way he so clearly still loves you. “When I gave you that ring and made that promise to be yours forever, I wasn’t fucking around, okay? I meant it.”

You don’t realise you’re shaking your head until he lets out a dry laugh, reaching for your hands.

His fingers slide over your skin, warm and familiar, and you hate how easily you let him hold you. Hate how your body reacts to him before your mind can protest. This is a man who is getting married and yet your body thinks he still belongs to you.

“Baby,” he murmurs, voice softer now, raw. “I love you.”

Your breath stutters. Each time he says he loves you it’s in the now, not the past. Your thoughts twist and turn, reading between every line. It’s obvious his feelings are heightened with the shock of you, that’s why he’s acting this way…not because he actually means it.

Right?

“Jaeyun…” you whisper, but there’s nothing else you can say.

The kitchen hums with an unbearable silence, save for the soft buzzing of the refrigerator and the sound of your own pulse roaring in your ears. Jaeyun notices the way your gaze flickers down to his lips, sees the way your breath shudders as he licks them wet.

He leans in, just enough that his breath fans against yours.

If he kisses you, if you let him - there will be no going back. You’ll melt into him, you mere ice and him the burning sunlight.

His forehead almost brushes yours, your hands still locked together, his fingers tightening like he’s afraid you’ll slip away again. He doesn’t want you to leave him. Not again.

Your heart lurches. This is wrong. You know it is. Yet, that gravitational pull brings your lips impossibly close to his.

And then - footsteps. Loud and unexpected, echoing into the suffocating quiet.

Your body reacts before your mind catches up. You push Jaeyun away, stumbling back a step just as another presence enters the kitchen.

Jaeyun barely moves. Even with the interruption, his gaze doesn’t leave yours. Your eyes are glassy, tears threatening to spill, and his lips part like he wants to say something - to call you back to him, to fix this.

But he doesn’t get the chance.

“Baby,” he whispers, just loud enough for you to hear.

You shake your head, barely able to breathe. Without another word, you turn on your heel, shouldering past him and heading back to the guest room.

“Y/N?” His tone is defeated, lacking hope.

Your feet falter for the briefest moment, but you don’t turn around. You’ve made a lot of mistakes when it comes to Jaeyun - you can’t make this one.

Jaeyun begins to move, following you, reckless abandonment overtaking his better judgment, but an arm shoots out, gripping his shoulder and halting him in place.

Jaeyun looks up, breathless, still reeling from everything that just happened.

Heeseung, his best friend, stands there with an expression that immediately sends a wave of nausea through Jaeyun’s stomach. Heeseung’s grip is firm. Unrelenting. He didn’t need to be present for the conversation to know what transpired. He can feel the electric charge that still lingers in the room. He can see the heartbreaking gaze in his friend’s iris’. He can feel love bouncing off the tiles.

“Jake,” he murmurs, warning him. “Don’t.”

“Heeseung-”

“No.” Heeseung shakes his head, his hand tightening briefly before he lets go. “Not tonight.”

Jaeyun’s jaw clenches. “You don’t get it.”

Heeseung’s eyes flicker toward the doorway where you just disappeared, then back to Jaeyun, something knowing and sad in them.

“I do,” he says. “That’s the problem.”

Heeseung knows better than anyone the connection you both have. It’s all consuming and the kind people go to war for. That kind of love is dangerous, especially in this environment.

Jaeyun sucks in a breath, his fingers tugging at his already-messy hair. His body is still warm from where you touched him, from where he held you, and he hates how much he still feels you even when you’re no longer in the room.

Heeseung watches him carefully before sighing, rubbing a hand over his face.

“She’s here because of Eunseo,” Heeseung says. “Not you. Not…this.” He gestures vaguely between Jaeyun and the empty space where you stood just moments ago. “She’s not part of your life anymore, Jake. She hasn’t been for a long time.”

Jaeyun looks away, swallowing the lump in his throat. “You think I don’t know that?”

Heeseung doesn’t answer.

For a long moment, neither of them say anything. The moment envelopes them thick in the air. How the fuck did all of you end up in this situation?

Then, Heeseung sighs again, softer this time. “Come on,” he says, voice gentler. “You should get some sleep. Back to your fiance.” His eyes are stern albeit understanding.

Jaeyun lets out a humourless chuckle at the not-so-subtle reminder. “Yeah. Sure.”

Despite his need to see you, to keep talking this out with you - to kiss you - he retreats, ready to fall back into bed. But sleep is the last thing he’s going to get tonight.

---

taglist: @yzzyhee @dollyyun @sunpov @dreamy-carat

@ioveseong @katarinamae @viagumi @jakeswifez

@shuichi-sama @m1kkso @no1likeneo @pshfan0812

@fancypeacepersona @hoonieyun @jaepen @lovingvoidgoatee

@parksunghoonsgf @capri-cuntz @yvnempire @mei3425

@enhastolemyheart @ikeulove @riribelle @nshmrarki

@firstclassjaylee @ikeuwoniee @ang0308 @jaykesgirl @addictedtohobi

@jayeoniee @jakessrealwife @zyvlxqht

#enhypen smut #enha smut #jake smut #aj writes #tstab #sim jaeyun smut

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jensthwa · 1 month ago

Text

the rhythm of our hearts (KYS x reader).

part of the love's an uncharted path universe ★.

SUMMARY:

Yeosang, with his camcorder and his looks from afar, ignites your curiosity in a way that makes you act a little dumb and against your friend’s judgments. When you finally get tired of him not approaching you, you decide that the night is young and life’s too short to not find an answer to your questions. On a dirty rooftop, your newfound friendship with him might just be the most surprising outcome of the whole ordeal. Is it enough to make you stay, though?

PAIRING: law student!yeosang x dancer!afab reader.

GENRE: strangers to friends to lovers (slow burn).

WORD COUNT: 17.5k (jesus christ)

WARNINGS: SMUT ☽ (MINORS DNI) (in the next part), attempt !!! at comedy, dual pov, reader uses female pronouns, drinking, a tease of violent behavior, choi yeonjun shows up in this story again AND almost beats yeosang up, step up 3d inspired scene as you can see from the banner of the story lol, yeosang gets accused of being a stalker but there's no intentional stalky behavior i promise!!, yeosang is shy, many implied conversations (lol sorry, just know that they talked and talked on that rooftop okay?), unbearble chemistry (sigh), so much unnecesary yearning, the inevitable passage of time, the slowest of burns guys i'm so sorry i promise next part will be juicy i just needed to stablish them, lap sitting, almost kisses the same way gabriela and troy from hsm2 were almost kissing, wooyoung being a menace (you know the deal).

NOTES: this fic is part of a pocket universe you can find in my navi link or in the link at the top of this post. there's a lot of things here that only make sense if you read the other stories first but if you ignore them (since they're not at the core of the story) it can be read as a separate thing lol. this is 100% self indulgent, as all fics should be, and i think i've re-read it so many times that if you find a typo or something that just doesn't make sense, you can blame it on english not being my first language i guess lmao. i hope you enjoy it and if you do feel free to send to my askbox/reblog/type in any feedback or thoughts! <3

POSTED: 05/27/2025

permanent taglist: @kyunlov @monsta-x-jagi @tinyelfperson @0115degrees @strawberrymars98 @faerouzia @honeybeehorizon @daniela-f-uwu @ultrapinkvoidbouquet @kyeomooniee @getouttamygrillxoxx @fairylover68 @sushiinmidnight @hwalighters @qveenbunni @calmoistorm @yoonglesbae @potatomountain @beckxisxinxlovexwithxjin @svintsandghosts @lemonkait00 @blue5ummer @fancypeacepersona @hyukssunflower @i-love-ateez @miracle-sol @alsomimi @xielian-i-guess @e3ellie @mady-66 @hwallazia @st3ft0n3s @ginevrsstuff @hotteokkay @xylatox

masterlist.

The neon lights reflect on your skin as you move through the crowd, foreign sweat mixing with yours in the process.

It’s packed tonight, hardly any free space for you and your friends to claim as yours but you manage. There’s a free table that you all but run up to and when you and your friends crash into it, you all laugh before fixing it in its place.

Routine takes over and the same person suggests going to get you all your usual drinks, which you say yes to. You don’t want to get distracted and you need to scan the premises to figure out if the person you’re looking for is here tonight.

You don’t actually know his name. You know your friend Yeonjun almost beats him up, you know he’s been filming something (you) around the club for what seems months now. This person has never actually spoken to you before, hence the almost getting beat up by your most protective friend.

Taking into account all the red flags, it’s a little crazy that you still feel the need to look for him in between the dancing bodies and the people making out in the dark corners of this club. Your club. Where the bouncers know you and the bartenders discount your drinks because you and your friend group are one of the regulars here.

It took you a while to gain this status, one you’re very proud of. It’s a reminder of what you’re sacrificing everytime you decide to show up, what you’re risking. And even though it’s been a while and you’re an adult who can make their own decisions, the same adrenaline rushes through your veins everytime. As Yeonjun returns with your drinks and hands you yours with a flirty smile, the same feeling takes over your body, never really growing old.

The first time you came here, you were a freshman. You came of your own volition, knowing no one at the time. You see, as a ballet dancer there’s a lot of restrictions, a regime you must follow to fit in with your classmates that you, up to the middle of your first semester, followed at face value. You didn’t have any reason not to, after all this was what you’ve worked so hard for, for years and years.

Years of special diets and hours of training and practice to get where you were, full scholarship in what was supposed to be the first steps of your ballet career. So you followed these restrictions not because you were supposed to, or because your family forced you to pirouette a certain way in the path of perfection, but because you wanted to.

As a child, you sat down and watched every single dance movie available on your local cable. You watched the nutcracker and then you watched the barbie version of the same tale over and over again until you knew the steps by heart, even if you didn’t know the name of them or how to execute them properly.

You loved the way they all looked while dancing, the delicate atmosphere in such complicated moves and the ability they had to hook the audience in without saying a word, all they could convey even through a screen. So, in a way, it became your dream to be immortalized the same way.

But in having that dream, you created this aura of expectation around you that you fell prisoner of the second you understood what it meant. The second you begged your mother to sign you up to classes and then you begged your father to take you seriously when you said that ballet was what you were going to do for eternity, you got trapped into it. Your father swore at the time it was just a phase and you, stubborn as the man in front of you, needed to prove him wrong.

And you did prove him wrong. You grew in the industry, you started to get eyed by recruiters early on and you gained scholarship after scholarship, made valuable contacts and stayed friends with people who are able to move you forward in case you fall behind on something. You were smart about it, you are smart about it, but yet again the pulsing of your heartbeat syncs with the beat of whatever noisy song is blasting in the club’s speakers and you forget the strict regime and the diets and the sacrifices made to get where you are.

It’s the same type of rush you felt when you were told someone was following you, filming you. The usual panic one can feel at the thought of being stalked dissipated the second you realized he didn’t have any cruel intentions towards you or the rest of your friend group. You did, kind of, save him from getting beat up by Yeonjun.

You had to rush towards a campus that’s not yours and make your way through the crowd of nosy people to get to them, but as soon as Yeonjun saw you he stepped away from the guy and followed you and your friend Kazuha out of there. You did spare the guy a glance and recognized him from the club, gave him a tiny smile and made sure he was up on his feet before fully centering your attention on your friend.

And pushing him in the chest as hard as you could.

Kazuha sighed, pushing his chest as well “What’s wrong with you, Yeonjun?”

“He’s been filming us— Filming you!” He pointed in your direction and you shook your head.

“I thought we established he’s not dangerous! And even if he was, Yeonjun, you could get in serious trouble for just— Behaving like a criminal!”

“Like a criminal?!”

“Like a punk with not one care in the world!” You answered, nodding and reinforcing the jab at your friend, who looked like a child being scolded for something they didn’t do. The thing is, if you didn’t get there on time, he probably would’ve.

Yeonjun is a great, loyal friend. Always has been. And so you obviously forgave him and now, as he takes your finished drink from your hand and settles the cup down into the table just to drag you to the dancefloor, you think you read his intentions clearly, his looks and smiles lately and the way the carefully grabs your waist to move to the rhythm of the r&b track playing.

Understanding has been taking over you these past few days.

But it doesn’t really matter when he has a rooster of people waiting for his texts and calls, patiently staying in place until he gives them the time of day and you know that’s the treatment he would give you too if you give him a chance.

So you ignore the spark on his eyes as you sway your hips and turn around, your back against his chest and your butt against his crotch as he follows the rhythm you’re marking. Always taking the lead, always guiding everyone else’s steps makes it easy to ignore everything around you, when you close your eyes and let the atmosphere take you completely too.

It’s like everything else disappears. The expectations and the fact that you have to wake up early the next to massacre your feet in order to continue your career, your graduation approaching fast, the last showcase and the weeks that follow it, in which you'll have to wait for an offer, for an opportunity.

It’s just you and the music and Yeonjun hands spinning you around and around again. It’s just you and the ache on your feet and your heavy breathing being muffled by the sound around you, drowned by the rest of the heavy breathes everyone else is letting out. It feels so familiar and yet so exciting, like you’ve never experienced it before.

Euphoria moves around you in what it feels like a neon glow, it makes everything feel slowed down and too fast and, most importantly, it makes your heart beat in a way no other thing or being makes it beat.

Except maybe when you open your eyes and catch the stranger who’s always filming staring right at you.

He’s far away, but you can see him clearly. He’s the only one on the floor standing still, camcorder in hand and you notice that he’s filming someone else, not you, but he’s staring in your direction either way and it makes you smile a little.

There should be a limit at how much a person is allowed to stare at another before it makes it creepy. Again, there’s a thousand red flags you should be considering but the only thing it brings to you is unsated curiosity.

And so you don’t think twice before detaching yourself from Yeonjun and moving in the stranger’s direction. Neither of them expect it, because the guy opens his eyes a little wider and you hear your friend’s voice over the music.

“Y/N, are you serious?! We’ve been here less than forty minutes!”

What he means is that you’re about to disappear for the rest of the night, like you usually do. It’s not that you always leave your friends behind, especially not when you come here with them to share the night with the group, but you do tend to disappear for like an hour or two.

And the term disappear is something they use only to bother you because, in reality, your location is shared with all of them and the way you get lost is usually in between the dancing bodies. If they look hard enough, they’ll be able to easily find you.

Unless you found someone to kiss for the night. They don’t bother looking for you then.

However, it is a little early to disappear on them. It must be around eleven thirty or twelve, twelve thirty at the very least. You tend to do your rounds at two, two thirty, normally. Maybe that’s why the stranger makes that face. Maybe he has you studied, your behavior noted down in that head of his you want to decipher so badly.

You have been wondering for a few weeks now why he never approaches you. He seems contempt just to film you from afar, but tonight is different. He’s not filming you.

There’s a tint of jealousy in your chest at the sight, a small crease in your forehead when you approach him.

He takes a step back.

You want to laugh a little, but you take the hint, if he’s sending any in your direction. Getting into his space fully is not in your plan anyway.

Yeosang shouldn’t be here. He should be studying or having dinner with his friends or something.

He really shouldn’t be here.

But he can’t help himself. Earlier, in his and Yunho’s dorm and while editing the footage he’s gotten in the last week or so, he decided that he needed clearer shots of the Hongdae club he’s been frequenting.

It’s only a happy coincidence that that’s the club you usually go to, the one where he can find you most of the nights. Very convenient, really.

Ugh, who is he kidding?

There’s this magnetic pull that he hasn’t been able to shake off ever since he saw you for the first time. At the very same club, a year before he started to go there with the purpose of seeing you.

You were alone, not with the people he usually recognizes. You were dancing around a table, making some of the people sitting down at it laugh before becoming entranced with the way you moved. You tend to have that effect on people, he noticed earlier on, because when you move it looks simple yet extremely interesting, it looks natural, it looks almost magical and Yeosang convinced himself that the reason he kept coming back to that club specifically was because he needed to figure out how your movements were so sharp and yet so smooth at the same time.

It’s his fault, really, because he’s shy and he should’ve just talked to you right there and then but he convinced himself he wasn’t going to see you ever again after the last time he went and you weren’t there.

And then he joined a film class. An elective, one that he had in his curriculum for the last year and half of his career. He chose it because everything else seemed boring or too in touch with his law degree, which he was growing a little exhausted from.

The only respite he had from studying endless pages about special criminal evidence rule was his cheering practices, and he had been benched for awhile for missing some of the important routines in order for him to get all his concepts right before his exams. And now he has to get ready for the internship he’s planning to apply to with a firm he’s been dreaming about since he was in highschool.

So joining that film class was a little stupid on his part, but he enjoyed it for the most part, before the final project was announced and the thing that came to mind was you and your dance moves.

He had somewhere to start: a little documentary about dance and nightlife in Seoul. It’s a theme simple enough for him to do a little research, a few interviews that reflect the cultural significance of it all in modern society and he had Yunho and his dance team to avoid the need to go out of his way to look for more interviews or content outside of them.

The thing is, his artistic vein itches every time he thinks about not including you in the film. He has zero justification for the way his chest hurts when the thought of putting his curiosity and tiny crush to rest crosses his mind.

So he’s been filming from a distance and he’s been careful not to make you or your friends uncomfy ever since he decided to focus more on the nightlife aspect of the documentary instead of the dance part of it. That one time your friend found him, confronted him and pushed him to the ground for filming you all without clear consent doesn’t really count.

That day, you smiled at him sweetly as you pulled your friend away from him. That had to mean you were okay with it, right? He should just ask you to clear the air up… But he had permission from the club manager to film anyway!

He has a script, he has an outline of how he wants the film to turn out and he has almost everything to sit down and finish editing it before actually starting making an effort with that law firm and the internship…

But he’s unable to shake the need to have you in the documentary. Anything will do, really: an interview, a clear shot of you dancing for the camera, anything to have you and his little obsession with the way you move immortalized on tape forever. The way you dance deserves it, the way you seem to control the ambiance around you, the people, the music, the club… He has never seen anything like it before.

He swears he has been gathering up the courage to actually speak to you instead of lingering around like a creep.

And tonight is the night.

He has to play it cool. He got there a little later than usual, he’s actually talking to the people he’s filming this time, he asks them for permission and then proceeds to talk with them as well as he can over the music.

He pretends he doesn't see you and your friend group, including the guy that almost fixes his face, in the corner to the left of the dancefloor. He’s gathering the courage to walk over there and apologize for the misunderstanding, explain the nature of his documentary, ask you all formally to use the footage he has and ask you for a short interview with the questions he already has written down in the notes app on his phone.

The person he’s filming has gone silent suddenly, just dancing to the r&b song playing and Yeosang does nothing but film them. He’s about to resume conversation when his eyes involuntarily look for you again.

And he catches you on the dancefloor, the friend who almost punched him twirling you around to the beat of the song and grabbing your waist afterwards.

There’s that magnetic pull again, that inability to look away from you even though he’s filming someone else. Your body glows in the red neon light and he’s mesmerized by the way you seem to be in your own world, encapsulated in your own bubble with your eyes closed and your body moving to the rhythm.

He’s unable to look away even when your eyes open and the first thing you do is look at him. His breath catches, his eyes widen and he feels a little sweaty suddenly but he still holds your gaze, his eyes still follow you as you step away from your friend and move through the ocean of dancing bodies.

Towards him.

You are walking in his direction.

Oh, God. Are you going to speak to him? Is this real life? He feels unsafe, unprepared all of the sudden. He takes a step back as you almost reach him.

And then you smile widely, feline-like, like a big predator who’s playing with its prey just for the fun of it and he seems to get what you’re trying to do. For some reason, he feels like he reads your mind when you look down at the camcorder and then at him again.

He bows at the person he was filming before, the ghost of the interview he was doing vanishing, before he could get any information that actually helps him or his script, and then his eyes follow you. You’re already walking away when he points the lens in your direction.

Swallowing hard, he moves in between the dancing bodies to follow yours. He adjusts the lighting in his camera as he moves, he catches the neon before lowering it and finally catching you in the hallway of people that his friends like to call the makeout hall (because it’s kind of dark, the only lights that get to it are the neon ones nearby and the occasional moving leds that move around the club every few seconds so it’s intimate enough to kiss the one you like for the night).

But no one is making out with anyone. There’s some people chilling against the wall and a few others dancing and they all smile as you move through them to the rhythm of the song playing. Some guy grabs your waist and dips you low and Yeosang smiles as he catches the moment clearly, the lead beams lighting up the space at the correct time to catch you coming back up.

As he passes people by, they all try to dance with him as well. He shakes his head a little when the same guy grabs his waist and Yeosang blushes when he looks back up and you’re laughing at him. He shakes his head again but you keep moving, so he moves as well and he loses you when you turn the corner.

Quickening his step, he follows as smoothly as he can but when he reaches the same corner you’re gone.

Swallowing thick nerves down, he tries to ignore the exaggerated beat of his heart at the thought of that being the only interaction with you that night. He looks around and frowns when he can’t find you at all. Just when he thinks he can see you with your arms up, a guy that’s clearly too intoxicated to be in an environment like this gets in front of him and dances for the camera. He puts his hand on his shoulder and moves him to the side and the dude goes away easily but when he looks up that mirage he had of you in front of him is gone. You’re gone.

Looking at the screen of his camcorder, he tries to zoom in and hopefully distinguish you between the dancing bodies and moving lights but he can’t see you, he can’t—

He feels a presence over his shoulder, a little behind him. Entranced and a little terrified, he turns his head slowly.

He’s almost nose to nose with you when he does.

His breath catches. You’re close to him, your face almost resting against his shoulder as you pretend to look at the screen a few seconds longer than him. When you look up, there’s a tiny smile curving your lips upwards and Yeosang can’t help but to give you one back.

“What are we looking for?”

Oh.

He realizes he’s never heard your voice before. He certainly imagined it but whatever it was he knows it doesn’t make it any justice.

Even with the loud music, you’re so close and you speak loud enough for the sweet velvet of your timbre to make him inhale a sharp breath. There’s this slight edge to your stare, a flirtatious energy in the way you laugh at him when he opens his mouth and then closes it again, not really sure of what to answer.

“Cat got your tongue?”

“Y-you,” he manages to stammer out and then he swallows hard again. “I w-was… I mean, you disappeared for a second.”

“I just went back around,” you point with your thumb over your shoulder to the entrance of the makeout hall and he nods, understanding, spacing out and hyperfocusing on the situation at the same time. “I thought you were able to keep up,” you pause, eyes tracing his face for a quick moment. You lean in, lips dangerously close to his ear and then you say clear as day the words that might be the reason he loses his sanity: “Can you keep up?”

Yeosang is a mildly competitive person. He is competitive for the love of it, not because he feels like he has to win. He likes to win, however, it’s not going to be the end of the world if he doesn’t. That’s something he tells himself often, with the career path he’d chosen there’s going to be a lot of highs and a lot of lows, same with cheering, same with anything he ever does in life, really.

So why is his heart beating so fast at the thought of you daring him to keep up? It’s not the end of the world if he can’t keep up, really.

But he feels the need to prove you wrong somehow. He senses that you see him like a coward, and in a way he is one, but tonight is the night he finally gets to meet you, to tell you his name, to know yours.

So he nods once, gaze still holding yours and breath still caught in his throat “Try me.”

That seems to be the answer you were looking for. You smile fully and Yeosang commits it to his memory, takes a mental picture of it before you’re stepping away and into the crowd of sweaty bodies again.

And this time, Yeosang is able to keep up.

He follows you swiftly through the crowd, he doesn’t get caught between the bodies, his eyes don't’ let go of your silhouette at all as you guide him up the stairs, looking over your shoulder only once when you bump into a couple making out against the wall and laughing at them when they shoo you away with their hands.

His heart is beating so loud he feels it in his ears, the throb of it on his throat and he swallows down the feeling in an attempt to stay calm as it gets louder and louder. You turn a corner he’s never even seen before, into a dark hallway where he has to squint his eyes to not trip over anything. No one else is there and his nerves spike, only to come crashing down when he slams into something, into you.

Your back against his chest and you don’t really say anything as you try to get a door in front of you two open, he hears the clink-clanking of the lock and he hears you softly curse when you fail at getting it right the first time. It makes his lips curve slightly upwards, it makes this whole thing a little less surreal and a little more human.

He’s not sure why his body is registering it as a dreamlike experience in the first place.

The music has faded away slightly. He can tell there’s speakers nearby but none in this space, so that might explain why no one is here. Couples making out and people grinding against each other have a behavior pattern he easily recognizes even if he doesn’t participate in either normally: They like being seen.

Yeosang could never understand that.

Even as you get the door open and guide him to what looks to be (judging by some cables on the floor, the pvc pipes and the back of the neon sign that always greets him at the entrance) the rooftop of the club, you hurry him inside and close the door behind you. Resting against it, Yeosang watches as you take in a breath and let it out slowly.

“Sorry, I’m one of the only few allowed here and we don’t want anyone else finding out they can access this space.”

“Oh,” he nods, focusing on the camcorder screen again and filming the roof with all his might. He wants to turn to you, keep looking at you in the lights the streetlights cast against the roof and both your faces. “And you got this special treatment because…?”

“I will answer your questions…” he hears you say and that’s when he takes the chance to look at you, curiosity glinting in your eyes in a way he’s sure it’s reflecting his. “But first you have to answer mine.”

Yeosang is not sure why he’s trying to play everything off in a cool manner when he’s sure you can see right through the way he puffs out his chest and secures his stance before saying a simple: “Fair enough.”

And you do, you laugh and peel your back from the door only to walk a few steps, nearing the edge of the roof. You sit down there and his heart quickens before dropping for a completely different reason than before.

You must see it in his face because you laugh again and shake your head “There’s a tiny balcony, owner’s office. You can come and see if you want.” He doesn’t, instead he nods “I believe you,” he clears his throat and closes the screen of his camcorder, recognizing that maybe this is not the moment to have it ready to record, although he wants to keep fresh and in video everything that’s happening right now.

That’s the only way he would believe it did happen tomorrow, when he wakes up confused and wondering if he dreamt the whole thing.

Your smile looks pretty real, though. And also it looks pretty, period.

“Are you afraid of heights?”

“Is that your first question?” He can tell he’s stalling, prolonging the moment unconsciously and he swallows his monologuing back down and shakes his head. “No, I’m not, I just trust you.”

“Why? You don’t know me.”

“My camera does,” he shrugs, looking down at it and then back up at you again. “I feel like I get to know you a little every time I edit a clip of yours, too.”

“That camera almost got you an ass whip. You’re welcome, by the way.”

It’s his time to huff out a laugh “Well, you didn’t exactly give me any time to say anything to you that day.”

“Well,” you tilt your head, your eyes focusing on the ground for a few seconds, “my friend didn’t exactly give me a choice either.”

“Thank you.” He finally says, after a bit of silence where the memories of that day came back: The confusion, the realization, the push to the ground and the look you gave him as you pulled your friend away. He’s actually very thankful, taking into account that he wouldn’t know how to throw a punch and not feel bad about it five seconds later.

“It was really dumb on his part, but I mean… You understand, right?”

That your friend wanted to beat his ass instead of talking it out like normal human beings? No, he doesn’t understand but he nods anyway.

“You’ve been filming us for a while now. He thought you might’ve been…” You trail off, not really wanting to say it so he says it for you.

“Stalking you.”

“Yeah,” there’s a soft smile on your lips that leads him to believe you didn’t think that yourself. Is either that or you feel a little bad for him, which is way worse, so he decides to trust his first thought. “What’s all the filming for?”

“A documentary.”

That seems to surprise you, your eyebrows raising and falling and your eyes widening a little bit.

“On clubs?”

“Dance,” he corrects with a tiny smile of his own, “and the nightlife in Seoul. It’s for my class.”

“Oh, right, you’re going to school,” you nod as you remember probably the only piece of certain information you have on him, or so he thinks. “So you’re studying to become a filmmaker?”

“A lawyer, actually.”

“Wow,” huffing out a laugh, you shake your head in a little disbelief, “didn’t expect that at all.”

Yeosang laughs too, a nervous sound more than anything.

“I don’t look the part?”

Pausing, you take him in: from his outfit (he is sporting all-black attire today, black shirt, black short sleeve button shirt on top of it and baggy black pants) to the way he stands a safe distance and your eyes even go from his face to his hair. He feels like staying still while you gather whatever information you need to answer, but then he also has the need to fix his fringe and tug his button shirt down a little even if it does nothing.

“You look like a very artistic guy.”

“And lawyers are not artistic,” he nods and then squints his eyes at you a little, joking at the best of his abilities right now. “Is that what you’re trying to say?”

“I just never met one who was,” you say in return, squinting your eyes back at him. “Guess now I have.”

He can literally feel himself blushing.

This is bad. This is very bad.

Lucky for him, you don’t notice or, if you do, you don’t make any comments about it.

There’s another beat of silence that stretches and Yeosang decides to walk around the roof. He’s careful to not step on anything he’s not supposed to as he walks towards the back of the club’s sign.

He turns to you after looking at the metal foundation of it for a solid minute, blinking rapidly when he finds you got up and walked closer, standing where he was before “Do you have more questions?”

“Why me?”

Yeosang swallows hard for the umpteenth time tonight. He has a hundred million ways to answer that question and he’s trying to pick the one answer that doesn’t give any more of this weird crush he has on you fully away.

However, he can’t help to go the truthful route about it.

“I like the way you dance. I… I saw you a long time ago, before picking up the film class, and I was just completely, um…” He pauses, tongue wetting his lips in a nervous tick and he swears he sees you follow his unconscious movement with your eyes, but it hardly matters when he's at a loss for words. “I was really entranced by your dancing, I guess you could say. And so when I started the documentary and saw you again I just… There’s no way I couldn’t have you in it, even from afar.”

“And why didn’t you explain this to me before?”

“I don’t know.”

He answers that too quickly, without any hesitation and it makes him blink a few times before laughing it off.

“I mean, I wanted to, I just n-never found the right time, I g-guess.”

Slowly and after a few seconds, you give him a nod.

When you open your mouth to answer, Yeosang feels like everything's in slow motion: Here it comes, the moment you call him a coward, the moment you mock him for taking so long in approaching you. Even tonight, he wasn’t the one who initiated this, you were.

“You’re shy.”

Instead, he’s relieved by the knowledge that you’re more understanding than what he initially thought. Yes, he is shy. He’s shyer than usual when it comes to pretty people, even more when they poke at his curiosity and fascination.

“I should’ve guessed that you were, hm,” you nod again, laughing a little aftwards. “I don’t know why I thought there would be this whole mystery behind you not coming over and talking to us.”

“Have you thought about it before?”

Yeosang swears he said it in his head. To his account, he asked the question in his mind while he nodded and came up with a response that takes him out of the hole he dug himself in. But you look up at him with raised eyebrows and a curl to your lips that he’s growing used to.

“I have,” you answer without an ounce of shame pouring out of you. You seem proud of it, even, and Yeosang wonders if you're as outspoken in every other aspect of your life as you are with him. “When someone films you from a distance and doesn't even tell you their name it makes you wonder just a tiny bit.” The last part seems to be a joke and Yeosang's lips curl upwards in return.

“I'm Yeosang,” he doesn't extend a hand for you to take, he stays put in his place as his own name sounds foreign coming out of his mouth. “I… I'm s-sorry I didn't introduce myself before. I'm—”

“Shy.” You answer for him and he shrugs a second later.

“That's not really the reason, I… Oh, this is going to sound so weird,” he mumbles under his breath but you manage to hear him and laugh a little, shaking your hand to signal that it doesn't matter. “I thought it would, I don't know, break the magic a little?”

Your expression turns from slightly amused to slightly disappointed again in a second and he regrets following your lead and being honest with you as well.

“The magic?”

He needs to find better words to explain himself, but nonsense comes out of him without a second thought and he can physically feel himself cringing at the words.

“Yeah, like it would actually force me to get this over with,” he shakes his camcorder and then closes his eyes, eyebrows scrunched as he, once again, attempts to climb up the hole he dug himself in. “—I mean, talking to you would mean asking for the interview that I want to ask for and, once I get that footage, I feel like I'm never going to see you again.”

Getting in out in one breath, Yeosang opens his eyes to find you staring at him with something he can't figure out.

It goes away after you scan his face with your eyes and find something he doesn't know what it is.

“That's a little dramatic, don't you think?”

Now, when you put it like that…

He huffs out a laugh and then takes in a little bit of air that he desperately needs “I guess.”

Laughing at him for what it feels like a thousand times tonight, you look at him up and down and seem to consider something. After a few seconds pass, your smile turns soft and it’s your turn to take in a breath.

“Y/N.”

“Hm?”

“My name,” you say, almost cutting him off. “You didn’t ask.”

Yeosang wants to smash his head against the neon sign.

“O-oh of course, sorry. Y/N,” he repeats with a nod. “Pretty. Your name!” He corrects himself immediately. “I-I meant your name is pretty, not you— I mean, you are! You are really pretty a-and…”

Yeosang watches helplessly as you seem to revel in the state you put him in with the simple whisper of your name and the accusatory joke.

But you don’t mention it, only turn around and let your knees touch the floor, near the edge of the rooftop again. This time, you rest your chin in your hand and your elbow against the edge and you signal at him to sit down next to you.

He does.

“You wanted to interview me?”

Now he can answer that without messing things up “Yes.”

“Hm,” your eyes turn from him to the part of the street visible from the angle you’re both sitting at and then your brows almost touch each other as you think. And think. And Yeosang can do anything but stare at your profile and swallow hard at the realization that the neon lights and the darkness of a club would never do your beauty justice.

Now, he had seen you in broad daylight before. But it was quick and he was mildly distracted by the almost getting beat up emotions so he didn’t appreciate it fully. Now, even though it is nighttime and the neon sign casts a shadow over you, he realizes it’s the first time he gets to see you upclose.

Up close and in silence, not like the few minutes before where he managed to embarrass himself like no one has probably ever embarrassed themselves in front of their crush.

“I think,” you say, after a while of just staring at the street where he was quietly watching you instead, “that you really overestimated me and how interesting I can be.”

“What makes you say that?” He asks in a whisper and you smile, turning to him.

“My story is no different than the story of my friend Kazuha downstairs. Or my classmates. Or any other ballet student in this city.”

“You do ballet?”

There’s this trace of surprise on your face that must mimic his, but he thinks it’s because you thought he knew that already.

“Yes, I’m… I go to K-Arts, Yeosang.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“You didn’t?”

He laughs a little again and shakes his head “Not a stalker, remember?” He attempts to joke and it works because you’re scrunching your nose and nodding the second after.

“Right, we already established that.”

“Mhm.”

“Well, I go to K-Arts. I’m a senior, I’m supposed to focus if I want to get into the university’s dance company fully and all.”

That catches his attention “Fully?”

“Yeah, I don’t mean to brag or anything,” you start and your tone gives away that you are, in fact, bragging. Yeosang doesn’t mind it a bit. “But I’m good at ballet, too, not just at… Shaking my ass to a Kendrick song.”

He giggles and you roll your eyes with a smile on your lips still.

“So I have joined them for a few performances based on my grades and skills and all of that.”

Humming, Yeosang looks down at his camcorder and then at you again “And all of your classmates get to do the same?”

“No,” you answer in a murmur, frowning. “Why?”

“Then that makes you different from, at least, some of them.”

He can’t tell if you look annoyed or impressed at the fact that he managed to turn your words against you, but you blink rapidly a few times and Yeosang speaks up before you can tell him anything in return.

“Let me interview you. This film probably won’t leave my classroom and then it will gather dust in my hard drive for eternity after I pass the class, but it would feel very incomplete without you.”

You say nothing and he clears his throat, feeling a little dumb for even trying but before he can backpedal on the offer, you’re speaking.

“Right now?”

The question doesn’t have any shyness laced to it, but it’s soft. It’s like you can’t believe fully that he wants to interview you and he wants to ask if that’s the case, but he also doesn’t want to accuse you of anything or, worse, assume your feelings.

He’s big on assuming, he’s trying to be better.

“Oh,” he shakes his head quickly. “Not if you don’t want to! I… D-don’t feel pressured to say yes, I was… Was that too pushy? I’m sorry.”

“Yeosang—”

“I mean it! I have pleeenty of footage. My friend Yunho actually it’s on the documentary too! He’s such a talker, he loves to talk, so I have like a thousand hours worth of interviews and—”

His rambling comes to an end when you hand closes over his on the rough material of the edge of the roof. He looks at it and then at you and he notices he’s breathing a little hard and that his heart is racing so fast he can barely hear the already faint sound of electronic music and the voices that served as your background music since you two got up there.

“I want to do it,” you assure him and he swallows hard when your thumb traces three small circles on his skin. One, two, three and then your touch is gone and he can finally breathe. “Just not tonight. I look like a mess.”

“You truly don’t,” he mumbles without really thinking about it and you smile.

“Do you have something to do tomorrow night or can you come over here for the interview?”

“Here?”

“Mmmhm,” you look around the roof and then at the back of the neon sign, and then you turn a little and point to where the light the neon sign casts is clear and cover a spot on the roof large enough for both of you to sit. You get up and he doesn’t. “That must look cool on video, don’t you think? I got a lot of pictures there already.”

When you turn around, that’s the first time Yeosang catches a trace of shyness on your face.

“If you want.”

He smiles fully, widely and the corners of his mouth hurt a little because of it.

You walk backwards, towards the door and Yeosang knows you’re making your big escape so he doesn’t follow you at all. “See you tomorrow, then?” You yell when you almost reach the exit and he nods.

“See you tomorrow!” He yells back and, when the roof is devoid of that life you seem to bring into everything or so he thinks, he turns to the street and catches the bouncer looking up at him.

He looks angry.

He’s also a very big dude.

“Shit.”

Yeosang believes that it was a blessing to romanticize the idea of who you were before actually meeting you. Because, as much as he thinks you’re the prettiest person he’s ever seen, his crush tells him that he wouldn’t mind becoming your friend instead.

He came back the next night and the night after that and the night after that… No, wait, that night he stayed in and studied for a quiz he had the next day and then the next day he went back to see you at the club.

It was obvious by the third night that the both of you were using the interview and documentary as an excuse. Yes, Yeosang did film a few bits and precise questions here and there, but the rest of the time you two spent together was just an endless conversation that he could stay in for the rest of his days.

Not one dull moment, Yeosang had never met anyone who makes him talk so much. He usually just listens to his friends and adds to the chat if needed but you don’t even need to ask him a question to get him going.

It makes his heart soar, it feels fulfilled of a need he never even knew he had: Being heard.

Being heard and understood.

“Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to do anything at all.” You tell him one night, on week two of this extended interview.

He doesn’t even have your number yet.

But he’s unable to think about the rationals and specifics of whatever the hell is going on when he’s staring at the stars, his back on the cold and dusty roof, his head next to one of those pipes and his arm brushing against yours.

“Nothing at all?”

“No,” you breathe out, your other arm resting above you, your fingers reaching and ghosting the hairs that stick out of the hat he’s wearing. “I want to dance and then I want to eat something yummy and then I want to sleep. I don’t want to…” you trail off.

And he understands.

“You don’t want to worry.”

“Exactly,” you return right away, in a whisper and then after two seconds you turn to him.

He’s already staring at you.

“I don’t want to worry.”

“I don’t want to worry either.”

Yeosang is not sure where this vulnerability is coming from.

Maybe his mind tricked him into thinking he was better off not sharing certain things with the people who love him the most.

He’s glad you’re allowing him to explore that talkative part of himself without any real judgment. You give him faces and once over when he says something silly, something not usual, something out of his comfort zone in terms of sharing… And then you go back to being understanding, to furthering the conversation and actually ask him about it instead of talking over it like he notices he’s been allowing others to do all these years.

Not that they realized they were doing it either. His friends have never been malicious in their actions or intentions, but they are much more outgoing than he is.

And so are you.

But you seem to have a special interest in what he has to say.

And so it becomes really difficult not to share and grow closer every night. It comes to a point where he can start to read your eyes and expressions, where he starts telling what you’re feeling without actually asking about it.

One night, as you both sit under that part of the roof that catches the neon light of the club’s sign, he catches you staring at his camcorder with something somber crossing your features.

“We can stop doing this anytime you want, you know?”

His murmur takes you out of whatever is actually going through your head and that little crease in between your eyebrows goes away, softness coating your eyes a second later and, when they look up at him, he all but feels his heart stop. Which is incredibly dangerous.

“Did you get all the videos you need already?”

“Maybe,” he shrugs, “but that’s not why I keep coming back here. I feel like you know that already.”

Lips curling upwards in a soft smile, you nod “I want you to tell me anyway.”

Yeosang hesitates for a second, trying to find the way to put into words what he actually meant by that, but he fears he doesn’t really know either.

He decides to go with what his heart is telling him “I like spending time with you beyond the interview.”

Your smile grows wider.

“Me too,” you whisper back, like it’s a secret. “You’re also not a good interviewer, Yeosang.”

It’s silent for a second and then you both laugh.

“Ouch,” he pretends to be hurt in between laughs and you push his arm a little. “Noted.”

Laughter dies and you seem to be thinking something over. You open your mouth and then close it and Yeosang imagines you’re weighing the possible outcomes of what you’re about to tell him. Although, when you do, he doesn’t think it’s anything crazy.

“I want to see you in daylight,” you start and before he has the chance to agree, you keep going. “I mean, I already did, at your school. But that was for like… thirty seconds. And I wasn’t really paying that much attention to you. But now I am and I want to see you under the sun.”

Yeosang fucking blushes.

Again.

His reply comes as soft as if he’s not having heart palpitations and shortness of breath at the moment.

“I’m sure we can arrange that.”

You nod and then blink a few times, thinking it over it seems.

“It’s spring,” you start and Yeosang nods, “and I like flowers…”

He takes a mental note of that.

“And there’s a pretty glass dome at the botanic greenhouse…”

Setting his lips on a straight line so he doesn’t laugh at how cute you look trying to invite him to it without actually doing it, Yeosang contains himself and then nods one last time “Tomorrow?”

He enjoys making you smile so wide.

“At ten.”

When gets to his dorm, Yeosang tries everything in his power to not label it as a date.

You’re friends.

He’s happy being your friend.

If he could tell his heart to keep it down, he would.

Kazuha frowns at you, arms crossed as she leans into the doorframe of your room.

You both live in one of the bigger dorms, Zuha’s family has money and she brought you along after insisting she didn't want to be alone in this two bedroom apartment with a shared bathroom.

Because that's what actually is, a freaking apartment.

It's truly more than what you deserve, truly, but she's not one to back down when she truly wants something.

Like right now.

“So you're going on a date with this guy.”

“Yeosang,” you correct her, “and it's not a date.”

She sighs, a little exasperated, and shakes her head at a flower-pattern dress you hold up for her approval. “Too on the nose. What do you call it then?”

“Hanging out with a friend.” There's really no doubt in your voice even if you're scavenging your closet for something that makes you look extra nice. “So, not a date.”

“You haven't stopped talking about him so I guess you can see why I assumed it was a date.”

You look up at her, a smile pulling at the corners of your lips “Then you know his name is Yeosang. Caught ya.”

Zuha rolls her eyes and you decide to go with one of your regular feel good outfits, one that you know makes you look good without trying much.

“I don't care what his name is! That's not my point!”

“Then what's your point?”

“He's a… dude.”

“That I've formally known for almost a month.”

Throwing herself in your bed, your lips curl upwards again when you catch her dramatic expression and hear the over exaggerated huff she lets out.

“Could you maybe communicate what you're actually thinking instead of doing… whatever this is?”

She braces herself in her forearms and looks at you with a frown “You said it was cute the last time!”

Last time you went out with someone, she means. It was nothing serious, merely a movie and a dinner and a kiss at your doorstep before deciding dating took a lot of effort and a lot of time you didn't have.

So that's why this thing with Yeosang is not a date.

Expectations can't go up if it's not a date.

But last time your friend was also just being dramatic to commit to the overprotective bit, saying Yeonjun rubbed on her and what not.

This time, you can tell she means it.

So you give her a look and her indignant expression dissipates until she's pouting and letting herself fall on the bed again.

“I mean, why can't you hang out with him in the club? Where are we all three minutes away?”

She's so cute.

“Because I told him that I wanted to see him during the day and the club is closed.”

“You invited him?”

You stare at her disbelief with a raised eyebrow and her expression goes away when she realizes the dramatics are truly not working on you.

“Okay, I’ll shut up.”

Smile widening, you shake your head at her “There’s truly nothing to worry about, Zuha.”

“You’re my best friend,” she argues, with a pout, “of course I worry.”

Kazuha lets out a tiny screech when you pout back at her because she knows that, in the next few seconds, you’re going to tackle her with a bear hug.

And that’s exactly what you, before she even gets the chance to stand up from your bed. She pushes you to the side and you both stare at the ceiling for a second, giggling and breathless.

“You must really like him if you asked him out. You don’t ask people out.”

Suddenly, you feel like your breath is fully taken away. You think about it for a second but there’s no use in denying the obvious. You were never someone who fought to suppress their emotions, someone who shy away from what they truly want, but when it comes to things like this (love or attraction, you suppose) it’s a little complicated.

Because you have no issue going home with someone you met at the club, making out with them in a dark corner outside of it or in the middle of the dancefloor if the time calls for it, but you don’t ever talk to them.

Not like you’ve been talking to Yeosang, anyway.

“I really do.”

When you hear her sigh, you both giggle again.

And then she helps you get ready with soft city pop coming out of your laptop’s speaker and hooks one of her necklaces around your neck. It has your birth flower as a pendant and, when you ask how she has this, she simply answers: “Boys will give you anything as a gift as long as it looks feminine enough. He didn’t know my birthday.”

It’s no mystery why she’s exclusively dating women now.

Fifteen more minutes pass and, just as you’re heading out the door, a paper slides underneath it. You hear the heavy steps of the building’s manager (who is insistent in delivering mail the old way, just to get a chance to snoop in your personal lifes) as they pass your door and the next one and only when the sound completely disappears, you pick the mail up.

One envelope is for you, one is for Kazuha.

And it suddenly hits you both.

The company results. The ones that tell you if you got in or not.

Gulping, you notice the difference between your envelope and Zuha’s. Hers has the K-Arts logo and yours is blank.

Your gut tells you what the results are before even opening it, but you follow your best friend to the couch and sit down in front of her before rushing her to open the envelope. There’s barely an ounce of patience in your system as she reads the words and you follow the movement of her pupils.

“O-oh my god, Y/N, I got in!”

“Into the company?”

“Yes!”

You’re sure your neighbors are tired of hearing your screams. Of joy, of anger, of whatever. They must be tired.

But right now that’s the only possible reaction and your heart is heavy with both happiness and pride. You’re so proud of her, you tell her as much and hug her and then get up and jump up and down a little with her still in your arms before the moment passes.

And now it’s your turn.

If she notices the difference in appearance of the envelopes, or the way your face falls with worry and your fake smile doesn’t even hold, she doesn’t mention it.

It doesn’t take even half a paragraph to read your rejection from the company you’ve dreamed of joining.

“Wha… Why?” your friends ask and you shrug.

“It doesn’t say— Wait,” you notice that the letter is folded at the bottom so it could fit properly inside the envelope. When you unfold it and read the text, you let out a scream of surprise.

Zuha pushes your shoulder and then leans in, trying to read as well “Read it the entire thing to me!”

“They rejected me here but it says: However, we took the liberty of sending your profile to the internationally renowned classical ballet company, The Royal Ballet, and they have decided to offer you a spot in their school to further your education and train with their techniques for no longer than a year.” You stare up at Kazuha and her mouth is hanging open, her eyes are wide as well and you feel the familiar prick of tears in your eyes, but you blink them away. “If your performance is up to their standards, they have decided to offer you a spot as a member of their corps de ballet, with a full salary after six months of your second year with them.”

Lowering the letter, you stare up at your friend again. There’s silence for a few seconds where you two try to make your brains compute the information and what it all means, what it all implies, what would happen if you say yes to this opportunity.

When you say yes to this opportunity.

And then you’re both screaming again, her arms around you as she pushes you up to your feet to jump in a circle, excitement pouring out the both of you. You realize you’re crying when a sob escapes you and she stops jumping to hug you even tighter.

“You deserve this, Y/N. Of course they wouldn’t let you stay in this small company, of course they wouldn’t— Oh, your makeup!” She reprimands when she pulls away to catch your eye, but her thumbs are swiping away the tears either way. You pout. “A full salary after a year and half, too!” She pauses and her mouth mirrors yours, her eyes filled with tears as well. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Zuha…”

“— So, so proud.”

It isn't until she pinches your cheeks that you remember you have somewhere to be.

“Oh fuck, what time is it?”

She rolls her eyes.

“He likes you,” she says with a tiny smile, “he’ll wait.”

That calms your sudden panic and you nod, her fingers pinching your cheeks one more time.

“Okay.”

“He better.” She adds in a threat and you laugh.

“Okay.”

Yeosang waits for you, just as your best friend said.

He leans against the entry wall with squinted eyes because the sun is shining bright today and before you get to him you get a second to take in how he looks in the daylight.

His skin glistens slightly, like he put on moisturizer and sunscreen before he got here (all green flags in your opinion) and he’s dressed in all black again, casually. You realized that when he goes to the club he’s a little dressed up, as you are every night as well. Or, at least, the way he stylizes his clothes makes him look different.

It’s okay, you think, I’m also someone else entirely during the day time.

You ignore the weight in your heart at the thought that you’re possibly leaving him and this newfound friendship behind in a few months.

Why is it that the good things, the ones that excite your spirit, always last so little?

“I realized,” he starts as soon as he sees you, a smile brightens up his face immediately, “that I don’t have your number.”

That didn’t even cross your mind. It should’ve, but it didn’t. You see, you can’t even start imagining a text thread with Yeosang. With him, everything feels like it should be this way.

With him, in front of you. In person.

Your heart aches a little again but you push it away. You won’t let very obviously good and rewarding news get in the way of this not-date.

Even if you’re dying to tell him.

Instead, you shrug and offer him your sunglasses “You never asked.”

He looks at what you're offering and frowns and then you point up at the sun.

“It’s bright inside as well?”

You nod.

“You’ve never been?”

He smiles like he’s been caught and your mouth drops open, a little scandalized by this new information.

“Yeosang!”

“You never asked.”

Rolling your eyes, you head to the booth that sells the tickets to go inside but he hurries to get in front of you… Two tickets in hand.

Coming to a full stop, you tell your heart to behave. It shouldn’t react this way over something so simple.

And yet, it does.

“I forgive you for twisting my own words against me.”

“I forgive you for being late,” you’re about to tell him he’s doing it, again, but then he drops his head to the side and looks at you with a little worry in his eyes. “Is everything okay?”

More than okay, actually. Everything is spectacular and I haven’t even told my parents about the offer. I haven’t told you and I might be getting your hopes up even though I’m leaving. Oh, I also didn’t get in the company I told you about. And I’m terrified of leaving the country and possibly spending the rest of my days somewhere I can’t even call home.

“Yeah,” you nod and, to possibly distract him from the way the pitch of your voice went up a little, you take his arm in yours and start walking towards the door, “everything good. Got a little too carried away with the whole get ready part of the day.”

If he notices the way you’re not even glancing in his direction, he doesn’t mention it at all.

“Well, you look beautiful.”

Now, that makes you look at him.

He coughs a little and looks away.

“You always do.” He adds and you all but laugh at the way he’s so bold and then so shy.

“You look really good too, Yeosang. Always,” you add as well, bumping your hip into his softly. “Now that I’ve seen you in broad daylight, I can confirm.”

Now it’s his turn to laugh a little and he turns to you as you walk down the initial part of the building. There’s a few rooms to walk through but you both seem to disregard that, walking straight to the conversatory automatic doors. Your breath gets a little caught up in your throat.

He truly is a beautiful man.

“Not an ounce of disappointment?”

Faking an offended gasp, you shake your head. “Not at all!”

Yeosang nods, taking a look around the room.

“Good,” his voice comes out in a murmur, but you are close enough to hear him. “I’m glad.”

Finally, you only smile and look around the room as well.

It’s been awhile and there’s some things that have changed, but the place gives you the same feel it did when you first came. Like a year after it opened, because it was packed every single day before that. Now, not so much. You see a woman with two kids and a stroller, an older man with his hands behind his back walking around without staring at the plants much and a tourist-looking couple taking a picture in front of a massive potted plant.

It was hot then and it seems even hotter down, the humidity clinging to you almost immediately. They are trying to replicate a tropical forest in this area, so the plants that thrive in the conservatory climate all require this level of humidity anyway. You should’ve mentioned that, or remembered it before even stepping in.

You came with your family, you took pictures in front of some plants you’ve never seen before, you bragged about it to the kids in your ballet class and then never returned. But it is really—

“This place looks so not like I expected it to look.”

Not only does Yeosang manage to make it seem like you both are thinking about the same thing all the time, he also sparks your curiosity like no other person ever has.

“How come you’ve never been here?” You ask as he lets go of your arm, taking out a small (but semi-professional) digital camera. He doesn’t turn it on, just secures the cord around his wrist and turns to you at the questions.

“I don’t really enjoy crows. I guess I said that I would come when the buzz of the opening died down and then never remembered to check it out after that.”

His answer makes you tilt your head as you think.

“You don’t like crowds?”

He shakes his head at you.

“But you went to the club almost every single night?”

Again, he looks like he’s been caught doing something ridiculous. There’s shyness oozing off of him, but also a hint of shame that you don’t like at all.

“Is it the right time to admit that I went to that club to see you?”

You squint your eyes “And to film your documentary.”

“Yes,” he nods, “but there’s only enough footage one can get before it becomes a little obvious that I was there only for you. Not only the last few weeks, I mean…”

You’re guessing he’s expecting you to be a little freak out by that, but you’ve both discussed this before, that first night when you two finally got away from the crowd to talk. So you’re not freaked out but you are a little nervous because you know what it means.

You’ve always known what it means.

It’s just a little bit heavy on your heart today because you know you can’t fully carry this out without hurting him or yourself in the process, not when you’re leaving anyways.

Again, you almost let that feeling ruin the moment, this moment, these days that’s exclusively for the two of you to enjoy. Those feelings don’t belong in this, in the soft embrace of Yeosang’s company and understanding. He also deserves to enjoy the little tour you’re about to give him, to enjoy the ambiance the fake waterfalls and rocks provide.

“Okay,” you say with a smile that seems to get rid of the shame in his expression, “I’m flattered— and glad, to be honest. I enjoy your company.”

“I enjoy yours.” He says back and offers you his arm again. You take it without thinking twice.

“Let’s see how much you enjoy it after I talk your ear off with my guided tour.”

He laughs “I get one of those?”

“For free,” you add with a nod, turning to him, “or, well, the small price of your sanity.”

He pretends to think about it for a second but after you squint your eyes at him in suspicion and fake offense at all the thinking, he concedes. “Sounds good, reasonable even.”

“Mhm.”

Feeling giddy, you go on and on about the place. About what you remember from the actual guided tour you paid for back in the day. About the plants and the importance of the place during the cold winter months and Yeosang listens to you even though what you’re explaining is obvious.

You drag him to the second floor and then to the seed room (a room where they explain the different types of seeds) and then to the library and then to the cafe to take a tiny break from the heat that follows the conservatory and the rooms around it.

Yeosang takes photos the entire time. He records, he takes your picture in front of an emulated dessert and a few cacti with tiny and beautiful flowers blooming from them. He lets you take his arm and, by the time you’re both out of the dome and into the path that leads to the park attached to this botanical garden, you’re both walking shoulder to shoulder.

And your pinkies are brushing.

“You shouldn’t have,” you say to break the comfy silence you’re both in as you enter the bridge connecting one side of the park with the other. “Next time they’re on me.”

Shaking your coffee cup, he huffs something close to a laugh but when you look at him from the corner of your eye, his face is flushed.

“Love when you say that.”

Behave, beating heart.

“What?” You ask in a whisper.

“When you say there’s going to be a next time.”

Oh, the universe is funny. Silly. A goof, a meanie even, for playing with your emotions this way.

“Yeosang…”

You can tell the moment he makes the decision. One that takes a lot of bravery, one that steals the breath from your lungs and makes a shiver run down your spine. He intertwines your finger with his, slowly, with a caress when you reach the end of the bridge and move to the side to let other people, who are not even paying attention to you, pass by.

A few seconds later your hand is fully intertwined with his and you try no to cry because he’s looking at you with a speck of hope in his eyes. Hope for a future you can’t offer.

Because you’re leaving.

“You told me that you like when I tell you things,” he starts and you lick your lips, nodding as a reply because you can’t find your voice even though you should. You should stop him. You should stop this. “And I feel like there’s no point in not saying out loud what you already know. Because you know, don’t you?”

Even now, when there’s a joke at the tip of your tongue, the only thing you can do is soften your kind of worried expression and nod again.

“I like you,” he breathes out and he doesn’t say it in a whisper, like you expect it.

He doesn’t say it in between kisses and loud music, with the purpose of getting you into a dark secluded corner and having his way with you, or with the intention of getting you home and ghost you the next day like you’re used to.

When Yeosang tells you that he likes you, it comes with the soft spring breeze grazing your face and a halo of light behind him. It comes with the sun coming down, with the tiredness that comes with spending the entire day laughing and talking and walking around with someone you care about, with the faint smell of coffee and the cold of your cup freezing the palm of your free hand even though you feel warmth spread inside of you.

“I don’t expect you to say it back because we just met a few weeks ago. And I also don’t want you to think that my tiny crush is what motivated me to include you in my documentary. Or film you. Or be a borderline creep around you or your group of friends in the club, I just— I’m okay being your friend,” he clarifies and you want to huff out a tiny laugh because he looks so nervous and yet his voice doesn’t waver once, not like when you first met. He’s sure of what he’s saying and you believe him immediately, too. He let’s go of your hand to gesture with his, “I’m okay with you not liking me back. I’m sure I’ll grow out of it or tell you if I can’t move on, but—”

“Breathe.”

“—But I want you to stay in my life. I like spending time with you and I—”

“Yeosang.”

He blinks, realizing that he’s word vomiting for literally nothing.

Because, at his confession, you can’t help but smile widely. And then that smile shrinks a little at the sudden realization that you need to tell him.

Now.

But you want to give him the grace of not outright rejecting him at the edge of the bridge.

“Come here.”

Taking his hand back in yours, you ignore his confused stare and drag him towards where you initially wanted to enjoy your coffee: There’s a small pond where you can sit at a reasonable distance, to not interfere with the birds drinking from it and the fishes swimming in it.

From your bag, you take out the tablecloth you stole from your living room table (with Zuha’s permission, of course) and lay it down on the grass before practically throwing yourself in it.

As you sit, Yeosang does as well and you let out a sigh, thinking about the pond.

Admiring it from a distance, like Yeosang admired you for months.

Possibly the same way you’ll have to admire him now that you’re leaving.

“I didn’t get in.”

He turns his head to you, a frown creasing his eyebrows “What?”

“They rejected me today, that’s why I was a little late,” you curve your lips into a tense smile and at the realization that you might be feeling a little guilty for lying to him (you are), he shakes his head. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for something so silly, I don’t mind waiting for you,” he says and you can’t help but take the meaning of his words and extend it to the situation he knows nothing about yet. “What do you mean they rejected you?” You shrug as an answer and he lets out a breathy, indignant laugh “Why would they do that?”

The fact that he’s getting offended on your behalf assures your entire being that he cares. He cares, he cares, he cares and you’re about to leave someone who cares about you behind.

You’re about to leave so many people behind.

“They rejected me because another company wants me to join their team and they probably wanted to narrow my options,” you shrug again and you watch as his face turns from offended to confused to surprised to happy for you in just a few seconds and he changes his weight to his knees, his arms opened and you answer the question before he even gets to ask. “The royal ballet.”

“The royal ballet?”

You roll your eyes, wacking the arm closest to you with minimal force “Do you even know what that is?”

“Of course I know what that is! Y/N!” He wiggles his arms and you get on your knees as well, rounding his neck with yours, hugging him close to you. He hugs you back and it’s tight, it’s warm, it’s friendly and at the same time it feels weighted with his romantic feelings towards you. You enjoy it, you enjoy it even more when he sways you side to side, like something within him knows he has to comfort you. “Congratulations!”

“Thank you,” you return softly and start following his movements, swaying you both as well until it gains enough impulse to make you fall against the soft material of the tablecloth and grass almosts gets in your eye but you pay it no mind because Yeosang’s arm is under your head and he’s so close to you that you feel like screaming (in the best way possible). “If you know what the royal ballet is, do you know where the main school is located, right?”

He nods.

“You understand they want me to go there, right?”

He nods again and you take in some air.

“Yeosangie…”

He smiles at the nickname.

“I like you,” you start, soft again as if saying it louder would make the words that follow it hurt any less. They hurt you, they are going to hurt him as well. “But I think we should be friends, I think— No, I’m sure I’m taking their offer.”

Yeosang stays quiet for a few seconds. You cuddle into his touch further, without really wanting it to and he raises his hand, his knuckle caressing your cheek softly.

It’s not a platonic touch, it’s not a platonic scenario either despite what you just told him and you’re sure he’s not doing it on purpose. You’re not doing it on purpose.

It just feels natural to move closer to him. To revel in the feel of his fingertips against your skin.

“You do know I didn’t show up at the club night after night just to be romantically involved with you, right?”

Nodding, his hand on your face slips down a little and he cups your chin with your fingers.

“I’m happy with us being friends, I’m happy with you staying in my life.”

“But I’m leaving…”

“London it’s not that far… It’s like—”

He looks like he wants to say something but instead he frowns and looks to the sky, a slight pout on his lips you feel the need to kiss.

“Yeosang?” You ask after what feels like a minute.

“Eight hours?”

“Huh?”

He laughs a little “I think it’s an eight hour difference. I can stay up late, you can wake up early, we can find a way to keep in touch.”

Turning back to you, his hand cups your cheek instead and his thumb slides against the skin. When he turned back to you, he moved a little bit closer. You’re sure it wasn’t intentional but then the words he said just a few minutes ago make your heart race.

I’m happy with us being friends.

Why? You don’t want him to be happy with you two just being friends. You want him to kiss you. You want him to not understand you and to disregard your wishes and tell you he wants you forever.

You know that you couldn’t extend the same sentiment to him. But he’s patient and kind and so, so polite and you’re not sure how anyone here or all the way in London could compare to him.

Again, your heart is mourning the loss of something you never truly had.

But you try to learn from his patience and let out a tiny sigh before resigning your result to insist on whatever you two have going on.

“Okay.”

It’s your turn to look at the sky above you, the orange gradually fading into the perfect canvas for stars to paint allows you to finally, finally let the entirety of the news sink in.

“Oh, my god.”

“Hm?”

You sit up straight, mouth open and a crease in between your brows.

“Oh my fucking god. I’m going to London and my parents don’t even know about it yet.”

“They don’t know?”

“I had a date with you!” Looking at him, you don’t miss the way he blushes and you feel yourself heat up a little too at your choice of words. “Only Zuha knows… She was with me when we got the envelopes.”

“Well… Do you feel like you want to tell them in a special way? Because you can just call them, if you want.”

Gulping, you shake your head slightly “M-my mom hates calls.”

He pauses for a bit, you see him blink twice and then stare at the corner of his lips as they lift up a little.

“Are you nervous about telling them?”

You realize you are. You’ve never been nervous about telling them anything at all. They celebrate your successes and help you through your hard times even if you hold your chin up and insist you’re okay. You’re sure they’re going to be over the moon about the news.

Why are you hesitating to tell them, then?

“Do you… Do you think they’ll let me go?”

He smiles fully now, sitting up as well. “I think they’re proud of you and they’ll be proud of you whether you’re here or in London,” he shrugs and then he adds, “I’m proud of you.”

It makes you smile.

“And I just met you. I can’t imagine how they must feel,” your eyes roll instantly at the attempted joke but you huff out a laugh anyway, “and they’ve known since forever, I mean—”

You extend your arm to push him a little and he falls back down into the tablecloth with a fake cry. “Shut up.”

“Did I lie?”

“Kang Yeosang, shut up.”

The next few months feel like a montage you can see in one of those coming of age movies. Not a romantic comedy, but a coming of age.

You tell your parents about London and they go through all the stages of grief before congratulating you and telling you they’re proud, they’re happy for you. You tell your friends and it’s a similar experience, except that, instead of celebrating with hugs and a dinner at a fancy restaurant, they drag you to the dinner at a fast food joint at the side of the street and then to the club.

They celebrate Kazuha’s acceptance into the university’s company as well, of course, and the next morning you both nurse a hangover that repercutes on you days after that as well. It’s all worth it, it is every time but Zuha and you make sure to complain every day until it fully goes away.

You still hang out with Yeosang. Every single time there’s an ache in your heart that dreads the moment you part (for the day but also… forever, maybe?) and you conceal it with smiles and teasing jokes that don’t cross the line. You hang out with him at his dorm, which you were hesitant to do at first but he explained:

“My roommate is never here anymore. His girlfriend got a new apartment and so he basically lives with her.”

You turn to the side of the room, where there are pictures of said roommate with Yeosang and a few people you think you recognize from the club, but you also can’t be sure. You take the guy in every single picture is Yunho, his roomie, and the girl he’s kissing on the cheek is his girlfriend. She looks your age, so you turn to Yeosang with a raised eyebrow and he laughs a little.

“They’re rich.”

“Him included?”

“Mhm,” he sighs, clicking away on his computer to chop some footage and add some in its place, “he likes to cosplay being poor.”

“That’s insane.”

He gives you another affirmative sound and you move around the tiny space two times before calming your nerves of being alone in a room with him and sitting down in his bed, facing his left side since he’s sitting at his desk.

“More room for you, I guess.”

You notice his smile fading bit by bit, lips forming a tense line a second after. “It’s a little lonely,” he admits. “All of my friends are really busy lately. Which, you know, it’s fine. It’s life. We’re all growing up and I feel like I can’t quite catch up to them.”

“You did just get into the firm you wanted to, though. You feel like you can’t catch up to the direction they're going?”

He smiles “Well, first of all, I got an internship—”

“And they’re giving you the job after the internship ends, we all know this, Yeosang!” you interrupt him and he gives you a look that makes you smile for a second before pretending he’s annoying you. “Whatever.”

“Like I was saying— I got an internship in the firm, not into the firm,” he finally gets to say and you look back at him, the somber look returning to his face after the second of respite your interruption provided. “But, I mean, we’re starting to see each other less and less— Should I keep this in?” He points at the screen and you frown at the sudden change of topic but then, when you see a frame of you making a weird face for the camera as he sets it up, you get why.

“Don’t you dare,” you extend your leg and push your feet into his side, he recoils like you stabbed him with something but then recovers quickly. There’s a second where you both smile, your leg coming back to the bed, and then you push a little for the feelings he was explaining before. “You’re seeing each other less and less?”

“Yeah. I get it, obviously, Hongjoong has this mini tour he needs to plan— That’s my friend who’s in a band,” he explains, “so he’s barely in our hang outs anymore. Yuhno just found love for the first time ever so he’s in the honeymoon phase and the rest of them are just trying to survive their last year of college or jobs.”

“Like us,” you nod.

“Like us,” he whispers in agreement, “and yet we still have time to see each other. I’m guessing some of them see each other often, too, I just… Never really had that with any of them. They’re good friends, the best of them really—”

“And that would be my group of friends, but okay.”

He laughs and then continues. “But I never really… Connected like that, one on one, with anyone. Jongho, maybe, but he’s going insane trying to keep his grades up to stay in the team and maybe go pro for a few years afterwards and—”

Sliding to the edge of the bed, you get up from your position to bring your arms around your friend. You can tell it’s really getting to him. You have your own shit going on, the whole I’m leaving my whole life behind and starting over, kind of, in a new city thing but you haven’t put yourself in the shoes of those you’re leaving behind, their own worries about their futures plaguing their thoughts as well.

“It’s all too much… And I haven’t even finished editing the documentary.”

“You’re almost done.”

“It’s due in five days.”

“You’re almost done,” you repeat, pulling away a little while looking down at him. He looks up, almost pouting. “You got this, Yeo.”

And then the inevitable tension that comes into the room the second you two touch for longer than five seconds enters and you both let go at the same time. You swallow hard, he coughs and then the topic of conversation switches until you both forget the fact that electricity runs through both your spines whenever you hold each other.

So Yeosang never touches you. He holds your hand, hugs you goodbye but he never insists. By your final performance, two days later, where he is in attendance and sits next to a very (but not as much as before) skeptical Yeonjun, you wonder if the small bouquet you see on his lap all the way from the stage is a purely platonic gesture.

Because when you do your final bow as a student, eyes filled with tears, and get down to the backstage, the first person you see it's not your dad, your mom or Yeonjun. It's him.

But the bouquet he extends to you it's as beautiful as it is not unique. When he sees Kazuha, he offers a similar one to her and she accepts, breathless, emotional and a little bit confused.

So you start to wonder if he stopped liking you as the days went by, you start to wonder if you're the only one who fell deeper even though you're the one who decided for the both of your to not pursue the constant tension between you both, to put aside your confessions in honor for your friendship to flourish and outlast the incoming physical distance your future is going to put between you two.

That's why you don't entertain the thought much, just lean in to give him a hug that screams I'm in love with my friend to all of your classmates, Yeonjun and your parents (who you see from the corner of your eye entering the room before you close them), which doesn't really help your case at all.

“Thank you, Yeosang,” you whisper into the skin of his neck, for only him to hear, “for coming, for being there for me, for the flowers and for everything.”

“You sound like you're saying goodbye to me,” he whispers back, pulling away just a bit so he can see you. “You're not leaving yet. Let's not do that until then, please?”

And because you've been learning a lot of things from him, patience being one of them, you smile a little and nod in agreement.

But you don't miss the way his eyes take in your features and stop to look at your lips for a few seconds too long. You can't help when you do the same, either.

Your heart sings a hopeful song. A dumb, dumb melody filled with wishes of the things you can't indulge in, not right now, not ever.

Because that song has a beat you think you’ll be able to dance to, choreograph it in a way only you and him understand and you’re so sure it will give you the same euphoric feeling being the middle of the dancefloor at a packed club or performing variations of your favorite classic characters on stage give you.

And that is enough to make you want to stay.

But you can’t.

Your acceptance to the royal ballet proposal, once it came into you and Zuha’s shared apartment, has been already emailed and signed, sealed, delivered through physical mail.

It’s confirmed that you’re leaving later this month, at the start of the new semester for them.

For you as well, you guess.

And since you learned that, time seems to turn into thin dust in your hands, slipping from your fingers and blowing away in the wind.

So you really should put a stop to your feelings for Yeosang, but they only grow stronger.

You move back home to try and spend a little more time with your family and that makes his dorm farther away than before but you still show up to see him edit anyway.

And when he finishes the documentary, he refuses to show you it because he claims he needs time and a bigger screen.

But you're not sure you two have that much time at all.

And involuntarily do that thing where your face drops even though you're still smiling and his lightbulb lights up.

“A farewell screening party!”

“A… A what?”

“You know,” he clears his throat a little and you see him blush, “a party for you and for me at the same time. It can be your farewell party and the screening of my documentary because God knows Yunho will force me to show it to all of our friends either way.”

You purse your lips, clearly trying not to laugh and he levels you with a look.

“What?”

“Nothing, that’s…” you cough your giggles away, “adorable.”

“Right.”

You take a sneaky step forward and he barely notices but his eyebrow raises. He seems to know what you're trying to do but you're a little bit distracted by the edge on his expression so your lack of immediate action makes him lower his guard.

And you lunch for the computer without thinking twice.

“No!”

“You're not even going to let me see a snippet of it, Yeosang?!”

You laugh but avoid him and you’re literally opening the video library of his computer when you feel two hands grab your middle and pull you back. He falls into Yunho’s mattress and you fall with him.

Squeaking and then letting out a laugh, you realize too late that Yeosang has pulled you into his lap, his palms secured on your hips, his breath on your neck. As you turn your head to look at him, smiling slowly fading from your lips and his, you also notice that this was not what he intended to do in the first place.

But you’re both frozen in place.

Eyes not looking up at his face, you open and close the palms of your hands over the part of his chest and arm you’re just realizing now you’re holding. You blink a few times and from the corner of your eye you see his adam’s apple bob, you hear the sound of him swallowing tightly and feel against your shoulder the rumble of his chest when he speaks, low and soft, unsure like he doesn’t really know what’s the correct volume to use right now.

“It’s a surprise.”

“A surprise,” you repeat in the same tone, dumbly, a little bit distracted by his scent, “of course,” and then you frown, curious as always. “Why is it a surprise again?”

He huffs out a short laugh. “If I tell you, it’ll ruin the surprise.”

“Of course.”

You should move. He should let go. Someone should do something because this is blurring the lines of your friendship entirely.

But his lap is comfy and you can feel his heart beating against your skin and, instead of being in high alert and in a reactionary mood, your body just relaxes against him.

He feels it and the touch against you relaxes as well but stays in its place. Yeosang’s head moves a little bit forward, his chin resting against your shoulder like the action alone is not enough to make the butterflies in your stomach go insane.

“I just hope you like it.”

The tremor on his voice gives away that he’s genuinely nervous about it, so you tilt your head and let your temple touch his.

“I probably will, Yeo.”

Lifting his head a little, your nose bumps slightly with his nose and your eyes widen at the feeling.

It truly shouldn’t be this difficult. You should lean in and kiss him or he should lean in and kiss you but the boundaries you drew stand tall in between you.

You wonder if the need that burns in his eyes when you look at him also burns in yours. You wonder if he sees it. You wonder if it’s enough to make the spoken rules of your relationship crumble.

Breath shaking a little, you push a bit forward, lips parted and waiting for him to take the last step, to confirm that the rules and boundaries and the conversation you two had about the nature of your dynamic goes to hell and you get to finally have him like you want to have him.

Yeosang looks like he’s thinking the same thing as you and, just when you’re about to close your eyes again and let this whole thing be…

The door swings open.

And you practically fly off his lap, trip with a pair of shoes that are not yours and shouldn’t be there in the first place and almost fall to the floor. A hand you are not familiar with catches you and you look up to find Yunho of all people preventing your face from banging against the floor.

“Are you okay?” He asks and you turn to Yeosang instead of replying, for some reason.

Yeosang is very still, paralyzed in fear even for a few seconds before his brain seems to catch up to the situation because he stands, grabs your shoulders and stabilizes you fully on the ground.

You clear your throat and then turn to Yunho: “I’m fine,” you say, voice very small and the answer is a little dumb because everyone can see you’re clearly not fine. “Thanks.”

“Of course…” He turns to look behind him and that’s when you realize.

Oh, this is mortifying.

There’s three other people behind him: Wooyoung, who you recognize because one time he facetimed Yeosang while you two were together and you catched a glimpse at the screen, and two other guys you assume Yeosang has probably mentioned before, but you can’t recall their names right now.

Your head is not functioning properly right now.

“This is—” Yeosang starts.

“Y/N!” You say for him with a nod and a big smile.

“She’s my friend that I met at the club and—”

“Your co-star,” you point to Yunho, “supporting actress of the documentary, really, I’ve seen him edit it and you are the main star.”

“— her name is Y/N.” Yeosang finishes.

You clasp your hands together in front of you and it makes a loud noise, bow a little too. “That’s me.”

From the corner of your eye you see how Wooyoung turns around, trying not to laugh, and then one of the guys punches him in the arm.

“We can, uhm…” Yunho is trying really hard not to laugh as well and you fail to see what about this embarrassing situation they found funny. “We can come back later if you guys want.”

It’s even more embarrassing when both you and Yeosang basically scream a: “No!” at the same time.

Which only makes Wooyoung break into a giggle that’s soon muffled by the hand of the second guy you don’t recognize at all.

So you turn to Yeosang fully, leaning down to pick up your bag from where you dropped it on the floor.

“I have to go and help Zuha with the—”

“Oh, that’s right! Of course.”

You don’t need to help Kazuha with absolutely anything.

“And I guess you need to tell them about the party—”

“Yup, I’ll tell them, um…”

There’s an awkward silence for what feels like forever (two seconds, max) and then you both give each other a quick hug before you’re practically running for the door.

“It was very nice to meet you all.” You say and it sounds weird because your throat is dry and you stumble it out.

You don’t wait to hear their responses as you grab your shoes from the floor and then open and close the door behind you fast.

Yeosang can deal with whatever they’re going to do, the ways they’re probably going to tease him. They’re his friends after all.

And even though you feel the heat of the embarrassment on your cheeks and your heart racing, you smile at the laughter you hear through the wood of the door. It follows you as you walk through the hallway and there’s only one thing going through your head as you get secure your bag around your shoulder and start to head home:

There’s the possibility Yeosang would’ve kissed you if they never walked in.

There’s the possibility he still wants you the same way you want him.

Yeosang has never been more flushed in his entire life.

He watches you back until the door closes and then a second of silence passes by before everyone starts to laugh.

Everyone but him, because it’s not funny at all.

Lips still aching at the thought of kissing you, he barely gets time to roll his eyes at his friends before they’re all but throwing him on the bed and tickling his sides.

He doesn’t really want to laugh but his body’s reaction leaves him no choice.

“You should’ve texted me that you had a girl over or something, dude!” Yunho starts and Yeosang huffs in response.

“I thought you said the two of you were just friends, though?” San asks and he all but rolls his eyes.

“What did you just see, Choi San? I swear to god you and Yunho are—”

The mentioned one gasps dramatically and cuts Wooyoung mid sentence “What did I do now?”

“Clueless!” Wooyoung says and he laughs a little at that.

They stopped tickling him but they’re all still on top of him on the bed and the mattress makes a weird noise at that. It’s a dormitory mattress, after all and it can barely handle two people.

Or you in his lap, he guesses.

Dear God.

Seonghwa sighs like a mother tired of her children’s shenanigans and even though it’s hard to see with three bodies on top of him, Yeosang sees him with his arms closed at the edge of the bed “Guys, could you all just… Get off Yeosang for a second?”

“Yeah, he needs to explain himself!” Wooyoung is the first one off of him and he feels like can breathe better.

“There’s no explaining to do, you sound like Gyuri.”

“I beg,” Wooyoung pauses dramatically, for effect and everyone in the room groans, “you pardon?”

“No, sit the fuck down.”

“Okay,” Yeosang says now that he’s free and he stares at his friends, at San first. “We are just friends and it’s not what it looks like.”

“So you weren’t about to kiss her?”

He short circuits at that “Well—”

“You were?”

“Guys,” Seonghwa interrupts once more, “let him talk.”

He feels like it’s the first time in forever since he’s been able to speak about anything with his friends. His heart feels at home and yet his nerves spike, his head hurts a little too and it might be the endless hours of editing catching up to him or the thought of you leaving that makes it hurt. Either way, he needs to tell them.

“I was about to kiss her and it wouldn’t have been a mistake because we didn’t want to, because we both like each other,” he explains, “so we do want to but it would've been a mistake because she’s leaving.”

“What?”

“You didn’t tell me that,” Yunho lets out softly and Yeosang shrugs. He’s the one that knows the most about you since he’s the one Yeosang has been able to speak with the most these past few months.

“That party she was talking about,” he doesn’t really answer Yunho but addresses everyone in the room, “I need help organizing it. It should be a viewing party and a farewell party as well. She got accepted into the Royal Ballet.”

“Huh?!”

Now everyone turns to Yunho at the sound he lets out and he’s covering his mouth and then shrugs as well, a little ashamed of himself.

“I’m not a ballet guy but I know what that is. They were on tour here last year… And I went.”

“Are they good?” San asks and Yunho nods frantically as an answer. “So that means she’s good as well.”

“She is,” Yeosang feels himself deflating, falling into the mattress with a longing sigh. “She lied to you, she’s actually in most of my documentary.”

“I think you forget I’ve seen you editing it before, Yeo.” Yunho laughs.

“Mhm.”

He looks at his friends and both Seonghwa and San look like they want to press him to speak about his feelings but they’re biting their tongue, Yunho’s leg goes up and down and he looks like he's about to apologize for something dumb but no one talks. Yeosang doesn’t want to talk about it, either.

So Wooyoung comes to the rescue.

“A farewell party, now that’s something I can help with!”

San laughs “And a viewing party, don’t forget about the viewing part.”

“The documentary first and then everyone is getting drunk and silly, okay?” He points at Yeosang and he nods, reluctantly because he knows what that means.

“I think I actually have a place for it,” Yunho swallows tightly and Yeosang scrunches his eyebrows in worry. “I mean, I was going to tell you all when we were together but, uhm, I think I’m starting my own dance studio. I received a… fat check this month.”

“Are you sure that’s not the money your father is giving you to try and get you in his company long term?”

“Whatever!” Yeosang laughs and San gets up and puts a mouth over Wooyoung’s mouth for the second time in the last thirty minutes. Seonghwa rolls his eyes. “I got a place and it has a second floor I’m planning to make into a setup for video games and whatnot. I already ordered the projector, it’s what I’m trying to say,” he shrugs and looks at Yeosang again. “We can have it there, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he agrees softly.

And as San lets go of Wooyoung and Seonghwa sits next to him to give him a hug (because he knows that’s better than any words right now), Yeosang can’t help but wonder if now that the party is happening and him and your friends are saying goodbye to you for good, it’s finally time to let go of his feelings for you.

But then, as he watches Yunho sit down in his bed, in the same space where he had you on his lap and with his lips close to yours, the voice in his head that’s been nagging him about the whole thing all these months returns.

And it laughs at him.

It laughs at his wishful thinking and then it reminds him that there’s no letting go of his feelings for you. Those are there to stay, for a good while, as long as you stay the same person and as long as your smile brings him peace. As long as your happiness brings him his, as long as the rhythm of your feet mark the rhythm of his heartbeats, he’s yours.

He 's yours.

Do you want him to be yours?

If you read all the way down here: THANK YOU SO MUCH. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated. part 2 will be out..... someday in the next few weeks (I promise I'm working on it!)

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kaleldobrev · 10 months ago

Text

Aren’t You Forgetting Something?

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Reader

Feat. Character(s): Reader, Soldier Boy/Ben, Hughie Campbell, MM & Nan (Reader’s Grandmother)

Original Prompt: Requested by anon | I gotta tell you that not only I love your writing but I love your series writing, specifically. When something new drops I’m always happy to read it before going to bed because I somehow feel connected to the characters, like I know them! I love to keep up with them and I love Ben’s and Y/N relationship so much. I’m in the mood for some angst between them tho, maybe Ben forgetting her birthday and receiving a silence treatment? I don’t know, but I trust you.

Summary: Ben forgets one of the most important days in yours and his relationship — your one year anniversary

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: Cursing (40x), Forgetful!Ben, Ben making fun of Hughie for the umpteenth time, Implied violence, Lots of angst, Fluff, Vulnerable!Ben & Implied Smut at the end

Authors Note: Takes place in the Hughie’s Best Friend is Dating Soldier Boy Universe | I changed it from birthday to anniversary, so I hope that's okay my anon friend! | Takes place after After Everything | I had a lot of fun looking up 1950s fashion for this | There will not be a second part to this but I will still be adding to this universe | This came out a lot longer than I expected it to, but I had a lot of fun with this | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

⋆ Hughe's Best Friend is Dating Soldier Boy Masterlist ⋆

You never thought that this day would ever come, but it was finally here: yours and Ben's one year anniversary. It was a milestone that you never thought would come, as the relationship between the two of you wasn't always easy. It was rocky, and sometimes very, very messy. But despite all of the messiness, you loved him unconditionally, and he loved you just the same, but showed it in his own unique ways.

Ben wasn't the kind of person to verbally say, "I love you," as his love language tended to be that of a physical nature. He would do chores around the house that you hated to do — despite him having it too. He would bring things back from missions that reminded him of you — often those objects being covered in someone else's blood; and he would kiss and smack your ass every time you were in his path, no matter what either one of you was doing.

Although you love those physical actions, you hoped that maybe one day you would be able to hear him utter those three little words you had been yearning to hear — and maybe, just maybe, today was that day.

Since Ben was away on a secret mission that you weren’t apart of since you were sick at the beginning, you took this whole week that he was away in order to plan what you were going to do for him the day of. Initially, the two of you agreed that you really weren't going to do anything special to celebrate, but the more you thought about it, the more you realized how important this milestone truly was; not only for your relationship, but for the two of you individually.

Although it was only a year, your relationship with Ben was the longest you've ever been in. Not that you've had many previous relationships, but every single one you had previously never really lasted long (you were lucky if it lasted two months), as they either did not understand the whole vigilante justice objective of The Boys, Butcher somehow scared them off, or they were (funnily) threatened by Hughie.

But Ben was different in this way compared to your other relationships. He understood the vigilante justice, he understood your hatred for Vought, and he wasn't threatened by Hughie in the slightest (Hughie was actually threatened by him). Despite all of his flaws, he was perfect in his own way.

When it came to the Ben side of things, you were not his longest relationship by a long shot, but you were the first and only person to have genuine feelings for him. Those genuine feelings being something that no one had seen coming — not even you. But he was someone that gradually turned into becoming the person you had wanted to spend the rest of your life with, despite how strange that sounded to most people.

Your plan for the big day was simple, but felt like it would be special enough to really honor and celebrate the relationship. You had planned to make his favorite dinner: steak and mashed potatoes. For dessert, favorite pie: pecan. And dress in the style of a 1950s housewife, as that was a style he had never once seen you in before.

Even though you have made his favorite dinner and dessert hundreds of times before, dressing up as a housewife was something that was definitely beyond your comfort zone and expertise, so you went to the one person that knew could help you best: your Nan.

Despite the style of the housewife fashion basically being obsolete, it was a look that she adored, and dawned on even years after the style had become out of fashion. Her hair was always neat and never out of place, her lipstick always the deepest shade of red, and her dresses always the brightest of hues. You remembered seeing pictures of her back when she was your age and she was a knockout (Ben agreeing), so when you told her that you wanted to dress in the housewife style, she beamed and quickly went to her closest to pull out the nicest shade of red that perfectly matched your skin tone.

“Just don’t do anything sexual in this dress. I’ll never be able to get the stains out,” she told you with a wink. Her comment causing you to roll your eyes.

“You’re just as bad as Ben,” you told her.

Ben was eager to get back home to you, as this mission was taking a lot longer than he had anticipated. It was supposed to be a quick and easy assassination (something he had done alone hundreds of times before), but one thing after another kept going wrong, and he couldn’t help but blame “his team.” He felt himself getting more and more agitated by the second, and there was nothing he could do about it, especially because you weren’t here to help him take the edge off.

Even though rough sex with you right now would be the highlight of the mission, he wished that you were here to at least talk to him, because you were one of the only people he knew that he could have an actual conversation with that wouldn't end up with him being annoyed.

He paced back and forth, with shield in hand; the only sounds between him and the rest of the group were the occasional snicker and his heavy boots. “You’re making me nervous walking around like that,” MM said, behind his binoculars.

Ben rolled his eyes, stopping a few feet away from him. “Then what would you suggest I’d be doing right now? We’re just sitting around doing nothing.”

“Is there somewhere else you need to be? Cause we’re here to do a job,” MM replied, removing the binoculars from his eyes and turning in Ben’s direction. “And we’re going to be here as long as it takes to do this job.”

“I’d rather be in Y/N’s pussy or ass right now, but because you guys are all somehow getting worse at your jobs, I can’t fucking do that right now,” Ben said, grinning an annoyed grin.

His comment caused mixed reactions from the group; but mainly disgusted looks from MM and Hughie. Butcher and Frenchie on the other hand, looked indifferent about his comment. “I really wish you’d stop mentioning how much you like fucking my best friend. It’s getting…weird,” Hughie commented.

“Fucking pussy,” Ben mumbled to himself.

With the pie cooling on the counter, and with dinner almost ready, you felt your heart beating faster than normal. Was it normal to get this nervous about anniversaries? To you, it felt like another day with Ben, but that’s not the way your heart and stomach was making you feel.

As you looked at yourself in the mirror, you almost didn’t recognize yourself as you dawned red lipstick, and a matching shirtwaist dress you had borrowed from your Nan. But you couldn’t help but wonder what his reaction was going to be as this was something he’d never seen you in before. Yes, he’d seen you dress up a handful of times, but it was in a modern style of dress — sweetheart and plunging necklines with a slit riding up the thigh; not this style which was something he hadn’t seen in decades.

You smiled though, thrilled with your appearance despite the nerves you were feeling. Your hair perfectly styled similar to that of Rosie the Riveter and deep red lipstick that was in a similar shade to your dress. The last thing to complete the look were pearls — your mothers specifically.

Finally covered in a thin layer of blood, sweat, and ash, the mission was finally over, and a huge sigh of relief washed over Ben. In just a few short hours, he would finally be home to his girl. “Fucking finally,” he said, mainly to himself, as he placed his gun back into his holster.

He looked over to his left, and Hughie was standing there with ripped clothes, he too covered in a thin layer of sweat, blood, and ash, holding a gun with his usual slightly constipated look on his face.

As Ben was about to walk away, as he didn’t really want to wait up for Hughie, he sighed, knowing that you’d want him to ask how he was doing in this moment, although he couldn’t give two fucks. “Hey,” he said, and Hughie looked over at him. “You good?” He asked.

The look on Hughie’s face changed; it was no longer the look of constipation, but slight annoyance. “Am I good?” He asked, his hands falling to his sides; the gun slightly hitting him in the leg. “What part of — yeah. I’m fine. Just, just peachy.” His tone radiating sarcasm.

“Awesome,” Ben grinned, giving him a thumbs up as he started walking away; being careful not to trip over any debris. “You comin’ or what?” He called out, as soon as he left the room. “I ain’t gonna be late because of you.”

Hughie’s face changed again to that of a puzzled one. “Late for what?” He asked, but quickly shook his head. “Actually, don’t fucking answer that because you’ll probably say something disgusting.” A loud, booming laugh from Ben could be heard down the hall in response.

As you sat on the couch watching tv, your nerves were starting to get the best of you again, and you were beginning to second guess your decision in wearing this outfit. You thought that it would be a special surprise for him to see you dressed like this, since it was something you usually didn't wear, but at the same time, maybe he wouldn't even notice or care. You weren't entirely sure if it was because he was a guy, or because he's been around such a long time, that he'd seen and done everything, and there was nothing that remotely fazed him at this point in his life.

Staring at the door, you got startled suddenly from the sound of your phone ringing. There was a small part of you that hoped it was Ben, but it was your Nan. Taking a deep breath to collect yourself, you answered the phone. "Hi Nan, how are you?"

"Hi Sweetheart. Has Ben seen you yet? How'd he like the pie?" She asked, her voice sweet.

"Ben's not home yet, but he should be home soon," you told her.

"Okay dear. Well, can you tell him hi and give him a big kiss for me? I always thought he was so handsome back in the day. He still very much is. Aged like a fine wine," she chuckled to herself. "But don't tell your grandfather," she chuckled again.

"Yes, I'll tell him hi and kiss him for you," you said, quietly laughing to yourself. "You know he's always happy to hear from you," which was the truth. He was always happy to humor her and reminisce about the good old days, even if he had heard some of her stories numerous times before.

As you heard the door unlock, you smiled widely. "Nan, I have to go. Ben just walked in," you said.

"Okay Sweetheart. Happy Anniversary!" She said happily. "Don't do anything I wouldn't," she chuckled again, before the two of you hung up the phone. There's not a lot of things Ben wouldn’t do, you thought.

"Fuck it's good to be home," Ben said, walking into the house and placing his shield next to the door. "I swear, your friends are getting worse at their jobs somehow, cause I probably would have been home fucking sooner if — Fuck, look at you." He finally looked up now, and you were standing there in an outfit that he had never once seen on you. It was something that he hadn't seen in decades in fact; and the biggest grin appeared on his face.

You didn’t move a muscle toward him, but he heard your heart beating like a jackrabbit. The sounds of his heavy boots walked across the floor toward you. “Do you like?” You asked, and you gave him a small spin; the dress slightly flowing as you did so. “Thought I’d do something special. Different.” You smiled, practically beaming with excitement. He wondered what the occasion was.

“Haven’t seen one of these in fucking decades,” he said, slightly reminiscing with a grin. He looked you over, eyeing you up and down, one of his fingers hooking into the belt loop of the dress. “What’s the occasion?” Your once beaming smile slowly faded into a frown. “What?”

“You seriously don’t know?” You asked, your voice slightly irritated sounding. He hadn’t had the foggiest idea what made today so special, other than you dressing differently than you normally did.

He looked at your face, trying to obtain some kind of hint, but he had no clue. But your heart was racing faster now. You were pissed — and he didn’t fucking understand why. “No, I really fucking don’t,” he said. “Why don’t you tell me? I’m not a fucking mind reader Princess.”

You let out a huge huff, rolling your eyes at him. As much as he thought you were cute when you were pissed, he didn't like it when you pissed at him. "Un-fucking-believable," you said, pulling away from him.

"What?" He asked, still in utter disbelief.

"Your favorite fucking dinner is on the fucking table along with your favorite fucking pie. I'm going to bed," you said, your voice angry as you stormed off into the bedroom, slamming the door. Two seconds later, the door opened again. "You're sleeping on the couch tonight," you told him, and slammed the door again, promptly locking it behind you.

You knew the lock wouldn't be able to keep Ben out, as he'd be able to bust open the door with barely any effort; but you knew he wouldn't remotely try to come into the room, as he knew not to come in when you locked it — thankfully, he was starting to understand boundaries.

You couldn’t help but be angry, upset, and frustrated. But at the same time, you weren’t remotely surprised that he didn’t remember. It was something that neither one of you initially wanted to make a big deal about, but between this being your longest relationship, and the last person he celebrated an anniversary with gave him up to the Russians, you figured why not make this day special after all?

It took everything you could to hold back the tears as you started to remove your makeup; feeling like it was an utter waste of time. It didn't take you that long to do this, but you went through some effort looking up tutorials online to try and be as 1950s authentic as possible, even asking your Nan for tips on how she used to do her own.

The mascara started running down your face, as you tried your best to scrub it off. But it was barely getting removed, which only frustrated you more. You pounded the dresser, and let out a muffled sounding scream.

A small knock came at the door a few seconds later. "Sweetheart, you okay?" Ben asked, and you scoffed.

"Fuck you," was the only response you could muster up in the moment.

"Ouch," you heard him mumble. "Can we...talk?" His voice hesitant.

"No. Just leave me alone Ben," you said, and you could hear sadness in your voice.

You heard him let out a frustrated sigh. "Alright," and the sound of his heavy boots walked away from the door. He sounded frustrated too.

As Ben ate his dinner that you had made for him (his favorite no less), he tried to figure out why you were so unbelievably pissed at him to the point that you refused to talk to him. Yes, he’d seen you pissed numerous times (either at him or about something else), but you’d never been so pissed to the point that you’d completely shut him out — and that terrified him.

Like usual, he started going down the list of things that he knew pissed you off: not taking his boots off in the house, tracking mud into the kitchen, getting blood on the furniture, doing coke on the kitchen table, crushing Bennie’s on the marble bathroom counter. Maybe it was the boot thing? Yeah, it had to be, he thought.

As you lied in bed staring up at the ceiling, you sighed heavily, wanting more than anything to unlock the door and invite Ben to come in and cuddle with you. It had been almost a week since you’d last saw him, and you just wanted to feel his skin against yours. But you didn’t want to give in — you earned the right to be pissed, even if it wasn’t particularly fair to be, since you agreed not to make it a big deal. Then again, he did forget your anniversary.

You heard a knock at the door again, and you sighed an annoyed sigh. “Go away,” you said.

“I think I know why you’re pissed at me,” Ben said. Your eyes lit up, and you sat up straight in bed, eager for him to say Happy Anniversary. A smile formed on lips, waiting. “I forgot to take my boots off when I came into the house,” and then your smile faded.

“Fucking Christ,” you mumbled, falling into the bed again to stare up at the ceiling.

“Is that a no?” Ben questioned.

“That’s a no,” you responded, annoyed.

“Son of a Fuck,” you heard him mumble, as he walked away from the door again.

As Ben sat on the couch flipping through channels, he continued to think about what you could possibly be this pissed about if it wasn’t the boot thing. Women are so fucking complicated, he thought. Weren’t this fucking complicated back in my day.

He stared at the couch, sighing in annoyance as he didn’t want to be sleeping here tonight. He wanted to sleep in bed with you; something he had been looking forward to the entire week he had been away from you. He looked forward to holding you close, and making you feel safe, tracing patterns on your bare back like you did to him. He honestly didn’t know what he was going to do if he didn’t figure out why you were mad; because he loathed when you were mad at him. It was a time that made him feel the most unease and insecure, and he was rarely insecure and uneasy.

Ben hadn’t known you for long, but you had managed to somehow worm your way quickly into his heart. You were someone he felt a strange connection to the moment he laid his eyes on you; and you were the one person that made him feel safe and loved. You were the only one that he felt he could be his true self around.

He thought of ways in which maybe you could forgive him, and started working on those; one of them being washing the dishes from his dinner even though he preferred you to do it. But he hoped that maybe this small gesture would help in his favor. Maybe I can go down on you? He thought. You always forgive me after that. Then again, I don’t let you come until you do…

As he made his way back into the kitchen, he stopped dead in his tracks, as he noticed something on the calendar that for some reason, he hadn’t noticed previously. Today’s date was circled with a single sentence written in your handwriting: 1 Year Anniversary.

“Fuck,” he said to himself. “I forgot our fucking anniversary.”

Ben stared at the circled date on the calendar, mentally cursing himself because he had forgotten it by accident. It was a day that he meant to remember, and even repeated over and over again while they were heading to the mission. But because it had taken so long to complete, it left his mind, because it had become entirely mission focused.

You’re never going to fucking forgive me, he thought. This was how he was going to lose you. Panic started to set in for him, realizing that he might have to live the rest of his miserable existence without you; and that was something he couldn’t bear the thought of. Ben didn’t need a lot of things, but he knew that he needed you.

Tossing and turning, you were having a hard time trying to fall asleep. You wanted Ben to be lying next to you right now, caressing your hair, and feeling his rapid heartbeat. It was simple moments like those that you enjoyed most with him; because sometimes you would forget all the awful and horrible things both of you had done in order to meet and to get to this point. If Grace hadn’t recruited you, you would have never met the love of your life.

The love of your life: now that was a sentence you never thought you’d ever equate to Soldier Boy. He was someone you grew up having a crush on since you and your father had watched his movies on repeat to the point you had to buy another VHS tape because you’d worn it out. He was someone you wished you could have met because he was always your favorite (partially because he was also your dad’s favorite).

But he was a Supe, and you had told yourself that you’d never end up with one after what had happened to your uncle, but here you were, dreaming of spending the rest of your life with one.

You sighed heavily, and ended up on your back again. A knock came at the door again, and you turned to face it. “I forgot our anniversary, and I’m sorry,” Ben said, and you cocked a brow. His words seemed genuine, and hurt at the same time. “I tried to remember; I really did but…the mission took full focus.” You heard him sigh, and you knew how hard this was for him, as apologizing was something he wasn’t particularly good at, since Vought basically taught him to never apologize for anything. “I don’t want to lose you over this. I….fuck,” he mumbled. “Can you please open the door so I can look at you?”

He heard you getting up out of the bed, slightly sighing. He could hear your heartbeat, and it was music to his ears despite the rapidness of it. He heard you unlocking it, his nerves starting to show as he tapped the wall next to the door.

You opened it up gently and stared at him through the crack of it. Your eyes slightly puffy from crying. He felt his heart drop, hating that he was the one that had made you cry — he never wanted to be the one responsible for that. “Sweetheart,” he began. “I know I fucked up.”

“Did you actually remember, or did you look at the calendar?” You asked him, your voice barely audible even to him.

“I looked at the calendar,” he admitted. “But to be fair, I really did try and fucking remember. You can ask your friend. I was saying the date on repeat, and then the mission got in the way 'cause they weren’t doing their fucking jobs properly.”

“Hughie can back that up?” You asked, and he nodded. He hoped that you wouldn’t ask him, because he wasn’t sure if he would actually corroborate his story or just fuck him over.

“He fucking hates me, I know he wouldn’t back me up,” Ben added. “I make fun of him too much. But it’s hard not to, I mean look at him.”

“I’m not going to break up with you if that’s what you’re worried about,” you said, hopefully reassuring him. Because even though he gave off the attitude that he didn’t need anyone or anything, you knew you were the only person he needed. You were the one person Ben could rely on no matter what; and you couldn’t bear the thought of what would happen if something bad had happened to you, or if your relationship ever ended.

“I don’t like it when you hate me,” he whispered. “You’re the one person I couldn’t bear to have hate me.”

“I don’t hate you Ben,” you said, reassuring him again. “I could never hate you.”

“Even if I killed Hughie?” He asked, slight teasing in his voice. But you gave him the look, and his teasing smile quickly faded. “Right. He’s off limits.” His hands finally went up in the air, as if he was surrendering. “I’d never kill him, don’t worry. I don’t actually mean it.”

“I wanted to do something special for you, even though we agreed not to make it a big deal because I figured this was a milestone for the both of us. You’re the longest relationship I’ve ever had, and the last person you celebrated an anniversary with gave you to the Russians.”

“I gave her a fucking diamond necklace too,” he mumbled.

“Ben,” you began.

“Sorry, sorry. Look, I want to make it up to you,” he said. “Let me start by —”

“Going down on me?” You questioned, cocking a brow.

“Well…yeah…I mean, don’t you like when I go down on you?” He asked.

“Yeah of course, but I was kind of hoping for something else than the usual way,” you confessed.

“Like what? Me saying I love you or something?” He asked.

“Don’t say it just because you think that’s what I want to hear. I want you to say it because you actually mean it.” It was three little words you had longed to hear for a while. And even though he had said it, he said it in a way of a question, because he thought it was words that would make this situation all better; almost like putting a band-aid on a huge gash.

“You know how I feel about you. I thought it was obvious when I first saw you,” he said. “When I first saw you, I thought you were a fucking knockout. I mean, I pictured you sucking and bouncing on my cock so many times before you actually did.”

“If that was supposed to sound romantic, it failed,” you said; barely humoring him in the moment.

He sighed, slightly rolling his eyes. “What I’m trying to say is, I may not be perfect, but there are five things that I know. Numbers one to three, I love your boobs, ass, and pussy. Number four, you’re the only person I ever fucking need in my life, and five, I love you. And I’m not just fucking saying that. I really fucking do. And you know how fucking hard that is for me to say cause the last person I said I love you to was a fucking bitch.”

Ben looked at your face, trying to find any hint of what you may be thinking. But he didn’t have the foggiest idea. All you did was stare at him with those big eyes of yours, looking at him like a lost puppy. “You said it,” you whispered, almost in disbelief. “You actually fucking said it…Ben…”

That’s when you wrapped his arms around him, finally feeling your small embrace. A grin formed on his face as he wrapped his arms around you in response. It felt nice to say it to you and say it to someone that he knew actually appreciated him. He let you see another side of him, a side that he would never let anyone besides you see. “Can I go down on you now?” He asked, speaking into your hair. You let out a small laugh, and felt you nod into his chest.

Without a second going by, he picked you up and slung you over his shoulder, happily bringing you into the bedroom.

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