#on a serious note every time I think about how their relationship slowly changed I feel emotional | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

subskz · 1 year

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ʚïɞ butterfly bandage - 04

note: this is part 4 of a series (part 1, part 2, part 3, part 5)

content: bang chan/reader, university au, themes of twin flames, themes of soulmates, reader is female and referred to with she/her pronouns, angst, self-sabotaging behavior, self-loathing thoughts, mentions of past unhealthy relationships, themes of death/grief, lots of crying (sorry), brief mention of blood

word count: 16.9k

“Do you believe in twin flames?”

Chan’s question hung in the air for a moment, changing the atmosphere so drastically that you weren’t quite sure how to react. Before you could stop yourself, you let out a less-than-appropriate giggle.

“You don’t?” his voice came quieter this time.

“It’s not that,” you tried to contain your amusement. “It’s just…what a very Bang Chan thing of you to ask.”

Even through the dim light of your living room, you could tell that the smile he flashed you didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was being serious, you realized with a start, at least to some degree.

“I mean,” you paused, searching for the right answer to such a heavy question—if there even was one. “I guess it’s something you can only believe in once you experience it for yourself, right?”

It was Chan’s turn to hesitate, nibbling on his lower lip in silence. Whether he was holding back what he really wanted to say, or simply lost in thought, you couldn’t decide.

“Why do you ask?”

“Dunno,” he said slowly. “Just wondering.”

“Huh. Really?”

It was a vague explanation, and you knew better than to accept it at face value. Knowing Chan, he wouldn’t have even raised such a topic with you if it hadn’t been weighing on his mind for some time now, longer than he himself may have even been aware of. The concept was more or less a mystery to you; a special sort of relationship that, judging by name alone, was brimming with intensity, if not defined by it. You wondered just how deeply Chan had immersed himself in its ideals, if it was one of those philosophies he’d adopted into his heart and spent sleepless nights thinking about, despite the superstition of it all, just as a way to understand the world around him—the people around him. Maybe, even, to understand himself.

“I’ve just never really felt like this before,” an awkward chuckle escaped him, as if to lessen the gravity of what he was implying. “I feel like you can see right through me.”

See right through me.

Your heart leapt in your chest. Immediately, you understood what he meant; the exact same phenomenon you’d been trying to wrap your head around since the day you’d first met him. You’d been so caught up in your concerns over how effortlessly he seemed to read you—seeing past every carefully crafted guise you could conjure up like it didn’t even exist—that you hadn’t ever considered he might be experiencing the same feeling on his end. The feeling of knowing each other long before you’d ever crossed paths.

It had a strange effect on you. Elation. Dread. Had you felt like this before? In a certain sense, you knew that you had.

The familiar foolishness of being prepared to give someone your all—of stubbornly believing that, somehow, you would never run out of things to give. At the same time, though, it couldn’t be more different. Chan couldn’t be more different. For the first time, you were faced with an unexpected obstacle in your efforts to trudge mercilessly down the path to your own detriment. He wasn’t there to usher you along like so many had before, feeding off your every step until your legs inevitably gave out from under you. He was there to guide you down a different path—one that was infinitely more pleasant, and one that you were infinitely less acquainted with.

It couldn’t be more different because now, with every drop of yourself that you so willingly offered up to him, you fretted over what you might be draining from him in return. Chan was, after all, every bit as self-sacrificing as you, and then some.

That didn’t even begin to cover everything else that surrounded your relationship. The magnetic pull that drew you to him wherever you roamed, the burning sensation that consumed your body any time he so much as crossed your mind, the insatiable desire to open him up and witness him in his entirety—to know every part of him like it was your own.

If those were the kinds of things twin flames entailed, then, yes, you believed in them. You’d believe in anything that connected you to him.

It dawned on you, suddenly, that you hadn’t spoken for what was probably an unsettling amount of time. The slightest bit frantic, you combed your brain for an answer, overtaken by an urge to reassure the boy next to you before he made the decision to never share an even remotely personal thought with you again. You didn’t doubt that he would. Despite his seemingly endless levels of understanding, Chan was sensitive. He wouldn’t forget.

“Did I say something wrong?” he chuckled again. It wasn’t even awkward this time, just bordering on defeated.

“No, no,” you cursed yourself for even giving him the chance to second-guess such an idea, for giving him any more reason to believe that opening up to you could ever be a mistake. “I was just caught off guard. Sorry, Channie.”

You shifted in your spot, turning inwards to get a better look at him. He wasn’t making eye contact—nothing new there—but it wasn’t just his usual timidity at play. It was something you could only describe as akin to shame, the expression of someone who had overestimated his importance and was now berating himself for ever having the audacity to assume he mattered. You decided, instantly, that it was a look you never wanted to see cross his face again.

“I think it’s the same for me.”

You didn’t think, you knew. You knew it better than anything else. Still, it was difficult to say out loud, even when Chan was sitting before you, looking ready to bare himself to you with a sincerity that you may not entirely deserve.

He perked up a bit, and you relaxed the instant that fog of uncertainty cleared from his face, brightening it once more. “Really?”

“Do you…” you prayed that you wouldn’t sound completely insane in what came out of your mouth next. “Do you feel it, too? That weird sort of heat?”

His eyes widened, fingers flexing where they rested on his thigh.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Yeah, I feel it. When we first met, I thought you had a fever or something.”

A wave of sentimentality crashed over you all at once. You thought back to that day; that horribly clumsy first encounter that had you certain Chan would tell Changbin to please keep his strange friend far, far away from him in the future. The encounter that had ignited something you hadn’t been able to explain—something you still couldn’t explain, even six months later.

“I thought you were a human pressure cooker.”

“A pressure cooker?” he grinned, actually taking a moment to consider it. “I kinda am.”

That ever-present tug found your heartstrings again. But you knew he’d intended on it being light, a playful jab at himself that was truer than he seemed to understand. So, you didn’t dwell on it.

“Guess we’ve got the flames part down, then,” you joked.

“I’ve been reading about them.” His eyes twinkled, now encouraged. “They’re not exactly soulmates—more like two parts of the same soul. Kinda like you’re holding up a mirror to yourself.”

“Sounds poetic,” you murmured. He was speaking so earnestly, like he’d been longing for the opportunity to share these thoughts with someone all his life. You might’ve accepted anything he said in that moment as an absolute truth. “So, how do you know if you’ve found yours?”

“Lots of ways.” He pressed his lips together thoughtfully. “Shared experiences, for one. Uncanny similarities, and that feeling of…” he trailed off briefly, features softening. “Like you’re a part of each other, y’know?”

Each example stirred something deeper and deeper within you, rattling the windows and doors of your mind. Shared experiences. Uncanny similarities. A part of each other. Memories from that night two weeks ago swarmed you, demanding all your focus and ripping you away from the present conversation all at once. Chan’s flow of tears, his vulnerability, his dependence on you. How the cracks you’d caught glimpses of in just one of the many, many walls he’d put up finally spread far enough to send the entire structure crumbling unceremoniously to the ground.

Not only that, but his uncontainable guilt the next day, and every day that followed. His profuse apologies for allowing you to see him like that, his promises to make it up to you, and, most heartbreaking of all, his subtle spike in attachment, as if he was afraid that now that you’d discovered a side to him that dared to be anything less than accommodating—anything less than convenient for you—you’d pack up and leave without a second thought. No matter how many times you’d reassured him that it was fine, good even, to allow himself to lean on you, he was nevertheless determined to return the favor. Like it was transactional, like you couldn’t possibly have been there for him simply because you wanted to be. Because you loved him.

You were all too conscious of the fact that your promise to him back in July hadn’t been forgotten. The clock was ticking, with each passing second serving as a wrench to the bolts you’d kept so tightly wound up all these months—all your life, really. If Chan’s feelings were anything like yours, you knew he must be hungry for it, the opportunity to loosen the bolts himself and peer into what was buried inside.

It was as invigorating as it was terrifying. The fear of being known, the comfort of being understood.

“A part of each other,” you echoed. “That’s...”

“Kinda scary, yeah?”

“A little,” you admitted. “But I think my parts are in pretty good hands.”

Chan beamed, eyes crinkling and teeth peeking out under heart-shaped lips, flooding his face with a glow that washed away any remaining trace of his earlier reservations. Despite yourself, you smiled back, choosing selfishly to fall into his warmth. It wasn’t in short supply—not in the slightest, it was limitless—but inexplicably, you always held yourself back just a bit.

Even now, you couldn’t escape that survival instinct, that pesky voice in the depths of your brain telling you to take him in moderation, to keep a distance before you grew accustomed to something you weren’t sure you’d be able to go back to living without. But it was a losing battle from the start, and it was far too late to fight it now, anyway.

Chan’s hand brushed against yours, sending a gentle ripple of heat through your skin and pulling you out of the hole you’d been digging in your head. Before he could ask what you were thinking about—and he was going to, you could feel his flicker of curiosity—you spoke up again, throwing out a question of your own.

“How about you? Do you like your reflection?”

He studied your face, and the lapse in his reply might have made you panic if you weren’t so taken by the fact that, miraculously, he was holding your stare for longer than just a precious few seconds. Your fingers twitched against his, resisting the impulse to reach up and brush them over the tip of your nose.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “For once, I do.”

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

October’s pleasant chill came to an end, leaving behind a harsher cold spell for the incoming winter months. Bright orange leaves, once providing a golden canopy of light overhead, now littered the ground, dead and dull. Still, it was a sight to admire in its own way—a paper sheet shielding the grass from November’s sharp winds and more frigid temperatures, like the leaves had chosen to sacrifice themselves for the sake of protecting everything else.

You tried not to think about it, how dangerously close graduation was drawing. The view of the finish line on the horizon wasn’t exactly a comforting one, not when it led right into another race—one that would be even more critical than the last. You didn’t want to think about what it would mean for you once your final semester was complete; what it would mean for your studies, your home, your friendships, Chan. The question of where you would go from here was always lingering in the back of your mind, and no matter how much it haunted your thoughts, you still hadn’t managed to find a sufficient answer. All you knew for sure was that whatever path you walked next, you wanted to be side by side with him, matching your steps and feeling your hand brush against his with each swing.

On a less cynical note, the uncertainty of where the future might take you made days like today all the more valuable, reminding you that, regardless of the tricks nostalgia might play, there were always new memories to be made and cherished. You shoved your hands into your pockets with a shiver as you entered the bowling alley, longing for Chan now more than ever. Just one touch from him, and all the cold nagging at your bones from the walk there would dissipate in an instant.

You felt his warmth begin to spread through your skin as soon as you spotted that familiar head of curls near the front counter. His hair swayed with the rest of his body as he rocked back and forth on his heels, looking absentminded. If you drew close enough, you had no doubt you’d catch a snippet of whatever melody he was sure to be humming.

Before his presence could fully relax you, however, you registered who was standing there next to him, effectively countering his heat with a sharp chill down your spine. You hadn’t known he was coming. Changbin hadn’t told you he was coming. If he had, you surely would’ve found some excuse to stay home, or, at the very least, prepared yourself to deal with the guy who had so diligently been playing the role of bane of your existence these past months.

Channeling all your strength, you forced a smile and called out a greeting to the group.

Two pairs of eyes lit up, and one pair narrowed.

“You’re here!” Changbin piped. He elbowed Chan lightly, a self-righteous look crossing his face. “See? I told you we weren’t late.”

You kept your expression calm as you approached them, but it did little to ebb the unease steadily piling up in your stomach. Without a word, Chan’s hand reached out for yours, and you wove your fingers together, barely suppressing an exhale when warmth kindled in your palm.

“I’ve just learned to give it an extra ten minutes before leaving to meet up with you, Bin,” you teased.

It was lighthearted, but he seemed to sense that you weren’t entirely joking. You exchanged an amused glance with Chan as Changbin’s smug look dropped into the frown of someone whose peace had been disturbed, suddenly reevaluating every occasion where he’d so gleefully believed that he was becoming more punctual.

“That’s messed up,” he huffed. “Maybe next time I just won’t show up at all.”

“You say that like you haven't done it before.”

“And as soon as I did, you stole my best friend.” He looked dramatically off to the side, passing your bowling shoes to you. “On second thought, I’d better stick around.”

Half-embarrassed, you cleared your throat and hooked your fingers under the cuffs of the shoes, surprised to find that he’d chosen the right size for you. Just as you opened your mouth to question it, you found your answer—or, rather, you felt it, in the palm of your other hand. You kept quiet to avoid setting yourself up for more playful jabs, but the affection that buzzed to life in your chest was too much to ignore altogether, instead manifesting as a grateful squeeze to Chan’s hand. It was something you weren’t quite used to, something you weren’t sure you’d ever get really used to: care down to the last little detail.

You’d made it a point thus far to stay focused solely on Chan and Changbin, not keen on confronting the source of the tension looming behind your smile. It was probably best not to utter a word to him, anyway, given the direction your conversations veered into every single time without fail. Regardless of which approach you took, regardless of how tightly you gripped the steering wheel, it always spun into something uncontrollable.

But as your eyes wandered casually over to the empty lanes further inside the building, you made the grave mistake of locking them with his—fleeting, but just enough to make your gut twist. You tore your stare away as soon it landed on him, bracing yourself for that inevitable surge of frost, a glare that spoke a thousand scornful words.

“Hey.”

You wondered for a moment if you’d imagined it, or if Lee Minho was really speaking to you on his own accord. Granted, it was just a simple greeting, but strangely void of his usual disgust when addressing you.

It put you at a complete loss, thoughts scrambling to decipher what his angle could possibly be. You had half a mind to not even respond, but you knew that wasn’t an option when Chan and Changbin were right there, well within earshot. Instead, you settled for nodding at him with a quiet “Hello.”

“You look cold,” he commented.

“Well, it’s cold out.”

Not your most eloquent response. In your defense, you were still trying to make heads or tails of why he was bothering to acknowledge you. His words felt like a taunt in your paranoid mind, like somehow, he was fully aware of the chill that gripped you every time he so much as glanced your way. Mistrust bubbled up inside you, threatening to burst through the surface when he shot you a half-smile that was sickeningly sweet—far too sweet to be natural. To anyone else, it was nothing but friendly, but you knew better than that by now. The closer you looked, the more reminiscent it became of his usual sneer.

“It’s a relief you’ve got someone to call on if you get sick, then.” He cocked his head towards Chan.

Suddenly, the gears fell into place in your head, making it very clear what Minho’s intentions were. You might have found it admirable, how seamlessly he put on the act, if not for the minor detail of it being positively infuriating.

“I make a pretty good galbitang, didn’t you know?”

Minho’s smirk faltered just barely, but before he could say anything else, Changbin finished up with the cashier and clapped his hands together with a bit too much force, startling everyone in the vicinity.

“We’re all set!” he announced, turning to you.“Hope you’re good at bowling, ‘cause you’re gonna be carrying Chan.”

“Hey, hey!” the boy in question protested. “I score the most out of any of us!”

“A whole eight points,” Minho quipped.

Chan gritted his teeth, still, good-natured as ever. “That…was an off day.”

You willed yourself to chuckle in spite of the bad taste Minho had left in your mouth, for Chan’s sake, if nothing else. It was difficult to envision him not immediately excelling at anything he put his mind to, especially in the realm of sports. Given Changbin’s snickers, though, you had a sneaking suspicion that the jeers held some truth to them.

The four of you made your way over to the first open station, slipping on your bowling shoes and splitting up into two teams: you and Chan versus Changbin and Minho. A quick game of rock, paper, scissors, and it was decided that you and Chan would go first. Chan wiggled his hand to push back the sleeve of his jacket and picked up a ball from the rack, testing its weight a few times before deciding on it.

You figured Changbin would be able to hold his own on his team, but, as always, Minho was more of an enigma to you. Even if he didn’t exactly seem like the athletic type, anything you thought you knew about the guy could be taken with a grain of salt these days. He was the complete opposite of Chan in that sense, so unreadable that even the most sensible, the most intuitive of assumptions could turn out to be dead wrong. You could feel Chan’s emotions like they were your own; Minho’s emotions were ones you weren’t sure you’d ever felt.

“What do you think?” You gave Chan a nudge when he approached you, admittedly endeared by the competitive gleam in his eyes. “Do we stand a chance?”

“We’re the better team, no doubt,” he grinned. “But Minho’s got this insane luck. So, we’ll see.”

You tried not to let your own smile dim. Of course he did. It was all in good fun—on the surface at least—but the mere possibility of losing to Minho was one you didn’t even want to consider. He already had enough snarky remarks lined up in his arsenal without you adding to the ammunition.

Chan took a deep breath, lifting the ball up to his face, swinging his arm back in a low arch, and releasing in one fluid motion. It hit the polished ground with an impressive speed, but your glimmer of hope was crushed just a split second later when it rolled directly into the gutter.

Countless sounds exploded all around you at once, so loud you worried you might have to issue an apology to anyone nearby who had the misfortune of being subjected to them. Changbin’s delighted cackles, Minho’s wild laughter, and Chan’s mortified shout of dismay. You covered your mouth to avoid letting your own amusement show, but it made no difference considering that Chan’s face was buried shamefully in his palms as he shuffled his way back over to you, ears already beginning to tinge red.

“Another off day!” Changbin threw his arm over Minho’s shoulder, as if their victory was already guaranteed. “Guess the experience of age is worthless, after all.”

“His old man bones just can’t keep up,” Minho clicked his tongue wistfully.

Chan peeked out from between his fingers, any attempt at a glare rendered harmless by the wide, hopelessly embarrassed smile plastered on his face. “One year!” he cried defensively. “This is your future, Lee Minho!”

Minho’s smirk stayed intact, unfazed by the prospect of such a sad fate awaiting him. You gave Chan a sympathetic pat on the back as soon as he was within reach, trying to meet his eyes.

“Cheer up, Channie,” you encouraged. “Can’t have our ace giving up so soon, can we?”

He managed a shy chuckle, hand reaching up to fiddle with his piercing. Whether it was the other boys’ provocation that had him so flustered, or the fact that you’d been there to witness the pitiful display, you weren’t sure, but you were determined to boost his morale before he had the chance to beat himself up over it. Even for something as frivolous as a game of bowling among friends, you didn’t want to leave any room for Chan to doubt his abilities. You couldn’t help it; you’d do anything to see him shine.

As expected, Changbin was a force to be reckoned with as the game carried on, managing to score steady points for him and Minho’s team with a consistent flow of spares and strikes—that was, when he wasn’t stepping over the line and fouling himself. You were positive it wouldn’t have even been an issue if Minho didn’t point out his mistakes every single time, eventually spiraling into a full-blown argument between the two with Changbin loudly demanding to know whose side he really was on.

Between their bickering and Chan’s bubbly laughter, emitting fondness with every squeak, it almost felt like old times. You almost felt light, just as you had during those spring days spent studying in their apartment. Bumping your shoulder against Changbin’s to keep him focused as you listened to Chan ramble on about thermodynamics with thinly-veiled adoration, taking more and more frequent breaks each passing week just as an excuse to snack and chat with each other, laughing quietly to yourself every time Minho would, inevitably, disturb the study session and antics would ensue between the three boys—more often than not, pulling you into an ambitious new cooking experiment or an hour long tangent to debate the strangest existential topics known to man. In retrospect, it had been the closest to carefree you’d felt in a long time.

“Just throw the ball like a normal person!” Changbin shouted, snapping you back to the present.

Minho sniffed, not breaking eye contact with him once as he bent forward, spread his legs, and tossed the bowling ball carelessly through them. To your astonishment, it rolled down the center of the lane; steady, and by some miracle, steering clear of the gutters all the way to the end. The incredulous sound you let out was only rivaled by Chan’s stunned yelp, half-impressed, half-horrified as the ball managed to knock over a respectable five pins.

It became clear, in that moment, that Minho’s aforementioned luck was very much real, and it operated just as erratically as his own mind did. With each increasingly bizarre stance and tactic he implemented, he was scoring dozens of points before you knew it.

Chan never quite seemed to recover from his initial fumble, and, as much as you wanted to win, it was undoubtedly adorable every time he sank into a crouch, wailing miserably into his knees after yet another failed attempt at gaining some momentum. He was trying to be a good sport about it, even with Changbin and Minho’s taunts making the task near-impossible, but you could still feel the fire of frustration behind his every awkward glance at the monitor and apologetic smile sent your way.

Fortunately, you were able to score enough points to keep the gap between your teams from growing too wide, even pulling a few strikes here and there. It was a bit silly how seriously you were beginning to take the game, but you were fueled on by the desire to lift Chan’s spirits—and, on a pettier note, a desire to see Minho lose. By the time you reached the final round, you and Chan were only behind by nine points.

“Hope I haven’t been too heavy for you,” he remarked, sheepish as he picked up the ball for his last turn.

“I don’t like hearing such defeated words from Bang Christopher Chan,” you frowned. “C’mon, show me some of that showcase confidence!”

He ducked his head with a puff of laughter, thumbs gliding over the sleek surface of the bowling ball. “That was different.”

“That was in front of a crowd of strangers,” you agreed. “This is just me.”

“Exactly,” he hummed softly. “It’s you.”

It took you a moment to understand what he was getting at, only fully registering it when you spotted the rosiness of his cheeks flushing into something deeper, something much more noticeable. Acutely aware of Minho and Changbin’s eyes on you, you tried to keep a straight face, even if every cell in your body called for you to cup Chan’s face and press a kiss to his pouty lips right then and there. He was unreal. It was unreal how, even now, he could charm you so effortlessly—accidentally, even.

“Alright,” he sucked in through his teeth, seemingly reaching a verdict. “Do you think you could turn around? Just this time?”

You blinked, dumbfounded. When you said nothing, he lifted his gaze to give you a look that, despite the absurdity of his request, was resolute as ever. That was all the convincing it took for you to indulge him.

Changbin watched curiously as you turned your back to the lanes, but you made no effort to explain yourself, figuring it would only be all the more embarrassing for Chan if his plan ultimately failed. It was too easy for you to picture his concentrated expression in your head as you waited patiently for him to make the shot—eyebrows furrowed with a striking intensity, but lips twitching in a way that betrayed his excitement underneath.

The heavy thump of the ball against the polished floor met your ears, and shortly after, the crashing of pins, followed by a chorus of disbelieving shouts. You spun around just in time to see Chan rushing back over to you, beaming so wide that his cheeks eclipsed his eyes.

“You can’t be serious,” your voice turned up into a squeak as he pulled you into a triumphant, bone-crushing hug. “No way that worked.”

“Told you,” he sang into your ear. “It’s you.”

Any disappointment Changbin might have felt over losing was crushed by sheer delight when it became apparent to him what had just happened. “Oh, this is too much,” he howled with laughter, leaning against Minho—who, you were surprised to find, had a faintly amused smile on his face, as well. You looked away as quickly as you caught it, driven by that feeling of alienation, an understanding that it wasn’t a sight for you.

In honor of your victory against all odds, Chan decided to head over to the concessions stand he’d been eyeing since you’d first arrived at the bowling alley. Changbin jumped at the chance to tag along, setting panic off in your mind the instant you realized what that meant for you. You stood a bit too quickly, offering to join and help them carry back the snacks, only to be waved off with a reassuring smile from Chan.

Despite your discomfort, you relented, deciding it’d be best not to rouse any suspicions. You slumped back down in your chair as the two walked away, leaving you and Minho sitting directly across from each other in silence.

It wasn’t long before you began to run out of points of interest to look at other than him. Your eyes shifted awkwardly from your shoes to the monitor, from the monitor to the ball rack, from the ball rack to the distant lanes, and right back to your shoes. The cycle repeated for a good few minutes, and just as you reached into your pocket to fish out your phone in a last resort to quell the awkwardness, Minho decided to speak up. Oddly chatty today, you noted.

“Didn’t see you at Chan’s birthday party.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What of it?”

“Just thought it was interesting,” he pointed out. “Since you care about him so much, and all.”

There was a laughable irony there, that the person who was the sole reason why you hadn’t shown up to celebrate Chan, was now questioning why you hadn’t—an irony that, you were willing to bet, he was well aware of.

“I didn’t think I was exactly welcome,” you said plainly.

“Showing up uninvited is nothing new to you, is it?”

You clenched your jaw. “Look, Minho, I’m really not in the mood,” you hissed. “What exactly are you trying to gain from all this?”

“That’s what I’ve been wondering about you, too,” he bounced off you with ease. “I’m kinda curious—did it make you feel better about yourself when you visited him? Felt like you proved something with that soup?”

“Proved something?” You didn’t bother to watch your volume this time, thoroughly set-off in a matter of seconds. “If you think I have anything to prove to you, you’re fucking delusional.”

Even as you spat the words with an uncharacteristic lack of restraint—and decorum—a wisp of doubt brushed past your mind, the same way it had the day you’d confronted him after checking on Chan. Why did he sound so sure of himself? Why did you even allow yourself to entertain his accusations?

What did he know that you didn’t?

He leaned back in his chair, whatever harsh retort that was on the tip of his tongue immediately being cut short when he spotted Changbin hobbling back over with an armful of snacks.

“Someone go help Chan out!” he called. “I don’t think he can carry everything himself.”

Minho rose from his spot before you had the chance to, eyes glinting as he shot you one last look. “You should get that temper of yours checked out,” he suggested under his breath. “Chan might like it, but others won’t.”

At that, he slunk off, leaving you with nothing to do but fume in frustration as Changbin made his way over to you. He dropped his stash on the table with a self-satisfied whistle, picking up a bag of chips and passing it to you.

“Here,” he offered. “Chan got these for you.”

You caught a glimpse of the brand—your favorite. It brought a smile to your face just in time, wiping away your scowl before Changbin could get a proper look at you, but even the warmth glowing in your chest wasn’t enough to erase the residual tension left behind by Minho. Changbin squinted as he settled down next to you, popping open a bag of his own.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing,” you replied quickly. “Thanks for the snack.”

He crunched down on his shrimp chip with a suspicious hum, not convinced by your dull tone in the slightest.

“Are you having fun?”

“Of course,” you smiled, only half-feigned. “Chan and I just won, didn’t we?”

Changbin chewed thoughtfully a few times, breaking his inquisitive stare to shoot a glance over his shoulder, exactly in the direction Minho had disappeared to. When he turned back to you, his expression was more solemn; knowing.

“Is it Minho?”

You couldn’t find the will in you to hide it, picking uncomfortably at the plastic bag in your hands. “I guess I didn’t expect him to be here.”

“Oh,” he frowned. “Did you ever end up talking to him?”

“I did.”

“And?”

You shrugged. “He just doesn’t like me, simple as that.”

You tried to keep your voice casual, unaffected, but Changbin’s reaction to the news made it difficult to maintain. The fact that he seemed so genuinely puzzled almost rubbed salt in the wound, like he’d had the utmost faith that a simple conversation was all it would’ve taken for the two of you to sort things out. Amidst all the complicated feelings you had on the issue, a new one joined the fray: guilt. You hadn’t been able to make it work. If anything, your efforts had sent the situation spiraling into something much worse. All you could do now was ensure that a problem as ridiculous as this wouldn’t reach anyone else—Chan, most of all.

“I don’t get it,” Changbin muttered, brows scrunching together. “I never got the feeling that he doesn’t like you.”

“You definitely would if you saw the way he talks to me.” As soon as the words left your mouth, you nearly cringed over the self-pity laced in them. You didn’t want to be a victim in this situation, especially not if it meant pressuring Changbin to pick a side between you and Minho like you were children fighting on a playground.

“I can have a chat with him, if you want. See what’s really going on.”

“No, no,” you dismissed it like a reflex. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You sure? It’ll be easier for me to get through to him.”

“No, Bin. Seriously,” you paused, not having intended it to come out so sharp. “Sorry. I mean, thank you, but it’s alright. I’d rather handle it myself, y’know?”

It had been made abundantly clear to you that you were, in fact, doing a terrible job at handling it yourself, but Changbin didn’t need to know that. The last thing you wanted was to grant Minho the satisfaction of Changbin revealing just how much his behavior was affecting you—or, even worse, the very real possibility of Chan catching wind of it. You could already picture Minho’s scornful stare, voice dripping with mockery as he ridiculed you for needing to call on Changbin to protect you, for not being able to fight the battles that, in his head, you’d instigated with your mere existence. The thought alone made you shudder in your spot, visibly enough for Changbin to notice.

A strange look crossed his face, one you’d only ever really seen on a few rare occasions before. It was grounded, mature; a side to him that, oftentimes, you tended to forget existed because he traded it out for something less intense. Without him even needing to say a word, you knew that his attentive instincts had kicked in, and once they had, they would be difficult to shake.

“You just seem upset,” he said at last.

“I’m not,” you insisted. “Sometimes people just don’t get along. It’s not worth stressing about, so, please don’t say anything to Minho. Or Chan.”

He eyed you for a few seconds longer, and briefly, you worried that he may actually let his stubbornness get the best of him. It was comical, in a sense, how you’d grown so accustomed to disregarding your own emotions in all facets of life, that being faced with a shred of compassion felt more like a hindrance than anything else. Fortunately, the concern was short-lived. With a grunt of agreement, Changbin popped another chip into his mouth.

“Alright. If you’re sure.”

The relief you felt upon hearing those words increased tenfold as you spotted Chan returning with Minho from the concessions stand, loaded with snacks and drinks that even his long arms could hardly contain. He was smiling, no doubt still giddy over your unexpected win and the victory meal that was lined up for him. That was all it took to make you absolutely certain of your decision.

“I’m sure. Thanks, Bin.”

You wanted to be the reason for Chan’s smile. If it meant securing his happiness, then you could deal with it, no questions asked.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

The shrill ping of your laptop—a sound you’d come to despise in recent weeks—rang out to notify you of a new email in your inbox, breaking your focus so that you lost your place in the article you’d been reading.

Huffing to yourself, you clicked off the page begrudgingly and switched to your email tab, reluctant to see what academic horrors were lying in wait for you. As expected, it was a followup message from your lab instructor. With the fall semester drawing to a close in just under a month, the pressure was on for you to complete your research paper in time to have your findings included as part of the final study. Having your name on a published academic paper was an essential goal you had set for yourself as an undergraduate; something to give you an extra edge in the fiercely competitive field of astrophysics. The only problem was, (save for the grueling amounts of time and effort it took to reach that point) you had to get your draft approved before it was too late, a task that was beginning to seem impossible with every new response you received from your instructor.

Today was no different, a fresh wave of stress washing over you as you read the contents of her email. Another extensive list of revisions, a reminder of your approaching deadline, and, most troubling of all, another order to have your progress peer reviewed by at least one other student as part of the physics department protocol. Alarm spiked within you. You didn’t have a lot of time.

Before you’d even finished reading the email, you reached blindly for your phone, fumbling with the passcode in your haste to unlock it and open up your messaging app.

you (9:23 p.m.) hey! sorry to nag about this again but have u had the chance to look over my paper?

You tried to get a grip on your impatience, telling yourself that it was just the incessant desire to be done with the process already that had you so on edge. But all it took was a few minutes of waiting for you to start tapping your fingers anxiously against your desk, debating whether or not you should try calling instead before you succumbed to the unreasonable levels of foreboding stacking up inside you.

Then, at last, a reply. Any reassurance it might have brought you instantly dwindled as soon as you read it.

iseul 🪷 (9:34 p.m.) omg… omfg no i totally forgot

You pressed your lips together. In a way, you couldn’t exactly say you were surprised. Not in the slightest, actually.

you (9:34 p.m.) okay no worries are u still able to? the deadline’s pretty soon

iseul 🪷 (9:39 p.m.) i’m not sure tbh i’m kinda busy rn so i’ll lyk later on a date ;P

Your heart sank, panic shooting through the roof. It’d been well over a week since you’d first asked her to look over your paper, and you’d made a conscious effort not to press the subject too much to avoid coming off as pushy. Now, you wished desperately that you’d been firmer from the start. Surely, then, she would’ve realized how important it was to you. Surely, then, she would’ve prioritized it.

You took a deep breath, mind frantic and scrambling for a solution. It found one almost immediately, like second nature, but you pushed the thought away as soon as it came. You didn’t want to bother him. Absolutely not.

As you continued to wager the possibilities, however, it became more and more evident to you that there may not be any other option on such short notice—or, maybe, you just felt a selfish need to reach out to him in that moment, knowing you would be met with nothing but that certain warmth. It was a foreign desire, completely unlike you, and you weren’t sure you liked how often it wormed its way into your brain these days.

You’d consulted a handful of other friends before Iseul, all of which shared your major; a double-edged sword in this case. While it made them reliable candidates for peer review, the issue lied in the fact that they were all preoccupied with their own capstone research. Even without the added weight of having to complete an extensive documentation by a strict deadline like you had, the amount of work their labs required was more than enough to keep them busy.

Changbin was no exception. You’d already been hesitant to ask him from the start—which was, frankly, a bit ridiculous considering he’d demonstrated time and time again how dependable he could be if the situation called for it—so when he’d apologetically told you that he wouldn’t be able to get to it before at least another week, you’d dropped the subject without a second thought. It would be too far late by then, and bringing it up a second time would only put an unnecessary pressure on him. Even if you got a response in a timely manner (a pipe dream in itself), his answer would be the same, and your paper would more than likely end up falling into Chan’s hands, anyway.

You tapped your thumbs together indecisively, trying to approach it with a clear mind. Maybe it was okay. Maybe it wasn’t wrong to allow yourself to rely on him just a little bit, to lean into that warmth you’d been so determined to ration for reasons you couldn’t fully grasp.

Maybe, it wouldn’t be so unforgivable to take your own advice, just this once.

Steeling yourself, you hit Chan’s contact before you could talk yourself out of it. All it took was a matter of three rings, and you heard the other line pick up. That was another detail you’d noticed lately, another subtle shift in attachment that made your chest tighten when you lingered on it for too long. He was much more responsive ever since that day in October, texting back uncharacteristically fast and calling uncharacteristically more often compared to the usual, comfortable periods of absence between the two of you. It was as if he was on standby for you at all times, ready to jump at the opportunity to meet your every beck and call in case there was something—anything—he could do for you.

“Hey, you.”

In spite of everything, his melodic lilt soothed your nerves. It always did.

“Hi Channie,” you couldn’t mask the stiffness in your voice. “Are you busy?”

“I’ve got time,” he chirped. He didn’t say it, but you knew what he meant; he had time for you. “But first, guess what I’ve been working on.”

Fondness tugged at the corners of your mouth. “What?”

“Not telling,” you could practically hear the dimples carving their way into his cheeks. “You gotta guess.”

“Hm. Could it be what I think it is?”

“Dunno,” he giggled. “You’re the one who can see right through me, yeah?”

You let the pull at your lips form fully into a smile. “In that case, you’d better not break your promise.”

It wasn’t difficult to envision the look on his face, the pure giddiness it etched into his features to know that you’d caught on with ease. Speaking in riddles because he could; a language only the two of you could understand.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he hummed. “So, what’s up?”

You faltered, having nearly forgotten your reason for calling him in the first place. The cheerful rhythm of his voice and the charming tune of his laughter had almost been enough to sway you, to change your mind and shield him from the academic nightmares that he was no stranger to. But anxiety spiked within you all over again as you were reminded of your looming deadline, providing all the push you needed to latch on to him with an embarrassing speed.

“Actually, I…” you began slowly. “I was wondering if you could help me out with something.”

“Anything,” he said it without an ounce of hesitation, ready to comply before he even heard your request. It made your heart swell—with affection, gratitude, and something else you couldn’t quite place.

“So, Iseul was supposed to review my research paper draft before I submitted it for the final publication but…but I don’t think she can anymore,” you hoped to sound nonchalant, not wanting a single drop of your unease to spill on his conscience. “I know it’s a lot to ask on short notice, so it’s absolutely fine if you can’t, but—”

“Of course, I can.”

“Really?” you swallowed. “Thank you, I…”

A critical thought crossed your mind, bringing the sense of calm that Chan always enveloped you with to an immediate halt. You felt stupid for not considering it sooner, for allowing yourself to be so short-sighted, even for just a moment.

“Your project,” you said suddenly. “Your mentor gave you an extension, right? Did you finish it? Because you need to work on that instead if—”

“Nah,” he assured you. “It’s all done, don’t worry.”

You paused. It was just your inner saboteur making excuses, probably—grasping for any reason at all to pull back before you committed to burdening him with your troubles—but why was it that every single time he told you not to worry, it only worried you more?

Still, you forced your reservations to the side. Maybe he sounded so terse because it was still a sensitive topic for him, something he couldn’t think back to without the guilt that surrounded that night plaguing his mind all over again. It made you soften with sympathy, and a faint hope that, just maybe, your gentle words as you’d bathed him had pierced through the fog of doubt in his mind—enough to compel him to be honest with you about this.

“O-okay. Then, yeah, I’d really appreciate your help,” you exhaled. “Thank you, Channie.”

“It’s nothing,” he murmured. “The least I could do, really.”

You nearly laughed out loud. The least he could do. As if he owed you something, as if he didn’t do more for you than you could ever express simply by being himself.

He could read you with such ease—could catch on to your every thought and sentiment, however fleeting, like it was the most natural thing in the world—but the view of him from your eyes, the sight of himself from a lens of pure, unadulterated adoration; that was one thing he’d never be able to truly comprehend.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

“I didn’t lose it.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Lose sounds so…so harsh,” Changbin protested. “I just happened to put it somewhere and can’t remember where that somewhere is.”

“That’s a relief,” you snorted. “You had me scared for a second.”

“It was an accident, seriously!”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” You gave him a good-natured shove as the two of you shuffled down the hall side by side, a sight that had become commonplace for anyone who frequented the physics building. “But if I were you, I’d get to searching.”

“C’mon, it could be anywhere!” he complained.

“I’m saying this for your own good, Seo Changbin. Do you really wanna suffer through finals without your lucky charm?”

Changbin’s face dropped, a horrified look of realization parting his lips and widening his eyes.

“I’ll find it,” he mumbled, so serious that you couldn’t hold back a snicker. “For you, of course. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t?”

“Uh-huh,” you said plainly. “Once you do, custody of Cinnamoroll is going right back to me.”

You weren’t upset about it, not really. It was honestly a miracle that he’d been able to keep track of something as trivial as a pencil for so long in the first place. Though, you’d be lying if you said there wasn’t an undeniable feeling of wistfulness there, to think that the prized possession that had initially brought you and Changbin together was now missing. You weren’t exactly the superstitious type—well, maybe that had changed just the slightest bit as of late—but it almost felt like a bad omen of sorts.

“That’s too cruel,” Changbin whined. “I’ll never let him out of my sight again, I swear.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets, glancing at you in anticipation of a response; but you were lost in thought. A sea of inhibitions that, funnily enough, had inched further and further up the shore in recent months, months where you’d been objectively happier than even your highest points over the past few years.

You were certain your change in demeanor wouldn’t go unnoticed by Changbin—he’d tapped far more into his observant side as of late, ever since he’d come to learn that you and Minho weren’t nearly as in harmony as he’d led himself to believe. Between his added scrutiny, Minho’s pointed, all-knowing glares, and Chan’s ability to tune in to even the finest shift in your emotions, you didn’t think you’d ever felt more uncomfortably seen in your life. You felt like you were being watched from all angles; nowhere to hide, no way to maneuver yourself so that your loose seams weren’t visible.

“Wanna go bowling tonight?” Changbin suggested, breaking your stream of consciousness before you were completely pulled out to sea.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re so into it these days because it’s the only sport you can beat Chan at?”

“I can beat him at billiards, too! And soccer, even if he won't admit it,” he retorted. “Besides, it’ll just be you and me. Pretty sure Chan’s busy with makeup work.”

You froze.

“What?”

It took Changbin a second to realize that you weren’t walking beside him anymore. He stopped in his tracks, turning to give you a strange look.

“Y’know, that big project with his mentor. It’s due tonight, I think.”

Your stomach dropped. All at once, dread consumed you, at such an alarming rate that it felt akin to plunging into ice cold water on a hot, sunny day. You didn’t want to believe it; you wanted to tell yourself that Changbin had to be mistaken, that Chan had finished his work days ago like he’d told you, and that he certainly hadn’t taken on the burden of reviewing over twenty pages of scientific jargon for you when he still had a very crucial, very future-defining project of his own to complete.

Even as you tried to convince yourself, even if you wanted to cling to the faith you’d put in him more than anything, even though you knew Changbin was notoriously bad with dates, deep down, you already had your answer.

Changbin’s expression grew heavy with concern. “What’s with that face?”

You cleared your throat, praying that your words would come out steady. “Nothing,” you replied quickly. “I just thought he’d already finished.”

He opened his mouth to say something—most definitely to question you further on why you looked like you’d just seen a ghost—so, you spoke up again before he had the chance.

“Anyway, yeah, let’s go bowling tonight. See who the real ace is.”

The playful challenge, strained as it was, seemed to ease Changbin’s misgivings a bit. He flashed you a smirk, taking the bait immediately.

“Haitai Bbasae shrimp chips are my favorite, by the way.” He bumped his shoulder against yours. “So you know what to buy me when I win.”

You rolled your eyes. “Forgot about your pencil debt so soon?”

Your joking did nothing to seal the pit of apprehension that had opened up inside your gut. In fact, it deepened with each step you took, as if your body was physically rejecting the idea of you walking anywhere other than directly towards Phase 8 of the campus apartments; directly towards Chan.

You all but forced the muscles in your face to relax, solely to avoid rousing Changbin’s suspicions again. Already, you were regretting your decision to meet up with him later that night. Spending even an hour or two pretending like the thought of Chan—cooped up in his room, undoubtedly running on minimal sleep and an empty stomach, bloodshot eyes locked on his laptop screen as he struggled to meet the most important deadline of his academic career, all because of you—wasn’t eating away at your insides wouldn’t exactly be a walk in the park, even for you.

You told yourself it was just an overreaction. You were jumping to conclusions. Maybe taking your mind off of it tonight was exactly what you needed; enough time for Chan to finish his work, and enough time for the fog that always seemed to cloud your rationality when it came to him to clear up.

You’d mull it over properly, and then you’d talk to Chan. Everything always worked out when you talked to Chan.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

As it turned out, subjecting yourself to a constant back and forth argument for two days straight—a trial where you were playing the role of judge, jury, defendant, and prosecutor all at once—served no real purpose other than to drive you to the brink of madness.

The more you’d tried to reason with yourself, the more convinced you’d become that the situation was, in actuality, far more dire than you’d initially believed. It appeared so simple on the surface, a harmless white lie that was said only with the intention of easing your worries, to displace some of the weight from your shoulders to his. You loathed the fact that you’d managed to spin such a kind, loving gesture, such an authentically Chan gesture, into something so unpleasant. But knowing what you knew, knowing Chan, it went deeper than that. You never would’ve allowed yourself to shift that weight over to him if you’d known he hadn’t been relieved of his own first.

It was for that reason that when Chan had called you earlier in the day to see if you were free to meet up—a timing that only spurred on your paranoid thoughts, given that he was no doubt reaching out to you because he’d finally submitted his work—you’d all but jumped at the opportunity. You needed to see him, his crinkled eye smile, his face well-rested and bright. You needed to be certain that you hadn’t ruined everything for him.

Each step up the stairwell to unit 8-325 added another layer to the anxiety piling inside of you. It was a sensation you’d experienced once before; that strangely chilly day in April, trudging your way up alongside Changbin, completely oblivious to what the universe had in store for you. Completely oblivious to the warmth you would be met with, the part of yourself that you hadn’t known you were missing until you found him.

You gave the front door a few knocks, a bit harder than usual, just in case Chan had his headphones in. Before the gusts of wind blowing through the hallway could even begin to chill you through your clothes, the door swung open. Despite everything, your heart sang at the sight of him. Eyes sleepy, and, as predicted, accompanied by those dark bags he carried around far too often for your liking, curls ruffled, hoodie wrinkled, smile lazy—just prominent enough for one of his dimples to peek out.

You wondered if he’d been napping. The idea both calmed and unsettled you; the comfort of knowing he’d gotten some rest, the fear that he’d needed to catch up on sleep because he’d been pulling all-nighters to complete his work. Because of you.

“Hey, you.”

“Hi, Chan.”

You hadn’t even noticed the issue with your greeting until he tilted his head curiously.

“Scary,” he giggled. “Am I in trouble?”

You padded through the doorframe and slipped off your shoes, keeping quiet long enough for his grin to waver. It nearly made you grimace. Two words in, and you already couldn’t tolerate the idea of speaking to him with anything but the utmost care.

“Sorry.” You chided yourself for being so pointlessly intense about it. You didn’t even know the full story yet; there was no need to stir unease in him like that. “How are you, Channie?”

“All good, now. I missed you,” he added.

You knew he must be wondering why you hadn’t hugged him yet. So, you leaned into his arms the very instant they outstretched. You took in his scent, his body heat, the peaceful beat of his heart. You wished the tranquility that he washed over you would last. You wished you could fall fully into him and just pretend like nothing was wrong. But then, where would you go from there? How many more times would he do something like this? How many more corners of himself would he cut until, before you knew it, you were doing the exact same thing to him as so many others had done before? The question itself was enough to scare you, let alone what the answer may be.

“I missed you, too,” you murmured. Mustering all your willpower, you pulled your head from his chest, taking a few steps deeper into the apartment with Chan following suit.

You braced yourself, and then you tested the waters.

“So, did you finish your project?”

A heavy pause, then an awkward laugh.

“Oh, yeah. A few days ago, remember?”

You said nothing. Instead, you turned to look at him properly, not bothering to mask the doubt written all over your face. His gaze fell, and you knew, immediately, that you’d been correct.

“Well,” he cleared his throat. “It’s done now, no worries.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Your desire to be gentle with him was already beginning to battle it out with your urgency to get to the bottom of this, to decode what had been going on in his head when he’d made such a potentially disastrous choice for your sake. Chan reached up for his earring, eyes still averted as he rolled the silver hoop sheepishly between his fingers.

“Are you mad?”

Mad. The thought hadn’t even crossed your mind. The idea that you could feel anything but boundless affection for him was so incomprehensible to you. No, you weren’t mad. You were frustrated. Because you knew he saw no problem with what he had done, because the damage had been to him and no one else.

“Of course not. I…I’m really grateful you were there for me,” you began, and the hopeful way he raised his head almost made you want to leave it at that. “But I’m just a little concerned that you kept this from me, Channie. I wanted to be sure that you had nothing else on your plate before asking such a huge favor of you.”

He smiled, clearly oblivious to how much you meant it. “It’s no problem, really. I wanted to help.”

Your stomach churned. Of course he wanted to help, you knew that more than anything. Two years ago, he’d only wanted to help, too. That was the detail that had unnerved you most in the 48 hours you’d spent dissecting it all—the eerie similarities between this situation and the one Chan had poured his heart out to you about just a few weeks ago. Once you’d noticed how they paralleled each other, it was impossible to ignore, to the point where that became the driving force for your need to set things right, to put your foot down before history repeated itself.

“Don’t you remember what we talked about the other day?” you prompted, as delicately as your growing tension would allow. “What if you hadn’t finished your work in time because you were too busy helping me? Graduation is less than a month away—why would you ever risk that?”

Chan shifted his weight from side to side. You could tell he was starting to grow uncomfortable.

“This is different.”

“How?” you pressed. “How is it any different? You nearly let me jeopardize your future all over again.”

“I don’t understand,” he chuckled softly. “I finished in the end, didn’t I? There’s really no need to worry about me.”

You took a deep breath. You weren’t getting through to him.

“But what if you hadn’t? What if you failed because of this?” You didn’t miss the way he shrank back when you spoke the word, only feeding into your own distress. “Not just that, it can’t have been easy to balance so much work at once. I don’t want you taking on more than you can handle again, especially not for my sake.”

“It’s okay,” he said lightly, almost dismissive. “It was my decision, y’know? If it’s you, then it’s okay.”

Normally, the words would’ve melted your heart. They would’ve made you coo and fawn and swoon over him and his insurmountable selflessness. Now, they only frightened you. If he was willing to put something as important as this on the line without a second thought, you didn’t even want to think about what else he might try to sacrifice for you.

“Chan…” you hesitated. “I need to know that you’re not gonna do something like this again. I need you to promise me that you’ll put yourself first in this relationship, at least when it matters most.”

His expression darkened, just the slightest bit. It was a look you’d never once seen cross his face, one that felt so unnatural that you didn’t know what to make of it. But the feeling it evoked was one you understood all too well. The feeling of having a core part of himself confronted; challenged.

“I—” Chan sucked in through his teeth. “I don’t think I can promise you that.”

Your heart sank. The dread that had been slowly creeping its way up on you since you’d first arrived, now consumed you in full. He wasn’t going to stop. He was never going to stop. Not for you, or anyone else. Certainly not for himself.

“Please,” you tried again. “Please, tell me you’re not gonna put me in this position.”

You could tell, just from the bewildered look he was giving you, that he was having trouble piecing it together in his head, that he was struggling to decipher why you would ever even ask such a thing of him. Why you weren’t jumping at the opportunity to take advantage of him, to use him for all he was worth, like so many others did.

“You’ve got to stop treating yourself like this,” you continued, not liking the way you were losing control of your voice. “If you keep giving and giving there’s not going to be anything left of you to give.”

Chan remained silent, and for a split second, you felt a glimmer of hope that he was starting to grasp the message you were trying to send. But it was nothing more than a candle in the wind, blown out before it even had the chance to illuminate anything.

“And what about you?”

You tensed. “What?”

“Could you make that promise to me?” he asked quietly. “Would you stop hiding things from me if I asked you to?”

Just like that, the mirror was turned on you.

“That’s…you’re changing the subject. This isn’t about me.”

“Really? I think it is.”

You held your ground, determined not to let him steer the conversation away from himself. “I know my limits, Chan. I wouldn’t hide anything serious from you.”

“Then why have you still not told me about what happened when you went home?”

It was unusually direct coming from him, just short of accusatory. You were reminded, once again, that even the parts of yourself that you thought you might be able to slip past his attentive eyes, he was well aware of—more than he ever let show. Even when he caught on to every minute detail, even when it filled his head with concern for you, he remained considerate as ever; waiting patiently until you were ready to open up yourself. At least, until now.

“And…why haven’t you told me about what’s going on with Minho?”

Something twisted deep within you. He’d noticed. Of course he’d noticed. You’d done a horrible job in hiding it—and even if you hadn’t, he would’ve sensed something was off, anyway. He always did.

When he gauged your reaction, Chan’s face dropped into something heartbreaking, eyes flashing with a resigned sort of fear.

“Do you—?”

“No.” You couldn’t hide your revulsion towards what you were sure he was going to ask, denying it so fiercely that it at least seemed to convince him right away. “That’s not it at all.”

“Okay,” he exhaled. “Then, what’s going on? You can tell me everything. I’m here to listen.”

Countless emotions fought for control over you all at once. Dismay. Exasperation. Vulnerability. Love. Even now, he was finding a way to focus on you, to make sure you were okay amidst your attempts to get him on speaking terms with his self-preservation. It was a testament to everything you adored about him, and everything about him that made you feel utterly helpless. You needed an escape route, a window to break out of before that pure, sincere gaze of his cast its spell on you and made you do something that you were sure to regret. Because you always regretted it, every single time. You couldn’t tell him. Not about Minho, not about home, not about her, not about him. Not because he wouldn’t care, but because he would. He would care so much that all your pain would become his.

It was your turn to break eye contact, brushing your thumb over your nose. “It’s not something you need to hear, right now.”

“Then, when? How can I be there for you if you won’t let me?” Desperation began to seep into every word. “You promised, didn’t you?”

“I know,” you swallowed. “But that’s not the point of all this. You don’t owe me anything for what happened in October, okay? You don’t have to feel guilty just because you let yourself lean on me a bit.”

You meant the affirmations—you knew you did. So why did they suddenly sound so unconvincing? Like something you’d never believe if spoken to you. Chan pressed his lips together, and though he didn’t say it, you could tell he knew exactly what you were doing.

“If this keeps up, you’re going to hate me,” you said plainly. “You’re going to resent me for all the times you helped me when you should’ve helped yourself.”

His fingers curled around the sleeve of his hoodie, picking at its loose threads in a way that betrayed how high his tensions were running beneath the silence.

“Why are you so sure that’s gonna happen?”

“Because…because I know you.”

“Because you do the same thing?” he asked sharply.

He wasn’t going to let you get away with it today. He was tugging at each of your seams, peeling back the adhesives to reveal what you’d let fester underneath. You were trapped. Cornered by someone who you’d come to trust more than anyone else in the world—but that didn’t make it any less terrifying.

“Maybe I do,” you relented. There was no use in hiding it, not when he sounded more sure of himself than you’d ever heard him sound before. “That’s why I know it won’t end well. I need you to stop this, for your own good.”

“Don’t,” Chan interjected. “Please, don’t talk about what’s good for me. It doesn’t matter.”

“Oh my God, Chan,” you let out a hollow laugh. “Am I supposed to agree with that?”

Of course nothing had changed. How naive, how fucking foolish of you to believe that one conversation could ever be enough to undo the ideas that had been hammered into his being by everyone around him his entire life; so extensively, so persistently that, as time went on, he began to do the hammering himself. You were positive now, that everything he’d revealed to you that night in October, as gut-wrenching as it’d been on its own, wasn’t even the half of what he’d been through. It was just a single star in a constellation of hurt.

Minho’s words echoed in your head. He was right. You weren’t special. You would take advantage of Chan just like everyone else, whether you wanted to or not. Your ex’s words echoed in your head. He had been right. You were a liar. You couldn’t even apply your own words to yourself—how could you ever, ever expect them to get through to Chan?

“These…types of relationships don’t always work out, right?”

You didn’t want to use the term he’d used before, it felt unnecessarily cruel in that moment. Ever since he’d first brought the subject of twin flames up, you’d spent any free time you’d managed to get your hands on reading about them. That kind of connection could be transformational, sure, but the further you delved into the phenomenon, the more you came to learn that it could be just as harmful under the wrong circumstances—destructive. Two individuals who shared such core similarities were bound to experience problems far deeper-rooted and far more intense than anyone else, after all. Most people didn’t take kindly to being faced with their own traits completely unfiltered—the good, the bad, the ugly. A mirror that reflected them in their truest form.

“Maybe we’re not ready to see these parts of ourselves. Maybe we just bring out the worst in each other.”

Each word made your tongue feel drier and drier. You didn’t dare to look at Chan as you spoke them, certain you would break the very instant your eyes locked with his.

“Maybe,” you paused. Your heart was pounding, so loud that you felt it in your ears, making it impossible to think straight. There was still a chance to take it back, to change your mind before destabilizing the foundation of everything the two of you had so carefully built until now.

Ever since you’d met Chan, you’d thought that you’d been growing, learning, healing. You’d thought you were reaching a point where you wouldn’t need to hold yourself together anymore, because you would simply be…together. No adhesives. No loose seams. Just whole.

But here, you had him. The kind of person you’d only ever encountered once before in this lifetime, the kind of person you used to dream of knowing again. Someone who noticed every little thing you did for him and returned it tenfold, someone who loved you and meant it, and yet, somehow, you couldn’t make it work in your mind. You couldn’t shake the dread, the belief that it was all temporary, conditional, transactional. Like if you made one small misstep, it would all be lost.

In retrospect, you really hadn’t learned a thing.

“Maybe we should end this. Before we start to hurt each other.”

Chan’s breath hitched.

“What?”

“I d-don't want to hurt you. And if this continues, I'm going to.”

His hand lowered from his ear, crossing over his chest to cup his neck instead. Covering his heart, shielding himself.

“More than this?” his voice cracked. “I think this hurts more than anything else you could ever do to me.”

There was no way to conceal the effect it had on you. A physical, throbbing ache in your chest.

“Chan,” you begged inwardly for him to understand—for him to just know it, the same way he knew everything else about you like the back of his hand. “I’m not going to stand by and watch you ruin yourself for me.”

It made sense, now. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you were saying what you needed to hear. The realization made it all feel infinitely more despicable. Could you even say you were doing this out of care for him? Or were you just a coward afraid to confront this part of yourself?

That was what you always did, after all; you ran. You ran from your ex, your home, your family, your friends. The moment you were faced with any kind of obstacle, you left. And this was no different. You were no different than anyone else who had abandoned Chan in the past. If anything, you were worse. A hypocrite who had the audacity to shame the people who had harmed him, then turned around to do it yourself.

“If you’re gonna leave, just do it, please.”

You wished he sounded at least a little angry about it. You wished he wasn’t so ready to accept it. You almost wished he would snap and lash out and yell, voicing every vicious thought you were thinking about yourself in that moment. A liar, a manipulator, a hypocrite. Cruel, awful, selfish.

You wished he would be a little more selfish.

But there was no contempt in his eyes, no vitriol. Not even the beginnings of tears. It felt worse—far worse. He was saving them. He wasn’t going to cry until you left.

The only emotion you could read on his face was exhaustion. By your own volition, you were no longer the reason for his smile; you’d become the reason for his weariness.

“Okay,” you whispered. “I'll let you be, now.”

You waited. For what, you weren’t sure. There was no one to swoop in and put a stop to this; you were the one who’d started it. Still, you waited. For yourself to change your mind, for Chan to change his mind, for something about all this to change.

You took one last look at the apartment around you. The stray socks, the scattered water bottles, the half-done dishes. You wondered if it was the last time you would ever see it. You hadn’t been prepared to leave it all behind. You hadn’t been prepared for any of this.

You took one last look at him—the boy you loved. His gaze was still downcast, a detail you were, pathetically enough, grateful for. You weren’t sure you’d be able to keep it together if he met your eyes; if he looked at you with anything other than that unfettered adoration you’d come to rely on, despite every one of your instincts commanding you not to. You wanted to tell him that you loved him, to leave him with something to hold on to, but you knew it would do nothing but twist the knife. There was no way to make him understand that because you loved him so much, you had to end this. You weren’t going to let him make you his accomplice in his self-destruction, and you weren’t going to subject him to witnessing your own, either.

You turned to leave. Every step you took towards the door felt like your heart was being ripped further out of your chest.

Your heart was there, across the room, watching you go.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

bin 😑 (monday, 1:09 p.m.) what’s this what’s this??? looks like somebody’s late for class~

bin 😑 (monday, 1:32 p.m.) ur srsly gonna leave me all alone on review day???

bin 😑 (tuesday, 4:42 p.m.) guess what i found ><

bin 😑 (today, 12:17 a.m.) i’m really being ignored… huuu ㅜ

Two days had passed. You were only aware of that fact thanks to the timestamps of Changbin’s texts. You’d skipped your classes on Monday, the first time you’d missed class the entire year—ever since you’d started university, really.

It was a stupid decision, but, well, you were no stranger to those. You probably would have done well for yourself to attend your lectures. After all, the distractions that came with drowning yourself in academics had proved to be effective even when you were at your most miserable. That was exactly why you hadn’t gone. You didn’t deserve to distract yourself.

Eventually, though, it’d become too much to bear. Sitting alone in your apartment, with nothing to do but torture yourself with thoughts of him, of what you’d done, of the way everything had fallen apart before your very eyes—by your very hands—was a punishment that you decided you wouldn’t even wish on your worst enemy. Which, funnily enough, was probably yourself.

You didn’t deserve to miss him. You didn’t deserve to worry about him. You didn’t even deserve to wonder how he might be doing. Still, you did, anyway. Selfishly.

You squinted at your laptop screen, a harsh, white light illuminating your face. Unnatural, nothing like the soothing glow of the moon outside. It was sure to be in its Waning Gibbous phase by now, the same way it had been the night you’d first fallen for him. But it had been cloudy for two days straight. No sun shining down on you to balance out the chilly autumn air. No stars decorating the sky. No moon to watch over you at night.

It took you a few seconds to process the sound of your cellphone buzzing against your desk. Your eyes flickered over to it, lacking the energy to even turn your head fully. It was Iseul. Given how late it was, she was undoubtedly calling about some problem or another. So, for the first time, you let it go to voicemail.

But nothing was ever that easy. You didn’t even have the chance to find where you’d left off in your notes before she was calling again, not even bothering to leave a message or to give you time to call back first.

It was probably best not to answer. You were in no state to answer.

You steeled yourself, and you took the call.

Before you could even say hello, her distressed voice ran through the speaker.

“Can you come over?”

For once, you wished you’d been wrong about why she was contacting you. You wished that this friendship, which was usually a comfortable constant for you, a way for both of your needs to be met, could be put on hold. You wished she saw any value in you other than what you could do for her.

“Right now?” you tried to keep calm, telling yourself that it wasn’t her fault. She didn’t know. How could she? You’d never let her. “I…I’m kinda busy, sorry.”

“This is important,” she sounded serious, but you knew it was more than likely that this was just another case of a very solvable issue being blown wildly out of proportion in her eyes. “I really, really need your help.”

You said nothing, not even finding it in you to string together an acceptable excuse.

“Are you with Chan, or something?”

A physical pang in your chest.

“Uh, yeah,” you lied.

“Oh.”

An uncomfortable silence stretched across the call. Normally, you’d fill it, say something to keep her from feeling awkward.

“It's really late, Iseul. Can we talk tomorrow?”

“No.” You were taken aback by how abruptly she responded. “I need your help now, I'm so serious. Can you please just come for a bit? I'm sure Chan wouldn’t care.”

Another blow from your oblivious assailant, straight to the gut. You felt short of breath.

“Maybe I can help over the phone?” you offered weakly. “What’s going on?”

“No, no, no, you have to be here! I just lost my whole fucking essay file and it’s due at 6:00 a.m. and you know I don’t know shit about computers!” her tone grew frantic the more she rambled on. “I have no idea how to get it back, I'm seriously about to cry.”

An essay. The very same thing that had led to all of this. That was more important than the maelstrom of emotions swirling inside you, destroying everything in its path. Of course it was. How presumptuous of you to think otherwise. The absolute gall of you to think you deserved any amount of time to feel sorry for yourself.

You gritted your teeth. She doesn’t know.

“Okay, okay. No problem. I can just tell you how to recover it.” You left out the fact that she could’ve easily searched it up online and saved you both the trouble.

“I’m not gonna know what or where anything is!” she objected. “Can’t you just come over and fix it? I'm freaking out. You can go crawling back to your stupid boyfriend after if it matters that much.”

She wasn’t thinking with a clear head, probably—letting her stress speak for her. But it was a push too far.

“I’m not your fucking babysitter, Iseul,” you spat. “You can’t just snap your fingers every time you want me to solve a problem for you. Figure it out yourself.”

The line went silent. Long enough for you to perfectly envision her hurt expression in your head.

“What?” it came quiet, meek. Everything unlike her. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I'm tired.” You rubbed your eyes, trying to get rid of the building sting. “I can't do this right now.”

“That’s n-not an excuse for you to talk to me like that,” her voice trembled. “I didn't do anything wrong!”

You heard a faint sniffle, and as exasperated as you were, it crashed guilt over you all the same. You didn’t want to make her feel like this.

“I’m so stressed out and you know how hard I’ve been working on my grades so I can get into grad school. Is it that crazy for me to call my friend for help? Like, am I wrong for thinking you care about me enough to save me from failing this fucking class?”

Each word, so tone-deaf, so lacking in self-awareness, added to the pressure filling up your head, heightening it so much until it was unbearable.

“Do you ever stop to think about the way you talk to me?” you snapped. “Or is it too much to ask for you to consider someone else’s feelings for once?”

You were being harsh, unreasonable too. Every fiber of your being screamed for you to take it back, to do what you were supposed to do and just go help her. But your conversation with Chan—everything that had led up to that doomed, wretched conversation with Chan—was all too fresh in your mind, manifesting in the ugliest of ways against someone who didn’t deserve it.

You wanted to blame her. You wanted it to be all her fault. If she had just been there for you when you’d needed her, none of this would have happened. Even as you tried to convince yourself of it, you knew it wasn’t true. What had caused everything to crumble between you and Chan ran much deeper than that simple favor. The flaw was in the very foundation.

“I consider your feelings all the time! Are you kidding me!?” she exclaimed, offended by the accusation without taking even a moment to consider if it had any merit to it.

“Right. That’s why you only ever reach out to me when you need something.”

You could practically feel her indignation burning up on the other end of the call, and you stopped to ask yourself just what the hell you were doing. This approach would never get through to Iseul. She was far too proud, far too sensitive to receive any kind of message when delivered so tactlessly. That was why your friendship had worked all this time, why you were one of the few people who got along with her. You were nothing if not tactful, enough for the both of you.

“So what!? Friends are supposed to be there for each other!”

“Yeah,” you said bitterly. “They are.”

Another spell of silence. You wondered, briefly, if she was catching on to what you were implying, but the moment she spoke up again, you knew it’d been nothing but another baseless hope.

“Well, if you hate helping me that much, don't lie to me and act like you want to!”

“I’m not lying to you!” you retorted. “I want to help you! Every single time you come to me, I want to help you. That’s the problem!”

You’d never even raised your voice at her before, let alone to this degree. You didn’t have to see her face to know she was frightened by it—yet another point on your list of reasons to feel guilty.

“So I’m just a problem to you,” she concluded. You could hear the sobs beginning to build in her throat. “Great, thanks.”

“Iseul, that’s not—”

“Forget it,” she hiccuped. “It must be so hard for you, right? You’re so fucking perfect and I’m so fucking selfish.”

The line went dead, leaving you gripping your phone with such intensity you worried it might actually crumple under your fingers. Of all the ever-changing things in this world, the one you’d always been able to control was yourself. But it seemed even that was too tall of an order these days.

Maybe you really did need to get that temper of yours checked out.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

One hour later, you found yourself, once again, trudging miserably up a flight of stairs to meet your impending fate. Cold, exhausted, and filled to the brim with anxiety. You’d forgotten to throw on a jacket before leaving your apartment—far too preoccupied with the round table discussion taking place in your mind, one that was still well underway even as you impulsively made the decision to leave. By the time you reached the fourth floor of the complex, your teeth were chattering.

You gave the door a few knocks, drawing your hand back as soon as you did to rub it against the other, your best attempt at generating some warmth. There was no response for nearly a minute, and, with a tinge of fear, it dawned on you for the first time that Iseul may have very well given up and gone to sleep after your phonecall. It made your insides lurch. How could you have done this to her? How could you have let yourself be so caught up in your emotions that you treated hers so carelessly?

Why did you feel so cold?

Panicking, you knocked again, this time with a bit more force. It was nearing 4:00 a.m. now, there was still a chance for you to fix things before her deadline. There were so many things you couldn’t fix, you needed to make something right.

Finally, just as another shiver ran up your spine, you heard the click of a lock. You didn’t have the opportunity to collect yourself before the door creaked open.

The frown on her face only deepened when she saw who was standing before her. Lips curved sharply down, eyebrows lowering, eyes cleared from any residual redness, but still puffy—that strangely rejuvenated look after a good cry.

“What do you want?”

You flinched. “I’m here to help.”

She studied you without a word, but you didn’t miss the way her features mellowed the slightest bit. However coarse and uncaring she tried to make herself, she could never truly contain her expressiveness.

You could see her weighing the options in her head, and, even as the biting chill on your skin wore your patience thinner with each passing second, you waited. You at least owed her that much.

“Fine.”

She turned, leaving the door open for you as she stalked into her apartment. With a sigh of relief, you followed.

You joined her on the couch, keeping a careful distance from where she’d slumped down. She slid her laptop over to you on the coffee table without making eye contact. It was open on a word document, two pages into her attempt at rewriting her essay. Not far off, you spotted a few stray tissues on the table, smeared black with mascara.

Guilt, guilt, guilt.

You picked up the device, placing it in your lap and getting to work. Iseul’s eyes flickered over to you, more obviously than she probably thought, as you began clicking away, opening up the settings of the program and accessing the version history of the documents.

“Can you fix it?”

“Yeah.” You tilted the screen towards her. “There’s an autosave feature.”

She blinked, trying to keep up with your ministrations as you recovered the lost file with just a bit more fiddling around.

“Here. Make sure it’s the right one.”

Furrowing her brows, she scrolled through the pages and pages of her work, unable to mask her elation when she confirmed it was in fact her full essay, completely preserved from where she’d left off.

“It is.”

“Good.”

More silence. You wondered if that was your cue to leave. You’d done your job. You’d made yourself useful. There was no need to stick around.

Then, she said it; quiet, demure.

“Thanks.”

A simple word, solidifying the belief that none of this had been worth it. Putting your feelings first was never worth it.

“You're welcome.”

A deep breath.

“And, listen, Iseul. I'm sorry about what I said on the phone.”

She lifted her head, looking directly at you for the first time that night.

“I was really stressed out about my own stuff, too, and I let my anger get the best of me. So, I’m sorry.”

Her expression changed, and though she looked like she was already prepared to forgive you, she didn’t quite say it yet.

“Is that really how you feel about me?” she muttered. “Like you’re my babysitter? Am I just a burden to you?”

A burden. It was such a heavy word, you knew it couldn’t be correct. Still, how could you explain to her that you were the problem in this situation? Worrying yourself with details about her that she didn’t even ask you to worry about, wearing yourself down without ever bothering to tell her, then snapping when it all became too much.

It was an issue entirely of your own creation. She’d have to be as stupid and maladjusted as you to understand.

“No,” you said firmly. “You’re my friend, of course I wanna help you.”

“…But?”

“But…” you bit your lower lip. “Sometimes it feels like you just expect me to do things for you. Like, you don’t care about what I have going on as long as I can be there for you.”

You couldn’t explain why you felt near physically ill. You’d known this girl for three years, been friends with her for two, and spent practically every day with her for one. So why did being upfront with her seem like the most terrifying thing in the world? Like you were exposing yourself to a predator, completely vulnerable if she chose to swoop out and attack.

"Of course I—" Just as you braced yourself for another burst of indignation, Iseul forced herself to bite back her words, a rare display of her common sense trumping her impulsivity. She swallowed. "Oh. Okay."

“I’m always gonna want to help you,” you explained softly. “So, sometimes, I just need you to care enough about me to make sure that I can.”

You could tell she still felt wronged, and maybe, she had all the reason to. The way you’d gone about it was less than ideal. All that care you’d always tried to treat her with, nullified in a matter of seconds, just like that.

“I guess I just never thought of you as the type of person who’d need anything like that.” She picked at the skin around her nails. “But sure, okay. I’ll try.”

You leaned back against the cushions, exhaling. It seemed unreal to you, all things considered, that you’d reached this point. That telling her what you’d kept buried in your heart for so long could have ended in anything other than disaster.

“Thank you.”

“Yeah.”

Iseul turned her attention back to her laptop, high-strung as ever as she scanned over her paper once more. A thought seemed to cross her mind, and when she spoke up again, you could tell she was doing her best to sound casual.

“Are you gonna go back to Chan, now?”

You squeezed your eyes shut.

“No.”

“You can go,” she mumbled. “I get that you’re like, in love with him, or whatever.”

The sting was back in your eyes. The pounding was back in your head. The chill was back in your skin.

“Chan and I aren’t together anymore.”

“O-oh.”

Then, more troubled. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I…I didn’t know.”

You straightened yourself up, forcing a feeble smile.

“It’s okay,” you murmured. “Let’s not talk about it.”

Iseul frowned. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’m tired.”

“We'll talk later though, right?”

A lump rose in your throat. You could only bring yourself to nod.

For the next hour, you sat, unmoving, as the sound of Iseul’s rapid typing and frustrated huffs filled the room. Once she’d made the finishing touches to her paper, she submitted it with plenty of time to spare, lifting the weight off both of your chests. You sank your head back against the cushions just as she shut her laptop, a sigh of pure relief easing her nerves and yours.

Through her window, you could see that the sky outside was still blocked out by the low-hanging clouds, but even so, the world grew a bit brighter as day began to break and the sun began to inch its way up behind them. Iseul rested her head on your shoulder, and you at last allowed yourself to succumb to the fatigue that had been gripping your body for the past two days.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

When Chan's eyes blinked open, he wondered, faintly, if he’d been drifting off.

It wouldn’t be the first time. Exhaustion consumed him so perpetually these days, not even standing upright could prevent his head from hanging and his eyelids from drooping. He adjusted his vision to take in his surroundings—kitchen, he realized for the first time—but the fuzz in his mind didn’t clear. That was nothing new, either. It hadn’t left him since you had.

He hadn’t slept in three days, not for more than just twenty or thirty minutes at a time. Not even enough to complete a single sleep cycle. Not even enough to dream.

He’d been kept awake by thoughts of you before, more than he’d ever be confident enough to admit out loud. But it was different now. He used to be perfectly content lying wide awake, staring at his ceiling with the giddiest of smiles plastered on his face over the mere memory of you. It had been better than any dream his mind could conjure up. Now, he wished, more than anything, to drift off instead. At least that way, he could be in a state where he didn’t have to think at all. Or maybe, if he was lucky, a state where he could dream of you, to pretend like you were still here with him.

The shattering of glass snapped him out of his thoughts all at once. With a start, he registered that he’d dropped the cup of water he was holding.

He stared blankly at broken shards, scattered amidst the puddle spreading across the wooden floor. He should probably clean it up. The remains could hurt someone.

He sank down to collect the pieces. Changbin liked this cup, he remembered suddenly. He’d gotten it on vacation. He was probably going to be upset.

An unexpectedly sharp sliver of glass grazed Chan’s thumb, cutting it open and earning a slight hiss from him. He winced, dropping the fragments he’d gathered in his palm.

Blood began to bubble up on the surface of his skin, and he brought the injured finger to his lips.

“Good job, Chan,” he mumbled, unsure of why his eyes were starting to sting. “You’re a good boy.”

The words didn’t calm him down like they typically would. In fact, they had the opposite effect. He didn’t want to hear himself say them. He wanted—

He curled into himself, shrinking under his clothes and barely managing to keep his balance as a sob racked his body. He pressed the wound closer to his lips, trying to get it to stop bleeding. But the blood kept flowing, and so did his tears.

He didn’t even process the sound of the front door unlocking, or the approaching footsteps that followed. A familiar pair of green sneakers shuffled into his blurred field of view. Chan lifted his head, tears falling freely as he met Minho's deep stare.

He looked concerned, but not surprised. Not in the slightest.

“What happened?”

Chan kept his thumb to his mouth, chest aching from the cries he was so desperately trying to hold in.

“I’m okay,” he choked out. “Just c-cut my finger.”

Minho crouched down, coming face to face with the older boy. “Let me see.”

Reluctantly, Chan held out his hand, placing it in Minho's waiting palm. Minho gave a light click of his tongue, as if unimpressed by the injury.

“It doesn’t look that deep.”

Chan squeezed his eyes shut, forcing a fresh wave of tears down his cheeks, hot and suffocating. “Feels like it.”

Minho hummed, half-sympathetic. But it was soft. The same way Chan would hear him murmur to his cats back home. He let go of Chan's hand, lifting his gaze to look him straight in the eyes, unfazed by how red and swollen they were.

“What did she do?”

Chan sucked in a shaky breath, nowhere near ready to talk. Minho waited for a few moments, then rose from his spot, opening the medical cabinet to find something to treat him with. He turned his back to sift through their sparse first aid materials, and the absence of his scrutiny was enough for Chan to muster up enough courage to answer.

“She left,” he managed to gasp. “Think it’s over.”

Minho said nothing.

“A-and, please, before you say you told me so…it’s not the same.”

Through the soft hiccups and shallow pants that filled the room, a sigh met Chan’s ears.

“I got tired of telling you that a long time ago,” Minho replied. “And it never made me happy to be right, for the record.”

He lowered himself to Chan’s level again, ripping open the antibiotic packet he’d retrieved and pressing the alcoholic wipe delicately to the cut. Chan tried not to pull his hand away as the harsh burn rippled through his skin.

Once the wound was thoroughly cleaned, Minho put the bloodied wipe to the side and wrapped Chan’s thumb carefully with a bandaid. Chan tried to rasp out a thank you, but it only came out as another pathetic sound. He never felt more pathetic than when he cried in front of Minho. Minho, who he was supposed to be strong for. Minho, who, even at his lowest, only betrayed his heartache before others with a subtle twitch of his lips or a few rapid blinks, shooing his tears away for later.

Minho redirected his attention from the now patched-up injury, stone face softening when he caught the uncontrollable shake in Chan’s shoulders.

“It’s okay.” He rested his hand on Chan’s back. “You’re okay.”

Chan took a deep breath, scolding himself, berating himself, screaming at himself to get it together. To stop being so fucking pathetic. He’d cried so much already, cried until his head throbbed and his lungs ached. He was surprised he had any tears left in his system to begin with. Minho’s voice was gentle, but Chan knew what he must be thinking. He knew the frustration, the judgment, the disappointment that must be boiling beneath his composed visage.

“I c-can’t—” he swallowed down another gasp. “Can’t be okay without her.”

“You can,” Minho said simply. “You’ve been okay before, you will be again.”

“Really hurts.”

“I know.”

“Feels…” Chan touched his index finger to his thumb, running it along the smooth texture of the bandaid. He pressed down, just hard enough to draw out the light pain. “Feels like I lost a part of myself.”

Minho frowned, hand pausing its rhythmic movements along Chan's trembling back. He stayed quiet for several heartbeats, letting the weight of the admission fully sink in.

“Tell me everything.”

#bang chan x reader #skz x reader #bang chan angst #bang chan fanfic #stray kids x reader #skz angst #bang chan imagines #skz imagines #stray kids angst #skz fanfic #bang chan x you

736 notes · View notes

goldsainz · 1 year

Text

ECHOES OF LOVE — one shot.

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

2K CELEBRATION. MASTERLIST.

taglist: @lorarri @lpab @whatthefuckerr @noncannonships @lunnnix @elliegrey2803 @schumacheer @saintslewis

summary: you can only watch as the man you love becomes a shell of who he once was.

request: “i would like to have ✒️— with prompt “i don’t even recognize you anymore.” with Charles!”

warnings: angst, ferrari being enemy #1, poorly proof-read, charles’s an asshole.

NOTE: this is all over the place but i kinda like the mess. every time i write for charles i read it over and over bc i don’t know if i am doing him justice. i hope you all enjoy this and find it entertaining, at least.

[ word count: 1,2k ]

Forza Ferrari sempre.

You didn’t know when, but somewhere along the way you grew to hate the phrase. You suppose it was when Charles started to lose himself in his devotion to the team or when he no longer had time to even look at you some days.

It didn’t take a genius to know that Ferrari was one of the main priorities Charles had in his life, what you didn’t know or even have in mind, is that it went above you. You who had stuck by him through thick and thin, who heard him cry out of frustration when the team made a decision not even then could comprehend; you who loved him for Charles and not il Predestinato.

Sometimes you miss the past. It wasn’t always that you indulged in nostalgia, but when you did, it made you resent what your life has become. How could you not? Everywhere you went there was a reminder of all the things you had lost, all the little things you slowly left behind and now missed.

You remember a time where talking about Ferrari was fun. When all was hush-hush and Charles had just signed his contract with the Scuderia, rambling on and on about all the things that could happen if he was on the team; from fulfilling his family’s dream to becoming a World Champion. Ferrari signified hope to Charles, so it was the same to you.

Now, Ferrari was the breaking point in your relationship. It wasn’t about ultimatums, you were almost certain that if it were you would have to pack your bags and start fresh somewhere else. No, this was about putting effort into a relationship, one that over time seemed to be one-sided.

Being home — if it could still be called that — was awkward and not like it once was. You watched Charles fumble around the kitchen as he pretended to cook, something he wasn’t fond of or good at. There were so many things you wanted to say, so many thoughts to be shared, and you would’ve kept them under lock and key if it weren’t for the fact that you were supposed to be spending time together.

It was unbearable to live with someone who you once knew so well and now was someone else entirely. The same could probably be said for you, but you knew that it didn’t matter how you changed, you love for Charles didn’t.

“I was thinking on going to Maranello on Friday.” Your boyfriend said, breaking the silence that loomed over you.

“What?”

“Yeah, get some stuff done. Just for the weekend, though.” You waited for Charles to turn around, to face the words he was saying. But once more, you are left behind in his plans: in his life.

“You’re not being serious, right?”

“Of course I am, Y/N.”

That was when he turned around. If there was something you rarely did was complain to him about his work trips, because most of the time you went him. But you knew that he knew that what he was telling you was outrageous.

“We have this one week to ourselves, Charles. You promised to leave work related stuff behind for one week.”

“I know that, but things came up.”

“Things came up? Come on, Charles.” You heard his exasperated sigh, now frustrated you weren’t bending to his wishes.

“Look, I’m sorry that me working to maintain the life we live is such an inconvenience for you.”

“I never complain about anything!” You exclaim, shaking your head at the absurdity of his words, “I’m your biggest supporter, Charles. I just wanted one week to enjoy ourselves.”

You hear pans clattering as he abandons his attempt at cooking, his attention now fully on you.

“This whole week is a distraction, and I can’t have distractions right now, Y/N.” There is a silence that builds the moment he says that, as you look at him you wonder when it was that all the time you spent together ended up in this.

“Oh, so I’m a distraction now?” You finally speak up, watching as the situation fully clicks for Charles. You watch him move from behind the kitchen counter, approaching you like a wounded animal.

“You know that’s not what I meant.” You almost laugh at his words, you want to tear your hair out from your scalp from frustration.

“It’s not?” You ask, watching as he falters at the brashness of your words, “Because from what I see, Ferrari will always come first.”

He doesn’t say anything. Nothing to deny the claims you are making, and that is when you truly know. That despite the way you want to delude yourself that the current Charles is the same Charles you met all those years ago and fell in love with, you know that the man who stands before you is not him.

“You can’t even deny it! You are so far gone on this quest to make Ferrari the team you want them to be, that you’ve lost sight of everything else around you. Including me.”

You wait for him to say something, but nothing comes out of his mouth, nothing at all.

“Say something, Charles!”

“What do you want me to say? That me driving for Ferrari is the worst thing ever? Because I can’t.”

Despite the urge to cry you manage to keep your composure. You hope that the gloss in your eyes isn’t noticiable, that he doesn’t see how tired of your situation you are.

“If I don’t work with Ferrari, what do I have left?”

That is when a tear slips. That exact moment were he utters those dreaded words, is when you falter before him. His dismissal of your relationship breaks your heart, it breaks your heart that he believes Ferrari is all he is worth. As if he isn’t one of the best drivers on the Grid currently, as if there aren’t various teams interested in him if he wanted them.

“I don’t even recognise you anymore.” You whisper to him, watching as his posture tightens and the look in his eyes turns cold.

It is then when you truly know that there is no going back to who you once were. That your relationship, however much of it was left, is now over.

He takes a deep breath, dragging his hand down his face. His brows furrowed, considering what to do of the predicament his in.

“If you dislike who I am so much, leave.” Charles says with no remorse in his voice, no care for the fact that you have limited places to go to in Monaco. “Nobody is stopping, if this situation is so bad for you, leave.”

You watch him for a second, this time you don’t look for regret, you look for love. If you had more time in your hands you could probably dig some up, but you shouldn’t grasp at straws to find love. And so you do what he wants. Once more. But this time will be the last time.

With little fuss, little care, you grabbed your necessities that were laying around and left. Opening the door to leave his flat feels like relief.

It isn’t until you are standing in the street that you realise that all those years with Charles would now remain in the past. Forever frozen on what could’ve been if life were fair.

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iamcalmdammit · 2 years

Text

High-risk || [John Price x f!reader]

Note: Just a little drabble because of reasons.

"How did you find out?"

John inhaled and exhaled slowly as he thought about how to answer this question without upsetting you. He had just found out your pregnancy turned into a high-risk one due to an infection, and now he was more worried than he had ever been on the field. As he watched you slip into a hoodie, he realized that maybe honesty was the best approach now. After all, he had made a promise around the time your relationship turned serious enough to move in together–there would be no secrets between you.

"Kate knows you're pregnant and she promised to keep an eye on you while I was on that mission," he admitted as he stepped closer to cup your face with his hands. "You didn't think I would leave you here without making sure I found out if anything happened, did you?"

"I'd rather not think about that at all. I mean, isn't worrying about me a distraction you don't need?" Letting out a short laugh, he leaned down to kiss your forehead. "Don't laugh at me, I'm a nervous wreck every time you leave. I know you love your job but sometimes I wish you were doing something less risky."

Well, this was both adorable and unfortunate. It was nice to know he had someone at home who cared about him, someone he could return to, but it's not like you worrying was enough to make him quit his job. But maybe having a child would one day change his mind. Maybe after his daughter was born, he would take a look at her and that would do the trick. There would be a tiny little human in need of a father and probably he wouldn't be able to ignore that.

"Damn it," he muttered under his breath.

You gave him a questioning look since you had no idea what he had been thinking about just now. But he wasn't about to give you the satisfaction of knowing his daughter had him wrapped around her finger before even being born.

#call of duty #john price #john price x reader #captain price #captain price x reader #modern warfare #fanfic #fanfiction #captain john price #modern warfare 2019 #modern warfare 2022 #no spoilers

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deathsbestgirl · 15 days

Note

Idk why but I feel like asking you a slightly challenging X-Files question. Why do you think Scully asks to be alone at the end of "Emily"? Would she not want Mulder there to help her through her grief? Is she shutting down? Do you think Emily changed how Mulder saw himself?

literally i think about this every time i watch emily!! this is going to be a long one so under the cut

i think scully asks to be alone for a lot of reasons. she's not easily vulnerable, even with mulder who she trusts more than anyone. she's usually the protector in this relationship (even if he often shields her bodily and goes to great lengths to save her). but this is her daughter, she's barely had time to process emily's existence before she's losing her. scully tells mulder he's right and she doesn't want it to be true but it's also the only thing allowing scully to let emily go, to not keep fighting.

while scully chooses her battles, she never gives up on the people who are important to her. sometimes it really shocks me that she lets emily die, that she doesn't question mulder when he asks the question about a cure for her. but emily pleaded with scully, telling scully her mom said no more tests. she's already been through so much and she couldn't bear to see emily in pain (that air pressure chamber — literally the moment emily showed slight discomfort she tells the man to turn it off, and gets more urgent about it when she sees emily's veins). putting her through more experimental treatments that would mostly just hurt her, she couldn't bear it.

failure is something scully struggles with deeply. and even though she barely had any time with emily, this is a failure to her. she wasn't going to be allowed to adopt emily, and she couldn't even save her. plus the connection to her abduction here is making her even more vulnerable, especially after the harrowing experience of her cancer and being forced to face it. mulder essentially asks the same question after her diagnosis and upon the discovery of emily.

so much happened to scully in these two episodes and it's ending with her daughter's death, which at the moment, she's likely thinking this is her only chance. and it's her profession and lack of serious relationships that was hurting her chance. and then even trying to save emily was making it worse.

i also think she takes mulder's concerns *very* seriously. and it's hard to reconcile all of this with what she knows is right, the only choice to her. it's hard to imagine scully abandoning any child, but a little girl who looks just like melissa as a child? her daughter? unthinkable.

there's something here, too, i think about mulder keeping the information about her ova from her and turning away when the doctor asks if they're the parents. while she absolutely understands and will forgive him, these are not small things. they always tell each other the truth, no matter how hard it is because it's what they both value above most things. and while mulder isn't emily's father biologically or through marriage, i don't think there's any question of what his role would have been. regardless of how mulder & scully classify their relationship.

all this to say, there's a lot at play and it's who scully is. it takes her long time to be voluntarily vulnerable with him. she's always trying to hide her pain & her weakness. she's the strong one. and any time she believes or is vulnerable, when their roles reverse, they are off kilter. they are almost too comfortable in their assigned roles, the parts they play for each other. it takes a long time for them to find the balance in the ways they've changed each other, the space they give each other to be exactly who they are & everything they are (even though it comes slowly because it's scary & uncomfortable and they have to make a new blueprint & roadmap).

(side note, this is another reason i love fight club. after all things, they're clearly so much more comfortable stepping out of their typical role. scully can play paranormal believer and it isn't scary when she sounds like him.)

and just to answer the other two parts: i don't think she's shutting down, and i do think she would want the comfort. but two things: first, i'm not sure scully knows how to accept comfort just yet. she rarely opens up until she's at a point where she can't, even with her mom. second, this is after small potatoes & detour & mulder turning away at being assumed the father...scully understands mulder isn't ready. and now they have some more to work through. season five is actually one of the toughest. it's the season where they're most in limbo — to me, even more than season six. it's just emotional landmine after emotional landmine. so, i think maybe she thinks she can't let him comfort her. she's aware of her feelings & what she wants, and she respects every choice of his so deeply. not even so much because of him, but because there's a new awareness that's difficult for her to navigate.

i might need to you to explain this question about mulder a little more. i think emily is terrifying for him, for many reasons. i don't know if it changes anything for him quickly, but it feels the start of something (as so many endings are).

#emily #mulder and scully #the x files #asks #actually meant to answer the other one so i could do it in parts #but alas i'm not very smart sometimes lol

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andheresthething · 2 years

Text

I Got So Fucking Romantic, I Apologize

Summary: Cute lazy morning (afternoon) with Nightowl.

[No use of y/n] [Lazy Mornings] [But it's really 2 pm] [Cuddling & Snuggling] [Kissing] [Love Bites] [Pet Names] [Dorks in Love] [I cannot stress it enough you act like teenagers in love] [Implied Sexual Content] [You're smaller than him] [Established Relationship]

•·················•·················•

Notes:

I recently played Blooming Panic and absolutely fell HARD for Nightowl. This is the first time I've ever posted any of my writing and it's been a while since I've written at all so this will probably be rusty. I might write more (could make a spicy follow-up) if people like this one, though it might be delayed because carpal tunnel is a bitch.

Gender-neutral reader for yall :)

I wrote this while listening to my character playlist for him

Reposted from AO3

Also, I haven't used Tumblr since MIDDLE SCHOOL so I apologize for things being strange to the platform

●▬▬▬▬▬๑⇩⇩๑▬▬▬▬▬●

Rays of light shone through the drawn blinds of the bedroom you and Nightowl shared. The small beams laid across the two of you sleeping well into early afternoon. You slowly blink and let out a yawn, taking a moment to come into the conscious world.

Once your eyes adjusted you finally get a look at the blonde sleeping on his side next to you. His chest slowly rising and falling and an arm draped over you. Lips slightly apart, just enough to show a sliver of his front teeth, and his neck and collar bones covered in spots that ranged in shades of purple. Though a familiar sight for you to see each day, it never grew old. Each day, without fail, your heart would flutter the same way it did when you spent your first night together. You cracked a smile, just watching and waiting for your partner to wake.

Sometimes it was still baffling to you that clicking on a discord invite led to this. How fast everything moved between the two of you was unexpected, but not unwelcomed in the slightest. You recall all the nights the two of you would spend up, talking about anything and everything until you fell asleep. Nightowl would follow shortly after, but would never hang up the call. Some of the time right before he’d turn in as well, you were just conscious to hear him say, ‘I can’t wait until we can do this in person. Goodnight, Cutie. Sweet dreams.’

Your smile grew thinking about those early times of your relationship, though soon enough you were broken from the little daydream with the feeling of Nightowl lifting his arm off of you, stretching himself awake with a yawn.

“Mornin, sweetheart,” you said as he lowered his arm back to hold you. He sleepily smiled, then placed a light kiss on your forehead.

“Good morning, cutie,” he smiled, “Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”

“Impossible, plus I lost myself in thought, so I doubt I would have noticed an hour going by.”

“Care to indulge me?” Nightowl asked while moving his hand to hold yours.

“I was just thinking about our old late-night calls before I got to move in with you and how sometimes when I was half asleep I’d hear you say how you couldn’t wait for this to happen for real and wished me goodnight”

Nightowl squeezed your hand, eyes lighting up slightly. Your little story seemed to help wake him up from his groggy state, “Awe, I love you getting all sappy and nostalgic on me first thing in the morning, cutie.”

“I always felt all stupid and happy whenever I heard it.”

“You know,” he scootched as close as he could be to you without being completely on top of you, “I did it every. Single. Night.” he hummed, peppering a kiss on your face between every word, and you giggled with each one.

“Really?”

He put on a serious face, sharply nodding, “Without fail. I still do actually. Granted, I’ve changed that first part a tiny bit considering you’re now actually here with me, in the flesh.”

“Awe, sweetheart, you’re literally the best. How’d I get so lucky?” you reached to hug him. Maybe a bit too enthusiastically, though, as you managed to push Nightowl over on his back and put yourself on top of him, burying your face in his neck in the process, “Seriously, I could have never imagined having someone who does stuff like that for me all to myself.”

“ You can’t believe you have me all to yourself?” Nightowl laughed, “I should be the one saying that. I was such a hungover ass to you after knowing you for, like, five days, and you still wanted to be with me after that night. You’re the one here that's the best,” he refuted, placing a kiss on the side of your head, “To have someone as precious as you makes me the lucky one here, darling.”

“Mmm, I’d have to disagree with you.”

“Incorrect and unfactual statement.”

You lifted yourself enough to meet your eyes with his, “As much as I’d love to continue this to prove I’m, in fact, correct on this matter, I think I’m a little too tired to try.”

“So what you're saying is that I win?” he said with the biggest shit-eating grin. You groaned at his playful antic and started to push yourself up, now straddling his lap as he still laid underneath you, which also effectively pushed the blanket once covering the two of you off and behind you.

“Sure, you win, dumbass. What shall your prize be?”

“Can it be anything?” he said excitedly.

You knew you might regret the answer you were going to give, but went through with it anyway, “Sure, anything you want, sweetheart,” with that, you sealed your fate.

“Hmm, what a tough decision to make,” Nightowl exaggeratedly pondered while pushing himself back slightly to be able to sit up with his arms supporting him from behind. You also moved so that you were sitting in his lap, legs wrapped around his bare lower waist, and brought your arms around his neck. Your arms sat on the soft fabric that was the straps of his crop top, “The possibilities are endless, cutie. How could I ever just choose one thing?”

You giggled at his complaint, “You better, the offer is going to expire soon. Then you just get bragging rights.”

“Oh, how cruel! How could you?” he moved his arms from behind him to hold your hips.

“I know, I’m such a horrible person,” you said, matching his sarcastic and playful tone.

The two of you stayed like that for a moment, you took the time to admire his face. The small beams of light highlighted his softer features. They made his messy hair shine and his brown eyes sparkle, revealing all the little flakes of different shades that resided in them.

The light also reflected off of his cartilage piercings. Nightowl had a bad habit of not taking out his earrings before bed. No matter how many times you reminded him, he always forgot. It wasn’t the end of the world that he didn’t, though. At least he remembered to take out his statement piece each night.

In that time, Nightowl did the same, soaking in the sight of you. Hair just as messy as his own, a stupid wide smile, and a pair of beaming eyes staring into his own. But your shirt, God it was killing him. It was one of his own that you’d steal regularly to wear almost anywhere. While purposefully somewhat oversized on him, you were swimming in it, allowing your neck and collar bones, covered in marks (courtesy of him), to be exposed. Maybe it was his somewhat possessive nature, but the mix of the shirt and hickies fogged his mind with a myriad of thoughts ranging from wholesome to extremely sexual.

“Have you made a decision yet?” your words snapped him out of his short, albeit very vivid, daydream, “Or are we just going to settle for bragging rights?”

“Nope! I’ve come up with my prize.”

“That would be?”

“One super lazy, stay-in-date day complete with stupid horror movies and possibly some more… intimate affairs later on,” he paused, “Please.”

You pretended to think it over, despite the arrangement of this prize. While you, of course, got tasked with a pile of work for the weekend, you couldn’t care less about it. Getting ripped by your boss on Monday would be worth it, especially with the not-at-all-subtle proposition for later in the day. Knowing Nightowl though, it would probably come way sooner than nightfall. “You, sir, have yourself a deal.”

You gave him a small peck, but Nightowl being Nightowl, was having none of that. He immediately put his lips back on yours, tightening his grip on your hips. While it took you slightly by surprise, you gladly accepted the act, kissing him back. Quickly things became heated, pulling each other closer, the movement of your lips becoming desperate. Your hands drifted to his hair, lightly grabbing at it, which Nightowl responded to by letting out a small moan into your mouth. That noise of his set you off, eager to continue the sudden act of intimacy.

Unfortunately, as quickly as it picked up, it stopped. Nightowl pulled away and loosened his hold on you, causing you to let out a small whine of disappointment.

“As much as I don’t want to stop this right now, cutie, I’m starving for some actual food, not just you.”

You let out a chuckle, arms going back down to rest on his shoulders, “You’re such a tease.”

“Says the one wearing nothing but my shirt,” he flirted, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face once again. “Looks great on you, by the way. Makes your ass and thighs look fantastic. Especially your thighs.”

“I do, in fact, have something on under, mister,” you retorted, “But if you’re that hungry, I guess we could go scrounge up something, but by we, I mean me. We both know you can't cook for shit.”

“Ouch, that one stung.”

“It’s not that bad if I like cooking and you like eating it. Plus, you get to stare at my thighs all you want while I do so.”

“A win is a win,” he lifted one hand off your hips to cup your cheek. “Shall we then?”

“To the kitchen!” you giggled.

Nightowl gave you one last kiss on your forehead before putting his hand down, allowing you to get up off of him and the bed. He followed suit, loosely holding your hand. With that, you led the way out of the bedroom and into the kitchen to start your long date day at 2 pm.

#blooming panic #bloomic #blooming panic fanfic #bloomic fanfic #nightowl #blooming panic nightowl #bp nightowl #bloomic nightowl #blooming panic x reader #nightowl x reader #bp nightowl x reader #bloomic nightowl x reader #sfw

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kats-fic-recs · 2 years

Text

Bakudeku Fic Recs <3<3<3<3

(in the best way) you'll be the death of me

Katsuki pinched the bridge of his nose. "Deku. You have compiled ten notebooks on me. You know my medical history better than my mother. And I have it on good authority that when you saw me in that stupid bee suit your face was so disturbingly perverted Mineta cried."

Or:

Izuku finds out there are still things about Kacchan he can learn and grows up in the process.

How Was Your Day?

"Hi Kacchan, how was your day at work?"

“YOU FUCKING PUNCHED ME THROUGH A BUILDING! THAT WAS MY DAY AT WORK!”

happy birthday, kacchan!

“The only thing that didn’t change was Deku.

Deku kept his unreachable dreams, kept the idea that he’d be a hero some day. Kept his notebooks, and his dumb All Might pencil case. Kept his hair the same and kept his stupid freckles and kept getting on Katsuki’s nerves no matter what Katsuki did to try and stop it.

And, every year on April Twentieth, Deku kept on bringing Katsuki gifts.

melodies of a heart unbroken

Gifts, wrapped crudely (though that slowly changed until they suddenly looked almost identical to Auntie Inko’s presents) with notes that would say ‘Happy birthday, Kacchan!’ in Deku’s ugly chicken scratch.”

***

aka a look at katsuki and izuku's relationship throughout the years, told through memories of birthdays.

Midoriya Izuku intends to get to the bottom of why he can't cry about love.

wrinkled oranges, pigeons, and other sweet things to call your significant other

Deku,” he says, suddenly serious. “I’m fucking bored.”

Izuku blinks. “Of me? It’s a bit late for a divorce now, I think.”

In the slow, boring routine of retired life, former Pro Heroes Izuku and Katsuki are growing restless.

Katsuki turns to Izuku, his lifelong lover and precious husband, and says, "I'm fucking bored."

Sure, they're way past seventy years old. But that's not going to stop Izuku from making the last years of their life as memorable as he can.

Saturday

“Hey there, you fucking nerd,” and only Katsuki Bakugou can say something like that and make it sound like a pick up line. “Whatcha got there?”

“Laundry,” Izuku says cooly. “What about you?”

Katsuki turns so Izuku can get a good look at him. Old sweatpants with a hole in the crotch. Loose fitting tank top that hasn’t seen an iron for centuries. His hands are wet, remnants of dish suds on his fingers like sparkling jewelry. “Dishes. They’re dirty. Gotta show em’ who’s boss.”

“Mmmm,” and Izuku is proud of himself for managing to moan like that without bursting into a fit of giggles. “Did I ever tell you how hot Domestic Kacchan is?”

[Or: There's something relaxing about doing housework when your job is to save the world]

Until We Meet Again

Change is the only constant in the world.

It is also the most terrifying ordeal a person has to endure.

With the War won and All For One vanquished, Izuku must prepare for the next chapter in his life: becoming a true Hero by following All Might's footsteps.

But dreams come with a price. Now, he prepares to leave everything he loves behind.

And loving Bakugou Katsuki the most makes it the hardest thing Izuku will ever do.

love meme, hate meme

It's time for the yearly Heroic Achievement Awards where well deserve pro heroes get to claim the honor and accolades that they accumulated in the previous year. This year the Best New Hero category is filled with powerhouses with big fandoms that is willing to do anything for their favorite to claim the honor of rookie of year.

But just as the stage is set for showdown of the century between the biggest named rookie in Japan, Deku and Ground Zero, and their respective fanclubs, one single social media post is about to upheaval everything.

Every Maiden Plays Pretend

“You have to promise not to tell anyone about Flame Heart Hero," says Midoriya. "Because the thing is… When I started drawing the manga, I based the main character off Kacchan.”

“Wh— Bakugo’s the heroine? Bakugo?”

For a second, Ochako thinks she’s entered an alternate universe. There’s no way shouty, stompy Bakugo belongs in a shoujo manga. He especially doesn’t fit as vulnerable, insecure Yurika-chan, who got captured by a villain in the first few chapters, failed her first Hero Class exercise and cried, lost at the Sports Festival and cried again, got kidnapped by villains in front of her whole class, didn’t get her provisional license, then got into a fight after-hours and cried some more…

“Holy shit,” breathes Ochako, “Bakugo’s the heroine.”

Public Displays of Affection

The freckled man hums and sinks lower, his eyes roving to the corner of the room like two huge green marbles rolling into the sides of a glass bowl and sticking there. He earns a sharp bang from the fist of his blonde companion hitting the counter like a gavel.

The dishes rattle with a startled clink, but the drunk man moping over them doesn’t even notice.

“What?!”

“Won’t drink with me,” complains freckles, leaning forward like a wilting sunflower on the end of a collapsing stalk. “Won’t let me look at anyone else, but won’t drink with me. Won’t even take a sip! The beer’s all warm and I can’t even count it as a secondhand kis—”

Across the counter, you choke on your own drink. The blonde does the same on his water - the only difference in poise is how quickly he smacks his freckled companion on the side of the head before he can finish his sentence.

A hero reaches out to touch the hearts of the people through their actions. Sometimes, they do it through heartbreak.

Bakugo and Midoriya as seen through your eyes - the eyes of a local firefighter - in an izakaya a few miles and hours away from tragedy.

Kiss Me?

Years after Katsuki left Izuku in the dust as a kid he's reminded of the gesture of affection that had his palms sweating and heart pounding when Izuku used to do it for him when they'd get scuffed up on the playground: kissing his band aids after patching him up.

Fast forward to the present and the dumb nerd is just going around offering up kisses to any old extra in their class except Katsuki and it's driving him insane. Despite him pushing these feelings within himself as deep as possible, it stings deeper than he could've ever imagined.

aka: izuku's love language is kisses

#bkdk #bakudeku #izuku midoriya #bnha #bakugou katsuki #boku no hero acadamia #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #my hero acadamia #ao3 #fanfiction #fic recs #fanfiction recommendation #fic rec #bnha fic recs #bkdk fic #mha fic recs #mha fic

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thunderous-mess · 1 year

Text

Clay-made

Kaveh POV - First person.

Words: 866

Ship: Haikavehtham (unspecified roles)

Characters: Alhaitham, Kaveh

Summary: Kaveh talks about how his relationship with Alhaitham has changed through the years and how the Scribe has softened for him.

Notes: I woke up and wrote what my brain wanted. I kinda love writing First person KAveh :3

I think Alhaitham is like a piece of clay.

When you first start working with it it's hard, tiring, and unpleasant. It resists to change and it's overall hard to work with. But with time, as you work on it, heat it in your hands, and become acquainted with it, the clay slowly becomes softer and much more comfortable to use.

I don't mean that Haitham is someone you can mold to your liking. He definitely isn't. But seeing how he has changed for me; with me... makes my heart flutter in ways I can't simply put into words.

When we were younger he used to be too serious and cold. So logic and pragmatic that it even hurt to talk to him as a cold so extreme that burn.

We both suffered because of that. Even to the point of losing touch for years just to hurt alone, trying to heal the burns while missing the person who inflicted them.

In retrospect, we were both really dumb.

Maybe we still are even now, but I can't help to look back and pity the way we were.

But we managed to get back together. Older and mature — or so I like to think. And even if at first it didn't seem like he had changed at all, he started to mellow down. For me.

It was as if every caress and word I whispered to him slowly melted that cold and let free the tenderness under it that he was trying to hide and protect. It sounds stupid when I think about it, but it was in those moments when his cold facade shattered that we started to reach each other. When he was too overwhelmed by my words of affection and touch. When my roundabout words made him embarrassed or sentimental. It was in those moments that we finally started to work things out.

We still clashed. Of course we did. Even now we still do. We're too different after all. But now it's not as often and more importantly, it's not so painful as it used to be. Light disagreements (as heated as they may seem from the outside) instead of debilitating wars of painful words.

Instead of hatred looks or us leaving without a word after the fights, we started to apologize; to check if any of us had gone too far, or trying to at least mend the wrongs we did. In a way, it doesn't feel that different from the moments we curl up in bed against each other, feeling closer than ever; happy and satisfied.

Alhaitham warmed up, in my hands and in our bed. He opened up to me about a lot. His past, his thoughts, his future plans... likes and dislikes, his (very few) friends and even me. He started to talk about me a lot. It was terribly embarrassing at first and sometimes it still makes me blush from time to time... well, who am I kidding, almost every time. But after so much pain and coldness, after feeling alone in his company for so long, hearing from his own mouth how much he cares and all he does for me. It feels like magic. The persons we used to be and the words we used to say to the other fade in my memory when he tells me with his awfully handsome deadpan face the things he loves about me and about us, the ways I make him feel and the little things I do that make his day.

I love the man he has become.

I never thought we would be like this. When I used to look at him I only saw pain. It hurt to love him and hurt even more to know that we were the wrong person for each other despite caring so much. But seeing us now... Oh how naive and young we were.

Sometimes I hope we had met later in life. That way, we might have saved us from many headaches and tears. Yet at the same time, it's our journey that brought us to today. To the days when he sits on the couch with me and we talk about everything and anything without the need of picking on each other. Where he pulls me out of the studio and into our bedroom for a forced nap when I accidentally overwork myself. Where he grabs my waist in the middle of the corridor and whispers me how happy he is just because I smell like our shampoo. Or where he cries on my shoulder because he is tired and he's too happy that he came back home to a tasty meal and a kiss.

With a lot of effort, many sleepless nights, and a lot of talk he went from the hard unmovable rock he used to be to the softie he is now.

And it makes me so proud of him. Of us. And proud that despite everything we managed to come to this point.

It makes me excited for the future. I look forward to seeing how we are in ten or maybe even fifty years. Whatever happens, I hope we manage to stick together.

Thanks for reading!

#thunderous fics #genshin impact fanfic #alhaitham #alhaitham x kaveh #haikaveh #kaveh #kaveh x alhaitham #kavehtham #haikavehtham #haikavetham #kaveh pov #first person pov #I did not re-read this enough times and it's not beta read lol

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fanficsforheartandsoul · 2 years

Text

A Wolf’s Heart | [Deglan x M!Reader] | The Witcher | Part VII

Note: I’m proud (more like ashamed haha...) to announce that the one year anniversary of this requested fic has already passed, like oh god... Ngl I struggled so hard to find the direction I wanted to take this, I had several ideas but mid-writing I wanted to change it again and now we have this. Writing is hard. This will be a life-time lesson for me. But ey depression is really a big hurdle sometimes so yeah... anyways, please enjoy and once again, sorry for the wait :)

Fandom: The Witcher

Warnings: Mentions of Blood, Swearing, Depression, Angst, Slight OOC, Non-Canon Story, Century Typical Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Spiraling, Injuries, Self-Concious Reader, Misunderstandings, Mentions of Alcohol Abuse, Mentions of Addiction

Summary: After having suffered heavy injuries at the beginning of winter and being unable to return to Kaer Morhen, Y/N tries to mend his relationships slowly by approaching one of his friends but someone thwarts his plans and he has not yet prepared himself to meet that person again.

Word Count: 5.05k

Taglist: @thatsequoia

Note 2: For all the people wondering about the postal service in this story - like how the fuck did those letters find the witchers on the Path... Magic baby 😎

The name of Deglan’s horse (Borsuk) translates to badger.

This part mentions Vergen, which appears in the 2nd Witcher game but I haven’t played this game, so my description is inaccurate.

Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VIII, Part IX

Masterlist

Deglan once thought he was a patient man. He was wrong.

Birke was in two weeks and he was about to lose his fucking mind.

Y/N was invading every second of his days and he had a hard time focusing on training the new brats and lecturing them. Every little thing reminded him of the younger witcher in some way or another.

In every nook of the school's keep, he could conjure up a memory of them together and if he couldn't touch the other soon, hold him in his arms, kiss him, he would go on a rampage.

His bad mood could be sensed not only by his apprentices but also by the other witchers. Most of them had already left on the Path, the bunch he trained for example, but some were still here. And all of them were known to be lazy and therefore, their presence stoked his fury whenever he saw them chattering away and lazing around in the Evening hall.

The fiery annoyance was visible in his eyes and so most avoided him whenever they crossed his path.

While their presence had been a curse, the presence of one peculiar younger witcher ended up as a blessing.

Wendir, Y/N's close friend, was one of the men who still lingered in the school and one peculiar Saturday evening, he ended up knocking on Deglan’s door.

He was working on his next lecture when he heard the knock and he raised an eyebrow when he came face to face with the witcher he had trained alongside of Y/N, Fenri, Barmin and the three others.

The brown-haired man looked serious and a suspicious feeling rose in his chest.

"I received a letter.”

Those four words were enough for Deglan's heartbeat to speed up.

Wordlessly he received the paper from the other and he began to read.

Wendir,

I write to you in hope that you will try to understand my thinking and actions with an objective view. I don't dare send these words to Fenri or Barmin because I must have made them angry and I expect them to doubt my words, which they have every right to do. You're free to do so as well, though I beg you to try and see my reasoning before making your opinion about me.

As you may know, I haven't returned to Kaer Morhen this winter and have yet to explain why I couldn't.

At this point, I'm certain you're aware... of my secret, but please do not blame my absence on that.

You might have already left the keep and though I am uncertain of your next location I ask you to meet me in Vergen and give me the opportunity to explain myself.

I’m not there yet but I am close and as slow as I currently am, I expect to arrive around the time of Birke and if you still ride like you did when we were younger you possibly will as well.

I hope to see you soon.

Y/N, Vengerberg

If you could spare some herbs for me... An accident happened and I lost most of my stash...

Deglan read the letter twice and it took him less than a second to make a decision after he read the last sentence again.

He pointed his finger at Wendir and his voice held a determined tone:

"You saddle your horse and Borsuk."

The younger man blinked.

"Right now?"

Deglan pushed the letter into Wendir’s hands and began to button up his shirt.

"Right now. And fucking hurry up! I'll go and talk to Rennes before we depart."

Wendir scratched his head but the brown-haired witcher turned around and hurried down the hall.

Deglan’s lips formed a grim smile as he pulled his witcher medaillon from underneath his shirt and then he turned around and quickly grabbed a few things from his shelves and stuffed them in the bags he had already prepared weeks ago.

His heartbeat quickened as he put on his fur cloak and his sword scabbards over it. He loosened their belts a bit and then grabbed his armoured gloves.

Almost, he thought as he put them on as well.

He glanced at the papers on his table. The lesson plan for the next few days, the unfinished suggestion letter for another parcours course.

Fuck his lectures, fuck the brats he had to teach and fuck Rennes.

He would leave right now, whether their leader wanted that or not. He would not ask for permission this time.

Quickly he wrote down a few words on a piece of paper, left the note on his bed and then he grabbed his bags and walked out of the room to go and find some herbs he could bring with him for Y/N.

Half an hour later Deglan and Wendir left through the gate.

Brace yourself, bastard. I’m done being patient, Y/N.

Lisica followed the path to Vergen in a slow but steady walk. The mare seemed content to take it easy for once and her ears moved around to take in all the sounds of the surrounding wildlife.

Her rider absent-mindedly petted her mane and was deep in thought.

Will he come?

Y/N had hesitated at first but Hannes convinced him to write a letter to one of his friends.

At first, he thought about Barmin but something inside of him was too self-conscious to write to his best friend. It was the fact that he had not sent the other a letter in the last few months, he addressed the one where he apologized for his absence to Fenri...

In the end, he chose Wendir, the youngest of their friend group. He might be more understanding in this situation than his best friend. The brunette was surprisingly the most rational besides Barmin. Probably because he had a lot of time to think since he always used to avoid chores and his training in the school’s keep.

Fond memories rose and he lifted his head to squint at the sun. He still had to ride for a few more hours before he would reach the next bigger village. And from there it would take him another 3 days until he would arrive in Vergen.

The prospect of more aching leg muscles and a sore butt caused him to smile grimly.

He had wanted to buy a new saddle for months now but he did not have the money. He had spent most of it on his unexpected stay in Vengerberg and alcohol. The druid, who more or less did a good job, had been expensive and even though Iven gave him a discount on his stay in the tavern, Y/N’s pockets were lighter than he liked.

His annoyance only grew as he thought of how he spent the coins he had received from Fenri’s hunt.

He sighed and patted his healing leg. It still hurt a bit and that was why he was travelling at such a slow speed. He didn’t want to hinder the healing process so he was riding at snail’s pace.

On one side, it was relaxing, on the other, it was boring and it gave his mind a lot of time to wander and to mull over his upcoming stay in Vergen.

He really hoped Wendir would come.

He needed someone by his side because the prospect of having lost his friends and giving up on the love of his life was filling his head with dark thoughts and things he did not want to think about at all.

He sighed deeply.

I hope I can still fix this...

Anxious, his hand found one of the wine bottles in his saddle bag, while his other played with the blue cloth around his neck. .

3 days later Y/N lowered himself to the ground and led Lisica inside the stable of Vergen’s only inn, The Cauldron, with bowlegs.

Every muscle in his body ached and the dwarf who had pointed him towards the stables at the outskirts of the city and who he paid for Lisica’s stay, chuckled when he saw the hooded figure stiffly walk into the building.

The stable was made out of stone like all the other buildings in the town and since the sun had yet to set, the lanterns inside weren’t lit and therefore, only few specks of light entered the barn. Not that the darkness was a problem for his eyes.

He rolled his tight shoulders and examined the building. It was quite big with 12 horse boxes made of wooden walls that reached the middle of his torso. Most of them seemed occupied by horses of all sizes and colors.

The witcher led Lisica into the first unoccupied box near the entrance. Next to it was one with a white pony.

The little guy - who most likely belonged to one of the many dwarves in town - looked curiously over the wooden wall and Lisica greeted him with a snort, while her owner took off her bridle. She stretched her neck, and he followed her example and groaned as he stretched his whole body, her bridle still in his left hand. He stepped out after giving Lisica a head pat and hung it on the designated hook outside the door.

Next to the right wall of the box was a saddle stand and a small shelf with some brushes. He made a mental note to use them to reward his mare.

She had been very patient for the last day when they basically rode for 24 hours straight. He would give her a well-deserved massage and make her coat look the shiniest among the horses in the stable.

He was about to step into the box again to get his bags and remove Lisica’s saddle when he noticed a dark brown horse in the box right next to the white pony’s. He could only see the ass of the animal, but it had a scar on its rump that he could recognize easily and relief washed over him like a big wave.

Wendir was here. He had come.

A bit overwhelmed with joy, he quickly entered the box again and rifled through his saddlebags, while ignoring Lisica’s curious headbutts. He found the carrots he had bought from a farmer and gave one to his mare. She gobbled it up while eyeing the other one, but that carrot wasn’t for her.

He temporarily closed the gate to Lisica’s stable and then he walked down the hallway of the barn towards the box with the familiar horse.

In the dim light he saw how Wendir’s mare Katya was dozing while relaxing her right hind leg.

Based on the straw in her fur and some not-fully dried sweat stains, he guessed that his friend still rode like a member of the Wild Hunt and barely arrived before him.

“Hey girl”, he said in a low whisper, and she turned her head.

He held the carrot over the box gate, and it appeared as if she wasn’t interested at first. He frowned.

“Did he urge you like a demon again?”, he asked the horse, remembering the riding lessons he had with his friends, and he clicked his tongue disapprovingly. Katya huffed as if she was agreeing.

Tiredly, she stepped up to the gate and he petted her softly as she ate the carrot.

He was cooing her name, telling her how happy he was to see her, while scratching her head.

If someone saw him, the witcher who stank like a drunkard and looked like someone had used a plow on his face, talking in a high voice, they would probably shake their heads in disbelief and maybe disgust. But he was just too excited.

In maybe half an hour he would explain himself to Wendir and hopefully the other would understand him. His ugly mug would serve as proof and then his friend would help him calm Fenri’s anger and Barmin’s likely disappointment. He could see it before his eyes, and he breathed out as if a big weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

After realizing that he didn’t have more carrots, Katya had enough of his petting, and she walked away from him to return to her former dozing position.

Y/N saw that as a cue to take care of Lisica and returned to her box, where he took off her saddle and put it on the saddle stand. He grabbed one of the brushes and for the next 15 minutes he brushed her and spoke to her in a low voice, while she relaxed and nibbled away on the hay in the corner.

After making sure his mare was comfortable for the night, he grabbed his bags and left the building. It was quite dark now and, in the distance, he could see lights in the houses.

He was about to slowly follow the stony path to The Cauldron when he heard a snort and when he turned his head, he noticed the small pasture next to the stable. Unlike he had thought before when he entered the stables, there actually was a horse in it.

Something put pressure on his chest.

A few feet away, behind the wooden fence stood an ash grey stallion.

He knew that horse well. He had learned mounted combat on it.

Memories bubbled to the surface, and he felt sick. The sweet aftertaste of Cintrian Faro suddenly tasted foul.

He remembered hours of training and having sore muscles, falling into the dirt, getting kicked after agitating Borsuk too much, hands that helped him out of the saddle, hands that checked him for blisters, hands that had put medicine on the hoof-shaped bruise on his back, hands that he had dreamed about so many times-

Y/N whirled around, his heartbeat thundering loudly in his ears and made one step, two, three- before someone grabbed him by his cloak and dragged him towards the side of the stable.

His attacker hurled him against the stone wall and the impact left him dazed and pain shot through his body from his head to his still healing leg. His collar was seized harshly, the other man basically carried all his weight, and he felt the breath of his assailant on his face.

Y/N didn’t dare open his eyes.

“You goddamn bloody bastard”, said an agitated voice that he hadn’t heard in almost three years now. His heart quivered and he turned his head away instinctively. His hand let go of his bags in defeat.

Fuck was all he could think at that moment. Bloody fucking hell.

“Look at me, you fucker.”

The witcher breathed out shakily, and then opened his eyes to peer at the other man out of the corner of his vision.

Deglan looked the same as three years ago, besides maybe a few more grey strands in his hair and beard and some wrinkles. His jaw was still framed by a magnificent beard, and his sharp cheekbones combined with his broken nose embodied a handsome roughness. He looked better than ever.

Y/N had a hard time breathing.

But Deglan’s face was dark, a blazing fury was visible in his yellow eyes and his lips were pulled into a snarl.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this moment”, growled the older witcher and had he said those words to him in any other moment, Y/N would have felt a sharp tug in his lower body, but due to these circumstances, he only felt panic rising in his chest.

“...S… ‘s good to see you, Deglan...”

At first, he thought that his low murmur was left unnoticed, but his former mentor rose an eyebrow and a second later, he frowned and sniffed the air.

“You smell like shit. How much booze did you drink on your way here? Did you lose your way during the winter and end up in a Brewery instead of Kaer Morhen?”

All of Deglan’s words stung like hell. Fuck, they were a low blow and Y/N winced inwardly. Because as much as it stung, it was halfway true.

He sunk more into himself, and his mentor had to hold him up.

The lack of any reply didn’t seem to sit well with Deglan, so he grabbed him by the chin and roughly turned his head.

“Care to look me in the eye when I speak to y-”

Y/N’s eyes were downcast, and his face was covered in the shadows of his hood, but this didn’t stop the witcher’s eyes from spotting the new ugly scars across his face.

His mentor sucked in some air sharply and he automatically formed his hands into fists. The h/c haired witcher digged his nails into his skin trying to ground himself but this situation was so much worse than any nightmare scenario he had ever imagined, it was of no use.

The grip on his collar left and Y/N’s eyes widened slightly as Deglan’s hand entered his periphery. An absurd fear of getting hit entered his mind, but his mentor did no such thing.

He touched his cheek, light as a feather and it was so unexpected after his rough handling and talk that Y/N’s limbs turned weak.

His breath quickened automatically as the man he still loved so passionately traced the scar tissue in his face with an unreadable expression.

“...A forktail. It got me good”, he said awkwardly and tried to ignore the growing heat that crept up his neck.

Deglan remained silent, his eyebrows scrunched and with his other hand, he pushed off the hood of Y/N’s cloak to fully reveal the length of his scars, his chipped right ear and his disrupted hairline.

Someone breathed out shakily, Y/N wasn’t sure if it was himself or the other man, but he felt extremely vulnerable and exposed.

This is the worst...

He felt so embarrassed, so ashamed- Talented my ass, if he remembered the last 2 years, he wasn’t exactly the prime example of a good witcher.

Standing in front of Deglan now, he felt inferior.

He hadn’t bathed in weeks, he smelled like a drunkard and was one too. He lost all of his herbs and elixirs, had barely any money left and looked disfigured, and on top of it all, he didn’t even consider the possibility of Wendir’s letter getting into the wrong hands.

Deglan had either forced his friend to read Y/N’s letter to him or his brown-haired friend betrayed him and went to his former mentor by free will. Not so clever, are we…

Anger churned in his chest, but it was overshadowed by the growing black hole that seemed to suck every snippet of hope away from him when he looked at the stony expression of his mentor, the snippets of hope that had begun to burn again after Deglan touched him with such tenderness.

He must be disappointed that his “talented” apprentice let himself get mangled by a monster to such an extent. Why else would he look so stern? There was no other explana-

“Fuck, I worried so much.”

Hands grabbed Y/N’s arms and suddenly there was a weight on his shoulder. Deglan’s head pressed against the thick cloth of his cloak, and he heard him sigh deeply.

His heart pounded loudly in his ear. He blinked. And didn’t react. He stood still as a statue, while his former mentor clung onto him, his fingers digging into the leather armor that covered his wrists. The warmth of the other man was almost unbearable, and Y/N’s breath turned erratic once more.

“L-Let go please”, he croaked, something was blocking his throat.

The older witcher lifted his head and halted. Y/N could practically see how his pupils began to focus on the blue cloth around his throat and had Deglan said something in that moment, he would’ve been unable to hear anything because his heartbeat was thundering so loudly in his chest.

Fuck, oh lord-

“I-“, he began but before he could find the words to formulate the dozen dumb excuses in his mind, Deglan grabbed his head and took his breath away.

The kiss was sloppy and more forceful than anything else, but it ignited the dying fire in Y/N’s hollow chest, and before he could even think about it he found himself leaning into the touch subconsciously.

Their lips parted soon after and he breathed in hastily, feeling light-headed from the lack of oxygen and the fact that Deglan just fucking kissed him.

The younger witcher grabbed his mentor’s upper arms, keeping him at arm’s length away.

“What- what are you doing??” he whispered, staring at the thigh that invaded the space between his legs and his lip quivered as his mind spun from shock.

“Don’t run away anymore, Y/N. You bloody fool.”

He didn’t have time to process these words.

Deglan kissed him again, he pressed his body against his and in the dark of the night, against the cold stone wall of the stable, Y/N fell into the abyss.

His body was going up in flames, every part that Deglan touched started burning and the fire couldn’t be extinguished.

His mentor’s beard scratched his cheeks and his tongue sent shivers down his spine. His left leg was giving out, but it was nonchalantly ignored as the older witcher held him up with his arms and his leg on which Y/N was basically sitting by now.

The friction against his pants was driving him crazy.

Y/N moaned but the sound was silenced by Deglan’s greedy lips, and the two men lost themselves in the fiery heat of the other.

Sometime later he recovered and was suddenly he was sitting at a table in the tavern, one of his best friends in front of him while his mentor stared holes into the side of his head from the seat next to him. His bags were tucked under the stool he was currently sitting on.

He didn’t know how he even got there, still dazed from the sudden development. His face flushed as he remembered how his mentor basically devoured his lips and every spot that Deglan’s hands had touched tingled.

“Y/N?” Wendir asked and he blinked to regain his focus.

“Yes?” he croaked; his voice was rough, and he coughed.

Wendir gesticulated at his face, the brown-haired witcher was frowning since the moment he saw his friend’s red rimmed scars and his glossy eyes, as if he had cried just a while ago.

“What happened?”

He opened his mouth to answer but Deglan interrupted him:

“A forktail attacked him.”

Y/N stared at the older man in confusion while Deglan returned his look with a burning gaze. He gulped and turned his head to stare at the wood grain of the table. Because of that he missed Wendir’s raised eyebrow.

“I… I uh was on my way to Hagge when the bastard pounced on me. He surprised me, and I was careless”, he lowered his head and stroke his hair, clenching the other hand into a fist. It wasn’t exactly fun retelling that embarrassing moment again.

He felt totally out of it. All the things he had wanted to tell his friend were lost in the tornado that currently swept through his mind.

Deglan kissed me his brain screamed and between the excitement and the shock he was left dazed and speechless. So, he just told Wendir and Deglan the most important thing he wanted his friend to know:

“I was on my way to Kaer Morhen, you have to believe me.”

He hesitantly looked up at the other two and his gaze met Deglan’s. His mentor looked at him, his yellow eyes filled with something Y/N couldn’t quite fathom. Something flitted across his face and like many times before he wished he could hear what was going on inside his mentor’s head.

“I believe you.”

Wendir cut the moment between them short, but relief trickled through the h/c haired witcher and the tension in his shoulders disappeared. His eyes met his friend’s, and both smiled weakly.

“We know how old scars look on a witcher and yours are still fairly new” said Wendir and he gave their mentor a meaningful look.

Said man remained quiet, his expression was blank, hiding his feelings like a mask and it worried Y/N endlessly. But before he could say anything the inn keeper arrived and placed three jugs of beer down on their table.

“If ye want more, get it yerself, there-” the short man pointed at the barrels lined up at the wall across the tavern. The giant wood barrels were barely visible behind the number of patrons currently inside. “I’ll put it on yer tab. Ask my daughter if you want to pay.” He nodded at a young woman who walked past with some dishes in her hands.

The witchers all expressed their thanks and the inn keeper left, Y/N downed his drink in a few gulps, and then was about to stand up to get another and to momentarily flee but Deglan reached out lightning quick and grabbed his wrist, stopping him in his tracks.

“If I were you, I’d stop drinking so much.”

His mentor’s hand burned like fire on his skin and for a second the h/c haired witcher thought about their moment next to the stables and how much his breath must have smelled, and he ducked his head and nodded slowly.

Wendir looked at them with a strange expression but when he saw how Deglan watched his friend with eagle eyes after taking his hand back, his own eyes grew big and the corners of his mouth twitched.

Oh, he saw what was going on. There must have been a reason why his mentor and Y/N had entered the tavern at the same time, the latter clearly dazed as if something life-changing had happened.

“Congratulations”, he said while lifting his jug, an amused smirk dancing on his lips.

Y/N stared at him and mirrored the gesture visibly confused but before he could ask why Wendir congratulated him, the brunette began to talk about his and Deglan’s journey to Vergen.

The h/c haired witcher barely payed attention, Wendir suffering Deglan’s silence went in one ear and out the other, his head still back at the stable, Deglan’s words echoing in his mind.

“Don’t run away anymore, Y/N.”

Run away? Did this really mean what he was thinking? Was it all a misunderstanding? Did Deglan actually-

“Okay, okay, that’s enough. Look at him, he’s fucking tired. He is not the only one. We should all go to bed, I already paid for our rooms.”

Deglan interrupted Wendir’s dramatic retelling with rolling eyes and stood up, his empty jug in one hand, some coins for the payment of their drinks in another. His words interrupted Y/N’s racing thoughts and he felt as if he returned to reality.

As if...

“Oh, yes, I need to ask for my room.”

“Wait-”

He stood up - his hands taking the bags from underneath his seat - and due to one of the barmaids manouvering herself and 6 jugs between the tables and bodies, Y/N evaded Deglan’s outstretched hand and he hurried to the inn keeper, who had retreated back behind the counter where he was cleaning the used jugs in a skilled fashion.

“I’d like to get a room please and a bath”, he said, a little breathless, rummaging through one of his saddle bags to look for his coin pouch.

“Not with one of the others, huh? There’s only one room left and it’s connected to the one next to it but ye can lock the door. I’m sure ye take what ye can get. Room plus bath costs 120 a night, another 15 if ye want hot water.”

Y/N didn’t really understand what he meant with his first words but he didn’t think about it too long because he could feel a certain someone stare holes into his back and it messed with his head.

“Uhh, yes, I’ll take that one. Here-” he handed the man the amount and some additional coins, “make sure the door stays closed. And I’ll take hot water please.”

The inn keeper nodded and then waved at his daughter, who hurried towards them as soon as she spotted her father.

“Take the lad upstairs and prepare a hot bath in the corner room.”

His daughter, a red-haired, busty young woman, looked him up and down, her eyes visibly frowning when she saw his scarred face, but she said nothing and instead took the key for the room from her father’s hand and then gestured for him to follow her.

The h/c haired witcher thanked the old man and then quickly followed her to the stairs. A look back showed him that Deglan was still watching him, his yellow eyes were dark and holding something predatory. Wendir behind him only grinned and gave him a little wave.

The woman led him to the first floor and to the room which was furthest away from the stairs. She unlocked the door and gave him the key without touching his skin.

“Here”, she stated and quickly retracted her hand. “I’ll come back with hot water in a few minutes. It will be fully prepared in about an hour.”

He nodded and quietly whispered his thanks, as her eyes darted everywhere but his face. He bit his lip and then walked into the room, where he placed his bags at the foot of the bed.

The room was small, there was only space for the bed, a chest in the left corner next to it and next to the door behind a folding screen was a wooden bath tub.

The door which connected this room to the one next to it, was small, smaller than his height but it seemed to be used regularly as no dust appeared on the door handle.

The daughter of the inn keeper took a bucket from behind the folding screen and then left him alone in the room, closing the door behind her.

Y/N sighed and sat down on the bed. He rubbed his face with his hands.

What the hell had just happened in the last 30 minutes? Was he dreaming?

A certain witcher asked himself the same question but due to different reasons.

#requested #the witcher #the witcher x male reader #the witcher animation #deglan #deglan x male reader #deglan x m!reader #x male reader #male reader #mlm fanfic #the witcher 3 #request #fanficsforheartandsoul #fanfiction #i'm sorry #part 7 #damn it's taking so long

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shxtodxroki · 5 months

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Match-Up Exchange

This is part of a Mystic Messenger match-up exchange done for @ermbabyel for the exchange we arranged! Hi hi, first of all once again I really appreciate putting up with how frazzled and out of sorts I was while arranging this exchange, I promise I’m not usually that scatterbrained lol and I appreciate you still agreeing to this exchange and for being so kind in our messages :> You seem like a lovely person and I really hope you enjoy this match-up, please feel free to hop over to this blog anytime if you have a request or are just looking to chat :) Also this hasn't been proofread so apologies for any spelling/grammar errors!

I’d Match You With:

Saeyoung Choi (707)! :)

Reasoning:

Honestly when I was reading your description of yourself and your ideal relationship, it all just screamed Saeyoung to me. He has so many of those qualities you want and you two both want a lot of the same things in life, and while he may be a bit on the younger side than what you’d usually go for, he’s still very much an adult and can be mature when he wants to be lol so I think your relationship together would still work very well :>

Headcanons About Your Relationship:

- First of all he thinks you’re absolutely beautiful, the most gorgeous person he’s literally ever seen, and he doesn’t hesitate to tell you this all the time especially when he can sense you’re feeling a bit insecure about yourself. He thinks your curvy/chubby body is beautiful, and he adores your dyed hair and piercings as well lol. He will never let you doubt his love for you or how beautiful you are, the second he sees you looking in the mirror with uncertainty in your eyes he’s quick to wrap his arms around you and list every part of you that he finds absolutely stunning and wouldn’t change for the world <3

- He loves your sense of humor as well! You’ll no longer be the only one laughing at your jokes when Saeyoung is around, he has pretty much the same sense of humor and often cracks similar jokes so even if everyone else is giving the two of you weird looks, you’ll both just be in your own little world cracking up together hehe

- And he’s definitely an introvert like you, some of his favorite days spent with you are just lazy days at home where both of you are relaxed and laying in your pajamas together, with no responsibilities or worries clouding your mind so you just get to spend the whole day doing nothing but relaxing and cuddling together <3 He wishes he could spend every day like that honestly, and you’re the one person who manages to get him to feel like it’s okay to take breaks like that and just let his worries go for a bit to relax with you

- On a more serious note, I feel like when you first met him, Saeyoung was terrified at the thought of having kids. Given his own life and his family, he believed for so long that he’d be a terrible father and that no kid deserved to grow up like that. But with your help and the way you’re able to break down his defenses and get him to open up the way he does in his good ending, he slowly starts to come around to the fact that he’d likely be a wonderful father, and finds that he quite wants kids someday as well, and he’s incredibly thankful that you’re the person he’ll be taking that step with some day as he truly doesn’t think he could do it without you

- He absolutely adores how clingy and cuddly you are as well, as he’s a huge cuddle bug and always wants to be holding you or vice versa lol. He usually tries to let you initiate, though, as he knows that physical affection can sometimes make you anxious, so he just wants to make sure he doesn’t catch you on a bad day and accidentally overstep or make you uncomfortable without realizing

- And while at first he can be a bit awkward with his words when it comes to showing love, as he’s just not used to opening up and being vulnerable in that way, over time he gets better at it because he wants to make sure you know how much he adores you and how much you’ve truly changed his life for the better in so many ways

- He doesn’t mind killing spiders for you, but know that he’ll always tease you about it beforehand lol. He hears you shriek for him from across the house and immediately starts giggling as he takes his sweet time making his way to the room you’re in, teasing you all the while about how it’s “just a silly little spider”. Occasionally he’s even enough of a menace that he’ll chase you around with the dead spider lol, but that’s only when he’s really feeling mischievous

- Please please PLEASE bring your cats to his place when you hang out, he absolutely adores them and gives them all the kisses and pets they could ever want omg he’s so infatuated with them <3 And when the two of you eventually move in together and he gets to see them all the time? Just be prepared to wake up and hear him having full conversations with your cats lol the man is in love

- He would totally be into anime and k-pop as well lol, he gets so invested into the shows and even dabbles into cosplay on occasion as we’ve seen lol and he likes a super diverse range of shows too :> And as for k-pop I feel like he’d like girl groups in particular, he’ll blast his music at all hours of the day and he absolutely kills the dances when he actually takes the time to learn them lol he’s just that good

- And finally, as someone who’s also struggled a lot with his mental health and knows how mood swings can be, he’s the most understanding partner you could ever ask for in that aspect. Even though he’s typically vibrant and playful, when you’re struggling mentally he knows how to turn that off and be much more gentle and reassuring with you, and he’s more than happy to be a listening ear if you need to vent or to give you some space if you’re experiencing mood swings and just need some time to sort through your feelings. And when he’s struggling with his mental health, over time he learns that it’s safe for him to go to you in that same way, and you become the first person to truly see all of him, including the vulnerable parts he usually keeps locked away, as he learns just how good it feels to be comforted by someone he loves <3

Second Choice:

I also strongly considered either Zen or Yoosung for your match-up, as I felt like they both fit a lot of similar qualities in a partner. But I feel like each of them had areas where they just didn’t quite fit as well with you as Saeyoung did, as Yoosung was on the younger side and may not be the best at banter and sarcasm, while Zen would be more extroverted and less likely to enjoy lazy days at home. So while I thought they could both potentially make good matches, Saeyoung just fulfilled pretty much all of the qualities you wanted in a partner so he seemed like the best choice overall :]

Song For Your Relationship:

Beautiful People by Ed Sheeran <3

#{✏️} - bee's writing #{💭} - bee answers #{💬} - requests #{🌻} - ermbabyel #mystic messenger matchup #mystic messenger matchups

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nightlychans · 2 years

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And Yet

Pairing: Lee Minho x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 5.53k

Includes: mentions of other members, Soonie, Doongie and Dori

Warnings: suggestive themes (just one line really), minor injury (a glass cut, nothing too serious or detailed!), playful banter that might come off as a enemies to lovers but I swear this is menaces in love

Synopsis: A recollection of your relationship with Minho.

Notes: here’s me playing myself by thinking this would be a quick blurb to write lmao. This is inspired by the movie Set It Up (2018). I would recommend checking it out, not for the sake of this fic but for a good time really. Also THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 200 FOLLOWERS??? I really don’t deserve it with how inactive I am here, or how little I post original work. But thank you guys!!

“You’re grumpy when you wake up.”

Sunlight peeking through the curtains was never an odd instance, especially since Minho liked to have the window ajar at night, the night breeze moving the curtains aside while you both met in your dreams. Something about “drowning in your hair” or “becoming a heater on foot” or something along the lines, his excuse changed each time on why he had the habit. And come the morning, the first rays of sunlight almost always woke you up, rendering your attempts at going back to sleep useless. For Minho, though, it was a welcome experience. He liked the experience: he would let the rays of light kiss his skin and warm him up until the heat became uncomfortable, then he would just get up and begin his day, not without leaving a kiss on your forehead, or waking you up along the way if you had something planned.

This morning too, your sleep was rudely interrupted when a certain angle allowed the light to hit you directly in the face, a groan leaving your slightly dry lips. Throwing your hip to the other side, you moved to seek refuge in the chest of your lover, only to find his side of the bed empty. A wandering hand, over where his body would be soon proved that the sheets were still somewhat warm. As your senses slowly came back to you, a faint sound of the faucet running from the bathroom confirmed that he began his morning routine, either brushing his teeth or washing his face.

You weighed your options: you could bury yourself in the pillows, preferably his since he wouldn’t be needing it back until the night, or maybe you could get up and pull the curtains, maybe close the window while you were at it too, you had air conditioning anyway, why not use that instead? But then, after a brief while, you realized why you couldn’t do that. Two things: one, you were very much naked under the thin layer of the blanket, and two, you were still feeling tired and sore.

Curse you, Lee Minho, you thought before groaning once again and turning to lay on your front, burying your face in his pillow. And curse you, Lee Minho, once again, for smelling heavenly.

And right on cue, as if thinking of him summoned him somehow, he was soon walking back into the room. The light sounds of his bare feet hitting the floor soon became clearer, indicating his presence back in your shared bedroom. “Nice to see you embrace the day, babe.”

“Eat a dick,” You bit back, sounding hostile yet cute to him as your voice was muffled with the pillow.

“Chirpy as always, just how I like it,” A chuckle followed as he sat down next to you, his upper body soon settled on top of your back. Another groan escaped you as soon as he let his upper half fully relax onto you, and a whine came after as you realized he did not plan on moving.

“Get up, you headass,” Turning your head to side, you tried to roll away, but seeing that would not work, you opted to wiggling your way out under the pile that was his body. He made his intentions clear, though, when he wrapped his arms tightly around your frame, ceasing your attempts of breaking free. He soon began trailing the back of your shoulder with kisses, and you knew he meant every single one of them. After all, he chose actions over words when you were being grumpy.

“You’re not aware of your own strength sometimes.”

“Honey? I’m back.” You set your backpack down, hands placed just above your waist as you leaned your body back into a small stretch. The drive to your friend’s home was not something so unfamiliar, but driving her to the airport was. But you didn’t complain. After all, she would be gone for a while, and you wanted to spend a night with her before she had to depart. Minho, on the other hand, did not comment on this, but he kept on messaging you throughout the night. It started with a simple “have you gotten there yet?”, soon followed by a classic “i miss youuuu”, and by the end of the night he was sending you links of cat vlogs he was watching until he passed out.

“Coming!” He shouted, from the kitchen, as you were untying your shoes. The sound of the wooden spoon hitting the pot three times travelled to your ears, his footsteps following shortly after. They, however, got faster as he got closer, and as soon as you placed your sneakers on the rack, his hands found you, fingers settling in their place between yours after he turned you to face him. It all happened fast; one second you were rendering the pleasant feeling of his fingers, the silver promise rings with the cat engravings meeting as your ring fingers have, and the next second his other arm was around your shoulders, pulling your figure towards him.

It felt right to be in that position with him. He felt like home.

Breathing in his cologne, your own free hand sneaked around his waist, fiddling with the strings of the apron he was wearing. The purple one, the one with the flowers on it. The one you got him.

“Ow, ow, ow, you brute! Too tight!” You giggled vain as the hand on his back traveled to his front, as if on autopilot, and you pressed against his torso to push him away, holding back the urge to curl your fingers and feel his firm figure, yet failing anyway. That apron was truly deceiving.

“Just let me hold you for a while, you minx,” His tone was a mix of loving and sarcastic, in an attempt to draw a laugh from you, which was successful in the end. You surrendered to the demands of the man, sighing as your hand once again went around his waist, head laid over his collarbones but still close enough to hear his heartbeat.

He felt like home.

“You can’t lie to save your damn life.”

“What the hell are you doing?”

Uh oh.

You wouldn’t say you were caught red handed, no, that would be a stretch. In the middle of the act? Hmm, not quite.

You see, this was supposed to be a surprise for him. And he was supposed to be back around 8, not 6. Nevertheless, he caught you with a very confused look on your face as you held the fuzzy material on one hand, the building instructions on the other.

“You were not supposed to see this.” You looked around yourself; cream-colored pieces of what you were trying to assemble sprawled all around you on the ground, a couple of screwdrivers you thought you would need to use that never came in handy in the first place, and the cardigan you took off out of frustration surrounded you in where you sat. You could say that this, with the added bonus of him finding you like that, was not a bright moment.

“What was I not supposed to see, whatever you have there or your struggle?”

“I will not hesitate to beat you up with this instructions manual.”

There was truth to your words, he knew it. You could fold the pamphlet back to its smaller form and throw it in his direction, maybe hit him square in the chest to deal some lovely damage. He knew. And that’s why he laughed, earning a glare in return. He shook his head, putting down his duffel bag before walking up to your spot. “This is a cat tree, isn’t it?”

You wanted to bite back, the urge to realize the pamphlet threat was still there for a hot second. But then you saw the look in his eyes. Tenderness, filled his irises with a sweet sparkle as they trailed the pieces. A small hint of humor, as they reached the manual still in one hand, half of it resting on the floor. And finally love, as your gazes connected.

You wanted to bite back, but all your remarks died down in your throat when you realized he was genuine. So, you just nodded quietly. “I thought it would be easier than it seems. I wanted to have it ready for Soonie’s birthday.”

A sigh before he broke the gaze, looking over at the items separating you two before calculating where he could plant his feet. He stepped over the pieces of the cat tree carefully, moving ones by your figure away gently before he got down on his knees next to you. Wordlessly, he took the manual from your hand and took a look for himself, humming as he tried to understand the model. It didn’t take him long, though, as the small smile plastered on his lips grew bigger. He then put down the manual on the ground, taking the piece you had on your other hand, which you assumed to be the bed at the top. He examined the piece for a small moment before looking over at the instructions again. You could see all of the gears shifting in his head when suddenly he looked at you. Gently, he reached over to pet your hair gently, fingers sliding down to the side of your head to pull you slightly towards him as he, too, moved forward. Minho’s signature was small kisses; gentle, faint, butterfly-like touches of his lips against your skin, small pecks that left you wanting a thousand more. But sometimes, like now, he would hold the kiss for a while. Lips warm, kiss firm but still gentle, touch delicate. True to his fashion, however, once he pulled back, he still left a couple small pecks; on the lips, on the cheeks, on the jaw and the chin, wherever he could land his lips on. “Let me help you out, and then we could show it to the children, yeah?”

“Your showers take forever.”

“Lee Minho, wrap it the fuck up already.”

Twenty-five whole minutes he was in there, and every single time you asked him when he would be out, he said “in a few minutes”. He was taking his sweet damn time, and you were getting bored of waiting. How long does it even take to do a face routine?

“I’ll be done in a few minutes, be patient.” He shouted over the sound of the running water. As you listened closer, you could hear the faint sounds of scrubbing.

“Are you still washing your damn body?!” You stomped your foot on the marble floor, knocking on the frosted glass doors in hopes to annoy him out of there.

“Don’t pressure me!” he knocked back, three times just as you did.

“I’ll pressure you all I want,” You knocked, once again three times. “I need to shower too!”

You waited for his remark, for the sound of three sets of knocks on the glass to hit your ears. But there was none of it. Instead, he slid the door slightly before he popped out his head. Droplets of water running down, from his slicked back hair down his neck to his collarbones, from his long eyelashes down his cheeks to the chiseled line of his jaw. “You could have just joined me, you know that right?”

You knew he was right; it wasn’t anything you haven’t done before, countless times at that point. Whether it be washing each other's hair, laughing at nothing until you got shampoo in your eyes and him, worriedly, scooping some water into his palm before washing your face softly, or enjoying a silent embrace under the lukewarm water after a particularly tiring day, bodies becoming one along with your heartbeats as you laid your head on his chest and him on the dip of your shoulder. You knew he was right, and you hated it.

“Fine, but you’ll do my face routine too.” You sighed before reaching to take off your shirt, placing the material on top of his pile of clothes.

“So demanding.”

“You’re really awful at cooking.”

“Well, isn’t this a pleasant surprise?”

Minho didn’t usually take mid-day naps, he liked to utilize his days as much as he could. But sometimes he couldn’t help it, work truly took a toll on him sometimes. And it certainly didn’t help that you urged him to take the said naps, even playing with his hair, or giving him tiny lazy kisses, or just massaging his back gently until he fell asleep. He appreciated your efforts into getting him to get some rest, even if it took some convincing sometimes.

And today too, he came back around two in the afternoon, having worked hard to finish his duties earlier to spend some more time with you on a sunny Friday afternoon. But he could not fool you even if he tried, you could literally see the tiredness dripping from his eyes, the very eyes that he could not keep open as he blinked slowly, gaze clearly not focused as it was set on the television. You tsked a few times, telling him to head to the bedroom already to take a nice nap. Per usual, he first refused your offer, shaking his head before rubbing his palms over his face in an attempt to wake himself up a little. It took a bit of bargaining, and a promise to take a bath together later in the evening, but he finally agreed, getting up from his spot on the couch to head to the bedroom, but not before taking your hand in his, a non-verbal plea for you to lull him to sleep as always. And who were you to say no, really.

And now, there you both were, in the kitchen, after two and a half hours to be exact. He looked less tired now, face a bit puffy but eyes clearly more alive. “What do you have there?”

“I’m just trying to make some soup, you made this one last week so I wanted to try making it for you,” You looked back on the counter, the cut vegetables and seasoning still present for him to see as well. You went back to your task before his interruption, stirring for a bit more before adjusting the heat to a bit lower. Stretching, and groaning, as he made his way to you, he peeked over your shoulder to see the broth, eyebrows furrowed slightly as he took in the crime scene. Reaching for the drawer to fetch a spoon, you stepped to the side to give him some room in front of the stove. “Do you want to try it?”

He took the spoon from you, stirring the soup a bit more before scooping up a small amount. He blew on it a couple times, until the steam coming off from the spoon was less dense, and brought the utensil to his mouth. Eyes glued onto his face to see if you’d get his seal of approval, going over each detail as his expression shifted. You did not get the approval; that much you could tell from his wordless reactions.

“That bad?” A small pout danced across your lips as he put down the spoon. You waited for the words to come out, for him to point out what was missing or what was too much; what exactly went wrong with your goddamn soup. But he did not do that. Instead, he gave you a soft smile before walking away to grab his apron, putting it over his head as he walked back to you and turning around, yet another silent plea thrown your way, for you to tie his apron for him. And once again, who were you to say no, really.

“We can still fix it, just follow my instructions.”

“You play stupid pranks on me all the time.”

Minho never thought that incorporating pranks into his relationship would be as entertaining as this. He had done nearly all of the classics; the fake hair snip, the jello gag that ruined one of your eyeshadows, the autocorrect on your phone, you name it. Though, there was still one he had in mind; one more trick to tick off of his list. And now, seeing as you started running the shower, it seemed like the perfect time.

You, on the other hand, had enjoyed a lazy Sunday for yourself, and a shower before dinner did not seem like a bad idea. Dates on Sunday nights, after the dinner, was not uncommon for both of you, so maybe starting to freshen up in the afternoon was a good idea. The water was nice, your shampoo smelled great as always, and the loofah felt good on your skin.

Even better, once you got out of the shower, your fluffy towel was waiting for you, newly washed and smelling fresh with lavender scented detergent. Securing it around your chest, and wrapping another on your head, you soon made it to your bedroom to follow your body routine. The rest followed per usual; lotions, creams, moisturizers, so on so forth. And soon, you have changed out of the towel back to your clothes, making your way back to the bathroom to dry your hair.

Damp towel put aside, you were in the midst of untangling the stubborn knots with the brush when you noticed Minho leaning on the door frame; arms strong, crossed over his chest, head tilted to the side slightly.

“What?” you smiled at him through the mirror, looking back at yourself when he shook his head.

“Can I not watch the love of my life doing mundane tasks?” The look on his face feigned innocence.

“That’s your ‘’I’m-up-to-no-good’ face, what have you done?” Putting down the brush, you reached for the hair dryer, missing the mischievous grin on his face entirely.

“Absolutely—” It all happened too fast. Before he could finish his rather short response, you picked up the hair dryer, held it in position so it would be aimed to the side of your head, and pressed down on the button, on full blast. You, however, were not met with the heat of the device. As soon as the hair dryer came to life, it blasted you with a white powder, stunning you in where you stood. “— nothing.”

Not even three seconds have passed until you turned the power off, but it was fair to say that the amount of what you assumed to be flour sprayed on you was enough to send Minho over the moon with glee, waves of laughter bouncing off the tiled walls of the bathroom. You opened your eyes slowly, looking at him, once again, through the mirror only to see him doubled over, holding his side with one hand and supporting himself up with the other on the door frame. Slowly turning over to him, you took a deep breath before placing the hair dryer down.

“I'm going to give you exactly five seconds before my foot finds your dick.”

“You become too quiet sometimes.”

“... and then the book ends just like that, with absolutely no explanations whatsoever!” he exclaimed, eyes too focused on the glasses, the utensils and the plates he had been rinsing for the past few minutes. Away on a trip to Jeju Island with the boys, he treasured the small moments these chores had created for him, an excuse to lean his phone on one of the bottles, a safe distance away from any wetness that can contact the device, and call you to ask you about your day and tell you about his in return. It was supposed to be a small trip, about 10 days to be exact. And even though he would never admit it, he missed you like crazy each passing day. He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment that it all started, but he soon found himself thinking, taking mental notes on the things you could do together, spots where you could take photos, both of and with each other, all the food you could try. Things to enjoy together, just the two of you. And to his annoyance, his friends absolutely picked up on his behavior, often teasing him about his “longing gazes” and “increasing sighs”, Changbin even dared to ask him if they were not keeping him entertained with that high pitched voice of his, which unfortunately drew a chuckle from Minho that encouraged other boys to join in on the teasing. Nevertheless, he would wait patiently for the first chance of being by himself, long enough to call you on facetime.

And now, here he was, washing the remnants of a dinner filled with laughter and good memories, and going off about the ending of the book he brought with himself for the trip while you were nestled in your shared bed, laying on your side and facing the screen of your phone, feeling a bit cold, not due to the weather but due to his absence. You could still recall the day he bought the book. He got back home, just a few minutes after you did, with a huge smile on his face, and spent the dinner telling you about the author and the synopsis of the book. You also remembered not being able to hold back your own smile. There was something so sincere about his excitement, so pure with happiness that you couldn’t help but feel the same delight with him. That night, when you both got in bed, he had put on his glasses and read the first few chapters in a content silence as you dozed off next to him, happily taking the invitation to cuddle up to him and lay your head on his chest as he held the book with one hand and used the other to rest his head on, leaving his side completely open for you to wrap your arms around his frame, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat sounding like a sweet lullaby to your ear, regular breaths rocking you to a blissful sleep.

Now, those memories from just a week or two ago seemed so distant. You, too, would not admit it, just like him. But you missed him just as much, just as crazy.

Now, seeing him talk about this settled an unknown sense of longing, a different type that you never experienced before. It was an odd feeling; one you would not be able to put into words easily. You just wanted to be there with him, maybe. Hold one of his hands as the other maybe went up in the air to make gestures out of frustration, look into his eyes as he talked about something he was truly passionate about, just not through a phone screen.

“Honey?”

You snapped back to reality, not realizing how you had lowered your phone a bit, hands sliding down his pillow eyes had trailed off to where his head would be normally. “Hm?”

“Are you feeling sleepy? Did you not get enough sleep last night?” he put down the cup he just rinsed, the water no longer running as he turned his body fully to his phone, leaning in a bit to see you better. Even through the call, you could see the worry in his eyes, feeling guilty for unsettling him. You shook your head slightly, hoping he’d pick up the move without any buffering on his end of the call, image clear. Wordless as you stared at each other for a few seconds, he took off his gloves, hanging the wet latex by the sink as he picked up the phone in his hands, getting ready to leave the kitchen to go on the balcony for privacy. You didn’t even notice him finishing up, rinsing every single piece and putting them on the drying rack. Once he had shut the balcony door behind him, he took a seat on the wooden chair, his attention now fully on you. “You didn’t forget to eat, did you?”

“No, no, none of that. I just...” you began, taking a deep breath before pulling his pillow towards yourself, hugging it close to your body before licking your lips. Here goes nothing. “I just missed you a bit too much today, you know?”

To say that Minho wasn’t expecting these words to come out from your mouth wouldn’t be bizarre. Sure, he was certain that you would miss him too, but that really was not what he was expecting to hear at that moment. Regardless, the feeling of his heart swelling in his chest, as well as skipping a beat or two, did not go unmissed by him. Now it was his turn to wander off into the distance, eyes trailing into the starry sky that he knew you too would see if you looked out of the window. “I missed you too.”

“You have a tendency to bottle up your feelings.”

“Fuck!” The sound of a thud and glass breaking came from the hallway before his voice did, alerting you and the three cats hanging around you, especially poor Dori on your lap, briefly before you muted the television, leaning on the other side of the sofa to see what just occurred. Getting up to investigate, not before placing Dori on the ground safely, you found Minho standing next to the bathroom door, the framed painting that Hyunjin did for you two on the ground.

“Babe, what happened?” You walked up to him, carefully looking around to see how far the glass had spread on the floor. As you assessed the damage, thinking that luckily both of you were wearing slippers, you noticed the small scrape on his ankle, a red line slowly appearing on where the flying glass would have contacted his delicate skin. Feeling a pang in your chest, you frowned before looking up at him, seeing him in an almost trance-like state as he kept his eyes closed, unmoving, taking deep breaths. “I’ll clean this up babe, okay? Just get back in the bathroom and clean your cut, you know where first aid kit is.”

When you returned to the hallway after fetching the vacuum cleaner, as well as a trash bag to dispose of the broken glass, you were met with an empty hallway, relieved to see that he listened. You could tell he had a bad day; you knew him too well to read his signs. He was quiet ever since coming back home, held you a second too long when he embraced you, retreated into the bathroom to take a short shower after the dinner, outlandish and uncharacteristic of him, and quietly got dressed and dried his hair afterwards.

After wrapping up the cleaning process carefully, and throwing out the trash bag as well as putting the vacuum cleaner back to its place, you wandered off to the bathroom quietly, only to find Minho sitting on top of the toilet with the first aid kit resting on his lap, eyes emptily focused on the fuzzy rug he insisted on putting on the floor when you first moved in together. Without saying any words, not needing to anyway, you approached his defeated figure, taking the small bag off his lap before leaning in to plant a kiss on his forehead. He closed his eyes once again, this time in what you hoped to be in ease, one of his hands finding your waist in a tired attempt of holding you. Picking up the said hand, you gave another kiss to his palm before sitting on the floor, cross legged, and putting the injured foot on your lap. Thankfully, it was not a deep cut, nothing a few days couldn’t fully heal, but still needed cleaning. Unzipping the first aid kit, you began to dig through the contents and placed the ones you’d need on the ground next to you. “Do you want to tell me what happened today hm?”

“It’s nothing important,” he answered quietly, watching you carefully as you began cleaning up his wound with tender hands.

“If it’s bothering you, it’s important for me, Minho.” You stopped your movements for a second, looking up into his eyes with a determined gaze. “If there is anything I can do to help, even if it’s just listening to what’s on your mind, I will do it and you know it.”

“I know it, I don’t doubt that. It’s just... work related. I’m being undercut,” he took a second to select his words. “My promotion is being postponed again. I know I have been working hard, if not harder than anyone else. I know I am putting quality work on the line and I know I am a good fucking employee. I want to quit this goddamn company already but I don’t want to start at somewhere new and climb that ladder all the way up again. Even the guys brought it up to the manager and he is still not... I’m just so tired of this.”

“Why didn’t you talk to me sooner babe?” You asked once again, voice veiled with concern as you finished taking care of his cut, placing the band aid with smiling grapes printed on it over the sterilized skin. You did not move from your spot, however, hand caressing his calf soothingly.

“It’s just work stuff and there is absolutely nothing we can do about it. It feels useless to complain about something I can’t fix.” He answered, overcome with emotion as his throat swelled and tightened a bit, voice cracking towards the end of his sentence as tears of frustration occupied his lower lids. He was quick to take a deep breath to calm down, however, gulping down the lump in his throat before wiping at the wetness that trailed down his cheeks slowly, shaking his head.

“Well, regardless of whether you can— we can fix it or not, I don’t want you to hold it all in like this. I don’t want your worries and your problems to go unsaid.” You explained, in a calm and caring voice, before leaning in and resting your head on his knee, feeling his hand on your head as he did not hold back the sob that climbed its way up his throat this time. “I love you too much to see you upset like this. Even if there is nothing I can do to help, I will still sit down and listen to you. We’re in this together, okay? Don’t forget that.”

“And yet...” you trailed off, staring into the glass of red wine in your hand while a stupid smile was plastered on his face, heart heavy with emotions he could not fully verbalize.

“And yet... I still love you so much.” Looking into your joined hands on the small table set on the balcony, dinner now long forgotten as you both focused on the wine instead, you couldn’t help but lean closer to him on the loveseat. A smile, mirroring his own with just how naïve and dazed you must have looked, adorned your face. You couldn’t help but look up into him, getting lost, for what could be the millionth time, in the warm brown of his eyes. Long lashes directed towards you, he blinked slowly with nothing but love in his eyes as the sounds of the city night, along with the soft song from the playlist he made Chan create for the occasion rang through both your ears, blending into a pleasant duet.

Words did not come easy with him, and there were certainly moments where you felt like punching him in the kidneys. But it was true, he loved you so much. And you knew it was pure, deep within his heart.

“I feel like I love you the most.” You couldn’t help but tease, almost knowing what his response would be while your smile was beginning to be colored with tones of playfulness.

“Sure, keep telling yourself that.” There it was, the overwhelming feeling of a tingling in your hand, ready to be balled into a fist that would love to meet him. But you just scoffed.

“You ass...” Leaning your head up, you caught his lips in a graceful peck, mimicking his style of leaving small kisses rather than long ones, the taste of the wine blending as your lips did momentarily. It seemed to work, and that he got a taste of his own medicine, because you could not hold back the small giggle that dared to escape your mouth when he chased after you, a newfound silent plea to add to his list. He smiled once again, letting go of your hand to grab your chin softly as he leaned in. The second kiss, somehow even sweeter, lasted longer, left you feeling like a field full of butterflies dancing around spring blooms. Soon, his lips left yours to wander off to the side, blessing your cheeks with small pecks, as well as your nose, before leaning his forehead on yours, eyes closing in comfort.

“Happy anniversary honey.”

“Happy anniversary babe.”

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nushy · 2 years

Text

𝖄𝖔𝖚'𝖗𝖊 𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖊. 𝕴'𝖒 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖘.

pairing: Morpheus x f!reader

warnings: angst, breaking up, maybe some curse words, other than that nothing too much.

summary: you've had enough of Dream's moody behavior so you leave him to think about your relationship. He doesn't agree with you tho.

word count: 1.2K

--- --- ---

"I can't do this anymore, Lucienne." you let out a sigh and put down the book you were reading. The librarian looked at you through her round glasses.

"I'm afraid I don't understand what you mean, you just started reading the book." she said with serious tone.

"I'm not talking about the book. I'm talking about Morpheus. The last few days have been terrible. More than usual." you stopped, waiting for some reaction from Lucienne, but she was just staring at you, waiting for more explanation. "I know that's the normal Morpheus, dark and gloomy, but... I expected that when he said that I would be his queen, that maybe, he would trust me more or at least let me help him when he needs help. But, no, his big ego won't let him even tell me what's wrong. And last night he acted like he is my boss, not my spouse." you stopped, taking a deep breath.

"It's been hard few years for him, you know." Lucienne started slowly, but you've heard that million times.

"I know and I want to help him, to ease him, if not with his duties, at least he can speak to me, tell me his troubles, but no, I am just a trophy, not an equal being." you knew you sounded stupid, but you've had enough of his shitty behavior and you needed time to think. "So I will be leaving the Dreaming for a little while. Let him think on his own, see if he's better without me." Lucienne wasn't a creature of emotions, so she just nodded. What's more, she knew she would not be able to change your mind - after all she was well aware of Dream's lack of tact and how unable he was to show emotions.

So, without much thinking, you left the Dreaming, only leaving a note that Lucienne had to give to Morpheus.

...

The next few days went fast, but the nights were the problem - you could feel his presence the whole time - your only salvation was the fact that he has taught you how you could "close" your dreams, making them your own little bubble. Still, he was always there, at the corner of your eyes, only he could not speak to you.

Of course he, being his usual obsessive self, found other ways to reach out to you - your friends. They were constantly complaining about a dark, mystery man lurking in their dreams, asking about you, begging them to talk to you. That wasn't helping at all - it was, in fact, making you even angrier. You thought that when you banned him from your dreams, he would come to you in the Waking world - no, he did not, he preferred to worry your friends. So you kept him away from you for as long as you could (even though you were sure that if he wanted, he could break you barriers and come to you with ease).

...

One day you were sitting on a lonely bench at the park when a familiar figure approached you. Death sat next to you, her usual soft smile on her face.

"Hello, little one." she spoke lightly.

"Hello, Death." you looked at her, smiling. You were happy to see her, you liked her as she was sweet and helped you with your relationship with her brother. "Did he send you?"

"No, I came on my own but it is because of him. He's not good, you know." she was still smiling, but this time there was something else to the smile, a bit of sadness.

"Yeah, I can guess. But I'm not fine either. I don't want to do it all about me, but... you know him. I thought it would get easier, that he'd change, he'd learn to speak with me, to share his troubles. It's like I am just a part of his palace, a thing."

"You know..." Death started slowly, thinking through every word. "His love life wasn't easy. Some would say that he is cursed, no relationship of his ended on good conditions or with good memories. Maybe Calliope, but there were other troubles with her. So this whole thing, with you, it's new for him. And he was worried that he would do something bad, he'd hurt you. I am not saying he didn't. What I am saying is, he really needs time, he is Endless and time for him is different than time for you. But please, don't give up on him, he needs you, he needs the love you can give him, all of it. My brother is not perfect, but he deserves happiness and when I first saw how he was looking at you... I know his happiness is you." you could feel the tears building in your eyes, so you looked at your shoes, because you didn't want to be seen so vulnerable. Death got up and said one final things before leaving. "I know you love him too, little one."

...

That night you finally removed the barriers, standing at the center of the room you were dreaming. You saw a movement in one of the corners and two gleaming eyes in the shadows.

"Morpheus..." you started but suddenly he was in front of you and what shocked you the most were his bloodshot eyes filled with tears. You have never seen him cry, you didn't know he could actually.

"Please, forgive me, love. I treated you with disrespect, my queen." his voice raspier than ever, heavy with sorrow. Your heart broke as you saw the pain you made him feel. You placed your palm on his cheek, caressing the soft skin. The moment you saw him, you knew you couldn't be mad at him, you loved him more than anything in this world or any other world for that matter.

"Morpheus, I should apologize for leaving." you tried to speak, but he quickly shushed you.

"No, love, my behavior was not suitable for a queen. No King should ever do this to his beloved one. Forgive me." he pleaded but you didn't need anything more as you were already kissing him. Suddenly everything around you spun and you were in his throne room. He was keeping you close to him, making sure you would never leave his side again. "You are my queen, my love, my life. You are mine." he looked you in the eyes, his dark and full of love. It was as if you were seeing him for the first time - how perfect his face looked - his jawline, his soft lips, messy hair. There was only one thing you could say:

"I love you." He smiled, kissing you again but this time it was a deep, hungry kiss.

"Now..." he started while you were taking a breath. "I should show you how much I'm sorry and how the King of Dreams should treat his Queen." and again, you magically moved, this time to his bed, his cold silk sheets wrapping around you. "This is where you belong, love. Mine. And I'm all yours - now and forever." But you weren't listening as you were drowning in his eyes, full of lust and love. All for you.

#morpheus x reader #morpheus #king of dreams #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless #morpheus x you #morpheus x y/n #the sandman x reader #dream x you #dream x reader #dream of the endless x you

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bratkook · 3 years

Text

right now. (m) jjk.

not yet, almost , right now

pairing. jungkook x reader genre. fluff, smut, idiots to lovers!! word count. 14.8k warnings. two mega fucking idiots<33, miscommunication/dumb assumptions, smut in forms of: fingering, oral sex (f.), orgasm denial, spanking, some spit bc duh, unprotected sex, super sweet & lovey!! also jungkook is a sweetheart pls love him summary. coming to terms with your feelings after getting off to the idea of your close friend is a little harder than you thought, but how long can you take before jungkook decides its time to move on? note. did jlin forget how to write for a few weeks? yes, yes she did....i know this took a long time but life is rough man so forgive me... but anyways lol the final part to the not yet!verse is hereeeee! thank you to @kithtaehyung for reading this over for me ily!! thank you guys for enjoying this mini series, the response was really unexpected but im sososo happy over every comment/ask i’ve gotten for this story. once again, tysm for your love and let me know what you think<3

The evening sun illuminates Jungkook’s apartment, golden hour bouncing off every reflective surface and straight into his eyes the second he walks in, immediately squinting as he makes a beeline to shut the blinds. His head was already throbbing from the hangover that decided to peak around noon, a mean case of nausea putting a damper on his work day. So as much as he loved soaking in some vitamin D today was not the day.

“Are you joking?” he huffs as he brings down the blinds, hand yanking at the flimsy string in an attempt to get it unstuck. “How stup—you’d think with the amount I pay every month in rent the blinds would work!”

Alright, so maybe he was a little grumpy today, choosing to take it out on an inanimate object and blame it purely on the bad decisions made last night—definitely had nothing to do with the residual moping of you going on a date. This could be fixed, easily.

The first order of business? Texting you to see if you’d be interested in devouring greasy food from your favorite place down the street. He’d get to see you and finally put something in his stomach, it’s the best of both worlds really.

Jungkook forgets about the blinds, leaving them stuck in the awkward position as he walks away entirely, fishing his phone out of his pocket while he enters his room. It’s the same text he always sends when he’s hangry: If I don’t get food in the next 15 mins I'm burning this place down and taking you with me.

He knows the response he’ll get, either that meme of the child in front of a burning house or an equally hangry paragraph. The phone gets tossed onto his bed as he changes out of his work clothes, needing to dispose of the business casual attire that was suffocating him, his old college hoodie giving him the comfort he needs.

By the time he’s finally slipping on his sneakers he’s expecting you to come knocking on his door, your impatient attitude always putting a smile on his face. Half of the time your neighbors thought you were having arguments from the way you’d pound onto the slab of wood, saying his name with just enough annoyance laced into each syllable it would fool anyone into thinking you were actually upset instead of being a brat. But when that never comes, he reaches for his phone again.

A few notifications fill up his screen, some instagram direct message previews, his group chat that he never responded to, and a few emails coming through, but you had yet to respond. Maybe it’s a little creepy, but Jungkook knows you’re home because he passed by your parked car on his way in. So his mind jumps to two extremes: you were either face down, drowning in your bathtub, or that yellow shades wearing wannabe version of himself was at your place.

Not an ounce of shame sits within him as he speedwalks to the side his bed was on, placing both palms onto the wall before his ear was pressed against the cold drywall. Jungkook’s not really sure what would make him feel good, hearing you and Jung Hoseok together, or hearing nothing at all. His ears strain to hear anything, but the only sound he gets is his own blood pumping.

With a small pout he pulls back, deciding he’d play the annoying neighbor role today and pound on your door instead. It’s a role he doesn’t take lightly, knuckles banging on the wood loud enough for you to hear wherever you were in your apartment. It takes a few minutes before any sign of life is shown, your door creaking open, and Jungkook is thankful because he was about to head to the maintenance office to ask for a key in case you actually were drowning in your bathtub.

“C’mon, let’s get food,” he declares instantly, a charming smile on his face as he stands with his hands stuffed into his jean pockets. The smile slowly falls off when he gets a good look at you, hair looking like a mess on your head and your fluffy blanket draped around you as you give out a weak cough. “Are you sick?”

“I think so,” you rasp out, leaning against your door frame and tugging the blanket tighter around you.

“Did that fucker give you mono?” Jungkook looks irritated, brows pinched together in a grimace—something you’re definitely not accustomed to seeing so you almost don’t catch his accusation.

“Jungkook, no! It’s nothing serious.”

He doesn’t look fully convinced, but he shrugs anyways, positive you weren’t interested in getting interrogated when you were feeling under the weather. “Alright, let me know if you need me to drive you to the doctor if it becomes something serious.”

With a roll of your eyes and a small smile, you wave him off, slowly shutting the door behind you. Your eye immediately peeks through your peephole, not relaxing until he makes his way down the hall and enters the elevator, still on his quest for greasy food.

“God, how old are you?” you grumble to yourself, yanking the blanket off your body and onto the floor with a huff. Pretending to be sick to avoid your friend was a new low, especially after the post-orgasm epiphany you had last night. A sane person would come to terms with their feelings and confess to them, uncertainty and possible rejection be damned! But you? No, you have to fake a cold like the giant coward you are.

The guilt only deepens when a knock comes from your door an hour later, a quick peek through your peephole allowing you to see Jungkook setting two plastic bags on the floor before stepping back and walking to his apartment next door. You don’t come out until you hear his door shut, seeing the logo of your favorite diner down the street. No doubt would your comfort meal be inside the takeaway container.

It takes all you have to not rush over to his place and say you were lying when you see he had also gone ahead and got you cold medication, a few different bottles because he surely didn’t know which was best, along with teas and some cough drops.

You’re a dirty liar. A horrible friend too.

That doesn’t stop you from devouring the meal in the takeout box as you’re hunched over your breakfast bar like a little gremlin. “This is just for today,” you mumble out to yourself as you set the plastic fork down and chug some of the leftover alcohol you had in your fridge. It’s your own version of a pity party, except the food feels heavy in your stomach, knowing the man you were avoiding was the one who bought it—bring on the guilt.

“I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

You’re a dirty liar and horrible friend 2.0. Why this time? Because tomorrow stretched out a few more days than planned. It wasn’t entirely intentional at first, getting stuck at work longer than usual and missing the weekly hangout at your place where you got your remote covered in cheeto dust as you argued over what to watch. But it trickled down onto shorter replies to his texts, or you scrambling out of your apartment and into the elevator so fast in order to not run into him, your mind still trying to list all the pros and cons to this potential relationship before you even had the guts to confess to your feelings.

Jungkook didn’t know thats what was occupying your mind, no he was currently thinking the worst. He notices the change instantly, recognizing it because this was the exact way you had acted while you were with Hajoon, right before you broke the news to him that you needed to keep some distance while you focused on your relationship. So Jungkook automatically assumes that your sudden change in behavior after going on a single date with Jung Hoseok, was because you wanted to make your relationship with this man work.

His assumption stings—a lot actually—and soon enough he stops initiating conversations altogether. He didn’t want to hear you tell him you had to distance yourself again, he’s not sure his heart could handle that a second time, so he decides to get ahead of the curb and take a massive step away from you. It hurts him to know you’re right next door, and just like before, it’s like you’re back to being total strangers.

Safe to say Jungkook was currently going on his own downward spiral.

You could text him like nothing had happened and he’d accept it with open arms, but instead you text your best friend an SOS text, begging her to meet you at your place. She calls you dramatic at first, but once you say it’s about Jungkook she shows up at your place in record time.

“Did you finally fuck him?” Is her greeting of choice, spoken shamelessly from the hallway with no worry about her volume. She cackles when you yank the bottle of wine from her grasp and tug her into your apartment, letting the door slam behind her.

“You’re lucky he’s not home you bitch.” An eye roll is her only response, yanking the bottle back and making her way into your kitchen to grab the opener.

“So you didn’t fuck him?” The cork pops at her question, a curious glance staring you down as she pours the red liquid into an oversized cup.

“No Seulgi, I didn’t fuck him. But I did...something.” It makes your face warm up as you remember it, gratefully grabbing the cup she hands your way because you definitely need some liquid courage before confessing to your sins.

She hums in thought as she raids your pantry for something to munch on, settling on a bag of mini pretzels before leading you to your couch, needing to know the gossip that led to your sos text. “Okay, did you accidentally send him a nude then?”

“No, that wouldn’t be so bad I think?” Sending him an accidental nude would be laughable, probably resolved by a few screaming texts and dumb jokes before moving on. But new feelings seeing the light of day seemed so much worse. “But I sort of kissed him at a club a few weeks ago to get back at Hajoon—long story,” you cut in when you see her ready to fire off questions.

“And then I went on that failed Tinder date I told you about, and when I got home I sort of heard him, you know,”— you mimic a jerking off motion with your hand and ignore her lewd gasp, “and then I…” you trail off shamefully.

“No!” she gasps even louder, hand pressed to her mouth and eyes wide.

“Yes! And the fucking orgasm opened my eyes and made me realize that maybe that tiny crush you guys always joke about him having is real, and maybe I have a tiny crush on him too.”

“Does he know?”

“That I like him?”

“No, that you rubbed one out while listening to him you dirty slut!” Oh she’s loving this, leaning back into your cushions with a handful of pretzels resting on her boobs, a sly smile on her lips as she takes a sip of her wine. She’s the one who planted the seed in your mind, playfully joking about Jungkook any chance she got, saying he had the hots for you because she enjoyed the flustered look on your face. No doubt would she text the group chat with the news the second you finish this cry for help.

“Do you think I told him? I can barely come to terms with the fact that I like him. Like what am I supposed to do?”

She sighs dramatically, munching on the final pretzel on her tits before sitting up and dusting off the crumbs from her shirt. “Look, I know you’re just realizing that he likes you so this is still new and fresh for you, but we’ve noticed it for years. It’s fine that you didn’t see it, you had other things occupying your mind.”

You frown as you stare at the rug beneath your feet, remembering how life was when you first moved into this complex. Getting out of a previous relationship weeks prior, when you had met Jungkook your mind was not interested in pursuing anything with him regardless of how cute you thought he was. It made it easier for you to form a friendship, not worried about trying to impress him, or flirt with him, allowing him to see you for who you truly are.

Jungkook had his fair share of girlfriends during the years, none of which were entirely serious but by the time he was completely single you had met Hajoon, and he had accepted the fact that maybe you were better off as friends and he would just admire you from afar. That is, until you decided to plant one on him. So technically this is your fault.

“Jungkook likes you okay, and I’m sure if you just marched next door and told him you like him too he’ll drop on one knee and marry you.”

“Shut up,” you snort, shoving her shoulder with a smile.

“As a matter of fact, go over there right now!” She stands up from her spot, yanking your arms to haul you up with her.

“I told you, he’s not home. But, I’ll tell him. I have to.”

Seulgi crosses her arms over her chest as she stares at you, clearly displeased that she wouldn’t be witness to this love story unfolding in real time. “You better. You never know what sneaky little bitch is trying to get him to get over you.”

The sneaky little bitch in question is Park Jimin, currently sitting directly across from Jungkook, guzzling down beer like his life depends on it. It's impressive really, how quickly he empties the cup, eyes shut looking as content as could be even in the dim lighting. Jungkook can only watch with a grimace as his friend sets the glass down and wipes at his mouth with no sense of table manners.

“What?” he burps, proceeding to pour more of the golden liquid into his cup from the pitcher in the middle of the table.

“I always forget how absolutely disgusting you are. How do you do it?” Jimin just frowns at the question, not entirely understanding so Jungkook continues. “What switch do you flip to go from sipping champagne to chugging beer like a fucking biker.”

“It’s a talent, I know.” He smiles wide, reaching forward to grip Jungkook’s hand and force him to grab his own cup. Condensation was pooling around the bottom from sitting there untouched, and that just wouldn’t do on Jimin’s watch. “C’mon, drink it!”

“Fine,” Jungkook grumbles, raising the glass and allowing Jimin to clank the cups together before taking a big gulp. He doesn’t clear the cup like his friend did seconds prior but it's enough to appease him. It tastes absolutely bitter the whole way down, settling into his stomach uncomfortably, and the look on his face as he pushes the glass away from him is very telling.

Boisterous shouts fill the sports bar they were in, huddles of people surrounding the tables and booths as they watched the current soccer match playing on the televisions lining the walls. Jungkook honestly feels like a debby downer now, moping in his seat instead of enjoying the atmosphere with his friend like they normally did. The current game was definitely not the reason Jungkook had texted Jimin to grab drinks, no he needed an outlet to talk about you—preferably in a space that didn’t have walls as thin as his apartment.

When he barely acknowledges the plate of wings set in front of him Jimin huffs, resisting the urge to dig in because he knew once he did he wouldn’t be able to focus on anything else. “Are you gonna be like this the entire time?”

“Like what?” Jungkook has the gall to ask, acting as if he wasn’t looking like a wounded animal.

“Like you just discovered your wife of ten years is having an affair with your sister.”

He sits up straighter at that, eyes wide in disbelief. “Jesus.“

Jimin knew the jist of what was happening through the texts he had received the past week, but it seems like Jungkook didn’t want to jump into the topic of it at all now that they were sitting across from each other. He just sighs before deciding to be honest, wasting no time beating around the bush to hopefully be the voice of reason Jungkook needs. “You’ve been simping over her for years JK, and I get it, you think she could be the one. But what about you huh? It’s not fair for you to have your heart wrung out each time she gets a man and decides to put the friendship on pause—“

“That happened once!” He defends, brows pinched on his forehead as he shakes his head, ready to explain your situation because he wasn’t a fan of hearing his friend say anything about you when he didn’t truly know what happened. “The dude was a piece of shit and basically told her it was him or me. I’m not gonna crucify her for wanting a long term relationship to work.”

“Right, so she’s not icing you out again because she got a new man? That’s literally what you told me, it’s why I bought you this sympathy pitcher of beer!”

“Fuck you, you bought this pitcher for yourself.” Jimin had chugged two giant glasses of beer already, and was steadily working on his third, whereas Jungkook’s watered down cup remained relatively untouched. “Besides, I was just...spiraling and assumed when I sent you that desperate text. But I haven’t heard anything.”

Jimin can only stare blankly at the table as he processes what was just said before locking eyes with his friend once more, “Sorry, what? You haven’t heard anything? The hell kind of riddle is that.”

Jungkook sinks into the booth with a look of shame, not wanting to admit to occasionally laying in his bed at night in complete and total silence just to see if he could hear you and the hypothetical version of Jung Hoseok doing literally anything. It’s not one of his proudest moments, feeling like a bit of a creeper as he laid stiff on his bed, too scared to make a sound. “Nothing, forget about it. Point is, I haven’t seen the fucker come in or out of her place, so what does that mean?”

A deep sigh comes from Jimin, hand reaching forward to push the beer closer to Jungkook, desperately trying to get him to drink and ease up. “It means you pay far too much attention to her. When was the last time you got any action?”

Two weeks ago. From his hand and filthy imagination.

“A few months,” he grumbles, remembering his last hook up that happened a few days before he discovered you got dumped.

“Get outta here.” Jimin rolls his eyes as he points to the door. “Literally, go stand at the corner outside, show some thighs or a tattooed titty and take your pick of the swarm of girls that will surely follow you.”

Jungkook thinks he’s joking, but when his friend doesn’t drop his hand and narrows his eyes threateningly he knows he’s being serious. “My tits aren’t even tattooed,”—his large palms press against his shirt covered chest as if to prove a point— “And you sound like a douchebag talking like this.”

“What? She went on a tinder date and definitely got laid, so you need to even out the playing field. Also, it might help you chill the hell out.”

“Oh my god, you’re not helping.” Jungkook really didn’t need that visual again, it had flashed in his mind too often the night of his pity party and now it was once again at the front of his brain.

“Alright, okay. I’m throwing out my safe word right now.” Jimin leans closer, arms resting on the table with a confused look on his face. “What do you need from me here? Like, do I play the role of a supportive friend who wants you to get over her, or do I play the role of a friend who wants you to confess? Because you’re giving me some mixed signals Jeon.”

A groan escapes Jungkook, fingers rubbing at his eyes before dragging down his face as he sinks even further into his seat. “I don’t know.”

It’s the truth. Jungkook had no idea what he wanted his friend to do to help him. He knew that although his feelings for you have weighed heavy on his chest for what seems like years, you technically had no idea, so he feels a little guilty over his frustration for the whole situation. You were newly single again and determined to go through this self proclaimed wild phase so Jungkook isn’t dumb enough to think you can’t go out and do whatever you want, even if that means being with someone who isn’t him.

“Look,” Jimin sighs, pulling him out of his thoughts. “You only have two choices here, tell her how you feel and accept whatever comes with it, or make peace with the idea of just being friends. Either way, I think you need to loosen up and have fun tonight.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Jungkook sits himself up, wrapping his fingers around the cup in an effort to at least look like he wanted to be here. He couldn’t sit here and mope about a problem like this when he hadn’t attempted to come out and tell you how he feels.

One night of loosening up to get you off his mind wouldn’t hurt, if anything it might help him come to his senses. At least that’s what Jimin was currently whispering with a mischievous smile on his lips. “It’ll be fine, I’ll make sure you don’t black out and get home safe. Who knows, you might get plastered enough to drunk text your confession.”

Jungkook glares at his friend, not liking the goofy look on his face as he starts to laugh. “I swear to god, you better not let me get to that point. Take my phone away from me.”

Jimin obviously wants to see the world burn, or at least he enjoys it when Jungkook somehow digs himself into his own grave. That's exactly why he responds with a million laughing emojis when Jungkook texts him asking why the hell he hadn’t taken his phone last night.

He did a good job hiding his shock when a knock came from his front door, half expecting it to be you, keeping a smile on his face as he allowed the person who was very clearly not you in before swiftly entering his bathroom. Jungkook wants to stay locked here forever, holed up while he sits on his toilet and not in the living room with company. It wasn’t like it was bad company either, his drunken ass going through his contact list and sending an invitation to hangout the following day to the last person he spoke to, Aillie.

The girl is sweet, someone he had a casual fling with for months, someone who was used to his random texts so she doesn’t think twice before agreeing. The only silver lining to this was that he hadn’t sent you a typo-filled drunken confession, which is what Jimin responds with before telling him to suck it up and leave his bathroom.

Jungkook accepts his fate, as well as accepting that he is partially responsible for this. He shoves his device back into his pockets before standing up and flushing the toilet for show, washing his hands just to stall. One good glance at his reflection makes him cringe, stained shirt and sweats combo leaves him looking like the unprepared mess he is. Another detour through his room to change was a must before he has no choice but to step back out.

“You’re totally hung over aren’t you?” Aillie jokes from her spot on the couch, comfortable enough in his apartment from the time spent here. She locks her phone as she stands up, taking her time to really look Jungkook over. He was not dressed like someone who was expecting a guest, and despite having seen Jungkook at his sloppiest, his previous attire of oversized shirt and slightly stained sweatpants didn’t look like someone who was expecting a fuck buddy to pop over. Even with his new outfit looking more put together, it was obvious Jungkook was caught off guard by her showing up.

“What?” Jungkook dumbly asks, trying to come up with some lame excuse to justify his earlier appearance but he falls short. His fingers gently rake through his hair, a grimace falling on his face as he looks back up at her. “Actually, a little. Sorry, I got drunk last night when I text you so sober me was not really prepared.”

“Yeah I figured, you sent me some blurry selfies right after. But we can just hang, we don’t have to do anything,” she trails off, a soft smile on her lips. The only time they ever hung out was to hook up, having ten minute conversations before and after the fact. “Or I can leave too if it's weird that I’m here.”

Jungkook is shaking his head before she can even finish, already feeling bad enough after texting her to come over. How shitty would he be if he immediately kicked her out. This was fine, a nice distraction from it all, decent middle ground that would help him get his mind off you without having to take Jimin’s douchebag advice.

“No, we can watch a movie or something. It’s not like I have other plans.” Had this been two weeks ago it would be a totally different story. Jungkook would typically be waiting in his apartment as he stared at the slowly ticking clock, just waiting for it to strike 7:30 because that's when you usually got home. Then he’d either get a text from you to come over with snacks or you’d show up at his door and invite yourself over for the weekly game night.

It didn’t happen last week, or the week prior, so Jungkook is very confident that it would not be happening today either. It’s that same sense of confidence—and saltiness—that allows him to get comfortable with Aillie, blissfully unaware that you had just pulled into the parking garage a few stories below.

“I swear to god if you don’t go straight to his door the minute you get off the elevator I will never let you live it down.” Seulgi’s voice fills your car through the speakers, fading out as you shut the car off and bring your phone to your ear to continue the conversation.

“Dude, I just got off work. I need to make myself look decent.” Plastic bags rustle together as you grab the snacks you had picked up on your way home, all full of yours and Jungkook's favorite treats. It was definitely a guilt fueled purchase, hoping the items were enough to distract him from the fact that you were kind of a bitch for ghosting him recently, or at least butter him up into accepting your apology easier.

“You think Jungkook cares if you’re a little sweaty from work? He’s a grown man, that’s not gonna stop him from going do—“

“Okay, goodbye!” You hastily cut her off as you press the elevator button, hearing her rambling off about being interrupted. “I’m about to get on the elevator, I’ll tell you how it goes.”

With a small sigh you hang up and stuff the device into your purse, stepping onto the lift as the doors open up and pressing the number for your floor. Your hands are clammy as you grip the plastic bag, uncharacteristically nervous about seeing Jungkook again after so long.

The main obstacle for you to get over was apologizing for being a crappy friend, and if that went well you were going to suck it up and just come out and confess, the odds of him saying no were slim. And even if he did, you’re perfectly content with staying friends, as long as you could keep him close.

It’s that same optimistic mentality that allows you to calm down as you enter your place and decide to give yourself a minute to mentally prepare. His favorite ice cream gets put into the freezer for later before you decide to shower and give yourself a pep talk the entire time.

This pep talk of yours is filled with best case scenarios: Jungkook accepting the confession with open arms, finally being able to kiss him properly, everything falling into place the way it should have a long time ago. And as you head over, totally sober, freshly washed, looking and smelling your best, you really can’t picture this going any other way.

With a deep breath you’re knocking on his front door, quickly pulling back your hand and wiping it onto your pants as you step back. Jungkook hears the knock clearly from his spot on the couch, his gaze tearing away from the television to stare at his front door with a small frown. He hadn’t ordered any food and Aillie had just excused herself to use his bathroom so his brain is having a hard time wondering who it could be.

He curses under his breath, not putting it past himself to have texted a second person last night with an invitation to hang out. Why was Jungkook a friendly drunk?

As he presses his eye against the peephole and spots you standing there, he thinks he’s imagining things. It had seemed like so long since he had last seen you in person, and the warped fish-eyed version of you has him stepping back and rubbing his eyes before taking another glance. He suddenly feels like throwing up, and he can’t blame his earlier hangover on it.

For a brief second he contemplates pretending he hadn’t heard you, but the guilt of doing so makes his heart twist, so he musters up the courage to open the door. It’s barely a crack really, just enough for you to see him while still concealing his apartment, something you definitely found strange because you’re usually flinging the door open and strutting right in, but you suppose his reaction is warranted considering your previous behavior.

“Y/N, hey. Are you alright?”

“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine!” Your fingers tangle together in front of you, not entirely sure what to do with your nerves and Jungkook spots it easily. His own nerves sky rocket when he hears the sound of running water coming from his bathroom a few feet away, knowing Aillie would most likely pop out any second now, and he’s not sure why it feels like a dirty secret that he has another girl over.

“Did you need something?”

“Yeah, I was actually wanting to talk to you about something kind of important.” Your smile is hopeful, despite the nerves swirling in your eyes. The nervous skip of your heart is felt in your throat, not remembering the last time you had felt this way about telling someone how you felt about them romantically.

“Right now?” he wonders, fingers gripping the door handle tighter when he hears his bathroom door unlock, the sound of footsteps rounding the corner before stepping into the living room, a few feet away from the door and in perfect view of the wedge Jungkook had opened.

When your eyes flicker over his shoulder, spotting the auburn haired girl giving you a curious glance, you feel all your confidence slip away. Seulgi had definitely been right about needing to confess soon, Jungkook was a catch and just because you hadn’t realized it sooner didn’t mean the rest of the world was blind to it.

“Yeah, right now...but you’re busy, so it’s fine!” You want to scramble away from there, feeling dumb the longer you stand there. Jungkook wants to say he’s not busy, kick the girl out of his place and invite you in but that wouldn’t be fair to her, for all he knew your important conversation would be a repeat of the conversation you had over Hajoon, and he really didn't want to get friendship dumped while this girl was in his apartment. He’s pretty sure his Yelp rating would drop a bit if he cried on the couch about you to his old hook up.

He starts to speak but you cut him off before he can, “Don’t worry about it! I’ll see you later.” You force a smile before walking away, not allowing him to get a word in as you quickly step into your apartment and move to the furthest room away from your bedroom.

You can feel the cold of your kitchen floor as you sit on your butt, back against your cabinets, the small twinge of defeat spreading within you. “This is fine. Maybe she’s just a friend. I can always tell him tomorrow,” you whisper out. But your fingers seem to think otherwise as they type out a message to Seulgi, informing her that the mission was unsuccessful and you’d be putting on The Notebook like you always did. It was basically protocol to do so when things went south in your life.

She doesn’t even know how to console you, knowing she can’t tell you it was his loss or that he wasn’t worth it because she knows that’d be a lie and you wouldn’t believe it for a second. The only thing she can offer is coming over, but you’re quick to turn her down, deciding that being alone in the comfort of your bed as you inhaled the ice cream you bought for Jungkook would be best.

Is being in your room the wisest choice when you know you share a wall with Jungkook—and he has a cute girl over? No. Probably not. But you figure if you hear anything explicit it’s just your dose of karma, so you accept it, turning up the volume of the movie a few levels just to soften the blow.

However, Jungkook would definitely not be hooking up with her in his bedroom, or anywhere in his apartment for that matter. Luckily Aillie is blessed with the gift of reading the damn room and can easily spot the shift in Jungkook’s mood the second he shuts the door. She’s sitting on the edge of the couch now, hands gently placed on her knees as she gives him a sympathetic smile.

“I get the vibe that somethings off.”

He looks up at her then, slowing his pace until he’s awkwardly standing in the middle of the room with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. “My friend—my neighbor just wanted to talk about something. But everything’s fine.”

The lie tastes bitter on his tongue, and Aillie doesn’t believe him in the slightest. A small sigh fills the air as she stands up, collecting her bag and approaching him. “Look, I know deep talks really aren’t our thing so I’m not going to even try to dive into this, but you should go talk to your friend.”

A comforting hand is placed on his shoulder before she makes her way to the door to leave, Jungkook already following closely behind her. “No, you don’t have to go. You came all this way because I texted you with way too much tequila in my system.”

“Jungkook,” she laughs, opening the door with a smile. “You’re way too sweet for your own good. It was nice seeing you though.” Her eyes slowly move over to your front door before looking back at him, head cocking to the side in a very clear indication that he better go over. He can only nod in understanding, waving her goodbye and shutting the door once she heads down to the elevator.

The action sounds of the movie they were watching continues to fill his apartment, whatever chaos was going on only making his brain whirl so he’s quick to grab the remote and shut it off entirely. Now he’s just stuck in complete silence, wondering if he should quickly make his way over to yours or play it calm and collected.

The total silence allows him to hear the muffled mumbling of a movie he knew all too well. It draws him in, lures him into his bedroom until he’s kneeling on the mattress with his ear pressed against the wall to properly make it out. You were watching the Notebook, at a concerning volume, which could mean a number of things. Jungkook knew none of them were good, usually rooted in issues you had with your ex, or a tough day at work, or any particular day where you just felt like crying.

With a deep breath, he’s slowly knocking along his wall, almost experimentally, hoping it's enough to grab your attention through the current scene playing. For a second he thinks maybe you’ve fallen asleep while watching the film, but then the room falls silent as you pause it entirely.

Your hearts racing now, ears straining to hear anything else and hoping this wasn’t how the beginning of the explicit noises would start, but then another knock comes from behind you. It makes you gasp, like you’ve just been caught being the nosey neighbor you are, hearing the soft scrape of his hand sliding down the wall. The ice cream gets put onto your nightstand as you sit up properly, forcing yourself out of the mountain of pillows you were practically suffocating in and turning around to knock back.

Jungkook’s palm presses back onto the wall, smiling at your response before fishing his phone out of his pocket. His fingers find your thread of messages, further down the list than he was used to, and as he opens them up and sees the string of unanswered texts dating back to two weeks ago, it stings just like it did before. He pushes his pride aside though, knowing you had wanted to talk today in person, so he proceeds to quadruple text you.

Jungkook 8:44pm : are you seriously watching the notebook again?

You’re unlocking your phone the second it buzzes, smiling at the dimly lit screen before typing out a response.

Y/N 8:45pm : shut up, it’s my comfort movie

Y/N 8:45pm : do you wanna watch it with me? for old times sake

The device is locked and placed face down onto your sheets the second you hit send, sinking into the pillows once again as you try not to scream at yourself because you know he’ll hear you. Why would you invite him over when he clearly has company? You had seen her with your own eyes, had seen how cute she is, had seen how cute Jungkook is, it doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.

Jungkook is quick though, texting back in agreement and heading over instantly. If you were watching your comfort movie then Jungkook wanted to make sure you were okay. Putting the past two weeks behind him, knowing you’d most likely have a good enough explanation—an explanation he would definitely be needing before the night was over—he’s knocking on your door before you can even check your messages.

It takes you a minute to untangle your limbs from your covers as you hastily try to get to your door, sock clad feet sliding along your wooden floors when you finally yank the door open. Jungkook wears a soft smile as he stares down at you, taking note that you had switched your outfit to your usual sad movie binge attire of baggy shirt and lounge shorts. His eyes zero in on your lips when he notices there's something lingering at the corner of them.

“So, are you gonna share whatever the hell that is?” His finger points at it smugly, laughing when your tongue peeks out to wipe it away.

“It was actually meant to be for you.” Stepping aside, you let him enter your place. Jungkook almost feels a little strange being here after the weird few weeks, but he pushes it aside, just wanting things to feel normal.

“Does that mean there’s no more left?” His eyes playfully narrow at you as you step closer, moving on to stare at the kitchen table, and the coffee table in search of the tub of ice cream that supposedly had his name on it. The earlier nerves you felt slowly fade away when you realize he’s not visibly upset about what happened, but it only makes your guilt deepen that despite your ability to be a crummy friend, Jungkook would still try his best to come through for you.

“There’s about half of it left, it’s probably a little soft now though.” You side step him to enter the kitchen, grabbing an extra spoon and handing it over as a peace treaty, smiling when he gratefully accepts it. “C’mon, I paused the movie.”

Jungkook is not a stranger to your bedroom, especially when sappy movies were playing, finding his spot easily on the right side where he typically handed you tissues whenever you cried. The tissues were missing this time, in place of them being the bag of snacks you had bought, his ice cream on the other nightstand.

“What part are you on?” he asks, settling onto the bed after fluffing up the pillows, waving his hands so you could pass the tub of ice cream his way.

“It just started raining on the boat.” Jungkook hums, scooping out some of the chocolate ice cream and into his mouth. He knew this scene very well, and when you press play, he mentally repeats all of the lines. Just as Noah declares he wrote her 365 letters, you awkwardly clear your throat, your own spoon slowly sneaking over to his side to steal some ice cream for yourself.

“I’m sorry if I made things awkward with your date.” Your voice sounds timid, something he’s not used to hearing from you at all, so he chuckles, laughing harder when you swat at his arm. “I’m serious, I should have texted you before just showing up.”

“Really? When have you ever done that before?” The two of you never notified the other when they wanted to show up, Jungkook had even given you the code to his place once when he was at work and you were desperate for some fruity pebbles—you used that code to your advantage and Jungkook never hated it. But all things considered, it's fair why you think you would have to give him a heads up.

“You didn’t make it awkward though.” It’s not the complete truth, you coming over is what had made Aillie decide to leave, but Jungkook had to take most of the credit for it. “I kinda made it awkward from the beginning.”

“Why, what happened?”

“I went out last night with Jimin“ —you immediately hum in understanding, knowing very well how convincing Jimin could be with alcohol— “and apparently I texted her to hang out today, had no recollection, so when she showed up I was definitely not ready.”

“Damn, this is how I know you’re a better person than I am. If that happened to me, the second I checked my peephole and saw someone I didn’t remember inviting over, I’m gonna pretend I’m not home.”

“Yeah well, she lives like an hour away so I’d feel like an ass if I did that. Don’t think I’ll be talking to her again any time soon though.” He sighs in thought, gently tapping his spoon on the surface of the softening ice cream. There was one thing weighing heavy on his mind, needing to know what important thing you had to talk to him about, wondering if you were actually going to friendship dump him earlier and he had just made it worse by coming over and hanging out like old times.

He doesn’t want to come right out and ask it though, not wanting to set himself up for an awkward conversation in case that wasn’t what you wanted to talk about, so he settles for something safe enough that would allow him to get a glimpse.

“So how are things with Hoseok?” Yeah, that’s a good start.

“Huh?” Your spoon freezes in its spot, face clearly looking confused in the dim glow of the television, the movie long forgotten now that you were speaking.

“Tinder guy? Yellow sunglasses guy that gave you mono?”

It suddenly clicks again, having forgotten all about Jung Hoseok the second you had gotten home from the failed date and came to terms with your feelings. Your lie of having a cold must have been believable enough for Jungkook to genuinely think he had given you something like mono.

“He didn’t give me mono!” Jungkook rolls his eyes with a playful smile, humming along like he totally believes you. “But I didn’t tell you?”

He frowns as he stares at you, not entirely sure how to take your tone. “Tell me what? That you’re engaged and the wedding is in June?”

“No way,” you laugh, swatting his spoon away with a clank as you grab some ice cream before shoving it in your mouth, fighting against the brain freeze to continue speaking. “Our date was a bust.”

“How? Was it that bad?” He desperately wanted to know, having convinced himself the date had gone spectacularly well and you were now an exclusive item. The small twinge of guilt is felt when he realizes he’s a little too happy that the date had been a failure, but he allows himself to have this small, tiny victory.

“Mm, it was so good it was bad.” He looks utterly confused, and you don’t blame him, so you elaborate. “He was this perfect gentleman who just wanted to play games, like to the point where he had a notebook where he was tallying our points, and then he walked me to my car and kissed my cheek goodbye.”

“Oh the horror!” Jungkook gasps, setting his spoon down to clutch his heart in dramatics. “How dare he try to romance you with a game night.”

“Jungkook, shut up!” you laugh, finally feeling like everything was right again, sitting in bed with your closest friend as you teased each other. “Look, I’ll give him some credit. The date was nice, he was not the sleazy douchebag his profile made him out to be, and I’m sure he’ll find the perfect girl for him on Tinder. But he clearly wanted something serious and—“

“And you don’t want that right now. It’s fair.” Of course you would turn him down, you had just decided to embark on this new adventure in the single world. It was kind of dumb for Jungkook to assume one date with Tinder Boy would be enough for you to give up your short lived dream.

You take a steady breath at his words before taking another scoop of ice cream, lips wrapped around the spoon as you slowly pull it out of your mouth. The nerves are trickling back in, making your heart skip and your eyes bounce around. If you don’t come out and say it now, you know you never will.

Your spoon joins his in the tub of ice cream before you decide to move it back to the nightstand, forcing yourself to look back at him, seeing him turned away as he rummages through the plastic bag full of snacks. “I don’t want that with him.”

Jungkook freezes, the rustling of plastic ceases as his hands come back to his sides and he turns back around. With him. He was the king of jumping to worse case scenarios so his brain has no issues coming to this very horrible conclusion.

“Have you been talking to Hajoon again?”

“No, Jungkook I haven’t.”

“Are you sure? I’m saying this now, but if you get back with him I will not hesitate to pop him in the face if I run into him in the halls. It’s fair game out there, neutral territory for him to get his ass beat—“

“It’s you.”

His brain short circuits at that, mini versions of himself currently running around and screaming in his head as he tries to make sense of this. The first instinct he has is to crack a joke, to say that he hadn’t been talking to Hajoon again, and laugh it off. But you look a little too vulnerable right now, eyes nervously looking at him and then looking away at his lingering silence.

“Wait, what?” It’s the only thing he can sputter out, caught off guard by your words, not wanting to say anything else in case the world was cruel enough for him to have completely misheard you.

“I don’t want that with Tinder Boy or Hajoon, I want it with you.” It gets a little easier saying it a second time, but his reaction is hard to gauge. You had been expecting him to reciprocate the confession instantly, but the longer he looked shocked only made you think that you and Seulgi had been seriously wrong about his supposed crush.

Jungkook is having a difficult time trying to go from you ghosting him to you suddenly admitting to liking him, the change in emotions not allowing him to say anything he had practiced in the mirror for so long. He can’t come out and give you a speech about how he thinks you’re the one, how you’re obviously a good match together, brain too focused on other details. “How long have you known this?”

“For the past two weeks, but deep down I know it’s been longer.”

His wide eyes glance over at you now, everything slowly clicking into place. “Is this why you’ve been avoiding me?”

“Yes,” you mumble, embarrassed over the way you had acted. The last time you had avoided someone was in elementary school, having a best friend go ask your crush if he likes you while you hid in the bathroom, scared of the answer. “I like you Jungkook and I knew I wouldn’t be able to play it cool. I was scared to say something and have you not feel the same and then have our friendship be weird.”

Jungkook smiles in that adorable way you love, nose scrunching up cutely as he leans closer, large palms coming to cup your cheeks. He has wanted to hear this for so long, and sure, maybe it wasn’t some super romantic confession over a candlelit dinner like he had occasionally dreamed of, but this felt right.

“You’re so stupid,” he whispers out, thumb softly caressing your cheek as he chuckles, feeling the way your lips turn into a frown at his harmless insult.

“Jungkook, I’m being serious,” you whine, heart still pounding in your chest. Your hands come up to gently wrap around his wrists, allowing him to continue to squish your cheeks with that endearing look on his face.

“I’m being serious too Y/N. Did you really think I wouldn’t feel the same?” Jungkook did everything he did with you out of pure friendliness, never expecting to get something in return from it, but there was a small sprinkling of a crush in every one of his actions. “I like you too, and I have for a really long time.”

The relief you feel comes instantly, lips slowly pulling into a smile when you finally have the confidence to look directly into his eyes again. If this is how light you feel after the two weeks spent freaking out, you can only imagine how Jungkook feels. “Really?”

“Yes, really. Now, can I please kiss you?” You’re nodding the second the question leaves his mouth, eyes fluttering shut as his hands glide down to cup your jaw, soft lips slowly pressing against yours. It’s a gentle smack of skin as he pulls back, a smirk on his lips when he opens his eyes, softly rubbing his nose against yours.

“Wait,” he breathes out, chuckling softly. “Is he still looking?” He has the nerve to repeat the same question that had been the root of your guilt, and when your eyes shoot open and glare at him, he can’t stop the laughter that bubbles out.

“I hate you,” you mutter out, not an ounce of truth behind it.

“Mm, no you don’t.”

His lips find yours again, falling into a steady rhythm, softer and less rushed than the first kiss you had shared at the club. There’s no pounding bass in the background, or the taste of liquor on your lips, but Jungkook prefers it this way. He likes the low hum of the movie continuing to play in the background, the sweetness of the ice cream lingering on your lips when his tongue gently swipes at the seam of them, the way your hands slowly slide around his neck as he deepens each kiss.

With each shared breath, you slide further down your bed, pulling Jungkook down with you until he’s hovering directly above you. His knees dig into the sheets, one hand pressed beside your head to keep himself stable as you urge him even closer to you. The delicate golden chain he wears kisses your skin, pendant settling onto your chest, the cool sensation is almost enough to distract you as his tongue slowly slips into your mouth. Jungkook groans when you let out a small gasp, your fingers slipping into his hair and tugging gently at the strands by the nape of his neck.

He wants to remember this kiss instead of the one from the club, embed every gasp you let out into his brain, the way your chest pushes up to feel more of him, how your hands slide down his back, leaving a fiery trail in their path that makes Jungkook shiver. And when you slide your thighs further apart for him, innocently at first, he can’t help it when his lips freeze on yours as you slowly roll your hips upwards. It gives him the same automatic reaction he had gotten at the club, all the blood rushing to his cock instantly, except this time he doesn’t feel the shame he had felt before. There was no ulterior motive to what you were doing, sincerity shown in your confession, shared within each kiss, so Jungkook allows himself to bask in the want he feels for you.

“Y/N,” he groans out when you repeat the action, pulling away from your swollen lips to stare at you through hooded eyes. You’re licking your lips over as your eyes slowly open, a small glimmer evident in them as you tilt your head and pretend to not know what you’re doing.

“What?” you question, leaning up to kiss the edge of his mouth, giggling when he attempts to chase your lips as you pull back, choosing to kiss down his jaw instead. As your tongue gently trails along the side of his neck, you feel the harsh gulp he takes, his fingers bunching up in the sheets beside your head. His neck has always been a weak point for him, turning him into a puddle in seconds, you knew this from the unfiltered conversations you’ve had and it was something you were definitely going to be using to your advantage.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” he grunts, eyes fluttering shut as you nip at his skin, a visible shiver racking through him.

“Of course I am,” you hum, letting your hands roam his back, sliding around his front until you’re sneaking past the white fabric of his shirt. When your cool hands meet his skin, he tenses, the muscles on his stomach tightening up as your fingertips trail up his body. You’ve known Jungkook was well defined, lean and toned in all the best places, having seen him shirtless a few times. But being able to touch him like this, feel each stuttered breath and jump of his skin reacting to your touch fueled you.

Jungkook knows you can feel the racing of his heart now, your palms flat on his chest, each thrum revealing his emotions despite the cool and calm exterior he was trying to have. His hips lower towards yours, resisting the urge to rut into you as you start to suck on his skin. The low hum you let out vibrates against his neck, mixed in with the feeling of your wet lips, and he knows he’s done for. The final blow comes in the form of you swiping your tongue at the blossomed hickey, sweet voice pulling him back to earth as you look at him once more. “I want you Jungkook.”

Oh god, he couldn’t do this. His face pulls into a grimace, begging himself to not instantly cum in his pants at what you just said. How many times has he fantasized about this? Hoped you’d beg him for anything in that same exact voice, dreamed of you kissing and sucking on his skin like you currently were. Jungkook isn’t sure any amount of mental preparation would be enough for this.

“Say that again please.”

You giggle, finger pushing back a strand of his hair as it falls over his face, tucking it behind his ear. The normal doe eyed look you were accustomed to is nowhere to be found, pupils blown out in lust as he stares at you. Being on the receiving end of this stare fills your stomach with butterflies, the flapping of their wings intensifying as he nudges his nose into yours.

“I want you.” It’s breathless, spoken so softly through the background noise like a personal secret just for him. Jungkook doesn’t think he’ll ever grow tired of hearing you say it, that much is proven true when you repeat it in between kisses, trailing back up his neck in the same path you had taken until you're speaking the words directly against his lips. He swallows them down greedily, groaning into your mouth when his tongue tangles with yours once more.

“Fuck, you can have me baby.” He chuckles against your mouth when you start to tug at his shirt, yanking the thin material until he has to pull back and slip the tee off himself. The balled fabric gets tossed aside without a care, dark swirls of ink on his arm fully revealed now, each tattoo reminding you of how long you’ve known him, remembering the two pieces that he had when you first met. When he leans back over you, taking his time trailing kisses down your neck, onto your chest until his own hands are slowly tugging your shirt off of you, you decide there’s other things to focus on besides his glorious tattoos.

“Ah, Jungkook,” you sigh, fingers tangling into his hair when he kisses the swells of your breast, warm tongue sliding over your nipple before his lips are wrapping around it. His large palm gropes the other, thumb flicking over the pebbled bud, smirking when you push your chest further out for him.

“What baby?” He pulls back to blow a gust of cool air on your nipple, the wetness of his saliva making your skin break out into goosebumps.

“No teasing.”

Jungkook’s laughing now, eyes peering up at you through his lashes. “Oh, you think I’m not gonna tease you after what you did?” He tsks in disapproval as he continues to kiss down your torso, letting his hands trail down your sides, not stopping until he reaches the hem of your shorts. A kiss is placed above your navel as he pulls the shorts down your legs, toying with the waistband of your black underwear. “I’m gonna take my time with you.”

The build up before pleasure will always be your favorite part. The way his hands grip your thighs after tugging your underwear off, fingertips trailing up until his palm is pressing them further apart. It’s impossible to look at him now, the visual of his long hair framing his face as he starts to press wet kisses on your skin is too much to handle. You can feel the warm huff of air when he laughs as your head drops back onto the pillow once more, eyes slipping shut while you wait with anticipation.

Jungkook wants to comment over how wet you are already, boost his own ego about being able to rile you up with just kissing, but he can see the way you’re already on edge, and he decides he can tease you some more later with what he has in store. Instead, he gives you what you’re mentally pleading him for. Finally pressing his soft lips to your folds, the short gasp you release as his tongue glides up before gently flicking across your clit has him shutting his own eyes, reveling in the way you react to his touch.

His long fingers spread out your folds before he’s messily spitting onto them, watching the way the glob of saliva trickles down before he’s diving in, falling into the perfect pace with ease. It has your hips rutting up instantly, your hand uncurling its grip from your sheets to travel down your body and find its place tangled in his hair. Jungkook groans against your clit when your fingers grip tightly, yanking the dark strands as the prettiest moan flows out of you.

“J-just like that, fuck,” you whimper, finally lifting your head up to stare down at him when he latches his lips around your clit and sucks. It sends a spark down your spine, stomach tensing at his rhythm, fully intent to have you fall apart.

Jungkook wants to push you over the edge, knows he’s talented enough to get you there in record time—he was cocky in the best way—and the way your thighs tremble as he slowly sinks his finger into you proves his point. The slick coating your entrance allows a second finger to slip through with little resistance, a shuddering breath filling the air as he begins to spread his fingers apart, stretching you out in the most delicious way.

It’s not until his fingers curl up, rubbing along the sweet patch inside of you and you moan out his name, that he realizes he has you right where he wants you. He can’t get himself to look up at you, to see the way your jaw drops as you plead for more. Jungkook knows if his eyes lock with yours too soon he’ll be too weak to be as cruel as he wants to be.

The pleasure blooms inside you, hips rolling up into his in a way he welcomes, smirk spreading onto his lips when your moans get breathier. He eats you out with determination set in his brows, not satisfied until you’re tightening around his fingers, thighs threatening to close in on either side of his head. The messy way he slurps against you sends you reeling, rutting up into him with need, the wet thump of his fingers blending in with your moans of his name.

“God, Jungkook, I’m gonna cum.” He believes you, eyes finally opening up to stare at you. The visual is enough to make his cock throb in his pants, your glassy eyed stare locked onto his, chest rising and falling in time with each choked breath. When he playfully winks at you, your walls pulse around him, seconds away from being pushed over the edge, and that’s when he pulls away.

The warm glow of your orgasm approaching, just about to crest, gets ripped away from you instantly. It makes you gasp, thighs twitching as your hips attempt to push up back towards his mouth, but he’s having none of that. His shiny lips smile up at you innocently, head tilted to slowly kiss your trembling thighs, chuckling at the small cry of frustration you let out.

“You taste good baby,” he hums, smooching the skin at the juncture of your thighs, circling around your clit without relieving the pressure you felt. The dull ache has your fingers releasing his hair in defeat, a frown etched onto your lips.

“Jungkook, that’s mean,” you pant, sitting up and resting on your elbows to properly stare at him.

“A little, but you deserved it don’t you think?” Jungkook didn’t want to tease you too much, he just wanted to get even for the past two weeks. “You could have had me between your thighs every single night if you would’ve said something soon, so I think you can be patient.”

A firm kiss is pressed to your swollen clit and it makes your whole body shudder, your head dropping back as you take a deep breath to control yourself. “I can’t be patient Kook,” you whine, head leveling back out to give him the most convincing stare you can muster. There's that crease between your brows that he likes when you pinch them together, hands gently raking through his hair, teeth pillowing out your lower lip as you bite down onto it.

“Please, you can torture me later if you want but not now.” Your words have him cocking up his brow, hands once again gripping the meat of your thighs before he crawls back up your body. The feeling of his chain dragging up your skin has you shivering, breath catching in your throat when he hovers inches above you once more.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth before his hand slips between your thighs again. A groan reaches his ears as his fingers circle your clit, covered in your arousal and his saliva, gliding with ease as he works you back to your ruined orgasm.

His lips find yours, swallowing down the moan you let out when he quickens his pace. You can taste yourself on his tongue, tangling with yours with more urgency than before, messy and desperate in a way that had more arousal gushing out of you. The earlier pleasure reignites inside you, your hands sliding around his neck to keep him close, kissing him with fervor, quiet moans and whimpers slipping past between each smack of your lips.

“Jungkook,” you barely manage to squeal, a few more flicks needed to finally push you over the edge. Your lips are slick with spit as you pull back, jaw slack as you lose yourself in the feeling, and Jungkook easily bookmarks this into his brain to go back to and daydream of whenever he’s bored at work. Your eyes are squeezed shut as the feeling flows through you, not able to see how Jungkook stares at you in awe.

“Holy shit,” he whispers, slowly pulling his hand away when you keen at the sensitivity, thighs twitching on the sheets as the pleasure rolls through you in waves. You’re looking up just in time to see him slip his messy fingers into his mouth, tongue licking them clean and savoring the taste of you. Just as he slides them back out, your fingers wrap around his wrist and lead them directly into your mouth, sinking onto them with your eyes locked on his own.

Jungkook’s cock jumps in its confines when you suck, tip of your tongue circling his fingertips before popping them back out with a smirk. There’s a brief moment of shock on his features before he’s jumping into action, quickly unbuttoning his jeans in haste that left you giggling on your sheets.

“What happened to patience?” you tease, laughing harder when he pauses with one foot stuck in the hole of his jeans, a playful glare thrown your way.

“Oh, now you want patience?” He kicks his pants the rest of the way off, slowly shuffling towards you as he stands beside the bed in just his boxers. Your hands make grabby motions for him, reaching for the waistband of his underwear to tug them down, licking your lips over as his cock springs out. It bobs in the air for a second, thick and heavy, precum collecting at the tip with the prettiest veins on the underside of it. Of course Jungkook and his pretty privilege would have a dick worthy of leaving you speechless.

Jungkook allows you to ogle at him, confidently wrapping his palm around the base of his cock, hissing slightly at the sensation as he looks down at it, allowing spit to accumulate behind his lips before a string of it escapes and lands right onto his length to help the glide of his palm. Your eyes widen at the sight, hand replacing his as he guides your motions, giving an experimental squeeze and enjoying how his abs tense up.

“I’ve been patient for a long time Y/N. You said you want me right?” You’re nodding instantly, eyes looking away from his shiny length to stare up at him. “How do you want me?”

“Jungkook, just get over here.” He doesn’t resist when you let go of his cock, hands gripping his arm to yank him back onto the bed in a clumsy heap. His legs are a tangled mess, nearly ramming his forehead with yours from the force, shared laughter filling the air as you situate yourself. Jungkook had pictured this a thousand times and this is exactly how he imagined it, full of soft kisses, hushed laughter and goofy smiles, playfulness mixed in with lust all coming together perfectly to make the two of you.

As he settles between your thighs, your sodden folds inches from his length, you can see the look on his face as his eyes glance in between both of your nightstands. Already knowing the question that was about to spill out, you beat him to the punch. “You don’t need one, if you don’t want to. I’m on birth control, and haven’t been with anyone since…” you trail off, not needing to specify.

Jungkook tries not to look too excited, really, but it’s hard. Every one of his lewd fantasies had involved being able to feel you entirely, and if your thoughts from that night were anything to go by, you definitely want the same. It takes him a second to speak, having to swallow properly to prevent himself from choking on his saliva and embarrassing himself in front of you. “I’m clean, I promise.”

“I trust you,” you smile, biting down onto your bottom lip as he fists his cock, slowly leading it to your dripping center. His free hand rests on your inner thigh, softly palming the skin as the head of his cock nudges against your entrance, pushing past the tight ring of muscles and into your heat. With his gaze locked down to where you connect, he sees inch by inch sink into you, finally bottoming out with a shared gasp.

Jungkook leans over you properly now, hand sliding up to lace with yours as the other rests beside your head, just taking a moment to enjoy the feeling of your velvety walls wrapped tightly around his cock. You welcome the stretch, the curve of his length inside you, how he cages you in with his body, eyes full of want staring directly at you, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze because he knows he can’t properly form a sentence right now.

“Fuck me, please.” With his hips pressed flush against yours, he’s slowly inching back, letting you get used to his size with each thrust. It doesn’t take long before he’s rearing back entirely, thrusting forward with a wet squelch, corner of his lips curling up into a smirk when you moan out his name. Your hand curls around his shoulder, fingers digging into his back to keep yourself steady from the force of his hips.

Each time the head of his cock would nudge against your bundle of nerves, your nails would sink into his skin, leaving half moon indents that left him groaning in pleasure. Jungkook hadn’t outright told you, but it had become increasingly obvious that he has a slight kink for pain, practically mewling above you as you scratch his back, fucking you with more determination than before.

“You feel so good,” he rasps, slotting his lips with yours in a messy kiss. The back of your headboard starts to rattle against the wall, bouncing back in time with his hips, and it brings you back to the filthy thoughts you had before. How often you’d hear the same sounds on the opposite side, mixing in with the sharpness of skin connecting together, and you want it. So badly.

“J-jungkook,” you breathe out, letting him pepper more kisses onto you, hips never slowing down. “Can you do something for me?” The tone you use, coated in sugar so sweet he couldn’t say no even if he wanted to.

“Anything.”

It’s hard to concentrate on anything else while his cock continues to fuck into you, turning your mind into mush each time he sunk all the way in. He can see the way you try to focus, eyes falling shut with the cutest pout on your kiss swollen lips, finally grabbing onto the reigns of your mind as you spit it out. “Wanna feel you—fuck—spank me, please.”

Only then do his hips slow down, cock throbbing inside of you, fighting the urge to cum before fulfilling your request. The only confirmation that he was agreeing, wholeheartedly, comes when he pulls out of you, moving too quickly for you to protest at the loss of contact. The room spins for a second as his hands grip onto your hips and flip you over with ease, palms gripping the globes of your ass and softly patting them with a chuckle.

“Of course baby,” he murmurs, hooking his arm underneath your stomach to haul you up onto your knees, allowing you to steady yourself before he’s sliding into you once again. The change in position has you keening, his cock sinking deeper than before, the wetness dripping out of you helping him maintain the earlier pace he had. Your hands fist the sheets beneath you, back arching in ecstasy as he hits your g-spot with precision, a tiny shriek of his name making him smile.

Jungkook keeps you on edge, strong hands gripping the skin of your hips tightly, mouth dropping open while he pants at the way you pulse around his cock, leaving it coated in your slick. His hand slides down to your ass, a gentle touch being your only warning before he’s pulling his hand back and delivering a swift slap to your skin. Your reaction is immediate, an unrestrained moan sounding like music to his ears. The sharp sting spreads directly to your core, your head bowing forward as you mentally beg him for more, your wish being granted seconds later when he repeats it on the other side.

If the wet sounds of his cock fucking you weren’t filthy enough, the added slap of his palm across your ass definitely topped it off. Jungkook had never seen you so needy, thighs coated in your arousal, gushing around him each time he spanked you until you were creaming his cock. The greedy way your walls suck him in, wanting him closer, deeper than ever, left him mesmerized.

His hand soothes the dull throb on your skin, a trembling breath reaching his ears as he leans over your back, lips kissing up your spine up until reaching your shoulder. Hot pants of breath hit your skin, making you shiver as his lips trail along the edge of your ear. “Feel good?”

“Y-yes,” you mewl, voice trembling from the pleasure, rutting your hips in time with his.

Jungkook’s way of love was a breath of fresh air for you, rough enough to exhilarate you, the force of his hips leaving you scrambling for purchase to prevent you from face planting onto the sheets, gripping onto your hair and tugging it back with enough force to make your body tingle. But it was intertwined with adoration, sweet praise whispered into your ear, lacing his fingers with yours to let you feel secure.

“You’re never getting rid of me baby,” he groans out. The low rasp in his voice makes you tremble, neck straining from his grip in your hair but the burn feels too good to pull away. His small confession has your heart skipping, eyes slipping shut to bask in the overwhelming feeling surrounding you.

“Good,” you manage to pant, “would never dream of it.” After four years of friendship, the beginning stages of getting to know each other, figuring out the right ways to flow with your different personalities, it's all out of the way now, so it’s incredibly easy for you to picture a steady future with him. The breakfast gossiping, shameless club outings, chaotic game nights with snacks thrown at each other, you want everything you already have with him and more. What you have, so rooted in sincerity, built off mutual respect for each other, blossoming into love so pure, you can’t imagine having this with anyone else.

“Y/N,” he gasps, the pulsing of your walls bringing him closer to his climax. “I’m close.”

You can only hum in agreement, burying your face into your pillow when he releases the grip he has in your hair, nipples rubbing against the sheets in time with his thrusts, the sensitivity sending sparks throughout you. Both his hands grip your hips again, dimpling the skin as he quickens his pace, the tantalizing roll of his hips intent to send you over before him. His eyes trail over the curve of your back, how you arch it further to feel more of him, sliding down to your ass, seeing the way it bounces back with each snap of his hips, how you weakly rut back onto him, pussy clamping around his length as your orgasm approached.

Jungkook slides his hand around you, trailing across your tummy before slipping between your thighs to the spot you needed him most. Even with your face buried in the sheets, the moan you let out is loud enough for Jungkook to hear perfectly, body shuddering as he flicks across your clit in tight circles.

“Kook, I’m cumming—fuck,” you shout out, white heat enveloping your body as you get sent over the edge. Your mind blanks for a minute, the intensity of your orgasm crashing over you so suddenly, making your limbs tense up while every nerve ending lights up. The only thing you can think of is him, chanting out your name while you pulse around him, sweet words coaxing you through your high, thumb rubbing along the skin of your hips as he never slows his pace.

As he fucks you through it, groaning out at how tight your walls are around him, you have to turn your head to gasp in a breath, face feeling hot from it all. You can feel how sweaty your skin has become, the back of your neck feeling sticky as your turn to get a glimpse of him, body still shuddering from the aftershocks.

Jungkook doesn’t have a care for his own volume now, moaning unabashedly as he pistons his hips into you with less grace than before. The soft mewls of overstimulation you let out just bring him closer to his release, thrusts getting sloppier as the pleasure takes over him.

“Fuck, baby-” he grunts out, mouth dropping open as he moans even louder, finally falling apart. He pushes further into you, head falling forward as his hips press flushed against your ass, warm spurts of his cum filling you up in a way that fulfills your dirtiest fantasies. A few more shallow thrusts has the two of you gasping, hearts pounding in your chests, coming down slowly as he finally stills.

A serene silence falls over you, the movie long turned off in the background, only the low glow of the television letting you know it was still on. With great hesitation, Jungkook finally pulls out of you, gulping when he sees the thick globs of cum spill from your core, dripping down your thighs before landing on the sheets in a sinful mess. Your sheets are well and truly ruined, Jungkook would honestly suggest tossing them in the trash judging by the damp spot directly beneath you.

With a small groan, you’re flopping fully onto your stomach, thighs no longer able to keep yourself up, the exhaustion creeping up on you. Jungkook chuckles when he hears you, soothing your back with a gentle massage. “You’re not sleeping in here babe.”

“Why not,” you slur, cheek pressed against your pillow, eyes already shut. All you wanted to do was lay here, preferably with his arms wrapped around you, but Jungkook clearly has other plans.

“Because it’s disgusting,” he laughs, giving you a few more seconds of rest before he’s moving around. The dip in the bed lets you know he’s gotten off, one eye peeking open to search for him, seeing him gathering his belongings from the floor.

“Where are you going?”

He shimmies back into his clothes with a grimace, gathering your own items before approaching you once more. “We are going next door and sleeping in my totally clean bed, c’mon.”

You only put up a fight for a second, secretly enjoying the way he helps you get dressed in your earlier clothes, heart swelling in your chest at how domestic it all feels. The mess in your room would have to be dealt with another day, the only important item being the ice cream that finds its way back into the freezer as you both head out of your apartment and swiftly enter his next door.

He’s just as delicate and careful in the shower, taking turns cleaning each other, large hands gripping your ass and giggling like a child when you wince at the small throb of pain you feel. Soft kisses are shared under the showerhead, warm water soothing your body as the room fogs up, sweet confessions scribbled on the glass in his messy writing, topped off with a heart. Jungkook stops you before you can wipe it away, shyly telling you that he’d like to see it reappear the next time he showers.

His bedroom was one you weren’t too familiar with, used to lounging in his living room the most, so as he settles into his bed after getting cozy in his pajamas, you wait for him to call you over before joining him. The coolness of his sheets has you sighing, snuggling into his side with a smile on your lips, one that Jungkook sees as he stares down at you before pressing a kiss to your forehead. Seeing you draped in his clothes, cuddled up beside him in a way you’ve never done before, makes him feel like a giddy teenager.

“Can I be honest?” he wonders, arm wrapping around you to pull you even closer to him. When you hum in confirmation, he laughs sheepishly. “I thought you were going to friendship dump me today.”

“What, why?”

Your head bobs up as he shrugs his shoulders. “The way you were acting reminded me of the last time you told me you wanted to focus on your relationship. I was just scared I was going to lose you again.”

The tone he uses makes your heart ache, the same guilt you felt these past few days coming back when you put yourself in his shoes. You had no idea that the way you were acting would affect him this way, never once imagining that he thought you would cut off this friendship while you were just coming to terms with the fact that you harbored strong feelings for him.

“Jungkook, I’m sorry,” you sigh, palm resting on his chest, feeling each beat of his heart, no longer racing like before, confident and steady in it’s pace because he knows you’re not going anywhere. “I’m stupid, and freaked out after what I did, and just needed to gather my thoughts before saying anything.”

He cranes his head away from you, a confused look on his face. “After what you did? What did you do?”

Fuck.

“Uhm,” you start with a strained laugh, refusing to look up at him out of embarrassment, but the truth has to come out so you power through it. “So, the night of the date, I sort of got home earlier than I told you I did.”

His eyes narrow at you, refusing to give anything away before he knew where this was going. “Okay, go on.”

“And I sort of heard you through the walls.” You look up at him now, your guilty stare spelling it out for him. His eyes widen before he can conceal his surprise, cheeks warming up instantly because oh boy, he knew exactly where this was going. “And then, I sort of...joined.”

“You lied to me!” he shouts, shocked smile on his face as he recalls the way you had replied to his texts, telling him you had just gotten home and going the extra mile to say you were in a totally different room when in reality, you were sprawled out in your bed after just getting off to the sound of him.

Filthy. And also kind of hot. Jungkook was definitely into that, something he’ll totally proposition you into doing again because why not.

“I know! I couldn’t help it, it was so hot, and I felt so guilty. But, you’re technically the reason why my orgasm gave me my epiphany and let me realize I really do like you. So, I think I did us both a favor by being a dirty liar.” He’s laughing instantly, fingers gripping your cheeks to turn your head up, planting a firm kiss onto your lips obnoxiously.

“Alright, you’re forgiven. Plus, consider us even because I have definitely heard you getting off on your own plenty of times too.” A squeal of surprise fills the air as you swat at his chest, burying your face into his shirt and feeling the rumble of his laughter. It really wasn’t ever intentional. The walls are thin, you weren’t exactly quiet, and he couldn’t just lay there and ignore it. So call him an opportunist, or a pervert, because you were one too.

Jungkook is cheeky though, knowing how to get under your skin in the best way, and you can already tell you’re in for a ride when he gets close to your ear and whispers, “You wanna show me how you did it?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you snort, peering up at him with mischief in your eyes.

“You did say I could torture you later.” He smiles innocently, fingers pinching your chin as he kisses you again. “It’s later.”

The sweet laughter that escapes you makes his heart skip a beat, still not able to come to terms that this was happening and wasn’t some dream of his that he’d wake up from. He kisses the tops of your cheeks first, then your nose, before reaching your lips, his hand gently caressing your skin. Jungkook had no intention of torturing you tonight, knowing how tired you typically were after work on a normal day, and after drawing two orgasms out of you that left you shaking, he knows how close you are to sleep with the way your eyes droop.

“Aren’t you glad you didn’t give up on crushes and love?” he mumbles against your lips, inching back to stare down at you.

“I’m glad I stopped looking for it in the wrong places.” Your hands wrap around his neck, toying with his hair before pulling him back to you, reattaching your lips because you just couldn’t seem to get enough of him.

Every single moment you shared, from moving in and awkwardly trying to get to know each other, the ups and downs of failed relationships, the push that started it all at the club, and every almost moment in between brought you full circle to right now. There probably won’t be a moment where you don’t wish you had done this sooner, worked past your worry of ruining a good friendship in fear of what could happen, but the past helped mold you into who you are, strengthening your relationship to be the way it is now.

Right now had you thinking of the future, and there was nothing more exciting than that.

#jungkook smut #heartsforbts #btswritingcafe #btsghostie #bangtansorciere #bangtaninn #btscreatorscorner #jeongguk smut #jeon jungkook #bts smut #jungkook fluff #new

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lazysimp · 3 years

Text

Innocence /// Virgin!Tamaki x Top!Male Reader (18+)

Click Here to read bottom!male reader

Click Here to read Fem reader

Request: Hello! Can I request a Top male reader* x Tamaki. It's his first time and he's very shy and reader takes advantage of it.

A/N: Of course anon, I love the idea of corrupting a sweet innocent Tamaki

Tags/Warnings: 18+ MDNI explicit sexual content, virgin!Tamaki, dominate reader, submissive Tamaki, mild somnophilia/dubcon, tentacles, handjob, He/Him pronouns

Word count: 4k

masterlist┃AO3

Patience had never been a virtue of yours, so when a soft timid Tamaki beat around the bush asking you out on your first date you took the first step. And when he could not find the words to ask for a second you gladly volunteered them. Instead of growing annoyed or feeling emasculated your sweet boyfriend looked at you with gratitude every time you guided the relationship.

So, when it was finally time to take your relationship with him to the next level it was no surprise that you were the one to push it there. In the dimness of your shared bedroom, you laid still in bed listening to his breathing. During the day he would never let you stare at him like this, he would grow too flustered and hide his face.

You wish more than anything he could see himself how you see him. How he is the strongest person you know, choosing to push beyond his limits every day to save those around him, uncaring if it left him in a panic after. You had to bite your tongue every time he came home from work covered in blood and dirt. In your mind you know he can handle himself, but the idea that someone can look at Tamaki and still choose to hurt him baffled you.

You raise your hand to his face and brush your knuckle across his cheek. You wanted to be with him in every way, but you were so unsure he was ready. You know if you asked, he would say yes, he would never deny you. But he has never shown any sign that he wanted to take that next step.

So when a deep groan left his soft pink lips your ears perked up. Normally the only sounds he made while he slept were a few soft huffs as he shifted around. You sit up in bed, now watching his face intensely. Maybe your mind made up the sound, desperate for an excuse to jump on him. But to your delight, his mouth opened, and a single word left his lips, "Please."

This had to be too good to be true. Was your boyfriend having a sex dream? You needed to investigate. Carefully lifting the covers, you look down his slender body unit your eyes landed on his pants. You rub your eyes to clear them and make sure you were seeing things right and you were. A large bulge pushed the seam of his pants up, his erection barely contained in his underwear.

Instantly you felt heat flare-up in between your legs. You look up at his face and grow even hotter, his cheeks were dusted pink, and the tips of his pointed ears were bright red. His lips were slightly parted letting you catch a glimpse of his teeth as he let out another low groan, this one even more desperate than the last.

Without thinking you trail your hands down his chest, tracing the soft muscles until you landed on the elastic of his pants. You could feel the warmth he emitted and moved in closer until you lie parallel to him. The soft purple hair of his happy trial teased the tip of your fingers as you ever so carefully slip your hand under his pants.

You watch his face for any distress, but he held the same expression. Growing bolder you inch your hand further down until your fingers brushed against the head of his cock. You have to stop for a second, already overwhelmed at how far you have gone.

He was so warm and soft, his sweet olive smell filling your nose. You needed him so bad, needed to be close with him, touch him, love him. So you take a deep breath and wrap your hand around the head of his cock. You could feel his hot length pulse in your hand, just begging for your touch.

Needing to touch him more you place your lips by his delicate ears and whisper, "Tamaki, baby, wake up for me."

The man under you tensed and ever so slowly his eyes lazily opened, "Huh?"

You can't help but laugh at his dazed expression, he looked like a newborn fawn. "Baby, can you look down for me?"

His bright purple eyes looked at you with confusion but did what you told. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion before his gaze snapped to meet yours. "What?" he asks his eyes wide, "What are you doing?"

You keep your face neutral, not wanting to give away too much, "I could hear you begging in your sleep." You purr, "And when I looked down, I could not help but notice the tent in your pants."

His face grows impossibly redder, and he looks anywhere but your face. Not liking that you gently acquiesce your hand around his cock until his eyes snapped back to you.

"What were you dreaming about Tamaki?"

"N-nothing?"

You tsk your tongue, "That's not true, is it?" You lift the hand is his pants up, revealing his hard cock for both of you to see. You could hear his breath hitch as he was finally able to see what your hand was doing.

"Now why don't you tell me what you were really dreaming about?"

You could see his mouth open and close as he tried to form words. His purple eyes started to grow wide and wild. Needing to stop that train of thought you decided to try something else.

"How about I try to guess what your dream was about?"

His breathing slowed and he tiled his head, "What do you mean?"

"We will play a game of hot and cold. If I am doing something you saw in your dream you say hot and if I do something that was not in your dream you say cold."

He looks to the ceiling, "I've never played that game."

You softly smile, "That's ok, we can try it out and if you don't like it, I will stop."

"A-alright," he tightly swallows, "Let's try it."

You let out a squeak of joy and peck him on the cheek, "I am so proud of you!"

He gives you a wobbly smile, but you could see his eyes starting to dilate. He was getting excited.

You look down at your hand and take a deep breath. You know he has never done anything like this, so you had to make this perfect for him. Wrapping your hand around his cock, you gently slid it down until it rests on the base.

The soft hair surrounding his base ticked the back of your hand as you let it rest there for a second waiting to see what he says.

"Cold," he mumbled weakly.

You give him a rewarding squeeze and began to pump your hand, admiring how his foreskin traveled up to cover his glands. Everything about Tamaki was perfect and his cock was no exception. It was long, almost double the size of your hand. Instead of being perfectly straight, it bent off a little to the side. You could not wait to take advantage of that.

"Warmer," he said a little stronger.

"Good boy," you praise, starting to pump your hand a little faster.

A shiver traveled through his body at your words. You made a mental note to praise him more. As you gently pump your hand on his cock another idea popped into your mind. You slip his underwear down with your free hand giving you room to dip your hand lower until it settles on the tight skin in between his balls and hole.

You watch his face for any signs of distress as you gently press one finger at his entrance. You could feel him tense for a second but as you continued to stroke his cock his hole relaxed enough to allow one finger to slip inside.

"Bunny," he cried, "Warm."

You hum your approval, sinking your finger even deeper inside his tight hole while you pumped your hand, once, twice, three strokes. His hips started to lift in time with your hand, creating even more delicious friction.

"So good Bunny, don't stop!"

You press another finger inside him, giving him a few seconds to adjust before you spread open your finger, scissoring the digits. His hands desperately grip the sheets beside you, trying to find purchase as you stretch him open.

“Please Bunny I need,” he begged, unsure what he really needed. Needy cries filled your ears as you started to stroke him at a punishing pace, already feeling his cock pulse in your hand.

"Hot, hot, Bunny it's so hot." He cries, his hips rising to meet your hand. You deepen the thrusts of your fingers, pushing them up until you found a soft spongy spot inside him. His hips lurch up and a sob leaves his lips as you press on that spot inside him, keeping your hand moving on his dick.

You force yourself to keep steadily pumping, knowing the consistent pressure is what he needed to finally tip over the edge. And you were right, with his hands white knuckling the sheets he came with a silent cry, his face contorted in pleasure.

You watched mesmerized as he releases all over your hand and his stomach. You ease your grip on his cock, not wanting to overstimulate him too much, and instead weakly kept your wrist moving, letting him ride out his high. His chest rapidly fell up and down as he tried to catch his breath.

You carefully pull your fingers out of his ass, watching carefully for any signs of discomfort. As he came back to reality, he looks down at you with a wobbly gaze, “I’m sorry.”

Your hand flies up to cradle his cheek, “What are you sorry for baby?”

He looked down at the mess on his stomach, “I came too early, I messed the game up.”

You take a second to try and find the right words and finally settle with, “We are just having fun Tamaki, there is no winning or losing.”

His hands lift to cover his face, “But I finished so fast, it’s humiliating.”

“Hey,” you coo, “It’s just me and I thought you cumming so quickly was hot.”

His hands lowered slightly so his eyes could look at you skeptically.

You laugh, “I am serious, the way you could not control yourself and cried out will be the fuel of my late-night fun for weeks.”

His hands fell from his face and the look in his eyes changed completely, “You think about me when you touch yourself?”

"Yeah baby. You are all I can think about when I touch myself. I think about how your cute little ears twitch when you are embarrassed, I think about how good you look in your hero uniform, and I especially think about the look on your face as you take down a villain. But do you want to know what gets me off every time?"

He nods eagerly, the embarrassment of finishing quickly long forgotten. You crook your finger at him urging him to lean in closer. When his pointy ear was inches from your mouth you whisper, "I think about how you would use your quirk to fill me up until you are the only thing I can feel."

He shoots back and looks at you with a mix of curiosity and horror, "You don't mean. . ."

You nod, "Yeah baby that is exactly what I mean."

His entire face grows bright red, "B-but that is so, so dirty."

"That is why it's so hot."

"What do you say we continue our little game but it will be my turn to say hot or cold?"

"Y-you want me to touch you like that?" He whispered the last word.

"Yeah baby, I want you to touch me like that."

He bites his bottom lip, "What if I mess it up or hurt you?"

"You have nothing to worry about baby, I will be in charge the entire time."

The worry on his face eased a little at your words but you could see he was still fiddling with his fingers.

"Why don't we start off slow?" You suggest, rubbing your hand along his bicep.

"You can put your hands anywhere on me and I will say hot the closer you get to where I want your hand to be."

"What if I touch you somewhere you don't want to be touched?"

"Impossible," you mumble, "There is nowhere I don't want your hands to be."

A high whine left his lips, the sound sending heat flashing through you. Oh, you wanted to ruin him, and you were pretty sure he would let you.

Not wasting any more time you wrap your hand around his wrist and lift it towards your chest, letting him get a feel for your skin. His breathing increased and his eyes grew wide as you dragged his hand up your chest until it rested near your collarbone.

"I am going to drop my hand, remember I will let you know where to touch me, all you have to do is follow my cues.

He nods, barely breathing as you drop your hand from his, leaving him free to explore. He takes a few seconds to compose himself, staring at his hand touching you. His soft cock was already filling again, ready to stand to attention as he carefully dragged his hand down the side of your arm. He looks to you for instructions.

"Cold," you mumble as his hands drift off to your hands. He nods, his fingertips sliding up your arms. Involuntary you could feel goosebumps follow the trail of his fingers. If he ever figured out how much power he held over you, you would be doomed.

His fingers trail up until his hand settles around your neck. "Warm," you groan pushing yourself closer into his hand.

With his first hand occupied his second slips under your shirt, sliding up the soft material until he revealed your chest to his view. You could hear his breathing stop completely as his gaze locked onto your soft peaks.

"Breath Tamaki," you order, "In and out, that's it." You watch his chest rise and fall slowly as if it took intense concentration to remember to breathe.

When his breathing grew steadier his hand reached out and slid up your stomach. "Warmer," you reach out to bunch the blankets in your hands, needing something to keep your hands busy.

His brows furrowed as his long cold finger circled around your areola, watching in amazement as your nipple bunched into a tight peak. "Warmer," you say, needing him to deepen his touch.

Thankfully he seemed to understand what you wanted as his fingers pinched the bud and rolled it. You could not stop the whine from leaving your throat as he flicked his finger against your nipple.

Growing bolder from your reaction Tamaki dipped his head until his mouth was only a breath away from your nipple. Again, his bright purple eyes look up at you for approval.

"Hot baby," you bring your hands to thread through his hair as his lips wrap around the swollen peak, sucking it into his wanting mouth. His cheeks hallow as he takes long drags, his tongue lashing the tender bud resting in his mouth.

Small mewls of approval leave your lips as the hand on your nipple pinches and pulls, a stark contrast from the soft teasing of his mouth. The difference in touch left you reeling, if you thought you were hard before, you were fucking steel now.

"Tamaki," you push his head in closer, wanting more, god you wanted so much more. He strengthens the suck on your nipple until you were sure he was going to leave a mark.

The hand on your nipple leaves and started to trail down the softness of your abdomen, caressing the skin. "Warmer," you moan, hoping they would go where you wanted. And he did, his fingers lift the elastic of your underwear and his palm resting on your length, waiting to be told what to do.

You reach over to the side of the bed and pull out a bottle of lube you had hidden away. You quickly squeeze a generous glob of the liquid onto the head of your cock, watching as it dripped down to Tamaki’s hand." It will make it easier later on,” you explain as he stares at the viscous liquid.

“Oh, ok,” he agrees, unsure what you meant but too excited to care.

One finger slides down your length, tracing a vein before he wrapped his hand around you. You both let out a groan of want as his hand slowly moves up.

The palm of his hand wet itself with your precum, making it easy for his hand to slid down the length of your cock before settling as your base. His other hand raised up to your mouth, you give it an inquisitive look but open your mouth anyways, allowing his dainty fingers to come inside. You swirl your tongue around the digits, wetting them with your spit before letting him pull away.

As his finger dips down toward your entrance you mumble, "Warmer."

He lets out a low groan, sucking harder on your nipple as his finger moves down until it settles on the outside of your hole. In the quiet of your room, you could hear the lewd sounds of his fingers breaching your entrance.

You let out a hiss, surprised he had forced you to take two fingers so quickly but the burn felt so good you let it slide. The fingers inside you twist down and press, you had a rough idea what he was trying to do. “Cold Tamaki.”

The fingers inside you twist around again, blinding looking for your sweet spot. After a few misses attempts you could feel him grow more agitated, his teeth now nibble on the tender bud of your nipple. "Patience baby, move your finger up, just like that, a little to the side- there!"

Your hips lurch up into his hand as his finger finally brushes across your prostate. Your hands in his hair tighten to a bruising hold but he didn't seem to mind, in fact, your reaction drove him even further.

His soft fingers hone in on the spongy tissue, rubbing it gently, a little too gently.

"Harder Tamaki, touch me a little harder."

And the good boy did as he was told. His middle finger pressed down with force, his fingers making a firm coaxing motion. You were feral, having him touch you like this was better than any fantasy your mind had made up to help you get off. There was no comparison to having the real thing.

While his mouth distracted you, the fingers in your ass grow longer and softer. You look down in confusion unsure what was going on only to see purple tentacles now fill you instead of his fingers. One large tentacle wrapped itself around the length of your cock, with one large sucker latching onto the tip of your cock, sucking on it like a mouth.

Your head falls back, too overwhelmed to watch anymore. You could already feel the tight grip you had on your control slipping away. Following the cues of your body, Tamaki used another tentacle to tease around your entrance. It circled around the tight hole, wetting itself in your pre-cum before carefully pushing inside along with the rest, stretching you impossibly wider.

He releases your nipple to watch his tentacles sink deeper inside you. The tightness of you around him would fuel his fantasy for years to come. He had always felt deeply for you but doing something like this with you made everything click into place. There was no one else in the world he would ever want to share this with and being with you for his first time was something he would never forget.

He made sure to move his tentacles up inside you, remembering something Mirio had told him a year earlier about how men’s g-spot is on their ass. It seemed his best friend was right. You bucked wildly into his hand, he could tell you were fighting to keep control of your movements, but he wanted to see you lose control, he wanted to see his Bunny become wild.

So when the sucker around your cock strengthened its pull you had to reach down and frantically pull it away before it tipped you over the edge. Tamaki instantly stops what he is doing and looks at you with eyes full of worry.

"You made me feel so good baby," you praise, pulling him in for a hug. “Too good, I was going to finish right then and there.”

"You really liked it? What I did with my quirk?" he asked weakly.

"Fuck Tamaki I don't think I will ever be able to get myself off without your help," you look down at him, "Nothing could compare to that."

A bright smile spreads across his face, "I am glad I made you feel that good bunny, but why did you make me stop?”

You look down at his body and smile.

His head tilts and he follows your eyes until it lands in his erection. His breath sputters as he tries to wave it away, “Wait, you don’t mean-“

“I want to cum inside you baby.”

“I, you, you want to- “

“Fuck you. Yeah baby I want to stretch that tight ass around my cock and fuck you until you can’t speak.”

His mouth opens but no sounds come out, for a second you worry you have finally pushed him too far but suddenly he snaps back into focus. “Yeah, bunny, I want to d-do that too.”

You give him a relieved smile and get to work. You quickly take off your underwear and have him swing his leg over your lap, positioning him to hover over your waist. You reach down and grab ahold of your throbbing cock still slick from earlier, lining it up with his hole.

With you already being prepared all you had to do was push down on his hips, urging him to sink lower, slowing impaling him with your length. You could feel the tightness of his hole as it resisted your entrance at first, not letting you move forward.

Soft mewls left his lips as he tried to relax and let you in but he could not do it on his own, “Shh baby, it is ok,” you coo, trying to get him to relax.

“I don’t think it is going to fit,” he whines, starting to lift himself up.

“It will work,” you mumble, and pull him in for a kiss. You explore his mouth with your tounge, distracting him until you could feel his hole begin to soften. Not wasting time you thrust your hips up, finally popping past the tight ring of muscle guarding his entrance.

A loud cry rips from his throat as you sink into his heat further, the head of your cock now settled inside him.

You force yourself to look up and meet his eyes and it was beautiful. He was an absolute wreck, already gasping for air and you were not even halfway in. His pupils were blown out, eyes barely focusing until you grab his hair and force him to look down.

“Watch baby,” you coo, “Watch me take you like this. No one but me will ever get to see you like this but me.”

He whimpers but complies, watching you sink in the last few inches. You lean forward and press your lips to his one again, wanting to be surrounded by him. Needing his taste on your tongue. At the same time, you start to lift your hips, admiring the feel of him slipping down onto your cock.

With each rotation of your hip, a new whine filled your mouth as he tried to stay in control. You broke the kiss and ordered, “Put your hands on my shoulders.”

He complied, his fingers digging into your skin and helping to increase the power of each thrust.

“Y-you are so perfect,” Tamaki panted as you rocked your hips forward in time with his. “I never want to be without you.”

“My baby,” you groan, “You are a natural, feel so good around me.”

His breath hitches, you could feel him growing closer, the hands on your shoulders weakening and the trusts becoming more desperate. Wanting to cum together you reach down and grab ahold of his pulsing cock.

“That’s it Tamaki,” you groan, “I want you to cum on my cock.”

Without needing to be told twice his hand came to life spurting three tentacles. The smaller two spread dipped low, gently cradling the weight of your balls with the third latched onto his cock, joining your hand to stroke himself with its slippery ribbed texture.

“Oh fuck,” you cry, your head falling forward to rest in the crook of his neck. You could feel his hole tightening around you, spasming as he grew closer, “Just like that Tamaki, please keep going just like that.”

And as always, he did as he was told. He lifted his hips, riding your cock at the same speed, driving you higher and higher, the tentacles on your balls gently squeezed mercilessly milking the pleasure from your body.

“Ah, god Tamaki, just like that,” you babble, unsure if the words were even able to be understood.

You could feel yourself slipping further away and needed to do something before you embarrassed yourself. You shifted up your hips, changing the angle of your thrusts. The next time your cock plunged inside of him, your length brushes against his prostate.

A beautiful look of shock crossed his face, there was no time to prepare himself before an explosion of pleasure suddenly blasted through him. He could not even cry out as he was swallowed whole by his release.

He convulsed in your arms, his mouth opens in a silent scream as his ass clenched around you, sending you spiraling too. In the middle of your haze, you could make out his hole clenching your cock as you fill him to the brim with your cum. His tentacle still toying with your taunt balls.

No longer able to support himself Tamaki collapses onto your chest, relying on you to stay upright. You wrap your arms around his wairs, pulling him in closer to your chest. He rests his cheek on your pec and you could hear his broken breath as he slowly recovers.

“Wow bunny,” Tamaki says breathlessly, “That was amazing!”

You kiss his sweaty neck weakly, “Yeah baby it was.” You look down to where your bodies were still joined and could already make out some of your cum starting to seep out of him.

“Bunny, I don’t think I can move.”

You laugh, “Oh good, because I don’t think I can either.”

He slouches down even more, “I think I will just lay here for a little bit; you feel so warm.”

You tighten your arm around his waist, holding him close, “Sounds good to me.”

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