#wc: 4k

[kflixnet]

Check out our member Moon's oneshot!!

obsessed

pairing: dancer!lee minho x videographer!gn!reader

summary: minho was the most perfect guy you had the privilege of encountering—and working with. without even trying—or meaning to—, he got you wrapped around his fingers

genres: fluff, angst, strangers to lovers to exes!au, colleagues!au, first person pov!!

wc: 4,4k

tw: obsession, toxic relationship, swearing (in lyrics only, who would've thought), violence, injuries, mention of blood

notes: heyyy! this fic is part of my collection of fics! indented are the lyrics, banner made by me on canva. andddd i'd appreaciate it greatly if you could tell me what you thought about it!! happy reading!

listen to the song for a more immersive experience: spotify link | youtube link

networks: @kflixnet @k-labels @kwritersworld @whipped-kpop-creators @straykidsland

permanent tag list: @soobin-chois @exfolitae @linos-catnip @prettymiye0n (tell me if you want to be added/removed)

stray kids tag list: @raethethey

Lee Minho (1998).

Have you seen this man?

Perfect skin, heart face shape, a sharp nose, wide cheekbones, cat-like eyes, long eyelashes and pretty, pouty lips.

The moment I laid eyes on him, I knew it was over. He was just so attractive, always walking like he owned the place, and, without realizing it, I became infatuated with him.

I was a newbie videographer in this dancing company called Twinkle Toes. Yes, I did apply there because of its name, being an ATLA fan and all. Anyway, Minho was the best dancer they had.

The obsession started when I first saw him dance. His technique and control were perfect, I could clearly see why he was a professional dancer. All the fluid and effortlessly looking movements he made gave me goosebumps every time I was behind the camera. Or anywhere inside the room, really.

I approached him first. Complimented him on his dancing, which seemed to please him. I kept being supportive and throwing seductive glances his way every now and then. I became hungry for his attention.

Oh, my Lord, never met someone like you before Think I'm kinda going overboard Now I'm obsessed, how can somebody be so perfect? Boy, you really got me by the neck Whatever you want, you just gotta ask

I made no secret of my admiration. Soon, everybody knew but I couldn’t care less.

“You’re so strong, Minho,” I mused from behind the camera. “Thanks to your efforts, the video will come out perfectly.”

He failed to suppress a smile, yet dismissed the compliment with a vague movement of his hand. “It’s a team effort.”

Of course, I knew that. Yeah. The fourteen other dancers were good, but none of them were in the same league as Minho. He was above everyone in this company.

I was usually right.

After filming ended, I took my stuff—camera, tripod, laptop—and walked towards my designated studio where I could work on editing. I wasn’t totally installed when someone knocked on the door. It was so faint I thought I’d dreamed it, until they knocked again.

I opened the door, revealing a shy looking Minho, who didn’t seem to be able to meet my eyes. I found it adorable.

“Yes?”

“Uh, I… Can I come in?”

Now, why would he even want to come inside? Was my flirting so powerful that he already wanted to spend more time with me? I wasn’t one to complain about that.

“Sure,” I said, taking a step back and closing the door behind him.

“So that’s what your studio looks like,” he commented, looking around.

It was a small room with a large desk filled with everything I needed to do my job. The stuff I had with me in the danceroom plus a computer, lenses, microphones, cables, memory cards… Everything was perfectly organized. Bigger equipment—camera bags, studio light, reflectors, tripods—were tidied next to the desk. A gaming chair was in front of it, and on the other side was a two-seater sofa.

“Do you mind if I stay with you while you work?”

I smiled internally. It was so easy.

“No, of course. Are you done for the day?”

“Yeah, finally. Thanks.”

“What for?”

“For letting me stay with you.”

SCREAMING. PUNCHING THE WALL. I could’ve smacked his arm right now for saying this so casually. Sure enough, I didn’t. Instead, I motioned for him to sit on the sofa while I placed my laptop on the desk before opening it.

I could tell I was professional with how well I handled the situation I was in. I kept my desire to turn around and stare at him buried inside me as I edited the video. I had a week to finalize it for an upcoming dancing contest. I was determined to show the dancers’ best side through the video. I also tried not to show Minho too much, even though he was around 20% more present than the rest. It wasn’t my fault the videos he was in were better.

Oh, well. It was common knowledge he was our best hope at winning.

It was getting late, and I was feeling hungry. I saved my progress, switched off the computers and turned around. I’d imagined Minho to be fast asleep, as my job could be found boring from the outside. To my surprise, he was looking straight at me.

“Are you OK?” I asked, conscious he had been waiting for a long time.

See, I checked the time before closing my laptop. I had been working for a bit more than two hours.

He nodded. “Are you, though? Don’t you feel sore?”

Now that he mentioned it, I couldn’t feel my butt anymore. A common occurrence in this field. I got up, stretched arms, back, legs and unintentionally yawned.

“Do you want to get dinner?”

He seemed nervous all of a sudden. Ah, if I could make him mine right now…

“Only if you pay.”

“Deal.”

Ten minutes later, we were walking side-by-side toward a little restaurant owned by a strict-looking yet lovely grandma near our workplace. We’d eaten there before, with our coworkers.

As a typical small-business Korean restaurant, the room was approximately ten times bigger than my studio. Twelve four-seater tables were placed around the room at a relatively safe distance from each other. On every one of them were a wooden cutlery holder for four, and a matching little box full of thin napkins. The walnut-colored counter was on the far end of the room, and the hole that was supposed to be a door behind it led to the kitchen. The only thing giving a bit of privacy to the cook were white lace curtains attached to each side of the… door-shaped hole. On the left side of the room, a TV screen and posters—with pictures—of the menu were displayed on the wall. While on the right side, as well as a bathroom door, were decorations and an ‘appreciation wall’ with a lot of little notes and doodles from customers.

I wanted to sit next to it. If we ran out of things to say, we could always talk about that.

Grandma greeted us with a smile when she saw us, showing us to a table on the opposite side. “Hello grandma, can we actually sit at that one? It’s easier to watch TV there.”

Of course, I had no intention to watch TV, but no one needed to know that.

“Sure, my child, go sit. I’ll be right there.”

Thanking her, we sat right next to the rating wall.

There was one other customer closest to the counter. A regular, by the looks of it. Grandma went to the kitchen and came back with a steaming dish. She delicately put it down in front of the man before providing us with the menus. He thanked her and resumed his reading of a journal. Which I couldn’t identify because I don’t read journals.

Minho and I looked at the menu like we had no idea what to order. While I already knew what his favorite dish was, I opted for something I hadn’t tried before. You see, I like to try everything on the menu. It was a habit in restaurants I often went to. Of course, if it were to be a one-time restaurant, I would order the food that makes me salivate the most. Minho preferred savory foods. The tastier, the better.

He rapidly scanned the plastified paper on the table before looking up at me. “I’ve chosen. You?”

I straightened up, flashing my signature grin, and nodded once. “Same. Any drinks?”

“Soju?”

“Sure.”

Three young people entered the place. Grandma placed them on the left side of the room and came to us. “What would you like, my children?”

“Bulgogi bibimbap for me, please.”

“Jajangmyeon and a bottle of soju, please,” Minho ordered, taking the menu from me and giving them both back to grandma with a sweet smile.

She smiled like a lovely grandma would—contently with a hint of nostalgia.

We never got to speak about the appreciation wall nor did I once glanced at the TV, because we talked a lot and there were few moments of silence.

After that dinner, we spent a lot of time together outside the company. I believed he enjoyed my presence as much as I savored his. We flirted, went on dates every now and then, and recently started dating.

Then, around two months after our first day together, a new, talented dancer entered the company. Her body had beautiful curves. She had long, black silky hair, and toned abs. It didn’t help that she was gorgeous, social, and easygoing.

In just a few days, she had befriended the whole building. It felt like she had always been there. To my dismay, even Minho seemed to like her.

“What do you think of Soojin?” I asked as casually as manageable, considering I was eager to get an answer.

“She’s cool.” Minho shrugged, looking up at the blue sky. “And a good dancer. Why do you ask?”

How he could manage to look so ethereal under the sunlight yet give me such a soft glance was beyond my understanding. He got a hold on me, that was for sure.

“I agree, she’s good. You might have to share your spotlight in the next competitions and projects.”

He smirked. “Was about time. It’s been lonely up there.”

I knew he was joking. He never considered himself as above his colleagues. I frowned for another reason. I couldn’t ignore the thought from overwhelming me. Was I not enough for him? Was I just a pastime? I wasn’t a dancer. Was it a dealbreaker for him? 

Minho’s gentle glance became a concerned stare as he stopped in his tracks. “What’s wrong?”

“Do you like me?”

He opened his mouth, but I couldn’t wait for his response.

“Am I good enough? Do you like Soojin more? Do you want to date her? Are you just playing with me?”

Because I would still be wrapped around your finger either way.

“Hey, breathe, babe. I’m here, I’m with you.”

I did as told, and my next words came out as a whisper.

“Are you though?”

“Where is all this coming from? Why would I be interested in Soojin?”

“She’s gorgeous, talented, and a sweetheart. Who wouldn’t like her?”

He smiled softly, taking my hand in his. “Is this your way of telling me you’re interested in her?”

“I’m serious.”

“You have nothing to worry about. I like you.”

I wanted to believe him, but I couldn’t get rid of the voices.

Soojin and Minho were the jewels of the company. Meaning they had way more screen time—which was my job—and training sessions together—which was their job. I had to stand behind my camera for hours while watching them dance together. Helplessly watching their bodies touch and their breaths tangle. The sensual moves made me want to break something.

Jealousy stirred up inside me, and I think it showed, because several colleagues around the room sent me looks of pity and sorry.

I knew it was just the job for Minho, but I couldn’t help it. It was beyond my control. Ever since the choreographers created this dance, I have been vile to Minho. Exposing my jealousy to him in private.

“I’m sorry, sweetie. I hate hurting you. Really. However, I can’t simply stop dancing. It’s my dream life.”

“I’m not asking you to stop doing what you love, I’m asking you to stop doing it with her!” I snapped.

“Doing that will get me fired, you know that. I told you I picture you whenever I’m dancing with her. Is it not enough?”

He was pleading, but I could sense he was tired and frustrated.

“I like you, not Soojin. I need you to understand that.”

“You say that now,” I said in a low voice, “but I see the way she looks at you.” My voice broke, and I looked away.

Minho shook his head. “Please, stop. I’m exhausted. I’m dating you, aren’t I? What more do you need to be satisfied?”

It stinged. The worst part was he didn’t scream. His voice was stern and accusing. No words would leave my lips. He took my silence as a cue to leave the toxic environment I created. I couldn’t blame him for wanting to stay away.

But I could blame someone else.

I tried to film Soojin in her less good angle, but it felt like she was flawless under any angle. It was frustrating, not even being able to compromise her while doing my job.

Minho, being smart and all, realized what I was trying to do while Soojin was doing a solo dance. His eyes were glued to me the whole time. He grabbed me by the arm the minute I finished for the day and brought all my stuff back to my studio. He made me turn around to face him.

“What did you do back there?”

I was hurt by his suspicion, even though he was right. I stood my ground and lied through my teeth. “I didn’t do anything.”

He sighed in exasperation and let go of me. “Look, I won’t say I know you because clearly, as much as I thought I did, I actually don’t. But I know you did something.” His face softened, but his lips stayed pressed in a thin line. “Please, help me understand. Why would you resent Soojin so much you’re willing to risk your job? What do I ignore?”

I was angry. Why would he defend her if nothing was happening between the two?

“Why do you care so much, Minho? Who is she to you?”

He stepped back, blinking a few times. “This again? I don’t recognize you anymore, Y/N. I thought I knew you. Since Soojin joined our crew, you’ve changed. I believe I didn’t give you any reason to be jealous of her, excluding my job. Then again, I know how to separate professional and personal matters. I chose not to where you’re concerned because I liked you. But now, I don’t think I want to do this any longer. It’s draining me, and I lost my will to fight for us.”

Wait. What?

“Are you breaking up with me? Is that it?” I sounded frantic—and I was. All I understood from his tirade was that he was leaving me, probably for her. This bitch. She dared steal my boyfriend.

“All these past weeks fighting made me reconsider our relationship. I’m sorry, Y/N. I like you, but I can’t be with you.”

He silently stared at me for a moment, hurt and determination visible on his face, before turning heels and heading out.

My legs gave out. Minho broke up with me. I had no intention to accept this. It was all this woman’s fault. She had bewitched him, I was sure of it.

When I ran into Minho the next day, he avoided looking me in the eyes. Everybody could see something was wrong. They could even sense it, as the tension was thick in the air.

“Is something wrong?” Soojin asked as she entered the room. She looked around the room and offered me a sweet and innocent smile.

I wanted to lunge at her. It took everything in me to stand still.

“Let’s get started,” the director said as soon as his left foot touched the floor. He clapped his hands, getting everyone’s attention. He stopped at the center of the room. “Today we’re going to film a two-minute promotional video for our project. I count on you, Y/N, to make this video as appealing as all the other ones you made until now.” He winked at me. “Dancers, I expect you to be in good shape. I need you to accentuate your moves.” This time, he winked at Minho and Soojin.

I was close to rip my hair out.

We did as told. While the dancers gave their all in their dancing, I moved around them with my camera to capture their moves from different angles, creating a nice flow. Nowadays, videographers would use a gimbal to provide support and stabilization, but my camescope and feet were all I needed. This type of work called for a more natural flow, which could only be done without any device.

I knew how to be professional, too, but hated every second I spent filming the top dancers sensually touching each other’s bodies, especially from this close. The looks they gave one another, were they really only professional? I wasn’t sure Minho had ever looked at me like he was staring at Soojin at this moment.

I decided to put aside my anger for the sake of my job, and made the best promotional video yet. Not that I would ever admit it, but their chemistry was undeniable and greatly increased the quality of the video.

Slowly, but surely, I watched Minho and Soojin grow closer. I tried multiple times to reconnect with him to prevent the inevitable, but he was unyielding. He wouldn’t let me touch him and refused to be in a room alone with me. I found his reactions a bit over the top and insulting. But, even worse, he seemed to be protective of Soojin, as if he was scared I would hurt her if he let her out of his sight.

I would, but it was still vexing.

If you go and get yourself somebody new I don't know what the hell I'd do But if I found out, I will go and turn up at her house Break a nail and rip her hair right out Huh, and I hope you like that I'm crazy like that

Life went on, Minho still got me by the neck unbeknownst to him, and I was still wary of Soojin. A month had passed and a new project started.

“This time, crew, the theme is love. I want to feel it, alright? Do whatever it takes. I’m not worried though, because I believe in you all.”

The little speech the director gave ended up with a round of applause and a whistle from several of the dancers. The choreographers were sending each other smirks, as if they were waiting for this moment. I, obviously, loathed the idea. I had barely managed to contain myself this past month. That was going to be torture.

I was right.

The first official practice for the dance, a week after the announcement, I was behind the camera. If I thought they were close during the past month, I was mistaken. For the most part, their bodies were colliding with each other in a way that made the young managers embarrassed. My blood boiled. If there weren’t all these people around, I would’ve ripped Soojin’s hair out already.

When the song ended, their faces were mere millimeters from one another. They closed the gap between their mouths. I heard a few gasps from the crowd. My eyes lost focus. The fury building inside me sent a throbbing pain in my head. I left the room in a hurry before I could regret my actions. The last thing I saw in the long mirrors were their lips connected in a heated kiss.

I wanted to throw up. I ran to the restroom and sat on the ground in one of the cabins. I touched my cheeks with the back of my hands to check my temperature and realized I was crying. I couldn’t possibly be sad, could I? I stayed seated for what felt like hours, developing a plan to get revenge on Soojin. I was not going to let her go unscathed after what she had done.

The pain eventually subsided. Rage was all that was left in me. I was determined to make the bitch pay. I checked myself in the mirror, relieved to see there was no trace of me crying, and nodded to myself to give me courage. I came back to the dance room like nothing happened. Everybody stopped moving and watched me walk to my camera.

“Sorry, I had an emergency,” I told no one in particular, shooting an apologetic smile around the room. “Please, continue.”

I changed a few parameters on the camera and the room came back to life.

I was one of the first ones to leave the room. I stored my stuff in their respective places. Minho was waiting for me when I walked out of my studio.

“Y/N, I’m sorry—-It just happened—”

I scoffed. “Whatever.”

I'll do anything for you, boy, anything Yeah, I'll do anything, anything for you Yeah, I'll do crazy shit And I'll get away with it Boy, I'll do anything, anything for you

I raced to my car and waited there until Soojin entered her own car. I watched Minho go to her window and talk to her when she rolled it down. She nodded and smiled at him. Sickening. He went to his own car and I followed Soojin when she exited the parking lot. I stayed at a safe distance, but what if Minho knew what I had in mind and warned her?

I shook my head. It didn’t matter. She drove around fifteen minutes and parked in front of what looked like a family house. Was it her own place or did she come to her parents thinking I wouldn’t dare touch her there?

I smiled conspiratorially. None of them really knew me. I parked right behind her and stormed out of my car. I stopped at her window like Minho had done earlier and waited for her to roll it down. She stared at me with fear in her eyes and gulped.

I put on a fake smile and my sweetest voice. “Come on out, Soojin, don’t be scared.”

She slowly reached for the handle and opened the door.

“Look, I’m sor—”

I grabbed her by the neck and threw her on the asphalt. She grunted and rolled over. I pulled her hair up and ignored her faint struggle, whispering in her ear. “You really thought you could steal my boyfriend from me and get away with it?” I let out a nasty laugh.

She shuddered, tears welling up in her eyes. “You’re not together anymore,” she cried. “I’m sorry for hurting you. I didn’t mean to, I swear.”

“You’re too cute. I guess that’s your advantage.”

I pulled her hair a little higher and balled my other hand into a fist. I moved my arm back to gain momentum, but never got to use it. Minho shouted my name from his car, parked right behind mine. I let go of Soojin and watched him dash towards us.

“What’s happening?”

He kneeled next to her, checking her face and scratched arms. She cried, burying her face in his chest and wrapping her arms around his stomach. I huffed and folded my arms over my chest. The second she calmed down, Minho got up and faced me. He frowned.

“What did you do?” His tone was accusing. It angered me.

“Are you for real? How could you get over me that easily? Was I nothing to you?”

“Y/N,” he warned, pinching his nose bridge. Then he gave me a firm stare. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I never meant to. I just assumed you got over it the way I did.” His voice matched the look on his face.

Got over it? Oh, boy.

“I guess I loved you more than you ever did me.”

His surprised expression made no sense to me. He did not comment on it. Instead, he reached for Soojin’s hand and helped her up. “I’ll get you home,” he said softly.

He used to talk to me like that. Take care of me like that. My blood boiled but I just watched, feeling abandoned, as they walked away from me.

When he returned, a few minutes later, I was waiting, my back pressed against the driver’s side door of my car. “What was that about?” he inquired, stopping around three meters away from me, arms crossed over his chest.

“I’ll do anything for you, Minho. Anything. And I got angry at the way she snatched you from me.”

He stepped back, dropping his arms at his sides. “What do you mean, anything?”

“Literally anything.”

“But, Y/N, we broke up. You don’t have to. Besides, she didn’t snatch me, I fell for her.” My heart hurt. Did he really stop loving me that easily? “I’m sorry. Really, I am. I can’t undone our history, nor can I control my feelings.”

“You would undone our history if you could?” That was what hurt the most, I think. That, right there. He regretted being with me.

“No, but what you did today… I’m not sure I can forgive you. You scared Soojin, you scared me. If I knew you would be like this, I—”

“Don’t finish that sentence, please.”

Minho sighed. “I enjoyed being with you, Y/N, honestly. However, that was too much. I won’t ask you to quit your job, but can you please, leave Soojin and I alone? I feel like a dick asking you, especially since you’ll have to watch us a lot, and I also don’t want to quit this amazing company.”

“I’ll do it,” I breathed. A single tear ran down my face. “I’ll quit. I can’t stand by and watch you both all lovey-dovey. And I don’t want to hurt you. I’m sorry.”

It was my fault. I planted the seed of desire in Minho’s head, and my jealousy nourished it. The plant grew and he fell in love with her. I should've known. He never explicitly told me he loved me.

Minho reached for me and for a second, I was tempted to just let him, but that would've been wrong. I wasn’t sure I could leave if he showed me affection. I turned around and hopped in my car.

“Have a good life,” were my last words to my beautiful ex boyfriend before I took off.

The next day, I gave my resignation letter to my boss, and apologized a ton for leaving so suddenly. I pretended to have an urgent family matter hundreds of kilometers away, and moved out during the week. I wanted to put as much distance between Minho and me as possible to help me forget about him. It wasn’t an easy feat. But I moved into a small apartment in another city, got a job in a dancing company named “Encore Dance” and resumed my life.

There, I met a man so pretty I could cry.

Hwang Hyunjin.

Have you seen this man?

thanks for reading! feedback is always appreciated :) masterlist

[moomeecore]

the idea behind this was 'sol warriorcats but drawn like an animated villain'

[morbidwlws]

so i wrote an essay last semester examining themes of monstrous femininity and mankind’s path toward divinity last semester for my brit lit class if anyone would be interested in reading it <3

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Star-crossed in the Crosshairs (John Price x Reader)

Chapter 4: Every Waking Hour

Fic Summary: This mission is the pinnacle of your efforts for the past three years. Your whole team and yourself have worked countless hours, slaughtered hundreds, risked life and limb for scraps of intel, and now it all boiled down to pairing up with another taskforce to get this job done and dusted. An unexpected spanner in the works comes in the shape of your former best friend, now also a Captain and somehow resurrected from his KIA status, John Price.

You can’t afford to let feelings - old and new - get in the way of your purpose. No matter how much you’ve missed, wished for, loved him, and no matter how much he might feel the same

Content warnings: Usual COD content (violence, torture, death, guns ESPECIALLY in this chapter), mutual pining, back from the dead, friends to allies to lovers, Reader is GN, some use of Rory.

Chapter 3 // Masterlist // AO3 Version // Chapter 5

Transport to the new location was that same van that barely all of you could fit into yet were made to stay in for several hours, across a border and near the next. Shithead was a good enough card game to play for an hour and a half, especially when there was major traffic at the borders adding an extra two hours to your journey.

“No tunes, Captain?” Chance said, leaning over the driver’s seat.

You scoffed at her, “There is no AUX cord for me to hand you, and if there was, I’d hang myself with it first.”

“Come on!” Chance banged her fists against the back of the seat in pretend protest.

“Drum and bass is not music,” You said with a similar tone of firm authority that you’d told her to take her time defusing the bomb attached to you last month.

Chance need not worry though. She defused the bomb with three minutes to spare on the timer, and her request for drum and bass was answered by Mother Nature in the form of thunder and rain. Lightning slashed the sky in the far horizon, nowhere near you as you parked the van down a desire path about a quarter of a kilometre into the forest. No pines in this one, just dense wide tree trunks and various shades of greenery that spun their wild yarns all over the forest floor, your team wading through their mid-thigh heights. The roots disguised gave you more to focus on; you’d been sitting too long.

It was the dead of night and the rain had not let up, soaking your uniform and aching the spot in your lower back you’d lied about to your doctor. 

It was just a small warehouse – Markovič must’ve held out on you – the rain running off the corrugated roof and straight to the ground instead of filing into the clogged drains. How completely unassuming on this flattened section of the mountain, which is what maintained your scepticism.

Your fist held your team still. Bronze checked under the door for any sign of potential resistance. Clear. You breached the door as quietly as possible. Wet boot-prints were the only clues you left behind in the opening. Corridors winded around the main hanger, splitting off into tiny rooms and cupboards. A makeshift staff room held a deck of cards sat upon the square table, five chairs crowded around it. But no other signs of life. Empty lockers without names on them, a row of work stations without tools, and Ghost reported a kitchen with all appliances empty and switched off at the wall but that the freezer was still defrosting. 

The contents of this warehouse were worth gold dust in your line because there was nothing in there. Your team swept into the warehouse, the echoey chamber resonated with the word “clear” after a few minutes.

“Cap?” Chance pointed to scuff marks on the concrete floor - some kind of tire tracks.

This solidified your assessment. The absence of anything paired with Markovič’s despairing insistence that this place meant something to Čiernik only fueled your desire to find some sort of clue as to where they’d taken what had once occupied their warehouse. This had to be deliberate.

You divided the team up and began sifting through the rooms, into the offices and the walkway that was suspended above the hanger in a figure of eight. Their footsteps on metal grates and cement blocks kept you grounded as you yourself began to scan around the edges of the hanger, the walls. Desks in the corner, shelves and cupboards overhead, drew you in and began opening them for anything. Dust marks declared that something had occupied them. Two sheets of paper were all you could recover, and all they told you was that someone had paid enough rent to hold this place for the next year and a half.

Still, bank details could be traced even if it was offshore or under an alias. You pocketed it. The paper scrunching in your fist ceased when you spotted something else.

“All clear up here, Captain,” You heard Gaz call out above you.  

His voice echoed slightly as you surged towards where you thought you’d seen-

There.

A red light. Blinking at you from the gap in a split cardboard box. Without thinking, you knocked it off to the floor and stared down the camera that continued to stream your presence to whoever was on the other end. You ripped it off the wall. The blinking stopped.

“Retreat, now. We’ve been caught,” You ordered down the comms, patching in your closest ally, “Laswell, we need details for a safe-house nearby. We’ve been compromised.”

Powered out of the room, scouting for any further bugs that captured your movements and orders before you instructed your team to meet back at the van.

Your team collided against the vehicle in canon, Ghost landing first and in the driver’s seat. He slammed on the accelerator, his leg locked to keep the pedal down. You all lurched back as the wheels spun, carrying you over the uneven road towards what you prayed was safety. Over the engine, you could hear a helicopter following overhead. It swept past, knocking the trees’ foliage out of the way like a leaf blower. And it found you.

It wasn’t alone either. An armoured vehicle was charging at your team in the rear view mirror. Shepherd and Čiernik were really pulling out all the stops to prevent your little squad from finding out any more information.

Your earpiece whined then a voice crackled in, “Captain, there’s a safe-house on the mountain range, off the books. Coordinates are-”

Laswell was cut off by the ramming of the armoured vehicle against the back of your van. Everyone inside lurched, Ghost struggling to maintain control over the van as the armoured vehicle prepared for another bash.

“Get us off the road, Ghost!” You shouted over the throttle of the engine.

Doggedly following orders, Ghost swerved the van right through a gap in the treeline, launching you off your squatted position and into Bronze’s back. A glance out the back window revealed your enemies abandoning their tank, too large to follow which forced them onto foot.

Trees still offered you cover but the forest floor filled with boulders and warped roots was slowing the drive until it was crawling over the ground. Your scrambled brain still allowed itself to absorb Laswell’s follow-up message declaring your new safe-house location.

“Out, on your feet,” You pulled your night vision over your eyes.

Your team adopted the appropriate formation, protecting each other’s backs as another group attempted to cut you off. Automatic fire mowed your enemies’ before they had the chance to spot you. Two of your teams launched smoke grenades to prevent the reinforcements from spotting you, their torches aimed and guns shooting into the smoke whilst you all strafed away to shoot them in their single file, knocking them down one pin after another.

Through your scope, you spied more coming in, lines splitting and merging like ants in their tunnels. You could spot them a mile off with their torchlight - probably because they were expecting you to rock up earlier. So Čiernik was panicking perhaps. You thought General Shepherd would’ve made them more prepared.

Enough speculation. Deal with the problem at hand.

You hissed into the comms, “Five groups of ten coming from the North-North-East, automatic rifles, but they’ve got no night-vision. We need to find cover; get down; stay down, hidden, and still.”

The smoke bombs aided your getaway, a frag thrown in for good measure, preventing those near the front from reaching your retreat. The blades of the helicopter swooped over the leaves blocking you from sight, trying to locate your team again.

As your team dodged between trees for cover, the terrain grew all the more perilous, started to separate and slope. You hadn’t come this route for a reason. The road you’d abandoned tapered off onto a narrow path along the mountain range, the topography lines on your map too close together to attempt without climbing gear, and it was becoming more evident when parts of the forest shot up onto rocky shelves and down towards the ravine you’d tried to avoid.

To your right was a vine covered wall of rock, and the forest continued up it. Straining over the rainfall, you heard your team ducking into the ferns, flattening against the ground. You and two others – Chance and Soap - climbed up the ledge and pressed into the cliff wall, where ivy had crawled over the top like a waterfall, shielding you from view. The shine of your gun was hidden beneath the shadows with you.

Torches shone down, their beams aimed too far for you to be caught in them. Then boots stamped, crushing flora beneath their soles as they searched for you, updating the rest of the team that you weren’t in sight.

From your angle, you could see that Gaz was down below. His boot was sticking out against a tree root. Its matte finish did not disguise it or the lacework. Your hand crept across to your top left pocket, lifting the flat and finding your laser pointer inside. Approximately aimed at his line of sight, you prepared to flick it on just enough to catch his attention and hope he’d get what you were trying to convey. Yet your teeth trapped the inside of your cheek as a soldier appeared thirty feet away, sweeping along the ground and taking his time doing it. You couldn’t alert Gaz without alerting the soldier.

Something glowing green flew past your head, landing in the brush far away from Gaz. The soldier pointed their gun towards where it had caught their attention, and he started to veer away from where Gaz was hiding, towards the glow stick. You held your breath as Gaz began to crawl towards the cliff face. His belly dragged along the floor, keeping him low and beneath the ferns’ heights. Your breath held itself tightly in your throat as the soldier continued further away from Gaz – safe for now.

A cry of effort caught your ear and the soldier spun around just in time to be knocked down by the butt of Crash’s gun.

“What the fuck?” You whispered to yourself as she grabbed Gaz, heaving him to his feet.

All torches swarmed on them, trapping Crash in their beam like a deer in the headlights. Bullets hailed down, sending Crash and Gaz scattering into the trees. All you could do was cover them from the ledge, firing at the torch lights, popping the bulbs and sending the owners’ sprawling.

Scaling down, you managed to take down one soldier and digging your knife into their throat. You followed along diagonally, strafing through the trees and picking off soldiers one by one until you reached the edge of this part of the forest. A sheer drop prevented any further intervention except following directly behind your team’s pursuers. But your team, most of them, you had no idea where they’d gone.

The wind was knocked out of you and your worldview flipped over as a soldier battered you down, trying to crush your windpipe with their weapon. A forceful kick to the groin launched them off you but not for long – they pounced back onto you, dragging you off the edge where you were winded by the soft patch that couldn’t have been more than a few feet squared. Your hand found your pistol instinctively and you stared up the barrel of your enemy’s gun for the split second you aimed and fired. The soldier choked on your bullet, his throat spurting out his life force as he fell on top of you. Sudden weight caused the cliff shelf to sink from under you. Wiping the blood out your eyes, you heaved the writhing corpse off you, condemning it to the ravine.

Roots poking out from the cliffside were too fragile to pull you up, the dirt coming away under your fingertips and tumbling down in clumps.

The world fell from beneath you. Your eyes widened, the air sucked from your lungs as you found yourself weightless for a split second. Then something clamped on your wrist as your feet were left dangling.

“I’ve got you!” Price bellowed, his top half hanging over the edge with you, “I’ve got you!”

Your hand locked tight, painfully caught on his watch and his on yours. Your boots waved beneath you. Price's face contorted with effort and focus to keep you with him. Straining not to swing, you raised your other arm and Chance grabbed it, her and Price heaving you up with all their might. Your legs stumbled like a newborn deer against the earthy wall, trying to find some kind of purchase to get you to solid ground. Some precarious lifting got your leg up and then you were hauled by your vest onto your feet.

Good thing Price had been wearing his beanie because his hat surely would've fallen right after you. He was on your shoulder, breathing loudly:

"You broken?”

“I’m good, you?” You glanced between him and Chance.

“There’s more coming.”

“We need to regroup.”

But regrouping was postponed for hours. Just three of you, as outstanding at your job as you were, were not able to take on this many at once, and those soldiers were standing between you and your friends. You were forced to wait them out, in hopes that they would think you’d escaped. And, from their radio chatter you heard whilst hiding amidst the bramble and ivy trails, you could hear that none of your team had been captured yet.

That didn’t mean none of them were injured.

Each second crawling by, forcing you to stay wide awake until far into the morning. Your mind span with the same thoughts over and over:

Čiernik figured us out between Los Gatos and here. They knew we were coming here, and they know we’re after them.

Your caution had paid off in the least satisfying way.

When darkness turned into light, your bones felt like a ten pound weight had been added for every hour you’d lived through. But you still reached out to Chance beside you and squeezed her hand twice after a close call, a soldier’s step perfectly placed between her legs. Price reached for you too, and you helped him to your feet once the squad were long gone. They were all you had. No ghillie or camouflage, no idea where the others were, just patience and each other.

Warily, when the sun was directly between the horizon and its midday position, you turned back up on your comms and was greeted by Ghost calling for you, Price, and Chance.

“Still here, Ghost, they’re with me,” you whispered down them.

“Thank fuck for that. Laswell sent us coordinates for the safe-house.”

“We’ll meet you there.”

Shared silence guided you three along, hearts still running top speed against your two clips that remained full lodged in your vest. Your weapon was hoisted despite complaining muscles in your arms. Somehow, with slow meaningful progress, you made it to the barely-standing shack hidden near the base of the mountain that was your safe-house. The open door informed you it’d already been searched, as did the furniture thrown about, and Soap welcomed you all in with fist-bump-hugs, having been alerted to your presence by whoever was on watch.

The rest of your team was inside – spare for Bronze. You didn’t address it for now, nor did you address the splintering tension in your hips as to how you’d all gotten split up in the first place. But you accepted the slaps on the back, assessing your team for injuries as you pushed your sleeves up, undid your watch and rubbed over your wrist, no longer sore from when Price had grabbed you - saved your life. Just working out the kinks from where your gun firing had jerked your muscles.

“Nice tats, Captain,” Soap said quietly. An attempt to keep things light, but on the hush-hush in case it didn’t go over well. He had a bandage over his neck, something about an attempted stabbing that he managed to dodge.

You glanced back down at the shitty flash tattoo of a black helmet on the inside of your wrist. On the other one, you had your blood type – inked by the same artist.

“More where that came from.” You ripped your glove off and wiped the palm sweat off on your vest, rubbing your eyes. “Perimeter secure?”

“Yes, we checked ourselves and Bronze just swapped with me for watch. Exits are secure, just the two – front and back door – and no bugs. We’re just gathering what was left after Čiernik’s lot ripped the place apart, taking stock of what we have left, what we’ll need before we make our next move.”

Your head nodded lazily, wearily, “Good, thank you, Soap. Any injuries?”

“A few scrapes and grazes, nothing we can’t handle.”

“Any of you had any sleep?”

“Not a wink.”

“Then we’ll organising a round of sleep shifts. I don’t care what any of you say; we’re all getting at least a nap in before we carry on.” And you landed your gaze like the torch beams that had sought you out, onto Crash. She wilted a tad beneath it but still reciprocated. You drew in a subtle breath and replaced your watch to its rightful place, “Crash, on me.”

First, you checked the back door Soap mentioned, found Bronze on lookout and checked on him. Turns out he’d been nicked by a bullet on his bicep, already expertly bandaged and healing. Then you went into the only other room offering privacy: the bathroom.

While Crash sat down on the rim of the bath that was in dire need of a scrubbing, you locked the door before asking in a strained voice: “You wanna tell me what that was about out there?”

Crash’s mouth opened, but no noise came out, her lips stammering around the first phoneme.

Your waning adrenaline pushed your voice to its edge, rasping out of your vocal chords, “I’ve done you the common curtesy on not doing this in front of our team, because they need to trust you and right now they might not. They don’t need any more excuses to lose more. Now you will tell me what caused you to run out like that and blow our cover.”

In your chest, there was an ache for how Crash looked almost pathetic, like a child scolded for doing something they hadn’t the brain capacity to understand the consequences of, and that scared you a little. Not as much as what she said next:

“Kyle and I are together.”

Your ears became plugged, muffling Crash’s voice how she and him clicked during their training, only deciding to date when they were put in separate units, trying long distance, and this had been a thing that existed for nearly two years. Two years. She’d been on your taskforce for three. The longer she talked, the more your eyes watered but not out of necessity to blink.

“It was like I knew he would be ok! But I just couldn’t stop myself, I don’t know what came over me!” She was trying to restrict hysterics, the adrenaline comedown rendering her without her normal composure.

You started taking deep breaths, loud ones, your hand gesturing when to inhale and exhale. Crash began copying. Your hands flexed over your vest straps, squeezing the life out of the fabric when an ugly epiphany struck you:

“When we had Markovič, you weren’t listening to Chance on comms. You were talking to Gaz.”

She gave you a tearful, “Yes.”

“I almost respect you for having the balls to tell me. And then I remember what’s at stake, something you seem to have forgotten.”

Crash’s head dropped in shame, then jerked back to face you when you snapped your fingers. Now that she wouldn’t look away, you seethed:

“You realise you put yourself and everyone on this mission in jeopardy, those people out there who put their lives in your hands. You distracted him whilst you were both on watch, leaving all of us vulnerable. And tonight you almost got Gaz shot, me killed, this whole team compromised. And not just them, but every soul that hangs in the balance because of what Čiernik is going to do.”

“I’m sorry.”

“That doesn’t cut it. You knew Gaz was gonna join us. You know protocol. You know better. Our trust, my trust, is hard earned and necessary, and you’ve just fucked it.” A little bit of spit flew between your gritted teeth and landed on Crash’s knee. The damp from your uniform steamed off your burning back.

Nodding, Crash gulped and brushed her wet cheeks. You let her have ten seconds to compose herself before you continued.

“Get back out there, give me two minutes to myself. I won’t tell them. But you will, after this is all done. If it can still be done. Then you will face the consequences of your decisions. And if you ever pull a stunt like this again…”

The fuming absence of your threat was a result of you not wanting to say something you’d regret.

“Yes, Captain,” Crash said, her words supported by heavy scaffolding. With your permission, she left the bathroom.

Did you send her home? She’d have chance for redemption, but this was not the place for it, not this mission. You thought you selected better, trained her better. You sagged into the spot she had sat and clumsily rested your head in your hands.

The temporary respite was interrupted by a tap-tap-tap on the door.

You kept your head in your hands for a split second longer before standing, “Yes?”

Your body resumed slumping when Price appeared in the doorway. He closed the door behind him and sat beside you on the tub. “What other tattoos do you have?”

That almost made you reveal your confusion to him, the out of pocket question.

“You said there were plenty more where that came from.”

Then you hid it again, replaced swiftly with weak annoyance, “I know that’s not what you want to ask me.”

Price exhaled, taking his hat off and placing it on one of his knees, “Crash is staying?”

“For now. Feels like I’m making excuses for her to let her stay.”

Your doubts sunk from your mouth to the floor you didn’t quite trust and you stared at its place there, sat by your feet.

“If Soap had done it?” Price rose an eyebrow at his hypothetical, waiting for you to process it, figure out what the outcome would be.

After some consideration, you said, “Different circumstances: I don’t know him as well, he’s had a longer service and would’ve covering for a teammate he’d seen in danger. But still an act of insubordination, into the doghouse.”

“If Chance had done it?”

“Similar situation to Crash, give her a verbal bollocking and put her in the doghouse.”

“What about me?”

His trick question was an unintentional stab in your chest, and it bled into your answer: “You wouldn’t do what she’s done. You know better.”

“Know better than breaking protocol, logic, priorities because someone I cared about was in the crossfire?”

Of course. Of course he figured it out too. He wasn’t daft. And, to be fair, none of the people out there were. You thought none of them were. You looked at him properly, noting the dark circles beneath his eyes were blooming like violets after your excursion.

“D’you remember Moore?” He asked. Another curveball. You knew this game.

“Uh,” You tensed your eyelids then released in remembrance, “Yeah, he trained with us in basic.”

“Set off the trip-mine too early, nearly cost you your leg in your first year-”

“But you body-slammed me out the way and now we both get sore spines when it’s damp out.”

“Exactly. And I got, what you accurately refer to as, a verbal bollocking for it.”

“I know.” You’d thanked Price profusely and snuck in to help his toilet duty, despite your backs screaming otherwise. The tedium was less so with you, he’d said at the time.

Your head tilted back and stared down the popcorn ceiling that was flaking in the mouldy corners of the room.

“You made the right call with Crash.”

You repeated, “I know. I just need to hear it from someone who isn’t me occasionally.”

Price’s gloved index finger flexed out to you, brushing over the watch strap.

“Are we set to move out tomorrow?” You asked quietly, trying not to notice that in the corner of your eye.

“We leave at 4am.”

“Then we should get some rest. You gonna talk to Gaz or shall I?”

“I will. Just waiting for the meeting room to vacate.” Price offered you a shit-eating close-lipped smile that made him look extra daffy given the context.

You sighed, “Fuck off,” nudging him with your elbow.

It felt nice, and as soon as you’d acknowledged that, it soured into sizzling anxiety. You stood up and moved away, feeling the weight of his fingers fall from your watch strap. He shouldn’t be making you feel like this at all. You had rationalised this whole ordeal already, why were you still feeling so shit over it?

“What happened to Moore?” Price queried, ringing out the few drops left in his hat over the tub. 

“He got shot in Afghanistan.”

“Ah.”

“Saved a kid from a IED just before it happened,” You pressed your lips into a line.

Another dead ally on your shoulders. He wasn’t heavy though, Moore. You hardly remembered him and your training together. He was carried by the family he left behind.

“I’m still talking to Gaz after you do.”

“Yes, Captain,” Price nodded once, still smiling at you.

Gaz and Crash were sat opposite sides of the room when you returned, the rest of your team scattered amidst them. Crash averted her gaze to her gun which she was ferociously cleaning. Meanwhile Gaz approached you with a few sheets of paper in hand:

“Captain, I found this during the sweep of the warehouse.”

A quick assessment revealed floor plans for a villa, address torn from the corner of the top sheet. It could be another trap, something like this left behind when everything else was taken. Vague enough to give them time, but connected enough to lure the remaining members of the team to be executed, much like this.

“I’ll contact Laswell, give her the intel and get our new safe-house location. We will not be staying here,” You told the team, then addressed Gaz, “Price wants a word.”

As you got her channel live, Gaz headed over to the bathroom. You didn’t wanna be privy to whatever Price would say.

Laswell was relieved to say the least, having been in contact with Ghost for half the night waiting for an acknowledgement that everyone had made it out alive.

She informed you, “We’re tracking the retreating soldiers. We’ll let you know when we have something concrete, but in the meantime, here’s your new safe-house’s coordinates. Organising a vehicle to get you there.”

“Ta very much, Laswell. Any chance you’re looking to wrangle another ragtag SAS unit after this is all over?”

“My wife is already not pleased to see me up at 2am wrangling the 141 into shape. I doubt she’d be happy if I took on another nannying gig.”

“Had to ask,” You said, leaning against the doorway, “You better be getting a powernap in.”

“You’re kidding. I’m knocking back the coffee and cigarettes to stay on until you’re back to relative safety.”

You sighed with your lips pressed tight together before you said, “Appreciate it.”

--------------------

AN: Thank you for your patience with this chapter. It's an extra long one for y'all! The tattoo is a reference to something; I'm intrigued to see who knows it :3

Also, I was thinking about doing a few shorts/blurbs of what the reader and Price were like before he went MIA, training, working and spending their leave together. Is that something anyone would be into? Let me know what you think in the replies, my inbox, or in the comments in AO3.

Taglist: @mockerycrow and @entertain-my-lvst

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check out member isa's new piece!

DISPIRITED (S.HB)

SUMMARY . . . for sim y/n, the most ironic thing is telling a speech at the wedding of his first ever love, watching as he gets happily married to someone else, oblivious to all the pain he's caused in the process.

PAIRING . . . sung hanbin x male!reader, mentions of sung hanbin x fem!oc

GENRE . . . angst, simply angst

WARNINGS . . . none! just sad really

WORD COUNT . . 4.4k (so sorry)

NOTES . . . had an epiphany at midnight, so take this angst my friends! #sorrysunghanbin. the past is written in italics just so you know!

"you are a fucking idiot, you know that?"

the blatant and brutally honest statement from jongwoo makes y/n suck his teeth, slamming the door to the fridge as his eyes flick over to the yoon. the words are completely true, and everyone in the room, including y/n, knows that, but he wants to stay firm in his denial.

"are you just gonna insult me the whole time or.. i don't know, give me advice?" y/n sassily replies, and jongwoo scoffs, rolling his eyes.

"y/n, hanbin asked you to be his best man and you said yes!?" he immediately exclaims, and the volume of his voice makes y/n lightly flinch.

"your setting yourself up for heartbreak".

"well that's already been the past few years of my life so it's nothing new".

park hanbin snickers, and then he scoffs with a sudden change of attitude. "this is so funny, but also very depressing".

"y/n" keita starts, eyes shifting around the room. "i love you and all, but your setting yourself up for failure here, your watching the man you love get married! and your gonna give a speech at his wedding!?"

"yep" y/n replies, popping the 'p'.

hanbin props his arms up onto the counter, staring at his long time friend. "you know you don't have to do this if you don't want to, y/n, seriously".

"you guys hanbin is my best friend why wouldn't i wanna be his best man?"

"your gonna hurt yourself.." keita sighs. "how long have you liked hanbin, y/n? for like— ever, i don't want you to just watch and be sad".

"i'll be fine guys!" y/n very clearly lies, he throws his hands into the air like an idiot. "i'll get over it! it's not impossible to hide my feelings! and plus, i'm not about to make hanbin's wedding about me".

hanbin narrows his eyes, clearly not buying it. jongwoo simply scoffs, rolling his eyes, and keita sighs, wanting to say something more but not wanting to get into an argument with y/n.

y/n picks his nails, biting his inner cheek.

"what if she doesn't like me? and then i look like an idiot trying to ask her out?"

the seventeen year old sung hanbin paces back and forth, biting his nails anxiously as he begins rambling about his crush on a certain girl and how he's contemplating on just giving up and not telling her his feelings at all.

"your sung hanbin?" matthew responds in a questioning manner. "why would she reject you? everybody wants to date you!"

"right, you dumbass.." zhang hao mutters, he ignores hanbin's glare and scoff, crossing his arms as he watches him continue to pace back and forth while contemplating what to do about his crush.

as hanbin continues to pace, matthew rolls his eyes and zhang hao turns his head to the door, hearing it open. in walks y/n, holding a box as he closes the door with his foot.

y/n pauses, squinting as he watches hanbin pace back and forth. he puts down the box and dusts off his jeans. "what the hell is hanbin doing? why is he mumbling?"

"hanbin is being an idiot, as always".

"i'm not! i just—" hanbin pauses as he stares at y/n, who just raises an eyebrow. "i don't know.. it's complicated!"

"hanbin likes eunji and he's too afraid to tell her he likes her even though he's literally like, what? the one guy everyone wants to date, he's acting like it's a big deal but eunji's probably gonna say yes anyway and the next thing you know they're married with kids!"

y/n takes in the words zhang hao just said, doing his best to process them and piece them together in his mind.

hanbin has a crush on eunji..

hanbin has a crush on eunji?

y/n's stomach drops, and he sucks in a breath. yeah, he doesn't have a chance, of course hanbin likes eunji. she's pretty, smart, has a good sense of humor.

his crush is stupid, of course it doesn't matter; not that hanbin cares anyway. he's hanbin's best friend, nothing more, nothing less, at least not in hanbin's mind.

what made him think he really ever did have a chance?

y/n snaps out of his own thoughts and simply laughs, a fake one, but no one had to know that. "um.. just ask her out? your sung hanbin, it can't be that hard".

"why does everyone say that!?" hanbin groans, flopping down onto the couch before him. "what does that even mean?"

"it means she won't reject you, stupid" zhang hao states rather bluntly. "you guys both like each other, go for it".

matthew's eyes shift to y/n, and he can tell how it's hurting y/n to listen to this conversation, but he's keeping up a smile because it's his best friend.

a best friend he's in love with but that's out of the question.

how long has y/n liked hanbin? it seems like forever. where did it even begin? he could give you maybe two answers, that one time the two of them slept in the same bed during a sleepover in middle school, or that other time in middle school when they kissed!

trust and believe, y/n tried his best to get over hanbin.

he can never truly do it though.

because hanbin is just.. hanbin. he's so stupid with his pretty smile, and his pretty eyes, and his pretty voice, and how sweet he is, in such a natural way too.

every time he tries to get over him, hanbin comes back and gives him another reason for y/n to fall in love with him. in all honesty, it's like he's stuck in a loop.

and it's fucking stupid.

he hates it.

but he loves hanbin.

y/n's eyes flicker back up to the scene before him and hanbin is still mumbling and pacing back and forth. zhang hao just giggles at his display, and matthew gives him a look of sympathy.

"yeah um.. you guys keep discussing that i'm just gonna go".

y/n didn't really have anything he needed to do, he just really wanted to leave the room, and get away from anything pertaining to hanbin and eunji.

or just anything pertaining to hanbin in general.

"you want me to teach you how to what?"

hanbin paces back and forth, reminding y/n of a memory he'd much like to stay in the past. the younger groans, covering his face with his hands in an embarrassed way. "y/n! i agreed with eunji that we would waltz and i don't know how to waltz!"

"you don't know how to waltz? then why'd you agree to waltzing!?"

"because— because this wedding needs to be the perfect one! i want to make my fiancée happy!"

y/n feels a stab to his heart at the word fiancée, but this is what hanbin wants.

stop being so selfish, y/n! hanbin's getting married, your feelings don't matter here!

y/n punches himself in the head, and looks back up to hanbin, whose still stressing about the fucking waltz. "okay fine, hanbin, i'll teach you how to waltz, again".

"what do you mean, again?"

"remember when we were thirteen and you begged me to teach you the waltz so you could dance it with hao hyung at prom?"

hanbin gasps, smiling brightly. "oh yeah! my mom was so impressed!" he seems so giddy thinking about his past.

y/n wishes he could relate.

he sighs, standing up, and pulling hanbin by his arm. hanbin lets out a small squeak, tripping on his own feet and almost falling on his face. y/n was there to catch him, helping him up onto his feet.

"are you trying to kill me?"

"come on hanbin, be smart!"

hanbin gives his best friend a playful glare, and y/n laughs at his expression.

"okay so for the starting position" y/n begins, taking hanbin's hand. "your gonna put this hand on my shoulder, and this hand on my waist".

y/n tries his best to not melt when hanbin obeys his orders, sliding his non-dominant hand down to y/n's waist, whilst he places the other on his shoulder. he looks up and the two of them hold eye contact for what seems to be forever.

y/n doesn't want to blink, in an almost stupid way, it's like he wants to persevere this moment, to just have this continue..

he doesn't want to be reminded of the actual reality, that hanbin isn't his and that he never actually did tell him what he felt, that hanbin is getting married to someone far prettier, smarter, and much more pleasant than him.

because if he's being honest, all it does is make him want to collapse onto the floor and cry.

"okay so" y/n clears his throat. "when it comes to the waltz, footwork is usually the main focus, so if you can just move your feet correctly and on beat than you'll have no problem".

hanbin's eyes shift around the room. "okay, so, we just have to move at the same time, on beat?"

"you have to make sure you remain consistent with the moves as well".

hanbin looks up, his eyes shining as he stares at y/n. he swears he feels his legs about to give in with the way y/n is looking at him, but he clears his throat and shakes his head.

y/n steps forward first and hanbin is too slow, so he accidentally steps on his foot. "ow! y/n!" he winces, shutting his eyes.

"were supposed to step at the same time!"

"you didn't give me a cue!"

"what cue you dumbass!?"

hanbin sucks his teeth, a pout coming to his face. y/n shakes his head, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. how could he ever remain mad at hanbin?

"okay, on three, we step at the same time, and we'll go from there".

hanbin thinks, then he nods, giving him that same smile he loves so much.

1.. 2.. 3

y/n and hanbin step at the same time, and hanbin makes a sound of excitement when he finally gets the move right. after a few minutes of accidentally stepping on each other's feet, the two of them begin to get the hang of it.

hanbin is a fast learner, evidently, he won't have any problem waltzing with eunji. y/n was way too into this to even think about reality at this point, this waltz took him back to the good memories he has. memories of teaching hanbin how to waltz when they were in the eighth grade, seeing his look of excitement upon hearing that y/n knew how to waltz.

y/n smiles as they dance together, but the only thing keeping him smiling are the memories he has from before. thinking about everything now, how he's agreed to being hanbin's best man even with the feelings he's hidden from him for who knows how long.

it's depressing to y/n how even with all of the heartbreak he's gonna experience from this, he's still gonna do it. for the sake of hanbin and eunji, for the sake of his best friend.

he doesn't deserve hanbin, he never did deserve hanbin. yes eunji's lucky, but she deserves good things, she's not a bad person.

the jealousy bubbling up inside him is maddening.

when they finally do stop dancing, y/n is no longer smiling, hanbin seems happy, and he has to try his best to put up a fake front. "oh my god! i think i might be getting a little dizzy.."

"it was just spinning, hanbin".

"spinning like, thousands of times".

y/n snickers at the complaint from hanbin, trying his best to ignore how hurt he feels about the way his mind is hurting him, how his own thoughts are seemingly playing against him.

"y/n?" hanbin calls out, the sound of footsteps approaching meet y/n's ears.

"yeah—"

y/n pauses, when he turns around hanbin is right in front of him, so close that y/n could see all of his features so clearly. he takes in a deep breath, trying to calm himself down, but the moment hanbin smiled, y/n closes his eyes.

"thank you" hanbin says, completely oblivious to the way he's affecting y/n, the way he's always affected y/n. he takes his hands, looking down. "for not just teaching me how to waltz, but for everything, everything you've done for me".

everything i've done for you..

"it's nothing really" y/n responds, his voice probably sounding airy because hanbin is holding his hands. "your my best friend, and i love you".

he loves hanbin.

he loves him.

maybe not in the context he thinks, but he does love him.

really.

"what are you doing out here, y/n?"

sitting on the curb in front of hanbin's house, y/n sighed as he rolls his eyes. hanbin sits beside his best friend, a light cold breeze brushing past them, y/n's hair moving in the wind. "because.."

y/n mutters something under his breath, and hanbin raises an eyebrow, though he sighs. "i heard you plan on not going to the formal".

"who told you?"

"matthew".

y/n bites his inner cheek, turning away from hanbin as his eyes cast down towards the floor. "y/n? did something happen?"

nope! just had the horrible realization that i can never be with you even with how much i love you! because you don't love me back! and you won't ever love me back!

"nope, just don't feel like going".

"why not?"

"you ask too many questions".

y/n snaps much more aggressively then hanbin expected, and he must notice, because his shoulders slump and he sighs. "sorry, it's just.. there's a lot going on at home right now".

"ah" hanbin stretches his legs, they're touching the street, but he doesn't seem to be the slightest bit worried. "sorry".

"it's alright.."

hanbin stared at y/n, admiring his side profile. another cold breeze passes, and hanbin lightly shivers before speaking up once again. "y/n, i'm not going if you don't wanna go".

"please don't start, hanbin".

"i— i can't go without you! your my best friend, you've been my best friend since like.. forever! we've never not done anything together!"

"yeah but.. it's just, yeah, not my thing".

hanbin knows thats a bold faced lie, because y/n mentioned many times even at the beginning of the school year that he was preparing for the formal before the formal was even announced, that he'd designed and begin sewing his own outfit already.

"we can go together".

y/n chokes on his spit.

"what?"

"you know, like what some friends do" hanbin explains, and y/n's face drops, of course. "y/n you've been talking about this forever! i'm not gonna go without you".

"hanbin.."

"come on y/n, please?"

y/n desperately wants to disagree just to be stubborn, but the way hanbin is looking at him, that gaze that he knows y/n can't resist. "i— ugh fine".

hanbin hums in delight, moving closer to wrap his arms around y/n, pressing the two of them together. "aww your so cute y/n! you just can't resist me can you?"

"oh my god let go of me".

y/n hopes his act was bought.

"you're so tense y/n, jesus".

"and you're not helping, matthew".

park hanbin sighs, rubbing y/n's shoulders as a way to calm him down. "stop thinking so hard y/n, it's all gonna be fine" he says, hoping that he can somehow make all of y/n's worries simply wash away.

and while y/n wishes that was the case, it doesn't work. "god i've been rehearsing my speech all week, the words are literally burned into my brain".

"okay you need to stop stressing out".

"i can't not stress out!" y/n snaps at zhang hao, very clearly stressed out. his hands feel clammy, and he begins cracking his knuckles as a sort of coping mechanism. "i'm.. oh god! what if i mess up!"

"y/n" hanbin calls out, his voice soft and low. "your stressing our more than hanbin, and he's the one getting married".

"ugh you don't have to remind me!" he squeals. realizing he sounds.. well— unhinged, y/n takes a deep breath, counting to ten in his head with his eyes closed before opening them again. "okay.. i can do this, it can't be that hard, i'm over him".

y/n believes lying to himself will help cushion whatever pain he knows he's about to feel going through this wedding.

it's like y/n blinks, and in two minutes, everything has already gone by. he believes he disassociated out during all of that, that he was there but not really there, per se.

the one thing he does know, though, is that he somehow avoided hanbin the whole time. y/n has absolutely no idea how he did it, because he is the best man after all, it makes no sense.

y/n is glad he was able to avoid hanbin, though, because he's sure he would've burst into tears if hanbin even so much as looked at him with those pretty pretty eyes of his.

and as he sits at the table, looking at the glass of alcohol in front of him, his stomach seems to be dropping further and further. okay y/n, you can do this, you practiced your speech for a week.

so, with his stomach feeling empty and his throat burning. y/n stands up, picking up the glass in front of him as the words leave his lips; "i would like to raise a toast".

y/n sucks in a breath as everyone else stands up, as everyone else immediately turns to him, giving him all of their attention. "it's really crazy, how hao hyung predicted all of this, though i know matthew remains pissed off that he owed him twenty dollars".

a few small laughs ring through the crowd, but the anxiousness doesn't leave y/n. "i'm y/n, i've pretty much known hanbin since forever, we grew up in the same neighborhood and always did everything together.."

y/n's mind races, and his eyes shift around. "it's really an honor to be here, watching my best friend get married, and to be chosen as his best man as well, is something i've really always dreamt of".

y/n's voice sounds so artificial that he wants to grimace at his own tone, but he keeps up his front, cursing in his mind. "i remember it like it was yesterday.. hanbin was freaking out thinking eunji would reject him, we all knew they were meant to be, and it's so beautiful to see this moment in person".

y/n laughs. artificial, dumbass. "congratulations to both hanbin and eunji, for their relationship, their love, and the amazing things they have achieved. i wish them nothing but prosperity and good fortune in the future".

the burning feeling in his throat increases, and y/n closes his eyes before giving the fakest smile he thinks he's ever given. "cheers everyone! to sung hanbin and jeon eunji!"

and just like that, it's over, and then everyone goes back to talking, laughing, their attention finally off y/n.

to say he's overwhelmed is an understatement, it's a miracle he didn't cry right then and there, not like anyone would recognize the true intention behind his tears anyway.

y/n fixates onto the floor, not wanting to look up as he's afraid of seeing hanbin, seeing him happy, oblivious to all the pain he's caused him these past few years.

"y/n" he snaps up, meeting the sympathetic gaze of keita. "everything okay? your zoning out there" he points out, and y/n nods, the burning sensation in his throat pretty much hurting him at this point.

"i just um.." he pauses, taking yet another deep breath. "there's just a lot of people in this room, it kind of overwhelms me".

your a fucking idiot, y/n. your at a wedding, of course there's a bunch of people here. why do your feelings even matter here? it's your fault for never telling hanbin how you feel..

"i need air.."

y/n smiles at keita, before he stands up and walks out of the venue, quickly making his way outside. whilst having a conversation, hanbin's eyes drift towards him, watching as he walked out.

where are you going y/n?

"you're way too genuine, lover boy".

hanbin gasps, staring at his best friend like he just said the most offensive thing ever. he stares at y/n fondly and shoves his hands into his pockets, a breeze blowing by and moving y/n's hair. "shut up, i'm being nice".

"walking me home, hanbin?" y/n inquires, a small smile graces his features as he chuckles, shaking his head at hanbin. "such a gentlemen you are".

"fuck you, y/n".

"don't say that to your bestest friend ever, hanbin!"

hanbin pouts, and y/n giggles once again, singing a shinee song to himself. "anyway, i really do appreciate you walking me home, you make me feel special, you know?"

"you.. are" hanbin pauses in his sentence, but he smiles as soon as he speaks those words. "don't mean to be cheesy or anything.."

"you do sound cheesy" but y/n's heart does skip a beat, fuck hanbin and his sweet words, he always seems to know what affects y/n the most. "dumbass".

screw him.. really.

"don't call me a dumbass, dumbass".

"what would your mom say if she heard you saying such things to me?"

hanbin gasps, moving y/n's way to nudge him by the shoulder. y/n grunts, giggling as he nudges him back, pushing him with much more force.

"don't push me, y/n!"

"you pushed first! stupid!"

"your stupid! stupid!"

hanbin looks up with a mischievous grin, and then he moves towards y/n again, pushing even harder with his shoulder. y/n stumbles and grabs hanbin's sleeve to make sure he doesn't fall, hanbin squeals and stumbles his way, almost taking the two of them down.

"idiot! are you trying to get us killed?"

"you started it!"

hanbin pouts, lightly pushing y/n again. "why'd i even agree to walk you home? your just here torturing me" he says playfully, pushing y/n forward.

"but you love me".

"yeah, sure y/n".

"you do! you just won't admit it!"

"have you seen y/n?"

hanbin asks for what seems like the nth time that minute, biting his inner cheek. park hanbin's eyes shift around the room, and he shakes his head. "nope, haven't seen him since the toast".

hanbin sighs in an almost defeated manner, but then keita speaks up; "he left".

his eyes widen. "what!?"

keita's face goes blank for a second, and he quickly reiterates. "no! not like left left, he just went out to get some air, he's just outside".

"oh okay" hanbin let's out a sigh of relief. "thank you" he says softly, smiling at his friends before exiting the venue, his head whipping around as he searches for y/n's familiar silhouette.

he doesn't have to search for long, though, since y/n is the only person outside, and simply because hanbin has gotten so used to identifying him in a crowd, he could practically point him out anywhere.

"hey stupid" y/n jumps when hanbin's hand lands on his shoulder. he relaxes for a moment, but only for a moment, because his shoulders remain tense. "i was looking for you everywhere, i thought you were gone".

"oh.. sorry" y/n smiles, but it quickly fades as hanbin sits beside him. "i just needed some fresh air, i can't be cooped up inside for too long".

y/n scratches his hand, hoping he can pretend that everything's okay that hanbin doesn't inquire about what's going on.

but its sung hanbin, of course he notices.

"is something bothering you?" hanbin asks, eyes falling to y/n's hands, which are reddening from how much faster he's scratching them now. "y/n, are you gonna give me answer?"

"i'm fine, hanbin" y/n smiles, but hanbin doesn't buy it, god screw him and his attentiveness. "why are you looking at me like that?"

"your lying".

"i'm not".

"you are".

"i'm not".

hanbin is really testing whatever remaining patience y/n has left, but instead of continuing with this banter, he sighs, reaching out to take y/n's hand, lacing it together with his.

as soon as their hands connect, y/n feels the cold metal of hanbin's wedding ring against his fingers, and the unpleasant reality dawns on him once again.

hanbin will never be his, hanbin will never reciprocate his feelings, or love him back, or see him as more than a best friend, as someone who he feels only platonic feelings for and nothing more.

y/n has spent so much of his time pining, thinking these useless things, creating fantasies in his head like any of them would actually happen in real life.

the truth is, sung hanbin would never love sim y/n back, he'd never see him as more than a friend.

but coming to terms with it so closely, with hanbin right in front of him, those pretty pretty eyes staring at him, makes y/n feel as if his whole world has crumbled right before his eyes.

unconsciously, he squeezes hanbin's hand, much to the surprise of the other.

"hanbin i.." he pauses for a moment, the word seeming to drag on forever. he doesn't know what to say, or what he should say, or what he should do, his mind feels empty in the moment.

"i love you".

the words have such a different meaning than what hanbin might think. y/n is conveying a much different point than presented to hanbin, his viewpoint is much more different than hanbin's, and it's clear by the way he reacts.

"i love you too, i always have".

yeah, you always have, but not like how i always have, you don't love me like how i love you.

y/n looks down to the floor, squeezing hanbin's hand once again.

"yeah, of course".

at that point in time, those words no longer conveyed any meaning to sim y/n anymore.

[telatire]

It's happening again.

[contritecactite]

Back to my regularly scheduled klapolloposting-

For Klapollo Week 2023 Day 1: Confessions

Title: As I Am Known Rating: T Tags/warnings: sharing a bed, unclear friendship boundaries, pre-relationship, AA5&6 spoilers Desc: 3.6k. Set during Turnabout Revolution. Apollo Justice's very bad day gets worse when, after his visit to the caves in Kurain Village, he arrives at the prosecutor's building too late to ask Edgeworth for help. Klavier finds him instead, and while he can't prevent the events on the horizon, he can keep Apollo from having to sit with it all alone for the evening.

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

LITERALLY added 1200 words to sunless ground just in editing wtf LMAOOO

[minisugakoobies]

Had a good day of writing and they seem rare these days, so I’m celebrating by basking in the joy for a moment 💕

[banggyu0308]

so... if you got four fics for yeonjun's birthday... one a little early for millie's event... is that a yes or a no?

[starrzies]

** If you're curious about the fic mentioned in tags feel free to ask LOL, have your age present somewhere tho or be prepared to tell me it since my Ao3 is for adults

*This poll was submitted to us and we simply posted it so people could vote and discuss their opinions on the matter. If you’d like for us to ask the internet a question for you, feel free to drop the poll of your choice in our inbox and we’ll post them anonymously (for more info, please check our pinned post).

[heeheeswifey]

i wrote a hard thought about jay, posted it, and deleted it bcs tumblr didnt save the longer version i wrote, crying

[intromortal]

ꕥ NICE N' FULL ⸝⸝⸝ six different scenarios in which the enhypen members breed the fuck out of you !

⚠︎ smut. mdni. breeding kink, mentions of pregnancy, p in v, dirty talking, pet names, more warnings listed for each member. total wc 4k. ⸻ rules ⋆ m.list

✷ NIA — not exactly what bae @vampsol asked for bc i went a little au-ish here :p but it's me so what did we expect. shoutout to my goat @karinasbaby for sharing a braincell with me and helping me w the ideas <3

ꕥ LEE HEESEUNG

arranged marriage, it's okay they're starting to be obsessed with each other, slight somno, oral (f. rec), cum eating

If you were to tell anyone Heeseung didn't as much as look you in the eyes about two months ago, they'd never believe you. Not if the way he's clinging to your lower half before he even opens his eyes fully is anything to go by. Still naked in bed, the wet sheets clinging to your bodies the only thing shielding you from the cool dawn air.

Marriages of convenience are rarely easy, especially for spirits as free as Heeseung, and he's made it clear to you how much he'd rather have married anyone else instead. They also come with burdensome expectations of heirs way too soon for his liking. Yet, something about your devotion to him in your most intimate moments despite your general indifference and coldness towards each other, brought the cold and hard as steel man down to his knees, a puddle of mush at your feet ready to fulfill any request.

"Hee," you mutter softly against your pillow as he parts your legs to make space for himself, and Heeseung's heart soars. A month ago it would've been 'Heeseung' or 'husband' with that venomous tone you seemed to only reserve for him, like his spot in your life was only a joke. It's different now, you're tender with him.

"Shh, pretty. Just lay here for me like this." It's still early, and Heeseung can barely see, but he wants the first thing he looks at in the morning to be your pretty hole, raw and sore from all the previous fucking, still gush his seed out. He parts your folds slowly, careful not to hurt you, and watches as his milky cum greets him, pouring out of you. It's a sight for sore eyes, and one he knows he will never get enough of. Even when he'll manage to put a child in you, he knows this is something he won't be able to let go of.

You shift, now more aware of your surroundings, but Hee is quick to keep you still. Your hand underneath your stomach faintly tingles because of its weird position, but it all fades in the background when Heeseung grabs your ass and spreads it, moving lap at where his cum is gushing out of you.

You're still sensitive from the night you spent together, but his touch is feather light and you don't really know if you want him to stop or you want more. He moans at the mixture of your tastes, pushing his tongue deeper inside your cunt like he's trying to clean you, switching so soft kisses on your lips once he's satisfied.

He makes his way up to your face, littering your bottom and spine in kisses and playful nibbles, relishing in the little sounds you make in response. Your front is still pressed to the mattress, and not seeing him almost makes you believe this is not the Heeseung that was shooting you sharp glares throughout the entire wedding ceremony. His touch is warmer, so much more delicate than the way he held your end that first night. His kisses are slow and deliberate, not empty and forced anymore. It's like soul has find its way back into Heeseung's being, after months of being a cold slate. The change started out slowly, but now you're here, and you genuinely feel like you could really love this man. Maybe a part of you does already.

His voice is the same, but the tone makes him sound like a whole different person, the forever present irritation is gone, only a playful tilt to it left as he finally reaches your ear to whisper in it. "Slipped out while sleeping, all of our hard work gone… such a pity." Heeseung aligns his cock to your weeping cunt, rubbing his head a few times along your folds, then carefully pushes in. "We have to do it all over again."

He's gentle, showering you in soft praises, and his thrusts are even slower. You've never known anything other than fucking, but you think this is what lovemaking feels like.

"So good, baby. You'll be such a good mom, you've been so patient with me even when i didn't deserve it. You'll be wonderful," he whispers in your ear, raising goosebumps all over your skin at just how sweet he sounds. "You are wonderful. You're perfect."

ꕥ PARK JONGSEONG

husband!jay, semi-public, bulge kink, he's insatiable

What better way to spend your honeymoon trip if not by getting filled over and over again by your dear, newlywed husband?

You can't think of any, but maybe that's also because you can't really think about anything that's not the delicious drag of Jay's cock against your walls. So deep inside you, pushing more even when his balls are already flush to your skin. Like he can't get enough, like he could break any barrier and mold into you as one if he really put his mind to it. He needs more, you both do.

But one thing's for sure, he's giving you his all.

"So fucking good, my wife has the best pussy. So perfect for me," he pants hotly in your ear, his large warm hand cupping your breast and separating it from the frigid glass your front is pushed against. The view from your suite is breathtaking, emphasized by the huge transparent wall, right beside the queen sized bed. At the moment though, you're not really focused on it. Nor is Jay, too busy gawking at your beautiful figure caged between his chest and the glass. He could stare at you forever. "I'm gonna stuff you full, baby. Gonna fuck you so good all trip, there's no way you won't be pregnant by the end."

You believe it, because all he's done ever since you undid your luggage in the middle of the room once you arrived to your destination is pump you full of his cum, all day, all night. And then all over again. Only stopping to get you food. You aren't safe from him when showering, even worse when taking a bath, definitely not when you're lounging around the natural pool close to your suite. It's not his fault you look so good in the bathing suits you packed and the ones he picked out for you. Jay has always had good stamina, but ever since the wedding he's been downright feral.

His thrusts are slow, but intense, like he's trying to drag the pleasure out as long as he can, savoring the way his tip nudges just the right stop that has you mewling in his hold every single time. His breath is warm against your neck and so are his grunts of pleasure, your favorite sound in the whole world.

Jay twists your sensitive and sore nipples between his fingers, only smiling into your neck when you reward him with the cutest mewls he's ever heard in his life. "Fuck, baby. I'm the luckiest man alive. I can't believe you're mine forever."

"You too," you whine in response.

"Yes baby, I'm all yours, forever. I love you much."

"Love you too," you sob, throwing your head back into his shoulder, completely overtaken by the pleasure he's giving you, allowing him more access to lick and suck on your sensitive neck.

"I know, baby. I know. You're doing so good, just a little more. My sweet girl, you'll be such a good mom. Can't wait to make you one. We'll have so many, so many cute kids running around. Doesn't that sound like a dream? Fuck, I can't wait."

The hand still playing with your tits slides down to your stomach, pushing down on it until Jay can feel his own cock thrusting into you. "Right here, you're gonna carry our baby here." He keeps fucking into you slowly, deliberately, so different from the speed of the circles he draws on your clit with the fingers that were soothing your hip just moments before. He drags out his own pleasure, but needs to give you so much more. "Come on my cock baby, milk it dry. We have so much more work to do."

ꕥ SIM JAEYUN

fwb!jake but he has feelings, he's down bad and a little subby in this one, dub-con (for jake), slight blood play (just his lip)

This is a series of mistakes. It's all Jake seems to be doing as of lately.

First of all, he's not even supposed to be in your bed again, the fourth time this week. Not when he finally came to terms with the fact that he has developed a raging crush on you and cannot keep his feelings at bay any longer, even when you two agreed this whole arrangement will only be sex and nothing else.

But he can't help it when you're so fucking addicting. You not liking him back is gonna break his heart, but at least he gets to fuck you, at least he gets a little piece of you, even if it's not exactly the one he wants.

Secondly, he should've refused to fuck you raw for the first time the moment you asked, even if the thought alone had his eyes crossing and rolling all the way to the back of his skull. But he's a weak man, for you especially, and he simply couldn't resist the temptation, not when you looked up at him with your big glossy eyes and with such a cute pout on your lip.

So here he is now, fucking you raw like his life is on the line, trying his hardest not to spill inside you too soon because if he does he might just die from embarrassment.

All he does, all he's ever done, is with the purpose of impressing you. It's like you have him chained up to this invisible leash he didn't even notice you put on him, and now it's too late to take it off. Jake means it when he says he would do anything for you.

His thrusts are shallow and quick, he's fucking you mostly with his tip, and you don't think you've ever seen him so worked up. It makes you feel things you didn't even know you needed. You like the feeling.

"You're so cute like this, Jakey," you giggle into the messy open mouthed kiss he's drowning you in, your fingers ghosting on the muscles of his back while his tremble on your waist. "Fuck me deeper, I want to feel all of you."

Jake's hips still for a second as he bites down on his bottom lip so hard he draws blood, but you don't mind at all. You even lick it clean, sighing dreamily at the iron taste overtaking your senses. Jake's eyes screw shut, and he's so close to cumming his eyes start to water. This is simultaneously the best and worst thing that has ever happened to him, and thinking that this might very well be the last time only makes his eyes wetter.

"I—fuck. I can't. I'll cum too soon."

"That's okay, we can go again," you say it like it's the most obvious thing in the world, and a little piece of Jake's heart breaks. He doesn't know how much more of this he can take.

You sense his hesitation and wrap your legs around his hips, pushing them closer to your pelvis so his length fully sheaths inside you. It's so warm and big and throbbing to release his cum in you and there's not a single thing you want more. "Fill me up, Jakey. Claim me," you whisper in his ear. "Why don't you show everyone I belong to you?"

Jake resumes his movements, tentatively at first but steadily building a pace that feels good, his thrusts are deeper now, needier, and even if he were to try to pull out, you'd keep him right there. "I want to. I want you fully, fuck— please be mine," he sobs into the valley of your breasts, voice muffled as he licks and nips at your skin.

"Go on. Make me yours then. Show me how bad you want me."

And he does because fuck, he's weak. He's so fucking weak for you and he wouldn't have it any other way.

ꕥ PARK SUNGHOON

coworker!hoon, secret relationship, semi-public, degradation, jealousy, mentions of marriage

Something about the way Sunghoon's thick eyebrows were furrowed from the second he walked into the job that morning, or how his jaw clenched as he gritted his teeth whenever any of your colleagues as much as opened their mouths to say something, should've been your cue to behave for the day.

Unfortunately for everyone involved, he happens to look so damn hot when he's pissed.

And he's so filthy when he's jealous, pushing his buttons becomes your favorite challenge in times like these.

"Eyeing Jake all day like you want to bring him to the back and fuck him, are you not ashamed?" he spits, voice an octave lower than usual and barely slipping through his gritted teeth. "Bending over in front of him, touching him when you know I can see you. Do I have to mark you up for you to fucking behave for once?"

The roughness in his voice makes your eyes wet but your panties wetter, he doesn't bother to undress you, you don't have time for it anyway. You're just a few steps away from the lounge bar where some of your coworkers are surely taking a break right now. Anyone could walk in at any time, and maybe Sunghoon wishes for that to happen.

Instead Sunghoon just flips your skirt up and pushes your panties to the side, immediately rubbing his angry red tip on your folds to coat them in your own juices. He feels so incredibly hard against you, and that's how you know he must've been hiding a boner this entire time. As much as he loves to pretend he doesn't, it's little cues like this that let you know just how much he enjoys putting you back in your place. "Of course you're soaked." He barks a laugh devoid of humor but full of disdain.

"If it's my attention you want," he whispers more softly, and the switch in his attitude sends shivers down your spine, something that doesn't go unnoticed by Sunghoon, his lips curling into a smirk. "I'll give it to you. I'll give you so much of it you won't ever think about disrespecting me again."

He pushes his girth into you fully in one thrust, his rough fingers finding your clit within seconds, not even giving you enough time to savor the pleasurable sting that comes from his cock stretching you out so nicely. He grabs your jaw in his other hand, his smirk not turned into a snarl. "You'll cum, and you'll cum hard enough to milk all of me. You'll keep cumming around my cock no matter how much it hurts, until I fill you up. Is that clear?"

You would nod if you could, but his grip is too strong, so you do what you can: just stand there as he subjects you to anything his heart desires. He doesn't move his hips, doesn't give you that satisfaction, only rubs his fingers on your tiny bundle of nerves so hard it almost hurts, but you'd never ask him to stop it.

"You'll take all of my cum, until your belly is swollen by how much of it I fuck into you. I'll put a baby in you so no one else will ever mistake you for anything other than mine."

You clench around him, time and time again, just like he wants you to. Sunghoon has you under a spell, and the more he talks, the more he flicks your clit, the less you think about what's rational and what's not. You only know what he tells you, and to you that's the only truth you need to hear.

"I'll put a ring on your finger, make you my pretty little wife. Maybe even make you stop coming in, I'll take care of everything. Yeah, keep milking me like that, baby. Let me make you a mommy."

ꕥ KIM SUNOO

ewb, hate sex, degradation, marking, one singular 'slut', condom comes off!

"You're—mhh, such a bad fuck," you say over your shoulder, wanting to see Sunoo's reaction despite the uncomfortable position. You're lying through your teeth, of course. You know how much saying things like this riles Sunoo up, and the only times you feel anything akin to like towards him is when he's rough with you. It's why despite the mutual hatred that makes up the entirety of your relationship, you two keep finding yourselves skin to skin, tangled in bed sheets. You always thought you needed someone to fuck you like they hate you, turns out, what you really craved was someone to fuck you because they hate you. And the right man for the job is right behind you, thrusting into you like he wants to hurt you, his hands leaving bruises on your hips like it's their right to do so.

"Then why are you here, wetting my cock like no one's fucked you in years?" His moves are relentless, and you have to try your best to not collapse on the bed because of the sheer force behind every stroke. Your legs are shaking, but you hang on a thread just to not give him that satisfaction. Instead, you push him further.

"That guy from—mph, yesterday. He'd—" you gasp as he gives you a harsher thrust, so deep you're sure you can feel it in your guts. The angle he starts fucking you in knocks the air out of your lungs in the best way possible, and even if you're trembling under Sunoo's weight and clawing at the cotton fabric next to you, you refuse to back down. "He'd do a better job."

You don't need to see his face, you hear the smirk in his voice, and it's the kind that sends a shiver down your spine each time. "But you're here." Another sharp thrust. "You don't even remember his name."

"At least he las– lasted while fucking me raw." You feel him halt all movement, and you know this is enough to get what you want from him, but you just can't help it. "You could never."

"You're such a little fox, aren't you?" He speaks calmly, but you can feel the storm brewing under the facade. He drags his fingertips across your spine, barely touching you at all. It's embarrassing how that's enough to have you bend under his touch. He reaches the plush of your ass, grabbing a fistful of it so forcefully you can feel his nails break the skin. He doesn't stop when you complain, doesn't care for your pained moans. "You think you're so smart, but you're just a little slut. You want me to fuck you raw?"

You try to shake your head to deny it, but he knows better.

"Yes you do. Say it." His grip on your ass only gets stronger, and tears line your bottom lashes.

"I do," you whine, finally. "Please."

"Good." Sunoo releases the death grip on your skin, soothing over the red spot with his thumb lightly, like it's not him performing the action. The Sunoo you know has no time for care. "Then take the condom off of me."

Your head snaps back at his words, but he makes no sign of moving. So you do what he says, this once. You reach for this length, then carefully slide the rubber off of it. And right when he thinks you're finally behaving, you squeeze his cock so hard his hips stutter forward and you actually manage to steal a surprised yelp out of him.

Sunoo's reaction is immediate. He grabs both of your hands, uncaring for the way your elbows are uncomfortably bent, and brings your wrists together behind your back. He slides into you again in one swift motion, not giving you even a second to savor the feeling of his bare cock pushing into your heat for the first time. All of your nerves feel on fire, and as he sets a breakneck pace while keeping you down and unable to move.

"Do I have to fuck a baby into you for you to finally behave?" He gasps when you squeeze him in response to his words. "You'd like that yeah? You'd love for the man you hate to get you pregnant? Is that gonna make you shut the fuck up for once? Oh, I bet it will."

ꕥ YANG JUNGWON

fiancé!won, they're obsessed your honor, love on the floor

"You can't wait to get me pregnant, but what will you do when you won't be able to suck on my tits for months, mhh?" You giggle on Jungwon's lap, right in the middle of the empty room.

The new house still smells like new houses usually do, dry and woody, like the windows are never open. There's no furniture yet, but it doesn't stop your heart from pounding in your chest as you look around. Your home.

Jungwon's eyes never leave you though, and when you look back at him and find him smiling at you like you hold the world in your palm, you know you would be happy with every house, no matter the size or appearance, as long as he's the one you share it with.

"What makes you think that's gonna stop me?" Your fiance replies, shaking his head to move the bangs out of his eyes. "I'll even get something more out if it."

"Won!" you exclaim, hiding your face in your hands. Your heart melts a bit when you hear that familiar boyish giggle leave him, light as air, and for once in your life you feel like you've found the right spot in the world.

The warmth you feel spreads further as Jungwon starts caressing your bare thighs, until he's gripping your ass, using it as leverage to push you on his crotch.

You gasp at the feeling, and your hands find their rightful place on his broad shoulders so you can keep yourself steady as he starts to roll your hips against his.

"Won… we shouldn't—"

He shuts you up with a soft peck, resting his forehead against yours. "Why not? It's our place. We worked so hard for it, we should celebrate."

You bite your bottom lip as you think about it, but Won doesn't waste a minute and flips both of you over so you're caged between the floor and his chest. He nibbles on your ear, knowing better than anyone else how weak it makes you when he does that. "I'll make you feel so good, doll." It's like he's put a spell on you because you nod before he even manages to finish his sentence. "Just lay back and let me do all the work."

Your clothes are soon discarded everywhere around you, and your legs are wrapped around his hips as he fucks into you like he never has before. You're both a sweaty mess, panting in each other's mouths, exchanging spit any chance you get.

"Your pussy was made for me, doll. You're sucking me in so well." Jungwon moans against your lips, and you watch enamored as his eyes shut close and his eyebrows furrow, a droplet of sweat running down from his hairline. "Can't wait to take you on every surface of this house. Fuck— just leave it to me, baby. I have so many surprises for you."

"I'm so close, please," you whine, sliding a hand down his back to push his hips into you further. It makes Jungwon's pace faster, more desperate to give you exactly what you need.

"Let go, baby. Come all over my dick— yeah, just like that. You're taking me so fucking well. Such a perfect doll for me." His praise goes straight to your cunt, and you squeeze him impossibly hard as wakes of pleasure rack through your body.

"My perfect angel, you're gonna look so good swollen with our baby. Am gonna give you all of my cum, just a little more. We'll have so many kids running around the house we built. Our home forever," Jungwon babbles in your ear, and you're so fucked out you can even barely make out what he's telling you. You just know you need him to fuck you full, over and over.

His hips never stutter, despite how drenched and slippery everything is by now, a puddle of wetness pooling underneath you on the hard floor, getting bigger and bigger the more Jungwon fucks you, and you suspect the floor won't be the only surface you'll wet that day.

[stylesispunk]

"What remains of us"

outbreak! Joel miller x f!reader

Summary: Joel doesn't die after the brutal encounter with abby because you saved him on time.

wc: 4k>

warnings: angst,mentions of blood, mentions of murder (reader becomes violent), fluff, mentions of broken bones. english is not my first language so excuse my mistakes. Written in a rush.

a/n: so uhmm. How are we feeling? I personally feel broken by the events from episode 2 so I rewrite the story while i was free in the morning to help me cope with the grief and joel is alive.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Something felt wrong in your bones the moment the snowstorm hit harder than expected.

Not just the kind of wrong that came with whiteout conditions and freezing wind — this was deeper. Ancient. It whispered through the trees like a secret from another world, brushing icy fingers down your spine. A warning dressed up as weather. You felt it in your chest, in the weight behind your ribs, where your breath stayed too long before escaping.

Your skin burned from cold, your limbs throbbed with fatigue — but none of it compared to the way your heart pounded. Not from exertion.

From fear.

“Hey, you alright?” Jesse called ahead, pulling his scarf down just enough to glance at you.

You nodded too fast. “Yeah, just—cold.”

Ellie was further up the ridge, carving her own path through the deepening snow with the horse, unaware of how your whole body shook with more than frost. You hadn’t told them. Couldn’t. How do you explain that your body knew something your mind hadn’t caught up to yet? That every step forward felt like walking away from safety?

Your heart was screaming in a language older than logic. Since the morning. Since Joel left before you could fully wake up.

The echo of his voice still lingered in your memory — low and warm, brushing against your ear as you stirred under the covers.

“Get some more sleep, darling”

But he hadn’t kissed your forehead like usual. He hadn’t lingered. And when you finally did get up, your gut twisted when you saw the empty space in the stable, the saddle still had damp with snow.

Joel was out there with Dina; you had no idea under what circumstances. And the sky had turned gray with anger.

You shook your head, tried to focus on Jesse’s voice. Tried not to feed the panic unraveling in your chest like a pulled thread. But the cold in your mind spread, and no matter how tightly you gripped the reins, no matter how fast your horse moved, the feeling remained.

Something was wrong.

You finally found a rundown outpost, an old hunting cabin half-buried in snow and swallowed by pine trees. The roof sagged, one of the windows was cracked, and the door barely held on its hinges, but it was shelter. You and Jesse pulled your horses inside the narrow lean-to out back, while Ellie stomped snow off her shoes and kicked the door open with more force than necessary.

Inside, it was cold and smelled like old weed and damp rot, but you didn’t care.

There was a radio.

You didn’t hesitate. Your gloves were off before Jesse could even say anything. Your fingers moved over the knobs, turning dials, trying to find the frequency Jackson always used for patrol check-ins.

A burst of static.

Then another.

Finally, a signal.

Your breath caught. “Jackson patrol, do you copy?”

Ellie moved closer. Jesse pulled his scarf down, suddenly silent.

“Joel? Dina? Come in.”

Only static.

“Come on,” you muttered, heart hammering, twisting the dial again. “Joel, please, respond.”

Nothing.

The silence wasn’t ordinary. You knew silence. This wasn’t delay. It was absence.

Your body went rigid, every instinct screaming louder than your racing thoughts. Your limbs moved before you made the decision. You were out the door and into the snow again before Jesse or Ellie could stop you.

Jesse called after you.

But Ellie was already grabbing her rifle.

“Where are you going?” Jesse yelled, chasing behind.

“Something’s wrong!” you snapped, swinging onto your horse. “I just know it!”

Ellie mounted up beside you, eyes wide and fierce. “Then we’re not wasting time.”

Jesse hesitated, glancing between you both and the radio inside.

“You don’t even know if that’s where they went—”

“I know,” you growled, already riding. “I feel it.”

Ellie followed without a word.

The snow clawed at your skin like it wanted to peel the truth away. The wind howled as if it knew what was waiting ahead. But you didn’t stop.

Because something had happened.

And Joel and Dina were out there.

You and Ellie rode hard, the snow whipping across your faces like knives, the hooves of your horses lost beneath the storm. You could barely see five feet ahead — but then, in the distance, a glow.

“Shit,” Ellie hissed beside you, pulling her hood lower.

You followed her gaze. Through the trees, past the slope of the hill — firelight. Orange, flickering, wrong. It wasn't from a patrol cabin or torch post. It rose in a bloom, too wild to be controlled. You slowed your horse as your stomach dropped.

“It’s from Jackson,” you whispered, more to yourself than to Ellie.

It wasn’t the whole town, not yet. But something was burning. And it was enough to send a coil of panic twisting through your gut, feeding that same deep certainty that had been clawing at you all day.

“Come on,” you growled, spurring your horse harder, cutting off the cold fear before it could settle. “We are too far.”

And it wasn’t long before you saw it, the lodge.

It sat crooked and hunched near a clearing, like it had been dropped there by accident. One of the side windows was shattered. Smoke was seeping through cracks in the boarded upper floor. The front door hung ajar, barely moving in the wind.

You pulled hard on the reins. Your horse bucked a little, skidding in the snow. Ellie drew her rifle and slid off hers.

Your eyes locked on two shapes near the side of the lodge.

Horses.

Your heart stopped.

Joel’s and Dina’s.

Both were tied loosely, their coats soaked with snow, hooves pawing nervously at the ground. Alone. No movement near the front entrance. No voices. No patrols. No sounds but the wind and the creak of the old building groaning under weight it wasn’t meant to bear.

You slid off your horse.

“Ellie…” you whispered, your voice barely audible, breath clouding in front of you.

She already had her knife out.

“Oh shit...”

You didn’t wait for backup. Couldn’t.

Because Joel’s horse was here. And he wasn’t.

And whatever was inside that building, you felt it—It was about to break you open.

The sound of screams of agony and a body hitting the ground echoed down the hallway like a gunshot.

You knew that sound. It was torture. It was pain.

Your boots thundered down the corridor of the lodge, Ellie at your side, a worry and desperate look in her eyes. She’d followed the path like a wolf hunting a pray, her eyes screaming please don’t let it be too late.

You didn’t say a word. Couldn’t. Your heart was stuck in your throat, and the only thing that moved was your body, in fast motion, furious, drawn to the man who should have never left your side in the first place.

Then you saw it. The door, a from inside, screaming slipping from the lips you used to kiss every day. Joel’s screams.

You didn’t wait. You didn’t breathe. You kicked the door open and your world shattered.

Joel was on the floor, a mess of blood and pain and something worse. His legs bent at unnatural angles. One hand barely raised in instinct. His face, bruised, bleeding, one eye swollen shut. His body twitched like it wasn’t sure if it should keep trying.

And above him, a woman. Blonde. Rage carved into her face like she’d practiced it. Her arms raised again, a golf club in her grip, stained red.

She didn’t see you at first. Her eyes were solely focus on Joel, but you weren’t having that.

You roared, not screamed, roared and tackled her with everything you had, all your weight, all your fury. You slammed her into the wall with a force that cracked wood. The club dropped from her hand and hit the ground.

“No more.” you growled.

Her people came fast, like shadows. One tackled Ellie to the ground. Another raised a knife.

But they hadn’t counted on you.

You were already moving, eyes wild, mind gone. You fought like someone who had nothing left but him.

You weren’t skilled like Joel. You didn’t need to be. You were desperate. Right now, you were desperate.

Fists cracked bone. You took hits but didn’t stop. Didn’t feel them. You were pulling someone off Ellie, dragging them by their collar, throwing them into a chair that splintered on impact. You used what you had — a piece of wood, a broken lamp, your fists, your fury.

And they couldn’t stop you. Because you couldn’t be stopped.

The blonde tried to rise again. You met her halfway and slammed her back to the floor. She spat blood. You didn’t flinch.

“Get away from him!” you screamed.

The crack of your shotgun echoed like thunder as the first shell slammed into one of the men flanking her. Blood hit the wall. Chaos exploded in every direction.

“Who the fuck—?!” Abby turned, fury and shock colliding in her face.

You dropped the shotgun, drew your blade, and charged.

The first one that tried to reached for you got a knife through the ribs. You shoved him off like he was made of paper. The next came at you with a bat, you caught the swing and used his momentum to slam him face-first into the fireplace bricks.

“You don’t get to touch him,” you hissed. “Not him.”

Abby swung the club toward your face. You ducked.

Then you hit her. Right in the gut. The force of it sent her staggering back, wind knocked from her lungs.

“You wanna kill him?” you growled. “Try me first!”

She looked at you like she wanted to, but she hesitated.

And that was her mistake.

Because Ellie broke free just long enough to grab your dropped shotgun and aim it at her. “Step back,” she spat, blood in her teeth, voice shaking but solid.

“Now.”

Abby looked between the two of you. At Joel — bleeding, still breathing — at her fallen group. Then she backed off, raising her hands slightly.

“This isn’t over,” she said.

“Yeah,” you snapped, “it is.” You said, pointing your gun right between her brows.

Your shotgun echoed in the stillness of the room.

The blast slammed into her chest, and her body jerked back like a puppet with its strings cut. She hit the floor; eyes wide. No final words. No redemption. Just silence.

Ellie flinched.

You stood over Abby’s body, breath hitching, heart pounding in your ears. The room reek of blood and then there was silence, except for Joel’s ragged breath.

You dropped beside as your knees had finally given out.

“Hey,” you whispered, your voice cracking into pieces. “Joel, look at me. I’m here. I got you.”

His one good eye fluttered open, dazed, unfocused. There was blood crusted at his brow, dried and fresh, a cruel mask across the face you’d kissed so many times before.

“Y-you---"he rasped, voice like torn gravel.

You nodded, cradling his face in your hands, not caring that blood smeared across your palms. “I’m here. You’re safe. Don’t you dare go anywhere.”

His breath stuttered, chest rising too slow, too shallow. His eyes couldn’t stay fixed on you. They wandered, like he wasn’t fully in the room anymore.

“I thought I lost you,” you whispered, leaning close. Your forehead rested against his, warm against cold.

“Hurts,” he mumbled, eyes slipping closed again.

“No, no,” you said quickly, your hands gently patting his face. “Stay with me. I’ve got you. You’re gonna be okay. Help’s coming, okay? Just—just hold on.”

But he didn’t answer. His breathing slowed.

Your heart lurched in panic. “Joel!”

Nothing.

You pressed your fingers to his pulse—still there, but faint.

“Don’t you do this,” you choked out. “You fight, dammit. You’ve been through worse, haven’t you? Don’t you leave me now.”

You’d already faced your worst nightmare. Now you were living in it, holding it in your arms.

Joel lay limp and broken on the floor, his breath rattling against the stillness. His face was swollen and unrecognizable on one side, purple and black with bruising. One eye swollen shut. Blood trickled from his nose, his mouth, the side of his head. His legs—

Don’t think about the legs. Not now.

“Hey,” you whispered again, voice hoarse. “Joel. You still with me?”

A faint groan. Barely audible.

But it was enough.

He was still here.

You pulled off your jacket and shoved it under his head. Your hands were shaking, but your mind was locked in: every first aid trick you’d learned from scraps of survival guides, emergency manuals, anything Joel had ever shown you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. You had paid attention.

You just never thought you’d be using it on him.

Dina stumbled in, still pale and groggy, her hand gripping the wall. “Ellie?” she rasped. “Wh—what the fuck happened…?”

You didn’t look up. “You were drugged. Ellie is moving the bodies. We need the space.”

Dina staggered past, gagging at the sight of blood, but she didn’t hesitate. She knew. The air had changed.

This was a war zone. A zone you had built in seconds because you didn’t know what else to do. You blinded yourself; you had become a murderer monster just to save Joel.

You pulled Joel’s shirt open — shredded, stained with red. Purple splotches across his ribs. Swelling. At least two broken.

Your voice cracked. “You’re gonna hate me for this, Joel. But I have to move you.”

“Don’t…” he mumbled, almost unconscious. “Just… leave me—”

“Shut up,” you said, fierce now, your tears splashing onto his collarbone. “Don’t you dare say that. You don’t get to give up.”

Ellie appeared, face pale, blood on her shirt, Dina behind her with a blanket and an old mattress from the back.

“We cleared the room,” Ellie said. “It’s just us now.”

“Good,” you said. “Help me splint his legs. We need to keep him still until we can get him out of here.”

You tore up a curtain and grabbed two broken chair legs. It wasn’t perfect, but nothing about this was. Ellie held Joel’s leg as steady as she could, while you worked the makeshift splint around the worst of the fractures.

Joel screamed.

It was guttural, raw as if he was being dragged through hell.

You didn’t flinch. “I know,” you whispered, pressing your forehead to his as you tied the cloth tight. “I know, I know, I’m sorry. I’ve got you.”

You felt his breath against your skin, shallow and hot.

His lips moved. “Why?” he whispered.

You leaned back and looked at him. “Because I love you,” you said simply.

His eye fluttered open — just barely. And for one fragile second, the pain slipped away. There was only you and you brush the hair from Joel’s face. He was burning up. You needed to clean the wounds. Stop the bleeding. Keep him warm.

Keep him alive.

And somehow, by the grace of whatever broken god still watched over you all, you would.

You pressed a damp cloth to his temple where skin had split beneath Abby’s final blow. His blood soaked through instantly. You didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

Your hands moved on their own now. Wash. Compress. Tie. Splint. Whisper to him. Stay with me. Please stay with me.

Ellie and Dina had gone quiet. Standing behind you. Watching. Waiting for direction.

Then your voice broke through the stillness.

“Go back to Jackson.”

Ellie flinched, like she hadn’t expected you to speak.

You didn’t look up. You were holding Joel’s hand — limp and calloused in yours.

“We need help,” you said, barely audible. Your voice was shot. A raw whisper. “Tell Tommy… tell him to send help. We need to get Joel back there.”

Silence. Just the sound of Joel breathing. The sound of blood dripping from the club Abby left behind.

“Please,” you added, and that word cracked like bone. “Please. I can’t carry him by myself. He’s—he’s too heavy. He’s—”

You swallowed hard. Your fingers curled tighter around Joel’s hand.

Ellie stepped forward. “We’re not leaving you.”

You finally looked up, eyes glassy and red-rimmed. “You have to. We need a stretcher, a team. Horses. Anything. I can keep him alive for a few more hours. But I can’t move him like this.”

Ellie’s jaw clenched. Her knuckles went white. “I don’t want to leave you with him like this.”

You reached out, brushing Joel’s graying hair from his brow with trembling fingers. “I’ve got him.”

A pause.

Then Dina touched Ellie’s arm. “I’ll go,” she said gently. “I’ll ride. I’m faster. You stay.”

Ellie nodded, eyes not leaving yours.

You left a loud gasp “No,” you said quietly, lifting your eyes once more to Ellie’s. “Ellie… you go with Dina. I’ll stay here.”

Ellie’s shoulders stiffened. Her brows pulled together like she was bracing for another blow. “What? No. I’m not leaving you and him.”

You sat back on your knees, your hands bloodied, trembling. Joel’s chest rose and fell in shallow, ragged motions beneath you.

“You have to,” you said, your voice breaking. “You have to, Ellie. Dina shouldn’t be riding alone.”

Ellie looked at Joel. Looked at you. And shook her head. “I can’t leave him like this. I can’t.”

You grabbed her hand.

That startled her.

It startled you too.

But you held on, grounding her, pulling her attention back to your face. Your voice dropped to a whisper.

“Please,” you said. “Please. Help me save him.”

Ellie’s eyes filled. Not with tears — not yet — but with everything she couldn’t say. The guilt. The fury. The fear that maybe… it was too late.

But you looked at her like there was still something worth fighting for.

And Ellie, for the first time in what felt like forever, let herself believe it.

She swallowed hard. Nodded once.

“I’ll go.”

Your chest caved with relief. Joel let out a faint groan beneath you, and you turned back to him, brushing your thumb against his jaw.

“I’m here, baby,” you whispered. “I’m right here.”

Ellie hesitated at the doorway. “Will he be okay?” she asked before daring to step a foot outside the room.

You nodded, but it was instinct, automatic, hopeful, desperate. The truth lodged in your throat like a splinter you couldn’t spit out.

“I don’t know,” you said softly, voice trembling. “I—I need to stop the bleeding. His leg is bad. His ribs—fuck, I don’t know how much damage they did.” Your eyes flicked over Joel’s body again, breath catching at the way his chest rose unevenly. “But he’s breathing. And that’s something.”

Ellie stepped closer, still pale, still wide-eyed, her clothes soaked with blood—some hers, some not. “What do you need me to do?”

You looked up at her then, and for a split second, she looked like a kid again. Shaken. Haunted. But standing tall.

“Just go back to Jackson and bring help,” you said, your voice barely more than a breath.

Ellie’s eyes burned. She nodded once; jaw clenched. “Okay. Okay. Just hold on, please.”

You gave her one last look. “I’ll keep him breathing.”

She was gone the next second—boots pounding out the door, calling for Dina. You were left in the broken room, just you and Joel and the slow drip of blood on floorboards.

You pressed your hands to the worst of the wounds, breath shaking. “You hear that, Joel?” you whispered, pressing your forehead to his. “Help’s coming.”

He didn’t speak. But his fingers twitched again, slow, and curled around your wrist.

It wasn’t much but it meant he was still here.

That night felt heavy like wet ash. Outside, the snowstorm had died to a bitter hiss. The wind still screamed through cracks in the lodge, but inside, everything had gone quiet—except for the sound of Joel’s ragged breath and the low creak of floorboards every time you moved.

You’d done everything you could.

His legs were splinted crudely with a broken table leg and belts. His wounds were packed with gauze you tore from your own coat lining. You boiled snow over a fire in the next room just to clean the worst of the blood from his side. You weren’t a medic. But you were a woman in love. And that made you terrifying.

He’d faded in and out of consciousness, his lips murmuring your name between groans, sometimes not even sure it was real. You sat beside him, your back against the bloodstained wall, holding his hand in both of yours.

But then it went still.

You hadn’t realized how quiet it had gotten until the sound stopped completely.

“Joel?” you whispered, leaning close.

No answer.

You shook his shoulder, gently. Then harder. “Joel.”

Nothing. His head lolled to the side. His skin felt clammy beneath your palm.

Your breath broke in your throat. “No, no—please, no. Joel—” You cupped his cheeks. “You stay with me; do you hear me?”

Still nothing. And then a twitch.

His brow twitched. His lips parted, barely, and a broken whisper slipped out.

“…Sarah.”

The name came out like a breath lost in time. You froze. Your heart cracked open.

His eyes fluttered beneath closed lids, a flicker of life.

In his mind, it was Austin again.

The smell of smoke and gasoline in the air. Sirens in the distance. Sarah was laughing, running ahead of him, calling back over her shoulder: “Dad, come on!”

And he was smiling. Genuinely smiling. He could hear her. Feel her hand in his again. It was warm. Real.

He turned and they were on the couch. Watching a movie. She was leaning against him, head on his shoulder. He’d just said something dumb. She rolled her eyes. He didn’t want to blink—afraid it’d all vanish.

But then came the gunshot.

Her warmth gone. He spun. He screamed for her. And when he looked down—

You were there.

In the memory. Not Sarah. You. Covered in blood. Crying. Calling his name.

Joel, please. Please.

Your hands were glowing with firelight, trembling as they pressed against his chest.

He tried to reach for you. He couldn’t move. The world was slipping.

And then—your voice cut through the haze.

“Joel, please. Please don’t do this.”

His heart stuttered once. Then again. A sharp inhale tore through his chest as if he’d been drowning.

“Joel!”

He coughed, body shaking, and your hands caught him just in time.

You sobbed, half-laughing as you gripped his cheeks again. “You scared the shit out of me—oh my god” you sobbed.

He looked up at you, dazed, confused. Then his eyes cleared, just a little.

“You were crying…” he mumbled, lips cracked.

“Yeah,” you whispered, brushing your thumb beneath his eye. “Yeah, I was.”

He blinked slowly. “Stop...”

“I won’t,” you promised. “I’m here. I’m staying.”

And as the fire cracked quietly, Joel leaned ever so slightly into your palm, the pain pulling at him, but your voice anchoring him.

The night lingered like a wound that wouldn’t close.

You didn’t sleep.

Your body screamed for rest, but you stayed next to Joel—watching the way his chest rose and fell, slow and shallow, praying it wouldn’t stop again. Every time his breath caught or he groaned too hard, your stomach twisted into knots.

The lodge was cold. Blood had dried into the floorboards. The fire in the next room was too far away to warm either of you, and you didn’t dare move him to get closer.

So you pressed your body to his side gently, just enough to share warmth without causing him pain.

“Still with me?” you whispered.

His eyes fluttered open, sluggish and heavy. “Yeah…” His voice was more gravel than sound.

You breathed out a shaky laugh, your forehead resting lightly against his temple. “You’re stubborn as hell, y’know that?”

Joel let out a faint puff of breath—maybe a laugh, maybe a wince. “…Learned from the best.”

Your throat clenched. You reached for his hand again, interlocking your fingers with his—gingerly, so you wouldn’t brush the torn knuckles.

“I thought I lost you,” you whispered.

His eyes moved—slow, searching—until they landed on you again. Then he mumbled something you barely heard.

Silence settled like snow. You closed your eyes, listening to the wind groaning against the walls. Time stretched, only broken by Joel’s breath stuttering again.

Then—his fingers twitched around yours.

Then you whispered, “Joel?”

He made a sound.

“I love you.”

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes were glassy with pain. But then he squeezed your hand, and his voice came soft, barely a breath.

“I love you too.”

It felt like the first time he had told you those three words and that had broken you in the gentlest way.

You buried your face in his shoulder, careful of the bruises, and let yourself cry—not in panic, not in fear. But in overwhelming, soul-shaking relief. He was alive.

He was alive.

Joel woke to the soft hum of voices and some old machines. The scent of cleaner stung his nose before the light even reached his eyes.

His body was pain, muted but deep, like a dull echo in his bones. He tried to move, but something warm and heavy rested on his side.

Your head.

You were slumped in a chair beside him, your cheek pressed gently to his arm. Your fingers were laced with his, your grip loose with sleep but still holding on. Still there.

The light in the room was soft, filtering through the curtained window like morning fog. Outside, life stirred in Jackson. But here, it was quiet. Just the two of you.

Joel blinked slowly, his throat dry, the taste of cotton still on his tongue. His gaze drifted down to you. There was a crease between your brows even in rest. You looked exhausted. Pale. Eyes ringed with shadows.

But you were here.

He breathed your name, raw and hoarse.

You stirred at the sound, your head lifting slowly as if from the depths of a dream. Your eyes met his, still sleep-warm but wide with shock. Disbelief flickered, then relief so powerful it made your lips tremble.

“Joel…” you whispered, leaving a sob behind.

His smile was small. Barely there. “You didn’t leave.”

Your hand came up to cup his cheek. “Never,” you said. “You scared the hell out of me.”

He swallowed hard, his hand tightening weakly around yours. “How long?”

“Three weeks,” you said, voice shaking with the memory. “You were unconscious the first few days back. Fever wouldn’t break. They weren’t sure if you’d make it through the second night…”

He looked at you again, really looked. “And you sat here the whole damn time?”

You gave a soft, broken laugh. “Where else would I be?”

His good eye softened. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

You leaned closer, resting your forehead to his. “You promised me once you wouldn’t leave me.”

He nodded faintly, his eyes closing for a moment as your breath mingled.

Your fingers brushed his temple, so gently, as if afraid he’d fade again like some half-formed dream. Joel’s skin was warm beneath your touch, warmer than it had been in days, and that alone nearly broke you all over again.

“It’s going to take time,” you whispered, your voice barely louder than the hum of the machines. “To heal. For everything.”

Joel didn’t say anything, but you felt the tremor in his breath.

You threaded your fingers more tightly with his. “But I’m not going anywhere. You hear me?” you said, firmer now, voice catching on the tears in your throat. “I’m not leaving your side. You will get sick of me.”

His lips parted like he wanted to argue, maybe even protest, but then he looked at you again. Really looked. The cut on his brow. The bruising on his cheekbone. The pain behind his eye, and beyond that, the softness that only came when it was just you.

“You shouldn’t have had to—”

“I had to,” you cut in, gently but unshakable. “Because I love you. Because I couldn’t lose you. And I won’t.” you paused to take a deep breath before continuing, “You and I will grow old together, and we will die peacefully in farm, together.”

Joel blinked. His hand tightened slightly in yours again, like the only strength he had left was meant for that one touch. His voice was barely a whisper when he said, “I don’t deserve you.”

You leaned in and kissed his forehead, bruised, stitched, healing. “You’re mine, Joel. And I’m yours. That’s not about deserving. That’s just how it is.”

Silence fell, heavy but not suffocating. The kind of silence where you could finally breathe again. Where you knew, he was going to live.

Joel let his head rest back into the pillow, the edge of a tear slipping from the corner of his eye.

“Okay,” he whispered, smiling at you.

You smiled through your tears, the kind that burned hot down your cheeks but carried no pain—only release. Relief. Love.

You shifted in the chair, reaching up to brush a bit of hair back from his forehead, careful not to touch where it was most tender. His skin warmed beneath your fingertips. Alive. He was alive. The reality of that still hadn’t fully settled in.

“I’m gonna be here when you wake up,” you promised, voice like a hush of wind through leaves. “Every morning. Every damn day if I have to. You focus on getting better.”

Joel's smile trembled, worn and crooked, but it was his. The first real smile you'd seen in so long it felt like a lifetime ago. His good eye drifted shut, but not before his fingers gave yours one more squeeze, like he couldn’t bear to let go even in sleep.

You watched him as his breathing evened out again, slow and steady, like the beat of a familiar song you never thought you’d hear again. The machines hummed softly beside him. The faint glow of a streetlamp outside filtered through the hospital window, painting golden lines across the bedsheets.

You rested your head by his side again, your cheek brushing his arm, eyes closing just for a moment. Not to sleep, but to hold the feeling. The warmth. The miracle.

He was still here.

And you would be, too. Always.

[kstrucknet]

[ NEW PROD. by @nicholasluvbot ] ‎

─────please check out ira’s most recent post! remember to 𝗿𝗲𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗴, 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲, & 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗱𝗯𝗮𝗰𝗸 for the author.

ㅤ୨ৎ ｡｡ CASUAL INTIMACY ────── 보이넥스트도어

𝑓emale 𝑟eader ⟡ 3765 words / fluff , est. rel ✶ skinship , kissing ! ( click for more ) — @kstrucknet & @k-films & @sgz-net

alternatively ───── cherished moments with them that make your heart flutter.

myung jaehyun.

01. You’re sitting on the couch, scrolling through your phone, completely unaware of the mischievous grin spreading across Jaehyun’s face as he inches closer to you. “Hey,” he calls out softly, pulling your attention away from the screen. When you look up, he’s leaning in, his face mere inches from yours, as if he’s about to kiss you. Your heart skips a beat at the sudden proximity, and you tilt your head slightly in anticipation, only for him to gently tap the tip of your nose with his finger. “Boop,” he says with a wide grin, his dimples deepening as he pulls back just enough to catch your surprised expression. You blink, momentarily caught off guard, before bursting into laughter. “You’re such a dork,” you say fondly, with a faux roll of your eyes. Jaehyun chuckles, pinching your cheek adoringly before cupping your face in both hands. His thumbs brush lightly against your skin as he tilts your head closer to his, his lips hovering just shy of yours. But just as one hand sneaks back toward your nose for another playful tap, you grab a fistful of his shirt and tug him forward, crashing his lips into yours.

02. You’re getting ready for a friend’s birthday, standing in front of the mirror as you rant about your day to Jaehyun. He’s sprawled out on your bed, lazily watching you doll up for the event with an amused smile. Just as you finish with your makeup, you step back from the mirror to check your outfit, still talking about the minor frustrations of your day. Before you can take another step, Jaehyun gets up and gently pulls you back against him, his arms sliding around your waist. You let out a surprised yelp as his fingers brush against your collarbones, adjusting the clasp of your necklace and twisting it so it sits properly at the back. His touch lingers for a moment, feather-light against your skin. “There you go,” he says with a small smile, his dimples making another devastatingly cute appearance. You don’t realize you’re blushing until he tilts his head and raises an eyebrow, bringing a finger up to gently poke your cheek. “Who’s the blush for, pretty?” he teases, his voice light and playful. Quickly shaking your head in denial, you mumble something incoherent, but Jaehyun just chuckles, his eyes glinting with amusement. He cups your jaw, leaning in to press a feather-light kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Let’s go,” he murmurs, taking your hand in his as he leads you out of the house.

03. The crowd around you is overwhelming—voices blending into a loud hum, bodies pressing too close for comfort. You glance over at Jaehyun, who’s walking beside you, looking just as anxious as you feel. When your eyes meet, your hands instinctively reach for each other. Jaehyun’s hand is warm, his grip firm but reassuring. “Don’t let go,” he murmurs, squeezing your hand as he guides you through the sea of people. Even after you’re in the clear, standing in the open with space to breathe, he doesn’t let go. His thumb gently brushes over the back of your hand, sending tiny sparks through your skin. It’s as if holding on to you feels more natural to him than letting go, and honestly, you’re in no rush to pull away either.

park sungho.

01. You complain about your aching feet after a long walk—or worse, a painful shoe bite—and before you can finish, Sungho crouches down in front of you, rolling his eyes dramatically. "What did I tell you about wearing the wrong shoes?" he scolds, though there’s no real bite to his words. He pats his back, glancing at you over his shoulder with a grin. "Hop on." When you hesitate, he shifts impatiently, his voice turning into a whiny plea. "Come on, don’t make me beg." Your giggles fill the air as you finally climb onto his back, his hands steady and warm as they grip your thighs to hold you in place. He adjusts his hold before giving a satisfied hum. "See? Told you I’ve got you." You rest your chin on his shoulder, your laughter softening into a content smile as he carries you the rest of the way, his steps steady and comforting, just like him.

02. After a long, exhausting day, the two of you sit together on the bus ride home. You let out a quiet sigh, and that’s all Sungho needs to notice how tired you are. Without saying a word, he gently nudges your arm and gestures to his shoulder with a soft smile. You rest your head against him, the broadness of his shoulders providing an unexpected comfort despite the firmness of his muscles. He shifts slightly, leaning his cheek against the crown of your head. Just as you’re about to drift off, you feel the soft press of his lips against your hair, his kiss lingering for a moment, warm and tender.

03. Even when you insist you’re full, Sungho always saves the last bite for you—without fail. He picks it up and holds it out in front of your mouth, grinning cheekily. "Say aah," he teases, opening his own mouth wide in demonstration. You try to suppress a laugh at your boyfriend’s antics but give in, letting him feed you. The satisfaction in his eyes as you take the bite is almost comical, and you’re just about to tease him when he leans in and presses a soft, lingering kiss to your cheek. Your words die in your throat as heat rises to your face, leaving you flustered and Sungho grinning wider.

lee riwoo.

01. You’re both busy with your own things—he’s watching a show on TV while you’re curled up next to him with a book, your legs resting comfortably over his. Every so often, Riwoo glances at you, quietly admiring the way your brows furrow in concentration, the way you absentmindedly fidget with your lower lip. When a strand of hair falls into your face, you don’t even notice. Riwoo does, though. Gently, he tucks the strand behind your ear, his fingertips grazing your skin for the briefest moment. “There,” he murmurs softly, turning his attention back to the TV, though the shy smile creeping onto his face betrays him.

02. Riwoo isn’t the type to initiate big, dramatic displays of affection, but sometimes, when the moment feels just right, he can’t help himself. Like now, as you stand in the kitchen, focused on something entirely mundane—washing dishes, chopping vegetables, or scrolling through a recipe on your phone. Quietly, he walks up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist, moving your hair aside to rest his chin on your shoulder, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. You flinch slightly at the sudden contact, letting out a small gasp. “You startled me,” you murmur, though your voice softens as you relax in his hold. “’M sorry,” he whispers, his voice muffled against your skin, his arms tightening just a bit more as his hands come together, anchoring you in place.

03. You’re running late, practically hopping around as you slip your shoes on, fingers raking through your hair in a futile attempt to tame it. Riwoo watches from the doorway, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as you huff in frustration. He steps forward, gently tugging your arm to stop you. “Here, let me fix it,” he says softly, his voice low and soothing. Before you can protest, his hands are in your hair, his fingers working delicately through the tangles. He smooths down the flyaways, combing through the strands with practiced ease, his touch gentle but sure. When he’s done, he steps back, tilting his head slightly as he admires his work—and you. “What?” you ask, catching the faint smile tugging at his lips. “So pretty,” he says simply. Before you can recover, he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “Bye, love,” he whispers, stepping back as you leave the house. Your knees feel wobbly, your heart racing as you glance back at him one last time before heading out, a giddy smile tugging at your own lips.

han taesan.

01. It’s late, and you’re both supposed to be asleep unless you want to risk being late for work the next morning. But none of that seems to matter. You stand on your tiptoes to pull the ice cream from the freezer, feeling Taesan’s presence lingering behind you. You place the tub on the counter when you feel him tug at the sleeve of your hoodie. Turning around, you’re met with the sight of Taesan’s face bathed in the soft glow of the refrigerator light, his eyes holding a tenderness that makes your heart ache in the best way. He steps closer, his hands finding your waist as he pulls you toward him. His forehead rests gently against yours, and the quiet intimacy of the moment steals your breath. Instinctively, your hand lifts to brush against his cheek, but he winces at the chill of your fingers against his warm skin. “Sorry,” you giggle softly, pulling your hand back quickly. Taesan’s lips twitch into a small, lopsided smile as he takes your hands in his, enveloping them in his warmth. He rubs them gently, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles until the coldness fades. But even when your hands are warm, he doesn’t let go. Instead, he lifts one of your hands to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to your knuckles before leaning forward to place another on your forehead. He rests his cheek against your temple, his arms wrapping around you fully now as he sways the two of you back and forth in the quiet stillness of 3 a.m. The faint hum of the fridge fills the silence, but all you can focus on is the sound of his steady breathing and the feel of his heartbeat against yours.

02. You’re scrolling through your phone, sitting comfortably on the couch with your legs tucked under you, when Taesan plops down beside you. He sits in silence for a while, fidgeting with the sleeves of his sweater as he debates whether or not to get your attention. Eventually, he scoots closer, gently unfolding your legs, and rests his head in your lap, instantly relaxing as the exhaustion of the day melts away. You glance down at him, confusion crossing your face, but Taesan simply grins up at you with half-lidded eyes. Without saying a word, he reaches for your hand, guiding it to his hair. A soft chuckle escapes your lips as you bite back a smile, amused by his clingy behavior. Slowly, you start to run your fingers through his hair, the rhythm soothing both him and you. Taesan hums contentedly, his body shifting as he gets more comfortable on your thighs. You look back at your phone, but your fingers never stop moving through his hair. Your attention is fully on the pretty boy with his head resting on your lap, and for a moment, everything else fades away.

03.

You’re out shopping with Taesan, almost ready to leave after grabbing everything that caught your eye, but you’re too tired to shop any longer. Taesan is holding all your shopping bags, despite your insistence on carrying at least one. He refused to let you. You’re standing in front of the elevator, waiting for it to reach your floor. The strap of your purse keeps slipping off your shoulder, and you unknowingly let out an irritated huff as you pull it up for the fourth time in the past two minutes.

“Give it to me,” Taesan says, taking the little bag from you before you can protest. You don’t even know how he’s managed to hold all these bags.

“Taesan, I can hold my purse myself,” you say firmly, but he just clicks his tongue.

“Well, you clearly can’t if you keep dropping it.”

You frown. “I didn’t drop it—”

Before you can finish, his lips press against yours—firm but soft—before pulling away almost immediately.

“Hush, I’m fine with holding your bags, baby.”

You can’t say anything to that, too flustered to even look at him. Your eyes fall on a little girl standing behind you, who bursts into a fit of giggles at the sight of the kiss your boyfriend just gave you. You scrunch your nose at her before resting your cheek against Taesan’s shoulder, biting your lip to stop yourself from giggling like the girl behind you.

kim leehan.

01.

You’re sitting in the corner of a quiet cafe, focused on an assignment that’s due in a few days. Leehan, however, is not as focused. He had plenty of work to do, but after ten minutes, his attention was already drifting. He kept turning his phone on and off, scanning the cafe, and gossiping in your ear whenever someone did something questionable. He fidgeted with your pens, did everything but study.

Finally, he grabbed a pen and gently took your hand, guiding it toward him. You didn’t resist; anything to let this boy distract himself so you could focus. The cool pen glided over the back of your hand as he started doodling.

A few minutes later, you felt him looking up at you with a gleam in his eyes. You glanced down at the back of your hand and saw two fish drawn with a green pen, sloppily yet endearingly, with a heart between them. One fish had wide eyes and a ridiculously joyful expression, while the other had smaller eyes and furrowed eyebrows. A fish with eyebrows? But you didn’t question it.

"Let me guess," you said, your lips curling into a smile, "I’m the grumpy one?"

Leehan nodded enthusiastically. "Cute, right?" he beamed. "They’re in love," he added dreamily.

You smiled at the doodle, finding it impossibly cute. You’d never wash it off if you could.

"Hold on," he said. "I’ll draw our kids too."

"Leehan!"

02. You groan softly as sunlight pours through the window, squinting and turning to face the other way. Leehan is already awake, watching you with a sleepy, gentle smile. "Morning," he says, his voice still thick with sleep. It never fails to surprise you how cheerful he can be, even when sunlight is harshly poking at your eyes on a Sunday morning at 8 a.m.

You grumble in response, your words unintelligible as you move closer to Leehan, nuzzling against his side and pulling the blankets tighter around you. He doesn’t hesitate to wrap you in his warm embrace, his hand gently running through your hair, massaging your scalp with his fingers. You grab a fistful of his shirt, holding him even tighter as you snuggle into his chest.

"Wake up, baby," you hear him murmur, his voice soft and full of affection. You mumble, "Five more minutes, please," and feel Leehan nod in understanding. Five minutes pass, and he still holds you close, continuing to run his fingers through your hair, allowing you to cling to him for as long as you need, because he enjoys it just as much as you do.

His gentle touch and soothing presence make it so easy to forget about the world outside, leaving you feeling safe and content in his arms. You can’t imagine a better way to start your day.

03. You were talking a mile a minute, hands gesturing wildly as you went on and on about some random thing that had happened during the day. Leehan, on the other hand, was quietly listening, his eyes soft and amused as they watched you talk.

“You know,” you continued, oblivious to the way his lips curled into a smile, “I think it’s just—” Before you could go on any longer, Leehan suddenly leaned forward, cutting you off mid-sentence. His hand found its way to the back of your neck, his thumb brushing gently against your skin. And before you could even react, his lips pressed against yours, silencing your rambling in the sweetest way possible. The kiss was soft, a little teasing, and it made your heart race all at once.

When he pulled away just enough to look at you, his face was flushed, but there was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “You were talking a lot,” he murmured, his voice low and warm.

You blinked at him, cheeks turning a soft pink. “Leehan...” you whispered, still a little breathless. He gave you a playful grin and pecked your lips again, this time lingering just a bit longer, his hand softly cupping your cheek.

“Couldn’t resist,” he murmured, his voice warm and fond. “Every time you talk, I just wanna kiss you.”

Your smile widened, and you leaned into him, feeling his arms wrap around you as he pulled you closer. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to keep talking, then.”

kim woonhak.

01. It wasn’t unusual for Woonhak to absentmindedly play with your hair. Sometimes it started with a little twirl or a soft tug to smooth a flyaway, but soon his fingers would weave through your hair in the gentlest way, like he couldn’t help himself.

One afternoon, as you sat on the floor reading, your head resting against his knee as he lounged behind you on the couch, his hand found your hair again. He started with soft motions—tucking strands behind your ear, brushing his fingers through lightly. The repetitive movement was so soothing you closed your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips.

After a while, his movements changed. You felt him section off a small part of your hair and begin braiding it, the motions careful and deliberate. He worked with so much focus, as though he didn’t want to accidentally tug too hard or mess up your peaceful moment. A small smile played on your lips as you let him continue, enjoying the way he was putting so much care into something as simple as your hair.

“Umm, YN… I think I messed up.”

Curious, you touched the braid—and gasped. It wasn’t a braid; it was a bird’s nest more than anything. “Woonhak!”

His eyes widened, and he clasped his hands together, leaning in dramatically. “I’m so sorry, baby! I swear I didn’t mean to destroy your hair.” Then, without giving you a chance to respond, he leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to your forehead. “Forgive me?” he asked softly, his lips brushing your temple before planting another kiss just above your ear.

You sighed, trying to stay annoyed, but he made it impossible. “Not fair,” you muttered, tilting your head toward him as his lips trailed to your cheek.

“Is that a yes?” he murmured, grinning against your skin.

“Only if you help me fix this mess.”

You laughed as he gently guided you to sit between his knees, his hands carefully working through the tangle of knots. His fingers, though slightly clumsy, moved delicately as he untangled strand by strand. Occasionally, he’d pause to place a soft kiss on the top of your head or your shoulder, murmuring little apologies that made your heart flutter.

“You’re lucky I like you so much,” you mumbled, leaning back slightly against him.

02. Woonhak had an adorable habit of always saving you a seat, no matter where you went. It was second nature to him—at the library, the cafeteria, or even during group hangouts. He’d drape his jacket over a chair or place his bag on it, giving you a small grin when you arrived, as if to say, This is for you. He never made a big deal out of it, either. It was just something he did, quietly and without fuss, as natural as breathing.

Today, your friends had decided on a casual lunch after school. The restaurant was buzzing with chatter, and by the time you arrived, it seemed every seat at the table was already taken—except for one, right next to Woonhak. He looked up as you walked in, his face lighting up instantly. “Over here,” he called softly, patting the empty chair beside him. You made your way over, a little flustered by the attention but grateful nonetheless.

“Thanks,” you murmured as you slid in, your shoulder brushing his. His arm instinctively came to rest on the back of your seat, fingers lightly grazing your shoulder. The conversation flowed easily among your friends, but your little bubble with Woonhak remained. Under the table, his knee pressed gently against yours. You shifted slightly, and he pressed back, as if to say, Stay close.

At one point, he casually reached for your hand, his pinky hooking around yours before giving a soft squeeze. You glanced at him, catching the faintest smile tugging at his lips as he pretended to focus on his food. But the pink hue dusting his cheeks gave him away completely.

And just like that, with your knees touching and his hand brushing yours, everything else was background noise—leaving only the two of you, perfectly at ease in each other’s presence.

03. It was one of those perfect winter evenings—the air crisp, your breath puffing out in soft clouds as you walked down the street. You were a step ahead of Woonhak, chatting animatedly about something that had happened earlier in the day, your hands flying in every direction to emphasize your points. Woonhak wasn’t saying much today. He liked listening to you like this—watching the way your eyes lit up when you were excited, the way your scarf bobbed with every enthusiastic gesture. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he trailed behind, letting you lead the way.

The crosswalk came into view, and the light had just turned yellow, but you were too caught up in your story to notice. You stepped forward without thinking, and Woonhak’s hand darted out instinctively, wrapping gently around your arm. “Wait,” he said softly, pulling you back just as a car sped past. You blinked, startled, and turned to look at him. “Just… be careful,” he mumbled, trying to play it cool, but the redness creeping up his ears betrayed him.

Before you could say anything, he slid his hand down from your arm and intertwined his fingers with yours, slipping both of your hands into the pocket of his coat. The warmth of his palm against yours immediately chased away the chill in the air. You glanced down at your joined hands, a shy smile tugging at your lips at your boyfriend’s sweet gesture to make sure you were safe.

‎ ‎     • feedback 🗯 reblogs ───── highly appreciated ˆᗜˆ

[sceletaflores]

slippin' and slidin' all over you!

pair: logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 4k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, sweating, mutual masturbation, sweat licking (i don't know???), not-so-dry humping, p in v, JUST THE TIP RAHHH, creampie, fingering (fem!recieving), oral sex (fem!receiving), come swapping, come eating, literally over four thousand words of pure nasty smut, this is gross lowkey, idk i'm h*rny, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: very much not the winner or even an option of the poll i posted last week but...shhh don't hate me. it’s october and over 80 every single day, what the fuck is that? only good thing that came from this heat is thoughts of nasty sweaty sex with logan. once again shoutout to my wonderful husband @ebodebo for reading this over for me (i successfully changed her vendetta against sucking up some man sweat...which was the real point of this fic tbh) go give her fics some love if you're a slut for ghost! kisses!

logan forgot to fix the ac...

It's too hot out to be alive. 36°C and sunny.

One of the hottest days in recent memory for Alberta, and you're really feeling it.

"Remind me," you say slowly, the first words spoken in almost ten minutes. "How many times did I ask you to fix the air conditioner?"

"Don't start," Logan says from his spot across the room. His head is tipped back to rest on the couch cushion, eyes slipped shut.

You ignore him, lazily rolling your head to the side to look at him through squinted eyes, your brows furrowed in thought. "Was it ten? Or maybe thirteen?"

Logan huffs a breath, slow and heavy, but he doesn't move--doesn't even open his eyes. “I said don’t start,” he mutters again, though there’s the faintest edge of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"Don't worry baby," you say, voice pitched lower in a terrible impersonation of Logan. "I'll get to it, promise. Won’t get too hot for another couple months."

Logan finally cracks an eye open, just enough to give you a sideways glance, his mouth twitching with amusement. "You done?"

You hum noncommittally, the sound lingering in the air like the lazy summer breeze doing nothing to cool the temperature outside. Your gaze slips down the side of his face to trace the jut of his jaw, then lower to the sweaty column of his neck. 

Both you and Logan lost most of your clothes earlier in the day, too hot to bother wearing anything but underwear. You trudged around the house like zombies until you finally gave up on trying to be productive, you both ended up in the living room. 

All the windows are cracked open, trying in vain to let in any cool air. You claimed the armchair closest to the fan, refusing to be anywhere near Logan and the massive heat wave he constantly gives off.

Logan’s on the couch, stripped down to the thinnest pair of sleep shorts you’ve ever seen. His chest is bare, glistening with a thin sheen of sweat that mats the dark hair dusted along his pecs to his skin. 

You can’t help the way your eyes follow the drops of moisture that slide slowly down the contours of his abs. A low heat starting to swirl through your gut when it disappears into his happy trail.

It's funny. When you basically peeled yourself off your mattress this morning, sex was the absolute last thing on your mind.

Now, as your eyes glide over the strong expanse of Logan's body on full display, you're having second thoughts.

Maybe it just comes with the heat. That sort of slow, syrupy feeling that slides along your overheated skin to pulse pleasantly between your thighs.

A bead of sweat slides down the length of your spine slowly, falling until it soaks into the damp waistband of your panties. You try to not notice how Logan is halfway across the room, not touching you.

You fail.

“It’s just a shame, though,” you start, fingers idly toying with the hem of your tank top. “If it was cooler, I could come over there.”

You slide a leg up, letting it rest against the wooden rest, newly exposed skin gleaming under the sunlight filtering in. 

The move isn't lost on Logan. You see his jaw clench slightly, the tiniest shift in his posture.

"Something you wanted?" Logan asks, his voice going low and teasing. "Looks like you've been gettin' yourself all worked up over there."

“Just thinking,” you reply, shifting slightly on the sticky leather of the chair.

Logan’s fingers twitch at his sides, his chest rising and falling with slow, measured breaths. His eyes slide the rest of the way open, his gaze heavy and lingering as it ventures down to where your thin shirt sticks to your skin, outlining every curve.

“Oh yeah?” he prompts, his voice a little rougher now. “Thinkin’ about what, baby?”

“You,” you say easily, fingers slipping down to your thigh. You bring your other leg up, perching it against the opposite armrest. Your thighs spread wide enough that you know Logan has a full view of the wet spot growing along the gusset of your panties.

The hitch in Logan’s breath has you stifling a smug smile, taking your bottom lip between your teeth as you watch the way his chest starts rising faster.

"That's real sweet, sugar," he drawls, an unimpressed look on his face as he drags his eyes back up to your own. "But if you're tryin' to get me over there, you're gonna have to do better than that." His voice slides through the air heavy and warm like molasses.

You bite back a grin, enjoying the slow game that's unfolding between the two of you. 

"Maybe I don’t want you to come over here," you let your fingers trail a little lower, just to the edge of your panties, teasing. “Maybe I like you right where you are.”

Logan’s brow raises, his thighs tensing before he spreads them just a touch wider. The fabric of his boxers goes taut over the strong muscle, riding up to expose even more hairy skin to your greedy eyes.

"You're playin' with fire, kid," he warns.

The tent in his shorts is obvious now, the hard length of his cock pressing against the fabric where it lays across his thigh. Your other hand twitches by your side at just the sight, your pussy throbbing with the sudden need to be filled.

"Am I?" you murmur, your fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your panties, just enough to make sure he knows exactly where this is headed. ”It’s not like you’re going to do anything about it, you’re too busy pouting."

With a deliberate slowness, you slide your fingers lower, brushing against your clit with just enough pressure to let out a soft gasp at the contact. You arch your back slightly, relishing in the way the air feels against your skin, hot and sticky.

You want him to see how badly you need him—how his heat is the only thing that could truly satisfy the insatiable ache building between your legs.

Logan's nostrils flare, jaw tightening and eyes darkening at the sight of you teasing yourself. His restraint is slipping, and you can practically feel the tension building in the room, thick and stifling like the oppressive summer heat. 

But he still doesn’t move, doesn’t rush over like you expect him to. Instead, he shifts his hips slightly, spreading his legs wider and letting his hand fall on his thigh. 

You can’t help the way your breath quickens at the sight, the way his fingers drift dangerously close to his own growing bulge, teasing you just as much as you’re teasing him. 

You tilt your head to the side, gazing at him through your lashes. “You're really just gonna leave me hanging?” you goad, fingers circling lazily around your sensitive clit. “Come on stud, whip it out.”

Logan chuckles low, a sound that sends shivers through you. "Is that what you want, baby?" he asks, voice thick and taunting, a smirk curling on his lips. “You want me to whip it out for you?”

“Yeah,” you murmur breathlessly, biting your lip as you maintain eye contact, your breath starting to come in short bursts. “I need to see you, Logan. Need to see how hard you are for me.”

“Need to, huh,” he muses slowly, fingers finally grazing over the hard length of his cock. “What’s in it for me?”

“How about this?” You slip your hand out from your ruined panties, fingers glistening with your own wetness as you hook your thumbs on either side and drag them down your legs.

You let the soaked cotton fall to the floor, leaving you completely exposed to him.

Logan’s pupils dilate, an inky black completely swallowing the warm hazel. He licks his lips slowly, the tip of his tongue running along his teeth like he wants to sink them into you. His cock twitches visibly beneath his shorts, the growing tension in the air between you thick enough to choke on.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, his voice low and gravelly, more of a growl than a word.

You smile, shifting in the chair to give him an even better view, your legs spreading wider. "Yeah?" you purr, running your fingers over your slick inner thigh, feeling the heat radiating from your own skin. “You like what you see?”

Logan swallows hard, his hand finally slipping beneath the waistband of his shorts, palming his cock as he watches you. “You know I do,” he says, voice rougher than before. 

You let your hand trail back down to your clit, rubbing it in slow, teasing circles as you hold his gaze. “Then show me, Logan,” you whisper, your voice almost a plea now. "I wanna see you."

Logan lets out a low, rumbling groan, his fingers making quick work of shoving his shorts down enough to free his cock. It springs free to slap lewdly against his stomach and you can’t help the moan that escapes your lips at the sight.

He strokes himself slowly to start, his eyes locked on you, watching your every reaction, feeding off the way your chest rises and falls in quick, shallow breaths.

"Like this?" he asks, his tone taunting as he strokes himself from base to tip, his thumb swiping over the head with a low hiss. “That what you wanted?”

Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him, straining and in his hand. The sight of his thumb brushing over the tip of his cock sends a hot, electric pulse through your body, your hand between your legs moving in time with his slow strokes.

"Yeah," you whisper, voice trembling with need. "Just like that."

You slip your hand lower, sliding two fingers inside yourself with a low moan. Logan groans like he’s the one being touched, his hand speeds up, eyes glued to where your fingers disappear in your slick heat.

His cock leaks pre-come over his knuckles each time his fist passes over the dripping head, the wet sound of it mixing with the low hum of the fan and your own breathy sighs.

"You look so fuckin' good like this honey," Logan groans, his voice rough, strained. "All spread out, playing with that pretty pussy for me."

You whimper at his words, your body aching for more than just your own touch. You need him, need the feel of his rough hands on your skin, his mouth, his cock—anything.

Your fingers move faster, slipping deeper inside with each pump, but it’s still not enough. The stretch is nothing compared to taking Logan, to the feeling of him carving a place for his thick cock inside your pussy, hitting that spot inside you that your fingers can’t quite reach.

Your hips buck up towards your hand, your back arching off the chair as your free hand clutches the armrest tightly.

Logan’s pace quickens, his fist pumping his cock with a new urgency, heavy balls bouncing with every rough tug.

“God, look at you, such a needy fuckin’ thing” he growls, chest heaving as his gaze flicks between your flushed face and the glistening mess you’re making of yourself like he can’t decide where to look. “You want it bad, don’t you?”

"Please," you whine, desperation creeping into your voice. Too keyed up to draw this out any longer. “I need you inside me, Logan. I can’t take it anymore.”

Logan groans, a sound that rumbles deep in his chest. His hand falters slightly on his cock, squeezing hard around the base as your words push him dangerously close to the edge. His jaw clenches, eyes raking over you, and with a growl, he stands. 

The last threads of his restraint snapping.

 He crosses the room in two long strides, towering over you where you sit. His cock swollen and hard, sways between his legs with every step, glistening with pre-come that drips to the floor. His eyes, hooded and burning, drink you in as he reaches down, yanking your hand away from your slick heat.

“Thought you said it was too hot to move,” you tease breathlessly, unable to quit egging him on even when your legs start to tremble with need, spreading wider to welcome him.

Logan ignores you, tugging your hand to his lips. Your breath catches in your chest, a weak moan escaping you as he takes your soaked fingers in his mouth. His tongue swirling along your skin to taste you, his eyes never leaving yours as he does.

“Changed my mind,” he growls, strong hands rough and possessive as they drop your wrist and haul you out of the chair so he can spin around, collapsing into it with you in his lap. The wood gives a warning creak beneath you but neither of you care.

Not when his mouth is on yours, hot and demanding as he slides his tongue past the seam of your lips. The heat radiating off his body is suffocating, but you welcome it—craving the weight of him on you.

You melt against him, feeling the hard planes of his body against yours, every inch of him alive and pulsating with need. Logan’s hands find their way to your hips, fingers digging in just enough to send a rush coursing through you.

It’s intoxicating, the way he devours you, his hands exploring every inch of your back, grasping and pulling you impossibly closer. 

The hard jut of his cock presses against your thigh, a thick plane of heat that makes your pussy throb with need. You shift your hips, grinding down on him in messy circles.

“You feel that?” he growls, lips brushing against your ear. “That’s all for you, darlin’.”

“Need you,” you whimper, grinding down against him faster, desperate for the friction that sends pleasure rippling through you. “Please, Logan, I need you inside me now.”

“Hold on, baby,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky, sending sparks all up your spine.

He dips his head, capturing your lips again, while his hands roam hungrily down your sides, fingers curling around your thighs to urge your legs open wider. “You wanna tease me, you’re gonna have to get off just like this.”

Logan angles his hips so that his cock slips between your drenched folds the next time you roll your own down.

The hot, slick glide sends electric shocks of pleasure racing through you, your body responding instinctively to his touch. You gasp against his lips, fingers tangling in his hair as you push down, desperate for more.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ wet,” he growls, his voice dripping with lust as he watches your movements with hungry eyes. “Just for me, huh? She’s droolin’ just for me.”

You nod breathlessly, chasing the friction, craving the feel of him so close. You lift your hips and rock back down again, the blunt head of his cock brushing against your swollen clit, and you feel your body pulse in response. 

“More,” you plead, leaning in to nibble at his lower lip. “I need it.”

Logan pulls away, shaking his head with a wicked grin. “Come on, tough shot,” he says, giving your ass a quick smack and kneading the tender flesh in his hand roughly. “You’re gonna come like this, you can do it baby.”

You whine, dropping your chin to your chest. Your hands find his shoulders, nails digging crescent moons into the strong muscle. Your chest slips slickly against his, the front of your tank almost entirely soaked with sweat.

Yours or his, it doesn't matter. The white cotton turned transparent enough that your breasts are on full display, nipples hard and visible.

You watch a single bead of sweat make its way down the length of his throat. It trickles down and down and down until it dips between the pronounced muscles of his chest.

You duck your head, dragging your tongue up the valley of his pecs. A deep moan bursts from your lips, pussy drooling more slick over Logan’s cock at the coarse feel of his thick hair on your tongue, at the heady taste of his sweat filling your senses.

Logan groans, hands tightening their hold on your waist. The dull ache his strength leaves behind is enough to let you know that two hand shaped bruises will be blooming over your skin by tomorrow morning. 

“Come on, girly,” he encourages, nipping at the sweaty column of your throat, the sharp points of his teeth scraping along the sensitive skin deliciously. “Fuck me, give it to me good.”

Your hips speed up, his hard cock sliding through the slick folds of your cunt faster. The tip bumps against your clit deliciously with every move, smearing pre-come along the way to add even more to the mess between your legs.

“Gonna fuckin’ fill you up,” he groans, breath puffing warm and hot agasint the slick skin of your lips. “Pump you so full of my come you’ll be leakin’ for a goddamn week.”

He shifts underneath you, the tip of his cock catching on your entrance just enough for it to push inside on the next grind of your hips.

The barely there fullness has you coming with a sharp cry, nails roughly dragging down Logan’s back hard enough to leave red welts that heal as you go.

The pain mixing with the pleasure of finally getting to feel the warm, wet suction of your pussy has Logan coming with a rough shout of your name. He throws his head back, hands tightening their grip on your hips enough to have your bones grinding together as he pumps you full of his come. 

“Logan…” you mewl, your pussy fluttering over the tip of his cock, greedy little clenches like you're trying to suck him the rest of the way in. Drunk on the way his release paints your insides, how you can feel each thick spray coating your walls to claim you in the rawest way.

Logan pulls back just far enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark and smoldering as he watches you squirm in his lap.

"You’re not tapping out on me already, are you?" he teases, his voice rough and gravelly. "I thought you were tougher than that."

A weak, breathy laugh escapes you, but it’s cut short when he applies just a little more pressure, making your thighs quiver. "Not tapping out," you manage between shallow breaths, your head falling back against the chair. "But you’re—fuck—you’re insatiable."

Logan smirks, leaning in to nip at the sensitive skin of your throat, his teeth scraping just enough to send shivers coursing through you.

"When it comes to you, baby?" he murmurs against your skin, the heat of his breath fanning over your pulse point. "Fuckin’ always."

A lazily smile takes over your lips as you tighten your core and push, the rest of Logan’s come leaking out over his fingers. Logan groans, pressing his forehead to your shoulder to try and ground himself.

His cock throbs where it sways heavily between his thighs, still hard and ready to go even after he just came. His hand slips down your body, thick fingers running through the creamy mess of come and slick to messily push it back inside you.

“Fuckin’ shit, honey,” he groans lowly, pressing his thumb to your clit. “You’re gonna kill me.” 

Before you can respond, he stands again, gently placing your trembling form back into the chair and dropping to his knees in front of you.

Your breath hitches, legs widening despite the way your pussy shakes with overstimulation, like you can’t help but spread your legs for Logan anytime he wants.

Logan smirks up at you from between your legs, his lips already ghosting over the inside of your thigh. "Look at you," he growls, voice low and filled with lust. "Still so needy."

The slick heat of his tongue runs along your folds, lapping at the mess he just made of you. You let out a sharp gasp, thighs trembling as your fingers weave into his hair, tugging him closer.

The sensation is overwhelming—the rough, demanding pace of his tongue as it swirls around your clit, teasing you, while his hands grip your thighs with bruising force. Keeping you exactly where he wants you, keeping you spread open for his tongue.

Your body arches off the chair with a loud cry, every nerve alight with raw pleasure as he feasts on you, his growls vibrating against your sensitive skin.

"Fuck! Logan," you moan breathlessly, head falling back as you try to keep up with the sensations he's pulling from you.

The heat that was pooling low in your belly reignites, stoked by the way his tongue flicks faster against your clit, each stroke sending you higher.

Logan doesn’t let up, his tongue delving deeper, drinking in every moan, every shaky gasp as he drives you closer to the edge. He moans into your pussy, his own arousal clear in the way his hips buck into the air, seeking any kind of friction.

You tug on his hair harder, desperate for more, for release. "Logan, please," you whimper, your voice barely above a whisper, thick with need.

"Atta’ girl," he rasps, his voice thick with desire as he watches your face contort with pleasure. "So fuckin’ pretty like this. You gonna give me another one, baby? Gonna come for me again?"

Every lick, every rough squeeze to your thighs, every teasing stroke sends you spiraling closer to that edge you’re dying to reach again. You can feel the heat radiating off him, his breath hot against your soaked skin and driving you wild.

“Logan, I—” You gasp, fingers tightening in his hair, urging him closer, closer, closer. “I’m so close—”

His eyes flick up to meet yours, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, nose and jaw glistening in your juices.

"Give it to me," he growls, the rough rasp of his voice sending a shiver through your overheated body. "I wanna feel you come on my tongue."

It’s all the encouragement you need. With a strangled cry, your body tenses, thighs quaking as the orgasm crashes over you.

Logan keeps his mouth on you, tongue working you through every pulse, drawing it out until you’re trembling and gasping, your body boneless in the chair.

When you finally come down, panting and spent, Logan pulls away. With one last kiss pressed over your clit, he makes his way up your body, not dropping eye contact as he settles over you.

His hand comes up to your face, thumbs meanly hooking into either side of your cheeks to gently force your mouth open. You part your lips willingly, the heat still radiating between you, a mix of lingering pleasure.

Logan leans in, and the intoxicating scent of sweat and sex surrounds you as he spits what he collected from between your legs back into your own mouth. 

Your cheeks burn with shame, a broken moan ringing through the space between you. Your glassy eyes stare into Logan’s, his own gaze so intense and all consuming you fight the urge to squirm.

"Swallow," he commands, unwavering. 

You hesitate for just a moment, caught off guard by the pure audacity, but the way his eyes darken with hunger makes your resolve crumble. With a breathless whimper, you obey, tasting the remnants of your own pleasure mingling with his, the act both humiliating and intensely arousing.

Logan watches you closely, his gaze never straying as you swallow, a dirty smirk creeping onto his lips. “That's my girl,” he praises, his tone thick with satisfaction.

As the taste lingers on your tongue, you can feel the weight of Logan’s stare like a physical touch.

“Think you can handle another round?” he teases, his voice low and sultry. “I don’t plan on letting you off that easy, kid. Not with all that mouthing off earlier.”

You catch your breath, shaking your head in exasperation. “You’re relentless,” you whisper, a hint of laughter in your voice, though your body betrays you, already craving more.

“Only for you, baby” he replies, brushing the strands of hair plastered to your sweaty forehead behind your ear. “Only for you.”

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mini nat's note: i started my period today chickens...that explains it...