#over the PG13 line | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

auteurdelabre · 2 months

Text

As long as you want - Part 2 - Joel!Miller x f!Reader

As long as you want - Part 2 - Joel!Miller x f!Reader

pairing: Joel!Miller x f!Reader

words: 4.5k

Rating: PG13 (some adult themes)

Summary: You try to ignore the growing attraction you feel for Joel Miller as he shows you his softer side.

Tags: Enemies to friends/lovers, Fluff, Mutual Pining, mentions of pain medication, stubborn reader, Joel POV in parts, Tooth-Rotting sweetness in parts, allusions of male masturbation/fantasy, sexual tension, NO y/n.

a/n: Originally gonna be a one-shot but y'all wanted more and I can't say no to ya!

Dedicated to @katiexpunk once more because there's a good chance if she didn't reach out to me the other day, I was about to quit tumblr altogether.

part ONE here

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

You wake with a start hours later. The blanket over you feels heavy and the ache in your ribs is sharp. You squirm to relieve the pressure and pause when the sound of light breathing reaches your ears.

You're not alone in your bed.

Your eyes crack open to see a familiar face tilted towards you. Eyes shut languidly, mouth parted, face slack with sleep.

Joel Miller.

Up this close you can see the bits of grey in his beard and moustache, the lines at the corner of his closed eyes, the gold of his skin.

His jacket is slung over yours on the chair and a quick glance down tells you he's taken off his boots and is sleeping on top of the covers. As you take this in you also see that your hand is clasped in his, fingers laced.

How did Joel fucking Miller end up in your bed? And how did your hand end up wrapped up in his?

You want to mull on this further but the acute ache in your ribs has started to throb. You let out a small whimper at the pain and like he's been shot Joel jerks his head up from the pillow, awake like a broad-shouldered bear, bleary -eyed and blinking. You drag your hand back from his loosened grip.

"You in pain?" Joel murmurs voice thick and mind fuzzy with sleep. He licks his dry lips, clearing his throat. "Need me to grab you another pill?"

The way he speaks is so casual, as if the two of you were lovers waking from a dreamy night together. So opposite to what you really are: two people who can barely stand each other.

"What the fuck are you doing in my bed, Miller?" You snap sharply.

Miller.

No more Joel. No more soft eyes and softer smile for him. As Joel suspected the pill did a number on you and you can't remember much. You don't remember begging him for a kiss and asking Joel to lay with you. You don't remember your murmured acknowledgement that you felt better with him nearby.

It's back to how it's always been.

Joel manages to swallow his disappointment before clamoring off the bed, hearing the cheap springs creak in your mattress as he does.

"Sorry about that," he says gruffly as he pulls on his boots. "Was just tired I guess."

"I'm sure your own bed is perfectly adequate," you snap, the pain making you even more irritable than usual. You hiss, holding your side. Joel frowns.

"I'll head out, just lemme grab you a pill first."

"Just g-"

"Quit it," Joel insists roughly. "You're in pain and this'll only take a sec."

His head is woozy from waking so abruptly. He blinks again before he spots your jeans on the floor. You watch him crouch down, pulling the small white pill from the pocket before he comes back to you, the small pill balanced on one wide fingertip.

"Take it," he instructs.

But you're in too much pain to move, to take it from him. You're also too proud to admit it, hating that he's already seen you in such a vulnerable state. You want him to leave so he doesn't witness more of your wincing and the way your face is gone sickly pale with perspiration beading at your forehead.

"Just leave it on the table."

"You need it now. I can see you're hurtin'."

"Joel just-"

He takes advantage of your mouth open in complaint, slipping his finger between your parted lips and placing the pill onto your tongue as your mouth closes around his forefinger in surprise.

The sensation of Joel's wide finger on your tongue startles you into silencing, lips quickly circling his digit. Joel forces his focus to your eyes, knowing if he sees your lips around his finger he's going to lose it.

You feel his heavy gaze on you as he towers above you standing next to the bed. You watch the way his eyes seem to grow darker.

"Swallow."

Your own pupils blow wide at the rasped order. He feels the soft of your tongue dabbing against the pad of his finger.You stare up at him in shock before you feel the pill being pressed to your tongue and only then do you swallow.

Satisfied Joel slides his finger out of your mouth before letting it rest on the plump flesh of your lower lip.

His eyes never leave yours.

"Frustratin' woman," Joel murmurs, finger lingering on your lower lip as he stares at you. Your cheeks heat as your eyelids flutter briefly.

Then suddenly he's walking away from you, his hand stretching before turning into a fist. You watch his tall form lope out of your bedroom and then he's gone from sight.

///

Kiss me again, Miller.

The words haunt him. The memory of your lips snagged between his own. The way you'd sighed as you snuggled up against him.

How is he supposed to forget that? How is he supposed to pretend things haven't changed?

He throws the front door open, thankful it's empty. Ellie must be at school. He goes to pour himself a drink, even though it's a bit early for it.

He can still feel your tongue against his finger, the way your mouth was so warm and wet and fuck... He's so hard he can't stand it.

He moves to his bedroom, his breathing labored as he shucks off his jeans and shirt, collapsing onto the bed with a growl.

He takes himself in hand and tries to picture you and your soft mouth. The mattress squeaks under him as he starts fisting himself to the memory of your murmured confession, to the sensation of your mouth under his.

I've wanted to kiss you for so long, Miller.

But it doesn't work, he can't get there no matter how much he strokes and focuses. You weren't yourself when you told him that. You weren't in your right mind when you kissed him. It doesn't feel right.

He lets himself go with a frustrated growl. And even as he pulls his clothes on and goes about his day he can't get you out of his mind.

There's a softness to you that he's uncovered. Something you keep hidden. Something he desperately wants to unearth in you again without the aid of pain medication. But then he remembers the horror on your face as you found him in your bed and he feels the shame suffuse him.

"Stop it," he tells himself as he heads out into the cold. "Just stop it."

///

The night moves sluggishly with you attempting to nap for most of it, your pain pill thankfully knocking you out for most of it. You wake to the rap of your front door.

"Come in," you offer hoarsely.

You hear tentative footsteps and try to swallow down the pain blooming in your ribs. Gemma is at your door with a bowl of what smells like soup and smiling gently. You notice that her hair is flecked with fresh snow.

"Hi there," she says approaching you. "Thought I'd check in on my patient."

You try to bring yourself to a sitting position but end up crying out. Gemma places the soup on your bedside table, her hand flying to your forehead before she's gently moving up your shirt, eyeing your bruise.

"No fever, thankfully. Swelling is as expected." Her eyes flick to your agonized expression. "Pain bad?"

"I'll survive."

"Good thing Joel was in the stables with you yesterday morning."

"Mhmm."

That's all you'll offer. You have no desire to tell her about waking up to finding the man in your bed.

You feel your stomach gurgle as the scent of the soup wafts over to you. Gemma gives a sympathetic look before passing you the other pillow.

"Squeeze this. I'm gonna sit you up."

You do so; a yelp of pain is bitten back before you're propped up in your bed against the pillows. You're still at an angle but it's do-able. Gemma brings a chair to the side of your bed, eyes alighting to your face.

She does a few more examinations, fingers pressing against your side, her cold stethoscope pressing into your sternum.

She produces an ice pack wrapped in fabric that she presses to your bruised flesh. You yelp at the sensation despite her warning that it will be cold.

"Sorry," she says ducking her head. "I know it's chilly. Gotta wear this twenty minutes, two times a day. Keeps the bruising down."

"Fine."

"You been drinking fluids?"

"Yep," you lie. You have No desire to share with her that the reason you're not drinking is because then you'd have to get up to pee. And the thought of getting up out of this bed seems torturous.

"Looks like its just rest you need then," she tells you as she digs around in her pocket. "Now I brought some more pills-"

"I'm not taking any more pills," you interrupt her firmly, even as sweat beads at your temple.

She goes to reply when there's another knock sounds at the door.

Who is it now? The fucking Jackson City welcoming committee?

"Come in," you sigh.

You hear the scuffle of heavy boots and your heart jumps when Joel appears at the door. He's holding a bowl of soup, the same as Gemma. Almost immediately you feel the air change when your eyes land on his before they skitter away anxiously.

"Uh, thought you might be hungry." Joel glances over at Gemma. "How's the patient?"

"She's fine," you snap.

"Stubborn," Gemma sighs. "She won't take the pain pills."

"You barely have any," you say to her, ignoring Joel standing awkwardly in your bedroom doorframe.

"Well if you'd let me finish you'd know we learned about a shipment delivered in Teton Village," Gemma tells you patiently. "Gonna grab it when the snow clears."

Joel perks up when he hears that. He can see by the blanching of your face and the way you're gripping the bed sheets that you're in a lot of pain. But you're scowling at the news, not looking the least bit impressed with Gemma's news.

"That could be weeks with the snow," you inform her. "The snow is brutal this time of year, not to mention the freezing winds. No one is gonna wanna go out to get it."

"But the point is we have a supply on route," Gemma argues. “So you can take these.”

"And when that shipment is brought back to Jackson and we see how much is in it, I'll take some pills then."

"You're in pain," she tells you firmly. "A lot of it."

"I'd be in more pain if I knew I was taking everything from the community," you snap back.

The pain is not just in your ribs, it feels like it's everywhere. Your head is throbbing, your body aching and you want everyone to just fuck off.

"You need sleep to heal-"

"You really wanna help me?" You grunt out through waves of pain. "Send me over some booze so I can get shitfaced and pass out."

Gemma can tell there's no reasoning with you.

"I got whiskey at mine," Joel offers softly to Gemma. "I can bring it over if she needs it."

"She doesn't need whiskey," Gemma sighs. "She needs medication so she can get proper sleep and start to heal."

"I'm right here," you grumble, hating how they're talking about you as if you don't exist. You slam your eyes shut.

"If you're not getting me whiskey I'd like to politely ask you both to leave so I can sleep."

You hear the two of them pausing, likely exchanging exasperated looks before you hear their dual footsteps head out the door.

///

Hours later your side hurts so fucking much that you're almost tempted to crawl over to the Jackson clinic and beg for those pills but you stop yourself. You did this to yourself; you went into that fucking pen.

Taking all the community's painkillers would be so impossibly selfish a thing to do because of your own stupid actions. You can't do it. Maybe when the new shipment of medication comes by.

There's a gentle rap at the door and desperation is making you consider asking whomever is at the door to get you some dinner. You're starving and so thirsty. Your mouth is like a desert. It's so dry you can barely call out to whoever is standing outside your door.

There's another knock and you can only offer a mournful sound of pain in reply. You hear the door opening and those familiar heavy footsteps thud to your bedroom.

He's so broad, so tall, so serious looking. His shoulders nearly take up the frame of your door.

"What do you want Miller?" You croak.

"Nothin'," he replies in that familiar raspy tone of his, like dry leaves in autumn.

"You sure?" You sneer. "Thought you might be coming over for another slumber party."

Joel's cheeks go pink at that but he just swallows and comes to take the seat Gemma left beside the bed earlier in the day.

"Nah I'm all rested up," he tells you smirking. It's then that you notice the amber colored bottle in his left hand. Your brows rise.

"Is that whiskey?"

Joel nods. "You got clean glasses?"

"Glasses yes," you wince as you squirm and feel a stab of pain go through you. "Clean? Unsure."

Joel smiles before his attention is drawn to the two soups at your bedside table, still untouched because you can't move enough to get at them.

"You eat yet?"

"No."

Joel nods before he replaces the soup bowls with the whiskey bottle and strides from your room.

"What're you doing?"

"Gonna reheat it."

"Just hand me the whiskey bottle."

You know you sound petulant but you don't care. You want something that will help take the edge off.

"You're in no position to be givin' orders," Joel tells you over his shoulder as he approaches your small hotplate.

He looks around your space, finding his lips curling into an amused smile. He didn't really notice the other day but your kitchen is a disaster. Bowls, plates and forks are piled on top of each other in the sink. Your counters are littered with crumbs and pencils and odds and ends.

"Your place is a mess," he calls out to you.

"Yeah well I've been sort of busy the last twenty four hours," you snap back loudly. "Haven't exactly had much time for housekeeping."

Joel huffs a quiet laugh to himself before moving to look at your cooking surfaces.

Your hotplate is in decent shape, probably because you take most of your meals in the dining hall. He knows because he often finds you eating with Ellie there. The two of you get along well. You're one of the few people she seems to stand without too much trouble.

Joel catches sight of himself in the reflection of the kitchen window. He sees the gentle smile on his face before commanding it into a frown.

Why the fuck am I here? She can barely stand me.

But he hasn't been able to stop thinking about you. He needs to know you're okay, needs to know you're being taken care of. He knows you live alone, that you're more stubborn than he is and he's been anxious all day that you've needed help.

That you've needed him.

Back in your bedroom you hear Joel moving things in your kitchen, locating a pot, finding a mixing spoon (when he does you hear him mumbling to himself and then the tap running).

Eventually he comes back with the soup in one of your clean bowls and a spoon. He looks at you critically laying half wedged before he puts the bowl on the table.

"Hold the pillow to your stomach."

You want to argue that you can eat perfectly fine like that but the smell of the tomato soup has your mouth watering. You do as he says, holding the pillow tightly to your midsection.

Your eyes widen as Joel leans over the bed, wrapping his muscled arms around you by the middle, holding you tightly to him to keep you stabilized, the pillow between you.

"Gonna help you scoot up," he murmurs at your temple. "Ready?"

"'Kay."

You feel breathless as Joel slowly pulls you to a sitting position. And despite how gentle and slow he is with his motions, the pain still takes your breath away.

You let out a shattered cry before your forehead crashes into his shoulder. Your body is tensed, aching.

You're so angry, so frustrated, in so much pain you just want to cry and scream.

"S'okay," Joel soothes. You feel his hand cupping the back of your head. "Go on and let it out."

You don't even hesitate. You let out a small scream of exhausted pain against where his shoulder and neck meet, tears springing from your eyes as you do. All are muffled by the flannel he wears, coming out suppressed.

"I know, I know," he soothes as he feels your tears soak his shirt. "I know that pain. Makes you feel angry at the whole world, right?"

You give a whimpered reply of agreement.

He's right. You are. You're angry at the horse, you're angry at yourself, you're angry at the clicker is you're angry at Joel and Gemma and anyone who's ever talk to you. You're also mad at yourself for getting you into this position. You just so fucking angry and in pain.

Joel sees you gripping the sheets as he holds you.

"Just breathe," Joel tells you quietly.

"Can't," you mutter against his shoulder. "Ribs."

You hear a soft chuckle from him and it reverberates into your body, despite the pillow. It makes you almost want to smile. He releases you gently against the pillows, looking at your red-rimmed eyes and holding in a sigh at your exhausted countenance.

He takes a seat in the chair and you watch Joel spin the spoon in your soup, before placing the bowl under your chin and bringing the spoon to your mouth.

"I can feed myself," you tell him shortly, but there's no ire in your tone.

He nods and you take the spoon and bowl in hand. He sits back on the chair watching you eat hurriedly. He opens his mouth to tell you to slow down but clamps it shut again.

He leaves and returns with a glass of water that you take eagerly and finish with a gulp. Joel refills it three more times and you finish each with gusto.

He takes the empty bowl and spoon from you, taking your dishes to the kitchen and then returning.

"Better?"

"Yeah," you nod. "I don't think I realized how hungry I was."

Joel continues to look at you with a strange little smile on his face. You feel like you're being studied by him and it makes you frown. You're about to ask him if you have something on your face when a sharp pain goes through your ribs and you grasp at your side wincing.

"Alright you did good with eatin'," Joel reasons. "You kept your end of the bargain so I will too."

He pours you a small glass of whiskey in a clean glass before handing it over. You take it greedily, throwing it back. It burns all the way down, a delicious sensation that has you grinning into your glass.

"Was wonderin' if I'd ever see that again," Joel muses before pouring a first glass for himself and a second for you. You bring the glass back to your mouth, confused.

"See what again?"

"Your smile."

You don't know how to respond to that so you just look at the bottom of your refilled glass awkwardly. Joel takes a small sip of his whiskey, watching as you throw your second glass back as well.

"Slow down," he urges gently. "No point in doin' this if you're just gonna throw it back up."

He has a point. He pours you a third and gives you a stern look when you take the glass from him.

"Sipping only."

"Don't order me around, Miller," you say sharply. "This isn't patrols."

Joel rolls his eyes at you, amused and exasperated all at once. You're such a hard little shell, so impenetrable at times. Joel thought he was guarded, but you're something else.

The two of you sit in quiet, listening to the sound of the whistling wind against your home. You sip the whisky, wishing you weren't in so much pain when you breathed. You glance around your room, wishing it was tidier.

Joel watches you, sees the way your eyes flit around the room and wonders if he could ever bring up the other night without you being horrified.

"Why're you being so nice to me?' you ask suddenly, breaking the spell. "You're never nice."

"Sure I am,” Joel says looking affronted.

"Not to me."

"I brought you home didn't I? Brought you whiskey? Cooked you dinner? I ain't all bad."

"You didn't cook me dinner. You heated it up."

"My favorite kinda cookin'," Joel reasons with a smile. The whiskey has him feeling warm and relaxed.

You feel an amused smirk start at the corner of your mouth. You suppress it with a gentle sip of your drink. You let it coat your tongue slowly before you let it drip down your throat.

"How come you're so mean to me?" Joel offers, though his tone is light.

"I am not!"

He sees the flash of irritation in your eyes immediately and he can't help but be amused. It's very easy for him to rile you up.

"Are so."

"You started it!" You insist, wincing and the words come out louder than anticipated, the force of your irritation causing your ribs to ache. Joel is still leaning back insouciantly in his chair, regarding you with gentle amusement.

"How'd you figure that?"

"My first day on patrols, I was trying so hard to be nice and do you remember what you said the second you saw me?"

"Nope."

"You said; Don't know why they'd stick me with a newbie,” you say trying to imitate his raspy baritone.

"So?" Joel looks genuinely perplexed. "You were a newbie and I didn't know why they sent you to do patrols with me. Didn't know you were an experienced rider at the time."

You falter a moment. You hadn't been expecting that response.

"You were so rude," you insist, irritated that he's trying to pretend like he wasn't in the wrong. "Telling me I was holding my gun wrong, making fun of how I was riding."

Joel takes a moment, looking at the ceiling as he tries to recall your first meeting. He knows he thought you were attractive, he remembers that he was confused they'd paired the two of you up until he'd seen you ride. Your form was comical, but you were good on horseback, even better than him.

But he doesn't remember disliking you that first day.

That came later, after your snide comments and rolled eyes. When you shouldered past him in the dining hall and ignored him when he tried to greet you as you walked by him in town. He'd thought you were an uptight brat, a rude woman who put on airs. He'd had no clue he'd offended you that first day.

"From what I recall I suggested a different way to hold your gun because each time you shot it knocked your shoulder," Joel says remembering. "And as for the riding... Well, you do look funny when you ride. Even if you're good at it, you bounce too much."

"Better than that stupid way you roll your hips," you bite back.

You can picture it now, one hand on the reigns, tilted back, hips rolling with each step of the horse. Joel raises the glass to his mouth, eyes stuck on yours.

"Why're you watchin' my hips?"

His voice is a low purr and there it is again. That thread of teasing that borders on something else. Something... Enticing. It reminds you of the other day in the stables, before everything had gone pear shaped.

You think I'm handsome? You sure, darlin'? You’re gettin' mighty flustered

"Hard not to when you're always going first," you sneer into your glass, taking another sip and feeling your cheeks heat.

"Wait, so that's it?" Joel laughs. "That's your reason for bein' so prickly t'mer? 'Cuz I didn't know why you were assigned to me and because I tried to help you with the way you held your gun?"

"And the riding, thing," you comment lamely. It all sounds pretty pathetic out loud. Is that really why you've been so mean to him all this time? Because of a misunderstanding?

"That's why you hate me?" Joel chuckles as if reading your mind.

"I don't hate you," you mumble. "You just... Get under ... my... skin."

You feel like you want to talk more, but your third glass is drained and your eyelids feel heavy.

"I think...I..."

You feel Joel take the glass from your hand. He keeps you slightly tilted, your head rolling back drowsy against the pillows. You feel his whiskey tinged breath fan across your cheeks.

"How's the pain?"

"S'okay," you slur. "But I know it's gonna hurt real bad tomorrow."

Joel goes to rearrange your pillow slightly so that your head is better positioned on it. His hand hovers beside your face as he does this and you tilt to face it.

"Thanks for the whiskey, Miller."

Unthinking you nuzzle your cheek against his arm before slipping into a drowsy slumber.

Joel pulls back and sits on the chair, watching your placid face, your chest rising up and down under the sheets. You look at peace and he feels a rush of affection go through him at the sight.

But you're in pain. A whole lot of it and he wants to fix that. Even if you don't want him like he finds himself wanting you. He needs you to be okay. Wants you back to your normal self.

What would have happened if there had never been that misunderstanding that day? What if patrols had gone on casually, the two of you amiable?

Would he have asked you for a drink? Would you be in bed together right now? Would his mouth be between your thighs, your fingers gripping his hair? Or would he have you under him, arms held by him above your head moaning his name - his real name, not Miller - as you gazed up at him?

The thought sends a shiver directly up his spine.

He stands; pulling your sheets up, making sure you look comfortable and settled before he leaves your home.

He thinks about your conversation the entire walk back to his place. He thinks about how things could have gone differently.

If only you'd both made better first impressions.

If only that's how it had gone.

If only.

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #joel miller smut #dad joel miller #pedro pascal #fanfiction #fanfic #smut #joel x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel tlou #joel fanfic #joel the last of us #joel miller the last of us #joel miller fic #joel miller tlou

587 notes · View notes

urauntiefaye · 5 months

Text

~Fuma Hard Thoughts~🔞

Word Count: 730

CW: Smut, Penetration, Oral(Fuma giving), cussing

A/N: This is for the annonie who decided to bring up tank top Fuma, I had to write more....I just had too

Fuma Hard Thoughts~

So, I think we’ve all seen Fuma in a tank top by now. And just…PLEASE, need him to give me a chance, just one UGH. I just imagine like going to the shoot to encourage him and the other members. And you were aware that he’s been hitting the gym more often, but you didn’t realize just HOW much he’s been working out. I remember in a video from &team I think it was K who said something about him weight training, and as someone who did track and field in high school and still doing it in college I’ve also had to do some weight training since I specialize in discus and shot put (Discus is where you throw a weighted disc, and Shot Put is when you throw a weight ball). So, I know what all goes into weight training and the sheer dedication one has to put into to reach their goal. AND with the fact he’s doing one of those Ninja warriors shows in Japan (I forgot the name of it). So, mans is working out! And getting BUILT, and yes, you’re more than aware of this, but once you went to the recording and saw him in that tank top that’s when it really hit you, that damn- man's HM, it’s all you can think about and him hugging you and wrapping his beefy arms around you is not helping your case. Especially when there’s a pool forming in your underwear. I feel Fuma would definitely catch on but won’t say anything, and you also not saying anything trying to keep shit pg13 since you’re out in public. After the shooting things kind of go back to normal, but you just can’t stop thinking about how good it would feel for him to hit it from behind while putting you in a choke hold. However, you still are refusing to say shit and instead opting to drop subtle hints that you’re horny. And this man is out here not saying anything, wondering how long you can go without breaking. It wasn’t until the weekend, and he finally had a day off that you snapped, what specifically made you snap? Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it was him working out at home without his shirt right in front of you; or maybe it was him coming out of the shower wearing only gray sweats that hangs loosely around his waist showing off his V line and evident outline of his dick. All you know is that something snapped in you as soon as he sat next to you, throwing his arm across your shoulders bringing you close to his exposed chest while spreading his legs shamelessly. Instantly sitting on his lap, pressing down on his bulge and your hands tracing his abs and bare chest. A knowing smirk placed on his lips as he rests his hands on your waist “yes love?”, ‘love’ the nickname he picked out specifically for you. You hide your face in the crook of his neck, feeling your face getting warm from embarrassment. I can definitely see this man refusing to touch you until you say exactly what you want. Even if you're grinding on him, he won’t do anything. He will literally have you get off that way, leaving you hopeless and horny. But if you do muster up the courage to ask him to fuck you and tell him what you want, he will be more than happy to help you out. Not even picking you up to go to the bedroom, no he’ll just start making out with you on the couch then and there. Saying that it took you long enough, Fuma is absolutely a foreplay lover. He thinks it's a very vital part of having sex, especially for you. He’ll go down on you making you cum not just once but twice, then he’ll have you flip over on your stomach as he doesn’t waste a single second to fuck you dumb. Oh, how he loves that he can easily throw you around, how he can turn you into a babbling mess so easily. You think you love the fact that he’s all big and strong and can lift you up and fuck you in the air? Clearly you haven’t met Fuma because he fucking loves it and will use his strength to an advantage.

#&team hard thoughts #&team hard hours #&team fuma hard hours #&team smut #&team fuma smut #&team fuma hard thoughts #auntiefaye🧚🏻‍♀️

86 notes · View notes

luveline · 2 years

Note

would you be okay writing more steve x anxious reader? I have bad anxiety and those fics bring a lot of comfort to me :)

i love your writing btw. thanks for sharing it with us

thank you for reading and requesting ♡

There's barely enough room around the coffee table for all of you, but you're making it work. To accommodate having Dustin (who's all elbows) and Eddie (who has no concept of personal space once you're friends with him) on either side of you, you've shrunk into as small a space as you can, which isn't really that small.

And though you have a fondness for both of them you can't help it, you're anxious anyways. Maybe it's the big glass of water teetering at Dustin's side or the fact that you don't really understand the rules of the game, or maybe you just woke up tightly wound. You don't need a reason. Your heart races and you feel that heaviness to your stomach like a lump of lead forming.

Just as Dustin's elbow knocks into the glass, a familiar hand reaches over your shoulder and steadies it.

"Move over," Steve tells Dustin, hand still wrapped pointedly around his glass. As if to say, Don't argue with me, Henderson, you totally owe me for saving you.

Dustin moans his discontent but moves over and Steve inserts himself in the gap. His hand lands at the small of your back.

"Hey, pretty," he says warmly, rubbing a small circle. You're drawn to his eyes, tracing the dark line of his lashes with a small smile.

"You looked a bit spacey," he murmurs quietly. "These dorks suffocating you with their B.O?"

"Dickhead," Dustin mutters.

"Stop eavesdropping." Steve pulls you into his side, fingers tight on your waist. You cover his hand to play with his fingers. He can feel you shaking. "How about me and you go get something to drink?" he asks you.

You let him pull you up, guide you to the kitchen where the table boasts a vast array of sodas and warm juices. Steve Harrington knows how to throw a PG13 party.

He fills a plastic solo cup with ice and eases it into your hand. He stays close, the toes of his shoes touching yours. "Is it something specific?" he asks softly.

You look down at your empty cup and can't help the bitter laugh that bubbles out. "No. Nothing, as usual."

"Can I give you a hug?"

"You can always give me a hug."

He grins and drops his arms heavily over your shoulders, securing you to his chest so he can nuzzle his face against your forehead. One big hand squeezes your shoulder and the other the nape of your neck. It's an unquestionable safety, and you feel some of the unspent tension hiding between your shoulder blades fall away.

Your cold cup is squashed between you, burning your chest. You reluctantly pull back.

"Thanks Stevie," you say.

"For what? I haven't even filled your cup yet," he says, though his smile tells you he knows that's not what you'd been thanking him for.

#steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things fanfiction #x reader

2K notes · View notes

macravishedbymactavish · 7 months

Text

Language Lessons (Roldofo Parra x F!Reader)

| Blog HQ | Modern Warfare 2 Masterlist | 18+ MDNI |

Fall4Rudy Submission - prompts used: see below.

TW for Google translated Spanish, reader is implied to be learning Spanish. Some spicy inuendos (it's implied his hand ends up fully down your pants) but nothing over PG13, hints toward a daddy kink if you squint

That's not how it was supposed to sound.

You were met with a confirming, amused snort followed by a peck to your cheek. Lips turning into a borderline frown, you huffed.

"This is impossible." Arms crossed across your chest, you shook your head. Leaning back in the chair, frustration prodding at your seams. "Maybe some people can catch on to this quickly, but it's not me!"

Head lolling back, you opted to stare at the ceiling. Tracing every line with your eyes to avoid the no doubt loving and patient expression from the man in front of you.

The silence hung thick between you, the small shuffles of his feet on the floor. Or the rubbing of his clothing signaled there was someone else in the room.

"El cariño. " Rudy softly whispered, palm resting on your knee. You squeezed your eyes firmly shut, offering nothing more than a small hm?

"Everything takes time, you've already learned so much. Mi mamá is proud of how much you've learned." His words filtered directly to the softest part of your being. To impress a woman of her stature in the family was a feat to be had.

"I am so proud." He whispered, warm palm sliding from your knee up your thigh. Gripping the muscle firmly as he did so. "Estoy muy orgullosa."

The combination of his hand and his words caused your will to falter. Meeting his soft brown eyes, filled with adoration, pride and energy. You sighed softly, lifting one hand to lay lightly on his cheek.

"Gracias amoré." Your voice shaky as you hoped your pronunciation was correct. Spirit faltering as he gently shook his head, reaching in to press a soft kiss to your lips as he corrected you. "This is impossible."

Pressing a few more kisses to your mouth and face, he leaned back slightly. Eyebrow raised as a mischievous smirk crossed his face. Hand placed firmly at the junction between your leg and hip.

"Greedy little thing, you want more incentive?" Blood rushed to your cheeks as he shifted his grip. Thumb now laying on the inseam of your pants, mindlessly moving over the thick fabric.

"Yes, please." Voice small as your eyes locked with his. An electric feeling taking over your body as he continued barely touching you. Thumb inches away from where you wanted it, hand still firmly gripping your thigh.

"Ah." He shook his head, sliding his hand toward your knee. Chuckling at the sound of surprise you made. "I want to hear you say it, in español."

"Si." You prayed he would ignore the waver in your voice. Nerves and anticipation tying knots in your stomach.

"Si, que?" He challenged. Scanning over your face and neck. Moving to nuzzle his nose against the soft skin.

"Si, Rudy……si, papi?" The feeling of his lips connecting with your neck in an open-mouthed kiss. Trailing down to your shoulder as you leaned your head to the side. Offering him as much room as you could.

"Buena niña." He groaned, asking you to repeat another phrase in Spanish. Hand moving slightly up when you whispered the words correctly. His mouth never stopping, except to move the fabric of your shirt to expose more skin.

"Keep going, you're doing good." Rudy whispered against your skin, fingertips teasing underneath the waist of your pants. Teeth grazing your collarbone as you took in a deep breath.

"Mi amore." A soft whine escaping your lips as his fingers moved out of your waistband. "Amor. Amor. Por favor." Gripping his wrist tightly, you felt him chuckle. Obliging with your request and slipping his fingers past the fabric once more. His movements encouraged by your broken Spanish.

"Dilo otra vez." He breathed, pulling back to look into your eyes. A gentle smile crossing his lips as you placed a hand gently on his cheek. Mumbling an incoherent sentence before pulling him into a kiss. Jumping slightly as he shifted his hand placement.

"Buena niña." He moaned, forehead falling to meet yours. Brain fried with your voice speaking his mother tounge, and the way you writhed against him.

"Buena puta chica."

Taglist: @bloodonmyhands-1221 @v1naco @bowtruckleninja

Rudy Taglist: @pearldog30

Prompts from Fall4Rudy:

"Good girl" (bonus, "good fucking girl") // Buena niña & Buena puta chica

"I want to hear you say it"

"Say it again" // dilo otra vez

#call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #roldofo parra #rudy parra #cod rudy #cod rodolfo #fall4rudy #rudy parra x reader #rudy parra x f!reader #roldofo parra x reader

114 notes · View notes

eoieopda · 10 months

Note

Hi! May I request a Namjoon there was only one bed F2L? And congratulations on your milestone!

tysm, sweet bean! i hope you enjoy the last installment of my 2k drabblepalooza 💕

the one with namjoon and the graveyard shift

pairing: doctor!kim namjoon x doctor!reader (gn) type: drabble (f) | wc: 1k | rating: pg13 au: medical (emergency dept.), friends to something summary: there are two (2) doctors working the emergency department overnight. there’s only one (1) bed in the on-call room. cw: the setting, obvi; references to used PPE (blood/fluid implied but not described); both are trauma surgeons, so that’s discussed in minimal detail; dark joke re: calling time of death — they’re coping with their circumstances, okay? also, not thoroughly proofread atm 😵‍💫 🔞 this drabble is sfw, regardless, my content is not for minors. minors and ageless blogs who interact with me or my writing will be blocked.

By the time the rush is over, Kim Namjoon is ready to collapse.

It’s damn near three o’clock in the morning, and every part of him aches. That fact is almost exclusively due to standing for as long as he has been, turning and running on a dime; however, the unintentional, stray elbow he took to the side of the head can’t be discounted.

All he wants to do now is drop his overworked body onto the closest flat surface, even if it means he passes out where he stands.

“Only on your second gown for the night? Aish,” scoffs the only other on-call physician. “Gotta get those rookie numbers up, Joon.”

Namjoon’s eyelids have started to turn into lead, but the rest of him feels immediately lighter when he hears your voice.

He glances up to find you leaning against the doorframe, peeling off yet another pair of gloves. You drop them into the bright red, biomedical waste bin to your left. It’s where he just finished discarding a trauma gown that could pass as a Jackson Pollock piece, unaware that you’d been watching.

He’s exhausted. He smiles anyway, though, and points to the hair spilling out of the elastic band you’d tied it up with.

As he does, he steps forward, closer, and laughs, “Speaking of rookies —” He pauses briefly to tuck a stray strand back behind your ear. “Teach your ponytail to keep up. The emergency department is no place for slackers.”

His hand lingers at the side of your face a little longer than is necessary. He tells himself it’s simply because he’s powering down, but that lie doesn’t convince him. The warmth radiating off your cheek is the closest thing to comfort in this wing of the hospital, and it’s making it even harder to keep his legs underneath him.

This kind of contact — the gentle, non-emergent kind — is rare in this line of work. Trauma surgeons like the pair of you are rarely able to be slow or soft, so this tiny gesture seems to affect you, too. You sway a bit, likely involuntarily, and lean into his touch. The weight of your night so far makes your shoulders slump, even as you lift your hand to cover your yawn.

As if you’ve read his mind, you nod your head in the general direction of the on-call room.

“Time to call it?”

Not too tired for one of your bits, it seems.

Namjoon bites back a grin, glances down at his watch, then looks back up at you. “Time of death: 2:52,” he announces solemnly with a shake of his head and a sigh. “I’ve expired.”

One corner of your mouth tugs downward, too tired to fake a full frown. You link your arm around his, let your head droop sideways against his shoulder. You hum, “Rest in peace, Dr. Kim.”

He snorts. “Yeah, for fifteen minutes until the next rush hits.”

You pause on the way out the door to rap your knuckles against it. He doesn’t have to ask why: it’s wooden, you’re superstitious, and Namjoon, as usual, likely just jinxed you.

You shoot him a pointed look when you reel your arm back, and though you don’t chide him out loud, he grimaces in silent apology for giving the universe ideas. Then, without any further hesitation, you hold each other up as you shuffle off down the hallway.

He’s thankful for these quiet moments with you, even though they often come in the middle of the night. Ones where neither of you needs to summon the energy for words because you can get your point across regardless. It feels good to be known so well, especially when every other part of his ecosystem changes so rapidly from minute to minute.

Namjoon adapts well — a good man in a storm, according to you — but there’s one change he’s not prepared for: the bunked beds in the on-call room are down a mattress.

He stops short as soon as he sees the unoccupied frame of the top bunk, which he normally crashes in; not because he prefers it, but because he suspects you’re afraid of heights.

“Aish,” he mutters.

Without having to think about it for a second, he slips his arm out from the crook of yours and gestures to the door. “I think that broken gurney is still hanging out near the radiology department.”

Your forehead crinkles in confusion until he continues, “I’ll go and crash there.”

You frown, which doesn’t surprise him in the slightest.

For him, you willingly sacrifice the last Nescafé pod, the only Yakult left in the cafeteria, and most significantly, your good pens — the ones that don’t smudge, no matter how hastily you write. The ones you bring from home and refuse to share with anyone else because they can’t be trusted to return them.

You give, and for once, Namjoon has the opportunity to make you take.

He turns to leave, only to be stopped by your hand looping around his wrist. You don’t say anything; you simply shake your head and then nod towards the bottom bunk. He lets you lead him to your destination, lets you let him go so you can shimmy across the mattress. Back now flush against the wall behind you, you look up at him for as long as you can stand to keep your eyes open.

Namjoon doesn’t move, and he doesn’t know why he doesn’t. He wants to. You look so comfortable — so soft — despite how small you’ve made yourself to accommodate him. Inviting, even.

Then, it hits him: If he curls up next to you now, will he be willing to get up again?

No, he thinks, absolutely not.

Even with your eyes closed, you sense him stalling. You frown again and this time, it’s interrupted by a yawn. Without opening your eyes, you mumble, “Paging Dr. Kim.”

He knows better than to ignore a call like that.

Carefully, he sits on the mattress with his back to you. Then, he lets the weight of his exhaustion pull him down towards the pillow, to you. He sighs as he sinks, already relieved. Already softer.

As if on instinct, your arm drapes over his midsection and eliminates any millimeters that may have survived this long in a space so small. The last thing he feels before he drifts off to sleep is your forehead nuzzling into the space between his shoulder blades.

255 notes · View notes

midnightstay-blog · 2 months

Note

hi! about the prompt list, could you do 6, 21 and 38 for jackson wang? fluff or angst, it's up to you. thx

Sure here you go. 🙂 I hope you like it. I did more of a mix of fluff and angst but it’s mostly fluff. But I don't know if I like the ending. Anyways thanks for requesting.

Tw: mentions of blood and alcohol.

💫Rain & Wounds.💫( Requested)

Genre: Jackson Wang x reader

Theme : Friends to lovers

Summary: After an eventful night out with friends things between you and Jackson change forever.

Rating: Pg13

Word Total: 1,898

“Stop moving You’re making things worse for yourself.” You tell Jackson as you try to bandage his hand for the third time. You were out at a club when a guy started hitting on you. You tried to reject him, but he wasn’t in the mood to take no for an answer. Soon it caught the attention of a slightly drunk Jackson and let’s just say things went left from there. The night didn’t start out with him getting in a fight the complete opposite actually. Originally you were supposed to be out celebrating after you got the news that Your book had become a New York times best seller. However, as the night went on the group of friends that y’all were with suggested going clubbing. Fast forward a few hours and now here you are at 3 am in the bathroom of your two-bedroom apartment with medical supplies and a drunk Jackson to look after.

“I’m fine really.” Jackson stated trying to move you out of his way.

“You are far from it actually. “You tell him while placing a hand on his chest and lightly pushing him back towards the counter. “Your hand has a huge gash on it and you’re bleeding on my floor.” You state in a matter-of-fact tone.

For as long as you’ve known him Jackson had always been protective of you. Though you mentioned on multiple occasions that you are in fact grown and can take care of yourself, part of him could never quite let you.

“Oh, please that guy had it coming.” Jackson exclaimed. Reaching into the first aid kit you grab an alcohol wipe in order to properly clean his wound. Noticing this Jackson quickly removes his hand from your grasp.

Letting out a sigh you grab his hand in an attempt to wipe the wound.

“Give me your hand I have to clean the gash. “Looking between you and the wipe he shakes his begins to shake his head making you roll your eyes.

“Jackson you’re a grown man you should be able to handle an alcohol wipe.” He goes to protest again but before he can you grab his hand wiping the blood from his palm. He winces at the alcohol begins to work its way through his hand. Shortly after you apply some antibiotic ointment. Eventually the room briefly falls silent as you begin to reach for the gauze and the non-stick pads. Pressing the pad into his hand he winces again as you finish up. Examining your handy work, you instruct him to remove himself from your counter while you clean up your mess. Agreeing he makes his way into the living room. Sometime later you emerge from the bathroom and make your way over to the kitchen. Going over to the fridge you pull out a bottle of wine that you had opened the previous night and set it on the counter before offering him some. With his approval you reach over to your glass cabinet and pull two glasses before joining him on the couch.

For a while you two talk about all different kinds of things from work to friends even his upcoming fashion line. After a while you even started to go down memory lane a bit. “Remember that time you took me to meet BamBam and Yugyeom and he spilled what was it.” You pause snapping your fingers as you recall the memory. “Um… Oh it was lemonade I think strawberry lemonade if I’m not mistaken.” He insists. “Yeah, that’s right because it was a big pitcher of it too.” You said laughing. “Yugyeom ended up knocking the pitcher over and breaking it because he was trying to impress one of the girls at the pool party with this one dance move.” Jackson laughed as he recalled the memory. “And then turns out she had a boyfriend the whole time.”” I felt so bad for him, but man was that funny.” You added. After a while you could feel a slight buzz from the wine starting to take over and for a second you contemplate calling it a night. However, the memory of how you met begins to creep into your mind and you begin to smile.

“What?” Jackson asks noticing the change in your features.

“Nothing I was just thinking about how we met and how lucky I am that we did.” You tell him.

“Oh, please if anything I’m the lucky one. “He tells you.

“How so?” you begin to inquire. Silence falls over you and for a moment you can hear rain begin to fall against your apartment window.

Jackson takes a deep breath before he begins.

“How can I not be?” he admits. “Your kind and you have a great personality.” “Also, you always look out for the people that you love and you’re there whenever I need you even if I don’t feel like I do.” “Not to mention you bake a mean birthday cake.” He says as he recalls the cake you baked him last year for his birthday. “And you always know what to say in times of crisis.” “You actually care about people not a lot of other people do that.” “Usually, it’s just an everyman for themselves type of deal.” Your smart and not to mention you are beautiful even when you don’t think so at times.” He adds. “So, believe me when I say that I am very lucky to have you as my friend.” He finishes. You sit there for a while touched at his beautiful words. “Jackson that was so beautiful thank you.” You say while pulling him in for a hug. You stay like that for a moment before you begin to pull away. Upon pulling away you both pause taking in each other briefly before sharing a kiss. Coming to terms with what is happening you both pull away before Jackson begins to speak once more.

“I love you.” he states. Though hearing it this time it sounds different. You take a moment to soak in his words letting them fully hit you. Soon after you clear your throat before getting up from the couch with you wine glass in hand.

“Your drunk “You exclaim waving your hand dismissively.

“So? “he says.

“So, you don’t mean that. “You say with a pause. “At least not in the way that you think you do.” You tell him.

He stands up from the couch and begins walking over to your kitchen island meeting you by it.

“I mean every word of what I just said to you otherwise I wouldn’t have said it.” He states sadness evident in his tone. Placing your glass in the sink you rinse it out before brushing past him and heading towards your hallway closet. Sometime later you re emerge with a blanket along with a few pillows and place them on the couch.

“It’s late you can sleep of the wine here you tell him as you begin to make up the couch.”

“Why don’t you believe me?” He questions. You stay silent for a bit before continuing. Walking over to you he places his hand over yours stopping you in your tracks.

It’s not that you don’t believe him. In fact, a part of you had always secretly hoped this day would come. You just wanted him to be sure this wasn’t one of those drunken confession things that he would regret later.

“Hey, talk to me what’s going on?” He questions placing his bandaged hand on your cheek. You lightly place a hand on his chest as you begin to softly push him away from you.

“Nothing.” You state placing your hands by your side. “I just- I just think that you should sleep off the wine and if you feel the same in the morning then we’ll talk about it.” You say giving a shrug. Not believing you but also not wanting to push the matter Jackson agrees. Not to long after you exchange goodnights before you make your way to your room and eventually fall asleep.

The next morning you are woken up by the smell of breakfast. For a moment you lay in bed confused before remembering the events of the previous night. Feeling somewhat embarrassed you crawl out of bed and make your way into the living room. There Jackson is stood at your stove making eggs. His shirt is missing but he’s still wearing his pants from the night before. Clearing your throat, you catch his attention before muttering a small “Good morning “and siting at the island. He response with a brief “Morning “before turning his attention back to the stove. “How is your hand? You inquire.

“It’s fine I changed the bandages already.” He states in a dryer tone. “Oh... okay.” And with that a brief and awkward silence befalls you both. Soon he joins you at the island and places your breakfast in front of you. Feeling the awkwardness cling in the air you contemplate addressing the conversation from the previous night. That is until he beats you to it.

“Look about last night.” He chimes. He tries to explain but you manage to cut him off.

“Don’t even worry about it we were both drunk and said/ did somethings that we probably didn’t mean so it’s fine.” You state hoping to save yourself from embarrassment.

“I meant everything I said to you last night.” He expresses. You sit there in a bit of shock. Noticing your state, he continues “When I’m with you it’s like seeing the sun after a week of rain.” “When I look at you, I forget how to speak.” “Often times I find myself saying something so embarrassingly stupid that I want to just evaporate into thin air.” I genuinely don’t know why my brain just goes blank when I look at you. I think I’m going crazy. “He states as if he just had an epiphany of sorts. Once he finishes, he looks over to you. For a while you just sit there looking at your plate of eggs while in deep though. If he really did love you, why did it take him so long to realize it? How long has he felt that way? Questions like this and more swirled in your mind however, in that moment the only thing you felt was happiness. A smile began to form on your features before you turned to him and gave a response. “I love you too.” You said slowly letting the words hit one by one.

“In all honesty I wanted to say it back when you said it last night, but I didn’t want this to be one of those drunken mistakes for either of us, so I waited.” You responded. “Really, I wanted to tell you ever since you showed up to my event last year, but I saw that really pretty girl with you and I chickened out at the last second. You say truthfully.

Your confession leaves him speechless for the first time since last night. Getting up from his seat he makes his way over to you. You take a moment to explain further. However, before you can he cuts you off with a kiss. This one is warmer than the last tender almost. In that moment all of your previous worries melt away leaving just you and him.

Request are open

#midnightstay blog #jackson wang x reader #jackson wang fluff #jackson x reader #jackson wang imagines #jackson wang scenarios #jackson wang fanfic #got7 jackson #jackson wang #got7 #got7 x reader #got7 fanfic #got7 scenarios #magic man

31 notes · View notes

wulfgaang · 3 months

Text

Beautiful (PG13)

pairing: hwang hyunjin x f!bodied muse rating: pg-13 genre: romance; pining; angst during the time skip wc: 1.7k warnings: minimally edited, artistic nudity mentioned, sensual touching, soft boy hyunjin being so in love he's absolutely floored at he got that lucky, ANGST BELOW THE TIME SKIP. Feel free to end the story before if you want something a little fluffier :3 a/n: well hey it's been a second! Here's my second fic, this time with the lovely Hyunjin! It's a little short one but that's ok with me :) for the third time, please be aware there's some angst in the time skip so if you aren't ready for it... feel free to end it before then ^^; I just couldn't help myself; i love pain :')

Inspiration. "You're beautiful... I know but... You were everything..."

Disclaimer. This is a work of fiction that does not intend to portray the true feelings, actions, nature and emotions of the Stray Kids members. Please not redistribute this piece of fiction in any form. Copyright @ wulfgaang / callsign-marlie (tumblr; 2024)

Hyunjin was enraptured.

It was a different feeling than of the others he had before when he saw you like this. His brain was fuzzy and covered in cotton candy while his gaze slipped over every pore, stretch mark and mole on your skin. How soft it all looked, draped in the shimmering gossamer fabric that barely covered the shading of the peaks and valleys of your hips! You were a feast indeed.

Hyunjin saw you as effervescent; a star in the nighttime, glimmering and glowing, a constant flicker of ephemeral gorgeousness under his single bay window. The afternoon light had dimmed to dusk and left more shadows than he had originally started with. You were the perfect model as per usual, holding your expression at the same point for hours with just a giggled “I’m fine, my love, go back to work” whenever he came to give you sips of water or drop grapes into your mouth. He wished the juice that dribbled down your chin onto your chest stayed long enough for him to paint it.

A Cleopatrean idol, you are; a person worth every luxury, every greatness he could ever give. The way his heart soared for you at every glance, jumped at every touch, melted with the sound of your voice! Oh, he would have moved mountains if you asked him to just to ensure a frown never creased your lips. He would make sure that sweat never fell from your brow if he could help it, if you weren’t ever so stubborn to allow him the pleasure to serve your beck and call.

You were a salve on burns left behind by a world that didn’t care about him. That didn’t care about anyone other than itself. You gave him a soft place to land when life was too true to believe. You gave him comfort when pins and needles pricked under his eyes. You deserved to be memorialized over and over again as the subject of all grace, humility and rapture for everyone to witness. Mine. Aren’t you jealous? They’re mine, all mine, and all you can do is praise them as I do. Give your everything to them; you’ll see it too.

He was focused now, his eyebrows pinching slightly together with his stern gaze peaking over the top of the canvas. He memorized the trace of the curve of your hip and translated it to his paint. His brush moved the acrylic languidly, flicking at the ends to taper the lines to nothingness of shadow. He had been the epitome of a professional for each and every session, guiding your movements with a soft voice and gentle fingertips to make minor adjustments. The angle needed to be just where he wanted it; just where he wanted you.

He would ghost his paint covered fingers over the top of your skin, feeling the electrical shock of his touch bring the hairs of your arms to attention. Butterfly light touches of his lips to the spot under your jaw unlocked the hummingbird caged in his heart, the ghost of your breath like a memory from ages past; sweet and delicate. You smiled at him with sparkling eyes in the amber of sunset. Sunset.

“You must be exhausted, my muse,” Hyunjin murmured, kneeling against the side of your seat to tuck a stray hair behind your ear. You smiled and preened, the arch of your back high against the velveteen chaise lounge. “You’ve done so well for me today.”

You attempted to playfully press your face closer to his, but Hyunjin was fast to move backwards from you as a coy smile graced his lips. You pouted with furrowed brows. “I can’t even receive payment for all of my hard work, monsieur l’artiste?”

His eyes twinkled mischievously before he let his mouth crash to yours, the softness of flesh pulled a light moan from the bottom of his chest. Kissing you was sinful; the way he perfectly meshed with you felt like blasphemy. There was no way that whatever gods existed created someone so perfect, so lovely, and happened to place them right in his path to love and cherish forever. The way your hands carded through his hair was biblical. The way you moved against his chest required reconciliation. For what? He didn’t know. Forgive me Father, for I have sinned… He would rather be sent to hell than be one day apart from you a single moment.

As the air was pulled from his lungs, he broke the passionate connection to let his lips dance to the tip of your nose, tapping them to each of your eyelids, and finally, let them linger on the crest of your forehead. “A tip,” he muttered. “For making my most favorite model think she wasn’t even worth payment. Who do you think I am, a con?”

Your giggle was soft, a blush of heat draped across the bridge of your nose. He wished he didn’t call it quits already: it would have gone perfect with the warm color palette he had chosen for this scene. He would have to add it later in post editing. Hyunjin wondered if the more rosy tone was suited for the color palette or should he darken it to match the shadows of the background? But then again, the blue of the sky hit just a point-

“You’re beautiful, Hyunjin.”

Your voice pulled him from his thoughts. He blinked owlishly. “Hm?”

“You’re beautiful,” you said again, moving the gauzed sheet from your lap to stand. Your bones and ligaments groaned for a moment as you unfurled from your position on the couch with a sigh. Your peaked nipples stood up against the cold while you languidly reached for the silk robe on the side table. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Hyunjin tsked quietly, his drying palette suddenly more interesting than the flames licking at his cheeks. “That, my love, is where you’ve got the whole picture backwards. You’re the beauty here.”

“I don’t think so,” you harped, slinking around the side of his easel to face him again. You pushed the palette down gently, your fingers stuck in the cold terracotta paste left behind. “You may paint the picture, sweetheart, but the audience are the ones to appreciate and interpret it, aren’t they?”

“I suppose, but-”

Your lips had found him this time as your sullied hands wrapped around his shoulders. Your chest was pressed to his, your hips rocking perfectly against his groin. His palette scattered to the floor while the excess paint Pollocked the draping sheet beneath his canvas. His hands didn’t know where to hold as you let your lips cascade lower and lower, down the throbbing pulse of his neck, to the tips of his collarbone and finally placing a harsh bruise over his heart.

He moaned.

“Let me show you what I see.”

3 years later… (Angst time)

Felix was enraptured.

The way the ring lights of the gallery bounced off of the texture of the oil paint of this particular piece fascinated him in the most peculiar way. He didn’t think that Hyunjin had the ability to make something so soft and fragile in his repertoire! From the details of the gauze over the model’s lap to the soft flick of charcoal at the inner corner of her glimmering eye left him speechless. Every stroke was cared for and thoughtfully placed; so unlike the rough textures of the charcoal his friend was so known for dabbling in. Each shadow had a highlight that balanced it. The composition of the woman’s figure was simply spectacular. He wondered how much time he devoted to this one; it was clearly the centerpiece of the exhibit.

“So?”

Felix jumped a moment at the velvet voice behind him. The man of the hour, Hwang Hyunjin himself, had crept up behind him silent as the graves themselves. His friend was dapper in a black suit and tie while his hair was slicked back, fringe airly framing his face. He looked the part of the artist well enough and if Felix didn’t know better, he would say he looked like he was having fun. The earthy smell of tobacco followed him, however: a telltale sign of the evening’s stress and his friend’s discomfort.

“This one in particular’s stunning,” Felix mused, turning back to the painting. “She would have loved it, seeing it up close like this.”

“I invited her. I texted her, but she never responded,” Hyunjin whispered. He paused, the champagne flute in his hands suddenly more interesting than his closest friend. “I would have thought she would have wanted to see them.”

Felix’s gaze ran around the wall of the gallery. Each painting held a familiar curve, a similar wave of femininity that would pass the common viewer’s eye if they didn’t focus closely enough. He knew that this gallery was for you; that Hyunjin’s work was for you. When you left him two years ago without a trace, the hole in his friend’s chest festered into a sinkhole of obsession. It was as if the more he drew you, the more he painted your moles, your scars, and your curves, that he might be able to summon you back from the depths that you ran to, like Orpheus singing to free Euridice. That you would be in his arms again and all would be right. He could stop worshiping for just a moment and finally celebrate that his heart was whole again.

But Felix knew better. You were in the arms of someone else now.

“The night’s still young, Jinnie, she may come still,” he responded, rapping Hyunjin on the shoulder. “Don’t give up hope just yet.”

“I never will, Felix,” Hyunjin said. He gazed up at the painting with tears on his lashes threatening to fall. “I can’t. I won’t. Not until she knows I’m still here for her. Wherever she is, wherever she goes… I’ll always be thinking about her. She’ll always be a part of me.”

Felix gave a sad smile and hugged his friend tight to his chest. “I’ll let you finish up here for the night then. Get home safe, lover boy. Call me in the morning and I’ll help you pack everything up with Chan.”

Hyunjin nodded dumbly. His eyes never left his painting.

—-

Felix traipsed down the steps of the gallery, his phone pinging as soon as service was restored.

>> How’d it go?

He smiled softly as his thumbs tapped away at the glass screen. > You were everything, my love. Just everything.

#stray kids fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #hyunjin reactions #hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin oneshot #hwang hyunjin reaction #what else do i tag this thing man???

22 notes · View notes

planetkiimchi · 9 months

Text

people watching | b.c

no. 4 of my song collection

featuring: producer!chan x ceo!reader, and the rest of stray kids in varying positions in the music industry

word count: 12352

warnings: pg13, quite a bit of swearing, vomit, alcohol, rooftops (?), crying if you don't like that, angst

summary — you’re a hurricane, and chan knows this all too well. you’re the one who crashed into his life on a regular afternoon, bringing him into the middle of an industry he’s always been at the edges of. he would never like to fall in love with his boss, but you’re a lovable tornado, and for all your chaos, both of you still love to sit down and take a break. those who know, call it “people watching”.

playlist. people watching by conan gray ; 18 by one direction ; wolfgang by stray kids ; omg by newjeans ; coping by rosie darling ; dna by lany

a/n: there’s a little bit of … smau hints here. i guess. i’m not really sure what to call it. also, 12.5K words ? that’s so crazy. i wanna thank my beloved @blue-jisungs for beta reading this. i know you had a headache n everything but thank you so so much for your comments n feedback, it def feels so much more polished w your help <3 and as always i hope y'all enjoy!

if you liked it, REBLOG it.

prologue.

Y/N’S MOTHER WAS A MUSICIAN. A few years back, she started up her own business producing records, but after a while the company still wasn't doing that great. As her child, Y/n took an interest in the company and began to start promoting it better.

You found several producers that you enjoyed listening to music from, and with some promotion (and help from your brother Jisung), everything went swimmingly.

By some miracle or other, the company, SFX labels, accidentally went viral on TikTok. You had Jisung to thank for that, because he was the one who had found Seungmin to manage the online presence of the company. People started taking an interest in your company, and you built up your brand on finding indie music makers and making them big.

Jisung also helped to find amateur musicians or producers with potential, and trained them, teaching them how to become better at their craft.

However, over time and as the company grew, you found your position growing more and more mundane. Your work was boring at best, soul-sucking at times, and you found yourself wondering how you went from passionately enjoying your work to the place you were at.

Your mother suggested you take a break, and you decided to wander around "Lonely St.". It was a little alleyway near your old residence, and was so fondly called because it was a narrow street where many beginner indie musicians frequented. Shops that sold music albums and instruments lined the street. Often shaded, the street was safe from crowds and human traffic was low.

When you were younger, you had often gone there with your mum on visits to see the producers and musicians there. While she tried to strike a deal with them, you would busy yourself with the gadgets and music paraphernalia. Some were expensive, but that was just how music was.

Everyone there was friendly and as you grew into your early twenties, you used to go there for inspiration, bringing home your ideas and channeling them into music. Sometimes your mother would help you develop it, leading to the songs stored on your laptop for nostalgia.

Seeking to rekindle your passion for music, you headed over to Lonely St. and went into the second shop, one with posters tacked up on the wall.

The store was silent, but not eerily so. Instead of cobwebs and dust covering the room, it was all colourful band posters and stickers, all the records neatly stacked up in piles. You barely had enough space to walk, but it only felt cozy, and not too crowded at all.

The decor reminded you of a gothy teenager's room, instruments hidden in the corners and the soft humming of a song playing through the speakers, lyrics indiscernible. Among the magazines and albums you found a man hidden deep inside his work, frowning in concentration.

You cleared your throat and he looked up; you recognised him vaguely but didn't dare to ask. It had been years since you had come to the store, surely he wouldn't remember you from his time working there.

He didn't recognise you, nor did he know that you were now the CEO of a music producing company.

He greeted you in a friendly manner, but looked clearly agitated as he wanted to get back to his work. You dismissed him with a wave, telling him to concentrate on his music while you browsed through old records of musicians you had grown up listening to.

Time passed differently in places like that. Secluded, detached from the outer world, it was so easy to get lost in the dusty archives of history. Songs told tales people didn't understand, like a language with familiar sounds, yet indiscernible the more one tried to listen to it.

In liberal spaces like that, with light filtering through the cluttered windows, you barely realised that two hours had passed. The labyrinth of songs had you hooked, and you would have stayed there all day if you could. You picked up an old CD of an album you vividly remembered playing at your eighteenth birthday party, and picked it up to ask if the man could put it on for a bit.

However, he looked engrossed in his work and you didn't want to disturb him. He worried his lip and tilted his head, groaning softly in frustration. Clearly what he was doing wasn't working for him. You didn't want to disturb him; you knew he would be annoyed, but you needed to go home soon.

You carefully placed the CD case in your hand back down; startled by the sound he glanced up suddenly, realising how silent the store was without the rustling sound of you browsing through the endless albums.

"How may I help you?"

You were tempted to ask him to play you his song, but that might be like intruding on a private part of his soul. You would know how it felt.

You fumbled in your purse for a business card. Would that be too odd? To go, "Hey, I run a company, I think your music would be great even if I haven't heard it yet"? Because you somehow had the gut feeling that he would be perfect, and you knew your instincts never failed you.

You shook your head and dismissed those thoughts. You didn’t want to make him feel awkward. Instead, you decided to buy the record, and the man proudly showed you that it had been signed by the singer.

“It’s a little more expensive, though, because of that. That’s why it hasn’t been bought yet,” he told you sheepishly.

“Oh, that’s fine. I don’t mind spending a bit more.”

He clearly expected you to change your mind when he showed you the price, although you knew from experience that signed records tended to sell for much more, so you were already prepared.

It was, after all, a small price to pay for the discovery of the man himself.

HE FREQUENTED YOUR THOUGHTS for the next week. Even buried in work, with papers piling up for you to sign, projects waiting to be approved, people looking to sign with your label, and managers looking to clear the policies on dating for the singers under them, you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

The mysterious song producer who made music on the side while he ran a music store along Lonely St. had caught your eye, and was not likely to leave your mind anytime soon.

You really wanted to get to know him better, but you had no time. Besides, people didn’t often go to stores with strangers to buy expensive items. Usually, they would go once they’d established a rapport with the people there. Lonely St. was there for the community, not just the things they sold and the treasure trove of advice and ideas the people harboured.

You tapped your fingers against the table impatiently as someone knocked on your door. You glanced at the clock and sighed. If you could, you would have liked to get off work early, but it was still two hours before your official working hours ended.

“Come in,” you called.

Your assistant, Seungmin, entered the room. Looking around at the mess of papers that lay on your table, he sighed loudly and obviously.

“What?” you asked defensively.

“I sent the papers in neatly, organising them by manager and then group or singer in order of importance and urgency. I even had different stacks of folders for projects, people looking to sign with us, and policy issues. And you just leave them strewn around? You really don’t appreciate my effort, do you?”

You scrunched up your nose. “Sorry, Seungmin. Promise I'll get to filing them away later. I'm just not in the mood right now.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is this because you have too much work? I heard you went to Lonely St. last week. Was the break too short?”

You nod unhappily. “I really want to go back, I think I stumbled across a real gem there. I saw someone making music and I'd love to hear it, he sounds like he’d be great for our label and I want to know what kind of concept he would fit.”

“But?”

“But he’s a stranger! I daren’t ask, you know how I get about these sorts of things.”

“Hm.” Seungmin looked through his phone, then smiled at you. “Well, I think you’re in luck. Jisung just texted me about going to Lonely St. to ‘run some errands’. He said he’d go with Minho-hyung, but he’s busy with work too. I could fit it in your schedule if you get all of this organised for me to return to everyone who’s waiting for it.”

You nod. “That sounds good. So, is tomorrow too soon?”

“No,” Seungmin said, taking it down. “Enjoy yourself, Y/n-ssi.”

“Thanks, Seungminie.”

SOMETIMES YOU WONDERED where Jisung got his upbeat personality from. Personally, you were a very chill person, and both you and Jisung were introverts, like your mother. Your father was more outgoing, but none of you were particularly high in energy besides Jisung.

It was quite intriguing, you mused to yourself, humming quietly as you waited for Jisung to arrive. You were early, but you couldn’t disguise your excitement. You’d finally get to meet the man again! Hopefully, he would be there and not somewhere else. Many of the shop owners took turns hiring different part-timers looking for a side job to make a bit of money while they sought an agent or company willing to take them.

Fortunately for you, Jisung was a lucky charm. You went with him to pick up a few magazines for him to decorate his room. Ever since he was a teenager, he’d been a collector of photos, and whenever a magazine cover featured his favourite artists, he couldn’t help but to buy it to add it to his collection.

His room was filled with posters and magazines, but somehow it hadn’t turned away any of his friends or lovers.

Once you’d picked up what Jisung wanted, you dragged him by his wrist to the store named ‘St(r)ay Away’. You loved the play on words, and that was what had drawn your mother in as well when you first went there.

Behind the counter was the man you’d been looking for. He was tapping away at his computer, mouth pursed in concentration. He glanced up when the ringing bell sound signalled your entrance, and smiled at both of you, eyes lighting up when he caught sight of Jisung.

“Ah, Jisung, hello! Good to see you again. I see you’ve got new magazine covers?”

Jisung grinned proudly. “Yep! Look, Twice-sunbaenim even did an interview inside! I can’t wait to read it when I get back.”

The man nodded. “And this is…?”

“My sibling, Y/n! they brought me here, actually. Y/n, are you looking for something?”

“You,” you blurted out, staring incredulously at the man. Seriously, what was it with Jisung and his charm? You could never have made friends with someone the way Jisung did.

“Chan?” Jisung asked you, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Ah, nothing. I was just surprised to see him again. I came here last week, and spoke with him when getting my album. I was particularly interested in what song he was arranging.”

“Oh, that. I was just working on a few songs for myself. I'm looking to release them, but I haven’t found anyone to help me with that yet,” Chan explained.

“You know you can always sign with us, hyung.”

“I don’t know if I'd fit your concept. And your label is so big! I might be overshadowed and I wouldn’t like that.”

“Jisung’s right,” you interject. “You’re welcome to sign with us, if you’d like. here’s my business card, in case you’d like to speak with me instead of—” you looked Jisung up and down— “this fool.”

Chan stifled a laugh, taking the card from your hands with a slight bow of his head. “I'll consider it.”

“And send me a song or two! I'd love to listen to what concept you have going on so I can match you with someone who understands your creative vision.”

Chan bowed his head again. “Nice meeting you, Y/n. And thanks for dropping by, Jisung. See y’all next time!”

SEUNGMIN RAPPED IMPATIENTLY on the door. He didn’t even wait for you to invite him in, which was odd because on normal days Seungmin did at least have the manners and the dignity to wait for your reply before barging in. He might have had a tongue that was quick to lash out and a well-hidden sailor’s mouth, but he wasn’t often rude in terms of entering.

“It’s Minho-hyung,” he managed breathlessly. “I had to run up because the lift wasn’t working, but that’s the message I got downstairs. Minho-hyung’s back in town.”

You swiveled around in your chair and raised an eyebrow skeptically, gesturing for Seungmin to sit and catch his breath, all the while humming as you thought about what this could mean.

Minho was your and Jisung’s childhood best friend. You grew up together, and your fathers played music together on the weekends, while you kids got together for a marshmallow-roasting by the fire. You knew everything about Minho that there was to know about him, and one thing about him was that he simply could not settle down.

He had spent five or six years as a dance teacher by now, having started out young. He was always restless, and it had been you who had suggested he go to a dance lesson with you. Ballet had left a terrible impression on him but a couple years later he did pick up contemporary in school.

He later expanded his repertoire to street jazz and hip hop, and more specific skills like popping and waacking. Two years back, Jisung had invited him to join SFX labels as a choreographer, and each one of his dances had outdone the previous one.

But the thing was… Minho never grew out of his restlessness. Even as a young adult, he itched to move about – not just in a physical manner like dancing but on a larger scale, like travelling around. It was lucky for him that he was tall enough and looked good, so you could sign a contract with him as a model under SFX labels. He then had the opportunities to fly around the world and sightsee, all the while earning money and enjoying himself.

It was a really good deal, if you could say so yourself. Perhaps not something that would suit your taste, but to each their own.

Since he had signed on as a model and you stayed in Korea to manage SFX labels, you hadn’t been able to meet up with Minho at all. So him coming back to Korea? That was quite the news.

Besides, Minho knew how to make an entrance. He wasn’t one for blitzy and glammed up spectacles, but he knew how to do just enough to make heads turn and subtly draw the attention of everyone in the room to himself. He brought his own spotlight wherever he went, and this instance was no exception.

It was interesting that Minho had chosen now to come back, because in two weeks’ time, your company was having a party to celebrate its 5-year anniversary. Your entire family would be there, of course, and even your father, who liked to keep a low profile, would probably have to clean up and make appearances. Just to keep up the reputation.

You hummed away, lost in your thoughts. Seungmin’s breathing eased and you turned to him. “Is he free?”

Seungmin shook his head regretfully. “I’ve already asked Minho when he arrived. He said he was busy, but he would definitely meet you at the company event. Specifically, Minho wanted to be your plus-one.”

You tilted your head to the side. Minho as your plus-one? That was funny. Usually that would imply that you had some sort of higher rank than him, and although you technically did, he was still older than you by a year and had held that over you throughout your entire life. Besides, Minho had his own invitation. In fact, he should be bringing someone you hadn’t met before as his plus-one.

You and Jisung usually went as each other’s plus-ones, that way you couldn’t get into any dating rumours but you also wouldn’t look like lonely old people with no friends. You were each other’s best friends… or at least that’s what you thought.

If Minho wanted to change things up, you weren’t going to object. It was time Jisung got an official date, anyway. Wasn’t he sick of only ever having lovers for a month? This would be a good change for everyone.

You nodded at Seungmin, right before a notification flashed on your screen. Seungmin excused himself while you clicked on the notification curiously.

You immediately clicked on the files, regretting it only a little. Sure, you had more work to do, but they wouldn’t be as interesting as what Chan had sent you.

As expected, Chan’s demo-style sample got you engaged and hooked right from the start. He was very intentional in his use of unconventional sounds (did you just hear someone growl? You hoped not), and it was something refreshingly new from the constant lull of K-pop producers chasing trends.

It was raw, and clearly written just for him. It wasn’t really polished the way one cleaned up their works when they wanted to send them to someone. It felt like a first draft, something that definitely had potential but was still in the works.

You couldn’t tell if the lyrics were meant to be changed later on but you didn’t want him to tweak it much. You enjoyed the use of both English and Korean (though you had to admit, your English wasn’t very good, so you had to search up some of the words he used) and the style of the rhyming. His vocals were good, but not polished-strong. It sounded a bit husky, but he could definitely carry a tune and hit the notes he wanted to.

And the rapping definitely caught your attention. Of course you had heard good rappers before, but Chan just stood out somehow. Maybe it was the tone of his voice or his flow, but something was just… different. And you liked that.

You didn’t know if you had anyone available who could match his style, though, and you told Chan that.

You immediately dialed Seungmin to let him know how things had turned out, and asked him to send your apologies to Minho, and ask him to go with Jisung instead. It was definitely going to be an eventful party.

YOU NEEDED SEUNGMIN. Or Jisung. Or even Minho. Just someone to keep you grounded. The party was too busy and too noisy and you were finally starting to understand why your father preferred to stay at home and chill, because it was absolutely suffocating.

Conversations were happening everywhere, and polite greetings streamed out of your mouth without a second thought. You had to bow to many people but you could barely remember their names, even though you had seen them plenty of times before.

You breathed heavily in and out and your eyes scanned the crowd for Jisung. Where was he? How was he? Would he be able to take over for you while you found somewhere to rest for a bit?

A hand tapped your shoulder and you whirled around, catching sight of a familiar face. Chan. A wave of relief washed over you, and you grabbed his extended hand for support and shook it.

“Glad you could make it.”

“Me too,” he replied. “Are you alright? You look flushed.”

You shook your head. “No, I need to get away from here. But first, I need to find Jisung.”

Good things must come in series, because you finally spotted Jisung in the crowd, chatting happily away. Your social energy was drained but considering Jisung’s wasn’t, you should be okay to leave the scene for a bit.

“Ji,” you told him softly in his ear. “I need some fresh air, I’ll pop out for a bit.” He nodded absently and you caught sight of his jacket on a chair. “And if you’re not using this, can I borrow it? I’ll return it to you later.” He nodded and waved you off, his conversation never pausing for even a second.

You slid your hands in the jacket, grateful that you and Jisung were of about the same size. It fit like a glove, and was warm enough for you to head outside with Chan, onto the balcony.

The balcony was empty save for one person, gazing out across the wide expanse of Seoul onto the streets, brightly lit by streetlights. A whoosh of cool air hit your face, a breeze whistling past your ears. You quickly shut the door behind Chan, and he hovered behind you, unsure what to do.

The person in question turned, and your eyes met Minho’s. He was as tall as you remembered, gaze as clear and sharp as it was in your memories. He held his arms out and you collapsed into his embrace, warm and inviting around you. “I missed you,” you murmured.

“Me too.” He got down from the ledge and pulled out a chair for you to sit, finally seeming to notice Chan’s presence.

“Oh. Minho, meet Chan. Chan, meet Minho.” You stretched your lips in a nervous smile as Minho gave Chan a once over. You had seen Minho do that before, and it was the most nerve-wracking thing ever. He would slowly trail his eyes down your figure, analysing every piece of clothing you owned, your jewellery, your makeup if you had any, your smile, your eyes, your hands, even the shoes you were wearing.

And, if he deemed you worthy, he would nod. You would sigh in relief, of course. That was only polite.

Chan, however, didn’t seem to get the memo. He cocked his head as Minho swept his gaze over him and smiled when Minho nodded, proffering his hand for Minho to shake. Minho took it, and you—of all people—sighed in relief.

You gestured for Chan to sit opposite you, and Minho drew himself a chair next to you, crossing one ankle over his knee and leaning back languidly. It almost looked like a challenge to you, but Chan didn’t take the bait.

“Soo…”

You quickly became engrossed in your discussion with Chan, who, to his credit, ignored Minho for the most part and stayed completely focussed on what you were saying. You managed to discuss a price he was willing to work for, and agreed that he would release a mini album by the end of four months, with the help of one of the agents whom you’d convinced to clear her schedule.

Chan was very agreeable, only offering a different opinion when it came to his work style. He said he preferred to work in “St(r)ay Away” rather than in the studios you had, claiming that the “people watching” was good for inspiration.

You always wanted to give your artists creative freedom and control over their work environment as far as possible, so you promised to make the necessary arrangements.

Tapping on the glass interrupted you, and you turned your head at the same time as Minho to see an eager Jisung waving excitedly at both of you. Minho got up, engulfing you in another hug.

“Don’t drink too much,” he murmured. “Try not to do stupid shit. Yes, you’re a consenting adult, and no, that doesn’t make you immune to the influence of alcohol.” You nodded obediently and patted him on the back before he hurried off, anxious to catch Jisung before he got lost among the crowd again.

You sat back down and watched Chan out of the corner of your eye. As you talked with Minho, he had watched you carefully as well, noting the soft, protective tone that Minho spoke with and the ease with which you agreed. He had pulled his phone out of his pocket and began furiously typing away, humming to himself as he did so.

Curious, you thought. That was what you did when you got inspiration as well.

The lights inside seemed to get brighter as the night sky darkened, the stark contrast drawing your attention to it. You noticed Changbin, your ex, who was dancing with Jeongin, Hyunjin and Felix on the dance floor. They were having the time of their lives, finally having some freedom under your label after transferring.

The freedom in question was demonstrated when the first thing Changbin had done was to ask you to be his significant other. You probably shouldn’t have agreed but you were young, stupid and in love.

He was handsome and a good rapper but most importantly, he was kind and respectful towards women. He was also funny when he wanted to be, and all in all it had really sealed the deal for you. Only after the rumours and scandals started to threaten both of your careers, had you given in to the pressure and broken up. There were no hard feelings, but residual attraction remained.

You bid goodbye to Chan, who was already engrossed in his own thing again. He followed you back into the warmth of the building, only to settle down in one of the comfortable chairs and busy himself with his own things.

Hesitantly, you made your way towards Changbin. Although it was a company event, it wasn’t very uptight and controlled, so there were drinks being served and music being played. It was almost midnight and the mood had clearly shifted towards a more energetic, crazy mood, and Changbin was very much at home.

When he finally saw you, the world fell silent. Your breath hitched in your throat as you waited nervously for his response. Everything else had fallen away, and for a moment it was just the two of you existing in the continuum of time.

“Y/n!” He called, hugging you tightly. “It’s so good to see you again.” You greeted each of the members politely, and Hyunjin stared at you, mouth agape.

“And here I was thinking the Biny/n crumbs twitter account was the only way I could see the two of you interact again.” You rolled your eyes at Hyunjin’s sassy remark, inwardly comforted by his (however backhanded) welcoming words.

“Let’s get some drinks and talk,” Changbin suggested, and you followed mindlessly as he ordered drinks for both of you—a margarita on the rocks for you—and you sat down, amazed that he still remembered what you liked after all that time.

It was so easy to fall back into step with Changbin, it almost felt like no time had passed at all. He was still the same cheerful, positive person who had so much going on in his life. You, on the other hand, were still the one who lent a listening ear, shaking your head exasperatedly when he told you of the shenanigans he had been up to.

Of course, the two of you drank, and drank, and drank. He told you a funny story, and you drank out of a need for your hands to be occupied. You told him of your troubles, and you drank to drown your negative thoughts, he drank out of solidarity. He told you of the injuries he had sustained, you told him to be more careful. He laughed. “Yolo!” Both of you drank.

Drunk minds speak sober thoughts. That’s what they said, wasn’t it? It must have been true because you would not have been able to catch up with Changbin for so long if you had been sober. The conversation would have dwindled when it came to a sensitive topic, and the atmosphere would have grown awkward.

But it was easier when you were drunk. Everything seemed to spill out of you like the liquid courage you were consuming, and no barriers remained to hold anything back. It flowed and it flowed, words that you would never had uttered if you still possessed any form of sobriety.

Changbin must not have noticed, because he did not comment. You were both too flushed and too drunk to form any kind of coherent thought, and the only thing you wanted when the world started spinning was to get away from everything. You excused yourself to go to the bathroom and Changbin stumbled after you.

However, he was too drunk to walk straight, and was quickly taken away by Hyunjin with an apologetic smile towards you. You didn’t see it, consumed only by the bile in your throat and the swimming of your vision.

You went to the bathroom, only making it as far as the one meant for wheelchair-bound persons when you collapsed over the toilet bowl, unvoluntarily regurgitating your previous meal.

The taste of mushed up food remained in your mouth, the acid burning your throat. You looked at yourself in the mirror and you sighed, rinsing whatever was left out of your mouth and washing your face. You also removed any of the minimal makeup you had applied to make yourself look presentable.

Your eyes looked smaller, and you could now see the imperfections on your face, but at least you were authentic. Right?

You pushed the door open (it had closed by itself) and almost slammed it in Chan’s face.

There he stood, arms hanging awkwardly by his side, watching you with concern. You wobbled, and his arms subconsciously stretched out to catch you. You leaned onto him for support and he tried to help you walk away from the toilet.

“Where do you want to go?” Chan asked you worriedly. “You really don’t look good, Y/n-ssi. I think you should go home.”

“Mm… Can’t. Need to find… Jisung. He’ll know what to do,” was all you managed before you passed out, slumped in Chan’s arms.

Fuck. Chan stared at you, completely flabbergasted. What should he do? He had never had to deal with drunk bosses before. Sure, he had dealt with his fair share of drunk friends, but never someone who was superior to him in rank, much less a stranger whom he had just met a few weeks ago.

He decided to bring you back to Jisung, when Minho spotted him.

Minho’s eyes hardened and his smile disappeared into a thin line when he spotted Chan holding your body, leading you away from the gender-neutral bathroom meant for wheelchair-bound people.

He had been talking to Jisung and catching up with Jeongin and Felix, finally loosening up as the evening progressed, and Chan just happened to be in his line of sight.

And, of course, you. Of course you had ignored what he had told you and gotten drunk and blacked out. Of course you ended up in the arms of a man he didn’t know, whom you had been talking to when the night was still young. And best of all, of course you had to be dragged out, unconscious, from a bathroom. Who knew what could have happened to you inside the bathroom?

“Ji,” he called once, loud enough for Jisung to hear, before he made his way over to you, all but snatching you from Chan’s arms.

He shifted you in his arms so he could comfortably carry you, bridal style, glaring at Chan. “I don’t really know who you are, but if I find out you’ve done anything to Y/n, you’re a dead man.”

Jisung rushed over to his side, his smile falling off his face when he saw what was happening. “Chan-hyung? Minho-hyung? Anyone would like to fill me in?”

“I saw him with Y/n, dragging their unconscious ass out of a toilet. Who knows what he’s done to them,” Minho replied viciously before Chan had a chance to answer.

“Chan-hyung… seriously? I thought you and them were just friends,” Jisung said disappointedly. Chan tried to defend himself, but both Minho and Jisung turned their backs on him, Minho pressing his forehead to yours as he carried you out to Jisung’s car.

THE NEXT MORNING, you woke up to natural light streaming in through the windows, and the delicious smell of pancakes wafting in from the kitchen. You hurriedly dressed and got out of the room, spotting Minho and Jisung whispering to each other urgently as they sat at the table, clearly waiting for you to make an appearance.

“Morning.”

“Morning. I tried to tell Minho-hyung you were old enough to deal with a hangover yourself, but he just wouldn’t listen.” You looked carefully at Minho: at his disheveled hair, his bloodshot eyes, and the messy creases in his suit from the night before. He looked like he hadn’t slept a wink.

As if reading your mind, Jisung explained, “He sat by your bed all night, afraid you would wake up and have some horror story to tell about last night. He didn’t sleep at all.”

Poor Minho. He definitely needed his beauty sleep, but it was alright because he was pretty either way. You checked your phone; luckily Jisung had had the presence of mind to help you charge it and you had received several messages. A couple were from your parents, telling you to sleep well and let them know if anything had happened, and from Seungmin, Hyunjin and Changbin, in that order, asking if you were okay. Seungmin also asked if you were coming for work or calling in sick. The last one was from Chan. He asked if you were okay, if Minho was mad at him, and if you were going to reconsider the deal. He’d understand if things had changed, he said.

You told him it was still on and Seungmin would deal with the logistics. You replied to everyone, explaining that you were fine and thanking them for their worry. You told Seungmin you’d be late but not to any meetings. You’d be there in an hour, you said.

You told Jisung that you needed a lift. He told you to take your things and he’d meet you in the car once he took his keys.

Minho watched you blankly, too tired to function. You tilted his chin up to get a good look at him, sighed when you saw the bags under his eyes, pressed a kiss to his forehead and thanked him for bringing you home; for noticing you passed out even when there were so many other people there blocking you from his sight.

He returned your smile tiredly. “I’ll always be there for you. We agreed, remember?”

You did.

WORK WAS SO DRAINING, all you wanted to do was go home and sleep. You would give anything to leave the room and the discussion, and the meeting being about the most mundane things ever was not helping. Obviously you understood the importance of market share and dealing with your competitors, but you were not in the mood to listen to the board’s insistence on rebranding or some other form of expanding your target audience.

Was this what corporate life was like? Because you definitely weren’t cut out for it. Your eyelids were drooping and you were dangerously close to collapsing on the table if it weren’t for the caffeine running through your veins.

Seungmin had greeted you with coffee that morning, “under Minho’s orders” to make sure you weren’t too hungover and also to keep you awake. It helped keep the headache at bay, and you thanked Minho.

He hadn’t replied yet, so you assumed that he had finally gone to get his beauty sleep, glad that you hadn’t asked him to drive you that morning.

One of the board directors was talking your ear off, and you had almost forgotten about Chan. At least, until he clocked in for work, claiming to have “reached his studio”. It was accompanied with a goofy selfie of him at St(r)ay Away.

You were confused by how comfortable he seemed to be with texting you and also his excitement to get to know you, which showed through his messages. But it was cute, and you were starting to warm up to him.

Chan was insane. He sent you a picture of the progress he had made and you were glad you could be there to keep him accountable. You ran a company and you couldn’t do that for everyone. But then again, you didn’t personally recruit everyone, and not everybody helped get you out of a creative slump. So you supposed you could make exceptions when it came to Chan.

He shot you a quick text, saying “going home now! you should too 🥱” and the corners of your lips lifted in the smallest of smiles. It was only something small, but the gentle reminder to take a break and not to overwork yourself made your day.

Still grinning like a fool, you dialed Seungmin’s desk and told him to go home as well, a skip in your step as you made your way to Minho’s car. Since the company event, he said he wanted to drop you off at work and pick you up to keep you safe. (How crazy that he cared for you more than Jisung did; Jisung didn’t give enough fucks to give you a lift to and from work.) In return, you offered for him to stay at your and Jisung’s place, and he took up residence in the guest room.

He opened the door for you, asking you about your day. You told him of all the boring administrative things, keeping to yourself the texts that Chan had sent you. They were just a one-time thing, you thought to yourself. Sooner or later, the novelty of texting you would be lost, and Chan would not check in with you anymore.

You couldn’t be more wrong.

Chan continued to text you about your day every day for the time period leading up to the release date for his album, for which a name was pending. He didn’t seem to send you any more songs after that, which you sorely missed.

He probably didn’t dare to overstep his boundaries, which you understood. But you didn’t want him walking on eggshells every time he interacted with you. So one day, you impulsively told Chan that you could be a beta listener for his songs if he wanted to send them to you. You didn’t do that for everyone, because you’d be a very busy person, but Chan’s music style appealed to you. Plus, you were constantly intrigued by what was going on in that head of his.

When Chan sent you four songs that he was planning to put in his album, you were pleasantly shocked by how he seemed to be outdoing himself. Having a purpose and a cohesive theme across several songs allowed him to express himself better, and when giving him feedback, you found that you were genuinely excited for his release.

You checked your email for any updates from his agent or his manager, and entered the release date on your calendar. You wanted to be free on that day so you could congratulate him in person.

You were thinking about this as you exited your car from the passenger side, Minho coming out from the driver’s side. For the month that he had been in town so far, he had consistently driven you to work every single day. You joked that not only was that the longest amount of time he’d ever spent in one place, it was also the commitment that he’d stuck to for the longest time.

Sleepily, you laid your head on Minho’s shoulder and sighed tiredly. You really wanted to go home. The real reason that you were hanging on through all those boring meetings was that you were looking forward to Chan’s release, and you had to keep the company going for that to happen.

It was funny. Ever since you had visited “St(r)ay Away”, you felt like something was missing. It had been a brief but much-needed reprieve and without that feeling of “wow, this is what music is supposed to sound like”, you felt a sense of emptiness.

The sense of emptiness continued throughout the entire day, only intensifying when you were in the presence of Jisung’s “partners” (whom you greatly disagreed with). Their creative vision of the company was going to absolutely destroy all your morals and everything you stood for as a CEO. You wanted to promote small groups, give artists freedom in their music and emphasise on uniqueness, not follow the same concepts that were “trending”.

You didn’t care if it wasn’t as financially beneficial as the marketing gimmicks the partners had thought up, you wanted to stay true to your family and your own ideas. Besides, in the long run, were they really going to priorities their monetary gains over the mental health and the passion of the artists?

Clearly, they had no qualms about squashing the creative ideas that their artists had. “They’re i-doll-s for a reason,” one of them even joked. Jisung looked uncomfortable, but he didn’t speak out.

Annoyed with your brother and everyone in the room, you looked down at your watch and found that it was time to go home. Telling Jisung to deal with it but not make any decisions yet, you took your leave.

The door swung open and somebody stumbled back. You quickly stepped out and shut the door, coming face to face with Minho and Chan.

“Oh. Hi,” you said, forcing a smile onto your face as you looked at Chan. You hadn’t gotten your daily selfie that day, and you’d texted Chan about it, but he hadn’t read your text for the whole day.

When you turned to Minho, you saw a muscle in his jaw twitch ever so slightly. His tell. “Minho? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said, trying to casually brush it off. But you knew him better than that, and you weren’t just going to let it slide. Recalling the way he had been looking at Chan when you first turned to him, you deduced that it must have been related to Chan.

Speaking of which, why was Chan in the building? You and he had already agreed to let him work in his store, why had he specially come down to SFX Labels, and why today of all days?

As if reading your mind, Chan rushed to explain, “For some reason, my agent disagrees with your idea for me to release a solo album. He wanted me to produce music for I.O.U. because he and the manager are friends. I had to set up a meeting with the managers and producers, which wasn’t great. The members were friendly, but the producers were terrible. They couldn’t agree on whether they liked the music or not and constantly bickered the whole time I was there. The concept, style, and even the lyrics of their previous songs were completely different from mine, so I really wonder whose idea it was to invite me.”

You shrugged. “Stupid people are everywhere. Contrary to popular belief, I can’t be responsible for the actions of every individual under the label.”

The muscle in Minho’s jaw loosened, and he let out a snort. “You’re pretty stupid sometimes, too.”

“Not as stupid as Jisung, hopefully.”

Minho grinned. “Not as stupid as Jisung.”

CHAN KEPT HIS DISTANCE from you and Minho, close enough to keep you in his sight but far enough not to hear your conversations. Leaning tiredly on a wall, he looked up at the ceiling and sighed.

He hadn’t told you, but he thought Jisung had driven you to work in the morning when he spotted you getting out of the car. He was just about to go over and say hi to his favourite Han siblings, but got cold feet when he saw you resting your head on Minho’s shoulder. He was half thrown off by Minho’s constant affection towards you, half thrown off by how cold Minho was towards him.

Remembering Minho’s glare and his hug to you and how upset he had been finding Chan carrying your drunk self away from a public restroom, Chan had hesitated, finally deciding to just go in and not greet the two of you.

When he left the studio that evening, he was both exasperated and frustrated. He had wanted a creative, collaborative experience, not an argument he felt the need to mediate. That was why he preferred to work alone in a (mostly) quiet place and he regretted listening to his agent instead of consulting you.

He had been engrossed in his unhappiness, not watching where he was going. He hadn’t texted you that morning because of the Minho incident, and you had asked him about it. Chan had just been about to reply with two selfies (one to make up for it and one for the end of work) when he crashed into Minho. Minho and Chan both immediately apologised, Chan bowing in greeting to his senior, when Minho recognised him.

It was difficult to ignore the daggers Minho was sending his way, especially when Chan got the idea Minho didn’t have the best impression of him.

“Oh, it’s you.”

“Yeah,” Chan grimaced. “It’s me.” Minho didn’t look too happy. He would probably have given Chan a piece of his mind. Chan was readying himself for a “stay away from Y/n, you don’t deserve her” kind of spiel when, luckily for Chan, you walked out of the door, almost crashing into him. Again.

He kept quiet while you laughed with Minho, pressing his lips together and trying not to think about how it would feel if you were to have that kind of banter with him. Would he even be able to say something funny like that to you or would he turn into a stammering, blushing mess?

It was hard to tell.

But one thing was for sure. You and Minho had a dynamic that was hard to replicate, and he didn’t want to cross any boundaries. Even if they weren’t set in stone or clearly spelt out, he didn’t want to ruin whatever you had going on with Minho. He decided to remain civil with you, continuing to text you but never making a move.

After all, he didn’t stand a chance against Minho.

IT HAD BEEN THREE MONTHS. Three months since Minho’s arrival in Seoul and he was still there. You couldn’t believe it.

Every morning, you awoke from your bed (trying not to wake Jisung up on his side of the room, he had moved in to make space for Minho), and you tiptoed over to Minho’s room, fully expecting it to be empty.

You would have been less surprised to see an empty, cleaned out room with no evidence that Minho had ever been there, with maybe a short note that said “Goodbye. Don’t miss me too much” than what was happening.

It was early in the morning and Minho was still fast asleep, but still very much there. Physically present. It was such a shock to you and it was probably the longest time that Minho had ever been in one place, besides when he was too young to travel.

He must have had a sixth sense, because after about a minute or so of you staring at him to confirm that he wasn’t going to disappear magically, he sleepily blinked his eyes open and caught sight of you.

“Morning,” he mumbled, the corners of his lips lifting up into a smile.

“Good morning. Do you want me to make ramyeon or are you content with just the bread from yesterday?”

“Ramyeon sounds good,” he replied.

As Minho changed his clothes, you headed to the kitchen to make ramyeon. You were still half asleep, barely going through the actions, and when you set the bowl of noodles onto the dining table, you were caught off guard by Minho’s excited smile.

“What is it?” You asked suspiciously. Knowing Minho, he only smiled like that before he was about to play a prank on you, or when he was up to something sneaky.

“I think we should go to an open class,” Minho said, face impassive. He fought to keep his composure as he watched the struggle of emotions flashing across your face.

“What, like learn a dance? Together with a bunch of strangers?”

“Basically, yeah. I found this place and I’ve already booked it a while back. It’s pretty crowded sometimes so I decided to ask you later and just cancel if you didn’t want to go. I’d pay and everything.”

You would probably have said no, but you felt bad after all that Minho had done. Anyway, it wouldn’t be a complete disaster, right? You could only make so much of a fool out of yourself. Surely it would be fine.

It was not fine. Minho was not lying when he said that it would be crowded and if the morning hadn’t made your day, you would never have gone for another open class in your life.

The two of you had left a note for Jisung, telling him that you’d be gone for the day, and headed to a coffee shop to get a cup of coffee. The weather was lovely, a breeze gusting past as you sat outside the shop, precariously balanced on the metal stools, blowing on your coffee to cool it down. As you sipped your drink gingerly, Minho told you all about his adventures.

He told you about Italy and their delicious pizza, how there everyone’s mother was a cook and he was always invited for a meal at a different person’s house after each dance session. He had even bought a piece of art from one of the painters there and proudly kept it in one of his luggages to bring on future trips.

He told you about Taiwan and their night markets, how he’d made new friends with the dancers there and gone to get bubble tea and scallion pancakes together. He told you about the competition he won there, even speaking a few words of their language to convince you.

He told you about America and Turkey and Spain, and how every country’s culture and way of life was different.

He was a time chaser, if you thought about it. He wanted to experience everything that the world could offer him in the shortest time possible. When you were younger, he had come so close to dropping out of school that his parents said they would stop paying for his dance classes and competition fees if he didn’t buckle down and study.

You couldn’t understand him at the time. Why would anyone want to sacrifice the security of an education paid for by your parents to go jump into the great unknown that was the world?

But now, looking back, you understood why he was that way. Hearing his tales of his travels made you wonder if you were living life as vicariously as you could, or if you were living through the other people you saw.

And if you weren’t living, when would you start?

9.54pm

YOU PUT YOUR PHONE DOWN. Minho was spread out on the couch, facing you but not paying attention to you. You looked back down at your screen and the messages Chan had sent you and tapped Minho’s ankle with your knee.

“Yah, Lee Minho.”

“Yes, Han Y/n?”

“Chan asked me out.” This sentence caught Minho’s attention and he stiffened, head lifting up to look at you. His brows furrowed slightly and the muscle in his jaw twitched. He set his phone down, looked at you properly and gestured for you to go on.

“Do you want to go?”

“I’m not sure. I mean, he probably likes me, right? So I shouldn’t break his heart, right?”

Softer, until you almost didn’t catch it, Minho mumbled, “But the real question is, do you like him back?”

Then it was your turn to knit your eyebrows together in confusion. Did you? You had never been very good with feelings. When you were fifteen, Jisung had a crush on a girl and so did you. Naturally, Jisung acted like himself and you just hyped him up as best as he could to get him to ask her out. When she rejected him, you had been sad for Jisung but also slightly relieved. You had never told Jisung about the incident, because even when you were in your twenties, you couldn’t for the life of you think of what to say.

You couldn’t identify feelings very well and were too socially anxious to have the guts to confess. Luckily for you, Chan did. The confession had you thinking that you might have something with him. You probably liked him. And at the very least, you would have liked to start something with him.

You told Minho that, but all he had to say was, “Hmm.” What was that tone supposed to mean?

“Is there something you need to tell me, Lee Minho?”

Minho was quiet, which was not unusual. He wasn’t smiling, which was a bit unusual but not completely weird. His jaw was twitching, which was not unusual but definitely meant that there was something going on.

“I need to tell you something.”

Patiently, you waited in silence as you watched him struggle inwardly with his thoughts. His mouth opened and shut as he fought to find the right words to express himself.

“Han Y/n, I have loved you for all the time I've known you. I really, really like you and that realisation was probably what grounded me and led me to come back to this place I hate. I want to travel the world but only with you by my side and I've been searching for so long and I think I've found what i’m looking for. You.”

You must have been so stupid for not realising because of course you were the reason that Minho had stayed in Korea for so long. You remembered that morning when you had just been thinking of the very same thing. You were such a fool not to have noticed that the common factor in all of Minho’s happy stories was always you.

Didn’t you see the framed picture of you, Jisung and Minho as kids that Minho propped up at his bedside table when he first unpacked?

Didn’t you realise that Minho couldn’t—or shouldn’t—be able to drop you off because he had other commitments, but he did it anyway because his feelings for you ran deeper than just your friendship?

Didn’t you see the way his jaw twitched when he saw you speaking to Chan?

There were so many telltale signs but you were blind. He gave you signal after signal after signal but you chose to drown instead, swerving off the bridge into the deeper waters of denial.

“Then why’d you just sit there and tell me and Jisung to go for our crush when we were fifteen? You never told me you liked me your whole life. I couldn’t possibly have known.”

Minho smiled sadly. “I thought you knew when I told you I loved you that I meant it as more than friends. When I said I’d be there for you, always, I didn’t mean it lightly. You just never read into it and I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. But I had to get it off my chest before I left you, again. I don’t know if I’ll ever come back after this, Y/n.”

You tripped over yourself trying to hug Minho, but when you did, he held you so tightly that you could barely breathe. It felt as if he was trying to make up for lost time, tears streaming down his eyes.

“Oh, Minho.”

It was just like the first hug you had given him when he was in Korea again, when you saw him at the company event. His embrace was still just as warm, only that he was shaking, and you didn’t think it was from the cold.

You hugged him back just as tightly, squeezing as much comfort into your hug as you could, trying to hold him in your arms like he used to do to you.

“Please don’t leave me,” you whispered hoarsely. “I don’t think- I don’t think I could live without you.”

Minho only responded by hugging you tighter before he finally let you go, laughing as he wiped the tears from his eyes. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay. For both of us. I hope- I hope you enjoy your date. And I’ll stay a while longer. From there, we’ll see where the wind takes me, yeah? And maybe one day, you’ll come to visit me instead.”

Although Minho was playing it off and acting all nonchalant about it, you knew Minho liked to bottle up his feelings and never talk about it. In fact, he probably had a ton of bottled-up trauma he needed to talk about at some point in time.

However, for that moment, you were content not to speak about it. You would simply keep an eye out for your best friend, whom you still loved regardless.

The tension swells up Are you listening? Paddling and clambering onto your surfboards In anticipation of a wave You’re ready to ride

And all of a sudden there is quiet The peace before a storm

The raging sound of the winds And the moving ocean are lost Has no one told you to never try to tame the seas?

You must not have been a very good listener The rules try to cage a roaring beast The restrictions, limitations are pressing in.

The darkness is imminent All that is on the surface Is inconsequential The water hugs me tightly It drags me down

The silence in my ears is deafening My lungs scream for oxygen And everything goes dark

Has no one told you to never try to tame the seas? You must not have been a very good listener

I won’t be tamed Won’t be broken Won’t fall to your stupidity Try to cage me, hold me back You don’t know what I’m capable of

(Grr wolfgang)

Dark blue overshadows, You think you can stop me? You might be the king of the jungle But here, I am the leader of the pack

(SCREECH-)

YOU COULDN’T TELL IF the last screech was from the song or from the abrupt stop that Jisung had come to. Next time, you weren’t going to let him drive. You didn’t want to lose your life going on a date.

Chan’s album had just been released and though it was unconventional to release it early on in the morning, you had requested that it be so. You wanted to listen to it on the way to the pottery-making class that Chan had booked, but you also knew that it would attract more people to listen to it if they were actually awake when it was released.

The mall wasn’t far from your apartment, but Minho and Jisung had insisted on coming with you, obviously. They just couldn’t leave you alone. Minho had been hyping you up the entire ride over, telling you not to be anxious and that he and Jisung had your back if you decided to bail at any one point in time. Jisung was just there to chaperone, or so he claimed. You personally thought that he just wanted to poke his nose in your business because he didn’t have a love life of his own.

They flanked you like bodyguards, and Minho was dressed in black from head to toe, which really sealed the deal. Jisung pulled Minho away to the other side of the pottery studio, both of them sneaking glances at you every once in a while in between making fun of each other’s creations.

You, on the other hand, were feeling rather jittery. You rushed to congratulate Chan’s release and compliment him on his work. “It was stunning,” you told him. “I’m always impressed by your arrangements of beats.”

He smiled back shyly at you, blushing furiously. He had to look away for a second to compose himself before thanking you for the compliment.

With all the nerves and anxious energy in the air, it took a while for both of you to calm down. Then, you could finally start enjoying each other’s company without being overly conscious of your own breathing and your hair and everything else.

Chan turned out to have a natural affinity for pottery. Even the lady teaching the class asked if he had made anything out of clay before, because he seemed so experienced and talented at it.

You, however, couldn’t say the same. Your cup was looking a little wonky halfway through the process of making it and it was precariously lopsided. Chan reached out to help you straighten it, but not before snapping a photo of your stunned face with the mug.

“Hey!”

“I’m making that my contact picture for you,” he grinned mischievously. Oh, right. He was referring to that one time that you told him to use one of the corporate pictures on the internet for your contact picture. You’d almost forgotten it until he brought it up.

You could hardly believe how long it had been since that day. Your and Chan’s relationship had grown so much since then and you’d grown less uptight and stiff around him, additionally his sense of humour had started to show more.

You were so happy to have Chan in your life.

Especially when he handed you a mini flower bouquet after you had cleaned up and sent your pottery creations off for baking and glazing. You took it, slightly confused, until Chan excitedly asked you to untie the ribbon. The bouquet unfolded into a little coaster and it was the most adorable thing you had ever seen.

Chan even brought you window shopping at the IKEA opposite the mall, nodding with you as you criticised the room decor and agreed when you liked the aesthetic. If you didn’t know any better, it might have felt like shopping for an apartment.

Afterwards you went to get ice cream together, passing by a couple of plushies hanging on a rack. Unable to resist, you grabbed the wolf plushie keychain and waved it at Chan. “Grr, wolfgang.”

You couldn’t help yourself, collapsing into a heap of giggles.

Chan sighed like an old man, looking between the keychain in your hands and your face. The glee on your face must have been enough to convince him, because he took it into his hand, and reaching out with his free hand, he took a quokka off.

“That’s you,” he grinned.

You cocked your head. “Really?” You’d always told Jisung he looked like a quokka, and obviously the two of you looked alike since you were siblings, but you had never had anyone attribute your looks to that of a quokka’s before.

But Chan was looking at you so tenderly and you didn’t want to ruin the moment, so you took it from your hands and smiled at him.

“Let’s go get these, then.”

YOU SHOULD HAVE KNOWN dreams never lasted before you woke up in cold sweat, clammy palms gripping your blanket. You had had an awful nightmare about Minho leaving, a manifestation of your fears since he had arrived. It wasn’t a recurring nightmare but it still hit you hard.

Still in shock, you got up to go to the bathroom to splash your face and calm yourself down. It was dark outside, but the room that Minho had been sleeping in seemed eerily empty to you.

When you walked past it again, you did a double take. Minho had been packing his bags for a while and you had been anticipating his departure during that time. However, he had never actually told you when he was leaving Korea, and if he really meant it when he said he might never come back.

Full of questions, you went over to Jisung’s bed to wake him up. You were concerned but mostly confused, and you wanted assurance that Minho was safe.

Little did you expect that Minho had already informed Jisung in advance that he was leaving. The two had even booked Minho’s tickets together, strategically arranging it at night so that you wouldn’t have time to cry and make a big fuss of it all.

“The real reason he had to wake up in the middle of the night to get to the airport for a flight at the most inconvenient hours of the day is so that you wouldn’t make a big fuss out of it,” Jisung hissed. “Yet, even after all that planning, it still seems to backfire. All because you’re so fucking emotionally attached to Minho-hyung.”

You sucked in your breath sharply, but Jisung was relentless. “Have you ever considered my feelings? In our little trio, it’s always felt like Miny/n and Jisung who third-wheeled everywhere you two went. You’re always so caring towards Minho-hyung but never to me. You prioritise him at every stage of life. You idolise him. Maybe you’ve never stopped to think that he doesn’t want you next to him all the fucking time and that’s why he left.”

“I don’t prioritise Minho over you, Ji. I pay so much attention to him whenever he’s here because I never know when he might up and leave. I don’t know when I’ll see him again. And maybe you know, so you’re not worried, but sometimes he ghosts me for days on end and I don’t know whether to be anxious or to attribute it to his busy schedule. You don’t know what that’s like, do you?” You scoffed bitterly, biting your lip to hold back your tears.

“No,” he sneered. “You’re right, I don’t. Because I don’t stick to him like glue and he’s okay with telling me things he knows you can’t handle. You’re acting so damn immature right now and that’s probably why he never talks to you about important things.”

You couldn’t help yourself. The tears rolled silently down your cheeks at Jisung’s words. You knew that he was just cranky and upset, and that he said these types of things completely unprovoked when he was tired or mad, but you still hadn’t expected him to say something like that.

It was true, although you were older than Jisung, Minho always treated Jisung like the older one. He was more protective of you, and always delegated work and details to Jisung when you were planning anything together. When you were still in highschool, you remembered Minho had had a project he desperately needed to finish. You had leaped at the opportunity to be useful to him, but he’d rejected you and gone straight to Jisung instead.

Thoughts were spinning in your head as you remembered all the conversations where Minho had dismissed your thoughts because you were not “ready to talk about those sorts of things” or so he claimed.

Even now, when you were already an adult, Minho and Jisung still treated you like a child.

Frustrated, you changed out of your clothes and grabbed a coat to keep you warm as you left the house. Sitting at the doorstep of your apartment, you gave Chan a call, fully aware that Jisung was extremely close to kicking you out of the house if you didn’t leave him alone.

To your surprise, Chan picked up on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Hey. Can I, um, crash at your place? I kind of got into an argument with my brother.”

There was the slightest of pauses. “Sure. Send me your address, I’ll come pick you up. I don’t want you to catch a cold trying to get to my place.”

You rattled off the address, and you could almost feel Chan’s nod over the phone. “I’ll be there in fifteen.”

Chan held true to his word, reaching your apartment in exactly fifteen minutes, even coming up to your apartment door and gazing down at you as you sulked at the door, lips pouted and eyebrows scrunched together.

“Chan,” was all you managed out before he was hugging you, and you felt like melting right there and dissolving into a puddle of tears. “Jisung would have kicked me out if I didn’t shut up but I really needed someone to talk to because—hic—I miss him already,” you hiccuped, tears interspersing your words.

“It’s okay,” Chan whispered, stroking your back comfortingly. “It’s okay to let it out.”

You nodded and wiped your tears, hiccuping and leaning on Chan as he led you down to his car, driving you back to his house.

His house wasn’t much but when he brought you up to his roof, you were amazed by the view. You could almost ignore the city lights from up there, the only thing separating you from the stars being the vast expanse of the night sky between you and the constellations.

Chan brought out two bottles of champagne and glasses, while you snuggled under the blankets he had prepared. For a dirty rooftop in the middle of the city, it certainly was awfully comfortable.

It was also terribly romantic.

Chan wasn’t even settled in by the time you burst into tears, outright sobbing as you told him about how much you missed Minho. The softness of the air mattress under you didn’t make your heart ache any less, and the tears flowed from an endless reservoir, never seeming to run dry.

Chan wrapped his arms around you and held you tightly, giving you just enough space to feel sad but not lonely.

He listened to you while you told him of Minho’s tendencies to up and leave, your struggles with your friendship and how vulnerability looked different on Minho with you and Jisung and you didn’t understand why humans were so complicated.

He listened as you told him Minho’s life story and your history with him, why you would miss him so much and how much of your heart he happily occupied, wrenching it away from you each time he left. As your heart slowly grew smaller and scarred, you were sure it was becoming more closed off to others.

You? Emotional? Of course not.

But even your impressive gaslighting skills couldn’t convince you that you weren’t emotional, especially after all you had told Chan.

“Y/n?” was the first thing out of Chan’s mouth after a good minute of silence on your part. The void of noise was punctuated only by your hiccups every once in a while as you fought back a fresh wave of tears.

“I think you need to let some of him go,” he said hesitantly. “It’s okay for him to live his life, and you yours. It’s okay that you’re set on two different paths that only cross once in a blue moon. I promise you, you won’t drift apart just because he likes to wander. You will still be okay and whole without one person and you can still be really good friends.”

Smiling, he pointed to the sky. “Do you see Orion’s belt? Similar to you mourning Minho’s departure, it’s a huge waist of time.”

You laughed involuntarily, eyes shimmering but no longer crying. “Thanks. I think… I needed that.” You gazed at the stars, in awe of their beauty and how vast the universe was. So many things were there for you to be grateful for, you couldn’t afford to squander the gift of time longing for the past. After all, you had the present to be grateful for.

Sensing that you didn’t want to talk anymore, Chan guided your hand out from under the blanket and pointed your finger at the stars. “Do you see that constellation right there? It’s one of my favourites. Sirius.”

“Three guesses why,” you said sarcastically.

“Okay, maybe I’m a little cliché and like the dog constellation because it’s the closest to a wolf. What’re you going to do about it, huh?”

You only responded by pressing a kiss to Chan’s cheek.

“While you’re in a good mood… I also wanted to tell you that it’s okay to be emotionally attached to people and need a while to get over things.”

“And to get into fights with our loved ones?”

“That. Human relations are complicated. You should know that, you people-watcher. I see how your eyes dart in public from one couple to another, scouring the world for any form of humanity to include in your music.”

You felt called out but Chan had a point. “You do it too. Is it my fault that living vicariously through others hurts less than doing it ourselves?”

Chan smiles fondly. “You know everything will work out, right? Hurting out of love is better than not feeling love at all.”

“Doesn’t feel like it,” you reply, tears blurring your vision. Your hand in Chan’s tightened its grip on him, your rib cage aching as if your heart was really and truly broken.

Chan tilted your chin so you were looking at him, eyes meeting yours as you nodded, just the slightest of motions before his lips were on yours, kissing the pain and the tears away, brushing his thumb over your cheeks to wipe away the traces of your hurt.

“Hey, Y/n. It’s really going to work itself out.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Then crying is alright. It’s not a sign of weakness and you’ll let it all out. And from there, I’ll hold you through it all while you mend your broken heart.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

FIN.

if you liked it, REBLOG it.

62 notes · View notes

loweya-blog · 7 months

Text

Spoilers for Nightbringer Lesson 25

If you don't wish to be spoiled, please do not read any further. Thank you! 😊 Things I liked: 1. Showing how Asmo views how being number one in someone's heart works and giving him a character development moment. I really like seeing how he views love, even platonic love, since Asmo's always been the most upfront about his affections.

2. Letting him remember all those moments in the dream.

3. The connection between Lucifer and Asmo and how Lucifer pretty much went out of his way to give Asmo exactly what he wanted. Even if it's Asmo's subconscious Lucifer it really shows how Asmo knows that Lucifer will try to help him achieve his dream at all costs.

4. I personally found Barbatos' reasoning as to why he was upset very funny and a bit insightful. I previously believed that his relationship with Solomon was strictly business. Present Barbatos does state he trusts Solomon but I always thought it meant more in a, he's a good co-worker type of way. Seeing past Barbatos being upset at only being number 8th, to me shows that he cares a lot more about his pact with Solomon then I previously thought.

5. I loved the adorable moments when everybody was worried about Asmo, and when they drew on his face. That was very funny to me, especially when Asmo went out to apologize.

6. Asmo making Lucifer talk like a cat, which is what I picked, was hilarious and a good way to end that lesson.

Things I think could be improved on.

I really wish we got to see angel Asmo and how he met Lucifer. I think that would have added some more context over Asmo's obsession with beauty or how he came around to being part of the brothers.

2. Giving us some context for that forest, even a throwaway line like "this is where he shoves all the thoughts he doesn't like" or something could give us more context for the forest in Asmo's mind.

Personal Note 1. I do worry sometimes that the writers are either uninterested in Asmo's story since he's so underutilized despite being one of the seven. His turn really lacked the same depth that Mammon's self discovery did.

However, I also recognize that it's probably difficult to work with an Avatar of Lust in trying to keep a Teen rating. They've already done a good job of interpreting Asmo while still keeping it fairly PG13 so it's one of those situations I can't be too hard on the writers.

34 notes · View notes

zweetpea · 5 months

Text

The blue roses adorning his eyes (TBRAHE) Chapter 1 The Anniversary

Content warning: pg13 Swear words, talking about groping (once), infidelity, arranged marriages, read at your own risk

Let me know if I missed anything

The sun shone brightly through your window, as a knock on the door sounds throughout the room. “Your highness! Are you up? You have a lot of work to do today!”

“Come in Addie!” You shout. A nice lady about 18 or so comes in. She has short blonde curly bob, parted at her left, and dark blue eyes.

“How are you today your highness?” Addison smiled at you, as she brought you a tray of tarts.

“You can be casual with me Addie. The past 2 decades haven’t changed; we’re still friends and we always will be.” You snack on the tarts.

“I know, it’s just a bit awkward to call you by your nickname ever since you became queen.”

“That was two years ago. If the others in the palace can’t get it through their thick skulls that you’re special to me then they’re not worth the effort to explain it.”

“What if the king says something?”

“Then I’ll pick him up and throw him into the wall with my cursed technique.”

“What?! You can’t do that! He’ll have your head on a platter if you do that!”

“He’d have to get a blade through my neck to do that though.” You smirk knowingly at her. “So, what should I wear today, Addie?”

“How about the dress your father bought you recently?”

“The blue one?” You grimaced.

“Well, it is your 2 year anniversary; and it would match your husband.”

“That’s what I’m apprehensive about.” You said as you grabbed the dress from your wardrobe and walked into the bathroom to get ready.

After a bath and Addison helping to tie up your hair in a bun you exited your room in your new dress. White sleeves, a sapphire blue low cut bodice corset, a white skirt and a matching blue waist cape belt. “Y/n, wait! You forgot your jewelry.” Addison clipped a sapphire necklace, with silver flowers, on you; and finally placed a gold crown embedded with rows of sapphires throughout. “Cheer up, Y/n. I hear your husband has a surprise in the works for today.”

“If he has a surprise ready, it can’t be anything good.”

“I know that he’s a bit of an… eccentric man, but please, for the sake of the whole kingdom, try to trust him.”

“Okay.” You wouldn’t admit it to Addison but you’d try to get along with the boar that was your husband if it’s for her happiness.

You walked through the halls to your office and did some paperwork until noon. Noon was tea time and that’s when you’d be hosting a party for your anniversary. All of your and Satoru’s friends would be there.

“Y/n, It’s nearly time to go.” Addison reminded you.

“Addie… would you do me a huge favor?”

“Of course, your highness.”

“No, not as an order. I’m asking as a friend.”

“What do you need of me?”

“Could you accompany me to the party?”

“But, there’ll be so many nobles there! I’m just a simple maid, I can’t be a guest at your party! Plus I don’t have anything to wear, and I won’t know what to do or say.”

“I won’t know anyone else, there. You don’t have to dress up, but please come with me.”

“What if I embarrass you?”

“You could never embarrass me. You’re the most wonderful person in the entire palace. If I had you there it’d be a lot more fun.”

“Okay, if it makes you happy, I’ll go.” You smiled, hugging her while squealing your thanks to her over and over.

The garden was beautiful. A floral arch opened the garden, fountains on all four corners, every kind of rose lined the wall (a personal touch of your), and in the middle was several circular tables. At the table in the middle sat Shoko and Suguru. You and Addison walked over. “Is this where the king and queen plus company sits?” You asked. Shoko nodded inwhile Suguru rolled his eyes. You smiled politely at the two and sat down with Addison next to you. There was one more open chair next to her and you were grateful you wouldn’t have to sit next to your husband. Honestly if he didn’t insist on bringing his two lackeys everywhere then you probably wouldn’t even remember their names.

A little while into the party a woman came over to the table. She was in a short cyan mermaid dress with poofy sleeves. She had long blonde hair and gray eyes. “Excuse me, you’re in my seat.” She said to Addison.

“Huh?” Addison asked.

“This is my spot, it’s next to the king. Move. Now.”

You shot out of your seat. “Excuse me? How dare you speak to Addie like that!”

“Why is a stupid maid even at this party? It’s for important people… oh yeah, and the queen.”

“You insolent tramp! Don’t you insult the queen!” Addison spoke up.

“Do not raise your voice against me! Do you know who I am? I can have you drawn and quartered for your disrespect.”

“Have you gone mad? I am the queen and Addie here is my honored guest. Guards! Take this wench to the dungeon!”

“Hah! Like they’ll listen to you!” She mocked.

“Sorry ma’am but we can’t do that.”

“Why not? I am the queen!”

“Why is the harpy shouting?” The king entered the garden and several of the nobles snickered at his comment about you.

“Babe!” The floozy ran over to the king, jumped into his arms and kissed him right on the lips. “The queen is being so mean to me.” She pouted faking distress.

“Satoru, what is this?”

“She is my lover Marrisa. How could you be so heartless as to hurt her?”

“How could I? HOW COULD I?! YOU BROUGHT HOME A WHORE ON OUR WEDDING ANNIVERSARY!! Do you have any idea how humiliating this is for me?! Here! Take the stupid seat! Take mine too! Addie and I aren’t going to watch two sluts grope each other while the rest of us try to eat!”

“Your majesty, you disgust me. I hope and pray that these buffoons come to their senses and leave as well.” Addison remarks to everyone around and wrapped a protective arm around your shoulder.

Back inside your bedroom you sobbed into your pillow. “What am I going to do now Addie?”

“I don’t know; but I know that whatever happens I’ll be right next to you. We’ll get through this together.”

“Thank you for always being there for me. That’s one of the many things I love about you, Addie.”

“Thank you, your highness. I care very deeply for you and your wellbeing.”

39 notes · View notes

ilarianae · 1 year

Text

— 10 Reasons to Share a Bed with Namjoon

pairing. namjoon x reader (modern au)

wc. 2,700

note. divided a list of prompts and will only be doing the hyung line; the next 10 reasons will be for hoseok, so stay tuned for that! as always, thank you for reading, and the writing below is inspired by the list of prompts provided from the Tumblr @promptful.

cw. mature language, aftermaths of fights, arranged marriages, alcohol consumption, injuries, parental abuse, adorable namjoon, hinted smut (but still pg13) — just a mix between angsty and fluffy.

Because this is an arranged marriage.

The two of you were uncomfortable; at least that much was clear.

Having gone through with your parents’ marriage decision wasn’t the first choice for either of you, yet here you were, hours after your wedding, about to ‘consummate.’ Your heartbeat was in your chest. You could feel it pound harshly as you sat on the king-sized bed. Namjoon was by the doorway, looking red himself, pulling at his tie to loosen.

“We… don’t have to do anything tonight, you know.” He started with an uncomfortable cough, avoiding looking at you. “They’d never know the truth.”

“Yeah…” You had already changed for the evening, a simple but still sexy night dress that left little to the eye. It made you cold. It made you feel like you weren’t you. “I know my parents wouldn’t check, but… yours?”

He understood your question. “No, they trust me enough.”

“Okay.”

Another awkward pause as Namjoon changed into his pajamas. You turned your head to give him privacy, doing the same for him as he did for you. It was moments of embarrassment like these that made you wish for a bathroom attached to the bedroom of the lodge.

Sudden warmth was placed around your shoulders. You flinched at the presence of a blanket around you and looked up to find Namjoon towering over your figure.

“You seemed cold.” He looked bashful, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“No, it’s fine.” You placed a hand over his resting on your shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Ahem,” he cleared his throat, his ears turning bright pink, “anyways, I can sleep on the floor.”

“No, no, that’d be cruel, Namjoon.”

“It’s just one night. I’ll be okay.”

“The floor is made of tiles.” You shook your head, scooting to one side of the bed. “It’s big enough,” You gestured toward the space. “Let’s share.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course… Please join me in bed, my dear husband.”

Because you’ve been kicked out, and he’s the only safe place to go.

“I know you don’t have the space, and I know this is extremely selfish of me, but—!”

“Get in here,” He didn’t hesitate, pulling you out from the blizzard-like storm raging outside. “How could they just force you to leave like that?!”

His fury should’ve been on you; it had been your parents that kicked you out for the nth time. Yet, you were quiet, apart from the small chatters emitting from your teeth. Namjoon rushed out of his living room, returning in a flash with one of his shirts and a heated blanket. The sight of his worrying almost made you laugh; he seemed like the parent you never had, changing your wet and frozen shirt to another, doting on you, and caring for you.

The realization squeezed your heart. You felt like you were about to cry.

“Come ‘ere,” he wrapped his blanket around you like a little burrito, pulling you into his warm embrace.

Your eyes stung. “They kicked me out there… to die.”

Namjoon let out a shuddered breath. He knew what monsters your parents were and what type of things they usually did. He just didn’t expect it to go to this extreme. Looking you over, he could see how violently the wind slashed your cheeks, how close to being frostbitten your nose and fingers were.

He came to a conclusion. “I’m not letting you go back that.”

“Namjoon…”

He picked you up, holding you close and taking you to bed.

“I won’t let you go. Not anymore.”

Because you’ve let him crash so many times before.

“Don’t trip over that,” you warned about the pile of clothes on the floor as you directed Namjoon into the room.

He giggled, letting out a rare laugh that you heard only when he was drunk. “Messy, messy,” the man teased you, leaning heavily on your shoulder.

“Ack! Namjoon, come on, the bed’s right there, and you already know the drill.” You almost flung him onto your comforter, heaving at the effort it took to bring him up the stairs and away from your house party.

“Wait!” He cried out when he noticed you were returning to the ruckus downstairs. “Don’t leave!”

You sighed, wiping your face with your hand. Then, turning back to the male in your bed, you were greeted with the sight of Namjoon giving you puppy eyes. He was under the covers, most of his clothes discarded on the floor, and one of his hands raised to pat the spot next to him.

“I need you,” those three simple words were enough to make your heart jump.

“…Fine. But for only a couple of minutes, alright? I need to make sure the others aren’t wrecking the house.”

“They won’t. Jin trained them well.” He snickered, lunging forward to pull you into him once you were close enough. “Aha!”

“Namjoon!” You scolded, barely falling on top of him. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” he dug his face into your bare shoulder, kissing your skin softly. “I’ll always need you.”

Because he loves the way you wrap around him.

His mouth was so close to the skin of your neck that if he raised his head only a little more, he could kiss it. His hands were in a similar predicament, resting just barely above your behind, and if Namjoon wanted to, he could play with the elastic of your underwear. Temptations, temptations.

And he loved it.

The two of you weren’t together, but he still loved it.

It wasn’t easy being your roommate and only that, God knows he tried being more, but sharing an apartment with you gave him little moments like these: moments to hold you close, moments to have you fall asleep on his chest. Oh god, he was going to go insane.

A soft sigh parted your lips, and you subconsciously snuggled closer to him, your hands seeking his warmth beneath his shirt. Namjoon almost shivered in delight. He hugged you tighter, swearing to himself never to let you go.

At least, not until you knew exactly how much he loved you.

He whispered your name; it fell from his mouth endearingly.

“I love you.”

Because the little hums you make against his ear to send him to sleep also send warmth down my body.

He never hugged you like this before.

You couldn’t help but think a particular type of flu overtook Namjoon’s mind as he rested closely beside you in your bed. His arms were wrapped loosely around your waist, almost as if he couldn’t bare to let you go, and he snored softly in your ear. Even so, you continued to hum your little tunes, knowing it helped calm him down after the bad news he’d just received.

Namjoon was getting transferred to the other side of Korea for work. So his daily dose of you will surely lessen to once or twice a month if he was lucky enough to pull vacation days from his demanding job.

It hurt him. Being unable to see you as much as he is now hurt him.

So, of course, he was hesitant to let you go, even in sleep. It didn’t matter much to you; your feelings were the same. So you continued to hum until your throat grew sore from the exertion, until your mouth was dry, and your lungs were desperate for a break.

Anything for him.

Anything for your Namjoon, for the love of your life.

Because his fingertips over your muscles send you to sleep.

His fingers dug into the back of your shoulders, and you bit your lip to hide a moan.

Namjoon was skilled, and you would die on that hill. How he softly caressed your upper back, rising slowly and massaging up to your neck… it was to die for. And he knew he was good too; if you were to raise your head and check on his face, you’d undoubtedly see a smug smile on his mouth.

You mustn’t let him know how highly you thought of him.

But frankly, Namjoon’s mind wasn’t on your verbal approval. At least, not right now. He shuffled his body closer to you and pressed a wet kiss on your bare hip dimples. Namjoon continued his trek upwards, placing open-mouthed kisses on your spine, making you shiver and hold the pillow below your head tighter.

You couldn’t open your eyes to acknowledge him, not when he was making you feel this hot with simple kisses. But Namjoon leaned over your resting body, his broad and muscular arms keeping him balanced and placed on the sides of your head. He tilted forward, kissed the back of your ear once, twice, and grinned when seeing your scrunched nose.

He whispered out your name seductively. “Did my skillful fingers put you to sleep?”

Because your cat sleeps on his chest. (he’s not here for you… of course.)

“Well, I guess I’m just going to have to stay.”

“—Don’t sound so happy, Kim.” You rolled your eyes at him, crawling into bed by his side.

Namjoon stopped petting your cat for a moment, the little grumpy thing whining in a complaint, to open his arms to you. You sent him a glare, a part of you wanting to be a bit difficult about this situation thrust upon you, but his cheeky grin was enough to make you waver. Instead, you cuddled to his side, resting your head on his chest and raising your hand to caress your pet.

“She likes you,” Namjoon chuckled teasingly, squirming when you lightly pinched his sides.

“Of course she does. She’s my baby.”

“And she’s sleeping on me.”

“Hm,” You paid him no heed, locking a leg over his and watching as your cat readjusted herself to rest in the small space between you. “There’s no chance she likes you more than me.”

“I didn’t say that.” Namjoon’s calloused fingers pulled your chin up so he could meet your eyes. He glanced down at your lips, and your breath got caught in your chest.

“…Then what are you trying to say?”

“Maybe,” he leaned closer, “she just wants us together.”

Namjoon sealed the space in between.

Because it’s between sharing with you or you sharing with others.

Please forgive him, for he will always be selfish.

Please forgive Namjoon, for he will always choose your company, your space, and your love over anything else. He can’t live without you, he can’t sleep without you, and the mere thought of you sharing the bed with someone else during this camping trip would’ve been too much for him to bear.

He watched silently as you got ready for bed, almost memorizing your skincare routine. Of course, Namjoon had seen it countless times before, having been your childhood friend and other half since the two of you were in middle school, but it still never failed to keep him interested.

Once you were done, he couldn’t help but hide a grin at the bounce in your step when you neared the bed. Namjoon opened his arms, pulled you in, and the two of you instantly got into your designated positions. Like two pieces of a puzzle meant to fit together for today and the rest of eternity, he absentmindedly ran his fingers over your bare thighs and calves.

You giggled. “Imagine if I actually ended up sharing this room with someone else.”

“I would’ve cried,” he responded instantly.

“Yeah, right.” You raised your head, resting your chin on his chest. “You would’ve been grumpy, sure, but I bet you would’ve sucked it up and said nothing.”

The confidence in your words was what made him pin you to the bed. He leaned forward, capturing your lips with his own, kissing you fiercely. Only when you were red and out of breath did Namjoon pull back, nipping the side of your jaw in a slight scolding.

“You bet, you said?” He had that glint in his eye that told you his brilliant mind was conjuring up something. “Fine then, I’ll tell them tomorrow myself.”

“T-Tell them? Tell them what?”

“That you’re mine, of course.”

Because you’ll always be the one to patch him up.

You wrapped the gauze around his knuckles, your lips pulled down into a frown at how damaged his hands were. Once or twice you tried meeting his eyes, but Namjoon avoided your gaze, too stubborn to tell you how he got hurt. It didn’t matter much anyways; anyone could look at his hands and face and recognize he got into a fight.

So the two of you remained silent, Namjoon evading conversation and you simmering in your anger. Then, once you were done with his hands, you pushed him towards the bed, forcing him to sit at the edge so you could focus on his face. Namjoon allowed himself to be moved, quite submissive of him as if he knew that defiance would start a screaming match.

“Raise your head,” you ordered, placing your fingertips below his chin. “You’re tall, so how the fuck did they hit your eyebrow, hm?”

Namjoon almost looked away. “…We were on the floor.”

“On the floor.” You repeated with a clenched jaw. “You idiot.”

Dabbing the gash on his eyebrow with a cotton ball to wipe away the blood, you quickly finished cleaning his face. The lack of communication urged you to work faster, so you could abandon Namjoon in your room and calm down. Once you were done, you closed your med kit and leaned away from him.

“Done.”

“Hey, wait.” You ignored him, opening your bedroom door. He called your name. “Please, I just—“

“Just what?” You whirled around to glare at him, faltering when realizing Namjoon stood up and loomed over you.

He hesitantly took the med kit from your hands, placing it on your desk before connecting his fingers with yours. “I know you’re mad… I just need time to think things through, but I’ll tell you everything, I swear.”

“That’s not what I’m mad about, Kim.” Your use of his last name made his fingers twitch. “You told me you’d stop.”

“I know, I know… Just…” He pulled you closer, leaning down to rest his forehead on your own. “Don’t go. I don’t want to be alone.”

“I’m still mad at you.”

“And stay that way. I deserve it. But also stay here.”

You couldn’t leave even if you wanted to: his fingertips already traveled from your hands to your waist, and he was so close, so so close, to the point where you could feel his breath bounce off your cheeks. To the point where you can smell his fantastic cologne.

“Fine. But we’re having a discussion later.”

“Deal.”

Because your breakfast is his favorite thing.

You placed the two plates on the dining table, humming a little happy tune at your accomplishment. It looked delicious: an English breakfast fit for kings. Or, in other words, fit for Namjoon, who had yet to stop begging to stay the night. Instead, he preferred crowding with you in a little bed rather than his luxurious king-sized one back home— only to have your home-cooked breakfast the following day.

“Namjoon!” You called out, turning towards the stairs. “Breakfast is ready!”

No response.

You decided to give him a minute or two, placing the milk carton at the center of the table and focusing on cleaning up the kitchen a bit to pass the time. But Namjoon never came down.

With a grumble, you stomped up the stairs and entered your room. He was still slumped in bed, wrapped around your comforter, his dark locks splayed all over your pillows. You let out a sigh; getting Namjoon up in the morning was always challenging.

“Hey, our food is going to get cold.” You poked his cheek with a frown. “Joonie?”

“I’m up. I’m getting up.” He mumbled in return, making no effort to move.

“Right…” You put your hands on your hips. “Come on, I have to make breakfast for you and wake you up?”

“Shut up.”

He wrapped a hand around the back of your knees, pulling you onto the bed. You shrieked in surprise, the loss of balance bringing you on top of him.

“Wait! Our breakfast!” You complained as he brought you under the covers, using you as a body pillow. “Namjoon!”

“We can always reheat it,” Namjoon hid a grin. “Now sleep.”

20221117 ©ilarianae. follow my kofi for teasers and more!

195 notes · View notes

btsmosphere · 2 years

Note

hello :DD i saw your drabble game was up and i just couldn’t resist!!

may i ask for jungkook x reader ( she / her prns or gender neutral!), mafia/gang au, e2l, treating an injury and “what happened to you?” “where did you get that?”

thank you so much! i love your work and can’t wait to see what you do with this if you choose to work on it! <33

~summary: Close enough to touch, far enough never to dare. But Jungkook knows you well enough to know something isn’t right. And that locket the new player is wearing? Isn’t his. Will this be what it takes to break the distance you keep with Jungkook? ~pairing: jungkook x reader ~angst, fluff, comfort, enemies to lovers, mafia!au ~word count: 3k ~rating: pg13 ~warnings: violence, alcohol, blood, injury

~a/n: thank you!! you’re so sweet🥰 I’m sorry this has taken more than a week since the last request I posted but as you can see, it’s also longer than a drabble! srsly, the moment I saw this one in my inbox, I was thrilled. it’s like this prompt was made for me haha. the biggest problem I had was not making it too much like Flame on Water, but I’m pleased with what I came up with! I hope you enjoy it too!💜

Jungkook’s eyes flitted in your direction the moment you walked in.

The bar was dark, filled with people, but it was like he could sense you in spite of the hum of chatter and low music fighting for his attention in this atmosphere. Fingers circling the rim of his glass, he eyed you as you crossed the threshold.

Your little acquaintance with Jungkook began some time ago. But there had been no friendly introductions; you had had a knife to the throat of one of his members and the next thing you knew, you were being pressed against the ground with Jungkook at your back.

Over time, you had proved to be quite a match for each other. Just as your gangs skirted around each other, testing boundaries, winning and losing skirmishes for territory, the two of you were seemingly in orbit of the other. One way or another, you would always end up toe to toe, a constant challenge – or, perhaps, annoyance – to the other.

Tonight may be no different. Your eyes locked as you passed his table. Always close enough to touch, but too wise to move until the time was right.

In your line of work, you had to settle for a cool distance with the enemy. After all, you knew that while you were capable of taking him down, the opposite was also true. And either action would invite more conflict that your gangs’ tentative hostility could bear.

You approached and Jungkook sat back, anticipating your arrival. Neither of you would dare make a move in here, you knew that. But it was always fun to flirt with danger.

His smirk grew, a brow cocked as he waited for you to bite first. A simple ‘what are you looking at, Jeon?’ was enough for a spark.

Instead, your expression darkened.

“Not tonight, Jeon.”

Without even staying to hear a response, you kept your head down and moved past.

Jungkook frowned, leaning forwards to catch a glimpse of you, melting into the hubbub of this bar. Something was off.

For the brief moment he could, he scanned your form. He could be imagining it, but were you limping? If you were, you hid it well. In any case, you were gone too soon for him to be sure.

Still, his eyes lingered. He swallowed down a growing unease. This wasn’t like you – but then, why should that mean anything to him? Better still, he should revel in this. To have you in such a sour mood, something must have happened in favour of his gang. And at the expense of you.

He pretended that made him feel better.

But Jungkook had no time to spare thinking of you. Why he would ever want to was a concern in itself.

He was here for a reason. And that reason was crossing to the bar right now.

The man was alone, but Jungkook wasn’t stupid enough to rule out the possibility of anyone keeping an eye from the crowd. This was a new player in town, Ilwoon, but wasn’t someone Namjoon was keen to put in the ground straight away. He was clearly smart, having gained connections before trying to emerge as a powerful figure.

Jungkook had been given instructions for a hassle-free discussion and deal, but he took that with a pinch of salt. They didn’t know much about this guy, and it was Jungkook’s job to show him they weren’t going to be pushed around easily.

Still, he approached with a decidedly cool exterior, letting nothing slip in his expression.

“Two Manhattans.” The order confirmed to Jungkook that this was in fact the right man. His voice was rough, a contrast to the fine trimmed haircut he sported.

Allowing a cordial smile onto his face, Jungkook seated himself beside the newcomer while the bartender busied herself.

“Nice evening,” Jungkook muttered off-hand, “busy.”

Ilwoon bristled, clearly not sure what to make of the smalltalk. But a moment later, a smile bloomed on his face. Jungkook didn’t like it at all, but made sure not to flinch.

“Good place to end a long day,” the man said.

Their drinks slid across the counter, Jungkook watching the other take a sip first, taking note of the way his dark eyes crawled over the occupants of the bar. Like he owned the lot.

Taking a sip too, Jungkook could pass the disgusted curl of his lips off as a response to the burn of alcohol. About to resign himself to a tense but necessary conversation, he turned his eyes back to his drinking partner.

Jungkook’s hand tightened around his glass, not lowering it to the tabletop. Frozen, he stared.

Ilwoon lowered his arm, revealing a charming red pendant which was just visible around his shirt buttons. Finishing his own drink, the man noticed Jungkook’s staring and frowned, shifting in his seat. A small flash of red bounced from the jewel at the movement.

It was beautiful. Jungkook had always thought so. But that was just the problem.

“That isn’t yours.”

Raising his eyes fractionally, Jungkook finally met the man’s gaze with steel in his own.

Quirking a brow, that same repulsive smile flitted onto Ilwoon’s face.

“Told you I’d been having fun in this town,” the man shrugged, “now, shall we talk?”

Fast as a whip, Jungkook had sent his chair clattering to the floor as he sprung at the man, grabbing him roughly by his collar and sending him colliding with the bar.

Any previous noise dissipated, silence shooting through crowd place like a wave.

Jungkook didn’t even break the man’s gaze. One of the glasses slowly rolled off the table, smashed loudly on the floor.

No one moved.

Holding his stance, Jungkook’s only move was to tighten his grip, drawing closer to the man.

“For someone in your position, I would think you’d want to play nice,” he hissed.

Despite the way his feet scrabbled for purchase on the floor and his breath grew shallower, the other man narrowed his eyes, spitting back with vitriol.

“No honour among thieves, I thought. This shouldn’t be your concern.”

“You’re going to tell me who is and isn’t my concern?” Jungkook all but yelled, shaking him.

“I never touched one of yours!”

“They don’t belong to you either,” Jungkook growled. His spare hand reached up, just below the one holding his foe, to grab the locket.

It was true that it was nothing to do with bangtan. That his actions now would spark rumours of some weakness, some compromise. That he need not be interested in the fate of anyone other than the boys he called family.

But Jungkook didn’t recall seeing this around your neck earlier.

He tore it off. Releasing the man and leaving him panting, leaning against the counter, he stalked away without looking back.

The thin metal chain felt heavy in Jungkook’s fist.

Falling fast and heavy, his shoes clattered up the stairs. If Ilwoon had any sense, he would be long gone already, but he was a long way down Jungkook’s list right now.

The bouncer nodded him through instantly, Jungkook not even sparing time to look at her.

While this bar was supposed to be a neutral place for gangs (something he would certainly have to explain if the owner got wind of his little stunt downstairs), many of them frequented the place. With the absence of violence came somewhere for meetings, perhaps the only spot this side of bangtan’s territory where Jungkook could brush shoulders with enemies without trading blows.

At the moment, he was rather closer to shoving them as he carved a path through the crowd. The top floor was solely for those in his… profession. He had no doubt you had been heading here when he saw you earlier.

Emerging from the dense group by the bar, he quickly scanned the tables, ruling each one out.

Chewing his cheek, he exhaled harshly through his nose, turning his head erratically. You were nowhere in sight.

There was only one place left.

Walking purposefully past the tables, he pushed through another door. The bathrooms were here, four gender neutral ones lining the corridor.

Toeing open the nearest, he peered inside. It was empty, as was the lockable cubicle inside. Crossing the hall in one stride, he tried the next with the same results. The third, however-

You eyes snapped up, meeting his in the mirror just before you whirled around with a gasp, straightening your top.

Jungkook’s brow creased, gaze lingering even though you were now totally covered by your turtleneck. Once again, it had been too quick to be sure, but-

“What happened to you?”

Jungkook’s intense gaze met yours as he stepped inside, the door falling closed behind him. He didn’t miss your guarded stance, the way your eyes flickered to the exit.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jeon,” you replied tersely.

Turning back to the mirror, you leaned over the sink to make a show of inspecting your hair. As if you couldn’t care less about his invasion.

But much as you hated to admit it, Jungkook may know you more than most people. Despite your… situation, it was hard to keep secrets and emotions at bay when your lives revolved around pushing the other, whether it be in a physical fight or in tactical play. Even those in your own circle were kept at a further distance. Trust wasn’t exactly an abundant resource in your world.

You just hoped the amount of times Jungkook had seen you hurt, sometimes from his own doing, wouldn’t pay off now. You knew he was still watching you.

He ground his teeth, then looked down at something.

“What’s this then?”

Turning back to him in irritation, you opened your mouth, only to freeze like that when you saw the pendant dangling from his fingers. Your father had given you that, a symbol of your belonging to his empire just before he died. While many of his members believed you weren’t fit to be with them, it reminded you they wrong.

You always wore it.

Until…

“Where did you get that?”

“What happened to you?”

Jungkook repeated his question rapidly in response to your own. All it prompted was more silence. But he had watched your unbothered air crack in front of him the moment he showed you the locket – something was wrong.

“Listen, Jungkook,” you spoke low, trying not to betray your shaking voice, “I’ve had quite enough for today. If you want to add to that, go ahead. Just tell the cleaners on your way out.”

Your words jarred Jungkook. Reminded him of all the reasons you would expect him to be here, and with good reason. A startling realisation of how far his feelings seemed to have strayed from the familiarity of your rivalry.

He took a breath, horrified. Expecting you to laugh any second, or even kick him in the face.

But you just waited.

“What did he do to you?” he pressed, taking a step.

He jolted to a stop the next second when you actually stepped away from him, backing against the sink.

“You know Ilwoon?”

“I hate the bastard, but yes,” Jungkook spoke through gritted teeth, “care to tell me why he had this?”

You rolled your eyes.

“What do you think?”

“Is it the reason there’s blood in the sink?”

“Well done, Sherlock,” you bit, “don’t you think you could save your gloating for later?”

“He hurt you.”

You smirked drily.

“Are you just bitter because you never managed?”

He stared in disbelief. How were joking about this?

You still stared defiantly up at him, arms folded over your chest.

His next words came as little more than a breath.

“Let me see.”

You didn’t move.

“I’m sorry?”

He cleared his throat, suddenly hesitant to meet your eyes.

“Let- let me see. I can help.”

You were silent for so long that Jungkook looked back up at you, finding you still staring at him like he was crazy.

Perhaps he was.

But eventually, you dropped your arms and stepped to one side with a soft huff.

Stepping forward, Jungkook laid the necklace quietly on the counter before reaching out. Just before his fingers touched the hem of the fabric, he looked back up for confirmation.

You took a breath. Somehow, this didn’t feel as strange as it should.

A small nod from you, and he gently lifted the material, a crease emerging between his brows.

Chewing your lip, you looked away. Still, you couldn’t help eyeing the damage in the mirror beside you. The wound wasn’t of too much concern, but the blood was certainly a sight to behold. Your cleaning had done nothing to improve it.

A slash ran across your side. He had poor aim, the knife striking your ribs which had deflected it, extending the cut around your side where it was hard for you to reach without having to contort and receive a warning blast of pain from the injured spot.

You couldn’t help the hiss that left you when Jungkook’s fingers brushed against it. Withdrawing instantly, he looked back to you.

“Sorry, go ahead,” you muttered, averting your eyes again.

Still, when he turned on the tap to wet his hand, it returned cautiously, barely touching if he could help it. For the odd time he aggravated the wound, you simply bit your tongue.

Turning your eyes towards yourself in the mirror, you watched blankly. What should have been the most bizarre scene felt all too easy. Jungkook’s gaze remained focussed, fixed on his hands as they were painted red with your blood before it swirled away down the drain.

His hands left you then, prompting you to whip around in panic. Where was he going?

All you were met with was a low chuckle, a lopsided smile falling onto Jungkook’s lips. He stayed where he was, shrugging off his jacket.

“What are you-?”

Your question died on your lips as he bunched it up, bending slightly to tend to your wound again. Lost for words, you simply raised your arm slightly to give him better access as he pressed the fabric against your side.

Part of you felt bad for what was clearly an expensive jacket – the material wasn’t scratchy at all, barely irritating your injury.

“It should be treated properly,” he said.

“I’ll live.”

“I don’t doubt it. But… you’ll have someone look at it, right?”

You quirked a brow at him.

“So you can give me another one next week?”

“Of course not!”

His exclamation took you by surprise. Apparently, it did the same to him, both of you blinking at each other in the following quiet.

He sighed roughly, looking down to his shifting feet for a moment.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

“Why would I do that?”

Your protest was weak and you knew it. Your voice came out tired. The care Jungkook had just showed you left you caving to the very thing you had always tried to resist. But after today’s events, you just wanted to let your guard down and tell someone.

He didn’t even have to say anything else. You sighed, leaned back against the counter.

“The new guy wanted to meet up, talk business with our gang. I didn’t turn up expecting anything, but the moment he saw they sent me, he seemed to take that as a sign of weakness. Not a word of business, just him being a creep until he attacked me when I wasn’t having it.”

Kicking the tiled floor as you spoke, a bitter scowl took over your face. You were more than capable of taking on/quick enough to take on this stupid newbie, but the knife had really taken you by surprise.

“I shouldn’t have even given him the chance,” you cursed, “but when this happened, it threw me enough for him to grab me. He seemed to enjoy it. Like that necklace was a bleeding trophy.”

Jungkook’s expression of hatred mirrored your own.

When your eyes fell on the jewellery sitting on the side, his followed. Saying nothing, he reached for it, stepped behind you.

Instinctively, you turned, meeting his eyes as he came behind you in the mirror. The necklace glinted innocently in the light as he raised it above your head, fastening it out of sight at the nape of your neck.

His fingers only grazed your skin as he pulled away. And if he saw the bruises on your neck, he said nothing about them. He knew all too well how humiliating it could be to come out this side of what should have been an easy fight.

“He wanted discussions with bangtan as well,” Jungkook said, as if it was the most innocent thing in the world.

But his smirk in the mirror ignited hope in you again.

Spinning around to face him, you pretended not to notice just how close this brought you to Jungkook. You were no stranger to being a breath away from him, but it was a different experience now you weren’t trying to attack each other.

“You mean he’s been in contact with both of us?”

“Would have thought he’d be smart enough to know not to get between enemies. When our bosses find out he wants to play us like this I don’t think they’ll be too happy, do you?”

Like falling into your magnetic pull, Jungkook shifted closer still. A smirk was growing over your features, eyes glinting in the light.

Your gaze dropped slightly, a finger coming to rest on his chest. Looking up at him, you tilted your head playfully. This confidence fit you much better, more familiar than the weakness Ilwoon had inflicted on you.

“And what about how we found out?”

“I don’t think that should be of concern when he’s running for his life.”

And you fell together at last, all that time you had spent fighting fading in the work of an instant. The tongue that loved to cut you down now tasted so sweet as you indulged in his lips at last. How you had ever been able to resist, you didn’t know.

Thanks for reading! Please let me know your thoughts💜

For more mafia fun (and other stuff too!), here’s my masterlist

Taglist: @aianloveseven @preciouschimine @un2-verse

#thebtswritersclub #kpopsociety #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagine #jungkook fanfic #bangtanarmynet #junkook fanfiction #jungkook x you #bts mafia au #jungkook mafia au #mafia bts #bts mafia #jeon jungkook imagine #jungkook scenarios

494 notes · View notes

moonlight-rider25 · 1 year

Text

Spill the Beans

Summary: Your time on the road together is gradually coming to an end and you have to come up with a way to stop that, and fast!

Warnings: PG13+, fluff, angst,

Word count: 3700

You lay awake in your tent. Eadith steadily snoozes beside you, and the only other noise besides your constant stirring is the slight crackle from the fire outside. You sit up listening intently to the noises around you. Surely the other men are asleep by now from the amount of ale they drank earlier in the evening. No you can’t, it's a stupid idea… you remind yourself rubbing at your face. You sigh and lay back down trying to get comfortable again…

You toss around again sighing heavily as you stare at the blank canvas ceiling before you. Your body is still, completely still. You hold in a sharp breath and finally snap your eyes open, sit up and quietly remove yourself from the tent.

The summer night air feels ravenous against your sensitive skin as you wrap your fur around yourself tighter. You dismiss the signals going off in your head that you're making a very bad decision and hold your breath as you crouch low along the tent lines. You walk slowly and carefully over to where you saw Uhtred make his tent earlier that night. You reach out and gently peel back the canvas flap, slowly exposing the fire light into the tent.

A few furs cover his tall body, and you see at the top sticking out; is his carved and shirtless sculpted stomach. You bite back your bottom lip and slowly emerge through the canvass flap. Crawling towards him in his furs, he wakes with a jolt. You freeze in panic, not knowing how he will respond, or fully thinking this part through. He sits up abruptly rubbing at his eyes and stares towards you. After a moment he sighs and pulls his furs away from his body, inviting you in, under them, next to him. You hum gleefully and crawl towards him gently placing yourself beside him. The heat from his body radiates to you and you clasp your cold hands against his chest. He sucks a quick breath in through his teeth.

“Your hands are ice!” He says in a whisper.

“I’m sorry!” You smile up at him and press your face against his firm bare chest.

He hums a low chuckle; wrapping his huge muscular arms around your body, pulling you closer and pecks a gentle kiss on the top of your head. You snuggle against him, his body warming you and his sweet safe familiar scent lulls you to sleep within moments.

All too soon you awaken; Uhtred stirring beside you. Still snuggled up next to him, he tries to remove his arm without waking you. Your eyes blink open and you see it's still very dark.

“Where are you going?” You ask him in a sleep ridden whisper.

He smiles before pecking a warm kiss on your forehead.

“It’s morning.” He tells you quietly.

You peer around in the tent looking outside at the very very faint glimpse of light rising from the ground.

You look back up towards his smiling face and bury your head into his chest.

“No it can't be...” you whine quietly against him. “...Not yet at least!”

He rubs your back apologetically and you hear a low hum of laughter escape him. You grip him tighter and begin peppering his warm chiseled chest in soft wet kisses. He groans happily pulling you closer. You playfully push him over to his back and straddle him, still peppering him in wet kisses. You slide your hands up his thick warm neck and capture his lips in yours. He sighs heavily before indulging himself in your sweet flavor, and you let out a quiet moan into him. His hands slide up over your barely covered ass and squeeze at the perky mounds sitting on top of him. You giggle against him and he pulls you up off his chest. His eyes glimmer as you watch him eyeing your barely concealed body on top of his.

“Don’t make me go,” you tell him in a whisper.

He pulls you back down and your lips meet his once again, hungry and eager.

“You know I don’t want to..” He tells you in a low groan. “...but how will we explain ourselves?..”

You lean your head down into the crook of his broad neck and shoulder, and allow a long disappointed exhale to escape you. You sit back up, allowing him to take in the view of your faintly covered breasts as you wrap your fur around your shoulders and press your core down into his toned bare abbs. His hands slide up your thighs as he smiles through his gritted teeth while watching you. You crawl towards the tent opening; stopping when his huge hand catches your fur and you spin back around facing him.

“Will I see you tonight?” he asks with a wicked smile on his face.

You giggle softly to yourself.

“Perhaps…If I can't sleep again…” You tell him playfully in a whisper.

“You come back… I don't think either of us will have much sleep..” he replies through his wide smile.

You snicker, trying to cover your mouth, careful not to wake the others. You both freeze, hearing another stir within their tent. You shoot him a final lustful promising look and scurry away back to yours and Eadiths tent.

The ground is cold, cruel, and unwelcoming, compared to the warm inviting safe arms of Uhtred, but you bury your face deep within the furs and try your best to calm yourself so as to not wake Eadith. You hear another stir coming from one of the other tents. You pull your fur up into your face smelling Uhtred on it; you smile to yourself. Your heart beats steadily in your chest as you happily imagen him there with you, as you were moments ago. Only wishing you had indulged yourself more, than what time had allowed.

~~~~~

The morning passes in a wave of usual chaos, men packing their belongings and scarfing their porridge down in a few bites while you and Eadith try to clean the cooking utensils as best you can. Everyone packs up their tents from the night before and secures it tightly back onto their horses; who have also been fed and watered their morning share. Osferth, Sihtric, and Finan, mount their horses ready for the day's journey, Eadith and yourself; normally struggling in the back of the pack, but today they're waiting for Uhtred who waltzes over and assists you with your bags. He says nothing, as the others are far too close to hear, but he eyes you devilishly pulling firmly at the mare's straps and fastening them in place. He pats the mare kindly on the neck and begins to turn away from you, when you clear your throat. He pauses in place for a moment, then spins back around with a smirk on his face. You extend your hand out towards him and he instinctively, he helps you up onto your horse. You squeeze his hand a bit before letting go of his grip and try to swallow back the grin growing on your face. The others watch as Uhtred strides away from you and mounts his own horse at the head of the group.

He eyes you again before calling out to the men, and you nod slightly with a thick grin towards him. Eadiths shoots you a look from her mare, who prances eagerly in place beside you. Avoiding her look, you slap the reins setting in motion with the others.

“What was that?” She asks finally once the group has gotten into configuration and you know they’re mostly out of earshot.

“What?” You ask her with a giggle, avoiding her look as best you can.

“Oh no, don’t you ‘what’ me..” She tells you through her own snicker. “You’re playing a very dangerous game here girl,” She tells you through a smile.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” You cackle in response still not meeting her eye.

You slap the reins again and your horse marches off ahead of Eadith leaving her behind. You hear her cackle as she tries to join you, the two of you edgeing off the trail a bit playfully trying to beat one another.

~~~~~

Hours pass before you stop to relieve yourself and allow the horses a quick drink of water, the summer air is still and uncomfortable as you drop down from your horse. You hand Osferth the reins to your horse and scamper away from the edge of the woodline to relieve yourself.

“Good God, I’m going to burst!” You tell Eadith, squatting down near a tall prickly bush.

She giggles to herself beside you as she adjusts her skirts and squats down. You both exhale a sigh of relief and gather yourselves before returning back to the horses to begrudgingly continue on your way.

“So are you going to spill the beans, or do I have to guess?” Eadith asks quietly as you approach the group.

“Not now!” You snap cautiously.

You both approach the group and begin to mount your horses again. You hear a heavy sigh and look over to Sihtric who seems to be less pleased with the traveling than usual. Finan casts him a knowing look and you peer over to Osferth who is also seemingly upset. You turn your head over towards Eadith and she shrugs unamused. You smile coyly at her and begin off, staying close to the men.

“Why are we all in such high spirits?” You ask once in motion.

The men look at eachother and you can tell an unspoken message is understood between them.

“Please, enlighten me!” You ask more eagerly this time.

Finan sighs and turns back to you. “Just a long ride my lady.” he tells you with a huff.

“Are they not all long rides?” You ask with a slight giggle in your tone.

“Aye, they can be..” he continues. “But this one in particular is…disappointing.”

You peer over to Eadith who seems to be in agreement. Then back to the men with long faces.

“We’ve traveled three days, on many occasions!” You cry out not understanding their words. “Oftentimes even longer! I don’t understand what the..”

Eadith cuts your words off by handing you the canteen of water. Sihtric clears his throat and begins to chime in on the others behalf.

“Y/N, you see, on most occasions of three or four days' travel, is followed by a bigger town which results in several days of staying.”

“So, Corfe is also a small town?” You mention trying to grasp their understanding.

“These small towns scattered together, are just the beginning of a long and treacherous journey back towards Wessex.” Finan adds, his accent thick and charming as he speaks quietly beside you.

“The beginning of a very long end?” you ask almost childishly.

“Yes.” Eadith tells you.

You let out an all too obvious sigh, your heart collapsing into your lap realizing what their words truly entail.

“The beginning of the end…” You repeat softly to yourself.

Not if I have anything to do with it…

~~~~~~

You spend the next few hours pondering in your mind how you will approach Uhtred, without suspicion and ask him to delay your arrivals in the next town….as well as the following and so on. Ideas of how to persuade him pass through your mind like ships in the night… The groups morale, early arrival to other towns and cities allow time to roam, you simply are not ready to return back home yet… but your mind and heart settles on telling Uhtred the real reason you’re not ready for this time to end; because you love him and cannot put words to that …yet. Now all there’s left to do; muster the courage to approach Uhtred, get him alone and confess your feelings, and all within the short ride to the next day break…

Eadith and yourself remain in the back as the group carries on through the hours. The sun is steadily above you, midday and you know Uhtred, though not a creature of habit normally, will be stopping soon.

“I still have such a hard time accepting so many Gods in one religion, I'm not sure how they do it.” Eadith tells you deep in conversation.

You smile coyly, then grip at your stomach slightly.

“How can there be more than one God?” She asks with a cackle.

Your own ideas of religion have never joined up with hers but today is not the day to argue that idea.

“Oh, ow!” You cry out quietly.

“Oh no, what is it?” Eadith asks concerned.

“It’s alright, I’ll be fine.” you try to convince her.

“Are you sure?” she asks, peering over trying to read your face.

“Yes..” you tell her with a sigh. “I’m fine, it seems to be passing already..”

Eadith keeps her gaze on you cautiously, her brow squinted up as she does looking over a new patient before her.

“Their many Gods..” you remind her, rubbing at your stomach still.

She hesitates, but begins to delve back into her ideas of the Danes' multiple Gods.

“It’s just madness, how can more than one God rule? What is the hierarchy of them? How do they keep them..”

“Ahhh, Christ!” You cry out from your seat.

“You’re not alright!” she demands.

This time you have drawn the attention of the others in front of you. Eadith halts her horse and helps you down as you groan in pain. She yells to the others to stop and wait for them as you are ill. You grip your fists as you sit against the ground against a tall tree, heaving in pain waiting for the others to stop and assist.

Within moments the group has circled back and gathered around you. Sihtric stands with the horses and gestures for Finan to help lead them to the nearby field of grass to graze and rest in. You notice the urge in Sihtric’s eye and encourage Finan and Osferth off with him as they are no help to you anyhow.

“I believe it's just something I ate..” you tell Eadith through clenched teeth. “I’ll be fine I'm sure. Just let me rest for a moment.”

You grasp at your belly, Uhtred stands guard nearby as Eadith kneels down next to you trying to comfort you in your time of need. You gasp again as another wave of pain strikes through you. She holds your hand tenderly and patiently talks you through the fit.

“It’s alright, it will pass…” She tells you calmly. “You’re stronger than this!” she reminds you brushing her thumb over your knuckles.

Suddenly… finally, she raises to her feet and stands before you.

“I know what you need!” She tells you excitedly. “Remember Madam Elles cure all for food poisoning?!”

You blink back through squinted eyes up at her, still holding your belly as she gleams with the bright idea.

“Violet and clover!” she shouts out. “I’m sure I can scavenge some up for a hot tea from these woods…”

Eadith merrily prances around gathering her pouch for collecting herbs.

“You stay put, I’ll have you back on your feet in no time!” She cries joyfully.

“Eadith, no it's fine!” you cry out grasping at your stomach.

“Nonsense, stay put..Uh…

You cast her a knowing look..

“...Finan and I will scour the woods and I’ll prepare you the Violet and Clover tea. You’ll see! We’ll be on our way in no time.”

You reach out grasping her through her long red hair.

“You are too kind to me, Eadith.” You tell her graciously.

She smiles and hugs you warmly before getting back onto her feet and running over to Finan and the others in the field.

You watch carefully as she paces amongst the trees and through the leaves towards the field; then cast your gaze up at Uhtred who's all too worried about you.

“Get down here!” you tell him in an anxious whisper.

He peers down towards you but kneels graciously beside you.

“Are you alright? What can I do to help?” he asks sweetly.

You roll your eyes in disgust.

“I’m fine you twit!” you tell him in a ragged hush.

He looks at you wide eyed.

“I just.. I just needed to speak to you alone..”

His eyes turned softer and a smile curled up on his lips.

“No, not for… I mean perhaps… No!” you cry playfully swatting at him.

He chuckles and sits comfortably down beside you. Palming his face carefully he looks back up to you still humming with laughter.

“I just wanted to speak to you…without raising suspicion..” You add, trying not to show him your own smirk emerging from your lips.

He reaches out and clasps your hand in his gently. Peering over his shoulder to ensure no one is around.

“Well… we are indeed alone now…What is it you wanted to speak of?” He asks you, squeezing your hand a bit.

You peer up into his icy blue orbs and freeze for a moment. The words fleeing your mind as you stare blankly into the little crystal worlds that remind you of all your dreams.

“Hmm…Oh, um.” You take a moment to gather your thoughts and shake your head with a giggle. “I’m sorry, ..it's just that…” The words are all too eager to jump off your tongue, you swallow them back down your throat and conceal them more than ever before. “...Morall…my lord…” you stumble over the words as they come to you in a panic.

Uhtred looks confused as he tries to decipher through your panicked mess of words.

You reach up, rubbing harshly at your brow.

“Let me start again..” you tell him before clearing your throat and sitting up a little straighter.

He smiles and turns his body towards you, propping his head carefully on his wrist staring deeply at you. You exhale heavily and watch as his eyes pace back and forth between yours.

“You know, it's really hard to have a meaningful conversation with you when you look at me like that.” You tell him through a thick grin.

“Like what?” he asks you, sarcastically.

You roll your eyes dramatically and poke him playfully in the chest.

“With your….look Uhtred..” The words begin to roll easily now. “It has been noticed by the group that we are near ending our…trip around the cities of Wessex…”

He nods, listening eagerly to your words.

“..And they seem to be..down about that…” You add trying to word things carefully but truly. “..and I would be lying if I too, said I was saddened about..this time of ours together…”

You look down to your lap, awaiting a response of some sort as you feel you have let too much out.

“Our time…?” he asks, raising his brow.

You whip your head up casting him an annoyed look with a smirk.

“Our time…and all of our time..times…” You foolishly try to correct yourself. “You know what I mean!” you add smirking up at him.

You both sit laughing for a moment with each other enjoying the freedom from others for a brief moment. It’s times like these that you know you will miss most of all…

Uhtred sits back against the tree wiping at his forehead with his thumb and avoids your stare for a long moment. You take a sharp inhale in and pat your other hand over top of his, reassuringly.

“..Our time as well..” You add quietly.

He turns and smiles at you, giving your palm a slight squeeze.

“Slow down..” He says calmly. “You want me to slow down the traveling?”

“..Yes? I suppose.” You tell him shyly.

“Arrive back to Wessex later than expected?” He adds submissively. “Even after all I’ve pushed us through on this journey to be early? What a waste..” He says biting back his bottom lip.

“Why look at it as a waste?” You ask graciously. “You’re simply trading being on time for a few more memories, is all.” You stare down at his huge hand between your little ones; afraid of his reply. Your eyes dart back and forth between you and him trying to blink back the wetness growing heavy in your eyes.

He remains silent for a moment. You finally look up and see he is staring out at the field just ahead, where Sihtric and Osferth stand with the horses. You admire his large head; his long hair pulled back behind it, and the faint scars that mark the sides of it. Desperately you swallow the want to reach out and graze them softly.. He looks back to you and then down at your hands again.

“I shall consider it..” he says calmly in a stoic tone. “But only if you can make me an offer, right here right now that only entails us…not the others.”

He stares deeply into your eyes and you feel your insides melt as he studies you. Your smile turns a few times as the emotions rise and you suppress them. You sniffle and then laugh abruptly, unsure of what to tell him. For so long the truth has remained locked in your heart for fear of breaking the dynamic of the group, for fear of him turning his back and refusing to show any more interest. Yet here he sits beside you as you’ve faked an ailment and begs for you to make a vow to him, and only him. A vow that somehow will tie you two together, for better or worse, at least for the remainder of the trip. You blink your eyes hard and a tear emerges from the edges.

“Uhtred…” You tell him calmly.

I love you. I love you. I love you!

You Swallow hard and blink again, trying to erase the wetness from your eyes.

“...Will you please delay our arrival back to Wessex, so we can have more time together?”

…

Tags:@osferthsworld @emily-forever75-blog @sirenofavalon @rrtxcmt @cosmosworldd @elbereth-bluebird @chemitaromance @deadstarkblacksoul @kimi240302 @buglyberry

80 notes · View notes

eoieopda · 9 months

Note

helloooo! i saw you were taking requests, esp for skz, and i could not resist asking for changbin x reader, please! dealer's choice for genre & whatnot, but maybe with a lil' pining in there somewhere? 🥺💕

order up!! 🥰

the one with changbin and the houseguest

pairing: seo changbin x gn!reader type: drabble (fluff) au: roommates to ?, mutual pining rating: pg13 wc: 1.5k (oops) summary: there’s a new tenant in your two-bedroom apartment, and it is not on the lease. it is, however, on your ceiling. a/n: just a couple of cowards moonlighting as idiots in love! 💘 ft. a pov switch, a spider, and one of my favorite tropes. 🔞 MINORS WHO INTERACT WITH ME AND/OR MY CONTENT WILL BE BLOCKED, WHETHER OR NOT THE CONTENT IS NSFW. I’M AN ADULT WRITING EXCLUSIVELY FOR OTHER ADULTS.

Changbin can’t say he’s used to being ripped awake by the sound of shrieking, but living with you has resulted in him being surprised more often than not, so he tries his best to expect the unexpected.

For what it’s worth, he also tries his best to kick his feet free of his blankets. He fails — flails, more like it — and winds up crashing to the ground with enough force to make his nightstand shake. The army of cups he keeps forgetting to bring to the kitchen wobbles ominously but stays standing.

Even though his body is nowhere near awake enough to handle this level of activity, he peels himself off the ground with shocking speed. Nothing that comes next is graceful. Bleary-eyed, he stumbles towards the door and reaches a fumbling hand out for the knob.

As he jerks it open, he calls out your name. You must not hear it over the thwack of the door hitting the wall, or the cha-ching of your security deposit being forfeited, because he certainly doesn’t hear a response.

“Fuck,” Changbin hisses to no one in particular, picking up the pace.

It dawns on him after nearly kicking your door down that he probably should’ve knocked first, but he’s less worried about finding you indecent than — well, deceased. Thankfully, you’re standing in the corner of your room, fully clothed and fully alive. You’re cowering, though, which he’s not at all a fan of.

Voice still heavy with exhaustion, he asks as urgently as possible, “What’s wrong? What happened?”

All you do is point.

Straight up to the ceiling above your bed, where it’s way too dark for Changbin to spot the problem. He frowns, wondering if he’s blind, pranked, or both.

“Spider,” you finally peep.

And oh god, your voice is a fatal combination of soft and scared. He barely survives his heart squeezing in his chest at the sound. Then, you have the nerve to look at him with your giant eyes shining like that.

You repeat yourself even more quietly, now even more embarrassed by his silence. “There’s a spider — above my bed.”

Oh.

Oh, no.

Changin would love to be brave for you, but he’s drawn a firm line here, and he’ll be goddamned if he lets eight disgusting legs cross it.

He skirts around the perimeter of your room on tiptoe with his palms pressed flat to the wall, giving the spider a wide berth. He knows exactly how ridiculous he’s being, but doesn’t care. His focus is dedicated solely to grabbing your hand — not thinking about how small it is in his — and pulling you out the door behind him.

When you’re both clear, Changbin all but slams the door shut behind him. His back immediately presses against it, forming a barricade that’s far from necessary. Panicked eyes flick over to find you standing there, now looking more amused than afraid.

You purse your lips together to keep from smiling. You don’t laugh at him, though, and you don’t let go of his hand, either. He’s grateful on both counts.

“What now?” You whisper, gazing pointedly at the room you’re definitely not sleeping in tonight. “If I won’t catch it, and you won’t catch it — what the hell do we do about it?”

“That is her room now.”

He’s dead serious, and yet you giggle so hard that you snort. Your free hand slaps over your mouth to muffle the sound, but it’s too late. He’s already a goner, too endeared to survive.

When you manage to stop laughing, you start pouting. “Do you think it’s laying eggs in my bed?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Changbin responds, earnest.

The second he says it, he clocks the way your anxious eyes go wide again.

Nope, hate that.

Quick to fix it, he fashions a band-aid out of a joke and a wink. “And now our rent is going to skyrocket because there’s gonna be a thousand new tenants on the lease.”

—

As soon as Changbin rescued you from your bedroom, you knew exactly what would happen next:

You’d move to take up refuge on the couch; and he’d refuse to let you. He’d offer his bed; you’d insist that he didn’t need to lose additional sleep because of you. The entire time, there would be a little voice inside your head praying for an alternative outcome. Some secret third option where you’d wind up together somehow.

The result you expected — pulling an all-nighter to watch movies in the living room because you’re both too stubborn to cave — wasn’t the one you got.

Instead, you got Changbin glancing you up and down as he assessed you. A shrug when he shared his findings, sans context: “Eh. You’ll fit.”

Before you could demand that he elaborate on that finding, he was circling around behind you.

Thankfully — for once — he didn’t hoist you off the ground like he usually does. Apparently, he’d learned his lesson after the last time. All it takes to knock sense into someone is an accidental elbow to the skull, it seems.

Unexpectedly, you felt the weight of his tired frame leaning into your back; two palms flattening gently against your shoulder blades. Just like that, he guided you forward towards his bedroom door, as if he was pushing a sled at the gym and not an entire human being.

Carefully, though.

Always carefully.

Now, you find yourself on the left side of a bed you’d only ever wondered about sleeping in. Sweatshirt hood pulled up over your hair, blankets pulled up to your chin, shivering. Happy, nonetheless.

Changbin’s eyes are closed — a fact you learned by staring at him in a distinctly normal and platonic way — and his breathing is slow. Even. But then he speaks out of nowhere and shatters the illusion that he’s been asleep since he laid back down.

“D’you want me to close the window?”

He sounds so tired, all groggy and gravelly in a way that makes your stupid heart flutter. Before now, you thought it was his morning voice that was designed to ruin you. His middle-of-the-night voice is especially dangerous, unfortunately for you.

You shake your head, which he can’t see with his eyes still shut.

Duh.

“No,” you reaffirm in a whisper, like disturbing his sleep isn’t a ship that’s long since sailed.

You don’t say the quiet part out loud: you’ve burdened him with enough of your problems tonight, and you’d rather die than have him make another concession on your behalf.

Changbin likes sleeping in a cold room — you know this — and you will suck it up, even if it kills you.

He cracks one eye open. The second he sees the way you’re bundled up, he chuckles and you swoon a little more. “Why don’t I believe you?”

Probably because I’m lying.

You don’t say anything, you just burrow further into your cocoon to hide your shame.

“Come here, then.”

At this, you balk. “Pardon?”

“You heard me,” he insists. To emphasize his point, he grabs the comforter and pulls it up and away from his chest. “I’m not gonna sleep for shit if you’re over there shaking. You’re not gonna sleep if you keep pretending you’re not cold —”

Honestly, you have no idea why you fight him on this, but you roll your eyes in spite of yourself.

“— So, come here.”

“Fine,” you groan, like this isn’t exactly what you wanted.

Like he’s the unreasonable one, and not the unfailingly thoughtful person your subconscious keeps shoving into your dreams, unsolicited.

You wiggle over to him like a lovesick little caterpillar, try to keep that certifiably dopey smile off your face when his arms wrap around you and pull you close. Hesitantly, you let your head fall in the crook of his neck. A beat can’t pass before his chin comes down to rest softly on the top of your head.

You peep, “Is this okay?”

He nods, careful not to crush you with that unreal jaw of his. “Perfect,” he mumbles, already half-asleep again.

Another moment crawls by in silence.

You can’t help yourself.

Why can’t you ever help yourself?

“Changbin?”

You cringe a little, recognizing that you’re an unrepentant pain in the ass. He grunts quietly, which you take as permission to continue.

“Do you really think it’s laying eggs in my bed?

He sounds stern — he’s trying to be — but the slight twitch of his lips is a dead giveaway. As tired as he is, he’s still smiling. “Go to sleep.”

#changbin #seo changbin #changbin x reader #changbin fluff #changbin drabble #changbin imagines #changbin scenarios #stray kids #skz #stray kids drabble #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #jade writes #jade’s request #sunny!#moots #re: the one with changbin and the houseguest #cb

180 notes · View notes

runningfrom2am · 11 months

Text

the sea around us; chapter twenty

In which Rafe Cameron has to choose between his dad and a pogue who's changing his outlook on life more and more every day.

(rafe cameron x f!oc)

(eventual!jj maybank x f!oc)

warnings/tags: violence, drug/alcohol use, smoking, sexual content (if you squint), slowburn, older brother’s best friend, (these tags are obv not exhaustive but regardless it’s pretty PG13)

wc: 2.8k

my masterlist

series masterlist

*:･ﾟ✧*:･

Topper drives us out to this line of townhouses on the pier, and we climb out of his car. Rafe thanks him and pats him on the shoulder before getting out and helping me out of the backseat.

"I feel like I'm floating right now, this is so weird." I giggle as Rafe throws my backpack over his shoulder and guides me up to the door.

"Yeah, I bet." He says flatly, stopping at the lockbox and entering a code before grabbing the key for the door.

"Where are we?" I ask as he lets us in closing the door behind us and turning on a light.

"Rose is selling this place."

"Oh, cool." I nod, looking around.

"Let's get you to bed, come on.." He says, grabbing my arm to lead me upstairs. I follow quietly, I can tell he's a little mad at me now that we're not in front of people. I thought for a bit that maybe he didn't know about what happened earlier with the gold, but now I'm doubting that again. This panic is starting to sober me up- fast.

"Are you mad at me?" I hear myself asking as we walk into a large bedroom.

"No," He sighs, putting my bag down on the floor. "No, I'm not mad at you, Snowy."

I don't believe him. "I didn't mean for this to happen, I just didn't think to ask what was in the bottle and I thought because he was drinking it was fine-" I ramble on.

"I don't care about that." Rafe interrupts me, and I freeze as he stares me down.

"Oh, okay... I'm sorry." I mumble.

"If you want to talk about this right now we can." He says, almost dauntingly.

"Talk about what?" I ask, hearing JJ's voice in my mind. Deny, Deny, Deny.

Rafe scoffs, shaking his head. "So this is how it's going to be?" He asks, I'm assuming rhetorically. "You're going to lie to me?"

"I'm not lying, Rafe, just tell me what you want to talk about and we'll talk, okay?" I smile softly, trying to calm him down.

"Tell me what is going on with your Poguey friends- what the fuck are you guys doing?" He asks, and I feel my breath hitch in my throat.

"I don't want to lie to you," I say, hearing my voice sounds shaky. "I don't want to lie to you but I can't tell you yet."

"You robbed a drug dealer, Snowy! Are you kidding me? That is something you tell me." Rafe insists, and I can tell he's trying to stay calm. "The same guy who gave me this!" He says, showing me his arm where he has a large burn mark. "I couldn't pay him, and he did this. That's not someone you fuck with!" I stare at his arm for a moment before looking up at him. He sighs as he looks at me, lowering his arms slowly. "Look, like you said, I'm a proactive type of person. We talked about this last night but you're already putting yourself in harms way again!"

"We... I... It's hard to explain- but please, listen to me." I say since he looks like he's about to interrupt me. "I didn't do anything, I was just in the car. He attacked us first. He pulled us over in a ghost car, and held a gun to my head and-" I choke a little on my words. "And I was so scared I didn't want to be alone and I told JJ not to go in, I told him we couldn't retaliate but I didn't want to be alone after that I was so scared, Rafe." I'm crying now as he watches me intently.

"I'll deal with him, okay? Don't be scared of him." Rafe says quickly, stepping closer to me and reaching up to wipe the tears from my cheeks with his thumbs. "He won't hurt you." He says, his voice much softer now.

"No... No, now I'm worried about you, don't deal with anything- it was my friends, we'll handle it. We can handle it." I shake my head. "You've got your own problems- bigger problems, and I'm just adding to the list and I don't want to make anything worse for you." I explain as he shakes his head at me.

"It's okay... Hey, look at me, Juliette.." He says, looking into my eyes. "It's okay. I will protect you, okay?"

I nod softly and I hold up my pinky finger to him. He smiles as he links our fingers together, and I press my lips to my hand. He watches and then does the same. "I promise." He says, letting go and wrapping his arms around me.

I nod softly as he plants a kiss on my forehead. "I promise." He mumbles again against my skin, holding me closer as I hug him.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･

It's only two days later, and I'm waking up to a four am alarm to get up and go fishing with Ward and John B after spending almost the whole time with Rafe. My friends weren't particularly pleased, but we hadn't spent a huge amount of time together since we made our relationship official, even though it has been over a month since we were basically together. I'm honestly a little nervous after what Ward was asking me about the other day, but John B will be there, so really what is the worst that could happen?

I climb out of my new bed, which may be the most comfortable bed I've ever slept in, or maybe I just don't want to get up. I have a quick shower and then get dressed, throwing on a bathing suit under some shorts and a button-up, just drying my hair with a towel when there's a light knock on the door and it opens slightly.

"Snowy?" John B whispers. "Can I come in?" He asks.

"Yeah," I reply quietly, just buttoning up my shirt.

"You ready to go? We loaded up the Druthers already." He says as he enters and I nod.

"Yeah, as much as I can be." I chuckle, and we both step out into the hall, tiptoeing down the stairs and out the door so we don't wake anyone up.

"So, you know that drug dealer who JJ robbed, Barry?" I ask John B as we walk towards the long dock.

John B laughs. "Yeah, I'm familiar."

"So apparently- here's the tea, so Rafe owes him like a chunk of change, so Barry jumped him and stole his bike, and then Ward found out, paid the guy off, and then kicked Rafe out of the house," I explain. "Isn't that crazy?"

"No way." John B says, looking down at me. "Well, that explains why I haven't heard him sneak into your room in the middle of the night." He shrugs, making me roll my eyes.

"It's not like that." I laugh.

"You didn't tell Rafe though, right?" He asks me.

"No, he doesn't know anything about the gold," I promise him.

"I would say he would be happy to help, but I think Kie would actually take JJ's gun and shoot me if I ever suggested it." I laugh.

"No doubt." John B agrees, "Then probably steal it all, nothing major."

"Hey, I'm his girlfriend. So, we'd play the long game, I would absolutely be all over him forever. Then, once he's in love with me and asks me to marry him five years down the line, I get into the account and Venmo all of you guys one hundred mill." I joke and John B laughs as well.

"Yeah, that's a good plan B, Snowy." He says as we approach the boat.

"Good morning, Mr. Cameron." I wave as he reaches out for my hand to help me on the massive boat.

"Snowy, come on, you're family now. Call me Ward."

*:･ﾟ✧*:･

Ward decides we should go out to a different spot than John B suggests, that won't be as busy; Swansboro Hole. I don't know a lot about fishing, since my dad is a contractor and when the boys take me I'm usually there for the entertainment value of talking the entire time, so I trust their judgment. It seems Ward understands this as well, so I am mostly sitting and enjoying the weather, just chatting with the two of them while they fish.

"We picked a good one, didn't we?" Ward asks, sitting next to me.

"Sure did." John B nods.

"Definitely, it's beautiful out today." I agree with a smile.

"Hey, John B, hit me again," Ward says, handing him his glass. "Maybe, actually, hold the grapefruit juice on this one. Let's get this day on its feet."

John B nods and pours the drink out for him. "You know what? Pour one for Snowy and yourself too."

"Sir, I'm seventeen." I laugh slightly.

"Only because you have an early birthday- we were born the same year." John B laughs at me.

"I know, I know. It's okay guys, just one drink. We're practically in international waters." Ward insists, taking the glass from John B before he pours out two more and handing one to me.

I take it and take a sip, cringing a little at the taste.

"See, I don't know if you know this, John B, but you are fishing with a Grand Knight of the Rhododendron. Snowy knows, of course since she was there, but do you guys know what that really means?" Ward starts, and we both shake our heads.

"It doesn't seem like a big deal to you guys, sure, but to me, it is, because it means I'm a trusted member of this community. That means a lot to me. Trust." He explains, and John B and I make brief eye contact, nervous about where this is going.

"Absolutely." John B agrees with him and I nod.

Ward raises his glass, "Here's to trust." He smiles.

"To trust." We both smile, clinking the three of our glasses together before taking a drink.

"Okay, I've got one more," Ward says, sitting up straighter. "I hear your girlfriend is pretty nice." He says to John B, who nods.

"To Sarah." John B says, holding his glass back up.

"And, to Snowy- for helping me tame my son." Ward adds and I smile politely, nodding and knocking my glass with theirs one more time. He really is not Rafe's biggest fan- if his toast to him is actually to me for taking on some sort of burden by dating him. He has no right to treat Rafe the way he does.

About an hour passes after this, and I'm still sunbathing while they try and fish, but I don't think there's been a single bite. They're talking about something, and then my attention is drawn when John B mentions his father.

"That's what my dad used to say."

"John B, Snowy, I want to be real honest with you right now," Ward says, and I sit up a little to watch and listen. "And I'm gonna ask you to do the same for me." He looks back at me and I nod.

"Okay." John B agrees, but I can see he's nervous.

"First thing I have to do is apologize to you."

"For what?" John B asks, now confused.

"I told you to stop looking for the Royal Merchant Gold," He pauses, and I freeze, looking at John B who avoids eye contact with me to remain calm. "And you didn't."

Ward looks between the two of us. "And god damn it, you kids found it!" He chuckles.

John B laughs a little and shakes his head. "I wish." Okay, we're sticking with our plan- deny, deny, deny.

"You guys can play it like that if you want, I won't force your hand- but I know that you did."

"Yeah.." John B admits and I look at him shocked. I think my best move is just to stay quiet.

"And it's amazing! Sincerely, it's unbelievable." Ward laughs, looking over at me for a second. "One hundred and fifty years people have been looking for that goddamn gold. None of 'em could find it- but you guys did. But here's the thing, kids, finding the gold is where your fun ends. And this is where all your problems begin. Ones you haven't even probably thought of, like excavating it." He explains. We already have a plan, but I'm not about to tell him that.

"You're probably trying now, but if it's in water, how do you get it up? If it's on land, on someone's property, what if they catch you trying to take it? Because that's theft. Jesus, kids, we are talkin' a massive amount of gold. You're sixteen, how are you going to transport it? How are you going to turn it into something in your bank account that you can spend?"

John B and I look at each other, more nervous now. Ward is kind of right, but I know that we would figure it out. We always do.

"What I'm saying, all these difficulties, you guys are in way over your heads. You need someone to be able to help you with the legalities of it, and that's where I come in. I can make all those problems go away. We can work out an equitable split, since I know your friends helped you we will cut them in too. Let's do this together."

"Uh... well..." I start to talk, but I'm cut off.

"Don't be so nervous, okay? I'm just here to help you. You just have to trust me." Ward says to me, looking back at John B. "What do you say?"

"I still don't know what you're talking about." John B says, trying again to deny it.

"Okay, John, we can play it that way, but I think you'll quickly realize that there's really no other choice. I know you have it and that you've had a little taste of it." Ward's tone starts to darken- he's definitely not giving us a choice. As he bickers at John B, I look around for some kind of escape. We're in the middle of the ocean, alone. I spot the jetski, and by the looks of it, that's our only option right now. I'm torn out of my planning when I hear John B raise his voice.

"How do you know about Redfield?" He asks, sounding angry and confused. Ward looks shocked, and while he recovers I quietly get up and sneak inside, looking around for something- anything, that can help us out of this situation. I look out the window and see John B climbing up to the top deck, and then we lurch forward as he starts to drive us away. At least we had the same plan. I duck down as I see Ward approaching the ladder as well, and watch as he spots a gaff hook, picking it up as he climbs up the ladder. "Shit, shit, shit.." I mumble to myself, looking around more frantically now.

I hear yelling on the deck above me, and banging as I assume they're fighting now. I start digging through drawers, out of sheer panic, hoping to find anything that could help- I'll know when I see it. My hand lands on something stiff under some papers, and I lift it up. I get the same rush of adrenaline I had when we all realized John B got the gold- it's his father's compass. I shove the compass into my pocket and continue looking. I pull up some couch cushions and dig into the storage there, pulling out a speargun. I sigh to myself as I turn it in my hand. Am I about to use a speargun to threaten my boyfriend's dad? If I have to. I'm standing there thinking when I hear the sound of something falling off the top deck in front of the door, and I see it's John B.

"Holy shit- holy shit John B are you okay?" I ask, now panicked.

"I'm fine- I'm fine, give me that." John B takes it from me and loads it, just as Ward slides the door open.

"Stay right there!" John B yells, pointing the speargun at him and I step behind him to hide. "Don't move!"

Ward instantly throws the gaff at us and I scream as we both duck down, and the speargun accidentally fires into the wall beside Ward. I run back and down the stairs behind me and Ward runs at us. I'm trying every door in the hall downstairs, and John B comes down right after me, pushing me to the door at the end. "Here, this way." He says frantically, and we run in and look around for a second after locking the door behind us. We both spot the ceiling light at the same time, and John B instantly pushes it open. We climb out onto the deck and instantly get to work on moving the jetski over the water.

"Snowy, get on, get on it now!" John B shouts, and I quickly do what he says, climbing on while it's being lifted off the boat and over the water.

I look up and see Ward on the top deck, aiming the spear gun right at me. I'm frozen. Just then, John B jumps on in front of me and pulls the lever to drop the jetski, right as Ward fires into the water behind where I was previously hovering. Ward Cameron just tried to kill us. Rafe's dad actually just tried to kill me.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･

taglist: @boo22sstuff @madelynie (message me or reply if you want to be added!!)

39 notes · View notes