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euthymiya · 9 days

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“i wanna ruin our friendship!” ft. wriothesley, neuvillette, alhaitham, and kamisato ayato

in which genshin men decide being friends is not enough. why be friends when you could clearly be so much better as lovers? part two of “we’re just friends, but…” (<- read part one for better understanding of each)

contains: female reader (use of miss, milady/my lady, lovely lady, and madame) ; fluff (slight hints of angst but all happy endings) ; confessions, friends to lovers, wriothesley: implied harassment of reader by an inmate, reader is a doctor at the fortress, angry and possessive wriothesley, jealousy ; neuvillette: reader works at the palais, melusine features, neuvillette is implied to be emotional and make it rain ; alhaitham: mentions of drinking alcohol (alhaitham), vulnerable alhaitham, reader can cook ; ayato: slightly insecure reader, mentions of reader being in a lower class than ayato

WRIOTHESLEY

wriothesley is not a possessive man, despite his feelings for you.

he’s long accepted that somewhere between frequent visits to you in the infirmary and occasional lunches together as fellow colleagues at the fortress, he’s fallen hopelessly hard for you. how could he not, when you’re so gentle-natured, smart, and unfairly pretty?

but still, wriothesley is not a possessive man. when men praise you to the archons and admire your unearthly beautiful smile, he is not possessive. when he grumpily watches your fingers brush against bare chests of the wounded after pankration matches, he is not possessive. when you shyly thank an inmate who rushes to hold a door open for you, he is not possessive.

but even wriothesley has his limits. and they happen to snap over the edge today—because now, as a man corners you against the wall, pestering you until distress is clear on your face, wriothesley feels possessive.

it’s a shameful feeling, but it’s one he can’t help. he’s tolerated many things, enough of them that make him wash down the bitter taste of jealousy with the most soothing tea he can find in his collection. but this? this is beyond the patience of even a kind warden such as himself.

you, whether you or anyone else in this fortress knows it, are his to protect.

so he walks up, fisting the inmate’s shirt and lifting him up to drag away from you, jaw tight and locked as he asks lowly, “is there a problem? if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you were giving this lovely lady here some trouble.”

“y-your grace,” the man, to his credit, has a good mind to look remorseful, eyeing you nervously for a moment before rapidly shaking his head. “n-no, i was just…i was just askin’ her if she’d like some help findin’ her way is all. you know the fortress can be confusin’ ’n such.”

the inmate trails off, nervously chuckling as he quivers in the warden’s unforgiving hold.

wriothesley glances at you, raising an unconvinced eyebrow as he asks, “and do you need any help finding your way, miss?”

“no,” you shake your head, voice a bare whisper.

his jaw tightens further, glancing back at the man before he snarls lowly, “then you leave her alone. don’t let me catch you bothering her again, understood?”

“y-yes, your grace!”

wriothesley releases the man’s shirt, crumpled from his iron grip as he stares, eyes narrowed—threatening, even, as he waits for the brave soul (for anyone who bothers you where he’s in charge is the bravest of all souls) to leave. not one moment is wasted before you watch the inmate scramble away, leaving you alone with a tense, disgruntled duke in your hands.

“thank you,” you whisper, “i’m not sure how much longer he’d have bothered me if you hadn’t shown up.”

“anyone else ever try that before?” he seethes. you’ve never seen him so angry before—something about it feels almost personal.

you shake your head, stepping away from the wall as you walk over to him. “no, wriothesley,” you murmur, “no one gives me a hard time. this was a first.”

“let me know if anyone bothers you,” he grunts, fist still clenched even with no shirt to hold like earlier. “i’ll take care of it.”

you eye the way it’s tightly curled, knuckles almost ghostly white from the pressure before you gently grab his hand, working his fingers loose from his tight grip and rubbing a soothing thumb over the crescent mark from his nails along his palm.

“of course,” you smile softly, “though, i’m sure word will spread quickly that the warden doesn’t appreciate his doctor being bothered by persistent men. i don’t think there will be any repeats of this incident.”

he should feel ashamed.

you think so highly of him—defaulting to believing he’d saved you because he was only worried for your wellbeing, and not because it burned him alive to see a man so close to you, a man who desired you just as much as he did and had stooped to such unchivalrous methods to have you.

faintly, he’s aware that your hand is still grasping his, still rubbing a thumb over the angry, red marks along his palm as you study him carefully. he’s sure there’s not much he hides in his expression—you must be reading him like an open book. he can’t bring himself to care, however, not when the sight of someone else pinning you to a wall and towering over you is still so fresh in his head.

“something on your mind, your grace?” you ask, leaning closer.

perhaps, if he was a stronger man, one with more firm principles, he’d know to pull away and give you your space. but you lean closer, and he’s weak to his own desires, so he takes it as an invitation to lean closer himself.

“yes,” he admits, “i…i’m afraid i had less than honorable intentions when stepping in.”

“oh?” you raise a brow, looking at him in fond amusement. maybe you already know, he thinks, if your lack of surprise tells him anything. “enlighten me, then. what were your intentions?”

“to make sure no man comes close to you,” he mumbles, leaning closer while you do the same, your noses just barely brushing as your breath all but mingles.

“why?” you ask. it almost sounds like a plead—like you’re waiting to hear something desperately.

“because it’s unbearable to see you with other men,” he says hoarsely. if you’re uncomfortable, you don’t show it. but he has reason to believe you’re quite the opposite, in fact, when your eyes seem to brighten.

“and if i were to say i appreciate your intentions?” you ask softly.

finally, his jaw loosens—instead, he replaces the clench with a loose, easy grin, one that allows him to chuckle lowly as he stares at you with a playful disbelief.

“that so?” he hums, “perhaps then you’d care to join me for dinner today, milady—i’ll have the finest meal the cafeteria has to offer waiting for you.”

“on a date?” you ask hopefully.

“on a date,” he confirms with a slight nod.

you kiss his cheek, making his breath catch in his throat as you step away and smile gleefully. “i’ll see you at dinner then, your grace.”

NEUVILLETTE

the first day you skip your newfound routine of tea and desserts with neuvillette and the many, many melusines that join, it rains. harshly so, in fact.

you walk up to the palais, soaked from the unexpected weather as you grin sheepishly at a concerned sedene.

“madame!” she gasps, “oh, you’ve been caught in the weather!”

“it’s alright, sedene,” you chuckle, “it’s nothing new in fontaine to have unexpected rain. i suppose i should’ve planned accordingly. is monsieur neuvillette in his office? i have papers for him,” you hold up a file.

sedene fidgets for a moment, hesitant as she says, “yes…he’s in his office but…well, i should warn you that he’s not in the best of moods.”

“oh dear,” you furrow your brows, “how unfortunate. i’ll make it quick. they’re quite urgent papers.”

she nods at your promise—and just before you can turn to leave, she stops you, seemingly debating before making a final comment.

“you didn’t join us today, madame,” she starts, “for tea today during the monsieur’s break.”

“oh,” you tilt your head in surprise for a moment, “you’re right, i didn’t. i apologize if you were waiting on me. i was caught up with much paperwork to finish before i came in.”

“i see. perhaps monsieur neuvillette will appreciate knowing that, then,” she smiles.

before you can ask, she skips away, finding a group of melusines in the corner. you watch as they whisper away behind their paws, blinking back your confusion before walking towards the door of neuvillette’s office, knocking gently.

“monsieur neuvillette? may i come in? i have some papers that must be delivered to you.”

there’s a shuffle from inside, a clearing of the iudex’s throat before a raspy, “yes, of course. come in.”

you enter, walking in slowly as you close the distance between the door and his desk, smiling as you set the file down in your hands. he looks rather…well, you’re not sure, exactly—perhaps the best word would be melancholy. suddenly, sedene’s words from earlier ring in your head, and you wonder if there’s any relation between your absence and his seemingly downcast mood.

so you give him an apologetic look as you speak. “i apologize if my absence was a surprise to you today. it seems i lost track of time with paperwork. i hope you enjoyed a peaceful break with the melusines,” you hum, “you certainly need a proper break with all the duties you take on.”

against your better judgement, you reach over, brushing a strand of misplaced hair from his forehead and tucking it back in place. rarely does the chief justice of fontaine ever look less than prim and proper, if ever at all—and the action causes you to pause just as much as it does him.

he breaks the silence first, and if he notices the slight flustered expression on your face, he doesn’t point it out as he says gently, “it’s quite alright. i’m sure you’re a busy individual.”

“i do quite enjoy my routine visit,” you say shyly, “it was a shame i couldn’t join today. but rest assured, i’ll be present tomorrow.”

“i’m glad to hear it,” he seems to brighten a bit, a gentle smile pulling at the corners of his lips as he admits in a quieter voice, “truthfully, i had assumed you didn’t want to join me—or excuse me, us,” he coughs, correcting himself at the end.

“oh dear,” you furrow your brows, crinkles forming in your forehead as you quickly shake your head, “of course i love joining you. today was a rare occasion, i’m afraid. i hope i didn’t upset you, monsieur.”

“no,” he shakes his head just as quickly. he coughs, clearing his throat as he adds, “it’s just that i…well, i have come to enjoy your company. a little more than i perhaps should.”

he doesn’t meet your gaze, cheeks flushed a gentle shade of pink as you take in his words. silently after a moment, with a bright grin on your face that spreads across your lips and finds itself in the deepest of crinkles in your eyes, you slowly reach over to cup his face.

neuvillette, no matter how trained in self control, cannot help but lean into your touch, staring at you with wide eyes as you rub a delicate circle into the swell of his cheek.

“i’ve come to enjoy your company as well, monsieur. perhaps…perhaps it would be nice to enjoy each other’s company outside of the palais as well,” you offer. and then, eyeing the small opening in the door, you add, “somewhere away from prying eyes.”

neuvillette watches as the door quickly shuts, the soft giggles of the melusines muffled behind the door as he chuckles in amusement. his hand cups the back of your own, cheek laying comfortably in your palm.

“yes,” he murmurs softly, “i think i would love that.”

ALHAITHAM

alhaitham is not drunk today.

you can tell when you open the door because he’s not swaying, or slurring his words, or staring at you with a hazy look. instead, he’s perfectly sober, perfectly rational, and perfectly collected alhaitham.

you look at him in surprise before smiling in greeting.

“you’re not drunk for once,” you murmur, “i don’t think i ever get a visit from you when you’re not drunk.”

the words make him wince a bit—he doesn’t like the implication of that. alhaitham enjoys your company when he’s not inebriated, especially when he’s not inebriated, in fact. mainly because he can actually recall things that way, like the way you laugh and the crinkle of your eyes. but somehow, being drunk has become a bit of a weekly routine for him at the tavern with his friends (which really, is just cyno and tighnari, and of course, kaveh—but kaveh can hardly be considered a friend these days).

coming to your doorstep every week when he’s drunk becomes a byproduct of his habits. he can’t control them, like an involuntary muscle that moves on its own accord without his permission. just like his heart beats and pumps blood, his feet carry him to find you.

it’s natural, autonomic.

“i didn’t want to drink tonight,” he explains, rubbing his neck awkwardly. alhaitham is blunt—speaking his mind is not a complicated task. he’s sure of his thoughts and opinions, and the response people give them is of little concern to him.

but his thoughts aren’t very coherent when they come to you. he’s not sure of even a single thing, in fact. sure, he knows he likes you—really, really likes you. but sometimes, he contemplates if he’s fallen in love with you. he can’t tell, if he’s being honest, because he’s never been in love before. it’s uncharted waters for even someone as knowledgeable as him.

and then there’s the more difficult part. he’s not sure if you feel the same, or if you’d respond positively to the idea of his developed feelings. logic tells him you’re kind, compassionate, deeply understanding. perhaps you’d let him down gently and still consider him a good friend if you don’t feel the same. but for some reason, there’s an illogical part of him. one he doesn’t recognize. one that tells him that you might walk away and never look twice in his direction again as soon as you realize the nature of his feelings.

logic doesn’t win in his mind for once. it hasn’t for a very long time. it’s why he doesn’t tell you for so long how he feels.but tonight he plans to change that.

regardless of your feelings, requited or unrequited, alhaitham will tell you how he feels. he owes you that much, for all the careful care and deduction you put into handling his drunk self. for all the meals you made and let him eat before letting him crash on your couch. for all the cups of coffee you made his hungover self as you carefully tiptoed around your own home so the noise wouldn’t disturb his pounding head.

he clears his throat, fiddling with his fingers as he stares at his feet.

“do you want to come in?” you offer.

he shakes his head. “i don’t think that’s a good idea. i came…i came to say something.”

“i see,” you nod, “then by all means, share what you have to say.”

it’s not so easy. not when he tries to plan the words in his head as he walks to your home, and not when he’s standing before you. alhaitham is a linguist. he speaks over twenty languages, some of which are known to be romantic by nature. he’s read the divinest of poems and decoded the most complicated of hieroglyphics. he, of all people, should excel in putting words together.

but his tongue feels like sandpaper in his mouth as he stares at you, though. distantly, he’s aware he must look stupid. standing here, silent and stiff as you stand by your door and wait for him to spit out what he has to say.

so he says the first thing he can think—and it makes his face burn as soon as he realizes what he says. “your sabz meat stew is my favorite.”

you grin, chuckling in amusement as you murmur, “oh my, i’m flattered. you came all this way to praise my cooking?”

“n-no,” he sighs in embarrassment, “that…that’s not what i meant.”

you hum, smiling at him softly as you patiently wait for him to speak again. a part of him feels like you’re aware of something, something that maybe even he’s not aware of himself. but he doesn’t want to dwell on that—perhaps your knowledge is a product of his drunken rambles, and he’s not sure he wants to even begin imagining what that might look like. what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

“well, if you must know,” you giggle, “i enjoy making your favorite for you.”

“i enjoy your stew,” he mumbles, concentrating for a moment before his face hardens with determination and he looks at you, “i enjoy waking up on your couch, and drinking your coffee, and the way you hum when you get ready for the day. it’s enjoyable because it’s you.”

you process his words for a moment before smile slowly, eyeing him with wonder as you break into a fit of giggles. he doesn’t have time to dwell on whether or not you’re laughing at him because there’s an arm looping around his bicep, pulling him in past your door and pressing him against it as soon as it’s shut.

you’re close—it’s the first thing he notices, chest brushed against his chest as you look up at him with a fond, affectionate expression.

“you’re a smart man, alhaitham,” you murmur, “i’m sure you can figure out why i make your favorite every time you come. and make your coffee just how you like. and let you sleep in on my couch when i could be spending my morning enjoying the sun.”

he wants to tell you that he doesn’t feel very smart when he’s around you. it’s like logic is a foreign concept as soon as your smile invades his line of sight. but words are difficult enough to produce when you’re so close, he doesn’t think he could tell you even if he tried.

instead, he asks, “because you’re kind?”

“not kind enough to do groceries for two every weekend,” you chuckle. “unless…”

“unless…?” he asks breathlessly.

“unless it’s you, silly,” you snort. “do fill in the lines, will you?”

he allows himself to hope. because it doesn’t take logic to let himself hope you feel the same way he does.

“if…” he takes a deep breath, taking a moment to contemplate before boldly settling his hands on your hips, “if i come here next week sober, would you still open the door for me?”

“of course,” you whisper.

“if i came whenever i wanted, would you still open the door for me?” he asks, eyes peering into yours desperately, begging you to tell him what he wants to hear.

you sigh, gently cupping his cheeks as he closes his eyes and shudders. “always,” you breathe, “will you come?”

“yes,” he nods. his shoulders slump—in relief and in pure bliss as he lets his head drop to the crook of your neck, pressing his nose into your warm skin as you cradle the back of his head. “because i enjoy coming home to you.”

“and i enjoy welcoming you home,” you murmur.

and it’s at the same time that you kiss the side of his head and he kisses the soft skin of your neck, a stumbling mess of limbs pressed against one another as you both find your way to collapse on your familiar couch.

KAMISATO AYATO

it’s midnight when there’s a knock on your door. it’s rushed, an incessant tapping against the surface that almost has you concerned, but the familiar face through the peephole eases your worries.

and then it hits you—ayato is here. beyond the question of how he has the time to visit you so unexpectedly, there’s the concern of what people might think if he’s seen here so late, standing outside your door.

“ayato? why are you here?” you look at him in confusion as you open the door, eyebrows furrowing as he smiles at you.

“well, hello. such an enthusiastic greeting you’ve afforded me,” he says playfully, making you roll your eyes. “won’t you even invite me in?”

“well, come on then,” you huff, “it’s always something or another with you.”

“whatever do you mean?” he gasps, a hand pressing to his chest in mock hurt, “i’ve simply come to have a heartfelt conversation.”

“at this hour?” you cross your arms, scoffing at his timing. still, you could never turn him away.

it’s not of any trouble to you—ayato knows it too. but there’s something oddly vulnerable about having him in your home, and unexpectedly at that. suddenly, everything feels out of place and untidy to you, a contrast to the large, sophisticated estate you’re sure he must be used to. you shift on your feet, feeling the scrutinizing gaze of someone as important as the yashiro commissioner, standing in your small home where you have nowhere to hide.

“ah,” he nods in amusement, “how impolite of me. shall i take my departure, then?”

“i could hardly turn the yashiro commissioner away without allowing him to speak,” you shake your head, fighting back a smile as he grins. “pray tell, what could have prompted such a spontaneous visit?”

“i’d like to ask for your hand,” he says bluntly.

you blink, gaping at him in disbelief. ayato has never been cruel—in fact, he’s always been much the opposite. especially to you. he’s become painfully important, a friendship you’ve never expected but cannot fathom existing without now that you have him.

but something about this feels cruel, like he’s aware of the deeper feelings you’ve accidentally let surface in the process, feelings you try to push back desperately. how could the yashiro commissioner be seen with someone so far from his realm? someone so disconnected from his world and status?

you furrow your brows, looking at him unimpressed as you murmur, “that’s hardly funny, ayato. be serious.”

“i am serious,” he tilts his head, “i, kamisato ayato, would like to ask for your hand, milady. if you would be so kind, that is.”

his hand is offered to you—and something in your aches to reach for it. to feel his fingers intertwined with yours, to feel the rough calluses of his hands from years of swordsmanship, to feel the gentle warmth of his palm pressed up against yours.

“i-in marriage?” you ask in utter confusion.

he chuckles, hand still outstretched as he raises an eyebrow. “well, i figured marriage would be a bit sudden, but far be it from me to deny such an enthusiastic idea.”

you’re not sure why (or maybe you are, and you simply hate to admit it), but there’s a burning sting in the back of your eyes. something bubbling between humiliation and hurt and flooding in the form of tears as you stare at him unsure if he’s lost his mind, or if he’s simply joking at your expense.

ayato has never made you feel like a victim of casual cruelty from his end, so a small part of you wonders if he’s truly serious. but the more logical part of you tells you that if not a mere attempt at playfulness, what else could this be?

“this isn’t funny,” you whisper, voice small. “i hardly find such pranks entertaining, ayato. i thought you to be better than that.”

it’s silent. deafeningly so, in fact.

his hand drops—slowly, hesitant as he eyes you in uncertainty. he takes a step towards you, closing the distance enough to notice every small detail of your face, but leaving enough of a gap so as not to overstep.

“i hardly find any entertainment in offering myself up, either,” he murmurs, “do reject me gently if you intend to. i’m afraid my age is catching up to me—i have a weak heart.”

“you’re hardly old,” you snort, watching him suppress a smile as he studies you. “you’re really being serious?”

“do you doubt me?”

“i suppose not,” you whisper. his hand extends to you again, something hopeful in his eyes, something almost desperate as he stares at you and waits for you to finally take it in your grasp.

your hand slowly finds his, fingertips grazing those calluses you’ve noticed for so long, rough and firm under the delicateness of your touch. finally, it hits you he came without gloves on, and you realize it must be for the chance of feeling your skin against his, bare touch with no fabric to separate either of you.

you feel him, taking in the years and years of training that show through such toughened skin, and he watches you carefully as you trace along his palm before flattening your own against him, slowly lacing your fingers together.

“i have found the man who attacked you,” he says quietly, “and i’m ashamed to admit the…unsavory methods i was prepared to take to punish his crimes.”

“i hope you wouldn’t stoop to such levels for me,” you say quietly.

“i fear there isn’t much i wouldn’t resort to for your safety,” he admits.

“i’m hardly worth such trouble,” you shake your head, smiling softly as you reach over and cup his cheek, thumb brushing gently against the mole you’ve always ached to feel. whether from the brush of your lips or from the graze of your thumb, you’ve always wondered how it’d feel. “there are much more worthy women to be the object of your affections, my lord.”

“ayato,” he corrects. it sounds like a plead, if you listen carefully. “and not to me,” he shakes his head. “it’s you i desire. i’m afraid i cannot concentrate on my duties until i have you. the nation shall befall a most unfortunate fate if i must suffer a single night more without having you.”

“i’m starting to think i am the only hope inazuma has left,” you roll your eyes, staring at him in wonder, “it seems it has fallen to me to ensure we have a functioning yashiro commissioner.”

“i do hope you’ll take such responsibilities seriously.” his hand lays over your own, keeping your touch in place as he leans his face into your palm further, closing his eyes and relishing in your touch.

“oh, ayato,” you chuckle breathlessly, eyes watery as you step closer, closing the gap until your chest presses against his. you wonder if he can hear the rapid thrumming of your heart, if he can feel it. “you’ll be the death of me.”

“i should hope not,” he chuckles, leaning closer and closer until his lips hover over yours, just a millimeter away from brushing against them, “i fear for my own sanity should such an ill fate come before you.”

“oh kiss me, you fool,” you scoff tiredly at his antics.

he doesn’t waste a moment, pressing his lips hungrily against yours, hands wandering to your waist and instantly pulling you closer, fitting his palm to cradle the small of your back. he chases your lips frantically when you pull away, a low grunt of disapproval rumbling from his chest before he plants his lips against yours once more. he kisses you like he’s crossed oceans upon oceans to find you, fixed on keeping you not more than a fingertips distance away at all times so that he’ll never lose you again.

and finally—finally, once he’s decided he’s sufficiently stolen the air from your lungs, he allows you to pull back and breathe.

“i’m afraid i can be a rather overbearing lover,” he murmurs against your lips, pecking them lightly. “you’ll hardly be free of me should i desire your company.”

you chuckle, leaning to kiss his mole softly, cradling his face. “i believe i’ll find a way to cope,” you grin.

ayato was fun to write last time, and he was just as fun to write this time and i am realizing i have some real hidden feelings for the man the more i write him. i really enjoy doing his dialogue, though i’m not sure if i do it justice. i sure hope i do 🥹

#writing tag #wriothesley x reader #neuvillette x reader #alhaitham x reader #ayato x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #wriothesley x you #neuvillette x you #alhaitham x you #ayato x you #genshin impact x you #genshin x you #wriothesley fluff #neuvillette fluff #alhaitham fluff #ayato fluff #genshin fluff #genshin impact fluff

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marvelouslizzie · 2 months

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One More Night

Summary: You and Bucky Barnes are fuck buddies for a while. The problem is you have feelings for him but you don't think he reciprocates and it just makes it impossible to continue your relationship. Little did you know how much he wants you and how hard he's trying to keep it casual.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: +18, friends with benefits, idiots in love, unspoken feelings, miscommunication/misunderstandings, angst with happy ending, unprotected sex, pet names, no mention of y/n

Word Count: 3.4K

All work is mine, please do not repost or translate without my permission.

It is one of those days when you feel absolutely worthless. It wasn’t something you felt often before but now…. It is starting to feel like your new normal. You know it’s your fault, and it just makes you feel even worse. You let this happen when you let Bucky Barnes walk into your life without any consequences. Now he just has a free pass to destroy you anytime he wants.

It was supposed to be just fun. Something casual because you know he has no intention of settling down. Especially not with you. Not that he said any of those words but he doesn’t need to. You just know it.

He’s one of the popular guys in your college. It’s not surprising considering how handsome and charming he is. He’s also talented and hard-working. He takes school seriously unlike a lot of people around you. So when it comes to his free time, he just wants to have some fun, no strings attached and you were fine with this arrangement. You wanted to be close to him and this is the price: Your heart breaks every time.

You don’t blame him but you definitely blame yourself because you put yourself in this position. If you weren’t so pathetic, you could simply say no and this regularly hooking-up arrangement of yours would have ended. Yet you never said no and he never stopped coming back to you. Probably because it’s convenient, you can’t come up with any other reason. Like who says no to an easy fuck, right? That is what you are. An easy fuck. Still, it’s breaking your heart every time he leaves your bed. You say to yourself “This is gonna be the last time” but when the next text or call comes, you fold once again.

That’s how you ended up here. Your face is buried in the pillow while Bucky is pounding you from behind. It feels good. Actually, it feels pretty amazing. It always does but this time your emotions are overshadowing the physical pleasure. Tears are streaming down your face and you are grateful that he can’t see it thanks to this position. Then a sob escapes your mouth and you feel betrayed by your own body.

“Does it feel that good, doll?” He sounds smug but you can’t answer him. Not while trying to hold the rest of your sobs back. That seems to worry him. He suddenly stops and when he takes a closer look sees that your eyes are filled with tears.

“Hey, hey, hey! Are you alright?” He sounds genuinely worried. You try to say something but instead, more sobs come out. “What happened? Did I hurt you?”

He didn’t physically hurt you, yet you are hurt. You don’t know how to explain this to him. You feel embarrassed and angry at the same time. You pride yourself on how good you are at hiding your emotions. You don’t want anyone to see you cry. You don’t want anyone’s pity. Yet here you are. Eyes filled with tears, sobs escaping your lips and your heart is shattered.

“Please talk to me!” His desperate tone snaps you out of your thoughts. You try to turn on your back and quickly dry your tears.

“It’s fine. Sorry for killing the mood. I just…” You hesitate for a second but no, you won’t back down this time. “I just can’t do this anymore.”

“That’s fine.” That wasn’t the response you were expecting. “You know it’s okay right?” His worry is so apparent in his voice. “You can always tell me to stop.” What is he talking about? “If you don’t like something or you don’t feel like it anymore… Just tell me next time and I will just stop.”

“There’s no next time Bucky.” The words come out of your mouth before you can process them. You didn’t intend to be so harsh but it came out so definite.

“What?”

“I’m telling you that I can’t do this…” You wave your hand between you two. “...anymore. I’m done. We are done.”

“What…” He sounds shocked and hurt at the same time. You try to avoid looking at his eyes while he struggles to find the right words. “What are you talking about? Did I do something?”

“You didn’t do anything. It’s all my fault.” You have no intention to blame him. You know it’s on you. He never promised you anything.

“I don’t understand.” He sounds so lost. “Just help me understand what happened, okay? I thought everything was okay.”

“They were, for you. It was never okay for me.”

You watch how his expression changes into something that breaks your heart even more. You never thought he would care this much but… apparently, he does. Maybe he’s not used to being rejected. Especially in the middle of sex.

“I… I don’t know what to say.” He looks at your face and then around. “I thought this is what you wanted.”

“What I wanted?” You repeat his words without missing a beat. “I never wanted this. This is what you wanted and that’s why we kept doing it. I was just…” You hesitate for a second because you hate to admit it. “weak.”

“Weak? You are never weak.”

“Oh, I am weak. This is why I kept saying ‘one more night’ to myself whenever you called or texted me. I’m weak as fuck and it makes me angry, okay? I shouldn’t be like this.”

“Doll, what are you talking about?”

His confusion confuses you as well. Can’t he see how much he’s hurting you? Is he really that blind or maybe he just doesn’t care.

“This arrangement might be working for you but it’s not working for me, okay?”

“But… this is what you wanted.”

“I never wanted this.”

“You said we can’t get emotions involved!” He sounds somewhat angry this time.

“Because you didn’t want emotions involved!” Your answer comes instantly.

“When did I ever say that?”

His question makes you stop for a second. He never said that but did he really have to? You know how popular he is. Everybody loves him. He has the prettiest face you have ever seen. You desperately wanted to be with him. You didn’t care how.

“Just look at you.”

“What does that even mean?” Is he doing this on purpose? He surely knows everybody wants him. Why does he have to hear it from you?

“It means you didn’t have to say it.”

“How does… I really don’t understand you.” His confusion is written all over his face. The way he hesitates makes you realize you have to say it out loud to make him understand.

“You are handsome. You are talented. Everybody loves you.” He keeps looking at you with confusion. He really doesn’t get it, does he? “You can have anybody you want!”

“Apparently not.” Why does he sound broken?

“Oh, come on!” Your reaction is instant. “You know you can. Don’t act humble. I’m just easier.”

“Easier?” You don’t miss the disbelief in his voice. “Easier?” This time it comes out more angry. “You were never easy!”

“You know what I mean. An easy fu-”

“Don’t you fucking dare!” The tone of his voice startles you. You never heard him talk like this. “I never wanted just an easy fuck. Especially not with you but that was all I could get!” Your head flinches back slightly. What is he talking about?

“Bucky…” He doesn’t let you continue.

“I don’t know what has gotten into you because this… what you called it? Arrangement, yes, was never my idea! You were the one who didn’t want to involve emotions. You were the one who said anything more than this would affect our friendship. I never said that!”

“I was trying to protect myself!”

“You never showed any interest to me!”

You blink a couple of times, trying to process that information. What did he think you were doing with him?

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You never showed any interest in staying over. You never wanted to do anything outside the bedroom or wherever the fuck we were fucking. Whenever I tried to take you on a date, you came up with a lazy excuse.”

“Uh… what?”

“I tried so many times, sweetheart. You never let me in. You were only interested in sex and now you are blaming me for it. No. Be honest. If you wanna end this thing, it’s fine. You don’t need any lies. I get it. I knew it would happen eventually.” He’s speaking so fast, you can’t even find any opportunity to interrupt him until he stops.

“You tried to take me on dates?” He squishes his eyebrows together like he can’t believe you are focusing on that part.

“Many times. I suggested study dates, tried to take you on that concert, then that one comedy club thing…”

“I thought…” You don’t know how to finish that sentence.

“You thought what? You knew what I was trying to do and you weren’t interested, so I finally gave up.”

“No, no, no.” You jump from your awkward position on the bed. “I never realized.”

“What did you think I was doing?”

“I thought… they were activities with other… people. Not dates.”

“Why would I take other people to a concert with us?” Oh, he really doesn’t get it.

“I thought… you had plans with your friends and… you were… inviting me as well. Just to show… we are nothing more than friends.”

“Oh, dear god.” He covers his face with both of his hands. “Seriously? Why would you even think that?”

You mimic him and cover your face with embarrassment. You don’t want to say it. Especially not to him.

“I… just never thought…” You don’t know how to say it without making him realize how low you think of yourself. “You were interested in anything more than sex.”

“I’m handsome. I’m popular. Everybody loves me. Is that why?” He repeats your words with that god-awful mocking tone and it hurts to hear. What you don’t realize is that he’s making fun of himself.

“Yeah.” Your response comes out so weakly but he hears it.

He starts to laugh all of a sudden and all you can do is give him a confused look.

“God you are so blind.”

“Hey!” You instantly respond.

“Have you ever looked in the mirror?” You make a face but it just spurs him. “You are gorgeous and smart. I always thought you were way out of my league.”

“What?”

“You heard me. You are out of my league.”

“Come on… That’s-” He interrupts you again.

“Please.” The way he says it makes you stop talking. “I have been struggling to come to terms with you not liking me. I just told myself, you have done everything you can. You tried so many times. It’s a miracle she still wants to fuck you. I convinced myself this was all I could get so I tried to make peace with it. Now you are telling me you don’t want to keep doing this. What did you think I was gonna think?”

He just baffles you with every word coming out of his mouth. You look at him, not knowing what to say or what to think, even.

“And you thought you were just an easy fuck? Jesus, doll. Do you have any idea how many times I prepared myself for rejection? Every time I called you, I thought you weren’t gonna pick up. Every time I texted you, I prepared myself to hear ‘no’, and every time it did not come, I was the happiest man on earth because I had one more night with you!”

You don’t know when it started but you start to feel tears filling your eyes.

“Please don’t cry anymore.” He moves his hand on your face and catches a tear before it drops on your cheeks.

“I…” It’s so hard to speak normally. “I never thought…”

“What?” This time it comes out softer. You know he wants to hear it because he needs that assurance as much as you do.

“You would actually like me.”

“Like you? Oh, doll… I don’t like you. The word like doesn’t even cover it.” The smile he gives you ignites something inside you. Something you tried to push down for a long time. Suddenly you push him back a little bit and his mouth falls open but he doesn’t get the chance to say anything. You just sit on his lap, taking him back inside you and it slips right back in so easily. It makes you want to moan out loud but instead, you wrap your legs around his torso and trap him there.

“Oh fuck…” His moan is like music to your ears. It’s so raw and unfiltered.

You don’t say anything. Your hand wraps around his neck before you start to move. His hand quickly finds your breasts, squeezing them a lot harder than he ever did before.

“You are so fucking gorgeous.” He says right next to your ear. You feel his breath on your neck and his lips attach to your neck as if he knows what you want. He starts gently. First, he sucks the skin and makes you whimper. Then his teeth graze the sore skin. When he finally bites the same spot, you realize he was just giving you some time to protest but it never came. His bite pulls a groan out of you and the way it hurts falters your rhythm.

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist.” He licks the same spot, trying to soothe the pain. “There’s a part of me…” He tries to find the right word. “...that wants to mark you. Show the world that you’re mine.” Fuck, is he serious? He stops for another second to ask “Are you mine, doll?” He sounds so nervous yet possessive.

“I am.” You move a little back and look into his eyes while saying that. “I have been for a long time.”

He grabs your cheeks with both of his hands and pulls you in for a long, passionate kiss. It's all tongue and teeth, making you burn with passion.

“I’m yours, too. I think I always have been.”

It’s your turn to show how much those words mean to you. You start to move again on his lap. This time it’s faster than before and it just makes both of you moan loudly. He wraps his arms around your body while he supports your movement by grabbing your ass and moving you a bit faster than before.

“Shit!” It feels good but it also restricts your range of movement and he realizes it quickly.

“Sorry. I just want to feel you all over me.”

You want to say it’s alright but he’s a lot faster than you. Suddenly you find yourself on your back. Bucky’s still between your legs. He never left inside you while changing the position.

“Wrap your legs around me, baby.”

God, the way he says it sounds like a soft order. You can practically feel the desire running through your veins. Your legs are automatically wrapped around his ass while he starts to move but he doesn’t put any distance between you. His whole body is pressed against yours while he’s kissing and licking all over your neck.

Sex with Bucky never felt like this. It was always good. You don’t remember any occasion you didn’t enjoy it or reach orgasm. Yet this feels like real intimacy. The way he’s making you feel is indescribable. You can feel everything he said before while he moves inside you. How much he wants you, how much he adores you… The way he clings to you fills you with love. All of it enhances the physical pleasure. Loud moans escape your lips.

“So… All this time…” Bucky starts to talk. “You thought I was here because this is easy.”

Ah, fuck. He isn’t gonna let that go, is he? You should’ve known that. You roll your eyes in response but he doesn’t see it. His head is still buried in the crook of your neck.

“All this time… I was where I wanted to be.” Your annoyance quickly fades away as he keeps talking. “Underneath your body.”

“You weren’t always underneath me.” You answer him with a playful tone.

“As long as I’m inside you, the position doesn’t matter.”

“So…” You try to ask as quickly as possible before your sudden courage disappears. “You haven’t been sleeping around with anyone else.”

He raises his head just to look into your eyes.

“All this time, you thought I was fucking other people?”

“I mean…” You were just friends with benefits. What else you were supposed to assume?

“Were you?”

“Was I what?”

“Fucking other people?” His question is a lot more blunt than yours.

“I asked first!” You sound so defensive all of a sudden.

“I can’t live without touching you, smelling you, feeling you… I have been craving you non-stop, only stopping myself from calling you every day, just so I wouldn’t scare you away and you are asking me if I have been fucking other people. Jesus Christ, doll. How blind are you?”

You are questioning the same thing yourself, to be honest. How blind were you? While trying to surpass your feelings, you were overlooking his, as well. It’s just unbelievable.

“Doll?” You didn’t realize you were lost in thoughts. “It’s fine if you have been.” It doesn’t sound fine at all. It sounds like he’s trying to rationalize it so it would hurt less. “I’m not saying I won’t be jealous but it’s not like we were actually together.”

You start to laugh and he gives you a strange look.

“You are such an idiot and you call me blind.”

“What?”

“I only ever wanted you, you moron.”

His smile is so big and bright, it’s worth everything you two went through. His happiness is practically radiating. Suddenly, his lips are on yours, kissing you like a madman.

“You’re only mine.” He starts to move inside you again and you can feel how close you are to coming.

“Only yours.” Your words make him groan loudly.

“Fuck that mouth of yours. You’re gonna make me come before you.”

“You can do that later.” You tease him while moving your hips to meet him.

“Is that a promise?”

��It can be. Only if you fuck me just a little harder so I can finally come!”

That makes him move away from you. He stands up and without losing any time, pulls you on the edge of the bed. You know what’s coming and it makes you smile like a fool. He positions himself between your legs while pushing your knees on your chest. In a couple of seconds, he’s back inside you but the position feels so much better this time. A loud moan leaves your lips every time he hits that sweet spot inside you.

“Harder, huh?”

“Yeah. Just like that.” It’s so hard to not roll your eyes with the pleasure he’s giving you. It’s familiar yet it feels so different this time.

“My girl wants it rough. Why didn’t you just say so?” He sounds cocky there’s also a hint of eagerness in his voice. You can tell he’s close.

“Do I have to tell you everything?”

“From now on, yes. You have to tell me everything.” That authoritative tone pushes you over the edge. “Every fucking thing you feel, okay? Every fucking thing you want. I wanna know everything!”

“Yes!” You practically scream. You don’t know if you are answering him or just screaming because of the way he makes you feel. Your legs are shaking violently while your whole body tightens up. “Fuck yes. Please, please, please, don’t stop!” Your eyes are closed while you are riding your high.

That makes him groan so loudly. Even though you can’t directly look at his face anymore, you just know he’s about to come. He starts to pound on you so forcefully, it just unlocks another level of orgasm for you. Both of your moans fill the room and he keeps going until he empties himself inside you. After what feels like an eternity, he pulls out of you and lays right next to you.

“Fuck, that was…” The struggles to find the right word.

“On another level?” You offer to end the sentence for him. That’s exactly how you feel.

“Yeah.” He doesn’t miss a beat. “We should’ve talked to each other before.”

“We were busy doing other stuff.” You smile and he smiles back, knowing exactly what you mean.

“I guess we did everything other than talking things through, huh?”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes one shot #sebastian stan #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky x reader #bucky x you #my stories #college bucky barnes #college bucky barnes x reader

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dramaticals · 4 months

Text

did you hear what i said?

pairing: theodore nott x gryffindor reader

summary: after a year of secretly dating, theo breaks things off when classes start up again. it's now christmas eve and he's back with a figurative box of regret / requested by anonymous.

author's note: angst! there will be a part two with fluff, but i just needed to get this out since i've been writing this for too long. (please) feel free to leave angsty requests in my inbox because this is the genre that gets my gears going! but i make no promises on resolutions and happy endings ♡

"You look happier."

Theodore stands in front of the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, his hands shoved into his pockets. His presence garners murmurs all around, even though the Great Hall was emptier than usual for the holidays. The sight of him makes your breath catch. It's been three months since you last spoke to him, but the memory of that night resurfaces, ripping open the wound on your healing heart.

It was back in September.

Theo had passed you a note in Potions, asking you to meet him in the Astronomy Tower after dark. It wasn't a peculiar ask, so you didn't think much of it at the time. The Astronomy Tower had become your and Theo's spot. A quiet place for the two of you to just exist—no interruptions and no expectations from the outside world. Your house rivalry was nothing in that tower. It was just you and Theo.

The two of you would spend hours hiding there, often cuddled on top of a lush blanket you had hidden nearby. You'd talk about anything and everything with him, from learning about each other's likes and dislikes to venting about classes and classmates. On nights where the two of you favoured serenity, it was never unpleasant. You'd embrace the quiet, exchanging sweet kisses all the while enjoying the comfort and protection of his arms.

That night in September was different, though. You sensed it the minute you ascended the steps to see Theo standing stiffly by the railing, his gaze concentrating on a bird on the horizon.

Theo didn't even turn to face you—acknowledge you—before he was muttering the words that shattered your heart into pieces.

"I'm over this." Theo said, his tone void of any emotion. His hand clutched onto the railing so tightly that his knuckles were pale.

Stunned silence fell over you. You just looked at him with a puzzled expression.

"Did you hear what I said?" Theo turned to you then, and you could see the pained expression on his features. But then something shifted, and his expression turned cold. "I'm breaking up with you."

His words on their own were harsh, but the inflection on each syllable felt like he was personally twisting a serrated knife into your heart.

"I don't understand." You said. "Why? What did I—"

"I feel like you're getting attached, and I think we've run our course." Theo interrupted. His eyes, the ones you became so accustomed to, were dark and flooded with an expression even you weren't familiar with. Theo scoffed. "You didn't actually think we'd last, did you?"

Maybe it was the naive and hopeless romantic in you, but you truly believed you would. House rivalries, judgemental friends, and family expectations were merely obstacles the two of you would deal with together. You just felt so strongly about him, and you were certain he felt the same about you.

"Did you hear what I said?" The Theodore standing in front of you jerks you back to the present.

You blink, and you nearly drop your fork.

"I heard you," you say firmly, returning your attention back to the half-eaten plate in front of you. You make yourself look busy and uncaring (as much as you could with food and a full stomach), as if Theodore's sudden presence had no effect on you.

Theodore shifts in his spot, his eyes darting to the empty seat in front of you, silently contemplating whether he should take it or cut his losses and leave. Reluctantly, he settles on the former. This makes you tense, your lips pursing as he sits. It doesn't help that you were highly attentive to the whispers; your classmates were surely speculating why Theodore Nott would be choosing the company of a muggle-born on Christmas Eve. You put down your fork, bring your gaze to his, and let out an exhausted breath.

"Nott, what do you want?"

Hearing his last name from you makes his jaw clench. It was cold and formal, stripped of any history you two shared.

"Just wanted to know if you were as happy as you looked."

"You have no right to that type of information anymore."

"Humour me."

You glare at him. Theodore looks back at you with such shy tenderness that your gaze softens slightly.

Am I happy? you think.

Some days, sure. But most days, you find yourself wandering back to that dreadful night in September. Even after all these months, you still wonder if you had just said something different or fought back instead of taking it, maybe you and Theo would still be together.

It was why Ginny, the only poor soul who was aware of your relationship with Theo, had set you up with Michael Corner, a cute Ravenclaw boy in your year. He was smart, funny, and occasionally sweet, but he wasn't Theodore Nott.

Still, you persisted. You allowed yourself to indulge in the idea of being with Michael because the brooding Slytherin boy who had your heart had made his choice. You went on a few dates with Michael; he'd walk you to class, sit with you during Quidditch matches, and sometimes—when he was feeling courageous—he'd plant a kiss on your lips in the middle of the bustling corridor.

"I am." You lie, and you bite down on the insides of your cheeks. What good would it do to admit you weren't, especially to the cause of your turmoil?

Theodore watches you, practically analyzing your features. He doesn't have to say anything for you to know he didn't believe you, and you hated that—hated him, for having been so attentive to you that your tells were obvious.

"You are?" Theodore questions.

"That's what I said, didn't I?"

"I think you and I have a habit of saying things we don't mean."

His careful words and wistful gaze make you flush with embarrassment and anger. To this day, you still weren't sure why Theo had broken things off with you, and it was something that had kept you up countless nights. Through gritted teeth and cheeks stinging with remembered hurt, you say, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Theodore starts, his eyes flickering around to ensure no one was listening in. While a few lingering glances were sent your way, everyone was spread out far enough that it'd be hard to eavesdrop. He drops his voice anyway. "I shouldn't have said what I did that night. I didn't mean it. I don't mean it."

The anger bubbling in the pit of your stomach erupts, your eyes blazing. "Is this some sick game to you? It's been three months, Theodore. I spent three months crying over you and wondering what the hell I did to you to be so bloody cruel. And now when I'm finally ready to move on from you, you come back to tell me you... you didn't mean it?" The last words leave a dirty, salty taste in your mouth.

"No, no," Theodore shakes his head, swallowing thickly as you recounted the months of hell. He hadn't been doing any better either, but Theo was generally good at hiding his afflictions. Numbing the pain with weed and alcohol were among his favourite remedies. "It's not a game. It was never a game. You should know me well enough to know that I would never mean any of the things I said."

"Know you?" You almost laugh. You had replayed the breakup and the weeks leading up to it in your mind countless times, trying to make sense of the bullshit non-reason he had given when he broke up with you but nothing made sense. The whole thing made you spiral, questioning everything that had ever happened between you two. "I'm actually convinced I never really knew you, because the guy I knew would never have done that to me."

Having had enough of the conversation, you get up, leaving your half-eaten plate and a pained Theodore at the Gryffindor table. You're almost past the door of the Great Hall when Theo, as a last-ditch effort, grabs a hold of your wrist, hauling you to a stop. You let out a small huff and turn to face him.

"Meet me in the Astronomy Tower after dark." Theodore says softly, almost pleadingly. He makes a conscious effort to ignore all the prying eyes that turned.

"Because that worked out so well for me last time."

"Just—please. If you want to continue never speaking to each other again after that, then fine. But at least let me explain."

You had every intention of ignoring Theodore’s request. He didn’t deserve a chance to explain—the statute of limitations for explaining ended months ago. And yet, you found yourself sneaking out of the Gryffindor common room and up to the Astronomy Tower, inebriated by the countless what-ifs and string of memories: Theo sneaking a kiss on your lips as everyone turned to view whatever Hagrid had for Care of Magical Creatures, Theo resting his hand on your thigh during potions, Theo winking at you as you watched him play Quidditch.

“You’re here.” Theodore says, just as you reach the top of the staircase. He was sitting by the railing.

“I am,” you say as you walk toward him reluctantly. You settle next to him.

Theodore looks at you, and it looks like he’s about to say something, but then he shuts his eyes, shakes his head, and sighs.

You’ve never seen him at a loss for words. He was intentionally silent, sure, but his quick wit never failed him.

“I’ve regretted that night every day, you know.” He speaks up, his solemn eyes trained on yours. “I replay it over and over.”

Theodore’s gaze is unrelenting, brimming with seriousness and a vulnerability that you haven’t seen before. You tear your gaze away from his because the more he talks and looks at you like this, the more you find it hard to breathe.

“Then why do it? Why say those things?” You manage to ask.

Theodore’s jaw clenches. “Lesser of two evils.”

When you look at him with a confused expression, he continues, “It was better to lose you on those terms than to lose you completely.”

Silence falls on both of you, filling the space like a thick fog.

“I lost my mom when I was seven.” Theodore explains, his eyes darkening. “A freak accident.”

Out of the year you and Theo dated in secret, he had rarely mentioned his mom. And if he did, it was small tidbits—precious memories. Regardless of how small and insignificant the memory would seem to others, you gathered how important Theo’s mom was to him. Underneath Theo’s stoic expressions and calculating demeanour was a softness to Theo that could only be accredited to his mom.

“She got caught in the crossfire between some death eaters.” Theodore says, his expression pained. He drops his gaze now, but you keep your eyes on him. There’s a mixture of grief and anger that flashes across his features, and it takes everything in you to hold yourself back from reaching for him. To comfort him.

“It took me years to get over it. I don’t even think I am yet—I’m still angry at my father for allowing this shit into our lives and for continuing to do it.” Theodore says, letting out an exasperated breath. You knew what everyone else knew about Theo’s father—he was a blood purist, rumoured to be loyal to you-know-who. He’d hate you the moment he’d find out you were muggle-born.

Theo meets your gaze now, and it’s your turn to feel winded. It was like you were looking at your Theo again. The sweet, sarcastic, pain-in-your-ass-but-in-a-good-way Theo. “I lost my mom, who meant the world to me, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to handle it if I lost you too. So I pushed you away. I figured it was best to cut our losses before I pulled you into something you had no reason being in. Before I lost you permanently.”

“What’s changed?” You ask, shaking your head. His words were hard to process, but the pieces of the last few months were beginning to click into place. “I’m still me, and last I heard, your dad was still your dad.”

“I realized that, in a way, I was kind of like my dad.”

“What?”

“I mean,” Theo says. “My dad never gave any of us a choice. Not me, and not my mom. We always had to go along with him and deal with the consequences of his actions. I took a choice away from you, and you just had to deal with it. I don’t want to do that anymore. I still think I did it for the right reasons, but I regret it. I want to be with you. I should have told you what I was worried about—told you about the risks of being with me, so we could make a decision together.”

Together.

That’s all you wanted. You were more than willing to have dealt with any obstacle that was thrown your way, so long as you had Theo by your side.

But that was three months ago. And while his words brought goosebumps, butterflies, and heart palpitations, they also brought a slew of conflicting feelings. You understood why he broke things off now, and although his reasoning was well-intended, it didn’t excuse the fact that you had spent the last three months in a state of despair and heartbreak. You didn’t eat as much, your grades dropped, and you couldn’t even look at him until recently in fear of tears and the overwhelming rush of memories.

“So?”

“Theo,” you say softly. Your eyes search his face.

There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips at the sound of his name. Not Theodore, not Nott. Theo.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

He exhales sharply at your response, and his expression shifts as he turns to face the horizon. He wanted you to say it was worth the risk and that you wanted to be with him as much as he did. He wanted you to forgive him for what he did to you. “It’s fine.”

“No—I just... I need to think.” You say quickly. Your heart was screaming for him, but your brain was weary. And if the past three months taught you anything, it was that you needed to act with your brain and not your heart. “I just need time. This was a lot to process.”

“Right, of course.” Theo says with a curt nod. He turns to you again, offering a weak smile. It was his heart’s turn to break. “Well, thanks for coming tonight and letting me explain. I guess, just let me know.”

You watch him stand, brush the dirt off his robes, and turn away. Just as he reaches the staircase back down, he looks back at you. Your eyes catch his gorgeous arctic eyes, your cheeks burning and your heart racing.

"Merry Christmas, by the way." Theo says before he descends down the stairs.

#theodore nott #theo nott #harry potter imagine #slytherin x reader #theodore nott x you #theo nott x you #theodore nott fanfiction #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott x reader #theo nott x reader #theo nott x y/n #theodore nott x y/n #slytherin boys #theo nott imagine #*writing

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dreaming-medium · 1 month

Text

No Contact

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader

Word Count: 7.6k

Tags: ANGST with a happy ending, amnesia, memory loss, grief, pining, yearning, hurt/comfort

Summary: It was one of the worst car accidents the city has seen. You weren't supposed to be in that car, but you were. When you lose your memories from the incident, Chan is ordered to stay away for your recovery's sake; but it takes a larger toll on him than anyone could have imagined. Until one day, he just can't take it anymore.

A/N: inspired by this post. Angst ahoy <3 I had too much fun writing this. Maybe I like writing emotions. Enjoy <3

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No contact. That’s what Chan was told was best for you. That’s what was going to help your healing process.

No contact whatsoever. No texts, no calls, no little surprise visits. No fucking contact. None.

He was told it would just hurt you if he talked to you— that he would just make it worse. That you would only become more confused and upset. It would be absolutely detrimental for him to see you.

Hell, it might even make you worse.

It’s killing Chan slowly. Every single day feels like torture for him. The days get exponentially worse. He feels like a hollow shell of his former self, like the wind goes through him when he steps foot outside. It feels like his shoulders are permanently sagged forward.

But the worst part is that you don’t even know it. You don’t know how he’s collapsing inwards like a dying star.

It was one of the worst car accidents the city has seen in years. A friend was driving you home that night; Chan had begged to be the one to pick you up, but no, you said it was fine, the friend was heading that way anyway. Why make the unnecessary trip?

You told him he needed sleep. Always putting his needs before your own. You always did.

He should’ve put up more of a fuss. He should’ve put his foot down. He should’ve already been outside the house in his car with the passenger seat warmer on by the time you left that stupid party.

He should’ve gotten out of the car and opened the door for you and had a cold bottle of water waiting in the cup holder. He should’ve kissed you on the cheek and asked you all about your time. He should have been there.

But he wasn’t.

A drunk driver slammed into the passenger side of your friend’s car at a speed that you shouldn’t have even survived.

Miracles do happen, though. But what a price to pay for a miracle.

For as long as he lives, Chan will never forget the sheer panic and terror he felt when the call came in from your mother. You were already at the hospital undergoing emergency surgery.

He was the last to know.

After all, he wasn’t your emergency contact. He’s only your boyfriend.

Was. Was your boyfriend. Was? Is that the right word? He isn’t. But he is. There was no breakup.

Is that what he’s going through right now? A breakup?

You’re not on a break. But what is this? What is this loss? This severance is so horrible.

It’s fucked up. It’s a fucked up, amnesia induced breakup.

Memory loss is a funny thing. Doctors scratch their heads and shrug their shoulders without any answers. The brain is a tricky thing.

Chan did what he was allowed to in that hospital. He sat in that stark white room under those harsh LED lights and he waited until you were awake. He even waited much longer after that because only two visitors were permitted inside your room at a time— and he wasn’t about to force his way in and kick one of your parents out.

He let your sister go in first. He even let your cousin go in before him. But when it was finally his turn…

He never got to see you.

“The last five years?” Chan asked with a tight throat. Did he even have any more tears left to cry? How is there any liquid left in his body?

“She says doesn’t remember anything, Chan.” Your mother’s voice was just as hollow as his. “She was asking about her freshman roommate.”

A doctor stood in between him and your mom. “It’s best if we don’t throw everything at her at once. Amnesia victims rarely never get their memories back, but we’ve found that it needs to happen organically. Seeing her will overwhelm her and that could stunt the healing process.”

Chan’s mouth opened and closed several times but no words came out at all. His heart may have stopped.

Does that mean…?

No…

“He can’t see her at all?” Your mother asked quietly. “Not even to visit? He doesn’t have to mention he’s her boyfriend, he can just say that he’s a friend, or a coworker, or—“

The doctor cut her off. “No contact. Not until we’re a bit through recovery and she’s starting to get her memories back.”

Chan was suddenly in a chair.

When did he sit down? The Doctor’s hands were on his shoulders and he was looking down at him with a sympathetic stare.

“It’s not forever, son.”

Chan was only able to nod. His mouth was so dry, the back of his neck felt clammy. His head was spinning.

Books often speak of moments as ‘Earth-shattering’. Of moments so catastrophic that the planet stops spinning on its axis and time stands still.

He gets it now.

The doctor spoke a few more words to your mother before walking away. She looked down at Chan sadly.

Your mother sat on the chair next to him and wrapped him up in a hug. His world was falling apart around him. You were slipping through his fingers. He couldn’t even see you.

Hot tears poured down his face while he sat there with his head in his hands. Why does it feel like he’s losing you? Why is this the only way? Why are these the cards that are being dealt?

Why didn’t he pick you up from that fucking party?

“She loves you, Chan… she’ll come to her senses, I promise, I promise.”

It’s been two months, one week, two days and eight hours since he’s talked to you. That long since he’s known peace. Since he’s known any sort of comfort.

You’re the last thing he thinks about before he closes his eyes at night and the first thing he thinks about in the morning. No matter how many times he wakes up and feels the cold bed next to him, it never dulls the ache in his chest.

It’s not a healthy mindset, he knows. And it’s not that you were codependent on one another, that’s not it at all. You were just… ripped away from him.

Food has no taste. The sky isn’t as blue as it used to be. Clouds don’t make fun shapes like they did with you by his side. The stars are still in the sky, he thinks, he hasn’t had the guts to look at them.

God, you love the stars so much. You always talked about how pretty they are— how absolutely breath-taking you think the universe is. Chan would simply listen, he would always listen. All he ever wanted to do was listen.

How is he supposed to look at anything the same way? How is any day supposed to be normal when half of his life is suddenly missing. What’s the point of making music if you’re not there to listen to it?

5:00 PM is the hardest hour to get through. You don’t open the door to his apartment when you get off work. You don’t tell him about the things that happened during your shift.

He can’t leave little snacks out on the counter for you to eat when you get home like he used to.

Mice would get to it before you did.

His lonely apartment is slowly losing your smell. He could spray your perfume, sure, you keep a bottle at his place, but it’s not the same. You somehow made the scent sweeter by letting it linger on your skin.

All of your old toiletries are still there where you left them. Your spare toothbrush has been bone dry and untouched since 9:28 AM that morning. Your shampoo bottles are still half full and waiting for you on your shower shelf.

It had rained a few days before your accident. You had started a puzzle on his dining room table that day– you told him it was the perfect rainy day activity. It was a picture of different comic book covers. It’s now collecting dust. Unmoved and unsolved.

Just like him.

It was a battle and a half to throw away your leftovers from two nights before your car accident. He felt like he was throwing away your normal life, your tiny domestic traces.

He didn’t want to cleanse you from his life, but you were washing away. Your ghost was eroding with time.

Your spare car keys are still hanging on the key ring. Your rain coat is on the third hook draped right over your work bag. Even your phone charger is still plugged into the wall on your side of the bed.

Did you know you forgot to put your favorite gold earrings on that night? You left them on the nightstand. They’re still there, don’t worry. Right next to the glass of water you drank half of.

Do you even remember them…? He got them for you for your first Christmas together.

There are so many signs of a life interrupted integrated so deeply into his.

You’re a clock whose hands stopped suddenly at 1:24 AM.

This sort of haunting is unbearable. You’re not a phantom in his life, though. You’re something so unattainable that he had once but it was taken away with empty promises of return.

It’s like you’re a shiny diamond hidden away beneath lasers and traps like in those stupid, cheesy spy movies you love so much.

Do you know what he would give to watch one of those with you in his arms right now?

Chan feels like he’s banging on the glass of a one sided window, screaming for you to remember him. Meanwhile you’re on the other side only staring into a mirror, trying to pick up the pieces from before.

Your mom sends him updates on your condition all the time. He knows that you started working at the local library about three weeks ago.

You had worked there in college before graduating and getting your last job. It was one of your favorite jobs you ever had. That library was so special to you.

To him too.

It’s the library where he first met you.

The same library Chan finds himself in front of now.

He shouldn’t go in. He can’t go in. He absolutely should not go inside.

Bang Chan you should not and cannot go inside this library. Under no circumstances should you step foot inside this building where your other half is working.

Absolutely not.

The door emits a soft ding when he opens it. Electronic. Quiet. Peaceful.

There’s a certain type of silence that sits in a library. It’s closer, thicker— warmer. It’s an expected silence. They’re supposed to be quiet.

Chan can hear his sneakers take every step on the carpeted floor. There’s no one sitting behind the front desk; that’s where you usually were.

His eyes look all around, but there’s no sign of you anywhere. A few people toddle around the shelves.

There’s more soft beeping coming from the self checkout. That’s new. They didn’t have that when you worked here years ago. You probably hate it.

On the day he met you, you were wearing a pair of dark green pants and a black long sleeve shirt. Your hair was clipped behind your head and pieces were falling over your face.

Chan was only in the library to look for the bathroom. He was on his way to lunch with a friend, but he just had to stop somewhere. The library was the closest option.

When he had heard the sound of books falling, he investigated and found you in the center of the carnage, the glasses on your nose sat crookedly and you rubbed your head.

Your eyes met. He was a goner.

How disgustingly poetic that he finds himself here now. Where he really shouldn’t be. He was quite literally prescribed a restraining order against you.

Chan meanders around with his hands in his pockets, the silence getting louder and louder the further he gets inside.

Maybe you’re not working today?

No one is anywhere to be seen. He’s checking down all the aisles but he doesn’t see you anywhere.

Maybe it’s for the best that you’re not here. He’s not supposed to see you anyway. He’s breaking the doctor’s rules by doing this anyway.

He needs to leave. He needs to get out of here.

His feet stop in front of the very aisle where he saw you for the first time.

Empty.

You-less.

If he thinks hard enough, Chan can picture you in front of him, laughing quietly with the most adorable, embarrassed blush on your cheeks.

What a moment.

Is it possible to spend eternity in that moment? Obviously internal clocks can be rewound, paused, flipped every which way; can he go back to that day? Can he go back to the day where every single poem suddenly made sense?

He would take any day, really, any day that had you in it. Birthdays, holidays, late night dates, Hell, he’d even take a day where he only saw you when you dropped off a drink for him in his studio.

Anything, he would take anything just to see your smile bloom on your face while he watches.

“Can I help you find something?”

His breath catches in his throat, it feels like he’s physically punched in the chest. That voice. That beautiful, melodic voice. He hasn’t heard it in person in months, only in videos he had on his phone.

Slowly, Chan turns to face the source of his favorite pitch.

His throat immediately tightens.

There you are. You. Beautiful you.

Standing right there. Looking at him like a complete fucking stranger.

“I…” his voice is hoarse. Chan can feel the tears in his eyes begin to form. He didn’t think this through, did he?

You’re staring at him expectantly, waiting for him to say anything. You’re waiting, come on, Chan. Speak up. Say something.

Looking up at the shelf, you look back down at him with a smile. “A history guy, hm?”

No.

“Yeah.”

You giggle. “I always had a thing for History.”

He knows.

“Really?”

“Mhmm.” You respond with a grin.

Specifically Ancient Rome. He knows.

You continue. “Specifically Ancient Rome.”

Chan nods and clears his throat. His palms feel so sweaty. His chest is almost panting. Every single cell in his body just wants to lunge forward and wrap you in a hug.

He wants to bury his face in your neck and sob while you hold him. He wants to tell you that he missed you so much. He wants to tell you how your pillow is losing the scent of your shampoo. He wants to tell you that he’s been DVR-ing your favorite show so that you can watch it later. He wants to tell you about his day. He wants to kiss you until you’re breathless. He wants you to hear the new song he’s been working on.

But—

“If you need anything, let me know.”

You start to walk away.

Chan feels his heart physically break. It’s happening again. He’s on the other side of that one way mirror. It’s happening again! No, no please.

His eyes widen, the words get caught in his throat. Fuck, Y/N, please!

“W-Wait!” he says quickly.

You turn around with a curious look.

“The Odyssey,” he blurts. “Where uh… where can I find it?”

Your eyes light up. “Oh, I love The Odyssey.”

He knows. You collect different translations of it.

“I collect different translations of that book, here I’ll show you where it is.”

With a little hop in your step you lead him towards all the classics.

He watches you like you’re an oasis in the desert— maybe it’s because you are. You’re what he’s been crawling towards for two months.

You lead him all the way to the shelf where the Odyssey lives. Your nimble fingers reach forward and grab one of the copies.

Green nail polish. You still paint your nails green. You picked that habit up a year after he met you.

The memories have to be there, Y/N, they have to be. Chan bought you that first bottle of green nail polish as a joke on Saint Patrick’s Day.

Y/N, please.

“This translation is my favorite,” you whisper and hand him the book.

Chan smiles sadly and takes the book from you, unable to meet your eyes. He knows if he gazes into those gorgeous eyes that he’ll lose it. He’ll fall to his knees and cry.

“Thank you,” he whispers back.

You stand there for a moment, he can feel your eyes on his face. He always has been able to tell when you were looking at him, it’s a little, secret superpower.

From foot to foot, your weight shifts.

You only do that when you’re confused. Why are you confused? Y/N, are you confused?

“I’m sorry…” you start, sounding so unsure. “You remind me of someone…”

It feels like a defibrillator was hooked up to his chest. Chan’s eyes widen and he finally looks up at you.

You’re looking at him so carefully. He can see the gears turning in your head. Your tongue pokes out of your lips and wets them.

Y/N, please.

“I just… I can’t figure out who. Do I… do I know you? I was—” You stop yourself.

Fuck. Fuck! What was he supposed to say? Fuck!

Chan wants to scream. He wants to grab you by the shoulders and cry that he’s your soulmate, that he’s the person that knows you better than anyone else in this world.

Yes, you do, you do know him. And he knows you. He knows how you take your coffee, what movies make you cry, what color jell-o is your favorite.

He knows that you never wear matching socks and you always lift your feet when driving over railroad tracks.

He knows that when you were 6 you ran into the corner of a cabinet and that’s how you got that scar next to your eyebrow.

Chan knows that your entire life you wanted to be an author but you’re so scared of failure that you decided not to chase after it.

He knows everything.

“I just have one of those faces, I guess.” It comes out of his mouth so strained.

You stare back at him so carefully. Do you see right through him?

“Maybe,” you say slowly. You don’t believe him. He knows that tone. You absolutely do not believe a word he’s saying. “Are you sure?”

Chan swallows, he grips the book in his hand tighter. The lump in his throat almost doesn’t go down, more tears prick at his eyes.

“I would never forget a face like yours,” he chokes out.

Your eyes widen and you blush, looking to the side with a smile. You always were a sucker for cheesy compliments.

After thinking for a second, you reach into your pocket and take out a little slip of paper.

“Here,” you say after scribbling something down. Holding it out, Chan sees it’s your phone number. He has it memorized. “If you ever need more books to read… or find… call me.”

Chan takes the paper with a racing heart. He gives you a smile, his dimples showing. “I think I will,” he whispers to you.

Another few moments pass of you just staring at him before you nod and giggle nervously. “Well, I gotta get back to work, so..”

Chan nods and moves to the side. You walk past him.

Your perfume curls around him like a blanket and he craves that sweet serenity he finds when he holds you close and breathes you in.

Three steps after you pass him, you turn around. “Oh, I didn’t catch your name.”.

“Chan,” he answers softly.

“Chan,” you repeat. It goes right through him.

Your voice. Your sweet, beautiful, melodic voice. Finally, he heard you say his name again.

“I’m Y/N,” you whisper to him with a friendly smile.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” Chan has to physically force the word ‘meet’ out of his mouth.

“You too, Chan.”

And with that, you were gone, retreating back into your fortress of papyrus.

—————————————————————

A bad idea was going into the library that day.

An even worse idea was texting you the day after to ask how your day is going.

And then an absolutely fucking idiotic move was asking if you wanted to go to dinner with him.

And the worst part? You said yes.

So, now here Chan was, standing in front of the mirror in his bedroom getting ready for what you thought was a first date, but to him was just a dinner date.

How is he supposed to do this? He’s not, that’s how.

Chan fiddles with his bracelet right before his phone rings.

His heart drops when he sees the caller ID, your mother.

“Ah, fuck…” he whispers before grabbing his phone. Of course you were going to tell your mom, you tell your mom everything.

“Hello?” he asks warily into the phone.

“Hi, Chan,” she says slowly, she sounds nervous, why does she sound nervous.

“How are you? Is everything okay?”

“It’s Y/N…” Her voice lowers. Chan’s heart drops. “Before you panic, she’s okay! It’s um.. she’s getting ready right now… for a date…”

Chan isn’t moving. Yes, he knows you are. He knows it. But words won’t form in his mouth.

“Channie.. I’m starting to wonder if that doctor isn’t right.. I can’t stand the thought of her finding someone else when you’re waiting for her… I tried to talk her out of it but she just seems so floaty and happy. God, I feel sick to my stomach.”

His jaw clenches. Now or never.

“It’s with me,” he blurts.

Your mom goes silent. Then a huge sigh comes out of her mouth.

“I wish I could say I’m angry,” a little laugh follows it. “I think I’m only angry that you didn’t say something.”

He tells her everything, down to the way he pretended not to know you.

“Well, you’re going to have to tell her eventually.” Your mom sounds unsure, herself.

“Or maybe she’ll remember me.”

“What if she doesn’t?”

Chan sits down on the edge of his bed. His eyes are staring at the wall, unfocused.

She’s right. What if you don’t?

“Then, I’ll just … do it all again.”

Silence greets him on the other side of the line. Another tiny laugh comes from your mom. “I always knew you two were perfect together. Just like two magnets, you always come towards one another.”

—————————————————————

“I’ve never eaten here before,” you say with a chipper smile on your face from across the table.

Yes, you have.

“Really?” Chan asks, taking a sip of his water.

“I pass it all the time and always wondered how the food was.”

He looks back down at the old menu.

This restaurant was more than special to him. It’s where he took you on your first date. It’s an old fashioned burger joint with the greasiest, most delicious French fries in town.

The first time you guys came here, you talked and talked until the place closed. And even after that, you drove around and talked until it was late.

“I’ve been here a few times, it’s really good. The milkshakes are some of the best I’ve ever had.” Chan’s sweaty hands fiddle with the menu.

He’s more nervous now than on the first date.

“What’s the best one?” you ask with a smile.

A small laugh comes out of his nose. “The peanut butter one.”

It was your favorite.

“Yeah but then you can’t have any,” you say so nonchalantly, looking down at the menu.

His eyebrows knit together. “What?”

“‘Cause of your allergy.”

He stops.

You stop.

He has a peanut allergy. Chan has a peanut allergy.

His lips purse like he’s going to say something but you beat him to the punch.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out. “I… I don’t know why I thought that.” Your hands grip the menu a little tighter. “Maybe I’m thinking of someone else?”

Chan shakes his head. “No, no, it’s okay. I… I do have a peanut allergy. Maybe I said something before?”

You stare at him for a long second before looking back down at the menu once more. “Yeah… um. Maybe.”

He definitely did not say something.

Dinner continues on. Chan listens to you talk and pretends he’s never heard your stories before and he tells you ones he knows he’s said before.

The entire time, you were beaming at him, just like you used to before the accident. Your face never loses its constant happy glow. He’s not sure that the muscles in your face know how to frown.

You’re the last two people in the restaurant. The staff doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe they recognize you both. Maybe.

A lull dips into your conversation. Both of you know you should leave. Neither wants to. Especially the broken man sitting across from you.

Chan takes the last sip of his drink. The bill has been paid for about an hour at this point. You’re looking down at your lap with a pink flush on your cheeks.

You bite your lip and look up at Chan carefully.

“Are you… are you sure I don’t know you, Chan?”

He stares at you. Did you know that you always bite your lip like that when you’re confused?

“I just… I really feel like I know you. There’s just…” you pause, trying to find your words. He knows you want to tell him about the accident. He knows you want to say it but you don’t want to weird him out.

What the fuck is he supposed to do? What is he supposed to tell you?

“Something happened to me a little while ago, my brain’s been… fuzzy since then,” you explain shyly. “I know you said you don’t know me but I just… I can’t help feel like that’s not true.”

Chan’s jaw clenches, his knee bounces anxiously underneath the table. His head turns to the side in his typical nervous tick.

Your mother’s words echo in his mind, his tongue suddenly feels like it’s swelling to the size of his mouth— making him unable to speak. Should he tell you? Is it now or never?

“I don’t mean to make it weird, Chan.”

He licks his lips and opens his mouth.

Your phone rings.

A sigh of relief comes from deep within Chan’s chest.

Reluctantly, you pick up the phone and hold it to your ear. “Hello? …. No, I didn’t know…. Yeah, of course…. Sure… Yeah, see you tomorrow.”

Just as quickly as you answered the phone, you hang up.

“Sorry,” you mumble. “Someone called out of work for tomorrow, they need me to come in.”

“Do you need to get going?” Chan asks, looking down at the time. It’s well past 10 o’clock.

A sad smile crosses your face. “I mean… probably.” The time on your watch flashes back at you. He can tell you don’t want to go home yet.

“Come on, Y/N, I’ll walk you home.”

Chan’s already standing up from the table, picking his jacket up off the back of his chair. You watch his movements and slowly get up, your movements screaming reluctance.

—————————————————————

It’s three dates later when the two of you are walking down the street towards your house. It’s only a few blocks from here, but you both decide to take a tiny detour through the local park.

“I have to say I’m a little excited to meet your friends,” you giggle. “I hope that’s not weird.”

You already have.

“It’s not weird at all. I’m sure they’d like you.” Chan nudges your arm with his elbow, his hands staying in his pocket.

“Changbin sounds like a blast.”

He was your favorite before.

“The two of you…” Chan thinks over his words carefully. “The two of you would definitely cause some mischief.”

And you have.

A tiny lull of comfortable silence falls over the conversation.

Both of you meander towards the swings. A cold wind blows through the air but neither of you react to it.

With a tiny giggle, you sit down on one of the swings and hold onto the chains on the side.

You are just so… you. You’re just your authentic self. Amnesia or not, you haven’t changed a bit. It’s so charming.

“I can’t remember the last time I went on the swings.” You start to move your body back and forth, not too much but enough to get the tiny thrill the toy brings.

Chan walks up and stands next to you, his hand coming out and grabbing at the chain of the swing next to yours.

The brightest smile stretches over your face.

God, it really doesn’t take a lot to make you smile, does it? He guesses that means it doesn’t take a lot for him either since he smiles when you do.

He can’t help it.

He watches you move back and forth, the cold breeze kicking up a bit more and blowing dead leaves across the sidewalk.

“What’s wrong, Chan? Allergic to swings?” you tease.

He rolls his eyes with a smirk. “No, I just far more enjoy watching you have fun.”

Your cheeks flush. If he didn’t know you, maybe he would’ve chocked it up to the cold. But he knows the difference between your blush and the elements now.

“You’re a smooth talker, Bang Chan.”

“It comes easy with you, Y/N L/N.”

Another laugh from you.

“Shameless flirt.”

He puts his hand on his chest in mock hurt. “Ouch! I just speak the truth, that’s all. Not my fault I like seeing you blush.”

Every word that comes out of his mouth feels so natural. If he really thinks about it, he’s in a weirdly unique situation. Not many couples get to start over, to feel those butterflies again. But here he is, his palms starting to get sweaty as he imagines kissing you.

Would you call it a first kiss? Maybe.

It has been four dates. It wouldn’t be.. inappropriate to kiss you, would it? The two of you kissed on your third date a few years ago.

He wants to kiss you so bad.

Should he? Shouldn’t he? God, why is this so hard?

Chan reaches out and grabs the chain of your swing, pulling it to a very gentle stop.

“Uh oh, fun police,” you tease and look up at him with a grin.

Looking down at you, Chan allows his eyes to look over every detail of your face that he already had memorized. You haven’t changed at all except the new scar on the side of your forehead from the accident.

It’s the same eyes, same nose, same chin that he fell in love with so long ago.

The same asymmetrical eyes that you’re so self conscious of but he loves. Your hair is wind blown and splayed every which way. It adds a childish charm to your features.

Very carefully, Chan moves his free hand down to cup your cheek. His warm palm soothes your ice cold face. He hears your breath catch in your throat at his touch.

His thumb swipes over your cheek, fingertips run down the soft lines of your jawline. Eventually his thumb ends up under your chin which he tilts up.

Your eyes sparkle. They somehow capture the light of the lamps around the playground. But they’ve always done that.

You’re always so enchanting.

Is this a good idea?

Is kissing you the best option?

But does he even have the strength to stop himself now?

Almost three months without feeling your lips on his has been torture, and here he is, with you in his hands and there’s still this nagging feeling that he should stop.

One look into your eyes quells that anxiety.

Your eyes keep flickering down to his own lips, the shaky breath you let out is hot against his fingers. Everything feels warmer compared to the air outside.

He can’t take it anymore.

Chan leans down and presses his lips to yours. They’re warm and slightly chapped.

But, my god, he’s never felt anything this heavenly before. It’s like his entire body unwinds. Like a fire was lit inside his stomach.

He moves his hand to the back of your head and keeps your lips pressed against his. Your head tilts to the side slightly. It’s just like he remembers.

It’s just the first kiss, he can’t let himself get carried away. He can’t.

He can’t let his fingers wind through your hair. He can’t melt into your touch on his cheek. He can’t let himself drown in your lips.

But he is.

He’s letting you consume his very soul in one kiss.

How can something feel so healing yet hurt so badly at the same time? It’s like you’re ripping open a wound and bandaging it at the same time.

No matter how hard he tries, he can’t bring his lips away from yours. Your hand slides down to caress his jawline with those soft, manicured fingers.

Your lips open and close over his like mirror images. The feeling shoots straight down into Chan’s gut. It’s like the first time for him all over again.

Those butterflies are going insane in his stomach. Your scent kicks up in the wind and he can’t help but take a large breath through his nose.

God, he can’t stop himself. It feels too good.

His hand moves from the back of your hair to cup your cheek and bring you closer.

He immediately stops.

Why is your face wet?

Chan pulls away from the kiss and looks down at you with concern written all over his expression.

You’re crying. Why … why are you crying?

Your eyes open and you look at him confused.

“Chan?” you whisper. You’re confused too. What?

“Why are you crying, Y/N?” he asks with a thick voice.

Your eyes widen and your own hand comes up to swipe at your cheeks. Sure enough, you’re met with tears.

“I… I don’t know,” you say so quietly. “I-I’m not sure.”

Chan starts backing away, your eyes snap to focus on his. Your hand shoots up to grab at his to keep him there. You’re still so confused.

Emotions are flying through your eyes. It almost looks like someone is clicking a light switch on and off in the back of your mind. A lightbulb is flickering in your soul like a dying neon sign in an old shop window.

Every muscle in your face is twitching.

What’s happening?

“Channie—“ your own voice cuts off by a sob.

Chan’s heart jumpstarts. You haven’t called him that… not in two months… that’s what you and your mother called him before the accident.

Are you…? Are you remembering? What’s happening?

Please.

Slowly, your hand falls from his.

Chan stays there, unmoving like a statue. What’s happening inside your mind right now? It looks like you’re reaching and reaching for something that you can’t quite put your finger on.

He's watching you struggle. It’s like when you can’t remember a word. It’s right there. It’s on the tip of your tongue.

You gulp, your eyes leave his and you look down at your lap. The dirt crunches under your feet as you shuffle your shoes around.

Chan swipes his thumb over your cheek, brushing away the tears. He’s biting back his own.

“It’s okay—“ “I’m sorry—“ are both said at the exact same time.

He knew it was coming. He knows you. But you don’t know him. Not anymore.

But you do.

“It wasn’t the kiss. I—“

“It’s okay, Y/N.”

You know him.

“Chan, I really loved the kiss.”

Chan. Not Channie.

He brushes his thumb over your lips. “It’s okay,” he repeats gently. “You don’t have to explain.”

His other hand comes up and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Your eyes slide shut at the sensation.

Your bottom lip quivers and you pull it into your mouth and bite it. With a tight swallow, your throat bobs.

“It happens sometimes,” you whisper. “It’s from the accident I had.”

Chan continues to soothingly rub your skin with his thumb. Slowly, he kneels down to be in front of you rather than leaning over.

The dirt is cold on his knee. It seeps through the fabric of his pants. He couldn’t care less.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” he whispers back to you.

You shake your head gently, your hands folding in your lap. “No, no. I… I want to tell you. I need to tell you. It’s been happening more and more whenever I’m around you. It’s like every touch, every word you say bounces around my brain and makes me feel the worst case of deja vu.

“Every time I’m with you I feel like I’m trying to recall a dream I had last night but I just can’t remember what it was.”

You’re rambling. You only ramble when you’re overwhelmed and scared.

“Chan, every time I’m with you it feels like some part of me is screaming to be let out.”

Your eyes open and you stare right through him. Chan feels his heart squeeze and almost stop completely. Despite your best efforts, the tears keep coming.

“I was in a car accident a few months ago. I had such a severe concussion that I lost the last five years of my memory.”

How is your voice so even?

Chan’s jaw clenches. Fuck fuck fuck.

He knows. Yes, Y/N. He knows. Fuck, does he know! If anyone fucking knows, it’s him.

“I—“ he starts but you cut him off.

“Please,” you choke out and take a deep breath. “And since then I’ve been getting bits and pieces of my memory back. Sometimes they’re in large chunks, other times they just … come back.

“When I try to think about my life before the accident. There’s this… person there. Someone important. Someone so, so important that it physically hurts me to think about how I don’t know who it is. They’re a constant. And I love that they’re a constant.”

Your hand comes up to clutch at your jacket right over your chest.

More tears come out of your eyes. The whites get more pink the more they flow.

“But I know them. I do! I know them like I know the back of my hand. I-I know they love music. I know they take milk and sugar in their morning coffee. I know they don’t get enough sleep at night.”

Louder and louder your voice gets as you grow sadder and sadder. The sobs between thoughts wrack your chest.

Him. You’re talking about him.

Chan’s hands hold your face gently. His thumbs can’t keep up with how much you’re crying.

Nothing has ever hurt this bad.

You know him. You just don’t know it’s him.

Nevertheless, you continue. “I remember that they have the most obnoxious phone alarm in the morning. I remember the passcode to their phone is 032518. I know that they have this one black sweatshirt that I love to steal even though it’s their favorite.”

Chan’s own eyes begin watering, he can’t stop it. You know him. You know him. You’ve remembered him this whole time and you didn’t even know it.

You reach up and grab one of his hands and place it on your heart. Underneath your jacket, he can feel your heartbeat thudding violently against your chest.

That same heartbeat he’s been dying to listen to while you play with his hair and tell him about your day. The heartbeat he would give anything to hear as he falls asleep. His throat gets tighter and tighter.

“I’ve been surrounded by bits and pieces of a ghost and no one wants to help me. No one will tell me anything, and I’m so confused, Chan. I can tell that there’s something that everyone is avoiding telling me.”

A gust of wind picks up through the playground. It nips at his cheeks. It’s now he realizes how many tears are falling.

A sob tears from his throat.

You grip his hand tighter.

“Tell me It’s you, Chan.” You’re begging. You’re actually begging while keeping his hand pressed against your heartbeat.

“Tell me that you’re the person that I see in my dreams. Tell me you’re the one that loves when I draw hearts on the bathroom mirror after I shower. Please tell me that you’re the one that loves the smell of lemon cookies but can’t stand the taste.”

Oh, god, Y/N.

“Tell me that you’re the one that wanted to pick me up from the party that night but I said no.”

He breaks.

He breaks right down in front of you. Every single ounce of self control leaves his body and he grabs you out of the swing, yanking you towards his body and holding you against his chest. The emotions that were being kept at bay come out like a raging storm.

He falls backwards into the dirt, you come crashing into him. Your arms wrap around him at the same time he wraps around you.

Chan buries his face in your neck, one hand on the back of your head and the other firmly around your waist.

Wails leave his mouth as he holds you to him. They’re deep and come from the very depths of his soul. The wound that’s been open for months is bleeding.

Every lonely night. Every dinner where he cooked for two instead of one by accident. Every long day he came back to an empty apartment. It’s all coming out.

You’re crying just as hard as he is, both of your hands gripping the back of his hoodie like a lifeline.

Your body in his arms is like a piece of a puzzle. Like he’s the dusty one sitting on his dining room table and you finally came in and finished it.

Weeks and weeks of grief come crashing down on him. He can’t lie anymore. Not to you. Never to you.

“It is me,” he cries into your neck, his hand running over the back of your head, feeling your hair slip through his fingers. It’s just like he remembers. “It’s all me, Y/N, It’s me.”

Your cries get louder, your body starts shaking in his arms.

“I’ve missed you, Y/N,” he cries harder. “Fuck, I’ve missed you so much. I missed my girl. Oh my god, I’ve missed you.”

Chan can’t pull you close enough, he can’t get you close enough to his body. You shift around and press yourself into him.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry I didn’t pick you up that night. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I’m so sorry you got hurt.”

Every ounce of grief is surfacing and clawing its way out of his throat.

“I’m sorry I had to lie to you these last two weeks. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I was so broken without you. I broke the doctor’s orders. I needed to see you, Y/N.”

Despite how hard he has you gripped against him, you manage to pull away slightly. You sit up in his lap and look down at his red, tear soaked face. His eyes are puffy and his chest is sputtering with sobs.

Both of your hands cup his cheeks and swipe away the tears the same way he did for you only a small bit ago. There’s a sad smile on your face.

“Please don’t apologize, Channie, it’s okay. I forgive you.”

Channie. You called him Channie.

He cries harder and buries his face into your chest. Your arms immediately come around him and keep him there, fingers threading into his hair.

You’re still crying. Both of you are.

“I know you were just doing what you were told to,” you whisper into his hair. He can hear your voice reverberate in your chest.

All he can do is cry.

Months of build up led to this moment. Endless days of going through the motions just for the next to be as dull and tedious led to him falling into you in the middle of a playground at night.

The only thing you do after that is hold him. You press kisses to the top of his head and whisper that you forgive him over and over.

Each one adds a stitch to the wound, shutting it.

You’re finally in his arms. You’re finally back where you belong.

“I missed you,” he says again, his cries dying down. He doesn't know what else to say. There's so much he wants to tell you, but everything dies on the tip of his tongue.

“I missed you too, Channie. My heart missed you so much.”

He sniffles and looks up at you. You pull your sweatshirt sleeve up and wipe away his stray tears gently.

“Every day it just felt like something was missing. It was you. You were missing.”

Chan can’t find any words to say. He just stares at you.

"I don't care how long it takes to remember, or even if I never do. I need you by my side for it, Chan."

His eyes sparkle at you for a moment but he leans up and captures your lips with his once more. It feels even better than the previous one.

The two of you relish in the contact, holding each other close and clinging to the closeness of it all.

It's taking everything within Chan not to start crying again. He's worried than any moment now, he'll wake up and this will all be some cruel dream.

But when you pull away from his lips, and he opens his eyes-- you're still there. You're still in his arms and smiling at him like you always did.

The burn is soothed.

“If you think about it,” you start with a tiny smile. “We’re lucky— in a way.”

His entire face screws up, even more confused. “Lucky?”

“How many people get to say they fell in love with the same person twice?”

Chan blinks twice before it feels like his entire body thaws.

You and your glass half full attitude. He’ll never fucking get enough of it.

His arms wrap around you again, bringing you down into his chest. You let out a breathy giggle

“You’re never leaving my sight,” he breathes out. “Never again, baby, never.”

“I don’t ever want to, Channie. I never will.”

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #bang chan x reader #chan x reader #bang chan x y/n #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #skz x y/n #bang chan #bang chan fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #bangchan fanfic #bangchan x reader

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ja3yun · 11 days

Text

please be real | p.js

ex!jay x fem!reader warnings: angst, heartache, smut (mdni), fingering, unprotected sex, cream pie, teasing, pet names (princess, baby), crying, mentions of alcohol, drunk jay, pure heartbreak in the beginning, not proofread, anything else lmk synopsis: after a six-year relationship, you and jongseong part ways due to different needs for the future. when jongseong's first birthday post-breakup arrives, his struggle with your absence reaches a breaking point, prompting a late-night call from his friend that consequently reignites emotions and unresolved feelings. wc: 9.4k a/n: hi! it's me and it's jay's birthday so i wrote him a little something something. i didn't initially intend to rip my heart out as i wrote this yet here i am. this was oddly a healing one to write but i must warn you it does mention the reader not wanting to have children so if that doesn't appeal to you then this probs isn't the fic for you! as always, like, comments, feedback, etc. is all appreciated! ilysm and happy bday jay <3

A sharp, jarring noise pierces your ears, the peaceful sleep you were in rudely disrupted. You groan out loud, covering your face with your covers but it does nothing to stop the ringing from your phone, it doesn’t even dull it a little, the little black device only echoing around the room louder.

Disoriented and groggy, you fumble for your phone on the bedside table, clumsily searching for it in the darkness. It isn’t your alarm, the usual peaceful tones of the birds chirping would be a welcomed sound, one that eases you into the day; no this was a phone call.

Finally grasping your phone, your eyes fight themselves open as you blink away any remnants of sleep, trying to find any sort of centre from your dizzy awakening. You look at the name on your phone but your vision is so blurred you can’t make it out but answer it anyway, knowing that whoever is phoning at this ungodly hour is clearly in need of your help.

“Hello?” you ask quietly, as if you don’t want to disturb the quiet of the night, unlike the person on the other end of the call.

“Uh, Y/N? It’s Jake.” His soft Australian accent drifts from your phone speaker into your ears. He sounds unsure whether he is supposed to be making the call, which to be fair, you understand because you haven’t heard from him in months, not after…

Letting out a sigh, you rub your forehead with the base of your palm tiredly, “Jake, why the fuck are you calling me at…” you pull the phone away, inspecting the time now that you’re more alert, “3.36am?” you ask with a hint of disdain. Normally, you would welcome the boy’s surprise call, after all, you did miss him. But considering he woke you up from a good dream involving you, Jeongin from Stray Kids, and a happily ever after; he wasn’t exactly your favourite person right now.

You can faintly hear some music in the background as he stays silent and you swear to yourself if this is to give him a ride home from a concert turned party, you’ll have his head.

“Listen, I hate to ask you this but can you come to Haven?”

“The nightclub? Why?” Your earlier suspicions are proving to be right, he does want a lift home. That would be an acceptable request if you guys were actively talking every day and the best of buddies but he isn’t even your friend, not really.

You can hear him shuffling around on the other end of the line, his voice can be heard trying to calm someone down but his words are obscured as if the phone is wrested away from his mouth, leaving only disjointed fragments of speech drifting through the receiver.

This sounds like more than just a simple ride home and it causes you to snap to attention, your senses heightened with concern.

Jake finally brings his attention back to you, letting out a sigh of discontentment, “It’s Jay, he’s a mess and he’s calling out for you.”

Jay. Park Jongseong.

It’s been so long since anyone has dared to mention his name to you that it almost sounds like a foreign word.

Seven months ago, you and Jongseong had decided to call off your 6-year relationship, both of you reaching the understanding that it was for the best considering your battling differences and needs within the relationship.

It wasn’t easy, the furthest thing from it actually. You and him had been inseparable since high school and once you both got together in year 12, it was always you and him against the world. He was the love of your life, that once in a lifetime kind of love that only happens in fairytales. Your souls were both painted from the same brush stroke.

But he wanted a peaceful, routine life - a classic white picket fence dream. Evenings would be spent with friends, savouring white wine and casual conversations over dinner. His heart was set on imagining the echoes of your future children's laughter filling your home, family trips to the seaside, and comforting them with kisses and band-aids when they got hurt.

And you craved spontaneity, to embrace life with vigour, travelling the world together was your dream, free from the responsibilities of parenting, cherishing moments just for yourselves. You longed for random midnight trips to Tesco for birthday cake simply because you could. All you wished for was to be with him, just the two of you.

Suddenly, your brain clicks into an important detail and you hurriedly check the calendar on your phone and the date makes you slump in your bed.

Today is Jongseong’s birthday, well technically not anymore given the time, but that means he has lived his first birthday without you by his side in so long. You would always celebrate his big day by doing something from his handwritten bucket list he has had since he was a child. Over the years he has added more to the list, each birthday scoring one out to add another.

The list wasn't extravagant; it was filled with simple yet heartfelt desires. You bought him a bundle of guitar lessons and a Taylor 114e electric guitar to fulfil his wish of learning to play. When you noticed the Download Festival marked with gold stars on his list, you surprised him with tickets for the year Metallica was headlining. And when he expressed a desire to cook a meal from scratch for his mum, you gifted him a kitchen knife engraved with his name and took the time to teach him how to prepare her favourite dish.

His birthdays were the most precious when you were in them, and you weren’t there with him.

“Y/N?” Jake’s sweet voice draws you back to his attention and out of the memory lane swirl your brain has put you in. He knows this is a tough call for you to take considering you and Jongseong said to cut ties completely; it’s better to act like you both didn’t exist than keep a thread tethered to one another that would only hurt you more.

As Jake and Sunghoon whisked Jay away for his birthday celebration, their intention was simple: to help him let loose and have a good time. Jay had been buried in overtime work lately, leaving little room for socialising. Since the breakup, the idea of going out without you - dancing together, stealing kisses in the taxi ride home - seemed unappealing.

Waking up that morning, Jay realised it marked the first birthday in six years without ticking something off his bucket list. The familiar, worn paper lay dormant on his desk, a stark reminder of your absence. He had no desire to celebrate today without you by his side. If he could fast-forward through the day to escape the weight of his birthday, he would eagerly do so.

Yet, with two very persuading friends and a whole lot of whiskey later, here he was, curled up outside Haven, yearning out for you.

“Y/N please, at least come and convince him to get up and come home with us,” Jake pleads. You can hear the cries of your ex-lover more clearly now as Jake kneels beside his friend, checking in on him.

With a resigned sigh, you nod, “Okay. Keep him warm, I’ll be there in 20 minutes.”

Hanging up the phone, you quickly put a brush through your hair and change into a baggy top, one you bought for Jongseong before breaking up, and a pair of grey sweatpants. This is a bad idea, you know it is, but you also can’t leave him to wallow in the middle of the street. You don’t think you could live with yourself if you didn’t help and Jake wouldn’t call unless it was something he couldn’t handle.

You don’t want to see the state Jongseong is in, his wailing cries that you could slightly hear over the phone already made your heart clench in hurt.

As you drive to Haven, your heart races in anticipation with each mile that passes. Is your heart ready to face him after all these months? Staring into the love of your life’s eyes once again might break you even more. You’ve done a good job in keeping yourself together, at putting on a facade that everything is okay, when deep down you know that if one person asked you about Jongseong you would crumble and fall apart.

He wasn’t the only one throwing himself into work to forget. You’ve worked hours and hours trying to keep your mind off the heartbreak, you thought that if you just focused and kept your head down, the phrase time heals all wounds would kick in and you’d be free of the torment of losing your first love. But it hasn’t worked out that way, you know that now as you speed down the empty roads to console the one person you are trying to forget.

As you reach Haven, you can vaguely see three boys under the illuminating sign, almost as if shining a spotlight on them to add to the spectacle that Jongseong is making. Onlookers are watching as your ex-boyfriend cries on the pavement, wishing you would come home.

With a quick exhale, you step out of the car before doubts can creep in, determined to be there for him. Jake and Sunghoon's voices float to you, attempting to soothe him and inject some sense into the moment. Bracing yourself, you approach, ready to offer whatever comfort you can, despite the storm of emotions swirling within you.

Sinking onto the balls of your feet, you lower yourself to Jongseong's level, meeting his strained figure. Instantly, the sight of his distress instantly shatters your heart into a million pieces.

An abundance of tears cascades down Jongseong's reddened face, obscuring his features like a relentless waterfall. His clenched jaw and the prominent vein on his forehead portray the intensity of his distress as he struggles to draw each laboured breath. Curled into himself, his body seems to contort with the weight of physical agony, mirroring the emotional pain that ripples through his trembling form. He’s been keeping this in for so long that his body doesn’t know how to cope with it.

Reaching out to grab his clenched fist, you shuffle forward, “Jjongie? It’s me, baby, look at me,” you say calmly, trying to reassure him with your soft voice.

As your fingers gently encircle his clenched fist, Jongseong's body tenses at the touch. Slowly, he turns his gaze towards you, his eyes bloodshot and filled with an overwhelming mixture of sorrow and longing. For a moment, there's a flicker of recognition in his eyes before they cloud over again with anguish.

He doesn’t believe you’re actually here, considering the long nights where he has conjured up the idea of you, clinging to his imagination on the lonely nights he wishes for your touch. But as you squeeze his hand, he realises this isn’t a dream-induced sighting, you’re really here in front of him.

"Y/N..." he murmurs, his voice choked with emotion. Tears stream down his face in torrents, some landing on your hand that holds his. His cries reverberate through the air, each wail a sharp stab to your chest.

Cupping his cheek, you settle yourself between his legs, ignoring the discomfort of the rocks beneath your knees, your focus solely on him. With a sad smile, you attempt to mask your own anguish, your touch a gentle reassurance amidst his storm of emotions.

"Hey, hey, enough of that now," you hush him softly, your voice a soothing melody in the tumultuous night. Using your thumb, you tenderly wipe away his tears, though they continue to flow unabated.

He leans into your touch, “I miss you so much, Y/N, please. Please,” he pleads as you feel his warm breath against your skin as he nuzzles into your palm, seeking solace in the familiar sensation he's been yearning for.

It’s hurting you just seeing him like this, the man you once knew to be strong-willed and resilient, keeping his emotions under control unless he’s sharing sweet vulnerable moments with you under the covers, is now a shell of himself, stripped bare by the weight of grief.

Turning your face to look at Jake, you offer him a small smile, “I’ll take him home.”

“You sure?” Jake asks, knowing that it’s a dangerous game for you both if you do.

“Yeah, I don’t think he’s going to move unless I do,” you chuckle sympathetically but there’s a bubble in your throat as Jongseong’s whimpers flow into your ear from beside you.

Nodding, Jake gestures to Sunghoon, silently enlisting his help in the task of ferrying the drunk man to your car. The weight of Jongseong's limp form proves cumbersome as you all struggle to navigate his dead weight, his limbs hanging heavily without offering any assistance.

"Let's get you home," you murmur softly, your hands pressing gently against Jongseong's chest to steady him, aided by his friends who lift him onto their shoulders.

His eyes lock onto yours, an intensity burning within them. "Please be real," he whispers, his voice trembling with desperation. Despite feeling your touch and catching hints of your scent, doubt gnaws at him. If this is merely a figment of his imagination, he knows he'll never forgive himself. You're so close, so tangible - it has to be you.

With much struggle, the three of you get him to your car, putting him gently in the backseat so he can lie down, but he wraps his arms around your waist as his legs stay situated outside of the vehicle, holding you close to him.

"Come on, Jjongie, lie down for a minute," you coax gently, guiding him to stretch out along the seats. But he remains unmoving, clutching onto you as if fearing you'll slip away if he lets go. With a soft sigh, you stroke the back of his head, your hands moving in a soothing rhythm. "I promise, I am not going anywhere," you whisper, your words a tender vow to him.

Yet, your attempts to reassure him seem to go unheard. His face burrows deeper into your stomach, his words muffled by the fabric of your t-shirt and the weight of his tears.

You exchange a worried glance with Jake and Sunghoon, “How much did he have to drink?” you ask, scared of the answer they will give. Your ex-boyfriend has always been so good at holding his liquor that it must have been a hefty amount he consumed.

“Like two weeks' wage worth,” Sunghoon winces, his neck tightening as he looks at his best friend.

"Oh, baby..." you sigh softly, feeling a wave of empathy wash over you. Returning your attention to Jongseong, you press a tender kiss to the crown of his head, hoping to offer some comfort amidst his distress. His response is to cling to you even tighter, his sobs echoing against your chest as he seeks solace in your embrace.

You need to get him home, he’s a mess and the longer he stays like this, the more his body is going to wear out.

With a gentle hand, you stroke his hair, your touch a soothing caress against his trembling form. Despite the chaos swirling around you, you find a semblance of peace in this intimate moment, anchored by the bond that still lingers between you.

"I've got you, Jjongie," you whisper softly, drawing back as he eases up his grip on you. His friends go to help you but you halt them with a firm gesture, "You guys can go, I've got it from here."

Sunghoon shakes his head, concern etched on his face. "He's too heavy, Y/N. You won't be able to manage him into the flat without us," he protests.

But you stand your ground. This is your and Jongseong's mess, and you can’t let others help you clean it up, "It's okay. You guys have done your shift for tonight. Go home," you insist, your voice resolute.

Reluctantly, Sunghoon and Jake nod and bid you goodnight before going their separate ways home, leaving you alone with Jongseong and the weight of your shared history.

Taking a deep breath, you hoist him in, his body listening to you a little more now that you’ve reassured him you aren’t leaving him. He sprawls over the backseats and lays still, the alcohol consuming him into some form of comatose now that he has relaxed slightly.

You slide into the driver's seat, the engine humming to life beneath you. Glancing at Jongseong's slumbering form in the rearview mirror, you steel yourself for the journey ahead.

_____

Arriving at his house makes you more nervous than before. This wasn’t just his flat, it used to be your shared home, the place you lived for 2 and half years and made countless memories in.

You were the one to move out and find your own place, thinking it was best since your work was further away and you could find an apartment closer to it. But the truth is, you just couldn’t face being reminded of him in each room and in the pieces of furnishings.

It was selfish of you to leave him with the remnants of your relationship surrounding him, all you thought about was you and your needs, neglecting to think about how he might feel being surrounded by nothing but memories.

Lugging him into the flat, his legs are working in tandem with you now unlike before but he still isn’t proving to be the easiest person to carry. The last time you had to hold his weight like this was when he got drunk at your prom after taking sneaky shots in the hotel garden with his friends. It was funny but you blame him for some of your back pain that you’ve endured in your early twenties.

As you push open the door and step into the living room, a wave of nostalgia washes over you like a tsunami. Though only seven months have passed, it feels like a lifetime since you last stood in this space with him by your side. Everything remains unchanged, frozen in time since the day you left. The same couch sits in its familiar spot, adorned with throw pillows and blankets you bought for last season. Photographs of you both, captured during Christmases and holidays, adorn the walls, each one a snapshot of happier times. Even the vase that his mum had gotten you both for your housewarming gift, one that you loved and he hated, remains in its pride of place on the mantlepiece.

You push your thoughts down and make your way to your once-shared bedroom, walking through the memories and heaving your ex-boyfriend along slowly. His nose nudges into your hair, sweeping in your scent as he loses himself in the feeling of you.

As you reach the familiar threshold, you can't help but feel a pang of bittersweet longing. This room, once a sanctuary where you both shared your laughter and bodies, now serves as a poignant reminder of the love you've lost.

Gently, you ease Jongseong onto the bed, sitting him up, “I’m going to get you some clean boxers okay?” you ask him but he’s not here, not really, so you make your way to the drawers on the other side of the room.

Walking over, you spot a familiar t-shirt lying crumpled on your old side of the bed. You make a b-line to investigate it and as you pick up the crumpled t-shirt, a flood of memories washes over you, transporting you back to simpler times. Your fingers trace the familiar fabric, still faintly carrying the scent of you, now mingled with his cologne. You piece it all together pretty quickly, the way it still smells faintly of you but is not starting to be overpowered by his cologne. He hugs it at night to find peace of mind.

“Oh, Jjongie,” you sigh, heart reaching out to him. You’re no better, you have one of his hoodies that you snuck into your luggage as you packed and wear it when you’re at home. Just like your t-shirt, his hoodie is starting to lose its scent from the amount of times you’ve hugged yourself to sleep in it.

Jongseong has always been reserved, his emotions carefully guarded behind a facade of reason and rationale. To see him like this, vulnerable and raw, strikes a chord deep within you. If he had always worn his heart on his sleeve, perhaps it would be easier to understand. But the complexity of his emotions only serves to deepen the ache in your chest.

You place the t-shirt back on the pillow before opening the dresser drawer and retrieve a clean pair of boxers, his favourite ones with the faded Hellow Kitty print that you've always teased him about.

Gently, you begin to undress him while he rambles incoherent nonsense that you can’t understand between the mix of tears and drunk slurring. The top half is easy but the bottom half proves difficult as he only looks up at you, whispering pleas as he stares at you, keeping his bum firmly sat on the edge of the bed.

As you finally manage to remove Jongseong's jeans and boxers, leaving him naked, a new layer of vulnerability settles over the room. He sits before you bathed in the soft glow of the hallway light, his silhouette outlined in the darkness.

His beauty, illuminated by the faint light, is both captivating and heartbreaking. The familiarity of his form, once etched in your memory, now lays before you in the flesh, a tangible reminder of the love you still harbour for him. How could you not still love him? He was perfect in every way possible.

"Stay with me," he whispers, his voice a gentle plea as his hands begin to roam your sides, tracing the contours of your body beneath your shirt. Each touch ignites a flurry of sensations within you, sending butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

He pulls you onto his lap, your sweatpants becoming the barrier between his cock and your pussy. Yet, none of you are really thinking about that right now, all you both want is to hold one another again.

“Jongseong, we broke up, and for good reason,” you rationalise with not only him but yourself as you find yourself sinking into his touch as his hands roam your back.

Nuzzling his nose against yours, he begins to cry softly again, his face rubbing itself against yours as his tears transfer from his cheeks to yours, “Please, baby, don’t leave me,” he mumbles as his lips ghost over yours.

He doesn’t just mean tonight, he means forever. A tear from your eye cascades down your face, getting lost in the mixture of his, your empathy for him overwhelming you because you feel the same way he does. You need him in every way, you need to be close to him, to feel his heart beating in synch with yours once again.

But you know better than this. You’re both just prolonging heartache if you succumb to being with him again. You can’t give each other what you need.

“Baby, don’t do this,” you beg him, knowing that he has the power to pull you back into his life with the click of his fingers, that resolve you have worked so hard to build up now hangs in the balance, “Let me get you changed and then into bed, yeah?”

Reasoning with him is a lost cause, his arms now hugging you tightly like before as he ignores your suggestion. The last thing he wants is to put on those boxers because he knows when he does that you’ll leave.

"Please, Princess," his voice is raw with emotion, his desperation palpable in the air between you. And as you look into his eyes, you see the depth of his longing mirrored in your own.

His plea hangs in the air, a heavy weight pressing down on your already burdened heart. You feel torn between the overwhelming desire to give in to his request and the harsh reality of the situation.

With a deep breath, you summon the strength to gently extricate yourself from his embrace, feeling the weight of his disappointment lingering in the air. His hurt expression tugs at your heartstrings, but you shake your head firmly, "Just tonight, okay?" you assure him, your voice soft but resolute.

Curse you and your heart that caves into his pleas so easily.

You disregard getting him dressed and instead, remove your sweatpants and replace them with those very boxers you planned to adorn him with and swap out your t-shirt for the one on your old pillow. Jongseong clumsily climbs into his covers, getting comfortable and finding some happiness in the fact that you’ll be in his arms at least for a little while.

Once you climb into your side of the bed, he instinctively hugs you from behind, the comfort of your body pressed against his. He spoons you, tucking his face in your neck as he exhales in contentment. This is all he has been craving since that night you left and he couldn’t be happier. All the turmoil and anguish from earlier slowly depletes as he finds himself sinking into a much-needed sleep.

You can’t deny you feel the same, his arms wrapped around you feel like home, like you’ve been on a seven-month business trip and you’re now finally back where you belong. You sink into him further, relishing his skin against yours.

“Happy birthday, Jjongie,” you whisper, bringing his hand up to kiss it before intertwining your fingers with his.

_____

Waking up, Jongseong feels like his whole body has crashed into a brick wall. His bones ache and his head feels tight, but there is a weight that feels so familiar yet foreign, his legs tangled around something and his arms holding it close. This feels different from the t-shirt of yours he clings to every night, this has more substance.

Please don’t be some random girl he thinks to himself, scared to open his eyes.

Even if he did want to open them he couldn’t because they are being held together so tight by something. Was he crying last night? Actually, what even happened last night?

He replays the fragments of the evening in his mind, a few scattered images begin to surface - Jake and Sunghoon dragging him to Haven, the raucous atmosphere of the bar, and the ill-advised decision to ride the mechanical bull. And then nothing.

As he tries to recounter the night, you see him attempt to pry his eyes open and decide to help him out. Swiping your thumb over his eyes, you wipe away the mix of his dried-in tears and sleep. He looks so confused when you touch him and his body tenses.

Either he is having a severe case of hallucinations to the point where he is starting to physically feel you or the girl that he took home last night resembles your touch. God, how he hoped it was the first one.

Opening his eyes with your help, he blinks away the blur and sets his eyes on your face, his expression reading one of relief that quickly turns into astonishment.

“Y/N? Baby?” he whispers, his hands instinctively reaching for your cheek, “Please be real.” The same words he pleaded out last night leave his lips again. Jongseong has spent so many nights dreaming of you, wishing in an alternative universe that he can hold you again, so much so that this doesn’t feel real.

You don’t know what to say but obviously, you have to say something. It was one thing to confront drunk Jongseong who didn’t have a wit about him but now it feels like there’s a boulder on your chest as you try to conjure up the courage to speak to a sober, semi-alert Jongseong.

All you can do is nod, no words escaping your dried lips. You look down to see you and his limbs mangled together just like they used to be, the feeling of his body pressed so tightly against yours almost feels like heaven.

He takes in the sight of you, the lines of disbelief on his features soften, replaced by a glimmer of hope. Slowly, almost tentatively, he reaches out to you, his fingers brushing against your cheek as if to confirm your presence.

The touch sends a jolt of electricity coursing through you, he’s caressing your cheek so tenderly it reminds you of the time you had the shift from hell and Jongseong held you the whole night, whispering sweet words into your ear and stroking your tears away, just like this.

Except there are no tears this time, you’re all cried out - months of mourning the loss of your relationship will do that to you.

As Jongseong's eyes meet yours, a flicker of recognition passes through them, followed by a wave of embarrassment. His voice is soft as he speaks, a hint of uncertainty lacing his words, "What are you doing here?" he asks, his tone laden with confusion.

"You got pretty drunk last night," understatement "And Jake asked me to come pick you up."

You can feel the tension in the air as Jongseong processes your words, his expression a mixture of shame and regret, "Sorry, I don't usually drink that much," he murmurs, his voice tinged with remorse.

The explanation stings, not because Jongseong has been drinking more, but because of the distance it creates between you. It's as if he's explaining himself to a stranger, rather than to the person who once knew him better than anyone else. The past six years you’ve known how he knows his limit and that he doesn’t tend to breach it, not subconsciously.

All you do is nod, accepting his explanation as you slowly start to detangle yourself from him, “I better get going.”

“Y/N, please let's talk,” he pleads as his voice wavers, his grip tightening around your waist, and his desperation palpable as he pleads for your attention. But you've made up your mind, and no amount of persuasion can sway you from the path you've chosen.

"Jongseong, please, let's not do this," you implore, your voice tinged with a mixture of sorrow and resolve, "We're only going to hurt ourselves again."

You both know the reasons behind your breakup are deeply rooted, immutable truths that cannot be changed. It's not a matter of cheating or petty disagreements—this is about fundamental differences in desires and aspirations for the future.

But Jongseong refuses to accept defeat, his forehead coming to rest against yours as he breathes his love out, "Princess, we can work it out, I know we can," he insists, his words heavy with sincerity.

You steel yourself against the onslaught of his love, knowing that to give in would only prolong the inevitable pain, "We want different things, Jjongie," you remind him gently, your voice tinged with regret.

“I can do without them. It’s you I can’t live without…I can’t breathe without you here by my side.” His words are sincere and you know it, but you can’t accept it. When you both discussed your future, he looked so excited at the prospect of kids that your heart broke instantly. You knew right away that you couldn’t give him what he wanted most.

Closing your eyes and sucking in the bottom of your cheeks, you steady yourself to have this conversation yet again, “You can’t give up the idea of having kids. Having the life you want is much more important than me. You can find someone who can give you that.”

It hurts to say but you need to rip the bandaid off quickly.

“You think I want that life with anyone but you?” His voice raises lightly, hinting at the anger rising into his chest. He needs you to listen to him, to understand him, “Y/N, if it’s not with you then I don’t want that life.”

Shaking your head determinedly, you sit up, “But I can’t give you that life, it’s not what I want.” You feel like you’re reliving the argument that ended it all those months ago.

“That’s okay.”

“No, It’s not,” It’s your turn to get angry, your eyebrows lacing together as you try to read him. How can he say all of this so easily? Like he wasn’t trying to promise you that he would change his entire life plan just to be with you. Is it romantic? Sure, but it’s also fucking stupid. No one should change just to keep someone they love because if they were meant to be, then their values would align…right?

"It's not that simple, Jongseong," you argue through the silence, your voice tinged with frustration, "You can't just sweep aside your dreams for the sake of our relationship. What about what you want? What about your own happiness?"

Jongseong sits up, the covers hiding his naked lower half; he hadn’t realised he was naked and it only adds a new layer to his vulnerability. He is laying himself bare to you.

But Jongseong's gaze remains unwavering, his determination evident in the set of his jaw, "Since we broke up, I've realised that you are the life I want," he declares, his words carrying the weight of his conviction, "Whatever that looks like for you, I want it."

You feel his words like a pickaxe, slowly breaking away at the wall you’ve spent months building around your heart and reason. A whirlwind of conflicting emotions sweeps over you. On one hand, his declaration of love sparks a glimmer of hope amidst the ruins of your fractured relationship. Yet, on the other hand, doubt claws at your insides, gnawing away at any semblance of certainty, the pure love that you have for him only wishes to make sure he’s happy and gets everything he wants in life.

"Jongseong, I..." you start, your voice wavering as you grapple with the turmoil inside. How do you express the depth of your feelings?

Grabbing your face with his large hands, he kisses you, his soft lips now coating yours. You’ve missed him so much that you become overwhelmed by his actions, a soft tear leaking from your ducts.

So much for being all cried out, you think to yourself.

"It's you, Y/N, I only need you," Jongseong whispers against your lips, his urgency evident as he seeks solace in the warmth of your embrace, stealing kisses with a hunger born from longing.

In spite of yourself, you find your lips responding to his touch, drawn in by the familiar sensation of his mouth against yours. Your arms instinctively wrap around him, fingers grazing lightly over the muscles of his back as you hold him close; your brain is telling you to push him away but your heart is pulling him tighter to you.

"It's not fair to you, Jjongie," you murmur, the words weighted with a sense of guilt and remorse.

"I'd rather be with you happily than with kids and someone else miserably," Jongseong confesses, his words carrying the weight of his heart's deepest desires.

Jongseong wishes you could see it from his point of view; of course, he has wanted kids and a comfortable life for so long but the idea of achieving that when you are not his wife seems fucking ridiculous. There is no one in this world he wants to be with other than you and if that means he has to be an uncle rather than a dad, so be it.

You are all he has ever wanted. To grow old with you, to experience each of your accomplishments together and have you close to him. He wants to protect you and look after you the way he knows he should and that is his new life goal. This isn’t a decision he has made lightly but a decision he wanted to make.

His hands glide down your sides, trailing over your thighs as his kisses continue, each touch a manifestation of the craving that has consumed him. His need for you is overwhelming, every fibre of his being yearning for you in every possible way. Another moment without you feels unbearable, as if he might die.

You surrender to his touch, sinking back onto the bed as he hovers above you, his grip on your thighs firm yet tender. The intensity of his desire leaves marks, but in this moment, you welcome anything he offers.

It's astonishing how the feel of his lips on yours dismantles your resolve, scattering your apprehensions like leaves in the wind.

Slowly, he removes from you the t-shirt that has absorbed his tears on countless nights and the boxers you borrowed from him, leaving you exposed beneath him. As he looks upon your naked figure, his eyes drink in every curve and contour, offering silent gratitude to the heavens for letting him have you like this. You are everything he wants and more.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Y/N,” he whispers into your mouth as he presses his body hard against yours, his member rubbing itself against your folds.

The feeling of him rubbing against you is enough to elicit a moan. No amount of toys was enough to satisfy you, not the way Jongseong could. Over the years you learned about one another’s bodies so intimately that no one could ever know you the way he does, not even yourself.

You couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping with someone else, even if you and Jongseong had broken up, your heart couldn’t do it. You never even considered a one night stand because deep down you knew that your body belonged to Jongseong and no one else.

He moves his hips, slowly rubbing himself against you, the bell of his cock grazing your clit teasingly. It feels like a dream for him to touch you this way again, and the fact that you were coating his cock with your wetness was enough to tell him that you need this too.

Kissing you desperately, his tongue darts into your mouth and swirls with yours as he seeks to taste you, his buds dancing along with yours. He moans into your mouth and acts as an echo of his love for you.

“I missed you so much,” he whispers as his hips continue to move slowly, teasing your hole with his tip each time he draws back. It’s becoming increasingly obvious how much it’s starting to irritate you, your need to have him inside you is evident in your whines of frustration.

"I missed you too, baby. More than anything," you confess, your hand finding his cock as you press against him, seeking to create greater friction between you. With each movement, the pressure builds, sending waves of pleasure coursing through both of you.

With each synchronised movement, the tension between you mounts, the desire for one another lingering in the warm air. His hips continue their slow, teasing rhythm, each brush against your core sending sparks of want up your heat and into your chest.

Feeling the urgency building within you, you guide his cock with precision, pressing it against your eager entrance. A soft gasp escapes your lips as you feel the head of his length dip into you only slightly, the anticipation of being filled with him heightening your senses.

"Please," you whisper, your voice laden with need and longing, a plea for him to take you.

With a teasing grin, Jongseong relents to your plea, but not in the way you expected. Instead of thrusting into you the way you want him to, he trails his fingertips along the curves of your body, igniting a trail of fire in his wake. His touch is light and tantalising, tracing patterns across your skin as he savours every moment. He wants to take his time with you, no matter how much his dick longs to be surrounded by your walls.

You like to be teased even for a little bit, the payoff at the end always hits the right spot.

You squirm beneath his touch, aching for more, but he continues with deliberate slowness. His fingers dance over your heated flesh, exploring every inch of your body with an intimacy that leaves you breathless. Each caress sends shivers down your spine, building the anticipation to unbearable heights. God, you missed his hands all over you.

As his right hand dips lower, he begins tracing circles around your sensitive clit and you can't help but arch your back in pleasure, a soft moan escaping your lips. The sensation is electrifying, sending waves coursing through your body as he expertly teases you.

Feeling your body tremble with anticipation, his touch becomes more urgent as he presses his fingers against your throbbing clit h and with practised skill, he begins to move faster, applying just the right amount of pressure to have you writhing beneath him.

“You look so fucking perfect, all desperate and whiney like this, Princess,” he says as he leans down to kiss you, breathing in deeply through his nose as he tries to fill each of his senses with you. It wasn’t just enough to feel you, he wanted to taste you, to inhale your scent, to hear you cry out for him, to see you unravel beneath him.

Your breath catches in your throat as the intensity of his touch sends you spiralling towards the edge of bliss. Each stroke of his fingers drives you closer to the brink, your body humming with the need to let go.

But just as you feel yourself teetering on the edge, Jongseong suddenly slows his movements, drawing out the pleasure with agonising slowness. It's a torturous tease, the brief moments of intensity followed by long, drawn-out strokes that leave you gasping for more.

“Please, please, please, Jjongie,” you whimper in frustration, your body aching for release as Jongseong continues to play you like a symphony, alternating between fast and slow, building the tension to unbearable levels. Just when you think you can't take it anymore, he finally gives in, his fingers dipping into your heat and thrusting into you at a rough pace, your pussy soaking his digits as he coaxes out your orgasm.

“You’re clamping down on my fingers so hard, Baby, you gonna cum?” he asks arrogantly, knowing that with each curl of his finger, he is watching your body lose control and surrender to him.

Nodding quickly, you pull him down for a long, searing kiss as his thumb joins the party and flicks your clit rapidly, “Oh my god,” you moan out into his mouth through bated breaths, “I’m gonna cum, Jongseong, please can I cum?”

“You never have to ask baby,” he moves his mouth to your ear and lightly nibbles your lobe, “Cum for me, Princess,” he gently commands.

Jongseong continues to work his magic, his fingers moving with expert precision as he guides you through the throes of ecstasy. Your vision blurs and every nerve in your body hums with pleasure as you reach the pinnacle of bliss.

With a final, desperate cry, you let go, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. You arch your back and cry out his name as pleasure consumes you, your body trembling with the intensity of it all.

His fingers remain still inside you, but his thumb maintains its relentless pace, each swipe sending jolts of pleasure coursing through your body. Your hips instinctively twitch in response, your nub throbbing with sensitivity and yearning for a respite. Yet, Jongseong shows no signs of letting up, his determined flicking only intensifying.

"You like that, baby?" Jongseong's voice is hoarse with desire as he intently watches your reactions. His eyes are dark with need as he continues to work you with wild desire.

Your senses are overwhelmed by sensations pouring through you, so you can only respond with a gasping nod. Every single nerve in your body is buzzing with ecstasy, and all you can think of is the delicious agony of his thumb against your delicate clit.

"Tell me what you want, Princess," he asks, his voice a seductive whisper in your ear, "Do you want more?"

You can only make a frantic plea, your words barely comprehensible in the middle of intense pleasure. "Yes, please, Jongseong... More..."

Jongseong's lips curl into a wicked grin as he hears your plea, his confidence growing with each breathless gasp that escapes your lips. With a teasing twinkle in his eye, he moves his fingers again, pressing them against your contracting walls, his hot breath ghosting over your ear as he speaks.

"What do you want, Y/N?" he whispers, his voice dripping with anticipation, "Tell me, and I'll give it to you."

Your mind is a haze of desire, but amidst the fog, one thought stands out clear and demanding. You need him inside you, filling you completely with his presence. With trembling hands, you reach for him, your fingers curling around his cock, guiding him to where you need him most, pushing his hand out of the way.

"I want you," you whisper, your voice trembling with need. "I want all of you, Jongseong." When you utter the words, there’s a deeper meaning to them, a meaning that Jongseong is clinging to.

The way your fingers wrap around his rock-hard member elicits a hiss from him, your touch mixed with your words only fuels him to give you everything you need.

Jongseong lets out a guttural groan, entirely surrendering to your touch and words. His eyes darken with want as he watches you take control, and his breath quickens with anticipation as you guide him inside you. His breath coming in ragged gasps, he looks into your eyes with a mixture of desire and adoration, "God, Y/N," he murmurs, his voice rough with need, “You feel so fucking incredible. I’ve missed how you just suck me in like this.”

You look down and watch as his entire length gets lost in your heat, his cock’s head hitting deep within you. You’ve missed how he fills you up so much but you hadn’t realised just how badly until right now as he shallowly thrusts into you.

You respond with a low moan of pleasure, your nails digging into his skin as you pull him closer, urging him to go deeper. "Yes, Jongseong," you whisper, your voice laced with longing, "just like that. I need this so much, I need you."

With each thrust, he grunts in response, his movements becoming more desperate as he seeks to satisfy your every desire, "I'm yours, Y/N," he declares, his voice filled with raw emotion, "completely and utterly yours."

As he lifts your legs and closes them, gently draping them over his left shoulder, your warmth envelops his shaft, drawing him in closer. Jongseong relishes the sensation of your tightness, revelling in the snug embrace of your canal around him. And you too find delight in the pressure of his girth, relishing the way he stretches you further with every powerful thrust.

Each movement of his hips is deliberate, each one designed to bring you both closer to the edge of ecstasy. As his hands stroke your legs tenderly, contrasting with the intensity of his thrusts, you find yourself lost in the intoxicating rhythm of your bodies moving as one.

His jerks grow more intense, the pace quickening as he drives deeper into you, each stroke bringing you closer to the edge, "You feel so good," he groans, his voice filled with unrestrained passion, "so fucking perfect for me, Princess."

In response, you curve your back and meet his thrusts with equal conviction, the heat between you building to an almost euphoric level. "Jongseong," you exclaim, your voice a symphony of fulfilment, "don't stop, please don't stop."

Jongseong intensifies his efforts with a wild growl, each movement driven by a burning need to push you to the edge of satisfaction and beyond. At this moment, there is only you and him, burned by the fires of passion.

With a swift motion, your lover bends you in half, positioning your legs by your head as he quickens his already rapid pace. Lost in a whirlwind of desire, your eyes roll back and your hands instinctively grip his shoulders, your chest heaving with each forceful thrust of his cock. Your nails dig into his skin, leaving marks on his shoulder blades as you cling to him, lost in the intensity of the moment.

Feeling the sting of your nails, he grits his teeth and strains his neck, the veins in his temples pulsating as he fights the overwhelming urge to release inside you right then and there.

“Fuck, claw my back, Baby,” he growls, his voice thick with desire, “make me yours again.” With determination, he continues to pound into you, each movement bringing you closer to your shared orgasm.

After hearing Jongseong’s go-ahead, you dig into his back, dragging your nails across his skin, leaving fiery red lines in their wake, just like he wants. It burns him in the most delectable way, making his cock throb inside of you.

Your breaths combine in the air, creating an ensemble of desire as you both reach the edge. The tension between you grows with each thrust, a crescendo of want reaching its peak.

As he slams into you furiously, his voice fills the room with urgency, "You gonna cum again, Princess? You want it?" His words are a mixture of want and domination, starting a fire inside you that threatens to consume everything in its path.

With a firm nod, you meet his gaze, your eyes brimming with want. "Yes, Jongseong, please," you beg, your voice a frantic appeal for release once again.

In response, he increases his efforts, his motions growing more frenzied as he propels you both to your orgasms. And then, with a final, strong thrust, you shatter, your body convulsing from the ferocity of your release. Jongseong follows closely behind, his own climax mirroring yours as he finds release within you, “Fuck!”

His body stills as he shoots his seed into you, the tremble of both your bodies vibrates the bed beneath you. Finding it hard to keep himself up, he falls onto you, moving his cock into you further, only drawing out a final moan from your lips.

After a couple of minutes, Jongseong rolls over, his chest heaving up and down rapidly. God, he missed the way you feel under him, he could go another ten rounds if you asked.

But that would mean you would stay, and is that even something you want? He doesn’t want to ask, your answer being the deciding factor of whether he goes on his life with misery or happiness.

He knows he can’t force you into this relationship but he hopes he has done enough to convince you that you are all he wants.

“Please be with me again, Y/N. I can’t live without you,” he whispers into the air, not daring to look at you.

You on the other hand only want to look at him, to see if you can really try this again, “Even if it means no kids? No playdates with other parents? No family trips to Jeju?”

“Even without all that.” He does look sincere, his eyes now burning into yours with a new lease of determination.

The truth is, you’ve missed him so much that it hurts. Behind the strong facade is just a girl who misses her lover. Being without him is like being in a fire with no escape, constantly fighting your way out of a blaze while your lungs collapse. He’s the clear path to fresh air you desperately need, there is no denying it. And clearly, he thinks the same about you.

Seeing him last night so fragile and broken engulfed you in the flames, burning you alive because you know that you feel every ounce of hurt that he is. It was a mirror to how you were feeling and you don’t think you knew how badly you needed him until that moment. You were trying to be so strong about it all, giving yourself only a short amount of time to grieve that as you looked at Jongseong last night, you know he has done the same.

You need one another to extinguish the fire.

“Jongseong, truly think about this, this isn’t me saying no to letting you go on a lads holiday, I’m denying you the opportunity to be a father,” you plead with him one last time, giving him an out to all of this as you lay it all on the table.

“Princess, I have had seven months to think about it. I am not compromising or altering my needs for you, this is a decision that I have made on my own. If I truly wanted the life I thought I did, I wouldn’t be begging you to be with me right now. I know this isn’t an easy choice but I have never been more sure about anything in my life.”

Jongseong kisses all over your face, each one a receipt of his sincerity.

His words strike straight into your heart. He’s serious. A part of you wants to still feel guilty like you’re forcing him into this but on the other hand, he’s right. You’ve given him a multitude of opportunities to leave and find a girl who will cater to him, but he hasn’t.

He doesn’t need to because all he needs is you and your love, to Jongseong, that is all he needs in his life.

“Okay, but if you ever change your min-”

He interjects with a kiss, one filled with so much happiness and love that it’s almost intoxicating; either that or all the booze in his system has transferred its way into your bloodstream.

You giggle as he rolls over on top of you again, peppering loud and wet kisses all over your face and neck akin to a dog licking you from utter joy. Your hands try to fight him off playfully, your laugh growing louder as he nuzzles into your neck.

“Oh, wait!” Your lover's sudden pause catches your attention, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he swiftly rolls off the bed and rushes over to the messy pile on the chair by his dresser.

Curious, you crane your neck to see what he's up to, watching as he retrieves something from the floor.

“What is it?” you inquire, intrigued by his enthusiasm.

Turning back to you, Jongseong holds up the familiar torn sheet of paper that you recognise instantly, his smile lighting up his face. He grabs a pen from the desk and returns to your side, handing you both items.

“Tick it off,” he urges, pointing to the bottom of the page where a new addition was made yesterday morning. Despite his internal conflict about the list, he couldn't bring himself to tear it up. If he never saw you again, this would be a precious memory to hold onto.

So he added a new aspiration at the bottom.

Taking the pen from his hand, you read it slowly, “Make Y/N mine again..”

You gaze up at him in awe, understanding the significance of this gesture and how much the list means to him, “You wished for this?” you ask, to which he simply nods at your question, “Then you need to tick it off.” You push the pen and paper back to him but he stops you.

“No, you made the wish come true, so you need to tick it off,” he replies, the corners of his lips upturning slightly.

So with the pen, you draw a line over the words, scoring it off once and for all as you beam proudly, happy that both of your souls are now joined together again. You pull him in for a long, deep kiss, the bucket list discarded as you lose yourselves in the moment once again.

#enhypen smut #enha smut #enhypen x reader #enhypen angst #jay smut #park jongseong smut #aj writes #jay x reader #park jongseong x reader

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riseatlantisss · 7 months

Text

The end we start from

Pairing : Astarion x female!reader/Tav Around 1,8 words Takes place after the events in Cazador's palace in act 3 (non-ascended Astarion, established relationship) Angst with a happy ending (and loooots of sex) <3

Astarion doesn’t feel good enough. you show him he’s everything.

TW : 18+ MDNI, unprotected sex, very angry/angsty/rough sex, fingering, mature language, mentions of death and depression, mentions of blood

A/N : when i don’t work, i do two things: i take care of my dog and i play BG3. i don’t eat. i don’t sleep. i don’t socialize. i just play BG3. and I write stuff about *him*.

Astarion is many things. Quiet is not one of them. But lately, that’s all he’s been, and you’ve been worrying about him night and day. Tonight is no exception. You wake up in the middle of the night and realize two things : not only is Astarion’s side of the bed empty but the sheets and pillows are untouched, uncrumpled. His side hasn’t been slept in. This isn’t right. Of course, he doesn’t really need to sleep but he always, always lays next to you at night, spooning you, playing with your hair and whispering sweet I love yous in your ear until you fall asleep. His absence means something’s off. Unable to shake off the anxiety, you get up in one swift motion, determined to find him. No chance you’re falling back asleep now anyway.

Your bare feet hit the cold marble floor and you shiver as you make your way accros the bedroom in a hurry. You think of searching outside in case he went for a hunt, but it turns out you don’t have to look too far. There he is, silently leaning against the wall by the window, gazing into the pitch-black night of the Underdark. The light in the room is so dim that you couldn’t even spot him from your bed. You approach him and your heart breaks a little when you notice the lingering sadness in his crimson eyes, enhanced by the faint light of the burning candles next to him.

You want to ask him if he’s ok but it’s obvious he’s not so instead, you remain silent and close the space between the two of you, wrapping your arms around him and gently resting your head on his shoulder.

“What are you thinking about?” You ask softly after a while, your voice barely above a whisper.

Astarion averts his gaze and gives you a faint smile, nothing but a twist of lips.

“Nothing,” he replies. “I’m just being selfish, as usual. Forgive me, y/n.”

You frown and stare at him incredulously. “You’re not selfish,” you say, surprised at how intensely he means it. “Why would you even say that?”

“I –” He pauses, rethinks his words. This does nothing to make you less worried. “I caused you great pain,” he finally says. “I put you in danger. Repeatedly, ever since we met. You could have died a hundred times and it would have been my own, entire fault.”

You look up to him and feel a lump form in your throat. You have never seen him look like this – grief in his eyes and etched into the lines of his face.

“I’m not dead, Astarion. I’m right here with you.” You say as you wrap your arms around his neck. He makes a sound somewhere near a sob and your arms tighten.

“But I did put you in danger and now you’re stuck with me for eternity, in the middle of nowhere, and you—" Again, he stops. He’s bad at this, at talking about emotions. But he fights through it because it’s you. And nothing can be left unsaid between the two of you. Not after everything that’s happened. “You deserve so much better. You deserve the world, and I can’t give it to you.” You’re not sure where this conversation is going but you don't want to find out. His lower lip quiver but he goes on, words spilling out of him like blood from a wound. “I can’t give it to you, and I’ll never be able to forgive myself for it. It’s killing me all over again.” You crumble under each one of his words. His lips are trembling now and you can’t stand it. You can’t but you can’t do him the dishonor of looking away either.

“Astarion, I chose this life.” Your hands flutter to his face, each one cupping a cold cheek, forcing him to look at you. Your heart is pounding, and you know he can feel it. “I had a choice; I could stay, or I could run, and I chose you. I’m not stuck here. I’m home.”

Astarion heaves a faltering breath in an attempt at composure. “Sometimes I think you would be happier without me. Better off.” He barely mouths the words, but you hear them all distinctively, nonetheless. “You should go and leave me here. Walk in the sun. Be happy and live your life.” You draw your hands away from his face and he steps back, speaking louder now.

“It won’t get any better in here,” he continues, gesturing urgently around the room. “It’ll always be cold and dark, I’ll always be a blood-thirsty monster. I belong to the shadows, and I’ll never be able to make you happy, so you might as well just leave.”

His words knock the air out of your lungs and, for a moment, you cannot breathe. You feel your pulse pounding in your veins and blood thrumming under your skin as your heartbreak turns into anger. That fucking idiot, you think, looking up at him through eyes blurred with tears.

“You don’t know what makes me happy. You don’t,” you shout, surprised by the vehemence in your voice. "And you certainly don't get to speak for me." Astarion looks at you in such confusion that you almost feel bad for a moment, but you continue.

“You – you make me happy, Astarion, gods you do. I would rather live an eternity in the Underdark with you than one more day in the fucking sun.” Your heart is clenching in your chest, and you can feel the heat pooling in your cheeks. “By no means would I be better off, let alone happier, without you. I can’t believe that you could even think –” You trail off and sigh in frustration. You can’t bring yourself to scream at him any longer because that’s all he’s ever known before you, screams and shouts and abuse, and you can’t do this to him. But that doesn’t leave you with many options to get through to him. Astarion opens his mouth to say something, but you don’t let him.

Without warning you grab his shirt to pull him close and your lips crash into his, knocking the breath out of both of you with the force that you collide with. It only fuels your rage because the moment his lips are on yours, you can’t help thinking that you almost lost this once and you can’t actually lose it. You won’t let that happen. So you kiss him harder. It’s rough and desperate and sloppy. It's harsh breath and biting teeth.

He turns you around and backs you against the wall. You take it rather hard, but you welcome the sting. Anything to shut him up about not being good enough for you. He crowds in closer, presses you even harder against the wall, shoving his knee between your thighs. His cold lips connect to your throat, making you eagerly tilt your head to give him access to your thrumming pulse dancing at your neck. You have absolutely no qualms about it. If he wants it, it’s his.

But he doesn’t take it. Instead, his mouth sucks and licks, making you squirm and rock your hips against him. You cling to him, grabbing his shoulders and sliding your hands down his shirt and to his back. He hoists you up like you weighed nothing and you wrap both legs around his waist. You tangle your hands in his curly silver hair and pull him forward to feel that mouth on yours again. His tongue running over your lip makes you grind faster, searching for more, more, more. You moan when his hand reaches beneath your gown and through your damp underwear.

Firm, icy fingers are stroking you into madness. You make a sound that’s close to a whimper, but more like a groan, because damn it, you are so impatient now. You are clenching – aching to have him inside.

He is gasping at the feeling of your fluttering around him, and you must be gasping too, but you’re not sure; your head falls back and it feels like you’re breathing, but you could just as well be drowning.

You dig your nails hard into his back - you need to channel the anger into something. Maybe you’ll be the one drawing blood this time. You lean forward to rest your dizzy head on his shoulder and groan in anticipation. Not wasting anymore time, he pushes his hard, large cock into you, going steadily until he’s all the way in.

“Harder. Fuck me harder.” You plead and he obeys.

He sets a pace that graces all the right spots, spurred on the increasingly desperate noises escaping your mouth. This is no effort at all for him, holding you up easily and fucking you hard with determination. But you can see it when you rest your forehead against his – the sheer weakness you feel is reflected right back at you and you know he needs this just as much as you do.

You are so close. You need to concentrate on breathing, just so you simply don’t die. Your lower back thuds against the wardrobe with your oh gods and fucks singing in tandem. The vampire trails open-mouthed kisses and little bites down your neck while maintaining the almost vicious pace in and out of you. Every stroke curls and loves and breaks you into submission. You forget to be angry because your release is in his hands and your body is desperately handing itself over to him.

Your thighs start to quiver around him, the sounds of wetness and the feeling of his own explosion of pleasure deep inside you taking you so high that eventually, you shatter into him. You’re so grateful for the strength holding you up, so you can fall apart.

Your repeatedly moan his name on your way back to consciousness, lips brushing softly against his pale skin.

Before you know what is happening, you break into a sob.

“Please…. Please don’t ever tell me to leave, ever again.” You try to articulate, your voice shaking uncontrollably.

He sinks down onto his knees, holding you in his lap and whispering, “Shh,” into your ear.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, his voice is low and full of gravel. He never sounded so sweet. “I love you, always have and always will. And you’re not going anywhere.”

4K notes · View notes

hoseoksluna · 2 months

Text

SOJU | jjk

pairing: fuck buddy!jungkook x f. reader (feat. hobi)

genre: heavy angst, heavy smut

word count: 10.4k

summary: jungkook gives you all that he has—his feelings, his dominance and his cum.

playlist: soju / pinterest board: wine

warnings: sex flashbacks, alcohol consumption, jungkook is drunk emotional and a mess, jealousy, reader has daddy issues (like the writer), almost heavy dd/lg themes, plushie used during intercourse, inner child healing, use of a sex toy, oral sex (f. receiving), ass play and nipple play, provocation, dirty talk, hair pulling, dry humping, rough sex, overstimulation, pain felt during intercourse, jungkook instructs reader like the teacher he is, pet names and one particular title used, squirting, praise kink, jungkook is mean and cruel and just so horny

note: i will never forget this fic. never. this is the third part of 'wine' and therefore the very end to this adventitious series. even though, this part has a little bit information and quirks in it from the other two fics, it's fine to read as a standalone, but i do recommend reading all three parts as they interlink and you can beautifully see the process and the change of their relationship. i want to thank the lovely soul who asked me to make this a series because writing this made me incredibly happy—and all the themes i used mean the world to me. i also want to thank all of you for reading and for all the love. i hope you like this as much as i do. please, heed the warnings as there are dd/lg themes that not everyone can be comfortable with. with that being said, enjoy your reading and let me know what you think, let me know your favorite parts. ᡣ𐭩

side note: drunk 3D jungkook being all mean, dominant and daddy is, quite literally, the epitome of my sexuality.

Jungkook will always be a man of his word.

It’s the foundation that keeps his back straight as he leads you through the crowd. The core of the whole promise is the very strength of his fingers as they clasp around your much smaller hand because he notices, under the washed out lights of red and violet, that you’re the center of attention.

He feels as though he’s dragging the hand of a child like a protective father. Except, he has the impulsive need to cover you with his body.

It’s a blasting alarm within the ear splitting chaos of his mind. Louder than the modern music he cares little for; louder than the song of the hard, quickening beats of his heart that he’s unable to ignore. He promised he’d make it up to you about the party because he’d made you drunk with lust. Now that he’s taken you here, he’d much rather be back home with you. Wouldn’t even have the need to seduce you—he just doesn’t want to be here. Doesn’t want you to be the apple of everyone’s eye.

Sweat glistens on the planes of his forehead.

Jungkook returns every inquisitive look of people he doesn’t know with a stern furrow of his brows. Figures he needs a drink; figures he needs his hyung, at least one familiar face among strangers.

A strong one, to calm the storm within, and a big hug from the host himself.

He hates people.

Leading you to the makeshift bar of spirits in the kitchen, he has a protective hand over the small of your back as you climb on the bar stool. Watches as your ass lifts over the leather and almost jumps out of his own skin when the outsole of your high-heeled shoe slips on the footrest and you fall back onto the chair with a thud. A precious set of treble giggles billow out of your mouth, followed by a reassuring flick of your hand that you’re okay, and Jungkook’s own hand trembles when he lifts it off your back. While you open your purse to reapply your lip gloss, he hides behind his tight, feigned smile the need to run and calm his breathing.

His irises wander over the contents of that purse of yours. Finds a long brown pencil there, your phone, a pack of cigarettes with a purple lighter and a ring of keys adorned with the tiniest Hello Kitty he’s ever seen. No wallet, no cash tucked beneath. A smirk tugs the corner of his mouth, hand acting out of its own will—coming over to your long hair, smoothing it down as you focus on lining your lips with another set of glitter and pinkness. Perhaps the gesture is owed to the proudness he feels due to the fact you’re expecting to be provided for throughout the night, wherever it takes you both after this party. Blurred within is the smugness that he’s the reason you’re dolling yourself up again because he couldn’t help but make a mess of your mouth in the car. It makes his cock grow tight in his pants.

He wears the smugness all over his features. From the gleaming cosmos in his eyes, to the smudged kiss stains of all the roses in the world scattering over his nose and cheeks, down to the deepening smirk. He thinks he’d buy you anything your eyes would linger a heartbeat longer on, with snacks included in case you’d get hungry, as he silently praises you for your good behavior, for that smart brain of yours by the brush of his hand down your hair. A sick part of him wants to even get in debt for you for the pure fun of it—the fun being the primal core of your wishes and needs being gratified, for your satisfaction to shine through the veins on your skin like little sun rays, all while having the time of your life on the night out he promised you.

He’s not afraid to admit he’d do anything for you as long as it stays safely stashed within his system. Can’t risk voicing it out. Can’t risk you knowing. Can’t risk shit.

Studying the shape of your lips as you hold up a small heart-shaped mirror, he twirls the ends of your hair as he waits for you to be done to ask you what you want to drink. Is reminded of the way those pillows wrapped around the straw of the banana milk you brought for him the last time he saw you. Of the way they sucked his fingers when he used them for lubrication to rub your clit while he was fully buried inside your tight, dew-sprinkled cunt. He suddenly feels hot under his collar.

He’s a slave to flashbacks. Always has been.

The celestial concoction of your needy moans and his, kept safe within the confines of his car, loop in his brain. The look of agonized lust when he bit your bottom lip in a heated kiss that he soon alleviated with the swipe of his tongue, with the suction of his lips that begged him to take more of you. Jungkook hears it as if there wasn’t any music at all, as if its thrumming wasn’t enveloping the corridors of his panic-stricken heart. He hears your words, embellished by those giggles of yours, in his ears all over again: “Stop, you’re making me horny. We should go inside.” His own, too: “You dance better for me when your panties are wet. I know you do.” Sees again, as if the moment is happening again and you’re standing in front of him, the way you reacted to his hands warming up your sides in the cold after you stumbled out of his car. Sighing softly, glossy eyes whirling upwards to the drowsy sky full of quivering stars, tipsy on the desire he’s obsessed with awakening in you while being tipsy just the same. The smile rising on your lips when he asked: “Show me how you’re gonna dance for me.” The way you moved your hips in such a silly way that squeezed his heart until it was difficult to breathe.

He’s fucked. Knows he is. Has known it for a while now.

You’re the origin of the chaos within his mind. The body of it itself. He has a teeny-tiny version of you in his mind that lives there, and lives there well because he feeds her, brushes her hair and gives her kisses, despite the storm.

He could never tell you—how much he thinks about you daily.

To a certain extent, he almost did the last time you came around, in a frenzy of sensuality and pent-up desire that consumed him. Prayed you didn’t see it for the way it really was.

It’s not just lust, and it’s more than just a friendship.

He figured as much—doesn’t have any fucking idea what to do with it.

Not a single one. Especially not when you pucker your lips at him and screw the applicator back into the tube.

He doesn’t want to lose you. Doesn’t ever want to lose the sight of that pucker of yours. And he fears that if he tells you of his weakness for you, he might never see it again.

So, he opts to keep things safe, keep things casual. That is until he eventually bursts.

That’s another promise, too.

He pulls on one of your strands. Your head knocks back, eyes wide at the audacity of it all. He laughs at your reaction.

“Can you stop?”

Jungkook does it again just to see the shock written over your face, full on belly laughing.

“What the fuck?” You slap his shoulder, the impact so small he barely feels it. “You want me to pull your hair, too?”

He grabs his stomach. “No, what I want to know is what you wanna drink.”

You purse your lips in feigned anger, fingers outstretched by the back of his head to play-pull his hair or perhaps slap him into oblivion. If you could manage it.

He doesn’t think you could.

He goes around you to sit beside you on the bar stool, studying the bottles of liquor his hyung bought. Is ignorant to the way you’re studying him, to the way the corners of your mouth lift ever so slightly at the discovery of the current situation in his intimate parts.

Pulls out one to acknowledge himself with it. Asks you if you wanna drink it.

You don’t say anything.

When Jungkook lifts his eyes to scold you for not paying attention, all the words get hitched in his throat. You’re grinning from ear to ear. All those damned words are forgotten immediately.

“Are you hard?” you whisper, flushed at the face, glossy eyes glimmering, ever so excited about your discovery.

He feels himself twitch. Hides it by cupping himself discreetly.

Averts his eyes. “I’m always hard around you,” he mutters, twisting the bottle open. “I’ve gotten used to it.”

He doesn’t look at you when he pours you a shot, but he focuses on the way your breathing gains speed. Fights the smile threatening his lips caused by how easy it is to provoke you.

“You wanna get out of here?”

You’re hasty as you ask, looking around you, inspecting which room you could use to drag him into and relieve him of his problem, but he assures you it’s no problem at all with a curt shake of his head.

Strangely, he found a way to like the tension in his pants. Thinks it digs deep into the depth of the moment—simply makes it more exciting.

“We just got here,” Jungkook says flatly, screwing the lid back on. “Don’t be rude.”

He filled your shot to the brim not necessarily with the intention to make you drunk as fast as he can, but to watch your eyes widen the way they do so sweetly. And you don’t disappoint him at all when you do just that, the smile on your lips blossoming still. An aura of shyness envelops you in softness due to his disapproving words and Jungkook realizes he grazed your submission by reprimanding you. While it magnifies his smugness, he feels a little bit bad for you. Knows how much it turns you on when his fatherliness looms out, but blames you for it nonetheless. You rouse it in him.

You may have never told him about your father wounds, but his instincts sensed it in you—sought it out like its own child and cradled it in his arms, promising to never let go.

Promise. There it is again.

He wants to spend the rest of his life promising you things. Doesn’t matter what. He just wants the security, the cord of trust, that you’ll be here; that you’ll be here for a long time. It truly doesn’t matter if he promises you things internally or outwardly.

Jungkook cups your chin. Wants to say something. Wants to reassure you that you can take the shot, encourage you a tiny bit. But what you say to him dries up his throat completely.

“You don’t want a blowie?”

Your words were a mere silky noise, but he heard you. Curled his fingers tight into fists in order not to bend you over the bar stool and take you right then and there in front of everyone.

Decides he will provoke you right back.

“You don’t want a lickie?” he murmurs, drawing close to you so you’re the only one who hears him. “You don’t want Daddy’s tongue on your little clit?”

You gasp and grip his knee, your legs intuitively spreading.

Jungkook skims his surroundings to see if anyone’s watching. When the coast is clear—people mindlessly mingling, having conversations—he hovers his lips against your ear, hand coming in between your legs, not to touch you but to cover you. Whispers, “or you don’t want Daddy’s tongue fucking you fast? Licking over your little ass? Hm, you don’t know how good that feels yet, do you?”

You’re holding in a sob—Jungkook sees it in the way your eyes and lips round, brows furrowing. He made you wet. Serves you right.

He pulls away to pour you a chaser. Asks which one you want.

You take a deep breath, flicking your hair back. “Coca cola,” you chirp, despite the deathly grip you have on his knee, perhaps to hold your sanity together, other fingers wrapping around the shot. Small, so fitting for an equally small glass.

Jungkook laughs. Loves it. Loves…

The realization, of what he almost granted access to within his system, strangles his heart. He hears nothing for a moment, not the music, not the tremor of his weak heart. Nothing.

A can of Coke waits for you behind the bar on the kitchen counter and before any thought flicks through his brain, Jungkook stands to his feet to fetch it for you—to get his blood pumping again so he can gain control of his senses. It scares him, the nothingness. Even his eyes fail to focus as he looks for the metallic red can he swore he saw hardly a minute ago. He feels a slap on his back and a familiar face, at last, comes into view.

Hobi.

The first thought that resurfaces is filled with thankfulness enveloping around that name, dispersed with tiny kisses of ‘you saved me, hyung’. Jungkook dives head-first into the offering hug of his savior, his senses returning to him like magnets attaching to metal. He takes in a deep breath as if he was under water and just came up for air.

“So glad to see you,” Hobi says, rubbing his back.

Jungkook squeezes his shoulder. Says something that doesn’t reflect what he truly wants to say, keeps up the small talk while burying under layers upon layers of mud the confession that he almost told himself he loved you.

Which reminds him that he didn’t introduce you.

“There’s someone I want you to meet,” Jungkook says, grabbing the can of Coke his eyesight is now clear enough to spot and an empty, tall glass for you. Guides his friend to where you’re sitting but what he sees almost makes him jump out of his own skin for the second time in the span of an hour—almost sobs tearfully at the unfortunate discovery.

A mop of dirty blonde curls shaking at the impact of his laughter as he whispers sweet nothing into the shell of your ear. He towers from behind you, compressing you in the muscly width of his half-barren chest. An electricity of anguish spasms down the course of Jungkook’s body, for in a flash he’s reminded of the way you towered above him just the same the last time. His sweat cools as you listen to him, a pang after pang of jealousy stinging him in his abdomen. He’s frozen on the spot—Hobi says something, but Jungkook can’t hear him—that is until you make a face of discomfort.

Jungkook sees red.

His heart slams hard against his chest, but he doesn’t feel it. He doesn’t feel its intention to break his ribcage.

The words unfurl out of his tight mouth before he can think them through. “Can I fucking help you?” he hisses through his teeth, setting the glass and the can down harshly. The noise makes you jump, which instantly drives him to regret his actions—and it puts an end to his rage.

He didn’t mean to scare you. Doesn’t want you to regard him this way.

The sudden softness welcomes his senses back with a gentle beckoning.

Lifting his eyes, the guy ignores the question. Whispers something again that forces you to pierce your stare into the fire that burns within Jungkook’s irises. Not the fire he let you see throughout the trajectory of your casual relationship, the blue, the dreamily sultry one.

The one that licks over his eyes is black. Pitch black. No sign of stars, no dots of reflection of light. Pure pitch black.

But you hold his gaze, unafraid of the darkness.

For a reason unknown to him, it ignites you with strength to shove raggedy Barbie Ken away. Your touch lingers on his chest for a mere second and is not as scorching as the bite of your words: “Yes, I’m here with him and I’m not interested in you. Go away.”

Jungkook doesn’t look at the guy. Doesn’t give two shits about the painful twists of his features as he staggers away. Forgets about Hobi; forgets about the questioning looks of strangers digging into his back. All he sees is you. All he hears is the sigh of relief once he’s gone. And Jungkook is hasty as he reaches for you, relieved himself—relieved that he didn’t have to fight the fucker and alter the trust you have in him—needing you close, needing to gain back his control. He’s almost smiling uncomfortably at the ridiculous twist of events, but then the tug of his mouth stills.

You slip out of his grasp and move past him.

There’s silence within Jungkook’s ribcage. Not one beat or flutter, not one kick.

Nothing.

***

Knocking back shots after shots, Jungkook remains silent. Doesn’t answer any of his hyung’s questions. Doesn’t look at any of the girls who sashay to Hobi’s thigh to chitchat. His gaze merely remains fixed on the empty glass of the chaser he never had the chance to pour you.

Your shot of the dark liquor is also left untouched.

It’s the twinge of pity he feels that gives the order to his feet to rise. Hobi grabs his arm, long fingers digging into the hard leather of his jacket. Jungkook doesn’t reciprocate his stare, despite its heavy energy. Keeps his head low instead.

“Give her more time,” Hobi says, lugging him down to a seated position but Jungkook untangles out of his grip.

Grabs a bottle of soju as he mutters, “half an hour is more than enough.”

He makes a way through the corridor towards the door you slinked into, the translucent bottle swinging by his jean-clothed thigh. Doesn’t knock on the wood, instead walks straight in as if he owned the place.

You’re sitting by the foot of the bed. The yellowness of the subdued bedside lamp drapes your sagged shoulders in gold, filtering through your hair that obscures your face. You had taken off your shoes and they lie crooked and alone by your stocking-clad feet. Jungkook wonders if that’s how you feel.

His weakness caused by the unfortunate events and the sadness engulfing you stops him from moving a step closer to you as he beholds your puny form, but Jungkook fights it—fights for you. He needs to be in control. Of his own body and emotions, no matter how strenuous he finds it. He needs to be strong—and he needs to be strong for you to make things right.

He clicks the door shut behind him. As he walks towards you, he opens the bottle of soju with the firmness of his phone and takes a long sip. Settles in between your legs on the ground, crossing his legs at the ankles. Probs you on the calf to make his presence known to you, cooing your name.

You sniff your nose, gathering your hair to the side, curling the shorter pieces behind your ear. Your face glistens from the rivers of tears he wasn’t there to wipe away, cheeks flushed from all the onrush of emotions that wasn’t of the coy or sensuous kind he likes so much. The hard stone of his heart cracks at your broken countenance and the back and forth swipe of his fingers on the nylon of your stocking grows more tender the more he takes in your sadness. He wishes to inhale it, rid you of it once and for all. Thinks it doesn’t belong to you. Wants to fight the guy, make you laugh—make a fool out of himself—and make love to you. Wants all of those things at the same time, but he realizes he can’t tear himself apart.

He decides being here is enough. He can fix whatever has been broken here in Hobi’s room.

“This is so fucked up, Jungkook.”

You’re the first one to break the silence and it takes a slight weight off of his shoulders. Jungkook hums, prompts you to speak further on what hurts your heart. Wraps his entire hand around the muscle of your calf, thumb tracing figures of eight on your skin.

The warmth helps you look him in the eye, but you don’t say anything else.

Jungkook figures it’s his turn.

“I wouldn’t let him touch you,” he says softly, hand drifting down to cradle the heel of your lifted foot. You’re mine, he doesn’t add.

Your mouth rounds once again in a wave of emotion that clutches you. You don’t let the tears fall, looking up to the ceiling so the little pearls don’t trickle out of your tear ducts. Jungkook notices puffy marks of darkness under your bottom lashes, where he swore he saw thin pathways of glitter, small shooting stars traveling around the globe of your eyes. They’re nowhere to be found now, you’ve rubbed them away.

“I know, it’s not about that.” You sniff, hands hooking under the hem of your skirt just to have something to hold onto, to busy your fingers a little—as if he wasn’t right there. “I think I kinda get you know.”

Jungkook makes a sound that asks you to enlighten him, taking a swig of the sweet liquor to aid him in forgetting what he didn’t say. But the more he drinks, the more he remembers—the more his feelings splutter to life. It’s like he didn’t drink a drop at all.

“I never understood why you need to be in control all the time,” you start, fixing your gaze on his. “But I finally did when that guy had his arms around me and wouldn’t let go. I wished I had even a small bit of control in that moment when I was alone. I hated feeling like I had to endure it when all I wanted to do was run away.” You break apart at your last words and Jungkook’s world crumbles in his hands.

There’s chaos in his mind. A chaos of selfish nature that wants to prove you wrong because no, he doesn’t have any control when it comes to you, when you’re dressed, perfect and broken altogether. He doesn’t have shit—he’s nothing. A complete mess. And perhaps it’s his bruised heart that acts out despite this self-pitying mayhem grappling him, shutting it out into eternal darkness, for Jungkook doesn’t even know how he does it when he pulls you down onto his lap by a careful drag of your legs and encases you within the heated snugness of his arms.

He doesn’t even understand his own words when he says, “You can take all of mine. It’s yours.”

Jungkook doesn’t care about anything at all because when you start to sob into his shoulders, he breaks along with you—bursts at the seams completely.

“I know you were scared, but that won’t happen again. Not when I give you all of my control.” His words are smooth amidst the stream of his liquid emotions and Jungkook is glad for it—glad to be a pillar you can lean on. He imagines transferring all of his being, not just his control, to you like a blanket draping around your shoulders, so the situation never happens again.

His tears soak your hair strands and they carry his sorrowful kiss to the crook of your neck. He doesn’t want to utter a sound, wants to remain strong, but his heavy exhales betray him, wafting against you as he tightens his grip around your violently shuddering body in effort to soothe it. Considers this moment to be yours alone, doesn’t want to be selfish. Wants to be there for you.

“You helped me when I saw you,” you say against his skin, the sound muffled but he hears you—tightens his lips in a firm line in order not to wail. “When I saw that you were there, I was strong enough to push him away. You were my backup, Jungkook.”

He agrees with a soft sound, rocking you back and forth as he cradles you. Leans his head against the side of yours, shielding you from the world and its wickedness.

Your cries quieten. “But I want to be strong even when you’re not there.”

Jungkook strokes your hair, understands you even when it pains him—his attachment to you pulled so taut he fears it’ll break. “You’re strong now. I gave you my control, didn’t I?”

To his surprise, you nod.

After you pull away to breathe and Jungkook sweeps your tears away with his thumb, he’s smothered with the reminder that he made a promise to himself—a promise that is on the brink of being fulfilled.

The walls close in on him, but he doesn’t care. He promised to keep things casual until he bursts. He refuses to go another day pretending you’re just a friend he feels nothing for. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the heavily charged emotions that make the decision for him, but he simply doesn’t care about the outcome anymore. The truth has to come out into the light.

Jungkook calls you by your name. Brushes your hair back so he can look properly in the faded lush of your eyes; cradles your face in his hands like that. You call him by his name as well, whispering it into the shadows of the room. Such a soft, silky sound that puts pink plasters over the cracks in his heart. He says your name in the same intonation just to get a taste of liberty.

“I’m yours,” he confesses, a lump forming in his throat, and he’s too late to blink the tears away. “I’ve been yours since the day I met you; since the moment you laid your hands on me. Yours for the taking. My heart, my control—it’s all yours.”

The bridge constricting his throat collapses when you give him a look of endearment, your features softening, rounding in emotion. Jungkook watches as a tear rolls down your cheek; feels an identical one going down the same path on his own skin, fiery and hot.

“I’m sorry.” He breaks into sobs—and break, break, break is all he does. “I’m sorry if you wanted to stay casual, but I can’t… and-and I can’t let you go. I can’t let anyone else have you.”

You bunch the material of his wife-beater in your fists under his jacket, mewling tender weeping sounds. Jungkook bites his lip to prevent himself from spilling in your hands, needing you to say something, anything, so he can straighten his back and call it a night. You bury your head in his chest and Jungkook lulls you to calmness while needing it himself. He suddenly feels alone. Alone and crooked like your shoes, as if he said the wrong thing, as if he didn’t deserve any reassurement, any love for what he just did—

You mumble something into his skin.

His heart jumps.

“I didn’t catch that, baby.”

You lift your head, clutching the sides of his neck. “I like you, too, Jungkook.”

Your words tell him a lot of things.

He didn’t make a mistake tonight. He didn’t do anything bad, didn’t lose you for the rest of his life. He will see that pucker of yours for the months to come, your glitter and all your shooting stars will be there to guide him home.

And the other thing is—he fell for you first. Because while you like him, he absolutely and irrevocably loves all of who you are.

He smiles at you, though. The bridge takes the heft on his shoulders along with it and disperses into nothingness. He wants to thank you. He wants to thank you for the kindness you expressed towards him, for your hands that hold him. And he does by kissing you, by inhaling you, taking away all your sadness and the bad events that caused it.

“You mean a lot to me,” you say against his lips, pretty wet eyelashes fluttering. Jungkook feels their dewiness; wants to feel yours, too. There’s a pout to his mouth as he listens to you. “You changed my life. You make it better.” He nods at your words, senses them opening a window in his heart to let the fresh air in. “I don’t ever wanna lose you, Gguk. You’re too important.”

He almost says it. Those three words. But he keeps them stored within the now brisk chamber of his heart, full of spring. Flowers grow, in place of the plasters.

Jungkook caresses your cheek. “I want to make you forget.”

You beam at him—and there he feels it, the pulse of his heart, its song and its steady, balmy notes.

“Make me forget about tonight, please.”

He kisses you, adds in a million tiny pecks in between, sliding his tongue inside your mouth in brief greeting. His fingers blindly find the bottle of Soju and when he withdraws with a pop, he presents it to you.

“Look at what I got you,” Jungkook says, chuckling.

You wrap your hand around his on the bottle and he tips it to your mouth, helping you drink it. You widen your eyes at him when he wants you to drink more than you do, and he lowers his hand with a grin. Loves those eyes of yours. Loves your mouth as he wipes it clean with his thumb.

It’s lighthearted, the state of his emotions. He had tasted liberty by fondly mimicking your intonation, but now it courses through his veins, now it’s his. He feels so very glad to be alive at this moment and he wants to celebrate in the only way he knows he can.

“I got you another thing as well, but it’s back home,” Jungkook says. “I can’t drive but we can take an Uber.”

“Let’s go.”

Jungkook straps your heels, fixes your skirt and swipes his thumbs under your eyes to rid you of black mascara stains. Offering you his hand, you take his pinky and ring finger and he leads you out of the room with you following behind. He skims the living room to find Hobi but, again, he’s nowhere in sight until you tap his shoulder and point to the right side of the corridor. Hobi is rising to his feet from sitting on the stairs. The thought of his hyung staying around for him instead of enjoying the party squeezes his heart in gratitude. He hugs him and when it’s your turn to say your goodbye, Hobi pulls you in for a hug as well, rubbing your back as he asks you if you’re okay.

The soju remains in your hand. Sitting on the curb outside, both of you finish it while waiting to be picked up with Jungkook’s hand on your thigh and rough kisses shared in between. The wind doesn’t dare to disturb the intimacy, but watches on with a fond care, the stars hanging low, peeking through to witness at least one good thing of the night.

***

“If this breaks me out, I’m gonna kill you.”

Jungkook is carefully tender as he drags the makeup wipe along the perimeters of your cheeks, scowling at the sun-filled tint coloring the whiteness of the wet cloth. He had spent half an hour choosing the right brand in the drugstore earlier in the morning because he decided you were going to sleep over without telling you, reading each small letter on the packaging, despite the fact he understood shit.

You’re still clothed and so is he, resting in the middle of the comfort of his bed as he hovers above you, knees perched at the foot of the bed. The aching ball of your own foot grazes the bulge in his intimate parts and Jungkook himself is at wonder how he’s able to focus when it stimulates all of his senses, adding heat to his body.

“It’s Korean, it won’t break you out,” he mutters, swiping along the underside of your eye with extra care.

“I once had a toner that—”

Jungkook covers your mouth with his palm. “It’s Korean,” he whispers, furrowing his brows at you.

You giggle and he drops his glower, beaming down at you.

“You know I can do it myself. I’m not that drunk.”

He focuses on your forehead now, cleaning off your foundation and all those sparkles.

“I know you can, but let me.”

You babble on and Jungkook decides he’s had enough of it. He clicks his tongue. “I’m gonna shut you up.”

He dumps the makeup wipe on your face and rummages through his bedside drawer. While you use it to cleanse off your neck, Jungkook spoils your surprise and opens your present. Is discreet as he smuggles it between your legs, pressing it against your clothed clit.

The soft vibrations spread throughout his whole hand. He increases the intensity.

You freeze, flicking your eyes to his, makeup wipe long forgotten. You roll your hips against the toy.

“Oh my god.”

Serves you fucking right.

“Keep talking,” Jungkook mutters. “Hm, keep fucking talking and dare to come.”

It’s maniacal, his laugh, but gentle and amorous in nature because he fucking loves you, loves to tease you, loves to make you feel good—show your body new things that it willingly accepts. You wiggle your hips, chasing the pleasure, mouth fallen open, emitting tiny satiny legato whimpers, which cause his cock to twitch in his pants—so much that he begins to move the purple toy all around your femininity while palming himself. He notices your lack of babbling.

“What’s wrong?” he asks in feigned sympathy. “You suddenly have nothing to say?”

You smile at him, and it stops everything. The roleplay of his mean dominance, the vibrations buzzing his hand. He turns the toy off and is straightforward as he says, “undress.”

Does so himself.

He takes off his leather jacket and unbuttons his pants; watches you as you drag the skirt down those hips he wants nothing more than to kiss and hold in his hands. When it pools around your knees, he chucks the material behind him. You hook your thumbs beneath the waistband of your stockings and Jungkook thinks about how he’d like to tear them apart and make you lose your mind through the hole he’d create as he strokes the outer side of your thigh. He wanted to be gentle with you tonight, but he just can’t help it.

You rouse it him and he just listens.

His hands are quick as they rip a hole above the center of your rosily pink panties. He smirks at your shocked gasp, so short and dry, drawing close to your pussy, kissing her, nuzzling his face in her. The tension in his intimate parts is almost unbearable when you run your hands through his hair and incite him to do more. He licks over the tiny wet spot on the frail material that he’s the artist of, adding to it, and watches the roll of your eyes because there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for you. It’s a dance what your hips do, the most unkind torture and he longs to squeeze them.

He’s a good boy when it comes to listening to his body’s desires.

Making a way through the beige hole, ripping it further in the process, he grabs the supple skin, thumbs fondling over your hip bones. So small, so delicious. Jungkook licks his lips, pushes your underwear to the side to reveal your dewy little seashell—fixes it so it stays put. Looks up at you. “Top off. I wanna see those pretty tits.”

You’re a good girl, too, when it comes to obeying his wishes.

A praiseful coo ripples out of his mouth once you reveal your black padded bra. Jungkook decides he wants it to be in line of his sight, so he lowers the straps down your arms and merely tugs the undergarment below your breasts. The spillage and the ripple of their fullness almost makes him die right then and there. Jungkook bites his bottom lip until he draws blood.

Two hindrances. The silky straps on your arms, the stockings he will soon lower down your thighs. Jungkook curses under his breath; thinks he should’ve gotten the ropes he was eyeing after his drugstore run. Pink and rough, just the kind you would’ve liked.

Perhaps it isn’t needed for the lovemaking he longs for with you. Playtime and lovemaking are two different things, he concludes.

He’s so horny he might lose his mind first. And he does—with nose pressed against your sternum, babbling nonsense while he buries his head in your tits. Inhaling your vanilla and tuberose scent, he kisses the valley leading up to the peak of your stiffened nub, trails it with his tongue, goes the extra mile to suck it into his mouth, hearing its call. He’s just listening—listening to your body language that asks for him. His eyes are blurry when he gazes at you. You’ve fled to the pink planet again, but he wants you here with him. While he flicks your nipple with his nimble tongue, he grabs your face and squishes your cheeks. Would die for your adorableness. Would go to war for it, a thousand times over.

Jungkook sucks the nub to make your travel back to Earth faster and he accomplishes what he wants. With a roll of your body and a moan, you’re back, looking down at him, cradling him, brushing his hair back. He makes sure you see the way he toys with your nipple—keeps his mouth open as he circles it, flicks it before he sucks it back inside.

“Stay here with me,” Jungkook mumbles, switching to the other nipple. “Please.”

You nod, grinding your hips against his stomach. Another call. Your hands slide lower to his neck and Jungkook understands you want more.

“Take control of me, baby,” he says. “Flip me over.”

Your breath is shaky. A light flickers in your eyes, glints like his saliva adorning your nipple in the yellow dimness of the room. You grab a hold of his neck with your one hand like he does to you every time while the other comes around his shoulder and you push him to his back in one swift motion.

Jungkook feels proud. You learn well from him. So studious, so smart, so cute.

You straddle his hips and Jungkook begins to trace your thighs, fingertips gliding back and forth on the nylon, until he grips your hips—and grips them hard. He forces you down on the bulge of his cock, hissing at the pleasure rising up his abdomen. He feels your dewiness against the material of his boxers soaking it through. He guides your hips in a steady but firm rhythm and once you familiarize yourself with it and hump him on your own, he brushes his fingers across your wet nipples. The sensation sends you toppling back, spine arched as you ride him like you rode his Hello Kitty plushie, but Jungkook keeps his fingers on those two little nubs. Your tits bounce and slap against each other and he just follows their movement, squeezing, grazing, leading you to the burst of your climax. When he lets go, you lower your body enough for him to nuzzle his face in them, moving you to the tip of his cock that peeks out of his boxers. The contact of your little soaked clit with his oozing arousal makes Jungkook moan into your skin, and he feels his balls tighten.

He lets you know by squeezing your arm, as if his furrowed brows, flushed face and the planes of his forehead shining in a layer of sweat weren’t indicating the matter enough.

You enjoy every second of the torment you bestow upon him, back upright now, fingertip playing with his navel.

Even more so as you flip around and ride him reverse cowgirl style, the nylon of your stockings stretched taut over your ass. Jungkook feels faint.

You’re wearing a thong that is but a thin fabric and would cover absolutely nothing if it were in its right place. He can see your little puckered hole that he’s very hungry for, starved actually, with each backward movement you make. He yanks his boxers down, granting you access to paint his manhood with the loveliness of your shiny dewiness. Grunts at the sloppiness of your flesh gliding back and forth as you toy with his ballsack. On the top of his cock, your juices mix with his—creating a pretty, pretty palette.

The way your pussy lips barely wrap around his girth, your little breaths and sobs—Jungkook can’t take it. White flashes in his eyesight, the build up of his orgasm nearing the end.

“You feel so good,” you murmur, flicking your hair behind your shoulders as you arch your back, your hair like a waterfall cascading down your spine.

Jungkook pulls on it, halting your torture. “You’re gonna make me come,” he purrs. “What a waste that would be—for me to come all over my pants like a teenager when your cunnie is right here.”

He rips your stocking further to reveal more of your ass. Pushes you towards his face until you’re sitting on it and—

He devours you.

You cry out. The sound propels him to tighten his grip around the small of your back, to quicken the shakes of his head while his tongue stimulates your engorged clit, occasionally flicking against the muscle to hear more of your little noises. Your palm feels up his wet shaft and Jungkook rewards you for being such a good girl that thinks of her Daddy by taking your bundle between his lips and sucking it. Your body quivers, plays tag with his tongue and Jungkook growls, your taste the sweetest thing he’s had all week and he can’t get enough. Needs more, needs…

“Fuck yourself on my tongue.”

He guides you. Spanks you when you find him. And the sobs you let out, interlaced with the naughtiest of whimpers, make him ache. Your walls press against him—stars fill his vision—and he can’t breathe. Needs you to come, needs a release himself, needs to taste your tiny hole that has never been touched before.

His hand extends for the purple toy, keeping it on the low setting. He presses it against your clit and the way you tighten around him lets him know you’re soaring; mere seconds away from ascending fully to the pearly gates.

Jungkook lets you reach your climax on your own, even though his hands itch to grab you and invigorate your thrusts. He wants you to have full control; wants you to get a heady taste of that liberty.

Wants you to get used to it.

You slow down your movement and Jungkook hears your cry first before your body begins to convulse. He holds you through your orgasm whilst he rubs the vibrator all over your clit and is ever so fucking mesmerized when he catches your pussy drooling and clenching.

He aches—aches badly to be inside of you.

Ridding you entirely of the mere cobwebs that your stockings have become, Jungkook holds your panties in place. His tongue darts out to swipe at your trickling hole, drags it past your skin across the other hole he’s yearning for. He feels you clench; he hears the litany of your incoherent words as you take in the new pleasure. He doesn’t touch your clit—he knows how sensitive it is after such an intense orgasm, so he just drags his tongue up and down both of your holes, swirling around the tight entrance.

When he penetrates you there, you scream.

You scream a bunch of yes’ in a row and Jungkook imagines your eyes are rolling back like they always are—imagines a grin on that fucked-out face of yours, eyelashes fluttering and wet with liquid emotions. It drives him to drill his tongue there in faster staccatos, moaning against you; the entirety of his bloodstream flowing to his intimate parts. He’s so hard he might burst, length heavy and solid against his stomach, but it brings him a great deal of pleasure to have you open like this, to taste you in a place no one has ever touched before, to give you a new experience that you’ll remember for a long time and possibly beg him for again.

He sighs against you, drinking you to relax his jaw. Is drunk on the moment, probably enjoys it more than you do.

You begin riding his face and he just offers you his tongue. Lets you do whatever you want.

“Feels so fucking good, Jungkook, oh my god.”

You’re fast now and Jungkook feels proud of you. You’re taking charge, chasing your pleasure. His heart skips a beat when you want him in your ass again, and he willingly obliges, fucking you there until the tremor of your body signals him of the thunder of your approaching orgasm.

You come on his tongue violently. Shuddering, screaming, leaving his neck, mouth, chin and cheeks wet. Dewiness for tears—he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Turning around, you don’t let him breathe before you grab his face and kiss him, licking into his mouth, moaning at the taste of your own rich flavor. Jungkook reciprocates all of your kisses and swipes of your tongue, doesn’t try to dominate you but instead revels in the nasty kiss, bucking his hips against your heat. So slippery, so fleshy. He grunts into your mouth.

When Jungkook sees your blissed-out face, he grins at you. Is blissed-out himself. “How’s that?” he asks. “You have all of my control. All of it.”

Your voice is hoarse when you say, “so fucking amazing, thank you,” and grin down at him just the same.

Joy beats through his chest, illuminating him from within as if he had his own tapestry of the whole night sky right there above his heart.

You sink lower down his thighs and pepper kisses along the length of his sticky cock. The gesture moves him and he lets you stay there for a moment while he briefly ponders over how a paralyzing form of pain led him to such a pure, expanding joy that he feels right now.

Tears well up in his eyes.

“Come here,” Jungkook pleads and you lift your head like a puppy.

He decides that he doesn’t want any restrictions on your body anymore. Each move of his hand is calculated as he unclips your bra and tugs your stockings, along with your underwear, down your legs. Even his own clothes come off in a blink of an eye because all he wants is skin to skin contact, to be connected with you on the deepest, most raw level that there is.

There’s a bit of nervousness coating his voice when he asks you to ride him due to his vulnerability. And when he feels the beginning of you, your heat encompassing him like the warm wind he last had grazing his body in his summer childhood days, the tears that loom in his eyes rush out.

It feels like he’s back in those days, but only this time all things are made right. But he can’t lie his head down in that tall grass of his childhood and escape—not when you struggle to take him from the angle you’re not used to.

He doesn’t think he ever let you ride him. Not even once. He apprehends you don’t know how to go about it.

“I know it hurts from this angle, but you can take it,” he says, willing his voice to be smooth as if he wasn’t crying at all—is thankful for the dimness that obscures his vulnerability from you. “You’ve taken me before, you can do it. Relax for me, sweetheart.”

You clench around him, stay frozen on the spot, and Jungkook can’t see. Filmy vision, emotions hurling at him like an incoming surge of waves. But all of that takes a step back when you mewl a pained noise and let yourself fall on his chest, his cock only a quarter of the way in.

“I’m scared. It’s too sensitive, it hurts.”

You shift your hips so he slips out of you. Jungkook kisses your forehead, wraps an arm around you while the other travels further down, below the roundness of your cheeks. Makes sure you look at him as he says, “don’t be scared, I’m here and I’m not going anywhere. There’s no rush. Nothing bad is gonna happen to you.”

He looks at you for a long while—recognizes only some of your features in the dark—and so do you whilst he lulls you into a state of serenity by humming a song his mother sang to him during those summer days, by petting your head ever so fondly. He never realized how broken his inner child truly was until you kiss his tears away—see them, alas—and the boy inside him leaps into the sun-breathed air of the past. Grows into a young man with a dream in his heart and pensive thoughts beneath the thick set of black hair. Transforms into an adult man with love for a dream instead, for all that has become of his ambitions is the desire to be loved, to be wanted.

Dream or desire, none of it matters now because all of it, in a strange way that heals him, intermingles with each exhale of your breath against his cheek—and with the inch you think you’re ready to take—all of it is fulfilled.

A dream come true. A desire gratified.

You’re his and he is yours. And he tells you.

You kiss him everywhere. Nose, cheeks, neck. Grab his bunny plushie and tuck him into the crook of his elbow. Jungkook holds onto him as you take another inch, other hand holding his shaft as you sink down little by little, stopping whenever it gets too much.

“You’ve always taken it so well,” he murmurs onto your pained expression, unable to take his eyes off of you. “I was made for you. It’s yours, baby. It’s yours. You can do whatever you want with it.”

You clench at his words and the noise that you squeak makes him grunt onto your lips.

“That’s right, baby. I’m so proud of you for trying to take me so well like this when your little pussy is so sensitive from my tongue. You deserve to be rewarded, don’t you?”

The smile blossoming on your mouth is dangerous with its coyness but confidence at the same time. He falls in love with you all over again, feels the tall grass of his childhood bending over his head, sifting through his hair.

“I’m doing it for you,” you say. “I want to make you feel good.”

A hum of appreciation. A kiss full of tongue. “Throw your hips back a little. Just like when we dance.”

He’s not fully sheathed inside of you, but he feels your gummy walls smothering the half of his length and it’s enough. He doesn’t want to hurt you by filling you to the brim—he’s heedful even as he guides your hips with his hands, rolling them back as if you were grinding against him. Both of you danced like that many times before and because you know the move, you’re comfortable once you latch onto his hands and lift them, intertwining your fingers with his, pinning them down onto the mattress. Your hips gain speed, bouncing on him as your chest lifts a little, hovers above him and the bunny in the middle of his stomach, and Jungkook doesn’t let himself feel pleasure until your eyes lid and turn to the ceiling.

“That’s it, you’re doing so good. You’re a fucking”—Jungkook whines at the impact of a distinct hard slam of your hips down on his—“pro. My little fucking pro. Doing so good for me.”

He’s losing it and it’s so quick. The change of energy in the room, the arousal rising like fine dust in the air. All because his words nourished you with confidence that blazes the atmosphere around the bed. It’s just you, him and bunny in this microcosm and Jungkook longs to hold onto the plushie. Feels so much like you when he’s the one in control; feels as though you’ve become one in this emotionally charged act. He can’t differentiate between himself and you anymore.

He’s simply become you because he loves you. Or has been you the whole time due to that very fact. Perhaps loving someone truly means becoming them because what you learn from them, what you mimic from them is perpetually yours.

An awareness of how tired you must be drifts across his mind. He knows that with each excellent performance comes the burning of the muscles so without thinking twice, he maneuvers you to his favorite position—remaining on his lap with your back against his chest and bunny stacked on top of you. He takes the lead but lets you decide the pace. You’re the boss. “Fast or slow?”

“Fast.”

Jungkook hums, raising a brow. “Fast? Cunnie isn’t sensitive anymore?”

You shake your head ‘no’, propping an arm behind his neck. “I want it fast.”

It’s simultaneous—the deed of two hands, yours and his, grabbing a hold of the fluffy belly of the plushie, fingers traveling and interlocking without a thought, without a direction, and yet meeting. Like two shooting stars. Like the ones you wear under your bottom lashes.

One person. One mind, one heart.

Jungkook taps your belly button with the tip of his cock. You laugh softly. He remembers how wide your eyes were in fear when you sat upright on his lower stomach and could clearly see how far he reached inside of you.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Yes.”

He sinks his length into your warmth. The grass, the caress of the summer wind. You’re the personification of his childhood and Jungkook kisses you hard, tells you of it by the press of his lips on yours. Is ruthless as he ruts into you. His free hand clutches the vibrator and finds your clit under the small dangling legs of bunny. The low intensity is but a thrum, though by the gasps you emit, by the moans that rise in echoes within the atmosphere, he deduces it’s good.

Smugness returns, hand in hand with his control. He presses the toy harder against you, rubbing it side to side—and this time he doesn’t stop.

He doesn’t stop fucking you.

Vigorous with strength, empowered by the free rein of his emotions that were accepted and loved, he pistons his hard cock into that tightness of yours, regardless whether you can handle it or not. Feels right at home, feels—

“Who’s your Daddy?” he questions without slowing down the rhythm of his brutal pace. “Who’s fucking you this good?”

You hum, licking your lips, and your confidence fucks with him, strips him bare of any sanity he had left. You give him the eyes, flick your tongue against his lips before you tilt your head to kiss him with a brief passion. “You are.”

Butterflies.

Jungkook drops the vibrator on the bed. Has to touch you, has to grip you—and he does. His hand finds your throat and he squeezes, kissing you with the same passion, prolonging it because what you did wasn’t fair. He needs the passion; he needs to swallow it down and feel it course down his body. And when you give him just that, along with your luscious moans, he rewards you.

Gives you all of his cock.

He rams himself into you, balls deep. Repeats it over and over, each thrust harder than the one before. Watches your irises disappear from your eyes, mouth agape, voice gone. Jungkook senses you’re leaving planet Earth again and he stops you.

“Is this Daddy of yours your boyfriend now?”

Like a bell, his heart is clanging and the freedom in that sentence losing its principle of ever being a risk causes his eyes to fill with tears again. He’s a mess. His emotions are a mess. But he’s so happy.

And the smile you give him due to that question—it charges him with the longing power to own it, own you, so he grabs you everywhere. Your chin, your cheeks, your mouth, and you never stop smiling, not even when you say, “he is my boyfriend now, you got a problem with that?”

The chuckle that rumbles out of his chest is a surprise to him because dizziness takes a hold of his entire being. He’s gone—he’s about to die. This is it.

He kisses you and the act of your lips wrapping around his makes this so much more real. He squeezes you and bunny in his arms, hips grinding his circles now. “Does it hurt when I’m this deep?” he murmurs.

“No, feels good.”

“Let me know if it starts hurting, alright?”

You nod, pecking him, gripping his hair.

Jungkook lets go of your hand and slowly lifts you up and down on the hardness of his cock from behind. You’re so light in his hands, like a little angel assigned to his side, just his to play with. You tip your head back, the smile of yours having bloomed into a full grin. Jungkook watches you in awe.

“Look at you riding me. You don’t need any help.”

You giggle. Jungkook feels his cheeks fire up. Thinks the sound is angelic, it must be. Thinks the squelch of your pussy taking him, leaving him dewy, is angelic, too.

It makes him stop playing with you and fuck you properly instead.

He sits up. Angles your head so your lips touch his, but he doesn’t kiss you. He wants you there so you swallow all of the words that will come off his tongue, so you remember them even when the delirium wears off.

He pounds into you.

You’re no longer smiling.

Takes the vibrator again. Provokes you, just because he can’t help it, by turning up the intensity and letting it only float above your clit, never letting it touch you. He’s not fast as he fucks you. On the contrary, his thrusts are hard.

Merciless.

He feels evil when he removes the toy completely, makes sure you watch, and presses it down into the softness between bunny’s legs. He turns your head back to face him and he mimics your moans, scrunches his features in pleasure, giving life to the plushie—acting for her.

But his meanness makes you come and you fall apart in his hands. He feels bad, terribly bad for you, and the feeling begins to consume his insides—so much that he gives you the pleasure he denied you mid climax. He presses the toy against your clit and—

You’re gone.

Your stream of pleasure forces him out of you and it makes him moan loudly. It makes him moan when he rubs the vibrator all over your absolutely drenched cunt and you just keep coming. And it makes him moan when you beg him to keep fucking you.

Who is he to say no to you?

“You just want it bad, don’t you?”

You nod against his head. Gone, gone, gone. He follows you into that rabbit hole, pounding you rough and fast this time, keeping you caged against him, fingers back in an intricate interlock. You smother him with your femininity and Jungkook is perpetually at wonder how you manage to do that, how you manage to never have enough. It makes him lose his fucking mind, lose everything—lose his identity. He just blurs into you. The stars in his chest pour like liquid into your ribcage. He feels them quivering when he touches your breasts all over. Wonders if you’ll come again for him.

“Pussy molded just for me, hm, isn’t it?” he breathes. Hot, sweaty, on the brink of insanity. White flashes. Balls tight. Dizziness stealing his senses. “Good little pussy, always wanting more.”

The air grows dense.

“Mine,” he growls, voice strained—so close, so fucking close. “My pussy. Mine to fuck. Mine to eat. Mine to love—”

His gut tenses. Flames burn it hot. Time stops. Knuckles turn ivory in the feverish grip of your fingers upon bunny’s tummy; your walls, too, splattered in magnificent white. Jungkook fucks his cum into you, once, twice, for the last time—pumping you full. Giving you all that he has.

He falls limp against his pillows. The toy buzzes on upon the comforter, long abandoned.

His exhaustion doesn’t let him open his eyes. Not when his eyes sting with tears once more, not even when your warmth leaves his manhood. He knows you didn’t come this time around, however he doesn’t have the strength to fix it. His vigor oozed out of him and nestled within you—like his control, like his love, like his cum.

He will make it up to you tomorrow morning.

Now he needs sleep. He needs the tears to halt their hurting by leaking out of the inner corners of his eyes. Would prefer if you weren’t the witness to it because with his vigor departing, his vulnerability heightened. He’s ashamed of the sea of his feelings, but there’s nothing he can do to change that. He just loves you.

He’s so happy that he’s yours and he fucked you so good and—

“You tired, baby?”

You sound just like him.

Jungkook suppresses his sob, swallows it right down.

“I’m spent.” Too emotional. “Too spent to wash up.”

He feels a kiss on his nose, the comforter lifting, small warm hands on his body as he’s being tucked into his bed. Jungkook lies on his side. Feels too lonely. As if you had insight into his soul, you settle into the spaces of his form that you know are there for you to hide in.

With a barrier in between.

You push bunny’s back against his chest. Click the lamp off.

In the darkness, Jungkook allows his lungs to expand in their silent weeping. Finds bunny, finds your arm. Moves you closer until the plushie serves like a heart in the middle of your bodies. Fingers petting your hair, he allows another thing—

“I love you.”

BACK to masterlist / read part one, read part two

#jungkook x oc #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #bts smut #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #btscreatorscorner #kpop smut #jungkook one shot

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popamolly · 2 months

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‘ DANCE WITH THE DEVIL ’ ALASTOR

summary. a bit heartbroken by last night’s events, you tried to move forward and entertain more suitors, a string still pulling on your heart since it was hard to forget alastor.

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

warnings. human!alastor x fem!reader, eventual smut, mature themes, age gap! youre 20 while alastor is in his early 30s, alastor is a serial killer, alastor stalks you, dark romance, angst, gore, death, blood kink, not a happy ending

author’s note. thank you for all the love this story is getting!

The next morning arrived with the sunlight streaming through the window and painting the room in a soft warm glow. You stirred awake from a restless sleep, the events of the previous night hung heavy in the air but before you could get lost in your thoughts a gentle knock on the door interrupted your thoughts, and your mother entered with a tray of your favorite breakfast.

"Good morning," she greeted sharply, setting the tray on the bedside table.

The atmosphere in the room felt charged with tension and you felt as though if you made a sudden move you might die from the suffocation of it all. Your mother's stern expression hinted at the lingering disapproval from the night before. As she sat down, her eyes bore into yours, her words measured and direct.

"I hope you've had a chance to reflect on your behavior last night. Venturing into such places is unbecoming of a lady, especially a Duvalier, I will not have you tarnishing your father's name." she chided, her tone laced with disapproval.

Your attempts to explain were met with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Enough. We won't dwell on the mistakes of yesterday. However, I must insist that you put this Alastor nonsense out of your mind."

The mention of Alastor brought a rush of emotions that you had to swallow down. Now your mother’s instructions became more of a command rather than a suggestion. Though when have her words ever been a suggestion.

"Forget about him, my dear. You need to focus on the suitors who are genuinely interested in you. Now, get dressed. We have guests arriving and you must present yourself with grace and composure," she instructed sharply.

The weight of your mother's insistence felt like shackles but you complied, suppressing your emotions. As you prepared for the day, the memories of the jazz club and Alastor were pushed to the back of your mind, replaced by the formalities and expectations you were to upheld.

The morning, which had begun with the soft glow of sunlight, now unfolded in a harsh contrast. As you descended the grand staircase to meet the suitors, a silent determination set in.

The night before had been replaced by the reality of the courting season, and in this world of scripted dances and polished conversations, the echoes of the jazz club was nothing but a forbidden memory.

"And your favorite hobby?" The man next to you asked as you both walked along the side of the riverbank with your mother in tow behind you as a chaperone.

"Cooking, sewing, cleaning..." You listed everything your mother practiced you to say since you were sixteen with a bored expression, "It's hard to choose really. Especially when my new hobby would be doing all those things and taking care of man who can't take care of himself."

The gentleman's expression shifted from mild curiosity to genuine offense as your response veered off the expected path for traditional domestic roles. He struggled to conceal his surprise, his facial features contorting into disbelief.

"Taking care of a man who can't take care of himself?" he repeated, his tone carrying a touch of annoyance. "Well, I must say, I wasn't expecting such... candidness. A woman's role is to support and enhance her husband's life, not to suggest he's incapable."

Your mother, who had been following as a discreet chaperone, discreetly cleared her throat, offering a subtle reminder of the expected decorum during such conversations. The gentleman, however, appeared unamused by your deviation from the conventional script.

"I believe in partnership and mutual support," you continued, maintaining your composure despite the tension in the air. "In my view, a successful marriage is built on shared responsibilities and understanding, don't you think so? Or is your brain too small minded?"

The gentleman's offense transformed into outright displeasure, and his face reddened with anger. He took a step back, as if distancing himself from the perceived audacity of your words.

"I never expected such impertinence," he huffed, his voice dripping with disdain before turning to your mother. "If this is the kind of woman your daughter has become, madam, perhaps a lesson in decorum is in order."

Your mother, taken aback by the abrupt turn of events, attempted to diffuse the tension. "I assure you, she is a capable and respectful young woman."

The gentleman scoffed, "Respectful? A woman's place is to support her husband, not challenge societal norms. If you want to see your daughter married perhaps you should tape her mouth first."

With those final words, he turned on his heel, storming off along the riverbank, leaving an air of tension in his wake. Your mother, left momentarily speechless, could only watch as he disappeared from view.

Your mother, though caught off guard by the gentleman's departure, turned her attention towards you with a stern expression, the air thick with disapproval.

"I cannot believe you would speak so boldly, especially to such a promising young man. Do you even know who his father is?" she scolded, her voice low. "You'd be lucky if he doesn't spread a rumor about you and your outspoken views, who will marry you then?"

You bit your lip, a mix of frustration and defiance bubbling within you. The stifling expectations of the season seemed to constrict, and the encounter had exposed the deep-seated clash between tradition and your desire for an equal partnership.

"But Mother, I only spoke the truth. I want a marriage built on partnership," you argued, your voice carrying a hint of rebellion, "I want love."

Your mother's gaze remained unwavering, and she sighed in exasperation. "Love? My dearest child, it was one night of sweet nothings you must forget that man. You must understand that your words have consequences, and you must learn to navigate these social situations with more finesse."

The scolding continued, a lecture on the importance of being a mere trophy without thoughts. As the words from your mother lingered, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of resentment. The courting season proved to be more of a challenge than you had anticipated.

The journey back home was quiet, the echoes of the encounters with potential suitors lingering in the air. Your grand estate, once a symbol of opulence and refinement, now felt like a gilded cage . A cage that you unfortunately had to be stuck in for the rest of your life.

As you and your mother entered the stately home, servants helped you take your coats off at the door. Tonight had only proved that the majority of suitors were mostly ignorant and entitled. Men who expected the traditional gender roles only stifled your desire for a more equal partnership.

You follow your mother into drawing-room where tea awaited, sitting down on one of the elegant couches after pouring yourself a cup. You mentally prepared yourself as your mother sat across from you, dropping two sugar cubes into her own teacup with a discerning gaze, ready address the events of the afternoon.

"Do you understand that I want only the best for you? It is hard but you must find content with your situation, as I did. The suitors today were from respected families, and their opinions carry weight in our social circles," she advised, her tone a mix of caution and motherly concern, "Don't be foolish to throw this all way because you want a fairytale marriage."

You sighed, feeling her slowly start to crush your spirit. "Mother, I cannot fake enthusiasm for these men. I want a marriage based on love and mutual respect, is that so bad?"

Your mother's expression hardened, a sign of her struggle between the desire for your happiness and keeping your father's legacy alive. "The world we live in demands certain sacrifices for the sake of reputation."

The conversation continued, a delicate dance between generations, aspirations, and tradition. The walls of the grand estate seemed to close in, threatening suffocate every ounce of a dream you had left.

"We will talk more about this later, now go and freshen up for dinner." Your mother turns from you to get the daily mail that sat onto a silver plater one of our servants held. Her thoughts now occupied with whatever was in those letters addressed to her.

The mention of dinner provided you temporary relief, a chance to gather your thoughts in the privacy of your room.

As you reached the upper landing and walked down the corridor towards your room, a familiar sense of fatigue settled in. The idea of facing another evening filled with polite conversation and forced smiles only wished to drain you more than you already were. With a sigh, you opened the door to your room, hoping to somehow muster enough strength to make through dinner with your mother.

Upon entering, the room was bathed in the soft glow of the evening sun. The space offered little comfort compared to the storm brewing within your mind. You moved towards the patio doors, intending to draw the heavy curtains and shut out the world for a brief moment.

However, as you approached the doors, a gasp caught in your throat. There, at the patio, stood Alastor, his tan skin bathed in the warm hues of the setting sun. He held a bouquet of flowers in hand, with that grin that would be bone-chilling if you were in another world.

Had he climbed up to your patio? Your heart skipped a beat, startled by his unexpected presence. Alastor turned, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that mirrored the electrifying encounter at the jazz club.

"Forgive the intrusion," Alastor spoke, a charming smile playing on his lips. "I couldn't resist the opportunity to see you again, (Y/N).”

You found yourself at a loss for words, the sight of him standing there, outside your room, both thrilling and a little scary. The flowers he held seemed to highlight the spontaneity of the night that had captured your heart.

As you stood there, Alastor's gaze held a question, an unspoken invitation to step into the realm of the unexpected once more. You couldn’t, you thought, you shouldn’t. The decision lay before you – to embrace the conventional path or to follow the allure of something more unpredictable and genuine.

A surge of conflicting emotions washed over you at the sight of Alastor. The initial surprise and excitement gradually gave way to a simmering anger that had lingered since the day before. Memories of his sudden departure, leaving you alone in the crowd, resurfaced to only fuel the flames of anger.

You composed yourself, maintaining a veneer of poise, as you faced Alastor at the patio doors. "Alastor," you greeted, your tone betraying a subtle undercurrent of tension.

He smiled, seemingly oblivious to the storm brewing beneath the surface. "I hoped to catch you before dinner. These are for you, my dear," he said, extending the bouquet of flowers towards you.

You accepted the flowers with a forced smile, your gaze sharpening as you met his eyes. "How kind of you. But if this is your way of an apology for leaving me the night before then you are not forgiven," you remarked, your words laced with a hint of reproach.

Alastor's expression faltered for a moment, a flicker of remorse crossing his features. "I apologize if my departure caused you any distress. It wasn't my intention."

You couldn't help but feel a surge of frustration at his nonchalant response. "Intentions or not, it was thoughtless. All this is challenging enough without being abandoned in the middle of a crowded club."

Alastor's gaze dropped ever so slightly, "You're right, and I regret not explaining myself that night." The man before you was unable to meet your eyes, "Something came up and I had to tend to it right away, I had hoped to invite you to dinner to properly apologize."

"Dinner?" You looked back at the clock hanging from your wall, knowing that your mother was expecting you in less than an hour to join her, "I can't tonight."

"Tomorrow then?" Alastor persisted, his eyes searching for a glimpse of agreement.

"Tomorrow." you agreed, the magnetic charm that surrounded him softening your resolve. A sense of anticipation lingered, a silent acknowledgment of the romance weaving through the conversation.

As Alastor pressed a tender kiss to your knuckles, a shiver ran down your spine, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. His gesture, reminiscent of the forbidden knight in shining armor that came to save your dress that fateful day.

"I will see you tomorrow," you responded, your words breathless, caught in the enchantment of the moment. The courtyard, bathed in the soft hues of the setting sun, transformed into a canvas for the unfolding romance between you two. Was this foolish yes? But when you are smitten and swooped off your feet by the person who you think could be the one, it didn’t seem so foolish. Everything surrounding Alastor made perfect sense even when nothing about him made sense at all.

"I can't wait to reveal to you my world, my dear," Alastor's voice carried a mysterious undertone, his words dancing on the edge of menacing. Unbeknownst to you, the promise held a duality, a blend of charm and an underlying darkness that eluded your naive perception.

As Alastor departed, leaving you in the fading light of the terrance, the echoes of his words lingered. The anticipation of the mysterious dinner date took root in your heart, overshadowed by the allure of a world yet to be unveiled. Little did you know, that this romantic endeavor concealed layers of foreshadowing pain and death.

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#hazbin hotel characters #hazbin hotel fiction #smut #𖤐popamolly #𖤐popamollyposts #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor x reader smut #alastor x reader #alastor #alastor the radio demon #radio demon #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor

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maxtermind · 1 month

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if you never bleed, you're never gonna grow

★ : summary :: as the roar of engines fades, the defeat on the track are mended in the arms of their significant other (when they lose a race) ★ : feat :: max verstappen, lewis hamilton, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris ★ : genre :: hurt/comfort; angst; fluff ★ : word count :: 2.7k

Max Verstappen

Max had never felt so distant from you. He had the win in his bag, he started good and was going to give it his all but was forced to retire due to a sudden engine failure while leading the race.

He was rightfully disheartened. The post-race meeting only added to his frustration as blame was thrown around instead of taking responsibility. It only got worse when he walked out of it with a, ‘This is such a waste of time.’

As he ranted in the car, his anger palpable, you listened silently, and caressed his hand when, had gotten a call from his dad.

“Just let it ring,” you whispered from the passenger seat. Your attempt was futile though before he picked up the call and put it on bluetooth in his ear.

You waited until you reached home before discreetly ending the call, giving Max a moment to compose himself. He didn’t let you hear anything but as he sat in his seat, rubbing his face to get rid of his emotions, you knew the conversation had affected him deeply.

Opening his car door, you pulled him out using his hand before getting home before you both took a shower in silence, allowing Max the space to process. It wasn't until you were tucked under the covers, clean and warm, that he finally spoke.

"I just hate feeling like I let everyone down," Max confessed, his voice heavy with guilt.

"You didn't let anyone down, Max,” you reassured him, kissing the top of his hand. “You gave it your all out there.”

"I still feel like I'm constantly disappointing everyone," Max muttered, his voice thick with frustration.

"You're not a disappointment, Max. You're a phenomenal driver, and sometimes things just don't go our way.”

"It's hard to believe that sometimes," Max admitted, his gaze distant and you realized what exactly he was thinking about right now.

"Your dad's words don't define you, Max. You're so much more than that," you said firmly, refusing to let him internalize the negativity.

"It's just… I've always looked up to him, you know? His opinion matters," Max confessed, his tone tinged with sadness.

"But you're your own person, Max. And you're incredible in your own right," you reminded him, squeezing his hand gently.

"I know, but… it still hurts," Max admitted, his shoulders slumping with the weight of it all.

"I wish I could shield you from all of this," you murmured, feeling a pang of helplessness. Your boyfriend nodded softly, looking so so so small that it was physically hurting you to even keep looking at him, his eyes reflecting the turmoil within.

"Hey, look at me," you said, gently tilting his chin up to meet your gaze. "You are loved, Max. Don't ever forget that." "Thanks, Y/N. I needed to hear that," Max replied, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Anytime, Max. I'm here for you, through the highs and the lows," you said earnestly, offering him a comforting embrace.

He looked conflicted for a second and you were sure whatever he was about to say was going to officially break your heart into two. Max's voice was barely above a whisper when he admitted it, his expression pained,"It's just… seeing them celebrate my failure, it stings."

"I know it's tough seeing those celebrations, Max, but remember, those people celebrating are just haters who can't accept that someone is doing better than them," you said firmly, trying to inject some perspective into the situation. "Their joy comes from a place of envy, not genuine happiness. Don't let their negativity dampen your spirit."

"I hope you're right," Max said, his voice tinged with doubt. "Thanks for always being there, babe. I don't know what I'd do without you," Max said sincerely, his eyes reflecting gratitude.

"You'll never have to find out, Max. I'll always be by your side.”

Lewis Hamilton

Your heart dropped the moment you saw the tire puncture Lewis’ car in the second last lap of the race. His frustration and curses echoed through the headphones, reaching you with a painful clarity.

“Don’t tell me to calm down! This is all so shit!” Lewis’s distorted voice cried through the radio. “I was so fucking close!”

As much as it hurt you to listen to this, you decided to keep your emotions at bay so you could handle your boyfriend’s better. Silently making your way through the people in the paddock to the back.

The chaos and disappointment from everyone forcing your chest to hurt a little. The only thought in your mind was how Lewis was probably feeling much much worse than you right now.

You heard his car before you saw him, and when you did, the defeat etched on his face made you want to cry. Lewis seemed drained and defeated, devoid of the usual fire.

“Baby?” You called, catching his attention. He nodded at someone before making his way towards you. Pulling you into a less crowded area before wrapping his arms around your shoulder.

"I don’t think I can face the interviews and media circus after this," he confessed, his breath warm against your neck.

"Should I go get the getaway car ready?" You joked, delighted to hear a small huff from his mouth.

“Can’t really leave before that though,” Lewis replied. “I’m beat, just wish it wasn’t this close to winning.”

Realizing he needed encouragement, you took a deep breath and spoke softly.

"Lewis, it's incredibly tough luck to have a tire blowout so close to the finish line, especially when you were leading so strongly," you said, feeling his grip tighten around you. "But these moments, they test your resilience and determination."

He nodded, his shoulders relaxing a fraction as you continued to rub his back.

"I know it's hard, Lewis, but remember, every setback is just a setup for a comeback," you whispered soothingly.

"I just had my heart set on this win," he murmured, disappointment evident in his voice.

"I know, love, but sometimes things don't go as planned," you replied, offering a comforting squeeze.

"It's like the universe has it out for me today," Lewis said with a bitter chuckle.

"Maybe it's just testing how badly you want it," you suggested optimistically. "Well, it's certainly made its point," he said, a hint of bitterness lingering.

You were about to speak again when he interrupted.

"I just wish it had been enough."

"It will be next time," you said confidently, refusing to let him dwell on the defeat.

"I hope you're right," Lewis said, a hint of determination creeping back into his voice. "Thanks for always believing in me.”

"Always, Lewis. That's what lovers are for," you said, smiling warmly at him, admiring his eyes that had some of their shine back intact.

Carlos Sainz

The relief you felt when Carlos walked out of the safety car before making his way towards you was indescribable. From the moment his car collided with another due to a racing incident until now, with his arms around your shoulders, you hadn't taken a single calm breath.

It was probably less brutal than what was shown on the screen, given that it happened so fast that none of the drivers had even processed what was happening. Still the incident had left you with a knot of dread in your stomach.

Carlos was okay, you repeated to yourself, but it didn't quell the pounding of your heart or the trembling of your hands. You were trying to stay composed but it was really hard while your boyfriend talked to someone from the team, frustrated that he had to retire so soon.

"Hey, at least you're still in one piece," you pointed out, trying to inject a bit of humor into the situation but it sounded dry and that was when Carlos took a good look at you, his gaze sharpening as he realized how shaken you were. "Babe, are you alright?" Carlos asked, his concern evident in his voice as he reached out to touch your trembling hand.

"I'm fine, just a bit shaken," you admitted, forcing a shaky smile as you tried really hard to stay in the present and not let your brain run rampant.

"I'm so sorry you had to see that," Carlos said, his eyes filled with regret as he pulled you into a comforting embrace. Knowing that he would’ve been the same if it was the other way around.

"I promise I'll be more careful out there," Carlos vowed, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

"I'm just glad you're okay," you whispered, burying your face in his chest as you finally allowed yourself to let go of the tension you had been holding.

"It's not your fault, Carlos. These things happen in racing-”

"I know, but I hate putting you through this," Carlos said, his voice filled with remorse. "Let's forget about the race for now, okay? We'll focus on us."

"That sounds perfect," you agreed, feeling a sense of peace wash over you as you leaned into his warmth, longing to put the ordeal behind you.

"I love you so much," Carlos said earnestly, his eyes filled with love as he looked at you. Hands holding you tight against him, grounding you so you could understand that he was real and wasn’t going anywhere.

"Let's get out of here and grab some dinner, just the two of us," Carlos proposed, eager to shift your focus away from the day's events as he led you towards the exit. Mentally making a list of things he would tell you to take your mind off of what happened today.

Charles Leclerc

You found yourself seething almost as much as Charles after yet another podium slipped away due to a messed up pit stop. It lasted more than a fucking forever at such a pivotal moment in the race.

It really made you wonder whether his team was even working with him or deliberately against him to make sure that neither of them could score more points. He had opted to stay silent, shutting out the media and team meetings, and unfortunately, that meant withdrawing from you too.

“Charles?” You asked after giving him ample time to process the race in the sitting room all alone like he requested.

He simply hummed before taking a sip of whatever his glass held before you carefully took it from his hand and put it on the table. Crawling into his lap to make sure he knew he could lean on you.

"This isn't the solution," you whispered, pointing to yourself. "Talk to me. Mid-life crises are lighter when shared."

“I don’t think I have the brain to make a correct decision ever.”

"Hey, don't say that," you said firmly, looking into his eyes with a mixture of concern and determination. "You're one of the most talented drivers out there, Charles. One pit stop mishap doesn't change that," you assured, brushing a stray hair from his face.

"But it keeps happening, Y/N," Charles replied, his voice heavy with frustration. "I know, love, and it's unfair. But you can't let it define you," you said, cupping his cheek in your hand.

"I understand how frustrating it is, Charles," you said, your voice soft but determined. "But dwelling on what went wrong won't change anything."

"What do you suggest, then?" Charles asked, a hint of desperation in his tone. "Let's analyze what happened today. Break it down step by step," you suggested, gently guiding him to a more constructive approach. "Let's start with the pit stop. What went wrong there?" you prompted, encouraging him to identify the specific issues.

"It was a miscommunication between the crew members," Charles recalled, his brow furrowing with concentration.

"Okay, so how can we prevent that from happening in the future?"

"Maybe we need to implement clearer communication protocols," Charles suggested, a spark of hope flickering in his eyes.

"That sounds like a solid plan. Let's discuss it with your team tomorrow," you said, nodding in agreement.

"But what if they don't listen to me?" Charles wondered, his confidence wavering.

"You're their driver, Charles. Your input is invaluable. They'll listen," you assured him, offering a reassuring smile.

"I feel a bit better now," Charles admitted, a hint of relief in his tone. “I was just so lost, I should've talked to you a bit sooner.” Your boyfriend whispered before leaning down and dropping a soft lingering kiss on your lips, conveying what words couldn't. "I'm lucky to have you, Y/N."

"And I'm lucky to have you, Charles. We make a great team," you replied, squeezing his hand reassuringly.

Lando Norris

The usual smile was off of Lando’s face. He faced an unavoidable collision with another car in the chaotic start of the race, resulting in damage to his car and an early retirement. Though he tried to maintain a facade of normalcy, the tension in his jaw and the sharpness in his gaze betrayed his true emotions.

Lando was typically a laid back playful guy who was always joking around, had retreated into himself on this dismal day, with even the reporters giving him a wide berth. No one has seen him this dejected before and it was killing you.

However, as soon as the race concluded, it was clear why he was keeping up appearances. Lando pecked your cheek and told you to stay put before following the rookie who had collided with his car.

Alarm bells rang in your head and you were right behind him, stopping him using his shoulder.

“Babe, maybe it's best to cool down before confronting him.” You saw him sigh and open his mouth to retort but you were quicker. “Walk with me.”

You understood him obviously, knowing that the incident was beyond his control and shattered his hopes for a strong finish.

"I can't just let it slide, Y/N," Lando said, his voice tight with frustration as he glanced back towards the rookie's garage.

“I understand, Lando, but lashing out won't change anything, you said gently, placing a comforting hand on his arm, relieved when he finally started walking away.

"I just feel so helpless," Lando admitted, his shoulders slumping with defeat.

"You're not helpless, Lando. You're just taking a moment to process everything," you reassured him, placing a gentle kiss against his lips.

"It's just hard to stay positive when everything feels like it's falling apart," Lando confessed, his usual optimism dimmed by disappointment. "I just hate feeling like I'm at the mercy of circumstances.”

"I know, love. But remember, you're not alone in this. We'll figure it out together," you assured him, intertwining your fingers with his. “You, me and the team. He’s going to face penalties anyway.”

"I just wish I could turn back time and avoid that collision," He sighed, letting you drag him to a park nearby for a walk.

"I understand, love. But dwelling on what could have been won't change the present. Let's focus on what we can do now," you suggested, leading him away from the chaos of the race track.

"But what if this affects my standings in the championship?" He wondered aloud, his brow furrowing with worry, a pout evident on his face.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, babe. Right now, let's focus on taking care of you," you said, your voice filled with determination. "Let's just take this walk and clear our heads, okay? If you still want to talk to him later, I’ll support you."

He was extremely grateful that you pulled him away at the time because not even an hour later, the rookie approached him and apologized for his mistake.

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