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l1teraryangel · 2 years

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In Another Life (Ch. 9)

“Let me get this straight…” Other Ryou inhaled and pointed to the battlefield where Kek and Bakura’s cards lay. “You guys… have this children’s card game… that has literally been used to determine the fate of the world and take lives. That’s… insane.”

Bakura grinned and set a trap card behind his monsters. “Sanity is a slippery slope in this world, my friend.”

Touzoku-Ou, lying on his side behind Bakura, exaggerated a yawn. “You think this is crazy? Back in my day, we used our souls to summon monsters. If they were destroyed, you bet your ass you were the one feeling it.”

“Listen, old-timer,” Kek grunted, rearranging the cards in his hands. “I tried to recreate that shit with shadow magic, and everyone was like, ‘Kek, no! Kek, stop torturing people! Kek, you can’t use card games to invoke suffering!’ I was all for fighting as one with your monsters. The pain hurts so good.”

“You freak,” Bakura snickered. “I remember your fight with Mai. Got your head chopped clean off.”

Kek licked his lips, winking at a paling Ryou. “That was a fun fight.”

Malik feigned dragging a knife across his darker half’s throat. “If that’s what you’re into, I’ll do it, but I’m gonna be pissed if you die on me.”

The group, including Ryou, laughed. From within the protective circle, Other Bakura and Other Touzoku-Ou snorted, rolled their eyes, and physically displayed as much displeasure over the tedium as they could. Ryou, noticing how completely bored and antsy the two men were, was happy to enjoy their misery from the safety of the group surrounding him. It brought him a sense of victory to be so free while they sat in a cage.

“We should invite Mai to hang out more often,” Kek said while dealing a devastating blow to Bakura’s life points. “She’s probably lonely with so much of the friendship squad preoccupied with relationships and careers.” He nudged Malik in the stomach. “We could set her up, I bet. Opposites attract, right? Think Sister wants a girlfriend with a big ol’ pair of tits to su—”

“Nope, nope, nope!” Malik shoved his pointer fingers into his ear canals. “I don’t want to think about my sister’s love life, much less her sex life.”

Touzoku-Ou sneered at the blonde. “You’re such a priss, Malik. Wouldn’t bother you if he tried to set some other chick up with what’s her face.”

“Mai,” Bakura supplied. “You haven’t had a chance to meet her, have you? She’s not too bad. Fiery and independent. Great set of tits, if you’re into that. Think Dog-Boy had a thing for her for a while before he decided he wanted to suck the CEO’s cock more.”

“Talk about opposites attract,” Malik muttered, shaking his head. “I’m surprised he decided to give Kaiba a chance after some of the shit they’ve fought over. Kinda always thought Jonouchi would end up with Yugi, at least before Atem showed back up.”

“They talked about dating a long time ago. Like… before Battle City.” Bakura wiped Kek’s monsters from the field with a spell-trap combo. “Decided their love for each other was platonic or some shit. Personally, I would have at least gotten a blowjob before shutting away my ‘love’ for someone. But whatever floats the Mini Pharaoh’s boat.”

Kek’s points dropped below one thousand, and he narrowed his eyes at Bakura. “That was cheap. And how do you even know some of this shit?”

“That was perfectly legal, loser. As for your question… Yugi confided a lot more in Ryou than you realize, especially when it was about things that involved his other friends.”

“You eavesdropped?” Malik scoffed. “Ryou’s right. You are a pervert.”

“Call me what you want, Ishtar.” Bakura waited for his turn, a smug smirk curling his lips. “When you’re trapped in an accessory for three thousand years, you learn to take your fun where you can get it.”

His counterpart chuckled. “He told me once he used to fill Ryou’s dreams with erotic images just to watch him beat off.”

The Ishtar duo cackled as Bakura’s face turned beet red, and Malik teased, “I didn’t know you had a thing for him aaaaaallllll the way back then. Damn, things are starting to make sense.”

Bakura countered by flipping up his middle finger and taking the last chunk of Kek’s life points out. “It wasn’t about having a thing for him, it was for the sake of amusing myself. Fuck both of you. And you.” He glared at his tattletale lover.

“Hey, I would have done the same. And it would have been for perverted reasons. Aaaaand I would have owned it, because unlike you, I knew I wanted Ryou the moment I saw him.”

Kek cleared the field, handing his cards to Malik to shuffle and neaten back up. “To be fair, Bakura did have a demon goading him towards vengeance for the first however many years he knew Ryou. Hard to think about sex when you’re hearing ‘KILL THE PHARAOH’ on repeat.”

“You know that from experience, do you?” Touzoku-Ou asked, switching places with Bakura.

“Kinda. Mine was more like ‘KILL EVERYONE ESPECIALLY THE PHARAOH’. No need to dive into the specifics, though.”

Malik perched in Kek’s lap, turning his darker half’s body into a personal recliner. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you two. I managed to multitask just fine, mantra be damned.”

“You had the power of teenage hormones, Ishtar,” Bakura jeered and shuffled the deck he and Touzoku-Ou built. He offered it over to the ashen-haired man, who thanked him with a peck on the back of his hand.

“Yeah, well… Fuck you.”

“Excellent comeback, Albi. Remind me to write some down for you later.”

“Fuck you, too, Kek.”

“Eh, it’s almost our turn to be primary caretakers for the bastards over yonder. We’ll talk about that later, though. Worry not, my lovely light, your interest is accruing.”

***

After wandering around the circus grounds, efforts to find his alternate self’s boyfriends completely futile, Ryou stumbled upon someone he at least recognized inside a mostly empty tent. Relieved, he waved them down, exclaiming, “Malik! Can I borrow you, please?”

The Egyptian spun around, flaxen hair swishing over his shoulders, and Ryou froze mid-step. His Malik always sported heavily-lined eyes, usually with his favorite black kohl. Sometimes he dabbed a highlighter over his cheekbones, maybe rubbed on a smear of maroon lip color if he felt like leaving marks on Kek’s face and neck. The Malik in front of him, however, leveled up his makeup game.

Metallic gold and bronze shimmered atop his eyelids, outlined by a smoky warm brown and artistically smudged black eyeliner. His whole face showed depths of contouring and highlighting, bringing out his naturally stunning and exotic bone structure. His lips, overdrawn by a smidge to sharpen their shape, reflected the same gold as his eyelids.

“Hey, Ry! Actually, since you’re here, can I borrow you? Yugi borrowed my mirror, and I want to finish up this look so I can get fitted for tomorrow’s show outfit.”

“I-I… I would love to help…?” Ryou snapped his jaw closed, breathing through his nose. “You already look great, though. What else do you need?”

Tugging his hair back into a tight ponytail, Malik beamed and winked. “You’re sweet, Ry. I want to add more pizazz. Maybe rhinestones or beads? I’ve got some spirit gum for tomorrow, but let’s just use eyelash glue for now.”

Blankly nodding, Ryou sat beside Malik on a plastic stool. “Why not do this in a bathroom or something?”

“Bleh, we’ve been on the road for so long, I needed the fresh air. It was working fine until Yugi ran off with my mirror. Think he’s sick of being cooped up, too.”

Brushing one speck of glue at a time, Ryou applied the gold and bronze beads per Malik’s instructions, dotting them along the outer edges of his cheeks and hairline. “Have you seen Bakura and Touzoku-Ou, by chance?”

“Lost your loverboys?” Malik batted his eyelashes, smirking when Ryou blushed. “I’ve been paying more attention to my makeup, sorry. I know Bakura was with Kek at the tomb maze, but I think they should be done by now. Maybe they’re with Mai, going over outfits and makeup plans? Think Bakura is going with a darker, more demony theme for his act this time around. Bet it will look rad.”

Unable to contribute to the conversation, Ryou fell silent and finished the last bead, firmly holding it to Malik’s forehead with tweezers. The blonde hummed, his eyelashes fluttering closed, and carried on, “Has Touzoku-Ou told you what he’s doing for his look this time around? I know Kek is sticking with his classic black and gold. He worries changing it up too much might get in the way of his performance.”

“I don’t… think we’ve talked about it. I'm not sure.”

“Well, I'm sure he’ll look good whatever he wears. Hard not to with a body like that.”

“Yeah, that’s true…”

When the pressure on his forehead disappeared, Malik glanced up at Ryou. “What about you? What are you going to do?”

‘Hopefully go home, since otherwise my act will be a flop…’

Shrugging, Ryou set down the tweezers among the rest of Malik’s kit. “I’m still deciding. Guess I need to figure it out. Maybe I’ll ask around for some opinions.”

“I think you’d look good in somber black, like Bakura, but with a few flashes of red and gold, like how Touzoku-Ou usually wears. Maybe some body painting, like swirls along your curves, a paw print on your chest. Ooh, a snake on your bicep to reference Diabound? Touzoku-Ou would eat that up.”

“Um, yeah, that might be…”

Malik rose to his feet, pulling Ryou in for a hug. “I know you’re shy and prefer sticking to more plain looks so the animals keep all the attention, but going all out once in a while is fun.”

‘I’m shy…? I mean, I probably wouldn’t want to perform in a circus, but I don’t think I’m shy. Guess this version of me is a bit different. Funny that he performs, though, if he is normally so withdrawn.’

“I’ll consider it, Malik. Thanks,” Ryou sighed into the blonde hair, scrunching his face as it tickled his nose. “I should probably get back to my search.”

“Wanna walk with me to Mai? I’m sure that’s where they are. Pretty much everything is done being set up.”

Since he had absolutely no idea where Mai was, Ryou agreed and let Malik lead him out of the tent. The sun sat lower in the sky, lighting the clouds with splotches of purple tucked inside the red and orange glow. The pair walked among the stands to a large trailer — larger than the RV his alternate self resided in — decked out with fairy lights and ‘MK’ painted boldly across the door.

Malik knocked and promptly let himself in, Ryou at his heel with a bit more pause. Mai Kujaku, a vision of the usual loveliness as Ryou expected, analyzed Kek, recognizable from the back by his infamous hair. She skirted around him, viewing his face and body from every angle, oblivious to the newcomers.

“What’s cookin’, good lookin’? That what you’re going to be rocking for the show?”

Ryou couldn’t see around the door, but he sensed the finger guns accompanying Touzoku-Ou’s flirtatious tone. Malik shot back a cheeky grin.

“You know it. And what a perfect coincidence that the two handsome dorks I was looking for are here together.”

“Why?” Suspicion dripped from Bakura’s words. “What do you want?”

Waving off the question, Malik pulled Ryou from behind the safety of the door, ignoring or oblivious to Ryou’s spooked eyes and slack jaw. “I don’t want anything. Just delivering a present.”

The men jumped to their feet at the sight of Ryou. Bakura, being closest, lunged forward and wrapped the slighter male in a bone-crushing hug. Heat blushed Ryou’s cheeks while the breath on his ear shivered down his spine.

“There you are…! We were getting worried you weren’t going to come out,” Bakura whispered, low to keep the words private. He planted a kiss on Ryou’s temple and pulled back to let Touzoku-Ou squirm into the hug.

“Ryou.” He nuzzled into his neck, trailing kisses from shoulder to ear. “My precious gem… Can we step outside to talk?”

Mai called over Kek’s head, “If you’re leaving, don’t take too long. I’ve still got to work on you three, Malik, Yugi, Atem… And then I have to get everything approved by Seto. You know how picky he is about his visions.”

Malik laughed and swung his arms behind his head. “Hey, I’m easy. Slap on some black shorts, add some tulle or silk accents, send me on my way.”

“You’ll need something for the top, or we will have to brainstorm body paint designs.”

Bakura growled and pushed Touzoku-Ou and, by extension, Ryou towards the door. “Yeah, yeah. Jabber on. We’ll be back.” The door slammed shut behind them, and he jerked his chin to a tree a few meters off. “Over there, away from nosy gossipmongers.”

Ryou dragged his feet behind the two, staring hard into their backs. They weren’t angry, from what he could tell, but he wasn’t used to resolving conflict he himself caused. Of all the fights the trio experienced over the past three years, most of it came from Bakura and Touzoku-Ou. Once or twice, when their actions affected Yugi or his close-knit group, Ryou took the offensive. And, consequently, Bakura or Touzoku-Ou would apologize. They hated upsetting him, and they never got angry with him unless he put himself in harm’s way.

His lower face painfully rammed into the skull of Touzoku-Ou, which brought him back to the present immediately. The man whirled around and steadied him, eyes squinted with concern. “Are you okay?”

“S-Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”

Bakura circled around and used his fingertip to massage Ryou’s sore points. “Gotta be more careful, Babe. Touzoku-Ou’s head is like a brick wall. You could have busted your lip right open.”

Kicking Bakura’s shin, more joking than spiteful, Touzoku-Ou mumbled under his breath, “You’re the hardheaded one, dipshit.” He grasped Ryou’s hands and kissed each. “Seriously, are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Really.” Ryou found the patches of grass by his feet very interesting, an excellent distraction from the heat bubbling up in his body and the two attentive, strikingly handsome men in front of him. “I should be asking you. It was my fault.”

“Nonsense. This idiot could take a jackhammer to the skull and be fine,” Bakura snorted, bursting into a full laugh when Touzoku-Ou kicked him significantly harder than before. “Now, onto more important matters… Ryou, I—”

“We,” Touzoku-Ou corrected while shouldering Bakura.

The latter rolled his eyes, but nonetheless adjusted his words. “We wanted to apologize for earlier.”

Ryou’s mouth dropped into an ‘O’-shape. ‘...What?’

Touzoku-Ou scratched at his head, eyes flickering between Bakura and Ryou. “You weren’t feeling good, but I kept messing with you… And then Baku was messing with you… And we weren’t respecting your feelings.”

“We should have backed off,” Bakura agreed, and his hand reached to stroke Ryou’s cheek. “We made you feel pressured… And we made you cry.”

“We also heard you… in the bathroom.” Touzoku-Ou laid his cheek on Ryou’s shoulder. “I didn’t realize you were getting so homesick. We can go talk to Kaiba, if you want to sit this show out. I can handle your section with Diabound. And then once this part of the tour is done, the three of us can take a vacation, go back to your hometown, whatever you want.”

‘This… is really sweet. But I don’t know how to tell them they have it all wrong.’

Bakura’s gaze drove deep into Ryou’s. “Ryou… Please say something. We are sorry. So sorry.”

“Extremely sorry,” Touzoku-Ou muttered and nuzzled closer. “Please, my gem, forgive us. My heart couldn’t handle you hating us.”

“I-I could never… I don’t hate you…! You’re misunderstanding!” Ryou stammered, swallowing the nerves knotting up his throat. “I was never angry at either of you…! It’s… Um, it’s complicated…?”

They stepped back, their eyes searching his. Bakura spoke, “Then, Ryou… Please tell us what’s wrong. We love you. We’d do anything to make you feel better.”

Before Ryou could formulate a believable excuse, an unidentifiable voice rasped, “Massssterssss.”

His eyes snapped to their widest as Diabound slithered towards the trio, her colossal body flattening the grass beneath. Her silver eyes tracked him like prey while she serpentined around both Bakura and Touzoku-Ou’s legs, forcing him to stumble backwards.

“Diabound…!” Touzoku-Ou snapped quietly, throwing glances over his shoulders. “You know you aren’t supposed to leave the pen when volunteers are around.”

“Much less speak, you damnable creature,” Bakura growled and pushed her head away from his face. “Are you trying to be turned into some science experiment? What if someone heard you?”

Ryou felt his knees wobble as the snake’s mouth inched open and the gravelly, sexless voice declared, “Not my masssster. Ryou gone.”

“What are you hissing about?” Touzoku-Ou gently repositioned the snake’s head, directing her to look at Ryou. “He’s right there, you silly serpent.”

“Not my masssster,” She repeated, and the voice carried a more assertive hiss to it. “Not my Ryou. He ssssaid sssso. Give back Masssster. Want Masssster.”

Baffled by the creature’s strange behavior, Bakura and Touzoku-Ou shifted their eyes between Ryou and Diabound. Their eyes lingered on Ryou’s unsettled stance, his disquieted, doe-eyed gaze. Something clicked in their brains, and their eyebrows slanted down, narrowing their incredulous eyes.

As the two stepped around the massive snake and approached him, all Ryou could think was: ‘You friggin’ blabbermouth.’

***

“Victory!” Malik grinned and flipped his fingers into a ‘V’-shape. “Suck my dick, Mr. King of Thieves.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Touzoku-Ou grumbled. “This modern ripoff is stupid. It used to be about spiritual strength, but now you rely on trap and magic cards to save your ass. And half the stuff you pull off is bullshit.”

Bakura chuckled and kissed Touzoku-Ou’s shoulder. “Pouting over a loss is beneath you. Do what I do when Malik wins: kick his ass.”

Jokingly, Kek growled, “Watch it, tomb-robbers. I’ll kick your ass if you touch Malik.” He proceeded to pinch Malik’s exposed midriff, snickering when his other half slapped his hands away.

Other Ryou, interest piqued by Kek’s words, poked Touzoku-Ou’s shoulder for both his and Bakura’s attention. “What’s it like, robbing tombs? Isn’t it dangerous because of the traps?”

“Not if you know how to dismantle them,” Touzoku-Ou boasted and crossed his arms, lips reverting into his cocky smirk. “Which I did. I also avoided them entirely thanks to Diabound. Hard to get caught in a trap if you go right through it.”

“What’s Diabound?”

The pair of thieves considered him for a moment before Touzoku-Ou lifted himself off the ground. Malik frowned, opening his mouth to protest something beyond Ryou’s knowledge, but Bakura flicked the coin from his deck carrier directly into the center of his forehead.

“Summoning Diabound doesn’t use that much magic, Ishtar. Besides, we’re getting the gods to help, right?”

“You’re assuming they will. They might not be able to.”

Kek nosed Malik’s cheek, his tongue darting out to lick the corner of Malik’s mouth. While the other screeched in disgust, Kek leered, “Let him show off, Albi. And stop being dramatic.”

Under the assumption Malik was too distracted to argue his point further, Touzoku-Ou summoned his heka, diving deep into his soul to call forth his ka. Ryou and his fellow other-realmers watched, him awestruck and them morbidly curious.

Through lights ranging from heavenly white to scarlet and sparkling with flecks of gold, the body of a divine serpent sprung forth, coiling around Touzoku-Ou protectively. Above its snake half, Diabound’s humanoid upper body materialized. The feathered wings both at its hips and shoulder blades shimmered like diamonds.

“W-Whoa…” Ryou breathed, and he gasped when the giant beast turned to him, reaching its massive hand towards him. “Um… G-Guys?”

“It’s okay,” Touzoku-Ou chuckled. “Diabound might recognize you aren’t our Ryou, but he won’t harm you.”

Bakura also laughed, a gentle sound as opposed to his more iconic howling. “Diabound acts on Touzoku-Ou’s will, so he guards Ryou like a mother bear.”

Comforted by their assurance, Ryou touched the giant creature’s extended palm, unable to hold back breathy sounds of astonishment. The snake portion of the creature slinked over and flicked it’s arm-sized tongue along Ryou’s leg. He giggled.

“That tickles!”

Malik grumbled, “Sure, licks Ryou, tries to eat me and Kek. I see how it is.”

Kek snorted. “You would think it would be opposite, considering I know Touzoku-Ou likes to —”

“Hey!” Touzoku-Ou snapped, cheeks reddening despite his complexion. “Asshole! It was an experiment that you shouldn’t have even walked in on!”

With the outcry, Diabound faded, but Ryou couldn’t even be disappointed; apparently there was juicy drama and sexy talk afoot.

Falling to the ground, Bakura rolled with laughter. “Hypocrite! I thought you wore your pervert badge with pride?”

“It’s not perverted to explore my sexual desires and try new things! The modern world has a lot of novelty, and Ryou was perfectly happy to help!”

“Of course he was.” Bakura cured his cackling with wistful eyes and a swipe of the tongue. “Ryou loves a good experiment. Don’t you remember how we ended up with a couple of dumb blondes in our bed?”

Grimacing, Malik glared at the white-haired yami. “We agreed never to speak of that again! I do not need to remember the events of that night… And now I can’t help it. Kek!” He shook his darker half’s shoulder. “Do that thing! Repress my memories!”

“Nah, Albi,” Kek drawled, face ever so slightly flushed. “That was a good night. You’re just pissed cause you got stuck with Bakura instead of Ryou since a certain self-proclaimed king was hogging him.”

“I’m a thief. Selfishness runs in my blood.” Touzoku-Ou gave Malik a finger-gun and winked. “Maybe next time you can get to him first.”

“Oh, no! We’re not doing that again! It was a one time thing because you, Bakura, and Kek thought it’d be funny.”

Bakura smirked. “It was funny. And hot. Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it, because I don’t recall a single objection while Kek and I—”

“Shut up, Ra dammit! You know what? Fuck watching these bastards. They’re your lookalikes, so you two can take a double-shift. Kek, we’re leaving!”

Excitement tangible, Kek’s tongue lolled out his mouth. “Are we going to start working off that interest? ‘Cause with all this remembering, I could use a little one-on-one time with you.”

“I don’t fucking care what we do, as long as they,” Malik motioned to the sniggering Bakura and Touzoku-Ou, “are not present.”

Lapping at his lips, Kek swooped down and scooped Malik into his arms. “Sweet. See you guys later! Hope you don’t get blue balls.”

Ryou watched Kek rush out of the room wearing a manic grin. He expected it would be a while before he saw them again. Not that he could blame them. The image got his blood pumping, too, and he wasn’t even around for the supposed fivesome.

Touzoku-Ou stretched and helped Bakura back to his feet. “How shall we pass the time now? We know each other’s decks inside and out, so dueling will be boring.”

“I was already bored of dueling.” Bakura shrugged and cracked his back, wincing at the sensation. “Sitting hunched over on the floor is uncomfortable. We should have dragged over a table and chairs.”

“You’re getting soft,” His boyfriend teased, poking at his belly. “Maybe we should make a trip Kaiba’s gym once we get Rohi back.”

At the term he recognized to mean their Ryou, Other Ryou peered over at the still form. A part of him ached, knowing the taunts his Bakura and Touzoku-Ou threw at him earlier were true: he was only a temporary guest, a substitute for their chaste affections and flirtations. The one they really loved was trapped somewhere outside his own body. Once he returned, Ryou would be cast back into his own realm along with his murderous pair of ‘boyfriends.’

His eyes wanted to water, but he wouldn’t give the killers the satisfaction. Instead, he yawned and announced, “If you two are sticking around here, I’m gonna go take a nap. I need to take advantage of my time away from them.” He didn’t bother gesturing, knowing both pairs of men knew who he was referring to.

“Go for it,” Bakura acknowledged with a grin. “You probably need a break after everything you’ve experienced today anyway.”

“Sleep well, little one.” Touzoku-Ou winked and blew a kiss. “Sweet dreams, as they say.”

Ryou tried to hide the longing in his eyes and bit his tongue to resist the temptation of inviting the men to accompany him.

***

They dragged him away from the trailers, tents, and RVs. Every time he started to speak, they shushed him or squeezed his wrist to the point of drawing a whimper. Behind them, slithering proudly, Diabound kept her eyes on Ryou.

When they were far enough from the circus grounds, Touzoku-Ou shoved Ryou ahead of them. He managed to catch himself, but Diabound struck soon after, coiling her body around him until his knees buckled. She seemed proud of herself for subduing the imposter on behalf of her masters.

They loomed over him, blazing eyes ready to burn him to cinders. Bakura nudged him through a gap in Diabound’s hold.

“This is starting to make way too much sense. Did you enjoy listening to us prattle on about our love for the boy whose face you stole?”

Touzoku-Ou bared his teeth. “Who the fuck are you? What have you done with him, shapeshifter? So help me, if he’s hurt, I’ll strangle you myself.”

Through coughs and gasps, Ryou actually laughed. “Here I was thinking this world was normal, no magic to be seen. Now there’s a talking snake and shapeshifters apparently?” He winced as Diabound hissed by his ear. “Could you call her off? She’s heavy, I can’t breathe… How can I tell you anything?”

“Give us one reason not to let her squeeze the last ounce of air from your lungs,” Bakura sneered, crouching so they could look in each other’s eyes. Touzoku-Ou followed suit, squatting by Ryou’s head.

“How — ow! — about the fact that this is very much his actual body that you're hurting right now?” Their eyes, distrustful, full of loathing, buried into him. “Seriously? Ask your — fuck… — snake! I told her as much.” Ryou managed a weak glare at Diabound. “If you were gonna blab on me, couldn’t you at least tell them the whole story?”

“Diabound?” Touzoku-Ou nodded towards the beast. “What did he tell you exactly?”

She tilted her head, reaching into her recollection. “Not Ryou you know… Another universssse… Am ka … Egypt… Pharaoh and demon god.”

Ryou groaned, wiggling in the coils of muscle, frantically trying to remove the pressure on his spine and groin. “That’s a very — ouch! — abridged version. Kinda skipped a lot of detail.”

“Give her a minute,” Bakura snapped, and Ryou flinched, sincerely nervous the man might strike him. “She might be a magical creature, but she’s still a snake. They’re not built for memory recall.”

Diabound, ignoring their vehement argument, continued to rasp, “Not the Ryou ussssed to. Hissss body, different ssssoul. No blab.”

The two men, eyeing him, stood. Touzoku-Ou snapped his fingers. On cue, Diabound released her hold and slithered off Ryou’s body. He couldn’t resist, through inhales and exhales, grumbling, “Yet here… we are… Blabbermouth.”

“What does all that mean? Not the Ryou you know or are used to?” Bakura, rather than allow Ryou to catch his breath, demanded.

While opening his mouth, sarcastic response on his tongue, Ryou noticed the switchblade his doppelganger held. Instinct overtook him, driving him to crawl backwards, away from potential harm. They recognized his fear, and Bakura appeared to falter, lowering the blade back into his pocket. Regardless whether they felt bad for frightening him or simply disliked seeing their boyfriend’s face twisted in terror, Ryou appreciated the gesture.

Fighting through his air-starved lungs, Ryou shuddered and whispered, “I… I’m not the Ryou you know… But I am Ryou. I don’t understand all the details, and I definitely don’t know why this is happening… But I am Bakura Ryou.”

“Bakura?” Bakura echoed dubiously. “I don’t get it. Are you me or are you Ryou?”

Ryou frowned. “My full name is Bakura Ryou. Bakura’s my surname. Why? What’s your Ryou’s last name?”

“Imamura,” Touzoku-Ou answered. “Imamura Ryou. Weird that you share a name with your boyfriend. Or does your Bakura go by a different — why are you laughing?"

“So-sorry. It’s—” Giggle. “It’s a long story, but you calling it weird was just very funny. Ah, Gods above, I needed that laugh.”

His laughter eased what remained of their tension, their body postures relaxing significantly. Touzoku-Ou stepped closer, offering his hand to Ryou and helping the shaken male stagger upright.

“So, for clarification,” Bakura mused, holding his chin. “You’re saying you are Ryou, just from some weird alternate plane of existence? Where apparently you share my name?” He cocked an eyebrow as Ryou devolved into laughter again. “Am I wrong?”

Ryou waved one hand, holding his belly with the other. “Hehe, close enough. You have the right idea.”

The two men, not understanding the apparently hilarious statements they had made, waited for him to catch his breath. Diabound, gazing between her masters and master’s imposter, released a hiss-like sigh. “Boring now. Am hungry. Want foodssss.”

Much to her masters’ chagrin, her declaration restarted Ryou’s fit of hilarity.

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

AO3 Link: In Another Life - Chapter 11 - LiteraryAngel - Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga) [Archive of Our Own]

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stratuscloudsurfer · 2 years

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(Part 1 of ?)

I know this is unrealistic for a number of reasons but I’m way too sad at the thought of Ingo never getting to see Melli again so… what if Akari arranges for him to visit Ingo in the future?

It would probably be several months after Ingo returns back home. Enough time for him to readjust and clean himself up and maybe even get back to work. When Akari walks through the door of Emmet and Ingo’s apartment like she lives there one afternoon to casually propose the idea, Ingo is hesitant and worried that it wouldn’t be safe, but Akari assures him that she has perfected the art of time travel and that everything will be just fine. She’s apparently already talked it over with Melli who jumped at the idea. Ingo discusses it with Emmet, who also thinks its a “verrry good idea” until he’s convinced it is, as well.

Akari leaves with the promise that she’ll be back with Melli the week after next, and the two brothers start planning. Emmet tells Ingo not to worry about work and that he’ll cover for him so that he can spend as much time with Melli as possible. Ingo isn’t worried anymore about the safety of the plan, but he still has other fears. Nimbasa is a big city; what if its too overwhelming for him? What if he doesn’t like it here? What if he doesn’t like who he is now? It has been several months since they’ve seen each other, and Ingo feels like a completely different person in many ways now that he’s no longer Sneasler’s warden.

Emmet doesn’t think its necessary, but because it makes Ingo feel better, he helps him come up with an itinerary for Melli’s visit. They carefully plan out their activities so as to slowly introduce Melli to Unova’s second-biggest city 200 years in the future.

On the night that Melli is supposed to arrive, Ingo is as nervous as a teenage boy going out on his first date. He won’t stop compulsively rearranging items around the already-tidy living room. He’s asked Emmet if he thinks he looks okay at least six times. When he starts pacing the length of the tiny apartment like a caged animal, Emmet finally points at a chair and orders him to sit down and relax.

Emmet makes potato mochi using a carefully-followed recipe he found online because its the only thing he can remember eating in Hisui and he wants to cook something that Melli will find familiar. They turn out looking almost exactly like the ones that Beni made and he is quite proud of the himself, especially for his first time making them.

When they get a knock at the door Ingo instantly shoots up to his feet but remains standing there looking like a lost puppy. Emmet resists the urge to roll his eyes and leaves the kitchen to answer the door.

When he opens it he finds Akari with Melli, as promised. Melli stops restlessly glancing around at his surroundings to greet Emmet. His eyes widen.

“Oh--Whoa. Emmet, you look... old.”

Emmet laughs. “I’m going to choose not to take offense to that,” he says, then opens the door wider. “Come on in.”

Melli goes inside, and Akari waves goodbye to Emmet. “See ya in five days,” she says, then vanishes. Emmet has no idea how she’s done it.

When he returns to the living room, Ingo and Melli are both laughing and wiping tears from their eyes. Melli can’t seem to stop touching Ingo, as if he’s trying to convince himself that he’s actually here. He pats his waist, his shoulders, his hair. Eventually he tugs at his tie and tells him that his clothes are weird but regardless, he “cleans up nice.” Ingo is blushing--blushing! And Emmet can’t help but smile with him. He goes back to the kitchen and makes himself scarce, convinced that everything will be just fine.

The next day, Emmet leaves for work as Ingo is making breakfast. Someone’s got to keep the trains running, after all. On his way out the door, he reminds the two to, “Be safe and follow the schedule. And don’t forget to smile!”

#yeah so im definitely writing more of this #ive got tons of ideas #instead of one absurdly long post im going to break it into chunks tho #so you dear readers dont have to scroll forever #ive been writing too much angst lately #so here have some fluff #its ingo's turn to be a gay disaster #ok now to the actual tags #submas #subway boss ingo #subway boss emmet #pla #au #part of the kid emmet au #warden melli #highlandsshipping #Ingo/Melli #akari #melli visits nimbasa city

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jaehyunfirstlove · 3 years

Note

I don’t know if this is too specific but can I request for a smut where jaehyun despises y/n for a reason that she acts all innocent and kind infront of everybody when y/n is actually a brat and he wants to see it himself by giving her a rough sex (almost like a hate sex as well?) I really love your works and I spend most of my time reading them, this is my first request ever! thank you if you do ❤️

Pairing: friend!jaehyun x f.reader

Genre: smut (18+ only)

Warnings: hate sex, unprotected sex, teasing, choking, degradation? sort of?

Word count: 1.7k

A/N: thank you for this request, hope you like it :)

“Isn’t Y/N so sweet?” Jungwoo sighed, watching you walk away towards the buffet to get him some more cocktail shrimp.

Jaehyun just watched you, eyes narrowed. He knew better, knew your little act was all for show. “I wouldn’t bet on it,” he mumbled under his breath.

“What are you talking about?” Mark laughed loudly, “she’s the sweetest person we know, right Taeyong?”

Taeyong nodded, before launching into his favorite story about how you had taken care of him when he was sick once and refused to go to the doctor, while Taeil piped up about a story where you had given a homeless man your umbrella. Everyone else nodded in agreement, your entire friend group, save Jaehyun, agreeing that you were an angel on earth.

Jaehyun, however, knew what you were capable of. He was good friends with Yuta, your ex, and Yuta had told him everything about how bratty you were, how you liked to push his buttons, how you would misbehave on purpose in order to get punished. He hated this little act you displayed to everyone, disgusted that all of your friends believed you were some sweet, innocent person, when in reality, you were anything but.

---

“Here, Jaehyun, give it to me, I’ll wash it for you.”

You were all at Haechan’s house party, and someone had spilled their drink on Jaehyun’s shirt. At your offer, he only shook his head, mouth downturned.

“No thanks,” he said curtly.

“It’s no bother, really, best to get it out right away,” you insisted, holding out your hand to him, “come on, let’s go upstairs and get it cleaned.”

“No really, I’m good,” Jaehyun was positively cold now, his voice like ice.

“What’s the problem? Just go with her! She’s offering to clean your shirt!” Johnny was already a few beers in and unnecessarily loud, which made Jaehyun flinch.

“You can use my room,” Haechan offered, practically picking up Jaehyun and pushing him towards you. Reluctantly he got up, sighing heavily, and followed you up the stairs.

You led Jaehyun into Haechan’s room and closed the door behind him. “Okay, give me your shirt,” you said sweetly, “I can turn around if that makes you more comfortable.”

Jaehyun could feel his blood boiling, seeing your bratty attitude starting to come out as you stared at him cheekily. He bit the inside of his cheek, arousal and anger mixing together inside of him.

“Well?” you questioned, hands on your hips, “I won’t be able to wash it if you’re wearing it, although I guess I could try…” smirking you reached towards his shirt, but before you could make contact he grabbed your wrist.

“I don’t think so, sweetie,” he said, his voice harsh, “I’m calling the shots now.”

He squeezed your wrist harder, making you wince, but riling him up was fun, so you continued. “Is that so?” you asked, eyeing him up and down as he stared at you, “and what shots will you be calling, exactly?”

“You act all sweet and innocent in front of our friends, but really you’re just a fucking brat, am I right?”

You laughed. “Who told you that? I bet it was Nakamoto Yuta,” you scoffed, “he could never keep his mouth shut.”

“So is it true?”

“Why don’t you find out?”

“I intend to.”

He came at you then, pushing you onto the bed and then caging you in with his body. You were loving it, but still you felt the need to push his buttons.

“Took you long enough to get me into this position,” you teased, “Yuta had me underneath him an hour after we met.”

Clearly he didn’t like being compared to anyone, let alone one of his closest friends. The vein in his forehead throbbed, his mouth a thin line, as he leaned his face closer to yours.

“Keep it up, baby, and you’ll get what you deserve,” he growled, breath fanning your face.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, baby,” you continued to tease, adrenaline rushing through you at the prospect of what he might do to you. You had to admit, Jeong Jaehyun intrigued you, and you were dying to know if he was really packing down there like you suspected he was.

“Watch it,” he warned, bringing his knee between your legs and rubbing it against your pussy. You inhaled sharply at the friction, and his eyes grew dark as he watched your reaction. “I’m gonna fuck you right now, I’m gonna make you scream my name and forget your own.”

He was making you hot, arousal coursing through your body and turning your limbs to jelly. You were powerless as he started to kiss your neck, still rubbing his knee against your crotch, making you whimper.

“Not so bratty now, are you,” he smirked, sucking harshly on your skin and definitely leaving marks. You squirmed as he continued to rub his knee into you, but you needed more.

“Is that the best you can do?” you breathed, trying to affect a breezy air but it was getting more and more difficult with the way he was teasing you.

He growled against your neck, before he practically ripped your clothes off of you, then pulled off his own. Once you were both naked he leaned back on his knees to admire you, lying bare beneath him. Taking his cock in his hand he pumped it slowly, watching you as you watched him, salivating at the sight.

“I’ll show you what I can do,” he said, his voice low and raspy. You pretended to laugh, and it had the desired effect. His face went dark, eyes hard, and he grabbed your wrists, pinning you to the bed. “I’ll show you what a brat like you deserves.”

He entered you, hard and fast, no preamble, no sweet words and soft movements to coax your hole to open up for him, just his rock hard cock ramming into your pussy. You fought the scream that wanted to tear out of your throat, not wanting to give him the satisfaction, but that became increasingly hard when he started to build up a pace, fucking into you so hard the bed creaked loudly.

“You wanna piss me off, make me angry, well this is what you get,” he said, voice dripping with disdain. You could hear the anger in it, feel it in his movements, in the way he squeezed your wrists as he held you down. His hips were relentless, pounding into you, his cock so big and so deep inside you it felt like he was rearranging your insides. You wanted to moan, whimper, cry his name, all of it, but you fought it, keeping as quiet as you could to rile him up even more.

“Tell me you like it, you fucking brat,” he hissed, letting go of your arms so he could squeeze your breasts and pinch your nipples. Again you fought the urge to cry out as he pinched and pulled at your sensitive buds. You clutched the sheets instead, feeling an orgasm coming on and trying your hardest not to make it obvious. But your body gave you away, your pussy clenching around him, thighs shaking as he pulled an orgasm out of you so strong you could see stars in your vision.

“You don’t have to tell me, your pussy said it all,” he smirked, still railing you, tears pricking your eyes from oversensitivity but still he kept going.

“Still wasn’t good enough for me,” you lied, trying to keep your breathing even, “I’ve had better.”

He tried to look unaffected by your words, but his hips stuttered, giving him away. Without a word he pulled out of you and flipped you onto your stomach, pulling you up roughly by your hips so your pussy was opened up to him. You braced yourself on your elbows as he plunged into you again, the force of his thrust almost knocking you face first onto the mattress.

“You’re really gonna get it now, no more holding back,” he growled, and you wondered what was in store for you if that’s what he was like when he was holding back. This time, you couldn’t stifle your screams as he pounded you so hard and so deep he was reaching places you didn’t think anyone could reach. High-pitched whines and moans left your mouth as he tore you apart, as his cock pumped in and out of you making you come again and again, losing track of the orgasms you were having, his hands rough on your body.

“That’s it, baby,” he wrapped a hand around your throat and pulled you up to him, whispering in your ear, “keep screaming like that, show everyone what a bratty little fuck you are.”

You’d lost yourself to him at this point, unable to resist anymore, and so you did as you were told, screaming until your voice was hoarse.

“Scream my name, baby, tell everyone who’s fucking the brattiness out of you,” he squeezed his hand around your neck, restricting your airflow, and it made you so aroused you gushed around his cock.

“Jaehyun!” you choked out, “yes! Fuck me, Jaehyun!”

He came with a deep, guttural groan, squeezing your neck even harder, his other hand pressed against your lower stomach to bring you even closer to him and push his cock even deeper. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, all of your limbs convulsing as you came again, your mouth falling slack as the lack of air started to take its toll. Just before you blacked out completely he released his hold on you, and you fell limply onto the bed.

You were slowly coming back to yourself when you felt Jaehyun stroking your arm. You turned around to look at him and he was already dressed, sitting on the bed beside you.

“Oh good, you’re still alive,” he said it jokingly, with a smile, but you could see the concern in his eyes.

“Did you prove your point? Am I really a brat?” you asked, your brain still hazy from the mind-blowing sex you’d just had.

He grinned from ear to ear. “Yes, you’re really a brat,” he nodded, “but to be honest, I kinda like it.”

---

Thanks for 1.4k :)

[REQUESTS CLOSED]

#jaehyun imagines #jaehyun x reader #jaehyun smut #nct imagines #nct smut

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qianinterprises · 3 years

Text

WayV Reactions: you get mad at them over something trivial

Pairing(s): WayV x mostly gn!reader (I think Kun's is the only one with a written female reader. The others should be gender neutral).

Genre: angst, fluff (happy ending)

Warnings: couples arguments, yelling, angry reader

Word Count: 3k

Author's Note: Thank you so much for the request!!! I had so much fun writing this, although I will admit I had to look up "trivial things to fight about" so nothing would be repeated lol! I have no idea why most of these take place in the kitchen lol, it just seems like a place of arguments. I hope this is what you wanted!! I hope you enjoy!! 💕💕

Tagging: @treasuretaeil

Kun:

Originally posted here

"How about Dandelion?" Kun asked from his spot on the couch, absentmindedly flicking through the large book of names clasped in his fingers.

An audible gasp left your lips. You turned, wide eyes to stare at him, completely flabbergasted.

"You want to name our daughter WHAT?" you snapped.

Dandelion? Of all the names in the big book, he had to choose the name of a damned weed!

Kun shut the book and turned to stare at you with an eyebrow raised, not expecting your tone to be as harsh as it was.

With you expecting a baby girl in a few months, you and your husband had set to attempting to pick out a name, which proved to be a little more difficult than you had anticipated. You just couldn't seem to agree on a name, which, until now, had been fine. You were both generally easy going people who hardly ever fought, so as your face flushed with anger, Kun was at a loss.

"I just thought it'd be cute," Kun defended, voice gentle.

You could tell he was trying not to anger you further, but you balled your hands into angry fists.

"Well why don't we just call her a useless weed and be done with it! See how that affects her mental health!" you yelled.

You didn't know why you were so angry, or why you were taking that anger out on your sweet husband who had done nothing but take care of you throughout your pregnancy.

You blamed your hormones.

"Babe, please calm down."

Kun's voice was gentle and soft as he reached out for you, and although you were still seething with anger, the second his arms wrapped around your middle, you could feel it dissipating, leaving you to apologize.

"Kun, I'm sorry for-"

"Shh, there's no need my love," he whispered.

How did you ever get so lucky.

Ten:

Originally posted here

Ten hardly ever got a day off. With WayV and the occasional comeback with NCTU, plus all the variety shows and vlives the boys did, you hardly got to spend time with him, but you knew what you'd gotten yourself into when you'd started dating. You knew nights together were going to be few and far between, so when he'd asked you over to the dorm one afternoon, you'd jumped at the chance, eager to see your boyfriend after so long. However, if you'd known what it would be like, you would have stayed home.

Ten's phone chimed again, not long after he'd placed it down in favor of wrapping his arm around you while the movie played on the tv. His phone had been going off every few minutes, and despite your sliding closer or attempting to distract him, he couldn't seem to stop from responding, spurring on the messages further.

You didn't question whether he was texting some tramp. You knew he'd never do that to you, plus, he was constantly showing you some funny photo or meme that Johnny had sent, making you chuckle, although you couldn't help but to resent Ten's tall friend for distracting your boyfriend.

Finally, as he removed his arm to grab his phone and text Johnny back, you snapped.

"Can you put the damn phone away! If I would have known you'd do nothing but text, I wouldn't have come!"

Ten paused mid text before dropping his phone on the couch.

"He's my best friend, (y/n)! I'm not just going to ghost him!"

You huffed.

"I'm not asking you to ghost him! I'm asking you to spend time with me without the phone!" you hissed.

Ten sighed and picked his phone back up. With a grumble, you got off the couch, preparing to go home, not wanting to watch a movie with your boyfriend if your boyfriend didn't want to be there with you. However, as you moved to grab your coat, he tackled you onto the couch, caging you in his arms.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I promise, for the rest of the day, it's just you and me. No more texting."

You looked at him skeptically, but as he held off his phone, switched off, you sighed and wrapped your arms around him.

"I missed you," you mumbled.

"I missed you too," he replied, kissing the top of your head.

WinWin:

Originally posted here

You had never been the kind of person to rely on anyone. You liked doing things on your own, relying on no one, and thus, many of your friends labeled you "stuck in your ways" because, despite having a boyfriend who'd bend over backwards for you, you couldn't bare to let him do anything for you.

This had spurred on quite a few minor arguments, especially when said boyfriend was the worlds sweetest guy who just wanted you to rely on him for more than a warm chest to snuggle against.

"Why won't you let me help you?" he'd asked several times.

Your answer was always the same.

"Because I can do it on my own."

You never meant to make him feel dejected, but as you opened the kitchen cabinet to grab out your favorite coffee mug, you found that maybe, your boyfriend had a little more of a mean streak than you gave him credit for, and this morning, without your daily caffeine, it really pissed you off.

"Dong Sicheng!" you yelled, anger filling your veins.

Apparently, at some time during the night, your boyfriend had snuck out of bed and rearranged your cabinets, moving everything up one shelf higher, so now, instead of the highest self being the only vacant place, now the bottom shelf was vacant. You were decently tall, but you couldn't reach the highest shelf. You doubted anyone who wasn't 6 foot tall could reach, and of course, on the highest shelf, was all of your coffee mugs.

"Yes?" Sicheng asked from behind you.

You spun around in a whirl, his shirt, that fit you more like a dress, flowing out at the sudden movement.

"What the fuck did you do! Everything was perfect! I could reach everything! Why the hell did you move it!" you snapped.

You glared at him as he tried to hide a small smirk, leaning closer to the counter as he reached up, grabbing your favorite coffee mug, and placing it on the counter for you.

This only pissed you off more.

"What the fuck Sicheng!"

"You never let me do anything for you! The power goes out, you fix the fuse box. Your car breaks down, you take it to the shop. You want coffee, you grab the mug out of the cabinet. You don't let me do anything for you!"

You could see his point, you honestly could, and maybe that's why your fury died down a little.

"Sicheng, I'm independent. I don't need you to do anything for me. I can do it on my own."

"That's what you always say! But I'm your boyfriend! I want to do stuff for you!"

With a sigh, you shook your head. Maybe he was right. Relationships were about give and take, push and pull. He let you help him with things and you hadn't returned the favor. Maybe it was time to bend.

"Fine. Keep the mugs up there, but damnit Sicheng, when I call for you to get me a mug, you better come running."

With a smile, he leaned close to press a kiss to your lips.

"Promise. "

Lucas:

Originally posted here

Having a live in boyfriend was fun, nothing you'd ever experienced before. Suddenly, you had someone to share your bed with, someone to cook for, someone to open pickle jars when you couldn't.

However, it also meant extra time cleaning. Especially when your boyfriend apparently didn't know the use of a welcome mat. Plus, he wasn't the cleanest person in the world, and that fact became evident as you walked into the kitchen to grab a drink and found two bottle caps and a candy wrapper sitting on the counter, forgotten.

"Seriously Yukhei," you muttered under your breath.

You threw the trash in the bin and opened the refrigerator, hoping for a nice glass of milk before bed. Your eyes landed on the milk carton. Happily, you lifted the carton out of the fridge only to realize that it was empty. You certainly hadn't been the one to place an empty milk carton back in the fride.

"Yuhkei!" You yelled to your boyfriend who was already cuddled up in bed.

You waited for him to make his way into the kitchen, but the longer you waited, the angrier you got.

When he did finally walk inside, he was met with your fixed glare.

"What'd I do?"

"First, you leave your trash on the counter, then you put an empty carton back in the fridge! Do you NOT know where the damn trash can is?!"

Yukhei raised his hands in defense.

"I forgot!" he whined.

You groaned. You'd definitely heard that one before.

"You always forget Yukhei! How hard is it to put your trash where it belongs!" you whine, glare still fixed on him.

"And... just so we're clear... an empty milk carton doesn't go back in the fridge?" he asked.

You threw the milk carton at his head, although you weren't planning on hitting him. As he ducked, the carton hit the floor. He was trying to be funny, and you hated to admit that it was working as a smile cracked across your lips.

"There it is! There's that beautiful smile I love!" he cooed, moving closer and wrapping his arms around your waist.

"Shut up Yukhei!" you grumbled, pushing against his chest lightly.

He wasn't having it. He pulled you closer and pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

"I promise I'll start putting my trash in the bin," he whispered.

You knew it was an empty promise. Tomorrow morning, you'd wake up to more bottle caps and candy wrappers on the counters. Yukhei could be infuriating. But you loved him despite his lack of cleanliness.

Xiaojun:

Originally posted here

(This image has nothing to do with the reaction, I just had to include it lol)

*BEEP* *BEEP* *BEEP* *BEEP* *BE-*

That was the sound you'd been hearing every ten minutes for the past hour as your husbands hand slammed into the alarm clock for the sixth time. You grumbled and rolled over, once again awoken by his horrible habits.

This wasn't unusual. Dejun tended to set 15 alarms before he'd finally get out of bed and start his day, which, by that point, was usually when your own alarm clock would start going off and you'd wake up groggy and cranky, having just lost an hour and a half of peaceful sleep because your husband coudn't seem to get his ass out of bed in the morning.

"Why do you need so many fucking alarms! It's fucking stupid! Just set it for the time you actually need to be up!" you growled, not opening your eyes as you buried your face in the pillow, hoping to get back to sleep.

"I can't wake up that fast," came his mumbled response.

You huffed. It was always the same answer, but it never made much sense to you. Why couldn't he just get out of bed like a normal fucking person.

Alas, you didn't respond as sleep once again tugged at your consciousness, lulling you back to sleep beneath the warm blankets before-

*BEEP* *BEEP* *BEEP*

"GET THE FUCK UP!!"

"Five more minutes," he grumbled.

Five more minutes and you'd have to hear the infuriating sound of that damned alarm clock?! Fuck that.

You had had enough. Your sleep was important to you and being woken up two thousand times with a damn alarm clock before your husband finally dragged his tired ass out of bed was not helping your sleep in any way.

In a fit of anger and irritation, you pressed a sock covered foot against the middle of Dejun's back and pushed, affectively kicking his body out of bed, his body hitting the cold ground with a thump before he knew what happened.

"Hey! What was that for!" he snapped.

"Your up now," you grumbled, rolling back over and pulling the blankets over your head.

You could hear him grumbling something along the lines of "why do I love your psychotic ass" before the shower turned on.

Hendery:

Originally posted here

You let out a groan as the title of another horror movie appeared on the television screen as you cuddled next to your boyfriend. You hated horror movies, a fact he knew well. The ones that didn't make you have nightmares were generally so silly and irritating you'd spend the entire moving staring at the time. Your boyfriend, on the other hand, absolutely loved horror films, so it shouldn't have come as a surprise when you sat down for your weekly movie night at his place and found a horror movie coming on, which wouldn't have been an issue if you hadn't watched horror movies the last five weeks in a row.

"Can't we watch something else," you complained.

"It's just one move (y/n), you'll be ok."

You groaned. He never listened, too enthralled in his own excitement for the movie.

You didn't have a problem with the fact that he liked this genre, but he could just as easily watch it with Ten or YangYang, or, if he really wanted to torture his leader, Kun. You, on the other hand, somehow always seemed to get stuck watching them.

"We've watched these five weeks in a row," you whined.

"Shh."

That was the last straw. He wasn't even willing to listen to you!

With a huff, you got off the couch and grabbed the remote from the coffee table, switching off the movie and turning to glare at him.

"You know I don't like horror! Yet for the past several weeks we've done nothing but watch it! When are we going to watch something I want to watch?!" you snapped, hands balling into fists.

You could tell Kunhang was taken aback back your outburst as he floundered to find a response. You expected him to bite back, adding fuel to your fire by saying something along the lines of 'I work so much! Why can't we watch what I want!' But to your great surprise, his face just dropped.

"I like the way you hold onto me," he said softly.

You squinted.

"Huh?"

He sighed and sat up straighter, putting the bowl of popcorn on the table.

"You always cling to me when a part scares you. Sometimes you even jump into my lap and I like that. I like protecting you..."

As his voice trailed off, you sighed, anger evaporating. You sat down on the couch next to him and took his hand.

"I don't mind that sometimes, but not all the time," you said. "Besides, wouldn't you rather make out while watching a romance movie?" you smirked.

He paused at the suggestion, seeming to weigh his options in his mind before flicking the television back on and searching up the sappiest romance movie he could find.

With a grin, you sat back on the couch and discreetly coated your lips in cherry chapstick while he found a movie.

YangYang:

Originally posted here

Your feet and back ached as you walked through the door to your apartment after an exceptionally long shift at the diner you worked at part time. All you wanted to do was crawl into bed with your loving boyfriend and go to sleep in his arms. However, as you laid eyes on Jeno and Jaemin sitting beside YangYang with some game loudly playing from the tv, you couldn't help but groan.

"I'm home," you called tiredly, biting back the urge to grumble about games as you made your way into the kitchen to grab a glass of water and maybe a sugary snack.

As soon as you flicked on the light, you couldn't fight the irritation as your eyes met three empty pizza boxes stacked carelessly on the stove and a mountain of plates, cups, and bowls you'd begged YangYang to take care of that morning.

"YangYang!" you snapped, teeth gritting as you found the trashcan, also filled to the brim, waiting to be taken out.

You heard mumbling from the living room followed by an absence of firing guns, meaning they'd paused the game. YangYang walked into the kitchen, eyebrows raised as if he had no idea why you'd called for him.

"What the fuck Yang! I ask you to do the dishes, they're not done! Taking the trash out is your job anyway and it's piled sky high! And those fucking pizza boxes don't belong on the damn stove! What did you do today?! Sit on your ass while I was slaving away!" you yelled.

In hindsight, you probably shouldn't have picked a fight with YangYang's buddies in the next room, but your tired brain could take no more.

"I had to practice and they just got here an hour ago! Don't go snapping at me when you just as easily could do the dishes now!" he snapped back.

"Why should I have to! I've been working all day! You could have done the dishes before they got here! Hell, I wish you would have!"

"Excuse me for not being a clean freak!"

You blew out a huff of air and squeezed your eyes shut.

"Whatever, just go play your damn game."

You turned away from him and moved to the sink, starting the water and pouring in a good squirt of dish soap before grabbing a sponge and getting ready to wash the dishes before a pair of arms wrapped around your waist, a face nuzzling into your neck.

"I'm sorry I didn't do the dishes baby," YangYang whispered softly.

You didn't respond as he pulled the sponge out of your hand.

"Go to bed. I'll do the dishes and then come join you," he whispered.

It was a fast change of heart, but one you were thankful for. You pressed a kiss to his cheek before making your way toward your shared room, not missing the way Jeno and Jaemin bolted from the apartment before YangYang roped them into helping.

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fbwzoo · 3 years

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Jack & I had the same idea recently to take the big middle shelf out of the rat cage for easier cleaning & to put in more climbing routes for them. He did it yesterday while cleaning the cage & got them all set up with some new highways!

We left the smaller shelves in for now, so they have more floor space. We may end up adding in a bigger basket or two with some additional substrate for digging in. They really like rearranging their dig box at the bottom.

They seem to be having fun figuring out all the new routes so far - Seven & Squash are becoming chaos buddies, just all over the place "helping". 😂 And we put a couple more of my foraging toys in & they've already chewed holes into the takeaway boxes! Hoping to start moving towards scatter feeding more too, to help the chunky girls slim down some.

#ratblr #rodentblr #rats #pet rats #ratty girls #rat cage #got some baskets on Amazon I'm looking to get when i can #need to make more foraging toys soon now that there's more space to hang things

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cosmiclatte28 · 3 years

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POOL (YUTA X READER)

Hello!! I'm finally back with a story! I hope it's not like a beginner story but oh well i tried!

Tw : surrounded by males. Pool game, touching without consent

Net @superm-net @multifandomnet tagging @neopalette

Here we go!! Thanks for reading hope this is enjoyable

Friday night, the awaited day has finally come! All the fatigue of the week is expected to be drowned in lots of fun games and by sharing laughter. You sit nicely on one of the corner of the common room, casually playing with your mobile phone while you wait for your best friend, Mark, rushed back to his room because he forgot his wallet. You tap your heeled boots to the rhythm of a song playing in your earpods and hum along to the lyrics.

As you throw your eyes to the big window panel that shows you the picturesque scenery of purple sky, your smile brightens when you hear Mark's footsteps approaching you.

"Come on, the boys are already waiting! We'll gather at Johnny's dorm as he has the most game options in the common room there." Mark explains as both of you start taking steps down through the stairs.

"Well, blame the students here for stealing the pool ball." You giggle when you remember checking the pool table with Mark earlier and found out that it was empty.

"Right, well we can always hit the club to play but I guess Johnny's dorm has complete balls there." Mark gently opens the door for you and soon after the two of you are already in front of Johnny's dorm.

You can see the guys gathered near the pool table and at the table soccer place. You shrug your shoulder when Mark noticed there's no other girl.

"You wanna bring your friends?" Mark offers after greeting Johnny.

You shake your head "I'm good. Just Johnny, introduce me to these hot people." You wink and both Johnny and Mark, who knew you by heart, just nod their heads.

There are not many boys, actually the lobby is empty and there's only Johnny, you, Mark and three other guys you never met before.

Mark just greets them but from the vibes,you know he also just knew these guys.

Johnny claps and catches the attentions of the boys who were chatting.

"Guys, meet (y/n) and (y/n) meet Jaehyun, Taeyong, and Yuta." The Chicago man points to the guy with a dimple, a guy with a sharp jaw and super small face. He looks so godly, and lastly to a guy who smiles so sweetly but in a mere of second after shaking your hand can give you a super sinful smirk.

You blink one time after shaking all of their hands, whoah did you really just hit the jackpot and you're standing in front of three deadly handsome people.

"So, Johnny said we could play pool because I guess everyone knows how to." Mark moves to take the sticks and hands it down to the people.

"I haven't played lately, I used to play for fun three years ago." You rub your neck, feeling shy that you're surrounded by tall people.

Jaehyun smiles, "You sure? What if suddenly you're super good?"

The boys burst into a laughter "Nah, she looks amateur." Johnny teases you and you are totally fine with it.

You shrug your shoulder "We'll see, so how do we play?"

Taeyong smartly suggests making a team of two and just have four of us play first and the winner can go up against the best, in this case Jaehyun and Johnny.

"I'll play with (y/n)!" Yuta calmly assign the team and everyone else agrees. You don't mind playing with anyone because you don't want to make yourself too confident too and be embarrassed if you lose.

Yuta made a nice opening shot, breaking the balls to different direction. Everyone cheers when Mark already pockets his first solid color.

"We're doing stripes now (y/n), don't be nervous." Yuta helps you aim for a ball. You can feel your stiff playing, well there's no warm up so you're just trying your best and at least your hits are accurate.

Yuta claps when you pocket two balls inside "Whoah you're not bad." He high fives you and your heart grows warmer. Well it's either your happiness of playing the game well or his sweet smile.

Taeyong is the hidden ace card, on his turn he almost finishes pocketing his solids but one missed shot and Yuta is taking over the table now.

Despite Yuta's precise shots, your team still has two more balls because you did some mistakes earlier and that aided the other team.

Johnny and Jaehyun are just enjoying it, keeping calm and helping the four of you play.

"(Y/N), try this." Johnny shows you a steadier way of placing your fingers to give friction on the stick.

"I am not used to it, I'll stick to mine." You tried to aim but feel something's off with your hand.

Yuta chuckles and stands next to you "Go like this, and excuse me," He shows you his hand position and after you copy it, he suddenly holds your hand and help you aim. His bigger frame cages your shorter body and he helps you move the stick so you get the feeling.

Your heart skip a beat and you can feel your cheeks go red. No one made a comment as they are all busy watching the ball and trying to calculate the game.

Yuta smirks when he sees your red face, he lets go off you and steps back. "Got it? Now do that it will make your shot 90% accurate."

You focus on what he taught and sure enough put two more balls inside.

But on the next attempt, you missed and that means it's Mark's turn to play.

"Oh dude we only need to pocket 8!" Mark was so happy and Taeyong just remains calm.

"Okay call the pocket Mark or it's not counted." Jaehyun calmly examines the table.

Mark thinks for a while and finally goes with the upper right corner. Everyone holds their breath when Mark made his shot, the ball bounced and rolled and made it into the hole… another hole, not the one he called.

"Fuuuckkkk" mark yelled and taeyong only laughs.

You are still confused but Yuta is clapping so hard with Johnny "We won by default!!" Yuta explains to you and you laugh "So we're going against Johnny?"

Johnny just keeps teasing Mark about losing and Mark is still agonizing himself.

Jaehyun already rearranges the balls and this time, you got the honors to do the first hit.

"Just hit super hard." Yuta advises you, and as you start to warm up from the first game, your hit makes a nice sound and the balls roll around the tables.

"Sweet, that was nice!" Jaehyun whistles as he realizes there's not much good shot for any of the balls.

The hot man tries to attempt a short hit. He places the stick behind his back and gracefully tries to hit a solid near the hole, but he missed and you smirk.

You've learned about the back hit before and you were once good at it.

It is your turn now and Johnny takes a look on the table "(y/n), do you want to try do the short aim like Jaehyun did? It looks hard but it's not."

Yuta was trying to find another possibility but looks like doing what Johnny said is the best option.

"But she might not have the height to do it." Mark blurts a comment and Yuta was ready to throw punches. You, however, only quietly bring yourself up the table. You sit on the edge and place the stick behind your back.

"Ohh looking nice girl," Johnny comments on your posture and your aiming direction.

You move your right hand and give a very nice strong spot on hit on the stripe.

"Woah" Jaehyun and Yuta both scream and clap. You just smile "Guess I still have it."

Johnny gives you a thumbs up and Mark is left speechless. The rest of the game happens quite fast since Johnny keeps pocketing all solids and Yuta backs you up a lot leaving you with two stripes but Jaehyun is already trying to pocket the last 8 ball.

"Come on we got this (y/n)!" Yuta cheers you up when Jaehyun missed the shot.

You try to not feel nervous and gather your focus.

One clean shot, and the boys all have their jaws opened.

"Wait what? She did that?!" They were surprised when you made one clean shot and now you're boldly striding across the table aiming for your last stripe.

"Take it easy." Yuta whispers and hints you which side of the ball you should hit.

You aid his words and true enough you pocket the last stripe.

Now everyone has their eyes on you. "The last 8 ball! If you pocket this and call the right pocket, we win.. but once you miss its their win!" Mark tries to make you worked up but that makes you super nervous instead.

"Yuta do you want to do it?" You plead but he shakes his head "No, it's your turn. You should do it. It's okay to miss. It's only a game." He squeezes your shoulder and bends to match your height

"Go hit that side and call the middle left pocket. I know you will win it." He pats your shoulder and leaves you a space.

You take a deep breath, Johnny is watching you from the aimed hole. He also looks nervous and you did your shot.

"Yayyyy!!!!" Jaehyun screams when you missed by a hair on the aimed hole. Johnny is already screaming around with Jaehyun too laughing at how they win because you missed the ball.

You grin and Yuta pulls you into a hug "Great job girl! That was a nice game!" He ruffles your hair.

You freeze in his hug and pull back "What? You're okay with me making us lose?"

You almost say sorry for messing it up, but Yuta already shuts you up. "Nope. It's a game and I'm having fun! i don't need to win, i just love spending my Friday like this!" He pinches your cheek and you blush.

"We can play more if you want," Jaehyun already has the table ready.

You glance to Yuta and after sending a quiet conversation with your eyes you click your tongue

"Let Mark and Taeyong play, the winner play against us." You hand the sticks over and pull Yuta away to the side.

"While they play, why don't we get something to eat? i haven't eaten dinner." You cock your head to the side.

Yuta gives his warm smile and touches your cheek "Okay cutie, let's do that. Look at you hitting on me smooth like butter.

You wink and Yuta only snickers "We'll see who is the better flirt-er then!"

End

#yuta x y/n #yuta x you #yuta x reader #yuta oneshot #yuta scenarios #yuta imagines #yuta fluff #yuta flirt #yuta fanfic #taeyong oneshot #mark #jaehyun #johnny #yuta

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littlefreya · 4 years

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Good Girl

gif credit amancanfly

Synopsis: Henry is at the gym testing the new Glute Drive while his longing wife drops by to visit and decides to play a little wicked game of teasing.

Pairing: Henry Cavill x OFC

Word count: 4.2K

Warnings: Explicit, this is basically ALL smut. Slight SubMale / DomFem then a lot of DomMale / SubFem, dry humping, cock teasing, dangerous driving, fingering, dirty talk, daddy kink, slight size kink (I am all the kinks today), unprotected sex and bodily fluids!

A/N: Okay so this fic was born out of the UNHOLY union between this thread and the video of Henry going “good boy” at Kal. Many thanks to my darling @agniavateira for helping me proofread this!

Title: Good Girl

There he is, my bear of a man. His sculpted, wide body plastered to some medieval-looking torture device. Strong, large arms hang onto the handles, muscles flexing. Slick with sweet sweat, he thrusts his hips up and down while grunting with effort.

Who the hell came up with this air-fucking machine?

I walk through the deserted mirrored room, my black painted nails scratching the glass as I draw closer toward Henry. Gyms tend to be freezing, and I’m not properly dressed for a workout session with my mini plaid skirt and a dark grey t-shirt. But his arduous gasps fill the chilled space enough to make things a little warmer.

“What are you doing here, little one?” Henry finally asks, pausing his thrusts for a moment as he spots my cattish moves toward him.

I observe silently as I inch closer. he has his waist strapped to a bench, heavy weights of 80kg are on each side of his body while he lifts upward and presses his behind back down. A sheer layer of sweat covers him entirely, his skin glistening in the fluorescent’s light. His favourite blue top is soaked.

“I came home from the studio and my hubby wasn’t there.” I pout, standing right at the edge of the bench where his feet are pressed for support.

He pouts back at me, genuine care on his face. My darling bear might have the endurance of a large predator, but his heart is all strawberry marshmallow when it comes to his lady. He hates to spend time apart. Whenever our schedules collide it’s all about Face-timing and sending nudes.

Honestly? I care less than he does about this shit ever getting leaked. I even keep some steamy under-the-cover selfies so I’ll have something to work with when either of us is away.

But what I hate the most, is having him here yet he’s absent. The Pre-production shenanigans have him preparing for his next role, which usually means working himself at the gym to the point of collapsing, just so he could look like some demi-god. Honestly, I wouldn’t mind him having a little body fat. That’s why I bake him pizza every weekend. What his gym coach doesn’t know, can’t hurt him.

“I’ll be done in 10 minutes, darling.” he answers and continues to slowly push down and up again, releasing a pained grunt and clenching his teeth. “Just… two… more… sets.”

“I don’t want to wait.” I alert him, circling the machine carefully to not get in his way. I appreciate the hard work and stamina, but I am quite tired of having the downside of the deal. Every day for the last 2 weeks I received an exhausted Cavill with aching, strained muscles. The most action I got was massaging his muscles in the bathtub which might sound romantic if not for him snoring 3 minutes in.

“Ten minutes,” he mentions again. He’s out of breath as he ascends and then lowers once more, the weights pressuring his body down while the bands create a resistance.

No way in hell someone came up with this device and didn’t think this is a sex thing. I see my bear thrusting his hips upward like this and only one thing goes through my mind.

Oh, how I need to be on top of this mountain of a man.

I cannot help myself, nor can I hide the malicious grin forming on my mouth. I lift my leg carefully, hovering it in the air above him. I cage him between my straddled legs whilst giving him my best dominatrix glare. Henry raises his eyes to meet mine, looking dumbfounded.

“What are you doing, darling? You’ll hurt yourself.”

Oh, sweet summer child.

I sway my hips in a slow dance, with the thrust of his body and his heavy breaths as the music I’m dancing to. The arousal in his eyes is evident within seconds. His lips part away slowly, his beautiful blue eyes begin to cloud, and his adam’s apple slides upward in his throat as he swallows.

“At home.”

“Here.” I ignore his request lowering myself slowly and carefully to squat over his groin. He’s not hard, yet.

Henry releases a deep loud grunt. Usually, I am weightless for him, but right now I’m adding to already 160kg of weights. Well, he is the type of guy who likes to push his limits and I am the type of girl who likes to test boundaries.

“Don’t,” Henry protests, another grunt escaping his lips. I stretch myself, my ass pressing back, my groin rubbing against the tender muscle that begins hardening between my legs. I can feel the rush of blood, making him throb and grow vast between my legs.

“Don’t do what?” I press my teeth against the lushness of my lower lip viciously, beginning to grind against the hardness in slow circular motions. “Don’t you have two more sets?”

He clenches his teeth, his hands tightening around the handles so harshly his knuckles whiten. With great effort he lifts up, succumbing to my wickedness. His erected cock is concealed underneath his clothes, yet I press and dance onto it, making blissful moans as the friction has me singing that sweet familiar tune.

When he pulls down I dive with him, feeling the exhale of his body and the dancing twitch of muscles. I greatly anticipate the next push upward, my hands reaching to squeeze my breasts together. My panties are now soaked with moisture as I press and rub, bringing myself closer.

When he lifts again, his thrust is a wee bit faster. He’s either getting used to my weight on his groin, or the adrenaline of the beast that I’ve been teasing allows him to push higher. He angles his hips into mine, serving my need, and gives me the friction I demand. His eyes meet mine and pure darkness devours me within them.

I am in so much fucking trouble, but it’s so worth it.

“Oh Henry, you’re making me so wet.”

I moan his name, rubbing myself on his cock at a demanding speed while he lifts up and down. My clit tingles, swollen against his enormous bulge as that familiar wave begins to spread. He’s so hard, so painfully swollen, and so incapable of getting any release while I ride him into a powerful orgasm.

I clutch his thighs, desperate gasps spiralling out my mouth as the pleasure continues to hit my core. My nails dig deep into the hardened flesh but I can’t be bothered.

“Oh god…” I throw my head backwards, trying to adjust my breath while my legs are shaking around his wide waist. There’s still a throbbing hardness against my burning core, the angry drumming of blood pulsating against my opening.

I’m tempted to take my phone and capture his looks in my camera. But I’m in too much trouble as it is. Henry is drenched in sweat, upset in ways I’ve never seen in my life. He's done with his workout for today, no doubt about that.

“Are you done?” he asks me with a frown.

I lick my lips and lift myself up, knees nearly giving up as my legs are still numb from the intensity of pleasure. I let out a provoking giggle, putting my finger between my teeth, knowing he likes that gesture. This is my favourite battle, control. He enjoys superiority with his physical power, but every now and then I sweep the rug beneath his feet. And though he loves it when I am his good girl, sprawling and letting him take what he wants, when I am bad, the beast is willing to split my ass in half.

Guess I won this round.

Henry unbuckles the harness from his waist as I step back. He takes the towel from the bench and wipes his face. My eyes fixate on the still hard swelling in his nether area. I could offer to take care of it for him, but I am not feeling this generous right now. Better keep his stamina for home, so I can actually get me a proper shag in a nice, clean bed with a nice, clean husband that doesn’t smell like an entire rugby team.

“Go wait in the reception.” he demands, his tone anything but sweet right now.

“Don’t take too long.” I demand in return as I turn around, flipping back my hair and letting it slide down my ass. I can hear his frustrated groan behind me, just before I leave the room. It makes me lose myself in a burst of chuckles.

~*~

Henry meets me downstairs, a serious expression on his face. His gaze doesn’t meet mine, letting me know that unlike myself, he is vastly unamused. He takes my wrist in his big hand and leads me outside while smiling to bid bored receptionist goodbye.

I am forced to follow his large strides. Being a tall man, every step of his is equal to three small ones of mine. Even though it seems like his “problem” subsided, he’s not exactly interested in waiting.

He’d always be tender in his behaviour towards me, a respectful gentleman who knows how to treat women. Sure, he can rearrange a guy’s skull, but he never raised his voice at me. He’d take a walk outside the house and then return to so we can have a talk like adults.

But this is not a fight. This is but our favourite little war. Ongoing from the day we met.

I notice that we are not going to the car. Instead, he leads me to a narrow, dark space between two buildings. I can smell the damp sidewalk, the scent of earlier rain filling my nose. This spot is anything but romantic or erotic, with street cats screeching at the back and the sounds of trash cans being hit as they bounce on top of the lids.

Finally, he towers above me. His hand lets go of mine and hold it open in front of me with a demanding look in his eyes.

“Take off your panties.”

I let out a bemused laugh, dry and short as I am uncertain of his odd demand. But he holds out his hand at the stern request, motioning for me to do as I’m told.

“Here?!” I ask, looking around to see if there is anyone who might be a voyeur on our little engagement. The last thing I need is our agents scolding us again for photos of us being inappropriate in public places. Gretchen swears we make these mess on purpose. We kinda do, because we can’t keep away from one another.

“You want another one of your fancy pairs turned into rubbish?” he threatens.

I comply, breathing out like a brat and leaning down to take off my underwear for him. I place it in his hand and move back against the wall, anticipating his next move. I guess “Cavill and wife caught doing cardio after the gym!” could be a funny headline, better than the one at the hotel at the Academy Awards.

Henry folds the small material in his hand, holding it in his fist as if it’s something he can actually squeeze, before shoving it into his pocket. He grabs something else in exchange. I hear the chink of his car keys, dangling between his fingers as he offers them to me.

“You drive.”

There are no explanations, nor can I make anything of his behaviour. My man is willed with the control of his emotions. To outburst is to be weak, I am keen on that, my own terrible flaw. It only pisses me off more to see him keeping himself so relaxed while I am always the one who sees fire.

I follow his order, walking after him silently as he leads me to where he parked the car. Having no underwear beneath my short skirt is anything but convenient right now, especially when I have to enter the vehicle and crouch down.

I try fixing my skirt to cover myself, feeling the leather of the seat beneath my ass and other regions while Henry begins messing with the music player. I can see the small smirk at the corner of his lip, it’s evident that he’s having himself a good time knowing how uncomfortable I am at this very moment.

I roll my eyes at him and try closing my knees together as much as I can while stepping my foot on the gas.

He puts on Queens of the Stone Age and takes the passenger seat back, remembering he needs more legroom than I usually require. His head turns to face me, his lips sucked into his mouth in a cunning gesture.

“Had yourself a good time?”

His hand reaches toward my knee, grazing at the bone with featherlike movements. It tickles, I am forced to move my knee from him involuntarily, but he keeps it in place, resting his entire large hand on my kneecap.

“I’m driving…” I warn him, keeping my hands on the wheel and my eyes on the road.

I can tell he is smirking wickedly, his eyes staring at the road ahead of us carefully and then back at me. His fingers make their way up my thigh, snakelike on my bare skin. His palm is large and warm, pressing onto my inner thigh while his thumb draws invisible circles on my skin.

“Henry…” I warn again, feeling cool air blowing against my lips as he forces my legs to part wider for him. “You’ll get us killed!”

“Then focus on the road.” he commands, licking his lips. His fingers meet my wetness in a touch so tender it’s almost a phantasm, yet still there, undoubtedly making me swallow a sigh and squirm slightly in my seat. It’s as if he is testing the water first, a slight brush before plunging in and damn if he doesn’t push into me with his fingers, pressing three of his large digits to massage my heat.

“Fuck!”

I am fighting to keep my eyes open, my hands clutching at the steering wheel while my left foot kicks at the floor.

“Maybe we should stop.” I suggest, nearly pleading.

“Keep driving, we’re almost home.” he answers, sounding relaxed. The amused grin has vanished from his face, replaced with the severeness of pride and triumph.

He strokes my cunt between his fingers in a tight grip, his fingers running up and down, playing with my wetness, smearing it across his hand before plunging two of his knuckles inside me as we stop at a red light. I am very much aware that other drivers might see us, so does he, but he seems to care very little if anyone spots him pleasing his wife.

“Aww…” he mocks me, hearing the helpless cry that pushes out of my throat. “You shouldn’t have been such a bad little girl.” he teases some more, his fingers now plunging in and out with excitement. I allow myself to grind at the surface of his palm to achieve more friction at the base of my clit so maybe we can finish this quickly before the light is green.

But he’s the one in charge of my satisfaction now. He holds his hand further, so I will have none of it and keeps the stimulation only at the rim of my cunt, his fingers circling my entrance.

“Too bad you had to tease me like that.” he murmurs in his low voice, his fingers slowly withdrawing and only his thumb grants my clit with a small tender brush.

“Now you’ll have to wait, and be a good girl for daddy.”

I let out another cry, arching toward the wheel and biting on my lips. It's not out of pleasure, but out of torturous frustration as he withdraws completely. I give him a quick, infuriated stare, seeing how he sucks his fingers victoriously, enjoying every single drop of his sweet win.

Feeling slick between my thighs, I press slightly harder on the gas pedal, trying to get us home faster. Henry pumps the volume of the music player higher.

Watch you come from above

I'm so needy for love, I'm desperate,

Greedy in slavery I sneak around from behind I got a one track mind We got a skin on skin thing baby I want to lick you too much I hear you comin ooh aaaah baby

~*~

The moment we enter the house I lock the door and try to make my move but he has his hand on my throat in less than a second, squeezing not too tight, but tight enough to make a point. His blue eyes scan my face, his soft tongue slithering across the freckle of his lower lip with arousal.

“Get on your knees, little one. You’re not off the hook yet.”

I gasp at his fierceness, weak against his charisma and beauty. I stroke his face, still sticky with sweat from earlier, my fingers are gently smoothing against the stubbles on his high cheekbones and at the dimple of his chin.

“Please, daddy, just fuck me already,” I bargain.

“I’m wet and ready for you.”

“On your knees.” he repeats himself, his lips twitching to a small grin as he sees my defeat. His hand slightly releases my neck, his fingers pet my chin and jaw and finally entangle in my hair as I fall to my knees slowly, levelling myself at the height of his groin. His hand strokes my head lovingly, pressing my chin against his growing arousal as I look up to him with fake innocence.

“Are you gonna be good now?” he asks, his fingers twirling around my long hair lovingly.

“Yes, daddy.” I nod, waiting to have his cock in me, in any part of me. I want to touch myself so badly, my pussy throbs with desperate eagerness to be stuffed by his huge cock. .

“I want to see you crawl on fours and wait for me in the living room, babygirl.” he growls at me while discarding his blue top on the wooden floor, exposing his thick hairy chest.

“I want to look at your cunt as you move for me before I’ll destroy it. You’ve been such a nasty girl today.”

I shiver at his words, a shrill of air kicks out of my lungs at once. My toughness is down to non-existing. I let him have it, I let him have it all. I crawl on my knees and palms like a cat in heat, my ass exposed for him. My cunt drips with primal desire to be conquered by this menacing alpha. I stop for a moment and then look behind me. I see him kicking off his shoes, his sweats slipping down his thick thighs along with his briefs before he continues to follow me, holding his erection in his hand, massaging the base of his cock while looking at me to open wide for him.

I reach the furry white IKEA carpet in our living room and wait for him, still on all fours. His heavy footsteps make the wood creak beneath his weight which alerts me that he’s close. The heat of his body is near. I feel the aura of his body as he falls down to his knees carefully behind me.

His hands smooth against the curve of my ass, appreciating my shape to the point of worshipping my flesh. He takes the time to study again what he knows better than I do, trailing up to lift my skirt until it’s hiked around my belly. He then pushes my shirt, prompting me to take it off. Not an easy task to perform on all four limbs.

For one lingering moment, his hands roam across my body, massaging my muscles, pinching my nipples between his fingers. I moan beneath his large hands as he coaxes me into being his little plaything, succumbing to his will. Possessive fingers grip my shoulder and in a sudden movement, I’m pressed with my back down while Henry pushes my legs apart with his knees.

“I just love to look at your face when I fuck you, babygirl.” he explains, his hands pulling my legs violently against his hips to position me as he desires. That way, we can both enjoy the show of his cock slipping in and out of my slit.

I squirm beneath him, my hands reaching for his chest to stroke at the thick dark hair and hardened pecs. “Please, fuck me.” I beg to the point of whining as I look at his sturdy cock, admiring every vein and ridge that decorates his impressive size. Henry takes himself and begins to tease my entrance, making teasing groaning voices while I plea so weakly.

But that’s only to prepare me for his brutal invasion. He lets out a loud husky shout as he pushes in, penetrating me with such vulgarness, it takes the air out of my lungs. I am split in half, feeling how my body stretches immediately to bind itself to him.

My narrow slit tries to remain resilient while Henry keeps himself nested between my lush folds, a groan of pure pleasure vibrates through his glorious chest before he takes my jaw in his great hand and makes me look at him to see the sin in his eyes.

“Good girl…” he calls out in his deep low voice, pulling himself out slowly and then slamming back inside me in with a slippery wet slap. I gasp, my entire body shuddering in his veiny arms.

“Good girl.” He speaks again, letting the words roll and linger on his tongue.

His rhythm is somewhere between torturous to divine. When he pulls away he does it ever so slowly, watching with perverse fascination his own cock as it slides out my narrow entrance just before he slams back in. Henry promised that he will destroy me; he never breaks a promise. I already feel how my muscles are thrown into a paradox, trying to resist him yet have him deeper and deeper with each one of his amazing thrusts.

“Look at how you take me,” he calls in a guttural voice, urging me to look at our union. “You have such a tight succulent cunt, baby.”

It feels almost too sinful to stare, my entire existence shivers at the sight. His big beautiful cock enters me, slick with my juices as he increases the pace. I’m petite but with him inside I’m forced to expand, my body stealing his shape, embracing him with devotion, wanting him to be like this forever.

His wide thighs are placed right beneath my legs, his right hand silks its way down my hip and grips me roughly as he pounds me in increasing speed. With one hand still on my jaw, he presses his fingers to my mouth where I suck and bite at him. He always wants me to look at him, loves it when I’m hopeless beneath him when my mouth cries for him while he stuffs me with his cock, over and over again.

I squirm to meet his pelvis. He fucks me so raw that no actual words come out of my mouth but the mewls of a small, helpless animal instead. Being hunted for sport rather than eating. I grind my clit against his pubic bone to elicit more delightful friction, getting me closer and closer. But I’m stealing control and he’ll have none of that right now.

He shoves us down, pinning my hands against each side of my head while his groin is holding me down to the surface in complete captivity. I am hurting for a mere moment as he shoves too forcefully. His apology is a deep passionate kiss which he is forced to break as we both gasp for air with every merciless push of his loins into mine.

“Fuck babygirl!” He leans his forehead against mine, a feral gaze in his eyes. I lock my legs around his waist, my body losing every grip it ever had on control as the warmth begins to throb at the base of my cunt, spreading from my womb towards every nerve until I feel nothing but love flowing through my body.

I pant in awe, my voice adding to his deep growls and husky gasps which only become louder as his orgasm looms closer with the tightness of my cunt around his swelling cock. It sucks him harder, demanding his release, milking him of his offering until he shudders through me and yells out my name.

The gush of warmth that spills inside me is my second favorite thing in the world. I moan with sweet delight as his cream coats me inside.

“I love you so much.” he whispers, holding me in his protective embrace as if to apologize for fucking me so hard.

I’d imagine that after such a long time together he’d already figure it out that I’m the one provoking it.

“What’s the name of that device again?.. the one I was…”

“Glute drive.”

“Glute drive, yeah, we’ll do that again soon…” I suggest, nibbling at his ear playfully while he remains on top of me.

~*~

Song lyrics are by Queens of the Stone Age - Skin on Skin

#Henry Cavill #Henry Cavill Fanfiction #Henry Cavill x OFC #henry cavill rpf #henry cavill x reader

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janekfan · 3 years

Text

Tim shouldn’t be here.

He couldn’t make himself leave.

Tim should’ve told Sasha.

She wouldn’t be out of work for hours yet.

At the very least, Tim should’ve called ahead.

Jon had no idea who was standing on the other side of the door. It was apparent in the way his eyes widened. In the way his breath hitched in his chest like a skipping cassette, in how his fingers tightened on the scuffed up brass knob. In the tentative way he caught his lower lip between his teeth before his tongue darted out between them in preparation to speak.

“Tim.” Surprised, glancing to either side of him before staring at his eyebrow. Close enough. “No Sasha tonight?” Gentle inquiry as he stepped aside to let him in.

“Jon?” Martin was somewhere else in their little flat. “Who was that at the door, love?”

“Tim stopped by for a visit, habibi.”

Unannounced?

Tim could hear Martin’s unspoken question. This wasn’t what they’d agreed on when they first found out they were all alive, that they’d made it through everything after all and realized that Tim brought his old grudges along with him. It didn’t matter that he didn’t want to feel that way, not when he so clearly still did. It didn’t matter that the lingering worry and doubt and fear in Jon’s eyes made him sick to his stomach because he’d put it there.

“I’ll put the kettle on.” As he settled on the lumpy couch, Tim heard Jon click on the hob and then begin rummaging around in the cupboards.

“Hayati, where’s that jar of orange blossom…?” Tim smiled privately at the domesticity. He doubted any of them expected to have that. He certainly hadn’t. There was no answer in return but Jon’s phone pinged with a notification and a muffled burst of laughter followed. He came out shortly with a tray. “Martin’s putting our Emma down. He threatened bodily harm if I interrupted them now.” While he spoke, Jon busied himself setting out cream and sugar, pouring the tea, nervously rearranging biscuits already arranged on a chipped china plate painted delicately with roses. He recognized it as part of a set belonging to Jon’s late grandmother. When Tim went to reach for the cup offered up by a shaky hand, Jon flinched, spilling the hot liquid over his skin with a sharp hiss.

“Hey--!” Tim’s hands shot out, reacting too quickly, and this time Jon lost the entire cup over the both of them with an aborted yelp. “Damnit, Jon, stop!”

“S’sorry.” Jon mopped up the liquid, posture small and tight and stiff. “Please don’t um, uh reach for me like that.”

“Like what?” Annoyed, scrubbing a hand over the stain spreading across his shirt, Tim tried to stay calm. After all they’d gone through, none of them had escaped unscathed.

“So er, f’fast.”

“Why?”

“I don’t. It makes me--please don’t, Tim.” The tea towel was gripped in both hands, held close, even as he faced him. “It should be. I should be able to just a’ask.”

“I was trying to help.” This was ridiculous.

“And I appreciate it but--” had he ever?

“It really doesn’t seem like you do.” Tim needed Sasha here with her level head and grounding touch.

“I’m trying to ask you to--” He didn’t mean to interrupt. Really. But how were they supposed to move forward in this if Jon was so visibly afraid? He didn’t need to be afraid. He could trust him. He just refused to at every turn!

“I don’t see why you have to make this such a big deal everytime!” Tim shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be doing this. He definitely shouldn’t be yelling at Jon for something he had no control over, for asking him to just be.

Just be gentle with him for once.

The ire and anger in him rose, a clawing riptide, one he recognized from before the Unknowing. Cloying in its familiarity and power over him and he moved through it like he was stuck in honey, desperate for an escape, to not drown in it even as it closed over his head and his mouth flooded with salt and erupted in vitriol.

“I don’t see why you can’t get over it!”

“Tim!!” Martin’s roar broke him out of those rank jaws and snapped him back into reality. “Back. Off. Now.”

Martin stood in the doorway, a sleepy, clingy baby in his arms looking seconds from bursting into tears while her father looked seconds away from throwing him bodily out of the flat. Emma began to wail. Martin refused to look away from Tim.

Tim.

Who was standing over Jon, towering above his trembling body curled small and pressed into the cushions, tear-stained face shielded by arms drawn with a roadmap of scars Tim both knew and didn’t, that matched and told stories he’d yet to hear. His own chest was heaving like a bellows, hot, heavy, and he unclenched fists so tight his fingers ached, stepping back, stepping away. Only then did Martin stride forward, placing himself as a bulwark between the pair of them, taking up the whole of Jon’s vision and whispering sweet things, reassuring things.

"Hayati, I need you to hold Emma for a moment. Can you do that for me?" Mechanically, Jon accepted their daughter into his hold, angling away from Tim--and didn’t that sting? And didn’t he deserve it. Martin waited to be sure he had her, pressing a soft kiss against his cheek even as Jon paid him no mind, lost in bouncing their daughter a little to soothe them both. Firmly, Martin grabbed Tim by the arm and tugged him into a tidy kitchen.

“Martin, I--”

“The hell is wrong with you?” Voice kept to a sharp whisper, Martin kept looking past him into the sitting room; keeping a close eye on Jon no doubt who was beginning to babble at Emma, words pitched high and sweet, if a bit quivery. “Yelling like that, we don’t yell in this home. You know that. You know that and you came here anyway and maligned my husband and you don’t know the half of what he’s been through, so don’t come here with your guilt and anger and take it out on my family.” This was a Martin that Tim had never met, almost unrecognizable from those first few weeks they’d all spent together in the Archives. When everything was new. Before any of this happened. Before everything changed.

“I’m. I, I’m sorry, Martin. I’ll go. I’ll.” Tears, stinging, bright, prickled at the corners of his lids. “You’re right. I’m out of line. I don’t know--why did I come here? I’m sorry. I’m, I’m really sorry.”

“I’m not the one who needs to hear that.”

“I know. I. I should go.” He should never come back.

“This is why we came up with these steps together, all of us.” Martin handed him a handkerchief and Tim realized belatedly that his face was wet. “We heal on our own time, and it’s going to take time. But you have to respect Jon’s boundaries. He deserves to keep himself safe. He deserves friends who want to protect him, even from themselves.”

“Yeah.” His next breath got stuck, caught in the too-small cage of his ribs. Jon must’ve felt this way. When he shouted. Stood over him like that. “I wasn’t. Wasn’t. I’m not ready. I thought I could be.”

“Rushing this is going to hurt Jon and I’m sorry, Tim. I’m not going to let you do that.”

Not again.

It went unsaid and yet somehow hung heavy between them.

“I’ll tell Sash. I’ll. Come clean and she’ll chew me out and I won’t do this again, Martin. I promise.” Having them back was the greatest gift he’d ever been given. Why did he want to sabotage it? Question for therapy next week. Probably a good one.

“No, you won’t.”

I won’t allow it.

“T’Tim?” Tentative, behind him at a measured distance. Jon, cuddling a sleeping Emma close. “Are you alright?”

“No.” Tim laughed, choked on the sob rising in his throat. “But I’m working on it.” Jon offered him an understanding smile.

“We are too.”

“Yeah.” Tim swiped at damp lashes. “I’m sorry, Jon. I’m going to be better. I want to be better.”

“Okay.” Simple as that. Despite all their wretched history. Sash’s ringtone began to play and Tim found it hard to be angry at Martin. He didn’t want to go home on his own.

“Okay.”

#TMA #the magnus archives #jmart #jonmartin #angst #hurt/comfort #tim stoker #martin blackwood #jon sims #everybody lives #tim ignores jon's boundaries #yelling #Emma AU #babby!

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heli0s-writes · 4 years

Text

Saga*

Summary: Bucky is in a mood.

A/N: HELLO. Here is the much-awaited bunny saga. How did I get here. Why did you guys do this to me? Thanks everyone who cursed me with this, especially @softbiker who put the bath-time idea into my head and had me dry-heaving about it. 🧡

Warnings: Smut! 18+ DomBucky. Rough sex. Mild comeplay. Anal fingering. Over-stimulation. Crying. Possible Dubcon. Please I don’t know. 2.5k words.

It’s nine-thirty and hazy when you get home. Another day spent poring over paperwork and e-mail chains, tracing lines of command to seek the right department head to question and scrutinize. Senators and budgets. Bureaucracy and posturing. Your affixed scowl and bared teeth when you berate men making wrong decisions for half the free world.

Most of the time, your job is fulfilling and fits you perfectly. However, it’s been an entire week of fuck-ups to resolve and you’re overwrought. Sleep-deprived. Pissed-off. Permanently on edge. Thank God the house is quiet, at least.

You break the silence almost guiltily, calling his name. Nearly seventeen hours you’ve been gone—and it’s been like this too long. Now it’s Friday and you texted him near lunchtime you’d have to be in tomorrow, too.

Radio silence ever since. Naturally, you’re anxious.

Down the hallway, Bucky’s voice echoes. “I’m in the bath, sweetheart.”

Instantaneous relief.

The door swings open and buttery vanilla greets you first. Then notes of garden rose cuts through the cream. Moisture hangs heavy in the air. Thick. Warm. You marvel at the view.

He’s leaned back, shoulders and chest exposed above the swirling bubbles, hair tied up with a smile on his pretty lips. His reflective left arm rests on the smooth edge of the porcelain, motioning you forward with shimmering candlelit fingers. Silver bowing to an orange-golden glow.

“Been waiting for you.”

Droplets roll down his neck, gather in the space between his collarbones. It’s heavenly. You slip in the tub and heave a sigh. Oh, he’s good. Always so good at taking the day from you. Always known what you needed.

Since the first time he caught you grilling Tony at the compound, flicking off Steve on your way out in half-jest half-sincerity because their levelling an entire block meant a mess-ton of work on your end and a headache into next year, he’d known. He asked you out, then, as an apology. Something about the mission being his fault. Lemme get you a coffee, please. And you had snapped up yours, Barnes, but met him the next day anyway. Twenty minutes turned into two hours and by the time you were leaving for home, he was coming along with you. One broken bedframe later and you were gone for him.

Exactly what you needed.

“Buck...” You rest your head on his shoulder now, grateful. “Mm... Sorry I haven’t been home much.”

“I know you are.” It’s a mysterious reply, but you’re too worn to raise questions.

Bucky’s breath fans over your shoulder, hotter than the water on your skin. A kiss to your throat. His torso rubs against your back. His legs and arms shift, rearranging himself around you purposefully and it feels like you’re being eased into a trap.

A groan when you discover his game. Exasperated and on edge, reflexive with attitude because you’ve spent all week telling men what to do, you put on that voice you reserve for work: sharp. Commanding. “I have to be up early; I need to sleep.”

Petulance is his reply. Equally decisive. Even sharper.

“I don’t care.”

Under the flickering glow, Bucky sucks the inside of his cheek between his teeth, peers up from behind darkening eyes, and you feel your entire soul tremble.

“Go lie down.” His timbre is steady, indifferent, as if he’s got the entire situation in the center of his palm. He rumbles from deep in his chest, and the trap is revealed. Turning gears and metal mechanisms clatter. Bucky’s finger on the trigger. “Be good, bunny.”

Fuck. You bite down a wince. That pet name. He only uses it when he’s feeling a certain way— dominating, maybe even vengeful. Tired of missing his girl and chasing her shadow. His pupils are blown wide and hounding your every move. Voracious and predatory and you feel very much like his prey now. Defiance flees. You’re barely audible.

“Bucky—“

His tongue flicks over a canine and your stomach leaps into your throat.

“Don’t make me say it again.”

The cage door crashes down. Locks itself shut with you ensnared.

Harried thoughts about how to escape his wrath swim through your mind on the bed. You love him. Jesus Christ, do you love him, but you have to get more than three hours tonight. Your eyes are still shut when you feel big hands slide under your calves, behind your knees, lifting you up and right onto his face.

Leisurely licks despite his urgency. Up. Down. The pad of his tongue wet and loving, slicking you up with kisses and spit. His tender affection tucked within impetuous craving. A bruising grip to your hipbones, settling your body, ignoring your pleas when you attempt them.

“Haven’t gotten to touch you in days. You know what that does to me?” Another long, soft suck as you quiver. You can hear his mouth. Smell your own scent threading through the rose and vanilla atmosphere. Sweet and tangy. Alive and keening. Undeniably eager for him. Your pulse feels attached to every effort of his fingertips.

“Gonna have you all night---” Low timbre, curling deep. “—till you’re falling apart for me—” You try to catch your breath. “—shaking the goddamn bed—oh--”

At the first clench of your orgasm, Bucky smiles against your clit, flicking sharp lines as you jerk the tender bud away.

“Stay still.”

His left hand wraps itself around the base of your throat, pressing enough to keep you compliant. The plates shifts and clicks. You break out in a shudder at the sound of it whirring. His other fingers begin their real work, heel of his palm hitting your throbbing clit with every manic shove. Squelching. Smacking. Your desperate whimpers. And then a final loud yelp and you go slack for the second time.

On the comedown, your bones melting into the mattress, you attempt to swat him away, but he’s faster— of course he is— and in a flash he flips you. A crack of his palm and agony shoots up your side like fire.

“I said, stay still.”

You yelp when he does it again, squirming helplessly because he’s barely touching it now— the swollen skin on your ass blistering. He’s dancing on the edges, teasing, lifting— and then—

Another one. You’re stuck in his grasp. Your vision blurs. He leans forward to kiss newly formed tears at the edge of your eye into his devilish mouth. Your spine is electric like a live wire.

Tracing your inflamed wound with his finger-- light touches around the edge of the hurt-- he dips past your flushed cheek with a grin. His tongue is hot when he licks the salt between your teeth. That teardrop he pulled from you, traded from his mouth to yours.

“Cryin’ so pretty, baby.” Bucky praises against your trembling chin, tasting another droplet collecting along your jaw, “You’ll be good now, won’t you?” A weak nod. Captured game spellbound by all his power.

“Get up there with your fucking face in the pillow.”

Metal grasps the back of your neck, tangling your hair, pressing your cheek into the cushion. A slow nudge, he parts your entrance, giving just a tiny bit of him, making you squirm and clench already around his cockhead. Beneath his grip, you pant, nodding, inhaling lungfuls of fresh detergent on the sheets, steeling yourself.

Another mindful lean. He’s so thick. You shimmy desperately, throbbing for more. “Needy fucking girl.” A scrape of his teeth to your shoulder. “Jesus, you got me all slicked up and wet.”

He sinks in-- all the way—easily and so, so deep you swear the air’s been punched clean out of your body. Bucky holds you beneath him, dick pushing deeper and deeper and god how is he doing this.

“I’m gonna fuck you hard, baby—” A grunt. “--maybe too hard, huh?” His breath chases a shudder down your back. “I’ve been wound up—can’t help myself anymore.”

You struggle, shake your head, feel yourself choking up another sob, toes curling until they feel stuck.

“Come on it,” he commands, “Squeeze my cock, sweetheart. Make it filthy with your pussy.”

“Ngh— Buck, you’re gonna—“

A wilted cry tears itself free, smothering itself out on the pillow beneath. You’re still reeling when he picks up his pace, hands gripping your ass, spreading you to admire the sight of him welded inside. You’re trembling-- twitching, overstimulated and overwhelmed—sniffling quietly. You’re shivery and hot, raw and exposed.

He drives in again.

“You ain’t going back to work tomorrow. You’re gonna stay right here— all— fucking—day.” You punctuate his syllables with gagged moans—lilt high like you’re injured, fisting the blankets, tears catching in the pillow.

“Sweet girl,” Bucky croons, wolfish, “Does it feel good?”

He sticks his fingers back in your mouth, thumb under your tongue where spit has collected and drags out a line of it. “Look at you… drooling everywhere, bunny. You’re so fucking messy for my cock.”

Bucky drags his hand down your back, takes his time traveling over the swell of your ass, into the dipping line and prods gently against your tight hole. Jesus fucking Christ.

“Yeah?” A wiggle of his hips, “Tell me you want it.”

Your brain is—not quite working. A little crinkle of static here, a little drone of magnetic humming there, realizing how embarrassed you feel. Submissive and helpless, sloppy and displayed, but you have enough bearing to nod. Get a quiet agreeance out. “Y-yes.”

And it’s enough for him. A lazy kiss to your shoulder, stilling his cock, spreading what’s smeared around your pussy and his base up to your hole, driving in slow and deliberate. The little sense you have flees entirely. You want it so bad, lost to him.

Grinding, grinding, grinding. Deeper and deeper. Dragging all the way out and then back in.

“Too much? Hm? You’re gonna take it, though, aren’t you? Yeah--” He’s harder now. Stiffens up with his own goading, you tensing beneath him, sheen of sweat on your brow and back. “Fuck, I love your pussy. Love your ass. Gonna fill you up at least twice.”

Sometimes the pros of being with an enhanced super soldier is the sex. Sometimes the cons of being with an enhanced super soldier is the sex, too. Twice is a walk in the goddamn park for Bucky. It’s a promise and a threat.

One finger becomes two, hooking slightly, rubbing the back of his knuckle down, feeling the stroke of his cock through your swollen layer of muscle.

“Oh,” you whine, “Bucky—ah—ah.”

It hurts like the way a long morning jog does— aching muscles, worn and overworked, thrumming voltage and adrenaline— and you’re high on it. Clumsy grunts and gasps, blabbering compliance, head spinning. Your vision bursts white. Or black. Or stars—whatever. You’re finished, that’s for sure. Gone for him. Like always.

But not Bucky. Hell, he keeps going, crams another finger inside of you, other arm underneath your belly now, elbow crooked, thighs splayed around your hips, shoving himself in so fucking furiously it rattles the entire room.

The realization dawns that you’re not coming back down. It feels like you’re being torn apart. Skinned and stinging and the most incredible sensation in the whole damn world with him wrapping your entire being around his desire as he fucks into you. You feel claimed. You feel owned. You feel infinite.

“Jesus, baby.” He grunts, “Jesus—fuck—yeah. Fucking good-- all mine.”

Near inarticulate and filthy. He gets this way when he’s close-- tongue-tied as much as Bucky can be, because he’s always got the kind of clever vocabulary that makes your entire body burn without ever having to touch you. So now, when he’s stuffing you full and saying those kinds of things, you don’t stand a chance.

Bucky grips your hair and peels your throat exposed, sucking a mark on the pulse point, and comes so hard he knocks you both into the headboard with the back of his hand cushioning the blow.

His cock is covered when he pulls out, still half-hard and stroking himself, using it like lube. You push your palms over your face, move your knees together but he wedges them apart so wide they smart.

His ruddy cheeks glow beneath the searing blue ring of his eyes, a microscopic corona encircling the darkness of enormous pupils. He holds you frozen with a single look-- ravenous. At least twice floats into your head. Oh, god.

It doesn’t take long the second time, like he’s propelled straight through his first and pitched right into the next. He buries his face into your neck, jerks to a halt with heavy pant, hair splayed over your collar. The sound of it, the smell of it, the feel. His cock, painfully hard. His come, shoved deeper. Your insides, bruised tender and sore, throbbing, stinging, still fluttering for more. Pleasure blurs into pain and back again.

He pinches your nipples hard. Squeezes your jaw, your cheeks. Fucks your mouth with his hand and smears your spit down your sternum.

“What’re you doing tomorrow?” He leans into a thrust, “Tell me.”

Bucky sits you up into his lap, wraps his limbs around you lovingly. The world is hazy and incoherent. You let him do as he pleases, making only choked-up sounds and half-attempted replies.

“Yeah.” Quiet crooning, shushing in your ear, soothing your frantic heart, “I got you. I got you, baby. I got one more for you, alright? And you’re gonna take it, aren’t you? You’re gonna learn your lesson.”

You sob his name with each thrust, chew on your lip distraughtly. You can’t. It’s too fucking much. Stop, you think, please. More, you think, please. Every time you feel thrown off one edge, he takes you to the next one, even higher. He fucks you raw and open and loose and when he finally comes for the last time, you dig half-moons into his arms, curl into the shape of a wounded animal and tremble in pleasure.

He cleans himself up. Cleans you too. Soft caresses on the parts of you he marked up, nuzzling his nose into your cheek, imprinted with the creases from the pillowcase. Bucky lays you down slowly, brushes the damp hair from your jaw, settles in next to you with sweet kisses and mindful aftercare.

God, he’s good. Always known what you’ve needed even before you realize it for yourself. Your man.

Wrapping you up his arms when you need warmth. Giving you space when you’re feeling restless. Loving you slow when you’re withdrawn. Loving you hard when you’re aching.

And oh, you ache.

Your body sinks into the sheets. Every synapse shutting down, feeling a rest so deep every cell hums.

“What’re you gonna do tomorrow, bunny?” Gentle prodding, just a little sharp. Hypothetical, of course because he already knows your answer. Already knows you belong to him for the rest of the weekend.

Bucky tugs up the comforter around your shoulders, slotting himself behind your body, enfolding both of you safely. Your lids flutter shut. All the stars in the sky pitch themselves out. The night closes black and endless, eats your mind until you’re lost to sleep.

He pulls you tight to him. Possessive. Caged in. One final scrape of his teeth over the back of your neck like a warning before he muffles a satisfied moan into your hair.

You’re trapped. You’re caught. It’s heaven.

#marvel #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #smut #fanfiction #reader insert #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #bunny saga

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displacedentities · 3 years

Text

Callie's Key

Mod: A quick-fic I made for the Fiascrew! I wanted to write out a potential introduction to how Spooky's (@fedoraspooky) character Callie (plant character via @mak-to-the-future) across Destin's artifact, the Night Key :) Hopefully you like it!

~~~

Old Mr. Prescott had had enough. Fed up with all the junk piling up in his garage, it was time to clean the place out. He wasn't a hoarder, but rather he collected a variety of paraphernalia over the years, as older folk do. Some of the junk might classify as antiques, but as far as he was concerned, that was just a fancy word for junk with a price tag. Maybe he could actually make some coin from all this nonsense in his house, and get some much-needed walking space while he was at it. There was, of course, that damn box to deal with.

Prescott had gotten into the habit of storing everything he wasn't sure how to sort, handle, or throw away into a single box, simply labeled 'WEIRD THINGS' in big capital letters. While the cardboard outside was benign, Prescott was certain at least a couple items that got tossed inside were cursed. He kept the box of 'WEIRD THINGS' shoved far into the corner of the garage under a tool bench for several years, until something he picked up made affairs surrounding the box significantly worse. Tools started to fly off the rack, rearrange themselves into cryptic symbols and messages on the work table. One instance, he even got the word 'STUCK' spelled out from wrenches and a tire iron. It was at that point, Old Mr. Prescott knew he was being haunted. Something else had arrived in his house, it threw things to get his attention or stole food from the fridge, and he had no idea how to drive it out. Professional exorcism did nothing - the wrenches were arranged to spell 'NO' a mere hour later. Setting up protective runes to drive out malevolent demons had no effect at all. The fridge was missing a jar of blackberry jam the next morning, found empty on the tool table. Old Mr. Prescott had moved the box away from the tool table and shoved it into a closet right after. But today was the day. He was going to be done with that cursed box, and whatever random object inside had brought this nuisance upon his house. With any luck, he might be able to sell it off with the rest of the junk. If not, Prescott resigned himself to throwing the entire box in the trash, and hopefully doing away with the poltergeist plague. He was getting too old to deal with this. --- Callie peeked out the window of the car as her mother drove through the residential neighborhood. Big eye blinking in the bright light of midday, she watched the trees full of autumn leaves zip by in a blur of color. It was so pretty! And it looked just like her hair! She was almost 6, soon to be a big girl, and she was quite proud of the vibrant yellow-orange petals starting to puff out from under the leaves on top of her head. Mom said it made her look quite fluffy, which made her think of her T.Rex stuffy, Munchy. Callie hugged Munchy tight, feet wiggling over the edge of the cushion. She was bouncing in her chair, excited. Her mom, a Dryad with hair made from sunflower petals and leaves, hummed to herself as she drove. She glanced over to Callie every now and then, smiling gently. "Thank you for being so patient, sweetheart," Mom says, reaching over with one hand to bump her daughter on the shoulder, before her hand returns to the wheel. "I know we've done a lot of errands today, but just one more, ok? We'll get ice cream afterwards- how does that sound?" "Ice cream!" Callie repeats, brightening at the thought. Ice cream?? Yes! Mom chuckles. "Mr. Prescott is having a garage sale for the first time in fifty years- there's sure to be some interesting finds in all that mess! The man hasn't cleaned house since we moved into the neighborhood before you were born. If you find something small that you like, I'll get it for you, ok?" "Yay!" Callie cheered, holding up Munchy in delight. A present, AND ice cream later? This was the best day out ever! The drive through the neighborhood was brief. The closer they got to the destination, Callie's mother squinted, making a sound similar to clicking her tongue. "Shoot, looks like we weren't the only ones with that idea," Mom mutters under her breath, looking left and right. Callie sits up, craning her neck to look outside at the houses. There were cars all over the place! Mom eventually finds a spot to park, a short distance from a house with wooden shingles and roof tiling. Gravel crunches under Callie's blue rubber sandals as she hops down from the car, turning to stare in wonder at the squat old house. It looked like a pop-up book whose contents had unfolded into the lawn and driveway. Furniture was strewn across the yellowing autumn grass, neatly arranged in a grid with walking space between every piece. Chairs, a

coffee table, a big old couch whose leather had softened from use. A squat Sphinx cat-man in a striped shirt, bowtie and overalls leaned on his cane while he spoke in a gruff voice to a woman. Callie didn't understand everything they were saying, but it was something about money, and the coffee table. Next to the furniture were foldout plastic tables covered in random things, some of which Callie had never seen before in her life. Kitchen utensils that could be from the Great Depression, glass dishware in pristine condition, hand-me-down clothing in less pristine condition. Oh! There was a toy table! Callie immediately scampered over to the toy table, hopping up and down to get a good look at the wares. The selection was charming, and had the warm feeling of well-loved antiques. A wooden pull-along train, a cloth teddy bear with button eyes, a cup with a ball on a string, and... some wooden cage-things with jingle bells in them? Callie shook one of them to see what noise it made, and the wrinkly cat-man looks up with ears perked for a moment, before shaking his head with a huff and returning to his conversation. Callie feels a hand on her shoulder, and smiles up at her Mom as she ruffles Callie's petal hair with the same hand. "I'll be talking to Mr. Prescott about some of the glass dishes," Mom says. "Don't go wandering off, and stay where I can see you. If you can be very careful and promise me you won't break any of Mr. Prescott's things, you can go ahead and explore, ok sweetie?" "Ok mom," Callie says, bouncing on her feet as Mom ruffles her hair one more time. "I'll be right over here," Mom says with a nod, keeping an eye on Callie while she walks over towards the cat-man, who had finished speaking with the other woman by this point. Free to explore, Callie's eye sparkles as she examines this wonderland of new things to investigate. It was like a playground, but small! Callie wastes no time hopping onto the big couch, quite pleased with how soft it felt. There was something just- fun!- about a couch being outside. It felt forbidden, like taking a cookie from the jar before dinner. From her elevated vantage point, Callie could see all the houses across the street, as well as some of Mr. Prescott's neighbors. One of them was mowing the lawn! Callie waved with enthusiasm. They stopped and stared at her, and Callie beamed a smile back. They kept staring, lawnmower stalled. Probably admiring her pretty orange petal hair! She was so proud of it. Callie stayed on the couch for another minute or two before she slid off, eager to look around. Mom said if she was nice and careful, she could have something small from all the things to play with here. She was going to be the best daughter ever. Callie explored through the kitchen things, first- while she was quite a mean chef with an Easy Bake oven, she wasn't quite tall enough to reach the counters yet in Mom's kitchen. A metal ladle was the first to be picked up, as she gently swung it around to feel the weight. Hm. Shiny, but heavy. Probably not fun to carry around for very long. She put it back down. Next was an ironically stained stainless steel pot. That went right over her head. Hmmm. No, it blocked her eye. Not a good helmet. Not much else in the kitchen section was interesting, aside from a few wooden spoons that were smooth to the touch. Callie could see her Mom side-eyeing her from the table where she was talking five feet away. Callie carefully returned the kitchen things to their proper places and moved on to the next table. It was covered in books! Callie got very excited, until she saw how thick they were. These would take forever to read! Maybe she could convince her mom to pick up some of the more colorful books for them to read together, but aside from making a fort or tiny city using the books as bricks, there wasn't much this table had to offer for a five-year-old. At least the books smelled nice. The old clothing didn't smell so nice. Callie poked her head into the hanging rack of old coats and shirts, feeling like a spy - until the scent of

mothballs made her sneeze, and she pulled her head back out with a squint of disgust. Ew. The clothes were all too big, anyway. And some had holes in them! She could have sworn she saw a small poof of moths flutter off one of the old frock coats. She liked bugs, but not in clothing. The thought of a moth crawling around her favorite yellow dress and nibbling at her pretty petal hair made her squirm. At long last, Callie let herself return to the piece de resistance- the toy table. She wanted to play-test everything here! Within reason, of course. Mom said to be careful. Carved wooden train cars, a deck of cards- even the creepy monkey with the pair of cymbals got some attention. Callie poked at it, afraid it would move, and was grateful when it remained inert. The eyes wigged her out. No thanks. The cards were arranged in patterns, and she didn't quite know how to play with them, but they fascinated her regardless- definitely not a first choice, though. Callie compared the old cloth teddy to Munchy, who she sat up next to it with a critical toddler eye. The teddy was a bit smaller than Munchy, and not quite as soft. Cute eyes, though! Callie picked up the wooden train cars, turning them over in thought. They felt sturdy, and were polished with wood lacquer. Soft and smooth, and really cool! It was a bit heavy, but that was fine. She was sorely tempted to pick one as her choice, but she had to know how they rolled. If they couldn't roll like a train, they wouldn't be fun. Putting all of the other toys back where they used to be, Callie set the toy train engine on the floor, and pushed it with her hand. The toy train made a delightful clatter of wooden parts, the wheels carrying it over the bumpy concrete of the driveway. It comes to a stop after a foot of travel. Callie smiles, clapping her free hand against Munchy, before scampering forward and taking the pull chord. It rolled so easily behind her, and she didn't have to worry about breaking it if she was in front. Callie giggles, running in delighted little circles with the train clacking along behind her- -until the train veers from a bump in the concrete, and clatters into the leg of a smaller foldout table. The bump wasn't strong, but it was enough to make the table rattle. Callie froze on the spot as several small trinkets and random objects fly off the table to the ground, fear spiking in her chest as she looks over towards her mom. Mom was still talking to the cat man about the set of chairs, but she did glance over with a raised eyebrow. Callie quickly waved back with a smile, trying to feign that everything was alright. Her mom looked curious for a moment, before the cat man drew her attention back to the conversation at hand. Callie immediately drops the train chord and kneels on the ground next to the small table, checking desperately to make sure everything that fell off was okay. The small table had been holding random trinkets and knickknacks, pieces of old jewelry, and a metal cup that thankfully stayed on the table- Callie was sure she would have been in trouble if Mom heard THAT hit the ground. The objects that fell from the table were all sorts of small things, ranging from expensive-looking jewelry to simple puzzle toys that looked more like key chains for a backpack zipper. Callie quickly picked up a necklace- which, thankfully, hadn't broken or chipped- featuring a large amber-colored stone, and stood up to replace it on the table. Necklaces hung from the weird bird perch-looking thing, right? There were other necklaces on it, so that was where it was going. She had to hop a few times to reach it, but she managed to loop the necklace back on the display. Next was a wooden block puzzle- it was so simple that she solved it in her efforts to put it back together, before setting it on the tabletop. Some rings, sparkly rocks, more key chains- Callie knelt down to continue cleaning the mess, panic still bringing a light sweat to the back of her neck. Among the mess was a small bag of marbles, and she'd accidentally knocked one of them across

the asphalt of the driveway. Scampering over, the youngster picks up the shooter marble- and pauses. Sitting on the sunlit path, sparkling in the light, was a small key. Blue-black of the deepest reaches of space, shaped so strangely, it lay half-under a stray tablecloth from where it had clattered to the ground. Callie couldn't make out a lot of details, but even from here, the light that hit the object was seemingly absorbed by its depths, casting almost no shadow. Yet, the sunlight caused a small scattering of stars to sparkle on the asphalt. ...Callie crawls forward, leaning under the table and lifting the cloth with one hand to pick it up. She slides back out to hold the key in the sunlight, fascinated. The key was very odd in shape. The teeth were thick and blocky, with an angled shape she hadn't seen on her toy keyring. The head of the key was weird, too- three holes arranged in a semicircle, and the top was swirled. Like ice cream, or a cinnamon bun! This key was so pretty! But- what was it a key for? Well, whatever it was for, it sure was pretty! Why would the cat-man be selling a key? Didn't you need keys to lock and unlock stuff? If he was getting rid of it, he must not need it anymore. ...a gentle breeze tugged at Callie's sleeve. She- felt something at her shoulder. Callie turns around, curious and confused- but there's nothing there. Huh. That was strange. But- she couldn't shake the feeling that someone was here. She wasn't scared, though. It was a warm presence. A gentle one. She couldn't explain how, but she knew. Whoever or wherever they were, they were nice! "Callie?" her mother called. Callie jumped to attention, startled out of her small reverie by the crashing reality that she still had a mess to clean up. She scrambles to pick up the remaining items and shove them back onto the table, no longer caring for organization- -but the ground is clean. Huh? Did she pick it all up already? Callie could have sworn there were still scattered items on the driveway. But the ground was clear. Even the wooden train car, which she'd crashed into the table leg, was back in its place on the toy table. How-? "Callie!" Mom says, and Callie spins around with a wide eye. "Honey, are you alright over here? I thought I heard something fall over." "Oh- I'm ok, mom!" Callie says quickly, putting on a smile. Inside, she's still confused. Did she clean up the mess that fast? "Okay," Mom says, looking around with a critical eye. Seeing nothing amiss, she appears satisfied. "Have you settled on something to take home, sweetie?" Callie takes a breath to answer that she wanted the train car- then stops. She squints, thinking. She looks down at the key in her hands, turning it over in the sunlight. It sparkled and was warm to the touch. It felt good to hold, smooth and polished. She couldn't explain why, but it felt like holding Munchy- soft and comforting, somehow. "I like this!" Callie said, making up her mind as she holds up the starry key with a smile. "Oh my," her mom says with a smile, looking at the sparkling key her daughter presented. "It's so lovely! Are you sure you want this, and not one of the toys?" "Mmmm," Callie hums in thought, eye narrowed. She did really like that train car, but... she makes a big smile. "No, I want this! It's pretty! Feels soft, like Munchy!" Mom chuckles, patting Callie on the head as she hefts her stuffed T. Rex and hugs it tight. "If you're sure, pumpkin. Let's take it over to Mr. Prescott, and we'll see if we can buy it." Callie's mom gently takes her hand, and starts to lead the tiny flower puff away from the display tables back towards the lawn. Callie clutches her pretty new key to her front, beaming. It wasn't a toy train, but it was so pretty! She'd definitely add it to her keyring, filled with toy keys and old spares her mother let her play 'house' with. Her shadow warped on the ground behind her skipping steps, forming into a curious silhouette. Flowing almost like water, the shape is thin, and retains a vague semblance of a person. Three eyes, like cutouts

in a piece of paper, followed Callie with a gentle curiosity from the head that flowed like gel in a lava lamp. The warm presence remained at Callie's back, as the child pranced at her mom's side to buy her pretty new trinket. --- Callie's mom finally finished talking to Mr. Prescott. The sphinx cat-man didn't blink an eye at the item of Callie's choosing, asking only for a handful of dollars in exchange. He shook paw with her mother's ebony black hand, and the two turned towards the arrangement of chairs set out for display. Callie watched as her mother passed the cat-man several more large green bills, and he gestured with his cane towards the chairs with a gruff nod. Looking relieved, Callie's mother walked over to her daughter and knelt to eye level. "We're just about done, sweetie," Mom said, smiling as she ruffled Callie's petal hair, earning a giggle. "Mr. Prescott's just going to help me load up the chairs, and we can get going for that ice cream, ok?" "Ok, mommy," Callie agreed, smiling. "Thank you for being so patient, baby girl," her mother sighed, quite tired, but managing. "This is the last errand, I promise. Hang tight, I'll be right over here- and don't go anywhere!" Callie nods, sitting down on the grass with a happy hum as she plays with some clovers popping out of the lawn. Her mother walked back over to where she'd parked the car. With the help of the old cat-man, who was surprisingly limber for his age, Callie's mother got ahold of some straps and began the process of lifting the dining room chairs from the grass one by one. Callie smiled and waved every time they got close, getting smiles from her mom and amused half-chuckles from the cat-man. She busied herself with plucking the little clover blossoms, arranging them into little intertwined bracelets. She even got ambitious and started making a flower crown- it smelled really nice! Struggled to hold its shape, though, with how short and flimsy the clover stems were. Maybe the bees would like it? Callie liked bees, so fuzzy and clumsy. At least Munchy liked it! She put her first tiny flower crown on the T. Rex's head. Callie's mother and Prescott finished moving the chairs to the car, and started lifting them to be secured down on the car roof with the straps. Right then, Callie feels a rough grip latch onto her arm. Startled, Callie yelps as she's pulled up to standing, her eye snapping wide open as she looks up in shock and surprise. The hand on her arm belonged to the neighbor she'd spotted from the couch, the one who was mowing their lawn not long ago. They were holding her arm very tight! It hurt! She squirmed and tried to push the fingers off of her, but she was a small child and this was an adult. They were much stronger. "Hey kiddo," they say, smirking with alcohol on their breath. "Your mom's busy, so she told me to watch you for a bit. It's ok, I'm not going to hurt you." Alarm bells were firing off in Callie's mind, as she stared up at this total stranger in fear. Her mom told her all the time, don't talk to strangers! This stranger was way too close for comfort, and hurting her! "L-let go!" Callie pleads, trying to sound brave like a big girl, but it only came out in a squeak. "You're weird!" "I'm weird? You've got a flower for a head," they say, less amused, and frowning now. "There's a lot weirder things than me in this world, kid. How about we take a break from the sun in my house? It's right across the street, you saw it from your little seat on the couch earlier. We can even pet my dog- how does that sound? Your mom said it was ok." Callie looks desperately over to her mother, trying to confirm in some way if this was true, but her mother was still busy loading the chairs on the truck. She was on the other side, and couldn't see what was going on unless she peered through the car windows. The neighbor yanks on Callie's arm, causing her to yelp again as she's tugged off the grass and away from Munchy. "Come on, kid- let's go, it'll be quick," the neighbor insists. "No!" Callie says, trying to raise her voice as

she tugs back, straining with all her might to pull away. "Let go!" Somebody help! Please! wcrACK The hand releases, and Callie plops down onto the grass in surprise. From her shadow on the ground, a long snakelike limb had sprung into reality, and whipped the neighbor across the face with incredible force. "aUGH- WHAT THE FU-GKKGHK-" Before the neighbor can finish, the tendril swiftly wraps around their neck, tightening. It coils, lifting the stranger a foot off the ground. They struggle and squirm, held aloft and clawing at the cable of night-sky patterned darkness at their throat. Five seconds pass, and the tendril lifts them higher, before slamming their face down into the dirt. The neighbor coughs and groans, protesting the treatment as they're lifted yet again. From behind Callie, her shadow bubbles up, gaining size and definition as it materializes into a figure of its own. Movements fluid like water, the stick-thin limb around the stranger's throat is connected to an equally thin shoulder on a being whose body reflects a sky full of stars. A window to the universe in the vague shape of a person. On the presumed head is a set of golden eyes, narrowed in anger as they focus on the stranger. They tower over Callie, hovering protectively as they step forward, blocking Callie from the neighbor's sight. Callie stares, wide-eyed. This thing was so big, so strange! She didn't feel afraid- why wasn't she afraid? Were they- saving her? "Never touch her again," they warn, voice like a hissing bell. "You will get no mercy." This time, the neighbor doesn't get much chance to choke on their words. The being reels back that limb, and with a snap of elastic tension, whips the unfortunate schmuck across the lawn. They collide with a table, crumpling over one side as the contents are thrown akimbo with a loud crash. That immediately gets the attention of Mr. Prescott and Callie's mother, who stop dead before racing over to the commotion. Prescott leaps with nimble steps to yell at the neighbor, while Callie's mother runs right over to her daughter. She passes the thin void-person without even a glance. "Sweetie!" she frets, kneeling down to look over her daughter in worry. "What happened? Are you ok?" "M-mom," Callie stammers, still spooked and staring at the big starry thing right next to them. "The- they- they helped me. The star-man- saved me." "The who?" Callie's mother repeats, confused, looking around. Her eye slides right over the star-man nearby, not a hint of recognition. "Honey, who saved you? From what?" Callie's rapid heartbeat stars to slow in her chest as the fear is gradually replaced by confusion. She frowns and points over her mother's shoulder. "The star-man! They saved me," she explains, uncertain how else to explain it. She doesn't know how, but... somehow, they saved her. "They stopped the bad man. He hurt my arm..." Callie's mother wastes no time looking at both her arms. As she does so, the star-thing slides closer. Callie watches with owl-eye as the being gets very close, and extends a tendril-arm towards her. Having seen what those snake arms can do, she flinches back, and the arm stops. "Honey, I can't see where it hurts if you don't hold still," her mother says, taking the flinch as a response to her checking. Callie is still staring right at the void creature. She- can't read their face very well, if that is a face. The golden eyes blink, and they speak again. It's oddly comforting. "I will not hurt you. I promise. Will you let me help?" Were they asking her? Callie hesitates. She wasn't supposed to listen to strangers. She just dealt with a scary stranger. But this one carried that same softness, that feeling of safety. She couldn't explain how, but she knew they meant it. She could feel it in her bones. In any case, her mom was here now- if they tried anything, mom would knock them silly. Uncertain, but feeling more confident, Callie nods once. The being extends the arm again, and ever so carefully taps Callie on the arm with the pointy limb. They leave it gently overtop

the area where the bruise was forming from the neighbor's harsh grip. Warmth emanates from the contact, and within moments, the bruise that had begun to bloom faded away, leaving only the healthy charcoal-colored flesh. They remove the starry limb shortly after, Callie staring in amazement. Callie's mother is perplexed, looking at the same arm. "That's... hm. I could have sworn you were bruised... Callie, sweetie, are you alright?" she asks, concerned. Callie flexes the arm, and is amazed to find the arm is totally fine. It didn't hurt at all! That was so cool! She looks up with a smile to thank the starry stranger- -only to see empty sidewalk. Callie looks left and right. Where did they go? They were just here... "Callie?" Oh- right, her mom! "I'm ok," Callie says, meaning it this time. "Arm feels fine, now. Starry man fixed it!" "Alright," Callie's mother says, sighing once with a closed eye. "Well, as long as you're not hurt or anything, sweetheart. You tell me if anything feels wrong, ok?" "Ok, mommy," Callie says, glancing over to where the neighbor was getting reprimanded by the cat-man. The reprimands progressed into the neighbor getting menaced with the cane, cowed away from the cat-man's yowling. "Can- can we go, now?" "Yes, sweetie, of course. Let's go get that ice cream." Callie's mother takes hold of her daughter's hand, scooping up Munchy to tuck into her daughter's arms, and the two start walking out to the car. Callie glances over her shoulder, looking all over for the starry man, but not seeing them anywhere. That was a shame... she really wanted to thank them! As she clambers up onto the car seat, a star-speckled shadow follows at her back, vigilant and close. ~~~

The End

Mod: Thanks for reading!

#quickfic #writing #Fiasco #The Fiascrew #fedoraspooky #mak-to-the-future

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worldwidemochiguy · 4 years

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hot-spot love

↣ In which Jungkook is a photographer and you accidentally break his favourite camera. Luckily, the only thing he cherishes more than that damn camera happens to be you.

Word Count: 1.7K

a/n: omg i’ve been in such a soft mood recently so like here you go. in reference to the title ‘hot-spot’ is actually a legit photography phrase. this is mostly inspired by this video i saw of a girl pranking her bf and he had a rly cute reaction so.. i made it into a fic!! pls like and reblog if u enjoy it ☺️

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Hot-spot love

You think this might be the worst day of your life.

It had actually started off relatively well; Jungkook waking you sweetly with a kiss and hugging you from behind as you made breakfast, leaving for work five minutes late because he insisted on helping you wash up the dishes afterwards. He had left you in a productive mood and, before long, you were searching for tasks to complete.

You had cleaned the entirety of the penthouse by lunchtime — not a particularly arduous task considering it was relatively clean anyway — and then took the time to make yourself Samgyeopsal and Japchae for lunch, storing most of it in the refrigerator to have for dinner later. You smiled knowing the Jungkook would be more than excited, given that Samgyeopsal was perhaps his favourite dish of yours.

With a full belly and nothing else to do, you decided to rearrange your and Jungkook’s bedroom. You were half-way through moving the desk-lamp two inches to the left when you spotted Jungkook’s camera. Jungkook had always loved photography, and he told you often that you were his favourite subject, taking delight in the way you would immediately be flustered afterwards. You smiled fondly, picking it up to go through the photos he had taken yesterday when the two of you went on a picnic. But, as you picked it up your fingers involuntarily loosened, and you watched, horrified, as your boyfriend’s camera slipped out of your grip and careened towards the floor.

The broken shutter glass had cut your finger as you attempted to salvage the mess, and now you sit with a steadily reddening tissue wrapped around the gash, waiting on the couch for Jungkook to come back from work.

The sound of the door opening is both a relief and something that causes dread to bubble up within you.

“Babe!” He calls out, and he sounds so happy you almost want to cry, “I’m home!” He comes into the living room, too focused on disentangling himself from his bag to notice your desolate state.

“Did you miss me?” He asks, pressing a distracted kiss to your forehead as he heads to the bedroom to discard his suit jacket.

“Uh huh,” you replied quietly, before letting out a sigh.

Jungkook pauses in the doorway of the bedroom, and then immediately turns back and heads to you, leaning over the back of the couch so you have to look at him upside down.

“Why the sigh, babe?” He questions, worry starting to dilute his dopey grin.

“Sigh?” You ask weakly, trying to deflect. You know you have to tell Jungkook about the camera, but you hate to be the one to make him upset.

“There it is again!” Jungkook exclaimed, before leaning in to place a kiss on your brow. “Your face always gets kind of screwed up when you’re thinking too hard about something.”

You try to smile, but something lodges in your throat and, to your immediate embarrassment, it comes out as a sob. Jungkook is immediately cooing, sweeping around to the front of the couch and sitting down, tugging you into his lap as he frantically tries to wipe away your tears.

“No, no, no, babe, don’t cry!” He whines, “Just tell me what’s wrong and I promise I’ll fix it, don’t worry.”

“I broke your camera.” Is what you try to say, but you’re crying so hard you only make it to “I-” and then dissolve into tears again. You bring up your hands to cover your face, not wanting Jungkook to see you like this, when he makes a sharp noise and his fingers close around your wrist, tugging it under for his inspection.

“Your finger!” He gasps, peeling away the stiff tissue paper to reveal your cut. He immediately drags you to the bathroom to get the first aid kit, despite your teary protestations of it’s just a small cut. After wrapping it in an unnecessary amount of bandages and several kisses ‘to make it heal faster’, he leans down to look in your eyes.

“Was that why you were crying, babe?” You can only manage to shake your head, dissolving into tears again. God, Jungkook was being so nice and you were just the worst girlfriend ever.

“Please don’t cry babe.” He softly repeated over and over, stroking his hands along your hair and wiping away your tears, pressing kisses all over your face. “Just tell me, and I’ll make it better.”

“Y-You can’t!” You bawl, before burying your face in your hands again. Jungkook patiently peels back your fingers and presses his forehead to yours.

“I promise you,” he says solemnly, “I will make it ok. You don’t have to worry about anything now I’m here. And I’ll always be here.”

“You promise?” You ask quietly, and he nods, placing a little kiss to the tip of your nose to make you smile.

“I… I broke your camera.” You confess, and then bury your head in his shoulder, waiting for him to start shouting. He has never even raised his voice at you before, but you are worried this will finally set him off.

“…My camera?” He asks, sounding more than slightly confused. You pulled back, confused as well.

“Yes, your camera. The really expensive one that you take with you anytime we go anywhere.”

“Oh…” He trails off, and then, shocking you, he breaks into a massive grin. “Oh! God, babe you’re so cute! That’s what you were worried about?” Jungkook laughed as you gave him a wide-eyed nod, tugging you into his chest again and hugging you tightly. “I’m so relieved! I thought something had happened to you. Oh, you don’t know how glad I am!”

“But, your camera-” You start, your voice muffled in the material of his dress shirt.

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” He brushes it off flippantly. “I can just take it to the repair shop or something. Can’t lose all those beautiful pictures I took of you, can I?” Your memories flash back to the absolutely shattered camera.

“No, I really broke it. I don’t even think it’s fixable.” At that, Jungkook laughs again, pulling back to grin at you.

“How did you even manage that?” He asks, his eyes bright with amusement but somehow that makes you cry even harder.

“I’m really sorry!” You wail, and he tugs you back into his chest again, his shirt now slightly damp with your tears. Just another one of Jungkook’s possessions that I’ve ruined, you think bleakly.

‘Babe,” he says, sounding heartbroken. “It’s just a camera. Please don’t cry, or I’ll start crying too.” You look up at him and, true to his word, his eyes are turning glassy and sorrowful.

“B-but what about your photos-”

“They were all of you. I’ve got a lifetime of taking photos of you ahead of me, I don’t need to rush.” You can’t help but blush when he says this. Jungkook has never been afraid to state his intention of spending the rest of his life with you, but it still sends a thrill down your spine every time.

“I’ll get a job and save up so I can buy you a new camera.” You resolve, and immediately he’s shaking his head.

“No, no, no, there’s no need at all, babe. I didn’t even like that camera anyway. I was going to pick up a new hobby, I don’t care about the camera. All I care about is you. It’s breaking my heart to see you cry.” He cups your tear-stained cheek in his hand and you lean into it, even as you whack him lightly on the stomach.

“That was so cheesy.” You giggle, and his face mimics your own smile, before smoothing out.

“You’re lovely even when you’re crying.” He mutters, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head, tilting it backwards as he leans in and kisses you deeply, trying to convey his love for you. You accept eagerly, and when your injured hand comes up to curl into his hair, you find the cut doesn’t hurt as much anymore.

Later, when the two of you are curled up on the couch finishing off the leftovers of the Samgyeopsal and Japchae — and you were right, Jungkook was practically ecstatic when he saw his dinner — you ask him:

“How much did the camera cost?” He pauses slightly, before answering with a smile.

“You could find one for about ten dollars.”

“Jungkook!” You pout, flicking his forehead lightly. “Please tell me the truth. I know it cost a lot more than that.”

“Ok, ok, I’ll tell you.” He says, before his expression becomes slightly more serious. “It actually cost twenty-five dollars.”

“Jungkook!” You whine, whacking him on the arm with a pillow as he laughs.

“Ok, ok,” He raises a hand up, blocking the pillow, “You’re right, it was actually quite an expensive camera.” Even though he was only confirming what you already knew, you felt fresh guilt wash over you.

“How expensive?”

“Thirty dollars.”

This time, he is ready for the pillow aimed at his face and blocks it, grabbing your wrist and tugging you over so you are trapped in his lap, caged in by his arms wrapped around your waist tightly.

“Babe, stop asking about it, it doesn’t matter.” He reprimands you playfully, kissing your forehead. “I have more than enough money to replace it, and even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t care. You know why?”

“Why?”

“Because I have you.” He smiled. “And you’re all I need to be happy. Okay?” He grins at you, and you grin back, feeling the overwhelming love you have for this man somehow double.

“Okay.”

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go and check on my computer. Obviously you have something against my belongings, and I just want to make sure the monitor is salvageable.”

“Jungkook!”

#yandere bts #soft yandere bts #yandere bangtan #yandere jungkook #yandere jungkook x reader #jungkook #bts jungkook x reader #bts #bts jungook #bts imagines #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #soft yandere jungkook #soft yandere

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8unnieswrld · 4 years

Note

Dialogue 35 & 43 + scenario 10 with Jaemin pleaseeee

Request 35 + 43: "how am i meant to cover these?" + "lol you're really gonna wine and dine me after rearranging my guts"

Word count: 1.7k

Genre: fluff, angst (IF U SQUINT)

Warnings: ITS SUGGESTIVE, im honestly bad at smut and no lovely people on here deserve bad smut. That shit gotta be sensual or its a bad time...

A/N: Thank you so much for requesting! I hope its to your liking 💖 I will be crossing off each prompt as they are requested to avoid any double ups 💖

You had only known him for a couple of moths, max being generous.You groan loudly as you feel Jaemin’s warm body detach from yours causing goosebumps to rise to your skin.

“No no no no cold cold cold” you cry, pulling the blankets that were bundled at your feet over your body.

“Calm down baby, I'm just grabbing a warm cloth and some water for you” he whispers, placing a kiss on your forehead before exiting the room. You lay there patiently waiting for your “husband” to come back, slowly drifting off to sleep after having used all of your energy to keep up with Jaemins crazy sex drive.

In your 25 years or so of living, you had never even thought about the possibility of marrying someone introduced to you a week prior to your so-called wedding. It was such a foreign thought in your mind, clearly not for your parents or your husband’s though as they had no issue announcing it abruptly. It seemed unfair for your parents to even agree to letting their only daughter marry off into another family at such an early age, just to settle some family drama on their behalf. Jaemin was only a couple of years older than you, working in the same career field as you. You felt odd marrying someone who you had just technically met, not even able to harvest feelings for him beforehand. You didn't hate him or anything, you also just didn't know him all too well, feeling bad that he was also forced into this situation while at the top of his career.

Even though legally married you both had a very casual relationship, both not really committed enough to even call it one. However, due to yours and Jaemin’s crazy sex drive, after a night of very drunk talking you both agreed to relieve sexual tension with one another as a way to keep sane as you were both very stressed people. In the few months of living together, the blonde hair stranger turned into a pink hair friend who was now your good blue hair friend with benefits even though technically married to each other. The summer of your marriage changed like the colour of his hair into a cold winter as you both grew comfortable with each other, picking up one another's traits.

You feel the bed dip a bit, blanket shuffling slightly before a warm wet cloth is pressed between your legs causing you to jolt awake. You lift your head slightly looking at Jaemin clean you up while placing kisses on the inner of your thighs.

“Dont, that will only lead to another round” you warned, closing your legs on his head. Jaemin only chuckles as he moves his body to hover over yours placing a soft and gentle kiss on your lips.

Recently, Jaemin has become more intimate with you, even to the point of suggesting to move your stuff into his room since you were both married regardless. For sure he made your heart flutter, but there was a feeling of distrust locked in a box inside your heart. You knew it was possible to harbour feelings after getting to know one another, but a part of you made you doubt that, only choosing to believe that Jaemin was harbouring feelings out of convenience due to his age and career. Still, there was another part of your heart that began to light up whenever he was around you, hypocritical to your conflicting feelings.

You wrap your arms around Jaemin pulling him closer to you as his hand makes itself up to your stomach, lightly running the cloth over it cleaning any leftover cum that remains. He lays down beside you, pulling your head onto his extended arm. You shift slightly rolling onto your side as you hook your arms around him, pressing your face into the crook of his neck as he begins to clean your back.

“So I was thinking we would go to that fancy new place that opened up on the other side of town. You know the one on top of the hills that overlooks the city.” Jaemin mumbles, resting his head on the top of yours. “I heard they have a great selection of Italian reds.”

You couldn't help but laugh at his sudden remark, causing him to be tickled by your hot breath against his skin. Unable to control your laughter, you use every force in your body to roll over sitting up as Jaemin eyes you curiously, baffled as to why you were laughing so hard at such a normal question.

“What? Why are you laughing huh?” He chuckles awkwardly, still unsure as to why you were laughing at him.

“Lol are you seriously going to wine and dine me after you rearranged my guts for the past couple of hours” you laughed, gripping your stomach as you fell back onto the bed kicking your legs playfully.

Jaemin couldn't help but to smile as he sits up pulling your body closer to his before caging you in his arms falling back down on the bed.

“What? What's so wrong with wine and dining hmm?” Jaemin laughs, resting his head onto your exposed chest. Your laughter dies down as you wrap your arms around his head, causing him to be squished between your tits.

“Jaemin you know we’re not technically dating right? Why are you being so romantic all of a sudden” You whisper running your hands through his hair. Jaemin chuckles slightly, enjoying his face squished between your breasts.

“I mean...Y/N we’re technically married, shouldn't we at least act like it?” Jaemin mumbles, placing a few kisses in the centre of your chest. You felt your chest sting at his remark, biting your lip to stop yourself from tearing up. Confused as to why you weren't replying, Jaemin removes himself from your chest to look up at your face, instantly cupping it. “What's wrong? Was it something I said?” Jaemin coos, wrapping his arms around your head as you lose control over your tears allowing them to spill all over his exposed chest.

“Jaem...do you ever think that you only like me because we live together?” you whisper, rubbing his back slightly as you forced yourself not to continue to cry.

“Y/N…That's not it at all. I genuinely like you so much and I'm sorry if I'm not expressing that well enough but...the past few months of us living together, becoming friends, and then this...it's been amazing. You make me feel so warm inside, like substantial… you feel like home.” Jaemin mumbles, hugging you tighter as he presses kisses on top of your head. “I'm sorry that i haven't officially asked you out or anything...its just that we’re kind of technically married and i thought it’d be easier just to flow into it naturally…” You were about to reply but Jaemin takes a deep breath, pushing you lightly from his chest to look you in the eye.

“Y/N I think you’re super hot, you’re so supporting and smart and intuitive and kind…” He starts rambling, counting the traits he saw in you causing your ears to become red and flustered...even though you were both in bed naked as he confessed to you. “I think you’re amazing and I would be super upset if you started dating someone else and we got divorced because I have felt so much more happier after meeting you, like you were some saving grace!” He confesses, hugging you tightly once again. You felt your entire body flush red, from head to toe causing you to nervously sweat. “If you don't want to be my girlfriend, that's okay but i just want you to know that everything i just said are my real feelings...100%” Jaemin mumbles, staring into your eyes softly. You felt your heart race, unable to even face him properly are you pushed yourself away from him to sit up.

Putting on top he discarded the headboard over your body. You felt a shiver travel up your spine as your feet hit the cold wood floor.

“So it's a no….” Jaemin chuckles sadly, running a hand through his hair. You instantly turn around, facing him shocked to your core at the words that had left his mouth.

“No, Jaem...i'm getting out of bed to get ready for our first official date.” You reply, completely panicked that his mind went instantly to rejection. Was the idea of you leaving him what held him back from confessing to you?

Jaemins face instantly brightens as he quickly gets out of bed to run over to you, engulfing you in a tight hug as he peppered kisses all over your face. “I knew you had a crush on me, Y/N you’re so fucking cute!” He sings happily, waddling you to the bathroom in his arms as you felt tears flood the brim of your eyes, tears of self inflicted anger, sadness and joy.

Flicking on the bathroom light, you shriek, causing Jaemin to snap out of his state of ecstasy to look at you worriedly. You hit him lightly, huffing as you stare at the dark red and purple patches littered all over your neck in absolute disbelief.

“How am i meant to hide these?!” You cry, pulling the collar of his shirt down to reveal even more. Jaemin only laughs, wrapping his arms around your waist as he rests his head on top of yours.

“Don't hide them, they’re pretty” he states, staring at you through the mirror before blinking innocently before tightening his hug on you, returning to his own happy world. Jaemin was esatic, feeling as if all of his wishes were finally granted after pouring his heavy heart out onto you, in hopes of progressing your relationship with one another.

“You’re so cuteeeeee!” Jaemin yells cathartically, rocking you side to side like a child squeezing

a soft toy. You could only sigh as a response, returning his hug as he happily chatted your ear off about how happy he was in that very moment.

Jaemin stops speaking momentarily causing you both to stare at each other in the mirror, before bursting out into laughter as Jaemin pushes you to sit on the toilet running a warm bath for you both.

“You better be helping me apply concealer to this before we leave” you laugh, splashing the water up at Jaemin.

“Of course, anything for you”

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ickle-ronniekins · 4 years

Text

charming

request(s) from nonnie(s)!: “Hey, could I request George and gryffindor reader where the reader is quite clumsy and it’s just really fluffy, idk maybe something happens in a lesson and just how George would react to it, maybe reader knocks something over in positions and snape gets angry and readers trying not to laugh because she can hear George laughing behind her??”

“hey eri! can i get a gryffindor!fem reader with george?? he’s always flirting/annoying her and she pretends to be peeved off but actually has a major crush on him too and eventually he’s like “i know” and she’s like “shit” but its all good in the end? thanks!!”

pairing: george x gryffindor fem!reader

word count: 2k

A/N: hope this was cute!! and i def did not picture myself as the gryffindor girl the entire time i was writing this!

tag list: @mintlibri @georgeweasleyx @seppys-return-to-madness @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @darling-details @laneygthememequeen @lupinsx @keoghans @bobduncanlover @dreamer821 @feffffffy @the-hufflepuff-of-221b @62442-am @wtfweasleyy | message me to be added lovelies

Your first mistake was taking a seat nearest him; the second was listening to him spew off jokes in the middle of the lesson, causing you to add a bit too much moonstone powder into your cauldron due to your lack of attention to detail, resulting in an excessive amount of bubbling. You wish you’d learned your lesson sooner.

You remember exactly how you’d met one another that day all too well; of course, you already knew of him—he was rather popular, after all. After making your way hurriedly to the supply closet to find yourself an antidote, you’d managed to run a bit too quickly straight into your desk, causing your over-bubbling potion to spill out over the table. Snape, who’s mouth had formed an extremely thin line, just glared at you. You would’ve sank guiltily into your seat had it not been from the stifled laughter behind you.

You turned and saw him, a cherry red color flooding his freckled face as he bit down on his bottom lip to keep from laughing too hard. You couldn’t help it, not with the giggles escaping his lips—they escaped yours, too, with no effort, and even with Snape’s deepened snarl and darkened eyes, you managed to sort of choke back a laugh whilst being scolded. You weren’t so lucky; ten points were taken from Gryffindor and a detention for your so very rude disruption of class—and another ten for continuing to laugh. You scolded yourself. When Snape retreated back to the other end of the dungeons, you whirled around and shot George a look as if to say, Quit it or I’ll bloody murder you. Immediately he put his hands up in surrender, as if this would help him to stop laughing. It didn’t. You turned back around and rolled your eyes, but let a small smirk spread itself across your lips before going back to your otherwise ruined assignment.

At the end of that very lesson, you heard him telling his twin of his ridiculous plans to grab your undivided attention; purposefully, he’d added much more of the final ingredient than he’d needed too, the potion completely erupting in his face, earning him both mock laughter from the Slytherins and cheers of sarcastic applause from fellow Gryffindors. He noticed you watching. You could feel your heart begin to pound hard against your rib cage when he sauntered over to you, leant quite seductively against the desk and winked, “Blow things up here often?”

You swallowed thickly to dislodge the lump that appeared in your throat at the mere sight of him covered in soot. You found his tightened jaw extremely messy hair much cuter than you wanted too. When you didn’t say anything back, he just smiled. He had you in his grasp and he knew it.

Distracting you seemed to become his new thing.

It was from that moment that he’d gotten exactly what he wanted: your attention. Much to your dismay, of course. You could hardly focus—not in classes, not in the Great Hall, and especially not in the common room with the many cheeky grins he was sending your way. It was difficult to concentrate on anything else when you caught him staring.

You didn’t have time for for silly crushes on boys, let alone someone as misguided and frivolous as George Weasley. You scolded yourself each and every time his freckled face somehow floated into your mind. Ridiculous.

But you did your best to concentrate anyway—at least there were a few classes of yours he wasn’t in. You sighed when you walked slowly into Transfiguration a week later and spotted him in his usual seat. He became much more relaxed when you walked in, you noticed; you, on the other hand, were fighting back any and all nerves and annoyance rising to the surface.

“Looking forward to spending more time with you after the feast.” His voice washed over you like a cool tide, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. When you turned to look at him, his hair was still very askew, and it took everything in you not to reach out and smooth it down.

You gulped. “And why, may I ask, would we be spending time together after the feast?” you asked, doing your very best to not look as intrigued as you felt, but alas—he’d piqued your interest. You really weren’t in the mood to be distracted in your best lesson.. “I’ve got detention, you know.”

“Yeah, so do I,” he replied, and you felt your insides go warm. “With Snape. You ran out of the lesson the other day before he scolded me—reckon he wasn’t too keen on me purposefully causing an uproar for a pretty girl.”

You scoffed, trying to push away any and all thoughts of what the night would bring. You painted the most unamused expression on your face and told him, “You’re an idiot.”

“Now that’s just cruel.” he replied, a cheeky grin tugging at the edges of his lips. “Still got your attention though, haven’t I?”

You groaned in frustration, suddenly extremely aware of his eyes on you. What a complete prat. But still—you couldn’t help but notice how dangerously attracted you were to him. It took everything in you to make minimal eye contact. Without taking your attention away from your parchment, you began scribbling down notes hurriedly. “Haven’t you got someone else to annoy?”

A hearty laugh escaped his lips, and he leant in closer to whisper in your ear before heading back to take his place next to Fred, “Love it when you talk sweetly to me.” You hated the amount of goosebumps you felt on your skin at the feeling of him smiling against your hair.

You could hear him snickering nearly the entire lesson, earning himself consistent eye rolls from you throughout the afternoon. You deemed it a ruddy awful lesson, having not been able to transfigure anything McGonagall placed in front of you as you continuously knocked your spellbooks off of your desk and onto the floor. You swiftly headed for the common room at the end of the lesson, looking forward even less to the detention that awaited you.

When you hopped through the portrait hole that evening and spotted him heading down the staircase with Fred, he grinned brightly at the sight of you, jabbing you in the ribs as you passed him without a greeting and earning himself a glare from you and the unmistakable sound of mock laughter from his twin. You let out a dramatic sigh; detention hadn’t even begun yet and he was already managing to put you into a mood.

As if being in the dungeons after hours wasn’t miserable enough, it seemed even more disgusting and dreary at night. While the rest of the houses were in the Great Hall or their respective common rooms, you were here. Dusting cauldrons and rearranging the Potions supply closet. With George. You wanted to tell him off as he whistled annoyingly; it was his fault you were in this detention, anyway.

“For Merlin’s sake,” you said suddenly, placing your cauldron down on the table, making George peer up and smile brightly, “would you cut it out?”

“Having trouble concentrating?” he asked, looking back down a few empty flasks he was attempting to clean. He wasn’t doing a very good job of it. “I know I can be quite the distraction.”

When you looked up again, he was grinning like mad, still peering down at the flasks, but it was evident to you that he was impressed with himself for taking you away from the one task you needed to focus on. He met your gaze and wiggled his eyebrows at you; you couldn’t believe how you were simultaneously so pissed off and attracted to him.

His grin only deepened when you fell into a sort of daydream-like state, his laughter bringing you back to reality a few seconds later. Annoyingly, his air of confidence only seemed worked in his favor as you kept dropping supplies each and every time you grabbed them from the supply closet. You must’ve had to repair six or seven broken flasks that evening.

“Saw you watch the match the other day,” he broke the silence, startling you. “What’d you think?”

Without meeting his gaze or skipping a beat, you replied, “I thought Fred had a wicked brilliant match.”

“That hurts,” he replied sarcastically, dramatically falling backwards into one of the desks. He continued to half heartedly clean another cobwebbed-covered cauldron. “but you can’t hide it, you know.”

Another lump appeared in your throat. “Hide what?”

“Please,” he started, “I see the way you watch me. See how I get to you. It’s bloody adorable.”

You scoffed and painted a confused expression on your face so as to hide this attraction bubbling up inside you. “Get to me? What the hell are you on about?”

“‘m not the only one who sees it, you know.”

You gulped. Your first mistake was doing an awful job at hiding your feelings; the second was letting him get to you. And boy, was he getting to you.

“Fred does, too.”

You tried not to be so bloody obvious. “Ah, so you’re both delusional.”

George let out another hearty laugh. He walked over to the closet and put his supplies away and you hoped that maybe it would be the end of that conversation; it wasn’t. He didn’t pull anything else out to clean; instead, he walked back over to you, that air of confidence engulfing him yet again, and removed the cauldron from your hands, placing it on the empty desk beside you both.

“Delusional? You’re funny, you are. Love how you get so very flustered in lessons each and every time I distract you.”

“Oh yeah?” you asked, trying not to let the very steady pounding of your heart become evident in the strange silence that overtook the room. “Like how?”

He wet his lips and studied your face; it was now very obvious to you that he was mere centimeters from you; never in your life had you ever been this close to him. It really peeved you off how you wanted to both push him away and pull him closer.

“You try so hard—with your beady little eye rolls and glares you send me,” he pushed a piece of hair behind your ear, “if only you knew how many times I’ve seen you smile afterwards.”

It was evident to you now, in the way that his eyes studied your entire body, that pretending to hide any and all feelings was probably a stupid thing to do, and would just prolong the inevitable. Your mouth fell open into a slack ‘o’. He was right, anyway. He was a prat, but he was right. You hated him for it. But Merlin if he didn’t make your insides twist—

You leant back against the desk and placed your hands on your hips. You opened your mouth to speak, but he beat you to the punch. “You know, I’m not hating this whole detention thing tonight,” he glanced around the empty classroom for a moment before meeting your gaze again, “not since I get to be alone with you.”

You supposed he considered the small grin you gave him to be an opening; you’d definitely short-circuited at the feeling of him leaning in and gently pressing his lips to yours. You were worried at the very deep sigh that escaped you that George would be able to tell just how long you’d been waiting for him to do this; his cheeky laugh against you told you he already had. Again, you couldn’t focus—first his hands were tangled in your hair, then wrapped tightly around your waist.. you were barely able to register just exactly what was going on. You were locked together like that for a while; you were almost certain a few hours had passed.

When you finally pulled apart, he raised his eyebrows at you; it was annoying how easy it was for him to make you a flustered mess. You cleared your throat and felt a small surge of confidence flood through you, “Fine. Maybe I like you. And maybe I stepped over the line when I called you an idiot. But you’re certainly a prat.”

He smirked and you noticed how much darker his eyes looked than before. “Smarter than I look, eh?”

You tried to help it but couldn’t. You rolled your eyes at him. He wet his lips and laughed again, tightening his grip around your hips before beginning to tickle you. You shook your head adamantly, “You are lucky you’re charming, Weasley.”

reblogs, feedback, comments, and all of the like are appreciated! thanks a ton for reading and requesting, loves!

#fred weasley #george weasley #fred and george weasley #weasley twins #weasley twins imagines #george weasley x reader #george weasley reader insert #george weasley imagine #george weasley fanfic #george weasley fanfiction #hp imagine #hp fanfiction #hp fanfic #weasleys

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dropsofletters · 4 years

Text

playing with a heart

title: playing with a heart pairing: lee jooheon/reader genre: office!au/friends with benefits!au/unrequited love!au summary: whenever any of them goes through a heartbreak, the other is there to make them feel better—physically, emotionally, in the verge of desire. as time passes, heartbreak becomes more bearable, romance is more understood and the two office coworkers grow apart. jooheon may never become a memory, she believes, pondering if she wants to go back to his arms simply because he would never break her heart or because she wants to give it to him after all those years. type: angst/fluff/suggestive/romance/humor word count: 17,178 disclaimer: this is part of my august special called ‘the anti-love club’. each story can be read individually, however, you’d be getting a little bit more of backstory along with some easter eggs if you read each of them, as well as helping me with support. the masterlist can be found here.

The folders are not uneven. Not when the colors are matched. Purple, indicators of the creative processes of the newest infomercial, goes with purple. The blue ones include casting for the next image of their product, sufficiently prominent in their own stack, edges lined with edges, dust moved by pats of her palm against the surface. The brown ones, however, boring beyond repairment, are the ones with the most information—needed for the camera-people, the crew of editors, the investors, sponsors…all of which should be studied by her.

Though, organization does make it easier. There is this prickly feeling in the back of her eyelids, accompanied by the frenzy of hand movements when she sees mismatched colors or disorganized matters. Her desk, pristine and clean, is a place that is often used by her and still, not a single speckle of dust dares to rest on the surface. Everything has to be perfect, like the timeline of an infomercial. If it develops its idea too soon, people will feel lost. If the idea takes too long to approach the watcher, someone will get bored.

Being the head of a department in an infomercial company is its own responsibility. Being so while also being way under forty is the tight feeling of pressure that she never dares voice out. But what does she voice out? If anything, her words are always glued to the back of her tongue, thinking that actions speak louder than words…and practically eating down her worries when her boss had insisted on having another head on the department. They want to expand, way beyond what they had already constructed, and while her ideas have been significantly developmental for the growth of their company—her boss’ words, not hers—, there needs to be something else.

Someone who doesn’t mind about the colors of the folders, or organizing the coffees for the meetings that the team take part of every Friday.

A person whose innovation was creative, more than logical.

The drink he ordered from the coffee girl should give her a glimpse of who he is. The swirling of the ice cubes inside the cup drop water on its surface, sweating down until it rests on the ebony colored long table, perfect for meetings. Her fingers ache to press a cloth down under that surface, to wipe and wipe the reminder of someone being in her line of job, sharing her office, making her the second in charge—uncontrolled, in a way. Before she could do so, the weight of the clear glassed door of the meeting room is pushed open, the air conditioner from outside freezing the place and doing wonders for that iced coffee, droplets becoming less rapid on their downfall.

The first person to get inside is not a worker of her team. None of the editors, none of the planners, no one that she could recognize—that doesn’t make him any less fitting. Some people can fit somewhere even when they are clearly not part of such a spot, and he’s the sponsor for such a concept.

It only takes some thinking for her to guess who he is. If he’s not from her team, he must go by the name her boss had uttered into the quickened air of the morning yesterday. Lee Jooheon. Whose black hair is perfectly styled back, as if the world bent at his will, sharp and complicated eyes not quite matching the dimples that appear on his features once he lets the door close under its own movements, catching sight of her.

“Oh, I didn’t know someone would be here.” He says, moving. “Good morning.”

Jooheon is a rampant tornado from the moment he meets her. From his casual style when he tugs at his perfectly snug tie, leaving it dangling just a little bit. From the way he takes a seat in front of another person’s iced coffee, instead of sitting in front of his seat. From the way his legs part for a second before crossing over each other and reaching towards the sets of folders. He inspects one, leaves it there, crooked.

Had it been anyone else, she’d be annoyed. Her blood would boil, rise in the way of a volcano before realizing the gates of her mouth will never open, will never utter a single word. She doesn’t, however. Something about him exudes beauty, knowledge, in the way he can be so chaotic yet so sweetly so at the same time. Unknowing, he is, much more when she exchanges the iced coffees before he can set his lips around the straw.

“This is yours.” She breathes out, voice too unused, coming in a whisper that is not expected of the head of a team. Jooheon lifts his gaze at that, raising his eyebrows slightly before wrapping his fingers around the cup of iced coffee. “Uh, I organize everything before the meetings. This is not your seat, but if you’d prefer to be here, I could re-arrange everything.”

“Where is my seat?” He asks, inspecting her features as if he’s surprised at such…professionalism. Coming invited, he still was too forward, and she had no issue with it. The depths of his dark eyes speak of ignorance; maybe, that’s what Jooheon is—crooking things without knowledge, all because he thinks the world works just like his mind does.

Her fingers extend, pointing at the two seats at the edge of the table. “The one on the left, right beside mine.”

Jooheon stands up, though not quite taking his gaze away from her as he speaks. “So, that would make you the head of the department.” A curt nod, she gives, earning a narrowed-eyed glance from him before his lips finally take the first sip of the iced coffee. “You’re pretty soft-spoken for being one of the bosses here.”

“I guess,” She says, now taking a good glimpse at him when he is a bit farther away. His eyes, those that she had seen from up close, are bathed in shadows when he is away. Lips that look too chapped, body that seems fragile with each breath he takes and a pulsating mannerism on the side of his cheek, tightening and tightening, as if about to explode.

She may not be good with words, keeping them dead on her mind, but Jooheon is the contrary and whatever he is caging in—troubles that he, obviously, wouldn’t tell a person that he has known for five minutes—, he can’t seem to stand.

“That’s why you’re here.” She adds. “…My boss would like for me to be like you.”

The newest transfer of the department—and at a good position, at that—finds comedy in her voice. So much so that his rounded cheeks show the depths of heaven in his dimples, slowly but surely growing in the tiniest of grins when he says: “Ah, come on, no one should want to be like me.” And the weight of those words does not go unnoticed by her, heard and felt when she realizes that Jooheon’s day must have creaked under his own weight, compilations of memories marking him as useless. “But…whatever. Ah, nice to meet you.” His smile becomes brighter, eyes twinkling, a mask for him. Beautiful, yet not…how he’s feeling. “Care to explain to me what today’s meeting is about? I was not informed further about the information.”

Taking a seat beside Jooheon, the expanse of his body heating her side, should have felt like him protecting her, but for that one time…this strange feeling that looked to have him belonging, instead of simply fitting in, overtook her. Glazed her over to the point that the chaotic nature of his existence, of him, would be an invitation for her. For, there needs to be disorder for her to organize. There needs to be chaos for the world to rearrange itself.

###

The first time he got his heart broken in front of everyone, it didn’t even show.

Every morning of the past month has consisted of watching Jooheon crumble to himself. The smile is there, but it’s too bright to be real. The crispiness of his button down shows the wrinkles of tossing the fabrics aside and picking them up for the next day. Talking to him comes in spurts of knowledge, in random conversations while he is seated by the mess that is his desk and she is in her own world of immaculateness. She’d watch him, how his fingers work on the keyboard and sometimes, he ignores calls as long as they come from one number. One number that may be the cause of Jooheon’s somber expression. A set of numbers that she wishes she could erase, all for the sake of not watching him hunch to himself, as if broken.

Her observational skills make her oversensitive—she knows this. Guessing and putting pieces together works for puzzles, but it doesn’t work for people. Jooheon, still, goes out with his new coworkers. He’s on time for meetings and for the dinners that follow after, and maybe the conversations that mostly consist of listening to him may be the cause of her romanticism towards him. Of seeing him as an attractive person, sharing a tight space with her, and yet knowing little to nothing about him and hence, not letting him get to know her, no matter how hard he tries.

His hair falls on top of his forehead, the ashy strands glistening with his usual gel when he leans over her shoulder, trying to look at what she’s typing on her laptop. “Is that the one terrible script that we denied last week?”

The thought of such an atrocity being aired on TV is enough to have her sighing, leaning back on her chair, almost a little bit on him, if her shoulder caressing the expanse of his broad chest is enough leverage. Jooheon doesn’t move, comfortable in his position, his knee pressing to the back of her seat. “Yes,” She initiates, going over the first few paragraphs again. “I’ve been fixing it for the past hour but the idea is just so bad. Condom commercials are already difficult, even worse when they make them corny like this.”

When she turns to look at him, his eyes are already on her. Glistening, reddened lips wrapping into a smile when he juts his chin forward. “Leave that for tomorrow. The team have already left for dinner and they’re asking if we’re going to join them.”

The document blinks back at her, calling her to stay. To rearrange the letters, make sure the punctuation is perfect, or scratch it entirely and ask her team of writers to start anew. How can one say no to the shape of his lips, the mole on his eyelid, the briefly lasting happiness of him that she wants to embrace and get to know? The answer remains unknown for her, but she knows what she would usually do had she been asked for anyone else.

“I don’t know…I think I should stay behind.” After all, talkative is not one of her traits and sitting down while having dinner with everyone not uttering a single word is awkward for her. No amount of pushing could ever make her be part of that group, even someone as Jooheon had fit in entirely.

His fingers hook around the edge of her seat, moving her entirely until he is hovering over her. Smiling. Jooheon smiles but he never does it with the heart, and it takes all in her to avoid the attraction that tells her that, maybe, in her silent pleas she can get to sneak a grin away from him. Genuine. “You shouldn’t. Firstly, because I’d pay for you if you went.” Jooheon begins with a good reckoning. “And secondly…because it’s not fun if you’re not there.”

“How so?”

“You’re the only person that makes me feel at ease here.” He comments, pushing his hand against her wrist before wrapping his fingers idly around it, bringing her up to stand face to face with him.

“I rarely speak, Jooheon.” She conquers, her free hand reaching for her laptop and saving the last few bits of the document before turning it off. Who is she to say no to the storm that promises to sweep her away?

Laughter rises on his tired features, unspoken threads of problems snatched away from his head at the sight of her. “That’s the fun part. I’ll have to take the words out of you. I’ll make myself so interesting, you will never stop talking to me.”

This determination of his will only be the cause of their doom—their imminent closeness that could either end badly or perfectly fine. This could strengthen their job together, just like how it could become their weakest link. Yet, with the warmth of him and that enigma that wraps around his every being, she plays with her fingers, wrist still held in between his own when she smiles at him. “…I guess you got lucky with the fact that you’re already interesting.”

A quirk of his eyebrow should be enough, a reaction that does not match the drag of his feet when he gets to the office early in the morning. “Oh, is that so?” He asks, fingers moving downwards, playing with the bracelet that dangles from her skin. A smile, that’s all she can give him when the tips of her ears turn red and she has to pull away. For her sanity, or perhaps because nothing good ever comes from playing with fire. “I guess I’ll have to find out what it is that makes me so interesting.”

While he trails right behind her as they get out of the office, continuing with the conversation easily, her mind wanders on the possibilities of nearing fire so much that she burns herself, but aches are still existing beings. Maybe, this danger that she sees raking from him is just part of her imagination. Sixth senses don’t have to be right all the time.

###

The sour taste of the coffee rests heavily on her throat. Silent, like she normally is—how she was bound to be the moment her opinions were pushed in disbelief when she was younger. Not a word could be heard from her as she inspects the office; not a lot of people were there, to start with, some of the security guards, a few of the cleaning team and some assistants. Someone lacks in there, the importance of his seat captured by the faux lights in the room, ones that she should turn off to replace for the natural lights that passes through the curtains, but the neither-nor morning leaves her paralyzed, almost too lazy to move.

On the back of her eyelids, she can make out the figure of him. That daydream in the form of a coworker, the culprit of her wildest dreams, the taste of sweetness that she longs to feel after a long sip of caffeine. Jooheon is an energizer—the more he heals, the more he beams, but coloring a picture will never be enough to cover the small glimpse of color that passed the lines, or crossed it rather. No matter how much she speaks to Jooheon, he still doesn’t know her and hence, she doesn’t know him. Acquaintances, they are, but that doesn’t take away his power.

The strength he has of making her feel as if her clothes are constricting against the soft breaths or sighs, he takes out of her with his dreamy presence.

But some matters will remain silent. Some flirtations cannot be anything more than. The thought passes her head when she looks at her reflection when opening the curtains, the polished windows showing the expanse of her. Mug of heated coffee on hand, gray skirt matched with dark tights, white shirt with an unkempt collar. She’s controlled, which is why her fingers feel the fabric of the collar until the center is perfectly aligned with her axis. The fall-out is simply not her style.

Happiness floods the otherwise silent office when Jooheon comes barging in with someone from her designing team. Tsubasa. The shorter male is holding a cat in between his fingers, its green eyes widened in surprise at the amount of attention. Jooheon, instead, stands in front of it with a smile, weaving index finger caressing the cat’s neck, soon after calling out her name,

“…We found this cat on the way to the office.” He calls out, though her body is already folding over itself softly, trying to run away from the smaller animal—still, in a way, terrifying for her. Perhaps, it’d be the fine beige hairs it’d leave on her clothing if she got too close, or it’s the fact that animals had never been too pleased when around her. “Are you scared of cats?” He asks, only to have Tsubasa scoffing.

“Boss, lighten up. This baby could be the office’s pet.” The worker brings the animal up to his face, gentle paws pushing his glasses down until the material falls on the floor. That is enough to have Jooheon laughing, and the woman reaching forward when Jooheon nears her.

The warmth of his arm wrapped around her shoulder is comforting, much more when he continues speaking: “See? That’s a good guy. He even hates Tsubasa as much as everyone else.”

“Hey!”

“What?” Jooheon tilts his head to the side, beaming down at her while her eyes inspect his features. When will he resolve every question inside her head? As to why her hands only seem to find leverage when he is around and how she wouldn’t mind messing her life up for once as long as he’s there to support her through it. “So…maybe, I could help you pet it.”

“I’d love to. Animals hate me.” His fingers slot in between hers, hand reaching forward when moving along with his. His body is pressed to her side, speaking softly—a habit he may have learned with her.

“No one could hate you.” Tsubasa holds the cat out for her to pet its fur around the neck, only lasting a few seconds before the cat closes its bright eyes to relax. “See? He’s nice. Animals are nice.”

“You prefer dogs, though.” She comments, one of the many things they have shared on their conversations together, only to hear Jooheon chuckling.

“Don’t say that in front of the kitten.”

“Ah, he doesn’t understand.” Tutting him, she takes the kitten’s paw in between her fingers, rolling the fur softly in between her fingers and sharing one smile with Tsubasa before the moment switches immediately.

Rugged claws cling to her thighs, passing the material that covers them and ripping them in the process of running away. Perhaps, a little bit overwhelmed or still not used to the people around him, the cat attacked her quickly, in the blink of an eye, only capturing her attention when a hiss leaves her lips, hand letting go of Jooheon’s to reach for her thighs. The tights are broken, ripped apart to show glimpses of her skin with blotches of red, scratches showing the tiniest bit of blood.

“Shit, shit, shit.” Tsubasa voices out her thoughts, because she shall not speak her worries out, but the pain and embarrassment is enough to have blood flooding her head. Tsubasa is the first one to act, already looking for the cat around the office. “I’m going to get it out of this office. I think he really doesn’t like the boss.”

Jooheon’s eyes are concentrated on something else, on inspecting her features for any source of pain when even as she is kneeling down to look at the scratches on her legs, Jooheon’s face appears underneath her eyesight. “Damn it, how am I even going to be able to go around the office looking like I got ran over?”

“You won’t, take your tights off and—” Her coworker rushes to open the door for her, taking off his blazer in the process of covering the front of her thighs. “I don’t know, if you want me to buy you a pair of pants or another pair of tights, I can do it. We just need to clean those scratches up, just in case.”

The quick movement of his steps in front of her shelter her as they move away from the main office, their pathway leading to the closest bathroom. “I think I can deal without a pair of tights. But fuck, these scratches really hurt.”

The door is opened in front of her, Jooheon’s hands delicately leading her inside while he stands outside. “I’ll clean them up for you,” He says, eyes trailing over her features before he licks his bottom lip into his mouth. “But be quick, I don’t want them to get infected.”

The position she finds herself in only ten minutes later is a loud picture. Jooheon, kneeling in front of her, while at their office. Door locked, curtains drawn closed, a cotton pad dabbing onto the newly freed skin that has her tossing her head back and closing her eyes tightly. Animals still hate her, but life may not. The concentration on his features is unlike anything she has seen; eyebrows drawn together in a front, lips pressed together and letting his dimples be seen for reasons other than being utterly happy, only parting from time to time to blow on the healing skin.

His phone rings from the other edge of the room, blinking in that natural way it does, but Jooheon doesn’t seem to move at all. He never does.

“Aren’t you going to get that?”

His index and thumb roll the cotton pad onto itself, dusting it on the deeper scratches by her knees. For a cat so small, it surely did some damage. “Let it ring. I don’t want to pick up.”

For the first time, her throat aches to ask, her mind desires to know and she has the bravery, when looking at the top of Jooheon’s head, to say something to the man that has worked its way into her deepest questions. Unanswered. “You never get it whenever that ringtone goes off. I know it’s someone that’s bothering you, but…” Her whisper trails off, caught off guard when Jooheon looks at her, before returning to the task at hand. “If you want to talk about it, we can.”

His mouth remains shut for a few seconds, leaving her at the edge of her seat the more the silence drags on. “It’s…it’s a girl I was seeing a few months back. No matter how many times I tell her it’s over, she keeps bothering me.” Jooheon replies and while the words may have seemed harsh, something in his tone wavers.

“How does she bother you?”

Jooheon trashes the cotton pad then, blowing on the skin of her thigh with a shuddering breath. The tingle that goes down her spine should have not been electrified by his actions; hands spread on top of his own legs. “We hooked up; she had a boyfriend. I got beaten up by said boyfriend and she keeps calling me.” He retorts, her lips parting after wetting them, releasing a soft sigh once he does so much as try to stand up. Her fingers hook on his wrist, however, like how he normally does when he tries to tag her along.

“…Wait, why did you get beaten up?”

“Ah, I was all talk.” Jooheon cusses himself, running his fingers through his perfectly styled hair. Not anymore, a few strands let loose at that and even then, she can’t bring herself to care. “I thought that fighting for it was the right decision. She said she loved me, after all, it didn’t matter if she suddenly had a boyfriend because—huh, I really thought love was enough.”

The image of him fighting, fists bawled to protect his utmost desires, is almost something she can’t imagine. “Don’t worry, it happens.” She replies, standing up just in time to look into his eyes. “I knew something was bothering you from the moment I met you.”

“Why?”

“When you’re not smiling, your sulkiness shows immensely. It’s not a bad thing, but you should…let those feelings flow.” She replies, hands going up towards his forearms, speaking to him in a delicate manner. “I’m here for anything. I know it’s difficult to get over someone—”

“I’ll get over her.” Jooheon speaks over her, looking around her features before his eyelids become heavier, fluttering closed for a second before he opens them again, looking down at her lips. “I’m on the way there.”

She smiles at that, almost ironically. “How so?”

“With you.” The bravery of his voice comes from the chase. Jooheon is the kind of man that loves going straight for the brightest diamond, not to taint it but to cherish it. His smile widens at that, looking into her eyes once again. “You may not notice it, but talking to you has been the only way I can seem to feel less stupid.”

“You’re not stupid.” Her voice touches his skin softly, breath ghosting over his lips from the proximity in between the two. “Being brave is an act not a lot of people can recognize, but I do. You were brave, not stupid.”

Her coworker hovers one hand on her shoulder, as if afraid to touch her, but with all the intention in the world to ask for permission in one simple glance. “I’m sure you’re the only one that sees it that way.”

She quirks an eyebrow at that, eyes roaming over his features and those pair of lips that are just calling her to heal him. To see that smile in its biggest expansion. “And I may be the only one to help you forget.”

The sky swirls in all kind of colors when Jooheon takes up on her promise, body reaching forward until his hands are splayed on the back of her neck, lips meeting in a less-than-brief reunion. There is something tragic in the way his lips seemed to be perfectly made to kiss hers, as if the slope of his nose and the cupid’s bow on his lips was meant to caress every fiber of her skin. He’s dangerous in the way he moves, abdomen leaning forward, hands relaxing until they are resting on her waist and for the first time, she can’t find control in her. No longer can her voice get caught in her throat, not when her back is pressed to the dark wood of her desk, when Jooheon whispers all his secrets in one kiss, a few swipes of his tongue against hers, in the way he lets go of her skin to say.

“And I’ll help you forget, if you need me, too.”

###

The world intertwines in feelings, in connections past the oceans and the lands, crossing the bonds of a million people in between to unite two. Two souls, who even from afar, could love each other so strongly that the gates will be opening, slowly, until a hug will remain engraved in their brains—the reunion, she’d call it.

But that is not her situation. The gates towards her love, if anything, close tighter the most she tries to talk to him. Her boyfriend of eight months, the one man after Jooheon that had been powerful enough to sweep her off her feet, to have her forgetting the existence of heartbreak and simply let go to the simple caress of the fleeting kisses he left before he had to depart. The plane going suffocated her, but she kept going—against all odds, she is a believer. A believer that seriousness in a relationship will always end in a happy ending, that what she pours in her texts will be able to reach Jaehwan, the man whom she promised her utmost love to before he left.

It was her fault. A meeting with her old friends had been enough to unite them; that one man that she had not seen since high school, the one person that she had never even looked at twice but had suddenly grown into handsome features. Wide nose, rounded lips, and a swipe of his hair that almost made him look comical. Jaehwan, whose translator ways had interested her, is flying away with the passing of time. Less texts than at the initiation of their relationship, hence less calls. If someone asked her now, she would not be able to describe the timbre of his voice.

Someone she does recognize is the man that enters the office with utmost glee, weight off his shoulder, whistling a song under his breath. Jooheon is recognizable; from top to bottom, from the finest hair on his face to the sole of his feet, a man that she had gotten to know in more ways than one before her relationship with Jaehwan started. She needed a companion, to think irrationally for once, and Jooheon needed to forget—to feel like love was meaningless if not physical, to feel like himself again.

Not a single word had been uttered by him when she started this relationship, other than the fact that Jaehwan, to him, is as flavorful as a speckle of salt on boiling water, there to create pasta. Meaning, lacking spice, or lacking whatever it is that would make him interesting. The moment they met, by some kind of occasion in which Jaehwan had picked her up, Jooheon’s smile had been so tight and fake that she almost thought he’d pass out from the pressure on his cheeks, but…the matter became less meaningful when more people in her life claimed that whatever she saw in Jaehwan, no one else sees.

Her fingers hover over her lock-screen, touching it slightly to keep the image there. The last picture Jaehwan and herself took before he departed, his smile bright when her lips press down on his cheek. Immaculate, unlike Jooheon, the man dresses so preppily he could very much come out from a movie of the 90’s.

“Jooheon,” She calls out, well aware that she has spent a little bit more than she should looking at her phone screen. The man doesn’t stop his motions, pouring two cups of coffee to start the day nicely for the two of them. “Why do men cheat?”

“Ask someone who has cheated,” Jooheon replies, taking the mugs in between his fingers before moving towards her. Confident and relaxed strides and the dimples that never leave his face whenever he sees her, that’s what she looks at when Jooheon takes a seat across from her, the chair dragging obnoxiously against the floor. “And not all men. Don’t generalize.”

“Ah, I’m speaking about majorities.” She swats her hand, taking a sip of her coffee before letting out a raged sigh. Jooheon may have been a sexual escapade, some kind of romantic relief, but beyond that…he’s a friend. He may know what to say in this situation. “I have another question.”

“You always have questions.”

“I’m a curious lady.”

Jooheon quirks an eyebrow at that, bags forming under his eyes when he sneakily adds: “Oh, I know.” He conquers, her eyes searching around the room in case anyone has heard them, for the tone of his voice must have crossed any kind of boundaries with a taken woman. “But ask me, since I already know where this is going…”

Of course, he’d know. Intelligence is not something people expect from Jooheon, but it is very much a term that belongs to him. “Okay, do you think…Jaehwan would cheat on me?”

Honest, he is, when he says, “There is no way for me to judge that.” He breathes into the dense air, making her groan lightly while she throws her head back. “Like, that’s a complicated question. There are people like Tsubasa—assholes of assholes—that never cheat. There are angels that cheat all the time. It’s a matter of values, and how much they respect the person they’re with.”

That doesn’t help her, because she needs a vision into Jaehwan’s brain. She craves for the feeling of being wanted, or perhaps some words from him that could secure his return—for her to feel like she is not in the sidelines of his life. “I guess…” She lets her voice trail, only to have Jooheon sighing.

“You want to talk about it?”

In any other occasion, she would. Jooheon is the type of man to keep secrets treasured, but the more she thinks about it, the less she wants to voice it out. Perhaps, if she lets the air know about the intentions inside her head, something would switch—something would change. Instead, she shakes her head, watching as Jooheon stands up from his seat and moves towards the door, perhaps to start on one of his informercial projects.

His fingers rest against the doorknob before he opens it, looking at her from afar. “Just know that I’ll always be here for you, okay?” He says, though the words are not meant to be as weight as her head make it out to seem. “…Not just in the way we used to be before, but as a friend.”

“I know.” She says, though there is nothing more than she’d want that for Jaehwan to kiss her like Jooheon did. Like he wanted to exchange his soul with hers and let the two coexist.

Though, once the door closes and she looks at her phone, she can think of someone who is not always there. Suffocated, she feels, when she tosses her phone on her purse and prays for something to happen to the two of them. A happy ending, she wishes for, but at this point…do those even exist?

###

This bench she is seated on is the worst place to be at. Not because it is miniscule, or because it is so crooked and torn that it may as well fall under her own weight, but because this is the place in which the smokers of the building rest when on their lunch break. The aches of cigarettes cling to her clothing, dusting it, falling on top of the black fabric and creating patterns around it. The wind in this part, right behind the building, is brash, moving her hair out and about with its strength. This can only push into her nostrils the stench of the trashcan nearby, but with her knees pushed to her chest and her lips trembling at the ache of her heart, eyes already dropping silent tears, she can’t bring herself to care.

Because for the past eight months, she has been nothing but trash. Jaehwan had seen her as some badge of pride, another woman to have under his belt, and suddenly forgot about her. The pictures in her screen scalded her fingertips the moment she had to get in a friend’s account to see what her boyfriend had posted, for he had blocked her, only to be met by pictures she had never seen. With another woman, at that, far longer than she had ever been him with. Months that transcended into years, a love that happened before she even existed, before she even got the title of a girlfriend.

More like a fucking mistress.

And someone as organized as her, that shook out of exasperation whenever she saw something out of place, had suddenly been torn into pieces, rearranged, a puzzle that may never fit, because her heart is broken way beyond relief. Sometimes, she’d catch herself looking forward—imagining all the kisses she had given him, all the hugs she had shared, all the promises that he whispered into her skin before fleeting away. Jaehwan may not have been the best of lovers, but when has love been about that? It’s a feeling that pries itself into her life, condescends her, treats her as if she’s worthless and makes her the cause of it all. For trusting. For loving.

Who even loves anymore?

The weighty metal door that leads to the back of the building creaks so loudly that it takes her out of her trance, but she only presses her face harder into her knees to stop anyone from seeing her face. The scrap of someone’s feet against the pavement floor is loud, and said person does so much as take the small seat on the uncomfortable bench by her side. This person clearly doesn’t care about their office attire getting fucked over, smelling like cigarettes, bathed in ashes, pointlessly existing.

A hand settles on her back, and she works her way around taking her blazer’s sides and using them as a curtain for her features, but her name is called—so softly, tutting, that it almost feels like she is back into being the person that she used to be. Before eight months ago, when she had given herself to the hands of the devil, sporting a sense of comfort.

This is the kind of person that has heard her, even through her silence. Jooheon is the one man that had touched her skin and while not trying to reach for her soul, had done so. Softly, in that matter of his that screams danger but translates into dulcetness. Once she lifts her gaze, still keeping most of her face covered by her blazer, Jooheon is, indeed, there, but not in the way that she expected him to be: lips pursed in a soft smile, eyes gleaming under the light of the sun with worry.

“What is that?”

A rap of his knuckles against the material of the helmet, he answers: “A motorcycle helmet. I took it from Tsubasa in case you wanted to let your anger out and threw something at me.”

Shoulders shaking thanks to her sniffles and her hands rubbing at her face to stop the tears, she scoffs at his words. “Jooheon, I’m not going to throw anything at you. I’m angry at someone, just not you.”

What she doesn’t expect is for his hand to reach forward, patting her skin away from its dampness when the helmet muffles his voice. “Let’s talk about it. You need to tell me what is going on.”

A deep sigh leaves her lips, though a brief smile is given to him. “Only if you take off that helmet. You look hideous.”

Jooheon does indeed wrap his hands around the helmet, putting it down on the floor. “Thank God, I was starting to feel like that one racer—Lee Hoseok.”

The wind blows on his dusted pink cheeks, eyes inspecting her face like they always do, as if he wants to search her purpose in just her gaze or know her like the palm of his hand. Memorize her, he has done a couple of times, in which she’d hide her face in his neck and try to take the attention away from her features. On times in which Jooheon would be a close looker, as if hunting for that glimpse of her heart—her intentions, even.

Her fingertips reach for his, not a hold of lovers but one of leverage, his thumb rubbing against the back of her palm when she says: “Jaehwan cheated on me. Or more like, he cheated on someone with me and I didn’t even know about it.” Before Jooheon could reply, however, she surprises herself by speaking more. “What is it about me, Jooheon?” She asks. “Am I that undesirable? Am I not enough to change someone’s life? I have done nothing but love him, respect him for the past eight months…and he didn’t even feel guilty. He cut me off in the blink of an eye.”

“From my point of view, and I am sure there are other people that think like this, you’re not undesirable.” Jooheon speaks, patting her hair to make sure it doesn’t look as untamed as it is, thanks to the breeze. “And Jaehwan is just an ass. Since he couldn’t get anyone to suck his dick when he was younger, now he’s out here trying to play the cards of a womanizer because he’s got some good looks, if you squint.” That is enough to bring a smile to her face, chuckling at his words. Jooheon is way better at voicing out his thoughts than she is. “I really don’t know what you saw in him.”

Brought together by this bound that exists around them, as if one of them is oxygen and th other one needs to breathe, she rests her head against his shoulder. “A future.” She answers, voice vacant the more she thinks about it. “You did look like you couldn’t stand him when I introduced him to you.”

Jooheon chuckles, his eyes half-closing from the harsh light of the sun. When she looks at him, his dimples are present and unlike the last time they were this close, she is the one heartbroken and he simply exudes peace. Gotten over it, he seems to have done. “I just couldn’t understand why you would go for someone like him.”

“What does that even mean? Jooheon, he was not bad looking—”

“I know,” He answers. “But something didn’t click. I don’t know the dude, but now I realize I must’ve realized something, deep down.”

“That’s right.” Though, betrayal still clings to her, making her feel dirty. The hands of a man whose heart was devoted to another woman had caressed her skin, and it felt oddly fitting for her. Jooheon had gotten over someone with her help, Jaehwan had used her for the pleasure of feeling more like a man and now…she’s left wondering what that makes her. Perhaps, not worthy of a fulfilling relationship. “Jooheon?”

“Mhm?”

“Do you think I’ll ever find someone who loves me?”

Jooheon’s smile widens at that, looking down for a millisecond before resting his hand on the skin of her thigh, pulling down her skirt to cover up more of her. “I’m sure of it,” He replies, looking at her before giving a nice pat to her leg. “…And until then, I’m here for you to remind you the kind of woman that you are.”

“Too quiet to ever have someone interested in me?” Her insecurity pops out, pulling away slightly just before she hears Jooheon correct her.

“Too thoughtful to not have someone wanting to know the depth of that brain of yours.” Jooheon presses his finger against her temple, face hovering over hers before he sighs. “Stop being insecure. He doesn’t deserve to have you thinking about yourself in this light.”

She shudders at the reality of it all, at the reception of such a situation that always brings her to his arms—because, with him, her heart seems to be protected, body worshipped, mind caressed with the gentles of memories. Jooheon, though just a friend with benefits, had promised to be there for her through every heartbreak, every moment in which she’d feel down, in the shape of a friend or a lover. In this case, however, now freed from the restraints of a relationship and seeking for revenge, to prove to herself that someone else could definitely desire her, she speaks.

“Thank you, Jooheon, for being here with me.”

“I did say I’d help you get through your heartbreaks, just like you did with mine.” Jooheon replies, lips pressing down on her cheek before the dangerous treat trails down to her ear. “I’ll do anything you want.”

She chuckles at his words, hand connecting to his shoulder to push him away softly. “Then, let’s go out for dinner tonight.”

“That sounds great.”

It takes less than she would have imagined to get up from such a bench and dust off the remaining pieces of her broken heart along with the aches on her skirt.

Jooheon will always be there to help her forget.

###

“Are those groceries?”

“I don’t know, Jooheon, do these look like anything but groceries to you?”

Anyone would think that their relationship is weird. Well, lack of one thereof. Their friendship indeed does fall into a sense of normality that would, otherwise, be seen as romance. As she unloads the recently bought groceries, the eerily calm Sunday morning playing in the background along with the faint sound of the early news speaking into the soft air, Jooheon lays his body against the doorframe of her kitchen. One glance at him is enough to confirm that his shirt is still tossed somewhere on the flooring of her bedroom, taking mental notes to pick up on the way there, but that is much too bothersome when she gets to see the glory of Jooheon early in the morning.

You see, it always falls back into this. The two of them, together, calling it simply sex—relief, in a way—before spending more and more time together. His name always touches the tip of her tongue when she meets her high school friends and she surprises herself talking about him from time to time, only hoping that he does, too. Jooheon, even when he could leave once the skin of his neck becomes painted in the shade of her lipstick and his body is sedated by absolute bliss, decides to stay. Especially when it’s a Sunday morning.

His pants are on, thankfully, his long torso coming into view when he goes to stand by her side, helping her unload the vegetables that she had bought—in her attempt of having more salads and less instant food, she had make it a necessity in her household. That, along with fruits, one that Jooheon takes out to smack her head with.

“Who would have thought you had an attitude to you?” Jooheon questions, face void of that professionalism he has around the office, hair done a mess and all thanks to her. She, the most organized person in this world, can become carefree when around him.

Opening the doors of her refrigerator, leaning her weight against the ceramic decorations on the wall, she starts to stack the device up with some of Jooheon’s help. “You’ve known me for over a year. You should know I aim to surprise.”

The joking manner is there, much more when Jooheon wraps his arms around her waist, body leaning forward when the warmth of him almost burns her, skin clinging to the uncovered parts of her forearms. “Aim to surprise me with some breakfast, then, because I’m hungry.”

She gasps at his words, though the smile on her face screams that she knows he doesn’t mean it. Jooheon does have some bite to him, back to his teasing self, a little bit out there. “Make some for yourself!” The whine in her tone is present, feeling his wide cupid’s bow trail down her cheeks until he captures her lips in a short kiss. “Help me out put the groceries inside the fridge instead of talking nonsense.”

Listening, Jooheon moves towards the grocery bags, taking some out and giving them to her. “I just think that it’s funny when you’re mad.”

“I’m not mad.” She replies, looking up from the refrigerator’s door to see Jooheon running his fingertips through his hair. His face breaks into a smile, cheeks becoming prominent under the weight of his happiness.

“I’m halfway there, just give me time.” Jooheon answers, her lips bursting into giggles when he comes over to her with the last few bits of the groceries, looking at her with interest.

“You’re not going to get me mad.”

“Oh, word? You think I won’t?” The challenge is there, some dramatic tone in his voice the more he teases, and she nods her head, snatching two apples away from her batch before tossing one at Jooheon.

“I know you won’t.” Because, there is no way that she can truly get mad at Jooheon. The man has inspected every crevice of her soul, studied every bit of her body and made it his, made every man poor in comparison to what he could do to her. Not only when his hands are pushing her clothing away, but even when they’re merely talking—when he’s the first person she sees almost every morning, or how he never forgets to share one or two meals outside of the work with her. Definitely not when his fingers trail on the edge of the high neck of her top, rubbing the fabric with the tip of his index finger.

“Ooh, this fabric is thick. What are you hiding under there?” Jooheon pretended to peak, only to have his hand taken in between her fingers, staring at his eyes with a weak smile on her features.

“Nothing.”

“You never wear that turtleneck. First, the sleeves are too short. Secondly, you don’t like it.” Truthfully, Jooheon is equally as observational as her. Without counting, of course, that she had never been one used to the attention. Only someone like him would know what type of clothing she likes, one of their many conversations, some useless, some not. Only Jooheon would realize that the weather is too hot for a turtleneck, but there is still something to hide.

“You’re talking as if you don’t know.”

“Oh, I know,” Jooheon says, leaning forward until he is mere centimeters away. “Isn’t it annoying? That I know but I still ask.”

“No,” She utters, voice sending a kiss his way with the tremors behind it. “You’re talking to someone who dealt with Tsubasa after his break up, day and night. I think I can deal with you being annoying for once.”

His fingers, splayed on top of her arms, bring her closer until she stumbles forward, arms grasping at his waist. “Well, looks like I lost.”

“And what do I win?” She asks, quirking an eyebrow before Jooheon leans forward, pecking her lips.

“A kiss.”

“Just one?”

“Just one.”

Somewhere, she had once read that when something is meant to be—it will be felt at the depth of her heart. This moment, in which she is trying to snatch a kiss away from the man that puts his face away, feels like it is fitted for forever. Only, that it just isn’t the case. Jooheon will fall in love once again in the future, or so will she, and when something goes wrong, they’ll get back into each other’s arms. Perhaps, a duller feeling, like a bad day or the need to get off. All matters that connected them, and it’s best to keep it that way, but the domestic look on his features spoke about more, just when he hangs out with her, making her feel like someone is willing to stay.

For her.

Until one of them decides that they need to move on, that is. Only friends that help each other feel less lonely, less heartbroken, always thirsting for the attention of a lover.

He stays because he’s lonely, and so is she. Is there anything else to it? She wants to think there isn’t, that the warmth on her chest comes from the familiarity of his touch.

###

To this day, an anniversary, it makes two years and seven months since the last time she kissed Jooheon. Two years and five months since he started his relationship and three years since she realized that, if he broke up with his girlfriend, she’d probably be back in his arms in the blink of an eye.

Is it Jooheon’s anniversary, or her anniversary of longing for him—lonely, not sedated for this amount of missing him? Not as a friend, but as a lover instead.

The thought first came to her imagination when Jooheon first called it quits on their rendezvouses. His voice had been so lifted, so beautiful, prompting about a date that had gone so well—his rant had been everything any person would like to hear. From the shape of this woman’s smile, to how conjoined he felt to her career as an odontologist, to how he couldn’t simply get her out of his head, no matter how hard he tried. At the time, she shrugged it off; it was not the first time Jooheon ended their beneficial relationship for something somewhat serious, but the more time passed, the less she saw of him. Even as a friend. As a coworker. All that left Jooheon’s lips is that one name, the dreaded name of the too-perfect woman.

Sora.

Sora, whose smile is too bright, too beautiful. Whose talkative persona matched Jooheon’s better than hers could ever, and the few times she has seen her in the dinner getaways with the team at her office, she knows Sora is even more affective than she has ever been with Jooheon. Just, better, that’s what Jooheon seemed to be aiming for. Hair pushed back, the swirl on her short hair reaching her earlobe at its lowest point. Small lips that welcome a bright smile, her job is not one to disappoint.

Her spot is too cramped, elbows trying not to bump into anyone as she fetches another piece of the stirred vegetables on her plate. The restaurant is far more filled with people—children of some of the workers, the boyfriends, girlfriends, fiancés, mothers, fathers, all in the name of a pre-Christmas celebration. Alone, as she always is, always meant to be, she sits by the middle, having no one to talk to but the perfect view from the tray of sauces she’d snatch away, if her hand was not too far away and if she could actually voice her concerns out, for once.

Or maybe, she’s mortified. Jealous, for some reason, clinging to her in the obnoxiously boring attire that clads her. Gray skirt, white button down, and the same hairstyle ever since she got out of college. Mundane, monotone, the type of woman no one would stick around for too much because…there is nothing special about her. Sora, on the other hand, is a laughing track on feet—or even the show itself. Watching an episode of FRIENDS would definitely include less laughter than the one she receives for merely opening her mouth.

It doesn’t help that Jooheon and Sora are right across from her, his eyes beaming at the mere sight of her. He’s in love, and yet, the little demon at the depths of her heart screams for her to do something. To take him back.

But she couldn’t, that’s not the type of woman she is.

And that is, also, not the type of man Jooheon is.

He doesn’t even look at her. Over two years of not seeing her in that light takes away any hopes—extremely bad ones, at that—that he would ever go back to his arms. So, for the umpteenth time in her life, she shuts her mouth and stands up, reaching forward for the stacks of sauces before connecting her gaze with Sora. The woman sends her a small wave, and she can simply nod her head with a faux smile. The least she could do is get along well with her, and the few times they have talked, Sora was nice. A bit over the top with her jokes, but some people thought they were comedians.

Sliding the utensils in between her fingers and dipping some of her vegetables on the sauce that she had poured on her plate, the moment is cut short when Jooheon’s chair is pulled away from the table, talking in between his girlfriend and himself before the moment deems itself too dense. If the oxygen was lacking before, it seems to disappear the moment she realizes the position he is in—smiling, because he is on one knee, dropped to Sora’s side who is holding her mouth in both hands, the table now quiet when he asks:

“Sora, will you marry me?”

And of course, this is meant to happen. The day in which Jooheon, as innocently as possible, stomps on every possibility of them ever being something more than. More than what? She doesn’t know, perhaps more than sex toys for each other, or partner replacements for when things get too tough. His eyes shine with uncertainty, people whooping at the mere sight of him. Jooheon, in there, proclaiming his love for the one person that had seemed to capture him.

…It’s not her.

Sora tucks a strand of her extremely short hair away from her face, taking Jooheon’s wrist as she speaks to him softly. Though, anyone could make out the words she said. “Jooheon, stand up.”

His smile falters, and even though she has always wanted him for herself, this is clearly not what she wanted. His heart practically rips through his shirt, wanting to reach for the woman who hisses at the sound of his: “What?”

“I—I need some time to think about my decision. I think I’m not ready.” Sora mumbles, having Jooheon smiling uncomfortably, the velvet black box on his hand closed when he takes a seat once again.

“That’s okay,” He turns to the group of people, smiling when he moves his hand. “We’ll have to wait, then. There’s no rush.”

But that ring seems to be thought out, in Sora’s favorite shade—gold—and from the little glimpses she had gotten of it, it was definitely expensive. Sora’s chair is pulled away from the table, excusing herself after saying. “I don’t think I can do this.”

But Jooheon follows, a fighter over everything and anything. Seated on her spot, she waits for them to come back, plays with the cabbage on her plate until it could become part of the ceramic, but after some time, she stands up from her seat, not even giving much of an excuse as she moves through the open restaurant. People don’t look at her, invisible, much less interesting than the couple that had practically fallen in front of everyone’s eyes, but she doesn’t care, much less when she pushes the door open and she sees him.

His back is hunched, fingers holding onto that one box that is in between his fingers, and if she could hear his thoughts, she would know if he’s pondering on throwing it in the middle of the avenue for some car to step over it or keep it to himself. Sora is gone, like her purse by the table, like the smile on Jooheon’s face. When her hand rests on top of his back, his muscles stiffen and just when his eyes connect with hers, he sighs.

“It’s you.”

“Who else would it be?” She asks, and maybe his face showed clear signs of wanting it to be Sora, but she tried to push it away. Instead, there are more important questions to answer. “What happened?”

“She said we needed some time off,” He explains briefly, the wind caressing his features, the much more casual clothing on his body in shades of blue and black. “…Apparently, she needs to be free for a while before actually settling down. She said she needed time, and if she wanted to come back, she would.”

And she wants to scoff, but it is not her position to do so. After all, no one had surprised her with a proposal. “So, it’s a break?”

“A break-up.” Jooheon corrects, pushing the box away in his pocket before bitterly laughing at himself. “Because the one day I decided to take someone seriously, I get fucked over.”

“Jooheon—”

“No, it’s okay.” The man shakes his head, letting out a ragged sigh before crossing his arms over his torso. “Could’ve been worse.”

“You need to let yourself feel, Jooheon.” She tells him, taking his forearms in between her fingers before breathing his name softly. “Look at me.” He doesn’t, and she calls again. “Look at me, please.”

He finally does, speaking in a delicate tone. “What?” There’s a pout on his features, deep and rooted sadness in his eyes. Crushed hope.

“If she loves you, she’ll come back.”

“And what if she doesn’t?”

The black night eats her alive, perhaps in sin, in lusting over someone who is clearly in love with someone. The two of them had made it clear that nothing would ever cross their lines of coworkers, friends, and benefits. There is no seriousness to think about, no depth, no backstory, no heart to play at his mercy. Nothing.

But what she feels is not nothing, and this may be the devil speaking within her, or perhaps that one sense of security that looks for him—desires to have him feeling just as protected.

“…You’ll forget eventually, if she doesn’t.” The weight of those words even has Jooheon sighing, knowing fully well what forgetting has always meant for them. Running away, never facing the consequences of love in solitude, leaning on the other to feel…loved. “But she’ll come back, you’ll see.”

Those words may bite her in the future, and the bullet of life, betrayal, loyalty and purity is stuck in between her lips when Jooheon says: “How do you know?”

“I don’t,” She answers. “But if she sees what I see in you, she won’t be able to let go.”

He laughs, not sincerely at all, because he thinks of it as what a friend would say. What he doesn’t realize, however, is that letting go of him will always be difficult. Who’d let go of the curtain that shields them from the Sun every morning? Who, in their right mind, would let go of the hand that has kept them from falling into the depths of the ocean?

Who could stop wanting to have him when getting all of him, but none at the same time?

“Want to go back?”

“I’d like to go back home.”

“Text me, then.”

Jooheon smiles at that, sneaking his hands inside his pockets to get his keys out. “I will. Good night.”

“Go home safely!”

This is the best behavior that could come from whatever turmoil goes inside her heart, wanting to trash everything away, disorganized, so unlike herself. Maybe, a part of her wished to be who she is when around him, or she simply feels the most honest to herself with Jooheon.

The night might be the only one to know this deeply rooted secret of hers.

###

One night. What can happen in one night?

Lips spread on top of her neck. Danger. That can happen. Just like the sense of comfort that comes from feeling his breathing by her side, deep and tranquil at some points, rapid and seeking for release in the other. Stupidity can come as well, with the constant reminder of how much of a second option she is. When he took a taste of her lips that night, it felt as though she was taken a bite of a prohibited fruit—as if, for some sense of glory, she got to feel him, coexist in the same wavelength as him, but never have him. Because, even now, when Jooheon is once again free and trying to liberate himself in the way that he used to before his relationship with Sora, that one night had been enough for him to prove that it was either her, or no one at all. Her, being that one odontologist he can’t get out of his brain.

One night, three months ago, is enough to have her dizzy to this day, and the blame falls on the jet-black night they shared together, in the comfort of his home, breathing each other’s names in hopes of engraving it in their souls. It never happened, but right now, the memory comes in full force with each trip to the bathroom, each twist of her gut, the sweat that pools at the roots of her hair and the excuse that she comes up with to leave the office early. One night is enough to have her in the hospital, hands wrenched together, heart going to fast it could lead her into cardiac arrest at some point—guilt, fear, all of the like settling on her stomach, making the nausea even worse.

This has been going on for days. Four, to be exact. Woken up by the sense of needing to throw up and doing so, as well. One look in the mirror may be deceiving, there seems to be nothing different, but everything seems to be out of place at the same time. One night can do so many things, just like it can bring someone new into the picture. The image of the possibility is a punch to her chest when she is reminded of where she is. In a hospital, lying to her own boss, in front of a gynecologist’s consulting room, waiting for her turn with other women around her. Some alone, some accompanied.

Most of them definitely not worrying about being pregnant with the child of a man who doesn’t love her at all. Desires her? Possibly, as far as physical connection can go. Appreciates her as a friend? Certainly, but could that be the case if she calls Jooheon?

The metal chair is too cold when she leans back, looking at that contact that starts to blur under her gaze. Small eyes, wide smile, rooted dimples and a glint in his eyes that is mischievous. Jooheon is gentle, in a way, in the depth of his soul, and had it been Sora, he may have rushed in there…but what about her?

A coworker.

The head of the department along with her.

A friend who helps him forget he feels.

Her fingers wrap around the device, not caring about nothing more than the possibility of a little human being growing inside of her, with his eyes or his nose, her sentimentalism or his strength. None of the latter mattered when her phone is brought up to her ear, taking a few rings until he calls her name and she speaks softly.

“Jooheon, I’m at the hospital…and I’d like for you to come here. Can I send you the address?”

The chatter in the background stops, the sound of footsteps following his next statement. He must have moved somewhere quiet. “W—What happened? What? Are you alright?”

Alright? Alright, she would have been, if years ago she had not gotten oversensitive about Jooheon’s smile not being entirely pronounced, or if she had just gotten over her own heartbreak with Jaehwan by not tangling herself up with Jooheon. Or, rather, if she had given him time to grieve the rejection of a possible marriage. Instead, she finds herself to be the antonym of alright. “…No,” She answers. “I’m scared.”

“Did something happen to you?”

She can imagine his next reaction when she says: “I think I may be pregnant. I’m about to get checked, but I feel so scared in here. Can you come over?”

Jooheon could have easily hung up on her. He could have screamed at her, telling her why the fuck her pills did not work, and for how long she has felt like this. He could have told her that, no matter the results, that child will never be his. Hell, he could even say it could have been anyone’s, but a shuddering breath is what Jooheon gives her. “…Are you sure?” A hum is all she can muster, before Jooheon clears his throat. “Sure, send me the address, I’ll be there.”

Her eyes close tightly, aware that people may look at her pathetic worried figure when she breathes out a tiny: “Thank you.”

The image of him when he pushes the doors just fifteen minutes later, rushing through the hallways until he is in front of her, will forever be engrained in her brain. His hair, always pushed back, is now messed up on top of his head, fingers hooking around his tie to loosen it when he sees her. His smile is tiny, panic settling in his eyes the more she inspects him.

Once he takes a seat beside her, his hand hooks around her, tightening it softly—reassurance. In that point, she really starts to see something else. If they were to have a child…who would they look like the most? Would they grow up wondering why their parents are not together? Would they not care? Would they be held tight by Jooheon, as if they meant the world, or would they live with a bitter father that never wanted them to begin with? The questions clouded her brain—always a curious woman with too little answers—but the moment is cut short when another woman enters the consulting room and there are about two people before she has to go inside.

“H—How did you know?” Jooheon asks, voice uncertain, looking at her for the briefest second.

She connects gazes with him, tightening her hold around his fingers to feel safer. How could she end up having a child when her life feels so…perfectly put together that it doesn’t exist? “I—I didn’t get my period this month. Not yet, at least. And…I’ve been throwing up too much these past four days, I can’t even get in my car without getting sick.” She whispers, moving her hair to one side of her face, cradling it softly. “Jooheon, trust me when I tell you that I don’t want to ruin your life with this. I don’t want you to hate our child, if they even exist inside of me, because of our wrongdoings. It’s all my fault for sleeping with you when you’re so caught up with Sora—”

“It takes two to tango. Don’t blame yourself entirely.” Jooheon tries to play around, but a smile can’t even phantom to even appear on her face. “I’ll tell you the truth: if we have a child, I’m taking care of them.”

“But…” She trails her voice, leaning back on her seat and resting her hand against her forehead. “Jooheon, you don’t love me.”

“I love you as a friend. I owe whoever may be growing inside of you that much.” As always, he takes responsibility, making her close her eyes tightly, tears wielding up at the corner of her eyes, unnoticed by the nurses that pass by her, the people that go from one corner of the hospital to the other, equally as mortified as her—some even happy with the outcomes. “Don’t cry.” He tells her, knowing what her silence means, the sleeve of his blazer already coming up to rub at her eyes.

“What…what if there is a baby growing there? What will the people at our job say?” She asks, breathing deeply when her lungs feel too inflated, like she can’t even let an ounce of oxygen in. “They’ll think I’m some slut, and I may be at this point. What if I am not a great mother? Some people are not built for this, it has never been in my plans to get pregnant, much less like this—”

“Hey, no rushing.” Jooheon brings her hand up to his mouth, plump lips settling on the harsh skin of her knuckles, not minding the sturdiness of the bone. “From what we know, it could be something else. You’re constant with your pills—”

“What if it isn’t?” Uncertain, she questions. Never had she worried about such a thing, always running on luck, or maybe just being mindful—like she is with anyone, but Jooheon. The ignition to her loss of control.

“Then, we’ll have to start thinking…” Jooheon prompts, letting out a soft breath when he sits with his back straight, one leg crossed over the other. “Do you think they’d have your eyes?”

This baby, that possibly doesn’t even exist, is in Jooheon’s imagination. If they do exist, he wants to know about them—to raise them and love them, something unexpected from him, and while she may be equally as lost…she finds herself opening her eyes and sighing. “I hope that, if they do exist, they have your eyes.”

“Why?”

“They’re prettier.”

Jooheon, for the first time since being there, actually laughs. “They’re not, come on—”

“You’ve never seen yourself when you smile, clearly.”

And this is the part where it downs on her, that daydreaming about a child with Jooheon, out of all people, is exactly what she shouldn’t be doing. She can already imagine it—the people at her job speaking, talking about how she snatched Jooheon away the moment he separated from his possible fiancé. Her job, for instance, could be taken away from her or put in a lower position from her lack of professionalism, to sleep with her coworker—and her closest one, at that—just as absentmindedly is so unlike her. That, along with the cries that woke her up late at night, that awkward moment that may come when this child asks how their parents met. Not only that, the changes on her body—on her soul, on the life she lives, on the days she gets for herself, on this rooted insecurity she feels for even speaking out whatever bothers her.

…She hasn’t even voiced out what she feels for Jooheon, much less is she able to lead a household to bring a child into this world.

By the time she is inside the consulting room, examined but so far from it, looking up at the ceiling and hoping that the dents in the ceiling can be counted by her pupils, she feels even more scared. The place is too cold, just like the substance spread on her lower abdomen, and the contrast is immense when Jooheon holds her hand. When, in the eyes of this doctor, they are just a scared couple. A couple, not two friends who happened to have sex a few times and then, ran off to someone else. This is no way to bring someone into this world—

How can she welcome a baby when she had not loved herself enough to not fall into Jooheon’s arms again, no matter how nice they were as people when alone?

The doctor, Mr. Hong, wipes off the gooey liquid from her abdomen when he speaks softly, levelled. “You’re not pregnant.”

It doesn’t make her happy, just like how it doesn’t make her feel sad. If anything, her muscles loosen, her lungs can feel liberated again and she lets go of Jooheon’s hand, sighing in relief when she throws her head back. Whatever imagine they had thought out in the waiting room—his eyes, her lips, that mole on his eyelid, all vanished away behind her eyes, into the depths of the memories she doesn’t need to come back to for a while.

“What do you think her stomachaches and vomiting are, though?” Jooheon asks, helping her up the bed when the doctor clicks his pen and places it inside the pocket of his lab coat.

“I’m going to ask for some examinations. It could be food poisoning just like how it could be bacteria of some sort. There’s no knowing if we don’t check.” The doctor answers, already slipping a piece of paper in between her digits, signed by him. “It was a pleasure to meet you, too. Keep trying.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

“Always at your service. Have a nice day.”

Once out the door with Jooheon, the look of relief in his face is enough to match the smile on her face, but one good look at his features lets her know that, even when he would have taken care of his image as a father, he may have preferred this outcome with someone else. Sora. To hold her hand through it all, to kiss her knuckles instead, to pout at the reminder that they are not going to have a baby. Sora and Jooheon. Jooheon and Sora. In love. Or maybe possibly wanting to build a future together, one in which someone like her would be forgotten, because if she had once served him as a source of forgetfulness, she is now entirely erased from his brain at the presence of Sora.

This is the moment in which she realizes that her future with Jooheon is not written, but oh, how badly is her desire to have him. Not carnally, but as someone that loves her. The one man that would help her out in the mornings after their meetings, the same guy that knows her like the palm of her hand, the one that understands her silences, her hums, makes them into music and connects them as thoughts. But…

What is she to him?

Curiousness killed the cat, but who is she to him?

He said it earlier—

I love you as friends.

I love you.

As friends.

Friends that love each other—no.

Because enough is shown mere weeks later, when laughter comes from Jooheon’s mouth as he nears the office, talking to Sora—and she hears the nicknames that spill from his lips, the way he seems to be entranced on her speech about her day. He may understand her silences, but he doesn’t understand the longest one, the one that screams for him to love her instead, just like how she loves him. Instead, her pregnancy scare had been a push, something to remind him to stop trying to forget with some other woman, but go back to his normal life instead.

A life in which she will always be in the sidelines, that one silent watcher, radio silence in a way. Jooheon will always go back to someone else—be it Sora, be it anyone who captures him, but never her. Had she been too easy, too organized, too…mundane? Had she been too quiet, too reserved, too unreachable? But he loved to chase—

And she liked to be chased by him, until the road was empty, dust falling on her eyelids until she swears she can see the image of him.

But he fleets away.

###

The screen plays the same video over and over again. An infomercial that she can’t quite wrap her fingers around. The background, too dull. The actor, too overexcited. The concept, broken. This perfectionism of hers has only heighted with the passage of years and has only pushed her for more opportunities. Over a year ago, the fear of losing her job to an unplanned pregnancy had been enough to take into consideration her future—think that, for once, she needed to have her voice be heard, to make a name for herself over everything and anything. Hence, the hardest work ever put into her projects comes from her.

Her pen clicks once she halters the video, the screen perfectly displaying the ending of the video. With the pointy tip of the pen, she points towards the video. “I don’t like the hues in the back. It looks cheap. That color of purple is not appealing to the eyes. If anything, it’ll hurt the viewer’s eyesight.” She comments to her partner in the office, the one person that has accompanied her for the past few years—once a transfer, now a necessity. “I know we can’t keep spending money on remakes, but someone in the designing team is giving us information that is not being portrayed on the screen. We were never told they’d use such a background, and I don’t remember hiring this guy as an actor.”

The man’s tongue peaks on the side of his cheek, nodding his head at her words. “We may have to ask about it, because…” His fingers trail over the organized piles of folders, opening one before showing it to her. “Someone told us they’d be using a house as a background, not a green screen, and the actor had not yet been decided upon because the company said they’d look for someone else.”

She writes down on her notes, sighing at the utter irrationality of it all. “The newbies must have done it,” She says. “They don’t have enough patience to wait on a project. I don’t know what is going on with them at this point.”

“We should have a talk with them. I think it’s already enough that we give them several chances when—” Jooheon adds, though his voice is cut short when he tries to speak again. His eyes lift up at that, looking to her side to see the man seated beside her, Jooheon’s hair shorter than it was in the past, eyebrows drawn together before an amused smile appears on his lips, fingers pointing towards her collarbone. “That is new, when did you get that?”

Such notice comes to her with heat up her face when her chin folds slightly to look at her collarbone, catching a glimpse of her new tattoo appearing from underneath the small slit of the opened buttons of her shirt. The rose is delicate, thin, small and yet so painful, a reminder of a nice time just a month ago. “It’s a tattoo.”

“Oh yes, Sherlock. Of course, it’s a tattoo!” Jooheon points out, leaning forward until he is squinting at it and she hooks her fingers around the fabric of her shirt, pulling it to the side the slightest bit to let him see. “That wasn’t there before.”

“I got it a month ago.”

The black haired man looks up at her, taking the pen from her fingertips and pointing it at her accusingly, though the smile on his features speaks wonders. “…So, the rumors are true.”

Confused, she asks: “What rumors?”

“That you’re out and about with the tattoo artist that participated in that one commercial we did.” Her shamefulness can’t hide on her face, cheeks puffed out even when she tries to hollow them to push the grin down. Taeoh, she knows who the person Jooheon talking about is—the one man that had actually waited for her long enough, that took it upon patience and clear charisma to take up on her heart after her last relationship. Without counting Jooheon, Jaehwan had been her latest boyfriend…and that ended up well. Now, with a new title to take care of, she decided to keep it a secret. What is hidden can’t be hurt. “What was his name? Taeoh, right?” She hums, taking her pen from his fingertips just when Jooheon smiles. “Oh, Taeoh. Are you dating him?”

May as well move on, from Jooheon, from the heartbreaks caused in the past and how he tried to heal them, and stay with someone who tried. For her, for a future, to love her through and through. She pulls her shirt straight, buttoning it up while she speaks. “What is it with you? Why are you so curious?” She tuts, only to have Jooheon clasping his hands together. The ring on his finger beams, Sora’s and Jooheon’s marriage still not taking place…but definitely closer than it had ever been.

“Because, after Jaehwan, you were not willing to be with anyone.”

Anyone but you, she wants to correct.

The day in which everything blossomed into something else may have come in the exact time in which she didn’t have them. In those years spent in Sora’s arms, when her solitude mixed with envy and jealousy. Jooheon was the only man clouding her thoughts, and it’d eat her alive until the day she died, but…moving on was important. It was the only thing that could help her grow into her skin, to a better person.

“…Jaehwan was over four years ago, Jooheon.”

The man gasps at that, eyes widening, lips parted. “For real?”

She chuckles, leaning back on her seat and nodding her head. “For real.” She answers, because Jaehwan may have been a timeline in her life, but her ambition with Jooheon had lasted for years. At some point, letting go of him came as second nature—as necessary, for her health, for her vision in the future. “…It was so long ago, I’m over Jaehwan. Besides, Taeoh had proved to be a great guy.”

Jooheon’s face softens. “By giving you a tattoo?”

“Ah, I wanted a tattoo either way.” She swats her hand, looking ahead before thinking of all the reasons as to why there is a flutter in her chest of hope, a glimmer that tells her that people may have used her—Jooheon, himself, without noticing—, and she may have used them back, but there is always a point of changing. Growing up, some call them. “…He just eased into conversation. Made me feel more at ease…welcomed me into his life. He’s…the type of man that never pushes you, never lets go you either…he holds you, cradles you in his hands and—” Understands the mess that she had always been, helping her rearrange the pieces of her by herself, with some help of his own. “He’s…amazing.”

For a moment, she thinks she sees a flicker of fire in Jooheon’s eyes—lips puckered up, Jooheon gives her a smile. “I’d like to get to know him.”

Looking at the commercial one again, now with the volume lower, she shakes her head. “Jooheon, you know what happened when you met Jaehwan. You couldn’t even look at the guy without getting angry.”

“And he ended up cheating on you.”

“Cheating on someone with me without my knowledge, actually.”

“…Cheating on you and his other girl. Point of the story.”

“Do you really want to get to know him?”

The plea in his eyes answers an unspoken question in between the two, one that she had never been loud enough to voice out—did you even love me as more than a friend? The thought crosses her head from time to time, when she learns and studies the complexity of their case. Not trying, or perhaps, never giving themselves a chance to try, because she’s too quiet and Jooheon was always reaching for something else. Now that he is an impossibility, too close yet too far away, too…reckless to reach out for, she wonders more. The question ponders on her head…what had been about her that never convinced him to try for something more?

This bites her as guilt, freezes her bones like a taste of ice-cream while diving in with teeth. She has a boyfriend—Taeoh, who has done nothing but try to get her to learn herself as much as he does, but her mind still comes back to Jooheon. Whose hands had seemed to be carved for her, whose dangerous ways in the sheets may have coincidentally engraved themselves as the best she’s had.

But this is not about sex.

It had…never been about sex.

It had been about her curiousness, the type that had her finding herself at his door—questioning herself why she is there if not for him, as a soul, as a body, as an existing being at the same time as her. This warmth he radiates when he smiles at her and nods his head excitedly at the idea of meeting Taeoh breaks her heart the slightest bit, because this means that there was no past.

Whatever she had to discover went back and choked her, got the words away from her mouth when she almost confessed her feelings to him, and now it comes back in waves. In soft reminders that kiss her skin, a tingle that leaves her buzzing, that imagines her with him in a time in which he’d open his heart. A time that never happened.

“I can make it happen, then.” She answers, because this may have not been how it should have ended, but it’s more about how it should have begun. Him and her, being distant yet close in the shape of friendship, accepting each other’s hardships, not leaving the taste of their lips on the other’s skin.

“I’d love for Sora and Taeoh to meet.” He says, and of course there needs to be one for each. One for him. One for her. Another story for both, one that did not connect with their past friend with benefit’s. After all this time…it was never about them.

It was Jooheon and her. Perhaps, there needed to be a comma there—a separation, a double-spacing spot for them to just exist at the same time, but never unite. His breaths could no longer be felt against her back while he slept by her side, much less would she get to kiss those lips again…and it haunts her, it really does, in a way that has her frowning at her own thoughts, though briefly.

She’s falling in love with someone else, and yet, she is reminiscent of all that could have been. Stories that never completed themselves, ones that shouldn’t have existed in the first place.

“I’d love for him to meet you.”

Taeoh meeting Jooheon, worlds colliding, perhaps a vision for her to see how much better she had it now. Destiny knows what it is doing, but greed needs more—

Or perhaps, rejection had burned her far stronger than she ever imagined.

###

Why is it different now, if she has lived like this before?

It is not the same time she wakes up to an arm wrapped around her waist, where all the little hairs on the person’s body could poke through the shirt and bring a sense of warmth. If anything, it’s a bit sticky—or stuffy, is more of the word, whereas it would be different if she was alone, but the warmth in her chest tells her that she would not mind staying a few minutes in that position. Cutting through the windows is the light, seeking for a reaction out of her, wishing to wash away the remaining bits of the red wine that simmered in the back of her throat the more she conversed with Jooheon the previous night. Laughter growing louder, conversation growing fonder.

And maybe, this is why it was never pure and entire physical attraction with Jooheon, because there is too much to talk about—music tastes, shows, embarrassing stories, so on and so forth, pushing her closer, but still holding onto that one delicate hand that rests on her knee. Taeoh was present, so was the woman with the glistening engagement ring that matches Jooheon’s, and the wine became more necessary from them on. Sleepy, she wanted to feel, like it’d take a flutter of her lips to go off dreamland and make shapes of the man she loves: Taeoh, to not live this reality that always asks her for more.

Her perfectionism must have gotten the best of her, shaped her to be hurt when she was not the type of person Jooheon would have settled down with, but that is far away from her brain when she feels a pair of lips pressed to her nape. Different from Jooheon’s—thinner, making her open her eyes to watch the organized room. Had the former man been there, there would be clothes scattered somewhere or his phone blinking from the bedside table, but silence fills the cold room, her freezing nose resting against the covers, smelling the scent of Taeoh, like that one orange-based soap he uses during his showers before every night of sleep.

When she was younger, much younger than today, a first choice was never what she had considered herself to be. Experimentation had been there, in shapes of people who kissed her and told, or simply dismissed her as someone monotone. At the time, she promised herself she’d work her hardest to earn the heart of the person she loved—that even silently, she’d always reach for them and have them as hers.

The thing is…love shouldn’t be about fighting. Love is based in promises, in sweet nature, in feeling content even through every hardship, to want the other to belong and improve, to simply coexist—even sometimes, silently.

Deep in her soul, she probably wants to reach for what is most known: to be someone’s second option, to never be good enough. Her eyes suddenly feel weightier when her fingers graze the skin of Taeoh’s tattooed arm, wrapped around her with such tenderness, bringing her closer until he can fully feel the expanse of her. This man is an exception, like he truly loves her, enough to put his art on her body but also to make art out of her, her heart liberated from that sense of insecurity that always has littered beneath her.

Never good enough.

Never the first choice.

But she’s on the way to believing that she may be Taeoh’s.

The man breathes deeply, grasping at the side of her body when he says: “When were you going to tell me you had something with Jooheon?”

Her body stiffens, eyes staring at the city outside the curtains, this same position once held with another man—and she’d never be able to forget the man that clouded her brain with so much irresponsibility that she felt free. Though, nothing was more freeing than finding peace with the pieces of her that linger in her thoughts. All feelings are valid, whether they are saddening or angering. “I—I—Uh, I—”

“He looks at you certain way, you know?” Taeoh asks, turning around until his arm slips away from her, extending his own behind his head to support the weight of it. “Like, I don’t know how to explain it. It reminds me a bit of when I go back to my hometown.”

She turns around at that, not knowing what to say, instead tracing the outlines of his face when his eyes flutter close. “Taeoh, I—”

His brown eyes settle upon her, the slit on top of his eyebrow touched by her fingertips, finally looking back at her. “Whenever I go back…I know I’ll leave again,” He says. “But I try to cling onto it as much as I can. I try to make myself believe that there will always be somewhere better, but there is no place like home. I feel like…I’ll fall back there one day, probably in the far future, because you can never be too far away from home.”

Could she ever be too far away from Jooheon? Love may not last, but it also may not exist. Proven by Taeoh, though, there seems to be something—something that she has never gotten to know in her life, and she plans to discover it. “We didn’t have anything special,” She tries to convince herself, reminiscent of the times her heart felt as if it did not belong to her when around him. Isn’t that love? “Well, it was more of an agreement.” She breathes out, resting her cold nose against his neck, trying to hide her face and press a fleeting kiss to the skin. “If I got my heart broken, I’d try to find comfort in having sex with him. If his did, it’d be the same thing. We were ignorant…” She replies, pulling away until she grasps Taeoh’s face in between her hands, looking into his eyes. “And no matter what happened then, I can tell you one thing.”

“What happened? You said you didn’t have anything special.” Taeoh no longer keeps a comfortable distance, his eyebrows furrowing slightly, eyes pleading for her to love him.

She could be content with loneliness.

She could be content with Jooheon, if he was hers.

She could have had a million stories to tell, but none that felt as fitting as Taeoh—none that could be as loving as him.

Flowers may come with thorns, specially roses, but this is the last time she fears prickling herself. Honesty may lead him closer to her, all roads steps into their forever. Or perhaps, a love that could last as long as it needs to. “I…felt connected to him, I don’t think he did. I’d say it was infatuation, it all came crashing down on him when we had a pregnancy scare.” She confesses, voice soft to let out that one secret that had been captured in between Jooheon and herself. “…I’m not perfect, I can tell you that much, but I am certain that whoever was part of my past cannot compare to you.” She mumbles, pulling away to look into his eyes, watching the uncertainty in them. “P—Please, trust me…”

Taeoh takes her by the neck at that point, kissing her with the fervor that he lacks—almost powerless, he mumbles: “I want to trust you.”

“You want to or you will?” She ponders, lips captured into another kiss when, once again, she is proven just how much he cares about her.

“I will.”

###

The letters blink back at her, gray background and black ink fastening the headlines of the newspaper into her brain. Just like all those times before, the smell of coffee lingers in the air, the door to Jooheon’s and hers shared office right in front of her eyes. Many years of memories—some alone, some accompanied, all blend into nostalgia.

People cling to nostalgia for some damned reason. It is as though in fear of living the future, we cling to the past. We look for excuses, for a push, for that one grain of insecurity that keeps us tied to the floor. For some reason, the paper in between her other hand is sufficient proof of the out-and-out fear that beholds her body. It owns her, it always has, because settling for this company—though, excellent at the beginning, now simply falling into normality—had seemed like what she needed to do. Being chosen, for once, had always been the brightest moment of her life.

For some time now, a month even, she has built the possibilities of the past—crafted the memories back to realize that, in her own way, part of her personality had been shaped in fear. Of being judged. Of speaking up. Of being anything but a hundred percent invisible. Reason as to why she has kept the same job for years. Another reason as to why desiring Jooheon was an impossibility for her—until, he was truly an unreachable person and it broke her. The hopes she had were crushed by her fear of rejection, of being loud and confident.

This is not the part in which she changes herself, but it is the part in which she improves.

The newspaper almost slips out from her fingertips when she enters the office, Jooheon’s back resting against his seat, legs propped up on top of his desk, inspecting the folders that she had left for him to revise the previous day. The coffee is ready and by his side, there is a single cup for her to drink from. He knows she’ll always be there on time, but he doesn’t know her change of mind, much less does he expect to look up at her and see her in a different attire after years.

His smile widens, and it would be a lie for her to say that, after all those years, Jooheon does not do wonders to her soul. That, in a way, she’ll always be fond of the depth of his grin and that look that he throws her way that shows appreciation. Maybe, she should have known the difference between that and love.

This time around, her tattoo is on full display—small, tiny, but she doesn’t cover it. Doesn’t cover herself up anymore. Her blazer is long forgotten, the elegant and posh thin strapped shirt serving her as coverage for today, paired with loose and straight pants, perfect for her last day at the job.

“Morning,” Jooheon says, eyes scanning her body before the twinkle with happiness. “First time I see you wearing something different for the office.”

“Mhm,” She hums, shrugging her shoulders as she slides the piece of paper in between her hands on top of Jooheon’s desk. “I thought I had to leave this place and close this period of my life with something different.”

Almost in a rush, Jooheon sits up, the folders falling on the floor obnoxiously, papers messily scrambled when he takes her resignation letter in between shaky fingers. His beam disappears, eyes scanning the printed words before speaking out: “W—Why? No, you can’t leave.”

And he looks at her as if he’s pleading, begging, as if for one last time he wants to take her heart in between his hands and play with it to his will, like an instrument that plays beauty for him, but rakes in sadness for her. A tune that they will never get to match to. “Taeoh and I have been thinking about moving to his hometown to live together for the past month and so…” After the realization of importance entered her brain as knowledge. Who is important for her? Herself—and Taeoh, too, the only man that had heard her speak; had loved her silence, but had loved her voice even more. “I got accepted. Here’s my resignation letter.”

Jooheon blinks softly, thinks for a moment before throwing his head back. His gaze is blank, looking up at the ceiling as if there is a land far-away in there. His train of thought is loud, even when in silence. “You’re leaving?” He asks, a whine to his tone when she nods her head.

“Yes.”

“What about all those years together?”

As coworkers, he should clarify, but when he looks at her once again, she thinks he may be talking about something else. “I—I’ll cherish them.”

“And what about me?”

“I’ll remember you.”

But if she had to choose, she’d turn back time. If she had a choice, she’d be louder about her words—try to get him and clear her head of any lingering questions with the enigma that is Jooheon. Had she fixed his broken heart for him to love someone else? Probably, and he must have done the same for her, this is further shown when Jooheon stands up from his seat rather quickly, letting the resignation letter rest on the desk when he opens his arms widely.

“Give me one last hug to remember, too, then.”

Her movements are quick when she finds herself in his arms again, hands sprawled around his waist, arms tugging him harsher against her body, as if to breathe at the same tempo as him and turn back time to the first time she held him. She’d want to tell her past self to never get to know him, to never cross that line of professionalism, and maybe this wouldn’t have been the ending for the wildest ride of her life. Instead, however, she gets to feel his breath fanning on top of her shoulder, that one that has the tattoo made by Taeoh.

The person she is today may not be perfect, but it learned something from the mistakes she made with Jooheon. If he hurt her, he did it at the hands of life, destiny knowing what it is doing.

But she’ll leave him with one last heartbreak, one last memory of who they are today—two lines that never connected, two worlds that collided and created a explosion instead.

Two hearts that had played a game together, and didn’t win.

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