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#kwriterskollection
zoe8stay · 1 year
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stray kids as the 1975 songs
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– pairing : skz!ot8 x gender neutral reader
– genre : fluff
– warnings : none
– word count : 9k
author's note: fun fact, this was supposed to be posted on my one year anniversary on tumblr which was on the 19th of November but I simply forgot so here it is now, enjoy hehe
masterlist
taglist: @seungly @notonehorangdan @staykkk @yaelx @qnjayn @gold-dragon-slayer @starlostseungmin @bluechans @starshine-moon @lachinitaaaaa @comet-falls @lix-ables @yejis-biggest-simp @l0veph0bia @snow-pegasus @crispybangchannie @bakugossanity @l3visbby @chrispychans
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Bang Chan:
Why would you go back to your home country for the holidays? - was the question Chan would ask himself every morning he wakes up in the cold king sized bed he usually shared with you. Two weeks! You were gone for just two weeks, but Chan felt horrible, he needed you. He needed your warmth, your kisses and your cuddles. You were on his mind constantly as he begged for the time to pass faster so he could finally have you in his arms after those painful weeks.
Cause a minute spent without you was a waste of his life.
Lee Know
You've known Minho since you were 10 years old, but you never really knew if you were close friends or you were just used to being around each other. Well, you knew how you felt about him, but your friend is someone who is very reserved and it was impossible for someone to know how he feels not matter how long they've known him.
You found yourself alone in his living room after the movie night you had with your mutual friends. "I should head home." You said as you got up ready to leave. "Why?" Minho asked. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. The truth is, he was only reserved in front of you because he didn't want you to find out he has a massive crush on you.
"It's just you and I tonight. Why don't you figure my heart out?"
Changbin:
You! And only you! He was obsessed with you, in the best way possible. Every time Changbin looked at you or heard your voice his body would fill with pure serotonin. You were everything he wanted, everything he desired. "I'm in love with you!" is the sentence Changbin would tell you at least a few times a day, because he knows you deserve to hear it, you deserve to be showered with love and affection, and he did just that.
Hyunjin:
Fame! Fans! Money! He had it all. He worked so hard to get wherever he is now, to be able to stand on stage with his members and perform for his many fans who are always eager to see him. But there was only one thing Hyunjin wanted...no, he needed, he needed you. Ever since the first time Hyunjin laid his eyes on you he knew you were the one.
"I want to hold you, come on." Your husband whined as he made grabby hands at you. You laughed at his cute antics. "Finish your dinner and I'll give you all the cuddles you need, okay?!" You sat back on the stool in front of the table after putting your dirty plate in the sink. "I'm going to make myself some tea." You announced as you stood up again. "I love you!"
And that's all he needed to hear.
Jisung:
Walking down in the street of New York, you held hands and searched for the nearest cafe to get coffee and get warm. Living in New York was a big challenge for your husband. You often worried about him, too many people, very loud and hectic streets, it was too overwhelming for him, but he always managed to say "The only time I feel I might get better is when we are together." And it was the truth! You are his comfort, the person he knew would always stay by his side and help him if he needed help. Jisung felt at ease whenever he was with you, no matter if there were 1000 other people around you, he felt like it was just the two of you.
Felix:
Felix has always been a very energetic and loving boy, and no man on earth could say something bad about him, or at least the people who knew him. But deep inside Felix has always been missing something, or should I say someone. Always acting happy in front of others to get away from awkward situations or unwanted questions. He lived like this until you showed up with your beautiful smile. Felix could never hide anything from you, for some reason you always knew if something was wrong. And that's why he chose you, because you completed him, because you were his happiness.
Seungmin:
Sitting at the cafe with your notebook placed on the table in front of you, you took a sip of your hot chocolate, the warm liquid filling you body. "Hey!" You heard a familiar voice. Lifting your gaze up away from the cup you met your boyfriend's eyes. He smiled sweetly at you as he grabbed the cup filled with the warm beverage, bringing it closer to his lips before taking a sip out of it. "Order your own, Seungmin!" You scoffed before a chuckle left your lips. "How did you know I was here?" You asked the grinning boy that sat in front of you.
"I followed the sound of your heart."
Jeongin:
Jeongin was confused. He thought you were his best friend, he thought you would always be his best friend, but there he is now standing in front of you after confessing his feelings for you he didn't even know he had. "I think I'm falling for you." He said one more time to make sure he wasn't only thinking inside his head. "I think I'm falling for you too."
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kimseoksjin · 2 years
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yoonjin | 12k | fluff + pining
“Food is a love language, you know,” Seokjin says one day as he’s cooking together with Yoongi.
“Sure.”
“No, it is!”
“What are you trying to say?” Yoongi chuckles. “That you’re attempting to seduce me?”
A half-beat of silence, then Seokjin replies, “I’m saying that we’re on good terms solely because I started forcing you to eat breakfast.”
(or: Yoongi and Seokjin fall in love over a multitude of mornings.)
read it here!
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taestykookie · 2 years
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who am i? (updated 2/8/24)
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name: mari age: too old pronouns: she/her occupation: nurse during the day | avoiding sleep with anything yoongi or jin related during the night bias: yoonjin and ot7
-x-
hi, i’m mari and welcome to hell my blog. 
where to find me: @taestysugakookie on a03
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daebakinc · 3 years
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A Snagged Thread (preview)
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Pairing: Jihoon x Female Reader, ft. Seventeen and other currently undecided idols Genre: Angst, Romance Summary: You loved Jihoon, your boyfriend of three years, more than anything. But after one too many times of being forgotten, you can’t bear it. You completely disappear from his life, planning on keeping it that way forever. But when a favor for a friend forces you and Jihoon to cross paths, will you give your hearts a second chance or guard it fiercely to stop it from breaking again?
Could a night be more perfect?
A breeze warm with the promise of summer drifts through the cracked windows. It's gentle enough to kiss your face and barely push at the candle on the table's flame. The restaurant lights are dim and soft, perfect for romantic whispers and smiles glowing with infatuation. An acoustic guitar floats from carefully hidden speakers.
From listening to Jihoon's own playing, you can tell the guitarist is talented. The music speaks rather then being simply played. The melody is deceptively simple, enticing the listener to try to remember if they heard it before. It teases the ears, smoothly dancing from light flirtation to enticing seduction and back again.
Jihoon would fall under its spell for sure. His fingers would be tapping against your hand as it tried to follow the notes. As always, his mind would be squirreling away snippets and strands of inspiration to try to revive and rework in his own way later.
If he was here that is.
Instead, the chair opposite you is only occupied by a phantom. A phantom made of shards of broken promises and ugly insecurities made all the more clear by the shrinking candle reflected in the window.
“Miss.”
You glance away from the window at the waitress’ gentle voice, then away from her face. Instead, you focus on the neat bow-tie at her throat. It's too late though. The pity in her eyes was clear and stings more than you thought it would. You expected it, having seen it many times before in other faces in the same familiar situation. It never gets more bearable.
“I’m very sorry, miss, but we have a number of people waiting. If you’re not going to order, I’m going to have to ask that you give your table up.”
“Can I have another ten minutes?” You give her a smile, but you can feel how weak it is. “Please.”
“I'm really sorry, but my manager said-”
“It's okay. I understand,” you blurt out.
You get up, but do it too quickly. Your chair violently falls back, loudly smacking into the one behind you. Blessedly, it's empty. Turning to correct it, your ankle twists in its ridiculous heel, throwing you forward as well. If it weren't for the waitress catching your arm, you would have planted face-first into the hardwood.
“Miss! Are you alr-”
“I'm fine, thank you.” You take your arm back as your ears and cheeks burn. Opening your purse, you pull some bills from your wallet and press them into the waitress' hand. “I'm so sorry for wasting your time.”
Her eyes widen at the amount. She tries to give it back, protesting, “Miss, I can't -”
“Yes, you can. Someone should have a good evening.”
You all but run away, thankfully managing to avoid bumping into anyone. The shock of the cool air when you step through the door sends goosebumps up your arms and legs. A wind forces your arms to fold over your chest as insult to injury. Still, it's better to focus on that instead of the slow crumbling of your heart.
The subway to take you home is just a block away. But your feet hurt and you're tired and you just want to burrow under your blankets with the lights off. If you never re-emerge, it is what it is.
A taxi pulls up in front of the restaurant. A man dressed in a smart suit exits first, immediately turning to offer his hand to his female companion. They positively glow with the happiness of infatuation. Matching smiles. Gentle, intertwined fingers. Stars captured in their eyes.
It turns your stomach.
You had that. You know you did when you and Jihoon started dating a few years ago. One look in his eyes would steal your breath and stop your heart. You know it was the same for him. You'd seen it, felt it, breathed it. Maybe not as much recently, given how infrequently you met and how often that was spent napping together, but definitely in the beginning...
Fuck it, you think to yourself as you feel the disappointment, frustration and sheer pain building in your chest. If you're going to lose it, you'd rather do it in the privacy of a taxi than surrounded by strangers on the subway.
“Wait!” You raise your hand and rush to grab the taxi door, opening and sliding in.
After giving the driver your address, you lean your head back against the headrest. You close your tired eyes and sigh. You can do this. It's not that far. You're a big girl. You can keep it together that long.
Rubbing your eyes, you try repeating an affirmation.
“I am a strong woman. I am a strong woman,” you tell yourself. “I am a strong, beautiful, independent woman. I- I am-... I am a strong-”
The words get stuck in your throat, like they know their own futility. Before you completely lose it, you clamp your lips shut and press your tongue into the roof of your mouth. Praying you can just get home.
The taxi stops at your apartment building just in time. You place a too-large bill in the driver's hand, shouting back to keep the change as you scramble out the door.
You drop your card the first time when you try to swipe into your building. At this hour, the entry is abandoned, as are the stairs that you run up. Your breath is labored by the time you reach your door, your heart thudding even faster. It takes three tries to fit the key into the lock. When the door finally closes behind you, you immediately collapse against it.
“One more chance, Jihoon,” you murmur, sliding down to sit on the floor. “Please, don't mess it up. Please...”
You take a deep breath, steeling yourself as you take your phone from your purse. Its  screen is dark. Just like it has been most of the evening. It lights up, painfully bright in the dark of your apartment. Hoping you accidentally turned the notifications' sound off, you unlock the phone to look at your messages.
Hi, love. I'm here.
You didn't forget, did you?
I'm going to head in so we don't lose the reservation. See you inside.
Are you on your way?
Jihoon, where are you?
All your texts.
Not a single answer. Not even a single 'read' next to them.
The iron claws squeezing your heart clamp down harder. Is this what a heart attack feels like?
This isn't the first time Jihoon was a no-show for a date. He always had an excuse. A filming ran late. He lost track of time in the studio. The group needed to do an extra practice.
Every time, Jihoon held your hands, his apology as much in his eyes as his words. Every time, you smiled and forgave him.
He'd promised this time. He'd promised he wouldn't forget. He'd promised he'd be there. You'd believed him, even making a dress especially for the occasion.
But he failed you again. Ignored you again. Forgot you, again.
You feel the urge to throw your phone and scream, but it's gone in an instant. It's too much effort. A heavy, ugly hollowness fills the void left by the brief flash of anger. Instead, you let your phone slip between your fingers onto the floor. Just like your body wants to.
Your vision blurs as words utterly fail in the face of choked down sobs now erupting. The taste of salty tears run down your cheeks to catch on your lips. Your chest palpitates with your hiccupping breaths. It's like the shreds of your heart are attempting escape by battering their way through. Burying your head in your arms, you have no choice but to drown in the tidal wave of hurt slamming into you over and over again.
You are tired. So tired of the disappointment and the insecurities Jihoon's repeated absences seem to affirm. You are tired of feeling like you, your relationship, mean nothing to him. That you are all the things your worst fears hissed in your mind for years. The demons you've fought and once had Jihoon fighting alongside you.
That you are forgettable.
Unworthy.
Unlovable.
As you lie on the floor shaking, aching, and alone, you can't help thinking one thing.
Enough.
Jihoon sits in front of his computer in the studio. His fingers lightly tap against the mouse, where they've been glued for hours. There's something missing from the melody. He just hasn't figured it out yet. He hits play, settling into his chair, hunting intently for that piece to make it perfect.
Just as he feels it inching closer, someone knocks on the door.
“What?” he snaps, whipping his chair around.
Jeonghan pops his head in, completely unfazed by his groupmate's biting tone. “Jihoon, you're still here?”
“Yeah.” He spins his chair back around. “I need to finish this song. It's driving me crazy.”
“Is it the one you've been working on since last month?”
Jihoon hums in agreement.
“Have you asked Bumzu for help yet? Maybe you're too stuck in your own head.”
“Not yet... but getting a second opinion isn't a bad idea. Would you mind listening?”
“Sure.” Jeonghan comes in, grabbing the extra chair and wheeling it beside Jihoon. “Oh, by the way, you never told us how your anniversary date went. Did Y/N like the restaurant?”
Jihoon freezes, his hand hovering over the mouse. He had to have misheard. “Our what?”
His groupmate stares at him. Speaking slowly, Jeonghan says, “You and your girlfriend's third anniversary. Like four weeks ago. You’d only been arranging just the right restaurant for it for months....”
“Fuck,” Jihoon groans, slouching back into his chair with his face in his hands. His heart sickeningly drops in his chest.
“Jihoon, please don't tell me you forgot.”
His mind races through the days that feel like a blur. How did he not remember? How? “I think I screwed up.”
“Missing an anniversary? Yeah, I think you did.” Jeonghan gets up, patting his shoulder. “I'm going to leave. I think you have more important things than a song.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
Jihoon scrubs his face with his hands before pulling his phone out of his pocket. He frowns at it. He can't even remember the last time you two talked, he's been so busy. Why didn't you call him, text him? If not the day of your anniversary, why not after?
He checks his call log. Two missed calls from you from a week or two ago. He'd meant to call you back on those, but never did. Stupid.
Then, he checks your chat. That's when he sees the number of notifications. “What the hell...”
Jihoon curses again as he remembers that one night. He doesn't even remember when it was. All he recalls is getting annoyed at the back to back beeps alerting him to messages when he was neck-deep in composing a song. Assuming it was the other members sending memes in the group chat, he'd silenced the notifications and tossed the phone back. He must have never gone back to check if they were on again.
Dammit. You have every right to be pissed at him.
He's more than aware of how much you put up with. From keeping your relationship low-key to constant rescheduling around his schedule. The awkward number of times he's had to apologize for missing a date or falling asleep while you told him about a new design you were trying at work. Yet somehow, you love him enough to always smile, tell him it's alright, and keep on loving him. Sometimes, he can't help but wonder if he's worthy of the love of such a saint.  
Switching back to calls, Jihoon presses your speed dial. Unsurprisingly, he gets your voicemail. Sighing, he leans forward with his elbows on his knees.
“Hi, it's me...” He clears his throat, embarrassment and guilt robbing him of eloquence. “I'm really, really sorry I missed our date. I just saw that I accidentally turned the notifications off on our chat. I can't believe I did that. I wasn't ignoring you on purpose, I promise. I'm an idiot and I can't blame you for being upset with me. I've just been really busy with work. You know how it is... I'll come by your place later to apologize in person. I promise, I'll make it up to you. I'm sorry... I love you.”
Although Jihoon had every intention of going to your apartment that very night, it's a few days later that he finally makes it there. As he climbs the steps, he can feel his hands shaking. How will you react when he shows up? Sure, he's made mistakes and you've fought before, but never this bad.
Will you be angry? Silent? Sad? God, he hopes you don't cry. He can't stand when you cry because of him. He never knows what to do when he makes you cry.
Whatever you do, Jihoon reminds himself, he'll deal with it. He'll take it. He deserves it after what he did. With that resolve, he tightens his fingers around the bouquet of sunflowers he's carrying. He'll do anything to make it up to you.
Reaching your apartment door, he knocks. When the door mechanisms click, Jihoon straightens his shoulders and fixes on his best apology face on. However, it’s not your face that greets him as the door opens. Only empty space.
“Who’re you?” asks a small, high-pitched voice.
Jihoon looks down over the bouquet into the eyes of an inquisitive child. He glances over at the number beside the door. It’s definitely yours. Is one of your friends with a kid visiting?
“Um, hi. Is –”
An older woman Jihoon doesn't recognize rushes from behind the door to scoop up the child. “Jiah, what did I tell you about opening the door?”
“Don't open the door for strangers,” the child innocently replies.
“Excuse me,” Jihoon says politely, “but is Y/N here?”
The woman shakes her head. “I’m sorry, but there’s no one here by that name.”
It feels like someone poured Arctic water over his head. That's not possible. “What?”
“We just moved in last week. I'm sorry.”
Panicking when the woman starts to close the door, Jihoon catches it with his hand. “Do you know where the woman who lived here before moved?”
“No. I don’t even know her name.”
He lets go as the door closes, his fingers numb. Why would you move? Did you tell him?You must have mentioned your new address in the messages.
He hurriedly opens your chat, reading the messages. His heart drops further and further with each. Then, he gets to the last two, spaced a day apart, and it absolutely stops.
Jihoon, this is our last chance. Please call me back.
I'm sorry. I can't.
The sunflowers fall to the floor, forgotten as Jihoon runs back the way he had come. He reaches the street, out of breath. He can't think, only feel. He feels like he should run, run through the city calling your name until his legs give out.
You wouldn't just leave like this. You wouldn't abandon him. Not like this.
A single coherent thought breaks its way through his panic. Call her. His fumbling fingers hit your number.
“Come on, come on, pick up,” he begs.
Immediately, instead of ringtone, he gets the message, I’m sorry, but the number you have dialed is no longer in service. Please try again.
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parkhabits · 5 years
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The Wedding Date {M}
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Park Jinyoung x Reader Genre: Fluff / Smut Warnings: Explicit mature content Word Count: 11,964 Summary: It’s your best friend’s wedding and in order to avoid all those sympathetic condolences because your ex is showing up with his pregnant girlfriend you hire an actor to be your boyfriend. Jinyoung plays his part to perfection. Everyone including your parents are charmed by him, the only problem is, you can’t tell what’s real and what’s not. 
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You should be happy. Full of bliss and joy while in celebration of your best friend’s wedding festivities. However, there were three things on your mind. 
1.Your ex fiance is the best man
2. Two months from now would have been your wedding
3.You hired an actor from the classifieds online to be your date for the whole weeks worth of activities. 
Yes, an actor. Not some escort, though others would consider it the same thing. Technically you were paying him money to be your ‘boyfriend’. However, you would consider it giving him money to play a part. A few hours before attending the first lunch you planned to meet him for the first time. You sat in the cafe, already dressed. Your outfit of choice done with your ex in mind. The coffee in front of you remained untouched and cooled due to nerves. 
You weren’t like this. You didn’t know you’d be desperate enough to stoop to this. However while going through the seating arrangement and guest list a few nights ago you saw that your ex was bringing a plus one. Not just any plus one though. That sent you into a turmoil. Sure, you could show up at the wedding single but after everything you weren’t ready. You needed someone by your side. Even if it was for show. 
“Y/N?” 
With your mind wandering you easily startle. Glancing up to the voice that called your name. His headshots didn’t do justice. He was tall, broad shouldered, slim waist and toned. Naturally handsome. Not at all what you were expecting of an actor yet his appearance had it make sense. 
“Hi,” is all you can manage to say as you’re struck with awe and at the same time worry. How on earth would you be able to get away with having him as your boyfriend? In other words, talk about out of your league in other circumstances. 
He grins, “Wow, you are not at all what I was expecting,” he says as he takes a seat in front of you. 
He knew it too. Immediately you feel self conscious, straightening out your dress and blindly fiddling with your hair. 
He sees the change in your expression, “Oh no, I didn’t mean it in a bad way. It’s a good thing for me,” he explains. “I mean, when someone hires someone to be their date you automatically expect.. y’know.” He stutters as he tries to explain, scratching the back of his head, “but you- you’re beautiful. I don’t know why you’d need someone to be your date,” he chuckles , dropping his hand and you’re taken aback by his bashfulness, “Can I start over?”
You laugh and nod.
“Hi, I’m Jinyoung,” he holds out his hand. 
“Y/N,” you smile taking his hand and shaking it. 
He leans forward along the table, “Alright director, let's hear it.” 
You raise your eyebrow, “director?”
He grins and shrugs, “You’re calling all the shots, guiding me and since I’m an actor. You know that makes you kind of like the director,” 
You nod at his point, pursing your lips. “I see,” there’s a pause between you two. “I’ve never done anything like this before so I’m not sure what I should be doing…” you say. 
Jinyoung eases back into his seat, “Let’s start with why you want to do this,” 
“Let’s see,” you ponder, “My best friend is getting married,the best man is my ex fiancé who I was supposed to marry two months from now. I’ll be walking down the aisle towards him not as I originally imagined. He’s in a new relationship and from what I hear his new girlfriend in tow is pregnant. Speaking of which I hear she’s six months pregnant which mean he was fucking her while we were together,” you don’t miss a beat, “So all in all I don’t want to be the elephant in the room that everyone pities,” you let out all in one breath and you realize how ridiculous this all really is. 
“So where do I come into play?” 
“You’ll be my boyfriend. We’ll put on an act that I’m completely head over heels for you and vice versa and that I’ve moved on,” You explain, cringing to yourself. You must come off as desperate and pathetic. Jinyoung is silent and you fear he’ll back out from how ridiculous this all is. 
“Alright so tell me about myself,” he finally breaks into a smile. 
Once again you’re confused, “Shouldn’t you be telling me about yourself?”
Jinyoung laughs, “I mean, who do you want me to be? What kind of boyfriend? If others start asking me about myself what do you want me to tell them?” 
“Oh,” you fidget in your seat, “I never really thought of that,” you feel the stress come about again. 
“What’s your type?” Jinyoung asks, 
“Uh…” you mull it over. Finally you let out a laugh, “This is going to be harder than I thought,” 
Jinyoung grinned, easing back in his chair. “I can be whoever you want me to be,” he says. 
Just hours before your big debut as a couple you two had run a quick crash course on your relationship. You two met at a coffee shop. Which was technically true. Together for a few months now. You gave a brief overview of the basics that your partner should know about you. Likes, dislikes, favourite foods, movies, even going so far in detail that he knew what your dominant hand was. In the end, you didn’t want Jinyoung to change so much about himself. Just from the conversation and encounter you deemed him to be polite, even charming. To be honest if you hadn’t hired him and if under different circumstances you might have even considered him real dating material and a potential love interest. 
That being said, you had established some ground rules that seemed to have amused Jinyoung once you brought it up to him. First and foremost no sex. You weren’t paying for someone to sleep with. However, sleeping in the same bed would be inevitable as the wedding’s activities took place out of town and lodging for the wedding party just happened to be at the groom’s parent’s estate. When you mentioned “chaste” kisses Jinyoung chuckled, the corner of his eye’s wrinkling. He was even more amused when you said “only if necessary”. Even saying that had you blushing and shy. 
“Back to sex,” you continued, “It won’t just be me you’re not having sex with but I ask that you refrain from having any sexual relations with any of the wedding guests, staff, you name it during this week. The last thing I need is to have another beau cheating on me,” You say sternly. 
Jinyoung looks at you intently, “Whether in a real relationship or a fake one. I am not a cheater,” he says. “If we’re talking ground rules then I’d like to add that this is strictly business,” you nod in agreement. “However,” Jinyoung adds, “This doesn’t mean we can’t  be friends. I think in order for this to work we need to be at ease with one another,” He had a point. What makes a relationship more authentic than friendship? 
You realized no matter the prepping, the ground rules established, the nerves would never go away. Jinyoung had volunteered to drive which you were appreciative of considering you needed some time to collect yourself. You weren’t sure if it was the curved roads or the anxiety that made you want to throw up but regardless you closed your eyes while Jinyoung, a complete stranger, drove you to the estate. 
By the time you arrive to the estate you have an endless list of how things could go awry. All of which happened to include hospitalization and natural disasters. Your stomach lurched as the windy road curved up the hill. Jinyoung let out a low whistle as the trees broke and the view of the estate came into view. You even straightened up in your seat, nose almost pressing against the glass in awe. 
You already knew Mark and his family were well off however you may have underestimated. Your best friend hadn’t mentioned how big it really was or the fact that it was basically a vineyard. It was no wonder the wedding was being held there and that they were accommodating the whole bridal party and a few others. As you pulled up your stomach lurched again and you knew it definitely wasn’t road sickness. You thought you and Jinyoung could arrive discreetly and have some more time to get yourselves settled before the initial late lunch welcome but you were wrong. 
“How good are you with meeting parents?” 
“Let’s just say I’ve heard many times over that I’m the ideal son in-law and that’s also coming from parents whose daughters I never even met,” he says cheekily. 
“Great, cause you’re about to meet mine,” you swallow nervously as you recognize the two figures unloading their car at the front. You should have remembered that you get your timely punctuality from your parents. “Oh god, we didn’t prepare for this. I thought we’d have more time. Maybe if you just keep driving past them they won’t recognize me or my car,” you panic. You hadn’t even told your parents you were bringing a date. You and Jinyoung were literally about to face the wolves. 
“Relax Y/N. It will be alright. Besides, if we can fool your parents then everyone else will be a breeze,” Jinyoung says. You started to realize that Jinyoung was logical, reassuring and his tone and the way he talked had a way of making you feel at ease. He made a point, if you couldn’t get past your parents who knew you the best. How could you get past everyone else? 
When the car comes to a halt right behind theirs you take a deep breath. Jinyoung places his hand on your knee in comfort, “We’ve got this,” 
Perhaps you shouldn’t have said “Hi,” when stepping out of the car. You two may have gone unnoticed while your mom was in the middle of nagging your dad. 
“Oh Y/N! You’ve arrived too. Isn’t this place gorgeous?” She pulls you into a tight embrace, “Your dad almost took the wrong turn because he wasn’t listening to me and on top of that he forgot to pack the small bag that I packed my hats in,” she rolls her eyes, “Oh honey, you’re not going to wear that to the lunch are you?” She says looking at your cocktail dress. 
“Ahem,” Jinyoung clears his throat as he rounds the car. 
If only you could have captured your mom’s reaction on video. It was the definition of ‘jaw drop’ and the exact reaction you would hope for. 
“Hi, Mrs. L/N. My name is Jinyoung, I’m Y/N’s boyfriend,” Jinyoung reaches to shake your shocked mother’s hand. “She told me so much about you but she didn’t tell me where she got her beauty from. Now I know,” he charms. 
Your mom giggles, acting like a school girl as she tucks her hair behind her ear. “Y/N never mentioned a boyfriend,” she glares at you. 
Jinyoung snugs his arm around your waist, pulling you against him. Your first ever skinship yet it was as if he’d done it hundreds of times to you. He is good was all you could think. You hoped you weren’t blushing. “You know y/n, always secretive. It takes a lot of convincing from me to even get her to call me her boyfriend,” Jinyoung laughs. 
Your mother nods, “Well, it's great to meet you and we’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other and hear all about your love story,” your mom winks and you knew she was already swept away with Jinyoung. It hadn’t even been five minutes and he had already won her over. “Honey, come meet Y/N’s boyfriend,” she says in excitement. 
“Here let me,” Jinyoung says leaving your side. Your dad steps out of the way as Jinyoung pulls out not just one but both of your mother’s over packed luggage from the trunk. He didn’t even grimace from the weight of them of them and, unlike your dad,  had carefully set them on the sidewalk with ease. 
“Strong man. Jinyoung was it?” your dad says reaching out his hand, probably thankful he didn’t have to pull a back muscle. 
Jinyoung nods, “Yes sir,” 
Your dad puffs out his chest, straightening his posture for intimidation and taking on the protective father role, “So how long have you been seeing our Y/N?” 
“It’s been a few months now,” You answer hurriedly.  You can tell your dad was just about to ask another question so you hooked your arm around Jinyoung’s, “We’re going to go find our room. Get all fresh and resettled before lunch,” you say already pulling Jinyoung inside with you. Not even looking back as your parents gape at the two of you. 
It was a butler who escorts you two to your designated room. As soon as you’re inside you, quite literally, flop onto the bed. “Oh my god,” you drawl, “That was exhausting, how are we going to do that for a whole week,” you roll over onto your back as you stare up at the cream colored ceiling. 
You feel the bed shift. Jinyoung lays beside you, one arm propped as he rests his head against it. “It went well,” 
Finally you take in your surroundings. The room was quite big, enough to give each other space. There was even a changing screen that was probably for decoration but you’d probably put to use. Even the bed was big, you didn’t even know there was something larger than a king size. Yet despite the size Jinyoung was right next to you. If you just shifted your leg it would brush his. He was too close for comfort. You sat up, shifting over a bit to create space. 
“Tell me about your ex,” Jinyoung requests unmoving from his spot. 
“College sweethearts, thought he was the one, obviously not,” you shrug. 
“But obviously you care enough that you’d go as far as hiring me,” Jinyoung urges for more. 
“I am moved on, I think. I won’t really know until I see him.” Which got your nerves all riled up again because your encounter would be in an hour or so. “Like I said, it’s just nice to have you here so I don’t get those sympathetic  ‘How are you doing?’ You’re my backbone,” you explain. 
“You don’t seem to be the type that’s passive,” Jinyoung states. 
“I guess in a way the breakup, the whole cheating and pregnancy thing took something from me,” you shrug. You let out a laugh, “Like my self confidence for starters,” 
Jinyoung’s brows furrow. He’s about to say something until you hear a knock on your door. Immediately you look at him, eyes widening. Oh god, you weren’t ready to face your mom again. 
“Y/N!” You recognize the voice on the other side of the door and immediately feel relieved as you rush to open it. As soon as it’s open your greeted with a squeal and pulled into a tight embrace. 
“It’s happening! I’m getting married, I can’t believe it’s actually happening. You look so good. Where’s your new beau?” She wiggles her eyebrows. Then her attention turns to Jinyoung who's just now starting to sit up on the bed. “Oh, am I interrupting something?” She looks at you and winks. You see Jinyoung blush, clearing his throat. 
“Oh shut up,” you roll your eyes. 
Your best friend shrugs, “I don’t know what’s…” she pauses, “included in your contract,” She knew everything, in fact, Jinyoung was all her idea. Even so, there was no way you’d be able to hide it from her. You knew her though, she wouldn’t tell a soul not even her new husband. 
“Hi,” she finally introduces, “thanks so much for coming to the wedding,”
“My pleasure,” Jinyoung smiles, “Congratulations,”
“Okay! I’m off! I’ll see you two downstairs. Can’t wait to see the look on your ex's face when you walk in together,” she pulls you into another embrace as she whispers in your ear, “That smile alone is enough to get your panties wet,” 
“See you later!” You push her out the door, feeling the warmth rise to your cheeks. Once she’s out you turn to face Jinyoung. He smiles and the color continues to flush your cheeks. She’s right. 
“You can go ahead and freshen up first,” you offer. 
“Are you sure?” Jinyoung asks already reaching for the buttons of his dress shirt. His first button comes undone.
“Yes, go for it,” your voice squeaks. “I’ll probably take longer than you anyways,” You say as a second button came undone. You’d probably need a long cold shower feeling like a hormonal teenager. When Jinyoung heads into the bathroom and you hear the water turn on you collapse back onto the bed. It was going to be a long week. 
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You don’t know why they call it a late lunch when it’s basically cutting into dinner time. You managed to do a quick fix of your hair, also tried not to drool when Jinyoung emerged from the bathroom all dressed up. It was simple. You’ve seen dozens of men, including your ex wear a simple dress shirt and khakis but Jinyoung looked like he just emerged from a catalogue of Hugo boss. 
The closer you get to the outdoor terrace and the muffled sounds of voices and piano playing the nerves resurface. As if knowing Jinyoung grabs your hand, holding it tightly. 
“You’ve got this Y/N. You’ve got me to lean on,” he encourages. 
You nod, finding comfort in the warmth of his hand as it holds yours. You recognize a few of your friend’s relatives. Growing up together you had gotten to know them quite well. Just as expected the view from the terrace were beautiful vineyards, mixed with a garden courtyard that included a sculpted fountain. You walk in hand and hand with Jinyoung, as directors would normally say, action. 
“Y/N!” You hear your mother's voice immediately as if she’s been waiting for you to make an entrance. “Oh, you didn’t change,” she tsks as she approaches you.  
“That would be my fault,” Jinyoung speaks immediately, “I convinced her not to change. The color suits her and I think she’s beautiful,” Jinyoung snugs his arm around you just as he had before. 
With Jinyoung’s statement you can physically see your mother’s thoughts change, “Oh yes I suppose you’re right. It is very flattering on her,”  she gleams. 
“And I have to say Mrs. L/N you’re looking quite radiant yourself,” He compliments. 
Your mother blushes, “Come you two, you have to say hi to Mrs. Lim,” You tried to protest but your mother was already hooked to Jinyoung’s arm and dragging him across the terrace. 
Just like your mom, Mrs. Lim is swept away by Jinyoung’s charms. Soon enough, more ladies are surrounding the two of you. There’s swooning and a handful of giggling and lots of playful touching. You’re almost beaming with pride, basking in the glory that you had the hottest date. When Jinyoung was finally introduced to your best friend’s father, the two had gotten along and easily slid into conversation as if they had known each other for a while. It was easy to say Jinyoung blended in well. 
“Oh god,” you say when you notice a certain someone making a beeline towards you. 
Jinyoung turns his attention to you, “Is it your ex?” 
“Worse,” you groan. 
You’re greeted with boobs and a high pitched giggle as your name leaves her lips, “Y/N how lovely to see you!” Her words dripped with fakeness. 
“Wow, Janine,” was all you could say as you kept your arms by your side trying your best to sound as enthusiastic as she was. 
“I know, they just got done,” she proudly shimmies to flaunt her chest,looking at the corner of her eye to who stood beside you. 
Some describe this type of relationship as “frenemy”. Friendly towards each other yet in a superficial, don’t really like one another type of way. Always remaining civil despite the shade thrown at one another. Janine in latent terms was interesting. Loves thinking she’s the center of attention and someone that thinks she attracts all the men. You knew it was bound for her to come running to Jinyoung. 
“I heard your date is the life of the party, auntie keeps going on and on about him so I just had to come see for myself,” Oh yeah, and she’s your best friend’s cousin. As if on cue she hooks her arm around Jinyoung’s pulling him towards her. “I can see what all the talk is about. I’m Janine,” she introduces. 
You tug him back towards you and realize that you may end up in a tug of war against her. 
“Nice to meet you. I’m Y/N’s boyfriend Jinyoung,” he says as he squirms out of her hold and, in the most satisfying way, snugs his arm around your waist in unity. You feel smug as you see her little pout. “Can I get you something to drink babe?” Jinyoung asks.
Babe. You never discussed pet names, in fact, your ex rarely called you anything. It was something you weren’t used to but coming from Jinyoung it was something you could get used too. You had to remind yourself it was all for show. You smile and nod. Then he does something you for sure didn’t expect. It was a sweet and innocent gesture. A kiss on your temple before he leaves but you weren’t used to this kind of affection. Especially in front of others. It was so casual, so simple, yet it left you giddy. 
Janine’s jaw drops slightly, she doesn’t miss a beat as soon as he’s out of hearing distance. “Where did you meet him?” Emphasizing the ‘you’part of the conversation because obviously Jinyoung was someone out of your league. 
“We met at a coffee shop,” you say as nonchalant as you can, once again, partly true. 
“Looks like I’m frequenting the wrong places,” she mutters as she watches Jinyoung at the bar, gnawing at her bottom lip. 
“Y/N,” your best friend calls your name and saves you. When she comes running over, it wasn’t to save you but to warn you. She pulls you away to the corner of the terrace. “Your ex is here and baby momma in tow. Look at her she’s huge!” 
You feel a slight sense of panic. You haven’t seen your ex since the breakup, didn’t even know what the woman he was with now looked like. Your attention is turned towards the entrance where you see your ex. No butterfly feelings, no rush of emotions. He looked tired, bags under his eyes, hair was disheveled. You didn’t know if you should feel relieved that he looked far worse than when you two were together or if you should feel sympathy. His ‘baby momma’ was huge, belly wise. Yet you were expecting some radiant glow but was faced with a frown. Other’s had also turned their attention to the new couple that just walked into the room. You saw your mom’s scowl and no doubt she was whispering to Mrs. Lim the same things you observed. You were pleased with yourself, no outlying feelings. Not even anger. 
“You okay?” You best friend asks.
You nod, “Surprisingly yes,” 
“In any case, I’m glad Jinyoung is here with you,” she says. 
You glance over at Jinyoung who stands by the bar talking with Mark. He holds two glasses in his hand. He catches your gaze, an easy smile over his face as he winks at you before turning  back with Mark. A part of you, a big part, wished this was real. 
As you had assumed, lunch had moved into dinner, dinner faded into the late night. By the time you get back to your room you were slightly buzzed from all the wedding themed cocktails. Satisfied, you kick of your heels. Falling back onto the bed with your arms spread. 
“That went better than expected. We might actually pull this off,” You glance over at Jinyoung whose removing his watch, now starting to undo the cuff links of his dress shirt.  You roll onto your elbow as you watch him. “Seems like you and Mark hit it off,” 
Jinyoung smiled, “He’s pretty cool. He suggested that after he gets back from his honeymoon we all take a trip to the mountains,” 
The way he said it made it seem like it was plausible. Like real lovers discussing future plans. It only made your stomach knot and feel guilty Mark didn’t know he wasn’t going to get his vacay with Jinyoung. 
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Days had passed and in that time you and Jinyoung had easily fallen into a friendship. The first initial bouts of awkwardness between you two gone. You had to give him most of the credit for that. He was kind, thoughtful, made you feel at ease. He even had your mother wrapped around his finger. Your own father couldn’t calm her from her incessant rants the way Jinyoung could in seconds. It seemed as though everyone was charmed and captivated by him. The days were busy, lawn activities, nature walks,  the whole lot, each day followed by cocktail hours and tipsy evenings. Most nights you and Jinyoung would stumble back to the room giggling and teasing one another. All except for one night where your best friend and you left dinner early and had a sleepover in your room. That morning you were surprised to wake up to her instead of Jinyoung. Then during brunch burst out laughing when you found out him and Mark ended up doing the same thing. There were no boundaries even the pillow barricade between you two had come down. 
You laid in bed wide awake. The quiet of the night and darkness over the room. Jinyoung sleeping peacefully beside you. Your comforted by his presence, knowing he’s there. You reflected on your days with him. How Mark and Jinyoung instantly became friends, your parents with Jinyoung only after the first meeting. Hopefully they didn’t get too attached being that this would all come to an end. When Jinyoung turned in his sleep his arm fell across your waist. Don’t get attached, you reminded yourself. Yet as you drifted off to sleep you curled into the warmth of his body. 
“Ow,” 
You’re woken by the sound of a man’s voice. In the state of confusion and morning grogginess you’re startled by your surroundings and the ‘stranger’ who lay beside you. Then you remember, you’re in bed with someone you paid to be your pretend  boyfriend, you’re in an estate and you’re currently in his arms and feeling that your elbow was kind of jabbed into his abdomen that’s probably why Jinyoung woke. 
“Sorry,” You shift. You’re still pressed against his body, his arm still around your waist. 
“It’s okay,” he murmurs. 
The sound of his morning voice had to be one of the most attractive things you’ve heard. It’s quiet for a moment and you wonder if he’s fallen back asleep. You lay as still as possible in case he had. Countless worries in your head. Did you look okay? Did you snore in your sleep? You cringed at the thought of possible morning breath. 
“What’s the plan for today?” He asks groggily, his arm still around you. 
“All I know is that there’s dinner in the East Wing tonight,” you laugh at how ridiculous and posh it all sounds. 
“Hmm,”Jinyoung responds and you wonder if he’s falling asleep again. He shifts, not farther from you but closer. He’s practically spooning you, his face nuzzled in your hair. This wasn’t the only time you two had woken up snuggled against each other. Nor was it the only time you two hadn’t pulled away from each other. Your ex and you couldn’t handle cuddling each other. In the morning you’d wake with a gap between yourselves and back towards each other. You never believed that people could actually fall asleep, let alone be comfortable like that. Now you believed that cuddling could actually be comfy. The way you simply melded into Jinyoung’s body gave you hope for cuddling. In fact most mornings when you two woke like this you didn’t want to leave. 
“You’re beautiful in the morning too,” Jinyoung murmurs sweetly, catching you off guard. 
You blush, he was just being nice. He always says sweet things to you. It was hard to believe that there were actually guys out in the world like this. Were these lines he said before? You understood him saying these things to you in front of others, but he even continued to say things like this when it’s just the two of you. “Do you take tips for flattery?” You joke, trying your best to hold back and not fall for his charm. 
If only you could take back what you said, wondering if you had insulted him as he lets out a deep sigh and pulls away from you. Rolling onto his back. You shift too, now both of you are staring at the ceiling though you wish you were back to the sweet moment just before. You cursed yourself for ruining the moment even though it was supposed to mean nothing. Strictly business, this was what he was here for. 
“I finally met your ex,” Jinyoung speaks, “Figured it was him considering he was the only one with a pregnant significant other,” he looks at you, “Are you okay?” 
“I am. More than I thought I would be. It’s just hard to move past it all with everyone asking me ‘if I’m alright’ or ‘warning me whenever he comes into a room’, telling me ‘I deserve better’,” you shrug. 
“You do deserve better,” Jinyoung says quietly. 
There it was again, his sweet words.. Making you feel special, reassured. But with his words came confusion. He barely knew you, sorta. You two did have a run down on all your interests but hardly enough to say he knew you best out of everyone. You look at him and he’s still staring. Your pulse quickens. How was it that Jinyoung was able to make you feel so many things in such a short time? With your ex it had been slow. A low simmer throughout your relationship. With the way Jinyoung looked at you, touched you, everything boiled. Heated down to your core and you weren’t sure how to handle it without breaking your own rules, without crossing boundaries. 
“Y/N, I -“ The knock on the door interrupts Jinyoung. 
“Who is it?” You call out. 
“It’s me!” Your best friend answers. “Come on Y/N get dressed we’ve got wedding stuff to do!” 
This was the second time your best friend interrupted you two. The timing uncanny. You wonder if you would ever find out what Jinyoung wanted to say both times. If it was important than for sure he’d tell you but considering he didn’t say anything else you pushed it aside. 
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At the wedding parlour you sat with champagne in your hands surrounded by a tearful mother and giddy bridesmaids and an annoying Janine. Your thoughts distracted. Jinyoung was with Mark and the other groomsmen and guys having a ‘manly’ day. He was by himself with your friends, your father, your ex. In fact it was your first day apart from each other all week.  You only hoped everything was going okay. That your dad wasn’t hounding him with too many questions. What if your ex talked to him again? Would he ask intimate questions to compare egos? The anxiousness had you sipping your champagne avidly. 
“Thirsty Y/N?” Janine’s voice cuts your thoughts. 
“Just tastes good,” you shrug nonchalantly. 
“Y’know I’ve been thinking about Jinyoung,” she says.
You glare at her, “Kind of strange thinking of someone else’s boyfriend don’t you think Janine?” 
“I just feel like I’ve seen or met him before,” her high pitched voice and the way she says it makes you know she knows something. What it was you weren’t sure. Maybe she saw him in one of those small toothpaste commercials Jinyoung had mentioned before. Your stomach turned at the thought of her actually skimming the classifieds. 
“Hmm strange,” you try and play it off. When you go to take another sip you find your champagne flute empty. “I’m gonna get a refill,” you say using that as a perfect excuse to dodge more of her questions. 
By the time your friend comes out your buzzed. Heck, that whole bottle of champagne might as well have been just for you. You were drowning a mix of nerves and Janine hounding you with a bottle of bubbly. 
“You’re so beautiful,” you tear up as you embrace your best friend.
“I was so nervous that this final fitting wouldn’t go so well. All night I couldn’t sleep because I was worried I gained weight or that they would cut the hem too short,” she says giddy as she looks in the mirror. “Now all I have to worry about is making sure Mark is at the altar the day of,” her eyes well up.
“Oh trust me, Mark is so going to be there and you’re going to take his breath away,” you reassure. 
Your best friend grins, “Let’s celebrate with more champagne!” She signals one of the ladies.
“Don’t mind if I do,” you hiccup, basking in your best friend’s happiness with her.
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 He’s the first thing you see when you and the girls arrive back at the estate. The guys all coming up from the terrace, laughing. Mark has his arm slung over Jinyoung’s shoulder. Was it the alcohol that made your stomach flip or was it seeing Jinyoung? You were sloshed. Your gait unsteady, face flushed. 
Mark’s the first one to notice, “The girls are back,” he says immediately walking to your best friend and kissing her. Jinyoung’s gaze immediately sets on you and you feel your pulse flutter. 
You hear Janine’s voice from behind you and being on edge you decide to put on a show. Waving enthusiastically to Jinyoung you all but skip over to him. Your caught in his arms as he’s taken aback, bracing the two of you as you almost trip. 
“Hi boyfriend,” You hiccup wrapping your arms around his neck. 
Jinyoung grins, “Are you drunk?” He asks brushing the tousled strands of hair in your face. 
“More like an alcoholic,” Janine mutters as she walks by, “She drank the whole bottle to herself. Classy,” 
You stick out your tongue at her before directing your attention back to Jinyoung. “Did you miss me?” You hiccup. 
“Gross,” Janine rolls her eyes as she stalks off. You could almost see the green monster of jealousy on her back. 
Jinyoung kisses your forehead, “Of course,” 
By the time he says that Janine and everyone else are already out of earshot. No one else was around to hear him but you figured he was keeping it for show.
Your arm is still wrapped around him. “So how’d the day go?”
“It was fun. I even beat your ex in arm wrestling,” Jinyoung grins. 
Your jaw drops, “You did?” You didn’t say it out of disbelief that he beat him because you had no doubt Jinyoung could. It was more of the fact that he was in that situation to begin with. 
“Your dad convinced us. Kept going on and on about pride and worthiness and obviously I had to defend my girl’s honour,” Jinyoung teases, “Later, your dad gave me the sex talk,” 
You groan resting your forehead against Jinyoung’s shoulder. “I’m so embarrassed,” 
Jinyoung tightens his hold around you, giving a little squeeze for reassurance. “I like your dad and all your friends,”
“I’ll pay you more for having to deal with that,” You look up at him grinning. 
Jinyoung frowns, his hold loosening. “There’s no need. Like I said I had fun with them,” his tone short. There it was again. Whenever you remind yourselves this was a transaction he’d always pull away. Literally. All of it was too confusing. 
You brush his tone aside trying not to read into it. “So do you think you could beat me in an arm wrestle?” You say trying  to keep the mood light. 
There’s a brief pause before Jinyoung relaxes the smile returning to his face again. “It’d be a close call for sure,” he squeezes your arm. You relax in his arms feeling the buzz cloud your head. “Looks like you could use a nap before dinner,” he says. 
You nod in agreement. Already feeling Jinyoung wrap his arm around your waist for support. You lean into his arms as the two of you walk together back to your room. “So what else did you guys do?” You ask. 
“Played tennis,” 
“You play tennis? Is there something you can’t  do?” 
Jinyoung shrugs, “I was doing good until Mark’s old college friend showed up,” when you arrive in your room Jinyoung locks the door. He places his warm hands on your shoulders and gently turns you around. “How about a bath?” His voice is low, soft‍. Your heart quickens, your bodies so close that one centimeter back and you’d be leaning against him. It’s tempting to just lean, to feel your body pressed against his. 
“Together?” You stutter. 
You hear him chuckle. “Tempting,” his hand trails down your arms. “I was suggesting I draw you a bath so you can relax and sober up,” 
“Oh, okay well I’m just going to go drown now,” you pull away from him embarrassed. 
Jinyoung grabs your hand and pulls you back to him as he chuckles. “Are we going to break one of our ground rules?” 
Your face flushes, “No I..” you stutter. 
“As much as I would love to,” he rests his forehead against yours, “I don’t take advantage of drunk women,” he lays a chaste kiss on your forehead. Before you could even say or question anything he’s pushing you towards the bathroom. “Make sure you lock the door,” he grins when you gape at him. “I don’t trust myself,” he winks as he shuts the door. 
You do as you’re told. Locking the door in front of you as you take a deep breath to collect yourself. Was this all fake? Was it all part of his role? You soaked in the tub as your head filled with thoughts and your body coiled with lust. He was right, the bath was sobering you up but it didn’t help clear your confusion. You could admit that you were attracted to him. Everything about him drew you in. Seeing him with your friends and family made you like him even more. He sparked something in you, something that you may have not even experienced yourself. Have you ever wanted like this? No matter how many times you reminded yourself that this wasn’t real, your feelings were. You liked him. Liked being with him. Liked the way he made you feel and how in such a short amount of time he was already bringing back your confidence, mending the little pieces of yourself that your ex broke. He plays tennis, beats your ex in arm wrestles and somehow manages to get along with your dad. He knows how to diffuse your mom and hang with the guys and charm the ladies yet still make you feel like you’re the only one in his sights. He knows exactly what to say to you to calm your nerves and say sweet words without you having to pry it out of him. It was all too fast. Not once did you expect this to happen when you first decided to do this. As bad as it sounds he was just supposed to be your arm candy. Just something for you to flaunt and show off to let everybody know you’re fine and to back off. He was much more than that now. Your parents loved him, your friends loved him and you loved -
“Oh god,” you groan at the realization. Sinking lower into the water as you rub both hands over your face as if trying to wash away what you just realized. 
There’s a knock on the door followed by the sound of his voice. “Y/N?” 
You sit straight up, grabbing the sides of the porcelain tub. Water splashed everywhere, spilling over the tub. There’s another knock, this time a little more urgent. 
“Y/N?” His voice more panicked.
You hop out of the tub, grabbing the nearest towel as you unlock the door quickly opening it. Your faced with Jinyoung’s surprised face. “What is it?” 
“It’s quarter to six and you were taking a long time…” his words trail off as he eyes follow the water droplets down your collarbone “I just hoped you didn’t drown or pass out or something,” he swallows. 
You tighten the towel around your chest gripping it tight because a big part of you just wanted it to fall and see where it went from there. “Sorry did you say it’s almost six?” You couldn’t believe you had been in the tub for that long. 
Jinyoung raises his hand. His index finger swiping a droplet of water just above where you gripped the towel. “Mhm,” he answers distracted. 
Your heart sped, mouth going dry and your fingers cramped from how hard you gripped the towel. “Jinyoung?” 
His eyes meet yours and you notice a change in his eyes. Dark, heated. For a split second you’re ready to let go of all your rules. “Can you pass me my dress hanging in the closet,” you swallow dryly. 
He pauses for a second and you wonder, even hope, that he’d forget everything as well and just take you. His hand drops and you breathe. Partly relieved, the other disappointment. Of course he wouldn’t. He was a gentlemen, poised and he also established right from the get go that this was strictly business, friends only. He doesn’t say anything as he walks to the closet. 
“Thanks,” You murmur as you take it from his hand. Then you shut the bathroom door, locking it once again. 
When you emerge from the bathroom Jinyoung is changed also. If you weren’t already wound up from earlier then surely you were now. You felt a little pathetic. Too hormonal. Even when you changed all you could think of was sex. How long had it been? Not even that, when was the last time you actually orgasmed? Was it wrong for you to assume that Jinyoung would be good at it like he was everything else? 
“Shall we?” Jinyoung’s voice interrupts your thirty second fantasy of you ripping his dress shirt open. 
“Yup,” your voice cracks and Jinyoung cocks his brow. 
“Are you feeling okay?” He asks. 
You nod frantically, “Just hungry,” you lie as you walk towards the door. 
As soon as you open it your faced with Janine. Perfect timing you curse to yourself. She eyes you, her face grimacing. Yet she tried to mask it in front of Jinyoung. 
“Little late for dinner aren’t you?” She jabs. 
You hook your arm around Jinyoung’s. “We got a little… caught up,” you implied. From the corner of your eye you see Jinyoung’s lips quirk. 
Janine rolls her eyes, “Gross,” she mutters under her breath as she walks away. 
You wait for her to go ahead. Once she’s out of sight you sigh in relief, unhooking your arms from his. You don’t dare look at him due to embarrassment. 
“So what exactly were we caught up with?” Jinyoung chides. 
“Getting ready,” You shrug stills avoiding eye contact. “Let’s go?” You start walking but Jinyoung grabs your hand tugging you back towards him. 
“Did I mention you look beautiful?” His voice is low. 
“No but thank you,” you play it off, hoping Jinyoung didn’t feel the thrill of your pulse. 
“Well you’re beautiful, you’re amazing and I need to kiss you.” 
You glance around the hall, no one in sight. You give him a puzzled look, “You don’t have to there’s no one around and Janine’s gone - “ 
“I know. I mean I need to for myself,” he pulls you to him. “Not for anyone else,” he murmurs. He looks into your eyes, his other hand moving to your cheek. You close your eyes at his touch and he kisses you. 
Just like that. No preamble, no one to show off to, just you two. You realized that if this was what need feels like then truly you’ve never felt it before. Every bit of you that could was heating, when his tongue grazed yours you felt everything ignite. 
How did thirty seconds of contact make you feel like you need to jump on him and rip his clothes off? You wanted, needed, desperately and yearned for more even as he began to pull away. 
“You deserve better than your ex,” he murmurs against your lips. 
“I know,” your voice is squeaky, “I know,” you sigh as you catch your breath. 
He takes a step back, still holding your hand. “I guess we better head down before people send up a search party,”  
Luckily dinner hadn’t started but to say you and Jinyoung could just easily slip in without going unnoticed was wrong. As soon as you entered the room your dad swarmed in on him. His arm slung around his shoulder as he pulled Jinyoung towards the bar. Murmuring something about a brand of whiskey that “he would love”. Jinyoung grins over his shoulder at you. 
You could use a drink as well. After what happened upstairs, the kiss, you were feeling all hot and bothered. Thirsty. 
“Y/N, can we talk?” 
Your thoughts are interrupted by a voice you recognize and tried to avoid this whole week. 
Your ex. The person you least wanted to have a conversation with right now. You'd rather deal with Janine than him. 
“Oh hi,” is all you say. Wrapping your arms around yourself. Now that you were up close you noticed he was in fact, changed. Your feelings for him also changed. There wasn’t even resentment. 
“I’ve been wanting to come and talk to you since we’ve arrived but it’s been impossible, that man won’t leave you alone,” he scowls. 
“Well Jinyoung’s very attentive and he is my boyfriend,” You point out. 
“I noticed.” He scuffs his shoes along the floor. “You look happy,” 
And you look like hell is what you wanted to say but bit your tongue. “I am,” 
Your ex stands there all awkward and you realize that you’re completely over him. He didn’t even mean anything anymore. Even in your relationship he made you feel awkward and not sure of yourself. In latent terms taking away your sexiness. 
Being with Jinyoung made you feel good. You’ve rediscovered yourself. Found what you wanted in a guy. 
“We had something Y/N. Something good,” your ex says. He’s looking at you as though this conversation really matters. 
“Well…” you pause and try to work out what to say, “If we did then maybe you wouldn’t have cheated,” 
“I messed it up. I’m sorry Y/N. I’ve been so stupid,” his face is twisted like he may start crying and you’re struck by a sudden lightening bolt of realization. If it had been two months ago you may have thrown yourself into his arms. Two weeks ago you could have tried to strangle him for his adultery. Now you couldn’t be bothered with anything except pity. He looked like he hasn’t slept in a month, you could only imagine what it’d be like when the baby comes along. When you don’t say anything your ex continues, “I don’t know what I’m going to do without you Y/N,”
Past your ex’s shoulder you see him. Jinyoung. He’s been watching you two from the bar. Close enough that in a moments signal he could be at your side as your knight in shining armor  and save you. Yet you didn’t need him. He winks at you and you realize that he really is there for you but knows you can handle it. 
Then you realize. If a man, any man, can make you feel that special at a distance, even under this pretense, then your ex has never even been close to being ‘the one’ for you. Now you seem to be lacking any empathy towards him. The only thing you felt was thankful that you didn’t end up marrying him.  
“We’re not getting back together,” you firmly state. 
“Whose not getting back together,” Jinyoung slides to a halt beside you, his arm snuggling around your waist. 
You nod towards your ex, “You should have realized everything a long time ago,” you pause to take a breath, another lightening bolt of energy and realization. “You can’t love me now and you couldn’t have loved me back then or you would have never fucked another woman,” Jinyoung squeezes your hip in encouragement. “Anyways, I’m with Jinyoung now,” you look up and gleam at him. 
He smiles back, “And on that note I think it’s time we start having a fun time,” he inclines his head towards the small empty dance floor. 
“Y/N, doesn’t dance,” your ex states clinging to his last hope that there was still something between you two. Acting as if he still knows you. 
“Not with you she doesn’t,” a voice interrupts from behind him. 
“Jackson!” You squeal pushing past your ex as you embrace your long time friend. 
“There’s my girl. I’ve been looking for you,” he spins you around. 
Your ex moves out of the way of your flying feet, “Take it from someone who's been where you’re standing right now. I’d worry about him,” your ex murmurs, patting Jinyoung on the shoulder. 
“There’s nothing to worry about,” Jinyoung mutters as your ex walks off with his shoulders slumped. 
“When did you get here!” You ask as soon as your set down. 
“This afternoon just in time for tennis ” Jackson grins keeping his arm slung over your shoulder.  
You should have made the connection earlier when Jinyoung said that Mark’s college friend arrived, which reminded you. 
“Jackson this is Jinyoung my boyfriend,” you try and pry yourself out of Jackson’s hold but instead he only tightens his arm around you shoulder, almost into a headlock. 
“We met briefly during tennis,” Jackson says. 
“I’d like a rematch. Was kind of winded after all the previous matches before you,” Jinyoung smiles yet you notice there isn’t any warmth behind it. 
“Sure, I’ll take you on anytime,” Jackson replies. 
There’s a brief pause between all of you. You wouldn’t call it tension, more like testosterone in the air. You slip out of Jackson’s hold immediately moving to Jinyoung’s side linking your arm through his. “Looks like dinner is just about ready,” You say in the nick of time as you see people making their way to their seats.
Jinyoung moved his arm to slide around your waist as he pulled you close. Almost possessively. You were to preoccupied with the seating arrangement that you missed the very quick and very clear look Jinyoung gave Jackson. They may have competed against each other in tennis and Jinyoung may have lost, but he was not going to compete and lose you. 
Your reunion with Jackson didn’t end. He sat beside you during dinner. The two of you reminiscing on old times, and discussing new things in life, mocking Janine as she asked for numerous substitutes that she may as well have just drank water. 
“Shh,” you laughed, nudging Jackson as he whispered in your ear about Janine’s ‘lopped sided’ boob job. 
“Excuse me,” Jinyoung says as he gets up. 
You grab him by the hand, “You okay?”
Jinyoung leans down and kisses your temple, “Getting a drink,” he smiles before walking off. 
Jackson leans over, “He hates me,” 
You shake your head keeping your gaze on Jinyoung as he moves between tables. “Maybe cause you beat him in tennis,” 
“Or maybe because I’ve been occupying his girl all night,” Jackson prods. 
“He’s not like that,” you fiddle. Besides, it wasn’t real. Why would he feel like that?
Jackson stares at you blankly as if you were missing the biggest flashing lights in front of you. “With the way he looks at you and the way he looks at me like he wants to take me outside and gut me. I’d say he’s crazy about you,”
You glanced towards the bar and saw that Jinyoung was watching you steadily. You balled the napkin in your lap. Your thoughts flashing back to your kiss in the hallway. He had been the one to initiate it. Nothing about that kiss reflected ‘chaste’ like in your agreement. Your thoughts following were definitely far from innocent. 
“Dance?” 
“Hmm?” you turn to Jackson then you notice the music playing in the background. “Sure,” you grin. You take his hand, getting up from the seat as you follow him to the floor. 
Jinyoung stood there at the bar, battling back jealousy that he’s never felt before as he watched you with Jackson. Your ex’s words getting to him and crawling under his skin. Your dress clung, flowed with your movements and Jackson’s hand moved further down your back side.  He knew what it was like to hold you like that, to feel your body against his. To hold you close. He wasn’t like this. Wasn’t supposed to be like this. He didn’t care about what's real or not, he wasn’t the type to let another man whisk his woman away. He cursed as he strode out to the dance floor.
“Looks like I’ll see you later,” Jackson smiles triumphantly at you, kissing you on the cheek as he feels Jinyoung  tap on his shoulder. When he walked away he figured you had a keeper. Your ex always stood by idly with you and him and he deemed him unworthy since he couldn’t hold his own. Jinyoung was just as worthy of an opponent outside of the tennis court. Jackson only wondered how you could be so blind to not see that your boyfriend was crazy, head over heels for you. 
Jinyoung picked up rhythm perfectly, matching his steps to yours and to the music. You relaxed, closing the little distance between yourselves, resting your cheek against his shoulder. Enjoying the moment with him though you wondered if it was for show. You hated how you couldn’t tell what was real and what was fake. The kiss earlier was that real? The way he looked at you, did he look at other women like that? At this moment, all you wanted to do was enjoy the time you had with him. 
“You and Jackson are pretty close,” Jinyoung murmurs as you both sway. 
“We’ve been friends for a while,” somehow you feel the need to explain it to him. 
“Does he also know about our arrangement?” 
“No,” you answer. 
“Good.” 
He doesn’t say anything else, only continues to hold you close while the music played. Others had started to file onto the dance floor. Mark had pulled your best friend away from the dessert table and pulled her close. 
“If you and Jackson are so close, why didn’t you ask him to be your date to the wedding?” 
Something in Jinyoung’s tone had you draw back and look up to see his face. “It would be weird. No one would believe that we were together,” 
“Why would you two have to pretend? It could very much be real,” You were tempted to laugh, but the look in Jinyoung’s eyes had you hold back. “I don’t know what you mean,” 
“I believe you do.” 
“If I’m catching on correctly then I think you’re crazy. He’s just a friend,” You defend.
“I may be your fake boyfriend but I’m not an idiot,” even as the words came out he realized the unfairness behind them, maybe he was an idiot.  
His words sting, catching you off guard. Your stomach knotting at the sudden confrontation. You quickly look around hoping no one was in earshot. 
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you but maybe we shouldn’t discuss it here,” you stiffened. 
“You’re right,” and with that Jinyoung grabs your wrist and pulls you from the dance floor. Jackson who’s now at the bar smiles to himself as he takes a pull from his beer. 
“Jinyoung!” You call out his name as you try your best to keep up with his pace. Getting over the first initial shock. You had passed by your parents, your mother murmuring delightfully ‘lovers quarrel’ as Jinyoung drags you through the room. Even as you passed your best friend she winked at you. 
“What’s going on?” You say as you finally enter the room and are behind closed doors. 
“I don’t know,” Jinyoung runs a hand through his hair as he paces the room. He lets out a sigh, loosening the buttons of his dress shirt, then rolling up his sleeves feeling claustrophobic. He was being irrational and he knew it, yet unable to control it. 
“Well you almost blew this whole thing up.” 
“I know,” Jinyoung sighs as his pacing comes to a halt. “I know,” he repeats. 
“You were being ridiculous. Jackson is nothing more than a close friend,” you state firmly starting to get riled up. You could only imagine what would’ve happened if someone heard.  “And even so it shouldn’t matter,” 
“And why’s that?” 
“Because this is fake,” you try and laugh but you hesitate,“Right?” 
“You’re an idiot,” 
Your eyes widen with shock, lips parting in surprise as a mixture of fury and hurt build. 
Jinyoung steps towards you, placing his hands on your arms. “I’m in love with you. I’m not acting, my feelings for you are real. I don’t want your money, I want you. I want to stop pretending and damn it, I want to take you on a date when this is all over so you could be my real girlfriend,” 
“What?” Is all you could say as you try and register everything. You place your hands on his chest, trying to push him away so you could think yet he doesn’t budge. 
“You’re amazing, beautiful, funny and even though I got that crash course I want to take my time to get to know you,” Jinyoung continues, then he pulls away just far enough to look down at you. “Unless this is completely one sided then never mind I do want the money,” 
You laugh, shaking your head as you bring your arms to wrap around his neck. “You don’t know how much I wanted this to be real,” 
He kisses your forehead before you see his smile of relief. “So are we still doing chaste kisses?” he teases. 
“Only in front of my parents,” you grin, initiating the kiss first. 
It may have started off chaste but soon he pulled you close against him. His hands moving to lower back as he draws your body to him. You give, yielding against him. Jinyoung’s mouth is pliant against yours, enticing as his name rolled off your lips in a quiet, satisfied sigh. There it was again, the heat, the roaring boil that ignited with his movements. You had never kissed like this, never been kissed like this, everything that had built throughout the week spilling over the edges in complete and gratifying pleasure. Your fingers twine in his hair as your movements deepened.  Nothing is innocent about this and everything down to Jinyoung’s hand tugging at the hem of your dress and guiding you towards the bed broke your ‘ground rules’.  Soon your back is lain against the soft mattress, Jinyoung’s body hovering over yours. It had been so long that even the way his knee moves between your legs has you ready to go over the edge. His hands are tender, caressing, seducing as the hem of your dress rides higher up your thigh. His hands aren’t the only thing exploring, his lips are now at your jugular. Even more lethal than his hands as he stokes the lust that continues to build. With his hands on your hips he coaxes you to move, as if knowing what you wanted. You begin to grind against his thigh, thankful for the choice of undergarments. Silently thanking yourself for wearing your sexy underwear, not to mention your thinnest. Slowly you grind against the taut muscle of his clothed thigh. 
Jinyoung  pulls away for barely a moment just enough for you to see his smile before he dives back. Tongue meeting yours eagerly. “J-Jinyoung,” you breathe when his mouth moves to explore your neck once again. It wasn’t enough, every kiss made you want him more. Desire soaked you, the need to be ravaged filled you yet you feel empty. 
 His hand slides lower, between your legs as it brushes over lace. You suck in a breath at the contact, so delicate yet the feeling hits you hard. You arched against the sensation, urging for more. Jinyoung obliges, sliding your panties aside. He teases, fingers gliding up your slit. You were wet, the sound of it mixed with your heavy breathing filled the room. You groan out loud when Jinyoung begins making perfect circles around your swollen clit. Your dress is hiked up to your waist, the barrier of lace the only thing preventing you from being completely exposed. 
“God, are you always like this?” Jinyoung murmurs as his fingers slide to either side of your clit, watching at how reactive you are at his ministrations. 
“It’s been so long and you do it so well,”  you exhale, hands digging into your sheets. “Don’t stop Jinyoung,” you moan when his fingers enter you, his thumb rubbing against your clit.
“Believe me, I’m not going to,” Jinyoung says as he lowers his lips to yours again.  You moan as his fingers continue to pump and twist within you. Already you’re nearing delirium, the thrust of his hand is meticulous. His movements purposeful, especially as he rubs his arousal-coated fingertips around your sensitive bundle of nerves before plunging into you again. Your eyes are shut tight, flashing white and sparks of colored pleasure appearing. Your moans are ardent, your skin damp. When he pulls his hands away you almost groan out of frustration. So close to toppling over the edge and now you clench around nothing.  “Relax,” Jinyoung grins as if reading your mind. You see his smirk, “I just want a taste,” 
You’re still trying to gather your bearings as Jinyoung pulls back, kneeling and moving down. Your legs are still spread as Jinyoung hooks his hands into the waistband of your panties and pulls them down. Tossing them somewhere in the room. His mouth hovers over your sex and you wait in anticipation. Immediately you buckle, arching up and hands fisting in his hair the minute his tongue grazes your sensitive clit. When his lips close over your sex, his name leaves your lips in a rasp. His tongue and lips intermixing that builds you towards impending climax. His arms are hooked around your thighs, there was no escape, no matter how sensitive you were becoming. He’s merciless, relinquishing with the work of his mouth on your core. Every now and then you can see Jinyoung look up from the top of his lash line, as if watching to see your next reaction and what a mess you were becoming all from his doing. 
You were learning new things about him. He was a giver, a sadist, good at everything. At this very moment Park Jinyoung was going to be your downfall. It was sweet torture, pure unadulterated pleasure continued to saturate you. His tongue drags up your clit back down to your core, swirling, probing. Every movement immoral, purposeful. The sound he was eliciting from you obscene and surely he knew that no one has ever eaten you out like this. 
“I can’t,” you moan. Your body is shaking, you’re holding onto whatever sanity you have left. Thighs quiver as they close around him. You want to push him away yet instead your hands in his hair pulls him closer. Jinyoung knows, his chuckle haunts you as he keeps his hold around your knees. His tongue is meticulous, your hips are arched and pushed high. With another flick and circle of the hard muscle of his tongue your climax is released. You’re over the edge, coming down hard and he doesn’t let up. You’re cursing and his name leaves your lips on an oath repeatedly. Your breath is caught in the back of your throat. Jinyoung kneels up on the bed, looking down at you. Using the back of his hand to wipe your remnants. 
You’re putty, you can’t even prop yourself up onto your elbows. You don’t even have the energy to pull your dress back down. Though something in the way Jinyoung looks at you says there’s no point. Your gaze trails down his torso, fixing on the outline of his dress pants that’s prominent. You nip your bottom lip in anticipation, suddenly feeling full of energy. 
“What are you doing?” Jinyoung grins, cocking his brow as you find the strength to kneel in front of him. 
“Returning the favor,” you say as you work the buttons of his pants. He doesn’t resist as you bring the zipper down. He works the buttons of his dress shirt and the chiseled plain of chest is revealed and as more of his torso is exposed you can’t help but have your jaw drop. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” 
“What?” 
“Is there anything wrong with you?” You tease, making a blatant point to skim your eyes over his body. 
“I - what?” Jinyoung asks flustered.
“Nothing,” you laugh before you kiss him, your hand trailing downwards. He is already hard, straining against the cotton material. He tugs your bottom lip as you grasp the top of his boxers tugging them down. He sighs when he’s freed, cock springing up as you held back another comment about how surreal he truly is. It’s his turn to curse as your hand wraps around the base of his shaft. You begin in slow, long strokes. Rubbing your thumb against his tip, spreading his pre arousal along his sensitive head. Jinyoung exhales, eyes shut as he enjoys the way you stroke him. 
“Y/N I - oh fuck,” His sentence is cut off when you bend, taking him into your mouth. Your head bobs. Tongue moving in circular motion along his shaft. Jinyoung groans as you take him as deep as you could, he’s big enough that you need to use your hand as well. His breathing is shallow, as you continue to move up and down, hand and mouth on his cock. You find it satisfying, you’re practically smug when Jinyoung’s hands fist in your hair, groaning as his head tilts back. He even begins to guide you, helping you find your rhythm as your mouth works his cock. Using his technique from earlier, interchanging between both your hand and your mouth. 
“Ah - Y/N,” Jinyoung juts his hips back suddenly. A trail of your saliva follows, you look up at him wide eyed. Jinyoung chuckles pushing his hair back, “You’re about to test my pride,”  You grin up at him smugly. “Come here,” he pulls you back to him, his hands resting on your cheek as he pulls you in for a kiss. 
You slide both hands up the planes of his body until resting on his shoulders. He kisses you, tongue flicking against yours. He reaches the hem of your dress and you raise your arms as he pulls it over your body. Letting it join the rest of your garments on the floor. Lips only separating for that brief moment before reunited again.  He guides you to lay down once again, positioning himself between your legs. His hand rests along your rib cage, fingers grazing the underside of your breasts. 
“Mmm,” you squirm against him as he caresses your breast.The pads of his thumb grazing against your nipple, circling. He presses soft kisses to the crook of your neck, then he bends closing his mouth of your breast. The heat you felt earlier that was dwindled mildly reignited. Set a flame. He presses himself to your center. Your hips rolls in roll response, feeling him at the edge of your entrance. “Jinyoung,” you moan at the stretch. You had expected it but god, he filled you. You had to adjust, hiking your knee up to give him more leeway as he slowly begins to thrust into you. Your hips arched higher, he rolls his hips and he glides in further, bottoming out. Your fingers are digging into his shoulders with his precise, slow strokes. You’re matching each other’s rhythms, moving in sync together. Unified as one as each other’s moans and breaths fill the room. Jinyoung’s hands fist in the sheets by your head, his lips feverishly moving with yours. Your clenching around him, uncontrollable pleasure rocks and shakes through your body. You moan, arching against him as Jinyoung continues to thrust within you as you come around him. His hips snap forward, thrusts erratic. Your name leaves his lips as Jinyoung comes as well, filling you. Thrusts slowing, with long strokes. Still joined Jinyoung collapses on you. You laugh, hands limply running through his hair as small kisses to your face and shoulder are made lazily. 
“How much do I owe you for that?��� You sigh. 
 You laugh when Jinyoung pinches your butt. 
Jinyoung lets out a low groan rolling off you and tugging you along with him. You wrap your arms around him, heading snuggled on his chest. Jinyoung lazily caresses your side. 
“So the wedding is tomorrow,” Jinyoung murmurs. 
“I know, I can’t believe how fast this week went,” you yawn. “I’m going to miss all the fine dining and cocktails,” 
“That’s not going to end,” Jinyoung kisses your temple. 
You look up at him, “It’s not?”
Jinyoung adjusts, “Pretty sure all the dates I take you will have some form of cocktails,” 
Dates. Real dates. You and Jinyoung were officially a couple. It all seemed surreal. 
You adjust, propping yourself on your elbows to face him, “And what about fine dining?”
Jinyoung grins leaning up to kiss you, “My instant noodle skills are impeccable,”  
You smile and bend to kiss him, “I can’t wait,” 
“Can’t wait to see you walk down the aisle tomorrow,” Jinyoung says pulling you back to lay against him. 
“Are you sure? I love my best friend and everything but her choice in color is…” you trail off and scrunch your face at the thought of your peach tulle dress in the closet. 
“You look great in anything,” Jinyoung chuckles, “but I have to say,” he says shifting himself again over top of you, “This is my favorite look by far,” he brushes your love tousled hair. 
“Maybe I’ll show up naked to the wedding and see if everyone else would like this look as well,” You tease. 
Jinyoung smiles, “Knowing your mother…” he doesn’t even have to finish his sentence for you to know. 
He lays back down holding you close to him. You snuggled against him. “Cuddling isn’t so bad after all,” 
Jinyoung raises his eyebrow at first, “Well I’m glad you think so,” he buries his face in the crook of your neck. “Cause I’m a cuddler,” he murmurs. 
You smile. Who would have thought that three weeks ago your search for a fake boyfriend would get you a real one. 
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dovechim · 5 years
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a remedy for mondays 02 (m)
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➾ 12.6k
➾ please read part 01 first!! 
➾ summary: all you wanted was just one day off work. but for that to happen, you need to invent a plausible reason. and then somehow, somewhere along the way, things get out of hand, and now people think you’re having a baby with your co-worker Park Jimin after a one-night stand. confused? join the club.
➾ warnings: SMUT, risky unprotected sex (pls be safe!), one night stand, oral sex (m&f), cum fetish/ cum eating (m), creampies, public bj, impregnation kink, baby making dirty talk, switch jimin. 
➾ a/n: happy monday (at least for me)!!!! the smut is finally here u guys... i feel like im making up for lost time lmaooo ok but real talk there’s a lot more to come in the future. once again, i wanna express my undying love for @jimlingss. without her, half of what's in this fic would not exist c: 
love you guys. have a good week ahead 💓
The notifications are pouring in like crazy. Before this you didn’t even realise you had this many friends, but it seems like now everyone wants a piece of the congratulations-pie, everyone wants to share in on your good news.
Your sister has been calling and texting you non-stop to ask when your next checkup is, and if she can come along to see the ultrasound. Your mother has been leaving long, weepy voicemails begging you to call her back.
It’s all just too much, and its Monday again.
“Your performance has been awfully sub-par lately,” your manager sighs as she flips through your report. “I thought we went over this the last time we met? Where’s the analysis for the datasets I gave you last week?”
“I’m sorry, I’ll work harder,” you mumble under your breath, swallowing back the unfairness that tastes bitter in the back of your throat. Even though you’d spent what was remaining of your weekend churning out all the reports, it’s still not enough. Nothing will ever be enough for your slave driver of a manager.
“See that you do. You may go for now,” she dismisses you, and you leave her office.
You plop down at your desk with a heavy sigh, looking at your emails with no real motivation to do anything. Between the pressure at work and the whole mounting scandal of your supposed pregnancy, you are caught between a rock and a hard place. There’s no real solution to any of this. All you have to blame is yourself.
No, actually, your asshole boss is to blame. She sent you a set of painfully incomplete datasets last week, expecting you to get a full analysis out of them. When you wrote back to her that some data was missing, hence making it difficult for you to analyse, she just ignored your email.
Feeling your anger surge through our entire body, you pick up your mug and shove yourself out of your chair, muttering under your breath.
“What the fuck does she want me to do, magic the data out of thin air? Pull the data out of my ass?” Luckily everyone around you is too absorbed in their work to notice that you’re walking around and talking angrily to yourself.
You wash your cup with more vigour than necessary, scrubbing extra hard as you imagine that the surface of your cup is your boss’s face. You get back to your seat and set your cup down, breathing hard both from the exertion and the annoyance.
“I hit 200 mentions this morning,” Park Jimin remarks casually as he drops his briefcase on his desk and sinks into his chair. “I’ve never had this many notifications before.”
You shoot him an annoyed glare. “Not here!”
Gesturing for him to follow you, you scope out an empty meeting room and close the door.  He comes in and sits on the desk with his arms crossed.
“So what are we going to-“
“Let’s have a baby.”
Park Jimin gapes at you, and if the situation weren’t this dire, you’d laugh about how someone so handsome can get caught off guard too. You run your eyes over his body, from the way his thighs look thicker as he perches on the edge of the desk, his slim biceps that show through his white dress shirt, and his dashing good looks. Why nothave a baby with Park Jimin? At this point, it wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen to you.
“You’re not thinking straight are you?” Jimin cautions with his hands up, as if trying to ward off a raging, charging bull. “What happened? Did your manager give you hell again? You’re always cranky on Mondays.”
“I’m cranky, am I?” Your voice has a slight edge to it. “I’ll tell you why I’m cranky alright. My sister is texting me every two seconds asking if I’ve set up an appointment with the doctor yet. My mother is calling me every four seconds to tell me what she thinks our baby’s name should be-“
“Wait- really? But you haven’t gotten a single call in the whole time that you’ve been here…”
“I’m not getting a moment’s peace,” you whirl around on him with a slightly manic look on your face, and Park Jimin’s eyes widen even more, and he gulps in fear. “Let’s just have this fucking baby already.”
Jimin knows well enough not to engage someone when they’re in full on panic mode, so he lets you take a few deep breaths before speaking. Over the past few months, he’s grown pretty familiar with what your likes and dislikes are, particularly your preference for drowning your sorrows in alcohol. So maybe the next thing that he suggests is not the most rational, but fuck it, at this point, does it even matter anymore?
“You know what? Let’s ditch work early today and go for drinks.” Jimin watches your expression change immediately, and his heart seizes in relief.
But then a frown crosses your face. “Oh but I can’t, I have that fucking dataset to analyse…”
“Fuck it.” You’re shocked when the expletive leaves his lips; the normally reserved Park Jimin who always does all his work and makes sure to cross his ‘t’s and dot his ‘i’s. “It’s Monday. Who wants to work on a Monday?”
*
It feels like the two of you are doing something illegal when you lean to the side and catch Park Jimin’s eye at exactly 5pm on the dot. You already decided that leaving at the same time from your seats would be far too inconspicuous, so the plan is for you to pretend to go to the ladies’ washroom, which is in one direction, and for him to leave for the men’s about 10 minutes later, then meet at the taxi stand and hail a cab to get the hell out of this place.
It’s a whole rendezvous, and since you left earlier, you reach the taxi stand first; panting even though you haven’t done that much physical exercise to justify it at all. The minutes are ticking by; any time now any one of your coworkers could walk by and see you waiting for a taxi and immediately know that you’re leaving work early. But it’s even worse still if they happen to catch you and Park Jimin hopping into a cab together, so you only pray that your brainless coworkers are tied to their desks.
Not a second later, Park Jimin appears, his hair ruffled and his eyes shining behind his glasses with mirth. His lips are quirked into an excited smile as he waves down a cab, opens the door for you and gestures you in. The simple act of his, done without much thought at all, actually makes your heart skip a beat as you get in.
You can’t help but obsessively check over your shoulder to see if any of your co-workers just so happen to be around. It’s only when you clear the near vicinity of your workplace that your shoulders sag with relief, and even more so when the cab screeches to a stop, signalling that you’ve arrived. Jimin pays the driver without a word, refusing to accept your money as you clamber out of the cab after him.
It’s not the typical scene you would have found yourself at in your younger days. This bar is a lot more lowkey, the lighting is dim despite the fact that they haven’t even reached happy hour yet. It’s hard to make out anyone’s face inside, and you nearly lose sight of Jimin were it not for the fact that his hand is tightly grasping yours.
“What would you like to start off?” Jimin asks as you reach the bar. He turns to see you struggling to get on the high chair in your skirt and heels, and he reaches to steady the back of the chair so that it doesn’t tip over.
“Shots.” You declare. “I need to get wasted, and fast.”
Giving you a raised eyebrow, but not protesting in the least, Jimin turns to order and in that moment, gives you a really nice glimpse of his side profile. Somewhere along the taxi ride he had taken off his glasses and pushed his hair back, and unbuttoned his dress shirt a little more. You have to tear your eyes away from him when the bartender presents you with a tray of tequila shots with salt decorating the rim, and some finger food to go along with it.
You grab one and he follows suit.
“What should we toast to?” Park Jimin asks.
“To our baby,” you say with a slight laugh, and though you can feel the slightly weird look that the bartender gives you, you don’t really give a fuck. All that matters is that the only other person in here who knows the truth is Park Jimin, and he gives you a shared smile as you clink glasses.
The alcohol burns as it slides down your throat, and you immediately reach for another to chase it down. The tray clears out pretty quickly as Jimin matches you shot for shot, and every time you put down your glass, reality gets further and further away, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.
“So tell me,” Jimin says as he reaches for the ketchup bottle and uncaps it, pulling the bowl of truffle fries closer to him. “Was this always your dream?”
You stop him as he’s about to pour ketchup all over the top of the fries like a savage instead of doing it the normal way, on the side. “Dude, order your own fries if you’re gonna ruin them like that!”
“What, how is that weird? I’ve always done that!”
“You belong in a mental institution,” you fix him with a glare. “Anyway, was whatalways my dream?”
Jimin just shrugs and gives in as he takes a few fries from the bowl to dip, like a civilized person. “This job.”
“Was working at a desk job for 9 hours straight always my dream? Uh, I think not,” you chew on your fries. “Which child ever had a dream like that? Did youhave a dream like that?”
“Me? I wanted to be a policeman,” Jimin grins as he raises his clenched fists. “You know all that idealistic shit children believe in. Making a difference in the world. Catching all the bad guys. Things like that.”
“So you don’t believe in those things anymore?”
“No, I still believe in them,” he raises another shot to his lips and downs it with a grimace. “I just realised that things aren’t so black and white. There are bad guys everywhere, but sometimes you just can’t catch them. Sometimes they’re the ones in positions of power over you and you gotta live like that.”
You reach for another shot, but the tray is empty. Jimin signals the bartender to bring you a second round of drinks; a gin and tonic for you and a coke with vodka for him. The alcohol has your senses buzzing pleasantly, it feels like there’s a disconnect between your brain and your mouth, but you don’t actively object to it either. It feels nice to be able to tell someone things like this.
“I gave up on having a dream long ago. Not everyone is lucky enough to do what they like in life, and I already accepted that I’m not one of those people. And it’s okay.” You turn in your chair so that you are facing Jimin directly, though you have a bit of trouble because it seems like your body is disconnected from your brain.
Jimin helps you with a hand on your thigh that sends shockwaves through your entire body. His daring touch makes your heart speed up, and when he positions your chair so that his thighs are on the outside of yours, you can barely breathe as you look him in the eye. And then he leans forward, slowly, bit by bit, until you think he’s going to kiss you, but then he only takes a whiff of your alcohol laden breath.
“Come on. I should see you home. We still have work tomorrow.” His words brook no resistance as he helps you off the chair with an arm around your waist, and the alcohol seems to have taken effect on you faster than usual today, because you’re only capable of sinking into him, feeling his firm body against yours.
A cab pulls up to the entrance of the bar, and Jimin shields your head as you get into the car, barely having control over your limbs. You mutter your address to the driver, and over the ride home, the bumps and turns actually help you to sober up a little, but then you begin to notice the little things like how Park Jimin’s thighs are actually pretty thick.
And when he stretches forward to pay the driver again, you notice how nice his biceps are.
When he walks in front of you leading you with one hand, you notice how tight his ass looks in his pants.
As he waits for you to unlock your door, you feel his breath on the nape of your neck, and just the feeling of having his body this close to yours is just-
“So um, goodnight, it was fun, I guess,” Park Jimin is stuttering and stumbling over his words as he scratches the back of his neck. “We should do it again sometime. Ditch work, I mean.”
Oh fuck it all to hell, you think to yourself as you grab Park Jimin by the collar and pull him into you, your lips meeting and immediately, you taste the sweetness of the coke on his tongue. Park Jimin lets out an adorable little grunt of surprise, but his hands still wrap around you anyway, one around your waist and the other inching down towards your hip.
“We- shouldn’t be doing this,” Park Jimin pants in between kisses as you bite his lips roughly, and watching them become swollen with your kisses gives you a strange satisfaction that you’ve never experienced with anyone else.
But his rationality is impeded by the alcohol rushing through his bloodstream, but even more so than that, the feel of your soft body against him. So Park Jimin forgets what he was going to say next as you make him walk backwards in the direction of your bedroom.
“But we’re doing it anyway,” you tell him with flushed cheeks, and his hands agree with you as they climb up your body, reaching for the zipper on the side of your skirt.
He pulls your skirt off impatiently, but you won’t let him get away with it so easily as you fiddle with the buttons of his dress shirt, finally prising them apart to get a good look at his sleek chest muscles and his toned abdomen.
“Shit,” you swear under your breath. “When the fuck did you get those?”
Park Jimin looks smug as he pushes his shirt off his body, feeling his abs tense as you straddle his lap. “What do you mean? I’ve always had these.”
“I thought you were just some skimpy little nerd,” you huff at him in slight annoyance. It’s almost a little rude of him to spring it on you like this, suddenly turning from the computer geek nerd into a hot walking sex god.
“A nerd hot enough for you to have a one-night stand with,” Jimin throws back at you with a proud smirk, and irritated with his sudden overconfidence, you shut him up by grinding against the bulge in the front of his now too tight dress pants.
“That doesn’t count, I was panicking,” you try to defend yourself weakly, but Jimin ignores you in favour of mouthing against your neck, kissing his way down to your bra cups, which he pulls down with his teeth. As if to prove his point that you are having a one-night stand with him right now.
Jimin is fumbling with your bra at the same time you are trying to undo the button of his pants, and the whole affair is desperate; the two of you are half-sober and everything is a blur. All you know is, the next thing his pants are off, his cock is leaking on his stomach, and the desire to take him in your mouth is undeniable.
Your hand grasps him at his base, and he bucks his hips into you immediately, curses falling from his swollen lips. A few good strokes, and then you can’t wait anymore, your lips close around his head and the saltiness of him spreads across your tongue.
“Ahhh, fuck,” Jimin’s hands tangle themselves in your hair. “I- gu-ess we’re not co-workers anymore?”
Your mouth is too full of cock to respond as you sink down on him deeper, loosening your throat as your tongue teases the underside of him. Saliva is already dripping from the corners of your mouth to run down your chin, and you belatedly realise that your bra is still on; Jimin hadn’t managed to get it off. With one hand you reach behind you and undo the clasp, shrugging the bra off in a single movement as Jimin swears as if he just witnessed a miracle (he’s never actually seen any of the girls he’s been with do this.)
You pull yourself off his cock for a moment to give yourself a breather, resting the head of him against your chin as you look up at him. “Just ask yourself, Park. Would a co-worker be sucking your dick like this?”
And then your mouth is back on him; you feel his hands in your hair and his thighs trembling beneath you. His cock is leaking in your mouth, it is thick in your throat as you bob up and down, the sounds of you choking around his cock are filthy and wet.
“Stop!” Jimin sounds out with a gasp, his abs trembling from the amount of effort it takes him not to blow his load. “It- it’s been a while. I don’t wanna cum yet, please.”
His pleading, whiny voice that’s filled with desperation makes you reconsider. Maybe he isn’t a sex god after all; he just happens to have a good body. You pull away from his cock and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, and Jimin pulls you forward to sit on his lap. His cock brushes against your stomach, and he can’t seem to keep his eyes off your breasts.
“Have you even done this before?” You mean it as a joke, but Park Jimin’s eyes widen in panic.
“What?! Of course I have!” He says defensively. “Let me eat you out and I’ll show you.”
He reaches for the waistband of your underwear, but you swat him away impatiently. “That’ll take too long. Just let me ride you and we can both cum.”
You push down your underwear in a single movement, not missing the way his eyes are drawn to how your arousal clings to the material. He helps you situate yourself on him with his hands around your waist, and you grab the base of his cock to start to guide him into you. But then, Park Jimin stops you.
“Make sure you’re wet enough?” He asks as he runs his fingers against your slit, though he pretty much already knows the answer just from seeing how soaked your panties were. He just wants to feel the evidence of your arousal for himself. His fingers come away sticky and soaked.
While Park Jimin is busy marvelling at how wet you are just from sucking his cock, you position the head of his cock at your entrance, and then you sink down slowly onto him. The stretch of him against your walls makes you dig your fingers into his shoulders, and likewise, Park Jimin’s fingers dig themselves into your waist as he moans out your name.
“F-fuck, you’re tight,” Jimin barely manages to get out as you stop with a few more inches to go. “You didn’t answer my question earlier on.”
“What is it?” You grit your teeth as you position yourself on your knees, trying to work yourself into taking his entire cock. It had been a while since you last had dick, let alone one as thick as Park Jimin’s, but you aren’t a quitter by any means.
“We- we aren’t co-workers anymore, huh?” Jimin groans again as you squeeze his cock with your walls.
“For fuck’s sake, Park,” you growl at him as you start bouncing on his cock, each slap satisfying as he bottoms out inside you. “We stopped being co-workers the minute I publicised our one-night stand.”
Your hands are on his chest for better leverage as your hips grind on his cock to get him as deep as possible, alternating between up and down movements and side to side movements. Park Jimin has his hands on your hips to help guide you, but he realises you don’t need guidance, so he just sits back to let himself enjoy the visual spectacle that’s unfolding in front of him. You, with your cheeks flushed and breasts loose and bouncing because of his cock, riding him as if your life depends on it. Jimin looks down to where his cock disappears inside you, where your sweet thighs are flexing and working to get the both of you off. But it’s not quite enough.
“Turn around,” he begs. “Wanna see your ass too.”
“God, you’re so fucking weird, Park,” but you do it anyway, letting his cock slide out of you as you turn around and fold your knees under you so that your back faces him.
Jimin spreads his thighs just enough so that they frame your ass perfectly, his hand pressing against your lower back so that you arch and press your ass against him even more. Then he spreads your cheeks with one hand and guides his cock back into your warm depths with the other, groaning when you push back onto him and sit on his cock fully. Now every time you bounce on his cock, your ass jiggles deliciously, and as an ass man, Jimin appreciates this view so much that he tries his best to take a mental picture of this whole view with his mind.
His cock sliding into your pussy so easily since you’re so wet, the fleshy globes of your ass against his thighs as you fuck yourself back onto his cock.
“I-I’m gonna cum,” he warns you with his cheeks hot and abs tensing.
“Just cum already,” you huff in impatience as you turn your head to catch a glimpse of his already fucked out look, lips swollen and his hands on your ass as his cock twitches inside you.
With your permission, Jimin lets himself go as he feels his balls tense, cock releasing inside your sweet, warm pussy and filling you up all the way with his cum. He continues to watch your ass bounce on his cock to milk him dry of every drop, his hips thrusting upwards in an effort to prolong his pleasure. Once he can feel that he’s given you every drop of cum in his body, he places his hands on your ass and pushes you forward with cheeks spread so he can see how well he filled your pussy.
His softening cock starts to slide out from you, and Jimin can see his cum start to leak from your pussy almost immediately. To your benefit, you are giving him the fucking show of his life as you arch your back and lean forward, guided by his hands as you lower your upper body to the bed.
“Shit, oh fuck it,” Jimin mutters to himself as he pushes himself into a sitting position, then with both hands grasping the back of your thighs, he flips you over till you are on your ass, then pulls you with legs spread closer to him. The sight of your cream filled pussy is just too tempting to resist, and Jimin licks through your soaked folds as he savours your taste mixed with his.
He barely hears you squeak out his name in surprise as he continues to devour your creamed pussy, tongue around your clit in circles and fingers dipping into your cunt to tease out more of his cum from your depths. To his pleasure, his cum leaks from you in an ever steady stream as he eats you out; your thighs are shaking around his head as you cry out your pleasure till you lose track.
When you beg him to stop, thighs quivering from overstimulation and clit raw and abused, he raises his head and gives you a quick kiss to your inner thigh, collapsing onto the bed in pure exhaustion. Post high, you are both wiped out, and that’s how the two of you, who are most certainly notco-workers anymore, fall asleep.
*
Everything is too bright. And everything hurts, your throat is dry and again, everything hurts. You forget that you aren’t in your prime time anymore; that drinking is a night of fun followed by a morning of regret.
Though this morning, you have a lot more to regret than just alcohol.
You wake up with an alien arm around your waist, and frustrated by the unwanted physical contact, you toss it away with an annoyed grunt. Your elbow strikes out in the same direction, only to hit a solid, warm body beside you, and then your eyes shoot open as you sit straight up in bed.
Only to find a very naked, very passed out Park Jimin sleeping beside you.
“Holy fucking shit,” the realisation of exactly what happened last night hits you, and dread punches you in the stomach.
“Is it morning already?” Park Jimin buries his face into your sheets, his blonde hair sticks out in every direction. “Five more minutes, mom.”
Irritated that he’s yet to come to his senses, you kick his stupid, bubble butt, and he jerks awake, opening his eyes blearily. Once he takes in your expression, he closes them immediately.
“Can’t say that’s the best thing to wake up to in the morning,” Jimin says with his face buried in the sheets again, his voice muffled. “Nothing kills my morning wood faster than-“
“Get the fuck up, Park,” you hiss at him, clutching the sheets to your chest. “Come to your fucking senses!”
At the tone of urgency in your voice, Park Jimin finally shakes himself awake; he blinks slowly until he takes in the whole situation: you and him, supposedly co-workers, waking up together in the same bed, naked.
“Holy fuck, did we just…” Park Jimin glances down at his cock that lies limp against the side of his thigh, and the sticky, dried essence left behind. “Oh my god. We fucked.”
“We arefucked,” you correct him.
*
It seems as if whoever is running things up in the divine realm really has it out for you. Nursing a hangover as you walk into work, you try your best not to make eye contact with Park Jimin, which is easier said than done considering that he sits right opposite you.
So this is how it feels when two colleagues actuallyhave a one-night stand.
You run a hand through your hair in frustration, unable to focus on any of your tasks this morning.
“Hey, _____- whoa, are you feeling okay?” Kim Taehyung does a double take as he passes by your desk. “You look a little, um… under the weather. You feeling alright? Is it… how’s the baby? How many months are you again?”
Your face only pales even further as he brings up the non-existent baby, and with that, a realisation that the both of you didn’t use protection last night. Park Jimin seems to have arrived at the same realisation, because he makes eye contact with you for the first time that morning as he peeks out the side of his computer.
“I’m- I’m alright,” you manage a forced smile, wanting nothing more than for him to just fuck off already so that you can begin to process all this in peace and figure out exactly how screwed over you are.
“Well, if you say so,” Kim Taehyung says with a doubtful frown. “You know, _____, we actually have really great benefits for mothers. Even unwed mothers. I’d love to sit down and go through them with you one day if you could spare me the time. Wait actually, can I see your baby bump? I always thought they were the cutest-“
“I have to throw up,” you say without hesitation, and you stand up and push past him on your way to the restroom.
It’s not entirely a lie, since you do spend a good ten minutes praying at the porcelain altar, but no one has to know it was because of alcohol intoxication. When you finally flush and then rinse out your mouth at the sink, you open the door of the restroom to find Park Jimin waiting with a worried look on his face.
“Are you okay?” He starts, but then Jeongguk walks by you and shoots you both an admiring look.
“Lovebirds alert!” He sings out in that highly irritating voice of his as he dances down the aisle.
“No, I want to fucking die,” you mutter under your breath as you stare daggers into Jeongguk’s back.
“I need to ask you something,” Park Jimin says urgently as he glances around for any eavesdropping ears. He grasps your hand and tugs you into the nearest meeting room, and once he makes sure that the doors are locked securely, he turns to you again. “We used a condom last night right? We are responsible, working adults. We wouldn’t forget something as basic as that.”
You sink down onto a chair with a glum look on your face. “Impossible. We couldn’t have used a condom. I don’t have any condoms in my house.”
Park Jimin makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat. “Well… then, you’re on birth control right?”
“It makes me gain weight like crazy. The only reason why I’m not a balloon right now is because I went off the pill years ago.”
There is a beat of silence as Park Jimin stares at you as if you’re pulling his leg. Then a random thought occurs to you that you could very well still end up being a balloon precisely becauseyou’re not on birth control right now.
“What about Plan B?” Jimin lights up, literally jumping out of his chair as he suggests it. “You could get it right now. I’ll drive you. We can say we’re going to the doctor’s for an appointment or something.”
The sobering reality sets in as you sit there in silence, and Park Jimin is still looking at you, waiting for your response. Only, you don’t quite know how to respond. The rational part of you should be jumping to your feet now and making him rush you to the nearest pharmacy, but then there’s a tiny voice in the back of your head that you can’t ignore.
This would solve all your problems.
Park Jimin is still waiting for your response, growing more and more antsy as the minutes tick by.
“Do you know how many people know about this baby?” You finally say.
Those were not the words Park Jimin was expecting to hear, and he does a double take. “Wh- what? What are you talking about?”
“Approximately 265 people,” you continue on, ignoring his cautious look. “Your family, my family, the whole company, my friends, my ex-boyfriend and his new wife-“
“You counted? Why would you do that?” Jimin groans as he runs his hands through his hair. “You didn’t have to remind me of how fucked we are and how many people we have to answer to. My Granny dug out my baby clothes from some godforsaken corner in the house and gave them to me last night.”
The mention of Jimin’s Granny fills you with guilt once more, and it makes the tiny voice grow a little louder, and you try to swallow back the awful feeling.
“Exactly. So why don’t we just… leave this up to chance. Just this once.” You keep glancing at Jimin to gauge his reaction, but the blonde haired man only stares back at you with the same serious expression on his face. “Plan B wouldn’t have worked anyway. I already ovulated this month.”
“Shit,” Jimin sighs as he collapses down into a chair. “So there’s an actual chance? That you could be pregnant right now? But I… I ate you out. Maybe I got most of it out from you.”
The both of you know that Jimin is simply grasping at straws now.
You just shrug silently as Jimin takes some time to let the reality of the situation sink in. Just then, your phone buzzes and you open the text from your sister who’s asking if she can accompany you to your ultrasounds. You groan audibly, and Jimin takes a peek over at your phone screen.
“Just this once,” he says, as if he’s really considering it as he watches the messages from your sister flood your screen. “But… will you be okay? If it really does happen, I mean. Are you okay with that?”
“I mean, I hate kids and all, if that’s what you’re asking.” You lock your phone and put it face down on the desk just so you don’t have to deal with that for a hot second. “But that aside, if it’s a cute kid, I guess I don’t mind. I mean… if the kid looked like you. I guess I don’t mind.”
You don’t know why it’s taking you so long to say what you really mean. It’s not like you to beat around the bushes like this, nor is it like you to be tripping over your own words like an idiot. But the gist of it still gets through anyway, by the look on Park Jimin’s face.
“I… I guess I wouldn’t mind either. Kids are cute.” Jimin says hesitantly, eyes constantly darting away from yours. “I mean, I’mcute. Obviously my kids would be cute.”
“Um. Okay then,” you say awkwardly, getting up and skirting around him to get to the door. “I guess… um… so… I’ll let you know. If anything happens.”
Jimin gets up with a resolute look on his face as he follows you to the door. “Yeah. Sure.”
*
The next Monday, everyone is off work for the afternoon because it’s the quarterly Healthy Lifestyle Day, where a poll is sent out to everyone to vote for the healthy bonding activity that their team should engage in. In actual fact, the poll is a scam since bowling wins every time, all because it’s well known that Bae Joohyun’s favourite pastime is bowling.
You endure the awful scents of sweat as you squeeze into your awful rented bowling shoes, grimace as you cram your fingers into the holes on the bowling ball, try not too hard to embarrass yourself as you bowl gutter after gutter. Your back is aching, face is sweaty and you are straight up not having a good time.
Bae Joohyun, on the other hand, is nailing strike after strike in her own lane, with her team of personal cheerleaders making a huge fuss every time she finishes her round. Those are the very group of people who are aiming for a promotion that year; the rest of you are just kind of milling about the other lanes and pretending to enjoy yourself.
You finish your round and plop down on the seat with a sigh, watching as Jeon Jeongguk takes his turn after you with a flourish as he launches his ball down the alley. It’s no secret that he too loves bowling, and he’s pretty good at it too, until Seokjin, one of those vying for a promotion, had to come over and tell him to tone down lest he beat Bae Joohyun’s score.
God forbid if that should happen.
Jeon Jeongguk is trying very hard to do his worst, and it’s actually kind of hilarious because you can literally see the veins in his neck as he strains, his body tensing as he shifts his posture so that his ball rolls into the gutter. The utter disappointment on his face as he strolls back, looking as if he’s about to cry.
“Better luck next time, Jeon,” you call out, feeling a little sorry for the boy with the bunny smile since it seems as if he really does enjoy bowling.
“Yeah, better luck next time!” Kim Taehyung yells out as he takes his time choosing his ball. He holds it in front of him and glances at you with a strange look on his face that immediately warns you to be on guard. “Hey, _____...”
“Yes?” Your voice is raised in suspicion, already not loving where this is going.
“I wanted to ask you this last week, but where is your bump?” Taehyung strokes the bowling ball with a reverence that makes you want to roll your eyes. Why the fuck do you work with weirdos? Taehyung eyes the bowling ball he’s carrying before he looks at you again. “Shouldn’t you be around this far along by now?”
You glance nervously at Jimin, who is in the other lane paired up with the Parenting team, laughing and smiling with this other girl who has long wavy hair that comes down to the middle of her back. But he’s currently too occupied with making her laugh, even helping her out with her bowling posture, to help you out of this hole, so you have to deal with this one yourself.
“The doctor said it’s a small baby,” you shrug as nonchalantly as you can, secretly marvelling at your own genius. “Some people don’t show until the 8thor 9thmonth, you know. It’s perfectly normal. Every pregnancy is different.”
You even sound knowledgeable to your own ears. Taehyung looks convinced by your story, but then he decides to put the bowling ball under his shirt for some inane reason, drawing more attention to himself as your coworkers start to notice.
“Hey Park! Look, I’m your girlfriend!” Taehyung yells and you stand up in horror.
“What the fuck, are you fucking high?” You hiss at him, trying to get him to take the ball out without dropping it on his own foot. “Stop fucking around! Bae Joohyun is here!”
Her name gets him to sober up a little, though it’s already too late because Namjoon from HR is strolling over with an amused look on his face, having sat out the bowling because of his injured finger (he’s always injuring some part of his body because of his clumsiness).
“Hey _____, how’s the baby? Don’t mind if I feel the bump? Is the baby kicking yet?” He says with an excited look on his face. “My sister felt her kicks early. It was the most magical thing.”
“Uh… no, not yet,” you laugh weakly and wave his hand away. “It’s a very small baby for now, so…”
“Oh come on, I’m sure there’s been a flutter or two here and there!” Namjoon insists with his eyes bright, and Taehyung nods vigorously.
“C’mon, just let us feel the bump?” Taehyung begs with his hands clasped together, and you glance around furtively. The two of them won’t seem to stop going on and on about this baby, but if you just let them touch your stomach maybe they’ll be satisfied. It can’t hurt, it’s not like they have ultrasounds for hands.
“Fine,” you sigh as you tense your stomach a little. You don’t have the flattest stomach, but it’s certainly not as pronounced as it should be this far into pregnancy. But it’s harmless, they won’t be able to feel anything, and-
“Oh my god, I think the baby just kicked!” Namjoon exclaims with his hand on your lower abdomen, and you frown in distress. “There! Right there! I felt it! Taehyung, did you feel it too?”
Namjoon removes his hand and urges Taehyung to take his place, which the latter does without hesitation. You’re just about to protest that this touchy feely session has gone on for a tad too long, but then Taehyung’s face lights up.
“You’re right! I felt it too! Oh my god ______, your baby kicked!”
He says this last sentence with a booming voice that echoes throughout the bowling alley, and you wish the ground would just open up and swallow you whole. More and more people are turning to look at you now, including total strangers not from your company, and even Jimin and the pretty girl he’s with are turning to you.
Namjoon and Taehyung are absolutely wrecking you today. Luckily Jeon Jeongguk doesn’t seem to be in the mood to join in, seeing as he’s seated on the far end of the sofa soaking up his own misery.
Your cheeks are burning as you feel the burrito from lunch announcing its presence, but you paste on a shaky smile and add on to your credibility with a nervous laugh. “Oh wow… um, that’s the baby, y-yeah it is! The kicks have been so tiny I barely noticed!”
Namjoon is literally clapping his hands with glee. “Where’s Park? He needs to witness this moment! He’s your baby daddy!”
Taehyung glances around till he catches a glimpse of Jimin and the pretty girl with the wavy hair, and then he grimaces. “Woah, looks like you got some competition huh? Better up your game, if you know what I mean. I saw them getting pretty up close and personal just now. Park was teaching her how to hold a bowling ball. I mean, who the fuck needs to learn that?”
“She can hold my balls if she wants,” Namjoon snickers, but then his face straightens when you glare at him. “It was a joke. Sorry. Please don’t report me to HR for sexual harassment.”
Sometimes you just want to quit your job. Not because of Bae Joohyun, but because of your fucking idiotic coworkers.
“Namjoon, you areHR,” you hiss at him with barely concealed patience.
Taehyung continues as if you’d asked for advice on your sex life with your non-existent baby daddy. “A little pregnancy sex never hurt anyone.”
You can’t quite concentrate on what he’s saying as you glance over at Jimin and his new girl turning their attention back to bowling, him picking out a ball and handing it to her, their hands brushing and the girl giggling. Your attention is focused on them, how Jimin stands behind her as she gets ready to bowl, the way she bends over and practically flashes the whole alley in her short skirt.
Meanwhile, Taehyung is still going on as if you’d asked about his sexual preferences. “Some men find it hot. I, in fact, would love to knock a chick up and then keep fucking her after. Something about that primal instinct, you know?”
When the girl hits five pins, she turns to Jimin with a squeal and raises her hands for a high five. Jimin returns it with a happy grin, but then somehow the whole affair escalates into a hug, and you frown.
“Shut up, Taehyung,” you are taking out your anger on him, but this stupid punk sure as hell deserves it anyway.
Taehyung holds up two hands at your sudden burst of anger. “Woah, I was only giving suggestions. Trying to help here.”
You leave him, still fuming and wanting nothing more than to get out of these fucking uncomfortable shoes. In actual fact, you have no idea why you’re this worked up. It’s not like you and Park Jimin have this exclusive agreement together. He’s free to flirt with anyone he likes.
But really, her? With the flippy hair and obnoxious voice? And while you’re supposed to be pregnant with his baby too? He’s practically cheating on you openly!! Never mind that you aren’t actually knocked up with his kid. It’s the principle of it all.
By the time you reach the counter to exchange your token for your locker key, your expression must have evolved into something truly frightening, because the poor girl manning the counter squeaks at you in fear when you bark out your locker number at her.
When you’re done changing your shoes, you head into the washroom for a bit to splash some water on your face so that you can cool down, and also to check if your period is here, but it’s not. A few minutes later when you leave, you find Park Jimin waiting outside, still in his bowling shoes, his cheeks flushed with exertion and his hair ruffled out of place.
“Are you okay?” He asks, then clears his throat. “I mean; did anything happen? While you were in there? Did your period come?”
You feel the urge to brush past him in annoyance. The whole of last week, the two of you had avoided each other; on one hand you were completely swamped with work, but on the other hand, there is also this awkwardness in between you that hadn’t existed before that fateful night. You still hadn’t directly addressed it yet, only skirted around the topic in hems and haws.
“No it didn’t,” you say, your voice small all of a sudden. “Who’s that girl in your lane?”
“Oh, Seulgi from Divorce Support,” Jimin says. “I was just teaching her how to bowl.”
There’s another awkward silence as the two of you avoid eye contact, and then you hear Seulgi’s high pitched voice calling Jimin’s name, asking him to come back and help her score another strike. Jimin is just about to respond back to her, but then you grab his collar and pull him into the secluded space just behind the female toilets, shutting him up with your lips on his.
His protests soon turn to muffled moans against you, and his hands come to circle your waist somewhat hesitantly, but the intention alone is enough for you. Breaking apart for air, you finally get a glimpse of how sinful Park Jimin looks, and flashbacks from that night revisit you once more. Plush, swollen lips parted mid gasp, cheeks red and flushed and his eyes that can’t stop devouring you whole.
“You should be teaching mehow to bowl,” you push him up against the wall for added emphasis. “I’m the one you knocked up, not her.”
Jimin gulps nervously as he feels your body press against him, and all the blood rushing down south that will soon make itself known against your lower belly. He tries to put a little bit of space in between your bodies so that he won’t embarrass himself, but you are relentless, pressing your breasts into his chest as your hand makes its way to the front of his pants.
“Yo-you aren’t really knocked up,” Jimin tries to protest weakly as you grab a handful of him, and he hardens immediately.
“I could be,” you shoot back. Aware that you don’t have much time, you pull down the zipper on his dress pants and reach inside to grope him lewdly over his underwear. “You knocked me up with your cock right here. Came inside me and filled me up so good.”
“Shit,” Jimin is panting harshly against your neck now, his hips twitching involuntarily as he feels himself soak the front of his underwear. “Wh-what’s got into you?”
“Your cum,” you say simply, watching his eyes widen again as you sink down to your knees, pulling his underwear the rest of the way down to expose the leaking head of his cock. In your previous one-night stand (the actual one), you regrettably didn’t have a chance to admire him properly, but now you’re going to make up for it.
His cock is thick from base to tip, the head of it already red and angry. You can feel your jaw ache just with the thought of deepthroating him all the way, yet you don’t even care if it’d make Park Jimin feel good.
Pushing his cock to lie flat on his belly, you give the underside a long, salacious lick that has Jimin gasping and sobbing already. You start from the bottom again and maintain eye contact as you kitten lick your way to his head again, and then you take him whole into your warm mouth, suckling him as his hands find their way into your hair.
“We- we can’t do this, we’re at work,” Jimin pants, his actions contradictory as his hip surge forward to chase the warmth of your mouth. All it does is showcase his less than ideal willpower when it comes to you.
“What would your Granny say? If she saw you flirting with another girl while the one you knocked up watches?” You squeeze his cock hard, causing Jimin to buck his hips with a groan.
“Pl-please don’t talk about my Granny when you’re sucking my cock,” Jimin protests as he pushes your head further down on his cock.
You let him push his cock down your throat, relaxing and breathing through your nose as you take him for a few seconds. Then you pull back with a wet, sloppy sound, his cock covered in your saliva and precum that drips onto your blouse as you swallow and breathe. “We aren’t at work right now. We’re at a bowling alley.”
And then your mouth is back on his cock, bobbing up and down as you give him the suck of his life, his taste salty on your tongue. One hand wraps around his girthy base as you suck the rest of him, and the other hand comes up to play with his balls. Jimin is all curses and breathy pants above you, his thick thighs trembling with pleasure as he struggles not to lose his balance, nor his load.
“Like it when I play with your balls like this, hmmm?” You pull yourself off his cock to watch the effect your words have on him, tugging on his balls that feel tight and heavy as you jerk him off with the other hand. “When was the last time you came, Minnie?”
The pretty column of his neck is drenched with sweat as he throws his head back against the wall, cock twitching in your grasp as Jimin struggles not to cum. The nickname makes his knees go weak and his voice is lost somewhere in his chest.
When he still doesn’t answer you, you turn and sink your teeth into his fleshy inner thigh, causing him to whine sharply.
“I’m waiting for an answer, Minnie.”
“L-last week,” he gasps out. “Wi-with you.”
“Someone’s been a good boy,” you resume your strokes of his cock as you lick his balls, causing his thighs to clench in response. “Are you sure you haven’t cum since? Didn’t stroke your cock like a dirty pervert and make a mess of yourself with your cum?”
“I-I promise, I didn’t!” Jimin peers down at you in the haze of his desperation and lust, only to see his precum coating your chin, red lipstick smeared all over, but yet you’ve never looked prettier.
Satisfied with his answer, and also how fucked out he looks within such a short span of you getting your mouth on his cock, you wrap your lips around his head again as you jerk the rest of him off, still cradling his balls with your other hand.
“I’m gonna cum,” comes Jimin’s half plea, half warning.
You double your efforts at jerking him off, opening your mouth to show him the head of his cock as it rests heavy on your tongue. That’s all it takes for Jimin to lose his load, his balls pulsing under your grasp as pretty white ropes of cum shoot decorate your tongue. Jimin can’t quite keep his eyes off the way your mouth fills with his seed, and the way you swallow down every drop of him, licking and cleaning his cock as if to make sure you get all of his cum.
When you make sure he’s clean, you press a light kiss to his oversensitive head. “Just remember. I was the one who sucked your cock and swallowed your cum today. Not Seulgi.”
Jimin reaches to tuck himself back into his pants, hands shaky and thighs still trembling. When you stand up and start to walk off without another word, he reaches for your waist to pull you back into him, wanting a taste of your lips after you swallowed his cum.
It’s bitter and sweet at the same time, and Jimin’s sinful moans only make your thighs clench together harder. When you pull apart, Jimin doesn’t let go of his arms around your waist.
“You have a thing for cum?” You raise an eyebrow at him, remembering him eating you out after he came inside you the last time as well. Most guys you’d been with in the past had no problem kissing you after eating you out, but turn it the other way around and they’d be utterly disgusted.
“It’s hot,” Jimin mutters as his eyes slide away from yours.
Recognizing the telltale signs of his embarrassment, you place your thumb on his chin to stop him from looking away. “It’s hot when you do it.”
Hearing you validate him makes him visibly relax in your arms. “What are we? I don’t think we’re coworkers anymore.”
There’s a brief pause as you are aware of how intimate this is, feeling the arousal still pooling in your underwear and feeling Park Jimin’s body warm against yours. There’s something about being in his arms like this that makes the rest of the world disappear.
“No, we aren’t,” you admit. “We… we could be something more. If you want.”
It’s your turn to be nervous now and you can feel your heart racing in your chest, already anticipating for the handsome golden boy to turn you down. Why would he want to be something more with you after all, when there are so many other pretty girls in the office for him to fuck around with?
“I want to. Be something more, that is.” Jimin smiles back, a cute little shy smile that makes your heart skip a million beats.
*
“_____! It’s been so long since I last saw you!” Granny welcomes you with a wide grin and comforting arms as she bundles you into her embrace. “You look so pretty! Glowing, as usual. Has our Jiminnie been treating you right? Hmmmm?”
Her tone rises into a slight warning as she glares over at her grandson, who is currently struggling with both your luggage a few feet behind.
“He’s been good, Granny,” you reassure her with a relaxed smile.
Granny invited the both of you to spend the long weekend at Jimin’s childhood home in the countryside which also now serves as a sort of vacation home for the Parks. You can’t even remember the last time you had a vacation, had the chance to pull out your flowy summer dresses and really let your hair down. Though this time, there’s another reason altogether for you to wear loose and flowy clothing.
You are ushered into the house to meet the rest of Jimin’s family; his parents and his brother welcome you as if you are already part of the family. They invite you to spectate a game of Wii Tennis, and it’s then that you realise that Jimin’s family are a bunch of heathens because they don’t wear the Wii remote strap while playing.
Jimin is paired up with his father, against his mother and brother. You are more than content to watch from the sides, nestled in beside Granny who feels as soft and comforting as your own mother. Her words, not so much, as she urges the Jimin and his brother to do better, why, if she joined the game she’d beat all their asses!!!
When Jimin’s side wins, the whole family claps and cheers as his mother stands up to give his father a kiss, and when they’re done, the whole family turns expectantly to you and Jimin.
“A kiss for the winner, that’s the prize!” Jimin’s mother says with a mischievous grin on her face.
Jimin fidgets on the spot, tips of his ears growing red as he protests. “Ma…”
“Oh come on, don’t be such prudes!” Granny chides the both of you. “You already did the nasty with each other. How else did my grandchild come into this world?”
“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” Jimin’s brother begins to chant with a shit eating grin on his face that reminds you of a certain co-worker.
Jimin is getting more and more embarrassed trying to fend his family off, but for you, it’s no big deal. It’s not like you and Jimin haven’t said or done more lewd things to each other. In a sense, Jimin’s Granny is right. The both of you already fucked. What is one tiny little kiss?
So with that, you pull a protesting, flustered Jimin closer to you and tiptoe to reach his lips, arms around him as you kiss him deeply, putting on a show for his family. Whoops and cheers celebrate the two of you, and though Jimin is stunned for a moment, he kisses you back just as passionately, letting his tongue meet your own as he tastes you.
When the two of you part for air, Jimin’s brother lets out a loud whoop, and Granny is still clapping. But poor little Jimin is as red as a tomato, and he tugs on your hand, mumbling something about showing you his room and retiring for the night.
You are still laughing and giggling over how embarrassed he is when Jimin closes his door behind the both of you, giving you a cute pout as he crosses his arms in indignance. But he’s too cute too pass up on, and you pinch his cheeks, squishing his face.
“Was my baby Jimin embarrassed?” You coo at him in a baby voice, grin lighting up your face as it gets him even more annoyed at you. Unfortunately for Jimin, (but luckily for you) he’s just that kind of person who gets even cuter when they are angry or upset.
“I’ve never kissed a girl in front of my Granny you know,” he turns his cheek at you as he goes to sit on his bed to continue sulking. “She’s seen me in my underpants when I was a kid!”
“So? I saw you in your underpants too,” you grin lewdly at him, laughing when he throws an arm over his face and groans in embarrassment.
When he hears your laughter, Jimin peeks out from behind his arm to see your face glowing and radiant, hair loose in waves around your face and looking… happy for the first time. Not stressed or worried about work, or in tears because Bae Joohyun humiliated you.
Just happy.
“You look really pretty like this,” Jimin admits in a small, shy voice.
You stop mid laugh to look at him properly. “Like what?”
“When you’re happy,” he clarifies. “When you laugh like that.”
“It’s when you make me laugh like this,” you look down at the pattern on his bedspread, tracing along it with your fingers. “I haven’t laughed like this in a long while. But ever since you came in, I… I don’t know. Mondays haven’t been so bad for me lately.”
The two of you are shy suddenly, and Jimin feels like he’s a teenager again, confessing to his crush in his childhood bedroom. Back then he always dreamed of bringing a girl back to his house and confessing to her, maybe even making out with her behind his parents’ back, but of course back then he wasn’t nearly cool enough to do any of that.
But seeing you look so soft and pretty in your dress that dips down at your neckline, giving him a good view of your cleavage, seeing you beside him on his bed, your attention focused on him solely makes him glad that all his childhood fantasies never happened, because he feels like they’re going to be fulfilled right now.
“Can I kiss you?” Jimin asks.
“Not shy anymore?” You tease him one last time before you lean in and capture your lips with his, and then Jimin is switching positions with you so that your hair fans out over his pillow, he is on top of you in between your legs.
“I want to do it properly,” Jimin scatters kisses down your neck and chest, one hand pinching your nipple through your thin dress. “The last time was rushed. And we were drunk. And we were still co-workers back then.”
Your strap slides off your shoulder sinfully as Jimin pleases himself by worshipping your breasts, kneading them and sucking your nipple through the material.
“I- I told you… we were never co-workers. From day one,” you retaliate against his teasing by pinching his nipple through his shirt with a devious smirk on your face.
“You mean we were fucked from day one?” Jimin grins back as he takes off his shirt in one smooth motion, baring his toned chest and slim abs for your viewing pleasure. Your hands are on him immediately, stroking his firm muscles and running your fingers over every inch of his beautiful skin.
Jimin hikes up your skirt, kissing his way up your thighs till he reaches your underwear. The scent of you is driving him insane, he can already see a wet spot on your panties even though he’s barely touched you. The thought of you getting so wet for him makes him even more eager to pleasure you, so he hooks his fingers into the side of your underwear, pulling it down to expose you to his gaze.
“I still owe you from the bowling alley,” he says when you tug at his hair impatiently, wanting to see his face, kiss his lips. With that as explanation, Jimin gives your core a sloppy lick before he seals his lips to you, French kissing your pussy and making sure he gets your clit with every stroke of tongue.
Your cries and moans are music to his ears; at this point he doesn’t even care if his family hears you anymore. Pulling your dress up to your waist so that you can see in between your thighs, the sight nearly sends you over the edge as you witness Park Jimin eating your pussy like a man starved, his chin glazed with your arousal as he laps everything up. His hands are on your inner thighs, opening you up for him even though your muscles spasm from the pleasure.
“Jimin- fuck! Please,” you are already begging as he assaults your clit with his tongue, circling it relentlessly. “Want your fingers. Please.”
“Want to feel me stretch you for my cock?” Jimin gives in with one finger first, slowly inserting it into you with care until you whine and thrash under his grasp in protest. “My baby wants more? What a greedy pussy you have.”
He embellishes this with a sharp spank on your clit, and your thighs twitch again as you cry out. Jimin gives you two fingers now, and the burn feels so good as he pumps in and out, his tongue occasionally flicking at your clit. Your arousal coats his fingers and his palm messily, starting to drip down onto his sheets, but Jimin figures that the both of you are going to get a lot messier before the night ends.
As you watch Jimin pleasure you with his fingers and tongue, all traces of the shy boy who was embarrassed to kiss you in front of his family are gone. The submissive side of him that gave in to your demands so easily at the bowling alley is also gone, in its place is a gentle but firm dominant who takes charge of your pleasure, and you love that he can switch between the two.
“Cum for me, let me see my baby cum on my fingers,” Jimin coaxes you as he speeds up his fingers, curling them to try and find that one rough spot inside you. “You made such a mess already.”
You can feel the edge right there, the knot so tight in your lower belly and just ready to burst. But words escape you, and all you can do is whine Jimin’s name. In response he wraps his thick plush lips around your clit, maintaining eye contact with you as he sucks,and then you come undone, legs going boneless as your back arches, clenching hard around his fingers as you ride out your orgasm.
Jimin helps you to calm down as he withdraws from your pussy, stroking your legs gently as he admires the glow on your face, your fucked out expression as you breathe deeply. His own cock is straining against his jeans, and he is dying to feel your pussy wrapped around him.
When you finally regain your senses and open your eyes, you see the uncomfortable looking tent in Jimin’s jeans, reaching for it immediately to give him his own release. Jimin shifts his body so that his thighs can fall open, and you pull his jeans off, revealing his thick thigh muscles that you straddle as you get his cock out of his soaked boxers.
“Wait,” Jimin stops you with a hand on your waist. “We need a condom. We still don’t know if… if you’re pregnant. From last time.”
Your cheeks heat up as you swallow back the guilt. After bowling, when you went home that night, your period had come, just one day late, but you didn’t tell Jimin. Upon the sight of blood staining your underwear, there was a strange sense of disappointment that bloomed in your chest, and it confused you so much that you didn’t have the bandwidth to even think about telling Jimin what this meant. You had to take time to process both the consequence of not being pregnant, as well as the unprecedented feelings of disappointment that came with it.
“Um… actually, my period came last week.” You say after taking a deep breath.
Jimin raises an eyebrow as he takes in the news. “So it means… you’re not pregnant.”
“I’m not,” you agree with him, and you want to keep going, but the words are just stuck in your chest.
“The first time we were risking it, but I was just thinking…” Jimin picks up on your hesitation, his own words coming out slowly. “If we should… if we should start trying. For real.”
Jimin is completely serious as he returns your gaze, biting his lip in uncertainty.
“You mean… try to get pregnant? Intentionally?” You’re aware that you’re just repeating his words, but some part of you needs to confirm it.
“Yeah,” Jimin says as he strokes your waist, and you’re fully aware of his cock twitching as he says his next words. “I want to have a baby with you.”
Your breath is sucked out of your chest as the impact of his words hit you, and arousal aside, you feel your stomach fill with butterflies.
“That is… if you want to as well,” Jimin scratches the back of his neck nervously. “I mean, I don’t want to pressure you into anything-“
“I want to,” you interrupt him, reassuring him with a grind of your hips. “I want to have your baby. We’re about three months late, but I think if we start trying real hard now, this baby will get made and we won’t be too far behind.”
Jimin’s cock twitches again, giving away how aroused he is, but he doesn’t give a fuck anymore. Hearing you say that has awakened a fantasy in him that he didn’t even know existed. No longer is he going for the low hanging fruit of just kissing a girl in his childhood bedroom. No, he’s going to make a baby in his childhood bedroom.
You pump him with a few strokes, watching the precum bubble up from his head and run down his girthy length, admiring how hard he is for you. His length feels so heavy in your palm, and your mouth waters as you remember how much better he felt in your mouth, how salty and thick his cum was as he released down your throat.
Just as you bend down to give yourself a repeat ride, Jimin stops you with a hand on your cheek, his own cheeks rosy and embarrassment creeping back in as he says, “You’ll get a mouthful of cum if you do that. As much as I want you to swallow my cum, you’re not getting pregnant that way.”
And then he’s back in charge as he flips you over, spreading your legs wide and resting them on his shoulders as your pussy leaks your arousal. Jimin uses the head of his cock to collect all your juices, teasing your clit before he prods at your entrance. The blunt head of him nudges in slowly, and the stretch makes the both of you moan.
Your legs are trembling, hands reaching out for something to hold on to as Jimin bottoms out inside you. You don’t remember him feeling so big inside you, stretching you out so good and going so deep that you can feel him at the base of your lower abdomen. When you look down, you realise that there is a small bump there, and Jimin is watching that exact spot as well.
“Feel so good and tight, my baby was made to take my cock,” he praises as he intertwines his hands with yours, forcing them above your head as he begins to thrust. His cock slides in and out of your drenched pussy easily, and your walls grip him so tightly that Jimin never wants this moment to end.
Jimin leans forward so that your thighs are pushed to your chest, making the fit even tighter around his cock. Your pussy is already clenching around him, and your breasts are bouncing, cheeks flushed red and lips swollen and shiny from his precum and saliva.
“Harder, fuck me harder Jimin,” you groan as he punishes you with his thrusts, every slap of his thighs against yours reminds you that the both of you are fucking to make a baby. Just watching the sweat drip off his chest, his abs tense and feeling his ass flex as he fucks into your pussy with the full intention of giving you a baby, hisbaby, makes your pussy cream uncontrollably around his cock.
“Does my baby like this?” Jimin gives a harsh thrust and bends your legs back till he can feel your cervix. “Fuck, you’re driving me fucking crazy. Wanna give you a baby so bad. You’re fucking asking for it, asking to get filled with cum.”
“I want it, Jimin,” you gasp as you feel him against the entrance of your womb; Jimin is giving you no mercy as he continues to aim his thrusts deep as he can go. “Want your baby. It’s all I ever wanted.”
Jimin lets your legs fall off his shoulders as he wraps his arms around your waist to pull you into him, as his thrusts increase in power and speed. Your legs wrap around him tightly as if to keep him from pulling out, so all Jimin can do his grind the head of his cock against your cervix, feeling himself twitch as his orgasm draws near.
“I’m not gonna last, cum with me please,” he begs, mouth open and kissing your neck as he buries his face in the crook of your shoulder.
“I’m close, just a little more, fuck,” you loosen your thighs a little so that Jimin can thrust a little more, and the movement of him brushing against your clit sends you into an orgasm, clenching hard around him as you cry out his name and your walls milk him dry for every drop.
Jimin groans as he feels his balls tighten up, filling you up with cum as he thrusts to get every drop right where it should be. “Take it all, take my cum and give me a baby. That’s what my girl wants right?”
“Yes, yes!” You whine as you feel the warmth of his cum in your pussy, his frenzied thrusts as he rides out the last of his orgasm, making sure he gives you everything he has.
Jimin’s face is still buried in your neck as his hips continue to fuck his cum into you, hearing the filthy squelch as he tilts your hips up so that not a single drop can escape. The leisurely thrusts feel intimate as you hug him close to you, feeling his soft breaths against your skin as your legs wrap around his waist, feeling him finally still with his cock still deep inside you. Everything is warm and sticky, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.
A few minutes pass before you realise that Jimin is perfectly content to have his cock plug your pussy up with cum, and while the thought kind of turns you on, he’s heavy, and you nudge him off you with your knee. Jimin pouts as he settles beside you, still drawing you closer to him as he lifts one of your thighs to get a better look at the mess he made of you.
“It’s all coming out,” he says in a disappointed whine as his fingers scoop out the frothy white cum that spilled out of you because of his fucking, gently pushing it back into you. But he can’t resist a little taste, bringing his fingers to his lips for a second.
“Jimin! Stop stealing my baby batter,” you grab his wrist to stop him, shoving it back toward your thighs.
“That’s the least sexy word for cum I’ve ever heard,” he frowns disapprovingly at you. “Stay there, don’t move. You need to keep your hips up.”
Jimin pushes a pillow under your hips, and whilst you’re rendered immobile, he takes the chance to sneakily lap at your inner thighs, cleaning up some of the cum that he didn’t manage to push into you. You glare at him, reaching down to tug at his hair, but then-
“Stay safe, kids!” It’s his father’s voice from down the hallway.
“Why do they need to stay safe? She’s already having his kid!” You hear Granny’s voice a second later, and your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “No need to stay safe, Puppy! You heard me? It’s good for the baby!”
You glare at Jimin, then push your chin toward his door, expecting him to answer his Granny.
Jimin mouths a ‘what’ at you in exasperation, his lust filled brain unable to think of a single appropriate response for this situation. Finally, he forces a cheery tone as he shouts back, “we will, Granny! Night Granny!”
Your head falls back into the pillow with a groan at how lame he is.
You’re most definitely not looking forward to breakfast tomorrow.
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writejiminie · 4 years
Text
Onsra ─ Epilogue.
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Ⅰ Ⅱ Ⅲ Ⅳ Ⅴ Epilogue
Pairing: Jungkook x reader | Jimin x reader | (hinted) Yoongi x reader Genre: fluff, (slight) angst Word count: 4.3k  Summary: It has been five years; your son is now five years old, you’re attending a wedding, and reunions are made.
Jimin, in his clean, cut suit, stands by the pillar next to the priest as everyone in the audience is caught up in the anticipation brought upon by the silence as many loved ones have their phones and cameras out on record.
Then, the piano plays.
The flower girls stroll through and a couple laughs could be heard here and there by how adorable and innocent they looked as they giggled along the aisle, grabbing uneven handfuls of petals from their small baskets and tossing them in every unknown direction.
The harp strings soon join in.
Maids and men of honor follow shortly after the children and you recognize some familiar faces, those of classmates and some of Jimin’s team members. One of the young women notices you and smiles, to which you return a small one with a short nod in her direction. She used to be rather shy and always avoided your gaze when you greeted her around campus. It seems the tables have turned now as she glowed with confidence and you were the one to remain quiet, avoiding anymore than a brief conversation when socializing with fellow attending acquaintances and guests.
It is when the gasps and shouts occur, that you realize she’s coming. Her arm linked around her father’s as he walked her across the white silk spread on the ground, now decorated, with the effort of the flower girls, with purple and pink petals which gave it a magical contrast of colors.
Bora looks absolutely stunning in her white gown, flashing and pure as you always remembered and still saw her as. She smiles with her row of pearly white teeth as flashes and cameras click, seemingly surrounding her from those sitting in the chairs on the sides. But among them you watch silently; a petite, but caring smile upon your face. You are so, so happy for them.
As she approaches the front towards the beautifully-decorated arch, you observe the way Jimin looks at her and for some reason you feel rather bittersweet. Yet, you find your eyes locked onto his expression, maybe hoping that he’d look your way? What if, today would be the day he realizes that you were his true love? 
...A soft sigh escapes your lips as you let your eyes do the laughing, your hopeless romantic fantasies almost got the best of you.
After they exchanged their vows and tied all their promises with a kiss, everyone began to stand up to gather into the wedding banquet nearby. It was time for lunch.
“Mama,” your now 5 year-old son tugged at your arm, “I’m thirsty.”
You smile and nod as you both stand up as well, “Alrig-
“Y/N?”
You turn around and your eyes widen at the person standing before you with their partner, but your face relaxes and you offer a friendly smile to the matching couple wearing black from the bottom up.
“Ah, Jungkook!” You bow politely to the woman whom you recognized as Soon-hee beside him and she returns the same gesture. “How have you been? It’s been so long...”
“It has! Everything’s been perfect, and goodness...He’s grown so big!” Jungkook exclaimed in awe as he knelt down to greet your son. “His name? How old is he now?”
“Chin-mae and he just turned five last week.” You replied calmly and all of you laughed when he began to shy away from Jungkook, hiding behind you and gripping to the hem of your light-blue dress for dear life.
“Is that so...He’ll grow up well,” He waves at your little boy before standing up and grinning at you, his smile hadn’t changed at all, it was still goofy with a touch of charm from the familiar rabbit-like teeth in the front, “Well, we’re going to start heading over to the banquet, Soon-hee’s starving!”
At that remark, she elbowed his side and he flinched in pain, struggling to keep his posture and this causes you to laugh, “Oh, we were just about to head over as well! Chin-mae’s pretty parched,” You smile softly at your small son, the poor boy’s face was red and irritated from the sun.
“Ohh perfect, then let’s go together?” Jungkook offers and you glance over to Soon-hee.
“I don’t mind,” She smiles, “I’m sure you and Jungkook have a lot to catch up on.”
And so, you joined the couple as you and Chin-mae entered, rushing to find a table before the rest of the crowd came pouring in. Soon-hee got up to bring some appetizers for us and took Chin-mae along to get some punch, allowing you and Jungkook to catch up a bit.
“Who knew these two were so popular?” Jungkook cautiously looked around, unfamiliar with most of the faces as you felt the same way. But you laughed, having realized that Bora and Jimin really did have lives of their own apart from the frolicking days where the only friends you ever had were them and them only. 
“Have you talked to Bora and Jimin yet? Do they know you’re here?” Jungkook asked you before reaching towards the center of the round table for the pitcher filled with pink lemonade and pouring it into his glass then gestures it towards you.
You and Jungkook always shared the same tastes and had many things in common. No wonder you two were so compatible, in the beginning. 
You nod and take the pitcher from him, filling your glass as well, “Ah, I came just to see their wedding, but yes they were aware I was coming,” You rub your neck shyly, “I didn’t want to make anything awkward so I haven’t spoken to either of them today. I bet they were surprised I had accepted their invitation at all as I was surprised they still wanted to send me one. As a matter of fact, Bora wanted to make me her bridesmaid actually, but I rejected.”
Jungkook raises his eyebrow while sipping from his glass, “How come? I thought there weren’t anymore hard feelings?”
“There aren’t any hard feelings,” you explained while twirling your finger along the rim of your glass, “I just didn’t feel like that was my position to take. In a way, I almost took away their happiness because of my own selfishness.”
You notice from the corner of your eye that Jungkook almost reach out to touch you, but he pauses and apologizes quickly as he retracts his hand, “Sorry, old habits die hard.”
I wouldn’t have minded. Jungkook has always been warm and comforting to you. That hasn’t changed.
But you shake your head, reassuring him. 
“Hey now,” Jungkook mutters, “You’re not selfish. Not to bring up war flashbacks from the past but it was both of them who betrayed you first. I’m surprised they even had the audacity to send you an invitation and they haven’t apologized to you for everything you had to go through.”
You watch as Jungkook irritatedly downs the last of his glass and smile at Soon-hee when you notice her making her way back to the table, carrying some dishes while Chin-mae holds onto her arm while stuffing his face with what seems to be a vanilla cupcake.
“My goodness!! They have such a variety of desserts, I can only imagine they hired the most expensive patisseurs to display such attractive pastries!” Soon-hee exclaims as she hands you a plate with a slice of what seems to be a round and glazed lemon cake, "Y/N, you simply must try this lemon cake! It’s out of this world!”
Personally, you aren’t the biggest fan of lemon cake but it would be rude to decline it after all the trouble Soon-hee went through to kindly gather as many dishes as she could from the chaos that was the dessert area. You gratefully take it from her and force yourself to a few small bites for her satisfaction, to which Soon-hee smiled appreciatively towards you.
“Good, right?” She asks with anticipation.
Your try your best to nod your head enthusiastically and based on her reaction, with a big smile spread across her face, she seems convinced enough for you to graciously busy your mouth on the other plates.
You reach out for the chocolate lava cake which works wonders on cleansing your pallet of that lemon cake that tasted of nauseating perfume fragrances.
You notice Jungkook staring at you and it didn’t take you long to read the message behind his expression before Soon-hee began shoving his face with all the desserts she claimed were his favorites.
What about Chin-mae?
What about him? He has been just fine in your care. As he lacks a father, it meant you had to play both roles. Nobody ever asked you about your struggles as a single mother, but it was hard enough work that words wouldn’t be enough to vent with. You were very much alone for the first five years of his life, with occasional support from your own parents.
After surviving on the money and food sent to you by your parents for the first couple years of Chin-mae’s life, you eventually worked two part-time jobs during the morning and the afternoon while leaving Chin-mae at day-care. You would then pick him up in the evening and prepare dinner for the both of you. That has been your daily routine until he will start attending kindergarten in a month.
Chin-mae had grown to be a rather quiet and shy child, very much similar to you as his mother because you also did not have much of a social life anymore. There just wasn’t enough time you could afford to spend for yourself and instead you dedicated it all to ensuring your son had a healthy childhood and grew up well. It took a lot of physical and mental effort for you to fill in both parent roles so that Chin-mae wouldn’t feel neglected in any way.
Naturally, Jimin had tried to reach out a couple times but you ignored him because if he were to enter your and Chin-mae’s new life, there was no telling how this would affect his and Bora’s relationship. Even when both had done you wrong, they were still people you had once called friends and the care and good fortune you wished upon them remained genuine.
You overhear Jungkook and Soon-hee’s convo which pulls you out of your thoughts.
“Here, you should eat more vegetables,” Jungkook persuades Soon-hee but she frowns at him, “Even though you hate them, you have to eat at least some! Don’t you want,” you notice Jungkook bring a hand down to her belly you just now saw as slightly enlarged, “Haru to be healthy when she’s born?”
Haru. Why does that sound so familiar?
Then it clicks.
Ohhh right, wasn’t that what Jungkook had wanted to name Chin-mae?
You then feel a nudge on your knee and notice little Chin-mae standing beside you, lifting up his frosting-covered hands so you could pick him. You lift him onto your lap and wipe his hands and face down with multiple napkins as you murmur with a giggle, “Seems my little man had his dose of sugar today!”
Your son giggles back with a big grin as he bounces himself excitedly on your lap while clapping his hands loudly, sugar high.
After a day full of eating and chatting, it eventually grew late which meant it was time for the first dance and you knew what came next from your share of weddings you had attended even when you failed to have your own. By the time the dance is over, everyone will be drunk and playing wild wedding games to extend the night. You planned to leave early before it got that point as it was fast approaching 10PM and you wanted to be home before midnight to tuck Chin-mae in, who was already dozing off in your arms.
You’re finishing your seventh glass of pink lemonade, sneaking in a couple small sips from a second glass of red wine here and there to avoid passing your tolerance, and have Jungkook and Soon-hee watch over the sleeping Chin-mae while you hurriedly head over to the restroom before the dance.
After relieving yourself, you wash your hands and feel a prescence coming up to wash her hands at the sink next to yours. You glance up to see her through the mirror and you freeze.
It was Bora.
Shortly after, she seems to notice you pause at your sink only to stop with shock as well upon seeing your familiar features.
“Y/N...is that really you...?” she whispers slowly, her eyes reflecting the same bewildered width of yours back, “So...you really did come after all.” Her voice cracked.
D@mn it.
All day you had been hoping to quietly attend their wedding to ensure everything went well and tried to avoid interacting with them at all costs. But nothing could have prepared you for this unlucky encounter.
Then, the unexpected happened. Bora immediately embraced you into her arms and began to sob.
Oddly enough, as if automatically, you also found yourself clinging to her in return just as tightly with a craving for human interaction. For so many years, the only being you had held close was Chin-mae, as your social life had severly gone down the drain the moment you became a single mother. That had always been a sacrifice you were willing to make for your son’s well-being. But nothing could stop you from being selfish right now.
You had forgotten how warm Bora was.
You then began to recall the times when hugs like this used to occur often because Bora had always been an affectionate being who could never keep herself off of you. It got to the point where you were annoyed and sick of all of her embraces. But right now, this desperate and silent hug spilling emotions of regret, guilt, care, and love was all you could ever ask for in this moment.
No words were exchanged and you both lost track of time for how long you stayed in each others’ arms. There was nothing to say. Apologies and forgiveness would never be enough to mend this broken friendship you two shared, but the love you had for each other was still there.
“Jimin must be waiting for me,” Bora laughs, you notice she has toned down quite a bit. She was a lot calmer and more composed from the energetic girl you used to remember her as. “H-how long will you be staying? I’m sure Jimin would like to meet you and you brought your so-”
“I will leave after I watch your first dance, so I can tuck Chin-mae into bed. He actually fell asleep not too long ago.” You interuppted her by sudden impulse, a reflex due to the discomfort you felt from Bora talking about your son and Jimin in the same context.
Bora nods understandingly, “I see...Thank you for coming and I hope you had fun. I hope we can talk again soon Y/N.” She bows to me as she excuses herself out of the bathroom first.
You take a long sigh and stare at yourself in the mirror. Hopefully Bora’s makeup wasn’t messed up. You ponder as you begin to clean your face up a bit as well before heading back out.
You make it back to the table just in time as Jungkook and Soon-hee insist to continue holding Chin-mae as he comfortably lays down across both of their laps, to which you nodded gratefully for your arms were a bit tired from holding him earlier.
Then, hushes could be heard as the lights began to dim and everyone went silent.
You see Jimin take Bora’s hand as he lightly brings her to her feet and walks with her towards the center of the banquet. Everyone has their phones out and you notice people wiping tears from their eyes as the couple begins their gentle choreography.
The song starts to slowly play and instantly, you can feel tears well up in your eyes.
♫ When your legs don't work like they used to before
And I can't sweep you off of your feet ♪
You close your eyes, “Thinking Out Loud” by Ed Sheeran, as you find yourself swaying with everyone else.
♪ And I'm thinking 'bout how people fall in love in mysterious ways
Maybe just the touch of a hand ♫
Not the most unique choice to slow dance to, but a charming song nonetheless. You open your eyes again to see Jimin spinning her and you can hear Bora’s giggle as her long white gown follows their matching steps, to which the rest of the guests laugh along too as the dance began to take a more carefree direction.
♫ I'll just keep on making the same mistakes
Hoping that you'll understand ♪
You feel that familiar nudge on your knee and see in the darkness that Chin-mae had woken up. Your eyes meet Jungkook’s and Soon-hee, both who shrugged with silly expressions reading, “He’s all yours again.” You smile with a small laugh to them as you take Chin-mae once again into your arms.
“I’m sleepy...” he whimpers and you lightly pat his back.
“We’ll go home soon, after this dance.” You assure him and surely enough, the song comes towards its end and the couple’s dance ends with them hugging each other.
♥ And we found love right where we are. ♫
“Alright, I think it’s about time I take this little one to bed.” You say as you begin to gather your things. Soon-hee helps you pack some desserts and foods to take home and Jungkook offers to assist with bringing everything to your car seeing how Chin-mae was already adding weight to your back.
Jungkook excuses himself and you both end up talking again on the way to the exit of the banquet. You two had always been able to naturally hold a conversation wherever you guys were.
“I can’t help but ask but, does Soon-hee know we were a thing?” you ask in a way, as if you two hadn’t been dating behind her back in the past.
Jungkook nervously scratches his nose, “I...I thought it’d be easier just to tell her we go way back, like friends since college. It made the most sense considering you were friends with Bora and Jimin as well.”
You nod, not happy about Jungkook continuing to lie to his wife and her being oblivious about everything that truly happpened between all of you, but it wasn’t necessary for you to ruin a happy marriage you were no longer involved with the people of.
“Haru, huh?” you bring up and notice the way Jungkook perks up.
“Ohh that’s right, I haven’t told you yet but the news itself was pretty recent,” Jungkook says, you notice the excitement behind his eyes, “Soon-hee is pregnant! With a baby girl!”
“Aww, congratulations guys! I’m really happy to hear that.” You smile at him to which he returns warmly with a grin.
“Yeah, life’s been good. But hey, that means Chin-mae and Haru can be best buddies huh? Maybe Chin-mad could teach her a thing or two,” Jungkook teases and you both laugh. That did sound very nice to let the children be friends with each other.
As you both approach the exit, your heart stops when you see Jimin standing outside having a smoke. Jungkook notices him as well but it’s too late, Jimin’s head had turned to your direction and his eyes widened just as Bora’s had when she saw you.
“Y/N...that’s you, isn’t it?” He blinks multiple times with disbelief as he takes the cigarette out of his mouth to bury into the dust of a nearby ash tray.
Jungkook attempts to step forward, but you put your hand to his arm and shake your head.
“Wow, you look as amazing as always! Love your dress, you’ve always loved light blue huh?” Jimin compliments as he comes up to you with what resembles admiration?
But you didn’t look much different aside from the increased depth of darkness below your eyes from overworking and lack of sleep. But in comparison, Jimin, in his clean, cut suit, looked sharper than ever. His cocoa brown hair split to the side in a way where his bangs fell gracefully slightly above his eyes, his jawline noticeabley sharper upon his freshly shaved face, and from the width of his shoulders and muscular torso he was definitely more built.
You nod your head. He seemed to still remember some of your interests even after many years later since the last time you saw him.
You notice the way his eyes transfer to the little one with his arms wrapped around your neck as he sleeps upon your back and observe his expressions. This was, after all, the first time he had seen his biological son.
His eyes are unreadable, but his smile tells it all. A hurt smile, almost forced. He knows who this child is,
“Mind if I?” Jimin gestures, offering to hold onto everything you and Jungkook were carrying. “I’ll help you take the rest to your car.”
Before Jungkook could respond, you interuppted, “Yes, that’s fine.”
Why? I shouldn’t talk to him. So why, am I allowing it now?
Jungkook turns to you with worry, but you say, “It’s okay Jungkook, it was a bit inevitable that I’d have to talk to him someday right? Just as I did with you, I should catch up with Jimin as well.”
At that, Jungkook hands Jimin the things he was carrying, hesitantly, and tells you before he goes back into the banquet, “Call me if anything happens, okay?”
You nod and you begin to walk towards your car with Jimin. 
It was dark out, but the soft breeze was calming among the stars twinkling in the cloudless sky around the moon that sure to be full tomorrow. 
“So...” Jimin begins, “That’s my-”
“He’s my son, yes.” You say quickly. 
An awkward silence follows.
“Ah...” Jimin says slowly, being careful with his words, “Right, he’s very cute, looks just like you Y/N.” Jimin says slowly and you thank him. Although both of you were completely aware that Chin-mae actually looked practically identical to Jimin. 
Not too long after, your car is in sight and you find yourself hurrying to it. 
“Well, this is my car. Thank you for helping me, Jimin.” He nods back in response as you finish putting everything in the back seat after placing the sleeping Chin-mae in his booster seat.
“Hey Y/N, thanks for coming to our wedding. It means a lot.” Jimin starts awkwardly, but you can hear the sincerity. 
“Of course, I’m hoping only the best for you two. And I contributed $200 of my hard work so, make good use of that building your lives together okay?” You joke and Jimin’s eyes widen until you both are laughing hard together in the night.
“I appreciate it and I’m sure Bora does as well. And I want you to know, you can still count on us okay?” Jimin says, his eyes soft on yours, “I can only imagine all of your struggles so far, so if you need help with anything just reach out. But, I can tell you with certainty that your son is growing up just fine, he looks strong and healthy.” You can’t help but fall for the way his eyes gently watch over the relaxed features of Chin-mae, dare you say it was fatherly.  
“I understand, thank you and I love you both.” You manage to grin and with one strong hug, you both separated ways once more. It hurt much less than the first time.
                                      . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .
“Chin-mae! Hurry and put your shoes on, we’re gonna be late!” 
It was time for your son to start kindergarten. He had been nervous for the past week, last night especially. 
“It’ll be just like daycare, but now you’ll get to meet more friends and learn! Isn’t that exciting? And you love stories too so I’m sure they’ll read lots more to you and you can tell me all about it!”
As a mother, you were feeling really proud and excited for Chin-mae to get his first taste of school and education. You knew he was going to be just fine, just as Jungkook and Jimin had told you he would be.
Rushing to the school was very stressful, but you managed to make it just in time as the last couple parents were coming in to drop off their children. Following behind them, with Chin-mae anxiously clinging to the sleeve of your light blue sweater, you are greeted by a man. He wore a red polo shirt with a logo located slightly above the right breast, black pants, and a lanyard with a card hanging on it. He did not seem to be the friendliest, a bit intimidating and serious by his sharp eyes and rough facial features...or so you thought, until the man knelt down to meet Chin-mae’s eyes. 
“Hi there, what’s your name?” He asks softly, not kiddy language soft, but in a tone that felt trusting and reliable.
To your surprise, Chin-mae responds to the stranger, “Chin-mae.” 
The man brushes the curled, black bangs away from his eyes and smiles warmly, “Nice to meet you Chin-mae, go ahead and head in. I’m sure all of the kids would love to meet you as well.”
You could’ve sworn your son’s eyes twinkled and after giving you a hug, Chin-mae willingly hurries inside the classroom, filled with students more than happy to see him, feeling a little more braver than before.
“Wow,” You bashfully say, unable to hold in your amazement, “You were able to calm his nerves so quickly.” 
The man stood back up and let out a sigh, “The magic of a kindergarten teacher does wonders,” He shrugs and his eyes widen when you find yourself laughing slightly at his comment.
“Ahh so you must be my son’s teacher, nice to meet you. My name is Y/N L/N, please take care of him well.” You politely bow and he nods, returning the gesture.
“Leave it to me, I see a lot of potential in that kid.” The man smiles, “My name is Min Yoongi. Nice to meet you.”
Your heart skips a beat.
                                     »»————- ♡ ————-««
Ahahah I have a LOT of explaining to do, don’t I? (^▽^;) //sweats// That’s amazing that it’s been tHReE years (//omg) since I had written and worked on this series! I never forgot about it, rather, I underwent the world’s longest writer’s block which stopped me from picking this up and finishing the epilogue I promised until now. For that, I apologize to my readers if they are still following me and my series <3 ;-;
But finally, this is the end of Onsra~!!! I hope those that have stuck around enjoyed this journey and that the long-awaited epilogue did some justice. Thank you all sooo much for reading and I’m very happy this story of mine became so successful by all your support <3 Have a lovely day everyone!! :’)))
                                                                          ~Boba  ☆ ʕ •ᴥ• ʔ ☆
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yeoldontknow · 5 years
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Empty Vessels (M)
Author’s Note: the next installment in the Tam Infra Quam Supra series. ive spent seven months working on this, and the backstory, details, and world got a little out of control. i promise, though, all of this is important. considering its length, if you have trouble reading this - i recommend you load on a desktop app | Historical note: the names, information, and references used regarding the actual Salem Witch trials have been been lifted for a work of fiction. I make no claim stating that anything described below is true, historically, accurate, or authentic. The Abott family are entirely original characters. Pairing: Junmyeon x Reader (oc; female) Genre: witch!au; soulmate!au; horror; suspense; thriller; romance Summary: Water is everywhere. Junmyeon knows this better than he knows most things. Water is everywhere and it is the source of life - it exists within and inside humanity. But water, he knows, erodes. It weathers a person, and it has dried him out and turned him into something cold. So what does he do, then, when he meets you, his moon? Rating: NC-17 Warnings: graphic depictions of blood; graphic references to violence; mentions of death and dismemberment; graphic depictions of demonic possession; explicit language; dark themes; explicit sex; fingering; unprotected sex; impregnation kink; creampie; dirty talk Word count: 30K
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APRIL 1692 2:17AM
He wakes to the sound of thunder, a distant and violent rumble echoing through the house, with a force that makes the walls vibrate.
In the haze between wakefulness and sleep, he shudders with a petulant grimace, joining the manor in a tremble of discontent. Eyelids weighed down by exhaustion and limbs drenched in the comfort of lambskin and wool, he hums to himself, waiting patiently for the soothing fall of rain.
Always, the rain, the water, delivers him a sense of peace that burrows down into his bones, kissing the marrow with a gentle tongue. He cherishes each drop as though they were his own children, relishes their kindness and pays it back in kind - for they are born from the earth and destined to be controlled by his hand alone, a homecoming to their father’s delicate touch.
They caress and preen against his skin, his home, his heart - they caress him, and he welcomes the torrent of their deluge. There is a comfort to be found in the flood, the gift of a surrender that is both terrifying and magnificent, and he welcomes it with expectant, needy fingers. Often, even without wind or breeze, the rain will press against his window, attempting to burrow in and be close, and he waits, readying to soothe and be soothed by the rhythm of their fall.
Tonight, however, the rain does not come. Tonight, the sky is too quiet and his nerves twitch in displeasure at the lack.
The thunder breaks again, and, at the sound of its intensity, Junmyeon furrows his brow, a deep pout setting itself against his lips. April. Too soon for the rainless storms that come from the heat and humidity of the summer sun; too late for oncoming terror of a hurricane, the usual warning bringing nothing behind it at all. There should be a chasm in the sky, something awful thrusting itself against the grass and the glass. There should be a flash of light and the wonder of panic too big to be contained in the armor of one's chest.
There should be something and this thunder, it seems, brings nothing at all.
Except that it does.
Behind the thunder is a yell that lingers, a voice urgent and penetrative, demanding his attention and calling his name with an urgency soaked in bitterness. It is not thunder that woke him, but knocking. Understanding washes over him, eyes growing wide and blood rushing in his ears, waking him fully. Slinging his legs over the bed, he pulls on his breeches beneath his muslin shirt and stalks to the door, tying them as he moves.
His motions are quick, mindless, attention focused on the door and the figures that rest behind it. In the dim light of the moon, their shadows cast along his walls, grotesque and inhuman, macabre in the foreboding they bring.
Names run through his mind, an endless list of friends and acquaintances that circle around and back again. By the time he reaches his door, he assumes it is a coven member - perhaps, a member of another coven, and he dreads their knowing, patronizing stares and hollowed gazes. The witching hour approaches, and, lately, Minseok has had dreams; visions of bloodshed and wounds born of war, of fear - he thought he had time, that they had time, and now he feels the tick of the clock has become a pendulum swinging against their favor.
Behind the door, the town magistrate stands and regards him with tired, accusatory eyes. The veneer of his polite smile is tarnished, fading and pulling at his lips to reveal a sneer of distorted anger, turning him into something poisonous. He holds the torch over his head at such a height, the lines of cheeks create deep crevices along his bones, the contour of his face appearing violent. The magistrate burns beneath the harsh light, much the way acid burns at the back of Junmyeon's throat, his weight shifting from foot to foot in anxiousness. 
This, he knows, is not the first time a member of polite society or a member of authority has arrived at his home, seething and unannounced, demanding answers. Briefly, Junmyeon reminds himself this has happened before - it has happened before and it will happen again, but something about tonight tells him there is risk. This will not be the first time they have been discovered - if, of course, that is what this is about - but it may cost them their lives.
Idly, he thinks on the others - if he should wake them, if he should find Luhan, if he should say anything at all - before remembering words have not been shared, and therefore it is best he remain patient. Still, he keeps his tongue locked behind the prison of his teeth, expecting to be accused without any viable proof at all.
'Junmyeon,' is the all the Magistrate manages before releasing a long sigh, eyebrows stitched together in concern. The tension in his voice is thick, palpable, casting a heaviness into the air that makes Junmyeon’s neck begin to ache. 
Junmyeon nods in the effort of remaining polite, calling on the water in his cells to keep him as serene as possible. 'Magistrate Adams,' he smiles, voice slow and heavy with sleep. 'What business brings you here at this hour?'
'It's Sasha.'
Another voice breaks behind the magistrate, an exhausted, worried voice belonging to a man who steps forward with anxious and heavy steps. His weathered hands grip his straw hat as though it were a cross. The bags beneath his eyes hang low on his skin, bruising from lack of sleep. Immediately, Junmyeon recognizes him as Sasha Abott’s father, Jacob, a kind farmer with calloused skin and a complexion greying beneath his fright.
Junmyeon regards him calmly, feeling his stomach distend and bend to touch his feet. ‘What about her?’
Sasha is smart, perhaps his brightest student, young and inquisitive and with a penmanship careful beyond her years. She is his favourite student, his favourite and his most observant. Her eyes follow him, tracing his motions as if committing him to memory and gaze lingering on him even when it should not. At sixteen, she is on the precipice of learning her power as a woman, and now his mind reels as implication worms its way through.
‘She has been possessed.’
‘Possessed?’ Junmyeon repeats the word, but remains unsure if anyone truly heard him. 
Momentarily, he feels as though he has been reduced, whittled down to little more than ash, blood leaving his face in favor of the company of his toes.
‘By the Devil,’ the magistrate adds sharply, as though it were necessary.
In the silence, Junmyeon listens to the way his breath becomes shallow, eyes flicking between their intense, penetrative stares. He knows it’s possible, that it’s happened before. It has happened before, but not for centuries. Still, he is haunted by the memory of their black eyes and the yellow of their tongues, the grotesque way man succumbs to darkness and renders their bodies inhuman. To be filled with such a cursed thing is an act of dark magic, dark and powerful magic that is as ancient as the moon, and with its power comes the sulfuric scent of death. 
‘I am unsure why you think I may be able to help,’ he says eventually, speech slowed by his inability to process the implication. ‘She would need the priest, good sirs.’
He offers the suggestion in a low tone, a warning. There will be little he can do for the girl, little anyone can do - even the priest. To hold the devil within your chest is to kiss fire, to let your organs burn and burn until the soul that remained has been eviscerated, leaving only the scarred shell of a heart that once loved behind. 
‘She has named you,‘ Sasha’s father announces, sounding desperate and lost. 
For Junmyeon, time seems to stop, blood halting within his veins as his breath falters. He pales, he’s sure of it, looking as good as guilty in the moonlight.
‘It would appear yours is the only name she can say,’ the magistrate offers, watching him narrowed eyes for subtle tells. ‘She begs for you.’ 
Magistrate Adams holds onto the word beg like he’s gradually unveiling a secret, peeling at the letters with his teeth to bare their unholy core. For a moment, Junmyeon thinks on this word and how it is both a plea, a cry for help, and also a curse. She has named him, requested him, hissed his name at a group of men as grown as he, letting the syllables saunter over we skin to paint pictures in their imaginations.
Sasha has done more than name him - she has damned him.
Shifting his weight from foot to foot, Junmyeon bends his knees as through bracing himself, body preparing to run and preparing to ache. Locking all his emotions away behind his teeth, he grips the door knob tightly and hums. 
‘What do you presume I could possibly do?’ he asks, disbelieving as his eyes move from face to face, taking in the shadows the light casts and letting their chill caress his spine.
‘I urge you, sir,’ Magistrate Adams warns, darkening his tone and slowing his speech. ‘Your willingness to assist will eventually play in your favor.’
It’s a chilling thing to say, the words heavy and weighted with threat. Regardless of how this night goes, blood will be spilled, lives will be lost, and Junmyeon’s name will be the first on the list of the accused.
‘Please,’ her father whispers, a broken splinter of a man bulked with strength. The sound of it startles Junmyeon, so heartbreakingly contradictory to Magistrate Adams’ severity. ‘Help her.’
Junmyeon takes his hand and holds it between his own, overwhelmed by the fear, the anguish, the anxious uncertainty that flows from John Abbot’s skin. For a moment, he tries to soothe the pain, easing what he can in the hopes of bringing either one or both some relief, but quickly stops, tightening his fingers around John’s hand to shake it. 
Even as he shakes his hand, as he lets the wasted sorrow of a man burn in his chest, as he lets himself be consumed by risk in the name of a child, he knows. 
As he offers promises of hope and healing, promises to witness and understand; as he promises let himself burn in the name of a child he wished he could call his own, he knows. 
He knows there will be no way out of this, no way that does not involve the ash of his soul or the fracturing of the coven. 
Junmyeon is damned. There will be no hope for him until the sun turns black.
Tucked just towards the back of a field crafted into bounty, the Abbot’s home stands small yet warm, the lights of the windows glowing through the night as a beacon. Even from a distance, Junmyeon can sense the pious modesty that defines their home and their land, a rarity to see for such a skilled farmer. But then, he knows the Abbot family is small, and will always remain so. They have only one daughter, and will only ever have one daughter - all other children perishing within Mary Abbot’s womb or within the first few months of life. As Junmyeon approaches the cottage, it is this knowledge that seems to spur a sense of urgency within his blood, an understanding that Sasha is cherished, adored, doted upon if only because she will be the last of her kind. 
She is a blessing upon her family, and now, in the grim bleakness of the night, it seems she has been twisted and reduced to little more than a curse.
Before they reach the door, Bridget Bishop steps out to welcome them, seeming out of place in her signature red cloak and tunic. Wringing her hands together, the moonlight casts silver into the tendrils of her hair, the shadows on her face amplifying the intensity in the furrow of her brow. It is the first time Junmyeon has seen her this way, her normally bright disposition overcast with worry and discontent. Acting as Sasha’s nanny, the two had a close bond, often inseparable when walking together in town. Even more, Sasha would choose to sit with her rather than her family at mass, both seated in pews towards the back, whispering.
‘It’s gotten worse since you left,’ she announces, voice sharp as a blade as regards Jacob alone. ‘I fear she may not survive this night.’ 
From the corner of his eye, Junmyeon watches the way Magistrate Adams regards her with scorn, distrust painted over his features. For a moment, Junmyeon sees her as his only ally, understanding that it is no longer he who has been damned, but Bridget Bishop as well. 
‘Is this what women do when they don’t have husbands?’ The Magistrate’s voice cuts through the night, a dagger intended for Bridget’s malleable heart, and to carve directly into the rumours of her adultery with Jacob. ‘Fret over a child that is not their own?’
She breathes his words in deep, letting the poison put lightning on her tongue, eyes falling on Magistrate Adams with a severity that gives Junmyeon a chill. Rooting her feet to the earth, she lifts herself a few inches taller, straightening her spine as though born of iron and steel. Neither scorned nor startled, Bridget simply becomes a viper, vicious in her regard for men who dare tear down a woman.
‘The likes of you have no place here, Adams,’ she says, hands falling to her sides with her fingers outstretched, knuckles tense. ‘With such hate in your heart, I imagine the Devil would take glee in your soul.’
‘Witch!’ Magistrate Adams calls, lurching forward before Jacob’s arm comes to pull him back, gaining rightful authority on his property. ‘This is a threat to vex me! I will not forget it.’
‘Enough.’ Jacob’s voice roars in the night, all warmth having left him somewhere in the walk back to his home. He, too, has become battle born and thread with steel, eyes the cold timber of metal as he regards Bridget with dejection. ‘We’ll be seeing her.’
Even as he steps onto the porch, Junmyeon can smell the sulfur that churns within the house. For several moments, he pauses in the doorway, eyes downcast in search of salt or basil. Finding none, his heart takes to bleeding. The devil has found a plaything here, and they have done nothing to neither keep him inside nor banish him away.
Within the house, the light from the candles flickers in irregular patterns, too uncontrolled and distorted for such a still night. The yellow of the flames casts their shadows tall, curls their edges around the hard angles of the house and makes them too appear as demons. In this light, everyone has claws and no one is safe.
Jacob leads them up the stairs to Sasha's room, and as they approach Junmyeon feels his soul begin to fissure. As with any powerful dark magic, the barriers surrounding the boundary of her room reject him, his light, and his healing. Gravity means to push him away, and it takes effort not to moan with the effort of continuing his ascent. Jacob and Magistrate Adams approach her door as though they have never felt so free, and Junmyeon envies them. He envies the simplicity of their life, and the way it will continue in a chronological order even if their experience of it will be forever altered after this night.
For Junmyeon, his feet struggle to deny their steady approach to doom, to death, to the gallows, or, perhaps, to an empty black of nothing at all. Furrowing his brow, he chews the inside of his cheek with the force of his push until the skin begins to bleed, the salty metallic timber of his essence urging him to turn back. Still, he closes his eyes and presses his hands against her doorway, breathing deeply even though the air makes his lungs and throat ache.
'This is she,' Jacob whispers, neither looking at Junmyeon nor his daughter, truly.
Opening his eyes, Junmyeon glances at Jacob before looking into the room, realizing that everything inside this small space reeks of necrosis. His eyes do not fall on his daughter, nor do they fall anywhere else. Now, his gaze is vacant, confronted with a truth so bleak his mind refuses to truly see at all.
Even in hell, the truth is the only thing he can see.
In her bed, Sasha moans, eyes wide and looking at the ceiling - rather, through the ceiling - as her chest warps tragedy into sound. To him, for a single moment, it appears she is summoning the stars with the force of her will alone.
But then, there is no cosmic nor divine magic to the strength of her stare, the whites of her eyes tarnished with a jaundice that seems to eat away at her skin. It flakes away from her, peeling as though burning and boiling the water in her pores, her blood. And where this should make her pink or pale, cells inflamed with the sudden heat of the fire, it only has made her gangrenous. Her breath, struggling against the spores of her lungs, rattles as though battling within a cage, seeming to echo in the quietness of the house.
Distantly, Junmyeon hears the sound of weeping. He does not know if it is Mary, or Jacob, or himself, or, perhaps, even God. In the end, he supposes it is everyone, hearts breaking in unison.
It seems unfair that he should weep for her, unfair that he should have a right to care for her as much as he does. But, if asked, he would never deny that she was his favourite. His favourite, his smallest, and the one who reminded him he wanted to be a father, a tether to a reality he would likely never touch.
And so, he lets himself mourn and grieve, before shielding his soul with an armor that comes from centuries of learning to kiss death and survive its taste; centuries of seeing the Devil and telling him to run.
With his guard high, Junmyeon feels for the water in her body, and realizes his assumption was correct - she has been subsumed and slowly turned to parchment. Lending her some of his own, he eases the moisture into her throat, permissing her voice returns to her with a vigor stolen by the death she carries within.
Coming to his knees beside her bed, he remains there for a moment as though in prayer, watching her head to turn to face him. He waits for fear to take him, the horror of it slowly walking up his spine and making the hairs on his arms stand on end. While it does not consume him, it holds him, much the same way she holds her gaze on him, unblinking.
‘How long?’ He does not bother to face Jacob as he speaks, arrested by the sight of her. 
Jacob coughs, lungs pressured by the weight of his distress. ‘Five days.’
He presses his lips together in a thin line as he chews delicately on his tongue, biting back the condemnations he would spit if the circumstances of his inclusion had been different.
'Sasha,' he begins, keeping his voice gentle and even. 'What is it you've touched?'
Slowly, her mouth opens as though her jaw craves to become unhinged. Sound should come, the sound of a voice or that of a girl, but instead the only sound he hears is the shuffling of uncomfortable feet behind him. In silence, she remains this way, mouth open and black within, until, eventually, she screams.
The shrillness of her tone makes him close his eyes as though stung, but he does not turn away nor does he move back. Junmyeon waits. Junmyeon remains. And he counts the number of voices he hears within the sound. 
Three voices from within speak through her, using her small body as a vessel towards a violent end. This is not the first time he has been confronted with possession, but it is the first time there has been more than one beast contained within a person. To summon a devil is black magic that costs a soul. But to successfully manage more than one would surely cost a life, the sacrifice required demanding something sacred, and Junmyeon is certain this magic is archaic and mostly likely older than him. 
'The black witch did this.' Buried beneath the screams, the words begin to echo within the sound without the control of Sasha's tongue to give them shape. The syllables slur together, messy and almost indeterminable, but they saunter over Junmyeon’s neck, making his skin itch. 
Jacob coughs in alarm and despair before excusing himself from the room, watching his daughter speak without speaking, in a voice that is no longer hers. The Magistrate huffs at Jacob’s apparent squeamishness, but Junmyeon pays no mind to either, letting the words linger in his mind. They do not belong to her, not really. He reminds himself as he studies her blank stare, expressionless and wholly disconnected. 
Junmyeon nods, appeasing the things that live inside her with a pious understanding. 'Who is the black witch?' he questions, tone soft. 
He abandons emotion, keeping his thoughts and fears and sentiments locked in the silence of his chest. It has taken centuries for him to learn the skill, and even now, when he needs it the most, he fears he may buckle. With water as with life, emotions were his strongest gift, the tool he uses to heal all the anguish he encounters. Stripping himself of them now leaves him feeling uncomfortable and vulnerable, but he cannot let his feelings be swayed. 
Demons such as this feed off the power of the heart, and his heart was always the most powerful of all, a veritable feast born for the taking.
‘You know her,’ one of the voices seethes, emerging from the black with a laugh that sounded like fire. ‘You break bread with her, covet her. Why do you hide from the sin you crave?’
‘Tituba.’ 
The Magistrate’s voice cuts through the room, a low rumble of implication that bursts forth as a tidal wave. Unable to take his gaze from Sasha for fear of becoming vulnerable, Junmyeon narrows his eyes and thinks through the name. Behind him, the men shift from foot to foot, satisfied and pleased as though they have found the answer, ready to seek her and bring her to justice. But still, Junmyeon gives pause, knowing that, with the devil, it would never be that simple. 
‘She is an easy target,’ Junmyeon counters, keeping his eyes trained on the yellow of Sasha’s irises. ‘Any accusations made must be made in fact rather than assumption.’
Magistrate Adams scoffs, disdain leaking into the air to mix with the sense of dread. ‘It does not need to be more complicated, good sir,’ he sneers. ‘She speaks in tongues unfit for the darkness of her skin and watches too deeply the men that give her quarter.’ 
Against his thighs, Junmyeon’s hands curl into fists that gather the cloth of his breeches. ‘She is foreign,’ he says gently, even though he wishes to battle the magistrate with the fullness of his tone. ‘That does not make her a witch.’
His thoughts are interrupted by a great roar that erupts from within Sasha’s chest, a violent sound that gives him the sensation the earth is quaking merely by the force. Her brow does not furrow with the effort, expressionless and serene, she screams and screams until the men around her have been silenced in wait. 
When she falls quiet once more, he releases a breath he did not know he had been holding, neck and back tense with the effort of keeping still.  
‘Sasha - ‘
At once, a voice cuts him off. ‘You know my name better than most, Water King. Honor me...honor yourself, and use it.’ 
Blood rushes from Junmyeon’s cheeks, racing away beneath his skin as though the air that kisses it is poison. It rushes down to his fingers, his toes, and into his ears as his eyes widen and his mouth runs dry. The sound of his true name instill a terror within his bones, one that coils around his spine and demands that it break, his heart shuddering in its rhythm to sustain the adrenaline that now courses through his veins. 
Behind him, he feels the gazes of the men burn into his shoulders, the weight of his damnation further spiraling out of his depth. It does that matter that he could still easily dissuade their belief of his guilt, does not matter that they have no proof of his magic. His name has been burned into the pyre, and there will be no saving himself after this night. 
‘I know your name as Sasha,’ he says, neither fully lying nor fully honest.
Yes, the girl who lays before him is Sasha. But he knows, even against his better judgement, that he has not been speaking to her for some time.
This time, when she laughs, he knows it is the demon who distorts her jaw and giggles with a glee that makes his stomach twist; he knows what he is capable of, what he has done, what he will give, and what he will take away. In irregular clicks, the laugh itself sounds more like grinding metal than a natural sound born from a throat, but Sasha does not appear to move. Instead, she remains still, laughing and barely breathing, waiting to be saved. 
Abruptly, the sound comes to a halt, her body twitching in small seizes that make her bed rattles against the wall. Frantically, his eyes scan her body as it writhes beneath her sheets, hands trembling and unsure of where to touch. And then, she stills completely, as though she has been unmoved and undisturbed for the entire evening. It is only when blood begins to seep from her mouth, dripping over her chin and down onto the pillow that he knows she is losing the war waging inside her, and his time for saving is almost out.
'Please,' she whispers voice small and weak, twisted around the presence inside her. She gasps, a wet sound that sprays blood onto Junmyeon’s chemise. 'Help me.'
The sun peaks over the hills at dawn, making the sky burn with a red and yellow that make the seas rage. Junymeon does not take notice, legs burning as he runs from Jacob’s home to the manor, ragged breath searing the nodes of his lungs as he focuses on moving away from hell. In his speed, he is followed by the eyes of the townspeople, muttering curses about the way he does not stop to give greeting, the way he narrowly avoids the bodies that mean to break his stride, or simply because he interrupts the fragile sense of peace the town has created. Briefly, he wishes for Chanyeol, for the legs of a beast to carry him or beat him home, the news he carries weighing him down until his motions feel insufficient. 
When he pushes through the manor door, he finds Luhan heading towards the kitchens, hair still mussed from sleep. On the hardwood floor, the stained glass window above the stairs casts coloured patterns on the ground, the coven tree reaching to touch both of their feet. 
Closing his eyes, he struggles to catch his breath as Luhan’s gaze wanders over body, taking him in. It hurts to breathe, hurts in a way that Junmyeon is not used to, body trying to repress and suppress all the horror he has witnessed. Falling to his knees, he waits for gravity to send him over, to leave him and abandon him, a hopeless case left behind and forgotten. No longer feeling tired, he simply feels nothing at all, and he thinks this is the most terrifying truth of all.
‘Jun, what is it?’ comes Luhan’s soft imploring voice. 
Opening his eyes, he sees the way Luhan watches him, concerned and gentle and every bit the leader he needs - present and ready to listen. But even then, he sees him as a ghost, a burning ember of a man who would not have a place in the world that blazes around them, for there would be no room for this sort of kindness.
Not anymore, and perhaps not ever again. 
‘Paimon,’ he chokes out, voice not sounding like his own. ‘Someone is raising King Paimon.’
NOW
The water at Smith Pool is unusually quiet, the current guiding the waves calm in a way that is uncharacteristic for the late autumn season. Under the scrutiny of the afternoon sun, the waters glimmer, inviting and offering a hope that feels almost like hope, as though it is unaware of this falsehood. It laps at the embankment with gentle touches as it rolls back and forth, soothing and altogether too peaceful for the chaos that surrounds the world. Absent is the mist and fog that lingers over the horizon, hovering delicately just out of reach as though kissing the surface, guarding and protecting the secrets that dwell below. 
He waits for it. He waits, and it does not come. 
Hands fisted in his pockets, Junmyeon roots his feet into the wood of the dock with narrowed eyes, vision clouded by echoes of a time he once thought had been buried. Memories stir, faces and names he would never truly forget but had pushed away through the guise of self preservation; each brutal and all more visceral than the last. A breeze kisses his cheeks though he does not feel it, numbed and weary and worn by the totality of this sudden onslaught.
He remembers the day the lake was made, remembers when the water meant something - a salvation, a hope, a beacon of life for a community.
He remembers the bodies - the bodies that hung from the trees and the bodies that were thrown in the water, accused and convicted, regardless if they were innocent. Their grey shadows linger behind his eyes, hanging from the trees and looming from the black of his memory; humanity reduced to little more than symbols, threats. Always, he stomachs them, swallows them down into the burning acid of his regret and ignores the flavor. Lately, he’s been haunted, the shadows no longer vague, unfocused shapes, but men with faces - his coven, himself, the world. 
He remembers a lot of things, nails digging into his palms as his mind swims and swims, the water before him running red. For a moment, he imagines there is nothing. Nothing but himself and the memories, trapped but breathing; naked but safe; and lifelessly valiant in the way he bleeds for the people he loves. For a moment, he imagines he is alone, witnessing the terror of the past and the future, and letting them blur together if only because he believes his iron heart is strong enough to withstand it. 
But then, even the security of this is brief and shattered, a fragile, vain hope from the mind of a martyr.
Behind him, Chanyeol cries in a way he believes is ugly and undignified. The sound sours the air, spoiling the delicate pretense of comfort the lake offers. It smothers him, the grief and the intensity of it, building a pressure in the center of his lungs that stings. He rolls his neck from side to side, eyes fluttering closed with a huff as he tries to alleviate the tension that has gathered in his shoulders. Poised and patient, he’s sure his the steel in his posture is not a comfort for Chanyeol or, perhaps, anyone who would witness the way he appears rooted to the earth. 
Junmyeon accepts this. Lately, he’s begun to think of comfort as little more than a myth. 
For a long while, he remains silent, letting Chanyeol’s choked gasps of breath be the only thing the air touches, neither satisfied nor grieving, simply watching. 
‘They’re just birds, Chanyeol.’ Even he is surprised by how empty, how cruel, his voice has become. 
With a sniffle, Chanyeol wipes his nose on his sleeve as he inhales a shaking breath, finally daring to break the silence. 
‘It wasn’t their time to die.’ 
Junmyeon does not turn around, unwilling to look at the dead raven Chanyeol cradles in his arms. 
At three in the morning, the screams started. First as a low rumble of malcontent, they began to build into an anguished howl that made the house tremble. There was a terror to this noise, a chill to the realization that the voice making the sound did not belong to Yixing. He’d grown accustomed to the tenor of Yixing’s screams, to the cadence that sometimes bends into music as he sees and sees. It was the loudest Chanyeol had been in centuries, and he had almost forgotten the richness that had been locked inside his throat, hiding away from all the horror. 
His long limbs thrashed in the bed, twitching violently as though he were being pulled, wounded and scarred. They’d gathered in the room to bear witness, seemingly forgetting the centuries of practice they had with someone else, bewildered by the sudden change. It was only when the rhythmic sounds of thudding on the roof cut through his cries that they moved to action, Chanyeol leaping from the bed as Baekhyun rushed behind on swift feet to cast light. 
They followed, uncertain and afraid though fully prepared to fight. From the sky, the birds fell as though they were gliding, and in Baekhyun’s glow, Junmyeon felt a brief moment of peace at the aerial display he thought he was witnessing. For a moment, there was beauty to this new aspect of Chanyeol’s power. 
The crash onto the roof hurt, the snapping of their frail necks causing Chanyeol to tear at his own skin, falling to his knees and dying with them. Even without Minseok, he knew, the dread making his toes tingle as he pressed them into the blades of grass. 
'Can you not grieve for us?’ he asks, digging his nails into his palms hard enough to sting. The water surges as he speaks, moved by his words rather than the current. ‘For the fact that we might end up like them?'
Chanyeol releases a small whine, a barely there noise of hurt and scorn. 'They were helpless, Jun,’ he begins, softly. ‘This was done to them.'
He smothers a bitter laugh, cocking an eyebrow at the empty expanse before him as he purses his lips. 'That sounds precisely the same to me.'
Footsteps startle them both, the sound of heels on the dock making Chanyeol cough in embarrassment as Junmyeon finally turns, brow furrowed. 
Hand in hand, Minseok walks along the dock with his partner, eyes dark and shadows on his face long. Beside him, she weeps silently, cheeks wet with tears that still threaten to spill regardless of her stoic expression. They grip one another as a cross, clutching at each other’s fingers in the effort of reminding themselves they are tactile, whole, and unified, hearts emptied of pleasure by what they had seen. Junmyeon watches the way Minseok runs a thumb over her knuckles, a quiet moment of comfort that provides more empathy than he has seen from him in centuries. 
How odd, he thinks, to see one touched by love; touched and utterly terrified. 
Standing to Chanyeol’s side, they complete the accidental circle created by the unintentional flow of magic. 
‘What did you find?’ Junmyeon asks, casting glances between them both before finally lingering on Minseok, still unclear about the breadth of her power and choosing to trust what he knows. 
For a while, they do not speak. Minseok looks longingly out over the water, hollowed, as the herbalist regards the dirt on her shoes with an empty stare. In the silence, Junmyeon minutely nods, the bare threads of his patience allowing them space to find their words. Images spring to his mind, all imagined and none wholly formed, all as bleak and battered as the crow in Chanyeol’s arms. He wonders what Minseok has seen, unable to avoid with a clarity bordering on entrapment; he wonders what she has heard, whispers on the wind of a life he thought he’d left behind. 
‘The trees are screaming,’ she announces, eyes still downcast though her voice is sharp; blunt as the edge of a sword and equally as unforgiving. ‘They’re in pain.’
It settles over him, slow and uncompromising, the notion that trees could make sound - that they would choose to. The oldest wisdom lingers in their branches, and for one brief moment, he sees her as someone as old as their roots.
‘Are there ravens?’ Chanyeol asks, running his finger down its beak. 
‘There are birds,’ she confirms, voice softening for this redirection of conversation partner. ‘I don’t know if it was only our homes that were affected or if they were drawn to us, in a swarm. I’m not skilled enough to recognize their songs, so I can’t tell if it was just ravens, either. I can only hear the plants.’
For the first time in days, Chanyeol smiles, thankful. ‘That’s good,’ he nods. ‘If there are birds in the forest, there’s a chance it wasn’t the whole species. I can check later.’
Tension builds in Junmyeon’s knuckles, teeth gritting as he stomachs the conversation. Nature is always eaten first in any apocalypse event. It disappears slowly, or even sometimes, swiftly, eradicated as if in warning of an oncoming storm. The seals breaking would always start with nature, and he is glad that they still have some semblance of time, even if the decay within is silent. He is glad, but he is not appeased.
‘Was there more than just...screaming,’ he presses, gaze still trained on the crooked angle of the birds neck.
‘I saw the hangings,’ Minseok says, and Junmyeon regards him with parted lips, blood leaving his cheeks. Together, for a moment, they remember, silent as their eyes trace the outline of nonexistent bodies. ‘I don’t know if...,’ he continues only to fade away, distracted and detached. ‘It felt like layers. Memories of how it used to look filling in details of the future.’
Shifting his weight in his knees, Junmyeon braces as though preparing to leave the earth, evaporating and dissolving amidst the sickness and unease. ‘Are you saying it’s happening again?’ he asks, voice low yet still demanding, bursting through the tightness in his chest with force.
Minseok keeps his expression calm, unreadable, save for the bags beneath his eyes. ‘I’m saying it looks the same,' he advises with a small nod. ‘It feels the same.’
Water sprays up from the dock, a cold mist that startles the herbalist and even Chanyeol. They cower away in shock and surprise, yelping slightly at the sudden chill against their legs, but Minseok and Junmyeon remain still. Together, they remember, a knowing look spreading a thousand words in the distance between them, and none capable of fully expressing the depth of how it feels to truly fear.
Nature is always the first to be razed because, with Paimon, the control of things once thought wholly beyond the command of true evil is always the proof of power. The trees will scream; the birds will die; the water will run black and beyond his control; and it will happen again. Just as it did before.
Shaking his leg to dry his pants, Chanyeol coughs to break the silence, glancing between his brothers in an effort to escape the hold of memory. ‘But if the seals are breaking then why are they different to the ones we used?’
‘There were over six hundred possible permutations,' Minseok shrugs, defeated. ‘I don’t think it matters which ones snap, only that they do and that we feel it.’
The herbalist nods, inching closer to Minseok's side in comfort. ‘The seals are breaking,’ she affirms, breathing her through mouth quietly to mask the shaking of her breath. ‘I don’t think there’s room for argument with that. It just feels like the downswing of the pendulum is out of control. Things are happening faster, more violent. Even in the woods it felt like we were being followed.’
Even as he watches the way they stand near one another, leaning into each other for warmth and comfort and healing, Junmyeon tastes the bitterness on his tongue. In another life, maybe he would have celebrated this union, would have hugged his brother and kissed her cheek in expression of welcome. Instead, all he finds is blame.
Blame that this consummation of love and sex has forced them back into the chokehold of evil. They learned from this, he thought. They had learned and bled and lost through the effort of saving humanity, and he did not think they could survive it again.
And for what, he thought. For love and all the soft effusive things that would never save a life.
Coughing, he stomachs these thoughts, knowing that they do not help their situation - don't even offer further insight. Now, more than ever, they don't need feelings. They just need answers.
'We lost the member of our coven who figured out how to stop this,' he says, dropping his gaze to the wet wood beneath his feet. 'And I don't think the answer will be the same.' He regards the herbalist with what he hopes is a kind, reassuring smile, the kind of expression that would make a person feel welcome and inclined to help. 'Does anyone in your coven have any ideas? Have they felt anything?'
She nods, though it does not come with the enthusiasm of solutions. 'One of my sisters has been turning towards sacred geometry for answers,' she explains. 'She believes that the cage was structured and built, and sacred geometry is builders magic. Maybe the answers lie in the construct seals rather than the consequences.'
Eyes wide, he blanches. Sacred geometry is an old magic, a magic that comes from learning the root and form of power rather than simply how to harness it. Each energetic spell has a form, structure, and texture, and the ability to confidently wield each is what creates a vessel to embody spirit. The heart that carries sacred geometry is usually raw, unyielding, able to process an immense amount of energy as though it were a generator. The last time he knew someone who could handle such raw magic was Luhan.
‘I want to meet her,’ he says, the eagerness in his voice turning their expressions curious. ‘Geometry gave us -‘ Junmyeon pauses, unsure if he wishes to continue. 
Sucking in a breath, he holds it in his lungs until it hurts. ‘Context,’ he finishes. ‘Even if we didn’t know it at the time. It’s something both powers from above and below must yield to.’
‘The holiness of it was what turned against us,’ Chanyeol offers, gaze distant as he relives the church falling before his eyes. ‘We underestimated it once.’
‘She’s good at it,’ she says, offering a reassuring smile to Chanyeol. Warmed, he returns the smile, energy becoming at ease once more. Turning her gaze to Junmyeon, she grins. ‘She’s good, but she’s sometimes filled with so much hope she doesn’t see how darkness would twist the magic. You might be good at offering her perspective.’
‘I’m not hopeless,’ he counters, defensive though he does not feel offended by her jab. ‘You weren’t with us last time, so you don’t know how this looks.’
‘We felt it, though.’ In this, she is serious, unyielding, eyes dark and clouded over. ‘Don’t ever underestimate the reach of hell. Every witch was touched, marked.’
Closing his eyes, he sighs and pulls his hands from his pockets, catching the moisture on the breeze. The sky above churns, clouds gathering to mar the sun and the light. They seem fractious, tormented by the taciturn greyness that consumes them, and he allows this sadness to bring comfort. Droplets pool at the tips of his fingers, soaking into his skin before dripping slowly onto the dock, ensuring he feels protected and no longer alone. 
The way it happened was swift, a downfall that forced even the most secretive of witch into hiding. Flavoured food and spices were seen as witchcraft, too much knowledge of the earth turning food into potions of their own; foreign songs becoming little more than voodoo; anything difficult to be understood, anything new, suddenly questioned with an intensity bordering on accusatory. It has never left society, a golden age of creation and growth spurred on only centuries later beneath the guise of money and capitalism. 
It was swift, the pulling of creation and manifestation from humanity, until all that remained was the dull acceptance of eventual death. 
Shaking the water from his fingers, he bites the inside of his cheek before speaking. ‘Would she be open to meeting me?’ he asks, watching the herbalist and the way her eyes study his face for hidden meaning. ‘Would she want to work with us?’
She smiles, seemingly gladdened by his offer. ‘I’ll tell her to come to the shop.’ 
‘Tomorrow,’ he says, offering a small smile before turning back to the water.
He hears Minseok usher them away, giving him time to be alone with the lake. 
As they leave, the clouds pull back and bring forth the sun once more. Distantly, he hears the herbalist questioning Minseok about the truth of his power, and she is offered kind, shallow words - words that express the good, the kind, the valiant. Decidedly, he leaves out the darkness - the way water lingers in the blood, controlled by his hand; the way tears will leak and saliva will dry should he so choose.
Minseok leaves out the way he could be synonymous with Paimon, and is not simply by route of choice. 
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The numbers on the page are meaningless. 
Running a hand through his hair, Junmyeon looks at the rows and rows of the shop account book, seeing little more than just colours, shapes of things that once held importance. Ink marks have formed symbols, letters and numbers, details in black that say the shop is fine. They are productive. There is no need to worry. But still, he does not see them. Not really. 
Behind his eyes, his mind swims with thoughts - vague impressions and blurred shadows of days once lived or likely to be lived again. Slowly, his mind walks away from him, leaving behind the normal guard he has on memory and emotion - on the things he keeps pushed at arms length to feel effective and efficient, and to, at least, keep calm. Remnants of sorrow that usually would amount to sickness swirl in his stomach, the emotions of comparison rising like bile and making his eyes begin to create tears, exhausted.
This is not the first time this has happened, and he has grown accustomed to the fact that this will not be the last. He’s used to this feeling, the feeling of slipping down and deep inside his mind, detached though not altogether immune to the anxiety that comes with remembrance. 
This is not the first time this has happened, but it is the first time he has thought, with any effort of consideration and focus, of the man he used to be. A once kinder version of himself. A softer version, with hands gentle and comforting like feathers. Seeing the details of his past is not something he devotes himself to, choosing instead to walk around and through the memory as though it is a photo, a thing he sees but does not truly witness. Seeing the details now makes his bones burn, fingers swelling with an angst uncharacteristic for someone his age or someone ageless, and he feels it in the liquid amber of his blood like wave.
Even before Sasha reminded him it was natural to play favourites, natural to commit time and attention to someone young in the effort of imparting wisdom, he knew he wanted to be a father. He craved the feeling, the earnestness of devotion that comes with unconditional love and the almost unbearable holiness that comes from creating life. Back then, he wanted it all, wanted to love and love and love, so that even if there was no longer a need for magic at least he could say he had a purpose, a reason. 
Her possession came over him like a season, one ripe with loss and anguish and grief, and still it haunts him. Yixing screams in the night, and still he remembers Sasha’s empty eyes and the way she eventually asked to die. Minseok sees, and still he remembers the hanging bodies of Bridget Bishop, of Tituba, of women and strangers and anyone who threatened to question the order of things. 
The birds rained down much the way the memories of their first brush with true evil reigned over him, an onslaught of brutality, loss, and grief. Omens come, and love blooms, and all he can sense is the entrapment - the way there is no longer space for this kind of feeling.
The opening of the door to the stockroom breaks his thoughts, Minseok peeking his head in to catch his attention. Junmyeon shifts abruptly in surprise, laughing lowly at himself as he struggles to appear busy. 
‘You okay?’ Minseok asks, eyes narrowing as he considers the mess Junmyeon has made with careless hands. 
Closing his eyes, he composes himself for a moment, heartbeat erratic and pumping the fullness of his blood into his cheeks. Pressing a finger to his lips, he silenced the noises in his chest, gathering the effort of his usual stoicism. 
‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ he nods, leaning back in his chair, settling and getting comfortable. It’s a lie, one he knows Minseok will sense, regardless if he speaks or not, but he says the words with confidence, unsure who he is trying to convince.
‘You look...,’ Minseok’s voice trails off, eyes running over Junmyeon’s flushed expression as he tries to find polite words. ‘Damp.’
Junmyeon shrugs, muscles in his neck and shoulders tense. ‘It’s just hot in here.’
Casting his eyes up towards the air vent in the ceiling, Minseok hums idly has he looks for signs of heat or airflow. Junmyeon watches him intently, knowing that the heat is not on, not yet - that it’s too soon in the season for such a thing. But still, he is glad. Glad that Minseok humours his statements without drawing attention to the truth, a kindness he does not deserve after the vitriol he had spewed over the last week. 
Nodding at nothing and no one, Minseok returns his gaze to Junmyeon’s face and sets his lips in a thin line. ‘Okay, well, she’s here. She’s ready to talk when you are.’
The mere mention of you is powerful, giving rise to a lump in his throat strong enough to falter his breathing and make his brow furrow, affected. He swallows thickly, pursing his lips in bewilderment as his gaze loses focus. He does not know you, has not even seen you, but the violence you tests his strength. 
‘I’ll be out in a second,’ he says, voice thick and barely audible.
Narrowing his eyes, Minseok grunts in acknowledgement before leaving, shutting the door with a soft click. Alone, a groan escapes his lungs, body reclining back into the chair as he starts to feel consumed. He knows, even without truly seeing, that this, all of the things that comprise him this day, is because of you. All day, he has guessed that the oncoming storm in the center of his heart is the nature and nurture of you, he wanted so desperately to be wrong.  
This, he imagines, is how Minseok felt when he sensed his herbalist - compelled and overwhelmed, and, most horrifically, pleased. Of you, about you, for you, always, he his gladdened and unwilling to avoid all that has chased him across centuries of anguish and despair. All that matters, all that likely ever could have mattered, is that he feels you. 
You are stirring things, churning away at his heart and his breath, and while they promise a freedom he craves to kiss, he considers this sort of possession a poison. 
He feels you, and he is unsure if he will ever stop.
Making his way through the shop, his legs move of their own accord, driven towards you as though your heart is a compass and it takes him several seconds to realize he is no longer in the back room. He is lured by you, tethered and reduced to little more than a puppet in the wake of you, mouth running dry as the air turns thick with every step he takes. 
Even without knowing, you will find them, Yixing had said. In the darkness, where there is no light, you will still see them. And this, this prophecy, he supposes, is all his body would ever truly need to be lead home. 
Coming to pause behind the register, he watches as you lean against a bookshelf and keeps his distance, hiding himself away before he lets himself run raw. He takes in the soft angles of your profile, studies the way you nod enthusiastically in conversation with Baekhyun and the herbalist, and wonders if you feel him too. 
Does your spine tingle with his presence, tightening the joints in your hands to twitch your fingers in time with his?  Does your chest burn, or yearn, or ache, down into the caverns you once assumed empty, overwhelmed with the sudden onslaught of knowing? And in your bones, is the sudden awareness of all your connective tissues - your nerves, your muscles, your sinew - stinging with the overwhelming knowledge of being alive? 
‘Jun!’
He jumps, shaken by the loud herald of his name. Gripping the counter, he had been swaying, a slight rhythm rocking him from side to side as though he has been lost at sea. Bakehyun waves at him, having noticed - likely, having seen everything, smiling with an impish grin that feels almost cruel.
‘Come over here and meet Y/N.’
He says your name as though it does not hurt, as though it were simply a name, and Junmyeon steels himself a moment to process how this could be so. Your name quakes inside his soul, pushes him towards a surrender to the unnatural and unresisted promise of misery. The misery of destruction, brutality of war, and the unbearable brutality of love. Love, he knows, is an annihilation that ambushes the unsuspecting beneath the guise of devotion, protection, and unity. Love is just as violent as war, just as permanent as death, and, by this law, for him, you are a hurricane.
The movements in his legs, the unintentional sway from side to side as if lost at sea have captured Baekhyun’s attention, and he calls his name with a delight that almost feels cruel.
You turn to look at him, glancing over your shoulder before you turn, eyes wide and resolute. Something he can't place swims in your irises, something delicate, and fragile, and untarnished, as if the exhaustion of living has never once touched you. As though, for all your years, you have greeted existence with hope. The herbalist was right, he thinks. There is a reckless endangerment to your positivity, the kind we would never need but craves just the same.
Crossing his arms as you approach, his fingers knead roughly into the fabric of his sweater, jaw tensing as you draw near. There’s a bounce to your steps, in the way you walk and carry yourself, a bounce that makes him roll his eyes as he begins to swoon.
The bounce in your footsteps frustrates him, and though he cannot truly place why this so, he imagines it comes down to envy.
He envies the you he was in his youth, before he learned how to lose things that matter - things that promise to stay, to never die, but vanish just the same. He was you, once, but you somehow learned to keep a smile that tells the world you are okay.
‘I hear you’re looking into sacred geometry,' you announce, standing before him with pride. 
The counter separates your chests, your hearts, your souls. To Junmyeon, this distance is a canyon, a long void through which he yearns to reach but does not. His fingers twitch, nails digging into his palms with the effort of keeping still. 
Resting on your elbows, you lace your fingers together and scrutinize him, not bothering to be discrete. 'It feels urgent that we talk,’ you continue, having your fill of him with glazed eyes. A small furrow knits your brow together, and Junmyeon’s fingers twitch, eager to wipe the wrinkles away. ‘Like there's nothing that matters quite as much.'
Warmth radiates off you, or perhaps it is the air, rolling against him in waves that rock against his perception of you as a person. It makes sense, he knows, that you would get right to the point, because you are made to wear at him, made to break his defenses and match him completely. He knows this, logically, but he did not expect to feel so awed by you, adrift in his mind and floored by the mere idea of you as his neck begins to flush.
‘I have little experience with it,' he admits, coughing as the breeze puts your perfume in his mouth. ‘One of our own was familiar but…' He fades, eyes glossing over much the same as yours, the weak edge of his tone dissipating completely as he remembers. Remembers the bodies and the limbs, the open mouthed scream Luhan released and the silence of it that made his ears ring. In front of you, he remembers everything he had pushed away, battled against for centuries just to keep himself upright. 
Closing his lips, the memories die, fading away as the taste of you fades on his tongue. 
And this is when he remembers you are deadly. You are lethal. And there is more still within him you could stir.
Clearing his throat, he corrects his posture, standing tall and wearing the mask of a leader with dignity, if not pride. 
‘It might be best if we sit and talk somewhere else,' he suggests, hoping to expose his vulnerability to you and only you, rather than those who could suffer the consequences.
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You select a table at the back of the cafe, tucked away from teenagers studying for midterms or couples on dates, preening before one another and hoping to be wanted. The oak table sits beneath a speaker, smooth jazz muffling your conversation from those who pass by on their way to the toilet. Shoulders hunched forward, you hold tightly to your mug of cocoa, letting the heat of the ceramics trickle into your fingertips.
Across from you, Junmyeon sits heavily in his seat, with neither drink nor pastry. He has become transfixed by the way your nails trace the edges of the ceramic designs, rolling over the supple curves of the mug, there and back again, just the way his life ebbs to you and back again. In these few short minutes of being alone, together, he has learned that you keep a smile tucked in the corners of your lips, that you laugh easily and you laugh loudly - at nearly everything - and that you sigh, wistfully, longingly, at every child that passes.
In this cafe, you are pink. You are pink and gold, a sunset whispering through a current and everything he suddenly finds himself defenseless against. It is not, he thinks, that he wants to protect you - he knows you do not need him to. It is that he wants to share with you.
His heart. His memories. His life. His family.
Junmyeon wants to share, a horrific thought he clutches at with both hands to remind himself it is not safe. You are not safe, regardless of how his lifetime listens so intently to yours.
And as he casts his gaze to the old map of Salem, framed on the wall behind the top of your head, so too do your eyes wander over his features; learning and memorizing and, often, dissecting. He feels you, feels your gaze with the same intensity as though this were skin to skin contact, your considered analysis of his mouth, his lips, his hair making him breathless. Beneath the table, his leg shakes, anxious from the effort of not reaching for you, of holding you tight as he wanders, head first, into devotion; holding back and holding his tongue with a fierceness that makes him clench his teeth together.
Eventually, you peer back down to your cocoa, satisfied with your findings, or, at least, yourself. 
‘Where would you like me to begin?’ you question, words strong and authoritative, though directed at your cocoa.
Releasing a breath he did not know had been contained in his lungs, he bites his lip. There is little he remembers from his lessons with Luhan, and it pains him to admit he would be a novice on this subject. 
‘Perhaps just there,' he shrugs, hoping to sound aloof rather than ignorant. ‘At the very beginning.’
Nodding, you intake a sharp breath as you straighten your back, eyes wild with thoughts.
‘This sort of magic,' you begin, confident and empowered, 'relies on the concept that the universe was created according to a geometric blueprint - that a god was the geometer of all things. And it continues, perpetually. A god is constantly at work, building and making. If you can consider that a god is a geometer, then this too means that all those in hell are constructing just the same.’
Tilting his head, Junmyeon traces the lines in the table, the intricate latching of wood and nail, with the pad of his finger. His recall on sacred geometry is limited, but with Luhan he remembers charts - not charts, cloths with shapes, designs with trigger points for magical access. Stand here, Luhan would say. Put the fire here. They were building magic, not the universe.  
'I thought sacred geometry was for patterns, crystal formations,’ he questions tentatively. ‘Magic structures rather than...math.'
'It is,' you affirm, 'but that's just one element. Geometry appears in all things. Like I said, if a god is a geometer, this means everything in nature - plants, animals, people - are constructed with sacred proportions.'
Proportions. Like the way your clavicle leads elegantly to your shoulder. Like, the way your bottom lip pouts childishly and begging to be kissed. Like, the way the slope of your nose and the arch of your brow haunts him, puts a retinal burn behind his eyes and makes him feel parched. Like, the way his hand looks as though it would fit yours and hold it, steadfast and for eternity. 
Proportions, he thinks.
'So Da Vinci's Vitruvian Man?' he says, instead, with a smirk.
A flush creeps into your cheeks, making you pink and pink and pink, as you regard him with parted lips
'In a sense, yes,' you continue, words rushed as you calm yourself down. 'People are divinely symmetrical, and therefore our actions are symmetrical. And if we are born from symmetry, then we build for the gods in symmetry. Most churches are built with sacred geometry in mind, mimicking the geometry in nature.'
‘Ah,’ Junmyeon intones. 'The Fibonacci spiral.’
‘Yes,’ you giggle, corners of your eyes crinkling in satisfaction. The sound makes the tips of Junmyeon's fingers go numb. ‘That pattern is usually described as God’s divine equation. But even still, Galileo’s lectures on the structure of hell as it lies within the Earth can be considered natural geometry.'
With a huff, you lean back in your chair and shrug. ‘It’s hard to summarize without showing you or working at it over time,’ you grimace. 'These rules and attributes are assigned to specific religious constructs, though it does not necessarily need to be made from god. That's probably the most important thing you could take away from this.’
Mirroring your posture, Junmyeon reclines back and feels his brain dig deep. ‘You’re implying, then, that we can make the geometry as well?’
Nodding, you hum. ‘With that in mind, you must not perceive the magic as the power, but the blueprint itself. All blueprints exist to make things and, by extension, contain them.’ 
‘Contain them?’ Junmyeon stares at you, aware that his imploring eyes are demanding, pulling at you for more, but he cannot seem to stop himself. ‘Should we then see the Earth as a vessel?’
Through the clench of your jaw, you take in a long breath, knowing he finally understands, grasps the sheer magnitude of this magic. 'If the Earth was made to carry, and hell is contained, it is indeed a vessel.'
Silence befalls you both as you regard one another, feeling the weight of change grow and spawn between you. Junmyeon swallows thickly, eyes gazing over your features, the decor, the table, your skin, yet seeing only truth. It swells inside him, the frustration turned sadness that makes his breath come shallow and uneasy. All the things he should have known, all the things he missed, laid before him so simply - and he’d have noticed if he only ever allowed himself to look back. 
‘We solved nothing,’ he murmurs, to neither you nor himself, really. Just a release of vitriol that burns within his lungs, angry at their ignorance. 
They never won the war. All they had done, effectively, was delay it. 
Your hands slide down and away from your cocoa, pressing against the table to cool your palms. Eventually, you speak again, equally as demanding for information as he. ‘Your coven was here during the Great War?’
He smiles, though it is bitter, knowing you are being polite. You know this answer, you’ve always known this answer, but still you are soft and allowing him the opportunity to deflect. This, he thinks, is a kindness he does not deserve. 
‘We were,’ he manages, keeping his tone stable and even. 
‘Then,’ you try, nibbling at the inside of your cheek. ‘Maybe you can tell me the nature of the containment? A structure inside a structure - that kind of geometry defies our comprehension of dimensions.'
The question hits him in the center of his chest, and he turns to look away, staring out the window as though peering into the past. Mouth dry, he licks his lips and feels the heat without the moisture, nails dragging along the table as his hands form into loose fists. When he looks back at you, you are not apologetic, merely expectant, unwilling to let him retreat.
Inching your arm forward slightly, your fingers drum on the table as you bite your lip, considering, before moving back and gripping your cocoa with conviction. ‘We all know the truth, Junmyeon,’ you press, gently. ‘We were elsewhere, but we know the stories..how it ended.’
‘New York.’ He says, voice empty, acknowledging that, indeed, you were not here and so you did not suffer.
Unsettled, you purse your lips as you cast him a cold stare. ‘We had our demons,’ is your curt reply. ‘Some centuries later, but we had them.’
Junmyeon smirks, the unique singularity of your war slightly humours. ‘The headless horseman.’
Cocking an eyebrow, your response is immediate. ‘It’s inappropriate to tease about any war, regardless of its scope.’
For a long while, you hold his stare and remain still, eyes powerful enough to knock the wind out of him. They hold him, almost as intensely as they hold him accountable for his words, and he is glad for the severity. Glad, in the end, for the proof that you are just as tormented, and just as haunted as he.
It’s enough, he supposes, to share, to let himself be intimate. Exposure, of any kind, is a wound on its own. But with you, with someone who hurts just as deeply and carries it within their bones, exposure is a commiseration and a comfort.
‘Back then,’ he begins slowly, reaching back to scratch his neck in thought, ‘it was not us alone who created the seal.’ Stopping himself from continuing, from sharing too much, he pauses and rephrases his thoughts. ‘We were of great assistance, but we had help.’
Humming, you sip your cocoa as you process his words, lashes fluttering as you drink in pleasure. Licking your lips, you furrow your brow. ‘It sounds as though this help was unexpected? I thought your coven was alone, in Salem?’
Junmyeon nods, barely imperceptible. ‘The Reverend's wife…’ 
At once, he sees her face, the delicate frailty of her features. Ill, always ill, and carrying with her a shawl as if to shield her from a chill, even in summer. Often, the children said she was spun from silk, the supple length of her black hair and the finery of her skirts extensions of her skin and spirit. Always speaking about God as though she knew him, personally; pointing the slender elegance of her index finger at widowed or spinster women, and accusing them of being sinners, of being harpies sent to pray on the God fearing goodness of gentlemen. 
‘She helped you connect with God?’ you try, puzzling together what he infers.
He shakes his head, barely there and barely focused. ‘It must have overwhelmed her,’ he mutters, haunted. ‘And...she only helped...because we saw. It was not offered to us.’
She said she had visions, that she had seen the devil and the scourge he would lay upon the Earth. Even as she burned, laughing and laughing, he still couldn’t believe she’d said the words with desire. The flames ate at her skin and still she laughed, said she wanted it, that she should feel him, that the dead, and their ashes, tasted sweet. Remorse never tainted her features, taking pleasure in her body count and making sure that all the world witnessed the glory.
Blinking, he brings himself back to the present. ‘She burned for what she knew,’ he says, finally. ‘We turned her to ash, but it still will never be enough.’
Pressing your back into your chair, you consider him for a moment, watching intently to see if he will swim in his memories once more. ‘A lot of women burned. Women are always burning.’ 
‘You say you know the truth, but did you know it started with her?’ he spits, not bothering to hold back the aggression in his tone. ‘That she had poisoned the girls, possessed children, ate their souls in the efforts of raising a King?’
Eyes wide, you lips open and close as though offering muted consolations and apologies, saying with breath what your mouth cannot before shivering and holding your cocoa once more. 
‘Have you ever seen someone burn in holy fire? Seen the way it peels back flesh and sucks at muscle?’ he hisses, spurred on by a great resurgence of things long kept trapped inside. ‘Have you ever seen a child ask to die? Seen your coven leader pulled apart and ripped like cotton?’
And even as you regard him, pale faced and thin lipped, he still can’t stop himself from tossing the question out, offended by its flavor. 
‘Have you ever seen a dead body?’ he finishes, coldly.
Separated from the words, he realizes he has leaned, rather vigorously, towards you and bent himself into a posture of hunting. For all your sweetness, you have not cowered away from him, but at such close proximity he can see the tears that have sprung to the corners of your eyes. The sadness in your expression, the under markings of horror that stain your cheeks, makes his fists clench, ashamed of himself for bringing the water of you to the surface. 
He could pull at it, pull it away and keep you dry. Or, instead, he could push it further, push it down your cheeks and into his waiting palm so he could kiss your tears and swallow them whole. 
Instead, he slumps in his seat, childishly, and stares emptily at his lap. 
Sniffling softly, you discretely wipe your eyes. ‘Why?’
Unable to truly look at you, Junmyeon speaks to his lap. ‘Not all great evil has a great purpose. Sometimes, true horror, true fear, is senseless - existing just because it can.’
The vice at his lungs releases as he says the words, shoulders no longer feeling compressed into an impossible smallness. Testing this new freedom, he breathes deeply, letting the air stabilize his equilibrium.
‘No,’ he continues, correcting his posture and looking around you. ‘I don’t think we can ever really know and it took one of our own sacrificing his life to rest within the pattern to show us how to build the, as you call it, blueprint.’ 
Within him, the memory floods, the visceral and bloodstained image of body parts - limbs and digits and torso - aligned in intricate shapes. It was biblical, the sight of not just one, but many, still warm and festering from death as they bled, ceaselessly, into the grass. And in the center, a sacrifice  The only magic strong enough to seal a promise. 
Stomach churning, he grimaces, awkwardly meeting your gaze in apology. 
You’ve blanched, considerably, somehow truly understanding him without knowing him at all. ‘Are you saying?’
Minutely, he nods. ‘He became the blueprint.’
Unnerved, you hug yourself, looking away as you bite your lip. It’s transcendent watching you fight through sadness and pain and fear, a cosmic sort of shattering he feels is too vulnerable for him to witness, and yet you show him, bravely, courageously. He does not think you’ve ever shied away from atrocious thoughts, rather simply kissed them until they felt beautiful. 
Inhaling a shaky breath, you face him but you do not smile. He misses it. ‘I think,’ you say, quietly yet with more power than he could have imagined, ‘the last thing you need to know…I’m sorry.’
Furrowing his brow, his shoulders arch forward, body attempting to reach for you and hold you. ‘For what?’
Fixing him an intense gaze, you focus on him completely, showing, teaching, and reminding him what you are going to say will hurt. ‘Sacred geometry is mimetic...a mirror. As above, so below.’ 
You pause, watching as his mind reels and he races to the end. 
He gets it. He understands. He wishes that he didn’t. 
‘And if bodies are what sealed it -‘ you continue, only to be cut off. 
Junmyeon finishes for you. ‘Then bodies are what will open it.’
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The setting sun ignites the trees, dappling the red and gold of the leaves with such force for a moment he believes the kitchen is on fire. Shadows cast on the walls and floor stand tall, shifting until nearly unrecognizable - something profoundly other; an audience for his malcontent. 
Slouching in his seat, he studies his whiskey, the liquid bronze that swirls within the glass as he turns it. Vaguely, he imagines he is turning time - turning back the clock to an era when he laughed easier, smiled wider, and touched with just as much voracity. Mostly, he is falling, backwards and head first into a state of confliction.
Elizabeth Eldridge was beautiful, something he would often voice with confidence and charm, a sense of satisfaction, as though he were pleased by the sight of her. It was not, he thinks, that he desired her, or wanted her in any sense of physical context. Merely that, he imagined her essence of ethereal beauty was the sort he wanted to marry, someone not unlike vapors - whole and tangible, yet effervescent, and cradled by his hands alone.
Elizabeth Eldridge, in the end, burned without dignity and with all of her pride. Holy fire kissed her, sucked the oil from her skin and used it as fuel. Unfazed, she smiled as though she expected it, as though she were gladdened by the heat, and laughed. She laughed - it is this he remembers most, the shrillness of it and the way Yixing had to look away, tormented by the sight of the flames themselves. She laughed as her skin fell evaporated, exposing the underbelly of her muscles and bones, marrow melting with little pomp and circumstance. In the night sky, her voice continued to echo, a shrill resolution and promises of a return, a throne, a king.
People, he knew, say an awful lot of things in their moment of death - some amounting to statements a profound lamentation of grief or honest declarations of validation, but most usually an annunciation of promise that summarises a life well lived or well intended. Luhan ensured her fate with the splitting of his limbs, and so Junmyeon did not think to question her words, ensured, even in death, by his leader.
Now, with little to comfort him, he wonders if he has earned quite as much from his coven. Had Luhan been wrong? Had he? Had their fate been sealed long before their birth and long after their death? Would he, with the same boldness and conviction, make the same choices?
Would he die, knowing as he does now, that even this selflessness may be in vain?
Would he let himself be shattered for you, if it meant your safety was only momentarily assured?
With a soft click, Yixing pushes through the door and comes to pause, regarding Junmyeon with a concerned expression as he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He should be used to it, Junmyeon thinks, the feeling of inquisitive eyes resting and feasting on his skin, but still he looks down at his lap, burdened by the attention. At once, the air becomes thick, slithering down Junmyeon’s spine with the same slowness as Yixing’s eyes over his face, studying and questioning, and, most likely, knowing.
Yixing does not allow him a reprieve, maintaining his penetrative scrutiny as he takes off his shoes. ‘You’re home early,' he states, testing the atmosphere.
Junmyeon remains pensive, brow furrowed as he studies the denim weaving of his jeans. The universe has offered him a kindness, he supposes, that it is Yixing who has found him and not the others. Already, he can hear the words that will be hurled towards him once he tells the truth.
Liar. Hypocrite. Embarrassment. Asshole. Cunt.
He deserves them, he thinks, perhaps they suit him best. And he notes, with little emotion, that he has given himself over to you far quicker than Minseok gave over to his herbalist, wondering if he ever truly deserved the title of a leader. 
‘I met her today.’
He tosses the words out with conviction, meaning them to the edge of the world and trying to be repulsed by them. There should be no instance in which he craves death or danger, no instance in which he seeks the palm of your hand and the fall of a mountain - but he does. He wants, with all of himself, every fiber of the release you promise and finds, as Minseok had said, that death feels justified.
Death, in this moment, is justified, for it is the only consequence equal to the sentiment he carries for you.
Unmoved and keeping his expression placid, Yixing blinks. ‘Met who.’
Junmyeon rolls his eyes, knowing this is both a formality and a test, and everything but a question. The words matter, need to be said out loud and broken apart; inspected, learned alongside the full breadth and scope of their consequence. But still, he hates it, feels childish that he must say it at all. There have never been any secrets in this house, not truly, and the bitterness of this truth rises on his tongue.
He swallows thickly before he speaks, petulant. ‘Don’t act like you don’t know, Xing.’ 
Sliding out a chair directly opposite him, Yixing settles softly and places his journal on the table, resting his hand on the leather cover. Idly, his fingers stroke over the worn texture, body positioned in a resolute show of peacekeeping and calm. Junmyeon watches the movements of his fingers, hypnotized though not altogether soothed. War lingers behind his eyes, and the contact Yixing maintains with his journal tells him he can feel it.
Yixing knows, senses the magnitude of his afternoon, and clutches to small comforts as though they are a cross.
For a long while, Junmyeon is glad to simply sit with him, neither speaking nor allowing hostility to enter the room - amazed that they are capable of such a thing without Chanyeol. For a long while, they simply sit, gathering strength to both say the words and let them breach the kitchen once more.
Eventually, Junmyeon pinches the bridge of his nose, knowing the end of this day - of this life - is inevitable. 
‘My soulmate,’ he says, meeting Yixing’s eyes and letting his gaze pierce the edge of his lungs.
Yixing leans back in his chair, regarding him with some distance, words settling against his skin. Nodding minutely, he hums, neither accepting nor battling the admission. Simply, letting it co-exist between them, acknowledging that there is a becoming amongst them, and there is more of it to be said. 
Yixing’s silence is much like quicksand, edging Jummyeon forward and urging him to continue.
Once more, he looks at his lap, unwilling to let Yixing’s potential judgement tarnish the memory. ‘She came to the bookstore and I...we…’ his voice trails, splintering under the immense pressure of explanation. ‘We went to the cafe across from the shop,’ he says, finally, returning his gaze to Yixing’s. ‘I spent over an hour with her, talking. She’s trying to help us.’
Removing his hand from the journal, Yixing nods once more, humming in consideration.
‘Even,’ he begins, tone curious though his eyes remain hard, ‘after you were...so adamant against Minseok meeting with his?’
‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Junmyeon retorts, ‘like I’m the worst sort of hypocrite.’ Jaw tense, he grits his teeth before continuing. ‘She’s from their coven, and Min said she could help. I didn’t know it would be her. That she would be the one.’
‘And can she help?’ Yixing keeps his attention on the woodmarks in the table, the frayed and overstuffed pages of his journal, anywhere but Junmyeon’s face. 
Face morphing into a scowl, Junmyeon cocks a brow and moves through the sense of judgement Yixing has cast, focusing instead on all the words Yixing made it a point to ignore. He chose to focus, not on the fact that she is his soulmate, but instead on the fact that she can help. Perhaps, he assumes, because it is this information that is most pertinent. And, even more, it is this information that must be handled, managed beyond, and alongside, the grave understanding of their impending demise. He was always like that, walking around and through a conversation to get to the heart.
Junmyeon shrugs, knowing that you can, and you probably will, but even still your help may not be enough. ‘She knows sacred geometry,' he announces, careful with the way he says it, watching Yixing’s expression for a sign of change.
It has the same effect on Yixing as it did on him: a sharp intake of breath, a soft blanche to the cheeks, and a hand returning to his journal. The temperature of the room seems to rise, putting a flush at Junmyeon's ears and neck, before it dissipates, and Yixing gathers his thoughts, placing his hand back in his lap once more as though nothing about Junmyeon’s words hurt.
Junmyeon almost smiles, witnessing your power as it walks over all of them, claiming their house and their skin as the fabric of your own. Slowly, delicately, you are touching all of them, pulling at their hearts with adept and agile fingers, exposing what lies beneath.
Yixing himself becomes distant for a moment, not altogether present as he walks backwards into memory with much the same force as Junmyeon. Irises clouded, he thinks and thinks, his silence heavy and full hearted with grief.
‘It seems ironic she would be a seal,' he reasons, a small frown forming at his lips. 'But then...so did Lu.’
It's difficult to ignore his choice of words - "did" rather than "was," delicately handling the visceral image that haunts Junmyeon from the moment he met you. Neither a memory nor a premonition, just an inevitable course of destruction: you in the blueprint, just the same as Luhan.
Shaking his head, Junmyeon takes in an unstable breath. ‘It feels like a cursed magic.’
Yixing shakes his head. ‘You’re a self fulfilling prophecy, Jun,’ he says sharply, refusing to let him wallow. ‘Preparing to lose her the way you blame yourself for losing him.’
Tightening his grip on his glass, Junmyeon takes a drink of whiskey, letting the burn cool the back of his throat. ‘Bonding leads to death, Xing.' 
Feeling somewhat volatile, he brings the glass back to the table with a loud smack. ‘You know that, I know that. We had to lose someone in order to seal it away, and now we have to lose someone again to keep the order.’
‘You always knew these rules,' Yixing says evenly, combative in a way that frustrates Junmyeon. 'We all know these rules. We knew we would have to lose each other, at some point, to keep this world alive.’
And all at once, all over again, Junmyeon finds himself the week after Luhan died, when the world was quiet but still full of ash and smoke. Hollowed, is how he described the feeling, as though it were his limbs ripped away and placed into the pentagon. Yixing clutched his shoulder, eyes neither sad nor grieving, simply empty, dark in a way that made Junmyeon find him inhuman. With his nails digging into Junmyeon's chemise, he said these same words, unable to provide comfort for he too was beyond the point of consolation. Simply, stating the truth of the pain so they at least could understand the logic and the weight, if not the aftermath.
Rolling his tongue over his teeth, Junmyeon brings himself back to the present, cradling the difference between the here and now with the past in his palms.
‘It was easier when I felt the absence of it.' He feels small as he says it, childish and impossibly young, uncertain how to handle the intensity of such a truth. 'When there was nothing to feel, and everything to just know, it was so easy.’
Yixing chuckles. 'Pretending took work, once upon a time. You've just grown used to it.'
The center of his chest constricts, feeling the words into the nodes of his lungs, and he coughs. Looking away from Yixing, he takes another sip of his whiskey, downing the glass. ‘When was the last time...' he fades, licking his lips as he prepares his question, 'that we felt?’
Arching his brow, Yixing takes the bottle from the center of the table and pours him another glass. ‘I think the question, Jun,' he says, holding his gaze fiercely rather than watch the volume of the glass, 'is when was the last time you let yourself feel.’ Bringing the bottle to his lips, he takes a quick drink before setting it down, posture straight and austere. ‘You’ve been running.’
‘I’ve been leading,' Junmyeon snaps, ‘protecting. Holding us together.’
‘But you haven’t held yourself.' The whiskey in his throat has set Yixing's words ablaze, tongue unafraid of cutting him down. ‘Not together, not in one piece, just not at all. It’s like you’re in a constant place of triage. You can’t blame yourself for a choice he made, for a thing we all did. We knew, and we know - that will never change. What matters is how you experience it.’
Junmyeon laughs, cold and frustrated in bewilderment. ‘So what are you saying? That I’ve watched death and walked away unscathed? That I shut down and felt nothing at all?’
‘Not at all,' he says, voice like a thunderclap. ‘I’m saying you’ve watched death, and never walked away again. You’ve put yourself in a grave and called it a life.’
Junmyeon shivers, lips parting to speak or defend himself, only to fall silent, too aware of the honesty in Yixing's words to fight them. Shaking his head, he takes another drink, eyes unfocused and glassy with thoughts of how he got here.
‘What are we talking about anymore?’ he mutters, swallowing his drink and letting it sear his insides. ‘I feel like I’m drifting at sea. Like she’s taking me apart...unmaking who I am.’
Yixing cocks his head to the side, considering his words. ‘Or, she’s reminding you of who you were.’
It's like a falsehood, he thinks, remembering the person he was when magic felt like a blessing, a gift. The difference between his compassion and his sense of security is, he believes, down to a reduction. A reduction of life, of hope, of reasons to accept that all things end while losing the belief that they will end happily. Once, he thought he was getting better, that he'd had enough distance and enough peace to convince himself life both gives and takes in spades.
But that was decades ago, and just before the man in front of him started screaming in his sleep, tormented by prophecies.
‘There’s a lunar eclipse tonight,' Yixing says, gathering his journal as he comes to stand. 'You should go see it.’
Blinking, Junmyeon regards him, unsure when the notion the conversation was over had filtered into the room. Yet, the mention of the moon seems to smooth his edges, pulling hard enough at his ribs to give his lungs room to breathe. He needs her, he thinks, the only light that has ever given him peace.
‘You always feel best when she’s with you,' Yixing continues, letting his voice drift behind and fall on Junmyeon like rain. 'Just as empty or just as full.’
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At night, Smith Pool assumes a foreboding aura, yet somehow maintains its majesty beneath the light of the full moon, the deep purple black of the sky reflected on the water with an otherworldly glow. His fingers idly stroke the blades of grass, damp with the evening’s caress of dew, coated and slick as though waiting in anticipation for his touch. The wetness walks along his fingers, gliding over his skin and tracing patterns that defy gravity, called to him the way he is called to the moon. 
Tonight, he does not manipulate them, mold them, does not even consider it. He lets them go, wetting his hands before they slip away, lost but not forgotten. Softly, his heart breaks, releasing the water without truly kissing it or connecting with it an unnatural act for king amongst his children, but the memory of consequence haunts him, puts a terror in his bones that assures him he may never hold anything ever again. 
Luhan’s face springs back behind his eyes, stone faced and ashen, eyes holding his gaze with a conviction that bordered on feral as he let the words wash over him.
‘Someone is raising Paimon.’
Even now, centuries later, he regrets saying it - saying it on his knees and gasping for breath, as though the world was already ending. It was. They both knew it was. It started to end the moment ritual die had been cast, but he wonders. Always, he wonders. 
Would Luhan have run head first into annihilation if he had spoken calmly, concisely, without shame or guilt? If he hadn’t loved Sasha like his own, would all of this have hurt less? Would things have looked different, if he hadn’t been cut from the same cloth - one nature magician from above pitted against one nature magician from below? 
If he weren’t the devil’s mirror, would they all be free?
Logically, he knows the answers - knows that, regardless of how it looked, the ending would always be the same. But still, the wonder reminds him that he hurts, and this is how he remembers he survived.
‘The moon brought you out too, I see?’
The sound of your voice pulls him from his thoughts, startling him with a small jump. Casting a glance over his shoulder, he sees you approach, footsteps light enough on the grass he almost believes you are floating. Your presence empties him, mind suddenly vacant of thought or action, heart stumbling to put himself back together, locking his secrets away.
‘Sorry?’ 
He doesn’t mean to sound breathless, like he’s overexerted himself to be near you. It’s just that, with your body close enough to touch, standing above him, in the dark and the night, with only the moon to see, he struggles to find his self control.
Biting your lip, you hang your head slightly and nod in apology. ‘I can sit somewhere else.’ You gesture vaguely towards the opposite end of the lake. ‘I just had a feeling…’ Shifting your weight from foot to foot, you sigh as your voice fades away, nervous. He smiles at you, the sound making his blood run hot. ‘It’s just nice to see that the moon touches you the way it touches me,’ you clarify in a rush, suddenly shy that you’ve said anything at all. 
Any other night, any other person, and he’d have asked that you leave him, go far away from him so he can be alone and the world can be safe and he can imagine the universe only changes when you look closely enough to notice the difference. Considering the flush at your cheeks, he almost tells you to leave altogether, to go back to New York, because seeing you gone means he doesn’t have to see you get hurt. 
But then, considering the flush at your cheeks, he knows to be away from you is just the same as death, and so he smooths the grass beside him with a tense palm, keeping his smile placid in the effort of not giving himself away. 
‘You don’t have to,’ he says, trying to keep his tone casual. ‘Sit somewhere else, I mean.’ 
Beaming, you settle beside him, leaving just enough space between your bodies for the breeze in the air to feel like a chill. He hopes you do not notice him shiver. 
‘How could you tell?’ he asks. ‘It’s pretty specific to assume the moon is why I’m here.’
The curl in your lips when you smile tells him you have a secret, that you’re proud of it, a dimple forming in your right cheek. His fingers twitch, stopping himself from reaching out to touch it. 
‘I know I laugh too loud,’ you explain, smile unwavering, ‘and giggle a lot - at pretty much everything - and can sometimes come across as, I don’t know, childish -’
Junmyeon cuts you off. ‘I don’t think you’re childish.’ He holds your stare, watching your smile fall as you consider his serious expression. ‘I’ve never thought that. Not once.’ 
‘Thank you,’ you mumble, swallowing thickly as you hold his stare. When you speak again, it is only after you take in a shaking breath, looking away from him to peer out over the water. ‘I’m bad with words,’ you announce, either as apology or clarification - he is unsure. ‘I’m just saying, I know how it seems. That someone like me wouldn’t know or be aware...but I do.’ Looking back at him once more, your eyes are resolved, unwavering. ‘I see more than most people give me credit for. And I know. I know.’
‘That we’re soulmates?’ he tries, wanting to hear you say it. 
Something about this makes you laugh, head cocked back and mouth open to the sky. The sound of your voice echoes, carries into the air and rains over him. The hairs on his arms stand on end, mouth running dry as he watches you surrender, heart first, into bliss.
Regarding him once more, your eyes seem to dance in the moonlight. ‘It’s very hard to ignore the elephant sized tension here, don’t you think?’ Resting your head on your hand, you smirk. ‘It’s a little distracting.’ 
It’s his turn to laugh, eyes falling to his lap, sheepish. Around you he feels young, so impossibly young and small and unprepared. ‘I don’t know how Min did this.’
‘He didn’t.’ 
You fill the words with humour, but he still catches the undercurrent - the rolling wave of want that makes them fall, thick and heavy, against his skin. When he looks at you again, you appear placid and serene, but he feels the tension that vibrates from your core - the same vibration at the core of his soul. It’s hurting you not to touch him, the same way his skin feels tight, wrapped around and around his bones, until the water in him has been wrung dry.
‘We can’t…’ He shakes his head, uncertain what he even intended to say.
‘I know,’ you concede, catching his meaning and leaning back on both hands to regard the water once more. ‘Seals are funny things aren’t they? There’s always a special kind of thrill in breaking them, some kind of rush - even if you have permission to open them, even if you already know what’s inside; you just want to touch them.’
Mirroring your position, Junmyeon considers your words and chooses to avoid them, unwilling to let talk of seals spoil the light of the moon. ‘How did you learn sacred geometry?’ he asks, instead.
‘The way you’d learn any other kind of magic: practice and study,’ you shrug, as though it took no skill or effort at all. Junmyeon briefly wonders if this is your magic - a knowing, similar to Minseok’s. But rather than a knowing of events, you manage to know the very nuances of magic itself. The thought makes his stomach drop, not in fear but in awe. 
‘I assume,’ you continue, looking up at the moon and basking in the light, ‘you mean to ask why did I choose to learn it?’
Junmyeon nods. ‘I suppose so, yeah.’ 
‘It’s reciprocal.’ Brow furrowed and focused, you still don’t turn to face him, though he’s sure you can feel his eyes as they wander over your cheeks, your lips, the very curvature of your profile. ‘As above so below,’ you ponder, repeating your words from earlier in the day. ‘It’s a method of seeing the other side of magic - the origin, the darkness, and the beauty. If I can understand the madness, then I can understand how to heal it. If I can understand the symmetry, then aren’t I little bit more connected to the source?’
Someone like you should be impossible, he thinks, someone who holds the heart of magic and does not burn from the force of it. His heart beats like thunder in his chest, tearing through his sternum to get to you, awed and humbled by your ability to command the source of things, to understand and fathom the totality of it - accepting it without wanting to harness it. 
‘That’s an interesting way of looking at it,’ he says, licking his lips as blood rushes in his ears. ‘Luhan, our brother…’
‘He’s the one you lost?’
Finally, you look at him once more. Shoulders lowering in relief, he is almost ashamed of the command you have over his body so soon. Grief lingers behind your eyes, sad for him and sad for the memory, and he wars with himself against pulling you close. The muscles in his arms twitch, and he presses himself into the ground with the effort of keeping still, stopping himself from closing the distance.
‘Yes,’ he says, though his usual contempt for the memory does not rear its head. He imagines this is because your presence is a balm, a comfort, and he wishes at once that you do not depart from him, not for the night and never again.
Eyes softened, he watches your hand as it moves along the grass, heading towards his fingers before retreating back to its original position. 
‘I’m sorry,’ you say softly, the conviction behind it powerful enough to steal the breath from his lungs.
Centuries have passed, full of people he thought perhaps he could call friends, people who were there, in town and watching him grieve; others still who heard the tale, having lost someone in their life too - for different reasons, but lost just the sam - and all had offered condolences, reached for a hug or his hand or his shoulder as though the touch of a stranger would be comfort enough to ease the pain. For centuries, people have come and gone, and lived and died, and all have seen the grief within his soul and apologized for it being there at all, and not once had he believed they were sincere.
Never, until you. 
‘He learned it to understand time,’ he continues, blinking through the dryness in his throat in order to keep his composure. ‘He wanted to understand how patterns repeat or don’t repeat; life and all the smallness of it.’ 
Junmyeon casts his gaze back out to the water, aware that he’s rambling and fearing he is speaking, now, just to speak. Your gaze remains on his, steadfast and unwavering, toying with his pulse as though it were your plaything. He wonders if you are having fun, invading his synapses so easily.
‘He mastered it,’ he continues, short of breath, ‘probably because he knew we never can truly separate ourselves from the cosmic nature of things.’
‘Ananta.’
The reverence in your voice as you speak nearly makes him whimper, wishing to be cradled against you the way your mouth cradles the word. Steeling his strength, he lets his eyes move over your body, fixing you with a confused expression he hopes does not morph into one of longing.
But you continue to smile, sighing contentedly as though pleased by the mere sight of him. 
‘It’s a Hindi expression to describe the endless nature of the cosmos,’ you explain, licking your lips as your gaze wanders briefly down to his neck. ‘They were among the first to really study cosmology.’ With a small sigh, you move your gaze back up to his face, seemingly satisfied. Junmyeon’s fingers dig into the grass, spine going tense under your scrutiny. ‘The whole of the universe is within ourselves, and that is why we are sacred.’
Silence befalls you both, a comfortable silence that carries no expectation for conversation. Raising your eyes to the moon, you continue to smile, content and calm and glowing beneath the light of the moon. He begins to feel erratic, eyes tracing over your features in the struggle to process your existence, and the way you seem to accept the universe as though you were its sole creator.
‘When I’m with you,' he exhales, eventually, 'I feel like I know nothing.’ Slowly, you bring your gaze back to his, and still your smile does not fade. His breath catches, brow furrowing in the effort not to swoon. ‘Like, I'm starting over - I have everything to learn, all over again.’
A flush creeps up Junmyeon's neck, lips opening and closing as his eyes go wide. This sort of admission, this vulnerability, is unfamiliar, almost painful, and he suddenly does not know how to respond himself. Now, your hands are not just touching his memory, you are taking hold of his self-identity, coaxing words from his chest and knowledge from his mind, leaving him empty and wanting and completely at your mercy. With you, he feels fragile and uncertain, and he cannot remember the last time he let himself become shy.
Humming, you don't appear to notice that he's let himself become small. Or, perhaps, you do, and your smile of pleasure does not change, for you find enjoyment in all things, especially the stuttering rhythm of his heart.
‘That’s probably because there is always something to learn,' you shrug. 'You’ve been feeling as if you have to know everything, assuming that you do or, at least, assuming that you have to.’
At this, you fall back onto the grass, laying down with your hands tucked beneath your head as a makeshift pillow. Closing your eyes, you press into the earth, unbothered by the dampness that soaks into your shirt and jeans, luxuriating in the softness.
‘How do you do that?’ he mumbles, incredulous.
Turning to peer up at him, wide eyed and curious, you pout. ‘Do what?’
Again, his hands clench in the grass, clutching at fistfuls as he struggles not to bed down and kiss you; tongue running through your mouth and along your lip, hungry. ‘Approach everything like it’s something for play,' he manages with a cough, voice thick.
This only makes your pout deepen, and he swallows a moan. The sweetness of you is a poison, he reminds himself. He will want to taste and hold and devour you, and it is imperative he does not.
‘Is that a bad thing?’
‘No,' he shakes his head, 'I just don’t understand.’ 
Looking at the faded blue of his jeans and the browned stains on his white sneakers, he focuses his attention on these details as he speaks, rather than the pink curve of your lips. 
‘How do you come away from everything as though it won’t hurt you? Or doesn’t?’ Frustration bleeds back into his voice, and he is glad his focus remains on these insignificant things, because now he feels like himself. ‘How can you laugh, even tonight? The moon is full but the water doesn’t glow, not really, not from below. The light doesn’t touch the bottom anymore, and you walked up to me ready to laugh. I know you’re smart enough to see these things, and you feel these things, but why do you...how do you...people have died.’ When he looks at you again, he is angry, and he is glad for the wrath of it. ‘Death stains things, it stains people, and you can’t ever walk away from that or pretend like it’s okay it happened.’
Rolling onto your side, you gaze up at him, face unmarred by hurt or upset. Junmyeon chews the inside of his cheek, breathless and ready to curse himself for his vitriol, but you don't seem to mind. Instead, you merely seem interested, appreciative that he shared these things at all.
‘Do you think that’s what I do?’ you muse, choosing your words carefully, almost tender with your selection. ‘Pretend?’
‘Don’t you?’ Junmyeon implores, feeling needy and small and praying you agree with him, because he can't fathom a life any other way.
Suddenly, your gaze hardens. ‘Absolutely not.’
His stomach drops, lips falling into a frown, crestfallen. ‘Then I don’t get it.’
‘Who showed you how to keep horror in your chest?' you almost laugh, he can hear it in the tightness of your words. ‘You weren’t born with it.’ Brow furrowed, you take your time picking him apart, considering the totality of him before continuing. ‘I don’t pretend. That’s so disingenuous.’ Shaking your head, you pluck at the grass near his thigh. ‘When anything happens, I just grieve. I grieve deeply and I’m not afraid of showing the pain. I let it out - I don’t rush myself out of it. When you do that, it never really lets go, it just holds onto you tighter. It makes a home out of you, and it stays there, waiting to rise up and eat away at you.’
Pursing your lips, you pause. In the quiet, Junmyeon finds himself missing the sound of your voice.
‘You heal by letting it win you over,' you finish with an almost imperceptible nod, 'just for a little while, until it’s small enough to slip out of your hands.’
He wants to laugh, howl at the idea that such a thing could even be possible. ‘You’ve never had to lead.’
‘Leadership doesn’t exclude you from the spectrum of human emotion,' you counter. ‘We have power, we are special, but we still feel and we still bleed.’
‘What if it never lets you go?’ Mirroring your position, he settles on his right side. He feels almost like a child, sordid and unsure and so, so contented by the nearness of you. It is for this reason, he assumes, that he is able to share at all, and the thought makes the tips of his fingers go numb. ‘What if it never gets small?’
‘Then you accept that it’s part of you, but you don’t let it own you.’ Taking in a deep inhale, you reach for his hand in the grass, twining your fingers together tightly, seriously. ‘You are not comprised of horror alone,' you announce, authoritative and almost severe. 'You are not a collection of misery and death. You are a man, and you are magical. You just need to take command of yourself, not those around you.’
Junmyeon is trembling, tremors running down and through his veins at the sudden feel of your skin against his. The warmth of your hand floods him like a fever, lips parting to take in more oxygen, world rocking beneath him as though he were out at sea. You seem to notice it too, eyes suddenly going wide, and the smooth expanse of your chest along the neckline of your shirt turning pink, and then red. 
Behind his eyes, he sees himself, inching closer over the earth to hover above you, lips pressing against yours and knees parting your legs to settle between them. He sees himself clutch your hips, your hands brace his arms, his mouth at your neck, and -
He pulls his hand away, rolling back over to sit up, hugging his knees to his chest. His semi-hard erection strains against his jeans, protesting this new, uncomfortable position.
‘I didn’t expect you to be so blunt,' he says, weakly.
‘Well,' you breathe, voice unsteady and tone dry. Junmyeon smiles. 'The thing about me is I feel all my emotions. The whole range.’ He hears you sit up as well, brushing grass off what he assumes is the back of your shirt. He does not chance a glance. ‘Not just the ones I hold in higher judgement.’
Smirking, he glances at his hands, folded over his legs. ‘You’re getting spicy now.’
‘Spicy?’ you laugh in mock offense. ‘I just call it tough love.’
And then, he can't help it. At once, he's looking at you again, savoring you and the word you've put into the air, as if it meant nothing. As if it were light, and weightless, and easy. ‘Love?’
Settling your arms at your side, he watches as your spine straightens and your neck elongates, suddenly empowered. ‘Do you want it to be?’
His chest constricts, systematically removing the air required to speak. Yes, he nearly screams. He wants it, oh, how he wants it to be, knows that it should be. The joints of his fingers ache from where you touched him, furious to be separated and burning with the loss; his thighs ache, tense from trying to cool the blood of his desire and to ensure his arousal remains unnoticed. He wants you, all of you, and it is the first time in centuries he's wanted a person beyond a body within which he could briefly forget.
Undaunted by his silence, you look back up at the moon. ‘The moon is out. Maybe she knows something.’
The light plays with your hair as though it makes a home of you, casting silver and glitter into the strands in a pattern he finds hypnotizing. Always, the moon enhances aspects of a person - he has always known this, understood the full spoke and terror of the light she provides. She is a beacon, a hope, and a home for the lost creatures and souls that call to her, but she is rarely forgiving.
On you, she is exquisite.
The light settles against your skin, casting shadows and carving the edges of your jaw, your nose, your brow as though she were painting you, sculpting you. It radiates out from beneath your skin, glowing from within as the magic seeps from your pores. Staring at you, he feels he could be blinded, visioned burned by the holiness of you, and as the tears well in his eyes - abrupt and unwelcome and terrifying - the light becomes a halo, and then becomes wings, turning you into the goddess of the moon.
It was always you, his one and only serenity.
‘The moon pulls at water, creating the tides.’ He’s unsure why he says it, why he speaks at all. In the end, he supposes it’s because he sees you as something ephemeral, and speaking, even if it hurts him, opens him, will keep you by his side. ‘Everyone knows that,’ he smirks. ‘It’s basic laws of gravity. But people forget that they are made of water, and the moon pulls at them, too.’
Keeping still, you smile up at the moon and through the light, appreciative and proud. ‘The moon has always been responsible for deep emotional revelations.’
‘Insomnia, depression, psychosis, anxiety,’ he lists, joining you in adoring the moon. ‘She pulls at people, makes them confront what they don’t want to see.’
In his peripheral, he sees you shake your head, heartily disagreeing. ‘She heals it though,’ you say, voice serene. ‘She’s creative, intuitive, spiritual. You don’t hurt for nothing.’
It strikes him, then, that he likely was not wrong, not entirely. His heart sees you as a goddess, showered and anointed by the light, nurtured into full bloom in the dark and in the flow. He sees you as a goddess, but then, in the old days, when magic was known and revered and respected, the moon goddesses were often called oracles. And, perhaps, you are descended from the temple of the moon, a modern day priestess, sent to break and rebuild all his darkest pieces, sewing him back together with silver.
‘Is that your magic?’ he tries, realizing he never really did ask how you define your skills. ‘The moon?’
Suddenly shy, you bow your head and let your halo become a crown. ‘In a sense, yes.’ Turning to smile at him, he no longer sees your beauty as something soft but as something biblical. ‘I understand her, how she affects people - her cycles, her power, her secrets. I’m sensitive to her, aware of how the planets, all nine of them, bend and yield to her.’
Looking back up at the sky, it appears for a moment that your soul stretches beyond the earth, and beyond time. ‘The stars, too, I get power from them as well. The sun is a star, people often forget that. I see how the sun and the moon play together, and, I guess, how they play with people. That’s probably why people assume I’m weak.’ Biting your lip, you pause. ‘Because I’m perceptive rather than aggressive.’
For centuries, he's cursed the foolishness of mortals, hiding in plain sight and letting them win him over because he watched them die. Magic had burned the world - unholy and corrupted with sin - and he had let it. He let men and mortals define a great many things about him, and not once did he mind. But for you to be seen as weak or something unassuming, meager, he finds himself offended. You are one with the universe, and therefore all  creatures should bow to you.
You, he believes, are the blueprint and creator of the universe.
‘The stars are going out again,' you announce abruptly, interrupting his thoughts.
Junmyeon blinks, surprised by this sudden change of subject. ‘Again?’
‘It was hard to tell in New York, but we saw it,' you sigh, closing your eyes and sucking in a deep breath, overcome. ‘Back during the great war, the sky went black.’
When he thinks back to the war, he remembers a great many things - terrible things that have coated his skin with wax, embalming him for eternity. He remembers the smell and the screams, the wet ink of notices on church doors declaring another woman damned; the trials and the yelling and the way no one could look each other in the eye. He remembers the way trust vanished, a frail thing that likely never existed to begin with, offered with a sense of reciprocity but never truly delivered. He remembers looking everywhere, at everyone, but not at the sky.
‘What was that like for you?’
‘For my coven?’ you ask, fixing him with a hard stare. It doesn't seem to suit you, but now he sees that you, too, are tormented. ‘Or for me?’
‘You,' he affirms, glad to be so direct.
‘It hurt.' You answer comes without hesitation, gaze unwavering and focused. ‘When the war reached its peak, the sky was completely black. It was a new moon for days, and I ached with the lack of it. It was unnatural - it felt like the universe was dying, decaying before my eyes and I was helpless.’ Momentarily, you pause, eyes searching the darkness that lingers behind him, eyes unseeing, simply remembering. ‘My sisters did their best. They’re empathetic and sensitive, completely aware, but they couldn’t feel it the way I did. Every death, I felt it in my soul, pieces crumbling away.’
He lets you wander in the memory, watches the way you swim inside it without ever falling completely into its clutches. Your eyes move over everything - over his face, his body, the water, the dock that lingers far behind him - but you don't stop. He wonders if this is how he looks, when he  becomes consumed, and knows, with a small bush, that it is not. Where you remember actively, fighting through and around the length of your life, he remains still, letting it hold him until he surrenders just as he did the day he learned to hurt.
‘I suppose,' you continue, returning to the present, smiling as though you have a secret you're too excited to keep, 'in the end, what I was really feeling was you.’
His mouth runs dry, blood seeming to halt in the chambers of his heart, as your sentence ends. It rattles him, quakes him, unmakes his DNA as a floodgate inside him opens. He knows what you were feeling, knows that, even without knowing, he had felt it too - felt you too. Separate and together, you had survived the unnatural and unresisted surrender to the promise of brutality.
Thousands of miles away, in a small settlement in New York, you had felt the world end and felt his soul break. And he, confronted with the totality of hell, felt the loneliness that comes with knowing - knowing without seeing or feeling. Knowing that, he was falling apart, and someone was meant to be there to hold him, and was not.
He thought it was Lu. All this time, he had been grieving for Lu. And, only after you study him with care and attention and worry, does he realize he was grieving for you, too.
Pushing himself up and away from the earth, he rises to a stand as he struggles to keep his breath under control. Again, he feels himself become devoured, given over and overwhelmed by the understanding and the magnitude of your connection. If he does not leave, he will no longer be able to trust his actions and, after so many years alone, he stubbornly considers himself his greatest companion, unwilling to truly let himself go. 
If he stays, he will have you, press himself against you until there are no edges along your bodies. He will live inside you, the way you live inside him, and nothing, not even the threat of death, will tear you apart.
'Are you okay?' you ask, startled by his sudden shift in energy.
'I have to go,' he says, words falling from his lips in a rush. 'I have to talk to my brothers. I...realized something.'
With this, he turns and leaves you and the moon feeling too full and too consumed to keep still. It hurts to leave, he feels it in the way his legs and feet ache with every step he takes, pulling himself from a soul deep comfort he has spent the length of his existence craving, but he does not look back, not even once.
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Outside the door, Junmyeon can see the kitchen light is on.
Lingering on the porch, he shifts his weight from foot to foot, considering if he wants to go in. All the way home, his mind had been racing, spiraling towards thoughts of you, your body, the moon, your connection, and the all encompassing sense of dread that comes with it. He’s full, almost too full to be a normal and healthy person, breaths coming in ragged inhales that speak of exhaustion, and he’s not in the mood to talk.
He’s been praying for silence, to be alone with his thoughts and the empty nothingness of a glass of whiskey - his third of the night, but when confronted with a life alone or the ending of every life, he feels the numbers don’t matter. Silence, it seemed, would not be his companion this night, and he braces himself as he pushes through the door, readying for yet another discussion.
Minseok and Bakehyun busy themselves in the kitchen, cleaning and cooking respectively, deep in conversation. Upon his entrance, they hush, eyes falling on him and and expressions going calm, passive. Junmyeon’s eyes lower to the small carpet by the door, looking for Yixing’s shoes and finding they are not there. Gazing up once more, he notices the whiskey has been put away, placed back on the shelf and out of his reach. He’d have to cross Minseok if he wants to get it, and he bites his lip.
A brief twitch brings Baekhyun’s brow to a small knot, before dissipating, eyes warm with concern. ‘Are you ok?’ he asks gently. 
It’s unlike him to be so soothing, usually boisterous and loud, and only effusive with Yixing. With both pairs of eyes on him, he roots his feet to the floor, fighting the urge to cross his arms defensively. Not that he could. Even down to his bones, he feels heavy and drained.
‘What are you guys talking about?’ he deflects, trying not to focus on the ache in his chest and the pain behind his eyes. ‘Am I interrupting something?’ 
‘The seals,’ Minseok clarifies, placing the tea towel onto the counter. Folding his arms, he considers Junmyeon with a speculative kindness. ‘How the birds dying were one, and that its the first time we’ve seen anything like them. They weren’t like this before, at least the birds certainly weren’t.’
Junmyeon simply nods, moving his focus to a seat at the table. He slumps heavily in the chair, closing his eyes as he leans back. His lower lip trembles, going numb. The water ran black, he remembers, undrinkable until boiled and sending the town into chaos. That was the first - and instead of living in the memory, he falls back to you. To your eyes as they wander over Smith Pool, unable to see that the moonlight no longer lets the water glow. 
Neither black nor cursed, merely different. And that is frightening enough.
‘Baek thinks between Xing and myself, we could see if other seals, elsewhere, have been broken.’ 
It’s taking work for Minseok to keep himself peaceful and tender, a rough gravel behind his words giving an edge to his tone that feels conflicted. They’re both testing him, fully aware and not altogether sure they’re ready to address what they sense down to their very spirit, but Minseok has never been one to run from confrontation. And, tonight, Junmyeon wishes he would.
‘I’ve always wondered if it was just our coven with the curse,’ Baekhyun says, resuming the spread of his jam over toast. ‘Or if it was every coven.’
Keeping his eyes closed, Junmyeon frowns. ‘That sounds dangerously optimistic. Like you’re playing with fire.’ 
The words don’t sound like they come from him, his voice warped and garbled. The rhythm of his heart escalates, catapulted forward by Baekhyun’s simple statement, and he presses his nails into the palm of his hand. Optimism like this is dangerous - absolutely lethal. It’s an excuse and a reason to be with you, take you, feel you all over him and pretend that it’s not damning the rest of the world. If someone else is cursed, it means you might not be a seal, and that kind of hope is what leads men to shallow graves.
‘It’s worth a shot,’ Minseok counters. ‘I’m going to talk to Xing, see what else is in his notebook.’
Junmyeon tenses, spine going rigid as his breath falters. Behind his closed eyes, his vision runs hot, throat beginning to swell around the lump that has formed.
‘There’s a lot he doesn’t share,’ he persists, tone indicating he has seen Junmyeon’s reaction, but has chosen to continue anyway, ‘but I know something in there has to have an answer.’
‘Luhan’s head was in the center of that blueprint.’ Opening his eyes, he casts a cold stare at both of them, mind battling with too many thoughts and feelings to want to entertain this conversation. ‘We were sealed in the curse the minute she put him inside it. It’s pointless to go looking.’ 
Even after he finishes speaking, he regrets it. It’s the coldest, most insensitive he’s been in a long while, explicitly reminding them of all the things they had decided they’d never bring up again. But he does, and he hates himself for it, already knowing it was wrong. 
Running his hands through his hair, he sighs, chewing at his tongue with enough force he hopes that it bleeds. He doesn’t want to talk about this, not now, not tonight. He doesn’t want to talk, but he knows he has to, and part of him, a sudden, overwhelming part, wants to share and share until there is nothing left inside him anymore, wondering how it would feel to be so free. 
Minseok and Baekhyun remain quiet, and he feels their stares on him like a sickness. His skin goes damp, clammy, fingers carding through the strangs of his hair as they ball into fists, and he coughs. Regret consumes him, regret as old and ancient as his heart.
‘What’s up with you?’ Minseok asks, attempting, and failing to keep his tone soft. ‘You never talk this way.’
‘I met her.’ Junmyeon announces it, wet and unceremonious, between the palms of his hands. ‘I thought Xing would have told you.’
He waits patiently for the energy in the room to shift. He readies for it, bracing for the sound of Minseok’s cold hard laugh, a brutal I told you so, and Baekhyun’s sharp inhale sucked between his teeth. The chill will wander over him, making him shiver; conversations about pride, and how being a leader means he’s excluded from rules; the group called together at some unbearable hour of the night, and every cold hard stare reminding him he’s a hypocrite, and that he deserves this. He deserves this kind of hurt and separation, unworthy of a love as powerful as this.
He waits for them to say, without any hesitation, that if anyone deserves to stay away from love, it is him. 
‘He wasn’t here when I got home,’ Minseok states, plainly. ‘She’s from their coven, isn’t she.’
Junmyeon tenses, brow furrowed in bewilderment. Lowering his hands, the blur of his vision focuses on Minseok, who leans against the counter with an expectant smirk. 
‘You knew?’ he manages, voice suddenly impossibly small.
Minseok shrugs. ‘I had a feeling…’ He fades, bowing his head as he laughs to himself. ‘Yeah, I knew.’
His throat runs dry, mind racing. Pressing the flat of his hands to the table, he waits for the cool of the wood to seep into his skin. ‘Was this a set up?’
Raising his hands in mock surrender, Minseok shakes his head. ‘I only sensed it the day at the shop. I didn’t set that up on purpose. I promise.’ 
And he wants, with all of himself, to be upset and furious - because he is. There is a rage in him unlike anything he has grappled with before, a frustration so hot his skin feels tight and his teeth feel sore. His tongue has started to crack with words and thoughts, rubbing against the roof of his mouth as he watches Minseok smile and smile and smile, as if this were a game.
But he cannot. Because Minseok smiles, and Minseok knows, better than anyone, that there is nothing about this that is worth a laugh. He envisions you, standing beside Minseok with your warm smile, and the laugh lines on your face, and wants to hold onto the anger, but it fades, because all you are, and all he can be when presented with you, is pure, unfettered delight. Minseok has brought him home, and he did so without interfering, without judging, and without stopping him altogether.
Lips parted and body shaking, Junmyeon deflates, brow furrowed in remorse. ‘I’m sorry.’
Holding Minseok’s stare, he refuses to look away, imploring him to look and keep looking. Startled, he lowers his hands, looking at Baekhyun before returning Junmyeon’s focused stare, chewing the inside of his cheeks. He knows they both feel it, the weight of his apology and how it attempts, in just two weak, overdue words, to make up for all way Junmyeon fought him - fought everyone - battled through their emotions and told them it was unsafe to feel. 
He’s sorry. And he knows they feel it.
‘Oh, shit,’ Baekhyun mumbles, posture straightening as his mind runs to conclusions.
Junmyeon moves his gaze to him, and regards his wide, doe eyes and the way his food remains, cold and forgotten at his side. Baekhyun seems more uncomfortable than Minseok, and this, he thinks, is just another unexpected turn the night could take.
‘Nothing,’ Baekhyun says, shaking his head in an effort to clear his thoughts. ‘It’s just...it’s been a really long time since you’ve apologized.’ He pauses, lips pursed momentarily before continuing. ‘For anything.’
He’s sure he must have, he thinks. He must have said the words at some point and some when, when things were less heavy and less dangerous than they are now. Reeling, he attempts to remember anything other than hurt and vitriol and trauma, and comes up empty. For so long, he’s pushed everyone, even himself, away, and now, he realizes, the only person who was unmaking him and his identity was himself.
‘Look,’ Minseok says, clearing his throat and getting Junmyeon’s attention, ‘I don’t blame you.’ The sincerity with which he speaks is uncharacteristic for someone just as austere as he, and Junmyeon feels himself arch a brow. ‘You did what you thought was right. And so did I.’
It’s the last thing he wants to hear, that connecting or letting you in or letting himself go is even remotely the right or moral thing to do. Eyes locked on Minseok, he silently wills him to take it back, imploring him to say it’s wrong, that they shouldn’t - that he shouldn’t. 
But he doesn’t. He just nods, resolute in his convictions.
‘Jun, it is right,’ he affirms. ‘I don’t know how I was doing things before I met her, and, honestly, I don’t want to remember. Living like that -’ He cuts himself off, eyes scanning the room as his thoughts run wild before settling back on him, alive. ‘It’s not living. That was not living. She’s made me stronger, better. Do you really think I’d have forgiven you so easily if it weren’t for her influence? You were protective, sure, but you were an asshole about it.’
The argument between the two of them still lingers, smeared over the walls and chairs of the kitchen. They’d both been furious, Minseok and himself battling over an intangible possibility - a maybe that lead to a certainty, unclear yet already final. 
‘Having a match means you are bonded to a duality, a light and a dark,’ he had said, as though it were simple and logical and effective enough to keep all of them away. But then, now, he has found you, and the ignorance of such a thing, the foolishness of it - as if the symmetry of being bound together were so easily ignored - makes him blush like a child. 
And he thinks of you, the way the light washes over your skin, the way the moon holds you close, and the way you pull him towards you - accidental and unassuming - as though you alone are his moon. He thinks, now, that he is the darkness and you are the light he crawls towards, and knows that, for Minseok, it was likely this same feeling.
‘I feel like I’m losing control,’ he announces, pressing his fingers into his temples. ‘Like suddenly I’m helpless and immature, like my sense of identity is falling apart. I can’t let it go.’ Closing his eyes, he takes in a deep breath, shocked and alarmed that he’s saying this much at all. ‘It’s killing me,’ he continues, ‘the fact that a seal has been broken, and even worse, that I almost don’t care. It’s like nothing matters, and I know you said that - you were trying to tell me. But I can’t let it go. The risk, Min. I -’ 
‘Im telling you, its right.’ Minseok cuts off his rush of words, tone sharp and authoritative. ‘She’s there to make you better, she balances you. You weren’t wrong,’ he concedes, ‘that it’s a duality. But you have to realize that dualities are made for balance. I just so happens the result is just fucked up.’
They hold on another’s stares for a long while, Baekhyun looking awkwardly between them both, often glancing to the other room as if he wishes to leave. But he stays, and they stay, unified as the world seems to shift and change around them. 
‘And no,’ Minseok announces, gaze resolute as he breaks the silence, ‘I won’t stop you from being with her.’
The tension in the room snaps, Junmyeon and Baekhyun regarding Minseok with alarmed, ashen faces. Even as he remains completely still, watching the way Minseok puts his hands in his pockets, casual and nonchalant, with steel in his spine that says he knows, Junmyeon feels the tectonic plates of the earth shift. It changes everything, the way they function as a coven and the way they approach their doom, has been reconstructed and made completely new. 
It terrifies him, makes the tips of his fingers go numb and his breath halt. Hair falls into Baekhyun’s eyes, shifted from the force of his movements, but he does not bother to fix it. He, too, has been stilled, awed into silence, witnessing the cosmic shift with wide, wet eyes. 
But still, he does not look as frightened as Junmyeon, who, behind his eyes, watches the world end and his heart soar, hands roaming over your body as you sweat gasoline into the grass, fires burning in the distance. Permission is dangerous, he knows, and Minseok knows it, too. And still, it does not stop him. 
Nodding, Minseok merely smiles, seemingly unmoved by the shockwaves around him. ‘You have my blessing.’
The words cut Junmyeon deep, a gift he does not deserve and a sign that Minseok is better - better now and better before, a better man that he ever was; a better man than he could let himself be.
Weakened, Junmyeon releases a strained sigh, the sound breaking into the atmosphere as a moan. ‘You know what will happen,’ he argues, spitting dissent like it still matters to him. ‘Why I can’t, and certainly why I don’t deserve it.’
Minseok keeps his expression placid, and gaze stern. ‘I know.’
Emotion wells inside him, scorching against his throat as reality burns around him, shifting instead towards the reckless unknown of you. ‘Then why?’
‘Because you have to choose the light,’ he says, unmoved and unwavering. ‘If you don’t, it’s as good as letting hell win.’ Minseok smiles, running a hand through the purple strands of his hair, proud. ‘She taught me that.’
For a moment, they both get lost. Minseok in memories of love and growth, and Junmyeon in the knowledge that nothing will ever be the same. He’s full, full to the brim of you, and his breath comes shallow, empty, painful in his lungs as he thinks of you and lets himself want and want. And at once, its swept away, by visions of Luhan and the way they died, and how Sasha broke before his eyes and how he has always been feeling, and never once did he stop.
‘Did you really think there’s a way out of this?’ Minseok tries, redirecting the topic as though Junmyeon isn’t falling - as though, around him, everything is fine and normal. Junmyeon knows he must feel it, must see what he sees, but still he soldiers on. ‘That we’d be able to solve it or avoid it?’ He chuckles then, amused by their ignorance. ‘We were never going to resist. It was just a matter of time before we gave in, or before we were forced to come together. That’s the point of this - it’s bigger than us.’
‘So we’ve been helpless?’ Baekhyun says, gentle and sweet and Junmyeon can tell he sees something is wrong, but he, too, continues, leaving Junmyeon to drown on his own. ‘The whole time, it’s just been inevitable?’
‘Most likely.’ Minseok’s voice goes distant, the blood in Junmyeon’s ears turning his answers into little more than white noise, a static that does not bring him comfort. ‘Yixing’s been alluding to it, and even when the Black Witch burned, she promised the cycle would repeat. It was always going to look different, but she told us it would happen.’
‘So it’s all just been dormant,’ Baekhyun reasons, pushing from the counter to settle in the chair across from Junmyeon. 
He sees him do this, but he does not actually witness it.
Instead, the tears that had threatened to consume him spill from his eyes. He’s glad for this, briefly, because now it means he can see Baekhyun, but the heat on his cheeks sears him deep, hand raising to the skin and discovering that it is wet. Around him, the world falls silent, Baekhyun’s shape blurring into a smear of nothingness while Minseok’s voice dies, muted by the throbbing in Junmyeon’s head. 
The wetness glistens against his fingers, warm and slippery, and he wonders why he’s never bothered to touch this - the water that comes from his own body. He coughs, not realizing he’s started to sob, lips and mouth wet as he struggles to breathe, shattered inhales of pain and remorse and regret and the horrific, candied flavor of ardor. 
He cries and he cries, feeling everything all at once with greedy fingers, pulling at his memories and pulling at you, wearing the images as tattoos against his soul. Luhan died, and so did he, and so did every part of himself he thought he loved. And you lived, smiled like he was a whole and complete man, something worth loving, reminding him he never did anything wrong, he just got scared. And the water, all this time, pulled away and came back to him with an aggression he thought was normal - waves that cast up against his legs, reminding him they are one and they are together - but never kissing him the same way again. 
And now, for the first time, he cannot remember the last time the rain felt sweet, everything about a storm casting a gloom that made his shadow grow tall. 
The skin of his cheeks feels trapped, torn between drying the tears as they stream from the heated temperature of his blood and feeling relief, a lightness to his pores as they release everything they’ve kept inside. There should be a reprieve from this, a release from his body as he shudders and fractures, letting himself feel vulnerable and aching with the shame of being seen.
Minseok and Baekhyun stay with him, neither reaching for his hand nor running away, frightened. Their presence, though not a comfort, is an alliance, an acceptance he had not granted himself for centuries, excluding himself from brotherhood under the guise of leadership. They welcome him back, silent and aware, keeping him company as he breaks, neither judging him for the noise or the shape this sort of breaking takes. He empties himself with them, pulls everything from the vessel of his soul and lays it bare, before them and asking that they hold it with him. 
And they do, having done this together, without him; having done this centuries ago, finally gladdened that their brother has come home. 
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The moon remains full for three days, an omen waiting patiently in the center of the sky and altering the night. A halo of red orange light bleeds from its edges, spilling blood into its center and changing its usual silver hue into one of flames.
Chanyeol feels it the most, having been separate from all the conversations, but awoken and rattled just the same. A wolf inside him fights his spirit, affected by the moon more intensely than he normally would be, barely sleeping and leaving the house at odd hours, needing to be outside and needing to be alone. Minseok offers Junmyeon knowing looks each morning, reassuring glances that say it would have been this way regardless. Still, he sips his tea too slowly and too long, the liquid going cold until it is almost flavorless, worrying himself raw and wishing his resolve meant nothing would change.
With all of his remaining strength, he avoids Smith Pool, tucking himself away from the bloodthirsty and severe shadows he knows the light will cast. He feels this unnatural avoidance in the tension that builds in his neck, moving his head from side to side at the shop to release the pressure, mind wandering and unable to focus on anything other than water. Nightly, instead, he submerges himself in the tub, pressed to the bottom and letting himself be held, nurtured, and cleansed. He experiments with the droplets as he rises, pulling them off his body and making shapes, making stars, feeling as though he is making you, before calling them back to skin and ensuring they do not dry.
It does not escape him, even as he does this, invoking play with his power at liberty rather than tucking it away, no longer cowering from it as though scorned, that Paimon is a part of him. The great release of his tears means he has started to accept the reality that all things above are mirrored below, and takes great pride in the fact that he holds water out of respect; the water bends and opens for him, because he loves it, because he lets it, not because he demands it, and not because he expects it to.
And on the fourth day, when the pain of staying away from the lake starts to hurt, the colour fading from his cheeks and lips, he brings himself out, anxious and starved. With every step, he feels the water call to him, lapping against his spirit and carrying him home, remembering their maker, and luring him towards the dock, lonely and needy in its anticipation. He'd longed for it, unsure how he had been able to stay away between the cycles of the moon, for years denying so many parts of himself in the name of leadership.
Sitting on the dock, he swings his feet over the surface as the moon seems to pull him forward, his hands digging into the wood to keep himself from tipping. Leaning into the light, he hums, the echo of the current easing his mind, the thoughts and worries falling silent, if only for a moment. Worn thin, he'd been thinking through his feelings, engaging and pulling at them, working through the how and the why and the when, but now, he simply sits. All his emotions bubble to the brim, and he luxuriates in them, accepting them for what they are rather than what he’d like them to be - what he’d make them to be.
Junmyeon breathes deep, the mist from the water seeping into his lungs, and rather than make him cough, he simply sighs, glad to have felt, and glad to have lived.
The water beneath his feet sloshes almost violently, erupting up and over the dock in a small wave to spray him, playfully, welcoming him - his true nature - and he laughs, loud and long, eyes squeezed shut in childlike pleasure. Against his skin, the memories in the water make his breath catch, memories of the lake being made, of his voice blessing the water on completion, of his feet - breeches raised high and toes wiggling on the stony bed below - running and chasing and thriving. There were children with him then, always. Children from town and children from school, calling him their guardian as they learned to trust the water. 
The memories fade as soon as they came, dripping down and back through the crevices of the dock, the atmosphere changing as he senses your approach.
Straightening his spine, his pulse begins to race, lips parting on a silent exhale as he counts each of your steps. The last time he met you here, he'd been imprisoned, locked in a self made cage where his hands and heart could not reach you - trapped inside himself, he could not feel you, not truly. Now, he is whelmed by the totality of your soul, overcome and overrun, and he struggles to keep himself from turning to watch you. 
One look at you, he knows, and there will be no hope for him. Once he feels you, he will feel all of you, and then there will be no pretending anything would ever be the same.
‘Welcome back.’
Your voice is full of joy, thrilled by the mere sight of him, and he closes his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips. Biting the inside of his cheek, he feels the excitement, the noise of you, gather within his spine, and he suppresses a contented sigh.
Finally allowing himself the comfort of your warm eyes and full lips, he takes his time watching you thrive beneath the light of the moon, ignited and given wings as you approach. Digging his nails into the dock, his breath catches, and he takes a moment before he speaks, gathering his words to ensure they do not break.
‘Are we making a habit of this?’
Settling beside him, excitement rolls off your aura in waves as you take off your shoes and socks. Scooting to the very edge, you smirk, teasing. ‘I hope so.’
Letting your feet drop into the water, just the barest ends of your toes touch the surface. Upon contact, your grip the dock a little tighter, a small yelp emerging from your chest. Eyes wide with shock, Junmyeon looks from your face to your feet and back again, bewildered.
'Isn't that cold?' he laughs, amusement tainting his surprise.
'Yes,' you nod, giggling as your toes splash lightly. 'But isn't it terrible we only let ourselves be silly in the summer? The water is always inviting, even if we can't dive in.'
Awed by the mere existence of you, Junmyeon remains quiet, letting the serenity you provide seep down and deep into his pores.
‘You look different,’ you say, breaking the silence. ‘A little more free.’ 
The heat from your stare peels back his skin, exposing all hs fragile, vulnerable parts as though readying for a feast. But he does not hide. Now, he is proud of the difference, and, most of all, proud that you have noticed. Rolling his shoulders back, he watches the water as it makes swirls on your feet, glad that it touches you when he cannot.
‘I am,’ he affirms, grinning bashfully. ‘I’m glad you feel the difference.’
Chuckling, you avert your eyes to the water at your toes. ‘I can.’ Your brow furrows, distracted momentarily before relaxing once more. ‘You feel like home.’
The air in his lungs catches, startled to a halt and held in place by your admission. In the aftermath, you don’t recoil from it, simply turn to face him with a conviction that makes his limbs start to feel heavy. In you, he could drown, happily surrendered to the depth so your soul and spirit, heart pulled out and left open, craving the affection of your touch.
You small gasp breaks his thoughts, his eyes following yours to the water.
‘This is your power?’ you ask, amazement lacing through your tone. 
Before you, a thin veil of mist rises up and up, pulled from and out of the lake, sparkling beneath the light of the moon. Stretching far above and into the sky, the droplets hold their shape, their makeshift curtain refracting the light and elegantly speckling the dock as your skin becomes illuminated. Even without his permission, he couldn't let the water stay away, adoring and worshiping you, mirroring his heart and his affections; glimmering, in the effort of anointing you as wife.
‘Yes,’ he admits, watching the curtain fall back down, silently. ‘I’ve been called the Water King.’
Reaching out a hand to collect droplets as they fall, attention rapt and lips parted with wonder, you sigh. Junmyeon shivers, feeling your touch through the water.
‘I see why this has been hard for you,’ you offer, moving your hand through the spray until it is gone, a small pout pushing your bottom lip forward.
His head falls, eyes downcast through his lashes. Unsure if he is ready for you to expose his nature or if he simply misses the feel of your touch against his heart, he keeps silent, conflicted and feeling small.
‘Nature magicians,’ you tease lightly, sensing his discomfort and softening to keep him safe. ‘You always feel Paimon more deeply than everyone else. My sisters -’
‘The herbalist,' he announces, remembering the way she cried, on this dock, clutching at Minseok to keep herself together.
You smile, glad for his attention to detail.
‘She needs Minseok.' As he says it, he blinks slowly at the taste of the words on his tongue. Sentiments like this used to come easily, rolling from his heart and mouth at will, honest and loving and gentle. Now, he is simply startled at the comfort they bring, taking shape as though he had been waiting to say it for years. 'I’m glad she has him.’
Eyes warm and full of devotion, nails digging gently into your thigh, you continue. ‘Another one of my sisters handles fire. She’s been...well, she never really lets us see how bad it gets.’
The water rolls forward against the legs of the dock, aggressive and foreboding. Too many nature magicians, he thinks, all located in one place. The hair on his arms stands on end, and slowly he realizes Minseok was right. It was always going to be this way, whether they gave in or not.
‘I’m glad she has you,' he says, an odd, distracted rephrase of his previous sentiment, but still he means every word. ‘That you see through to her heart. It takes incredible strength to do that, and not run away.’
‘And who do you have?’ you counter without hesitation, angling your chest towards him, unwilling to let him back down. ‘Do your brothers truly understand how it feels to be a part of nature’s mirror into hell?’
‘They try,' he shrugs, lowering his gaze to the wet wood beneath your hands. ‘I’ve told them what I can.’
‘I see the moon finally touched you.’
A rush of blood cascades in his ears, eyes lifting to greet yours, bashful and suddenly defenseless against your sweetness. Looking right down into him, you see, he knows you see, the way he let his heart break open, shattered into an irreparable state in the effort of learning to remake his soul. You see and you see, and he lets you in, feels your hands touch and caress all the parts within that did not used to exist - or did, have always exists, but were bent into irregular, inhuman shapes to make breathing hurt just a little less.
You see and you see, and so, he sees you too, drinking his fill until his fingers ache with the future nostalgia of your hair and his lips burn with the flavor of your tongue; having all of you, unafraid of being greedy in the name of love and lust.
‘She did,' he manages, eventually, words fading as a sigh.
‘But, I have to say,' you begin, holding his stare and demanding he does not look away. 'There’s really only one heart I’d rather be looking into.’
Tipping his head back slightly, he feels himself smile, ecstatic and impish and warmed to a flush that makes his cheeks sting. Looking back at you, he sees the hunger in your eyes and knows that he mirrors the intensity, watching a flush creep along your neck.
Junmyeon licks his lips, seeing just how far he can tempt your blush. ‘I know the feeling,'
‘I remember you saying that we can't.’ You toss his words back at him, running a hand through your hair and leaning into the breeze, seeking relief.
‘Does that mean you don’t want to?’ he challenges, inching closer.
The closeness of your body, with each small movement, sends an electric current up his spine, heart racing in his chest.
‘It’s like seals,' you murmur. ‘The more you’re told you shouldn’t, the more you want to.’
‘You know that I’d want you,’ he replies, words heavy and thick, ‘even if you weren’t a seal.’
‘I know.’ Wetting your lips, you breathe deep. ‘Me too.’
It would be easy, he thinks, to lean forward and catch your tongue before it slips back into your mouth. Easy, to press his fingers into the back of your neck, tipping your head back to kiss you and kiss you until the breaths you share together make you blood hurt. It would be easy.
‘Before the first war,’ he says, moving his eyes back towards the water, feeling his heartbeat like lead with the loss. ‘I wanted a family. I was ready to get married, ready to have children. I wanted to be a father, not a leader. Many would say they’re the same thing, but not really. With a family, you have a partner. And I never let myself have that, I guess, in the coven. But even still, it’s not the same.’
Considering his words for a moment, he feels you shift, pressing yourself against the dock as if rooting yourself and keeping your composure. He does not chance a glance however, blood alive like fire.
‘I was engaged once,’ you share, breathless and clutching at the dock, tone bewildered by this shift in topic. ‘A long time ago, about seventy years or so. He was a nice man, but something was lacking. He was kind and funny and warm, but I never felt anything for him, because I never saw him as my partner.’
In the water, he sees reflections of your past - reflections of a man who held you tight, but incorrectly, kissing at you with thick lips and careless hands. He wanted you, wanted all of you, and would have loved you as best he could. Which is to say, he would have loved you in a human, simple way that echoed commitment and choice without lust and passion. And you, looking up at the moon and looking at the stars, would have waited for the universe to ignite in your heart, waited to love him enough to make a sky out of your bed, withering beneath the permanence of a contract that did not taste cosmic.
He hates it. Down to his core, Junmyeon hates it. Hates the idea of someone's hands on you, feeling you without feeling the moon, without feeling your heart. Hates that your lips have been kissed at rather than savored, that your mouth and body and hands made moon for a man who could not give you the sun, and wants, with all of himself, to prove that the galaxies you inspire in his bones are not a fever but a fate. To prove, once and for all, that the only man who could love you enough to let you shine, is him.
The cold front sweeps in, merciless and relentless, blowing with a force that tells him the sky has felt him too. The rain falls, sudden and heavy, bathing you both in the intensity of his affections, soaking through and through until you are laughing in it - laughing in him - looking at him with wide eyes.
You don't say anything, know that you don't have to, studying the way he breathes deep, water dripping down his nose and cheeks, unafraid of hiding.
'I'm not sorry,' he says, emboldened. 'Please don't make me think about that again. Someone else's hands on you, I -'
'Yours are the only hands I want,' you announce, cutting him off.
In the deluge, he feels the heat of your skin, hears the erratic rhythm of your pulse, and the way your fingers twitch, halting in their trajectory to touch him. Finding it unfair that he should feel you so fully, with you only dripping for him, he raises his hand and guides the rain away from you, sheltering you from his storm.
‘Did you walk?’ he asks, gravel building in his voice from the sight of you wet and wet and wet with him.
Unable to speak, eyes dark as you hug yourself, pressing the water into your skin, you nod.
Junmyeon nods, watching as your nipples harden beneath your thin shirt. Blinking, he catches his breath. ‘We can talk in my car.’
And he doesn't know why he does it, only knows that he needs it, body moving without permission from his mind. Taking your hand in his, he twines your fingers together, the wetness of the rain drying immediately to press your skin against his. He gasps, and you sigh, both of you halting in your steps to gaze at one another, feeling the current grow between your palms, a thunder clap he'd been waiting centuries for.
He takes his time walking the short distance to his car, savoring the feel of your fingers rubbing against his knuckles. As he walks, he watches your profile, studies the angular slope of your jaw, the elegant vein of your neck, the tantalizing juncture of your neck and shoulders. How he could have wanted, how he could have needed, anything other than you - how he ever thought he'd survive without you. A laugh rises in his chest, amused by is foolishness, and he swallows it down, unwilling to admit just how quickly he craves surrender with you.
In the car, he lets your hand go, sitting silent with his palms resting on his legs. Staring straight ahead, you both watch the rain as it glides down the windshield, feeling sheltered and submerged. Idly, he wonders how far this reaches, if this storm is just for you or if he has covered the town, announcing that he has found you and he will never let you go.
The windows fog, warmed by the heat of your bodies as the temperature rises in the car. Sweat on his brow mixes with the drops of rain, and only when he thinks he may break, when the tightness in his spine, his thighs, and his chest is enough he fears he may break, does he speak.
‘Its killing me,' he says, almost whining. ‘Not touching you again.’
Bold and unafraid, he feels your eyes graze over his face. Inhaling a deep breath, he wrestles with his composure, breathing through his mouth so he cannot smell you.
‘So touch me,' you say, almost demanding that he disobey, reckless and thriving.
And he looks at you, looks at the way the rain has made your lips and cheeks wet; how your eyes glimmer, hopeful even behind the dark dilation of your pupils, brave under the weight of your desire. He remembers you saying you felt everything, all your emotions, all your pain and wanting and fear, with the totality of you, and only now does he notice you are shaking.
‘If I do, I -’ he chokes, watching your hands pull your shirt away from your skin, attempting to keep yourself cool. ‘I won’t hold back.’
‘So don’t.’
Junmyeon shakes his head, sucking air between his teeth. ‘You don’t get it.’
‘I do.’ It's the loudest you've ever been, confident and strong and so completely regal. ‘Every time I see you, I’m waiting for you to reach out and touch me. I’ve seen into your heart.' Chest heaving for breath, you continue. ‘I've seen how badly you need to be loved, and heard, and witnessed. Your mind is powerful, and it’s been given so much of the attention for hundreds of years, but your heart is just as magnificent. And I see you, I see how deeply you’ve been feeling everything and I’ve wanted to hold you. I lay up at night, thinking about you beside me and knowing that I’m supposed to be there, to make light of the moon less harsh. To hear you. To kiss you.’
His head falls back against the headrest, pressing himself into the seat as he looks at you, wanting you all over him and wanting to be all over you. His fingers drag along his jeans, the last threads of his composure fading away.
‘Minseok gave me permission,' he says, speaking just to test his voice, to see if he can. ‘I know I don’t need it. But still. I’m telling you. There’s no going back.’
‘Do you even want to?’ you almost plead. ‘You’ve let it go. Does the past even look appealing when you think about it anymore?’ Holding his stare, you tilt your head back, exposing your neck and chest to him. ‘Does it look better than me.’
Junmyeon angles himself in his seat to face you, fully, eyes demanding your attention. ‘I need you to tell me you want it,' he commands. ‘You know what will happen.’
If he has you, there will be no stopping him. He will take you, all of him, breaking open a seal with giddy, greedy fingers. He will bond with you, press himself inside you and demand you never be separated again. The world will end, and many will die, but he will love you and love you and love you until even the ashes of his bones is left mixing with your cosmic dust.
‘I know what will happen,' you press, insistent. ‘And I still want it.’ Leaning forward, you run your fingers through the wet strands of his hair, sending shivers down his spine. ‘I want you.’
The tightness in your voice, the raw and all encompassing yearning for him, washes over him, breaking through the last remaining threads of control to which he had managed to cling. Looking at you, letting himself fall into your eyes, he slowly comes to realize that the only consent he needed was not from Minseok, but from you. To be damned alongside you, no longer alone, walking into hell and lust and desire with his hand clasped in yours.
And when you breathe, sucking air into your lungs as your breasts fight against your shirt, he finds that it does not matter - that being damned does not matter, so long as the taste of you remains on his tongue, until the only thing he can ever remember is you. 
Over the console, he reaches for you, lips coming together full of hunger and want, starved over centuries for the press of your tongue against his lips. Reclining his seat as far back as it will go, the kiss is messy, all teeth and tongue, wet from rain and wet from your mouths, rolling against one another to devour each other whole. 
He nips at your bottom lip, pressing his teeth into the soft flesh and pulls, hearing you whimper as your hands fist at the collar of his shirt. Sliding his fingers up your neck, his hands gather fistfulls of your hair, tugging slightly and chuckling as he hears you gasp.
‘That’s it, princess,’ he murmurs against your lips, dipping his tongue inside the cavern of your mouth. ‘Let me hear you.’
Whimpering, you grip tightly at his shoulders as he pulls you, indelicately, over the console to settle in his lap. Straddling him, you grind your hips down into his, the heavy thickness of his erection pressing into your center through his jeans. Gasping at the contact, he peers up at you, at your swollen lips, your hair falling messily over your shoulders, and swallows thickly. Rolling up into your core, separated by all your clothes, your eyes flutter shut, and he brings one hand to the back of your neck, lowering you to his mouth where he begins to suck. 
Your nails dig into his shoulders, as you hiss. ‘Right there, fuck. It’s sensitive.’
Against your skin, he smiles, biting softly without leaving a mark. ‘I’ve felt you,’ he breathes, running his tongue over the spot his teeth just touched. Beneath his hands, you tremble. ‘For so long in the rain, I’ve felt you.’
‘It’s not like me to hold back,' you moan, holding his face between your hands and tilting his head to kiss at his jaw. 'Ever.’
The feel of your lips against his bones ignites a fire in him, need pooling deep into his belly as his hips roll up into yours once more. Hands needy and urgent, he leans back in his seat, gripping the hem of your shirt and pulling it over your head in one fell swoop. Your chest is flushed, breaths coming in hollow pants, and the supple skin of your breasts presses tantalizingly against the cups of your bra. Mouth watering, he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you flush against his chest, lips moving against the space between your breasts.
'Unfair,' you gasp, pushing at his shoulders before reaching before tugging at his shirt.
Helping you, he releases his hold on your waist, skin still tingling from the feel of you, and lifts his arms over his head. Tossing his shirt into the back seat, your eyes rake over his chest, followed swiftly by the pads of your fingers as they press barely there touches to the curves of his muscles. With each graze of your skin against his, he sighs, hands coming to grip your hips tightly and pressing you against his groin.
‘Greedy?’ you smirk, bending down to kiss sweetly below his ear.
Junmyeon groans, rolling up against you once more. ‘Only for you.’
Holding you so close, the heat of your core resting against his cock, seeping through his jeans, he takes a moment to clear his vision, grounding himself in the moment. The rain against the windows rolls down in streams, the glow from the street lamps outside casting shadows against your cheeks and shoulders, and for a moment, you become the waterfall he has always craved.
The moment is broken by your agile fingers, pulling at the button of his jeans. Laughing at the way you fumble slightly, fingers slick and slipping along the button, he lifts his hips, holding you still against him, as you work his jeans and boxers down. Erection freed, he sighs in relief, only to choke on his breath as your strong hand wraps around him entirely, pumping his length slowly.
Biting his lip, his head falls back as his hands reach behind your back, unclasping your bra.
'Look at you,' he rumbles, throat tight as your grip squeezes around him. 'Fuck, you're perfect.'
Consumed, he presses up into your hand at the same time as he bends to take your breast in his mouth, rolling his tongue over your perked nipple. Your rhythm falters, releasing his cock as pleasure takes over, raking your nails over his biceps as he laps at your breast. Biting down slightly, he lets his teeth make bite marks, marking the soft skin as his own, claiming a part of you for himself.
‘Tell me if you want me to slow down,' he breathes, pulling away from your breast to pay the same attention to the other. ‘I’ll do anything for you. I’ll hold back for you.’
‘I told you want you,' you whine, writhing against him as his teeth graze over your nipple, sending static like tingles down to your core. 'I’ve been wanting you.’
Lifting his mouth, he releases his hold on your hips to scratch at your thighs beneath the thin fabric of your leggings. ‘I need to show the world you’re mine.’
‘I’m yours,' you nod, kissing at his lips messily, sucking his tongue briefly before pulling away to breathe. ‘Only yours.’
Invigorated, the tension in his hands reaches its breaking point, and he feels himself rip through your leggings without even realizing it. Blinking down at the exposure he created, he feels a blush of shame creep into his cheeks before you begin to laugh.
‘I’ll buy you a new pair,' he offers, apologetically.
Shaking your head with a smile, you kiss him deeply, letting your tongue explore the velvet texture. 'Doesn't matter.'
Pushing past the remains of your leggings, he moves your underwear to the side and presses two fingers into your core. Your head lolls forwards against his shoulder, one hand gripping at his arm while the other strokes lazily around his cock. He lets himself press knuckle deep, enough for your walls to clench around his fingers, hoping to keep him trapped inside, and a deep moan rattles against his ribs.
‘Already wet for me, baby?’ he manages, thrusting slowly into your heat before curling his fingers.
He's coated with your wetness, the slickness of you dripping onto his hand and signaling you are likely ready for a third, but he deprives you, wanting to keep you on edge. Pretty when you're needy, he likes the way you curl against him, whining into his touch.
‘What do you expect,' you manage, turning your face to bite at his neck, 'when you’re dealing with a water king?’
Hearing his name and title roll off your tongue, with pride and ardor and passion, he cannot help the possessive growl that overtakes him, a third finger slipping inside you as he lets his thumb rub circles against your clit. His chest grows hot, warmed to the brim of your and your sweet, inconsistent strokes along the veins of his cock, and he knows, for better or worse, he will bring you to orgasm on his hand if he does not slow down.
‘How do you want to come, princess?' he manages, stilling the fingers between your folds and letting them curl upwards.
Petulant, you grip his cock tightly, urging him to continue. Junmyeon shakes his head and clucks his tongue, wrapping his hand around the one that holds his cock, keeping you still.
‘Words, princess,' he says, voice dangerously low. ‘Use your words.’
‘Cock,' you whine, rolling your hips against his hand for some relief. ‘Need to feel you inside me.’
Junmyeon pauses for a moment, considering. He is not one to carry condoms with him, but he knows that Baekhyun usually keeps one in the glove compartment for nights when he feels the most lonely; nights in autumn and winter when the light retreats from his skin and he seeks a body to feel warm. The last time he sought a companion was a week prior, and Junmyeon is certain the condom no longer remains.
'I don't have a condom with me,' he says, pressing his fingers back into you in a slow, lazy rhythm. ‘I'll have to pull out.'
Clenching around his fingers, you nod vigorously into his neck.
‘Princess,’ he commands, halting his fingers once more and lifting his thumb from your clit. ‘Tell me it’s ok. I won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with.’
'It's okay,' you whine, pressing against him to have the contact once more. ‘Want to feel you inside me.’
'Are you on something?' he presses, being careful and making sure you mean every word you say.
'No,' you manage, kissing at his neck and squeezing at his cock to get his attention, hoping to hurry him along.
Stricken, he flushes, removing his hand from yours to tug at your hair. Peering into your wide, lustful eyes, he searches your face with panic. 'You could get pregnant…'
You nod, reaching up to smooth the hair out of his face. 'I know.'
It settles over him, the implication of your words and the way you seem so calm, so blissful, so at peace with the idea. There's no fear in your voice, no terror or uncertainty. You simple look at him, full of love, a full moon, waiting for him to kiss you.
‘What are you saying?' he whispers, heart thundering in his throat as blood rushes in his ears.
He'd forgotten what hope felt like, what it felt like to feel himself and his desires, the whole length of them from beginning to end. He'd forgotten, and now that he remembers, he does not ever want to stop.
Wordlessly, you bend down, capturing his lips and a sound, unhurried kiss. You suck at his lips, humming with a smile, as your let your hands wander over his skin, clenching around the fingers that remain inside you, reminding him you still want him, need him.
Breaking away from the kiss, he keeps his eyes on yours, needing to hear it. 'Princess,' he tries, a tiny, barely there whisper of the man he feels he could be. 'Can I put a baby inside you?'
And, once more, without any sound, you nod.
The motion breaks something inside him, his eyes suddenly going dark and wild, blood alive like liquid gold to press eagerly against your silver. It's unlike him, the vigor with which his fingers thrust inside you, spreading slightly to stretch you in preparation. Deep inside him, there is a deluge, something awoken - not altogether dark but not altogether himself - pressing at your skin, hoping to press through and live inside you.
'I want to get you pregnant,' he says, fingers pressing at your nerves and walls, hard enough to make sure you feel every hill and valley of his knuckles. 'Watch you grow my baby inside your perfect womb. Make you swollen and fill you so completely your body feels empty without me. Please, let me. Please, can I get you pregnant?'
Your hold on his cock is weakened, thighs and body starting to quake as he pushes you close to release. 'Yes,' you cry.
'Say it again,' he demands, pushing you against him to bite at your shoulder.
'Yes.'
Junmyeon lets his thumb tap roughly against your clit, swirling your juices over the nerves. 'Again.'
'Put a baby in me,' you moan, clutching at him as your finger smears pre-cum over his tip. 'I want to have your baby.'
Pulling his fingers from your folds, he smiles as you whimper at the loss. His hand lifts yours from his cock, and he grips the ample flesh of your hips, letting his fingers dip between the waistband of your underwear to press into your ass.
Holding you up, he bites at your lip before speaking. 'Sit yourself on my cock, princess.'
Moving your underwear out of the way, you slowly lower yourself down, holding his tip between your slit for a few moments, impishly keeping still. Guiding a hand between your legs, you hold onto him, keeping him still as your squeeze around his base, letting your nails idly tap against the veins. Junmyeon hisses, fighting the urge to press you down, to bury himself inside you to the hilt, and distracts himself by massaging your ass, hard enough to leave bruises.
'Gonna ride just the tip?' he grunts, eyes locked on the way he has just barely begun to disappear inside you.
'Just wanted to see how long you'd go before you broke,' you laugh, before sliding all the way down, taking him deep until there is no end to where you your bodies begin.
Settling your hands on his shoulders, you roll forward, gently thrusting against him to get used to the feel of him inside you. Junmyeon exhales through his teeth, the feel of your walls around him sending his body into overdrive, cock hard enough the ache in his spine has his breath coming in rasps. Lifting yourself, you fall back down on him, creating a rhythm that his him thrust up into your cunt in desperation.
Moving his hands forward, he holds onto your hip as he takes one of your breasts in his hands, massaging the flesh as you bounce on him, clenching tightly enough to make him gasp. In retaliation, he takes your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, rolling the bud tightly until you hiss. And then, in one fell swoop, brings his mouth and tongue over pink nub, sucking harshly.
Your hands move to his hair, carding through the strands as you grip him, gasping through the sensation.
'You're fucking tight,' he groans, meeting your downward fall with an upward thrust. 'I'm gonna have to spend my life fucking you hard enough to fit.'
The power behind his words has your body shaking, the wetness of your bodies coming together filling the car as a symphony. His orgasm builds behind his eyes, the tension in his legs wrapping around him as a coil. Around his cock, you clench, desperate to hold and keep him inside, and the more you do the more his control slips away, body driven to powerful thrusts, seeking an end.
Bringing a hand between your bodies, he returns his fingers to your clit, tapping hard circles in time with his thrusts.
'Next time,' he groans, 'I'm gonna eat this pussy out for hours. Suck it dry and make it wet again.'
'Jun -' you moan, lapping at his lips as your bouncing becomes erratic.
'You gonna come, princess?' he breathes, smiling against your panted breaths.
All you can manage is a nod, aware that the noise in your chest sounds just like begging. Inside you, he is relentless, seeming to press himself deeper and deeper with each thrust.
'I'm going to come,' he manages, the first clear and well constructed sentence he's said since he's been inside you.
Admission means he's giving you one last chance, one brief opportunity to change your mind, and he thrusts so deeply inside you, he hopes his motive is clear. He wants you pregnant, swollen, carrying his baby, making sure all the world knows you are his and you are his home. He gives you this opportunity, because he can wait, he has been waiting - for you, he has been waiting, and there is a lifetime during which he can build the life with you he craves.
But you hold on tight, grind down onto him with a moan, and look him straight in the eyes.
'Come inside me,' you whisper, speech steady and careful. 'Fill me, please. I want it.'
Unleashed, untamed, and alive, Junmyeon presses against your clit, babbling into your ear as he feels his orgasm burn inside his belly. With each thrust, he sees it, sees you, full of him and laughing, body mooned outward because of him, and he suddenly cannot catch his breath.
'I'm gonna put a baby here. Right here. You're going to get big, round, so fucking pregnant you'll think you might been waiting for it your whole life.'
That’s all it takes, the mere image of you rounded and pregnant as you ride him, to send him over. He spills into you, hot and moaning your name, feeling you tremble around him as you come together, your legs shaking on either side of his. Your voice is thick and heated in his ear, wet cries of pleasure and moans, whispers of permission, of love, and hope dripping from your mouth. The whine of his name from your lips makes him gasp, pressing deep inside you as he feels his come spill out of you and back down onto his thighs, jeans, and your skin.
Trembling against him, you gasp to catch your breath, body sensitive as his cock softens inside you. Stroking your hair, he presses soft kisses to your cheeks and shoulder - anywhere his lips can touch, he kisses, reminding you he loves you, he loves you, he loves you.
With his eyes closed, body encased in bliss, he lets the world remain at peace, for this one brief moment.
And outside, outside the car where he does not choose to look, the moon comes out, but still it rains. It rains, unholy and unnatural, spilling backwards up into the clouds, up and up and up, defying gravity.
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optimizche · 5 years
Text
Angelic: Sire and Seraphia (Park Chanyeol/Reader)
Her
“Ohh my god, Lu,” I groaned around a mouthful of blueberry pancake. “These are delicious!”
Sitting in front of me, nursing a steaming cup of coffee in his hand, Luhan beamed at me with pride. “I’m glad you liked them, princess.”
“‘Like’ is an understatement, Lu,” I said, ravenously forking some more of the syrupy, buttery pancake into my mouth. It melted on my tongue and I let out another groan, shutting my eyes in pure bliss. “These are divine.”
“Hey!” came Baekhyun’s indignant exclamation. “I made them, too, you know? I need some credit, okay?”
I smiled at my brother who was standing at the stove, flipping more pancakes on the skillet. “Of course, Baekkie. You’re a culinary genius!”
He blushed at my praise, waving his hand dramatically as if to say oh stop it.
I laughed.
Beside me, Yixing was watching us with a fond smile on his face, drinking a cup of coffee. He always took his coffee with a splash of cream and two sugars.
Underneath the table, his free hand rested upon my bare thigh. Fingers playing with the hem of my silk shorts.
His touch on my skin felt like a blanket of comfort, a direct result of his innate healing abilities.
Just being around Yixing made me feel at ease, his touches ameliorating any distress or disquetude within me. He was like a walking, talking safety net for me and in his vicinity, I felt calm.
The calm and comfort that Yixing’s presence brought me was rivalled only by the serenity and tranquility that I had always felt around Junmyeon.
I wanted to lean into Yixing, crawl into his lap and dissolve into his embrace. Maybe take a nap, even. But we had to be discreet around the rest of my brothers.
Instead, I placed my hand on top of his, threading my fingers into his. He gave my hand a squeeze.
“You’re working at Seraphia with Minseok and me today, aren’t you, love?” Luhan asked, pulling me out of the quiet moment Yixing and I were having.
I turned to him with a smile. “Yep.”
Seraphia was a cosy neighbourhood cafe that Luhan, Minseok and Baekhyun had started. And the establishment was quite popular among humans, having garnered numerous loyal patrons over the years.
Lu smiled back at me, while Baekhyun began to animatedly talk about all the pastries he was going to teach me to bake.
Just as he was explaining the intricacies of making the perfect blueberry compote, Minseok walked into the room, Jongdae on his heels, both wearing identical grins on their faces.
“What’s gotten you both so chuffed?” Lu asked, quirking a brow at them.
“Junmyeon is coming,” they both announced together.
I stayed frozen firmly in my chair, silent, while the rest of my brothers erupted into cheers. Yixing beside me remained silent as well, giving me a look.
The message in his glance was clear: we both were going to have to be deathly careful around Junmyeon.
Being the oldest among us, it wasn’t going to be easy to make him believe that everything was fine and dandy. Junmyeon could sense an impending peril within a second. He could read through us all.
And the consequences of him finding out what Yixing and I were truly up to… I didn’t even want to imagine them.
It was Minseok’s voice that drew me out of my own thoughts.
“Aren’t you happy that Jun is coming back, ___________?” he asked, regarding me with an air of expectation. And suspicion. “He said he was missing you the most.”
I felt a shard of guilt stab at my heart. Beneath the table, Yixing gave my hand another squeeze, sensing it immediately.
Mustering up the most radiant, shining smile that I could manage, I said, “Of course I’m happy, Min. I’m just… a little anxious about working Seraphia. I’m still a novice, after all!”
Minseok waved a hand dismissively in the air, shrugging off my worries with a grin of his own. “Don’t worry, princess, you’ll be great.”
“Did Junmyeon say when he was going to arrive?” Yixing asked.
“He didn’t say when,” Jongdae mused over a bite of pancake. “He just said ‘soon.’”
I gave Yixing a glance once again.
We had little time to prepare and rehearse our lies, then.
“Will you be coming to Seraphia, Yixing?” I asked, looking at him with hopeful eyes.
“I will try, love,” he replied, looking apologetic. “I have some commitments at the studio to complete.”
Yixing worked as a music composer, while Jongdae was the lead vocalist at a studio that the two of them ran nearby.
And as crestfallen as I was that I wasn’t going to be able to be around Yixing until tonight, I managed to smile at him.
God, life could be tough around here on Earth.
_________________
The sweet aroma of Luhan’s baked goods on display was making my head spin, the scent of Minseok’s strongly brewed coffee becoming the perfect accompaniment to it.
Even as I stood at one of the empty tables, scrubbing down the tabletop as best as I could, I couldn’t help but think if Luhan would allow me to sneak out one of his chocolate eclairs during lunch break.
He knew that I had an insatiable sweet tooth.
Which is why, when I caught his eye as he stood behind the counter, he gave me a wink. He knew.
If you work well, princess, I’ll let you have as many pastries as you like, was the implied bribe behind his wink.
I grinned at him, walking over to him as he beckoned me to the counter with a curve of his finger.
Tightening up my ponytail, I approached him. “Yes, Lu?”
“Princess, you’ll have to man the coffee bar, since Min has to leave early today,” he said.
“Leave early? Why?” I asked, my brow furrowing with instant anxiety.
It was only my third day of work at Seraphia and until now I had only helped with Luhan and Baekhyun with all the bakery products.
I had zero experience at brewing coffee. Especially nowhere as good as Minseok did.
“He has some official business to attend to with Baek and Jong,” he said, a significant look in his eyes.
Realization dawned on my face immediately. Father had asked them to do something for him.
“Fine,” I said, shrugging. “I’ll do it. But you need to teach me the basics, Lu.”
“No worries, princess,” he said, beaming, before pressing a grateful kiss to my cheek. “You’re a quick learner.”
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The lunch time rush hour had passed smoothly and I had hardly any problem with fulfilling all our customers and their caffeine cravings.
Everything had been going well.
I was silently eyeing the array of chocolate eclairs on display, which were practically begging me to devour them. My stomach growled painfully.
“Ugh,” I groaned, glancing at the clock. “Where are you, Lu?” I muttered, wanting Luhan to return from his lunch break as quickly as he could, so that I could go for mine.
“Excuse me?” came an impossibly deep voice, jolting me harshly out of my eclair filled fantasies.
I looked up from the display case to the man standing on the other side of the counter.
Red.
That was the first word that came to my mind as I took in his lush, spun-crimson hair. He was practically a giant, easily a head taller than me, dressed in a pitch black suit. By his attire, I would’ve thought him to be a businessman. But for some reason, this man in front of me didn’t exactly seem to be a businessman.
Unable to help itself, my heart gave a stutter when my gaze fell from his hair to his face. High cheekbones, full lips and deep-set, dark eyes, he was the textbook definition of devilishly handsome.
“Excuse me?” he repeated, voice dropping an octave and his rosy lips turning into a smirk, now that he had noticed my blatant staring.
“Y-yes, sir?” I squeaked, inwardly cursing myself for sounding so much like a breathless schoolgirl.
“How c-can I help you?”
He grinned openly.
My heart skipped another beat.
“I’d like four shots of espresso, please,” he spoke.
I stared at him, the cogs in my brain turning. His voice sounded so familiar, yet so foreign. Something I knew, but couldn’t put my finger on, just yet.
“Of course, sir,” I said, trying to muster up my composure. Trying to hold my own in front of this obviously very intimidating man. “Anything else?”
He pointed at the display case with a long, elegant finger. “What would you recommend from these?” he asked of the baked goods.
“T-the chocolate eclairs,” I said. They were my own favourites, after all.
He smiled. “Perfect. I’ll have two of those, please.”
“Certainly,” I said, turning to the till to enter his order into the system. “Who should I make the order out to? And will you have it here, or to-go?”
“Chaniel,” he said simply. “I’ll have it to-go.”
My eyes immediately grew wide, the hair on the back of my neck prickling in a completely instinctive reaction that my mind couldn’t understand just yet. “Ch-Chaniel?”
“Yes,” he said, grin growing wider, as if he were enjoying an inside joke. “C-H-A-N-I-E-L,” he spelled it out for me, while I scrawled out his name on a styrofoam cup with a rather shaky hand.
“Please wait right here,” I said, turning away from this man who was making me suddenly feel a whole array of emotions that I couldn’t quite process just yet.
It didn’t help that I could feel the burn of his gaze upon my back, following me behind the counter as I prepared his coffee and packed up his eclairs with fumbling hands.
I had not reacted in such a way to any of the previous customers I had tended to in the past few days.
Why was I behaving in such a flustered way around him?
Discreetly, I turned around to sneak another look at him. He was looking at the pastries in the display case, hands in his pockets. A small smile playing on his lips.
God.
What was wrong with me?
Finishing up his order, I approached the counter, to hand it over to him.
He took the coffee and the bag of eclairs. But instead of leaving, like I had expected that he would, he reached into the bag and pulled out an eclair, holding it up to me.
“Is something wrong, sir?” I asked.
He smiled, almost radiantly, pressing the pastry into my hands. “I bought this one for you,” he said and promptly turned on his heel to leave.
Before I could ask him to stop, or say anything, for that matter, he was gone.
Leaving my hands searing with a pleasant heat where his skin had touched mine. And my heart buzzing wildly like a honey-bee with an inexplicable reason.
And then it happened.
The heat from where our hands had touched, for barely a moment, began to spread its way all over. I could feel it crawl up my wrists, up my arms, to my neck, down my torso and legs. And all the way up to my head.
My breaths began to come in heavier than usual and my trembling hands suddenly let go of the eclair I was holding. In slow motion, I saw the pastry fall onto the floor, and the realization came to me.
It was him.
Him.
The man who had kissed me that night.
Satan’s child.
Between heaving gasps, I leaned against the glass counter, heat flooding through my body like an inferno. So strong that I felt my knees buckle and give out from under me.
But before I fell to my knees on the floor, a pair of arms caught me.
“Princess! Are you alright?”
Luhan’s face came swimming into view through my blurring vision and I staggered, pushing him away violently.
“Y-Yixing…” I breathed out, trying my best to restrain myself, despite the excruciating heat that had now settled deep within my core. “I need Yixing…”
And with that, I turned on my heel and ran out of the cafe.
_______________
Him
The taste of the eclair remained sweet upon Chanyeol’s tongue, a smile firm upon his lips as walked back into his home.
There was a spring in his step, all from the joy to the next phase of his plan coming to fruition, as he hummed a pleasant, sprightly tune, walking through the expansive courtyard.
He could see all of his brothers’ multi-million dollar worth luxury cars parked in the driveway.
Good, they’re all home.
“Boys!” Chanyeol yelled out, as soon as he flung open the front door. “I’m home!”
Silence.
His ears were met with a deafening silence, a stark contrast to the usual ruckus his brothers created whenever they were all home, making an irate Kyungsoo the one to implore them to just keep it down.
Almost immediately, Chanyeol knew that something was up. And his suspicion came true when a very distinctly familiar voice called out to him in a musical lilt.
“In here, son!”
His stomach dropped, nerves growing tenfold at the sound of that voice. He was hoping that he was hallucinating. Or that it was one of Sehun’s playful pranks.
But all his hopes came crashing down when he turned the corner and walked into the dining room.
All of his brothers were seated along the sides of the long dining table, their backs straight, expressions tense and their hands resting clasped together upon the edge of the table.
And at the head of the table, sitting at the seat that was reserved for Chanyeol, was him.
The one man Chanyeol feared more than life itself. The one man Chanyeol had been hoping to avoid for quite a few centuries.
He hadn’t changed in the slightest, Chanyeol thought as he watched him sip a deep red wine from a crystal goblet, clutched between elegant fingers. If anything, he looked younger than before. No one could have guessed that this man, if you could only call him that, had been around since the creation of the universe itself.
He glowed, pale gold and unblemished skin, impossibly high cheekbones, rosy lips and a pointed chin. An array of earrings adorning one ear. Devastatingly handsome, what with his raven hair flopping artfully over the right side of his forehead. He was dressed in his usual, all black suit. Chanyeol had never seen him wear another colour in his life.
“Is this the way to greet your sire?” he spoke, the playfulness in his voice edged with a tinge of irritation.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” Chanyeol said, hurrying over to where he sat, falling to his knees before him, bowing his head.
He chuckled quietly, setting the goblet aside to grasp Chanyeol by his shoulders, making him rise to his feet as he stood as well, before he pulled him into his arms in a hug so constricting that it made him wince.
“Do I look old enough to be called Dad?” he asked. “You know what to call me, son.”
Even though he was taller than his father, Chanyeol was nowhere even close to his level of strength. And as he hugged him, Chanyeol glanced at the tattoo etched on the nape of his father’s neck: an Angel falling from Heaven, with its wings spread wide.
The irony made Chanyeol’s stomach twist every time he saw the tattoo. An Angel etched on the back of Satan’s neck?
A sickening taunt.
And the gravity of it hit Chanyeol even more strongly now, as his thoughts went directly to his own angel.
Bile rose up his throat and dread rose in his heart.
Pulling away once his father released him from the embrace, Chanyeol looked at his smirking face.
“It is good to see you, Jiyong.”
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143 notes · View notes
simplyyeol · 5 years
Text
what happens in paris
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genre — soulmate! au, fluff, angst-ish
pairing — baby boy pcy x reader
word count — 10.085 what the fuck
warnings — language 
description — you find yourself going on a trip to paris with your soulmate. it’s not too bad if you manage to overlook the fact that he hates your guts.
author’s note — hello! i don’t really know if i did this au well or not, but you know. me. back at it again with the cliches. sorry in advance, there is alot of cliche i hope it didn’t drag out too long i tried to incorporate a lot of thought bc character development! idk. also this might be my favorite thing i’ve written so far gahhd! yeah. anyways, enjoy! this took way longer than it should’ve
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A smile bloomed on your face as you hopped out of the taxi, the driver coming around to help your excited state grab your luggage from the trunk. You politely said your thank you, bowing, having already paid in the car before practically skipping inside the terminal.
Checking your phone, the online check-in page of your ticket confirmation shown before you double-checked the text. You were at the right terminal, you thought. Nothing had gone wrong so far. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself, before entering the airport. 
The line for the online check-in was thankfully short as you passed through that with smiles. There was still two hours until your boarding time you noticed, stopping in the middle of the crowd, not certain on where to go next. Baekhyun had said he would meet you at the airport—you'd forgotten to ask him where and when. 
That was when you saw Chanyeol.
Or he saw you. There was something in the air that made your eyes tear away from your screen, your finger hovering over Baekhyun's contact. Something made you drawn towards his broad figure, that made you catch his eye when his wardrobe was nothing special—it wouldn't have caught your eye given someone else was wearing the same thing. Then again, you pondered, he is your soulmate. Maybe he felt whatever it was too as his step faltered, taking you in, with no one surrounding you. If it weren’t for the mop of striking silver hair he’d dyed it earlier in the year, or his long limbs, or even his pointy ears that stood out from under his beanie, you would’ve never guessed it was him. Or you would’ve. Only because of the sixth sense you get when you meet your soulmate.
Not many people meet their soulmate. It’s a fact. You’d had to do a research paper on it once in middle school and if you remember correctly, only 8% of the world’s population find their soulmate. And you happened to be in that 8%. 
You’d seen him at the beginning of freshman year, during your first week, when you felt something wash over you as he made eye contact. Like someone poured a ton of warmth and covered you with a blanket while giving you some hot cocoa. You’ve only ever heard of soulmates with happy endings so when he’d turned away, a frown etched on his handsome face, the fantasies running through your head broke like a dam.
He wasn’t in any of your courses last year, or your first year, but this year he was.
In your Statistics course to be exact. You’re honestly not that bad at statistics. The concepts are fine. You do pretty well on the tests too. However, you still despised Statistics with a hatred that ran deep. Obviously due to him, if that wasn’t clear enough.
Chanyeol doesn’t hate you. He doesn’t go out of his way to annoy you, tease you, or pick on you. He’s not particularly fond of you either. Maybe he knows you. You don’t know if he knows your name—although there is attendance so you could beg to differ—he acts as if you aren’t there. That his soulmate isn’t there.
The only possible honest to God answer you’ve gotten as to why he doesn’t talk to you, acts like you are nothing, like a piece of gum on someone’s shoe, is because he doesn’t like you. You’ve even overheard him telling Baekhyun that you aren’t his type. You weren’t there to hear anything else as you fled from there, eyes glassy with tears. Chanyeol is very handsome. You’d begrudgingly admitted that when you actually noticed how many girls flank his sides while he merely walks through the campus corridors. He’s tall, sporting a modelesque face, thin but you were sure he packed in some muscle underneath, and he has an amazing sense of fashion. Girls are lining over for him, left and right. 
And you—you’re just lacking. In your eyes at least. And Chanyeol’s as well.
He really took one look at you and deemed you not pretty enough to be his soulmate. He is the guy that dates the girls in the modeling and acting majors with a body and face that rival any female celebrity. You couldn’t possibly beat any of them.
If you thought about it frankly, it was pathetic. How horribly he treats you. How you look at him from the sidelines with a spotlight shining over him when he doesn’t even glance your way. How you know--even though fate literally attached you to him--it’ll never happen. You’ve gotten mad and ranted with Baekhyun about it as well (he got mad with you and claimed to come and beat him up for you, but you quickly declined not wanting to ruin his face because you just knew he would lose--and you didn’t want him to fight his friend. Yeah, your soulmate who hates you and your best friend are friends. Lucky, right?) and you said that you’d show him a piece of your mind. But the next day, your entire demeanor deflated. The voice in the back of your head started its whispering. Don’t bother him, you already know how he feels about you. And the anger left you. 
You’ve come to terms with it now—only sending the back of his head in class a few sad smiles from time to time and other than that you ignore him. If he ignores you, you should ignore him. Why should you pine over someone who barely knows you exist? (Your tiny crush on him says otherwise and acts accordingly.)
You were surprised to see him here of all places and with the luggage too. Apparently, Chanyeol was traveling for the holidays as well. He narrowed his eyes and suddenly you felt like he was analyzing you. You felt small and almost like you were about to suffocate. You tore your eyes away from him and back to your screen. Just a coincidence, you thought. No need for any bad thoughts, Y/N! Can’t let that trouble you and ruin your big, big day! Or well week since you were going to paradise for a whole five days. Too short, now that you think about it.
At the thought of why you were at the airport suddenly came crashing back on you, your previous jitters returning, you quickly pressed on your roommate's number, the calling screen popping up before you pressed it to your ear.
“Y/N? Are you here yet?” Baekhyun asked. You and Baekhyun went to the same high school and had bonded over your similar love for SNSD. You would skip class together to watch the comeback showcase and your friendship only grew from there. It wasn’t that much of a surprise when you and Baekhyun ended up going to the same college. Not many of his friends were keen on living alone, leaving the two of you on one side. You decided to live together seeing no problems arise.
“I am. Checked in my bag and I’m kind of in front of the entrance?” You said, scanning the mass of people to see if you could spot him.
“Okay, one sec, Cha—my friend is checking in his bag right now...can you meet us at the Starbucks?”
“Yeah, yeah, okay.”
You cut the call and made your way over to the Starbucks you spotted earlier.
You and Baekhyun were supposed to be going on a trip of the lifetime—to Paris of all places! It was a dream that both of you had had. He’d gone and done everything, his excitement to the max at the thought of finally being able to go traveling with you. However, in the end, he couldn’t come. He’d gotten a promotion at a radio, something he couldn’t miss. It was a big step in his singing career--people would actually be hearing him now—and you’d sadly accepted the fact that you wouldn’t be able to go with him.
He still didn’t want you going alone, the best friend he was and somehow managed to convince a friend of his to go with you. You asked which friend of his (he had too many) but he stubbornly told you it’d be a surprise. You were okay with anyone except for one person, but you had a bad feeling that crawled up your spine after your previous encounter.
You tapped at your phone, sipping your drink while playing a game that your 9-year old cousin had demanded you download as it was a must by her standards.
“Y/N?” You looked up to see Baekhyun standing over your table. You dropped your phone, practically tackling him and squealing, pulling him into a hug, the excitement rolling off you in waves.
“Well, aren’t you excited.” He mused.
“So much, you don’t even know.” You voiced, pulling back before pouting. “Now you have to tell me. Who is it?”
He smirked before cocking his head to the side. Your head whipped to where he was gesturing.
“No—” you spluttered seeing the familiar face.
“Chanyeol!” He called waving his arms, motioning for him to come here, while you had your mini panic attack.
You looked at him, something akin to fear displayed on your face. You almost threw up half the macchiato you downed just a few minutes before seeing Chanyeol rolling his luggage with him.
Baekhyun smiles, beaming, before leaning closer to your ear. “You'll thank me later.”
The excitement form your face has fully washed off, as you purse your lips. “I don’t think so, Baek.”
“See this is why I didn’t tell you! I knew you’d act like this.” He pouted before turning around and pulling Chanyeol to you.
“Hi.” Chanyeol starts, slowly, cautiously, as he sees you looking anywhere but at him. Was he okay with this? Going to another fucking country with you? Was he not freaking out? Did Baekhyun tell him that it was you he was going with? No— did Baekhyun bribe him? You felt small under your soulmate's eyes, and you hated it.
You almost feel like crying, and you don’t even know why as you wave a heartless wave back. You can’t deal with this right now. Nope. No way. You choose not to.
“I’ll be right back,” you mutter, grabbing your phone and heading towards the bathroom. You head into a stall and give yourself ten seconds. Ten seconds to cry before you put on a smile. A tiny sob racks out of your chest and you thank God your relationship with Chanyeol hasn’t progressed enough for him to feel your feelings. You’d actually die if that was the case.
You take a deep breath when you hit one and quickly dab at your eyes with your over-sized hoodie. At least you didn’t wear any mascara. You press the tips of your fingers, which are slightly cold, to your eyes, afraid of the puffiness before walking out of the stall. You give yourself a smile seeing no trace. You can do this. This is nothing. If anything, maybe you can try and get to know him on the trip, and maybe learn more about him and why he doesn’t like you. You paused glancing at your sparkling eyes. Nothing can ruin your first trip abroad, by yourself. Not even him. The smile you sported suddenly felt a lot less heavy from before your pep talk. I can do this, you repeated like a mantra. You whisper to yourself a small ‘fighting!’ before you walk out of the bathroom to go meet your doom.
Chanyeol frowns when he sees you, as a small thank you passes from your lips when you see your backpack on his shoulder since they’d moved from the cafe. You shoulder your backpack, ignoring the stare that you could literally feel on you from a certain giant.
“Great!” Baekhyun announces, not seeming to notice the tension between you to. Or maybe he chose to ignore it. Or it was just your imagination. “Now that you two are energized and ready to go, I’ll be taking my leave—"
“Wait!” You interject. A blush settles on your face when you realize you sounded a little too panicked to be considered cool, calm and collected. Not freaking out on the inside. “Uh...goodbye hug?” He chuckles at your excuse and opens his arms. You give him a small smile and walk in, glad for the warmth that the man practically radiates. You’re actually going to miss the annoying idiot. Even though you were going to Paris, he had wanted to go too. It was on both your bucket lists and you felt sad that he wouldn’t be there to experience it with you.
“We can always go next time,” he mutters, practically reading your thoughts. “Don’t be sad.” He let’s go, smiling down at you, and you pout as he pats your head in a teasing manner. He gives Chanyeol the more masculine hug, bro-hug you like to call it, and says his last words, turning around to leave, two of you now alone.
Well, you both were still in the airport where hundreds of people surrounded you but still, alone.
You spoke up, not sure of what to do next. “I guess we should go too—" Chanyeol turns seeing Baekhyun exit, the airport giving you one last dramatic wave, not sparing you a glance before leaving. “Or not,” You mutter, dejectedly, hurrying to follow behind him. You didn’t know if you should follow him, but the two of you were technically traveling together, right? Couldn’t hurt if you annoy him a little more.
You got on the plane with no hassle. It was a long flight, 12 hours to be exact, the longest you’ve ever been on a plane—and it wasn’t until you boarded, and put your backpack overhead, Chanyeol helping you put yours as he saw you struggling when you realized you were scared. Well, a scared type of nervous. A nervous type of scared. You forgot about the jitters that always seem to crawl up behind you when you take off. Something about the plane tilting so weird made butterflies flutter in your stomach. And not the good kind.
Your hands gripped the handlebars a little too tight, your knuckles turning white. Your eyes were shut closed as the plane lifted and you missed the glances Chanyeol sent your way seeing your frenzied state. You should really get rid of this stupid fear.
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One thing you’ve noticed is that you can never sleep on planes. Well, just the first part. Trying to sleep right after taking off? Yeah, you could never. You saw Chanyeol pull an eye mask from his bag and put it on and mentally made a note to maybe try that sometime. Maybe it’d help.
The time on the tiny TV in front of you said there were almost six hours left. Halfway there. You turned from listening to music to watching a movie, and you were scrolling through the new Disney movies that were released this year when you felt something land on your shoulder.
You managed a peek and froze. It was Chanyeol. He’d wiggled out in his seat, legs awkwardly spread as they were too long from the cramped up seat and he somehow came to your height, head lolling on your shoulder. You glanced at the person sitting next to Chanyeol, an old man in his late 40’s. At least he didn’t land on him.
You let go of the breath you were holding not feeling him move and continuing to find another movie. The position looks as comfortable as it gets for an economy class ticket to Paris. You’d spare your shoulder if it meant his comfort any day.
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Maybe it was after the third movie you fell asleep on Chanyeol’s head that was still resting on your shoulder.
So when he woke and found you sleeping on his head, it was the hardest minute of his life to move you comfortably to his shoulder without waking you up.
He looked at your face, a pout lining your lips. He wanted nothing more than to smash his lips on them.
When Baekhyun had asked if he'd wanted to go on a trip with you, cautiously of course (he knew your relationship with him), he'd accepted thinking that maybe he should try. He should try this whole soulmate thing with you when Baekhyun explained to him that his parents were just horrible. Not at all like what soulmates become. 
He started to regret it after seeing you at the airport and now all he wanted to do was wrap you up in his embrace and smother you with kisses. The stupid soulmate bond getting in the way of his rational thoughts. It didn't help that the hoodie you were wearing was over-sized, practically swallowing you making you look even more adorable.
He looked away, groaning, his head falling back against the seat. This is not good.
He saw the movie you were watching still playing and lightly chuckled seeing as your headphones were still on. You must’ve been really tired to have slept through that noise. He peeled them off, carefully, and turned off the screen before resting his head on yours again. He found that it was much more comfortable than the seat behind him as his eyes fluttered shut, sleep overtaking him once again.
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When you woke, Chanyeol was already awake and your chest tightened, hoping beyond belief he didn’t mind you leaning against him. You couldn’t have him hating you any more or getting the wrong idea. But what could be the wrong idea? You were simply sleeping. Even if he did, his face was void of emotion so if he did care, he shrugged it off—maybe saying something your unconscious body had done, so it wasn’t your fault. You blew a breath out, thankful to spare the embarrassment that would’ve come if he had questioned you before the seat belt sign had turned off. You’d officially landed.
Chanyeol had gotten your backpack that you’d gratefully taken from him as you boarded off the plane.
The Paris airport was bustling to the brim and you could only look with wide eyes at everything surrounding you. It intrigued you, how everything looked so similar. All the elements of the Seoul airport were there, but it was so different at the same time. The feeling of Paris seeped through the small cracks as you saw everything laid in front of you.
How instead of Korean and English, it was French and English printed on the signs overhead. A voice in the back of your head said the language of love, and you couldn’t help but think how ironic it was, in your situation.
No mishaps had occurred as you got to the hotel you’d be staying at for the next week. You’d checked in, both you and Chanyeol having separate rooms, although they were next to each other. You’d quickly said no when they asked if you’d like to change to a single room. The blush that stained your cheeks had stayed up the elevator until you scrambled into your room and muttered a quick ‘see you tomorrow’ to Chanyeol.
You spent the rest of the evening washing up and organizing the events you’d already booked for tomorrow. You wondered if Baekhyun was still awake and were reaching for your phone to text him when your stomach growled. You groaned remembering that you’d slept through the in-flight meal and the last thing you’d digested was that measly drink from Starbucks. Maybe you should go and get dinner.
You looked at the menu booklet that you’d found on the sleek coffee table in the corner of the room, that showed the items for room service but blanched at the price of each plate. The hotel Baekhyun reserved was exquisite, to say the least. You counted the money that you’d exchanged earlier at the airport and deemed that you’ll exchange some more tomorrow morning. It wouldn’t hurt to skip dinner if you just slept now.
A knock at the door had made you freeze in your spot, sprawled on the floor. You got up, not expecting anyone and looked through the peephole, curiously. Chanyeol was standing there, his eyes cast downwards as he scrolled through his phone. You’d scrambled back. Why was he here? Was there something wrong? Did he lose something? You peaked again and noticed his casual stature. It doesn’t look like anything is wrong…maybe he just forgot something trivial and needed to borrow it for you. You popped your hood, thinking your hair was probably a mess, hoping that nothing was actually up before opening the door.
“Oh, you’re still awake.” His eyes raked your figure up and down, and your feet shuffled, nervous under his scrutinizing gaze. “I was just going to grab some food—you didn’t have dinner yet, did you?”
You shook your head. “I’m not that hungry—”
The rumbling of your stomach interrupted you. A blush settled on your cheeks as a small smile painted his handsome face. You managed a nervous chuckle before saying you’ll be out in ten and softly shut the door behind you. After you were sure the lock had clicked, you’d stumbled to your bed and dived head first before thrashing a little, heart soaring through the clouds. Did Park Chanyeol just ask you to go out with him?
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You settled for a small diner that lined the streets next to your hotel. The aroma when you entered the restaurant made you salivate at how good it smelled.
You were excited for the food until you saw the waitress practically waltz to your table. She was blonde, tall, with long legs, and big breasts. You couldn’t help but think she was pretty even as she gave a very inappropriate look to your soulmate. She leaned over the table, showing off even more cleavage and you rolled your eyes.
And then you saw Chanyeol. And where exactly he was looking. You scoffed as she sent you a smirk and a tiny part inside of you died remembering when he had said you weren’t his type. Maybe she was his type. You glanced at your chest and suddenly felt small in comparison.
His eyes fluttered to yours as you quickly looked back at your menu, embarrassed as you’d been caught staring at him. What’s wrong with you? You’re not his type and nothing can change that.
The waitress had walked back, a bounce in her step, knowing the effect she had on Chanyeol, after taking your orders and you’d been down in the dumps since.
Dinner was silent until you tried breaking the silence. It couldn’t possibly hurt to try and know more about your travel buddy if not soulmate, could it?
“What are you majoring in?” You chanced, eyes wide as you took another bite of your pasta, eyes focused on him.
He looked up at you and swallowed. “Music.”
You hummed. It made sense. Chanyeol seemed like...a free spirit. He doesn’t seem like the person who would want to major in something sturdy like law or medicine because his parents told him to. A content smile spread over his lips and you realized that he must love what he does.
“What about you?”
“Oh, um, business.” You gave him a small smile. “Boring, right? I’ve always wanted to learn guitar.” You said, sadly. “Seems fun.”
“Business isn’t..boring.” He mused, questionably you’d add, and then. “Why didn’t you?” He questions, lips down-turned.
“My parents thought it was a waste of money.” You played with the pasta on your plate, fork scratching the glass. You’d never gave it a second thought. If your parents used that excuse, that usually meant it would never happen. Money was a touchy subject in your family, as you didn’t grow up in a lavish environment. “Never got the chance.”
“I could teach you.” Your head shot up, confused at his words. “Maybe when we get back.”
“Why?” You said, cocking your head. Why would he want to teach you guitar on top of his classes and probably extracurriculars? He also had his own social life.
“What do you mean why?” He questioned back.
“I—um, never mind.” Gosh, why did you have to ask that? You don’t even know what you were saying anymore. “Thank you,” you quickly added.
It’s silence until you speak up about the thing that’s been bothering you. “Baekhyun said that he convinced you to come with me—is that right?”
“Yeah. He said it when all of the guys were out. I’ve always wanted to go abroad.”
“Did you know you’d be coming with me?” You asked, hesitantly, looking at him with big eyes.
“Yeah.”
You wondered if you should bring up the part about how he treated you, but a voice in the back of your head told you to just go for it. You’re on the topic already.
“I thought you didn’t like me.”
“What?”
“I mean, you don’t even talk to me, and you can’t possibly be clueless as to the fact that we’re soulmates.” His eyes widen, as you realize this is the first time you made it known. Sure you knew it, thought about it, practically every day, and you’re sure he knows it too. But this is the first time the both of you are actually discussing it. You scoffed inside. You’d known him for almost three years and this is the first time it’s come up between the two of you.
“I don’t hate you,” he mutters.
“What?” This is, what you'd call frustrating. “Well, I know I’m not your type but that doesn’t mean you have to reject me being your soulmate. You didn’t even give me a chance—” you choke, halting your tirade.
He cocks his head. “I never told you, you weren’t my type—”
“I heard,” you interjected. “Freshman year, you told Baekhyun in our apartment and I heard. And I get that I’m not what you want, but you never even gave me a chance.” You look at him, pleadingly, before sighing. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter anyway.”
“I—I don’t hate you,” he splutters.
“You don’t have to lie.” You state, standing up from the table. Where all your confidence is coming from, only God knows. His hand shoots out to hold your arm and you pull it away, goosebumps rising, when you felt a small shock from that touch. 
You glare at him. “If you don’t hate me, then it’s okay to say you don’t like me being your—”
“I just never wanted a soulmate, okay?” He interjects, eyebrows furrowed at you. “It’s not you.” You falter. It wasn’t you he didn’t want. It was the fact he never wanted what you were to him. “I don’t hate you, okay.” He looked at you, eyes big and soft before confessing. “I kind of wanted to go on this trip with you.”
You slowly sat back down, mouth effectively shut up for the rest of dinner, thoughts consuming you as you finished off your plate. He never wanted a soulmate? So when he said he wanted to go with you, he meant to get you know you as a friend? Were you just friend-zoned by him? Something in your gut didn’t feel right and you remembered how you had a tiny crush on him. Totally not platonic feelings. Is this really what your future will be? You mentally slammed your head against the table. Maybe you should get up and leave his forever, because you just know that you’ll fall for him even more, if you started this. But there was still a small part in your heart that just said, take what you could get. Maybe it’ll work in your favor. You glanced at the man in question, chomping on a bread stick while scrolling through his phone seemingly unaffected. He still is your soulmate. Just the thought of leaving him seemingly made your heart break into pieces that could never be put back together.
“The food’s really good,” was all you could manage, trying a light tone. 
“Yeah, it is.” He replied.
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When the bill came around you rummaged through your purse for the right note but Chanyeol had already handed the correct amount.
“Wait, no, it’s fine I can pay half, what are you doing—”
“I pay this time and you pay the next?” He offered, already handing over the money. You frowned at him huffing an okay not really seeing a choice before waiting for him at the entrance.
As you strolled the Parisian streets next to Chanyeol, you realized that he said the next time also. Did that mean he wanted to eat with you, again? Your heart couldn’t help but flutter a smile growing on your lips at the possibilities that swam through your mind. And then you remembered. He didn’t want a soulmate. The smile was gone. 
Maybe you should’ve just skipped dinner.
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In the past few months, you’ve visited every top tourist attraction website you could find on the whole internet including Paris and finally, after the very long wait, you got to experience it.
Today marks the first day of your trip in Paris. You’d be going to the Moulin Rouge before taking a cruise on the Seine. 
You were getting ready, having just gotten out of the shower and settling for a pair of jeans and a hoodie with your long coat over from the chilly weather forecast of today, when you felt it.
A searing pain on your forearm pulling a shriek from you. You ran towards the sink feeling tears prick at your eyes because that really fucking hurt. And based on previous knowledge that was a burn. You had gotten a burn when you were nowhere near anything hot. Which meant only one other thing.
It was Chanyeol. You'd been bonded. You laughed heartlessly as the cold water washed over your skin. He said he didn’t want a soulmate and the very next day you get bonded to him. How amazing.
You’ve figured out over the day that Chanyeol is very clumsy. You’ve got bruises on your knees, elbows, and finger when you think that he slammed his finger on a door. He was literally going to be the death of you and it hasn’t even been one fucking day, you think.
You decide to bring it up to him, even though you knew you’d probably forget. You have low pain tolerance. If anything else you’ll go into shock living with this bond for the rest of your life, you thought.
The Seine left you absolutely awestruck. You’d boarded a cruise for the evening, the tour guide explaining that it was the prettiest during sunset. And she wasn’t wrong.
The pinks and orange hues faded into the blue as you saw the sunset far off. The purple and black of the night took over the sky and you couldn’t help but sigh at the beauty it held. It was almost time to get off and you, Chanyeol and a young couple--you guessed in their early 30’s sat at a table. You’d ordered a soda and Chanyeol a tea.
A big mistake you liked to call it. The boat rocked just as Chanyeol’s lips were to taste the matcha and the piping hot burn seared on your chest right where he had spilled it. You’d spilled the coke you were holding over your shirt as well from the shock, on your white button-up shirt, before you huffed setting down the empty glass. He can’t possibly know that you’ve been bonded when you were taking the brunt of the hits.
“Are you always burning yourself or what?” You barked, turning to Chanyeol who was sporting a similar stain to your own. He had tissues in his hand when he looked down at your shirt, then back to your face as a blush coated his features.
“What?” He called.
“This morning, you burned yourself on something didn’t you?”
“Yes, but how did you know—?”
“Are you fucking stupid or—" you rolled up your sleeve and pinched the supple skin there, and he yelped. 
“No...” He breathed.
“Yes. So please, try and be more careful from now on.”
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The couple which Chanyeol found had an adorable kid took their seats on the chairs across from you. He looked around only now noticing that the deck was packed, many lingering around the edges of the deck, not having a seat. Thank God, you’d grabbed a seat beforehand and told him to keep his stuff so someone wouldn’t take your seat. He couldn’t fathom standing for a whole two hours with sore legs, if only from strolling through Paris in the afternoon.
Chanyeol watched the couple bicker, lovingly, before one of their kids spilled scalding hot tea over the father. He chuckled. That just happened to him as well. But what came next shocked him.
The mother turned to the child who looked upon his parents, bottom lip trembling, tears spilling out. “I’m sorry, did it hurt a lot?” He cried.
Chanyeol thought he only spilled the tea on the father before he caught a glance of an angry red on the mother’s forearm. Right where the father was wiping it with a tissue.
“It’s okay, it was only an accident, don’t cry. It doesn’t even hurt that much.” The mother soothed the child, shushing him. 
He realized. The couple was bonded. With a child. His mind was in a frenzy before your voice next to him pulled out from his thoughts.
“Are you two soulmates?” You asked, eyes sparkling and lips pulled into a smile.
The couple nodded as a small, dreamy sigh left your lips and only Chanyeol could see the tiniest motion as you deflated.
“That’s lovely.” You spoke before your eyes met Chanyeol’s.
Chanyeol looked straight at you, gaze unwavering as he thought of how maybe this whole time he’s seen it wrong. You were surprised, quickly looking away from his eyes, a sudden blush rising in your cheeks.
Maybe it really could be different for him.
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You’d woken up the next morning absolutely ecstatic for the busy day to come. The prospect of seeing the Palace of Versailles—all the greenery, the history hidden behind each stone placed, the architecture—something you’ve only dreamed of seeing in person sent jitters all over again through your body. This is exactly what you wanted when you planned to travel.
You checked the time and remembered that you forgot to remind Chanyeol last night that the bus would arrive earlier. A voice in the back of your mind told you not to tell him but then you remembered. He was in Paris because he wanted to travel. You know how excited you were—you couldn’t possibly do that to him. You figured that you should go right now but quickly chickened out, deeming it too awkward for you to go to his door and knock. Sure, your relationship has gotten a little better (he did want to be friends with you)—and he doesn’t treat you like dirt anymore but nothing like the dreams you’ve dreamed of.
You picked up your phone and clicked on his contact--having gotten his number for emergencies. Both of you had gotten international plans for the trip as roaming charges were never pleasant.
chanyeol?
are you up?
Even after ten minutes, he didn’t reply and he couldn’t possibly be ignoring you. He wouldn’t stoop that low. You hesitated before thinking, fuck it, and pressing the call button. 
It rang a few times before he picked up his groggy morning voice filling your ear. “Y/N? Is there something wrong?”
Your stomach leaped at how his words slurred and you thought of how adorable he would look. No, bad Y/N. Don’t think like that. “Um, no, are you awake yet? The tour bus we're taking leaves at 9:30—”
“That’s today?” He interjects. “Shit, I should probably get ready—thank you, God, if you weren’t here—“
He hung up the call then and you lowered the phone a small smile playing on your lips. He’s glad that you’re here with him. 
Later you hit your head against the wall of your bed because you are not supposed to be thinking those thoughts over what he says. He probably doesn’t mean how you think it means. You’re looking too into things, Y/N. You have got to stop.
You showed up at his door later, his promise of you paying for the next meal going through your thoughts. You don’t usually eat breakfast, but the thought of trying actual French croissants in France made your mouth water.
In the end, you made your way to the breakfast buffet at your hotel and took everything you thought look good in a to-go box for Chanyeol and you to share.
You'd rung the doorbell and after you heard a door shut inside and some more shuffling he opened the door. You yelped before turning around. He only had a towel on.
He smirked. “There’s still half an hour,” he remarked.
You lifted up the bag, now looking at the floor. “I brought breakfast.”
He tentatively took it from your fingers before sniffing it and moaning in pleasure. He walked inside to his room leaving the door open and you took that as permission to enter as well. “You are literally a godsend, Y/N, this smells amazing.”
Your blush darkens. “Should I wait, until you’re done dressing or—?”
“You can wait, I’ll be a minute,” he says and you hear what you think is the bathroom close before letting out the breath you were unknowingly holding. You flop on one of the chairs near the coffee table, identical to the one in your own room. That was way too much exposure for you at only nine in the morning. Did the universe hate you? Is that why your life is like this? You take your orange juice and chug it suddenly feeling a little too hot when you hear Chanyeol’s phone ring.
You look at the phone number with ‘Mother’ written and then to the bathroom. Is it nosy if you pick up? But what if it’s important? In the end, you pick up the phone, seeing as a few rings already passed. “Hello?”
“Hello, Chanyeol? Are you home, right now? Remember that book—”
“Um, Ma’am. This is Y/N, Chanyeol’s--um, friend.”
“Oh.” She pauses. “Where’s Chanyeol?”
“He’s in the bathroom, right now.” Your eyebrows furrow, repeating what she said in your brain. Home? Did Chanyeol not tell her about being in Paris? You don’t say anything as you only hear static on the other side.
“Oh,” she finally replies, and you’re shocked at how uninterested she is. Does she really not know?
You hear the door open and Chanyeol sees you with his phone as you look at him. 
“Who is it?” He asks across the room, hanging up his towel on the clothes rack to the side.
“Your mother,” you mouth. His eyes widen and it only takes him two strides to reach and snatch the phone from your hand. His face turns cold and you feel as if you’ve done something wrong.
“I’ll call you later, Mother.” He says, before hanging up. 
You keep your lips closed as he sighs and looks at you. “Why did you pick up?”
“I—um,” you splutter.
“Whatever, just don’t do it again.” He snapped as you curled in yourself wanting nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow you whole. Apparently, you were being nosy.
He sprawls over the other chair, silently and unwraps the food. You watch him practically inhale the food, not making any move. He looks pissed.
“Sorry.” You both say simultaneously. You hold eye contact with him for an exact five seconds before he looks away.
“Did you not tell your mom that you were going to Paris?” You try. “Are…you not close with her?”
He doesn’t say anything for a minute. And then,
“My parents are soulmates.” Your eyes widen, microscopically. Well, this is big news. The fact that you even found your soulmate was huge. You don’t even know anyone close to you that has found their soulmate. And have a kid too.
“They treated me like a stranger and only cared about themselves and I—” he stopped, a slight tremble in his lips. “I thought that that was what the soulmate bond does to people. It makes them into parasites who don’t care for those around them.” He looks at you, eyes just the tiniest bit teary. “I never wanted a soulmate because of them. She couldn’t care less. Whether I’m in Korea or across the world.” 
You put yourself in his shoes. The people in his life who were supposed to love you, take care of you, comfort you, cry with you, were absent in his life—his parents were nonexistent in his life. You went over what he said in your head. He thought it was because of the soulmate bond? That’s why he doesn’t want a soulmate?
“Chanyeol? I’m sorry, but I don’t think it’s because of the soulmate bond.” You blurt. He stops chewing on a sausage, looking at you. “I think they’re just assholes.” Your eyes widened. Wait, you didn’t mean to call his parents assholes! “Shit, that’s not what I—”
His boisterous laughter cuts through the room, bouncing off the walls, making it feel much livelier than what two—practically strangers—could do. “That’s what Baekhyun always says,” he chokes out between laughs. Is he one of those people who laugh at the stupidest of things? Because if he is, then you wouldn’t mind looking up the lamest dad jokes to get him laugh—no! Y/N, you can’t do that!
You find your resolve fading, though, as you can’t help but chuckle along with his never ending laughter.
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The Louvre felt like a dream that you’d unnervingly stepped into. A tour guide was assigned to you, Chanyeol and a few other cute elderly couples wearing matching tourist shirts. You couldn’t help but wonder if they were soulmates too who’d grown old together—just like all the children stories said, the revelation from yesterday affecting your thoughts.
Your phone’s battery was quickly depleting if only from how many pictures you’d taken. You haven’t even reached half of the tour before your stomach is grumbling and to your embarrassment, Chanyeol, who has been walking next to you, hears it.
He calls to the tour guide and asks when they can stop for a lunch break and you all decide after you see the most famous exhibit: the Mona Lisa.
It didn’t take you long to stray from the group. Seeing as you’d go back after taking a closer picture, you’d used your height (which you’re usually very self-conscious about) to your advantage, passing through the hordes of people.
You’d gotten out of the crowd, finished with your admiration of the painting while you looked at the pictures you managed. They were pretty good if you said so yourself. Pocketing your phone, you looked up and tried spotting your group. You walked around a little, going back to where you’d parted before the realization hits you when you didn’t see them.
You quickly call Chanyeol, not knowing who else to call on this situation. He doesn’t pick up and you see that your battery is currently at 6%. This could not be happening to you right now.
You walked to a less populated part of the room suddenly feeling panicky at the hordes of people. There was probably a hundred people in this room right now and yet you knew none of them. You tried calling him again, afraid that your battery would die.
“Please, please, please, pick up,” you muttered like a mantra. Maybe God had sent you a gift when he picked up the phone.
“Chanyeol! Where are you right now, I can’t—“ your phone buzzed and you groaned seeing the screen go black. Your stupid phone with its stupid battery. Why did you take so many pictures again?
You tried looking on the bright side. He couldn’t be far, at the very most in another room. If anything he probably noticed that you aren’t by his side anymore (the both of you stuck together like glue today seeing as none of the other people in your group seemingly fit into people you could talk with). Hopefully, he’d find you soon enough. You’re a grown adult. You can’t be scared in broad daylight over nothing.
It’s been an hour and you still haven’t seen any sight of Chanyeol, and yes you were a grown adult who is totally capable of traveling alone, but you were scared. You could always go back to your hotel, but you left your money with Chanyeol as he’d brought a bigger bag and you didn’t have enough for a taxi fare back. So technically you couldn’t. Not being able to resist your hunger you’d managed to figure out where a nearby cafe was and used the rest of the money. You barely had enough for it too. You sat at one of the tables, munching on a sandwich and playing with your still dead phone. If only you had a charger.
And that’s when it hit you. This is the 21st century. Everyone had phones. With this many people, there’s probably one person with a charger—you sprung up and went to the counter hoping beyond belief your statement was correct.
“Hello? What can I get for you?” The women asked, shooting you a smile.
“Actually,” you started, “you don’t happen to have a phone charger on you, do you? My phone died and I lost my friend, and I need to call them but I don’t know his number.” You explained, a meek smile on your face.
She eyes your phone before her eyes lit up. “Oh! Yeah! You’re lucky that you have the same phone as me.” She gestured for you to come to the back through the opening on the side. You almost cried at the realization that you weren’t doomed.
“Thank you—" you paused, glancing at her name tag, “—Mia. You’re a lifesaver.”
“It’s no problem, really, but, I have to get back to the counter, so...”
“Oh yeah, totally go ahead. I’m not going to steal any mugs if that’s what you’re saying.” You shooed her off, sending a smile before leaning against the counter, a sigh leaving your lips.
You wanted to go back to your sandwich, but an inkling in the back of your head told you not to lose your phone as well. So you stayed, keeping an eye out just in case. When your phone lit up again, it was at 20% and you’d harrumphed in excitement, unplugging the cord and making your way back to your table. You’d quickly finished the last of your sandwich before clicking the call button when someone grabbed your arm.
“Are you fucking kidding me, Y/N, what the fuck—” they said and you pulled away in shock.
You looked startled glancing at the young man breathing harshly beside you, hands resting on his knees as he takes a deep breath—you guessed--from running. It wasn’t until he raised his head that you realized you weren’t lost anymore.
“Chanyeol!” You exclaimed, and before you knew it you were tackling him in a hug. Maybe it was the fact that you’d gotten lost in a foreign country with a foreign language and you’d had no idea what to do. But seeing his face, a familiar face made tears prick at your eyes. He’d froze under your touch and you realized you were hugging him before you quickly let go. “Shit, sorry,” you rambled and pulled back, trying your best to blink away the tears. Why are you crying? What the hell? Is there something wrong with you? 
He looked down at your weathered state and pulled you back into his arms in the middle of the debate in your head. You couldn’t help the tears that started rolling down your face, feeling the warmth emanate from him. You’re sure you soaked his hoodie as you wrap your arms around him, ear pressed against his heart as you heard the calm thump thump thump of his heartbeat that made you feel safer than ever before.
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He refused to let you out of your sight for the rest of the day leaving you confused. Frazzled. Extremely concerned because where did the old Chanyeol go? Well, he had confessed that he kind of wanted to go on this trip with you. Technically that meant he wouldn't treat you horribly. This is what friends do for each other right? They look out for you. Well, you weren’t really complaining (even with how much he made you question yourself when he steered you closer to him when you'd strayed, his warm hands placed on your shoulders) as you were about to go take an angled picture of the Flying Carpet structure in the middle of the courtyard but was stopped by Chanyeol grabbing your hand.
You look back glancing at his hand in yours then back to his face, blushing. “I’m just going to go and take a picture—”
“Tell me,” he interrupted, “when you go somewhere else, okay?” His tone was soft, and all you could do was nod before he let go of your hand. You couldn’t even take a picture, his camera that you borrowed slipping out of your hands every time you thought of his warm hand clasped over yours.
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Chanyeol watched as you stood underneath the Eiffel Tower, looking above you at the massive structure, a smile displayed lighting up your features. 
“Will you take a picture for me?” You grinned. He nodded, taking the phone from your outstretched hand. And while you turned around he quickly took a few pictures on your phone, before he realized that he hadn’t taken any pictures himself. His camera was over on the bench so he patted his pocket to get his phone, as he always kept it there but froze not feeling the familiar weight.
His eyes widened before he strides towards his bag and hurriedly checked all the pockets. You’d walked over to him now, silently taking your phone from where he placed it on the bench next to him. 
He groaned, after taking everything out of his bag and still not finding his phone. He couldn’t possibly have…lost it, could he? This is something big even for how forgetful Chanyeol is. He really went and lost his phone abroad. He looked at you and took in your concerned eyes, and then,
“I think I lost my phone.”
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Maybe it was after ten minutes, twenty minutes—Chanyeol wasn’t sure because he didn’t have his fucking phone, but you already left his side after he broke the news—when you came back, silently taking a seat next to him.
“So I asked the tour guide,” you announced garnering Chanyeol’s attention as he looked at your calm stature. “And he said he’ll take us to the nearest police station.” You turned to him. “Can you try to retrace your steps, to see where you could’ve dropped it?”
He looked at you. He really looked at you as you blinked back at him, patiently waiting for him to answer. Over the days, over the days he spent with you, he’s realized something. You’ve been nothing short of amazing to him.
You were thoughtful, patient, you never got mad at him (except for whenever he gets an especially painful bruise--you have low pain tolerance, he’s noticed), and you laughed at the stupid jokes he tells you. He realized that he wanted nothing more than to keep that laugh on your face for the rest of your life. He wanted to make you laugh for the rest of your life. His heart stopped when he realized this isn’t what he wanted. When he had told you that he didn’t want a soulmate, he saw that loving glint in your eyes leave. He saw when you find yourself staring at him before looking away when he noticed. He saw how you restricted yourself, hesitating just the tiniest bit before doing something that friends don’t do. And over the days he realized. He was such a stupid idiot. And a hypocrite. And an asshole. He realized that he wanted you to be his soulmate. Even after just a few days ago he stated the exact opposite. Chanyeol groaned inwardly. He really fucked up, didn’t he?
You were for sure going to blow up in his face when he told you. You were shy sure, but he saw that you speak your mind when things get out of hand. Oh God, what if you say you didn’t want him as a soulmate anymore? Then what would he do? 
“I think in the last taxi we were in.” He muttered as he saw you in another light, almost as if a halo was shining a top of you.
“Oh! Then if you didn’t put it on silent, maybe the driver will pick up!” You exclaimed, hurriedly pulling your phone out. “I’m so dumb, I should’ve done this earlier.” You tapped for a few seconds on your phone before pressing it to your ear.
You frowned when no one picked up.
After the third time, your face lit up, as you spoke an excited ‘hello!’ and that’s when Chanyeol realized, inwardly smiling to himself.
He liked you. Maybe even loved you.
But he was stupid. So maybe he couldn’t.
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“I told you we’d find it!” You squealed, skipping to Chanyeol before handing him his phone with the familiar phone case. He took it from your hand, welcoming the sparks that followed when your hand brushed his.
“I have no idea what I’d do without you.” He remarked.
“I know right,” you joked, a knowing smile present on your face. Chanyeol noticed; you smile a lot.
Maybe he’d begun noticing all the tiny things in the few hours passed that he realized his feelings for you. His true feelings. His true feelings that he couldn’t fucking confess because he messed up, big. (Even his conscience reminded him and Chanyeol wanted nothing more than for his conscience to fuck off.)
“Y/N,” he started, not knowing if he should say it now, but your attention fluttered back to the tour guide who was waving the both of you over. Chanyeol deflated as you turned your back on him before he made himself a silent promise. He wasn’t sure if you hated him yet, but he wanted you to know how he felt. He wanted to know if you still wanted him as a soulmate, even after everything he’s done to you. No time like the present, right?
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The breeze fluttered through Paris, sending shivers up your spine as you leaned against the cold metal railing, gazing over the streets lit up underneath you. The people looked as small as ants from the top of the Eiffel tower.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” You enquired, not looking at Chanyeol who sported a similar stance to your own. 
You didn’t notice how Chanyeol turned to you, taking how the Parisian lights reflected in your eyes. “It is,” he replied (not totally taking a line out of a fairy tale and referencing to you, not the city below him).
You looked at him now, feeling his eyes boring into your side profile.
“Y/N, do you hate me?”
Your eyes widened at his statement. You know you’ve said that you thought he hates you, but you? Hating him? If anyone hated him you’d wonder if they were in their right minds. How can one actually hate him? First of all, his looks, you’re surprised that no agency has scouted him to be a model or actor. His voice, that stupid deep timbre that sent butterflies through your body whenever he started humming along to the radio, silently singing all the words. His personality was practically close to angelic. If you thought about it, to everyone else he was nice, so nice sometimes he stood up against Kim Jongdae—you realized it that one time you were crossing the street and he went to help out an elderly woman who was struggling with her groceries. He was just a lovable, extremely nice, idiotic giant, with big eyes and adorable pointy ears. How could you not like him?
“Th—that’s absurd,” you splutter, heat rushing to your cheeks, at how he’s staring at you, and you’re afraid that he could’ve heard your earlier thoughts, even though that’s impossible.
“So you don’t?” He continued. You nodded before he smiled a small smile to himself. “Good,” he confessed. And then, “that means you like me, right?”
The question was so out of the blue, and at the same time not, that you ended up choking on your own spit. He helped you recover, his warm hand sending goosebumps through your jacket as he rubbed your back. You narrowed your eyes at him seeing how he was so close to laughing at your hacking.
“How can you just say that so carelessly?” You declared, huffing, not looking at him, as he so was doing to you.
“You do, don’t you?” He grinned, taking your silence and avoidance of his question as an answer. “Because I think I like you.”
When you turn and meet his eyes, a series of events that you saw as the future flashed through your eyes. Chanyeol getting down on one knee, a box in his hand. The two of you sharing a kiss sealing your love for each other. A child with pointy ears and wide, doe eyes that you knew so well running around a house with chocolate smeared over his face.
And you realize that that is the future you have with him.
“I—” you falter. Mouth opening and closing. “You saw that too, didn’t you.”
His smile is beaming as he answers. “I did.” And he takes a step closer to you, closing the distance that was previously between the two of you.
And then he’s leaning closer, and closer, and closer, before pressing his lips to yours in the most gentle way you thought possible. Your lips move against his in a fluidity that you've never noticed before. You fit perfectly against him—as if you were made for each other. His lips are velvet as they move against your own, his hands hot as they pull you closer, placed on your hips.
A smile breaks through your lips as you kiss him, arms coming around his shoulders, fingers playing with the baby hairs on his nape and only when the two of you part, you see the brightest of smiles displayed on his face like a piece of art that you wouldn’t mind staring at for the rest of your life.
He leans down to swoop you off your feet again when you pull back, confusion laced over your features. “Wait a second. You said you didn’t want a soulmate, right? If you like me—your soulmate—how is that supposed to work—”
He cuts you off with a chaste kiss that has your head spinning. He chuckles. “I don’t not want a soulmate anymore, stupid.” Another kiss. “As long as its you.” And another. You kiss for a few more minutes, thankful that no one else was on the top of the Eiffel tower that you had forced Chanyeol to climb up with you. They weren’t going to risk the hellish flight of stairs to get to the amazing view.
After a while, he pulls away again. You’re glad as you take a breath. This man takes your breath away, literally. “You didn’t answer my question,” he breathes against your lips.
You chuckle, shaking your head. “What question?”
“Do you like me?” He questions, forehead resting against yours.
“I like you, Chanyeol,” you whisper.
He cradles your face and you see the spark of emotion glazing his eyes before he crashes his lips on yours once more.
It’s love.
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As you enter the familiar Seoul Airport hand in hand with Chanyeol, you spot Baekhyun, your best friend, waiting for you, sporting a shit-eating grin.
He welcomes you with a hug before leaning down to whisper something only you could hear, “Where’s my thank you?”
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cutaepatootie · 5 years
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In Times of Magic
Seven stories that took place in times of magic.
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• Seokjin •
The Tale of the Wizard and the Princess -  coming soon...
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• Yoongi •
The Tale of the Dark Elf and his Light -  coming soon...
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• Hoseok •
Tale I - They, who belonged to The Sea 
Pairing: Hoseok | Reader Genre: fantasy au  | triton au | pirate au | angst | smut | a bit of fluff Word Count: 31k
Summary: a pirate and a triton will have to leave their differences aside if they want to join forces and find what the both desire most: their freedom. Join Y/N and Hoseok in their adventures across the Untamed Sea as they search for Salacia’s cave and the treasures it hides.
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• Namjoon • 
The Tale of the Explorer and the Light Elf -  coming soon...
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• Jimin •
The Tale of the Girl and the Ghost - coming soon...
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• Taehyung •
The Tale of Mor’du -  coming soon...
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• Jungkook •
The Tale of the Last Dragon Rider -  coming soon...
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All rights about the stories and the moodboards reserved to cutaepatootie 2019
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kimseoksjin · 3 years
Link
namgi | 35k | fluff + angst
“How is it possible that I’m falling for Yoongi-hyung again after more than five years?” Namjoon buries his head in his hands, distressed.
Taehyung hums from next to him as he takes a sip of his soda.
“Maybe you never were over him,” Taehyung says, in a tone that sounds way too casual for what just left his mouth.
(or: namjoon and yoongi have known each other for ten years)
read it here!
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fictionalarsonist · 4 years
Text
exo_baekhyun | Hoax pt.10
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Hoax_ to trick into believing or accepting as genuine something false and often preposterous.
Requested by anon
pairing: baekhyun ⨯ reader ⨯ chanyeol feat. jongdae, minseok, suho, sehun content: angst, fluff, slice of life, gang au, high school au, some mature language, smoking, pinning, drinking, violence, blood, cheating rating: PG-13 type: fanfic, series word count: 2.9K
⁎ ⁎ ⁎
… As it has been said in a song series 04. “Well, isn’t this exactly where you like me? I am exactly where you like me, you know” - But It’s Better If You Do - P!atD
「 mobile m.list | desktop m.list | ask/request 」
[ part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 ]
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“I’m sorry”, your voice echoed in Baekhyun’s mind as he drove. To nowhere, he never wants to get anywhere, just- he just felt like running away, so maybe he’d make up his mind about you, about himself. What kind of person he became, all of a sudden, for you. Not that he ever strived to be like that, he just couldn’t help himself.
Now, he has to make up his mind and if you’re not gonna let go of him. Maybe he has to do this himself. It’d be the best. When you leave for college, he’s gotta stay. He’ll take the old man Kim business and make the best out of it. You’re not part of the equation in this, you’ll get hurt- or worse. Baekhyun can’t afford having you hurt because of what he decided to be when you tried to make something better out of him.
When Baekhyun pulls over, he’s not quite sure where he is, but when he comes to it, he looks around and finds himself in his old neighborhood. Where he was raised, when Mr. Kim was just a nice single-man next door, Suho’s dad. Back then, he wasn’t wasn’t a complete self-centered jerk. They were friends. The six of them, Jongdae, Minseok, Suho, Yixing, Baekhyun himself and... Chanyeol too.
>
But- That’s when Chanyeol was his closest friend, even more than Jongdae. Back then, he wasn’t the worthless bastard who belonged to a family of gangster, people believed he could’ve done well. Baekhyun could handle anyone. There’s so many guys you could choose, Baekhyun would’ve accepted better - or, at least, he likes to think he would. Just not Chanyeol, it’s been enough to pretend Chanyeol’s nothing a classmate and now he has to see you with him, being happy as he wishes he could make you.
Baekhyun tried before, he tried convincing himself to stop this relationship or whatever anyone would call it. Whatever you call it. He sincerely thought it’d be better for you to find someone who could make you happy without having to walk hidden in shadows and corners here and there, but, he knows, he’s too selfish. Maybe as much as you’re being, maybe more because this isn’t him just accepting what you want, this is him not being able to say no because he just can’t let go.
The sound of the keys and the wooden door opening calls Baekhyun attention and he turns his head to see Chanyeol walking in the old house he moved from, the house the six boys use to cause trouble before being called for lunch or dinner, being called out to sit down and study first before playing outside. Chanyeol’s eyes find his, staring from inside the car, somehow and he stops right before going in the house.
Baekhyn can almost see the wheels turning in Chanyeol’s head, but he can’t get himself to do anything about it. He could always simply drive away. Finally, he sees Chanyeol sighing heavily and pulling the door closed.
‘Please, don’t.’ Baekhyun thinks to himself, feeling his body tensing, ‘Just pretend you didn’t see me.’ , Baekhyun pleads, hands clenching on the steering wheel, ‘Just go home and ignore me, Why are you such a-’ 
“What a dumb bastard!” Baekhyun grumply murmurs to himself as he sees Chanyeol approaching him directly.
Baekhyun sighs once again and forces himself off his Baby . Chanyeol’s still in his school uniform, hands stuck in the front pockets of his jacket, he looks nothing but what a high-achieving high schooler would look. ‘The bastard is even good looking and charming’, Baekhyun thinks to himself with a hidden laughter, ‘He suits her’, he adds bitterly to himself soon after.
“It’s been a while.” Chanyeol says awkwardly when he stops. Baekhyun hums and nods positively as he leans on his car.
Baekhyun sees Chanyeol gathering breath, as if he’d say something, but then he just exhales at once, looking away and hisses to himself.
“What?” Baekhyun asks, crooking his head to the side and Chanyeol looks back at him.
“Nothing” Chanyeol replies at first and there’s a pause and Baekhyun allows it because Chanyeol seems to have words stuck in his throat, whatever they are. He’d like to hear it, “Just-”
‘Ah~ There they are-’ Baekyun thinks to himself as Chanyeol starts.
“When-” Chanyeol exhales again in frustration and takes a step closer, hesitantly, “You know, when I got back and saw you in class I thought, ‘well, maybe we could be friends again’ . But, if I tried to get any closer you just disappeared, everyday. You just disappeared from the classroom.”
Baekhyun would keep this secret that’s now dear to him as much as it was back then. He disappeared to meet you, he was always so eager to embrace you. Still is.
“All you do is using Mr. Kim’s fame as a gangster to push people away?”
“This time it’s true, though” Baekhyun says simply.
“Oh, so- You couldn’t even say hello. Just once?”
“What for? Because we played together when we were kids?” Baekhyun scoffs, shaking his head, “All it’d do is earn you a bad reputation and side-glares for talking to me”, Baekhyun says calmly, “As soon as they heard we used to be close you’d go from top student to gangster minion like this! ” Baekhyun snaps his fingers.
“Oh, I see” Chanyeol laughs to himself, “And here I thought we could still be friends. I’m just that stupid”
“You are.”
Chanyeol hums in reply and takes another step closer and now they’re way too close, so Baekhyun chuckles.
“What’s wrong with the distance we had a moment ago.” Baekhyun mocks, “You miss me so much that you need to take a better look?” He says playfully, mannering his head as if to give Chanyeol a better angle to take a picture, “You’re talking to me now. Is that anything you’d like to say?”
“Yes” Chanyeol replies readily, “There were some things I wanted to tell you. I wanted us to talk about many things, but now- Now! There’s just one thing that I need to ask.”
“What is it?” Baekhyun asked even though he could tell his old friend’s eyes what would it be, so he ready himself to how the question would come along.
“Y/n” Chanyeol started, not knowing how else to do so and licks his lips, uncertain of how to go on, “About Y/n. Actually, this is backwards-”, Chanyeol says the second part more to himself than to Baekhyun and the later waits, “You made a mess in school today. I heard them saying you could get kicked out and we’re almost graduating. So why? Why did you do all of that for Y/n? What’s so wrong about Y/n and I being a couple? Why can’t it be true? Do you like her?”
The words just poured out of Chanyeol’s lips and by the end his eyes prickled with hidden tears, he just didn’t want to have this conversation in the first place. When someone rushed to him to say what was going on he rushed to see what really was it about, then he heard Baekhyun and the desperation, and anger in his friend’s voice pained him somehow in more than one way. He still can’t understand, he can’t grasp, but he knows he didn’t like the fact that Baekhyun just couldn’t like you as someone started gossiping. 
Chanyeol’s last question lingers in the air, tasting bitter on his own tongue as he runs out of breath to speak anymore. Chanyeol likes you- a lot , it’s different than any other times he liked anyone else and he doesn’t want to face anyone who seems willing to have you too. He’s not sure if he’s a coward, maybe he’s unsure of himself. Should he tell you how much he likes you already, the two of you seemed to be moving slowly, you seem to enjoy doing so, but maybe he should pick up a certain pace. Baekhyun isn’t someone to just take things slow, that much Chanyeol’s certain.
Baekhyun stops himself from frowning or exposing how he can read Chanyeol’s thoughts in his expression. Chanyeol just doesn’t change, as he thought. Pulling himself away from the car, Baekhyun straightens his body only making all the more obvious how small he is compared to Chanyeol, thankfully he’s standing on a slightly higher side of the hill. Which is almost nothing, but at least something . Like what you give him.
Once again Baekhyun considers just saying it all. Taking you for himself and get this over with. He’d do whatever it takes to keep you safe, so what’s the matter. It’s just a matter of seconds when a movie goes before his eyes where he can take you with him and everything will work out like a miraculous magic trick. He can do anything as long as you’re there, so why not?
“Yes” Baekhyun replies and Chanyeol breathe is caught in his throat, “I like Y/n”, Baekhyun adds, watching Chanyeol hiccups and step back, much to his pleasure.
Should he say it all now, then. When Chanyeol looks like lost, hurt puppy, eyes wandering everywhere but him.
“I think I should have her instead of you” Baekhyun says boldly, watching Chanyeol look at him with wide eyes, “I got a bastard in my family instead of you. Mr. Kim married my mom instead of yours, so… I got the weak end of the rope on that, so- Just think of Y/n as compensation.” Bekhyun tries sounding as emotionless as he can while Chanyeol watches him in disbelief, “She’ll be the good thing you own me. We’ll be even then”
“Baekhyun, you-” Chanyeol is cut by his own breathless state and as soon as he recoverse he chuckles pathetically, “Who do you think you are to demand to have a person as compensation? You’re just some high schooler! Are you crazy?”
“Some high-schooler” Baekhyun mocks with a sick grin prying his lips, before laughing loudly to himself. Chanyeol looks around, startled and sees a few lights in the neighborhood light up.
“Are you crazy? It’s late! You're gonna wake up the whole neighborhood.”
“Why? Afraid to be seen with a gangster?”Baekhyun asks, “Look closely, Yeol! At us! You and me.” Baekhyun mentions to Chanyeol and then his own self, pulling on Chanyeol’s uniform, before tugging on his long coat, the clothes fit him, but they are way too unfitting for a kid his age and Baekhyun knows it well, “ You’re the high-schooler here. I’m a real gangster. Mr. Kim- Ah, no! Dad is giving me a lot of confidence lately, there’s nothing I can’t do~”
“So?” Chanyeol asks, trying to look at Baekhyun’s eyes, “You wanna treat Y/n like Mr. Kim treats the people he used to play around with before discarding like trash? Is that it?”
“I told you, didn’t I?” Baekhyun insists, “I like Y/n.” He says more clearly this time, “If you don’t have the confidence, then just let me have what I deserve.”
Baekhyun pulled the car’s door open and hopped inside. He couldn’t say it afterall, that’s all Baekhyun could think as he watched Chanyeol become smaller as he drove away. It’s better this way, he thinks. Chanyeol watched him drive by with a heavy heart. If only the year just ended and you and him could take off to college right away. Away from Baekhyun.
⇽ part 9 | part 11
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daebakinc · 3 years
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A Rearrangement (Preview)
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Pairing: Jae x Female Reader, ft. DAY6, Kard, and Mina Genre: Arranged Marriage AU, Angst, Romance  Summary: Blackmailed by your parents, you’re forced to alter your life plan and enter an arranged marriage with the male heir of the Park family. The even bigger surprise comes when you find out that heir is your friend Jae. Thrust together, as the two of you become closer than before, will it strengthen your friendship or be the unexpected start of something else?
You always imagined the path to doom would be violent, dark, and storm-filled. Who knew it would actually be paved in gold-veined marble and lined in bouquets of hydrangeas and lily of the valley bound in silk ribbons in slender silver vases. But then, only the finest auction block would do.
The temptation to fidget grows as you wait with your parents in the quietly decadent lobby. Your feet beg to be free of the pointed heels, too accustomed to sensible flats. The chiffon dress is light and beautiful, you won’t deny that, but it feels like a lie. Dresses like this are for special occasions, not a dinner. Even getting dinner during a normal hour seems odd given you’re usually too busy dealing with a revolving door of patients. Patients who you could be helping with now but—
It is only years of training keeps you from crying out when your mother delivers a sharp pinch to your underarm.
“Smile. You look like you’re attending a funeral,” she hisses beneath her breath, a gracious curve pasted on her own mouth.
“Aren’t I?” you whisper back. Your impudence is rewarded with another pinch, but every bit of defiance is worth it. If nothing else comes of this, you remind yourself, soon she won’t be able to touch you or anyone and anything you hold dear.
“It appears the other party is already here,” the tuxedo-clad concierge tells your father. “Shall I lead you to the room?”
With all the dignity befitting an assemblyman, your father nods and lifts his arm, looking back at the two of you. Another part of your heart breaks away at that look. The warmth that lay in your father’s eyes when you were a child is no more than a memory. Cool calculations necessary of a career politician extinguished it long ago. Instead of his only child, all he sees is another bargaining chip. Until yesterday, you were able to lie to yourself that an ember of affection still survived. But no more. That delusion is dead, forever buried alongside the many other dreams slaughtered by your parents.
“Remember what is at stake for your father,” your mother whispers as she releases your arm to reach for your father’s. “Remember what is at stake for you.”
As if you could forget. Otherwise, you would be hundreds of thousands of miles away. You would be penniless but for the paltry savings you squirreled away, friendless but for the few who didn’t know your family, homeless but for your own skin. And it would be worth it to be completely out of reach of their conniving hands. Free, totally and completely, for the first time in your life. But she was right. What was at risk was far greater than you.
You fall in behind your parents, precisely three steps as you’d been drilled since your father first ran for public office. Shoulders back and spine straight, chin up and eyes forward. None of the growing trepidation or swirling sick feeling in your stomach betrayed in your countenance. A true lady just as they wanted. If they could have, they would have broken and reconstructed your soul in their image as well. But you had at least held out on that.
The concierge reaches a plain, eggshell-colored door flanked by two more bouquets. He knocks, then opens the door for your parents. You stick out your fingers to subtly touch the flowers as you pass through the door. The fragile silk softer than the real fabric proves they’re real. As real as the people within are fake, your parents included.
An older couple are the only obvious occupants, rising from their seats at a rectangular table set with exquisite crystal and silver that twinkles in the light streaming from the bay windows. Distinguished gray touches the man’s hair while the woman’s is jet black, doubtlessly dyed to hide the age that lies in the makeup-covered wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. Both are simply but finely dressed. Yet together, you know their wardrobe costs enough to send a student to a decent university for a year. At least.
The stink of old wealth, enhanced by the surroundings, is as heavy on them as your mother’s perfume. You hate it.
The man rises, smile broad and hand outstretched. “Assemblyman! Welcome!”
“Good to see you again, Mr. Park,” your father replies, shaking his hand and flashing that million-watt smile he practices in the mirror for the press and donors. “Especially on such a joyous occasion.”
“Yes, indeed. So this is your daughter.” Mr. Park’s gaze falls to you.
You steel your back against the shiver of disgust you feel as his eyes openly sweep you up and down. His wife follows suite from behind him. You can’t help the feeling that they would have pried your mouth open like a prize horse if you weren’t in a more civilized age. The irony of that thought amid your situation almost distracts you enough to give a real smile.
“Not as beautiful as her picture, but her career and your prestige will make up for that. She will be a welcome addition to our family,” Mr. Park says approvingly.
Bile rises unbidden from the bottom of your stomach with revulsion. Who the hell is he to judge you, let alone speak such an opinion out loud. You inwardly scoff. Just proof money cannot buy manners or decency.
“Where is your son?” your mother asks, looking around.
Mr. Park’s smile tightens a fraction. “He was temporarily detained at an appointment, but he’ll be here shortly. No need to worry. He’ll be here to sign the marriage contract.”
Marriage contract. Those words are enough to make the embarrassment at Mr. Park’s callous comments evaporate, replaced by the unforgiving chill of reality.
Today, you’re getting engaged to a stranger. To say the idea doesn’t terrify you would be the most vile lie. The idea of being “tied forever” to someone you’ve never met, never even seen, makes you sick. It makes you want to shrink, crawl away, and mourn. It makes you want to roar, storm, and seize your autonomy back. But all you can do is stand and wait, your face the vaguely interested mask you have perfected to a fault.
Mr. Park steps back and gestures to the table. “Shall we?”
Men in trim tuxedos silently appear to pull out your chairs. Mr. Park and your father take seats opposite each other, then Mrs. Park and your mother. You sit across from the empty chair. The chair where your soon-to-be fiance will soon sit.
Beside you, the older adults talk among themselves. Whether they speak of social niceties, specifics of the pre-nuptial contract, or plans for the wedding, you don’t know. Their words are noise in your ears and they make no effort to include you in the conversation. It doesn’t surprise you. You’re accustomed to it and you’re glad of it. They don’t deserve the civility you would be expected to produce. Not to mention your temper is shortened by the lack of sleep caused by an anxious patient’s hours-long call last night.
There’s a knock at the door and your heart stops. It’s him.
Demon or angel. Brat or saint. Executioner or savior. Bane or mate.
There’s no way to know and no way out. If someone in this day and age would agree to such a bond, he’s either an idiot, a pushover, or a victim like you.
You steel yourself for disappointment or pity, determined to keep any emotion to yourself. These parasites won’t get anything else from you.
The door opens and a slightly rumpled, lanky man ambles in. His long black overcoat covers a slate-gray suit jacket with matching pants and dark burgundy turtleneck. His blond hair is ruffled, streaked with bold swathes of highlights, and longer than you would expect of a wealthy scion. His messy bangs brushing the lenses of his round, gold-rimmed glasses.
Your mouth drops open. How…
“Sorry I’m late,” he says without a smile or sincerity. “I was—”
When his eyes fall to you, his mouth mirrors yours. You quickly snap your jaw back together and give the smallest shake of your head.
Don’t let them know.
His mother gives a polite cough to try to call him back. When he continues staring, his father speaks for him. “This is our son, Jaehyung.”
So that’s Jae’s real name.
Your father immediately gets up and holds out his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, son.”
“I remember your hair being black this morning,” Mr. Park says, addressing his son as he greets your father. “Was there a mistake at the salon?”
Recovering from his surprise, Jae’s mouth twitches like it wants to smirk at the clear disapproval in his father’s voice. He smooths his hair, takes his seat and answers simply. “No.”
His parents’ mouths thin, but the first course being served saves Jae from further reprimand. The conversation picks up where it left off, articulated by the clink of silverware.
Again, you’re not invited to participate, but neither is Jae. You push the salad around with your fork, flipping the leaves as your mind attempts comprehension. Admiration for Jae’s blatant rebellion only briefly interrupts the bewilderment swirling around your head.
Jae, your friend since he almost killed you with his skateboarding antics in university and who constantly crashes on your couch to whine about being broke. This same man who usually dresses in some version of a T-shirt, jeans, and or plaid shirt combo and seems to have a guitar permanently attached to his hands. Reconciling him with the put-together heir in front of you, your almost fiance, is proving difficult.
Though now, certain gaps in your knowledge of Jae make a bit more sense. Despite claiming to be perpetually broke, he never fails to pick up the latest shoes he’s been drooling over or new production equipment when his band, Day6, needs it. He never mentions his family. During university, he always found a friend to go home with on breaks.
Just like you.
Maybe that’s why you felt drawn to him, became and stayed friends. A silent and unconscious recognition of similar ghosts haunting your shadows.
Your phone quietly vibrates against your thigh. You ignore it.
Something nudges your foot. Lifting your eyes from your plate, you find Jae staring at you. He glances down towards your lap, frowning and jerking his chin when you don’t move.
With a peek at your mother to ensure she’s not paying attention, you slip your phone from the pocket hidden in your dress.
Meet me by the bathrooms.- Jae
You immediately stand, smiling as the Parks and your parents finally turn their attention to you. Lifting your phone, you say, “Please excuse me. The doctor on-call has a question about one of my patients. I have to call him back.” Disregarding your mother’s annoyed expression, you turn on your heel and walk out of the room.
After asking for directions, you find the bathrooms and wait in the alcove beside them. You don’t have long to wait before you hear Jae calling your name.
He jumps when you poke your head around the corner, but rushes over, grabbing your elbow to bring you back out of sight. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asks, his voice a hoarse whisper and his eyebrows nearly forced together with a frown.
“You asked me to meet you here.”
“Not here, smartass,” Jae says, rolling his eyes. “I mean here here.”
“I could be asking you the same question, Jaehyung.” You pointedly look down at where he’s still holding you.
“Sorry.” Jae releases you, his hand immediately going to run through his hair. His mussing leaves it standing at odd angles so he looks more like the Jae you’re familiar with. You recognize the same struggle to reconcile your newly discovered realities on his face as well. “It's just... you’re the assemblyman’s daughter? You?”
“Sorry to disappoint,” you reply, not sparing the sarcasm. You sit on the bench and fold your arms, scrutinizing the friend you thought you knew. “But I guess we’re even.”
“What do you mean? You never your said your dad was an assemblyman.”
“And not once in all the years we’ve known each other, not once in all the times we fell asleep talking did you mention you were a friggin' heir, Jae. Never mind an heir of the Park family. You were probably born with twenty silver spoons in your mouth.”
Jae sighs and joins you, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the wall. “I didn’t say anything because I never wanted it. Who wants to own up to a family that only wants you to become their version of you, you know?”
“Preaching to the choir here.”
He opens his eyes with a frown and turns his head to you. “I never pegged you as a “yes, daddy” kind of girl. A goody-two-shoes with an overdeveloped savior complex, yeah. Definitely. But this? You really going along with this?”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” you retort with a roll of your eyes. “I thought we were friends.”
“We are, which is why I’m really freaking confused right now. You’re a doctor, dude. A modern woman. You’re always going on about women’s rights. Totally support by the way, but—”
“You really think I agreed to this for shits and giggles?” you cry, anger bubbling over. Everything you’ve held back since this morning boils out. “You think I like your father making me feel like a piece of meat and telling me to my face I’m ‘not as beautiful’ as my picture? Oh, wait, that would require him to address me directly like I had my own mind. Yeah, Jae, I just woke up yesterday and said to myself ‘Hey, let’s toss my entire personality, morals, and career aside and agree to get married to some rich guy so my dad can profit from the family-man image and new connections boost this election!’ That’s exactly what happened. No reason other than that.”
Jae is uncharacteristically silent after your outburst, studying you. You can’t really blame him. In the entire length of your friendship, you’ve only seriously raised your voice at him maybe once. He’s mentioned more than once that that fact is one your more attractive attributes.
Letting out a sigh of your own, you lean against the wall as well. You shouldn’t have yelled at him. He doesn’t deserve to be the recipient of your pent up frustrations. Picking at the skirt of your dress, you say, “You know my friend, Mina?”
“Yeah,” Jae replies with a shrug. “The dancer who’s at that super fancy dance school for ballet or something, right?”
“She’s there on a scholarship. A scholarship my mother is on the board for. My parents didn’t even bother being subtle about it. As soon as I told them they were crazy for suggesting this, they threatened to take the scholarship from Mina or even get her kicked out of the school. She can’t afford the tuition on their own. Jae, she loves that place and dancing so much and with that kind of training, she has a shot at so many opportunities. I couldn’t let them do that to her. It would kill her.”
His face becomes somber. “Ow…”
You give a half smile and a shrug. “Figured I could suffer through a few years of this marriage ‘til she finished, then find a way to get divorced.”
Jae reaches over and squeezes your hand. “You’re a really good friend.”
“Thanks.” You return the pressure and keep your hand in his. The reminder of humanity soothes some of the anger and hurt that sits like a boulder in your chest.
“Though I guess I am too,” he says. When you just look at him, waiting for an explanation, he lets out a bark of laughter. “And you yelled at me for being a bad friend, ya hypocrite. You think that I, Jae, the Jae, would say yes to this kind of backwards shit?”
“No.” Adopting an awful Manhattan accent, you ask, “So what’re you in here for?”
Your attempt gets a small laugh out of Jae, just as you’d hoped. The smile that accompanied it disappears as he says, “My parents found out about Day6… Before, as long as I kept my head down and didn’t do anything ‘embarrassing,’ they didn’t care what I was doing since my sister is going to take over the business. But now, if I don’t do this marriage thing, they were going to cut me off. I’d miss my Jordans, but I could deal if it was just me. But you know I’m the one who books our studio sessions, pays for the travel and new equipment when we need it. The guys chip in when they can, but they don’t make that much at their day jobs. I don’t make enough for it all either.”
You put your other hand over Jae’s. His band is his life. You’ve seen the shelves at his apartment filled with notebooks of music and lyrics instead of books. Some he’s actually played for you or let you read. He has his guitars named and arranged in order of favoritism for crying out loud. Making him abandon his music would be less painful than cutting out his heart while it still beat.
“We’re this close to a break, Doc. I can feel it.” Jae meets your eyes, none of the normal charm or ease there. Instead, they beg for reassurance, belief in him and his dream.
“I know you are. I come to every show I can, don’t I?” You smile, feeling the callouses from his constant playing rubbing against your own skin. “You're going to make it big. You have more talent than half the people on the radio. We just have to get the right people to listen.”
“Then I could support myself and I wouldn’t be in this mess.” He suddenly chuckles.
“What?”
“You could be too. You could be like our bus driver or roadie or something.”
“I have a job, you know. I just don’t work at the right place to make the big bucks. The clinic can barely afford our necessities, let alone big staff salaries. Besides, I don’t think it would matter.” You sigh again, unable to stop yourself from leaning against Jae. Everything feels too heavy and there’s a headache brewing in your temples. “I wouldn’t be surprised if my parents just found someone else to foist on me if this didn’t work out.”
“Damn. Seriously? We really won the lottery on the crappy parents, didn’t we?”
“That’s an understatement.” Looking down at your joined hands, you try to imagine matching weddings bands on your fingers. The idea is laughable. But nothing comes out of your mouth except the words, “We’re really going to do this, aren’t we? Get married.”
Jae’s shoulders lift beneath your cheek in a hopeless shrug. “For now, I guess so. Unless one of us wins the actual lottery. Or Day6 gets signed with a big bonus.”
You start nodding, then stop as an idea hits you, and groan. “Dammit… Jae, what’re we going to tell our friends?”
“What’d you mean? I doubt our parents are going to invite them to the wedding. Mine are too snobby and yours seem just as bad. Not like our friends read the newspaper either if our parents do one of those corny engagement ads.”
“I know my mother. She’s going to insist on an engagement ring and not a subtle one. Our friends know us. They’re not going to believe we went from friends to engaged. And what about what’s-her-name? The girl you’re talking to?”
“Oh,… yeah, that didn’t work out,” Jae says with a chuckle. “She didn’t like how much time I spent practicing. She told me it was either her or the band.”
Lifting your head, you stare at him. “What the hell were you doing dating someone like that?”
“She was hot?”
And he’s back. You drop his hand to smack his shoulder. “Gross!”
Jae raises his hands in defense, but a smile is back on his face, at least temporarily. “I’m kidding, jeez. Well, not really. She was hot, but I thought she really liked music slash the band too.”
“Sure.” Restless, you get off the bench and begin pacing. You think better on your feet. “But seriously, what’re we going to tell our friends? Us dating wouldn’t be too big a stretch, but no one would believe we’d do something crazy like get married out of nowhere. You’re impulsive enough for that, but not me. They’re going to know something’s up.”
“Firstly, I resent that impulsive comment. I'm just absurdly curious is all. And why not just tell them we’re dating?” Jae pulls in his legs when you almost trip over them. “But only if our parents make us move in together or something. Otherwise, we don’t need to. You don’t have to wear the ring unless our parents check in or whatever. Plus, like I said, crappy as it is, our parents wouldn’t think to invite them to the wedding. The only people there will be people we don’t care about. Then after we’re married, we just wait it out, not telling anyone, and then, like you planned, get a quick, quiet divorce when everyone’s safe. No one knows, we live our lives as normally as we can, and then we’re home free.”
Pausing in your marching, you look at Jae again. He looks far calmer than he has any right to be. Seems like he’s already accepted your predicament. But maybe he is right. Maybe this abrupt drop in the road of your life can be smoothed into a less dramatic sharp turn, or even a slight detour. Maybe you can do it. Together. The demons of uncertainty’s voices quiet for now.
Out loud, you say, “Alright.”
“Cool. Now that that’s settled,” slapping the edge of the bench, Jae pushes himself up, “we should probably get back. By the way, why’d you not want them to know we know each other?”
Raising your eyebrows incredulously, you ask, “You really want to give them one more thing to use against us?”
“Yeah, you’re right.” Straightening his clothes, he says, “Let’s go back to the lions’ den.”
Seeing his smile, that smile you know so well and love, relief hits you so hard, it makes your knees almost buckle.
You rush to him, burying your face in his shirt and curling your fingers around his jacket lapels. Your eyes burn, but your tears are thankfully exhausted. “Jae, I’m so glad it’s you. I really am.”
Fate and your parents’ scheming could have put anyone opposite you. Yet somehow, it’s Jae. A solid ally and friend instead of a dreadful unknown. With Jae, you have a fellow victim, a fellow survivor. A partner. One with no expectations except a continued friendship and reliance.
Although Jae had been stiff from surprise, his arms close around you and his body sags. Despite his boniness, the warmth of his embrace more than makes up for it. “Yeah, me too, Doc. Me too.”
“Were you scared too?”
“Fucking terrified. I thought I was going to be stuck with some prude princess. You know I can’t handle high maintenance. Ain’t nobody got time for that.”
Laughing, you step back. As usual, Jae’s humor helps break through your cloud of ill mood. Beckoning, you say, “Come here. We have to fix your hair or they might think something happened.”
“Yeah, because they’re such examples of people who believe in love at first sight and get swept up in mind-blowing passion,” he retorts, but he leans down anyway so you can smooth his hair. “Thanks. You ready?”
“Yeah.” You nod. This time, you believe it.
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parkhabits · 4 years
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Movie Marathons {M}
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Park Jinyoung x Reader Genre: Fluff / Smut / Drabble Summary: Halloween night and all you wanted is to have movie marathons with Jinyoung instead of being dressed up as Minnie Mouse and at a frat party.  
Word count: 4,546
He was irritated. Annoyed at best. His day was draining, his body exhausted physically and mentally. He always looked forward to home. Loved the quiet and comfort of his space. After long and tiring days he loved being able to shut the world out. Especially tonight of all nights while people were out partying and getting dressed up. He found satisfaction in curling into bed and rest. He was about to do just that until his phone buzzed. 
He could have ignored it. Yet something had been gnawing at him all day. The feeling in his gut poking at him to look at the message. 
Y/N [12:08am]: Jinyugkeeee Can you pleade come get me? 
He stared at it blankly. Debating to ignore it. It was apparent you were drunk. The state of your text message proved it. Deep down he knew why he had been on edge all day and short tempered. You had bragged on and on how you had been invited to Johnny’s house for a Halloween party. In fact, you couldn’t stop talking about how you were ready to let loose and unwind after a week of finals. That alone annoyed him. He never understood the need to party in order to unwind. The need to drink to let loose. There were plenty of other ways people could do that. Some that didn’t involve a house full of rowdy guys. He almost chose to ignore it out of spite, until his phone chimed once again. 
Y/N [12:10am]: please?
He was weak. Within two minutes of the last text message he had already grabbed his keys and wallet and was out the door. Abandoning his sanctuary to get you. Why? Because the thought of leaving you stranded there was enough to form numerous scenarios in his mind that made his blood boil and his foot step on the gas faster. 
The air was humid and thick, every inhale filled your nose with the stench of mixed alcohol. You needed air, fresh air as you pushed your way past the dancing bodies, moving past a drunk soldier and a barbie and ken making out against the wall. Side stepping past the boys dressed as ninja turtles who jumped for joy at the beer pong table until you stumbled outside onto the porch. Away from everyone. Rarely had you come to parties like this. It wasn’t your scene, not in your comfort zone. You pushed yourself though, even going as far by making your makeshift minnie mouse costume. Wearing a red skirt and finding the ears from the local dollar store. It was all in an attempt to try and seek attention from the one you really wanted to spend the night with. You had hoped it would have worked, that if you talked about it enough, the details of what to expect that he may have told you not to go.  Suggest doing something else. You felt foolish to think he’d ask you out. But there had been signs. Obviously you interpreted it wrong. 
You liked Jinyoung. Had thought your friendship with him was progressing to something more. There were moments. The kind that had your heart fluttering, the kind where you internally cheered him on. “Do it. Ask me out already,” or “Kiss me you idiot,”. He never did and it only made you feel like the idiot. You didn’t  have the guts to act on it either. You sat down on the steps, looking at your phone. He had seen the messages. Was he coming? What if he wasn’t? 
Your head felt heavy, your face hot and flushed by the alcohol that was pushed on you. Your minnie mouse ears constantly falling off your head. You knew your limit, why were you stupid enough to go beyond that. You rested your head in your lap, ears sliding down once again but this time you decided to just leave it. Waiting for Jinyoung to come. If he didn’t, then the porch seemed comfy enough to rest until you sobered up. There was a sleepy haze looming over you. 
“There you are,” there were footsteps behind you. It was the guy dressed as Fred Flintstone you met and talked to for a bit. “I’ve been looking for you,” he sat down beside you.
“Just waiting for my ride,” you murmur, head feeling too heavy to turn and look at him. 
“Already? The party’s just getting started,” he coaxed, “Come have a few more drinks,” 
You shake your head and even that requires a lot of effort. “I’m done for the night,” 
“It looks like you need to lie down. Come on, I’ll take you to the spare bedroom,” his hand moves to your lower back, and though you think he does it out of comfort the touch has you shuddering out of unease. 
“I’m fine,” you muster up the words and say it as carefully as you can so not to slur. “My ride will be here soon,” You hoped. You weren’t even sure if that were true. 
“Why don’t you lie down while you wait?” He continues to persuade. 
Annoyed and uneasy you stand to walk away from him. When you do, you feel and see everything around you begin to spin. You lean against the railing for support and without fail he snugs his arm around your waist. Trying to shift your body weight onto him so you’d be against him for support. 
“Let me go. I’m okay,” but you weren’t. You felt so nauseous, felt stupid that you had even got to this point. You tried to push against him but were just met with the solid stability of his body. 
“I’ll take you inside -“ 
“Y/N,” 
You look up to see Jinyoung, two Jinyoung’s actually, walk towards you. You smile, “You came,” 
Jinyoung wanted to curse at you right then and there. His hands were bawled in fists at his side. He doesn’t say anything, only walks to you and the dirtbag who had his arms all wrapped around you. He pushes him off you and you all but fall into Jinyoung’s arms instead. You knew you shouldn’t have, but you couldn’t control it. Your body and mind were disjointed. Though your mind screamed stand up, your body felt like jelly and your legs wobbled. 
Jinyoung sighs deeply. Maneuvering himself to best support you as he begins to guide you to his car. 
“Dude just let her- “ the guy doesn’t even finish his sentence as the ice cold glare Jinyoung sends over his shoulder advised him otherwise. 
“My ears,” you mutter, trying to turn back to get those damn mouse ears. 
“Leave them,” Jinyoung said through gritted teeth. Really? Out of all the things to be concerned about. 
If he had arrived a few minutes later, or worse. If he hadn’t shown up at all. The thoughts sent a rage through him.  If you weren’t so heavily reliant on him for support Jinyoung would have gone back and punched that Fred Flintstone jackass back to the dinosaur era. 
With the world spinning it was finally a relief when you sat down in the passenger’s seat of Jinyoung’s car. Through double vision you watched as Jinyoung rounded his car, saw the furrow in between his brows. He was mad. Maybe you shouldn’t have called him. When he got into the car, he still didn’t say anything. Nor did he even look at you. Your head was still fuzzy, your eyes closing as the silence and the drive tempted you to sleep. 
Jinyoung gripped the steering wheel hard. Focusing his attention to his driving and channeling his pent up anger elsewhere. Images of that guy’s arms around you flashing through his mind. He heard it as he approached the house, that sleaze ball trying to coax you to “lie down”. Whether it was innocent or not that whole scenario didn’t sit well with Jinyoung. From the corner of his eye he glanced at you. Your head was bobbing and he could tell you were fighting  the urge to sleep. Unbelievable. He was angry that you let yourself get to this point. If he hadn’t shown up who knows what would have happened. His blood boiled at the thought, slamming more aggressively on the brake to have you whiplash forward and startle you awake. You glanced at him wide eyed but still he said nothing. Did he have a right to be angry? No. Was it because he was deeply in love with you? Yes. 
“Oh no,” you managed to slur, a bit more alert from the realization. 
“I can’t pull over if you’re going to puke,” Jinyoung said through gritted teeth. 
You shake your head. “It’s not that. I forgot my purse there and my apartment keys are inside,” you explain though you were experiencing some bouts of nausea from the way Jinyoung was driving. 
“Roommate?” 
“Weekend trip with her boyfriend,” you internally curse yourself once again for getting to this point. 
“We’ll get it tomorrow,” Jinyoung says. His temper was too high to turn back. Even the littlest thing, like seeing the jerk’s face could set him off and into a fight. He sighed heavily, “You’ll stay the night with me,” 
You opened your mouth to object. Yet it sounded more like a command than an offer. At least he spoke to you though. Your heart pounded at the thought of staying the night in his apartment. Stomach swirling with nerves, anticipation and alcohol. 
You had been to his place multiple times before. The warm beige walls and chic black furniture. Tastefully decorated for a young man his age compared to the decor you saw at Johnny’s house. During the car ride you thought you had sobered up slightly however the minute you stepped out that proved untrue. The pavement seemed like it dipped with every step, a mix of uphill and downhill. You feel Jinyoung grab your elbow, doesn’t say anything as he guides you into his apartment. 
Suddenly you feel it. The lurch in your stomach. Something you hoped would never come. You push away from him, knowing your way towards his bathroom. As much as it felt like you needed to nothing came as you leaned against his tub for support. The toilet within leaning distance if need be. Now you regretted texting Jinyoung. Just as much as you regretted going out tonight. Your liver probably happy to know that you plan to abstain for a while. You buried your head in your lap, back against his tub as you remained on the bathroom floor. You groan miserably as even the floor seemed to rock, like you were on a boat during the middle of horrible sea storm. 
“Here,” You hear Jinyoung’s voice. His tone is softer now, not as harsh as earlier. 
You don’t want to lift your head for two reasons. First cause you feared any movement would cause the nausea to come about again, and second because you were too embarrassed to be seen like this. 
“Drink some water Y/N,” Jinyoung urges softly. Brushing your tousled hair and taking your hand to hold the glass. 
“I shouldn’t have texted you, but thank you for coming to get me,” you say as you sip the water. You grimace as you do so, your stomach not wanting anymore fluid in it. 
“I’m glad you did,” Jinyoung says as he sits on the floor beside you. 
You look at him surprised, “Are you sure? You seemed pretty mad,” 
“I- uh,” Jinyoung sighs heavily, “Was annoyed at you. Then I was pissed at the guy whose arms were around you,” he explains. 
The feeling in your stomach was good, not alcohol induced. But a giddy, almost excited feeling. “Because…?” you urged for more, staring directly at him. If he let another moment pass then you wouldn’t know what your tipsy self would do. 
“Because I like you. Maybe even more than that,” 
There it was. The confession you’ve been waiting for. Another moment and this time he had actually confessed. “Your timing is the worst,” you groan and let out a laugh as you bury your face in your hands. Jinyoung’s eyes widen. A sense of panic across his face and for a split second he wondered if maybe you met a guy at the party.
“You had to confess to me when I look and feel like crap,” you mutter as you keep your head down. 
“Yeah,” he chuckles and nudges you. “Whose fault is that?”
“Yours,” you tease, “If you would have confessed sooner then I wouldn’t have gone to the party and we could have spent the night in, watching scary movies,  cuddling and making out,” 
Jinyoung cocks his brow, “Well from now on, no more parties, movie nights only.” He smiles. “Very interesting image of a drunk minnie mouse though,” You groan again and Jinyoung laughs. “Come on, you need to sleep this off,” he says. 
“Just leave me here. I can’t move myself without everything around me spinning.”
“My bed’s comfier,” Jinyoung says, and in one easy and quick swoop he lifts you bridal style. 
Your arms wrap around his neck out of reflex as you let out a startled gasp. 
Your back hits the soft mattress. “You’re not gonna stay?” You ask as he begins to tuck you in. 
“I’m a gentlemen who doesn’t get into bed with drunk girls,” Jinyoung smiles.
“Can’t trust yourself?” You tease. 
Jinyoung chuckles, “Can’t trust you,” he pokes. 
You frown, snuggling into his pillows deeper. “I’m good,” you murmur. 
“Sure you are, but I’m irresistible,” Jinyoung kisses your forehead, “Good night Y/N,”
When he left you snuggled into his sheets, your world was spinning. Not because of the alcohol but the elated giddy feeling of having your feelings returned.
There was an incessant ringing. A large buzz pounded away at the already painful sensation in your head. You groaned as you finally registered what the sound was. An alarm clock. Why the hell did you put an alarm for a Saturday morning? Wait a minute, you don’t use an alarm clock. With painful regret you opened your eyes. Your body hurt, your head was a whole other level and the distance of the alarm clock on the nightstand from where you lay might as well have been a mile away. With a groan you reached over and slammed the snooze button before pulling the covers to block out the light. Did you forget to draw your blackout curtains? No, no you didn’t because you weren’t in your room. You weren’t in your bed. You tried your best to recall last night. Halloween, Johnny’s house, the drinks, too many drinks. You sit up immediately. Confirming and registering that you were in fact not in your own room. You winced at the brightness of Jinyoung’s room. Immediately you reach for your phone. 
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” You cringe to yourself as you read your message to him. 
You look around his room, the opposite side of you remained unslept. Where was he? Was he mad? More importantly, what’d you do? Reluctantly you dragged yourself out of bed and into his bathroom. “Oh god,” you say revolted at the image of yourself in the mirror. The smudged makeup, tousled hair, probably from having to rearrange those minnie mouse ears all the time. On top of that, the smell of alcohol stenched your clothes and made you nauseous. Where were your minnie ears? You glanced at Jinyoung’s shower, hopefully he wouldn’t mind. 
As the warm water washed over your body, relaxing and cleansing away all remnants of last night’s mistakes you tried to recollect everything else that happened last night. Judging you couldn’t find your purse before the shower meant that it was probably left at Johnny’s, hence why you’re probably at Jinyoung’s. What else Y/N? Then you gasped, covering your mouth in surprise as the hazy memories seemed to come flooding in. 
“We could have had a movie night in cuddling and making out,” You could hear your voice so clearly. Did you really say that? 
Because I like you.
You nip your bottom lip. His voice is distant but did it happen? You curse yourself for two reasons. First, if it was true and Jinyoung did confess you hated that you were too drunk at that moment to know now if it were true. Second, what if it wasn’t and now you were left with disappointment. There was only one way to find out you figured as you stepped out of his shower. After raiding his drawer and finding a pair of his sweatpants and tshirt you slowly open the door, peaking your head out to see if Jinyoung was around. It was quiet, however the smell of coffee tempted you to step out further. Your body craving the hot contents to flush away the rest of the toxins and hopefully clear your head even more. 
“Well, good morning,” 
You startle at the sound of his voice and you’d bet money he said it a little louder than usual on purpose to aggravate your headache. 
“Hi,” you basically squawk, turning around to face him. Hungover or not it didn’t go unnoticed just how good looking he was in his grey sweats and black t-shirt. 
“Funny, I remember you wearing something different to the party last night,” he looks you up and down. 
“I hope you don’t mind me borrowing these,” You tugged at his shirt sheepishly. 
“I don’t,” he grins, walking to his kitchen. “Coffee, water, advil?”
You basically groan as you flop onto his couch. “Yes to all three and if you throw in food I’ll worship you,” 
“I’ve got bagels,” He offers. 
“You’re amazing,” you hum as you sprawl on his couch. 
When Jinyoung comes with hot coffee and a freshly toasted bagel you could have kissed him right on the spot. “It’s official, I worship you,” you say with the first sip of coffee. You set aside your food, “Thanks for getting me,” you say bashfully. 
“Hoping it’s the last time,” he says. You nod in agreement. “Cause movie nights in, cuddling and making out,” he teases giving you a nudge. 
You cringe, “So it’s true. I did say that,” You bury your hands in your face. So did that mean? “Did anything else happen?” You prod. 
Jinyoung shrugs, “You tried puking and felt sick. You don’t remember anything?”  
You nod, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks in embarrassment. There was also a pit of disappointment starting to form. So Jinyoung’s confession must have been your imagination.
“How are you feeling now?” Jinyoung asks. 
Disappointed. “Good.” 
“No nausea? Don’t feel gross?”
You shake your head, “Nope, thanks to the shower,”
“Sober?” He asks. 
“Completely,” you answer. 
“Good, so you’ll remember this.”
For a moment, you think you’re dreaming or imagining things once again. That you were in fact still drunk. But then his tongue traces your bottom lip, grazing and meeting yours as your lips part in response. Lips moving with his. 
This was real. Very, very real and it was amazing. 
His hand moves to the back of your head, fingers tangling in your damp hair. Bringing you closer, the other hand resting on your cheek sweetly. With the slightest tilt of his head he brings the kiss deeper, eliciting the tiniest little moan from you. As the disbelief and first initial shock pass you find yourself wrapping your arms around his neck, inching closer you’re almost sitting in his lap. Before he draws away he takes one last nibble at your lower lip, both your breaths heavy as you pull away only inches from each other. 
“I like you Y/N,” Jinyoung softly murmurs. His nose nuzzles against yours in an eskimo kiss, “And you better remember that now,” he squeezes your side teasingly. 
You jolt, laughing. “So you did confess. Finally,” 
“Finally,” he agrees, taking your hand in his as he brings it to his lips. 
“So when do you think I should get my purse from Johnny’s?” 
Jinyoung lets out a little sigh with his laugh and you see the glint of amusement in his eyes as he pulls you to him to snuggle at his side. “After a scary movie marathon and some cuddling,” 
“And making out,” You tip up to press your mouth against his, warm and returning. There’s a surge in your belly, beyond the initial giddy feeling previously. You pull away slightly and the feeling in your gut still burns with need. 
You let it simmer. Jinyoung’s arm around you as the rest of the day was spent curling on his couch watching the good old halloween classics. There’s a comfortable silence between you two as you watch, settled in comfort. During the fifth movie you knew he was starting to grow restless as he starts tracing small circles along your shoulder. You try to be engrossed in the movie, pretending to ignore the way he keeps glancing over at you. Gradually breaking eye contact from the screen. A smile tugs at your lips and he catches the subtle way you nip your bottom lip. The simmer that you had earlier igniting into a needing flame. 
“Pretty sure the movie is more interesting than my face,” you tease, keeping your eyes focused on the scene in front of you.
“I beg to differ,” Jinyoung murmurs. “I like what I’m seeing more, less scary.” 
This time you look away from the screen and at him. Jinyoung’s smiling down at you, his grin mischievous, playful. His fingers continue to trace tiny circles along your arm, enticing goosebumps along the surface of your skin. 
“I think I want my shirt back,” Jinyoung murmurs, his hand already moving to the hem of his t-shirt you’re wearing. 
The sounds of screaming from the tv are ignored as you lean up to kiss Jinyoung. Feeling the warmth of his lips move in reciprocation against yours. The warmth in your belly ignites in a flame, moving to your core. Soon you’re moving onto his lap, straddling him. Grinding against him. His hands eagerly moving under your shirt to cup your breasts. His hands massaging and thumbs enticing in circular motions against your aroused buds. Your breaths are heavy, your kisses heated. When he pulls his shirt you’re wearing over your body you moan as his mouth immediately sinks to your breast. You moan, sinking your own lips to his shoulder as you nip. Your hips grinding against his clothed lap even more to soothe the ache between your legs. Feeling him hard under you. You’re hungry with need. Peppering his jaw with kisses, hands fisting in his hair as his mouth devours. His thumbs hook in the sweatpants you’re wearing. Bringing the cotton material down a little.
“Wait a minute,” Jinyoung looks up at you as he discovers something. 
“What?” you say breath heavy. 
He brings the material lower over your hips, “No underwear?” 
You shrug, “I obviously didn’t come prepared to spend the night and shower here,” You laugh at the pained groan that comes from Jinyoung’s mouth as he hoists you up to change positions as your back is now lain against the cushions of the couch. 
“If I had known earlier we wouldn’t have gone through five movies,” Jinyoung murmurs. 
“Nothing stopping you now,” You raise your hips to assist Jinyoung with pulling off your sweats. 
“No, no there isn’t,” Jinyoung looks up from his lash line as he trails kisses down your navel. He sinks down to your core. There was a flash of heat the minute his tongue comes in contact with your clit. Yet it didn’t diminish, it only continued to burn into a pinnacle of euphoric pleasure. Even as your hands fisted in his hair he only spread your legs further apart on the small width of his couch. You felt exposed, so open to him in the middle of his living room yet the way his mouth worked your core had you seeking more. Bringing yourself to grind against his mouth as his tongue circles and dives. Un-relinquishing ministrations of his mouth against your hot and sensitive center. You clenched around nothing, yet you felt everything. 
“Jinyoung,” you quiver. You’re at the edge, so close. You just needed the final push. 
As if hearing your inner thoughts Jinyoung slides two fingers and your heat relinquishes as you come around them instantly. Clenching and coming as his fingers curl up into you. The orgasm everything you had been wanting since you first felt his lips against yours. 
Yet it wasn’t over. Not as Jinyoung kneels up and brings his own sweatpants down then he drives into you. Building you up again. You adjust yourself on the couch, giving him more room to move as he begins his strokes. You gasp as he bottoms out in you, your hands gripping his shoulder to brace yourself. You begin to move as you accommodate to his size. Moving in sync with him as the sounds of both your moans drown out the tv. 
“Wait wait wait,” You say between breaths.
“What?” Jinyoung exhales, “Am I hurting you?” he eases off.
“No,” You prop yourself up on your elbows. “I just want to…” You kiss him softly as your hands press against your chest coaxing him to lay down. You straddle him again, this time taking him in you. Slowly you sink down on his length. Jinyoung’s eyes close, hands finding purchase on your hips. Then you begin to move, bowing up then down on him. You begin to ride him. Slowly at first, testing the new position. Adjusting to him from a new angle as you roll your hips. Hands resting against his chest for support. You arch back, and Jinyoung’s hands caress up your body. Hands back to your breasts. Your movements quickening against him as you begin to increase your pace, moving and bouncing on his shaft as you drive both of you to climax. 
“Fuck,” you gasp, falling forward barely able to keep moving as the pleasure becomes to much to bare. Jinyoung starts thrusting in return, raising his hips at the new angle deep into you. With erratic thrusts both of you cum. You sink back down against him, riding out the last of both your highs before collapsing naked on top of him, body limp and completely satiated. Still within you Jinyoung holds you close, catching his own breath. 
“I hope you’re comfortable because I don’t think I have the energy to move,” you murmur. 
Jinyoung chuckles, his fingers trailing up and down your damp back.  “We can stay like this forever I don’t mind,” 
You smile against him, then let out a low groan as you roll off him with reluctance. Jinyoung adjusts and makes room on the couch as he holds you against him. “Thought you wanted to stay like that,” he frowns.
“We’ll need sustenance eventually,” you curl against him. 
The loud scream on the tv startles the both of you, Jinyoung’s arms wrapping around you tighter in reflex. Both of you glance at the tv as the killer approaches one of the main characters. You laugh, snuggling against Jinyoung once again as both your attentions focus on the scene before you. However, five minutes later your attentions are both directed elsewhere again.  
421 notes · View notes
sugarjaee · 5 years
Text
bad habits
paring ⇹ bts - jeon jungkook x reader
genre ⇹ angst | smut | fuckboy!au
warnings ⇹ explicit sex (fingering, dirty talk, semi-public sex, etc..)
inspiration ⇹ bad habits - delaney jane  
word count ⇹ 5.5k
summary ⇹ “Tell me something,” he spoke. “Do you want this - us? You said you didn’t know what to call us but I want to give you a name.”
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You knew about Jungkook. All too well. He had quite the reputation for sleeping around. Never letting himself become tied down. Everyone knew, yet girls still tripped over themselves to have the chance to fuck him. You never understood why, until you got a taste of him.
For months, you could never shake the feeling of curiosity around him. You wanted to know what about him made everyone so attracted to him. He was attractive, for sure. He seemed nice too. Though you never made much conversation with him.
You stood in the sand, dancing with Addison to the music playing, her hands were on your hips, moving you along to the beat. Her face was close to yours, softly singing the song, the scent of alcohol on her breath.
The entire time, you felt Jungkook’s heavy gaze on you. Nearly burning through you. You quickly glanced at him, seeing the girl he brought along, you didn’t know her name nor did you care to find out, kissing his neck. Though he didn’t seem to be fazed by her, his eyes were locked on you. A small smile crept onto his lips when your eyes met his. His tongue stuck out between his lips, hit bit down on it slightly.
You hated seeing him with other girls. You knew he wasn’t yours but you couldn’t help but hope he was. Though, he often let you down, in moments like these. A girl with her hand on his thigh, trying to send him signals of wanting more. Her lips trailing on his ear, whispering sweet nothings.
You quickly turned away, unable to take more. You tried to forget it, grabbing onto Addison and swaying your hips to the beat. You hummed along to the tune, closing your eyes. The smell of the sea intoxicating you. The night was colder than you would have expected. Waves crashed into the shore, the violent hum of the water echoing in your ears.
The moon shined onto the water, painting its reflection into the darkness. It seems almost magical. You were the only ones at the beach, you had the entire place to yourselves.
Taehyung had lit a fire; it being the only thing keeping you warm. You had regretted wearing jeans and a tank top. Being mid-fall it was long past the time of having no sleeves. You wished you’d brought a sweater, but it was too late now. You just had to accept freezing.
The midnight beach parties had become a routine among your group of friends. It was time to get hang out and get shitfaced as you danced in the moonlight. It started out as just Addison, Taehyung, Jimin and you. But after a few months, Jungkook came into the picture, cementing himself as a member of the group.
You had never been a fan. You knew of him – of his reputation long before you ever even met him. Only half the campus wanted to get into his pants. And Jungkook obliged, probably fucking most of them. As long as they had a pussy, he’d be down, for the most part.
He was friends with Taehyung before anyone else, slowly easing his way into the group. Him, Taehyung and Jimin soon becoming inseparable. As much as you didn’t want him around, you grew to accept it the more you were acquainted with him.
He usually wasn’t too bad, only going as far to make an off-handed joke about hooking up with you or Addison. You’d always laugh it off, never taking his advances too seriously. Besides, you’d never sleep with Jungkook.
Until that one night, two months ago when everything changed. Jungkook had been on you the entire night, his jokes fading away into propositions. His hands were all over you, trying to pull you away from the crowd and into his world. You tried to resist, trying to laugh it off as if it meant nothing. But you could feel your core burning whenever he touched you, your heart racing as he whispered in your ear. Telling you what he could give you.
As the night came to a close, he offered to drive you home. You said yes and it all went down from there. After ten minutes, his hands were all over your bare skin, his lips trailing all over you. You knew it was a horrible idea but you couldn’t stop. You loved the way he made you feel.
After that night, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. He clouded your mind. You wanted to forget it ever happened. You didn’t want to be just one of his hookups. You told yourself you would never do it again, that it was a one time thing and you would pretend it never happened.
If only it was so easy.
You kept going back to him. Your feeling growing stronger each time as you tried to bury them away. It was so hard. Especially when he kept calling you back. Jungkook was the type of one and done, if he found you suitable enough he’d maybe call you back for another round. But, with you, he didn’t stop. And neither could you.
For the weeks, after, you watched as he paraded his girls around you. Bringing them along to the beach to dry fuck in front of you. You couldn’t understand why he did it. All you knew is that it made you furious. You hated seeing him with anyone… anyone that wasn’t you.
It wasn’t like they last very long anyway.
You swore you felt nothing for Jungkook – you wanted to at least. It wasn’t like he’d ever feel anything for you. Yet, you still went back to him. You would follow him to his car, letting yourself fall for him all over again. You let yourself pine after a boy, who would never think of you as anything other than sex. He was your bad habit.
You scowled at the thought of him fucking the girl, he had with him. She had long black hair and big eyes. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen her around. Jungkook had brought her along a few times. Not once, did you ever try to make conversation with her. You knew the moment Jungkook got bored he’d toss her aside and move on. There was no need to get attached, you know he didn’t.
You wished you could say the same thing to yourself.
Addison noticed you lost in your thoughts, her hand brushing your cheek. “Whatcha thinkin’ bout, Babe?”
You looked into her ocean blue eyes, flashing her a quick smile. “Oh, nothing.”
She slapped your arm. “Don’t pull that with me. I know when there’s something on your mind.”
“Shit, okay. No need to hit me so hard.” You rubbed where she slapped you. You, unconsciously, glanced at Jungkook, who was now making out with the girl he brought along. Your heart sunk.
Your mind flashed to his hands on her, the same way he touched you. His lips against her skin as he whispered to her. The way his voice would drop an octave, the seriousness held within it.
Addison being observant as ever, caught you staring, her mouth dropping open. “No! You haven’t been – you didn’t-“
You cut her off before she could say any more. “Fuck no.”
He released the breath she was holding. “Oh, good. I would have to kill you if you did. You deserve so much better than that prick.”
“Yeah, there will no murder today,” You quickly stated, hoping she would sense your lie.
Addison looked off to Jungkook, making a disgusted face at him and his prospect. “Get a room,” she huffed under her breath, looking back to you. “Why must he bring his hookups around with us?”
You sighed, wondering that yourself. “I have no clue.”
She stuck her tongue out at Jungkook, not caring if he saw or not. “I don’t know why anyone would ever stoop so low as to fuck Jeon Jungkook.”
You felt your stomach knot up. “Yeah… me neither.”
“Like, God,” she went on, “everyone knows he sleeps around. It’s so stupid to ever bother with him. Eh, I guess they’re all idiots anyway.”
You bit down on your lip, finding yourself hurt by her words. You were one of those idiots. One of the girls who thought Jungkook could ever see them as more than a quick fuck. You opened your mouth to respond when you were cut off by Addison.
“Speak of the devil,” she said, her eyes narrowing as she looked at something behind you. “What do you want, Jeon?”
You quickly turned around to see none other than Jungkook standing over you. Blood rushed to your head, your heart speeding up as you stared at him. His dark eyes were on yours, his hands sliding onto your waist. “Sorry, Ad, but I need to borrow her.”
Addison scowled at him, mumbling something to herself. “It wasn’t like we were in the middle of something.”
“You’ll live,” Jungkook said, his voice deeper than usual.
“Yeah, sure,” she began to walk over to Taehyung and Jimin, “but don’t get any ideas. Or I’ll beat your ass.” She sat down beside the other boys, her eyes on you.
“Yep, got it,” he responded. His hands were now holding onto you. He smiled when he saw your wide eyes staring at him. He let out a small laugh before leaning into you. “If only she knew,” he whispered, with a laugh.
You could feel yourself becoming hot as he hands trailed over you. You were so lost; you didn’t know what to do. You knew Addison and the other boys were watching you. You tried to not think about it. “What do you want? Isn’t one whore enough?”
He laughed, pulling you closer to him. Covering it up by pretending to dance with you. “Is that what you are? My whore?”
“I’m not your anything.”
“I see. Too bad.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Not like you care,” you scoffed.
He stuck his bottom lip out into a pout, in an attempt to act cute, bending down to your height. “Awe, but I do.”
“Yeah, not when you have another waiting. Look her legs are already spread for you, now’s your chance.” You laughed at the thought, looking over to the girl. Her eyes were on you, not seeming too please about seeing Jungkook with you. You felt a little better knowing that Jungkook was now with you and she was the jealous one.
She had her finger in her mouth, running it along her lip. Her legs were crossed, her tiny skirt riding up her thigh, to show off her thong. What a pathetic attempt to get his attention, you thought.
Jungkook’s finger touched your chin, bring your gaze back to him. His eyes were dark, burning into yours as his hands dug into you. You felt a rush over fear move through your body, not knowing what he was about to do. “Fuck her. I want you.”
“What-“ You stood there shocked, your hands shaking as you looked at him.
“Let’s go, right now. Just you and me.” His voice was a low whisper, just loud enough for only you to hear.
“Jungkook, no. I’d rather not have anyone know about… about whatever is going on between us. Hell, I don’t even know what to call it.”
“Neither do I. What’s your point?”
Your heart was beating so fast, you felt like you faint at any moment. You looked down, seeing footprints in the sand. “I don’t want to do this anymore…”
“What? Why not?”
“Hmmm, I wonder.” You pointed your head to the girl. You could feel yourself becoming angry. “I’m nothing to you past a hookup and you know it.”
“That’s not true…” he stuttered. You’d never seen him do that before. His grip on you tightened, his eyes becoming heavy.
“It is.”
“No, it’s not.” You sensed the anger in his tone as he snapped at you. “Now, fucking let me speak.”
“I’m leaving.” You turned around, walking off. You wouldn’t take that from him – you wouldn’t let him toy with your heart like that just in the hopes of getting in your pants. You stomped through the sand, getting as far away from his as possible.
You were under the pier, protected from the moonlight, hidden in the darkness. You felt like crying. You weren’t even sure why you just did.
You regretted the moment you met Jungkook. You wished that you never knew him, never let him touch you. You regretted ever saying yes to him, letting him into your mind, clouding your thoughts. He was no good for you, yet you couldn’t stop yourself when it came to him.
You wanted to do that now.
No more Jungkook.
Your mind was a haze, locked onto the damp sand as you walked to your car. You tuned out all the sounds, anything that could distract you. There was only silence.
You fumbled for your keys, unlocked your car. You grabbed onto the door handle when you felt a pair of hands on your hips, spinning you around. You cursed under your breath, you back being slammed against the car. “What the fuck…” You silenced yourself at the sight of Jungkook standing over you.
He rested his right hand on the car door, holding it shut, his other hand on your waist. “Where are you going?”
You stared at him with wide eyes. Becoming frustrated by his constant attempts to get with you. “Away from you.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am,” you pushed him away from you, “just stop, okay. It’s over. I want nothing to do with you anymore. Don’t you get it?”
Jungkook stood back, completely silent as you yelled at him. You felt tears swell in your eyes. You hadn’t realized how much you felt for Jungkook. You spent so long burring it all away that you never got to see the hold he had on you.
“You don’t. This has gone on way too long and it’s tearing me apart. I like you, Jungkook. I really do but I know I mean nothing to you. When you’re done with me, you’d just throw me away like all the others. So, there’s no fucking point, is there?”
You felt so defeated, pouring your heart out to him as he just stood and stared. You wanted him to see how much he hurt you. How much you hated it, watching him with other girls, knowing he had your heart in his hands. As he slowly crushed it into dust the further he let this long. His eyes were clear; his hair blew in the slight wind. He pushed his lips into a line, taking a few steps toward you.
He brushed his fingertips on your waist, making sure you were okay with it. Feeling so lost in your emotions, you let him. Wanting to feel his touch again, even if it meant nothing. Like you said, there was no point. He rested his hands on you, pulling you into him.
Then his lips touched yours. His soft lips leaning in to kiss you. You wanted to push him away – to stop it but you couldn’t, wanting to be with him so badly. He pushed into you, his lips crashing into yours. You closed your eyes, becoming lost in the kiss.
He slid his hands further up your back and up to your shoulder. Your head was pounding, it was all too much, yet you wanted more. Your hands were on him, wrapped around his back. He kissed you so hard that you could feel your lips swelling up. It didn’t matter.
He slowly pulled away as if he didn’t want it to end either. He looked into your eyes, they seemed so gentle, so different than before. “There is a point.”
You were breathless, letting him hold you him his arms, his eyes exploring you like they never had before. They were soft, they were looking for something, not sex, something else. You felt venerable in his arms, weak to him. You would let him do anything he so pleased.
Jungkook tangled his fingers in your hair, never letting his gaze stray away from you. “I don’t want any of those other girls, I want you. I have since the first time we- well you know. For two months, I haven’t been able to get you out of my head. I tried but I could never bring myself to fuck anyone else. I only wanted you.” He pointed his head back to the beach. “She was only a distraction, a bad one, at that. I don’t want her. She means nothing to me, you do.”
Your head was spinning. You couldn’t breathe, trying to take in his words. Were you dreaming? Jungkook would never let himself fall for someone, that wasn’t who he was. Yet, here he was, confessing to you. Maybe, you were dreaming.
“Tell me something,” he spoke. “Do you want this - us? You said you didn’t know what to call us but I want to give you a name.”
You couldn’t speak, your mouth was parted, trying to find any sort of lie or joke in his voice. His eyes waiting for your answer, looking at you softly. “Please, Jungkook. Stop lying.”
You turned your body, to get out of his hold but he wouldn’t let you, holding you tightly. “I’m not lying. I mean it. I mean every word.”
You wanted to believe him, give into him. “I-I can’t, Jungkook…”
“I’ll give you a name, right here. I’ll give you something to call us.”
Your vision was a blur. All you could see was his face. The quiet hum of the distant ocean ringing through your ears. “Please...” You begged, feeling like you were going to faint. It all seemed so unreal.
“I want to be with you. No one else, just you. I want you to tie me down.”
Everything moved so quickly, his lips were back on yours, his hands sliding under your shirt. Burning your skin as they ran along your stomach. You kissed him back – kissed him hard, wanting every piece of him. You trailed your hands along his back and up to his shoulders.
He got your message, his hands on your thighs as he lifted you from the ground. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your hands in his hair. You wanted him and he wanted you. His hands squeezed down on your thighs as he pushed you against the car.
His lips were all over you, collecting every piece they could. From your lips to your collarbone, he left you begging for more. Everything had faded away, there was only you and him left. In your own world, together, lost in each other’s touch.
Jungkook snuck his hand back under your shirt, this time, with the intention of getting it off. You let him pull it over your head, feeling empty for the second his lips weren’t on you. Becoming whole again as his lips crashed in yours. It felt so right, having him like that.
The cold air hit your skin and you shivered under the wind. You didn’t think of it, totally consumed by Jungkook.
You dig at his shoulder blades, aching to get his shirt off. He smiled against your lips, knowing what you were trying to do. “Not yet,” his whispered, “I want to take my time with you.” Before you could say anything, his tongue snuck into your mouth, playing with your own.
You moaned against him, feeling his growing erection on you. Your breath hitched at the feeling, as you squeezed down on his shoulders even more. Jungkook pulled away, knowing it was getting heavy. “We should move this somewhere else. You never know who could see us.”
“You’re right,” your voice was shaky. Your core was burning and you had soaked through your jeans. Jungkook set you down, letting your feet fall back into the ground. He looked around, biting down on his bottom lip. You could tell he was looking for somewhere close and not wanting to do anything in public, you slapped his arm. “I’m not fucking you in a bush, if that’s what you were thinking.”
“Hey now, I have more class than that.”
You raised your brow, not believing that for a second. “The infamous Jeon Jungkook has class? Who would have thunk.”
“Alright, alright you got me.” He flashed you a smile, looking behind you. “How ‘bout the car?”
“You really wanna fuck, don’t you?” You giggled at his eagerness.
He glanced down at his erection before looking back to you. “Well, this isn’t going to go away by itself.”
“Ha! Sucks for y-“ you were cut off by Jungkook pushing you into the back seat of the car. You gasped as you hit the seat with a thud. Jungkook didn’t waste a second climbing on top of you. He smiled knowing he had you in his grasp, you were all his now.
His lips were on your chest, trailing down to your breasts. His hand fiddled with the clasp of your bra, trying to get it undone. You pulled at his hair, your heavy breaths echoing through the car. He got your bra undone, pulling it away from you to expose your bare breasts. His hands grabbed onto them, squeezing them gently, listening to you moan at the feeling.
His hands were hot against you, making you forget how cold you were. His kissed your skin, smiling against you at the sound of your soft whines. You wanted him so badly, your core was burning. You reached down, playing with the button of his jeans. He loved knowing how desperate you were to get to him.
He pushed your hands away, letting out a small laugh. “Not quite yet, Baby. I’m not done with you.”
“Oh,” you sighed, not knowing what he would do next.
He leaned into your neck, biting at the skin before sucking on it gently. You closed your eyes, breathing deeply as your nails dug into his shoulders, trying to keep yourself together. It wasn’t much use as you became a hot mess from his touch. You knew his kisses would leave marks, come morning but it didn’t matter.
As he continued to suck on your neck, his hand toyed with your jeans, undoing the button before unzipping them. His fingers snuck under the band of your underwear, sliding down to your wetness. You bit down on your bottom lip, preparing yourself for what was to come.
He circled his thumb around your clit, building you up before plunging two fingers inside you. “Jungkook…” you breathed, becoming helpless to his touch, falling apart in his arms. He started slow, sliding his fingers in and out before speeding up his pace. He fingered you hard and relentlessly, loving every second of you becoming a mess. He watched you carefully, taking in every movement you made as you laid before him.
“Fuck,” he cursed, his voice deep, his fingers moving quickly. “You’re so wet for me, already. Damn, Baby.” You could feel yourself reaching your climax. You were sweating, your hair sticking to your forehead. It was so hot in the car; the windows had fogged up from the heat between you.
You shut your eyes tight, knowing you were about to come. The tension in your gut was too much to bare and you couldn’t breathe. You felt tears swell in your eyes because how much you needed a release. Jungkook’s fingers had stretched you out, preparing you for what came next.
You let out a bunch of incomprehensible sounds as you let go all over Jungkook’s fingers. You hot juices coating his fingers. He rode out your high before pulling his fingers from you. You whined as the cold air hit your pussy, feeling the emptiness felt by the absence of his fingers.
“Jungkook, please…” you whined as you pulled at the fabric of his shirt. “Please fuck me. I want your cock.”
Jungkook smiled as he lifted his shirt over his head. Showing off his toned figure. You grinned, biting down on your lip as he began to take off his pants. The pale moonlight framed his body, allowing you to see all the edges. “Anything for you, Princess.”
His erection was obvious through his jeans and he winced as he pulled them off. It pulled at the fabric of his underwear, creating a tent of sorts. You couldn’t resist, reaching out and pulling at the band, watching his dick spring up, hitting his stomach. You said nothing, unable to find anything to even say.
You wrapped your hand around his length, slowing moving it up and down. Jungkook released a low moan, his hands attaching to your breasts as you got him off. He was breathing quickly as you sped up your motions, squeezing down harder on your breasts to ease his need.
“Your hands feel so good on my cock, fuck.” He let go of you, placing his hand over yours, helping you go along. “Faster, Baby.” You obliged, letting him take the lead as he sped up your pace.
Soon enough, he was coming all over your hands, the warm cum on your fingers. You let go of his cock and making sure he was watching, you brought your fingers to your lips, licking the cum from them.
Jungkook couldn’t take his eyes from you, exhaling at the sight of your fingers in your mouth, trailing along your lips. “Holy shit, you’re so hot when you do that.”
You pulled your fingers from your mouth with a pop, smiling a little, knowing he liked it. You pushed your lips together, knowing what was about to happen. The tension between you was unbearable, you both stared at each other for a moment, preparing for it.
As his tip brushed against you slit, you still weren’t sure you were ready for it. Sure, you had done it many times before, but everything was so different now. It wasn’t just sex anymore. Jungkook felt something for you, and you, him. He wanted to make you feel good, it wasn’t just about getting off. It was something more.
With a moan, his cock entered you, stretching you out even more. You were still so sensitive from your first orgasm, whining at the aching feeling between your legs. You buried your face into Jungkook’s neck, shutting your eyes tightly to forget the pain.
Jungkook made sure to start off slow, not wanting to hurt you. “Is that okay?” He asked, his voice soft, despite what he was doing.
You nodded against him, tears in your eyes. “It’s alright, I can handle it.”
“Are you sure, Baby? I can stop if it hurts too much.”
“No-no, don’t stop.”
“Okay.” He kept at the slow pace, easing into you. You held onto his broad shoulders for support, your hands shaking. “Should I speed up? Will you be okay?”
You nodded your head, ‘yes’, feeling the tension in your core start to build up again. You could feel yourself coming close to another climax. You clawed at his back as he picked up speed. There was so much friction between you, the sound of his hips slapping against yours echoing through the car.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him into you, to get him to go faster. “Harder, Jungkook.”
“Harder? Shit, okay.” Soon, he was pounding into you, fucking you so hard, you knew you’d feel it tomorrow. But for right now, nothing mattered, besides him and how he made you feel. “God, Baby, your pussy is so tight around my cock,” he breathed, his hands sliding down to your ass.
He lifted you from the seat, grabbing onto your ass. You helped him out by arching your back, raising yourself up. He pocked his tongue out from between his lips as he fucked you harder, not slowing down until both of you had it your peaks.
You could feel your impending climax coming near, your pussy aching for a release. Jungkook was close to, going even faster in order to get himself off, his face buried in the crook of your neck. His hands held onto your ass so tightly, you knew that there would be red marks there in the morning. Your breathing was erratic and uneven as you came close to your high.
You came over his cock, releasing a moan of his name as you let yourself go. Unable to wait any longer, Jungkook pulled his cock from you just before coming all over your stomach. His cum was hot against your skin, sticking to you. Jungkook’s eyes widened, releasing what he’d done. “Oh god, I’m so sorry.” He ran his hand through his damp hair, pulling it away from his forehead.
You laughed, sitting up, letting out a small cry from out weak your legs were, the aching in your pussy overtaking you. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”
He searched around for something, his eyes looking over the car. His lips were pushed into a line. “No, I can’t leave you like that,” he said, his voice so gentle. You never thought you’d see the day that the infamous Jeon Jungkook would be soft. The man, known for his reputation of being the biggest fuckboy around actually caring about someone other than himself. It was sweet, if you were being completely honest.
You liked this side you Jungkook. You smiled watching him frantically search for something to clean you. “Jungkook, it’s fine. I’ll figure something out.”
He reached down to the floor, picking up his t-shirt. “Here.” He reached out, about to wipe you clean.
You slapped his hand away. “Don’t use your shirt, you need to wear that.”
He didn’t listen, beginning to wipe his cum off your stomach. “Too late. I never liked this shirt anyway.”
You laughed letting him continue. “If you say so.”
When he finished, cleaning you up, he tossed the shirt back to the floor. He sat on the other side of the car, his back resting against the door, a grin on his lips as he stared at you. You felt helpless to his gaze, feeling self-conscious.
“Stop looking at me like that,” you snapped, covering yourself up with your arms.
He leaned forward, pulling your arms away, to expose your breasts again. “Don’t hide, I want to look at you.”
“Haven’t you already seen enough?”
“Maybe… but I just like looking.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, it is.” He patted down on the space in front of him. “Here, come sit with me.”
“What if I don’t want to?” You crossed your arms, your lips stuck out in a pout.
He let out a quick laugh. “You’re a brat, you know that, right?”
“I do.”
“You’re my brat, though.” He moved closer to you, his face only an inch away from yours.
You stared into his brown eyes. “I’m not your anything,” you repeated the line, you said to him before. Gaining a laugh from him.
“You are, now.”
“Oh, and what is that, exactly?”
“My girlfriend.” Your mouth dropped open, shock evident in your expression. “Don’t act so surprised. I told you, I’d give you a name for what we were. And there you have it.”
You grinned, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer to you. “I like the sound of that.”
“Do you, now?”
“Yes, I do.” You nodded before pulling him into a kiss. The innocent kiss, quickly turned into something much more as Jungkook tried to sneak his tongue into your mouth, his hands back on your ass, lifting you onto his lap. Your hands played with his sweaty hair, your lips pushing into his.
It escalated quickly but was all halted at the sound of a loud banging that rung through the car. Jungkook lifted his head, his eyes widening at something behind you. You followed his line of sight, looking behind you.
Standing on the other side of the window was Addison, Jimin and Taehyung. All their jaws dropped open, so in shock to even process what they were seeing. Jungkook quickly flipped you over, hiding you from their vision. You hid behind him, watching as Addison began to speak. “I swear to fucking god, I better not be seeing what I think I’m seeing, right now. Jungkook? Seriously? Oh my god.” She placed his fingers on her temples, trying to process the situation.
Jimin turned away, he looked as though all innocence had been stripped from him after seeing the sins you and Jungkook had committed. Taehyung, on the other hand, laughed, shooting Jungkook a thumbs up before walking off to Addison.
You must have looked like a tomato; your cheeks beat red with embarrassment from the whole thing. Jungkook looked at you, a wide grin on his face. How could he find this funny? You were just found out to your friends in the worst way possible. “I guess we have a lot of explaining to do.”
“You don’t fucking say.”
a/n: forgive me father for i have sinned
@ellrouxx and @def-initely-soul love you lads
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