palpitation

[jisunggy]

Okay so the trope would be enemies to lovers

Fantasy trope

I feel like seungmin fits Anthony so well the dark , brooding and sarcasm.this so seungmin coded

So the reader and seungmin despise each other since childhood even the parents who are best friends and seungmin brothers aka skz in the stay kingdom ship them together they deny each other that they hate each other with sarcasm but when the royal ball occurs in the stay kingdom all brothers are invited to the ball and the reader wears a tight princess dress that suffocates her but doesn't ask help since she is rigid and stubborn.when the waltz happens she tries for help but she sees a voice seungmin and she hates him but then seungmin being the rigid he is helps her with the gown could you make the story fluff with a hint of suggestive a little bit

Royal!Seungmin coming in hot! Thanks for this request, darling, I had a lot of fun writing this one. I hope it meets your expectations 😘

warnings: Seungmin rips open your corset, 2.7K (a lil longer than my other drabbles)

Stupid dress. Stupid shoes. Stupid ball.

You stare at yourself in the gilded mirror, tugging at the bodice of your gown when no one is looking. The seamstress swore it was flattering. What she failed to mention was that it felt like being suffocated by expensive fabric. The shoes don’t help either. Pointed toes and pinching heels. They gleam like jewels but feel like shackles.

Every part of tonight is designed to make you look like a princess. But none of it makes you feel like one.

“___!” Your mother calls from the front of the ballroom. Her voice is light and airy, but you recognize that look, the one that says you're in for it if you don't start mingling like royalty.

You know exactly who she wants you to mingle with. They’re neighboring princes, and your castle has been their second home since your childhood. You don’t remember a time those eight rambunctious delinquents weren’t underfoot. Every party, every holiday, every celebration, there they were, filling the halls with laughter and noise.

Your mother gestures to the group of boys, grace in her fingertips but a threat in her fist. “Dance with them, darling.”

In this dress? There’s no way. You can barely breathe, let alone walk in this thing. A waltz is simply out of the question.

Unfortunately, it’s impossible to pretend you didn’t see or hear her now. Or to pretend you don’t notice Prince Seungmin getting the same look from his father before he makes his way toward you.

Of all the brothers, it has to be him. The one who has made a sport out of dismantling your sanity since childhood. He’s clever, quick with his tongue, and entirely too smug about it. If one of his brothers was born to charm, another to lead, another to inspire, Seungmin was born to irritate you. And he’s been perfecting the art since birth.

So of course, he would be the one striding across the ballroom, duty in his step and mischief in his eyes.

Seungmin stands in front of you at the edge of the ballroom floor, bowing with polished grace, every inch the perfect son. But when he straightens, his mouth is already curving into that insufferable smirk. His hand extends.

“No, thank you.”

He scoffs. “You can't refuse a dance, Your Highness.”

“Watch me.”

“Oh, I won't. But your parents will.”

You hate him even more when he’s right. You place your hand into his and allow him to lead you to the dance floor, the corset of your dress restricting your every step even as he guides you around.

The orchestra swells, and suddenly you’re in his arms, pulled into him tightly, chest to chest. Your feet glide across the floor, but it takes everything in you not to whimper at the sharp pinch of your shoes.

“You look positively murderous,” Seungmin says, his voice pitched low for you alone to hear. “And I thought silk was supposed to flatter.”

His laugh is short, sharp, and deeply self-satisfied. “Ah, I see it now. A look of pure loathing. How charming.”

You plaster on a dazzling smile for the crowd, even as your lungs struggle to fill with oxygen. “Perhaps you’re mistaking my discomfort for the expression I reserve exclusively for you, Your Highness."

“You think everything about yourself is charming.”

“Well, when one is charming, it’s rather difficult not to.”

“You’re not charming. You're impossible.”

“You say that as if it’s news.” His lips twitch as he guides you effortlessly through a turn, the picture of gallant composure.

The tempo quickens, forcing your steps to match. Your spine stays rigid, as the space between you dissolves with every turn, your chest brushing his, your fingers tightening against the line of his shoulder. His grip around your waist doesn’t falter, pulling you closer with each beat until the inches between you feel like they no longer exist.

“I’m certain if I keep dancing with you, I’ll die of irritation before the night is over.”

He tilts his head as if giving it real thought. “Then allow me to offer you this mercy: I’ll keep you alive just long enough for the scandal of our supposed romance to ruin you completely.”

Your foot nearly stumbles, but he wraps his arm around your lower back and keeps you steady.

“Our what?”

“Our romance,” he repeats blandly, as though discussing the weather. “Surely you’ve noticed the way our families exchange glances every time we so much as blink at each other? I suspect wedding invitations are already being drafted.”

“You are deranged.”

“And yet,” he says smoothly, dipping you low to the ground, “you’re here in my arms.”

“That is only because my mother would faint if I made a scene.”

“Mm.” His eyes glint and he leans closer, his voice a silken whisper brushing your ear. “So you’re entertaining me. How noble. Tell me, Princess, would you rather I be cruel or dull?”

You nearly laugh, but you fail to take a breath deep enough, a roll of your eyes as he picks you back up. “I’d rather you be silent.”

He huffs, low and unhurried, the sound vibrating against your chest. “Ah, but silence would mean I’d stop tormenting you, and then what would you do? Surely you’d miss me.”

“I would sooner miss this suffocating dress.”

“I’d miss you too, Princess.”

Oh, you hate him. You hate the way your pulse quickens when around him, even as it fights the lack of air in your lungs. The way the heat of his hand at your back lingers too hot for too long. The way he glances at your lips when he thinks you're not paying attention.

The dance spins tighter, faster, closer. His face is inches from yours, his smirk fading into something else but you're not exactly sure what or why. It's hard to focus now. The world blurs once or twice, and you lose your balance a few more times before the song finally ends.

The room applauds, but all you hear is your own heartbeat in your ears.

“Princess?” Seungmin asks, leaning down to see your casted eyes. “What's wrong?”

You step back, your corset squeezing tighter, the room closing in, the heat suffocating.

“I’m fine. Just need some air.”

One more glance at Seungmin’s unreadable eyes, and then you slip away into the shadows, through a side archway, and into the cool air of the gardens.

The night air should help, but it doesn’t. Your chest still burns, each breath shorter than the last. You stumble toward a stone bench, clawing at the bodice, desperate for relief. But nothing loosens.

Your fingers scrabble uselessly at the corset ties, slipping with sweat and weakness. The world narrows, sounds dulling, your knees folding beneath you. Sitting makes the suffocation worse. The boning digs cruelly into your ribs until it bruises.

“Princess?” His voice slices through the haze, frantic now. “___!”

Then he’s there, dropping before you with no regard for propriety, his eyes wide and sharp with fear. “What’s happening? Talk to me!”

“I…can’t…” the words fall apart on your tongue, “breathe…”

Your body pitches forward, landing on him before you can collapse fully, your cheek against his shoulder. He catches you instantly, his arm clamped around your waist, holding you tight.

“Oh, shit. Okay, okay, I’ve got you. Stay with me.”

His order breaks on a ragged breath as he tries to drag you upright, bearing your weight against him, his other hand frantically clawing at the stubborn laces. “Come on, come on!”

The knots refuse him. His fingers shake, desperation making him reckless. “Damn it! Sorry about this, Princess–”

The sound of tearing silk rips through the garden like blasphemy. The corset gives way, and air floods your lungs so violently it burns. You gasp, clutching at his shoulders.

Your knees fail again, but he doesn’t let you fall. His hand is at your back, pulling you flush against him, steady and immovable. Too close. Far too close. If anyone saw, he could only imagine the rumors.

But in that moment, Seungmin doesn’t seem to care. His heartbeat hammers against your ear, wild with panic, louder even than your own gasping breaths.

“Easy. You’re alright. I’ve got you.”

The night air finally begins to settle, although ragged and uneven in your diaphragm, and you continue to cling to him for fear of your knees giving way still.

Your fingers dig into the fine fabric of his shoulders, and his arms cinch tighter around your waist, steadying every trembling inch of you. You drop your forehead against his shoulder, the world still tilting but no longer suffocating. That's when you get a hint of it – his scent. Clean linen mixed with something bitter pressing into your senses until the fear ebbs and you can safely say you won't faint again.

“Just breathe,” he murmurs, voice roughened by relief. His hand slides against your back, not possessive but not releasing either, holding you as though letting go isn’t an option. The panic drains from your chest with every breath you steal against him.

When you finally dare to lift your head, he’s already watching. His eyes, usually so cutting and careless, are wide and disarmed. You’re close enough to see the tremor in his lashes, the faint flush painted across his cheeks.

It’s only then you notice why.

Your ruined corset hangs in tatters, the top of your dress fallen traitorously low to pool at your hips. Only a whisper of fabric remains between you and indecency. A thin, transparent slip that does little to shield you beneath the moonlight.

Heat flares through your face. You try to shy back, but his arms hold you in place. Not lewd, but still far too close. His gaze flicks downward for half a heartbeat, then jerks away with visible effort, his jaw locking.

Without a word, he shrugs off his jacket, the sudden loss of his warmth replaced by the heavy weight of wool as he wraps it around your shoulders. The gesture is quick and protective, as though he’s shielding you not only from the night air but from the scandal of his own eyes.

“I didn't see anything,” he mutters, though the color of his ears betrays him.

Your gaze flickers down, shame prickling hot across your skin. “Thank you.” The words feel insufficient in the moment, but you're not sure what else to say.

You suppose it’s his downcasted eyes that spot it first, but you've been keenly aware of it all night.

Blood stains the satin at your heels, seeping through the edge of your shoe as a cruel contrast against the pale hem of your gown. He notices the way you shift, trying to disguise the pain, and something in his expression cracks at the thought of you enduring that pain in silence all night.

“Sit.”

One word from him and your whole body reacts, immediately sinking onto the stone bench, all of a sudden under the spell of his voice.

Without a word, he kneels. His hands are careful as he unfastens each shoe and slips away the leather. Cool air rushes over your skin, and you sigh. Not from pain, but from the electric trail of his touch as it ghosts against your skin.

He doesn’t look away when the shoes fall abandoned in the grass, or when his hands linger, massaging the delicate bones of your ankles as though drawing his brand on you. The silence stretches, growing louder with something unspoken and dangerous.

He lifts his gaze to yours. “The night is cold. You shouldn’t stay out here undressed.”

“There’s a way to my quarters without going through the ballroom,” you explain, already shifting forward on the bench. But when you rise, he straightens up with you, stepping into your path.

“Are you seriously going to walk barefoot across the castle grounds?” His tone is clipped with the faintest hint of scolding beneath it.

“I would rather that than walk half-naked through a ballroom full of people.”

Something flickers in his eyes but you can't say it's amusement. It's something else he doesn’t name – perhaps frustration, although it doesn't appear like his usual frustration when you bicker or tease him back.

While you're trying to label his expression, his arms slide beneath you without warning. One behind your knees and the other bracing your back. In a single, fluid motion, you’re lifted from the ground and into his arms.

Instinct betrays you as your arms fly up, looping around his neck, clutching onto the solid hold of him as though letting go would send you plummeting to certain doom.

“You can’t just–” But your protest dies in your throat as you meet his gaze, dark and unrelenting, a faint flush creeping across his cheeks once more.

“I can,” he insists, his grip tightening, “and clearly, I must. Since you’ve proven yourself incapable of sense right now.”

“Sense would be putting me down,” you counter, though your voice isn’t as steady as you’d like.

“And yet your arms are still around my neck.”

“Only so I don’t fall.”

“I would never let you fall, Princess.”

He carries you across the garden in silence, each measured step heavy with what you don’t dare say. The night folds all around you, the only sound being his breaths as he carries you over the hill on the South side of the castle and the faint rustle of fabric every time he adjusts his hold.

At your chamber door, he shifts you carefully, arm still locked behind your back as his foot nudges the handle. The wood groans, then clicks shut with a firm press of his heel.

Only then does he set you down, slow and deliberate. If you didn't know any better, you would think he was reluctant to release you.

His hands linger at your waist a heartbeat too long, steadying you on your legs as they regain strength. The space between you is unbearably narrow, and you’re suddenly aware of how easy it would be for him to lean down…for you to rise up. For his lips to gently…

“Are you alright?” His voice is low, rough with concern but nothing like the sharp edge he usually speaks with.

You nod, though the motion feels unconvincing. “I am now.”

Half-lidded eyes search yours, lingering as if he doesn’t quite believe you. His grip doesn’t ease, his fingers pressing just lightly against your waist, testing if you’re steady enough to stand without him.

“You scared me,” he admits quickly, as though the words slip out before he can stop them.

Your breath hitches, denial caught on your tongue. You want to say you didn’t mean to, that you’re fine, that you don’t need him…but none of it makes it past your lips. Instead, you let the silence hold you there, his closeness unraveling every practiced protest and witty comeback.

It's barely noticeable, but you feel it strongly. The way his thumb shifts, the barest brush against a small sliver of bare skin at your side, and his eyes fall to your mouth before darting back up, looking guilty for whatever desire lies behind them.

“Seungmin…” you whisper breathless, not quite a warning, not quite permission.

He leans closer, the inches between you narrowing into nothing, his forehead dipping until it nearly touches yours. You can feel the heat of him building, the faint tremor of hesitation in his hold, the push of something reckless about to break.

His lips, the faintest tempting brush against yours.

And then – he stops. The space of a single breath stretching long enough to undo you.

“You should get changed,” he says finally, his voice quiet and reluctant. He eases back a fraction, hands falling stiff from your waist as though it takes everything in him to let go. “Our parents are probably wondering where we are.”

You nod, though the word catches in your throat. “Right.”

This strange disappointment tastes bitter, but you try to mask it.

Because why should you be disappointed? You've never wanted Seungmin’s kiss before. But all of a sudden, you crave his touch and his lips all over you. For reasons you're not sure why.

He turns toward the door, then pauses when you fumble with his jacket draped around your shoulders. “Your jacket…”

“Keep it,” he smirks, a hint of his usual teasing returning to his tone. “A little evidence to prove the court gossip isn't entirely wrong.”

And then he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving you clutching his jacket to your chest and biting back feelings you never expected.

::

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[taegimood]

— nudes?! (k.th) ♡

pairing: kang taehyun x fem!reader genre: best friends to ?, non-idol au, suggestive rating: nsfw, mdni wc: 1.4k warnings: mention/description of reader's nudes, mention of reader in lingerie, implication of sexy time at the end, tyun gets hard and is v clear abt what he wants, they’re both horny asf synopsis: what happens when your best friend who secretly has the hots for you accidentally sees your nudes?

requested forever ago by @mapofthemazeinthemirror <3 [blog status: semi-hiatus, requests closed]

| yeonjun ver. | soobin ver. | beomgyu ver. | kai ver. |

masterlist

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taehyun considers you one of the bros.

right up there along with his 4 other crazy best friends, you fit right in, no sideways feelings to worry about and endless wingman opportunities to gain — hell, he even forgets sometimes that you've got a pair of boobs under there somewhere.

and all of this, of course, is completely and absolutely:

not true.

it's exactly what you seem to think in that pretty little head of yours, though, as taehyun often observes; it's quite cute actually, he thinks.

"out of all the guys i could like, why does it have to be the one guy in my life who would draft me onto his football team if he had one?" he'd overheard you complaining to yeonjun one day.

(sorry, but trust me, sweetheart - you wouldn't even make it past tryouts, he'd thought afterwards upon fighting back a laugh and an endeared little grin.)

oh, if only you knew.

if only you knew the steady breaths he has to take whenever you stand so temptingly close to him; or how many filthy images he has to shake out of his mind when he's helping you with your workouts; or that annoying little shadow called jealousy that he has to push down when you smile so sweetly at a man that isn't him.

taehyun is a man of self control, and a man who would do anything for the people that he loves — which means that no matter how much he'd enjoy changing your mind about what exactly you assume he perceives you as, he knows for the sake of your friendship that he can't.

and so he doesn't.

but oh, you wish that he would.

taehyun is quite good at keeping his feelings in check, to the point where you're convinced at this point that if you were to strut naked across the room in front of him, he wouldn't even pay you any mind;

pft, you scoff at your own silly thought, as if something so ridiculous would ever happen. (…well....)

today you've decided that you're getting real tired of your own pining and yearning and eyes that shoot hearts like confetti every time your best friend walks into the room —

you pout at the sight of yourself reflected on the open camera screen of your phone as the self-timer counts down yet again. this has become quite the routine of yours.

body bare save for the lacy lingerie that doesn’t cover much of anything as you perch at the edge of your bed, posing so prettily, so sensually, just the way you imagine taehyun would like; just more photos to add to the naughty little album in your camera roll that you wish you could send to him but know that you never will.

there was a time where you used to try testing the waters a bit, some flirting here, a fleeting touch or two there. but you'd quickly learned how pointless it was. after all, a brick wall is never gonna flirt back.

you sigh. it's time to get going anyway; speak of the devil, he'll be here to pick you up in 20 minutes.

~

taehyun can see in his peripheral the way you keep glancing at him from the passenger seat of his car.

as usual, he maintains an even expression. "excited to see me or something?"

his lips quirk as you jump in your seat a little, quickly looking forwards and crossing your arms as you grumble, "you wish. i just saw you like two days ago."

he merely hums in acknowledgment, which gets you even more grumbly — ("no fair that i can never get a reaction out of you! why is it always me?!" you'd wailed in defeat one time after a failed attempt to get him back, your cheeks flushed pink and pretty).

taehyun smiles.

when he soon pulls up outside your friend's apartment building that you’d needed to drop something off at first on the way to yeonjun’s, he decides to be nice as he asks,

"where was that new cat café you wanted to go to? we can stop there before meeting the guys."

bingo. the smile that lights up your face is exactly what he was looking for as your previous pout melts away and you gasp, "really?! okay wait, i took a screenshot of their instagram page the other day, you can check and put the address in! i'll be super super quick!"

he bites back a laugh as you shove your phone into his hands and excitedly rush out of the car.

"5 minutes tops or i'm going without you!" he calls out the window, to which you shriek and scurry away even faster.

he grins to himself, shaking his head as you disappear into the building and he turns to click open your camera roll.

"alright, cat café, where are............ you."

taehyun feels as if a lightning rod has just shot straight through his entire body.

his muscles tense. all his breath escapes him in a rush.

you...

the sight of you is what greets him through the screen...

you,

completely naked.

it's like his skin is consumed by fire as his eyes roam across the rows of pictures in the album you'd left open; most taken on your bed, some in the shower at the gym that you both go to together, some where you’re donned in sets of delicious lingerie — his eyes widening and pants tightening when he even spots one from his own room, your skirt hiked up in the reflection of his full-length mirror as your panties dangle cheekily from one finger, leaving the delicious curve of your ass on full display.

when did she even take that??

he scrolls, and he's barely hanging on by a thread as his best friend who's supposed to stay his best friend poses so irresistibly pretty from the screen; his cock is so hard that it's painful as your big innocent eyes look up at him in complete contrast to the lewd position that you'd put yourself in.

god, the positions he wants to put you in...

alright, reel it in, kang taehyun. this can't go anywhere. you have to take it to the grave. you’ve gotta think about the friendship. you’ll just pretend you didn't see it. you’ll act aloof like you always do.

but every single ounce of self control that taehyun has spent so long holding together finally crashes down around him like a breaking dam when his gaze lands on the name of the album at the top of the screen.

— t ♡

his cock jumps.

fucking hell, these are for me.

when you skip your way back to the car minutes later, you don't notice at first how firmly he's gripping the steering wheel or the fact that he isn’t even looking at you, remaining staring straight ahead as you climb back into the passenger side.

you don't notice — that is, until your phone catches your eye, set neatly on the middle console with your worst nightmare staring right back up at you from the screen.

it feels as though a bucket of ice water has crash landed down on your head (both the water and the bucket) as you realize what happened.

but you barely even have the time to panic or react or beg for mercy, or perhaps for a lobotomy on you both, before taehyun is asking you:

"back seat or my place?"

his voice is so calm that you almost don't process his words. your thoughts buffer as you pause.

"wh... what?" you breathe.

that's when he finally turns his head to look at you, and the intensity of the hunger swimming in his stare is enough to leave you even more winded than you already were before as a familiar feeling stirs between your legs and your thighs clamp together of their own accord.

"back seat," he repeats slowly, "or my place?"

you swallow hard.

this.. t-this is... he means.…

your head is reeling, and dumbly you stammer back, "w-what about the guys..?" as if the plans with your friends really matter anymore in a moment like this.

fuck the guys. fuck the cat café. taehyun has already decided: he’s done holding back from what he wants, and what he wants is to make you his.

you blink at him wide-eyed as he leans towards you slightly in his seat, his voice low and assertive as he replies,

"we're not going."

he taps your phone as if to draw your attention back to it. as if it should be obvious.

"so, you choose." your eyes fly back up to his —

"where do you want me to fuck you?"

your lower belly explodes with heat as an electric shiver rolls down your spine, and you swear that this is the best day of your entire fucking life as you see the promise that flickers in his eyes.

maybe you won't be finding yourself on the football team after all.

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— taglist: @razsberrie, @saejinniestar, @hyukalyptus, @florestalio, @beomiracles, @kiss4baku, @kejingken, @hyukascampfire, @cherr4es, @stawmerry, @choikanghuening, @dawngyu, @soo-blue, @paradigms13

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[letsbelonelytogetherr]

— josé olivarez // natalie diaz

[the-witch-that-writes]

The way I let love devour me, I'd put my throat myself around the knife, if it's held by someone, I love...

-Alisha.

.

( I think I'm going crazy)

[takes1]

NEEDDD AN OIKAWA X SHY READER, she’s extremely quiet until they do certain things and Oikawa is definitely dominant top sooo 🤭maybe it’s like their first time doing it and Oikawa does something (cokes her throat idk) to trigger her loudness and Oikawa being Oikawa he’s gonna be trying anything to get her to be more loud while teasing her

oikawa making quiet!reader scream

tbh i found it difficult to write him as a top, i just love me some whiny loser oikawa. but! it was fun exploring something different so <3 hope it's alright! i also totally took the quiet thing and ran with it

warnings. heavy nsfw. minors DNI

details. sub!reader / dom!oikawa / established relationship / mute?reader / kissy sex / side sex / safe sex / f!rec oral / oikawa has a praise thing / quiet!reader / use of ASL / petnames / light!choking / big focus on sound+speech in this one / 1.9k words

links. my masterlist. more haikyuu. my ao3. requests OPEN

He was so pretty between your legs.

A new heat crept up your neck and spread across your face, ear-to-ear. You had to look away, you couldn't handle his intensity- not here, with no clothes, undone and needy under him.

The firm grip on your leg reset you. He draped your thighs over his strong shoulders, exactly where he'd been wanting them for months. Now he just needed you to watch.

"Eyes on me, baby," Oikawa dipped his head back for just a moment to press a kiss against your pretty sex, a perfect grin plastered across his face.

Your muscles twitched around his chiselled features- you couldn't get over just how stunning he was in the dim, warm light of his bedroom.

You blinked away the welling from your eyes, a short whine in your throat at the fluttery feeling his confident tongue gave you.

He touched you, ate you, like he'd been considering exactly how for a while.

His tongue was soft and light as he figured you out- searching for what you could handle, pushing and prodding where you wanted. Soon you were twitching, shaking, and having to be kept still in his grasp.

"M-mn-," Your sounds were small, cute; he smiled against you every time he got to hear it.

Most of what he heard was labored gasps, sighs, and cute little moans he'd imagined many times before.

In truth, you had to stop him early because you couldn't take very much of his mouth-- it was getting you too worked up, too quickly.

He rose, strong chin dripping with clear and some animalistic intensity in his lidded eyes.

But he knew making you squirm would only get him so far.

His sweet kisses, trailed with intention and delicacy all the way up your body made you giggle.

When he cuddled up to your side, he didn't waste any time guiding your body how he wanted. His bottom arm wrapped around you from underneath a pillow, his top arm free to squeeze at the flesh of your hip while he took you in a rough and rushed kiss.

This position was so comfy- you smiled up at him and stretched your arms to look at the two of your bodies, how they'd intertwine, and bit your lip.

"You gonna be okay?"

He looked past your eyes, deep into the swimming thoughts in your head about your first time together. It was like he could watch you think in real time.

There was no reason to sign anything but 'Yes'-- he took your hand and pressed a raunchy kiss against the back of it. If that was to hide how excited he was, it didn't work.

A second of distance gave you the chance to push on his chest. He glanced around your face, troubled for a second-- he found nothing but lustful wonder in your eyes.

His bouncy chest dipped into a cascade of perfect, taut lines across his tummy. You brushed your knuckles, curious, over each of his abs and thumbed the dip of his abdomen to his pelvis. You dodged another kiss.

"See something you like, princess?" Was in a mutter, brushing your temple.

Oikawa often got to ride a line of teasing you and requesting the praise he so badly needed. You smirked and pressed a peck to his sharp jawline.

"You wanna--ah-," He faltered, softened- twitchy and breathy, when you took his pretty cock in your hand, "Tell... me-,"

You shushed him. He didn't try to keep teasing you like that- plus, you were sure he didn't mean to come across as so cute and whiny.

Although you had both been with other people, those experiences left something to be desired. He knew that you, especially, needed a good time tonight. There wasn't a single moment that he hadn't been careful about.

He replaced your hand with his and slid himself over your sex, filling the space between your legs, getting himself coated in your sticky warmth. He watched your chest rise with a pleased gasp and grinned.

It was just what you needed. You squeezed your inner thighs as the friction built -or faded depending on how you framed it- your labored sighs quickly grew between needy kisses.

Your tummy was in knots at the feeling of his restrained groans on your mouth.

He parted for only a moment to snatch a condom from the dresser and tear it open with his teeth. You didn't realize how much you didn't care until he did so- but were grateful he made it easy.

He lined himself up and your panting stilled at the new pressure.

Oikawa busied you with a fervent kiss as soon as he felt you tense. It wasn't a cure, but it did remedy what would've been pain. The thought behind it was what really did it for you.

"I know it's not th'same," He muttered, a little slurred, "But fuck- you feel so good."

Your brow furrowed at the intensity of his admission. You rolled your head back into the crook of his shoulder with a shrinking giggle.

He was easier to take, after that.

Oikawa had become an expert on how pick up your small noises, especially in overwhelming spaces. It was almost like he crafted a special device in his brain to detect you. That's why your love was so special; he made space for you when nobody else did. He tried harder than anyone else to hear you. He cared to try.

Tiny, desperate moans on your breath brushed by his ear- he groaned at the sensation and filled his palm with your soft thigh.

It was good thing, too-- your legs were getting far too heavy, you were grateful that he could hold them in place for you.

"H-ahh, mmm-!" You clipped your own sound short with a gasp.

He was quick to catch it, "That feel good, baby?"

Your thigh was squished further up, nestled between his bicep and his forearm- you watched, eyes clouded and glossy.

His veiny hand filled with your flesh, coupled with how good he filled you up, brought another whine forward.

He swallowed a huffy moan, unable to keep himself from provocation. "Yeah?"

That second bottom hand wrapped around your throat to help guide you for that kiss he wanted. But, you found it impossible to return his hungry prodding with the new buzzing that started to grow in your head.

Your body twitched under him, a cascade of mumble-y 'uh-huh's and 'mm-hm's spilling onto his lips.

It made him chuckle. His eyes began to wander to your chest- as did his hand.

However, you found yourself quickly pushing it back, warm and strong on your skin.

Oikawa couldn't have looked more amused, nor any more proud to indulge you. The sensation was leagues better now that he had an awareness over what it did for you.

"Mmmn-! Mm-!" You threaded your fingers through his soft locks while he squeezed and fucked you harder, completely engrossed by how badly you needed him.

Though this orientation was nice for kissing and cuddling and the start of it all, he was slowly pushing you onto your stomach.

Instead of wasting any time to talk about it, you pushed back on his hip.

He let you go at once, confused for a moment, but blindly followed with a breathy laugh when you rolled onto your tummy and pushed your chest onto the mattress.

Oikawa looked down at you from behind, hands squeezing at your hips.

You were face-down on his pillow, your thighs spread and ass arched up, dripping onto his sheets, patient and yearning for him to fill you up again.

Oh, he couldn't do that without finishing early. Not unless he fucked you with his eyes closed. He swallowed a chuckle and settled over you, trapping your wrists above your head with one hand while he stretched you back out.

It didn't take longer than a few seconds to realize just how strong, how heavy he was, when you tried to adjust your arms closer. There was no moving out of this.

The shock made way for surprise at how quickly this made the tension in your tummy grow- you fisted the sheets, squeezing at how his size hit you from a more intense position.

He placed his other hand back around your neck and you were so grateful he didn't try to make you wait for it.

Although he wasn't as rough as he was right before you switched, you didn't necessarily need it to be. It gave you an opportunity to adjust. It was so slick, the pressure just right.

And you couldn't keep your whines down- with his face right next to yours, he was getting an earful of it all.

"Good girl, f-uck," His groan morphed into a half-laugh, half-whine that clipped his words. It took an equally perceptive person to find the vulnerability and rawness to his praise.

He looked almost angry- his focus was so intense it twisted his muscles up tight.

"Ah!" You squeaked, panting at the sweetness and devotion in his voice.

"Yeaahh, A-augh-Mmn, that's fuckin' ri-ght," His words wavered with a stutter pressed firm against your hair. It really did it for him that you enjoyed his pet names. He loved spoiling you like that, because you deserved it.

He was swelling up inside you, harder, much like his strokes that kept hitting you just right. His closed-mouth groans told you he would cum if only you begged him to.

"M-m-Aah!" A sharp, shuddery whine evaded his hand.

He seethed with a groan and stalled, filling your cunt to the base. Your sounds were breaking down the wall he'd built up in his head so he could balance himself on a dangerous edge.

It didn't really help. His stilled hips, driven deeper than he let it before, only made you want him more. You wiggled against the weight of his body to try and get something, but he gripped you tighter.

"Shhhh," He bit the shell of your ear, baited breath as he locked you in this mean, motionless torture.

His body was too solid for you to move- you could only bite the sheets and wince at your delayed gratification. And fuck, was it worth it.

Rough, calloused fingers readjusted around your neck. His whisper was laden and filthy against your ear as he started to turn you out again:

"Let me hear that pretty voice," He barely got it out- he was seething, completely taken with your tight pussy clenching around him.

He was deeper, rougher, but you could take it.

A sting was at your eyes, forcing them shut, from the staggering waves of pleasure he fucked into you. You completely surrendered all resignation about your volume in moments.

"A-ah-h!-!"

Your whole body seized but it did nothing-- he held you so steady through it. You were cumming before you realized what was happening. It spurred a gasp that yielded to a long, drawn-out orgasm.

An unrestrained cry fell from your lips at its peak. It left your ears ringing and gave your partner the proud satisfaction of getting to finish after you.

It left you dizzy, dumb, and forgetful until he was back at your side, pulling you close to his chest and massaging your scalp. You pressed your body close to his as he pulled the sheets over you.

You tried clearing your throat but found it raw and a little painful. You didn't realize he was talking to you until he started rubbing his thumb across your cheek.

He watched your face work as you craned around to look at him and decided to snuggle facing towards his chest. You could feel him chuckling at your familiar, endearing silence.

taglist.

@yuchacco

@integers

requests: OPEN

my masterlist

[liveasbutterflies]

I'll be back soon.

Head Over Heels (견우와 선녀) 2025

[iamacolor]

seongah and gyeonwoo keep trying to outdo each other in the "taking care of my loved one who's life is at stake" competition and i think they're very sweet and cute and don't deserve all that and instead should be a on a nice holiday where they can try to outdo each other in the "cheesy line" competition

[liveasbutterflies]

She keeps doing this to me.

Head Over Heels (견우와 선녀) 2025

[shosweet]

“kei..” you whispered in between kisses.

tsukishima kei is a busy man. if he’s not acing his classes, he’s repping sendai city and racking up points for his team. he barely ever had free time on his hands — specifically, you in his hands.

so, when he stopped by your place, it took you by surprise to see him standing at your doorstep. he was heaving, hair and clothes tassled by the wind. one thing led to another and…

“kei, c’mon..” you whispered again. he kept going, hungry and starved for your lips, deep groans in annoyance and protest to your wishes. he finally had you in his hands — how in the world could he pass up this opportunity? he kissed you in such a manner that if he pulled away for just a bit, you’d vanish from his touch.

he pulled you in closer by the waist, hands roaming around your body for something, anything to keep him on steady ground. his lips were no different from his hands, ravaging and becoming completely insatiable. tongues dancing, teeth clashing — it was just too much for you. with a whine and a small push to his shoulders, he finally pulled away, a string of your shared saliva covering the gap between your lips.

“kei, it’s getting late. don’t you have some work to do?” you panted as you clung to his sweater, small amounts of worry peeking through your voice. you knew how busy he was and how committed he was to his passions, but in this moment, nothing could match how badly he needed you.

“one more, please. please let me stay,” he begged in reply, voice laced with fear of an absence of you, even if it’s just a second. his glasses were long tossed aside, his hair tasseled from your fingers, lips swollen with kisses, and cheeks flushed a deep, bright red. his hand cupped your jaw as his wide hazel eyes searched for the smallest glint of permission to keep going.

“please, i need you…”

well, how could you say no to that?

[alpali]

kei mf tsukishima.

You’re sat on Kei’s lap.

Your arms are linked around his neck. His big hands glide along your body, trying to grab and feel whatever he could.

His lips and yours meet in a messy kiss. Teeth clashing, saliva exchanging, tongues dancing. His lips were a little chapped but yours were so soft and sweet. Remnants of your flavored chapstick lacing your lips as he kisses it off.

He was so addicted, always chasing back for more. He groans when you move a little to adjust yourself, his hands gripping your hips.

“Shit.” He mumbles.

Then he’s back to it.

Yet with more passion, you’re shuddering under his touch, his kisses, the way his tongue feels against yours.

His glasses were fogged, slightly lopsided. Occasionally he’d push them up but now.

He rips away from you, confusing you. Both of your lips are plump and red, panting. He grabs his glasses, throwing them on the couch.

“Kei be careful you can break them-” He cuts you off with his lips, his tongue finding its home in your mouth once again. You whine in his mouth and he grins.

“They were in the way.” He says against your lips, biting your bottom lip. A moan leaves you and his tongue swipes along the bite to try and soothe it.

“Just focus on this alright?” He says hushed.

His hand coming up behind your neck, pulling you into him as if you guys could get any closer.

[tsuyalovebot]

make him lose his cool.

suggestive and sexual content. mdni, ageless blogs dni.

xia yi zhou / caleb x reader.

cw. drabble (~1k wc, written in one sitting. ignore any typos.) no sex, but caleb popping a boner like a victorian man. afab reader (that also wears bras). mc=reader.

"caleb is an ass man!" "no, he likes tits!"

personally, i think caleb would have a near panic attack upon seeing your shoulder, elbow, or ankle.

he just does a really good job of pretending he doesn't mind it. after all, the two of you grew up together. he's had to put his hands on you many times — carrying, tending to scrapes and cuts, tickling you, ruffling your hair, squeezing your face. skinship was a language that the two of you were plenty fluent in.

but the year spent apart failed to maintain this, like some half-assed video streaming subscription, and caleb's the newborn fawn learning how to walk.

so what happens when he knocks on the room to his bedroom — it belongs to you now, technically — with a plate of breakfast before coming in, and he witnesses you sitting up, all sleepy and the neckline of his shirt slightly sliding down your shoulder?

he's going to throw himself off a cliffside. maybe even off skyhaven itself.

the plate hits the bedside table on your side with a loud clatter. none of the food spilled over, luckily. he has half a mind to garble some lame excuse about being busy and a quick good morning before trying to bolt.

but, caleb nearly snaps into two when you tug at the hem of his shirt, slumber still slurred in your words as you ask where he's going. there'd been no strength in that tug. yet, he stopped in his tracks all the same. he ends up listening to your grumbles, ones reminding him that it's his day off, remember? you promised you'd spend it with me.

"i gotta take a shower first," he chuckles, hoping his voice wasn't too shaky. please don't notice. please don't notice.

"but caleb," you keen.

god, it's like when he'd take leave from the academy for a few days just to go back to you and gran. always coming home to you, thoroughly acquainted with you not being a morning person but still making the effort to cling to him and savor every second you two spent together.

he assumed it would be the same now, but clearly, that was a mistake. because the coiling tension of warmth threatening to boil over in his stomach was nothing short of treacherous.

caleb does manage to escape; albeit pained by the half-awake whines behind him and the sound of you falling back into bed. god, how badly he wanted to cave into your demands. you don't even know the half of it.

he wonders if you've ever curled into his side of that bed he once slept on, seeking his cologne, his body, his warmth the same way he looks for your silhouette in every corner of this home. a melody he knows, but a name he can't quite place in this shell of a house that transformed in your presence.

regardless, it's really difficult to let this relationship rebuild organically when he was popping a boner over the slightest sliver of skin. the shower's streams are icy on his skin, the impromptu bath having thrown a wrench into his morning routine. he refuses to even touch himself. letting the proof of his sin soften under the biting cold of the water, despite the discomfort.

because nothing was more horrific than having his body react to you like a prepubescent teen discovering porn online for the first time.

caleb thinks he's safe after spending an hour in the bathroom, fingertips pruned and mind cooler than the iciest of planets. but as he's changed back into his clothes, he discovers you beside the door, a blanket around your sitting form and those eyelids droopy.

"pipsqueak? what're you doin' here?" he's crouching down — mortifying boner forgotten as he gathers you into his arms before he realizes it.

then, you stir. a whine muffled into the crook of his neck as you wrap your arms around him, the vibration seeming to ripple down his spinal column. the blanket falls from your body in the motions, and you're so soft compared to the firmness of his body.

his arms tighten around you on instinct and you let out a pleased sound and—

he stiffens. you weren't wearing a bra.

"caleb, you're done." you yawn, like the spoiled, pampered figurehead of royalty you are. you arch up into him, and he swears he feels several of his neurons die, dropping like flies in the empty cavity of his head.

"take me back to bed." he feels the air shift as you seem to inhale his scent. your voice softer, more content when you say, "i wanna sleep some more."

he's so fucking doomed.

[iamacolor]

Head over heels is giving me life and thank you for the gifs. I wanted to ask your opinion about something I saw this X post yesterday with thousands of likes that says song hwa fell first but gyeon woo fell harder and I highly disagree they look and act just as into each other to me but maybe I'm wrong? The number of likes and retweets would suggest so but then again I see this expression used so much even if it doesn't apply in other cases so I don't know?

hello anon! thank you for the nice words, I'm glad you like the gifs 😊

tbh I feel like this expression has been applied to so many relationships that at this point some people try to make it fit to their ship no matter what the actual progression of the relationship is lol sometimes it's just that two characters have different ways of expressing their lives and that's okay. I really don't see how that would fit seong-ah and gyeonwoo since she fell very hard and very fast and has not wavered once even when he hated her and she keeps falling more in love and putting her life and safety on the line for him. on his side he fell for her more gradually and at first it was when he didn't know the whole truth and you could tell he was still puzzled as to why she was befriending him and what kind of person she really was and then after he accepted her as a shaman, his feelings got stronger but he also got possessed before things could progress more naturally so now he wants to make sure she knows he likes her back but I don't see what could justify saying he's falling "harder"?

for me he definitely regrets pushing her away and he wants to take care of her as well as she takes care of him and he doesn't want to waste a second with her (so he doesn't mind confessing in front of jiho) and he's ready to put his life on the line to protect her as well (but also to gain back his body, this guy hasn't had a nice day since he was born and just when things were looking up some old spirit take control of him, I'd be soooo angry if I was him). both of them are pretty selfless and try to do what they think is best for everyone, so yes they're trying to protect their crush and all that but they're also doing this so no one else gets hurts (seong-ah has been a shaman helping people out with their troubles since she was a kid and gyeonwoo has been putting other people's happiness before his own since he was a kid) and now they're both fighting side by side rather than seong-ah on her own trying to save him and whenever it's just the two of them they're both doting on each other and confessing and worrying about each other (which is so cute i love that they're just two sweet kids who are discovering love together amidst all the ghost chaos). I'm actually glad he fell for her as hard as she fell for him, she was so sad when he hated her. the only time it might've felt like he was more into her than her into him was when he said wether or not they were dating was important even with all that was happening whereas she wanted to wait before clearing things up and to me that's just because of their different experiences when it comes to fighting evil spirits. it's been her work for years and she's been invested in saving him for weeks so to her they have to stay focused to make sure things don't get ruined at the end (and yet she still takes the time to make sure he can prepare for his archery competition and participate safely) whereas for him he's seen her do so many things for him and he doesn't get much of a chance to reciprocate directly but he also knows they have to play it safe for now. and yeah he's more affected by the physical proximity of the whole holding hands things etc but the way she asked if she should put the lip balm on him??? there was absolutely no need for that clearly being close to him made her lose her mind a little lol

[dangermousie]

When he kneels to her to beg, so gently and so hopelessly, to be able to keep his grandma’s photos I literally lost it in public.

All these strangers must think I am demented.

[mingoooossii]

HEAD OVER HEELS (2025) text posts (1/2)

[rosierin]

heat of the moment | atsumu miya

synopsis; it started with a massage. she’d had a long day, he offered, and she didn’t think twice. but then his hands slip under her shirt, his hands slowed, and suddenly they’re somewhere they were never meant to be.

warning; very suggestive!!! mature content

this fic is part of the off-season quartet™ series! for more, click here :)

The apartment was dark when she stepped in—just the faint glow of the hallway lamp left on, humming gently against the silence. The scent of fresh linen and something faintly sweet lingered in the air, a comfort she didn’t know she’d been craving.

Her shoes hit the wall with a dull thud as she kicked them off with little ceremony, limbs dragging like she was wading through molasses. Her legs were heavy. Her spine ached like it’d forgotten how to hold her upright. And her shoulders—tight as wire, wound so high they nearly brushed her ears.

She didn’t sigh. She groaned. The kind that came from deep in her soul, coaxed out by too many hissing steam wands, clattering mugs, toddler meltdowns, and customers who still couldn’t grasp the concept of boiling water.

And of course, it had to be Free Drink Day.

More like Free Mental Breakdown Day.

They say not to cry over spilled milk, but after the third oat latte incident of the day, she was ready to weep into the mop bucket.

Her bag dropped with a final, resentful thud. She muttered something obscene under her breath and shuffled toward the living room like the ghost of capitalism’s finest victim—burnt out, steamed dry, and foamed to death.

“Rough day?” came a familiar voice—low, lazy, and way too smug for someone who didn’t just spend eight hours on their feet dealing with entitled customers who kept insisting on speaking to her manager.

She didn’t look at him, just flopped face-first onto the couch with a grunt. “Don’t speak to me, Miya.”

Soft footsteps, then:

“‘Miya,’ huh?”

She could hear the grin in his voice.

“Don’t.”

“I’m just sayin’. You only call me that when you’re feelin’ a certain way.”

“Yeah, when I'm tired, cranky, or borderline murderous."

He snorted. “You sure it ain’t somethin’ else?”

Her only reply was a muffled groan into the couch cushion.

Normally, she’d have some kind of quip locked and loaded—something dry, vaguely threatening, maybe even flirty if she was in the mood. And sometimes she did use his last name with that teasing edge, just to get a rise out of him.

But not tonight.

Tonight there was no smirk behind it. No playful undertone. No provocative lilt that made it sound like something else.

When she said Miya, she meant it. Plain and simple. No code. No joke. Just: leave me alone before I bite.

She was tired. Everything hurt. And she wasn’t in the mood for verbal sparring or Atsumu’s usual theatrics—not even a little bit.

Not tonight.

Beside her, the floor creaked.

And then she felt it—his fingers, brushing the fabric of her hoodie aside, settling gently on her shoulder.

“Let me help.”

Her head lifted slightly and—ow. Even that took a great amount of effort. “What?”

“You're all wound up,” he murmured, thumbs circling slow against the knots in her back. “Let me fix it.”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but god… the way his hands were already working over her hoodie—firm, warm, grounding—it was hard to protest.

“Take this off,” he said, tapping her back.

She shot him a glare over her shoulder. Everything?

He raised his eyebrows, amused. “The hoodie.”

“…Oh.”

Still grumbling, she pulled it over her head and tossed it aside, revealing the flimsy camisole beneath. She settled back onto her stomach, cheek pressed to the couch, breath leaving her in a long exhale.

Then his hands returned—bare, strong, and unfairly skilled.

Her eyes fluttered shut.

She hated how good he was at this. How steady his palms felt against her skin. How his fingers dug in deep enough to hurt, but just enough to make her feel relaxed. Like he knew exactly where the tension lived—exactly where to press, where to drag his thumbs to unravel her piece by piece.

“You’ve done this before,” she muttered, face still buried in the couch.

“Mmhm.”

“Who?”

“Not important.”

That annoyed her more than it should’ve. But the way his hands pressed into her lower back, dragging down, circling, gripping—god, it was hard to stay mad when her brain was slowly turning to soup.

A breath she hadn’t realized she was holding left her in a soft sigh.

“You know,” he said casually, “there’s a dangerous amount of trust involved in lettin’ me touch ya like this.”

“Don’t ruin it,” she mumbled.

“M’not. Just sayin’. One minute I’m bein’ nice and helpful, the next…”

She didn't let him finish his sentence.

“Atsumu?”

“Yeah?”

“Be quiet.”

He laughed—quiet, smug—and kept going, kneading along the tight lines of her shoulders, down the dip of her spine, slow enough to make her toes curl.

The kind of slow that made her forget things. Like how tired she was. How annoyed she’d been walking through the door. How many hours she’d spent on her feet.

Each pass of his hands pulled her deeper into the couch, deeper into herself. Her thoughts blurred into a soft haze. And for a moment, it didn’t feel suggestive or flirty or like something to overthink.

It just felt good.

Safe. Easy. Blissful.

Until he shifted.

Straddled her hips.

The weight of him was gentle, careful—not overwhelming. But it still took her by surprise.

“Wh—what are you—?”

“Better angle,” he said, offhand. Like it was nothing.

Somehow, it wasn’t very convincing.

His hands returned, slipping beneath her shirt. The change in temperature made her shiver, but his palms were warm—gliding lazy, deliberate lines along the soft skin of her back. Steady. Measured. Too measured. Like he was focusing too hard on not making it something else.

“You’re tense here,” he murmured, thumbs pressing slow circles just beneath her shoulder blades.

That’s when she heard it. The dip in his voice—the subtle, sultry shift she’d learned to recognize. Rare, but unmistakable. The tone he only used when his thoughts wandered somewhere they shouldn’t. The kind that meant trouble.

(Y/n) tried not to react. Tried not to read into it—keep it casual. But her skin was too aware of his hands. Her breath, too shallow. Her thoughts, not nearly as neutral as she wanted them to be.

“Mhmm,” she hummed, noncommittal. A deflection. Weak, but it was all she had.

His thumbs slid lower.

“And here.”

His fingers fanned at her waist, dragging down her sides with a softness that didn’t feel so clinical anymore. It felt…curious. Attentive. Too much like a question.

Her breath caught. Not loud. Just a flicker—a stutter of air through parted lips. But he caught it. Of course he did.

He chuckled—low, quiet, maddeningly pleased.

“I can feel your heart racin’, y’know.”

She didn’t answer right away. It was difficult to when she was now hyperaware of every point of contact.

“I’m—tired,” she mumbled weakly. “...Not turned on.”

A pause.

Then—

“Liar.”

It wasn’t a tease. Not really. Barely a whisper, but it landed like a spark to dry leaves.

(Y/n) stiffened. Her brain scrambled for something—logic, protest, retreat—but her body had already gone still. Listening. Waiting.

Because suddenly, the room felt smaller.

The couch felt warmer.

The line between playful bickering and something dangerous blurring far too fast.

And Atsumu—still perched on her hips, hands firm and steady at her waist—felt like something more than a friend doing her a favour.

His hands never stopped moving in those slow, rhythmic circles. Not rushed. Not forceful. But no longer innocent, either.

And then—he moved.

Just a small shift of his hips. Barely there. But it was unmistakable.

Intentional.

She sucked in a breath. Her body tightened instinctively, unsure, unprepared—but she didn’t pull away. Not yet.

Atsumu exhaled—quiet, shaky, like he hadn’t meant to do it in the first place. Like her reaction had knocked something loose in him.

“Shit,” he muttered, almost to himself.

He rocked his hips again—slower this time. More tentative. Deeper. Lower.

Her lips parted.

She didn’t mean to make a sound, but it slipped out anyway—a soft little breath, something between a sigh and a gasp, too quiet for full embarrassment but loud enough that he heard it.

Felt it.

His hands tightened at her waist.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he breathed, voice frayed and mildly stunned. “You keep makin’ noises like that and I’m gonna lose every bit of sense I’ve got left.”

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because somewhere between the first touch and now, her resistance had started to unravel. Not all at once. Just enough to let him in.

Her body betrayed her—arching, pliant, already so far gone.

Her eyes were shut tight, pulse hammering in her throat as he ground against her again—slow, controlled, like he was savouring every second of it.

“You feel that?” he murmured, hips moving just enough to make her thighs tense. “That’s what you do to me. You come home all tired and soft and whiny and y'expect me to behave?"

He leaned down, mouth at her neck, hot breath tickling her skin.

“All those little sounds you’re makin’. The way you're meltin' under my hands. You gotta know what you’re doin’ to me.”

Another roll of his hips—harder this time.

Her mouth opened.

A sound escaped her—quiet, shamefully honest. Just enough to make his breath catch this time.

He stilled.

Then groaned. “Jesus.”

Something cracked open after that.

He braced himself over her—slow and heavy—elbows caging her in, breath rasping as his hips ground down again, rougher now, less restrained. Over and over.

His mouth brushed her shoulder blade—hot and barely contained—and then he kissed her there. Once. Then again. Then a third time, slower now, lips dragging over her skin like he couldn’t help it.

(Y/n)’s eyes squeezed shut.

And that’s when it hit her—really hit her. The weight of his body. The heat of his skin. The way his hips pressed into hers like it was instinct, and the way her body arched into him like it had a will of its own.

Her mind screamed at her to push him off. To tell him to stop.

This was too much.

Too intense. Too close.

They didn’t do this.

This wasn’t banter. This wasn’t teasing. This wasn’t some flirty game they’d forget by morning.

This was heat. This was need.

This was her—on her stomach, panting into the couch cushion—while Atsumu Miya kissed down her spine like he was about to lose his goddamn mind.

She should’ve told him to stop.

But she didn’t. Couldn't. Not when her every nerve in her body was screaming for his touch.

“Atsumu,” she breathed.

His movements stuttered—just a fraction. One word. Just his name.

But fuck—did that turn him on.

He groaned softly into her skin, hips still locked against hers, grinding like he needed the friction. Like it physically hurt not to move.

“...What are you doing?” she managed, voice hoarse, thin with disbelief.

“Losin' it,” he whispered, like it wasn’t obvious.

His hand slid up her back, fingers tangling in her hair—then tugged. Lightly. Just enough to lift her face from the cushions, just enough to bare the sound that slipped out of her—something between a wince and a moan, sharp and breathy.

His mouth found her shoulder again—open-mouthed this time, breath hot, tongue brushing slowly over her skin like he was trying to memorize the way she tasted.

“I shouldn’t be doin’ this,” he muttered, more to himself than her, like he was trying to convince his body to back off.

He didn’t.

And she didn’t stop him.

Her fingers dug into the cushion. Her breath caught in her throat. Her body burned in places she didn’t know could ache like this.

Every roll of his hips sent a shockwave through her spine, and every kiss on her skin made her forget why this was a bad idea in the first place.

She felt his breath by her ear.

Felt the restraint in the way his hand clenched at her waist, like he was holding himself together with threads.

And then his mouth was at her neck—warm, open, hungry—before his teeth sank in just enough to make her gasp.

He exhaled hard, barely catching himself as he pressed his forehead to her shoulder, like he needed the anchor—like staying close was the only way to keep from falling apart completely.

“You’re lettin’ me,” he said hoarsely, disbelief threaded between his words. “You’re not tellin’ me to stop.”

She didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

Because if she spoke, she’d confess something they couldn’t take back.

And maybe he knew that—because his hand slid from her hair, tracing along her cheek before curling around her jaw. Gentle, but firm. He tilted her face toward him, made her look at him.

And god, he looked ruined.

Eyes blown wide. Lips parted and pink. Expression completely wrecked.

And still, he moved.

Hard. Needy.

Her moan slipped out—quiet, involuntary, the kind that tore straight from her chest.

It was all he needed.

“Fuck, baby—” he breathed, voice shredded and barely holding together. His hips stuttered, movements turning messy, desperate—like he couldn’t slow down even if he tried.

His mouth found her skin again. Kissed whatever he could reach. Sloppy. Starved. Every kiss less precise than the last.

He was close.

Too close.

A deep, broken sound tore from his throat as his hand locked tighter at her waist—his other still cupping her jaw like he needed to see her. And for one breathless, blinding second, the world narrowed to this:

Heat.

Friction.

Sweat.

His hips snapped into hers, too drunk on her to stop. Like she was the only thing keeping him grounded.

They were right at the edge of something they weren’t supposed to reach.

So close to—

CRASH.

A loud, metallic clang. Something hit the floor in the kitchen.

They both froze. (Y/n) almost whined.

A beat of stunned silence—

Then:

“For fuck's sake—My ramen!”

Suna’s voice cut through the moment like a slap.

A second later—

“YOU’RE CLEANIN’ THAT!”

Osamu’s voice, furious and far too loud.

Just like that, the spell shattered.

Atsumu collapsed onto her back with a guttural groan, his entire weight slumping down like the wind had been knocked out of him.

“…I’m gonna kill 'im.”

(Y/n) didn’t move. Just whimpered into the cushion. “...Why are they like this?"

He slid off her slowly, like he wasn’t sure how his limbs worked anymore. His breath was still uneven, his cheeks flushed. He flopped onto the floor beside the couch like he’d just fought for his life.

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

A long, awful silence stretched between them.

Her heart still pounded in her chest like it hadn’t gotten the memo.

Then—

“…Three more seconds and I'd have bust.”

She blinked. Then let out a broken, exhausted snort. “Miya.”

He covered his face with both hands and dragged them down his face. “Don’t say my name like that right now.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Bonus:

The next morning...

The apartment smelled like eggs and impending doom.

(Y/n) sat stiffly at the dining table, fingers curled around her mug like it was the only thing tethering her to reality. She hadn’t spoken more than four words since she entered the kitchen. Not because she was mad. Not because she was tired.

Because Atsumu was in the room.

Leaning against the counter.

Hair messy. Shirt slightly wrinkled. Cheeks still flushed from whatever godless dreams he probably had last night. Arms crossed over his chest like they hadn't just been gripping her hips twelve hours ago while whispering pure filth and sin into her shoulder blades.

She took a long sip of coffee.

Don’t look at him. Don’t think about it. Don’t clench your thighs.

“You’re bein’ real quiet this mornin’,” Osamu said, setting down a plate of toast in front of her.

She blinked. “Hmm? No, I’m fine. Just a bit tired is all."

Suna, across the table, didn’t look up from his phone.

“Someone’s tense,” he muttered. “Again.”

Her soul left her body.

“I’m not tense,” she snapped a little too fast.

Atsumu made a small choking sound behind her. She didn’t turn around.

Osamu raised an eyebrow, glancing between them. “Did you two fight or somethin’?”

“No,” she said.

“No,” Atsumu echoed.

Osamu squinted. “Weird. Yer both lookin' a lil guilty."

Suna finally looked up, eyes slow and calculating. “Did something happen?”

“No,” she said quickly.

“Nah,” Atsumu added, voice a little too casual.

A long silence.

Suna’s eyes narrowed. “Y’know, the couch is looking kinda... dented this morning.”

(Y/n) stared at her mug. “Rin, please stop speaking.”

“And there was a hoodie on the floor. Yours, I think,” Suna added.

Osamu frowned. “Weren’t you wearin’ that last night?”

Suna turned fully in his seat. “Don’t tell me.” Seconds passed. Then—

“No way. Did you guys fu—”

Atsumu broke into the broadest grin.

(Y/n) turned bright red.

“NO!”

Osamu almost spit out his orange juice.

Suna's jaw actually went slack. “Holy shit.”

Osamu looked offended. “On the couch? Seriously?!”

Atsumu leaned forward, elbows on the counter, smirk straight out of a rated-R movie. “All I’m sayin’ is… ya leave a man alone with a pretty girl complainin’ about her back and—”

“It was JUST a massage!” (y/n) yelled, utterly mortified.

The room went silent.

Suna slowly pushed his plate away, crinkling his nose.

Osamu looked like he needed years worth of therapy. “I eat on that couch.”

"Okay," she blurted, pushing her chair back with the grace of a dying goose. "I’m going back to bed. None of you speak to me.”

“You didn’t finish your toast,” Suna called.

“You didn’t finish your massage, either,” Atsumu added.

(Y/n) stormed off, narrowly missing the doorframe on the way out.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Her door slammed shut.

Her body hit the mattress.

Her soul left her body.

She face-planted into her pillow with a strangled groan—the same noise people make when they think they’ve beaten a final boss, only for it to regenerate full health and announce a hidden phase two.

Her brain felt like the scrambled eggs she'd left behind.

Because it was replaying everything—every. single. second.

The massage.

The way his fingers dug into her back like he knew where she was most vulnerable.

The phantom warmth of his hands still lingered on her skin, like her body couldn’t quite let go of his touch. And the weight of him—solid, hot, heavy—still pressed against the back of her hips like muscle memory. Like her body remembered what her mind was trying to erase.

His mouth on her shoulders, her neck.

His voice—needy, breathless—almost desperate.

Her whole body flushed so violently she was surprised she hadn’t burst into flames on the spot.

What the hell was that?!

They didn’t do that. They never did that. Sure, Atsumu flirted—he flirted with everyone. She was used to it. Used to rolling her eyes and brushing it off, calling him insufferable while secretly liking the attention.

But this?

This was not harmless.

This was him, grinding into her like he was trying to memorize the shape of her body. This was her, moaning into a cushion like she was part of some kinky romance novel. This was—

“I should’ve pushed him off,” she muttered into the pillow.

But she didn’t.

She let it happen.

Worse—she wanted it to happen.

Oh my god.

The doorframe she almost walked into? Deserved.

The toast she didn’t eat? Deserved.

The ghost of his voice still echoing in her ears, haunting her?

Absolutely deserved.

She flopped onto her back, stared at the ceiling, and whispered:

“What have I done."

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Meanwhile in the kitchen...

Atsumu wasn’t proud of himself.

Okay, maybe a little. But also not really. Not when Suna was staring at him like he was one word away from committing a crime, and Osamu looked ready to throw up in the sink.

“You touched her where?”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I already told ya,” he said, sinking deeper into the kitchen chair. “It was a massage. She was tired. I was bein’ helpful.”

“Helpful?” Osamu echoed, crossing his arms, his expression somewhere between offended and utterly gobsmacked. Probably both.

Atsumu winced. Yeah, maybe that hadn’t been the best word.

“What happened to runnin’ her a bath? Or—I dunno—cookin' her dinner like a normal person?”

Atsumu just shrugged.

Not defensively. Not exactly confident, either.

Just that lazy, noncommittal lift of his shoulders—the kind he pulled when he didn’t have a good answer and hoped no one would call him out for it. Sheepish. A little guilty. Mostly trying not to squirm under the look Osamu was giving him.

Suna, meanwhile, hadn’t blinked once. Didn’t even flinch. Just stared at him, jaw tight. “You’re genuinely insane.”

Atsumu threw his arms up. “Whaaat? (Y/n) didn't seem to mind."

Osamu made a noise. Something resigned, possibly a little traumatised.

“Keep it to yourself,” Suna muttered, voice low, sharp.

“You asked!” Atsumu protested, slouching into the kitchen chair like he was halfway through a trial he was absolutely guilty of. “It wasn’t supposed to go that far.”

“But it did,” Osamu snapped, gesturing dramatically. “On the couch. Where I eat.”

That earned him a grimace. “Okay, ya don’t gotta say it like that.”

He slouched further. Rested his chin in one hand. “It wasn’t even a thing. She came home all cranky and— I dunno. I just wanted to make 'er feel better.”

That was the truth, wasn’t it? At the time, it was innocent. Mostly. He hadn’t planned to grind on her like a man starved.

But then she'd moaned, and the rest was history.

“Right,” Suna said, and something in his voice made Atsumu look up.

The usual flat deadpan wasn’t there. Something sharper had taken its place.

“Are you sure she was okay with it?” Suna asked, meeting his eyes at last. “She didn’t look like she was in a good mood this morning.”

Atsumu blinked. His heart stumbled over itself.

“What? She’s probably just—embarrassed,” he said, a little too quickly. Then, bristling, “Are you sayin’ I did somethin’ she didn’t want?”

Suna didn’t back down. “No. I’m saying you didn't think." A beat passed. "'Least not with your head."

The kitchen got quiet. That kind of quiet that made Atsumu want to throw something just to fill it.

His nostrils flared. He straightened in his seat, bracing his hands on the table like he was ready to stand.

Suna just stared.

Unflinching.

Judging.

Calm and lethal as always.

And yeah, okay, maybe Atsumu hadn’t thought it through. Maybe he had gotten carried away. But he wasn’t some creep.

“She didn’t stop me,” he muttered, then immediately winced because wow, what a terrible sentence.

Osamu, to his credit, jumped in before the stare-down turned into an actual fight. “Alright, both of ya, enough.” He slapped a palm to Atsumu’s shoulder, forcing him back down when he’d started to rise. “I’m sure (y/n)’s fine. She probably is just embarrassed. But, 'Tsumu—” He gave his brother a look. “Make sure ya check in on 'er."

The tension thinned. Barely.

Atsumu slumped back into his chair.

But he never looked away, still locked in a silent death stare with Suna, waiting for someone to blink first.

Osamu rolled his eyes and went back to his breakfast.

But the words were already climbing up Atsumu's throat, too big to keep inside.

“…She moaned.”

Osamu’s fork hit his plate with a clink.

"Please," he groaned, covering his ears. “Spare me.”

“I’m not makin’ it up!” Atsumu insisted, leaning forward like this was somehow a defence. “I wasn’t even doin’ that much and she—" He cut himself off, then added in a desperate whisper, “She was movin’ with me, so she definitely—”

“Atsumu.” Suna’s voice was cold. Firm. “We get it.”

Atsumu’s mouth snapped shut. His ears burned. God, he sounded like a perv.

Osamu exhaled slowly, like his brain had just rebooted. Then, against all odds, he snorted. Covered his face, elbows braced on the table, but that stupid grin was peeking through his fingers.

“What is wrong with you guys?”

Atsumu stared at his cereal. Suddenly way too aware of how pathetic he must’ve looked, sitting here like a kicked puppy, talking about a moan like it was a Nobel Prize.

Still… his lips twitched.

“...What?” he said, trying for innocent. It came out boyish.

Osamu didn’t even look at him. “Nothin’,” he muttered, voice muffled and lowkey judgmental.

Suna shook his head and pulled out his phone. “You’re the horniest person I know."

Atsumu sighed.

Ran both hands through his hair.

And smirked.

Guilty as charged.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The kitchen was quiet.

Dim, too—lit only by the under-light above the stove, casting everything in a sleepy haze. It was late. Past midnight, maybe. She’d lost track of time after her shower, after the world stopped spinning quite so fast.

(Y/n) padded in with socked feet, her damp hair sticking to the back of her neck, water bottle loose in her grip. She wasn’t even thirsty. She’d just needed somewhere to be that wasn’t her room. Somewhere her thoughts wouldn’t chase her down and pin her to the bed like they’d been trying to do all evening.

The massage.

The weight of him.

The way her hips moved.

The sound she made.

God.

She opened the fridge just to cool her face against the blast of cold air. Stood there a moment longer than necessary, trying to freeze the memory out of her skin.

She stared at the contents without really seeing them.

If she was lucky, she could grab a drink and slink back upstairs before anyone—

The floor creaked behind her.

She knew that creak. Recognised the rhythm of those lazy footsteps.

Atsumu.

Of course.

She didn’t turn. Just shut the fridge, hugging the bottle to her chest like it could absorb the flush threatening to rise to her face.

“Hey.”

His voice was quieter than usual.

Not cocky, not teasing, but... soft.

Her heart stuttered.

She braced herself, then glanced up at him. “Hey, ‘Tsum.”

He looked like he’d come down for something too, but now he was just… standing there. In his sweatpants, hair mussed from his pillow, rubbing at the back of his neck like he wasn’t sure what to say.

Her chest tightened. It was impossible to ignore it.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asked.

“Somethin’ like that.” He shrugged, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Figured I’d grab somethin’ to drink. But…” he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck again, “…guess ya beat me to it.”

She gave a breath of a laugh, barely there. “Sorry. I was just... thinking.”

A beat of silence stretched between them.

He hummed, mulling over his next words, like he wasn’t sure if now was the best time to ask—but he did anyway.

“You okay?”

(Y/n) blinked.

The question was soft. Careful. And completely sincere.

It disarmed her more than it should have.

She opened her mouth—then shut it. Swallowed. “Mhmm. I'm okay.”

Atsumu nodded, but didn’t move. Didn’t turn back around like he meant to leave. Instead, he stepped a little closer, resting one hand against the counter, glancing down at her.

“How’s your back?” he asked, lips quirking slightly.

That earned a glare. She stood up, arms folding over her chest, suddenly too aware of how warm the kitchen was. "Very funny."

He almost smiled again—but this time, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

She was dodging. That much was obvious.

And he hated that he almost let her.

“What? Too soon?” he offered, like the teasing might lighten things again.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Ya love it, really,” he shot back—without thinking, without blinking. It was one of those lines. One of his lines. Something he said all the time, to her, to anyone, usually with a smirk and no consequences.

It rolled off the tongue like second nature. Easy as breathing.

But this time… it landed different.

Because her face changed.

She looked down at her water bottle, fingers tightening around the cap. Her smile—if it could even be called that—faded. Not annoyed. Not offended. Just... gone.

And for the first time, Atsumu regretted saying it.

He felt the air shift. He took a breath.

“…Listen,” he said, more seriously now, his voice low and laced with hesitation. “About… y’know. The other night.”

She stiffened.

And he noticed.

“I shouldn’t have—uh, gotten so carried away,” he added, scratching the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to make things weird. I was just—”

“—It’s okay,” she cut in, too fast.

He blinked.

She still wouldn’t meet his eyes. “It’s fine, 'Tsumu. Let’s just… pretend it didn’t happen, okay?”

His heart stuttered.

Pretend it didn’t happen?

He watched her closely. She was fiddling with the bottle cap now, like it was the most interesting thing in the room. Her expression guarded. Tight.

She was embarrassed.

Not because he crossed a line—he was sure of that—but because she didn’t know what to do with what happened. Because she let it happen, and maybe, just maybe, she regretted it a little.

And that stung him a little.

“Really?” he asked, careful.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Like. It was a one-time thing. Heat of the moment. Whatever.” She waved a hand in the air vaguely. “Let’s just never bring it up again.”

A one-time thing?

He tilted his head, slowly. “…Never?”

She looked at him then. Briefly. But it was enough.

“Never,” she confirmed. Then, a little firmer: “Forget it ever happened.”

He paused.

“…Even the part where you—”

“Yes.” Her cheeks flared. “Especially that part.”

There was something so sharp and exasperated in her voice that he couldn’t help it—he pressed his lips together, biting back a laugh. “Ya sure? ‘Cause I think about it like… hourly.”

“I swear to god—”

“Alright, alright.” He looked at her a second longer than he should’ve, hands held up in surrender, then forced a grin. “Forgettin’ it. Totally gone. Brain wiped.”

He paused. Tilted his head.

Then, dryly: “…What were we talkin’ about again?”

She groaned, but her mouth twitched too. Just a little.

And he'd have been blind to miss it.

The way she tucked her hair behind her ear, how her shoulders finally relaxed. He wouldn’t push. Not tonight. But he also wasn’t going to pretend he didn’t feel it—didn’t want it.

He cared. More than she probably realised.

And if forgetting it made her feel safer, more in control… then fine.

He’d let her forget.

For now.

[canvasuntitled]

16:37 – 🌙

(mdni)

the cycle is a funny thing. you could feel completely fine one day, going about your day normally, spending time with your boyfriend as you usually do, nothing grand, and the next day just the sight of him makes you go feral. that day is today. again. you woke up feeling restless, but you couldn’t quite put a finger on it then. thinking nothing of it, you went about your day as usual, finishing some of your work at home, waiting for your boyfriend to come back. he was able to leave work earlier today and the thought of that made you giddy in anticipation. you don’t always get to have him to yourself for an extended period of time, so you wanted to make the most of it once he got home by watching your favourite movies, cuddling and simply catching up.

except now your lover is home, movie running in the background, and you can’t keep your eyes off him for the life of you. he hasn’t noticed your staring yet, mindlessly massaging your knee, your legs draped over his lap. the feeling of his fingers on your bare skin, your shorts ending just above your knees, has you on fire, and that’s what makes you fully realise where exactly you are at in your cycle. that second dreaded time of the month. it doesn’t help that your boyfriend, dressed in a simple white shirt and black sweatpants, is looking like a whole snack today, his dark hair lightly styled back and his arms flexing ever so slightly. the moment he stepped foot into your home, you were (mentally) drooling all over him, though you have tried your best to hide the effect he has on you.

“have i got something on my face?” his question snaps you out of your daze, warmth creeping into your cheeks. “no,” you answer, a little too fast to not sound suspicious, and turn to look at the TV instead, yet still focussed on his hands on your leg. “are you sure?”

he stops massaging your leg as he leans closer towards you. “why are you blushing?”

the heat in your face becomes worse and you slap your hands on your cheeks to hide away from his puzzled look. his hands leave their previous position to gently pull yours away from your face. his firm grip around your wrists makes you dizzy with an unexplainable desire, surprising even yourself. you’re sure he must feel the racing pulse in your wrists by now. you stare at where he’s holding you, the heat spreading to your ears, then making its way down your body. it doesn’t help that you could smell his cologne at this proximity, making you feel woozy.

“don’t do that,” you squeak, trying to wriggle out of his hold. “why, what’s wrong?”

he looks at you concerned, reluctantly letting go off your arms. you breathe in deeply, avoiding his gaze. “nothing,” you lie, fiddling with your shirt. you feel silly for not telling him outright what got you in this mood. “doesn’t look like nothing to me though,” he muses. “something’s bothering you.”

your boyfriend places his hands back on your legs, an action you don’t expect, and you visibly shudder under his touch. this obviously earns you your partner’s attention yet again, though this time he doesn’t move. he keeps his dark eyes fixed on you, and you swear you can hear him thinking. you can feel the sweat run down your sides as you stare straight at the TV, feeling incredibly hot by now. when you feel his hands move up, inching closer to the hem of your shorts, you swallow dryly. trying to ignore the feeling of his fingers now on your thighs, you can’t help but wriggle slightly under his touch. you attempt to pull your legs away from him, but he’s quick to wrap his arms around your torso, pulling you closer to him. your body tenses at that and you suck in a breath.

“i think i know what’s wrong.”

his voice, unlike just a minute ago, much deeper, and the huskiness of it makes you shudder all over. you try to writhe your way out of his hold. unfortunately for you, going braless around this time of the month has one downside, and the friction of your shirt rubbing against your chest with each movement is making you even antsier.

you lightly push against your boyfriends frame to create some distance, though he doesn’t let you go fully. “baby,” he mumbles, looking at you intently. “what?” you ask, sounding more breathless than intended. “i didn’t think much of it earlier when you were looking at me as if you’d pounce me any second, but i’m starting to wonder…”

you freeze. so he had noticed. you curse yourself internally for not having been more subtle. his eyes search yours, a frown adorning his features. “could it be that my love is a little needy today?”

you stare at him like a deer in the headlights. your silence is answer enough for your partner to know, and his lips curve into a grin. “i should have known,” he continues, his thumb softly drawing circles against your sides.

“i might just have to bite you if you keep doing that,” you mutter, the feeling of his touch driving you close to losing your composure. he chuckles at that, leaning closer to you, halting only inches away from your face. “bite me, then.”

[leeknowlore]

a series of phone calls with increasing time zones, proving that not even distance can break true love

idol!seungmin x reader, 5k words, fluff, long-distance au (seungmin on tour), angst, one argument, suggestive themes but not graphic!! (implied masturbation, sexual intercourse)

you both knew tour was going to be a challenge. the time zones, the silence between texts, being apart for too long. the kind of distance that makes you wonder if it’s still as warm on the other side.

but real love sticks. real love dials in the middle of the night with a sleepy voice and a hotel duvet pulled up to his chin. seungmin is in australia. one hour ahead of you.

“hey, baby” seungmin whispers, the sound barely above the static. “you still awake?”

you roll onto your back, staring at your ceiling like it might answer for you. “yeah.”

“did you cry?” he asks gently. not mocking. just—curious, like he’s asking about the weather.

“a little,” you admit, voice barely holding. “why are you so hard to sleep without?”

he exhales, soft and slow. “i don’t know,” he says, “maybe i cursed you.”

“maybe,” you whisper back.

there’s silence for a while. not awkward. just full.

then, “han jisung is asleep like two feet away, and if he hears me say sappy shit he’s gonna roast me into another dimension.”

you smile a little.

“but,” seungmin adds, quieter now, “i miss you too. like. a lot.”

you close your eyes. “don’t whisper like that. it makes it worse.”

“oh? does it?” his voice dips lower, playful. “what, like this?”

“seungmin.”

“i can picture your face right now” he says with a light chuckle.

you groan into your pillow. “i hate you.”

“no you don’t.”

“no,” you sigh. “i don’t.”

“i’ll call you again tomorrow night,” he murmurs, yawn crawling into his voice. “maybe i’ll read you the hotel shampoo ingredients like poetry.”

“that’s so romantic.”

"i know. i’m basically shakespeare,” he whispers, smug and sleepy.

you let out a soft laugh. “then what’s your sonnet about tonight, romeo?”

“hm.” there's a pause. you hear the rustle of sheets as he shifts, the soft creak of the bed frame. “ode to the cotton bed sheets that smell like lavender.”

you snort. “beautiful. truly moving.”

“i try,” he hums. “for you.”

your throat tightens at that. it’s so quiet on the other end, and you can almost picture him—eyes half-lidded, phone pressed to his cheek, hair messy from the long day, the glow of the hallway light slipping through the crack under the hotel door.

“you should sleep,” you murmur.

“you should stop sounding like you’re about to cry again,” he says.

you blink fast. “sorry.”

“don’t be,” he says. “i miss you too. more than i wanna say out loud because jisung has ears like a bat.”

“tell him i said hi.”

“i will. in the morning. right now, i’m all yours.”

you smile into your pillow. “even if you’re like... thousands of miles away?”

“distance isn’t real,” he says, like it’s obvious. “you’re in my phone, in my head, and in my stupid heart.”

you murmur, fingers curling in the sheets. "i love you."

you can hear him smile. not the smug kind. the quiet one—the one he saves for you.

"i know," he whispers. "i know, baby. i love you too."

your eyes sting again.

“i wanna hear you say goodnight, before i go,” he says softly. “like i’m still right there.”

you tuck your face into your pillow, pretending he is.

you whisper, “goodnight, seungmin.”

he exhales, long and slow. “again.”

“goodnight, minnie.”

“one more time,” he murmurs, voice already halfway to sleep.

you grin, heart squeezing. “goodnight, love.”

“mmm,” he hums, already slipping under. “that one’s my favorite.”

the call doesn’t end. he never hangs up first. not when he’s on tour. not when you’re the only quiet thing that feels like home.

seungmin was always your plumber. doing it alone felt harder than it should’ve.

"okay, okay—stop. stop touching it. you're gonna break it."

"i have to touch it, kim seungmin.” you huff in frustration.

“not when you’re doing it like that.”

“how would you know? you’re in a limousine.”

on the other end of the call, there’s a soft rustling of leather seats, then a distant snort of laughter—probably changbin. then hyunjin’s unmistakable voice, teasing in the background.

you roll your eyes and crouch down by the sink again. “just walk me through it.”

you hear him sigh dramatically. “you're gonna need both of your hands. you’re holding the flashlight with your mouth, right?”

“yeah.” you say, slightly muffled

“cute,” he says, like it’s automatic.

you smile.

“okay, now reach in with your left hand—gently—and find the little hex socket.”

“the what?”

“the six-sided bolt, babe.”

you find it. “got it.”

“good. now take the wrench— the L-shaped one. the baby wrench.”

you laugh around the flashlight. “you mean the allen key?”

“i said what i said.”

you fit it into place, and it clicks. "what now?"

“turn it slowly. coax it back to life.”

“you’re stupid.”

“you’re smiling.”

he’s right. you are.

the background laughter comes again, through your phone. you take the flashlight out of your mouth and furrow your eyebrows, now glaring at the phone.

seungmin huffs. “ignore them. they’re just mad no one calls them to fix things with love and precision.”

you grin and go back to work. “why love?”

“you think i’d be guiding you through garbage disposal in a limousine if i wasn’t in love with you?”

you pause. heart full. “i love you too, minnie.”

“i know,” he murmurs. “now finish the job, so you can text me a picture when it works and i can brag to those idiots about how you’re the best mechanic alive.”

“deal,” you grin.

"and hey?"

"yeah?"

“don’t go getting too good at this independent thing without me, alright? you’ll end up not needing me anymore.”

you roll your eyes fondly. “bye, seungmin.”

“bye, love.”

your phone buzzes unexpectedly—no text, no facetime request, just a straight-up call. that never happens unless something’s wrong.

“hello?”

there’s a beat. then a shaky inhale on the other end of the line. not panicked, but definitely not seungmin’s usual snarky hello either.

“minnie?” you answer, sitting up straighter. “everything okay?”

he exhales again, this time more controlled, like he’s trying to reset himself mid-breath. “yeah, sorry, i just—sorry, this is gonna sound really dumb.”

“are you okay?” you ask again, softer this time.

“yeah. yeah, i just—” he pauses, like he’s choosing his words carefully. “we were walking into this venue, right? and i wasn’t thinking, just messing around with jeongin, and suddenly…”

he trails off.

“suddenly?” you prompt.

“i caught this scent. like perfume. i don’t know who it was, just someone walking by, but it—” he lets out a shaky breath. “it smelled so much like you.”

your heart clenches. “me?”

“yeah,” he says, voice low, almost like he’s embarrassed. “and i just—god, i didn't know i could recognize it so easily, y’know? i never paid attention to that stuff before. but it hit me so fast. like my brain was like, oh, she’s here, and i looked around like an idiot.”

you’re quiet, lips curling into something helpless and warm. “you’re so cute.”

“shut up,” he mutters, and it sounds half-defensive, half-melting. “i was just—i don’t know, kind of spiraling.”

“i should’ve given you the bottle before you left,” you murmur. “you could’ve sprayed it on your pillow or something. maybe your hoodie. made it easier.”

“okay well, actually,” he says, suddenly brisk. “i’m in a fragrance store right now.”

your eyebrows shoot up. “what?”

“i literally walked away from the guys and came in here. i don’t even know what i’m doing.”

you’re smiling so hard your cheeks hurt. “so you called me to ask what perfume i use?”

“maybe,” he says quietly. “maybe i just wanted to hear your voice while i looked for you in a bottle.”

you bury your face in your hand. “seungmin.”

“don’t make it a thing,” he grumbles, but his voice is soft again. “just tell me what it is. i wanna spray it on my wrist or my hoodie or something, and maybe then i won’t look around every time i smell it.”

you tell him, and he repeats it back softly, twice—like he’s memorizing it.

“okay,” he says, “i found it.”

you smile into the phone. “go on then, give it a try. you gotta confirm it’s really me.”

there’s a little silence. the soft pop of the sample nozzle. then—

he gets quiet.

too quiet.

you wait, lips parted, holding your breath like the silence might break if you exhale too hard.

“minnie?” you say gently.

on the other end of the line, there’s a small rustle—like he’s pulling the test strip closer—and then a faint breath, nearly soundless.

“...yeah,” he says, but it’s barely there. hushed. careful.

“is it the right one?” you ask, smiling even though you can’t see him.

another pause.

“it feels like you’re right here.”

you chest tightens.

another rustle—probably him turning away from the counter, footsteps echoing as he walks deeper into the store.

“i need to hang up.”

you blink. “wait, what? why—”

“just—thank you,” he says, quickly, like it hurts. “seriously. thank you.”

“min—”

but the line clicks before you can finish.

your phone rings just as you're brushing your teeth, screen lighting up with minnie calling. it’s early—too early for your brain to do much thinking—but your heart wakes up faster than the rest of you.

you swipe the call and press it to your ear, foam still in your mouth.

“hi, seungmin,” you mumble around your toothbrush, voice muffled and lazy.

he doesn't answer right away. just… breathes.

low. slow. deliberate.

you pause mid-brush. “...minnie?”

“baby,” he says, and something about his voice makes your hand freeze midair. deeper than usual. lower. like he’s under the covers, talking into the pillow.

“what time is it over there?”

“past midnight.”

“shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

a quiet chuckle. “couldn’t. been thinking about you.”

your cheeks warm instantly as you flicked the light switch and made your way to your bedroom.

“earlier today, your scent,” he adds, voice dragging a little now, like he’s letting each word settle before moving on. “you really messed me up with that.”

you sit down on the edge of your bed, heart pounding. “what are you doing?”

he inhales, slow—like he’s giving you a hint without actually saying anything.

“mm… i'm in bed,” he says, voice velvety. “lights are off. window’s open a little.”

you smile, because he’s playing. “and?”

he’s silent for a beat. then—softly, “jisung’s not here.” his designated hotel roommate.

you lean back into your pillow, a little breath catching in your throat. “where is he?”

“went to see chan. they’re doing a livestream in his room.” a pause. “won’t be back for a while.”

you don’t say anything—can’t, really—but the line’s quiet in that loaded kind of way. your breath hitches just enough.

he hears it.

“you gonna keep pretending you don’t know what i’m doing?” he says, voice dipping into something firmer, smoother. “or are you gonna be good and ask me what i want you to do?”

your legs press together on instinct, pulse suddenly very loud in your ears.

“we haven’t had a call like this yet,” you whisper, your voice barely holding steady.

“i know, baby. for now just stay with me.”

distance could do terrible things to people who loved each other. it stretched silence into assumptions, turned waiting into resentment, made every little misstep feel like betrayal.

and tonight, it was doing its worst.

“i just don’t get why you didn’t say anything,” you snap, hands gripping the steering wheel. “you waited until now to bring this up?”

“because i knew you’d react like this,” seungmin fires back, voice tight, like he’s trying not to be overheard.

“like what? like i have a problem with you being honest?”

“no,” he says, “like you twist it into something about you. like you always do.”

“wow.” you pause. blink. “you’re backstage, aren’t you?”

“yes.”

“then why the hell did you call me now if you don’t even have time to talk about this properly?”

“because it’s been eating me alive and i didn’t want to go on stage feeling like this, okay?” his voice wavers. not loud. just frayed.

you exhale, eyes stinging. “i’m not your emotional dumping ground.”

you suck in a shaky breath, throat tight.

“and you could’ve talked about this without raising your voice at me,” you say, quieter now.

there’s silence on the line.

you hear him shift, maybe press his palm over the phone. muffled voices in the background—staff calling him.

“anyway,” you continue, forcing the tremble out of your voice. “i don’t want to bring you down before your show.”

he’s still silent.

“i’m sorry, seungmin. i really am.” your voice softens further. “i love you. are we good?”

a beat. then—

“yeah. we’re good.”

your heart clenches.

you wait.

just for a second.

just long enough to hope he says it back.

but he doesn’t.

the line goes dead.

you sit there, phone still pressed to your ear, staring at nothing.

it’s been hours. half a day, maybe more.

you haven’t heard from him since.

you’re at your desk, legs curled under your chair, coffee cold, unread emails glowing in tabs you haven’t touched.

your phone buzzes.

seungmin: just got back. wanna call?

you stare at the message, thumb hovering.

you: it’s past midnight over there.

a few seconds later:

seungmin: it’s alright. are you busy?

you glance around your office—empty, quiet, dim with the afternoon light pooling through the blinds. the answer’s obvious.

you: no.

the typing bubble appears. disappears. Then your screen lights up.

incoming call: seungmin

your heart skips.

you hesitate just a moment but you answer anyway.

“hey,” he says softly, voice scratchy, tired. like he’s been sitting in silence just waiting to hear you.

you don’t say anything right away.

he waits.

“you should be asleep,” you murmur.

he chuckles faintly. “couldn’t. been thinking about you.”

you exhale, shoulders dropping just a little. “me too.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

you rest your chin on your hand, eyes tracing the little scratches on your desk, voice still quiet. “how was the concert?”

he breathes out a small laugh. “we did well. it was great.”

“were you tired during the dance sets?” you ask gently, genuinely. “you didn’t sound winded, but i know you’ve been pushing your knee too hard.”

there’s a pause.

he says, voice low with something like awe. “yeah, it was sore. but i iced it after. chan made me”

you laugh.

then, soft again, he says, “i’m sorry.”

you close your eyes. “me too.”

and it’s not everything, not the whole conversation. but it’s enough for now.

“I love you,” you whisper, trying again.

you can hear him smiling, even through the static.

“i love you too,” he says. “so much.”

you smile back, cheeks warm and aching in the best way.

but then—softly, almost before you mean to say it.

“i don’t wanna get used to this.”

there’s a pause. the kind that makes your throat tighten.

“used to what?” he asks gently.

you swallow. “being apart from you.”

he breathes in through his nose. slowly. “you think that’s happening?”

you shrug, even though he can’t see you. “some days it’s easier. and i hate that. like… am i supposed to be okay with not hearing your voice until midnight? with seeing you through screens more than in person?”

he doesn’t answer right away. just listens.

so you go on, voice smaller now. “are we starting to miss each other less?”

and then he says it, soft but sure.

“no.”

“i’m scared i’m gonna,” you admit, a little too quietly.

he exhales. “you won’t.”

“how do you know?”

“because i’m still here,” he says. “and every time you call, every time you say my name, it still feels like the first time. i’m never gonna be something you forget how to want.”

you blink fast, throat thick.

“even if it gets easier,” he adds, “it doesn’t mean it means less. it just means we’re learning how to carry it better.”

you nod, tears prickling—but this time, they feel okay.

safe.

like love you can live inside of.

“you’re still the first thing i think about,” you whisper.

“good,” he murmurs. “same.”

you pick up and immediately the screen is sideways, showing a very blurry Jisung laughing so hard he’s bent over the hotel bed.

"hellooooo," jisung yells directly into the phone.

you blink. "uh… hi?"

the screen rights itself. seungmin appears—barefaced, hair messy, eyes way too shiny to be sober. he’s lying on his stomach, chin squished into a pillow, voice soft and dangerously sweet.

“hi, baby,” he says, all low and slurred and dangerous.

“oh no,” you whisper. “how drunk are you two?”

“not drunk,” he insists.

“he’s drunk,” jisung confirms helpfully, popping into frame again and waving.

“shut up,” seungmin mumbles, blindly swatting at him.

you snort. “what’s happening over there?”

“he has something to tell you,” jisung says smugly.

seungmin groans, burying half his face in the blanket. “jisung…”

“tell her what you told me,” jisung insists.

“han jisung, shut your entire mouth.”

“too late. he said—” jisung gasps dramatically, clutching his chest. “‘if she were here right now I’d let her ruin my life.’”

a beat of silence.

then seungmin smacks him off camera with a pillow.

seungmin flips back into frame, completely disheveled and pouty. “seriously, come over sweetpea.”

“i’m in a different country.”

“weak excuse,” he grumbles, already rolling over onto his side like the call’s exhausting him.

jisung peeks in again, holding up a half-eaten macaron. “if you were here, we’d give you one of these.”

you laugh, full and warm, cheeks sore from smiling.

“save some for me then,” you say, voice soft but playful.

seungmin doesn’t hear it—he’s already buried back into the pillow, mumbling something incoherent about what the bed smells like.

but jisung hears it.

he freezes, mid-bite, eyes snapping to the screen.

you meet his gaze.

he widens his eyes, mouthing: really?

you bite back a smile and give the tiniest, most deliberate nod.

his entire face lights up, but then he clamps his mouth shut, physically slaps a hand over it, and glances at Seungmin, who’s currently face down and humming the mario kart theme into the blanket.

“oh my god,” Jisung mouths again, silently losing it.

you put a finger to your lips, shhh.

he nods rapidly, then mimes zipping his lips and throwing the key.

seungmin groans. “why is it so quiet now? what—are you guys passing notes like it’s high school?”

“no,” jisung says, biting into his macaron and struggling not to beam. “just studying. real academic vibes over here.”

seungmin rolls over again, squinting. “weirdos.”

you just smile.

“see you soon,” you whisper, quiet enough that only jisung catches it.

and he grins like he’s holding the world’s best secret. because he is.

the screen lights up with a familiar facetime ring.

you answer, already smiling. “hi.”

his face appears—dim lighting, hoodie up, hair messy like he’s been running his hands through it all night. he’s lying on his side in bed, camera slightly tilted. there’s a stillness to him tonight. the kind that feels heavier than silence.

“hey,” he says, voice low. a little tired. a little distant.

you tuck your legs underneath you on the couch. “how long’s it been now?”

he doesn’t even pause to think. “five months.”

you nod. “we’re halfway.”

“only halfway.”

your breath catches at that. you weren’t expecting him to say it like that—like it’s a sentence.

you sigh, fingers tightening around your phone. “yeah.”

for a moment, neither of you say anything.

“i know you’re tired,” you say gently.

“i’m fine,” he replies, but there’s no weight behind it. like he’s used to pretending. “it just… feels really far tonight.”

you nod slowly, throat tight. “i know. it feels far for me too.”

he looks at you for a second longer—eyes a little glassy, lips parted like he’s about to say something, then thinks better of it.

but he does.

“i miss you, sweetheart.”

your breath catches in your chest.

he rarely calls you that. only when he means it. when he’s feeling something he doesn’t know how to explain in full sentences.

you swallow hard. “soon.”

he nods, slow. “yeah. soon.”

he has no idea just how soon.

no idea that your suitcase is already packed. that your flight lands tomorrow morning. that the hotel front desk already has your name and a keycard.

and as he murmurs, “i wish i could hold your hand right now,”

you smile.

“you will,” you say softly.

you keep replaying it in your head—seungmin’s face when he saw you in the crowd. that second of shock, then the dumbest grin as he stumbled over a lyric and tried to play it off like he meant to do that. you’d almost cried. almost.

and now it’s past midnight, the concert hours behind you, and you know he’s taken his time wiping off the sweat and glitter of it all, probably still tangled in post-show chaos and crew goodbyes.

which is why, when you hear the knock at your hotel room door, your heart does that annoying fluttery thing. you don’t even hesitate—you’re off the bed in seconds, bare feet padding across the floor, and you already know who it is before you check the peephole.

you open the door.

and there he is.

hair slightly damp, hoodie pulled low over his forehead, backpack slung over one shoulder. tired eyes—but shining. always shining when they’re on you.

most of his face is hidden in the shadows of the hood, just the curve of his cheekbone catching the hallway light. you can’t really see him, not fully. but you’d know that silhouette anywhere.

you don’t even get a word out. he drops his bag, wraps his arms around you, and pulls you into him like you’re the only thing holding him up. you let out a small squeal, laughing, your arms looping around his neck just as he lifts you straight off the ground.

“seungmin—!” you giggle as he spins you in a circle, your feet kicking in the air.

“i missed you,” he breathes into your shoulder before setting you down slowly. “i missed you so bad.”

once your feet touch the carpet, you're grabbing the front of his hoodie and tugging him inside. the door swings shut behind him with a soft click, and before he can blink, you’re kissing him.

he melts immediately, like he’s been waiting all night for this because he has. his hands slide back around your waist, pulling you in tighter and you giggle into it—completely overwhelmed and completely in love.

he stumbles forward a little, still kissing you, until your back hits the wall with a muted thud. you gasp softly into his mouth, grinning now as he presses into you, and he pulls back just enough to look at you, dazed.

“what…” he breathes, his lips brushing yours, “…what are you doing here?”

you blink at him, still catching your breath, still grinning. “i wanted to come surprise you.”

he just stares at you for a beat, like he’s trying to figure out if you’re real. then he exhales sharply, shaking his head. “you’re a crazy, crazy girl, you know right?”

“you think i’d let you go out of the country for ten months and not visit you?” you say, voice light, teasing, warm. “you really thought i could go that long without seeing your dumb face?”

he doesn’t answer. just lets out this soft, wrecked little sound—half-laugh, half-sigh—as he wraps his arms around you again, tighter this time. he buries his face into your hoodie, right against your collarbone, his breath warm through the fabric. you hug him back instantly, arms wrapping under his and holding him close. he clings. like he’s cold and you’re the only source of warmth he’ll ever need.

“come on,” you murmur, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his head gently. “let me see you, now.”

he shakes his head against you, just the tiniest movement. doesn’t loosen his grip. doesn’t lift his head.

“seungmin,” you whisper again, a little firmer, leaning back slightly so you can reach up and tug his hood down.

the fabric falls away. his hair’s tousled, still a little damp from a shower or maybe the rain outside, and his face is hidden—tilted down, eyes trained on the floor. he still hasn’t looked at you properly.

all he does is lift his hand up to his face. wipes at his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie. you catch the tremble in his fingers.

a sniffle.

“oh, minnie…” you whisper, your heart cracking wide open.

despite the way he towers over you, his shoulders are hunched, his head bowed low like he’s trying to disappear into himself.

you coo softly, barely a sound.

that does it.

he lets out this weak, shaky sigh like he’s been holding it in since the moment he saw you at the concert, maybe longer—and your chest seizes with it. he turns his face just slightly, burying it into your shoulder again, arms wrapping tight around your waist like he's scared you'll vanish if he lets go.

your hands are already moving—one smoothing over his back, the other stroking his hair—your body swaying with his as he starts to let out shaky, quiet gasps.

he sniffles again, shoulders still trembling, but when he finally speaks, it’s muffled into your hoodie. “the members were betting on me. on whether or not i’d cry when i saw you.”

you let out a little laugh and reach up to cup his cheeks, gently swiping away the fresh tears still clinging to his lashes. “and who said you wouldn’t cry?”

he hesitates. “me.”

you laugh again—soft and a little breathless—as your thumbs brush gently under his eyes. “of course you did,” you murmur, fingers sliding up to smooth through his damp hair.

he lets out a weak chuckle, eyes fluttering closed at your touch. he leans into your hand for a second before straightening up a bit, pulling his shoulders back like he’s trying to regain a sliver of composure.

even now, red-eyed and sniffling, there’s still something solid about him. the way he holds you, the way he stands just a bit in front of you like he’d shield you from the world if it even looked at you wrong.

seungmin's lips part, like he wants to say something but the words won’t come. instead, he just stares at you, eyes darting across your face like he’s trying to take in every inch of you he’s missed. like he’s scared you’ll be gone if he blinks too long.

“you have no idea how much i needed this,” he whispers.

you step closer, hands finding his again. “that's why i'm here.”

he shakes his head, fingers tightening around yours. “no, like—” he exhales hard, eyes shining as he glances down at your joined hands. “you don’t get it. every night, i’d come back and just... lie on the hotel bed and pretend you were next to me. i missed everything. your voice, your stupid little yawns, the way you poke me when i zone out.”

you let out a laugh, watery and soft. “i do not poke you.”

“you do,” he insists, eyes wide like it’s the most important fact in the world. “you go like this—” he imitates a dramatic jab to your side, making you laugh and swat his arm. he chuckles, bright and breathless, and then quiets.

your heart flutters and you don’t even try to hide how it shows on your face. you tug his hand and backpedal toward the bed, flopping onto it with a gentle bounce. propped up on your elbows, you tilt your head at him. “c’mere.”

seungmin shrugs off his backpack, then tugs his hoodie off by the back—grabbing it near the collar and pulling it over in one smooth, practiced motion. he holds it in front of him for a second, then slips out of the sleeves with the opposite hand.

his t-shirt clings in places and hangs loose in others, fabric soft and worn and framing the lean lines of his torso in a way that’s criminally distracting. your eyes fall on the way it shifts with every movement—subtle dips of collarbone, the slight curve of his waist.

your fingers curl slightly in the blanket beneath you as he steps closer, and your breath hitches without permission. god, you missed him. not just his face or his voice, but all of him—how he moves, how he fills the space around you like no one else can.

seungmin crawls onto the bed, slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours. the mattress dips under his weight and the second he's close enough, your hands reach up instinctively—fingertips grazing his forearm, his side, like you’re checking if he’s really here.

he smells like his body wash, clean and warm with something a little woodsy. familiar. comforting. so him.

then he leans in, arms bracketing either side of your body, and your whole world narrows to just the space between you, until finally—finally—his lips brush against yours.

it’s soft. barely even a kiss at first, more like the ghost of one, like he’s still afraid he’ll break the moment if he moves too fast. but you kiss him back, and then he presses in more fully, and it’s everything. warm and slow and full of all the things you’ve both been trying not to say out loud.

he kisses you again, and again, each one a little deeper than the last—like he’s making up for every single day you were apart. one hand comes up to cradle your jaw, his thumb sweeping tender over your cheek.

“i love you so much,” he whispers, like it’s a confession. like it still stuns him just how badly he felt it.

you nod, blinking back the sudden sting behind your eyes. “i love you too.”

he exhales shakily, and then he kisses you once more—slow, full of longing—and you swear you feel the world right itself a little, just because he’s here.

he pulls away, just slightly, and rests his forehead against yours. your noses bump, and he closes his eyes, smiling so softly it barely lifts the corners of his mouth. “i was scared you’d forget about me.”

you shake your head, hand settling over his heart. “you’re impossible to forget. trust me, i tried.”

“i know,” he breathes. “me too. it was unbearable sometimes.”

you tilt your chin up and kiss the corner of his mouth, then his cheek, slow and lingering. his skin is warm under your lips, and you feel him exhale shakily, his body softening against yours like your touch is the thing holding him together.

his hands wander a little now, like he can’t help it—tracing slow lines along your back, the dip of your waist, smoothing down your arm and back up again. his hand slips beneath the shirt under your hoodie, smoothing over bare skin, and your breath catches.

you let him pull the layers of fabric over your head. let him take his time. he kisses down your neck, your chest, soft and focused, every press of his lips asking, are you sure?

and every answer you give is yes.

you wake up slowly, warm and hazy, the kind of rest that only comes after feeling completely safe. the curtains are still drawn, soft light peeking through just enough to glow against the sheets.

and then you feel it—his hand, resting on your waist. his thumb tracing little circles on your skin, like he never stopped touching you even in his sleep.

you blink your eyes open.

he’s already awake, head propped on one arm, looking at you with the calmest expression you’ve ever seen on him. the kind that makes your heart ache just a little because you know how much he doesn’t show easily.

“you’re staring,” you murmur, voice rough from sleep.

“you’re pretty when you’re confused and squinty,” he says, lips curving just barely.

you smile, still half-asleep, but it turns real fast when he leans in and kisses you—soft and unhurried, his fingers brushing your cheek like he’s still making sure you’re real.

“good morning,” you whisper.

“technically almost noon,” he teases. “but yeah. it’s good now.”

he pulls back, just enough to give you room as you sit up, blanket tugged up to cover your chest. your fingers instinctively rake through your tangled hair, and he watches you with a little too much amusement.

then he shifts, reaching over the side of the bed to dig through his bag.

“i have something for you,” he says casually.

and then he turns back around—with a box of macarons in his hand.

you gasp, grinning instantly. “you didn’t.”

he takes one out, leans in with the smuggest little grin, and holds it to your lips.

“if you were here,” he says, softly now, “you’d be eating one of these. and you are. so.”

you roll your eyes, but open your mouth anyway, taking a bite—and he watches you like he just won the lottery.

“sweet enough?” he murmurs.

you swallow, cheeks warm. “almost.”

he leans in again, brushing a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“now?” he asks.

“perfect,” you whisper.

and he smiles like he never wants to be anywhere else ever again.

[weltenwellen]

Hanif Abdurraqib, A Little Devil in America: Notes in Praise of Black Performance