#They have SO many dates to catch up on so...

[mrsbarnesblog]

˖˚⊹ old habits

➤ summary: you call Rafe out when he acts disrespectfully

➤ w/c: 1.5k.

➤ warnings: themes of toxic masculinity, emotional confrontation

➤ a/n: really wanted to be a part of @zyafics campaign, and I hope that other writers will consider doing it too <3

masterlist

The thing between you and Rafe was still new and fresh—only a few times going out on dates, lingering touches, and way too many moments that were more than just friendly.

Since the first time you had met him, you thought that he had grown to be a better person. He tried to change some of his old habits to become more mature. And you truly saw that, and it was a reason why you even started to catch feelings. But there were still times when he struggled, when some of the traits of that old toxic Rafe were slipping through, either because it was too hard to control things that he had been taught from a young age or because he truly didn’t see himself being in the wrong. 

That day he invited you to the new cafe near the beach on the mainland, saying that it was the best one. For you, Rafe was a gentleman. He picked you up, helped you to get in and out of his truck, complimented your dress and your hair, and let you hold his upper arm when he was leading you to the entrance.

He opened the door for you, and the place was dimly lit with yellow tones and just radiated warmth. It was a little bit too loud with people sitting everywhere, but if the place was good, you didn’t mind that one bit. You looked back at Rafe, sharing a smile, until the young hostess stepped in front of you. 

“I’m so sorry, but as you may see, we’re full right now. You may sit here until one of the tables is free.” With a polite smile, she gestured to the side. “The waiting time will be around fifteen to twenty minutes, if that’s okay with you.” 

You nodded to her words without hesitation. “That’s totally fine.” 

But beside you, Rafe let out a small breath. Not quite a sigh, more like a scoff. He raised an eyebrow and looked the girl up and down with something colder in his expression than you would’ve preferred.

“You’re telling me you can’t fit two people in? It’s not even full in here.” She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, briefly looking at you to figure out how to react. Rafe’s voice wasn’t loud, but you knew how intimidating and cold he might be, especially to people who were not used to it.

“Rafe.” You said his name sharply, tugging his bicep once in hope that he would let it go. 

He glanced at you, then back at the hostess, not getting the problem that you seemed to have. “We’re literally standing here, dressed nicely, just asking for a table. I’m not trying to be a dick. I'm just saying, you could make it work if you actually wanted to.” You didn’t wait for her to respond. You took a step back, slowly removing your hand from his arm.

“I’ll be outside.” You said. No emotion in your voice, hands already folded across your chest. 

You sat at the bench outside, one leg thrown over another, looking at the ocean and debating just simply going back home. Rafe walked out a few minutes later, with hands buried in the pockets of his pants, looking at you like he genuinely could not understand your behavior. 

“Are you seriously mad at me?”

“I’m not mad. I’m disappointed.” You said calmly, not even sparing him a glance. 

“For what? I didn’t even say anything bad. She was the one who couldn’t do her job properly.”

Your head snapped towards him with eyebrows raised in surprise. “No.” You said sharply, taking him aback. “You were being an asshole because you didn’t get what you wanted. She was doing her job, Rafe.” 

His brows knit. “Jesus, I wasn’t an asshole—I was just calling her out.”

“Calling her out for what, Rafe? For not breaking policy? For not giving you special treatment?” He looked away, jaw clenching. His hand reached his head to rub over his buzzed hair in frustration, while you simply looked at him, seeing the conflict that he had. Part of him clearly knew you were being reasonable, that he might’ve stepped over the line, but the rest of him, the louder part, wanted to be right. Wanted to win.

“I’m not dating someone who thinks talking down to people makes him important.” You said firmly, your voice low and calm but hard to let him know how serious that situation was for you. “That’s not cute. That doesn’t make you look cooler or whatever. That’s not something I tolerate.”

Rafe exhaled hard through his nose, briefly throwing his head back in frustration. “You’re making it sound like I screamed at her or something. I was just—I don’t know—frustrated.”

“Yeah, and she was working. Probably scared of losing her job because of kooks who talk down to her every day. Probably already dealing with a bunch of other men who think that they are better than everyone and that other people owe them something.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t do that.”

You stood up, stepping closer with your heels softly clicking against the wood. You squinted your eyes slightly, tilting your head to the side now that you were almost the same height. “Do what?”

“Make me out to be some kind of monster.”

“I’m not.” You shot back. “But if you don’t like how I make you sound by just talking about your actions, maybe ask yourself why instead of getting defensive.”

The silence that followed stretched long between you. You crossed your arms tighter, mostly to keep yourself from softening, because, God, you wanted to. Because part of you knew that he didn’t mean to hurt anyone, but still addressing the problem was important to prove to him that the said problem existed. 

You watched the gears turning behind his eyes, jaw tight, hands buried deep in his pockets. He looked off toward the ocean like maybe the answer was out there, like it could help him to understand how to break the default settings that were engraved in his brain. 

“I didn’t think it was that bad.” Rafe admitted finally, his voice quieter now, and you could hear the edge of hesitation. “I didn’t even notice I was doing it. That I was acting like…” He trailed off, and you knew what he meant. Like Ward.

“That’s the problem, Rafe.” You said softer now, but still steady. “You don’t even notice when you slip. I know that you’re trying to be better. I see it, but I also need you to acknowledge that sometimes you can still be mean, that sometimes you’re in the wrong. Otherwise we won’t work out.”

He looked at you then, as if hurt for a second, because for the part of him, it sounded like a threat or like a challenge that he didn’t want to accept.

“I don’t want to be that guy.” He said after a moment. “I’ve been trying. You know I have.”

“I know. That’s why I’m still standing here and not leaving.” You stepped closer, but you didn’t reach for him.

“But I’m not going to coach you through being a decent person every time you slip. You have to want it for yourself, not just to keep me happy, because I’m telling you right now, Rafe…” You met his eyes, staying your ground. “If that’s the man you choose to be, I will walk away. Even if I don’t want to.”

His throat bobbed in a nervous swallow, his eyes darted away, then back to yours, as if he was trying to measure if you were bluffing. And when a few seconds passed, when you looked at him steadily, waiting for an answer, he turned and walked back toward the café.

You watched him through the front windows when he hesitated near the hostess stand, tugging awkwardly at the expensive watch on his wrist, and then leaned in to speak to the girl. Her face was surprised at first, then softened as he continued to talk, before she nodded a few times, still slightly hesitant, and said something back to him. 

When Rafe returned back to you, the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease a little bit, though his jaw clenched when he rubbed the back of his neck and stopped in front of you like he wasn’t sure where to begin.

“I apologized. Told her I was out of line.”

You gave him a small nod. “Thank you.”

He shifted on his feet, nervous. “She said the table will be ready in ten.” You nodded again, waiting for him to continue. “You still wanna eat with me?” He asked, almost hesitant, like a boy who'd just been scolded.

“I do.” His lips stretched in a small smile, eyes glimmering with something like surprise and maybe a bit of shyness that you caught every once in a while. Rafe stepped closer, offering you his hand, and you playfully rolled your eyes, smiling back and interlacing your fingers. “Now I’m about to order the whole damn menu, Cameron. And it better be good.” 

[azzibueckers5]

take another drag (turn me to ashes)

synopsis: messy fwb pazzi, extremely unserious angst, alcohol usage, sexual content, situationship final bosses paige and azzi but they're like really really chill about it, um. the only hint that i'm giving in terms of the smut is possessiveness. enjoy!

wc: 6.5k (part 1/2)

a/n: title is from lana's diet mountain dew. you gay bitches won you get the first half tonight. enjoy the repercussions (sexual frustration). this was a tad rushed so i could get it out before the weekend so there's bound to be typos i am. Sorry. also roommate pairings are entirely made up #sorry

azzi tilts her head back against the couch cushions behind her and closes her eyes for a second, trying to assess what level of drunk she’s riding in their game of truth or drink in preparation for her next turn. 

her teammates are scattered precariously around the room, all twelve of them making themselves at home in evina, aubrey, and piath’s small living room, and the half full handle of titos sits in the middle of the lopsided circle like some sacrificial token, daring azzi to test it. 

she’s been spared from any truly invasive questions so far, only having to answer one about her first kiss (a random boy named carlos in the seventh grade after a movie date that had been nothing short of terrible) and what the most scandalous place she’d ever hooked up with someone was (she’d hesitated before answering this one, not because a hotel pool had been that embarrassing, but because her counterpart in that particular rendezvous was sitting directly next to her, fingers fidgeting in her lap and eyes refusing to make contact), so she hasn’t had to drink to avoid anything. 

this was a team bonding event though– and the last one before the season officially started– so naturally azzi had been coerced into doing two separate rounds of shots by nika, in addition to sipping on a drink with god knows how many more, and the buzz in her limbs was starting to make tipsy feel like a thing of the past. 

it was at least mildly reassuring that everyone around her also seemed to have reached that tipping point as well, and she could feel the atmosphere descending into that loose, rowdy environment that only happened on the rare nights when they didn’t have an early practice the next day.

amari is getting grilled about, like, her ex boyfriend’s dick size or something– azzi’s trying hard not to pay attention– which means azzi’s turn is next. she lifts her head up from the couch and ignores the slight dizziness that accompanies it, focusing instead on the feeling of paige’s hand repeatedly poking her thigh. 

she tilts her head towards the blonde lazily and sighs, exaggerating her exasperation, and catches paige's finger in her own, stilling her. 

“what.”

paige grins, crooked but blinding all the same, and azzi knows immediately that she is also hurtling towards drunk by the slightly dazed look on her face. she tries to smother the excitement that bubbles up at the idea of what usually happens when they get drunk together, and only halfway succeeds. 

“nothin,’” paige says, unashamedly fishing for attention. 

azzi rolls her eyes, and ignores the flutter in her chest when paige laces their fingers together instead of letting go. 

“you’re an attention whore,” she declares, trying to scrunch her face into something that resembles annoyance. 

“don’t act like you don’t love it,” paige drawls, and, yup. definitely a little drunk, because she’s slurring the end of her words a little, in a way that shouldn’t be endearing but always is anyways, and is flirting a little more brazenly than she otherwise would, especially in front of the team. 

azzi is spared from having to respond when dorka kicks her right leg that’s splayed out on the ground in front of her and informs her that it’s her turn. 

“you ready to drink, princess?”

she blinks away from paige’s face and scoffs, trying to catch up to the rest of the room. the last thing they need right now is for someone to accuse them of flirting again. 

she pulls her fingers out of paige’s with a squeeze and says, defiantly, “m’not drinking. hit me with your best, dorka.” 

the older girl smirks from across the circle, and anxiety pools in her stomach. she prays this question isn’t about her sex life. 

“last person you got with. out with it.” 

what a surprise. a sex question.

azzi internally sighs and tries to keep the panic off her face, tries to ignore the flash of memory at the question:

paige, kissing her in the dingy bathroom of ted’s, hands on the back of her thighs under her skirt; paige, dragging them stumbling back to azzi’s dorm, fingers tangled; paige, pressing azzi into her bedroom door, mouth moving down her neck; paige, fingers between her– she shoves the memory away, willing her face to stay unimpressed. 

her rescue comes in the form of paige herself, which is, admittedly, a little incriminating, but she’s grateful nonetheless. “ya’ll must be extra horny today. how bout you go get laid instead of interrogating all of us about our sex lives.”

azzi nudges their ankles together in thanks, just as christyn groans somewhere to her left and says “don’t be a loser paige. we tryna make it actually fun,” and piath throws a piece of popcorn at paige and says “of course paige is defending azzi.”

damn it. 

there’s a chorus of agreement from the girls around them, and azzi sighs, glaring at the glass handle in front of her and mentally prepping for the shot that’s going to curdle in her stomach. 

but then, evina, who’s already properly sloshed, calls out impatiently, “yeah, come on az, last guy you got with. not that hard,” and azzi smiles. 

blessed reprieve in the form of heteronormativity.  

before anyone can object to the question, she blurts out “last guy i got with was james,” and hopes everyone is too drunk to inquire further. 

got with is kind of an exaggeration– they’d kissed at the afterparty at prom and azzi had let it happen for approximately thirty seconds before his hands had started wandering and she’d broken away to run off and find her friends– but it's not her fault if people assume it was more than that. 

she knows paige is gonna be sulky about the mere mention of him anyways, but that’s her problem. they’ve agreed to stop the whole messy hook up thing, what with basketball really gearing up and the fear of making things complicated, and that includes getting jealous when other people are brought up. never mind the fact that they’ve been absolutely terrible at adhering to that new rule.  

christyn narrows her eyes suspiciously and asks “what do you mean by guy,” just as aaliyah says, rather shocked, “your prom date? as in not since may?” 

azzi takes a sip of her drink and smirks. she should probably be a little bit more careful at what she’s insinuating, but she’s giddy at getting away without having to take a shot for a third time and also definitely a little drunk.

“i haven’t hooked up with a guy since may. that’s what you asked. paige’s turn.”

but they aren't letting her off the hook so easy, and olivia’s voice rings out over the rest of them, loud and laced with disbelief. “you brought someone home last month after the bar. nika and i had to sleep with pillows over our heads.”

nika is one of the two other people in this room that knows that that had been paige. azzi expects her to help them out a little bit here. 

“yeah, azzi, what was that about?” she says instead, smarmy and annoying and so totally enjoying this. 

so much for assistance. 

dorka piles on with “liars have to take two shots to make up for it,” and azzi shoots a death glare at nika and sighs. 

“m’not lying. evina said who’s the last guy. i answered the question.” 

the room erupts again into shrieks of surprise and someone says “the princess is into women?”

azzi just takes a large gulp of her drink, pushes down the feeling of indignation at the thought that it's this shocking she’d be into women, and tries really hard not to look at paige. 

she fails. 

paige, for her part, is putting up a solidly mediocre performance on how to be nonchalant: lazy smirk, legs spread casually, and eyes refusing to look at azzi for too long. azzi knows her inside and out though, and can see the clench of her jaw and the shift of her fingers on the perimeter of her solo cup, the way her gaze is flitting around the room, cataloguing the different reactions to azzi’s sentence.

she pulls her eyes off paige’s silhouette before she gives them away and fixes her stare instead on aaliyah. “dunno why you assumed i’m straight, that’s your problem. somebody ask paige a question already. i answered mine.”

christyn makes a couple more attempts at getting azzi to spill on who this mystery woman is, but she refuses, and eventually the group moves on to start plotting on how to get paige to drink. 

tomorrow, azzi will worry about the consequences of inadvertently revealing that she’s into girls– both because it makes her rather intense friendship with paige that much more suspicious, and because coming out to some of her closest friends via a shitty question in truth or drink is a admittedly a little pathetic. she’s never exactly tried to hide her sexuality though, it just turned out that when you’d only ever kissed one girl and were also trying to keep the fact that you were kissing said girl a secret, things tended to stay under wraps. 

azzi breathes out a sigh of relief at her turn being over and shifts her thoughts to trying her best to prepare for paige’s interrogation, knowing that it’s fairly likely the question will pertain to her in some capacity, seeing as the team is hellbent on asking about sex escapades. 

honestly. you’d think they were at a sleepover with sixteen year olds.  

she hopes everyone around them is drunk enough to miss the tension in her shoulders, and the glances she keeps taking at paige’s face. she pointedly ignores caroline’s knowing gaze from the other across the circle, the only other one in the room besides nika who’s aware of the tangle of something more between them, and again, takes a rather large chug of her drink. 

the relief of being out of the hot seat does not last long. because somehow the question that’s almost unanimously decided upon for paige is, in azzi’s opinion, seventeen times worse.

“p, how many bodies you got by now?” calls aubrey from where she’s stretched out against the tv stand, glee evident in her voice, and azzi’s heart sinks into her stomach. 

she’s confident the answer is somewhere between three and five, but despite the fact that her and paige have never kept things from each other, azzi has made a point to actively avoid hearing about paige sleeping with other people. it was sort of an unspoken rule– they didn’t talk about the girls paige got with before azzi came to uconn, and they didn’t talk about the boys azzi had gotten with her senior year of high school. 

they had a lot of unspoken rules. 

they’d been each other's firsts (azzi stops herself from thinking too hard about the fact that she wants to be paige’s last, too), fumbling around in the dark of a hotel room (azzi reminds her self that that had meant more than any rushed hookup paige had sought out since), and though they’d maintained the conviction that the other was allowed to do whatever they wanted with whomever they wanted, they’d never been exactly good at sharing. 

as the group around her debates what, specifically, has to meet the requirements for a body when it comes to having sex with girls, azzi racks her brain and tries to remember the last time paige had hooked up with someone other than her. 

it had only been three weeks since she’d made one of her more terrible decisions to let the fear that paige had starting meaning more to her than basketball dictate the parameters of their relationship, and she’d initiated the rule that during basketball season (and the few weeks leading up to it), the two of them should halt the rather non-platonic aspects of their friendship for fear of making things too complicated. 

she’d been half expecting paige to push back, would have most likely caved with merely a few sentences and a makeout as a counter argument, but paige hadn’t argued whatsoever, and they’d since been mostly successful at pretending everything was fine. 

they’d only slipped up once since the implementation of the new rule– a rather heated makeout session in the locker room of all places when they’d been left alone post practice, sweaty and sports bra clad (they’d never stood a chance)– and they had somehow miraculously managed to spend just as much time together as they’d had before, so azzi doesn’t think paige has had time to add to her body count. 

(god help both of them if she had, because azzi’s crashout would probably cause world war three)

that left only the ones she’d accumulated over the course of her freshman year, because paige and azzi had been effectively inseparable (and effectively exclusive) since their arrival at summer session workouts in may. 

still, this doesn’t halt the twist in her stomach at the idea of paige with anyone else, and she fights the icky feeling in her stomach with a sip of her drink. 

but azzi can handle this, definitely, and she’s prepared for paige’s answer when she takes a lazy sip of her drink and drawls out “four.” 

what she’s not prepared for is the general disbelief that echoes around the circle, and the insufferable comments from various teammates about how “that can’t be true,” and “it’s gotta be more than that.”

azzi wants to hit someone. preferably all eleven other people in the room. 

and then, her irrational anger at the rest of the circle refocusses to just paige because she humors it, leaning back and smirking. “what can i say? i’m picky,” grinning at the comments about how much of a whore she was the pervious year. as if it’s funny. 

if azzi believed in things like auras and spiritual colors, hers would probably look like a christmas monstrosity right now– green for jealousy clashing with the crimson of her fury. 

she shifts over, removing her leg from where it had been subtly pressed up against paige’s, and tucks her glower into the rim of her cup, plotting several murders as the group around them howls with laughter and continues reminiscing on paige’s escapades like it was a hilarious, wonderful time, and not the root of many sleepless nights for azzi. 

she really has enough when evina giggles out something about how “paige needs to get back out there” and christyn agrees, slurring about how they miss “big daddy bueckers.” 

azzi coughs. hard. 

and then she finishes the rest of her drink in one swig, ignores paige’s searing gaze on the side of her face, and stands up rather aggressively to go fix herself another. if she subtly kicks paige’s foot on the way past, that’s nobody’s business but hers. she’s not doing a particularly terrific job of subtlety right now, but no one is sober enough to notice.

nika joins her in the kitchen, and bursts out laughing as soon as she sees the expression on azzi’s face, contorted into what is probably a rather hideous scowl. 

“someone’s jealous,” she taunts, as she watches azzi pour a healthy amount of vodka into her cup. 

“i’m not jealous,” azzi hisses. jealousy would imply azzi had a right to care about who paige gets with. which she does not. she adds another glug of tito’s for good measure.

nika eyes the amount of liquid in her cup and raises an eyebrow. “no?”

azzi glares. “nothing to be jealous over. paige can do whatever she wants.”

nika has the audacity to laugh at her. “ooookayy,” she drags out, hands raised beside her head like azzi is a feral animal. she sort of feels like it. “as someone who witnessed paige last year, it wasn’t nearly as crazy as they make it seem.”

azzi wishes this made her feel better, but in all honesty it’s information she already knows, which reminds her of how irrational she’s being, which in turn makes her more upset, at like, the world. 

she huffs. “that’s none of my business.” 

“uh huh. that’s why you were eye fucking eachother in the living room and are now pouring yourself a triple.”

nika muhl and her psychology degree can kick rocks. 

“we told you, we’re not doing that anymore,” azzi muttered, doing a terrifically bad job at keeping the contempt out of her voice. 

nika eyes her with exasperation. “and who’s fault is that.”

azzi’s frown somehow deepens at the accusation. “it’s no one’s fault. it’s just the right thing to do.”

nika blinks, disbelieving. “if you say so. when paige walks out of your room tomorrow morning with her hood up i’m going to say i told you so.” 

“not happening.” 

nika just raises her eyebrows. azzi decides she’d through with this conversation. 

drink made, she stalks back to the living room, nika following close behind with thinly veiled amusement. she’s officially been added to azzi’s shit list of the night, directly behind one paige bueckers. 

she plops back down next to the blonde, careful to keep the space between their bodies reasonable, and takes a sip of her drink, wincing at how strong she’d made it. 

paige looks inquisitively at her, and azzi tries to ignore it, but then her head tilts back against the base of the couch as she sideyes azzi, brows furrowed in an unspoken attempt at asking if she’s good, which exposes the long, pale, extremely biteable column of her throat, and azzi jerks her head away before she does something stupid like lick it in front of their entire team, and ignores her. 

she’s still mad at paige. not for having four bodies– that would be ridiculous. just for other, secret reasons. definitely. 

she listens intently as nika immediately gets interrogated about the football guy she’s down bad for instead– serves her right for accusing azzi of being jealous– and decides that if the next question she gets asked is about her sex life, she’s going to take the shot. paige doesn’t deserve the satisfaction of hearing an answer that’s probably about her. 

but then, when her turn rolls around and olivia’s nosy fucking question of “azzi who’s the best you’ve ever had and why” causes paige to smirk next to her, azzi decides that simply taking the shot would feed paige’s ego far too much. 

so, she lets a smirk of her own cross her face and slurs out a massive fucking lie: “this guy i got with last year- charlie- very talented with his tongue,” and lets the room erupt into madness. 

the look on paige’s face is delightful. 

paige is by far the best azzi’s ever had– by, like, a factor of ten– and charlie had only been a brief fling senior year to (unsuccessfully) distract azzi from paige. he’d been mediocre at best. by the look on the blonde’s, face she knows that too, so the offense and shock laced into the outrage of her expression is beautiful. her eyes bore into azzi’s, drunk and disbelieving and pissed, and azzi swallows at the intensity of her gaze.

serves her right. 

she’s forced to tear her eyes away when christyn calls out “i’m sorry, you got with a girl last month and you expect me to believe that the best you ever got was from a guy?”

azzi flushes, but she holds her gaz, shrugging, and then decides to pour metaphorical gasoline on the fire that is currently raging next to her. “wasn’t really impressed with her skills.”

paige honest to god chokes beside her, and the room erupts into hoots and hollers. 

azzi lets the drunk commotion roll off her back, and makes the mistake of turning back to paige, feeling heat pool in her belly at the intensity she finds. 

“i don’t believe you,” rasps the blonde into the admittedly small space between them, low enough that no one else can hear her over the chaos that’s taken over the room. 

azzi smiles sweetly. “too bad.”

paige scoffs, and opens her mouth to respond with something presumably filthy, but then it’s aubrey’s turn to throw popcorn at them, telling paige to “lock in” for her turn. 

paige’s anticipatory smile at aubrey is more of a pained grimace, and azzi lets satisfaction settle in her bones for now, knowing she’s gotten under her skin.

she knows better than to think this conversation is over. she’s rather excited about that fact. stupid stupid stupid alcohol. 

the older girls convene in front of them for a second whispering ideas, and then they all seemingly agree on one with a chorus of excited yeses and christyn spins back to the rest of the group and grins. 

azzi braces herself with a shaky inhale. 

“tell the class about your favorite sex position, paigey,” christyn singsongs, and azzi's mind goes blank for a second. 

she tries to stop herself from thinking about it, about what position paige might be thinking about, but fails miserably, and then a series of images are flashing through her brain:

perhaps how much paige loves to be between azzi’s thighs, used to beg the brunette to let paige go down on her, or even more so maybe how much she loves azzi between her legs, tongue tracing lines against her clit and fingers dancing inside, or maybe even that one time paige made azzi work herself back onto paige’s fingers, bent over the bed, and paige had come untouched just from watching her, or when they’d put the small bullet vibrator azzi had secretly bought between them, grinding on it and each other until they’d both fallen apart more than once, or when– jesus. 

she needs to chill the fuck out. 

azzi is not built for the sexually frustrated lifestyle. 

she takes a large, large chug of her drink, and tries to focus on the burn of vodka down her throat, and not her absolutely filthy thoughts, nor the flush that’s coursing through her veins and making her skin hot.

beside her, paige smirks– a daring, cocky thing that pulls at the inside of azzi’s stomach– and doesn’t even think about answering, instead pouring herself a hefty shot from the handle in front of them and ripping it back, clearly enjoying the group’s groans at her refusal to answer. 

azzi tries extremely hard to ignore the peek of her tongue as she licks the residual vodka off the rim of the shot glass, but her whole body feels hot anyways. she blames it on the mixture in her cup.

“bruh, you just wanted to take a shot,” accuses evina, off to the left, as everyone watches paige wince and grab for a chaser. 

when she collects herself, she rasps out “yeah, or maybe i just think some things should stay private.” 

she says it to the broader room, refusing to look at azzi, but she knows the words are meant just for her anyways, and as anger rolls off of the set of paige's shoulders and curls in the now much wider space between their bodies, azzi juts her chin out in defiance.

whatever– let paige be mad. that is not azzi’s problem. 

she sees amari eyeing them warily, and caroline and nika have switched seats, no doubt so they can giggle to themselves about the tension they apparently think is hilarious, and azzi decides she needs a break. 

when the group conversation derails a bit, partly due to the collective level of hammered and partly due to the boredom of the game they’ve been playing for an hour now, azzi decides a pee break is in order, both because she actually has to pee, and because the heated glares paige is sending her from beside her are fucking with her head. 

she stands up off the floor– very wobbly mind you, the head rush at her upright position reminding her of the abundance of liquor in her cup– and stumbles down the hallway to the bathroom, trying to ignore how positively sloshed she feels. 

the silence of the bathroom is a welcome reprieve from the chaos on the other side of the door, and azzi takes a deep breath as soon as she closes it, leaning back against it and cursing herself for letting paige get under her skin. 

she knows she’s being unreasonable– that getting mad about the fact that paige has hooked up with people other than her is entirely ridiculous, one because it's information she already knows, and more importantly, two, because they're allowed to see other people– but she just looked so smug bringing it up. and the team thought it was so funny. and azzi wants to hit someone.  

lying as payback had been fun– the look on paige’s face absolutely worth it– but now azzi feels like she’s going to crawl out of her own skin at the tension between them and the inability to do something about it. 

she paces the small space for a second (noting in that slightly hysteric, satirical way that only come from drunkenness that evina’s bath mat is a hideous shade of orange), reeling with entirely unwarranted jealousy and fury and trying to pretend that the copious amounts of alcohol have not hit her bloodstream. 

she stops short when she catches her own eye in the mirror. she’s flushed, the range of feelings that aren’t hers to have painted across her face, and she looks exactly like a movie character in a melodramatic shitty pg-13 romcom who’s realizing she’s too drunk and too sad in a party bathroom. 

stupid stupid stupid stupid.

she spins away from her reflection, remembering that she does actually have to pee pretty bad, and plops down on the toilet, content to wallow in sexual frustration and misery for the remainder of the night. 

but then, while she’s washing her hands– rather aggressively scrubbing as if she can wipe away the itch in then that yearns to be on paige’s skin– azzi’s peace and quiet is shattered by the arrival of the one person she’s currently trying to convince herself she doesn’t care the whereabouts of. 

because of course paige had followed her.  

she doesn’t even knock– the audacity– just barges right in like azzi’s not having a private moment to herself (a mental break).

“paige!” she huffs out indignantly, moving out of the way of the door and doing her very best to glare menacingly. “get out- i could’ve been peeing or something.” 

paige looks entirely unbothered by that prospect. she closes the door behind her gently without turning around, arms crossed and jaw tipped down.

she looks infuriatingly good. azzi wants to hit her. like. with her mouth. 

“nothin’ i ain’t seen before.”  she pairs this aggravatingly calm sentence with a step into azzi’s personal space, and it's outrageous how affected azzi is by simply being in close proximity to her in private. 

and how pretty she is. god damn it. 

even with the edges of her vision blurring from the liquor, and the fact that her feet feel rather unsteady on the hideous bathmat below her, azzi can tell that paige is mad. 

that type of focussed, heated anger that very rarely laces their interactions, not just simple annoyance. it unnerves her as much as it excites her, which is surely another sign that she’s going insane. 

she chooses not to respond to the insinuation that paige has seen her in every state of undress, for her own sake, and tries not to think about her and paige in states of undress at all. which is actually a supremely difficult task, particularly when, again, they’re in such close proximity. 

she’s starting to deeply regret that last chug of her drink. 

the silence hangs around them, tense, and she suddenly realizes that somehow paige has backed her up into the sink. which is odd. considering last time azzi checked they weren’t merely inches apart. so that’s. concerning. or exhilarating. who’s to say? not azzi. 

paige’s smirk is a little mean on her face, eyes wild, and she tilts her head, using the measly one inch she has on azzi to try and make her feel small. azzi refuses to let her. 

“charlie?” she says, voice unimpressed. her hands coming up to rest on either sides of azzi on the sink, caging her in. “really?” 

they’re not touching– not yet– but azzi feels the ghost of her hands anyways. 

“what about ‘m,” she breathes. their faces are really close. and paige’s eyes are really blue. 

“you expect me to believe the best head you’ve ever received was from a guy named charlie?” the and not me is unspoken, but azzi hears it loud and clear. 

she scoffs, spurred on by the fire in paige’s eyes. she delights in this game. “why wouldn’t it be?”

paige’s eyes narrow. “i don’t know, maybe because last time i ate you out you came so hard you cried.” 

azzi’s blood gets impossibly hotter at the reminder, but she stays strong, lifting her chin even higher. “was faking it,” she breathes. “like i said earlier, i wasn’t impressed.”

“really,” is all paige drags out, low and dangerous, and azzi feels the tension crackle between them like a physical brand on her skin. they’re not even fucking touching yet, and she can already feel the lining of her underwear growing impossibly wet at paige’s anger. 

she refuses to contemplate the implications of that. 

she hums in agreement and doesn’t say anything else, and paige just looks at her, lets the weighted silence settle around them.

and. okay. azzi’s not proud of this necessarily, but paige is looking like that in front of her and her mouth is turned downwards because she’s jealous and trying to hide it, and her sweats are slung low enough on her hips for azzi to see the waistband of her boxers, and.

and then they’re kissing because azzi apparently has absolutely zero self control. 

her hands come up to grip paige’s shoulders, immediately opening for it, and though azzi was the one to close to gap between them, the one to tug paige down into a kiss, it’s paige that sets the pace, immediately rough and unforgiving, pining azzi hips against the counter with her own and nipping at her lips. 

and god is it good, and god has she missed this in the last few weeks. 

she’s vaguely aware of their new rules, that there are reasons they’re not supposed to be doing this whole kissing thing anymore, reasons she came up with, but she can’t for the life of her remember why she’s supposed to give a singular fuck about that right now when paige’s hands splay out across the skin of her sides underneath her shirt, and her hips are pressing into azzi’s, and her mouth is doing that delicious thing where she licks into azzi’s mouth and slide’s their tongues together, and. 

and azzi decides that this can be an exception. 

she groans into the kiss, tangling her fingers in paige’s hair, and lets her press closer, relishing in the feel of paige all over her for the first time in too long. 

the kiss is mean, claiming, and azzi knows without a doubt that paige is trying to remind her why she will always be the best azzi’s ever had. 

it makes liquid heat pool endlessly in her stomach, and she lets out a strangled cry when paige shifts to press her thigh between azzi’s legs, letting the taller girl swallow her sounds and somehow press impossibly closer. 

fuck. 

it’s always so, so good with paige. it almost makes azzi angrier, and she lets her hands tug at paige’s hair a little rougher, bites into the kiss a little meaner. 

paige must be aware that they’ve only got a few minutes before people get suspicious, because she’s sliding a hand under the waistband of azzi’s shorts and boxers after only a minute or two of making out. 

which makes the fact that azzi’s completely soaked all the more embarrassing. 

she breaks the kiss to gloat, rasping out “you get this wet for charlie?” against azzi’s lips, and. 

azzi’s completely forgotten about why he’s relevant. and then she’s yet again reminded of why paige is insufferable, because why did she have to bring that up. azzi figured the whole kissing furiously against a bathroom sink thing sort of implied charlie didn’t hold a candle. 

however. azzi would never be the one to back down from what was clearly some version of a competition, and despite the fact that, no, she’d gotten nowhere near close with him, azzi locks eyes and breathes “yeah, you’re not special.”

her voice gets choked up halfway through because paige decides to slide two fingers down and circle the entrance of her cunt, because she’s a smug bitch, and. jesus christ. azzi is criminally wet.

paige knows that they’re both aware of this. 

“is that right,” she taunts, the hand that’s not currently working lazy circles on azzi’s clit coming up to grip the base of the younger girls neck. 

self-assured prick. 

azzi only has the brain capacity to gasp out “uh huh” in response, and paige smiles at that, wicked and. pretty, actually, even though she’s an asshole. 

“want me to prove you wrong?” she pairs the question with the breach of a finger at azzi’s entrance, and. 

god help azzi. 

she whines out a “please,” before catching herself– this is a game, afterall– and adds “can’t hurt.”

somewhere in the back of azzi’s vodka-and-paige addled mind, it occurs to her that paige is being suspiciously forgiving, but she lets that thought go in favor of the approving kiss paige gives her, their mouths moving together in that delicious, all consuming way that quiets every part of her brain. 

she has half a mind to protest when paige pulls away, slipping her hand out of azzi’s shorts and tearing their mouths apart, but before she can, paige is sliding down her body to be eye level with the tops of azzi’s thighs, knees cushioned on that horrible bathmat.

god. 

azzi lets out a strangled whine when paige’s hands come up to the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. the vision of paige below her is too much, and she has to close her eyes for a second.

“you wan’ it?” she asks, looking up at azzi like a fucking siren, eyes wide and pleading like she wants it just as bad. 

and. azzi should say no, considering their entire team is on the other side of what is surely a very flimsy door, and getting eaten out on a bathroom sink that isn’t hers is probably a little distasteful. 

unfortunately for said teammates, azzi is despicably wet and paige is between her legs looking like she’ll die if azzi doesn’t say yes, and, most of all, azzi is too drunk to give a single shit if someone hears them. 

she chokes out a “yeah, need it” and is too focussed on paige’s answering grin to care about how desperate she sounds. 

instead of tugging down her basketball shorts, paige rucks up the material around one of her thighs, and latches onto the inner most sensitive part, sucking hard. she’s merely inches away from where azzi desperately needs her, and the feeling lights azzi on fire, head thumping back against the mirror behind her as pleasure takes over. 

paige works on the mark, intent on claiming, biting the sensitive flesh and then laving her tongue over it to soothe, and azzi feels drunk on not only the vodka but the pleasure too, whining quietly when paige presses a kiss to the darkened skin and pulling back with a smile. 

and fucking then. 

paige breathes “too bad,” matter of fact and smug, into the mark.

azzi’s confused as fuck at her words, has forgotten what they were saying, and then. and then paige just. stands up. 

“should call charlie to deal with that, hmm?” she pouts, fake pity lacing her words, and then she fucking pats azzi’s thigh in mock consolidation and walks out of the bathroom. 

azzi’s disoriented wail of “wait,” is too late, paige already out the door like she hadn’t been on her knees seconds prior, and azzi is suddenly alone with her muddled thoughts once more, breathing uneven, skin flushed, and rage bubbling up inside of her. 

along with, like. intense sexual frustration.  

what the actual fuck.

azzi should’ve known paige would be too petty to let that go, and she’s both furious at the blonde for setting a fucking trap, and herself for falling into it. but what an fucking self-inflated egotistical asshole.

god. 

azzi wants to march right out of the bathroom, knee paige in the stomach, pour the remainder of her drink on top of her stupidly perfect head, and then maybe possibly lick off said drink from the dip in her collarbone. and the line between her breasts. and perhaps her bellybutton. 

being mad at and being attracted to paige were two sides of the same coin on a good day, but on a drunk one? azzi wanted to solve their issues with bitemarks and bruises. which was entirely stupid and counterproductive and irrational, three qualities that seemed to follow azzi around almost as much as paige did. 

she inhales, several times, trying to clear the fog from her brain and calm the racing of her heart, and tries to push away the lingering disappointment that she won’t be coming apart at the hands of paige tonight, or anytime in the future really, seeing as– due to most of their roommates not knowing and the fact that azzi was far too prideful– she couldn’t exactly drag paige back to her room and have her way with her. 

this, coupled with the fact that it wasn't like she could just stroll in to paige’s room in two days time when they both inevitably got sick of the fight and wanted make-up sex because of the stupid fucking rules, meant that not only was azzi angry at paige for her little stunt, but she was also a little annoyed at her apparent disregard for their limited opportunities to have sex.

paige was wasting extremely precious time in which they were alone and drunk, guards lowered, and neither of them had had a singular orgasm.  

what a fucking stupid bitch. 

azzi checks her phone, happy to see that it was already past 11:30, meaning an acceptable time for her to feign exhaustion, and, with renewed anger, pushes herself off the edge of the sink and stalks out of the bathroom, intent on socializing for maximum ten more minutes before retreating to the solitude of her bedroom and getting herself off. 

to the thought of paige. 

which was something she’d unfortunately become quite familiar with ever since she’d had her awful, horrible, no good very bad idea to stop letting paige get azzi off instead, the much preferred but decidedly unavailable option. 

whatever. at least paige would probably also die of sexual frustration, and then they could rot in hell together.

a/n: sorry to edge you (paige and i will make it up to you <3) as always pleaseeee tell me if you liked it and i will die of happiness and probably kiss you <3 i hope to have the second part put early next week!

[isabelckl]

texting loser!ellie that you have nipple piercing in class 3

nerdy loser!ellie x popular mean fem!reader

bored in english, you reply to a girl named E you’ve been talking to on an anonymous gay dating app—without knowing it’s that lesbian nerd girl, ellie williams.

texting loser!ellie that you have nipple piercing in class 2

The rest of the month bled together in that soft, glowing kind of way—every day bookmarked by the same routine. E in the morning. E during class. E when you were brushing your teeth or pretending to do homework. You talked about everything. Or nothing.

She kept you sharp. Made you laugh when your head was splitting from school noise. Kept you just distracted enough to forget you were tired all the time. And somewhere along the way, you stopped wondering who she was. Because it felt like she already knew you. Not the polished version people saw. You.

You’d stopped counting how many pictures you’d sent. Nothing technically scandalous. But enough to make her say “i’m not strong enough for this” at least three times a week.

You were on your phone, sprawled out in your usual seat in English—last sub of the day, last brain cell left.

You:

im on my last sub rn. talk to u later :(

E:

don’t think about me too much while you’re in class

You smirked.

You:

oh i will. especially us doing unholy things rn

E:

i’m blocking u.

You:

no ur not. u love it

You were still grinning like an idiot when the classroom door slammed open. Everyone scrambled to pretend they weren’t just throwing paper balls or stealing someone’s chair.

Ms. Alvarez was already holding a clipboard, face grim. “Alright, settle down. We’re starting a new graded requirement today—your final literature project. Half of your term grade will come from this. I’m pairing you up.”

Groans some cheers exploded. You barely registered it, still texting E something about being the main character in a forbidden library romance.

Until you heard your name.

“...and Ellie Williams.”

Your head snapped up, blinking.

A few snickers came from behind you, your friends catching it instantly.

One of them patted your shoulder, barely hiding a grin. “Oh, girl. Should we start worrying?”

You rolled your eyes and didn’t bother to answer.

Then a voice you hated piped up. Some guy you’ve never liked, probably trying to be funny.

“Maybe you could just show her your tits and she’ll do the work for you.”

You turned. Instantly.

“Shut the fuck up,” you snapped. Loud enough for people to hear.

He put his hands up, smirking. “Just suggesting.”

Ms. Alvarez didn’t seem to hear, or maybe she was pretending not to. “You’ll have six weeks. You’ll be required to sit beside your assigned partner during this class for the entire project period.”

Some complaints, some high-fives.

You grabbed your bag, eyes scanning. Ellie was still seated, alone near the front, chin in hand.

You made your way over slowly. She was on her phone, thumb tapping something out fast.

“Hey,” you said, soft and casual.

Her head snapped up. Like, immediately. Her phone vanished into her hoodie pocket so fast it was almost suspicious.

You raised your eyebrows slightly, not saying anything.

“Hey,” she replied, voice a little rough around the edges, like she’d just cleared it.

She blinked once, then moved quickly—grabbing the things from her desk and tucking them into her bag on the floor, her sketchpad sliding in last. Then, without saying anything, she reached out and dragged the desk and chair beside her, pulling them close in one fluid motion. The legs scraped loudly against the tile.

You cleared your throat, lowered into the seat, and placed your bag on top of the desk. One hand stayed tucked in the pocket of your skirt, curled loosely around your phone.

You didn’t say anything else and neither did she.

You both just sat there as Ms. Alvarez started droning about the project.

“This is a character-driven piece. Something with personal stakes. Introspection. Conflict. Subtext. You have six weeks.”

You barely heard her.

You unlocked your phone under the desk.

You:

i just wanna go home now and talk to you

(not being clingy)

You smirked without meaning to, biting the inside of your cheek.

Then waited.

Ms. Alvarez was saying something at the front—project guidelines, probably. But her voice felt like it was coming through a thick wall of static. You just kept your gaze on your screen. Quiet. Expectant.

Still nothing.

She usually replied right away. Even in class. Even with “busy” in her bio.

You stared at the chat a moment longer, thumb hovering over the screen. Not that you were being clingy. Obviously.

You bit your lip and glanced sideways.

Ellie was hunched over her notebook, scrawling notes in the margin like her life depended on it. Her leg bounced under the desk. Her grip on the pen was tight. Too tight. Like it might snap in half if she pressed any harder.

You sighed, leaned back in your seat, and slid your phone back into your pocket.

Your eyes stayed on the front of the room, but you weren’t really listening. Words blurred. The only thing in focus was that weird thrum in your chest. Like something off-key in a song you’ve heard too many times.

After a moment, your eyes drifted back to Ellie.

Her auburn hair was tied loosely at the base of her neck, strands slipping free at the sides and curling against her cheek. Her eyes flicked between the teacher and her notes, sharp and serious, like she was actually locked in.

You stared.

Just for a second too long.

Her brows were pinched in thought. She twirled her pen once, adjusted the way she sat, and pulled her hoodie sleeve down over her hand like she was trying to disappear into it.

You pressed your lips together, fingers tapping soundlessly against your arm as you crossed them tight over your chest, waiting for your phone to buzz.

Ms. Alvarez finally wrapped up her monologue with something about “use your time wisely” and “brainstorming starts now.” Then she sank into her desk like she was already exhausted by all of you.

Ellie cleared her throat, then quietly turned toward you.

She pushed her notebook halfway across the desk, her handwriting a little messy but precise enough to follow. She didn’t look at you at first—just tapped the edge of the page once, offering it like a peace treaty.

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on the desk and your chin on your knuckles. Watching her.

She glanced up, finally meeting your eyes. “Do you have anything in mind?”

You did.

Maybe E.

But you didn’t say that, of course.

Instead, you reached over and plucked the pen from her hand. Your fingers brushed for just a second—warm

You lowered your eyes and started scribbling into the corner of her notes.

Fantasy. Coming-of-age. Drama. Romance. Sapphic.

You underlined the last one.

When you slid the notebook back, she tilted her head at it. Just slightly. Her eyes skimmed the list, and then her lips twitched—barely noticeable. But it was there.

“Sapphic,” she repeated, like she was tasting the word.

You shrugged, eyes flicking up. “Just a suggestion.”

She looked at you again. Not judgmental. Not even surprised.

You raised your eyebrows at her—challenging, almost daring her to say something.

Ellie leaned back slightly. Her voice dropped just a little. “Are you sure?” she asked, voice low and husky. “I mean… you’ve got a reputation.”

You didn’t bother hiding the eye roll that followed.

With one hand, you slid the notebook back across the desk toward her. “You can suggest what you think,” you said flatly. Calm. Measured.

She picked up the pen again and wrote underneath:

Agreed.

You raised your eyebrows again.

That’s it? She just… agreed?

“No suggestions?” you asked, skeptical. “Nothing on your mind? You just agreed we write a sapphic book?”

Ellie didn’t even look up. “Nope,” she said, the pen already back in her hand, sketching something random in the corner of the page. A shape. A line. A loop.

You narrowed your eyes at her, gaze flicking over her blank expression. “Well,” you muttered, scanning her with a mock offense, “I expected something much more from you. I mean, you’re the nerd here.”

That earned a glance—sideways, brief. The corner of her mouth tugged, like she was fighting off a smirk.

“Well, I also didn’t expect you to suggest writing a sapphic book,” she replied, dry.

You tilted your head. “Why not?”

Ellie shrugged. “You’ve got a reputation, remember?”

You didn’t even flinch. Just let out a breathy scoff, leaning forward on your elbows again, voice low but pointed. “I just told our classmate to shut the fuck up because he said I could show you my tits and you’d do the work for me. Do you think I care about reputation?”

That caught her.

Ellie blinked, startled for a beat, then let out a short breath—half laugh, half disbelief. “Jesus,” she muttered, her gaze flicking to yours. “Didn’t know you were like that even in personal.”

You frowned. “Huh? Like what?”

She didn’t answer right away. Just glanced down at the notes again, something unreadable twitching in her expression.

You scoffed softly and leaned back, arms folding across your chest again. Your eyes darted to Ms. Alvarez, who was now busy at her desk, rifling through a drawer.

“And oh, please,” you said, dry. “It’s not like Ms. Alvarez isn’t gay either.”

Ellie looked at you, blinking.

“That’s why she has no husband at her age,” you went on, tone casual like you were talking about the weather. “She likes girls. And the rumors, Ellie—you’ve heard them. She won’t mind reading a sapphic piece.”

You tilted your head, lips twitching.

“I bet she’ll like it very much.”

Ellie stared at you for a moment longer and looked away.

But not before you caught it—that flicker of a smirk, barely there.

She shook her head once, muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “Unbelievable,” and went back to scribbling.

Ellie tapped her pen a few times against the edge of the desk, then tilted her head slightly.

“So,” she said. “What’s it gonna be? Angsty? Enemies to lovers?”

You squinted at her, lips already twitching. Then, without saying a word, you reached out—snatching her notebook and pen in one smooth motion.

Ellie blinked, caught off guard.

You scribbled one word in bold, all caps:

SMUT.

Then slid it back to her with a raised brow and the kind of smug grin you only pulled when you were being very annoying on purpose.

Her eyebrows shot up.

“Smut?” she repeated, slow, confused. “How… it’s not appropriate, I think.”

You bit back a laugh. “Of course it’s not,” you scoffed. “I’m just fucking with you.”

She stared at the word a second longer.

You plucked the notebook back and crossed out SMUT with a dramatic scribble, then started writing again beneath it.

“Anyway, I think something like friends to lovers or whatever,” you said, voice a little more thoughtful now. “It’s the easiest for me to write.”

You kept jotting down rough plot beats, loose ideas—nothing concrete yet. Just bullet points. Your handwriting was starting to drift sideways, slanted and lazy.

When you glanced up again, Ellie was watching you.

Her chin rested in her hand, elbow propped against the desk, eyes steady on your face like she was studying something. Like she was seeing a new side of you. Quiet. Focused.

There was something unguarded about her in that moment. Something soft around the edges. Like maybe—for just a second—she forgot to keep her usual walls up.

You paused, blinking. “What?”

She didn’t answer nor move.

You raised your eyebrows. “Oh,” you said slowly, tilting your head to mirror her. “You’re interested in writing that smut?”

That seemed to break the spell.

Ellie blinked, straightened slightly. “No,” she muttered, her voice low and curt as she grabbed the notebook back from you.

You watched her quietly as she flipped to a clean page and started jotting something down like nothing happened. Like she hadn’t just been staring at you for maybe… kind of a long time.

Her pen scratched against the paper. Her face calm again. Composed. But her ears were slightly pink.

“You’re red,” you said, your voice teasing, a smirk tugging at the edge of your lips.

Ellie didn’t look up. “It’s warm in here.”

You raised a brow. “Right. Sure it is.”

She clicked her pen once—sharp, deliberate—then turned to you with a look so flat it could’ve been carved from stone.

“Better red than desperate for plot-driven foreplay,” she said, completely deadpan.

Your mouth fell open.

“Oh my god,” you breathed, scandalized. “You are thinking about the smut.”

Ellie didn’t respond. Just returned to her notes like nothing happened, but the slight twitch at the corner of her mouth gave her away.

You grinned, triumphant.

You watched her for another beat, amused. “You didn’t deny it.”

Ellie didn’t look up, but her pen paused. “I’m ignoring you.”

You leaned over, voice lower now. “You’re failing miserably.”

That got you a side glance. Brief. Sharp. But not annoyed. More like she was trying not to smile and losing the battle entirely.

You tapped her notebook with your nail. “So, what is this groundbreaking lesbian epic we’re writing?”

“Plot ideas,” she said, clearing her throat. “Since you keep distracting me.”

You hummed, unconvinced. “Am I allowed to see, or are you gonna bite me if I try?”

Without a word, she tilted the notebook your way.

You leaned closer.

There was a character with too many feelings and a bad temper. Another one with trust issues and what looked like “shitty taste in people” scribbled in parentheses.

You frowned, eyes skimming back over the notes. “‘Shitty taste in people’?”

Ellie didn't say anything at first, just twirled her pen between her fingers, like maybe if she spun it fast enough, she wouldn’t have to answer. But eventually, she shrugged.

“Some people keep going back to things that hurt them. It’s realistic.”

You stared at her for a beat. The way she said it wasn’t casual. It wasn’t dramatic either—just honest, like she’d written that trait from experience, not imagination.

You leaned back a little. “Nope.”

Ellie blinked. “What?”

“Nope,” you repeated, already reaching for the notebook. “Too depressing. I’m not writing about heartbreak or sad girls with commitment issues. I’ve got enough of that in real life.”

She didn’t stop you as you turned to a fresh page, clicking your own pen open with purpose. “Let’s try this again.”

You started scribbling, words forming in fast, slanted loops.

Two characters. Childhood friends who lost touch. One returns unexpectedly. Maybe there’s a stupid school festival involved. Maybe someone’s in denial. Maybe they’re both idiots, and it takes a whole novella of almosts before anything actually happens.

You glanced sideways to find Ellie watching your hand move. She didn’t interrupt. Just kept staring like she was trying to match the rhythm of your pen to the shape of your thoughts.

You paused, tapped the page. “This is better.”

Ellie tilted her head. “Friends to lovers?”

You nodded. “Less depressing. More yearning.”

“Yearning is depressing.”

“It’s a good ache.”

She was quiet for a second, then let out a tiny exhale—somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “Alright,” she murmured. “Let’s write something stupid and soft.”

Ellie took the pen from your hand without asking and leaned over the notebook again, brow furrowed in thought. You didn’t say anything. Just watched her as she wrote—quiet, focused, occasionally pausing to tap the pen against her chin. The sunlight from the classroom windows had shifted, painting her in a late afternoon haze of gold and orange. It softened the sharp lines of her face, caught in the ends of her lashes and the auburn strands slipping from her hoodie.

She looked like a photograph that could blur if you stared too long.

The bell finally rang, loud and abrupt. Ms. Alvarez raised her voice over the sudden scrape of chairs and chattering students, tossing out reminders about deadlines and word count minimums. Nobody listened.

Ellie shut the notebook with a quiet thud and began gathering her things, slipping the sketchpad into her bag and adjusting the strap of her guitar case. You stood, grabbing your own bag from the desk and sliding your phone from your skirt pocket out of habit.

Your fingers unlocked the screen before you could stop them, eyes drifting to your last message to E. Still no reply. You stared at it for a moment longer than you meant to. The bubble of words just sitting there. Unseen. Unanswered.

You let out a breath, sharp and quiet, then turned to Ellie just as she slung the guitar over her shoulder.

“By the way,” you said, holding your phone out toward her, “I need your number.”

She glanced at you, nodded, and took your phone without a word. Her fingers moved fast, thumb flying across the screen before she handed it back and silently offered her own. You typed yours in, quick and neat, and gave it back with a nod.

The room was already half-empty, filled with leftover noise and footsteps in the hall.

You walked out, phone back in your hand, your thumb instinctively brushing over the screen. You opened your messages again.

Still nothing.

Your eyes stayed on it as you moved with the current of students spilling into the hallway—sunlight flickering across lockers and tile. You didn’t notice when Ellie fell in step beside you until she asked, casually, like it was nothing.

“You waiting for someone to text you back?” Ellie said as she walked past, not even slowing down.

You blinked, glanced up—but she was already a few steps ahead, her guitar slung over her back, hoodie pulled up.

You didn’t answer. Just looked down at your phone again, just as a message from E lit up your screen.

Your chest tightened with that familiar tug—the kind you only ever felt with her.

tag list:

@eclipcee8 @darkdanixoxo @chappellroankisser @senjukawaragitr @saverdelrey @appleofmyii @wzcoffeefloomo @fatbootymuncher @oneinameliann @ilahrawr @spiderx18 @vampirq @mioluvzsevika @ff4mi @ggutpunch @ellies-dinosaur @butchchase @bambiaches @velvetinkbym @rhian88 @azxteria @yxsmina @zaunite-516 @sweetshrew @eriiwaiii2 @bluminescent-moon @elliespotion @mascspleasegetmepregnant @dykeissih @babydoll-ivory @summerdaysout @tiedinbows @eilishfike @vixenkii

[jyunhology]

oh, honey lady ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ smg (m)

summary: when you get stood up and cancelled on one too many times, your friend takes it upon herself to get you to enjoy a night out. but you’re faced immediately with the source of your woes pressed up to another and a bartender who catches on quickly. the latter offers to dance with you; will you say yes?

a/n: have been getting a lot of feels for mingi lately .. i blacked out n wrote this aft watching the recent ateez whodunnit because jesus christ that man looked FINE acting as a bartender.

wc: 6.1k

warnings: MINORS DNI!!!! bartender!mingi, softdom!mingi, sub!reader, reader's (ex) bf is a loser, reader lowkey traumatised from her (ex) bf, mingi is very understanding, consumption of alcohol (however, they’re not drunk during the deed, just a little tipsy), grinding in a public space (a club lol), lots of teasing, oral (f! receiving) / cunnilingus, fingering, praise, use of pet names (baby, honey, doll), bit of fluff in the middle, clit stimulation, unprotected p -> v sex (pls wrap it up irl), creampie, slight aftercare, mingi is so soft and patient with reader .. ❤️

No matter how much you knew this wasn’t your fault, you still can’t help but find fault with yourself — looks, personality, fashion. You passed it off the first time as something akin to a mistake, a miscalculation with the overtime your boyfriend, Hyunjae, had to do because of his recent promotion.

With mumbled apologies into your hair and fairly enjoyable sex, you thought everything between you both was going to be okay. It was just one dinner date, plus, he made it up to you with a fancy trip over the weekend and several, impressive gifts.

But you think you should’ve known better, because it happened a second time not even a month later, and the cycle repeats itself: sin, repent, and fall back into temptation all over again.

The only mistake you were making was thinking too highly of Hyunjae, assuming temptation was reports and hard work for extra cash, and not having a fucking affair with another woman in the printing room.

By the time the third incident came around, your friend was quick to propose a night out the next day despite your protests, but you know it came from a place of love. With the way she comforted you with memes and funny reels and words of advice, you realised it was the first time you’ve laughed since the supposed dinner at seven.

Ignoring the sinking dread settling in your heart the next afternoon, you shoot a simple ill be out late tonight to Hyunjae before dragging your body out of bed. You moved on autopilot, then, choosing not to acknowledge that he didn’t even return last night, preoccupying yourself instead with picking out your outfit.

And it was easy enough with a clear vision in your head; you weren’t afraid to dress up even after getting together with Hyunjae. This time it wasn’t any different — miniskirt, a cute fitted top and boots — that you already felt a bit better upon arriving at a bar for some pregame. The alcohol felt good, the company was better, and the both of you were already giggling and tipsy when you entered the club.

“Isn’t this way better than crying over that dumbass?” Yunjin nudges you gently before offering you a small smile.

You sigh, “I guess. I just don’t want it to be a recurring thing and make you responsible every time.”

“At least you know your limit now,” She loops an arm around you to keep you close as you two walk deeper into the club. “Still, as much as I love you, it was difficult trying to get you out of the club because you’d only be talking in counts of 8.” 

Ever the teasing friend, you nudge her back before breaking into laughter together, heading right to the bar for a lighter drink. It’s buzzing with orders left and right with the (possibly) poor newcomer trying his best to work the counter with all its confusing buttons. But he’s saved by another, a taller, more experienced bartender who was definitely carved by gods.

You try not to gawk, though, feeling guilty even when he shoots the two of you a small customer-service smile. “Give us a minute, alright? We’ll get to ya soon.” The moment he’s turned around, Yunjin shakes your arm excitedly.

“What? what?” 

“Don’t ‘what?’ me! Tell me you didn’t see the way he was looking at you.”

“Yunjin…” You sigh. “You know Hyunjae and I aren’t broken up—”

“Yet.” She interrupts with that single word and you shoot her a half playful, half serious glare.

“Okay, but, I have no business looking at other people just ’cause I’ve been stood up thrice.” The words leave a bitter taste in your mouth, recognising that it really didn’t sound good out loud.

“Yeah, but don’t you think those are enough times to call things off?” She faces you completely now with both hands on your arms, trying to look you in the eye while you shrink, flustered and a bit embarrassed at how easily you seem to crawl back to Hyunjae.

Because you felt that if you let this go, you’d never feel this way ever again, having someone else walking out your life again like clockwork.

Your fingers tense subconsciously; clenching, unclenching. You settle for taut hands to your friend’s, removing them with the little fight left in you. “Yunjin, can— can we please drop this for now? I came out to forget my boyfriend for a bit, and then I’ll go back home and everything will be f—”

But the universe has other plans for you, conversation cut short from the handsome bartender asking about your orders now.

“Sorry to interrupt, ladies. What will you two be having?” In the midst of wiping his hands on the towel, he leans over the counter just as Yunjin gives her order, but you swear over the booming music, the bass reverberating, the screamed lyrics, you hear familiarity.

It’s funny how habitual you can become with someone; hearing that same laugh in your skin on slow mornings and during reruns of B99 that you can’t help but search the dancefloor frantically.

You weren’t even sure why you did it, but you think you were chasing that familiarity and safety of having someone even though they were shit at showing up.

But along the desperate scans you do with your eyes, you register that you were simply accustomed to having Hyunjae in your life, accustomed to coming back again to an empty house. Yet, you can’t even remember the last time you said I love you to him.

And always trust your gut, because that sinking feeling from earlier comes back tenfold when your eyes lock onto two people on the floor with bodies leaving no space.

Hyunjae has no qualms about getting caught, his hands roaming all over her body and practically grinding from behind that you feel your knees buckle a little.

“Yunjin…” The lights were too blinding, the music now too loud, but you don’t have to say anything to know she’s already helping you onto a bar stool. When she turns to where you were looking, her jaw tightens and wordlessly places a hand on your lower back.

You go through emotions, fast — denial, and then anger and then a hint of sadness. But what you’re mainly feeling is a thirst for revenge knowing he thinks you’re a coward, a girl desperate for love.

Maybe you are, and there’s nothing wrong with mourning what you had. Though, being cancelled on three times within two months and spewing lies about overtime, ignites your resolve easily.

All the while, the bartender watches the interaction carefully, skilled hands still able to fulfill people’s orders, but he’s got you and your boyfriend all figured out. Not that he meant to eavesdrop, though, exchanging a glance with your friend until you raise your head with unshed tears.

“Thought I lost you there for a moment. That your boyfriend?” He nodded in the general direction and had probably used that line countless times, but you give credit where credit’s due; he was attractive and didn’t choose to comment on your glossy eyes.

With semi-long hair, pretty moles and plump lips, you want to enjoy this seat a bit longer, proposing a silly idea as you nod.

“Ex-, now. Do you have any chance to get them both kicked out?” You smile, small and unsure, but he replies with an even sweeter smile laced with sympathy that makes your heart skip just a little.

“No can do. If he’s not causing trouble, our bouncers have no reason to throw him out. Sorry, ladies.” For a moment, he’s back to being professional and tries not to steal glances at you as you blink away tears and attempt to appear unaffected.

He serves the drinks he’s already made, helps the counter boy again with orders until he hears your friend beg again when he comes ’round to your side.

“Oh please, Mr Bartender!” He raises an eyebrow, eyes trained on the both of you while capping his shaker before shaking. You purse your lips teasingly despite your blurred vision and the heat on your cheeks, “She can be pretty persuasive.” God, you didn’t even know what you were feeling at the moment.

He shrugs. “Well, tell you what — I get off my shift in about fifteen, and you’re looking for some retribution. Why don’t we do a little dance of our own?”

With a sigh, you ponder over your cards — Hyunjae might be pleasantly surprised and you’d end up with a hot bartender in your arms to boot. But if this is only going to leave a hole in your heart after everything, what really was the point?

“It’s your call, doll. If you’re still holding this,” He holds up a slim piece of metal that matches the club’s colours with its letters engraved in stark white, “by the time I come back, I’m taking you onto the floor for a dance. Deal?”

It’s dropped into your palm before you flip it over, running a thumb over the debossed name.

“Mingi.”

“You got it.” Mingi gives you a dazzling grin and a wink while you stifle a smile.

You spend the next ten minutes debating your options that you can’t count the amount of times Yunjin had to get your attention back on her. Revenge sounded delicious before.

Now? Now you’re waddling deep in doubt, worried about the aftertaste; all you wanted was to go home and sleep this whole thing off. Even the name tag was weighing heavy in your hand.

But the late nights cooking dinner, sitting alone at restaurants and the sheer indifference Hyunjae’s currently dancing with, did you in.

If you were chickening out only so someone this terrible stays, then you might regret this single night with someone else who already has shown you more respect than Hyunjae ever did.

The music is a bit clearer to you, now, and less suffocating as you call out to the bartender with five minutes left until his shift ends. You play with the pin at the back, unfastening and popping it back into place repeatedly. 

“I’ll take a Lemon Drop.” A knowing smile, a swipe of your card, sugar sweet on your lips. It hits great, and with a bit of liquid courage in you, you wait.

Mingi is quick to show up by your side a few minutes later, but he manages to take your breath away all over again with a more casual look.

Jewellery, messy hair and unbuttoned shirt down to his pecs that gives you a glimpse of a pretty little pendant resting nicely on his chest and rings adorning his fingers.

“Care for a dance?” His deep voice up close already has your stomach turning, opening your hand to show how you still had his name tag and he grins. “Keep it for now.”

You barely hear the whisper into your ear, but without any second thought you place your hand in his, the metal of his rings sending shivers right up your arm and down your spine. A faint cheer from Yunjin encourages you on, already feeling the addicting beats of the music playing.

Mingi is considerate above all else, looking back to see if you were still there, clearing a path for the both of you until you’re a few bodies away from Hyunjae. But standing out here now brings another wave of panic and embarrassment.

You were really about to do this, but—

What if he doesn’t like the way you danced? What if he’s a clean freak and would rather not have his hands over your already sweaty sides? What if Hyunjae creates a scene?

The thoughts are never-ending, swirling in your mind until you can feel Mingi’s hand enclose around your other hand, halting you from adjusting your outfit, from scratching at your skin.

It’s hot, too crowded for a dance floor and he knows that you’re nervous again with the increased proximity to your boyfriend.

Without words, Mingi brings your hands to rest on his shoulders. “Is this okay?”

You nod. Bodies beside you cause you to inch closer to him and his hair is so soft. Your tongue tingles from the lemon’s sourness and you want nothing more than to balance it out with his mouth that smells of rum. 

“Hey, I realise I haven’t gotten your name just yet.” The smile he has isn’t teasing, cocky, and you manage a small one back. He leans down to get your answer.

“It’s (Y/N).”

“Pretty. Follow my lead.”

And slowly but surely, you get out of your shell as you both lose all formality with the ear-splitting songs. The cocktail makes your hands wander, trailing over his nape, over his broad shoulders. He still hovers.

You don’t know whether it’s Mingi, the dim lighting or the song but you don’t hesitate to force his hands to your sides and he takes it as a sign.

He’s pulling you close until you’re pressed to his front, head immediately going for your exposed neck, and the laugh that escapes feels so different from Hyunjae, so free that you giggle with him.

It turns from wanting to Hyunjae to see you could do so much better to genuinely enjoying your time with the bartender that you don’t register the shock forming on Hyunjae’s face when he spots you just a few people over. Mingi doesn’t miss it, squeezing your waist softly to bring it to your attention.

“B-babe? What’re you doing here?” He acts like he doesn’t even know the girl dancing with him, yanking her off of him as he tries to preserve his dignity. But you knew better — you’ve seen her face at company dinners, on his Instagram story.

“Why are you here?” He sputters out an answer, not expecting you to fight back. Hyunjae’s smaller than ever now.

The bartender resists the urge to scoff at his lack of explanation, about to tell him to piss off when you push at Hyunjae with a finger. “I’ll tell you why I’m here. Witnessing you and the girl you told me not to worry about. Talking crap about overtime just to fuck her in your workplace.”

“W-What? That’s bullshit, where’d you even get that from?!”

Thank God for Mingi’s Lemon Drop, because you shove Hyunjae harder than before, angering the people behind him who push him back towards you.

“Guess you’ll never find out how. Get your shit out of my apartment and leave before tomorrow morning or else I’ll be telling your boss about inappropriate workplace conduct.”

Hyunjae rolls his eyes and waves you off, “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I hope the job market’s ready for someone who promised overtime hours only to soil the printing room. Keep checking your emails babe.” You purposefully drag out the pet name he likes to use on you, which now sounds cheap and tacky. Mingi can’t help a cackle from escaping, tugging you closer as if you’re his.

And you might just be by the end of this night. 

Hyunjae doesn’t bother to one-up the bartender one bit, only throwing Mingi a scowl before elbowing himself through the crowd. Unknowingly, your body relaxes, melting into the other’s arms easily and wanting nothing more than to turn off your brain for the night. It makes Mingi smile.

You’re bolder when the night deepens. It starts with running your hands down his chest and grasping softly at his waist. There’s whispered lyrics into your skin, letting him trail kisses down your jawline to your sternum and you feel like you’re on top of the world. 

His body’s flush against yours, tensing and breathing hard. The heat’s suffocating and the kisses sweet, hovering over just where you both need each other desperately.

“Heard you’re a dancer,” Mingi mumbles, sneaky hands going past your hips to your ass and kneads. You laugh. 

“You heard whatever Yunjin said? It was one time,” You reminisce about the time you went out for her birthday before getting shit-faced drunk and talking to her only in counts, “and she was struggling to understand what I was saying.”

It takes a beat for you to take the leap. “Want me to show you?”

A pretty laugh leaves his lips, “Your dancing or your innate ability to only talk in eights?”

Fuck, he’s handsome and funny.

“Har-har, very funny.” The moment’s playful but charged with underlying tension that only increases once the song changes. With a hand, you lift his head from your neck, taking advantage of his surprise to turn around.

Pushing up against him, you make sure he��s feeling every part of your ass on him, swaying your hips until you get a small groan from him. Tempted, Mingi places his hands along your waist, helping you grind down on him while arousal pools in your panties.

He’s enamoured with how well you fit against him, even more so when you lace your fingers with his, tugging one up to rest on your chest.

He takes the bait with how you turn your head, boasting your pretty lips with eyes closed. But you’re not letting him get what he wants that easily, finger pressed against his lips.

“Did the Lemon Drop do this, hm?” He’s back on your neck like it’s his home, slurring his words in that deep, deep voice of his that you want nothing more than to hear that for the rest of your life (and hopefully in your bed tonight).

“Maybe.” You can’t help but chuckle triumphantly, but it’s cut short when he suddenly yanks you back to his front; shit, you can feel his hard-on — he’s big.

You subconsciously gulp and pull him closer (not without a mildly surprised “oh”), overwhelmed with the feeling of his chest against yours, of his hips moving in tandem with yours, of his breath on your lips.

“I’m full of surprises, too.”

“That was so corny.” Biting your lip, you try to stifle a smile but it bleeds out past your lips, “You’re lucky I still want to fuck you.”

“Aw, only fuck?” He feigns sadness as he bats his eyelashes at you. That question probably would’ve made you think twice, but with Mingi’s little pout, the vodka in your system and Rihanna in the background, you throw all complicated feelings out the window.

“Shut up, Mingi.” 

That elicits a low chuckle. “Gladly.”

He collides with you immediately, lips moulding into yours like two parts of a whole that you stumble a bit from the force. But you waste no time in reciprocating with neediness of your own, tugging him down to you with hands tangled in his black hair.

You could care less about your ex, about Yunjin excitedly texting you from the bar, nor the people around you.

Not when Mingi’s slipping his tongue into your mouth and your pussy’s just desperate for relief that you moan softly into his mouth.

“God, you sound pretty,” He pulls away for air, but he’s already hooked onto your taste, leaving pecks on your lips again and again. His hands rest comfortably on your sides, caressing, squeezing. “Need to hear that in my sheets.”

You mutter a soft fuck before licking your lips, “Your place?”

Mingi hums into your lips, “You have my name tag, baby. It’s up to you,” and grins when he sees you jolt. The pet name affects you. He knows.

Fuck it. You need this man now.

With a quick text to Yunjin, everything that happens on the way to Mingi’s doesn’t exist. The ride was both a torment and a blur when his hand trails so closely to where you need him and his hips adjust uncomfortably in the driver’s seat. You’re so horny that you’re sure you’ve sobered up already.

You lunge forward once the front door’s closed, eagerness undermining both your abilities to remove your shoes, too preoccupied with devouring the other.

Mingi tastes like sage and citrus, a flavour you’ll keep locked away forever; he breaks the kiss reluctantly, and that taste travels down your body, taking his time.

Mingi’s anything but composed, though, larger hands wrapped around your middle while he takes in your scent and sweat, nose pressed against your heaving stomach.

Just a mere bartender, a one-night stand acting like a lover when he fully goes onto his knees and zips open your boots. Torturously, agonisingly slow, and removes them even slower.

By the time the second shoe’s off, your hand has already messed up his hair. You push him to you, he pulls back.

“It’s my time to tease, doll. Patience.” You whine softly in disagreement, letting him plant soft kisses along your ankle, up to your shin and knees and finally your inner thighs that threaten to tighten in his hold.

“Mingi…” You don’t mean to sound so desperate off the bat, but your cunt’s pulsing and the AC’s sending goosebumps all over your skin and possibly the hottest man alive is on his knees in front of you.

“Fuck, baby, I can smell you from here.” Like a gentleman, he helps you to shimmy out of your miniskirt and underwear before tossing it somewhere and you’re suddenly self conscious about being all exposed.

But Mingi simply doesn’t care about decorum as he lifts your leg, prompting you to place it on his shoulder. He marvels at your arousal illuminated by the doorway lighting, stifling a moan.

“Look at you.” Sighing, he plays with your folds, trailing a finger up and down and smirking when he feels you shiver under his touch. “So perfect. All this for me?”

“Y-Yeah, just for you,” Your words are muffled from your hand, trying to hold back your sounds but Mingi isn’t having any of that. He thinks your ex-boyfriend may have something to do with it.

“Let me hear you, alright, honey?” Mingi takes your hand and interlocks it together with his, a promise that you’ll be the star tonight. “We’re safe here, there’s no need to hold back.”

You nod just as he blows into your cunt, making you clench around nothing and he smiles. “For now, let me eat my meal.”

And Mingi eats, convincing yourself that you’ve definitely driven a hole through his shoebox cabinet with how hard you were leaning against it. Your hips buck against his face, tongue flicking over your clit as you relish in the pleasure.

“Oh my G-God, Mingi…” You can barely hold eye contact with him as he latches onto your pussy like a vice, addicted to your taste, your sounds and how you drip endlessly all over his tongue.

“That’s it, doll, tell me how good you feel.” Mingi continues to inch closer on his knees, trapping himself under your thighs as his tongue works wonders.

With an experimental finger, he circles your pulsing hole and pushes in ever so slightly, making you almost keel over from the overwhelming feeling.

“Fuck, Mingi, that feels so—!” Your moans fill his house together with the lewd sounds of your pussy, feeling the vibrations of his hums on your sensitive clit. His thumb plays with it as he comes up for air, adding a second finger easily before starting to pump them with determination.

“That feel good?” He’s brutal in his thrusting, but it’s not even a minute when he returns with his merciless tongue again, swearing that you were seeing stars from this alone.

If Mingi was this pussy drunk, who knows how you’d feel when he’s in you? You tremble at the thought, fingers pulling at his hair until it stings.

But Mingi loves it, loves seeing your eyes flutter close and your toes curl in sheer pleasure as the prettiest mewls fall from your lips. You’re full on grinding into his face now, holding onto his hand like a lifeline, while there’s the audible slick sounds of your juices. 

It’s hotter than it was on the dance floor, and fully knowing you’d be buckling to the ground if it wasn’t for Mingi’s secure hold on you. Because you can feel yourself getting weaker and weaker the more the coil in your stomach turns, clamping down hard on his fingers.

“I-I’m close, baby—” Your words slip, every part of your body tingles and he pants out a plea.

“Call me that again for me, doll.” He’s ravishing you, ruining you for any other person and you wouldn’t have it any other way. His rings feel so cold on your cunt, while his mouth’s hot and he’s dizzy off of you.

“Gonna cum, baby,” If your friend couldn’t understand you while drunk, Mingi’s chest puffs with pride making you babble nonsensical things while you’re both tipsy with his name being the only coherent thing, “Mingi, Mingi, Mingiiii.”

The name becomes a chant together with needy whines that’s drowned out by your soaking pussy. Mingi lets the force of his palm stimulate your clit instead, and the visual of seeing him on his knees with this tongue out—

“F-fuck…” Your orgasm hits you in sudden waves, sending you jerking against his hold even when his fingers don’t slow down, “Feels s’good, Mingi—”

“There we go, baby, keep cumming… Taste just like honey.” Mingi groans and drives his tongue along your folds for a taste, but now he takes and takes, savouring whatever you have to give. Sweeter than his Lemon Drop, you taste so heavenly that he wants seconds.

But you have other plans, trying your best to regain your balance and simultaneously drag him up by the biceps. Mingi traps you in between the cabinet, and you trap him with a passionate kiss. Moaning into his mouth at your taste while he soothes your aching thighs with his gentle touch.

“Bed. Now.” Your cheeks warm as he laughs against your lips at your request. 

“You got it, doll.” With a hand outstretched, you grab hold and let him lead you just like the club. Along the way, you slip on your underwear just so you won’t be butt ass naked and he throws you a small smile. Except this time, you’re not performing for anyone, not for Hyunjae, not for yourself, and hopefully not for Mingi.

Though, if riding Mingi’s tongue had you thrashing left and right, you think you’d be safe, knowing he’ll take care of you.

His room feels strangely familiar — posters and records plastered up everywhere with a portable closet and pretty lights. There’s a few guitars in cases with one displayed proudly while his desk is littered with cute trinkets and a gaming set-up. It’s a lived-in bedroom, worn down from years of tape on walls and accidents from silly dance moves.

“Hard to believe I’m an adult with this room, huh?”

You smile at him, finding it endearing he’s still kept his hobbies and favourite things close to him. “No no, it’s charming. I like it.”

You continued, “I don’t think having a ‘serious’ job like bartending immediately eliminates your other hobbies.”

Mingi shoots you that boyish grin again, “You think my job’s ‘serious’?” and mimics your air quotes.

“Well, you are handling alcohol — it seems pretty serious, don’t you think?” There’s no choice but to giggle when Mingi’s expression turns from all-knowing to pondering. “And— And there’s always the usual brooding persons that come in to vent their problems to you.”

Mingi bursts out laughing at that with an attractive rasp to it, plopping on his Queen size. “You’re not wrong about that. I guess I’m sort of like a therapist too.”

Like a magnet, you feel the pull into his arms just as he whispers a c’mere, finally able to see his face properly when you stand in between his legs.

The glistening juices on the bottom half of his face make you flush just a bit, but up close, Mingi feels so familiar. Not the way Hyunjae was — that was habit disguised as familiarity.

But despite your unconfirmed fate and the possibility of never seeing Mingi again, he enchants like no other. Fuck, you were talking crazy. 

The other seems to see your dilemma, reaching for your hands. “We don’t have to do anything, you know?”

His touch is so tender, it makes your heart ache, “I know we only danced to scare off your boyfriend but I genuinely did want to know you. And… I know you feel it too, but I don’t wanna pressure you after seeing such a shitty thing in the club.”

“You’re… not wrong, Mingi. It has been only a few hours and you’ve already made me feel more worth than he ever did but, I’ll need time to process my feelings too.”

Slowly, you remove your hands from his but only to straddle him in the next second, whining softly when he tugs you closer if that was even possible. 

“But tonight, I want you to fuck all the feelings out of me. I don’t wanna think, I don’t wanna—” You heave a heavy sigh, swallowing when you think back to Hyunjae and his colleague. 

Mingi applies light pressure to your side to ground you. “(Y/N), hey, it’s no problem. Your wish is my command, tonight.”

“And after—”

“We’ll talk about the after later, don’t worry your pretty little head ’bout it.” You don’t even realise he’s flipped you over but he takes his time to remove his pants and boxers, ego stroked just a little when he sees your wide eyes at his size.

“You’re…” 

“I know, baby. We’ll take it slow, alright?” Mingi is steady even as he reaches over for a condom, but you stop him.

“Wanna feel all of you.” He swears his heart bursts at your cute pout. “I’m clean and on the pill, that okay?”

“More than okay. I’m clean too. You sure you’re okay?” He asks as he tugs your panties to the side, interrupted briefly from your impatient hum.

“Yes, Mingi. Please just fuck me already.” Your voice is less bratty, more pleading, but it strikes a chord within him. He obeys immediately. 

“Okay, okay!” His deep laugh elicits one out of you, too. At least you don’t stop him from taking the lube — he spurts a good amount and strokes himself with a soft grunt, mixing in with his pre-cum. Relief. “It’s gonna hurt. Need you to breathe and relax, okay?”

Mingi’s already much thicker than your ex, and you hiss slightly at the stretch once he inches his cock in. But it’s nothing you can take, eyes trained on how he’s pushing through slowly. 

“F-Fuck, baby, you gotta stop clenching. So tight—” You whimper at the sight, but Mingi uses his body to push you down, distracting you with deep kisses that subconsciously relaxes your body. His intoxicating smell and presence does the rest of the job.

“Taking me so well, good girl.” He mumbles into your skin as you become obsessed with the way his body engulfs yours, towering but certain.

His pendant’s movements are messy, colliding with your chin over and over but Mingi is just so deep it doesn’t register in your head. “Just a little more, honey, you got it.”

In the next minute, Mingi’s loud groan fills your ears, bottoming out in your walls that feel so warm that he never wants to pull out.

His furrowed eyebrows with sweat lined along it paired with his beautiful parted lips is enough to make your cunt pulse and heart full — making a pretty man like him lose his mind over you, desperation and profanity spilling over.

“M-Move, baby, please—” With a slow thrust of his hips, he has to drop his head to yours because you just feel too fucking good wrapped around his aching length. Both your shaky breaths mingle as he sets a comfortable pace that allows you both to feel every part of the other.

And his languid movements have never felt slower and more intense, the obscene noises of your soaking pussy stuffed full reverberating off the walls. It surrounds you like a cloud, making the feeling, the sensations rise to an all time high.

It’s worse when Mingi folds your legs to your chest, the image of his shaft disappearing into your pretty little pussy searing itself into his brain.

Mingi keeps his promise to you, taking your one-worded pleas and turning them into repeated “ah’s” with no room for any word or any doubt left in your mind. By now, he’s pistoning in and out of you, your release from earlier merging with the lube until both you and Mingi are filthy and soaking, juices flowing down your thighs and right into his sheets.

“You’re so wet, holy f-fuck—” His eyes are the ones struggling to stay open now, drunk off of everything you that he can’t even move his hips properly, stuttering every now and then.

There’s the delicious squelches every time his skin meets yours, the dizzying pap! pap! pap! that hypnotises you. “Listen to how wet your sweet pussy is, baby.”

You’re past words, only babbling incoherence as Mingi grunts above you, continuing to fill you up with his cock. His thrusts start to turn erratic, so lost in the feeling that the grip on your legs loses its hold. You take the chance to wrap them around his waist, barely catching his pendant and yanking him towards you.

“Kiss me stupid, Mingi.” The long, drawn out moan against your lips sends heat bubbling up from inside you. And the kiss he lands on you leaves fire along your skin, burning indefinitely until a particular thrust has your eyes rolling back.

“Cumming— f-fuck—!” It comes out in broken sobs as you see white, cumming so hard on his pulsating length that your juices spray everywhere and your legs shake uncontrollably. The slight sheen along his cock starts to form a ring of white and he whines at your warmth.

Everything — the craving for you, your tight cunt, how you leak all over him — makes him cum right after. “I-I’m gonna pump you full, baby— shit…”

Your eyes can’t help but roll back again at the sensation of Mingi painting your insides white, cum spurting so deep in you that you can feel it flow out. It’s so warm that you squirm as he holds your hips down, making sure your hole gets every last drop.

Without pulling out, he admires your sweaty top that’s been pushed past your tits, your heaving chest and the remnants of your trembling thighs with a lip bite accompanied by a smile.

Silently, he caresses your outer thighs, slowly bringing your feet down to rest on his soaked sheets. You whimper when you feel him pull out, the salacious sight of cum leaking out from your pussy comes out in blobs; it takes everything in Mingi to compose himself. 

Because you were utterly fucked out, eyes constantly blinking with a light-headed expression that tells him he might’ve fucked you dumb. Your little sounds are just adorable that he rubs his cum just one last time over your folds, claiming you.

“Okay okay, baby, I got you.” With a peck to your forehead, Mingi promises to come back with a wet rag and some water and the last thing you remember is sage and citrus wafting through the air as he plants a sweet kiss to your lips. “And then tomorrow, we’ll figure everything out, okay honey?”

You drift off easily, but you’ll find that for now and possibly forever, Mingi always keeps his promises.

A dream — you think, when you wake up, but you recognise that the bedroom is not yours and the ache in your body persists. But to your dismay, Mingi is nowhere to be found. Not until you hear faint humming coming from the kitchen and smell the lovely aroma of pancakes.

“Morning, baby.” Mingi says like you’ve always been in his life, like you’ve lived here for many years, like you’re familiar to him.

“Y-Yeah, good morning, Mingi.” Awkwardly, you take a seat at his island, but as you watch his broad back cooking breakfast for his one-night stand, you relax for a bit.

Mingi piles a few pancakes for you effortlessly, sliding the plate to you, followed by the butter and then holds up maple syrup in his left hand and honey in the other. The question is unsaid, but you nod towards his right with a small smile that’s returned.

“Eat.” With a plate in his hand as well, he plops down beside you as if one-night stands don’t complicate feelings and makes things messy.

But Mingi, the bartender, with a pure heart and even lovelier soul (you have yet to discover this), eats a meal beside you like you’re tied together by fate (maybe).

(You are).

Now, his deep voice sounds small, but sure. “And then we’ll talk feelings after. And we can talk about the ‘after’ after.”

A deep breath for good measure and luck. “And also maybe about the date I’d wanna bring you on.”

by. janus, from me to you ♡ also major thank you to this video which made me lose my mind n inspired this...

[lalacliffthorne]

🖤 the fake dating scheme 🖤

Azriel x Reader

part I part II

summary: a scheme needs rules.

notes: didn't think so many people would be into this concept tbh. hope you keep enjoying it 🖤 ______________________________________________________________

The lock clicks, and I push open the door, waving my hand.

Fae lights flicker to life. Their warm glow spills through the small living room, soft and familiar, and I hesitate before looking over my shoulder.

The floorboards creak gently. Then shadows bleed over the threshold, whispering quietly, and my breath catches.

Azriel slowly steps through the doorway. His wings brush against the frame, and the warm golden light turns his eyes into liquid amber as they slide over the worn leather couch, the shelves spilling over with books and the dining table covered in documents.

Shadows coil gently around his wings, whispering where they meet the light.

He's never been here before. Maybe because I am too protective of my own space.

Now, he looks so out of place looming in the doorway that a giggle nearly bubbles in my throat.

Cauldron. This really is absolutely and entirely mad.

For a moment, I hesitate, my heart pounding firmly against my ribs. Then I turn quickly.

"I think we need to set some ground rules."

Azriel's eyes move away from the daggers on the coffee table, and something leaps softly into my throat when they meet mine.

Suddenly, I'm aware of how small the room is. How wide his shoulders are, how much space his towering body takes up. How the shadows curling around him are whispering, and how his amber eyes seem to track my every move.

My breath hitches softly.

Absolutely and entirely mad.

Azriel's gaze flickers over my face. Then he moves.

Shadows whisper gently over my skin, his scent washes over me, and for a second, the feeling of his hands wrapped around my ribs and his lashes fluttering against my cheeks washes over me.

The shadowsinger pushes past me and his rough skin brushes my wrist; my heart leaps into my throat, and I forcefully drag myself away from the memory.

Azriel leans against the dining table, stretching out his long legs and fixing his eyes on me. Then he dips his head lightly. "Go on."

Something swells a little in my chest, and I let out a slow breath.

Alright.

So far, so good.

Now I just need to manage this conversation without accidentally saying something that makes him want to murder me after all.

"Well." I slowly lean back against the arm of the sofa, my gaze flickering over the Spymaster's face. "How long do we plan on doing this?"

Azriel's eyes pierce mine. Then one of his brows rises lightly.

"I don't know. What was your plan after kissing the first male in sight?"

I blink.

I knew it.

This is a terrible idea. A harebrained, stupid idea that has cost me my last bit of remaining dignity, and now he's going to use every second of this insane charade to torment me for the single most ridiculous thing I have ever done in my whole life -

The corner of Azriel's lips curves, just barely.

My heart leaps high against my ribs. Then my shoulders sag.

"Oh, hilarious." I huff and cross my arms.

The ghost of a crease forms in Azriel's cheek.

"Just a little." His deep voice sounds dry, and something lodges gently in my throat when I stare back at him.

In the warm light, his eyes look strangely amused.

I blink. Then I quickly look away.

"Well. It should at least be long enough that it seems serious enough to count. To convince Mor that I really am alright." I crunch my brows softly. "But also not serious or long enough that - when we eventually break up, she won't believe me that I'm not heartbroken."

Azriel nods lightly.

"It has to last until Solstice. That's three months from now." His deep voice tinges with something that sounds very close to irritation when he adds in a low mumble: "That should prove to Cass and Rhys I'm not incapable of lasting connection."

Something dips gently in my chest in surprise, and my gaze darts up and flickers over his face.

I can't help but wonder if he's irritated by their assumption - or if maybe, they're right.

"Have you never had a relationship?"

The question is out before I can stop it. Then my heart drops, and my eyes widen.

Azriel's dark gaze rises and settles on mine, and I nearly shrink.

Oh Mother.

I'm busted.

Quickly, I blurt: "I just - well, Cass and Rhys have known you for basically your whole life, and if you say they don't think you're capable of lasting connection, that implies that they've never seen you in one before, which in turn means you never had a relationship."

One of Azriel's brows quirks.

I blink.

I'm also dead.

For a second, we stare at each other over the coffee table. Then Azriel's voice vibrates through me, deep and slow and unbelievably dry.

"You do realise that just because they have never seen me in a relationship does not mean that I have never been in one."

I blink.

Right.

"Anyway." Feeling my cheeks heat and tearing my eyes away hastily, I clear my throat. "What else?"

Just for a second, Azriel's eyes flash with that same strangely amused twinkle.

"I need you to be there for as many social occasions as possible." He straightens lightly, voice slow and steady. "Whether it's family dinner, a formal gathering or something else. That way Rhys and Cass stay off my back, and it keeps - unwanted attention away from both of us." His gaze pierces mine, and my heart leaps gently.

"Alright." I hesitate for a second, my eyes flickering over his face.

I've been thinking about the next point since I've brought up ground rules.

It's the one I'm most certain will cause him to change his mind and decide that ripping me to shreds might actually be a joyful compensation for the situation I have dragged him into.

But I know that without it, this whole scheme will blow up in our faces.

So I breathe in and and out, blurting the dreaded words with the exhale.

"We need to spend time together apart from everyone else."

Azriel's eyes sharpen in the warm light.

Just for a second, a muscle in his jaw tightens.

My heart leaps against my ribs, and I shrug softly, offering him a hesitant smile. "They're going to get suspicious if we only make a point of showing up together when people are watching."

Azriel's gaze pierces mine. It's dark, and unwavering, and I stare back, bracing myself for the inevitable.

The shadowsinger blinks slowly. Then his voice brushes over my skin, low and steady.

"Any ideas?"

Something catches softly in my throat.

Azriel just watches me. Calm, waiting.

I blink and somehow manage to pull myself together.

"I don't know, say - sleep five nights a week together?" My heart leaps high, and my eyes widen a little as I add hastily: "I- I mean act like we do. Sleep - together." I blink. "Not actually sleep together — I mean, just sleep in the same room."

Somehow, I manage to shut myself up because I can make it worse. Something is thrumming against my ribs.

Azriel's eyes are fixed on mine.

This is a terrible idea.

Truly, awful, terrible idea -

"Four nights."

My thoughts of impending doom screech to an abrupt halt, and my gaze flies up.

Azriel crosses his arms, his gaze steady and calm. He sounds strangely unbothered given what he's currently agreeing to.

"We'll have to see how our assignments line up. It'll probably be easiest if we spend most nights here, because there's nobody around to be nosy." His brow quirks lightly. But he looks only mildly irritated; maybe even a little amused when he adds: "We are going to have to spend at least a few nights at the Townhouse now and then though, so nobody gets suspicious." His eyes pierce mine, glowing in the light. Then the corner of his lips curves, just barely. "I'll take the couch."

Something under my ribs swells.

Maybe we will actually be fine.

Well. Don't push it.

"Alright." Exhaling, I nod.

For a moment, I hesitate and chew on my lip. Then I blurt softly: "How far are we going?"

The shadowsinger lightly quirks an eyebrow. His eyes are swirling amber in the warm light.

"I mean -" My gaze flickers over his face, and my throat closes gently. "I just -"

Don't know how much I can handle without bursting.

Azriel's gaze shifts and narrows in. Something closes gently around my chest when it deepens until it seems to burn through my skin. Then his low voice brushes over my skin, slow and firm.

"I don't care what you think anybody expects." His eyes pierce mine, brows drawing together gently almost like he's willing me to listen very closely. "You decide how far you are willing to go."

Suddenly, there's a small, gentle lump in my throat.

"What about you?" My voice is soft when my eyes dart over his.

The planes of Azriel's face looks like carved from marble. But his eyes are calm and steady when he returns my gaze.

"I'll just follow your lead."

I exhale, and something swells harshly under my ribs when my shoulders sink.

"Alright." I nod slowly.

Azriel's eyes glide over my face like he's making sure I mean it. Then he nods back lightly.

"Well." I breathe in and raise my brows. "We are going to have to create some kind of - illusion of intimacy. I mean, I think we can agree on the fact that we won't have to be as bold as Cassian would be, I mean, neither of us is the type for that, so it would actually be more suspicious if we were too obvious -" I exhale again and raise my head. "How about we just agree to follow what feels - natural. In the moment."

Azriel's eyes pierce mine. Then he nods once, steady and calm.

"Alright." I nod back. "I guess we will figure the rest out along the way." My lips twitch as suddenly, something is fluttering against my ribs. It feels strangely giddy.

I raise my brows. "This feels secretive enough to warrant an oath to hold us to our agreement."

I'm almost sure I can see Azriel's lips twitch. Then he rises, and my breath catches gently when, amber eyes burning into mine, he holds out his hand.

Staring up at him, I swallow softly. Then I slowly push myself to my feet and reach out.

Warm, rough skin glides against mine when I slip my palm into Azriel's. Long, calloused fingers wrap around my hand, their grip firm but strangely gentle, and my heart leaps into my throat when Azriel shakes my hand, his eyes piercing mine.

I blink. Then I slowly slip my hand out of his and grin, softly and cheekily.

"Well, now that we've settled this - I'm calling it a night." I hesitate, my eyes flickering over his face. "Are you…"

Shadows curl around Azriel's wings when he returns my stare steadily. Then he nods lightly. "I'm staying."

My heart leaps gently against my ribs.

Azriel blinks, and one of his dark eyebrows twitches. "Mor would get suspicious if I slept at the Townhouse." His gaze pierces mine, and his deep voice is slow when he adds: "Besides. To make this believable, I have to smell like you."

Something catches gently in my throat.

For a moment, we stare at each other. The spots in Azriel's eyes are shifting like stars through the sky. His shadows whisper gently against the floorboards. Then I blink and send him a soft, cheeky smile and turn around.

When I reach the doorway to the bedroom, I hesitate. Then I exhale and look over my shoulder, grinning softly even as something plucks at my heart.

 “You must think I’m an idiot.”

Azriel's eyes rise to meet mine.

For a second, we stare at each other. His iris is glowing softly in the warm light. Then he blinks, and his slow, rough voice brushes down my spine. “I don’t.”

Something swells gently against my ribs.

Azriel raises a brow.

“I mean, I do. Sometimes." His eyes pierce mine. Then the corner of his lips curves, just barely. "When you decide to just kiss somebody without actually looking at them and then rope them into pretending you’re seeing each other for example –“

My heart leaps into my throat, and my lips part incredulously.

“You offered that!”

Azriel stares at me, and slowly, the ghost of a smirk forms on his lips.

Something swells in my throat until it feels hard to breathe.

“I hate you.” My mumble is soft and grouchy. But the thrum of my heart betrays me.

Azriel's eyes are twinkling in the light as they pierce mine. Then he blinks and bows his head lightly. "Goodnight."

My breath hitches gently. Then I nod back gently.

"Goodnight."

♡

It takes me hours to fall asleep.

The knowledge that Azriel is in my flat, my small, chaotic home, makes what happened tonight real.

But somewhere between the slow, strange realisation that I don't feel half as nervous as I probably should and the sky slowly turning a lighter shade of blue, I finally drift away.

When I wake up, the sun tickles my face and the flat is quiet.

For a moment, I just bury deeper into my blanket, blinking tiredly. I can hear the gentle buzz of the city from outside my window, soft voices streaming up from the cafe in the cobblestone alley below. A gentle breeze shifts the thin curtains, brushing over my skin.

I lay still for a while longer, feeling the drowsy feeling of sleep slowly leaving my limbs and the soft weight of the sheets wrapped around my body. Then, rubbing my eyes, I slowly sit up and slide off the mattress.

My bare feet are almost soundless on the wooden floorboards when I pad over to the door, stretching lightly.

Opening it, I raise my head, and my breath catches.

Azriel is leaning against the counter. Sunlight is streaming through the window, turning his eyes into liquid gold and shining through the thin membranes of his wings. His brows are crunched lightly against the gentle glow.

He's not wearing a shirt.

Suddenly, something is thrumming under my ribs.

Azriel turns his head, and shadows whisper softly against his wings.

I didn't think he would stay.

For a quiet moment, we look at each other from across the room, like the last bits of night are slowly washing away and what we are left with is the deal we struck in the middle of the night over the coffee table.

It feels less tense than I imagined. Calmer. More steady.

I blink. Then I smile, soft and careful.

"Hey."

Azriel's eyes pierce mine. Then he slowly slides a steaming cup over the counter.

His iris looks like amber from this angle.

A slow exhale leaves me, and I feel my shoulders sink when I send him a soft, cheeky grin.

"The service."

The ghost of a crease forms in Azriel's cheek, and his eyes drag over my face.

Rubbing my eyes, I start to make my way over into the kitchen. Azriel watches me get closer. His shoulders shift, tattoos rippling gently. He looks calm, relaxed.

Like somehow, he fits into the small embrace of my home, in with the worn floorboards and the old couch and the little corner of a kitchen.

I decide not to mull on that last thought.

With a sigh, I pull myself up onto the smooth wooden counter, rubbing my eyes softly before picking up the cup. The scent of herbs rises into my nose, and my lids flutter gently when I breathe it in softly.

Silence settles over the kitchen. I don't know if I'm simply still too tired to care, but it feels warm and comfortable, like the sunlight falling onto the floorboards.

Azriel is blinking into the warm rays. The golden sheen causes his skin to glow and dips his eyes into amber. A dark strand of hair is curving over his forehead.

Fighting the strange sudden urge to brush it back, I wrap my fingers around the warm cup and blink sleepily. Shadows whisper, soft and gentle, lapping at the floorboards.

After a few sips of tea, my body starts to wake.

Leaning my temple against the cabinet, I hesitate, my eyes on the side of Azriel's face. Then I start softly: "Are you still -"

His head turns, and I lose my thread of thought for a breath when his golden eyes meet mine. There are dark spots dancing in his iris.

I blink before mumbling gently: "Are we still doing this?"

Azriel's gaze pierces mine, steady and unreadable. Then his deep voice brushes over my skin, low and calm.

"Have you changed your mind?"

I shake my head softly from side to side.

The shadowsinger dips his head lightly, and one of his brows rises. "Then we're doing this."

I exhale and nod, my shoulders straightening gently.

"Alright."

Azriel's gaze pierces mine, and the dark spots in his iris shift, strangely akin to a twinkle.

A rapid, loud knock against the front door makes me jump, nearly spilling my tea.

"What the -"

The door flies open before I can even finish my sentence, and a tall blonde figure sweeps over the threshold.

"I cannot believe you -"

My heart leaps high.

Mor's gaze finds mine. She stops abruptly, and my breath gets stuck in my throat.

For a second, the Blonde looks stunned. Her lips are parted lightly, brows raised. Her gaze slowly drags back and forth between me and the male beside me.

Azriel's eyebrows quirks.

Quickly, I slide off the counter. My feet hit the ground, and Mor slowly blinks.

"Alright… Finding both of you here is admittedly not what I expected, though, looking back, an obvious assumption… but at least this way I don't have to have this conversation twice." She clears her throat and straightens, raising her brows. "What do you two have to say for yourselves?"

I blink and swallow. Then I smile sheepishly. "Tea?"

Mor narrows her eyes.

"Nice try. I might come back to that in a second. Now spill it. What is this, why don't I know about it, how long has this been going on?!"

My heart leaps against my throat, and my mind blanks.

Brilliant.

All this talk yesterday and we really forgot the simple point of coming up with a story.

Bollocks.

Somewhere behind me, Azriel huffs.

"It's none of your business." His deep voice sounds lazy and a little dry.

Mor crunches her brows like he's just made the most preposterous statement and snorts.

"I'm both of your best friend. Of course it is my business!"

My shoulders stiffen.

We really should have thought about this. This is bad. This is really, really -

There's a shift in the air behind me. Then something brushes against my shoulder.

Shadows whisper against my ankles, and my breath catches when a rough palm presses against my lower back in a featherlight, steadying touch for nothing but a second.

Mor's eyes narrow in. I feel myself sink back almost instinctively, into the towering presence behind me, trying to suppress the urge to wince as I wait for her to call our bluff -

I don't know what Mor sees. But the Blonde exhales and rolls her eyes dramatically.

"Fine... Just tell me how it happened!" Her eyes find mine again, starting to twinkle, and my heart tumbles against my ribs.

"I don't know." I lightly raise my shoulders, smiling weakly. "It just - did."

Well, at least that's not a lie.

Mor huffs and crosses her arms. But her lips curve slowly, and I risk a quick glance over my shoulder.

My heart leaps into my throat.

Azriel is so close that his chest lightly brushes against my shoulder. His wings are looming, relaxed against his back, his hand resting on the counter behind me, just close enough I can feel the tips of his fingers graze my hip.

It's not flashy. No show of closeness.

He's just there. Towering over me, quiet, calm. Steadying. Like it's natural for him to be right where he is now, close enough that I can feel his breath against my hair and his presence in my back.

It feels real.

Blinking, I tear my eyes away again and meet Mor's. She's still staring at us, her eyes narrowed. But that strange twinkle is slowly spreading through her iris. Then she huffs.

"Fine. Be secretive." Her voice sounds almost grudgingly amused when she adds in a mumble: "It suits you."

Azriel's lips twitch.

Exhaling dramatically, Mor raises her hands. "Alright, I won't ask." Her eyes are twinkling with mischief when they meet mine. "But you owe me breakfast for not telling me."

Something like relief swells under my ribs, and I exhale. "Fair."

Mor beams.

"Well, then; get dressed, I'm not taking you out like this!" She raises her brows at Azriel. "I'd say you're welcome to join, but knowing you, you've got somewhere to be."

I look up over my shoulder, and Azriel looks down at me. His eyes are piercing, steady.

My heart leaps gently at the silent question in his gaze, and I send him a soft nod.

Azriel's lips curve just the slightest bit. Then he says, gaze never leaving mine: "Rhys is waiting for me."

I blink, feeling my brows crunch gently when my gaze flickers over his face.

Somewhere at the back of my mind, I wonder if it's the truth. And if it is - why he stuck around instead of leaving.

Mor pointedly clears her throat.

My heart leaps against my ribs, and quickly, I tear my eyes away from Azriel's.

The Blonde grins, then she raises her brows at the Spymaster. "Alright, well, off you go then."

The shadowsinger huffs, then he pushes off the counter, and my breath catches when his chest presses lightly against my shoulder.

"I'll see you later." His deep voice brushes over my skin, low and quiet like the words are meant to seem only for me. My eyes rise to meet his, and Azriel's gaze pierces mine, calm and steady.

Something swells gently against my ribs, and I nod lightly.

Rough skin brushes my hand. My breath catches in my throat, and for just a heartbeat, Azriel's scarred fingers slide between mine, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. Then his hand slips away, and he is swallowed by shadows.

part I part II

@azrielshadows1nger @waytoomanyteenagefeels @secretlyhers

@icey--stars @ailyr92 @xadenswhore

@sttvrdustt @thalia-as-blog @navyblue-eternity

@florencemtrash @kksbookstuff @messageforthesmallestman

@myfatbottomedgirls @laurenslover864 @xinsonyax

@fxckmiup @bestlessonslearnt @balufy

@sheblogs @i-am-infinite @wickedshadowsinger

@gretavankleep37 @extro2603 @thelov3lybookworm

@brekkershadowsinger @hoeforthefictional @historygeekqueen

@a-court-of-milkandhoney @lilah-asteria

[groovyfrenzypantheon]

This was me on my birthday yesterday. I wondered if you would care if you found me dead in the bathtub from pills or slitting my throat. And I thought about how you might just laugh and tell the guy from the very beginning that I'm finally not a problem or in the way anymore.

And I won't let you have that satisfaction. You're not worth losing my life over. Or catching a charge for because he wants to fight me for your amusement.

I fucking loathe you. I want to dig my long fingernails into my eye sockets and yank down as hard as I can until I fucking scream from the pain of my eyes coming out of my head. I feel fucking ugly and stupid. I ignored so many 'friends' on Snapchat that were ex's or fuck buddies. Ignored the video of you sucking a guy too within the first month, and now you tell me he gave you a ride shortly after we started dating too? Just to piss me off? You're a fucking cunt. And I'm glad I hit on your sister and your best friend's hot MILF mom after all that. Even they want nothing to do with you. Or your mother. And your father is dead and would be ashamed of the slut with daddy issues you became. You literally showed me you wanting to hook up with older men on Craigslist and other apps before you met me, saying you were in a 'kinky hoe phase'

But now you're just gonna tell everyone at our job half of the story, crush on the manager you complained at home to me about that you written up, accuse me of having an affair with a coworker and now you're best friends because you told her bad shit about me.

You're the worst bitch I ever knew in my life. You told me that you added Jaison on Snapchat because you got mad I was asleep when the landlord came with your mattress at 8:00pm instead of 9:30, and you woke me up screaming on the phone to go downstairs.

So that makes you want to add the guy you sucked off on video when we started dating? The video you 'forgot' about? And you think I didn't expect you to hit him up again? Out of the four dudes the one you had sucking on video is probably gonna be the one you hit up. I just didn't think your 'reasoning' would be that lmao.

Yeah. I wish I was dead. I got gaslit and manipulated into supporting someone for years. While being treated like shit and being held to hypocritical standards and living like roommates but not allowed to break up. But when the rent is cheaper because we move and you get mad about me taking a nap before a delivery for your free mattress from the landlord... You hit that dude up?

Yeah you're fucking nuts dude. That's some mental gymnastic.

[biteyoubiteme]

meet me in montauk teaser

choi soobin x fem!reader

𓅪 synopsis: do you ever truly forget a person? even those whom you have specifically paid to be removed from your mind? no matter how hard some try, some people can never be forgotten because the love and the hurt can be found in even the smallest things. memories easily triggered by nothing more than running your fingers through the grains of sand on the beach where you met, not once but twice. ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ warnings: fem!reader, angst, romance, bit of a science fiction au, soulmate trope ish, depression, mentions of pregnancy, miscarriage, postpartum depression, smut, more to be added/subject to change/full warnings to be posted with fic

estimated word count: ~25k I could be lying I don't know how to estimate word counts so we will actually see how far off I am or just right when it’s posted lol ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ release date: july 2025

ོ ⸝⸝⸝ now playing: back to me- the marías an: this is based off the movie Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, most of the movie is spent going through memories and this is a bit of my interpretation of that although not as heavily as the movie does it. i hope that you guys like this one its very heavy but i love it and was looking for a bit of an outlet and its helped me a lot and i hope you guys can find something you like in it as well <333

[m.list]

With beomgyu on one side, teasing him, and taehyun on the other, telling soobin he should have given you his number, he looked back at you across the street, looking back at him. And it didn't matter if he looked like a madman, he turned back, hand cupping his mouth as he shouted across that nearly empty New York street right at the head of the subway stairs, “Do you work tomorrow?” 

The question had pulled everyone to a stop, your face heating up, not caring if yeonjun and Kai joked over the clear crush you had formed over a single beach trip, “On Monday! You'll visit me, right?” 

“I wouldn't miss it!” Not when he had found someone so interesting, he forgot himself enough to shout into the busy city just to catch one more line with you. And while both of you left in the opposite direction, you still wore identical, hazy, love-struck, love-sick smiles all the way home. 

It had been instant then, and it was instant now. The unfurrowing of your life lines not crossing once, but twice, when the two of you had done everything in your power to forget one another. 

The treatment had been offered as a last ditch effort to pull your relationship out of a sinking ship. A lifeline tossed into the water, thrashing with unrelenting emotions, drowning the both of you until the waves were too high and too heavy to fight. But it had not been like that at first; your ship was just sailing, and the masts were heavy and strong with each gust of wind heading your way. No low going self-implosion waiting on your horizon. At least not just yet. 

Because at the start of it all, on that Monday morning, soobin had called in sick, faked a strained voice with the aid of his sleep-ridden one, and made sure to secure the full day without a blink of an eye. He didn't know when you started your shift, if it was in the afternoon or even at night; all he knew was that he would be there waiting to be checked out with your favorite novel tucked in the crook of his elbow. 

He hadn't gotten your number, and distance made the heart grow fonder, so the only replay in his mind was the way you made him laugh and the way he wanted to see you laughing right along with him. And when he arrived, you hadn’t been in sight, the checkout counters bare of people, just as the rest of the store. His languid stroll only made him take in the place as you might have seen it. The towering light washed wooden shelves holding far too many books to not make the place feel cramped in the best way possible. Ladders sitting at the edge of each aisle waited, and he wondered how often you must have had to climb up one for a customer scared to reach a height they hadn't been expecting for a paperback. 

And as he rounded that last corner, he ran into you with your apron on, the bookstore logo tattooed on the front in delicate green stitching above the neatly done black of your name. “You came,” your voice hooking him in the way it was just so easily said, an exhale that he had been waiting to feel the second he saw you again. Because it had been a bit like holding his breath. His anxious mind worked to ask him the question: Was she really like how he remembered her, or was it just the salt and the sand influencing his mind? 

But it hadn't been the beach, not when you stood so vividly alive there, just as you had sitting next to him on the shore and the train. “I told you I wouldn't miss it,” because anything he had been feeling washed away, and he was just a boy in a store flirting with a girl he felt like he had known for a lifetime.

⸝⸝⸝

taglist 🏷: want to be added to the taglist? check out my rules to see how to join!want to be taken off the taglist? send an ask! everyone on my txt taglist will already be tagged

[not-maggie]

Hard Launch

Spencer Agnew x Reader

Summary: You and Spencer have been dating for a couple months, what better way to reveal it than during a game on the Pit channel?

A/N) First time writing for Spencer! i saw today's pit video and immediately got inspired to write something for the resident gamer. the spence community has been eating GOOD recently♡

Working at Smosh was fun! You basically got paid to hang out with your friends and post to social media, your two favorite things to do! You started at the company a year ago, fresh out of college with degrees in communications and marketing, new to L.A, and an excitement to leave your mark somewhere. You had interviewed with Smosh, with their growing popularity, they needed more hands available. You landed the job and quickly became a part of the family, helping manage their social media accounts. You got to post sneak peaks of upcoming videos, silly videos of you and your coworkers behind the scenes, and the members of Smosh attempting the latest trends and challenges. 

You easily fit in with the family, their charm and wit immediately making you comfortable, almost like you’ve always had a place there. You became quick friends with Angela and Chance, Courtney and Shayne, Tommy and Trevor…and Spencer. Spencer was different, something about his wild and out-of-pocket humor masked by the shy nerdy guy he was immediately intrigued you. You two hit it off right away, a shared love for video games and movies quickly turned into movie and game nights at each other’s apartments. After about three months of dancing around each other, Spencer finally asked you out. You two agreed to keep the relationship on the downlow, not wanting to experience the craziness from both the internet and the people in the office you love so dearly. You loved the Smosh family, but what you and Spencer had was soft, quiet, yours. A love between two people that belonged to only you. Lazy mornings, movie nights, cuddling on the couch with his cats, cooking adventures. It was amazing.

Which brings you to now, you two had discussed the idea of going public, about announcing your relationship to the world. You were both okay with it, you just needed to decide when and how. It was your idea to do it through one of the many games played on the channels, and what better game than Phone It In, the game about guessing who’s phone it is by the images provided. The game was simple, each person submitted a screenshot of their latest google searches, a text message exchange from a person of their choosing, and a picture from their photos. The three people playing, today it’s Spencer, Amanda, and Trevor, then had to guess who’s phone it is from a list of potential options of people in the office. 

The game was going smoothly, Spencer currently in the lead as the three crack jokes and use their detective skills to get the most points. “Alright, lets see the next Google search,” Tommy prompts as the next round begins. An image pops on the board. Spencer immediately writes his answer, it’s you, and he knows your brain like it’s his own. “So, we have ‘Sushi near me’, ‘Converse sale’, and ‘Pokemon A to Z release date’. Whoever this is, is a gamer.” Tommy continues to commentate as Amanda and Trevor struggle to decide. Many people in the office play Pokemon and wear converse. They both abstain and wait for the text messages to be revealed. The contact picture and name are blocked out as Tommy reads out the exchange. Spencer smiles softly at the picture, the conversation had happened only a couple days ago, you had asked him to pick up sushi for dinner despite just getting some the other day, he obviously had given in and gotten you the sushi. Amanda writes down a name she thinks could fit, not confident in her answer. Spencer catches your eye as you sit behind the camera, watching your reaction. You flash a grin at him as he raises an eyebrow, the final clue is revealed at Trevor’s request. A picture of Spencer laying on his bed in his apartment, lipstick marks littered across his neck and face as he grins up at you with a lovesick smile. Who took the picture isn’t obvious, the only clue being a small portion of your hand visible on his chest. 

The studio goes silent before a combined gasp and scream of surprise goes through everyone. Spencer sits there, cheeks flaming as he hides his face in his hands. “SPENCER!” Amanda shouts, gripping his arm, trying to form words but left speechless. Trevor too struggles to express his thoughts, mouth opening and closing, “Wait! I think I know!” Trevor grins as he quickly writes down a name. “Can I change my answer?” Amanda whines, “It’s so obvious now!” Tommy denies her requests as he has them reveal their guesses. He has Amanda go first, she had guessed Ollie, her reasoning being that they’re a Pokemon nerd and wear Converse...before the third picture had been revealed obviously. Trevor was next, he flipped his board and there in big letters was your name, “those two are always together, honestly, I thought they were dating for the longest time,” he reasons. It comes down to Spencer, “well, I think I know this person pretty well,” he jokes as he flips his board. Your name. “The Converse and sushi gave it away for me, but I guess that third picture jogs my memory a bit.” 

Tommy smiles as he turns to the board, “let’s see who’s phone it is, is it Y/N?” Your name and picture flash on the screen, confirming that it’s your phone. Screams echo around the studio at the confirmation of it being your lips on Spencer’s neck. “Wait! Wait, wait, wait, wait!” Amanda holds out her hands. “Are you two…dating?” She questions Spencer as all eyes fall on him. He glances at you as you watch with a grin, “a second Smosh couple has hit the office," he confirms with a goofy grin.

[yup-thats-me]

—Jelly • K. Hongjoong

⋆˙⟡pairing: bf!Hongjoong x fem!reader ⋆˙⟡summary: ❝It wasn't your plan to run into your old crush before a date with your lover. but you couldn't lie, seeing the evil squirrel getting jelly did feel nice❞ ⋆˙⟡warnings: none ⋆˙⟡a/n: had fun writing this. lmk how you guys enjoyed it :3

₊˚⊹𐙚°｡⋆♡

"Joongie," You ask, mischief sparkling in your eyes. "Are you jealous?"

And Hongjoong turns, eyes boring into yours. "What if I am?" he asks quitely. "God forbid a man gets angry that some asshole tries flirting with his girl."

You giggle, hitting him lightly. "Babe," you manage to say between laughs. "He was not flirting with me."

"Uh, pretty sure he was," he pointed. You smile, poking his cheek.

Hongjoong being as busy as he was, it took him a really long time to plan this date with you.

Coming home to see you fast asleep on the couch because you stayed up late waiting for him, keeping away from him while he worked, only giving him coffee for breaks and stole small pecks, it pained Hongjoong.

He too wanted to hold you close and eat dinner together, have long talks about life and nothing at all. So when he finally found a day off in his schedule before the tour starts again, he spent days meticulously planning each and everything for today.

What places you'll visit, the restaurants booked, outfits picked beforehand. All of that for to chat with your old crush for twenty minutes.

"Joongie," you start, pouting. "Why are you so mad, though? I'm yours and pretty much the entire world knows that."

Hongjoong turns, eyes boring into yours.

"Its not about that, Y/n!" He pouted.

Running into a crush from school was not in your plan. Having bumped into him in a coffee shop, all those memories came flooding back. The days you had spent researching for his favorite color at school, sneaking peeks while he played basketball. The man was a catch, you'd give him that.

But Hongjoong had not failed to see how the now-irrelevant-guy's jaw clenched when you introduced the singer as your boyfriend. Hongjoong snaked his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. Giving the man a tight smile, he offered his hand.

"Kim Hongjoong, nice to meet you."

And you could sense something shift in the air. What you didn't see was the two men had each other's hands in a death-grip, jaw clenched. As they parted, their hands were red.

As you talked, the guy tried several times to get your number on the pretense of ''catching up." And maybe you would've given to him if not for his request of meeting you alone. Without your lover who's right beside you.

Being you, you nudged Hongjoong lightly as you gave him some made-up number on the spot. Those days have passed. He means nothing now. And if you did in fact want to catch up, you could do it with your other friends.

Hongjoong couldn't lie, he did feel a surge of pride when he saw how smoothly you handled the situation.

But now alone with you beside him, the producer now realized that he still could lose you. In his mind, you can still leave him after four loving years sent together. No matter how many times he tells himself that you won't, the brain is such a thing that does not know to shut up.

He spoke after a long period of silence. "...Would you have gone with him if I wasn't around?" His voice slow and meek.

You shake your head. "You think?" You say, smiling gently. "He's history, my love," hands clasping with his.

"He was and is just a girlhood crush. You, darling," your hands caressing his cheek. "How could I leave someone so wonderful? You're my life, don't you know that?"

The sincerity in your voice made it impossible to not meet your gaze. Breathing softly, Hongjoong brushes hair out of your face, pressing his lips to yours.

And before you could react, the man is leant back on his seat, smiling smugly.

"At least give me a warning!"

do not copy, steal or translate my work on any other sites. All rights belongs to yup-thats-me© on tumblr

⋆. 𐙚 ˚reqs are openᝰ.ᐟ

[kattsmuse]

Thinking about messy relationships with the guys

FWB with Johnny, but HE catches feelings and you're afraid of commitment. You're hooking up with other people and dating, he's only sleeping with you and is so loyal. He's really angry about it but you were never there to begin with so he doesn't do anything about it until he sees something he doesn't like.

Hasty marriage with John. You're both tired of dating, and you're worried about your biological clock, get married on a whim at a courthouse only to find it insufferable to actually live together. Both are too stubborn to get a divorce. Both are too attached to let the other go. He very much wants to protect you, even if you irritate him sometimes. You're his safe space and you know that. Just neither of you communicate this with one another. It isn't until you're arguing and he takes you firmly by the arm and shouts how much he loves you and how irritated that makes him.

Friendzoned Kyle. He's head over heels, exactly your type, is so charming to you. Takes you on dates you insist aren't dates. He's ideal for you on paper, but you don't want to ruin the friendship. You've lost too many friends by having feelings so you keep him at arms length, and he would do anything to make you his. He's the first one you call post breakup. He's got the cheat codes on how every one has ended, and is now just waiting for the right moment to say something.

Situationship with Simon. You make him feel safe the way nobody else ever has. You ease his mind and calm his body. He makes you feel safe like nobody before. But you're both refusing to say what it really is. Nobody really knows when you're on or off because you two go back and forth so much. You're sleeping in his bed constantly and he's always fucking your brains out but you both refuse to acknowledge you're together until he casually introduces you to his friends as his wife.

[concretejunglefm]

𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐂 𝐌𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒… 03

Summary: When you were convinced to visit a male strip club, you didn’t anticipate that the guy you locked eyes with on stage and who subsequently pulled you up for a routine, would turn out to be the same guy whose roommate advert you’d be responding to less than 24 hours later.

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader, (slight) Jesse Cash x reader.

CW: two idiots in love, reader ogling Noah like he's a piece of meat, Noah in his short shorts.

WC: 5.5k.

AN: Alright, so I’m not sure how many parts this will have. All I know is that this is for fun I hope you enjoy Noah being a lovable himbo.

Dividers: silent-stories.

Fic Masterlist

With a heaving sigh, you throw yourself onto the couch and lean back, resting your head against a cushion you’d moved to the armrest. It was back to the drawing board after yet another failed date, scrolling through the now limited options. If it wasn’t some cheesy line in their bio that put you off, it was the fact they were either clearly out of your league—or out of your radius.

“No, no, no,” you repeat, swiping past a firefighter, a guy who looked like he could be a fighter—or maybe a trainer—some ‘voice actor,’ a real actor, a guy wearing a mask to obscure his face with his whole ass titties out, dubbing himself as being from Arcadia (whatever that meant), a guy who looked like a potential contender… only for you to double-check his profile and see you weren’t his type (read: not a man), and then a young woman about your age with long hair, tattoos, and incredibly pretty, that made you pause until you saw the picture of her with a friend who was clearly far from just a friend.

“I wonder how long before they realize they’re in love with each other,” you mumble to yourself with a sigh.

The final profile—someone who looked potentially like a priest, is what makes you roll your eyes and give up altogether, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to ease the tension headache building behind your eyes.

It’s useless, and you’re making no progress in moving on from your crush on Noah. In fact, you swear it’s only getting worse, especially when you catch him flaunting around in those short shorts while shaking his protein shake.

What man’s ass jiggles while he’s shaking his arms???

You’d like to think the dates hadn’t been all that terrible—except they had.

First, there was Sam: the influencer who insisted on taking selfies or recording everything for their TikTok page, even going as far as wanting to move tables because “the lighting looks better over there.” They spent the entire date talking about themselves, never once asking about you, and rattled off their stats like it was a business pitch—ending with, “Obviously, I get better numbers than you do from streaming.”

Then there was Darren, the magician. He actually caught your attention at first, until he performed his best trick yet: a disappearing act… right as the bill arrived. Asshole.

After that came Lyle, a guy completely obsessed with crypto. He decided to give you a full breakdown of everything from blockchain to Bitcoin, proudly showcasing his NFT collection like a parent showing off baby photos.

Your last ditch effort had been with an older woman, Gillian, and while the date had started out great, it was her sly comment—“What do you plan to do with your life? Streaming isn’t exactly a real job, is it?”—that made your mommy issues flare up, a little too close for comfort.

While you’re scrolling through your phone, a large tattooed hand suddenly reaches down from above and snatches it right out of your fingers.

“Noah!” you huff, pushing yourself upright as he starts scrolling through the options on your screen.

“Wow, these are the dudes you’ve got coming up?” He tuts like he’s personally offended, shaking his head. “This won’t do. You need a better selection pool.”

“Well, that’s the only one I have. Now can I have my phone back?”

He ignores your request entirely and turns, heading into the kitchen. You push yourself up from the couch to follow after him.

“Noah!”

“And this is your profile?” he scoffs. “You need to liven it up a little. Maybe a few better pictures—we can get Bryan to take some real photographic shots!”

“I’m not using Bryan to take pictures for a dumb dating app.”

“Why not? These do nothing to compliment you.” He pauses and turns to gesture down at you in your shorts and oversized T-shirt, making your cheeks warm at the implied compliment.

“Uhh… thanks?” you mutter. For a second, you swear his eyes rake over you a little too long, lingering, but then he’s back to studying the screen like your love life is a group project.

“Where are the guys?” you ask, glancing around.

As if on cue, the sound of music blares to life from the backyard, followed by the low hum of voices and laughter. That answers your question, and Noah simply points in the direction of the backdoor, eyes still locked on your screen like he’s the one whose dating profile is currently under scrutiny.

Following him outside, he offers your phone back, and just as you step out, Jolly calls over to you from the bench he’s currently sitting on, a dumbbell in one hand that he’s steadily lifting into bicep curls.

“Hey! How’d the last date go?”

“Terrible.” You screw up your face, lifting a hand to block out the sun. “It was like being on a date with my mom—probably would’ve been cheaper, too.”

“Hot,” Folio chimes in.

There’s a chorus of disgusted groans and “gross” comments thrown his way before he quickly backtracks.

“I mean me going on a date with her mom. That sounds hot.”

Suddenly, there’s a shift from disgust to agreement, a few thoughtful hums, and now it’s your turn to be disgusted. You roll your eyes and move beneath the shade provided by the neighbor’s overhanging tree.

It doesn’t take long for your eyes to wander, settling on Noah, who must’ve had breakaway pants on earlier, because now he’s wearing nothing but a tight tank top, showcasing the multitude of tattoos trailing along his arms, throat, and peeking out from his chest and back, paired with a set of tight short shorts that leave very little to the imagination as he starts squatting.

While the guys have their workout circuit going, you’re just standing there, watching until Folio creeps up beside you and whispers, “You’re drooling.”

Naturally, he catches you—staring, ogling, literally drooling. You can never escape him and his keen eye. You roll your eyes, but he just smirks and saunters over to Noah.

“Come here, buddy. Use me as support to get deeper.”

There’s a cheeky grin on Folio’s face—he knows exactly what he’s doing, because the next moment, Noah’s gripping onto him and suddenly squatting lower, whole ass practically out, and your mouth goes dry.

“I’m gonna… cool down,” you mumble—more of a poor excuse than anything—as you march straight to the pool’s edge and throw yourself in.

It happens quicker than you have time to process. Suddenly, you’re being scooped up by a pair of strong arms and pulled out of the water, Noah surfacing right after, tossing his head and hair back like some majestic mermaid.

“What the—?” you gasp, shaking your head as you cling to him while he carries you over to the edge of the pool.

“You haven’t paid this month’s rent yet,” he explains.

Your brow furrows. “Excuse me?”

“You haven’t paid the rent,” he repeats casually, “so you lose your pool privileges until then. Don’t worry, I’ll set up the paddling pool for you.”

You scoff, completely unable to believe what you’re hearing, as Noah lifts you from the water and sets you on the pool’s edge.

“And you’re gonna jump in and drag me out every time I get in there?” you ask, a little bewildered.

Noah stands back slightly, nodding as he runs his fingers through his wet hair. “If I have to, yeah.”

“Unbelievable,” you mutter under your breath.

“Oooh, someone forgot to pay their rent. Naughty, naughty,” Folio taunts.

“Fuck you,” you snap, half laughing, and splash water in his direction, only for him to dodge, jumping away with a high pitched laugh.

“It’s just until you pay up,” Noah says so politely, despite how matter of fact it sounds. As he climbs up and out of the pool, you almost have to avert your gaze—his now wet shorts have become so skin tight they leave nothing to the imagination.

Size, shape, cut or uncut—you can suddenly make out everything with how tightly they cling to him. All it does is feed the beast you’ve been trying to quell, adding to the ever growing catalog of fantasies rolling around in your mind like some twisted choose your own adventure.

“But I’m not paid until the tenth of the month!” you call after him as he walks past, heading toward the heart shaped paddling pool. He drags it a little further from its usual spot and retrieves the hose to start filling it up, clearly trying to make his point.

“Then you’ll be without privileges for ten days. You know the rules,” he shrugs.

When you hear someone snickering, you look over and catch Jolly doing his best to hide his amused expression beneath the brim of his cap.

“Jolly!” you sigh.

He just shrugs, raising his hands like he’s Switzerland. “Don’t look at me—we’ve all been there.”

With an exaggerated huff, you push yourself to your feet and stomp over to the half filled paddling pool. Still fully clothed and dripping, you step inside and plop down with crossed arms and legs, making your point.

“See? It’s not that bad, right?” Noah looks down at you with that same wide grin and soft eyes.

The expression makes you crack a little, because while his ‘rules’ sound utterly ridiculous, he’s being too reasonably adorable for you to even argue with him.

Later that night, while you’re mid stream, you catch a faint knock on the door and glance over, calling out, “Come in.”

Across the screen, several remarks light up in chat along the same lines—‘surprise guest?’, but thanks to your setup, the identity remains a mystery.

Still, the smile that crosses your face is the undeniable giveaway.

“I’ll be right back, guys,” you call into the mic, pulling off your headphones. You quickly bring up your paused stream screensaver before turning in your chair toward Noah, who stands in the doorway to your room looking like a sad puppy.

“I thought you’d want some snacks,” he offers quietly, holding up one of his premium bags of chips.

“Oh? I thought I’d lost my privileges,” you tease, and that makes a slight grin break across Noah’s face. He relaxes a little, clearly gauging that you aren’t too offended by what happened earlier.

“Well, I can always sneak you some. Just don’t tell the guys I let you off easy,” he says, stepping into the room and settling on the edge of your bed, close to you.

“They might start to think you’re playing favorites,” you murmur, gently nudging your knee against his as you turn to face him more. You feel yourself flush a little at the thought—though you swear you catch the faintest blush at the tips of Noah’s ears.

“Well, you are prettier than Jolly. Maybe not Davis, though.”

“I’ll take that,” you laugh, reaching for the bag of chips he opens and offers. You pop a couple into your mouth as he glances toward your paused screen.

“What are you playing?” he asks, nodding toward your computer.

“Would you believe… Animal Crossing?”

“No way!” His face lights up with excitement, and you shuffle back a bit as he moves closer.

“I wanna play!”

“Wait, you like Animal Crossing?”

He quirks a brow at you as he stands. “The jock villagers are literally my dudes.”

That makes you laugh, because of course they are. Out of all the personality types, that would be the one he’s drawn to.

“Here!” You lean over, pulling your spare chair into place and patting the seat for him. You hand him your second controller. “Are you okay with streaming?” you ask, ready to switch the stream back on.

“I’m your favorite guest, aren’t I?” he teases, flashing a wide grin.

You just nod with a quiet, “Sure,” and switch the stream back on, offering him your spare headset—complete with matching cat ears.

“Well, I guess we do have a special guest tonight.”

That sets the chat off in a frenzy, messages spamming across the screen as Noah eagerly begins creating his character to join your island.

“What are you doing?” you ask, narrowing your eyes as you watch him.

“Moving in,” he replies, not missing a beat.

You scoff and shake your head. “Making yourself right at home already.”

“Like you haven’t,” he teases, glancing over at you, his tongue peeking out briefly—revealing a glint of something silver, before he turns his attention back to the screen.

You’re left momentarily dumbfounded, your stomach doing flips. The butterflies you thought had long since fluttered away now back.

Coming to the club has become a regular occurrence for you, especially on nights when you’re not streaming. Mostly, it’s for the company, because the moment all the guys are out of the house, it feels a little too quiet and frankly, a little too lonely.

When you first moved in, you never imagined you’d actually end up enjoying having multiple guys shouting around you—working out, blasting music, watching movies, wrestling in the pool. The chaos that always seems to ensue somehow became part of the charm, and eventually, all that noise just faded into the background—comforting, familiar, a soundtrack to their constant presence.

Taking your usual seat at the bar, you pull out your laptop with the intention of finishing off a handful of video concepts for upcoming streams. On top of that, you’ve still got side uploads you haven’t even started to piece together. Realistically, you could look into hiring someone to help with editing, but you’re a perfectionist, and your income, while steady enough to sustain yourself, still doesn’t justify bringing someone else in.

“I’ll have a bottle of water,” you say to the unfamiliar voice that asks for your order. When you glance up from your screen, you clock someone who isn’t Matt placing a bottle of water down on the bar beside you.

“Where’s Matt?” you ask the new guy behind the bar, who—unlike Matt—is dressed in a more uniform like style: a collared shirt, black pants, and even a matching black button-up vest. There’s a distinct curl to his hair, and each time he lifts his tattooed hand to card his fingers through it, you watch the strands spring to life before flipping back into place.

“Not here,” he answers quickly, glancing up at you briefly. “Am I not good enough?”

That makes you pause. For a second, you almost assume you’ve offended him, until you catch the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“No, just… you’re new,” you say, and he nods, showing off a little as he tosses a bottle for his next customer before smoothly pouring their drink.

“Jesse,” he introduces himself, setting the bottle down and sliding the drink across the bar. He wipes his hands on a nearby rag before offering one to you. You give your name in return.

“You a friend of the guys?” you ask, gesturing toward the stage, already alive with the four male dancers.

He makes a slight face before breaking into a grin. “Yeah. We all go way back. Used to be roommates with Noah and Jolly once upon a time.”

“Oh?” Your brow quirks. “Had to get out the nest and spread your wings?”

He pauses, glancing at you with a slightly raised brow. “That, and someone moved in and stole my room.”

“Ouch.” You lift a hand to your chest in mock offense. “Whoever would do such a thing?”

That sends you both into a quiet, shared laugh.

Watching him struggle was becoming painful. Between the influx of customers and his terrible attempts at tricks with the bottles and drinks, you decided to save him from drowning any further. Shutting down your laptop, you hop off your stool and walk around to the back of the bar—only for Jesse to catch sight of you with a curious eye and a quick, “Wait, whoa, what are you doing back here? You can’t be back here!”

“I’m saving your ass,” you declare, turning to a nearby customer and taking their order before effortlessly starting to make their drinks.

“So you’ve bartended before?” Jesse asks, pausing just to watch how seamlessly you go about mixing the combination of drinks being requested.

“Back in college,” you shrug, giving him a brief glance.

“You went to college?” It comes out more surprised than he probably intended, and you gasp dramatically, reaching over as though to kick him.

“Yes, computer engineering, actually.”

“Oh, so you were one of those pretty nerds.”

“Who said anything about was?” you quip, flashing him a quick wink before turning back to the customer and offering them their drinks.

“What about you?” you ask in the brief reprieve between customers, your eyes skimming along his tattooed forearms, exposed by the way he’s rolled up his sleeves halfway.

All of the boys seem to share a similar style of tattoos—something you can’t help but notice, but his look good on him. Just like Noah’s, they suit him in a way that feels intentional, like a pretty canvas you couldn’t imagine being bare now that you’ve seen it like this.

“What about me?”

“Was bartending always the dream?” you tease, and he chuckles, shaking his head.

“Oh, no. I did English Lit.”

“Oh?!”

“With plans of being the next great American author,” he explains.

“You need a degree for that?” you tease again, biting your lower lip to hold back your laughter.

“Yeah, I guess not,” he sighs, leaning against the bar as he laughs quietly. “And you need a computer engineering degree for what you do?”

“Streaming?” You quirk a brow slightly. “I didn’t want to make it too easy on myself and do something entirely relevant to my degree.”

Your tone drips with sarcasm, but Jesse picks up on it instantly. Before long, the two of you are batting jokes back and forth with ease, the night slipping by in a blur—only breaking the spell when Noah approaches the bar.

“Want a ride home?” he asks, sweat still dripping down his collarbone and tattooed neck, glitter smudged across his face.

“Yes!” you bounce up from behind the bar, already moving to gather your laptop. “But you really need to learn to hose off before you leave work. I’m tired of glitter in the shower.”

You point at him, but Noah just raises a brow, flashing a cheeky grin.

“And lose an excuse to have you help me? That seems unfair to you,” he teases.

Behind you, Jesse mutters under his breath, “Don’t miss that.”

You shake your head with a quiet laugh, waving at Jesse. “Thanks,” he says, as you cross over to Noah, your laptop bag slung over your shoulder. Your free hand finds the small of his back, guiding him toward the door.

“How’d you do tonight?” you ask, stepping into the cool night air, watching how a light breeze lifts a few overgrown strands of his hair. Even in the moonlight—smeared eyeliner, glitter, and all—he’s pretty.

“Not bad. A bachelorette party was asking about private shows.” He pulls a slip of paper from his pocket and shows you a number.

You raise a brow. “And I want this because…?”

“They thought you were our booking agent or something. I don’t know—maybe you could be.” He shrugs as you reach the car. He pops the trunk, tossing his bag in, then opens the passenger door for you.

“You want me as your booking agent?” you scoff, not sure if you heard him right.

“For events and stuff outside the club? Sure, why not?”

“Because I’ve never been an agent in my life?”

“You stream. You’re basically your own PR team. You make your own content, handle your own promotions, moderate your own chat most of the time, and you edit everything yourself.” Noah starts listing things off like a checklist. “You’re a one man band. Why not use those skills for something else?”

“Oh yeah? And you’ll use your skills?”

“If you insist.” He smirks, and before you can respond, he starts to gyrate his hips the same way he does on stage, laughing as he dances toward you.

Naturally, you can’t help but burst out laughing. “You keep up the good dance moves, babygirl, and I’ll take care of you,” you tease, reaching out to give him a playful smack on the ass as you climb into the car and he brings a hand to his forehead while closing the door, dramatically pretending to faint over your charming words.

It’s Noah who starts it.

You’d been happily watching Dirty Dancing alone in what you thought was an empty house—until he wandered in, claimed it was his favorite movie, started singing along, and now he’s sliding off the couch onto the floor, stretching out just like Patrick Swayze on screen, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

“How do you call your loverboy?” he sings, playing it up like the natural performer he is.

You’re quick to fall into step, shifting to the edge of your seat, lifting your hand to beckon him with one curled finger as you sing back, “Come ‘ere, loverboy!”

The two of you go back and forth, perfectly in sync with the movie. Noah begins to crawl toward you, slow and dramatic, after easing onto his knees, and you slide off the couch to meet him on the floor, mirroring his movements as you both crawl toward one another.

When the scene shifts, Noah mimics playing air guitar, bent backward on his knees in a way that shows off the flexibility you’ve seen so often on stage. You would’ve taken the moment to admire him—his form, the way he moves, the ease in his body, but you’re too caught up in the rhythm of your shared performance.

Then comes your daring touch. As he straightens up and moves toward you, your hands find his upper arms, fingers pressing lightly into the warm flex of muscle. His nose brushes yours, breath warm against your lips. He’s close—so close you expect him to pull away, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he leans in closer, hands settling at your waist. The only time he breaks contact is to mimic the choreography on screen—his head dipping toward your stomach, your hands cradling the sides of his neck to guide him upward again, until he’s pressed against your chest.

His hips sway with the music, his hands on your hips, guiding them as you rise to your feet together, until he finally lifts his head just enough to look down at you.

Even as the scene continues to play, the music fading into a soft lull in the background of the scene, it’s the words that follow that catch your attention—You’re the one.

They stand out like a spotlight, echoing in your head as you gaze up at him. It makes your heart pound, because you can’t help but feel like maybe he is. Or maybe it’s all in your head—wishful thinking, misreading something that isn’t really there, but he still hasn’t pulled away.

His hands slide around to your lower back, gently tugging you closer, your bodies swaying, almost grinding, to the slow, sensual rhythm. The movement mirrors the dancing he does in the club, deliberate and intimate, full of unspoken promise.

“You’re a pretty good dancer,” he murmurs.

That pulls a quiet laugh from you as you turn your head slightly, avoiding his gaze. “Compared to you? I don’t think so.”

“No, I mean it. You should come on stage sometime at the club. I could teach you a few moves.”

You want to ask if he’s teasing, but you know better. When it comes to dancing, to his work, he never jokes. He’s proud of what he does.

Your arms hang loosely around his shoulders, fingers gliding up into the back of his hair. You look up at him, and nod. “Yeah, okay.”

You’re close enough now to feel the heat of his breath ghosting over your lips. Close enough that if one of you moved even an inch—

Then the back door slams. The sound startles you both, making you spring apart. You quickly busy yourself, flopping back onto the couch and fixing your eyes on the movie—pretending nothing just happened.

Jolly and Davis’s voices filter through the house, followed by the sound of Folio and Nick entering. As Folio peers into the living room, he catches sight of the movie playing on the TV.

“Ah man, he hasn’t tried to get you to do the lift yet, has he?” he asks.

You quirk a brow, glancing between Noah—now seated back near you—and Folio.

“He’s obsessed with trying to get one of us to do that lift. Watch out, or you’ll be next.” He points at you as if issuing a warning, before disappearing into the kitchen just as Jolly announces the food is ready.

Noah practically vaults over the back of the couch, promising to return with your plate, but all you can focus on is the pounding in your chest—the lingering effect of just how close the two of you had been.

Your thoughts drift, dangerously, to the idea of recreating that iconic lift scene, and you realize, more than ever, that you desperately need a distraction from him.

It’s in the local coffee shop that you spot a familiar face—Jesse, leaning back in his chair, a book in one hand and a coffee in the other. Narrowing your gaze as you draw closer, you tilt your head to read the title of the book, saying it aloud to catch his attention.

“Lolita, really?” You raise a brow—part amused, part curious—your lips tugging into something resembling the former.

“Are you really judging the taste of an English lit grad?” Jesse replies, lowering his book and peeking up at you from behind it.

“Hm, depends on your take, I suppose,” you shrug, swaying a little on the spot.

“Probably not something most people would agree with.” He shifts forward, setting his book on the table and gesturing for you to sit. You slide into the chair opposite him.

“So that means it’s pretentious,” you tease.

He scrunches his nose and raises a hand, holding his forefinger and thumb an inch apart. “Maybe a teeny bit.”

You laugh and lean back, taking a sip of your iced coffee. “So, where’s your laptop? Aren’t all aspiring authors supposed to sit in coffee shops with their laptops, looking all tortured and artistic or something?”

“Well, usually yes, but not today. I’m here because I’m supposed to be meeting a date.”

“Oh?” Your brow furrows, and you reach into your pocket, pulling out your phone to glance at the time. It’s not that you feel like you’re interrupting, but the coincidence is just a little too perfect.

“That’s… interesting. I had a blind date a friend set me up on. I was supposed to meet him about five minutes ago.”

“Is that so?” Jesse leans back in his chair, brow raised and a sly smirk curling at his lips—like he’s already pieced the whole thing together.

“Could you give me a second?” you quickly excuse yourself, slipping outside as you hit ‘call’ on Troy’s number. Naturally, he answers within a couple of rings, his voice too bright, too vibrant, clearly aware of what he’s doing.

“How’s the date?”

“Why did you set me up with Jesse?” you hiss down the phone, not bothering to hide your annoyance as you walk further away from the coffee shop to prevent Jesse from witnessing your meltdown.

“Because I saw the way you two have been flirting behind the bar and—”

“That wasn’t flirting,” you interrupt, correcting him with a huff.

“Oh, please. A guy who challenges you in both wit and intellect? You were about ready to eat him alive on the spot.”

You huff again, momentarily silenced by the fact that he’s not wrong. You admittedly have a type, intellectual sparring is your version of foreplay, and Jesse definitely lit that fire beneath you when you helped him behind the bar.

“So, me and Matt spoke—”

“And how are you and Matt?” There’s a snipe in your tone, not hiding what you’re insinuating: that you’re not the only one nursing a crush on someone in the club. Only in your case, it might be two someones.

“I’m still playing hard to get, thank you very much.”

You roll your eyes and audibly growl as Troy returns to his train of thought.

“As I was saying—we spoke and decided you two were a perfect match, so we set you up.”

“And you don’t think setting me up with the friend of the guy I have a crush on and live with was a bad idea?”

He grumbles something about not always having the brains to go with his beauty, and you roll your eyes again.

“It’s either this, or you get desperate and go back out with some other Tinder knucklehead. So either suck it up and tell that big, beautiful himbo with the jiggly ass and too little shorts how you feel… or go on a couple dates with Jesse just to get him out of your system.”

“So, Noah’s always been like that, huh?” you ask.

“Oh, the whole ‘taking away privileges and replacing them’ thing? Yeah, he’s a bit of an ass for that,” Jesse chuckles, your hands just brushing as you walk side by side.

“I’ve gotta ask,” he continues. “Do you like him? Noah, I mean. It’s just… I’ve never been on a date where the sole focus has been multiple questions about my friend slash ex roommate.”

You feel your cheeks warm and drop your head, staring at the ground like it might help deflect what he’s insinuating. “It’s complicated.”

“I get it.”

You peek up at him, brow raised slightly, urging him to go on.

“I’m not insecure or anything. I know he’s a charmer—there’s a reason he has a Facebook support group. Which I’m pretty sure Folio moderates,” he adds with a wry look.

You snort, brow furrowing to match his. “It’s just a stupid crush,” you say with a shrug, brushing it off.

Jesse raises his hands in a lighthearted defense as the two of you come to a stop at the end of your driveway.

“I’m not judging, but I like you. I had fun, and if you decide you want a second date—one where Noah isn’t the sole topic of conversation—I’d love to take you out on one.”

You worry your lip between your teeth, nibbling over the thought of a second date with Jesse, and just how much you’d unintentionally—or maybe subconsciously, brought Noah up tonight.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” Jesse says, slipping his hands into his pockets with a casual shrug. His tone is almost nonchalant, but there’s something about his posture, the restraint in his expression, that suggests he’s holding himself back. “Figure out where your head’s at… and call me.”

He pulls one hand from his pocket, gently lifting it to your chin, tilting your head toward him. Then he leans in and presses a kiss to your cheek. It doesn’t feel entirely platonic, but it’s not quite romantic either—something soft, in-between. It stirs a flicker of warmth, but nothing like the heat Noah ignites just by being near you, and that realization leaves you heavy with guilt.

“Thanks, Jesse,” you whisper.

He steps away, and for a moment, you pause—watching him walk off. You catch him glancing back. Your eyes meet, lingering just a second too long, before you both turn and disappear your separate ways.

When you come in, the house is still full, but quieter now, with everyone scattered around the living room, watching a movie.

“Where have you been?” Folio calls over, brow raised with a teasing grin.

You just roll your eyes and sigh, plopping down on the couch beside Noah. He shifts, just enough to make room for you, and as you melt against his side out of habit and comfort, his arm wraps loosely around you.

This has become a common theme between the two of you—light touches, quiet closeness—somewhere between casual affection and what you’d consider flirting, though you weren’t sure if he thought of it that way. Still, you always seemed to gravitate toward each other—like now.

“My friend set me up on a blind date,” you mutter, waving a hand to brush it off as unimportant.

Noah shifts beside you, glancing down. “Good?”

There’s something in his eyes that looks hopeful, but not in the sense that he wants it to have gone well. Maybe the opposite, and the thought catches in your throat, echoing the words Jesse had said just moments ago.

“No. It was… just okay. Probably not gonna happen again.” You shake your head.

You feel the way Noah relaxes beside you before he dips his head, gently nestling it against the crown of yours.

On screen, George is telling Mary, “You want the moon? I’ll throw a lasso around it and pull it down.”

And for a moment, you swear you hear Noah mumble the words softly against your hair—something quiet and almost instinctive. It sends a warm, fuzzy flutter through your chest. You already knew he was a hopeless romantic, but that doesn’t stop it from making you fall just a little bit more.

tagged: @fadingangelwisp @deathblacksmoke  @geminigirlfromfinland @fuck1ng-queen @xxkittenkissesxx @lacy1986 @ami--gami @floodflameschosen @dominuslunae @tosoundlessdarkistare @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @lonelydragonlady @th4t-em0-k1d @amelia-acero @dollieomens  @sitkowski @athenexe @trvshdxddy @collapsedglasshouses @overmydeadbodysblog @xmads-omensx @ajordan2020 @astronoids @courta13 @oobleoob @bluehairpunklol @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @swissy23 @i-love-the-smell-of-your-blood @kenjipepsi1 @birdie-in-arcadia @blackcherrywhiskey @saythatuwill @concretenoah @death-ofpeace-ofmind @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @blade-dressed-in-red @limerinseme @lilgarbitch @pipidoll @heyyoplayer @iconic-taurus @flowery-mess @jesuisunchaton @bloody-spades @bluestdai @respectfulrebel @dravenskye

[ofironandivory]

Stuff to do instead of thinking about/looking through doubles' blogs:

🖤 Revisit your favorite part of your F/O's source! If you're able to, maybe record/screenshot/highlight your ultimate favorite parts and keep them saved on your device! Your F/O loves having your attention and they're always happy to see you, no matter how many times you may choose to do it!

❄️ Draw/write some of your headcanons for your F/O! What are some of their favorites? (i.e.: seasons, movie genres, songs, colors), When's their birthday? What do you two do to celebrate it? Are there any textures they dislike?

🖤 Make some moodboards centered around you and your F/O! You can start with the general dynamic of your relationship, but you can also come up with specific scenarios, dates and lore moments for it! It might even help the two of you come up with some fun dates later down the line

❄️ Make playlists for your selfship! If you already have them, try adding songs your F/O would listen to, especially if they're not part of genres you listen to very often. If you have a playlist for them specifically, add some of your favorite songs or songs that remind them of you

🖤 Make pinterest boards for your F/O! Maybe something general like official art and fanarts, but also things centered around their interests and general aesthetic! If you'd like, you can consider it a bit of character studying

❄️ If you're an artist, make a chibi version of your F/O, print it and have it stay in your room as decoration! What're they up to? Are they hanging around by their outfit? Sleeping in the corner? Looking out your window? Your imagination is the limit!

🖤 Take some time to gush about them on your account or message your friends about it! Sometimes rewiring our minds when we're focused on the negative can help shrug off that weight, and what better way to do so than focusing on your love for you F/O?

❄️ If you catch yourself looking at stuff that upsets you, remember to block any blogs and blacklist any tags that may be bringing you discomfort! Your F/O only has eyes for you and no one could ever change that fact

[johnnycadesmuse]

what abt an opposite of your most recent fic? like an experienced fem reader and dallas who didn’t expect it from her

‧ ₊ ˚ ໒ father figure

—older!dallas winston x reader

song 𝄞 father figure by george micheal

warnings: pnv, nsfw

you were never a bold person. all you're life you were the more quiet one of the friend group. you never shouted or yelled and you definitely didn't talk about things that some deemed crass or rude. the only times that you did talk about those things were with friends, and even that was a rarity.

sure, they talked about their sex lives (sometimes in too much detail), and you would maybe talk about yours after once they've finished rambling.

but even though you never talked much about your experiences, you had sex, a lot.

no one would know it if they saw you or talked to you. sometimes people just have that sex appeal where you can tell that their... active. either a girl at a bar is wearing a skirt that's a bit too high, or a man is flirting with every woman within a 10 mile radius. either way, there was an energy there that you didn't have.

it wasn't that you were ashamed, you were just less enthusiastic about it. you also didn't feel a need to talk about it as much, especially if the information wasn't... vital.

so when you met your boyfriend Dallas, who is very much older, you knew assumed that he was experienced given his many years of being sexually active, as well as having a long list of girlfriends. to you, it didn't matter much.

but Dallas was the opposite. obviously you being young, he knew that you had less experience. but he had assumed you were also a lot less experienced than those your age— possibly even a virgin. and to him, that surprisingly meant a lot.

with your quiet and introverted attitude, you didn't seem like the type of girl to really put yourself out there, which you weren't. somehow, men were just attracted to you like a magnet, and when they offered you to go back to theirs, you shrugged and though what could I lose?. it was always fun and never meant anything. they were simple hookups, no strings attached. and you had had a few boyfriends throughout your life, but none really stuck with you. not like Dallas.

but your dynamic with him changed after you had went on a date with him one night. you were both riled up— Dallas from seeing you in a dress that he couldn't wait to take off of you, and you seeing him in a fancier shirt with the buttons at the top undone.

you were making out on your bed, his hands underneath your dress, already pushing the fabric up. your hands were in his hand, tugging slightly at the roots whenever he nipped at your bottom lip.

you and him had been dating for a month or two, so it was about time that you slept together.

"this okay baby?" he whispered against your lips.

"of course baby" you smiled before passionately kissing him again, allowing the make out to continue.

after a few more minutes, the both of you were fully naked. your clothes were somewhere on the floor, forgotten about till the morning came. and when Dally was finally ready to enter you, he looked at you one more time to check if it was okay. you nodded with a reassuring smile, Dally then slowly entering you inch by inch.

he was definitely the biggest that you had taken, but with your experience, you could handle it. he, however, could not handle you.

after a few thrusts mixed with moans and groans, you flipped the both of you over unexpectedly, catching Dally off guard. you were now vigorously riding him with such ease yet passion. your hips grinded against him perfectly, almost as if you knew what he wanted before he even did.

you were perfect in every way, and embarrassingly enough, he wasn't sure that he would last.. even though you had both just started.

"jesus baby, where'd you learn to do this?" he groaned out, his hands steadying your hips in an attempt to get you to slow down (despite him not wanting you to).

"I learned" you grinned before dipping down and kissing him passionately, now bouncing up and down on his length.

"god, you gotta slow down or else i'm not gonna last" he whispered into your hair, his grip on you growing tighter.

"sorry" you mumbled quietly, slowing your pace as well as your aggressiveness.

"god you feel so fucking good" he moaned, guiding you with his hands, helping you ride him. he smacked your ass harshly, causing you to let out a yelp of both pain and pleasure. "fuck.. your such a good girl. you like bouncing on my dick?"

"I love it baby" you moaned, sitting up again and throwing your head back as your thrusts began to grow more aggressive. you leaned back a bit, holding onto Dally's knees as you adjusted yourself, hitting Dally's sweet spot.

"fuck!" he groaned, "keep going! god!" he gasped, turning into a moaning mess as you continued to bounce.

he had never felt such pleasure before, especially not when a girl was riding him. he was always the one to make them fall apart, but somehow, you were the one in control. and he loved it.

"i'm gonna cum, fuckkk" he groaned, now thrusting his hips up into you, his tip hitting your g-spot.

"fuck! me too. cum with me baby... please" you whined, the both of you meeting each others pelvises with each thrust.

after a few more bounces, you both came with harsh moans and groans.

the room went quiet for a moment, harsh panting being the only thing heard. you looked at him with a fucked out expression before letting out a light chuckle, as did he, almost in disbelief.

Dally hadn't expected you to be so.. experienced. it was a surprise, but a good one.

you flopped down onto him, his dick still inside you, keeping you filled up. "where'd you learn that?" he asked breathlessly as you laid on his chest, listening to his rapid heartbeat.

"experience"

@avroravia @r0seb100d @seilahdiaries @johnnycadesslut @browneyebby

[hopeforchanges]

Obikin getting secret married but like get drunk in Vegas and wake up married style. The shenanigans.

this would be a pretty great modern au! I am on record saying that modern aus are incredibly difficult to write, but - since we're just playing here and no serious business of actually writing this thing is happening, how about an au where;

Anakin “I Have Never Made A Sober Decision” Skywalker and Obi-Wan “This Is Why I Don’t Take Time Off” Kenobi accidentally get MARRIED in Vegas. yes. MARRIED married. with Elvis. and a witness who may or may not be a guy named Chopper who was definitely also drunk and holding a ferret.

It starts as a wholesome trip. A little con attendance here, a few too many neon cocktails there. Obi-Wan loses a bet and agrees to “go where the night takes them” (Anakin is the night. the night is unhinged). Next thing you know they wake up in a tacky hotel room with two matching rings and a marriage certificate pinned to the mirror with a bobby pin and some gum.

Cue the absolute shenanigans:

Anakin is weirdly into it?? like he’s already changed his bio to “husband” and keeps referring to Obi-Wan as “babe”

Obi-Wan is trying to call the courthouse to annul it but also catches himself smiling at Anakin’s contact in his phone (“my chaos gremlin ”) which is suspiciously recent

They go to brunch and someone mistakes them for honeymooners so they just roll with it and get a free mimosa tower

Somehow they end up actually dating?? because despite the fact that this started as a cosmic joke, they’re stupidly good together??

Bonus points: Their friends find out because Anakin accidentally livestreams their post-wedding Waffle House run and now everyone knows

[zerocoded]

summary: what is like to date idol!txt.

author's note: i wish i could turn this into an idol!series where i portray them as our boyfies because i have SO MANY ideas like this but i'm can't tell if anyone would enjoy this lol. also, not me writing this while i'm studying for my finals and trying not to die from burnout. but hey! at least my winter break is close teehee. txt is here to help me with my delulu and ALSO I'M SO EXCITED FOR THE NEXT COMEBACK, I FEEL LIKE IT'S GOING TO BE BIG. this work is part of our moa net here on tumblr, you should check it out! @onedreamnet.

warnings and tags: sfw content • ot5!separate x reader • fem!reader in mind • fluff • domestic txt • est. relationship • the boys are so soft here i want to cuddle them • one kissy kiss scene on taehyun's • NOT PROOFREAD.

word count: 3.1k (500~700 per member).

my kpop masterlist: here.

★˚๑🎐％﹒choi yeonjun﹕ᘏᘏ୭₊˚

the duality drives you insane.

in public — on stage, in photos, under the lights — he’s confident in a way that borders on unfair. head tilted, eyes half-lidded, body moving like he owns the air around him. no hesitation. no nerves. just pure, deliberate charisma.

but offstage?

you catch him sulking in the kitchen because he dropped his dumpling on the floor and “no one will ever understand that kind of grief.”

you’ve learned his patterns by now.

the morning of a performance, he’s quiet. not because he’s nervous — not exactly — but because he’s already thinking about the camera angles. the formations. the fans. the five-second part where he gets to smirk like a villain and cause cardiac arrest on a national scale.

you sip your coffee across from him in the early morning silence. he’s still in pajama pants, hair pushed back with a headband, eyes unfocused as he mumbles his lines under his breath between bites of toast.

“you’re going to burn a hole through the table,” you say softly.

he looks up, blinking. “was i being weird again?”

you nod.

he smiles.

and when he gets up, he kisses your forehead like it’s the one part of him not too busy to love.

later, you visit the music show set.

he’s already in full styling when you arrive — velvet jacket, smoky liner, lip tint sharp enough to cut. he looks nothing like the boy who fell asleep face down on your laundry pile two nights ago.

“don’t look at me like that,” he says as you approach. “you’re going to make me trip on stage.”

you hold up the bag you brought. “you forgot your vitamins.”

he blinks. you raise a brow.

he pouts.

“thank you, baby,” he says, voice soft and dramatic all at once, like he’s the main character in a romance film. he holds your hand for half a second too long. “will you cheer for me?”

you smirk. “only if you wink during your center part.”

“that’s illegal.”

“do it.”

he does.

after the show, you find him sitting on a folding chair in the corner of the dressing room, head tipped back, chest rising and falling with exertion.

you crouch beside him, hands gently brushing his thighs. “hey.”

his eyes flutter open. “did i do okay?”

you almost laugh. “you’re joking, right?”

he smiles sleepily. “just wanted to hear you say it.”

you press a kiss to his shoulder. “you killed it.”

he leans into your touch, the heat of performance slowly melting into something tender.

“can we go home?” he murmurs.

“you still have a fan call.”

he groans, flopping dramatically. “they don’t let me rest.”

“i’ll wait,” you say. “we’ll eat after.”

his eyes light up. “can i pick the place?”

you roll your eyes. “you always do.”

that night, you fall asleep with him tucked into your side — his hair damp from a late shower, his breathing slow, one arm curled around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll slip away.

he always wants to be babied after a stage. wants back rubs and snacks and quiet praise whispered into his hair.

“you were perfect,” you murmur against his temple, fingers tracing his spine. “i’m proud of you.”

he exhales, almost asleep now, and whispers:

“you make it all feel worth it.”

and you hold him a little tighter.

★˚๑🎐％﹒choi soobin﹕ᘏᘏ୭₊˚

you didn’t expect soobin to be this… domestic.

the first time he spends the night at your place after promotions end, he shows up at your door with a tub of strawberries, three different types of cereal, and a full-size body pillow he carries like a briefcase. no suitcase, no overnight bag. just snacks and sleep gear.

“don’t judge,” he says, stepping out of his shoes. “my brain is too tired to pack properly.”

he immediately lies down on your floor like his bones have dissolved. doesn’t even make it to the bed. you poke him with your foot. “you good?”

“i live here now,” he mumbles.

being with soobin means you never know what version of him you’re going to get.

sometimes he’s the shy, blushing leader who asks “can i hold your hand?” even after months of dating. other times he wraps himself around you on the couch like a weighted blanket and says “you’re mine now” while chewing crackers like a menace.

he kisses the top of your head when he’s proud. gives you a thumbs up when he’s too shy to say “you look beautiful.” and tries to act cool when he walks into a door frame because he still forgets how tall he is.

idol life with soobin is not as glamorous as you thought.

he practices so hard his neck sounds like bubble wrap when he turns it. sometimes you massage his shoulders while he’s half-asleep on your lap and he lets out a noise so pained you almost cry laughing.

he loses his phone in the fridge. he forgets to eat. he falls asleep mid-conversation, still holding his chopsticks, because rehearsals went until 2am. and you tuck him in, clean up, and never say a word.

when he wakes up the next morning, guilt in his eyes, you just hand him a warm can of coffee and say, “don’t even start.”

he hugs you for five full minutes.

when you visit him on set, he pretends not to notice you at first. just nods politely, like you’re staff. until you pass by his chair and whisper, “your mic pack is crooked.”

then he turns pink. very pink. and immediately fixes his posture. his members don’t say a word—but they’re smirking. especially beomgyu.

later, during a break, he sneaks over to where you’re sitting behind the monitors and plops down beside you with a sigh.

“missed you,” he whispers, forehead bumping your shoulder.

you pull out a protein bar. he lights up like a golden retriever. “you know me so well.”

“you only like this one because it tastes like cookies.”

“exactly. healthy cookies. it’s good for my image.”

you raise a brow. “your image?”

he leans in, voice low and teasing. “you mean my boyfriend image? the one where i’m tall, sweet, and snack-efficient?”

on tour, he texts you only when it’s quiet.

after the stages, the chaos, the screaming fans and interviews, he always finds a few minutes in the hotel room to send you something real.

sometimes it’s a photo of the ceiling with “i wish you were here.” sometimes it’s “what if we just lived in a cabin and raised rabbits.” sometimes it’s just “i’m tired. but i love you.”

you never pressure him to call. you know his body hurts. you know the silence is sacred after giving so much of himself away.

so you send back things like “drink water, stretch your legs, think about my face.” and he replies with a sleepy selfie and a peace sign.

he gets back after two weeks on the road and the first thing he says when you open the door is:

“do you still have the cereal i left here?”

you do. and he kisses your cheek like it’s the biggest act of devotion he’s capable of.

★˚๑🎐％﹒choi beomgyu﹕ᘏᘏ୭₊˚

dating beomgyu is like having a cat that bullies you all day but sleeps curled into your side every night.

he says things like “you’re obsessed with me” when you ask if he’s eaten, and then posts your shared playlist on his story with no caption. he makes fun of your hair when you wake up, then ties his hoodie around your waist if you ever mention feeling self-conscious.

he flirts like he’s joking, but stares like he means it.

the first time you visit his dorm (unofficially, when the members are out), he spends the entire afternoon pretending he doesn’t care.

“this place is nothing special,” he says while literally dusting the keyboard of his PC with a microfiber cloth. “i didn’t clean for you,” he adds, minutes after you catch him color-coding his sock drawer. “and that candle was already lit. it’s not for ambience or anything.”

you raise a brow. “is that… a cheese board?”

“shut up.”

idol life with beomgyu is unpredictable. one day he’s writing songs with raw vulnerability. the next he’s sticking googly eyes on the studio whiteboard and pretending they’re his A&R team.

you’ve seen both versions.

you’ve seen him hold a guitar like it’s a shield. you’ve seen him nearly cry because a take wasn’t perfect. you’ve seen him rip his in-ears out after a recording and say, voice flat: “i’m not good enough.”

you sat with him on the floor, forehead to his shoulder, and said nothing.

he doesn’t need cheering up. he just needs to know you’re there.

later, when he’s back in his element, screaming about a pizza discount code, he throws himself onto your lap and says, “you always bring me luck. you know that, right?”

he texts you like a menace.

🧍‍♂️: i saw a dog today and thought of u 🧍‍♂️: but in a cute way 🧍‍♂️: actually nvm i take it back 🧍‍♂️: are you free tmrw or do you hate me

he also sends you voice memos where he sings badly on purpose just to make you laugh. but sometimes, right before bed, he’ll send a 12-second clip of a guitar riff he’s working on. no words. just sound. soft, warm, intimate.

you save every single one.

when you visit him backstage during promotions, he tries to act unfazed—but his entire face lights up when he spots you. he’s mid-hair touch-up, blush still fresh on his cheeks, mic taped to his jaw.

“you came,” he says like he didn’t remind you of the schedule twice and send a location pin.

you hand him a snack. he looks at it like it’s priceless. “you get me.”

“it’s literally just a peach tea.”

“and yet… from your hand?”

you roll your eyes. but when he walks back to the dressing room, he takes the tea with him. drinks it in every behind-the-scenes video. holds it like it’s good luck.

you don’t realize how much he talks about you until taehyun tells you, deadpan: “if i hear one more ‘my baby did this cute thing’ story i’m blocking him.”

“you’re just jealous,” beomgyu says. “my baby has rizz.”

he calls you that too—my baby. unironically. constantly. even in front of staff.

but then you catch him watching fancams of you on the couch, face soft and unguarded, and he quickly shuts the screen. “wasn’t even watching anything,” he lies.

you don’t bring it up.

he buys you matching keychains. he “accidentally” leaves a stuffed animal on your bed. he begs you to stream his comeback and then says “actually don’t, it’s cringe,” even though he secretly checks if you listened.

he pulls you onto his lap when you’re sitting too far. he tucks your hair behind your ear when you’re ranting. and when you cry—really cry—he doesn’t joke. doesn’t speak.

he just wraps his arms around you and says, “i’ve got you, baby.”

and for once, you believe him completely.

★˚๑🎐％﹒kang taehyun﹕ᘏᘏ୭₊˚

you don’t remember when exactly it happened, but somewhere along the way, you started treating taehyun like gravity.

he doesn’t ask for your attention — doesn’t need to. he’s just there. solid, steady, magnetic. he listens more than he talks, watches more than he reacts, and loves in the way most people overlook — in water bottles handed to you without a word, phone batteries at 78% because he charged them while you slept, and texts that say “lock your door tonight. i saw the news.”

he doesn’t say “i love you” that often. but he acts like it constantly.

he wakes up at 6am even when he doesn’t have schedules. works out in silence. tracks his reps on a crumpled post-it you keep trying to replace with an app. tells you, deadpan, “the gym is my therapy,” and then does squats to BLACKPINK like it’s nothing.

and he’s hot. obviously. but not in the loud, performative way — more in the how is your side profile even legal way.

he ties his hair back and opens water bottles with one hand. stares at contracts on his laptop like he’s about to buy out the company. walks around shirtless after practice like it’s your fault for looking.

you once called him “CEO boyfriend” as a joke. now he uses it to get his way.

“i can’t carry your groceries today,” you mutter. “would a ceo let you lift things?” “…you’re holding an iced americano with two straws.” “exactly. for us.”

idol taehyun is a different beast.

you see it when you visit the studio — the switch. he nods at staff, reviews choreography videos, calls out adjustments to their stage formations like a perfectionist who knows he’s right. and he is. he always is.

he’s not cold. just focused. a little intimidating.

okay, a lot.

you sit in the back, thumbing your phone, and watch him work like he was born for it. no wasted words. no wasted moves. the others tease him for being a robot, but you know the truth.

he just doesn’t half-ass anything.

and that includes you.

he’s the kind of boyfriend who remembers your schedule better than you do. who texts “wear a jacket” before the weather even shifts. who watches your reactions when you eat something new because he wants to know if you like it before you say anything.

he brings you home vitamin packets and high-protein snacks. then lies with his head in your lap for two hours while you scroll through reels and read fan comments out loud. he pretends he doesn’t care. but every time you read one that says “taehyun’s the boyfriend type fr,” he smiles. just a little.

after performances, he’s quiet.

not in a moody way. just… cooling off. energy still simmering under his skin. you help him undo his mic tape. he watches your hands like they’re fragile things, even though you’re tugging pretty hard.

“good show,” you murmur.

he shrugs. “i messed up the angle on the chorus.”

you raise a brow. “literally no one noticed.”

he looks at you then — really looks at you — and it’s like the whole room stills.

“you did,” he says. softly. honestly.

your breath catches. “i’m not a critic.”

“you’re my person,” he replies. “it matters.”

he doesn’t do PDA in front of fans. never kisses you in dressing rooms. rarely even holds your hand where others can see. but every now and then — in the hallway, behind the black curtain before a show, in the elevator after press — he’ll lean down and whisper, “come here.”

and when he kisses you?

it’s slow. confident. the kind of kiss that says i’m not afraid of anyone knowing you’re mine — i just like keeping it between us.

when he’s away, he never says “i miss you.” he says things like:

“don’t forget to eat protein.” “i’ll call after the shoot.” “send me a picture. just you. no filters.”

and when he comes back?

he pulls you into his arms like he never wants to let go. buries his face in your neck. sighs like home is finally real.

“missed you,” he says, once. “i know,” you say back. and he smiles.

★˚๑🎐％﹒huening kai﹕ᘏᘏ୭₊˚

you realize you love him the day he apologizes for looking at you too long.

“sorry,” he mumbles. “i didn’t mean to stare.”

you’re sitting across from each other, legs tangled under the kotatsu table. his hoodie sleeves are pulled over his palms. his cheeks are pink. and he’s looking at you like you hung the moon and forgot to tell anyone.

you blink. “kai,” you say, gently. “you’re allowed to look.”

he shrinks a little, but he nods.

he doesn’t know what to do with attention — not really. not when it’s personal. not when it’s you.

you’ve heard it in passing before — in interviews, old livestreams, articles that fans have archived and translated — that kai has always been quietly unsure about his looks.

it doesn’t make sense to you. he’s so striking in person it almost hurts. luminous eyes. impossible bone structure. a smile that feels like finding your favorite song after a bad day.

but insecurity isn’t about logic. and kai isn’t the kind of person who wants praise just to hear it.

he wants to feel seen.

you learn how to love him in his language.

you send voice notes when he’s on tour — your voice soft, half-asleep, saying “i’m proud of you.”

you leave sticky notes in his backpack with doodles and stupid puns and reminders to stretch.

you call him pretty only when no one else is around. and he smiles every time like he’s hearing it for the first time.

his love language?

unlabeled. sideways. soft.

he leaves you little things: guitar picks in your coat pocket (“that one’s lucky”), a folded napkin with your name written in tiny hearts and a playlist titled “for when it rains but you still have to smile”

he doesn’t like big declarations. but he’ll hug you from behind when you’re brushing your teeth. hum into your neck when you’re washing dishes. whisper “i dreamed about you again” like he’s sharing a secret.

and then there’s the stage.

you never get used to that version of him — the one with a guitar strapped across his chest, a reed in his mouth, eyes glittering under the lights.

it’s not that he becomes someone else. it’s more like he steps into himself.

his body moves differently. his presence shifts. there’s this subtle confidence — not arrogant, just rooted. he plants his feet. commands the space. owns the note. and you, watching from the side curtain or through a screen, forget to breathe.

he finishes with the reed between his lips, hair slicked to his temples, and walks off like he didn’t just rearrange the earth’s axis.

you stare at him, stunned.

he looks back at you and says, in the softest voice:

“did i look weird?”

when he comes home, he doesn’t talk much. he curls into you on the couch, hoodie zipped all the way up, and plays chords on an unplugged electric guitar while you read. every once in a while, he’ll glance up — make a face — and go back to playing.

sometimes he lets you sit in his lap while he composes. sometimes he dozes off mid-layer, one headphone in, fingers still resting on the frets.

you kiss his forehead and tuck a blanket over him. he murmurs something you don’t catch. and you think — if this is love, then it’s the kind that doesn’t need to shout.

check out more works like this on here @onedreamnet !

author's note: first time writing for other members except soobin kinda nervous lol. send me a request • my masterpost

[willoryn]

What if the Hazbin crew find out about Lucifer’s crush on the reader and they try to set the two up together

NWXBCNND Omg there are so many ways this could go idk where I want to start.

First of all, Charlie would have way too much fun trying to get you two together fbfncn she is very invested in this. She sees how happy you make eachother... she hasn't seen her dad smile like that in so long. He looks bright again. Like there is actual life behind his eyes. Hell, you got him to dream again! She thinks it's worth trying!

Second of all, getting the others on board won't be too difficult. Vaggie will go along with it when she sees how passionate Charlie is about it. Angel will be like "oh, we're gonna get the king laid? Sure, count me in." Husk probably got dragged into it by Al to take his place because the latter has absolutely no interest.

Maybe neither of you catch onto it at first. Especially if you are already friends by this point. You are used to being in eachother's company quite often so Charlie getting you guys alone isn't exactly strange. I guess it would come down to just how obvious Charlie is being about it 😂 which, unless someone reels her in, I think it would be pretty obvious what she's trying to do dbcncnf

If you two aren't that close and actually try to avoid eachother because of your feelings (shyness and whatnot), you best believe they are going to try and stick the two of you in any situation they can together 😭 and that would make for some very cute , fluffy, and awkward moments between you djcnjdb

What would also be kind if amusing is if you guys have already been secretly dating for some time and you both catch on to what Charlie is trying to do. But you play along... you're both acting so aggravatingly oblivious about it dbcncnf to the point where Charlie just straight up loses it and forces you guys to admit your feelings... only to be told in the end you've been dating all along and you just wanted to play a little joke.

You're both almost brutally murdered afterwards but at least it was kind of funny.