#and you kinda need to mentally prepare yourself | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

elikajinnie · 6 months ago

Note

Heyyy could you do a oneshot of sh or hs inspired on the song what you need by the weeknd

I Am Everything You Crave - L.H

P: Player!Heeseung X Fem!Reader (recommended age 18+)

Warnings: Non-Idol!au, Suggestive Content, Situationship?, Pursuing, Possessive Behaviour, Begging, Alcohol Consumption, Jealousy if you squint, Mature Content, he kinda down bad.

Synopsis: Working at the campus café was fine—until Lee Heeseung entered the picture. A colleague with a reputation, Heeseung had made it his mission to add you to his collection of women. Much to his surprise, you rejected him. That is, until one party changed everything. You thought you could forget what happened and move on, but Heeseung? He has no intention of letting you go so easily.

a/n: This is very suggestive okay?? since the song is freaky :3

now playing: what you need by the weeknd | fuck yeah by ballinciaga | rude boy by rihanna | shameless by camila cabello

Life had its ups and downs. Right and wrong. Yin and yang. It had always been like that, and it would always be like that. Life isn’t easy, and everyone experiences it differently. People make decisions—some good, some bad—and they live with the outcomes.

Your latest decision? Getting a job at the small campus café tucked between the library and the science building. It seemed easy enough. Take orders, make drinks, serve a few pastries, smile. You needed the money, and the huge gaps in your class schedule meant you either spent hours scrolling on your phone in the student lounge or aimlessly wandering around campus. You figured it was time to be productive.

Simple. Easy. A perfect plan.

Yeah, right. Super easy until the news that someone new was starting, and the worst part? You had to train them.

You found out the hard way, too—your manager casually dropped it into conversation while wiping down the espresso machine.

“Oh, by the way,” they said nonchalantly, “the new hire’s coming in tomorrow. You’ll show them the ropes, yeah? You’re good at this stuff.”

You blinked. Good at this stuff? You’d been working here for all of two weeks. Sure, you hadn’t broken the coffee machine yet, but that hardly made you a veteran barista. You wanted to argue, to say there was no way you could teach someone else when you were barely keeping yourself afloat, but the words never made it past your lips.

So, here you were—standing behind the counter the next morning, mentally preparing yourself for a complete disaster.

The door jingled, signaling someone’s arrival, and you looked up with a sigh.

And you physically recoiled, because why was Lee Heeseung standing right in front of you?

Your brain short-circuited for a moment as he stood there, hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie, looking around the cafe like he owned the place. Out of all the people on campus, it just had to be him. You’d rarely spoken to Lee Heeseung, he wasn’t worth your attention—one of those guys always surrounded by people, mostly girls, and partying like it was his full-time job.

And the worst part? He was good at it. Heeseung had that effortless charm, those annoyingly good looks, and he knew how to use both to his advantage. He could flash one of those lopsided grins and suddenly everyone in the room was falling over themselves to talk to him. Successful without even trying.

You narrowed your eyes as he stepped closer, stopping just short of the counter. For a second, it looked like he was sizing you up, like you were the one out of place.

“Uh… are you the trainer?” he asked, his voice smooth, as if he wasn’t about to ruin your morning.

You stared at him blankly, the words barely registering. This couldn’t be happening. Heeseung—the Lee Heeseung—was the new hire. The guy you were supposed to train.

And just like that, your “simple and easy” job turned into your personal nightmare.

You slowly nodded at first, then answered, “Yeah,” your voice as flat as your enthusiasm. You gestured for him to come behind the counter.

He made his way around to the small door flap on the side, moving with that casual confidence that you already found irritating. You led him to the back, pointing out the row of lockers shoved into the corner.

“You can set your stuff in there,” you said, folding your arms across your chest. “Aprons are on the hook.”

He nodded, tossing his bag into one of the lockers with no hesitation. Then he grabbed an apron, slinging it over his head and tying it around his waist in a way that seemed far too graceful for someone doing something so basic. Of course, even putting on an apron looks good on him, you thought bitterly.

Wordlessly, you grabbed a name tag from the counter nearby and handed it to him. It was generic, just the word Assistant in bold letters, no real customization. He took it with a small smirk, pinning it to his chest like it was some kind of award.

“Assistant, huh?” he said, glancing down at it. Then, he looked back up at you with a grin that had trouble written all over it. “Does this mean I’m your sidekick now?”

You stared at him, unamused. “It means you’re here to learn, not mess around.”

“Got it. I’ll be the best assistant you’ve ever had,” he replied, throwing you a mock salute.

You rolled your eyes and turned on your heel, heading back to the counter. “We’ll see about that. Come on, I’ll show you how to use the register.”

He followed you, and even though you couldn’t see him, you could practically feel the smug energy radiating off him. This was going to be a long day.

You led Heeseung back to the counter, pointing to the register like it was some holy artifact he’d need to respect.

“This is the register,” you said, tapping the touchscreen. “It’s straightforward, but don’t let that fool you. People will make it hard for no reason.”

He nodded, leaning in a little too close to the screen for your liking. His shoulder brushed yours, and you instinctively stepped to the side, putting some much-needed space between you.

“Here’s how it works,” you continued, ignoring the way he casually leaned against the counter like he had all the time in the world. You ran through the basics, showing him how to input orders, handle different payment methods, and deal with the occasional glitch.

“And this,” you added, pointing to the small clipboard tucked in a corner, “is where we keep track of special requests. You’ll hate this thing within a week.”

“Good to know,” he said with a small laugh, like he wasn’t taking any of this seriously.

Next, you moved to the shelves and machines behind the counter, pointing out where everything was.

“Coffee beans are in these bins,” you said, lifting a lid to show him. “Pastries are in the display case—use gloves if you’re touching them. Cups, lids, straws, napkins… all in this section here. And the espresso machine—” You gestured toward it like it was a ticking time bomb. “—don’t touch this yet. Not unless you want to break it and have the entire staff hate you.”

Heeseung raised his hands in mock surrender. “Got it. Hands off the espresso machine. Anything else I’m banned from touching?”

“Pretty much everything until I say so,” you shot back, turning to face him. “For the next three days, you’ll shadow me. Watch what I do, ask questions if you’re confused, but don’t try to take over. Once you get the hang of things, you can start doing some tasks on your own.”

He tilted his head, his lips twitching like he was holding back a smile. “So, I’m basically your personal assistant for three days?”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re here to learn the job, not to entertain yourself.”

“Right, right,” he said, holding back a chuckle. “Serious business.”

“Exactly.” You folded your arms, watching as he leaned against the counter again, a smug glint in his eye.

Something about him made your patience wear thin, and you already knew these three days were going to test every ounce of your self-control. But you weren’t going to let Lee Heeseung get to you. Not a chance.

The door opened, and the bell above it gave a cheerful ding. Immediately, your customer service smile snapped into place, and you turned to greet the new arrival.

“Hi! Welcome in,” you said brightly. “What can I help you with today?”

The student—a guy in a hoodie and glasses—gave a polite nod before stepping closer to glance at the menu board hanging above the counter. After a moment, he pointed. “I’ll take a medium latte and, uh… one of those chocolate croissants.”

“Got it,” you replied, turning to the register. But not before noticing that Heeseung was watching you intently, his expression curious, almost amused. Ignoring him, you quickly entered the order, your fingers flying over the screen as you spoke. “So here’s how it works,” you said to him, motioning toward the display. “You tap the drink size, then pick the pastry from the bakery menu. Easy.”

He nodded, his eyes following your movements as if committing everything to memory.

Once you’d printed the receipt, you handed it to the student with another practiced smile. “Your total is on there, and I’ll bring everything out to your table in just a minute!” The student murmured a thank you before heading to a nearby seat.

Turning to Heeseung, you gestured toward the pastry display. “All right, rookie. Go grab that chocolate croissant and give it to the customer. Just use the tongs and put it in one of the small paper bags over there.”

He gave you a mock salute, grinning. “Yes, boss.”

You rolled your eyes, already turning to the espresso machine. It hummed quietly as you prepped the steam wand and started on the latte. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Heeseung make his way to the display case, grab a pair of tongs, and carefully place the croissant into a bag like it was some precious artifact.

When he finally handed it to the student, you couldn’t help but listen in as he said, “Here you go. Chocolate croissant, fresh and perfect. Just like I made it myself.”

The student chuckled awkwardly, clearly unsure how to respond, and you had to fight the urge to laugh. Of course Heeseung couldn’t resist being a show-off.

“Good job,” you muttered under your breath as he came back to the counter.

“Thanks,” he said, leaning against the counter again, that ever-present smirk tugging at his lips. “See? I’m a natural.”

You ignored him, focusing on finishing the latte and pouring the steamed milk into the cup. Sliding the drink onto a tray, you carried it over to the customer, who smiled and thanked you.

As you returned to the counter, Heeseung was watching you with an amused expression.

“What?” you asked, arching a brow.

“Nothing,” he said, clearly lying. “You just take this whole customer service thing really seriously.”

“It’s called doing my job,” you shot back. “Maybe you should try it sometime.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” he said with a wink. “I’m already learning from the best.”

You sighed, already bracing yourself for how long the rest of the day was going to feel.

For the rest of the shift, you took Heeseung through the rest of the basics. You showed him how to restock the pastry display, explained the cleaning routine, and gave him a quick rundown of how to prepare simple drink orders. At first, you were all business—focused on making sure he didn’t screw anything up. But after a while, you started to notice something… entertaining.

Heeseung didn’t just follow your instructions—he did it almost eagerly. Whether it was wiping down counters or organizing cups, he jumped at every little task you gave him. It was, admittedly, kind of fun ordering him around.

“Go grab the cups from the storage room,” you said at one point, just to see how he’d react.

Without hesitation, he nodded and walked off to fetch them, returning a minute later with the stack of cups in hand. As he set them down on the counter, he turned to you, that expectant look back in his eyes.

You frowned slightly. “What?”

“Did I do good?” he asked, his tone light but with a hint of genuine curiosity.

You blinked at him, caught off guard. Did he just… ask for praise?

“Uh… yeah,” you said, a little unsure. “You did good.”

The way his face lit up at that simple acknowledgment made you pause. Heeseung looked… happy. Actually happy. Not smug.

From then on, you couldn’t help but notice it. Every time he finished a task, he’d glance at you like he was waiting for approval. And every time you gave him even the smallest bit of praise, his smile would grow, and he’d seem even more motivated to keep going.

“Nice job restocking the pastries,” you said after he carefully arranged the croissants and muffins in the display case.

“Thanks,” he said, his grin widening as he shut the glass door.

“Good work wiping down the tables,” you added later, watching as he gave the last one an extra wipe just to make sure it was spotless.

“Thanks, boss,” he said, standing a little straighter.

It became a game in your head, almost without you realizing it. Every time he did something right—or even just passable—you threw him a little compliment.

“Great job with the lids.”

“You’re getting the hang of the register.”

“Nice work steaming that milk.”

Each time, he’d light up like you’d just told him he’d won a trophy, his energy growing as the shift went on. And as much as you hated to admit it, it was… kind of cute.

By the end of the shift, Heeseung was practically buzzing, his earlier smugness replaced by something more genuine. And you couldn’t deny it—it felt oddly satisfying to see him so eager to prove himself.

As he pulled off his apron at the end of the shift, he glanced at you one last time, his expression hopeful. “So… did I survive day one?”

You smirked, tossing your own apron into the laundry bin. “You survived. Barely.”

He laughed, his shoulders relaxing. “Good. Can’t wait to see what you make me do tomorrow.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips.

You quickly grabbed your bag from the locker and didn’t waste any time heading out the door.

You slipped your phone out of your pocket as you walked, scrolling mindlessly through notifications and you were halfway through reading a message when a familiar voice cut through the noise.

“Hey, wait up!”

You didn’t even have to look to know who it was. Sure enough, Heeseung jogged up beside you, falling into step like he’d been walking with you all along.

“What, no goodbye after all my hard work?” he teased, his tone dripping with mock offense.

You glanced at him briefly, then back at your phone. “Goodbye,” you said flatly, earning a soft chuckle from him.

He didn’t take the hint. Instead, he kept talking, launching into some story about how he almost burned down his dorm’s microwave last week because he forgot to add water to his cup noodles. You hummed in acknowledgment, barely listening, more focused on the text thread in front of you than his words.

But even as you tried to tune him out, you couldn’t ignore how close he was walking next to you. His arm brushed yours more than once, and he seemed to lean in slightly every time he spoke, like he wanted to make sure you heard him—even though he was plenty loud already.

And then there was his tone. It wasn’t just casual conversation; there was something… different about it. The way he dragged out certain words, the way his smile lingered as he glanced at you, the way he leaned a little closer when he joked—it all felt too deliberate to be innocent.

You finally tore your eyes away from your phone, catching the tail end of whatever he was saying. “…but honestly, I think the ramen was just defective. You ever had something like that happen?”

“Hm,” you hummed again, your answer vague.

He raised an eyebrow at you, his grin widening. “You’re not even listening, are you?”

“Not really,” you admitted without hesitation, slipping your phone into your pocket as you approached the entrance to your building.

He laughed at that, completely unfazed. “Wow, I see how it is. I pour my heart out, and you just ignore me. You’re cold.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t ignore you if you had something important to say,” you shot back, finally giving him a proper glance.

“Everything I say is important,” he said, flashing you a playful smile that you could only describe as shamelessly flirty.

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the way his smile lingered just a little too long. “Well, thanks for walking me to class, but I can take it from here.”

“Oh, so now I’m dismissed?” he teased, taking a half step back but still lingering just close enough to make his presence known.

“Yep. Bye, Heeseung,” you said, your voice pointed as you turned toward the door.

“See you tomorrow, boss,” he called after you, his voice laced with amusement.

You didn’t bother looking back, but you could practically feel his grin as you walked away.

After your morning classes, you made your way back to the cafe, already bracing yourself for another day of dealing with Heeseung. When you stepped through the door, the first thing you saw was him leaning casually over the counter, his apron already on, talking to a group of girls.

You sighed to yourself. Typical.

From the way they giggled and leaned in, it was obvious they were eating up every word he was saying. And Heeseung, of course, seemed to thrive under the attention, throwing out a smirk here, a playful laugh there, and just enough charm to keep them hanging on his every word.

It wasn’t until you caught bits and pieces of his smooth, too smooth tone—compliments that were barely disguised as flirty remarks—that you really rolled your eyes. You weren’t surprised. Flirting was practically his second language.

When he finally noticed you standing there, his entire demeanor shifted in an instant. He straightened up quickly, waving at you with an almost boyish smile. Gone was the smooth talker leaning on the counter; now he looked like someone who’d just been caught red-handed.

You gave him a small, unenthusiastic wave back, not bothering to stop as you headed straight for the back room.

Inside, you grabbed your apron from the hook, tying it around your waist, and leaving your bag in the locker.

But when you turned around, ready to head back out, you nearly jumped.

Heeseung was standing in the doorway, blocking your path, a smug smile already plastered on his face like he’d been waiting for you to notice him.

“What are you doing?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, your tone edging into annoyance.

“Just wanted to say hi properly,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “You rushed off so fast, I didn’t get the chance.”

“You were busy,” you pointed out, crossing your arms. “Looked like you were having fun.”

He shrugged, leaning against the doorframe. “They were just asking about the menu. Nothing serious.”

“Uh-huh,” you replied, unimpressed. “And I’m sure all that flirting was part of the menu explanation?”

He grinned, not even trying to deny it. “What can I say? I’m a man of many talents.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping forward. “Move. I have work to do.”

But instead of moving, he stayed firmly in place, blocking the door like he had no intention of letting you pass.

“Wait,” he said, his grin softening into something more playful. “You’re not jealous, are you?”

You froze, blinking up at him. “Jealous?” you echoed, then let out a sharp laugh. “Not even in your dreams, Heeseung. Now move.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender but still smiling as he stepped aside. “No need to threaten me, boss. I’m just messing with you.”

You gave him a pointed look as you brushed past him, heading back to the counter. But as you did, you couldn’t help but notice the way his grin lingered, like he’d just gotten away with something.

The rest of the shift carried on as usual—or at least, you tried to make it usual. Heeseung, of course, wasn’t making it easy.

He followed your instructions like he had yesterday, doing everything you asked without hesitation. But you couldn’t help but notice… changes. Subtle at first, but as the hours went on, they became impossible to ignore.

For one, he’d started staring. A lot.

You could feel his eyes on you almost constantly—when you were at the register, when you were showing him how to steam milk again, when you were wiping down counters. It wasn’t just a casual glance, either. No, this was the kind of stare that felt heavy, like he was watching you. Like he was noticing things he probably shouldn’t be noticing.

And when you did catch him looking, he didn’t even try to hide it. Instead, he’d just flash you this lazy grin, like he wanted you to know he’d been caught.

“Can I help you with something?” you asked pointedly after the third—or was it fourth?—time you caught him staring.

He shrugged, unbothered. “Just observing. You know, trying to learn from the best.”

“Sure,” you muttered, turning back to the espresso machine.

But the staring wasn’t even the worst part. It was the way he spoke to you. Everything he said was low, smooth, and infuriatingly deliberate.

“Hey, boss,” he said at one point, leaning just a little too close to you as you refilled the sugar packets at the counter. “You always look this focused, or is it just when I’m around?”

You didn’t even look up. “It’s called doing my job, Heeseung.”

He chuckled, his voice warm and annoyingly charming. “Just trying to make it more fun.”

When you showed him how to set up the sandwich press later, he leaned in closer than he needed to, his shoulder brushing yours as he peered at the controls.

“So, when do I get a promotion?” he asked, his voice low enough that it sent a faint shiver down your spine.

“A promotion?” you repeated, rolling your eyes as you stepped back to put some distance between you. “You haven’t even lasted a full week yet.”

He smirked, straightening up. “Yeah, but I’m doing a great job, aren’t I? You tell me all the time.”

“You’re doing the bare minimum,” you said flatly, trying to ignore the way his smirk made your stomach flip.

“Still counts,” he replied, winking.

By the time your break rolled around, you were honestly ready to strangle him—or maybe strangle yourself for letting him get to you. You’d only known him for two days, and yet he was already worming his way under your skin in ways you hadn’t anticipated.

You sighed as you finally sank into the chair in the back room, a half-eaten sandwich on a napkin in front of you and your laptop open to a half-finished school assignment. Break time was supposed to be your one reprieve from Heeseung’s constant attention, and you were determined to make the most of it.

The cafe wasn’t busy, and you’d left him at the front with strict instructions to just hold down the fort, take simple orders, and not burn anything. He had nodded enthusiastically, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that leaving him alone might have been a mistake. Still, you couldn’t babysit him forever.

With a deep breath, you focused on your laptop, determined to finish at least a paragraph of your essay before your break ended.

But, of course, Lee Heeseung had other plans.

Not even five minutes into your break, the door creaked open, and there he was, leaning casually against the doorframe with that infuriatingly smug grin on his face.

"Shouldn't you be up front?" you asked without looking up, your tone flat as you typed out another sentence.

“I am,” he said, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. “Just came to check on you. You know, make sure you’re not slacking off back here.”

You gave him a deadpan look, your hands hovering over the keyboard. “I’m the one slacking? You’re the one who left the counter unattended.”

“It’s fine,” he said, waving you off as he stepped further into the room. “There’s no one out there right now. Plus, I work better when I know my boss is doing okay.”

You rolled your eyes and turned back to your screen. “I’m fine. Now get back out there before someone walks in and thinks we don’t know what we’re doing.”

But instead of leaving, he sat down in the chair across from you, propping his chin on his hand as he watched you with a lazy smile.

“What are you working on?” he asked, nodding toward your laptop.

“Schoolwork,” you said shortly, hoping he’d take the hint and leave.

“Wow,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “So hardworking. Do you ever take a break, or is that not a thing for you?”

“This is my break,” you snapped, glaring at him. “Which you’re currently ruining.”

He grinned, completely unfazed. “Come on, boss. You’ve gotta learn to relax a little. Life’s not all about essays and coffee orders.”

“It is when you’re trying to pass your classes and keep a job,” you retorted, taking a bite of your sandwich.

He let out a low hum, watching you with an intensity that made you feel like you were under a microscope. “You know,” he said after a moment, his tone shifting into something softer—almost teasing, “you look kinda cute like that.”

You froze mid-bite, your eyes snapping to his.

“What?” you said, your voice flat but your ears burning.

“Just saying,” he said with a shrug, his smile widening as if he knew exactly what he was doing. “You’ve got this little furrow in your brow when you’re focused. It’s cute.”

You stared at him for a moment, debating whether it was worth throwing your sandwich at his face.

“Heeseung,” you said finally, your voice low and warning.

“Yes, boss?”

“Get. Back. To. Work.”

He laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender as he stood up. “Alright, alright, I’m going. Don’t miss me too much.”

You groaned as he sauntered out of the room, leaving you alone again—but not before tossing one last wink over his shoulder.

For a moment, you just sat there, staring at the door and wondering how you’d managed to get stuck with the most annoying coworker on the planet.

You tried to push Heeseung’s antics out of your mind, refocusing on your laptop. But it wasn’t as easy as you’d hoped. Every time you typed another sentence, your mind wandered back to the way he had called you cute. The audacity of him, the nerve—he just said whatever came to mind, didn’t he? Like there were no consequences.

You shook your head, forcing yourself to focus. Heeseung was just being Heeseung—cocky, shameless, and way too full of himself. You weren’t going to let him get under your skin.

Another five minutes passed. Your essay was slowly taking shape, the sound of typing helped you settle into a groove. Finally, some peace and quiet.

But, of course, that didn’t last.

The door creaked open again, and you didn’t even have to look up to know who it was.

“Heeseung,” you said sharply, “if you’re not coming back here to tell me the cafe is on fire, I swear—”

“Relax,” he said, stepping into the room with a to-go cup in his hand. “Just thought you might need a little pick-me-up.”

You glanced up, and sure enough, there he was, holding out a cup of coffee like it was some grand peace offering.

“What is this?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

“Coffee,” he said, completely unbothered. “I made it myself. Thought you’d want a break from whatever sad sandwich you’ve been eating.”

You looked at the cup suspiciously. “You didn’t put anything weird in it, did you?”

“Wow,” he said, clutching his chest like you’d just insulted his honor. “No faith in me at all. That hurts, boss. Really.”

You rolled your eyes but took the cup anyway, cautiously bringing it to your lips. The coffee was… actually pretty good.

“Not bad,” you admitted, trying to keep your tone neutral.

Heeseung’s face lit up like you’d just handed him a gold medal. “See? I’m a fast learner. You might be stuck with me, but at least I’m good at what I do.”

“Barely,” you muttered, but your lips twitched upward despite yourself.

He pulled out the chair across from you again, sitting down with that same cocky grin.

“Don’t you have work to do?” you asked, arching an eyebrow at him.

“The front’s all clear,” he replied, leaning back in the chair. “And besides, I’d rather hang out here with you.”

You rolled your eyes, taking another sip of the coffee. “You’re strange, you know that?”

“I’ve been called worse,” he said with a wink.

You shook your head, biting back a smile as you turned back to your laptop. But even as you tried to focus, you couldn’t ignore the way he stayed there, watching you like you were the most interesting thing in the room.

“So, there’s this party on Saturday,” he suddenly said, breaking the silence that had been hanging over the room for minutes, his tone easy but clearly fishing for something.

You paused mid-motion, glancing over at him. “A party?”

“Yeah,” he said, sitting up straight now and looking at you. “It’s at my friend Jay’s place. Big house, lots of people, good music… You should come.”

You blinked, surprised. Heeseung inviting you to a party wasn’t something you’d expected, especially since you weren`t close.

For a moment, you just stared at him, unsure how to respond.

“What?” he asked with a small grin, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t like parties or something?”

“I didn’t say that,” you replied, crossing your arms. “I just wasn’t expecting you to invite me.”

“Why not?” he asked, leaning a little closer, his grin widening. “You’re cool. And besides, I figured you could use a break. You know, have some actual fun for once.”

You scoffed, about to reject him outright with a “Sorry, I’m busy,” but the words caught in your throat.

The truth was, you weren’t busy. Your weekend was looking painfully empty, and you couldn’t even remember the last time you’d gone out for something other than groceries or school. You’d been drowning in assignments and deadlines for so long that the thought of getting out, even for just one night, sounded oddly tempting.

And besides, you’d heard about Jay. The guy was rich—practically loaded—and you knew his parties were worth it. You weren’t exactly a party animal, but a night with good music, decent booze (and not the cheap stuff from corner stores), and a chance to let loose didn’t sound half bad.

You leaned over the table, pretending to think it over, and caught the way Heeseung’s eyes flickered to yours. He almost seemed… eager, like he was waiting on the edge of his seat for your answer. His gaze lingered just a second too long, and you noticed the way he leaned in slightly, like he couldn’t help himself.

Was he… entranced?

The thought made you pause for a moment, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“Alright,” you said finally, sitting back in your chair. “I’ll go.”

His face lit up almost immediately, and you could tell he was trying to hide how pleased he was.

“Really?” he asked, his grin growing.

“Yeah,” you said with a shrug, trying to keep your tone casual. “Why not? I could use a night out.”

“Great,” he said, his excitement obvious. “You won’t regret it. Trust me, Jay throws the best parties. I’ll text you the details.”

“You don’t even have my number,” you pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

“Not yet,” he said smoothly, pulling out his phone and holding it out to you with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes but took the phone anyway, typing in your number before handing it back to him.

“Don’t make me regret this,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him.

He grinned as he slipped his phone back into his pocket. “I won’t. Promise.”

The next few days passed in a blur and as much as you hated to admit it, Heeseung was actually learning everything pretty quickly. Sure, he still made the occasional mistake—like giving someone oat milk instead of almond milk—but those moments were fewer and farther between.

You had to give him credit: when he focused, he was good at what he did. The problem was getting him to focus.

Heeseung always found ways to make things interesting. Whether it was asking too many unnecessary questions just to mess with you or deliberately trying to get a reaction out of you with his relentless teasing, he kept you on your toes. And yet, he still managed to meet all the training goals you set for him, almost like he wanted to impress you.

Finally, by the end of the week, his training was officially done. He knew how to use the register, make all the drinks, handle pastries, and even clean up without leaving a mess behind. So, when the time came to hand him his permanent nametag, you couldn’t help but feel a small sense of accomplishment.

You stood behind the counter as Heeseung wiped down a table nearby.

“Hey,” you called out, catching his attention.

He turned toward you, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, boss?”

You held up the shiny new nametag with his name etched on it in neat, bold letters: Heeseung.

“Congratulations,” you said, holding it out to him. “You’re officially not the assistant anymore.”

His eyes lit up when he saw it, and for a moment, you thought he looked almost… touched?

He took the nametag from your hand and stared at it like it was some kind of trophy. Then, with no hesitation, he ripped off the old “Assistant” nametag and tossed it on the counter.

“Finally,” he said, grinning as he hooked the new nametag onto his apron. “I was getting sick of being ‘Assistant.’”

You crossed your arms, smirking. “Don’t let it go to your head. You’re still the newbie.”

He shot you a playful look. “Yeah, but now I’ve got my actual name. Feels good.”

“Don’t get too comfortable,” you teased. “You’re still not getting a promotion anytime soon.”

“Aw, come on,” he said, leaning against the counter with that familiar lazy grin. “You know I’ve been doing great. Admit it—you’re impressed.”

“I’ll admit you’ve survived training,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “That’s about it.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “You’re tough to please, boss. But don’t worry—I’ll win you over eventually.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the small smile tugging at your lips.

“Get back to work, Heeseung,” you said, brushing past him to restock the pastry case.

But as you moved, you caught him staring at his nametag again, his grin still firmly in place.

By the time Saturday rolled around, you stood in front of your mirror, adjusting your outfit for the third—no, fourth—time. Your hair and makeup were done perfectly, your clothes hugged you in all the right places, and yet, you found yourself staring down at Heeseung’s message with a sense of hesitation.

Heeseung: Party starts at 8. Jay’s place. Don’t be late, boss

He’d attached the address below, followed by another string of teasing texts you hadn’t bothered to reply to.

You bit your lip, the urge to second-guess yourself creeping in. What were you even doing? Parties weren’t exactly your thing—not anymore, at least. You’d spent so much time lately focused on school and work that the thought of walking into a house full of strangers felt overwhelming.

Maybe you should cancel. You could just text Heeseung, say something came up, and spend the evening curled up with your laptop and a blanket instead. He’d probably roll his eyes, call you boring, and then leave you alone.

But then again, when was the last time you let yourself actually have fun? You couldn’t even remember the last time you went out, much less to a party. And besides, Heeseung had been so weirdly persistent about you coming. You could already picture his smug little grin when he saw you show up.

You shook your head at yourself, sighing.

“Get it together,” you muttered, turning back to the mirror.

You straightened your outfit, smoothing out any wrinkles and with one last glance at Heeseung’s message, you took a deep breath and grabbed your bag.

It was just a party. You’d go, stay for a little while, maybe have a drink or two, and then leave. No big deal.

At least, that’s what you told yourself as you locked your door and headed out.

When you arrived at Jay’s house, you weren’t surprised to find it exactly as you’d expected: massive, loud, and packed with people. Music thumped through the walls, and the glow of colorful lights spilled out through the windows and onto the front lawn.

Though the moment you stepped inside Jay’s house, the sheer size of the place struck you again. You’d been to a few big houses before, but this? This was something else entirely. The ceilings were impossibly high, the decor looked like it had been ripped straight out of a magazine, and the crowd of people packed into the house made it feel like a full-blown club instead of a casual get-together.

You maneuvered through the throng of people, recognizing a few faces here and there—some classmates, some mutual friends, and plenty of people you didn’t know. A few offered you quick smiles or waves, but most were too busy dancing, drinking, or talking loudly to notice you weaving through the chaos.

You found a massive coat rack—overflowing with jackets and bags—and hung yours up carefully before stepping back into the crowd. The noise was almost overwhelming, but you quickly found your footing, asking a couple of people nearby where the kitchen was.

“Down the hall, to the left!” one guy shouted over the music, pointing in the direction.

You nodded your thanks and headed that way, weaving through more bodies until you finally reached the kitchen.

And just like you’d predicted, it was a dream come true for any broke college student.

The massive kitchen island was completely covered in bottles of alcohol—every drink you could dream of—all the expensive brands that only the rich could casually stock up on without a second thought. There were mixers, fruit garnishes, pre-made cocktails, and even a blender shoved to one side.

Your eyes scanned the island, and you couldn’t help but smirk. Jay definitely wasn’t messing around.

You made your way to the fridge, pulling it open to find even more options stacked neatly inside. After a moment of deliberation, you grabbed a cold bottle and popped the cap off with a satisfying snap.

You tossed the cap into the trash, lifting the bottle to your lips and taking a long sip. The sweet taste was like heaven, and you couldn’t help but hum in satisfaction.

“Enjoying yourself already?”

The familiar voice came from behind you, and you didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

Heeseung.

Of course.

You sighed, lowering the bottle and glancing over your shoulder to see him leaning against the doorway with that same lazy grin he always wore. He looked effortlessly good, as usual, in a casual black button-up and jeans that fit him a little too well. His dark hair was slightly tousled, like he hadn’t bothered trying too hard—but somehow, that only made him look better.

“Didn’t expect to see you here already,” he said, pushing off the doorframe and strolling over to you.

“Didn’t expect you to find me so fast,” you shot back, taking another sip from your bottle.

“What can I say?” he teased, grabbing a random bottle from the island and inspecting it. “I’ve got good instincts.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t bother responding, instead focusing on your drink.

Heeseung unscrewed the cap of his bottle, taking a swig before leaning against the counter beside you. “So,” he started, glancing at you with a sly smile, “what do you think? Not bad, huh?”

You gestured vaguely around the kitchen. “It’s… a lot.”

He laughed. “Yeah, Jay doesn’t do anything halfway. Wait until you see the backyard. He rented a whole fire pit setup and some fancy outdoor lights. It’s insane.”

“Of course he did,” you muttered, shaking your head.

Heeseung tilted his head, watching you closely. “Not a party person, huh?”

“Not at the moment,” you admitted, taking another sip. “But… I figured I could use a break.”

Heeseung’s smile softened, just slightly. “Well, you came to the right place. Trust me, by the end of the night, you’re gonna be glad you showed up.”

“Confident, aren’t you?” you said, raising an eyebrow.

He grinned, raising his bottle in a mock toast. “Always.”

You clinked your bottle lightly against his, rolling your eyes but unable to stop the small smile that tugged at your lips.

Heeseung downed the rest of his drink, then nudged you lightly with his elbow. “Come on, boss,” he said, flashing you his trademark grin. “I gotta introduce you to the crew.”

“Your crew?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, my friends,” he clarified, already motioning for you to follow him. “Don’t worry, they’re cool. You’ll like them.”

You trailed after him through the crowded house, sidestepping groups of people until you reached a section of the living room where a group of guys stood huddled, laughing over something you couldn’t hear over the music.

“Yo!” Heeseung called out, catching their attention.

The group turned to look, and almost instantly, they greeted Heeseung with wide grins and casual fist bumps. Then their attention shifted to you, curious but friendly.

“This is my boss,” Heeseung announced, slinging an arm over your shoulder with no warning. “You know, the one who’s been making me work my ass off all week?”

You stiffened under his arm, giving him a pointed look, but he didn’t seem to care.

The group laughed, and one of them—a guy with bleached hair and an easygoing vibe—stepped forward. “Ah, so you’re the one Heeseung’s been talking about nonstop,” he said, holding out his hand. “I’m Sunoo. Nice to meet you.”

You hesitated for a second, then shook his hand. “Nice to meet you too.”

The rest of the group followed suit, introducing themselves as Jake, Sunghoon, and Jungwon.

As they started chatting, you found yourself relaxing a little. They were cool, just like Heeseung said. You even caught yourself laughing at a few of their jokes.

But after a while, you excused yourself to the bathroom, needing a moment to yourself. The noise and energy of the party were starting to catch up to you, and you figured a quick breather would help.

But by the time you came back, though, the group had completely disappeared.

You frowned, glancing around the living room. Nothing. No Heeseung, no Sunoo, no one you recognized. Shrugging, you decided not to overthink it. Maybe they’d moved to another part of the house.

Instead, you headed back to the kitchen, grabbing another drink from the fridge. This time, you opted for something stronger, figuring you might as well enjoy yourself while you were here.

With the bottle in hand, you made your way to the main area where most people were dancing. Leaning against the wall, you watched the crowd sway and move to the heavy beat of the music.

But then someone approached you.

“Hey,” a guy’s voice said, drawing your attention.

You turned to see a soft-looking guy with an easy smile standing next to you. His energy felt entirely different from the usual partygoers—calmer, more approachable.

“Hi,” you replied, tilting your head slightly.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” he said, offering you his hand. “I’m Shotaro.”

You shook his hand, noting how friendly his smile was. “Nice to meet you, Shotaro. I’m—”

“—Heeseung’s boss, right?” he finished for you, grinning.

You blinked in surprise. “Uh, yeah. How did you know that?”

“Heeseung’s been talking about you,” he said casually, leaning against the wall beside you.

You felt a twinge of something you couldn’t quite place. “I see.”

“So,” Shotaro continued, taking a sip from his drink. “How’s it been, working with Heeseung? He’s not causing too much trouble, is he?”

You let out a small laugh. “Oh, he’s definitely trouble. But he’s not… terrible.”

Shotaro chuckled, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. “That sounds about right. Heeseung’s kind of a handful, but he’s a good guy.”

“Is that your way of warning me?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Not at all,” Shotaro said quickly, his tone light and playful. “Just… preparing you for what you’ve probably already figured out.”

As the conversation continued, you found yourself enjoying his company. But out of the corner of your eye, you noticed a familiar figure lingering near the edge of the room, watching.

Heeseung.

His expression was unreadable, but the way his eyes stayed locked on you made your stomach twist in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

You tried to shake off the uncomfortable feeling that crept over you, focusing back on Shotaro’s words. He was still talking, casually, but your attention kept drifting. Your eyes flicked back to Heeseung, who hadn’t moved, still standing in the same spot with his gaze fixed on you.

There was something about the way he was looking at you—intense, but not quite… angry? Maybe it was something else entirely. You couldn’t tell. It wasn’t a look you were used to seeing from him, especially not with the easygoing vibe he’d always had around you.

You couldn’t look away. Not at first, at least.

Shotaro noticed your distraction, following your line of sight and smiling knowingly. “I think he’s waiting for you,” he said, his tone light but laced with something that you couldn’t quite place.

You blinked, tearing your gaze away from Heeseung. “What?” you asked, momentarily disoriented.

“I said,” Shotaro continued with a slight grin, “I think your friend is waiting for you.”

You could feel your cheeks warming slightly. "He’s not—"

But before you could finish, Shotaro waved a hand dismissively. “No need to explain. It’s pretty obvious.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but your thoughts were a tangled mess now, and whatever you’d planned to say evaporated when you saw Heeseung take a few steps toward you.

Shotaro noticed the change too and gave you a sly smile. “I’ll let you handle that.”

You barely had time to react before Heeseung was standing in front of you, his posture still casual but something about his energy shifted the moment he stood near you.

You swallowed, suddenly feeling a little more self-aware. “What’s up?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

Heeseung didn’t immediately answer, instead studying you for a moment as if he was trying to figure something out. His eyes flicked over to Shotaro, who had already started talking to someone else close by.

“I thought you were having fun,” Heeseung finally said, his tone softer than usual.

“I am,” you replied, a little defensively, but the way he looked at you made the words feel like they didn’t hold much weight.

He chuckled, leaning slightly closer. “You know, you don’t have to be so uptight. Relax. This is supposed to be fun, right?”

His closeness made you feel like your skin was on fire, and you took a small step back, instinctively trying to put a little more space between you. “I’m fine,” you said, forcing a smile. “Just getting a drink and talking to people.”

Heeseung’s eyes darkened, but it was subtle, like a flicker of something deeper, something that was just below the surface. You tried to ignore the sudden heat building in your chest. “I’m sure you’re having a great time,” he replied, his voice low but just loud enough to make you question if there was something more to his words.

You shifted, glancing around the room again, feeling uneasy under his intense gaze.

“So,” you began, trying to change the subject, “how’s your night going?”

Heeseung shrugged, not answering immediately. Then he flashed that signature smirk of his, though it looked a little more forced this time. “Better now that you’re sticking around.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, half-amused and half-annoyed. "Yeah, sure."

He stepped a little closer, almost uncomfortably so. "You should stick with me tonight," he said, as if it were a casual suggestion, but there was something to his voice that made it feel like an order.

“Maybe later,” you replied, forcing yourself to stay casual even as you felt the pressure of his proximity.

But Heeseung didn’t move away. Instead, he held your gaze for a long moment. “I’ll be waiting.”

Before you could react, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there.

You stood there for a moment, trying to shake off the feeling, you made your way to the kitchen. You needed a minute, maybe something a little stronger to clear your head. The noise of the party faded as you opened the fridge, scanning the shelves for something that might do the trick.

You reached for a bottle of something dark and smooth—whiskey, you thought, perfect. The cap twisted off easily, and without hesitating, you brought the bottle to your lips, taking a deep swig. The burn was immediate, scorching your throat, but you welcomed it. The heat spread through your chest, distracting you from the confusion still swirling in your mind.

You winced slightly at the strong taste, but it didn’t bother you as much as it should have. In fact, you felt a little relieved.

With the bottle still in your hand, you moved to the counter, leaning against it as you wiped your hand across your forehead, pushing your hair back from your face.

Was Heeseung always like this? So… forward?

And why did it bother you so much?

You stood there in the bathroom, leaning over the sink as you splashed cold water on your face. The bitterness of the drinks still lingered in your mouth, and you couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling in your stomach. You rubbed your lips together, trying to rid yourself of the aftertaste, all the while trying to steady your breath. The last thing you needed was to get sick and ruin the night.

Just as you finished wiping your mouth with a tissue, you heard knocks on the door.

“Give me a minute,” you shouted, your voice a little tighter than you intended as you stared at yourself in the mirror. You were trying to compose yourself, trying to act like everything was fine, even though you were sure it wasn’t.

You grabbed your lipstick from your bag, carefully applying it to your lips. Then, before you could finish, the door suddenly swung open, and you froze.

Standing in the doorway was Heeseung, his expression unreadable as he stepped inside, blocking the exit with his body. You blinked, unable to mask your shock.

“Heeseung—”

He didn’t let you finish. Without a word, he closed and locked the door behind him, the click of the lock echoing in the small, quiet room.

Your heart raced, and you instinctively took a step back, eyes widening as you tried to process the sudden change in the atmosphere.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice coming out sharper than you’d intended.

Heeseung didn’t respond immediately, his eyes scanning your face as if he was taking his time to study you. The playful smile that was usually on his lips was gone, replaced by something more serious, more intense. He took a slow step toward you, and you instinctively stepped back, your back hitting the sink with a small jolt.

“You’re avoiding me,” he finally said, his tone low and steady.

“I’m not avoiding you,” you protested, though even you could tell it didn’t sound convincing.

Heeseung raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up slightly. “Then why are you not beside me?”

You swallowed, the heat of his gaze making you feel trapped in the small space. “I am—”

“Don’t lie to me,” he interrupted, his voice soft but insistent. “I know what you’re doing.”

Your chest tightened as the distance between you grew smaller. You couldn’t help the way your body reacted to his proximity—how your breath caught in your throat, how your pulse quickened.

You opened your mouth to say something, anything to break the tension, but Heeseung cut you off. “I’ve been waiting for you to stop running from me, to give in and see,” he said, his voice smooth. “And I’m not going to let you get away tonight.”

Your heart hammered in your chest, and the world around you seemed to narrow down to just Heeseung, his gaze never leaving yours.

Your mind was racing, thoughts scattered in every direction as Heeseung closed the distance between you. His bottle was placed carelessly on the counter behind you, the sound of glass clinking against porcelain barely reaching your ears over the pounding of your heartbeat. His eyes never wavered from yours, as he leaned down, his arms caging you in against the sink.

You couldn’t help but look down at his lips. They were so close—too close—and you felt the pull toward them. Was it the alcohol clouding your thoughts? Or was it simply him?

You didn’t know. All you knew was that the bathroom suddenly felt unbearably hot.

Your mind screamed to pull away, to stop this before it went any further, but your body betrayed you. The space between you closed completely, and before you could say anything—or even fully register what was happening—Heeseung kissed you.

It was fast, surprising, and far more urgent than you expected. His lips were warm against yours, and for a split second, you froze. The kiss was deep, his hand coming to rest beside your face, his thumb brushing against your jaw. You could feel the force of his kiss, the way he was pulling you into him, and something inside you stirred.

You couldn’t think. You couldn’t focus on anything but the heat of his kiss, the way it made your heart race.

And then, just as suddenly as it had started, he pulled away slightly, his lips hovering just above yours. His eyes were hungry—more intense than you had ever seen them before.

"You don’t have to say anything," he murmured, his voice low, almost like a warning. His lips brushed against yours again, a fleeting touch that made your stomach twist. "I know what you’re thinking."

You swallowed, your mind a blur as you tried to make sense of what had just happened. But the only thing you could focus on was him.

Heeseung didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, his fingers brushed against your skin, tracing a path down your neck as he moved to kiss you again, more slowly this time, as if savoring the moment.

And despite everything inside you telling you to stop—to pull away and think—you couldn’t. You didn’t want to.

Your hands instinctively moved to his neck, pulling him closer as you kissed him back, the feel of his lips against yours made everything inside you tighten. The kiss deepened, and that was when you felt him shift, his hands slipping under your thighs and lifting you effortlessly off the ground. The action caught you off guard for a moment, but you didn’t have time to process it before he set you down on the counter, careful to avoid the sink.

His body moved in between your legs, and you instinctively parted them to make room for him, while his hands slid up your sides, fingers brushing the curve of your waist.

At that moment everything felt like it was spiraling out of control. But instead of pulling away, you found yourself leaning closer to him, your hands tugging at the hem of his shirt, desperate for more contact.

There was no going back now, no hesitation.

The only thing that mattered was the way his body pressed against yours, the way he made you feel like you were the only person in the room. You weren’t quite sure who was losing control more: him or you.

Your hands, naturally, found their way to his biceps, grasping tightly as if to anchor yourself.

Heeseung's kisses became more intense, his tongue dancing with yours, and you could feel his hands, warm and strong, as they slowly made their way under your shirt.

Your breath caught in your throat as you felt the warmth of his hands on your skin. His touch sent a shiver down your spine, a delightful sensation.

As Heeseung's hands continued their journey, his moan escaped his lips, a low sound which sent a jolt of electricity through your body, and you couldn't help but grip his biceps tighter, your nails slightly digging into his skin.

Heeseung's moan turned into a growl as he felt your response. With a sudden movement, he ripped off his shirt, a few of the buttons flying in all directions.

The sight of Heeseung's bare chest took your breath away. His muscles, defined and strong, glistened with a slight sheen of sweat.

As Heeseung's shirt fell to the ground, he pulled you closer, his lips never leaving yours. His hands, now free, roamed over your back, tracing the curve of your spine, and then down to your waist, where he gently squeezed.

Heeseung's lips left yours for a moment, only to trail kisses down your neck, his tongue teasing the sensitive skin there. You let out a soft whine, your body arching into his touch, inviting him to continue.

Heeseung's hands, slowly and deliberately pulled up your shirt, gently sliding the garment off your shoulders, his eyes never leaving yours.

With a subtle smile, Heeseung slung your shirt over his shoulder, his hands, now free to explore, slipped up your thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

You leaned back against the mirror, your legs parted slightly as Heeseung's hands continued their journey, their grip tightening as they reached the top of your thighs.

Your breath caught in your throat as you looked down at Heeseung, his chest, still heaving from the intensity of the kiss, rose and fell with each breath. You could feel his fingers trace the curves, his thumbs gently massaging.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "I could look at you forever."

"I could say the same about you," you replied, your voice soft. "Every inch of you is perfection."

Heeseung's lips twitched into a soft smile. "Don't say that unless you mean it," he murmured, his voice quieter now, almost unsure.

You tilted your head slightly, your hands looped loosely around his neck. "I do mean it," you said firmly, your voice steady despite the way your heart was racing. "Every word."

For a moment, Heeseung didn’t say anything. He just stood there, staring at you as if trying to memorize every detail of your face. His grip on your waist tightened slightly.

"You have no idea what you’re doing to me," he said finally, his voice low, almost a whisper, like the words weren’t meant for anyone else but you.

Your lips parted, unsure of how to respond. But before you could say anything, he leaned in again, capturing your lips with his in a kiss that was softer this time, slower, as if he was savoring every second.

His hands slid up to cradle your face, his touch gentle, and you couldn’t help but melt into him. The way he kissed you made your head spin, every thought slipping away until all you could feel was him.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours, both of you breathing heavily. "I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you," he admitted.

You breathed out shakily, leaning forward to kiss him again, unable to resist. Heeseung groaned softly against your mouth, his hands tightening around your waist as if he never wanted to let go.

But the sudden, rapid knocking on the bathroom door shattered the moment like glass. "Come on, man! Some of us need to pee!" someone shouted, their voice muffled but impatient.

You both froze, and then, as if in sync, you both pulled back with a wet sound, the abrupt loss of contact leaving you cold. You quickly slid off the sink, your legs shaky as you adjusted your balance. Heeseung stepped back to give you space, his lips slightly swollen, his hair tousled from your hands.

You grabbed your shirt from where it had been discarded and slipped it back on with trembling fingers, avoiding his gaze as your heart pounded in your chest. Heeseung, meanwhile, reached for his own shirt, pulling it on hastily as the knocking grew louder.

"You guys gonna stay in there all night?" a different voice called, followed by a round of laughter from the hallway.

Your face burned as you yanked open the door, not sparing a glance at the group of people gathered outside, their expressions ranging from amused to curious. Shouldering past them, you strode down the hallway and out into the main area of the party, your breath still uneven, your mind racing.

You didn’t stop, didn’t even turn around to see if Heeseung was following. The music felt too loud, the crowd too suffocating, and you needed air. Pushing past the groups of people dancing and talking, you made your way to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water and twisting it open with shaking hands.

Taking a long sip, you leaned against the counter, trying to calm the chaotic mess of emotions swirling inside you. What had just happened? One minute, you were at a party, trying to have a good time, and the next…

"Hey," a familiar voice said softly, and you stiffened.

Turning slowly, you saw Heeseung standing in the doorway of the kitchen, his expression unreadable. His shirt was wrinkled, his lips still slightly parted as if he’d run after you but didn’t know what to say now that he’d found you.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice tentative, his dark eyes scanning your face as if trying to gauge how you were feeling.

You let out a shaky laugh, running a hand through your hair. "I… I don’t know," you admitted, your voice quieter than you expected. "I just needed a second to breathe."

Heeseung nodded, stepping further into the room but keeping a careful distance, as if he didn’t want to overwhelm you. "I’m sorry if that was… too much," he said, his voice soft, almost apologetic. "I didn’t mean to—"

"Don’t apologize," you interrupted, surprising both of you with the firmness in your tone. "It wasn’t just you, Heeseung."

Your words seemed to relax him slightly, his shoulders easing as he took another cautious step closer. "Still," he said, his lips quirking into a faint smile, "next time, maybe we pick a place with fewer interruptions."

His playful tone made you roll your eyes, but you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. "Next time?" you asked, arching an eyebrow.

Heeseung grinned, his confidence creeping back as he leaned closer. "Oh, come on. You can’t tell me you didn’t enjoy that."

You froze for a moment, your breath catching in your throat as Heeseung stood right in front of you, so close you could feel the warmth radiating off him. His grin softened into something more intense as he reached out, his fingers brushing lightly under your jaw, tilting your head up so your eyes met his.

“Why so quiet now?” he teased softly, his voice dipping lower, his lips just a whisper away from yours. “You’re usually so good with comebacks.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. Heeseung’s gaze flickered to your lips, and before you could think or speak, he leaned in, so close your noses brushed. “You drive me so crazy,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the thump of the music in the other room.

And before you could react, his lips were on yours again, stealing the breath right out of your lungs.

It was different this time—not hurried or rushed like before, but deliberate, as if he wanted to make you feel every second of it. His hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck, holding you gently but firmly as he kissed you, and your body responded almost instinctively.

Your hands found their way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you kissed him back, your head spinning. Heeseung let out a low hum of satisfaction, the sound vibrating against your lips as he deepened the kiss, his other hand settling on your waist.

You barely registered the cool surface of the kitchen counter pressing against your lower back as he guided you gently but firmly against it, his body close enough to make you feel like you were burning up from the inside out.

When he finally pulled back, just enough to catch his breath, his lips hovered near yours, his forehead pressing lightly against yours. “See?” he whispered, his voice rough and uneven. “You can’t tell me you don’t feel this.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you stared at him, you didn’t trust yourself to speak, so instead, you reached up and pulled him back down into another kiss, your answer clear in the way your lips moved against his.

Heeseung chuckled softly against your mouth, his grip on your waist tightening like he didn’t want to let you go.

But somewhere in the back of your mind, a small voice reminded you where you were, what you were doing, and how very public this all was. Reluctantly, you broke the kiss, your breathing ragged as you pushed lightly against his chest.

“Heeseung,” you started, your voice shaky, “we’re in the middle of the kitchen. Anyone could walk in.”

Heeseung smirked, clearly unbothered, as he leaned down to press a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Let them,” he said, his voice low and full of mischief. “Maybe they’ll finally understand that you’re mine.”

Before you could even form a response, Heeseung’s lips crashed into yours again, more desperate this time, as though he couldn’t stand the idea of even a few seconds without kissing you. His hands cupped your face, holding you firmly in place.

Your protests—if there had been any—dissolved almost instantly, and all you could do was cling to him, your hands fisting the fabric of his shirt as his body pressed closer to yours.

You felt his hands slide down from your face to your waist, pulling you flush against him as if he needed to feel you, to confirm that you were there, that this wasn’t just some dream.

“Heeseung—” you tried to say, breaking the kiss briefly to catch your breath, but he didn’t let you get far.

“Don’t,” he murmured, his voice rough and low, as if he was barely holding himself together. “Just… don’t. Please.”

Before you could think, his lips were on yours again, and this time it was slower but no less intense. His hands tightened on your waist, grounding you, and you found yourself sinking further into him.

You didn’t even notice the kitchen had gone quiet until the sound of someone clearing their throat broke through the haze.

Your eyes flew open, and Heeseung reluctantly pulled back, his breathing heavy as he turned toward the source of the interruption. Standing in the doorway was Jay, a drink in his hand and an amused smirk plastered across his face.

“Should I come back later?” Jay asked, raising an eyebrow.

Your face burned with embarrassment as you quickly pushed Heeseung away, smoothing your clothes and trying to look like you hadn’t just been thoroughly kissed. Heeseung, on the other hand, looked completely unbothered.

“Not at all,” Heeseung replied smoothly, leaning casually against the counter as if nothing had happened. But the slight curve of his lips told you he was very aware of what just happened—and that he wasn’t ashamed in the slightest.

Jay chuckled, shaking his head as he walked into the kitchen. “Well, don’t let me stop you two. Just don’t break anything, yeah? I’d rather not explain that to my parents.”

You shot Jay a glare, but he just grinned and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge before leaving you alone with Heeseung again.

As soon as Jay was gone, you turned to Heeseung, narrowing your eyes at him. “You really have no shame, do you?”

Heeseung just shrugged, his smirk widening. “Not when it comes to you.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“Come on,” he said, reaching for your hand. “Let’s get out of here. I’m not done with you yet.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, but you let him take your hand, curiosity and excitement bubbling in your chest as he led you out of the kitchen.

Heeseung led you up the stairs, his hand firmly wrapped around yours as he maneuvered through the crowded hallway. The music downstairs grew fainter with every step, fading away until it was just the two of you at the end of a dimly lit corridor.

He stopped in front of a door, glancing back at you with a small smile before turning the handle and pulling you inside. The room was quiet, smelling faintly of cologne and freshly washed sheets, and you barely had a moment to take it all in before Heeseung closed the door and locked it with a soft click.

When he turned back to you, his eyes were darker, filled with an intensity that made your stomach flip. He didn’t say anything as he took a step closer, and then another, until there was barely any space left between you.

“Heeseung—” you started, your voice a mix of hesitation and anticipation, but he silenced you with a kiss.

His lips were on yours in an instant, firm and unrelenting, as if he’d been holding himself back for too long and couldn’t wait any longer. His hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him.

You couldn’t help but respond, your hands finding their way to his shoulders as you kissed him back just as fervently. It was like he had unlocked something inside you, something that craved the way he made you feel—like you were the only thing that mattered to him.

Heeseung broke the kiss just long enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting against yours as he whispered, “I’ve wanted this… wanted you… for so long.”

His words made your heart race, and before you could even process them, his lips trailing down to your jaw and to the curve of your neck, his movements slow, like he was savoring every inch of your skin. The soft warmth of his mouth sent shivers down your spine, but it wasn’t until you felt him suck lightly at a tender spot just beneath your ear that you gasped, your fingers instinctively tangling in his hair.

Heeseung hummed in satisfaction at your reaction, the sound vibrating against your neck. His hands gripped your waist firmly, keeping you steady as his lips latched onto your skin, sucking just enough to leave a mark. You couldn’t stop the quiet moan that escaped your lips.

Your grip on his hair tightened, pulling slightly, and he groaned against your neck, the sound low and raspy. “Do that again,” he muttered, his voice husky.

You tugged again, this time more intentionally, and he responded by nipping gently at your skin before soothing the spot with his tongue. His lips trailed lower, finding another spot on your neck to mark.

“Heeseung,” you breathed out, your voice trembling as he continued his assault on your neck, leaving a trail of small, dark marks in his wake. You could feel the way his breathing grew heavier.

“Say my name again,” he murmured against your skin, his voice full of need.

You tugged on his hair once more, tilting your head back to give him better access, and whispered his name again, this time softer, more breathless.

He pulled back for a moment, his lips glistening, his eyes heavy-lidded as they met yours. His gaze dropped to the marks on your neck, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Perfect,” he muttered, brushing his thumb over one of the fresh hickeys. “Now everyone’s going to know you’re mine.”

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the curtains, rousing you from your sleep. You blinked groggily, taking in the unfamiliar room for a moment before the events of the previous night came rushing back to you.

Your body felt heavy, weighed down by something—or rather, someone. Turning your head slightly, you froze as you saw Heeseung sleeping behind you, his face peaceful, lips slightly parted, and his arm draped securely around your waist like he was afraid to let go even in his sleep.

Your eyes widened, and your heart started racing. Oh no. This can’t be happening.

You carefully reached down, wrapping your fingers around his wrist, and began to lift his arm off you. It was slow, nerve-wracking work, but as soon as you managed to free yourself, Heeseung let out a soft whine, shifting closer to where you’d been lying.

Panic flooded your veins as he reached out in his sleep, clearly searching for you. Without thinking, you grabbed one of the pillows on the bed and gently tucked it in your place. He relaxed immediately, his arms wrapping around the pillow as he snuggled closer to it, his breathing evening out again.

You released a quiet sigh of relief, grabbing your scattered belongings from the floor. You didn’t even bother putting the heels on, instead clutching them tightly in your hand as you made your way to the door, tiptoeing as quietly as possible.

The hallway was eerily silent compared to the chaos of last night. When you reached the staircase and descended into the main living area, the faint sound of movement caught your attention.

Jay stood near the kitchen island, tossing empty bottles into a garbage bag. He looked up when he heard you approach, a knowing grin spreading across his face. “Morning,” he greeted, his tone light and teasing. “Sneaking out?”

You hesitated, your cheeks burning as you adjusted the strap of your bag on your shoulder. “I’m just… heading out,” you muttered, avoiding his gaze.

Jay leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “Didn’t think you’d still be here, honestly. Heeseung seemed pretty determined last night, though.”

Your cheeks burned even hotter, and you quickly waved him off. “It’s not what it looks like,” you said, although even you didn’t sound convincing.

Jay raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Right. Whatever you say.” He didn’t push any further, thankfully, instead returning to his cleaning.

You hurried toward the door, slipping out before anyone else could see you. As soon as you were outside, the crisp morning air hit your face, and you let out a shaky breath.

What the hell just happened?

You ignored the buzzing of your phone as Heeseung’s name lit up the screen again and again. Calls, texts, and even voice messages you refused to listen to—all of them went unanswered. You couldn’t deal with him right now, not after everything that had happened.

Luckily, it was Sunday, and you had no responsibilities to worry about. After taking a long, scalding shower to clear your head, you threw on your comfiest pajamas and climbed back into bed.

You tried to distract yourself with movies, mindlessly scrolling through streaming apps until you settled on something you’d seen a dozen times before. A large bag of chips sat open next to you, along with a collection of candy wrappers and an empty soda can. It was the perfect lazy day setup, except for one problem—you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

No matter how hard you tried to focus on the movie, your mind kept drifting back to Heeseung.

You groaned, shoving your face into a pillow in frustration. Why couldn’t you stop thinking about him? Heeseung was trouble, plain and simple. You’d known that from the start, and yet you let yourself get swept up in him anyway.

Your phone buzzed again on the nightstand, and for a moment, you considered throwing it across the room. But your curiosity got the better of you, and you reached for it, unlocking the screen to see yet another text from Heeseung.

Heeseung: I know you’re ignoring me, but can we talk? Please?

You sighed, locking your phone again and tossing it aside. You didn’t know what he wanted to say, but you weren’t ready to hear it.

Instead, you burrowed deeper into your blankets, determined to get through the rest of the day without letting him take over your thoughts again. But no matter how many movies you watched, or how much junk food you ate, the memory of him lingered like a stubborn shadow, refusing to be ignored.

So when Monday rolled around, you made it your mission to avoid Heeseung at all costs. You checked the cafe schedule first thing in the morning and made sure your shifts didn’t overlap with his, swapping one with a coworker to make sure you wouldn’t have to see him.

On campus, you were extra careful, keeping your head low and staying alert as you navigated between classes. You stuck to the edges of crowded hallways, dodging places you knew he might linger. Every time you rounded a corner, your stomach tensed, half-expecting to see him standing there, waiting for you.

It wasn’t easy. You’d catch glimpses of him now and then, whether it was through a classroom window or across the quad, but you always made sure to duck out of sight before he noticed you. You couldn’t risk talking to him—not yet.

By the time your shift at the cafe rolled around on Wednsday, you were already exhausted from the mental effort of dodging him. Walking through the door, you felt a wave of relief wash over you as you realized it was just you and a coworker, Jisoo, working the evening shift.

But the relief didn’t last long. Midway through your shift, while you were wiping down the counters, the bell above the door jingled, signaling a customer. Without looking up, you called out your usual greeting.

“Welcome! How can I can help—”

The words died in your throat when you glanced up and saw Heeseung standing there, his eyes immediately locking onto yours.

He was dressed casually, a backpack slung over one shoulder, and he looked like he hadn’t slept well. His hair was slightly messy, like he’d run his hand through it a dozen times.

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft but firm as he took a step closer to the counter.

You froze, your rag still in your hand, unsure of what to do. Jisoo was busy stocking pastries in the display case and didn’t seem to notice the sudden tension in the air.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, trying to sound casual, but your voice came out a little shaky.

“I came to talk to you,” Heeseung replied, his tone calm but insistent. “You’ve been ignoring me, and I don’t like it.”

Your grip tightened on the rag, your mind racing for an excuse, a way out of this conversation. “I’ve been busy,” you said quickly, avoiding his gaze. “School, work... you know how it is.”

Heeseung didn’t budge. “Yeah, I get it,” he said, leaning on the counter slightly. “But I also know when someone’s avoiding me.”

You glanced nervously at Jisoo, who was still oblivious, then back at Heeseung. “This isn’t the time or place for this,” you hissed under your breath.

“Then when is?” he shot back, his voice low but sharp. “Because I don’t think you’ll give me the chance if I don’t force it.”

The determination in his eyes made your heart skip a beat, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. But before you could respond, Jisoo turned around, finally noticing Heeseung.

“Hey, Heeseung!” she greeted cheerfully. “You’re not working today, are you?”

“No, just stopping by,” he said smoothly, his gaze never leaving yours.

Jisoo shrugged and went back to her task, leaving you alone with him once again.

“Please,” Heeseung said softly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Just give me five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”

You huffed, feeling cornered with no way out, and agreed to his request, deciding that five minutes would be better than dealing with him here in front of Jisoo. The tension in the air thickened as you both moved to the back of the cafe. Heeseung’s presence loomed behind you, his silence heavy as he followed you through the narrow hallway.

Once the door to the backroom shut, you leaned against the counter, trying to gather your thoughts, but Heeseung didn’t give you a chance to breathe.

“Why did you leave so early that night?” His voice was steady, but you could hear the hint of frustration in it. “Why are you ignoring me now?”

You swallowed hard, pushing aside the thoughts of the night before. It was a mistake, you told yourself. A moment of weakness. You needed to stay firm.

“It was a mistake,” you finally said, your voice coming out a little softer than you meant. “One-time thing. It won’t happen again, Heeseung.”

Heeseung didn’t say anything at first, his expression unreadable. Then he took a step closer, and then another, until you were pressed up against the wall. You tried to breathe steadily, but your heart was racing now.

“Is that how you really feel?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous, eyes locked onto yours. “Do you really think it was a mistake?”

Before you could respond, he leaned down, his lips brushing against yours. You flinched for just a moment, but the warmth of his touch pulled you in, and you could feel his soft exhale against your mouth.

You tried to push him back, to remind yourself of the resolve you’d spent all day building, but his hands were on you, pulling you closer, and despite everything, you felt the tension in your body break. Slowly, hesitantly, you kissed him back.

The kiss deepened, and you felt yourself losing control of your thoughts, of everything you’d promised yourself just minutes ago. It was impossible to think straight when he was this close, his hands gentle but insistent, his lips insatiable.

Heeseung broke away for a moment, his forehead resting against yours as you both panted for breath. “You don’t have to keep pretending,” he whispered, his voice rough. “I can see it in your eyes. You want this as much as I do.”

You tried to argue back, to remind yourself that this was wrong, that it couldn’t happen again, but Heeseung wasn’t giving you a chance. His lips pressed against yours in a soft kiss, silencing any protest you might have had. When he pulled away, he pecked your lips again but then his attention dropped lower.

You couldn’t help but gasp when his lips brushed against your neck, gently revealing the marks from the night before. His fingers trailed up your skin as he pressed his lips against the sensitive spot on your collarbone. You felt a rush of heat flood through you, making it harder to focus on anything other than the way he was making you feel.

His lips moved with purpose, leaving a trail of fresh hickeys on your skin, each one more darker than the last. You gripped his shirt, the fabric twisting beneath your fingers as you tried to hold onto some semblance of control, but it was slipping away.

"How could this be a mistake when it feels this good?" Heeseung murmured between each kiss, his voice husky. "You don’t have to lie to yourself. I know you want this just as much as I do."

With every word, every kiss, your resolve weakened, until you couldn’t remember why you wanted to fight this in the first place. The way he touched you, the way he made you feel alive. You wanted him, and there was no denying it anymore.

“This isn’t just a one-time thing, not for me,” he murmured as he kissed his way back up to your lips. "I’m what you need," he said quietly, his eyes locked onto yours with an almost pleading look. "I’ll give you what you need—what you’ve been craving, even if you don’t realize it yet."

You opened your mouth to argue back, to remind him that you weren’t looking for this, but your words caught in your throat as he suddenly knelt down in front of you.

You gasped, the shift in position catching you off guard. His hands moved quickly to grip your waist, his touch firm yet gentle, as he looked up at you, his eyes wide and vulnerable in a way you hadn’t seen before.

"I’m not asking for anything from you," he whispered, his voice laced with a quiet desperation. "I just want to be what you need. Please, don’t push me away. Let me give you what I know you want."

He leaned in closer, just enough to close the distance between you, but he didn’t move further. Instead, he let his head rest gently against your legs, his hands still holding you steady, waiting for your response.

His voice softened. "I’ll be patient. But please… don’t push me away again."

He was begging you, and the intensity of his words seemed to shake the very ground beneath you.

"I can be good for you," he said softly, his voice trembling slightly. "No one else will make you feel like I can. No one else understands you the way I do. I promise, I’ll treat you right, I’ll give you everything you need. Just let me."

You could feel his hands tighten ever so slightly on your waist, his desperation evident. "I’ll make you happy. I know I can."

His words were persuasive, yet you remained uncertain. Was this what you really needed? What you really wanted?

Heeseung must have seen the conflict in your eyes because he softened even more, lowering his voice as if speaking to your heart. "I’m not trying to force you into anything. I just want you to know that I care about you… more than anyone else could. Please, just trust me."

For a moment, all you could do was stand there, trying to process his words. His eyes searched yours, full of hope, waiting for you to say something, anything.

Eventually you let out a soft sigh, feeling the weight of the decision settling on your shoulders. After a moment of silence, you met Heeseung's gaze. "Alright," you murmured, your voice almost a whisper. "I’ll give you a chance."

Heeseung's eyes lit up instantly, the tension in his body melting away as a smile broke out across his face. Without warning, he stood up, his hands reaching to cup your face gently as he leaned in. His lips pressed against your forehead first, then, he kissed your cheeks, your nose, and finally, your lips. Each kiss was quick but filled with so much happiness and relief, as if he’d been waiting for this moment for a long time.

"I’m what you need," he mumbled against your skin.

What you need.

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gyuswhore · 2 years ago

Text

Hits Different (...'cause it's you) (2)

«« I trace the evidence, make it make some sense Why the wound is still bleedin' »»

PAIRING: kim mingyu x reader

SYNOPSIS: Kim Mingyu was the first friend your brother had brought home for dinner. Fast forward a couple years, his toothy smile and pierced ears would wedge their way into a permanent place in your heart. Nail to a coffin, never to escape.

or;

in which you get rejected by the only boy you've ever loved; a rejection you can't quite shake off.

GENRES: based off of 'Hits Different' by Taylor Swift, brother's best friend!au, brother!seokmin, fluff, angst, smut (in part 2) [MINORS DNI], friends(?) to lovers, university!au.

PLAYLIST: right here!

WORD COUNT (full fic): 40k (im actually embarrassed)

Part 1: 20.2k | Part 2: 20k

masterlist

WARNINGS : slowburn, angst, fluff, mingyus a bit of an airhead and an ass, reader has a hard time managing her feelings, lots of frustrated tears, one sided pining, user toruro x minghao make an appearance, swearing, there's another woman (gasp,,,,,but shes cool so), Nayeon is a darling, Seungcheol is kinda annoying here but we love him, smut, making out, breast play, fingering (f. receiving), p in v sex (protected + unprotected), oral (f. receiving) uhhhh i think that's it lmk tho

[A/N]: Part 2 !! shit goes down in this one so be prepared ig lmao. thank you for the love on part 1, i hope you enjoy the finale too hehe

For the third time this week, you wish you could squeeze your brother’s brains with your own two hands and watch it explode like a grape without legal repercussions. Or parental ones.

You slam your phone down on the counter after you end your conversation with him, frustrated as you watch the empty shelf where you left your dinner for today in the fridge last night, and the other green box that was actually your brothers. Refusing to eat the dry PB&J he usually packs for himself, you slam the fridge door shut, trudging out the door to leave for work, thoroughly annoyed at the prospect of needing to eat out.

It’s gone forgotten for most of the day, that is until the clock hits eight and you feel your stomach grumble, immediately putting you in a sour mood as you remember you couldn’t enjoy your pasta because your brother was enjoying your pasta. You only had another hour left, supposing you could wait till you get home to make dinner yourself, not feeling the burger joint across the street in the slightest. Eating a moonpie to satiate yourself for the time being, you go back to stocking the shelves for the new LP shipment, making a vague mental note to ask Mingyu if Jia liked the gift he picked out a couple weeks ago.

Your opportunity arises almost automatically as you walk over to greet whoever came in, abandoning the opened box of bubble wrapped LPs as you hear the bell chime softly at the front of the store.

Mingyu was here (again), hands occupied with a bag, looking relieved to find you emerging from the shelves.

“Oh, you’re here. I was afraid you left already,” he says, smiling slightly.

“Would’ve been closed if I did.” You nudge your head towards the clearly unlocked door, donning the neon open sign.

He looks a little dumb, turning to look at the door. “Oh. Right.”

You can’t help but smile a little. “Caught me at a good time though, I was just about to start wrapping up here.”

He suddenly looks like he’s reminded of what he’s come here for, placing the bag on the desk next to him. “Seok told me to drop this off for you, he said it’s food.”

Snorting, you take a look at the inside to find takeout from your favourite pasta place, which also happens to be your most expensive favourite pasta place. Seokmin felt bad enough to spend extra dollars on your dinner tonight, you guessed you could forgive him.

You sigh as you speak. “And you strike as his errand boy yet again, sorry he’s been making you do all this.”

“Did he piss you off?” Mingyu asks.

“Hm? He’s been pissing me off all week, this is him trying to get on my good side before I spit in his coffee.”

He laughs at that, a toothy smile that has your stomach lurching. The flashback was brief but vivid all the same, his grin triggering a long forgotten memory. You could almost see the black studs in his ears again, his bangs falling in chunks on his forehead, his face turning into the boyish sixteen year old recollection on your kitchen counter, drinking cans of Monster and helping you lie to your mom.

“Explains why he was ready to drop that much on a bowl of pasta.”

“Hey, it’s good.”

“I don’t doubt it.” He grins, “I’m gonna leave your pasta in your loving embrace, I have to feed my car now. Been putting it off till payday.”

“Oh, right. Thanks for dropping this off though, appreciate it.” You offer him a tight lipped smile. One that he returns, canines almost glinting in the light (but that’s just you).

“No worries, I’ll see ya around.” You don’t remember what you were meant to ask him until he’s long jingled the glass door shut, walking to his parked car. You supposed it could wait, Jia would’ve liked anything he got her. You could ask him later, not wanting to have him turn around to answer the obvious question.

The opportunity does not arise as easily as it did this time, a couple weeks passing in relative uneventful indifference, slow days at the store and nights in seven days a week. You were starting to wish you’d taken summer classes while you were stuck here anyway, the mundane days pushing you to believe you’d rather be busy than inexplicably bored. It’s not until your brother has a near mental breakdown from only having a sister as his main recreational contact that there’s a change.

Mingyu sits on your couches in the dark, useless blanket thrown over his torso as both of his sock clad feet hang out in the air. To be fair, nobody’s looking at anybody as the eyes remain on yet another unnecessary explosion on the screen. You vaguely wonder how the ship hasn’t sunk yet.

“What the fuck do you mean he’s been alive this whole time?” Seokmin utters, voice thick with the entire stick of butter he stuck into his bowl of popcorn.

“Who funded this?” Mingyu mumbles from the other end, a deep frown etched on his face.

“The people who funded the other three monstrosities.” You roll your eyes, inching your way into a sitting position, the ache making its way into the crick of your neck.

“There’s more?!” The prospect had Mingyu hurtling into a sitting position, but not without his own set of winces as he feels the bones cracking and muscles aching. His hair is a mess, his hoodie nearly backwards, and you can’t help but laugh at the mildly confused and bewildered expression he has on.

“Yeah, you wanna watch those too?” you ask through giggles.

Glancing at the final pub scene that’s playing on the TV, he's quick to mumble, “Fuck, no.”

“I haven’t watched a real shitty movie in a while.” Seokmin groans as it’s his turn to stretch. “This was fun. Hollywood’s back.”

Both you and Mingyu pointedly ignore his statement, your own mind debating whether you wanted to watch another movie. It’s not until you look up to see Mingyu doing something on his phone that you remember what you wanted to ask him.

“Hey, Mingyu, did — Seokmin!” Your brother’s decided to begin his aerial stretches, touching his toes and cracking his back. You shift your head wildly to get a gap through his restless movements, eventually giving up finding Mingyu. He could hear you. “Did you – ugh – did you get to give Jia her present?”

You aren’t sure what it is, but the way the question has Seok landing on his heels mid tip toe stretch and how Mingyu’s eyebrows shoot up, you don’t doubt you’ve touched on something sensitive. There’s a part of you that wonders if it’s too late to take it back when both boys make eye contact with each other, but your brother beats you to it.

“I, uh…forgot to tell her,” he lowtones.

You look to your brother and then to Mingyu.

“We broke up.”

Oh.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Mingyu smiles a little awkwardly, and Seok makes a strangled sound that may have been a laugh of his own. Or a cough, you aren’t too sure. “But…she did like the present, when I gave it to her anyway.”

“Oh, that’s…that’s good,” you manage, not knowing what to say. “Sorry that happened though…sucks.”

“She ended it–” that has your own brows shooting up in disbelief. Kim Mingyu got dumped? “–over the phone, she decided she wanted to stay home for a while to figure out what she wanted to do. Uni wasn’t cutting it for her here…”

“I mean, good for her, I guess. Hope you’re doing okay, though.”

He blows air out of his cheeks, scratching his neck. “I mean, we’re fine. Ended it on good terms.”

Seokmin’s still standing awkwardly staring at the still running ending credits for something to do. “Should we get food?”

“I don’t know, are you hungry?” Mingyu asks.

“How is the heartburn not getting to you yet? You basically emptied the country’s dairy reserves in a single popcorn serving,” you grumble.

“Don’t underestimate my ingestional abilities,” he retorts.

Mingyu stares for a moment. “Aren’t you lactose intoletrant or something?”

Seokmin turns to him, mouth open as he points his finger, “You know, I might be.”

“No you aren’t, if you were lactose intolerant then I’d be lactose intolerant,” you shoot.

“Explain the empty can of air freshener in the bathroom after queso and chips?”

“Have you considered during queso and chips that queso is a dip and not an optional beverage?”

Mingyu’s cutting between you two before you can go on with your bickering, afraid he’d have to physically peel you off of each other if it goes on, “Let’s just go to a drive thru, you can get your lactose or…non lactose options however you like.”

That’s how you’re shoved into the backseat of Mingyu’s car, Seokmin fiddling with the GPS to find the nearest McDonalds.

“How do you not know where the nearest McDonald’s is, you live here,” Mingyu hisses as he takes his fourth right turn in a row.

“We always just order in, who sits in a car and goes to McDonalds.”

“Us apparently,” you lowtone to Mingyu from the back, picking at a crusty flower that you found in between the seats. They ignore you.

“Okay, I think it’s this one. Dude, get a new GPS, this one responds after fifty years, of course it’s gonna take this long.”

Their own bickering is starting to zone out into a buzz in your ears as you stare at a patch of leather behind Mingyu’s seat. You vaguely considered that you’re falling asleep.

The streetlight has other plans, however, when you sense something glinting in the sudden light underneath the seat. Your interest is piqued, moving forward to see what it was. Mingyu senses you shifting and asks you what you’re doing.

You don’t answer him as you shuffle around to catch sight of it again. And then you see it, a tiny necklace on the slightly dirty mat, a circle charm with a single ‘J’ in the center. You aren’t sure why you froze at the sight, the gold glinting prettily even in the dark. Leaving it there, you emerge from under the seat, trying to seem nonchalant.

“Nothing. Thought I saw something.”

Mingyu’s common occurrence in the bookstore is starting to concern you, never catching him as the type to read something other than the occasional bad riddles on the back of a cereal box. You stand corrected however, as you find yourself trying to find a hardcover for him on the computer system, mumbling incoherently.

“Never knew you read.”

“Well, now you do. This one’s really good though, you should read it too.” He notes, motioning towards the paperback version he brought with him for the book he’s finding.

You snort at his suggestion. “Have you realised this is one of the most popular books in its genre right now? Hard to find someone who hasn’t read it.”

He frowns at the revelation, “Oh. None of my friends read it.”

Seokmin hasn’t opened a book for recreational purposes since he was twelve. As for his other friends…they didn’t exactly seem like the smart type either. You get up to move to the shelf the computer’s indicated, trying to walk off your annoyance at a particular memory before it begins to show. Mingyu follows you in your pursuit to find his book, skimming the shelves himself as he strolled behind you.

“Oh, right, how’s that exhibition thing going? Forgot to ask about it,” you ask as you spot the box of the hardcovers at the top of the shelf. You grab the ladder that rests near the wall as he answers.

“It’s going pretty good, nearly done. I just need to send the final pieces over – what’re you doing?”

You grunt as you begin to climb up the metal ladder, trying to get to the box. “Getting your book, genius.”

“Wait–” He moves to grab the ladder at the base as he watches you step higher. “Get down! I’ll go up instead.”

“You get cold feet at the bottom of an escalator, be serious, Mingyu,” you grunt as you pull the box towards yourself, the ladder shaking with the force it takes, and it has Mingyu gripping the metal tighter. You pull the familiar cover out before closing the box back up. “There.”

“Why would you keep supposed bestsellers there, isn’t this like, in demand?” He grumbles as he continues to hold the ladder as you climb back down.

“Ran out. Need to restock them at the front, but I’ll do that tomorrow.” You huff as you jump the last step, earning a loud yelp from Mingyu.

“Chill out,” you chuckle as he puts the ladder away. “Okay, do you want me to look at anything else for you?”

“What would you recommend for my next imaginary adventure?” he asks as he picks out a random book from the shelf, trying to find the blurb.

“Not that one.” You scrunch your nose at the sight.

“This one I know is popular. What’s wrong with it?” He chuckles as he puts it back.

“Don’t believe everything you see on the internet,” you call out as you walk back to the front.

“And believe you instead?”

Oh, you wish.

Picking up your current read from the front of the store, you wait for him to reach the end of the opening where you stand to hand it to him.

“You can decide that for yourself. Haven’t finished it yet, but it looks super promising. Try it out if you want.”

He barely looks over the glistening title before handing it back to you, and you nearly assume he didn’t want it.

“Ring both of them up,” he says, and then with a pause he continues, “And anything else you think is good too, I don’t really care.”

Deciding you’d test the waters with this first recommendation, you only cash him in for two. He doesn’t question it as you do your job behind the desk, making casual conversation as he waits for you to find the right barcode.

“How far are you with that one?”

“The one I gave you? Just touched chapter 20, I think.”

He only hums in response as he pays, grabbing the bag that you push towards him.

“Let me know how you like it,” you comment before he begins to turn to leave.

“‘Course.” He grins, and you can't help but grin right back. He leaves you in the store with a slight heat coming up to your cheeks, and a wad of gum in your mouth to keep your stomach in check.

By the time the next day rolls around, it’s been nearly 24 hours before you hear from him again, his contact seemingly only ever gracing you within the walls of the bookstore – except he isn’t physically here. Mingyu texts you, and you nearly fall out of your chair at the sight of his name on your phone.

It’s near embarrassing how quickly you pick up your phone, passcode going wrong once, twice, thrice…you decide it’s the top five worst times your phone’s refused face ID. You’re slamming your fingers onto the screen harder than you should, watching the warp in the pixels at the pressure. By the time it does open its secrets for you, the annoyance has settled. Not at him though.

[Mingyu]: hey [Mingyu]: i got to chap 20 [You]: what [You]: how [Mingyu]: started reading when i got home [Mingyu]: and then i got to 20 [Mingyu]: i think i pulled an all nighter [You]: you think? [You]: was it that good [Mingyu]: couldnt put it down [Mingyu]: i wanna talk about it but my eyes are closing [You]: you know where to find me when you wake up

The typing ellipses don’t pop up after that, and you assume for the better that he’s succumbed to his afternoon drowsiness. If he was serious about that all nighter (which you don’t doubt, no way he could’ve plowed through twenty chapters and gotten any sleep), you assume he’ll be knocked out for at least the rest of the afternoon.

Smiling to yourself at the thought of him wanting to text you about your matching achievements (and actively pushing your mind away from the blessed image of a napping Mingyu), you find yourself scrolling up the conversation, trying to remember the last time Mingyu had texted. That was easy to find out as the short scroll past the sparing details from your photography adventures landed you straight into late last year, a sparse conversation regarding your brother’s whereabouts when he wouldn’t answer his phone.

You remembered the conversation. As mundane and ordinary as it was, it was difficult to forget the way your hands were shaking as you typed your one word replies, how your breathing was coming out uneven at a mere text back. You could argue there was less of that this time round, proud of yourself for learning to control your emotions better.

There’s a train of thought that leads you to every recent interaction you’ve had with him. The conversations where you could look him in the eye, your relative indifference when he would show up unannounced, the disappearance of the wad of emotions in your stomach at the mere mention of his name.

The latter may be slightly untrue, but you can't help but note how the ounces of fear within the concoction is gone. You were never quite sure what it was that you were so afraid of, perhaps the fateful night at Seungcheol’s party had answered that question for you, but still.

“Seok’s not the type to beat me up if I dated his sister. And besides…” He sighs, halting his words.

“Besides what?” Somebody chimes in.

“I’m not interested in going after someone who’s chased my tail for the past fifteen years.”

Despite telling yourself it was the alcohol talking, maybe even a couple puffs of whatever — the mild disappointment remains. Thinking about the weeks following that, the moping and the hurt, you almost don’t blame Mika for acting the way that she did.

Your brother had always been oblivious to all the frolicking in your heart that would ignite as Mingyu would enter the room, and for over a decade at that. And yet, it was during those weeks that he had noticed you acting like you had been dumped, asking you what on earth was wrong with you.

“Did somebody say something to you?” he asks.

“Huh?” you frown, annoyed at the way he's planted himself directly in front of the cabinet that held your beloved moonpies.

“You’re acting like you’ve been rejected by the love of your life. Nayeon’s not telling me anything and you’re being avoidant, what is up with you?” He huffs, hands on his hips.

Oh, if only he knew how right he was. But you weren’t upset because the love of your life rejected you (anymore, at least), you were upset because he was a public asshole.

It takes more coaxing from him to get you to start talking. It’s easier when he brings out the big guns: “D’you want me to tell mom?”

You tell him a little, not naming any names, much to his dismay. “Some guy was an ass, something about me being too easy or whatever.”

“You’re upset because some drunk dude decided to run his mouth?” He scrunches his nose at the thought. “Ignore him, he’s stupid.”

“Thanks for the help, I’m cured,” you deadpan, pushing him aside to get to the gold inside the cabinets.

“I could get Mingyu to help me beat him up, I just need a name.”

Oh. You briefly wonder how he'd feel if he had to beat up his best friend.

More than his attempts to sound like a cool older brother, the image of Mingyu beating himself up brings you more amusement than anything else. You crack a smile at the thought.

That was months ago, yet you can’t seem to forget the hurt. Trying to shake off where your thoughts were taking you, you get up to take a walk around the store for something to do, fixing microscopic displacements on the shelves and wondering if you should restock something, only to realize you’d already done that when you came in, not wanting to whip out the ladder again to restock the ones you'd just landed from.

Landing inevitably back behind the counter, you instinctively reach for the book wedged beside the computer. Your outstretched hand stops midway, thinking about how Mingyu’s reached as far as you in the story quite literally overnight. Retracting your hand, you decide you’d wait.

The bell chimes signaling a customer, and you find yourself grateful for the distraction.

It’s nearing 8:30 when you decide you should close early. It was slower than usual today, the few walk-ins leaving without purchases too hefty, rendering you bored in your seat for most of the day. You’re locking the drawers of the main desk when Mingyu walks in with the familiar tune of the bell chiming, soft smile as he greets you quietly.

“How was your nap?” you ask, trying not to giggle at his still dazed expression.

“Pretty good, didn’t wanna wake up though.” His voice remains relatively coarse, and you don’t miss the light indent on his left cheek. It’s endearing, enough to have you wishing you could cup his face in a loving squish.

But you don’t.

“You don’t say,” you comment. Pointing at your own cheek as you continue, “You sure you don’t wanna take the night off too?”

“Fuck,” he whispers as he looks down to fumble for his phone to see for himself in his front camera. The puffiness hasn’t gone away entirely, evident when he’s frowning and looking downwards, and the urge to squeeze comes hurtling back.

“Did you drive like this?”

“Uh, no, I walked.”

“Walked?” You try to comprehend if that was even more dangerous. He only nods. “Why?”

“Wanted to see you.”

It takes effort to not clutch your chest at the way your heart leaps. Kim Mingyu, you bastard.

“Had to talk about the book.”

Your voice comes out a little more breathless than you’d like, but you hope his drowsiness skips over it. “You could’ve texted.”

He pauses as he mulls it over. “I mean, yeah…I don’t know. I just put my shoes on and came here.”

You decide you’d spare him the brain power and continue your remaining closing duties, talking to him as you move around the store.

“We can take my car to my place, better than getting distracted here.”

He only nods in response. “Do you want any help?”

“Nope, just need to turn off the lights and lock the doors. Let me grab my bag.”

By the time you’re home, an XL pizza and drinks in your arms to satiate Mingyu’s post nap ravenous tendencies, you drop down on the couch with a huff. Seokmin hears the ruckus and appears from his room, not wasting time to break on the pizza with Mingyu as you leave to freshen up. By the time you settle with your own slice it seems as though Mingyu has roused himself significantly more than before.

“Okay,” you huff as you land on the soft cushioning, “What did you think about the book?”

“Hard to believe this is her first book, it’s really good.”

“Her world building is amazing, some of the best I’ve read.”

Your back and forth discussion grows increasingly passionate, forgetting the fact that your brother was also right there excluded from the conversation. His head shifts back and forth as the both of you converse, utterly lost. It would’ve been funny, except neither if you were actually looking at him.

He manages to get a word in as one of you pauses for breath. “Since when do you read?”

Mingyu gapes at the question, seemingly trying to find an answer. “Recently.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean why? I just wanted to start reading,” he scoffs in a manner that could be described as exaggerated. If he’s trying to throw Seokmin off his scent, he’s succeeded, as he watches Seokmin get up and announce that he has work to do. That leaves the both of you alone.

The conversation takes you into the late hours of the night, Mingyu’s prior nap releasing him from the chains of reasonable sleeping hours as he remains wide awake despite the 3 AM time on the dial. You manage to keep up with him, even when he follows you to the kitchen to brew a coffee.

“Do you usually work this hard just to make coffee?” he asks as he watches you discard the used espresso puck.

“We have a bottle of the instant stuff here somewhere for when I’m lazy,” you explain as you pour the fresh shots into the prepped ice and milk. “Doesn’t taste the same though.”

“Coffee is coffee,” he says as he stirs the drink you push towards him.

“Quite the contrary. Besides, the instant stuff fucks with my stomach, I’d rather not.” You take a sip of your coffee, glancing at the sink. “Will say, hate everything I have to wash afterwards.”

“I’ll do ‘em later, gotta pay you back for all the manual labour that went into this thing,” he refers to the latte he’s sipping on currently.

“The appreciation is enough. We can make Seok do them in the morning for being a loser and going to bed early,” you snort. Mingyu laughs at that, the image of Seokmin doing dishes while the both of you sleep in.

“You sure you don’t wanna call it a night?” he asks you as you place yourself on the kitchen counter.

“I’m having fun, Mingyu, seriously. I’m off tomorrow too, I don’t have to wake up,” you reassure for the nth time.

He doesn’t reply, only stares up at you from his leaned position. He’s chewing on his lip, and you find yourself unconsciously chewing at your own, the already raw skin stinging at the abrasion. Mingyu’s hands come up to your face slowly, like he knew it was hurting as he pulls your bottom lip to release it with his thumb.

“You’re gonna bleed,” he whispers. His hand that grasps your chin doesn’t move, rough thumb continuing to graze at your lip lightly.

“You never stopped picking at your lips, did you?” he wonders out loud, eyes trained on your mouth.

Your own hand comes to lightly grip at his forearm. He remembers your habit, picking at the skin of your lips since near middle school, getting yelled at when you had to excuse yourself from the dinner table when they would bleed.

“Old habits die hard.” Your voice is thick despite the gulp you had to take before opening your mouth.

It was true, probably too much as you continue to look at his near perfect face. The oldest habit, the hardest to die.

Mingyu drops his hand, landing it in your lap, your own hand still gripping his forearm. You aren’t sure what’s going through you as you trail your hand up further, to his wrists, to the dip of his palm, landing on his fingers. You grip his hand, tight this time.

“I’m gonna jump,” you whisper, and you feel his grip tighten around yours as he braces to support you off the counter.

You face him in silence, contemplating, “It’s hot in here, let’s go back out.”

He watches as you pick your cup off the counter and leave, not waiting for him to follow you. He finds himself trying to take deeper breaths, stalling, but not for long as he joins you back on the couch.

It probably came as a shock to both of you the first time Mingyu announced his leave much earlier in the night, when you stopped him, asking him to stay. It was silent for a few sparing moments as you both absorbed what had come out of your mouth, trying to make sense of it. You found yourself needing to coax him a little more to convince him he wasn’t overstaying his visit, that you were having fun. He sits back down, warning you that this was going to be a long night.

You don’t think you could ever forget the absolute somersault your stomach performed, the after effects leaving you still as a plank.

It was a long night indeed. And yet, when you found your eyes closing after a fight, much later on the couch with a large blanket shared between the both of you, Mingyu watches you doze off while leaning on the couch facing him, wishing the night was longer.

If you were awake, you probably would’ve found yourself agreeing.

There’s a lot Mingyu has to learn about himself. He’s reminded of the fact nearly everyday. Especially right now as Seokmin runs his mouth sitting with him at a secluded booth in some bar.

They had company, a couple guys joining them for dinner before leaving not too long after. That left him and a slightly tipsy Seokmin alone, who’s currently munching on a platter of crackers in front of him. He was bright enough, the energy from the others keeping him going as they played their drinking games and ate their obnoxious amounts of food. It was alot more somber with only the both of them left, his mood deflating as their friends slowly dwindled in number. That wasn’t about to stop him from ordering another beer though.

“Summer’s so boring,” he grumbles in dejection, flicking a stray crumb off the table.

“You chose to stay here,” Mingyu replies.

Seokmin doesn’t answer him, but continues to look like a kicked puppy, a slight pout forming on his face.

Mingyu fights the urge to scoff, “You can’t possibly be this upset about summer being depressing.”

“It’s not about that.”

Mingyu takes a swig of his own drink before sighing loudly, “What’s this about then?”

Seokmin says your name, and Mingyu is suddenly very interested. “She just seems to be doing a lot better since she started working at the bookstore.”

“Better?”

“She told me about this guy a couple months ago.”

Mingyu’s trying really hard to not look visibly deflated, not that Seokmin would notice considering his state, but he attempts to sound nonchalant regardless. “Do we know him?”

“I – no, that’s not,” he huffs in exasperation, “She said she overheard him, basically calling her easy.”

“Easy?”

“I don’t know, something about her chasing his tail or whatever, she won’t tell me who it is. She hadn’t been doing too great recently and I’m pretty sure it was because of him.”

It is dawning on Mingyu, embarrassingly slowly, that the guy Seokmin is talking about — may be him.

His voice is hoarse, a little frantic. “And she’s doing better, you said?”

“Oh yeah, the bookstore’s been amazing for her. Not sure how though, ‘cause she just sits there doing nothing for hours.”

He can’t bring himself to meet Seokmin’s eyes, remnants of his memories flurrying around in his brain in an attempt to figure out what other bullshit he had spewed that day. He was sure you weren’t there, you couldn’t be.

“Maybe doing nothing was what she needed.” Mingyu’s reply is whatever came to him off the top of his head, mind still racing.

“Hm, I guess. I was trying to get her to tell me, we could’ve chopped his dick off together,” Seokmin grumbles.

Mingyu winces slightly, eyes tight shut as he pinches the bridge of his nose. There’s a protective hand that subconsciously reaches his crotch area. “Yeah, yeah totally.”

“Fucker got let off easy, he should be happy she’s doing good.” Seokmin continues to ramble, voice getting increasingly louder.

“Yeah…”

“She’s not easy. My sister isn’t easy at all! Running after his tail, my ass! She doesn’t need some motherfucker with bad hair to be running his mouth, drunk as a bitch.” He stabs a single chopstick into the spare piece of meat on his plate, and the force has Mingyu flinching slightly.

“How do you know he has bad hair?” Mingyu continues to stare at the impaled piece of beef that Seokmin brings to his mouth.

“I don’t need to know a motherfucker to know he uses shitty hair gel.”

Mingyu may try to run his hair gel past Seokmin at some point. But right now, he’s only trying to make it out of the bar with his sex organs intact.

“Hey, we’re past this, remember? She’s doing great right now and that’s all that matters.” Mingyu sounds overly flustered, but he can’t bring himself to care as he attempts to reign in an angry Seokmin. They were garnering looks, and the last thing he wanted was to get kicked out before they had paid.

Seokmin is still huffing and puffing, but significantly less so as he finds reason in Mingyu’s words. “I’m gonna find out who he is.”

“You hate living in peace.”

“My sister’s hasn’t had any peace because of this dickwad, I’m—”

“OKAY! Okay, got it. We’ll figure that out when you’re sober.” Mingyu rises from his own seat as he finds Seokmin lifting his own butt off his chair in a near war cry.

He manages to fend him off, waving for the bill before he has to pull him back from aimlessly marching to whoever’s house he had in mind. He calms down as they wait for the check, finishing the remaining scraps on the table in silence.

Seokmin seems nearly back to his regular self after a few minutes, forehead creases smoothing over during his cool down time. He speaks, except this time it’s in a more socially acceptable manner.

“Hey, I’ve been noticing, you and her have been getting pretty close lately. I don’t know, it’s just, I woke up and saw both on the couch and —”

“Here’s your bill!” The waiter cuts him mid sentence, placing the check on the table.

Mingyu knew what Seokmin was getting to, and he was thanking every star in the galaxy for bringing the waiter into their lives at that exact moment. He’s quick to fuss over the glossy piece of paper, humming and making comments at their purchases to fill in any silent opportunities to let Seokmin continue. Mingyu’s slips his card in the wallet.

“It’s on me,” he announces as he flashes a quick smile to the waiter. “You can cut a ten for yourself.”

“Wait, what — let’s split, what’s wrong with you?” Seokmin jolts up as registers what’s happening a little too late.

“It’s fine, you can pay for the next one.” He says as he shifts around the table to look for his phone. “You should probably go to bed too, it’s getting pretty late. Sleep off the beer and whatnot.”

Seokmin is left speechless as Mingyu gets up, grabbing his stuff.

“Wait, your card—” Seokmin starts.

“Is here,” Mingyu spews a quick ‘thanks’ to the waiter, waving his card in front of Seokmin so he’d finally stand the fuck up.

“Do I need to drag you out of that chair, let’s go!” he says, grabbing Seok by the arm to lift him off his seat. It was nearly funny how he couldn’t get him to stay within the vicinity mere minutes ago and now is begging for him to get up.

By the time Mingyu’s jamming Seok’s key into your apartment, he’s tired of his endless rambling. He can only appreciate his drunk brain for not bringing up the last question he tried asking him. He’s opening the door, urging Seokmin to walk inside, slapping him awake from his nap against the wall.

Mingyu deems it best to physically put him in bed for the furnitures’ sake, pushing him in front to lead him to his room. Mingyu’s spent by the time he’s done and Seokmin is snoring, his back cracking from the hunched position he’s kept from tucking him in and taking his shoes and jacket off.

He tiptoes out (despite knowing it’d take a marching band to wake him up at that point), closing the door as quietly as possible.

“What’re you doing here?”

Mingyu nearly jumps out of his skin, landing a mile as he hears your voice in the dark hallway, hand coming up to his heart. “Jeez— announce yourself, would you?”

“In my own house?” you raise an eyebrow.

“Just—” he waves you off as he comes round, standing straight. “I was putting Seok to bed.”

You inhale sharply. “Did you drink?”

“Me? No, but he’s knocked out right now, he’s probably gonna need a pill in the morning,” he replies.

“Hm, I’ll see to it in the morning, or whenever it is that he wakes up.”

“Yeah.” Mingyu is standing awkwardly in front of you in the dark hall, not having anything else to say. “I’ll get going now.”

“Oh, right, yeah. Get some sleep,” you say as you let him move past you.

“You too, don’t know why you’re awake,” he chuckles quietly.

“Couldn’t sleep, I’ll go to bed now though.”

The awkwardness is painful, Mingyu can feel it in his chest. But what he’s feeling more is the way you look in your night shirt now that you’re in the light of the living room, legs shown farther up than you’d usually let them go. He wonders if you're wearing shorts underneath, but slaps himself out of it when he realises he’s been silent for too long.

“Uh yeah, I’ll go now. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Mingyu.”

Mingyu replays the last five minutes in his head the entire car ride home, when he’s changing out of his clothes, when he’s brushing his teeth, when he crawls under the warm covers to finally call it a night. Mingyu thinks about what he said all those months ago at a dumb party, how he’s hurt you more than he thought he had. There’s an ache that plunges into him, the thought of you going through that because of him while he stayed blissfully unaware.

He doesn’t know what he’s gonna do to make it up to you, but right now, he’s happy. Happier than he’s been in a while, falling asleep to the thought of you.

“Goodnight, Mingyu.”

You, on the other hand, are far from happy as you find yourself in yet another car related predicament.

Having to run to work in the middle of July is never a preferred option, yet you find yourself needing to do it anyway when you walk out to your engine refusing to start.

You really needed a new car.

Abandoning the hunk of what was turning out to be just expensive scrap metal, you rile other options out in your head.

Seokmin was long gone with his car. The bus was gonna take too long. No way in hell were you about to overpay a taxi to take you somewhere that was essentially just a 15 minute walk (read as run).

So you find yourself slinging your bag as a crossbody, thanking the heavens that you at least didn’t need to change your shoes. You pray for your white sneakers as you run across town, blurting apologies to passerbys that would gape at your hurried form. As apologetic as you were, it didn’t compare to how sorry you felt for yourself, the heat pricking your skin in an agitated rise anytime you’d slow down.

The AC is near heavenly as you gasp walking into the bookstore, red faced and hair sticking to your forehead.

“Sorry,” you gulp frantically. “Sorry, I’m late.”

“Oh god,” you hear your boss comment as she sees you walk in. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I just need a minute. Car broke down.”

She ushers you in front of the AC, waiting for you to collect yourself before taking her leave.

“I think I’m okay now, sorry about that.” Your chuckle comes out a little choked. So much for being convincing.

“You really should get a new car. I have a friend who’s daughter is selling hers, do you want me to ask them for you?” She’s patting your shoulder as she talks to you, and you recognize her courage to look past the sweat that’s accumulated there.

“That’d be great actually, thank you.”

Your second blow of the day comes right after you’ve finally gotten rid of the buckets of sweat on your body, seating yourself behind your desk to do some digging of your own.

You immediately wish you hadn’t as soon as you open the first second hand market site, the price tags landing you somewhere between never happening and impossible. Groaning, you place your head in your hands as you try to think of what to do. You pray your boss would come back with a quote that isn’t as outrageous as everything else you’ve cursed your eyes upon, seeing as that seemed the only viable option for you.

Closing the windows off your computer, you decide this was a headache for another time. You reach for your bag to rummage through it, only to find yourself in your third predicament of the day.

You had forgotten your book.

It shouldn’t have been a worry, considering you were in a bookstore and had access to about 56 more of the same edition that you could borrow for the day. Except it was a worry, because your copy had been religiously tabbed and annotated as you would read, not a single thought left to be forgotten in your head as they would spring up. You can almost see the pink cover sitting on your desk and you nearly begin to cry.

You wonder if you could break your ‘one book at a time’ streak for the sake of it, picking up another one off the shelf to start. The thought nearly makes you gag, the anxiety of losing interest in your current one leading you to sit aimlessly at your desk for the rest of the day.

What’s even more anxiety inducing to you, however, was the promise you’d made with Mingyu the week prior, to be finished with the book by the end of today so you could finally decide whether the end was worth it or not. The thought has you nearly picking up a copy off the shelf anyway, annotations be damned. Force of habit, however, forbids you as you are shunned by yourself to play solitaire for the rest of the day.

Things seem to look up for you though, as you find yourself reading a text from Mingyu nearly halfway through your day.

You hadn’t spoken to Mingyu at all for the entire week, caving when you found an excuse to finally talk to him to ask where he’d left off on the book. It was even longer before that, reaching the near three week mark where you were virtually zero contact.

You’d be lying if you said it didn’t bother you, his sudden absence raising a mild panic within you as your mind raced with the possibilities.

Was he uncomfortable with you?

Was he avoiding you?

Were you less low key than you thought? Was he catching on to how you still weren’t over him?

The wilder thoughts seemed to be laid to rest when you couldn’t take it anymore, texting under the guise of your mutual book topic. Your brain still couldn’t handle it, picking up minuscule details in his texting behavior. Perhaps his replies were choppy, perhaps they were shorter than usual, but it was enough to give your mind the rest it needed regardless of whatever the facts were.

Needless to say, you were more than happy to receive a text from him first after weeks, immediately replying.

[Mingyu]: hey [Mingyu]: are you at work today? [You]: yeah [You]: i get off at 10 tho [Mingyu]: can i see you today?

You try to contain the growing flurry of excitement as you type. It was easier to stay casual over text, you find yourself appreciating.

[You]: course [You]: are you coming to the store? [Mingyu]: i’ll meet you at your place when you get off [You]: okay!!! [You]: see you then

There’s a ghost of a smile on your face as you switch to playing computer chess in celebration. Your day was going horribly, but perhaps it was to balance out the happiness you were feeling at the thought of seeing Mingyu in person after nearly a month.

Were you being dramatic? Possibly. But you figured you’d been left waiting long enough. You let yourself have a spring in your step for the rest of the day, closing up nearly an hour early as you practically skipped back home, enjoying the significantly better nightly weather. Maybe you were abusing your employee privileges, but you couldn’t take the anticipation anymore.

Humming to yourself, you're hopping into the shower as soon as you get home, wanting to freshen up as quickly as possible before he gets here. It was near heaven’s plan the way the day is unfolding for you. Perhaps the universe knew you needed the time to unwind today, bringing Mingyu to you despite the near four week gap.

Grabbing your pens and your book, you settle on the kitchen counter to do something you’d been looking forward to all day, nearly giddy that Mingyu would be joining you to wind down with you soon enough. You’re invested by the time the doorbell rings, a simultaneous text from Mingyu, confirming that he was at the door.

Opening the front door is probably the easiest thing you’ve done all day, grin at the ready as you greet him.

“Hey,” you breathe out at the sight of him.

“Hi,” he replies, slipping inside as you give him space to take off his shoes.

Leading him into the kitchen, you comment lightheartedly, “Nice to see you’re still alive.”

He chuckles slightly at that, “Yeah…sorry about that. I’ve been pretty caught up with…stuff.”

“The exhibition? Weren’t you nearly done with that?” you question as you pass him a glass of water.

He takes a sip before setting it down again, both hands holding the cup on the counter. “It wasn’t that, I’ve been done for a while. Just waiting.”

“It’s next week, isn’t it?”

He hums in response, taking another minuscule sip of water.

“What was it that was keeping you this occupied for so long then?” you continue with a slight snort, trying not to over analyze his slightly…off putting behavior.

“Uh,” he starts, “Is Seokmin home?”

“Seokmin?” you frown, confused. Was he here to see your brother? “He’s out. I thought you knew.”

“Yeah, I know. Just confirming.”

“Oh.” You sit down on your own chair at the counter, trying to make sense of his mood.

“Mingyu, are you okay—”

“I need to talk to you.”

“O-okay.”

It’s silent. Painfully so.

“I don’t know how else to bring this up so I’m just gonna cut to the chase.”

There’s no reply from your end as you simply stare at him in anticipation, wondering what on earth had him looking this serious as he faces you in his seat.

“I know I’ve done a lot to hurt you. Never enough to match what you’ve felt, but I know you’ve been through the muck because of me, and it makes me feel horrible that I was the cause of something like that.”

“Mingyu—“

“I want to apologize, before I say anything else. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. And I know an apology isn’t gonna take away what I did to you, but I just need you to know that I’m really, really sorry.”

His breathing is heavy as he talks, while yours is near nonexistent as you need to remind yourself to breathe manually.

“I’ve done a lot of growing up in the past year. And I hate myself for making you a subject of that transition when you were the last person that deserved it. I’m happy to say that won’t happen again, because I’ve learned my lesson. For good.”

He pauses.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me, because… because I don’t know if I’ll ever deserve it for what I’m about to say. I may be acting selfish right now but, I think you deserve to know after everything.”

“I love you. I love you so, so much it hurts. I…I’m sorry, I love you. I don’t know how else to say it but, I love you. And I might be hurting you even more with this but I swear I’m not lying. I love you.”

There’s tears now, heavy ones that drip down his face as he refuses to look back up at you, eyes screwed shut in a desperate attempt to halt the pure emotion that’s trailing down.

You have your own wet cheeks, glossy, shaking eyes that don’t tear away from his hunched form. You’re listening. You’re listening to everything and it’s too much.

“Mingyu,” you whisper. You give up on trying to talk as you let out a breath that sounds almost like a sob.

It’s silent for a few more moments as you absorb everything that’s happening, mind running a hundred miles an hour yet, still as a rock. It’s too much.

“Mingyu, I can’t believe you’re saying this to me.” Your voice is quivering, but you manage the words. “After everything. You’re standing in this very kitchen and saying this to me.”

The deja vu was overwhelming, and you’re projected back to last year when the both of you stood on these very tiles, as you poured your heart out to the man in front of you, only to be told you were an idiot to think he could ever love you like that. The words may not have been said, but the message was clear: you were not made for Kim Mingyu.

And yet, you find yourself in front of an apologetic man, expressing his remorse. And oozing love for you, of all people. Why now? You want to scream. Where was this when you were ready to take him so willingly in your arms.

You’re lying if you say you still don’t want to plant yourself in his hold to sob out your own wretched “I love you”’s. You wanted to go to him. To take what you’ve wanted for so, so long.

But you can’t. You can’t do it.

“I know,” he whispers. “I’m not asking you to do something about any of this. I’m not asking anything of you at all. I just need you to know.”

You bite back a remark, trying so hard to calm yourself down.

“I think you should go.” Your voice breaks. “Please.”

Mingyu is gone. But his scent lingers. His cup remains on the counter, the same one he put his lips to. As he prepared to speak, and speak, and speak.

You can’t stand to stay in the kitchen anymore.

You were fourteen the first time Mingyu broke your heart.

It was an accident, perhaps, considering you were willing to do absolutely anything to be around Mingyu when your brother would have him over. What you didn’t know this time, was that the both of them had company.

Tiptoeing down the hall was easy the second you heard your brother's voice coming from the kitchen, announcing that he was getting drinks for them. The plan was simple; walk in under the guise of being annoyed at Seokmin for something and then relish when Mingyu would defend you from his inevitable rage — except this time you’d have a few extra minutes alone with him before your brother trudged back.

Putting on the best annoyed face you could, you stalk past Seokmin’s room, immediately wishing you hadn’t. Mingyu was in your brother's room as expected, sitting on the floor, surrounded by papers with numbers and letters too complex. But he wasn’t alone. There was a girl that sat between his legs, turned over in his arms as they whisper to each other. They weren’t studying at all; the giggles and smiles were a dead giveaway.

You halt in your tracks at the edge of the doorway in mild disbelief, brain computing the situation in front of you. They hadn’t noticed you yet, it was apparent with the way she leans into him to place her lips on his in a peck.

There’s a yell of your name behind you as Seokmin sees you loitering around his room. You jump in surprise, not expecting him back so quickly. Your brother, too, isn’t alone, a girl of his own accompanying him with her arms full of cans, peeking over his shoulder to catch sight of your distressed form.

“What’re you doing?”

Running was the worst thing you could do, and yet you found yourself doing just that in your cornered state. Catapulting face first into your pillows, the sobs coming before you could muffle them. It was humiliating, even more so when you feel your mother’s hand coming up to your shoulder in a stretch of comfort.

“I yelled at him, he won’t do it again!” she attempted to reason with you, trying endlessly to get you to emerge from your cavern of comforters.

“It’s not that!” you groan.

“What is it then? Darling, I won’t know if you won’t tell me.”

Your mother gave up a little bit after that, and your brother had apologized for yelling at you; apologized for all the wrong reasons. You brushed him over.

There were worse things circling your mind in that moment, like the image of Mingyu in a liplock with another girl, the image of him holding her with all his limbs.

You couldn’t imagine anything worse than that.

“What the fuck, is wrong with the both of you?” Your brother swoops in like a pesky seagull and snatches the book right out of your hands, eyes blown in exasperation.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?! Give it back!” you yell, reaching for the book that he’s placed over his head. Climbing the couch does little when he simply moves away from you.

“Not until you tell me what’s going on between you and Mingyu.”

“Nothing is — ugh,” you drop back onto the couch in frustration. You take a deep breath. “Nothing is going on. Now can I have my fucking book back?”

“No, you're avoiding each other.”

“He’s your friend, why would I hang out with him?”

“Stop dodging the question!” he spits.

“Stop dodging.” You exclaim as you jump for the book another time.

“Why don’t you want to go to the exhibition?” He throws the book to the corner of the room. It takes every fiber in your body to stop yourself from plucking every strand of hair off his head.

“Seokmin!” you scream.

“Your book’s fine. Is this about the guy you told me about?” He asks, hands grabbing you by the upper arms, forcing you to look at him.��

“No, it’s not,” you grit.

“Why don’t you want to go to the exhibition?” he repeats, making direct eye contact.

“Because,” you start, exhaling deeply, “I’m tired.”

“It’s an exhibition for fucks sake, an exhibition with your face plastered all over it. You go in for five minutes and you’re out. Put something on and let’s go!”

“I don’t want to go.”

“I’m not taking no for an answer. You’ve been doing nothing but go to work and stay home, you need air.”

“I need you out of my air,” you swat his hands away, thoroughly disgruntled.

“I’m giving you twenty minutes.”

He was serious, you realize as he begins to pound on your door with two minutes left to spare. You decided you weren’t about to be embarrassing and show up in your sweatpants, encasing the final shreds of dignity you had left. You couldn’t imagine being asked “who?” when the face on the walls doesn’t match with the one you brought to the place, not doubting the number of fancy scouters that’d be gracing the crowd tonight.

Opting for a plain black dress and a coverup felt enough for you, your usual makeup and matching accessories helping you feel better about the bags under your eyes your concealer couldn’t quite erase.

Seokmin says nothing for probable fear of having you landing back on the couch, choosing to ask you a simple, “Ready?” instead.

The drive is short and silent, the remnants of you and your brother's prior argument still hanging in the air. You weren’t about to apologize to each other, but you would let the hours cool you off before you’re back to your normal selves. For now, you’re glad to step out of the stuffy car, the anticipation having you needing to breathe in an elevated sense.

The place is more crowded than you thought it would be, men and women in fancier than necessary clothes loitering the entrance carpeting. You suddenly feel underdressed.

Catching Mingyu’s name is easy, the display at the front doing the most to highlight the star of the night, catching sight of him is proving a little more difficult. Not that you’re trying, but Seokmin’s embarrassing neck stretches are having you restraining yourself from pulling him down by the collar.

Walking into the display is a strange experience, for you at least. The pictures are larger than you’d thought they would be, spanning the giant walls of the gallery. Your face is huge.

There’s a few other one’s that scatter between the portraits, beautiful all the same. You find yourself wandering as you note the plaques next to the pieces, descriptions and words from the artist; Mingyu’s words. It’s easy to begin looking at the pictures through his eyes, the meticulous scanning you’re doing proving easier for you to zone out despite the crowd.

You’ve gone through nearly every picture, approaching the last one, the one that looked a little more important than the rest as you take in its size. The steps you take towards the plaque are halted as you hear someone calling for you. You recognize his voice, how could you not?

Mingyu is weaving through the crowd to get to you, eyes locked as he tries to make way for himself. Your mouth is open by the time he’s here, mind frantic as you try to figure out what you should say.

Congratulations.

You’ve worked hard on this.

This looks great.

How’ve you been?

“You’re here,” he says, simple as that.

“I’m here,” you breathe out, a nervous smile on your face as you look down at your shoes.

“Seok told me you were here too.”

Your head snaps up, “You were looking for me?”

“I mean, it’s a bit difficult with the crowd—”

“Oh,” you cut him off before you could forget. “Congratulations, by the way. The turnout looks great.”

“Uh, yeah. It’s great.” His eyes skim around the large hall.

You hate how his craning is drawing your eyes to everything else. So to say the plain black button up and slacks he’s sporting, the thin chain he wears around the unbuttoned collar. You hate how he’s put in no effort, and you hate how it makes him look even better somehow.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asks after he rounds back to you.

Your reply is drowned in your throat as somebody calls for him across the hall, pointing at a mic in their hands.

“I have to go address everyone, you’ll be here, right?” he asks, but he once again has no chance to listen to your answer when somebody physically drags him by the elbow and yanks him away from you. You lose sight of him in the crowd of people, his face disappearing.

It gives you enough opportunity to slowly turn around to go back to your plaque reading, exhaling loudly as you walk up to the final, biggest piece on the wall. It’s labeled as the focal point of the collection. It’s a picture of you, and for some reason, you can’t remember taking it, or posing for it at all.

You recognize the mountain top, more so the grueling trek up the place for your last shoot with him. It’s a side profile, your arms folding over the railing, face tucked into your padded arms. A single ray of light illuminates your eyes, the background soft.

The picture was an accident. A moment that may have gone forgotten, yet one that appeared right when it was meant to. A mistake made on purpose, one that manages to carry the weight of years. A slow accession of golden rays, dawn illuminating the subject in hues indescribable, except those that describe a feeling. A feeling in turn, indescribable.

Soft. Legible. New.

You take a step back.

And another

Then another.

You look at the picture, the picture of you. Taken the one time you weren’t actively posing for the camera, the one time he wasn’t meant to take a picture of you. It landed here, at the seemingly deserved position of a final piece. The piece that was meant to emulate all that the artist wanted to come out of his work.

You crane your neck up higher, the name of the collection in bold block letters right above the picture that supposedly says it all.

THE BEGINNING

There’s a ball forming in your throat, one that's cementing itself where it stays.

There’s noise happening in your peripherals, somebody speaking into a mic on stage. You’re not paying attention until you hear his name.

“I’m pleased to present to you the man of the hour, mister Kim Mingyu…”

You watch with glossy eyes as he takes the stand, clearing his throat before he begins to speak.

You needed to leave.

Finding Seokmin is easy, and you thank every plane of heaven that it is, considering you’d rather be caught dead than be seen red nosed and teary eyed.

“Let’s go home.”

“Huh? Right now? He just started talking.” Seokmin argues, tearing his eyes away from the stage to gape at you, only to note the expression on your face. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Seokmin, you said five minutes.” You grip his sleeve tight. “Please, either give me the keys, or I’ll get a cab.”

He pauses for a moment, and you immediately hate yourself for making him choose between staying for his best friend or leaving for his sister. He slowly comes down to grip your hand, pulling you away.

“Let me drop you off home.”

You’ve calmed down a significant amount during the car ride home, managing to convince (fight) Seokmin into going back to the exhibition hall before Mingyu noticed that he was gone. You wouldn’t forgive yourself if you made him miss something as important as this just because you couldn’t control your emotions.

He hugs you at the door, tight, and you hug back just as strong, holding back the river of tears that suddenly threaten to let loose. He presses his lips to your temple, muttering a little ‘I love you’ before he leaves. He knew nothing, yet was ready to comfort you like he did.

You let yourself sob after that, as wracking and strong as they’d come. It’s freeing, to fall to your knees and simply cry like a child. You aren’t sure what it is that you’re crying about, yet you know all the same. The thought of both those things make your head begin to spin, causing another fresh wave of tears to come rushing down.

Remnants of the day Mingyu spoke his truth to you in your own kitchen come tumbling back; the shock, the anger, the hurt, and despite everything, the love.

You loved Mingyu, you weren’t going to sit here and deny it when you were a mess of jewels on the floor with only his face at the forefront of your mind. You’re a liar if you say you don’t love him. You’re a liar if you say you’ll ever stop.

Years and years of pining and wishing and praying, to hope that one day, Mingyu would open his eyes with the realization that he loves you the same.

The day came. Your prayers were granted, your wishes came true; you no longer had to sit on the sidelines as an ignored constant. And yet, you found yourself wanting to be anywhere but in his presence as the prayer unfolded.

Were you too weak to handle reciprocation? Have you gotten comfortable pining by yourself? Or was it something completely else. Were you still hurt by his words? Were you aghast at his audacity to have the courage to speak his heart to you, when you went years without doing so?

Were you protecting yourself? Or were you actively throwing the golden chance you’d received right out the window?

You’re tired, it’s evident with the effort it takes you to simply reach your bedroom, heels thrown somewhere in the doorway as you made the trek barefooted. Hoping your muscles would release the pent up tension at the learnt feeling of the mattress, you find yourself closing your eyes awaiting the relief.

Still clad in your dress and makeup, you attempt to find the solace of sleep, knowing you’d feel nothing if there was nothing to perceive. The universe doesn’t seem to want to give you that luxury, your eyes wide awake despite closed lids. The thoughts aren’t showing signs of slowing down either, every part of your mind alive as you remain still as a rock on your bed.

You aren’t sure how long you’ve been in bed, but as you hear the distinct jingle of keys in a lock, you know Seokmin is home. The door of your room is opened very quietly, and closed just as quick when he sees your form in bed seemingly asleep.

You open your eyes for the first time in hours, the darkness remaining as you slowly sit up against the cushions. Your movements are sluggish as you stare into the abyss, brain quiet for once as you swing your bare legs over the mattress, slowly trudging down the hall to your brother's bedroom.

Knocking slowly, you hear a slight shuffle before the door is opened, the light from inside the room illuminating the dark hall and forcing you to squint.

“Did I wake you?” Seokmin asks, sporting formal trousers with his dinosaur pajama shirt.

“Uh, no, I was awake.”

“Why haven’t you changed yet?”

You ignore him, cutting straight to the chase, “Can I borrow your car?”

There’s silence for nearly three seconds before Seokmin speaks, “What on earth do you need my car for this late at night?”

“Nayeon’s”

“Bullshit.”

You let out a loud, loud sigh, “Will you believe it for now?”

Your brother looks at you with an expression you can’t really pinpoint, eyes like he’s scanning into your soul. “The keys are at the door.”

You walk back to your room to grab your phone and your cover up, not bothering to change as you grab Seokmin’s keys and leave. It probably wasn’t a good idea to leave the house so late at night, but your brain seems to have activated tunnel vision as you nearly stalk towards the car. You’re pulling up to where you need to be within minutes, the empty roads leading you on near autopilot.

By the time you’re standing in front of the door, your desire to settle this once and for all turns pungent in your head. You needed to end this one way or another, you were tired of running in circles.

Ringing the doorbell is easy, it’s just the realization that settles during those few moments of waiting that grab you by the throat. You were really doing this.

Mingyu opens the door quicker than you’d anticipated, after briefly wondering if he’d already gone to sleep after the long day he’s probably had. His brows furrow as he registers you at his door, your name tumbling out of his lips in mild confusion. He’s still in the clothes you saw him last, and you doubt it’s been long since he got home too.

“Promise me you mean it,” you say.

“What?”

“Promise me you mean it.”

“Mean what?” The crease between his brows deepens as he tries to make sense of what you’re saying.

“Whatever you said. Promise me you mean it. Promise me. On all the years we spent together, on every truth you've ever said to me. Promise on me that you mean it.”

The silence is deafening, yet you wait. You wait for him to respond. You wait for him to understand what you’re saying.

Mingyu gulps before opening his door wider, expression neutralizing slightly as he invites you inside. “Why're you standing on the door? Come inside.”

“I’m not taking another step in your direction, Kim Mingyu, not until you answer me,” you snap.

Letting his hand leave the grip on the door, he brings them both up to rub at his face, taking a simultaneous breath, deep and shaky. When he emerges his eyes are showing a hint of red as he licks his lips.

Your grip on your own fingers tighten as Mingyu talks.

“I want to rip my heart out for what it wants from you. I want to rip it out for what it did to yours. Believe me when I say I’ve forgotten how it felt to be this sincere. I love you. I don't deserve to say it, but I love you.”

There’s a beat that passes, one that you barely feel as you throw your bag on the floor of his entryway, grabbing him by the collar with both hands as you yank his face down to hover right in front of yours, nose touching, lips not quite.

“If you’re lying to me,” you whisper, shaky voiced, “I’m gonna chop your balls off.”

Mingyu answers for you as he finally, finally closes the cursed gap between you, lips capturing yours in a long awaited kiss. You let him pull you inside as you move your lips against each other, the distinct click of the door signaling you were finally inside.

His hands grip your hips and waist in a manner that’s near painful, yet you can’t find yourself complaining even as he pushes you against the now closed door, hard. His mouth leaves yours for what is barely a second, before your desperate hands move his face back in to continue what you’ve been wanting to do for years.

His mouth is warm, the vaguest hint of champagne on his tongue. You wonder how many toasts he’s clinked and downed, how many times he thought of you as he celebrated.

“I love you,” you mumble against his lips.

Mingyu’s hands are pushing your body against his own, so flush and tight you can barely breathe. Like he’d rather die than bring space between the two of you in that moment.

“I love you, too,” he mumbled back between kisses. “I love you so much.”

Both of your hands are beginning to roam, less innocent than the fingers tangled in his hair and digging into his shoulders, less innocent than the grips on your hips and neck. It isn’t until his hands are groping your ass that you begin to subconsciously tug at his shirt, wanting the wretched thing out of the way to finally feel him in full.

There’s a warm hand that grips yours as he stops you, lips pulling away slightly as he rests his forehead against yours. There’s a wild moment of sobriety as you wonder if you’ve read the situation wrong, if you pushed too far.

“You’re asking me for something I’m ready to give you.” He sounds breathless. “But I need to know if you really want it.”

He looks absolutely gorgeous with his swollen lips, your lipstick staining his own mouth, his messy hair from all the desperate fingers running through them. It takes one look into his bedroom eyes to have your yeses tumbling out your mouth.

“I want it. I want it if you’ll give it to me. Mingyu, please.”

He leans in to give you a soft peck before pulling away slowly. “You can stop me whenever, just say the word.”

He’s facing you as he speaks, hands pulling you further into the house in slow and steady steps. “I’m not gonna do anything you don’t want me to, I promise.”

By the time you reach the four walls of his bedroom, you’re itching to have his hands on you again, something he senses as he presses his hot mouth to your awaiting lips. His touches become decreasingly respectful as his hands run up your sides, thumbs brushing against the sides of your clothed breasts as he moves his mouth further down.

Kisses line your jaw, reaching the joint as he nips at your earlobe teasingly. Pushing the coverup off of your shoulders is easy, fingers tracing the exposed skin as his mouth moves down to your neck, nipping and sucking teasingly. Your breathing is embarrassingly heavy.

“You’re gorgeous,” you hear him breathe out.

His fingers fit under the zipper of your dress not too long after, pulling it down to reveal your back tantalizingly slow. His hands smooth over your waist once he reaches the bottom, bringing them up to your upper body as you feel his palms grab your breasts in a soft squeeze. The moan you let out is small, but enough to encourage him to bring his hands to the straps of your dress, pulling them down your shoulders one after the other.

“Do you realize how good you looked in this today,” he says. “Was so happy you came, so, so happy to see you after so long.”

Mingyu kisses you again in a slow, passionate manner, hands pushing down the tight fabric of the bodice to let it fall off your body to a pile on the floor. It leaves you bare save for your bra and panties.

Mingyu lets out a groan at the sight in the dimly lit room, the sound checking in as one of the hottest things you’ve ever heard, the vibrations leading straight to your core like they belonged there. The focus goes back to his hands that continue to roam your body, mouth traveling further south to leave hot, open mouthed kisses on your cleavage.

Your own fingers come up to fiddle with the buttons of his dress shirt, managing to pull a couple loose as you whine, “Mingyu.”

“Patience, my love.” He moves you backwards slowly as his mouth leaves your chest, pushing you into the plush of his mattress as you feel the back of your knees bump into the edge. “Let me take my time with you.”

He brings a knee up to the bed as he keeps his gaze on you, beginning to unbutton the rest of his shirt as you prop yourself up on your elbows. For once, you’re allowed to stare at the sculpt of his chest and abdomen, letting your gaze take you to the dipped V before the cut off. The mere sight of his fingers working against his belt have you needing to close your thighs for the sake of your now throbbing core.

Only clad in his dark boxers, you let him climb over you in a way you can only describe as a prowl, inserting himself between your legs as he pushes your head up to the headboard. The hand that splays out on your thigh is having the muscle twitch, the anticipation for what he might do next gripping you.

“Let me get this off of you,” he says with his hands toying with the elastic of your bra, prompting you to arch your back so he could reach under to unclasp it in a way you can only call professional.

There’s barely any time for you to feel a semblance of embarrassment when he flings the padding away, mouth coming in direct contact with your breast in a harsh suck. The feeling has you moaning his name into the dark room, only encouraging his wet tongue to circle around the bud before going back to suckling. He doesn’t forget your other breast as he brings his hand up to squeeze the mound and play with your nipples the same.

The sensations are overwhelming already, your hands gripping his hair in desperation as you throw your head back at his ministrations. The ache in your underwear is becoming increasingly difficult to resist, the foreign feeling of his mound against your inner thigh only coursing more want into your awaiting heat.

Your chest is a mess of redness and saliva but the time Mingyu’s had his fill, pulling away to admire the work he’s left.

“Fuck, Mingyu, please,” his name is the only thing that comes out in your pleas, hoping he’d give you wanted before you lost your mind for good.

“I love this lighting on you,” he says simply, moving to sit on his knees as he takes his eyes up and down your practically naked frame.

Both hands come in to push your thighs further apart, giving him better access to the gold that sits right in between. “You’re beautiful.”

You feel the pad of his thumb come in contact with your clit in the lightest pressure, slowly brushing over the muscle as he continues. “The most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.”

He presses his thumb in further, pushing down to meet your hole, the source of the large wet patch on the fabric of panties. The whimpers the new feeling is having you let out are near embarrassing. Hooking his fingers around your panties, he asks, “Can I take these off?”

“Yes!” you gasp out immediately, hip rising to let them slide the pesky fabric off and away.

He wastes no time in bringing his fingers to your folds, gathering your arousal in his fingers as he spreads them across your throbbing clit. He’s rubbing the area in circular motions, the feeling having you wracking out sounds you never thought you could make. The sheets are bunched up in your grip as you throw your head back at the feeling that encases you, eyes screwed shut.

“Oh, Mingyu,”

That only encourages him as his other hand joins the party, a lone finger circling your entrance in preparation to plunge into you, slowly, all the way to the hilt of his finger. Zoning in on the feeling, the pump of his fingers into your core, the constant ministrations of his other thumb on your clit. Your hands leave his wrinkled sheets as they come in to grip his wrists and forearm, needing to feel his skin to anchor yourself into the present. Not being able to bring yourself to open your eyes, he takes it upon himself to insert another finger, encouraging your lids to fly open at the stretch and the loud moan that comes with it.

“God, you’re so fucking wet, I’m barely pushing.” It may have embarrassed you a little if you weren’t so withdrawn from pleasure, the prospect only having you whimper his name even more.

It isn’t when he curls his fingers inside you that you feel the need to stifle the sounds that come out of your throat, hand to mouth as the volume has you needing to shut yourself up. He brings his hand off your clit to grab you by the wrist, freeing your mouth of restraint.

“Don’t,” his voice gravelly as he gets off his knees to hover over you, his other hand continuing to pump his fingers in and out of you in perfect motions. “I wanna hear your voice. I wanna hear all the pretty sounds you’re making.”

He leans in to place a chaste kiss on your mouth, fingers quickening their pace as your sounds grow louder, “Mingyu, I think I’m…I think I’m close.”

“It’s okay, let go whenever, darling, it’s okay.” His other hand goes back to its rightful position on your clit, thumb circling the bud in quick motions as he encourages you to climax.

And you do. The blissful release comes crashing into you hard, the feeling leaving nothing but white hot space in the expanse of your brain, letting the feeling take over as you melt into the sheets. “F-fuck…”

He doesn’t stop either hand till you physically have to push his fingers off of you, the overstimulation coming in hot.

You don’t come around for a little bit, but feel every searing kiss he leaves on your skin in the aftermath. Pressed into your chest, your collarbones, you neck and your jaw. He makes his way up to your face slowly, pressing his lips onto your closed lids as you wait for your breathing to even out. His face is the first thing you see when you open your eyes, leaning forward to press your own lips against his.

“How was that?” he asks slowly, and you don’t miss the hint of a smirk on his face. You can’t help but break into a smile of your own.

“Great.”

“Great?”

“Amazing.” You lean in to kiss him again, palms coming in contact with the expanse of his back as you move your mouths together. It’s not long before your fingers reach the waistband of his boxers, hands coming up front to feel him through the fabric, palming him in the process.

You feel him shudder in your hold, lips pulling away as he stares into your eyes.

“What?” you ask in a whisper when he makes no other moves.

“I’m trying to think if I have condoms or not,” he whispers back, and you can’t help but let out a laugh at his delivery. He begins to giggle with you, backing up as he reaches over to rummage through his nightstand.

“Fuck yeah,” you hear him say as he comes round with the shiny pack. He’s giggling as he undoes the wrapper, the lighthearted nature of it all bringing a laugh to your own lips.

Pulling his underwear down and off, you watch as he preps himself with the rubber, your own hand coming up in a trance to stroke his gorgeous length lightly, his palms ghosting over your hand at the feeling. Once he decides he can’t take it anymore he’s grabbing both your wrists to pin them beside your head in one swift motion, earning a gasp from you at the abruptness.

“I’m gonna put the tip in first, let you adjust before I go in further,” he explains as he uses his knee to push your thighs apart to grant him more access. “I’m gonna listen to you throughout, okay? Just say so if you want me to stop, I’ll hear you.”

When you don’t reply he continues, “I need to know you heard me, baby.”

“I heard you,” you answer, and he finally lets go of one of your hands to guide his length to your entrance, gathering your remaining arousal. He’s sliding his tip across your folds, grinding onto your clit within his length and it has you nearly careening off the edge.

“Mingyu, in, please!” you beg, and you hear him chuckle before he’s finally pressing the tip into your prepped hole.

You almost breathe a sigh of relief as you feel him begin to push into your hot core, keeping his promise of only getting to the tip, before bringing himself out and going back in. He’s slow as he stretches you out, his hands coming up to the sides of your head as he tucks his face into the crook of your neck. Lifting one of your legs, you wrap them around his waist as you grant him further access into you, one of his hands coming up to keep your raised leg steady.

He halts when he finally bottoms out, pausing for breath. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just,” you manage, arms wrapped around his shoulders tight. “Give me a second.”

When you give him the green light and he begins to move out slowly, only to thrust back in, you find yourself settling into the sheets more consciously, ready to take what he was about to finally give you. You’re both a mess of whimpers and sounds, the feeling overtaking any shreds of restraint you had left. His hands are groping you everywhere, his fingers finding your breasts again as he begins to toy with your nipples, all while thrusting into you at a steady yet equally maddening pace.

He feels amazing, beyond just his dick. The feeling of his body pressed against yours is heavenly, the tears beginning to slowly prick at your eyes as you let yourself melt into his hold, a metaphorical layer away from morphing into his skin entirely. The sounds he’s making are pure melodies, the groans, grunts and heavy moans floating around in your otherwise empty head like they’d never ever leave. They do more when they encourage the building feeling in your abdomen, your moans growing increasingly erratic.

If the bed is creaking from his incessant thrusting, you don’t hear it. The only thing ringing in your head being the near closure you’re about to receive from him. “Gyu, I’m…”

“Shit, me too.” he grunts, and you believe him as his movements begin to grow sloppier, his hips slamming into yours with more force than before.

And then it’s bliss, the feeling dropping in on your body as you feel yourself begin to spasm in his hold, the loudest moan ripping from your throat at the sensation. You’re contracting around him so, so good, and it’s enough to have him moaning into your own ear as he feels his climax come over him as well.

He’s shooting his load into the rubber, and for a wild moment you wish he’d rip it off and finish inside you instead, your blabbering brain wanting to take all of him in. The fever passes in a few heavy minutes, Mingyu’s body is dropped on top of you, his length remaining inside your warmth as you both relished in the post sex haze.

He’s first to pick his sweltering body off of yours, the cool air hitting your skin as he pulls out of you slowly. You’re still trying to come to earth, even when you hear the water beginning to run in the attached bathroom, even when he walks out in a fresh pair of boxers, walking over to your form on the bed.

His fingers run through your hair as he places soft kisses on your temple, coaxing you to open your eyes. “Come on babe. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

When you make no moves to get up despite opening your eyes, he’s physically pulling you up to grace your head on his chest in an effort to take a step back into the world. His fingers continue to thread through your hair, massaging your head lightly as you breathe in his scent. You do end up getting up and letting him lead you to the bathroom, but only after he threatens to carry you there over his shoulder. The bath is already drawn when you dip your feet into the warm water, planting yourself inside as you lean against the walls of the tub.

“Gyu, why is it warm?” you whine, wanting a cooler temperature to hit your sticky body.

He chuckles as he sits by the tub, hands coming in to wet your hair for you, “I’m scared your body’s gonna go into shock if I chucked you into a cold bath. You’ll feel better in a minute, love.”

You don’t argue as he does most of the work for you, shampooing, scrubbing and conditioning. He lets you sit in the tub for a little bit as he leaves to get you a towel and a shirt, coming back to continue coaxing you to leave the tub this time. You grab his outstretched hand, pulling him down to sit next to you again.

“Sit with me for a little bit, right here,” you say as you lean over the edge of the tub.

“I can sit with you in bed once you’re dried up,” he tries to reason. “Under the covers. Where it’s more comfortable than hard acrylic, remember?”

Pouting a little, you let him wrap you in a towel as you admit defeat, too tired to argue much more than that. He continues to shrug one of shirts over your shoulders, going as far as drying your hair before finally letting you crawl back under the covers. He joins you soon after, wrapping his limbs around you in a tight embrace, breathing in the mix of his own shampoo and your scent.

“Are you okay? Did I do too much?” he asks quietly.

“Mhm,” you hum into his chest. “I’m okay.”

There’s a deep vibration in his chest as he finds your lack of response amusing, looking at your face that looks about three seconds away from slipping into dreamland. Nearly, he realizes, as your eyes are suddenly pushed wide open, a gasp leaving your throat.

“What? What?” Mingyu asks as you sit up all of a sudden scrambling to find your phone.

“My phone, where is it?” you ask as you ruffle through the covers.

“Did you bring it with you?”

You suddenly remember your bag that you threw in his entryway a couple hours ago, your phone nestled inside. Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, you attempt to stand up to retrieve it, only to find out the universe wasn’t about to let you do that. You don’t miss Mingyu’s chortle as he watches you nearly fall over after wobbling around like a fawn, your arms trembling as you pull yourself up back on the bed.

“What the fuck?” you breathe out.

“Get back on, I’ll get your bag for you.” He’s still smiling when returns, throwing your purse on the bed.

You immediately unlock your phone to find Nayeon’s contact, choosing to leave her a text considering the late hour.

“What is it?” Mingyu asks again as he watches you type, arms coming up from behind to engulf you in his hold again.

“I told Seokmin I was at Nayeon’s. He didn’t believe me but I’m telling her to cover for me anyway.”

“Oh.”

The thought comes to you later than it should have, realizing you’d have to involve Seokmin in…whatever this was, sooner or later.

“Don’t,” you hear Mingyu say behind you.

“What?”

“Don’t. I know what you’re thinking about. We can deal with Seokmin when we need to, don’t think about it right now, that’s my job.”

“I-”

“He needs to deal with me being serious about you,” he continues, giggling, “Even if I have to make you run away with me.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

He brings your wrist up to his mouth, placing a kiss there, “It won’t. I promise.”

The sitting up thing doesn’t last for too long, both of you wanting nothing more than to lay down for the lack of energy. Limbs are a tangled mess as you both lay in silence, tired but not wanting to go to sleep just yet. It stays that way for a while, head on his chest as you take in the aftermath of everything that’s happened.

You just had sex with Kim Mingyu. He loves you back. And you know he means it. This isn’t a hyperrealistic childhood fantasy, this is real life. You’re touching him, he’s holding you, you can hear his heart beat, you can feel his skin under the palm of your hand.

You’re distracted from your thoughts as you sense Mingyu reaching over the edge of the bed to his nightstand as he looks for something, bringing his hand over to show you a very familiar pink cover in his hands.

“Oh,” you let out as you recognize the title, snorting as you remember where the verdict for that ended, “We were supposed to talk about the ending.”

“We could do that right now.”

“Uh, about that,” you say. “I never actually got to finish it.”

“You were supposed to be done like two weeks ago,” he frowns.

“I didn’t get to finish it the day…the day you came over. Couldn’t bring it in myself to touch it after that.” you say as you note the little tabs sticking out the sides, wanting to address them.

“You can use this one to finish it then, it’s yours.”

You glance up at him as he talks, opening the book to skim through the pages. And then you see it, tiny scribbles on margins, sticky notes at chapter ends with his thoughts, colorful tabs sticking out of every highlighted line, everything complete with a color coded key in the front.

“I saw you do it with your other books, found out it’s not actually a crime to write in books and…I guess it became fun.” he explains as he watches you flick through the pages. “I was gonna give this to you at some point. Sounded like a thoughtful idea in my head.”

You don’t answer him, simply facing him in silence before continuing, “I would’ve been sucking your dick right now if I wasn’t so tired.”

He throws his head back in a loud laugh, the high pitched noise sounding across the room as he nearly curls up from the hilarity. You don’t think it was that funny, but maybe it’s because you were telling the truth. You’re pretty sure you’ve joked about wanting to do that to someone who’d do something like this for you, perhaps you could find the transcripts hidden in some text messages with Nayeon later to show Mingyu.

His laughter is contagious regardless, giggles of your own coming out as you watch him practically lose it.

“I think you need to go to sleep,” you comment through bouts of laughter.

He sighs a vocal sigh as he calms down slowly, agreeing with your suggestion that the near morning delirium was getting to both of your heads. You rest your newly acquired, yet equally prized possession to the side, finally turning in for the night as he reaches to turn his night lamp off.

Mingyu moves to press his forehead into yours, not before placing a tiny peck into your lips as he mumbles against them in the dark, “I love you.”

“I love you,” you hum back as you press your lips together one last time, finally letting his breathing lull you into sleep.

The mattress is foreign, so is the pillow, and so are the scents that linger in the room. It’s colder than you’d usually have it and the blankets feel different on your skin. And despite the most foreign thing in the room, the one that has his arms and legs wrapped around you, the one that whispered his love for you into your skin before drifting off, you find yourself falling into a sleep that’s more blissful than any you’ve had in a very, very long time.

The sun is doing nothing to help itself against the tide of annoyance tht rises in your sleepy state. You’d get up and yank the curtains but can’t bring yourself to have the motivation to leave the soft mattress, simply bunching the blanket up to your face to block out the remnants of sun rays that invade the room. You’ve nearly lulled yourself back to sleep when you start registering noises coming from outside the bedroom walls, muffled yet familiar.

Your brother is talking about something you can’t make out, Seokmin’s voice is undeniable despite passing through the folded layers of comforters around your head. You don’t doubt the presence of the sweat that’s probably already accumulated on your scalp.

There’s nothing that alarms you in the moment despite Seokmin’s yapping — that is until you hear a second voice.

You recognize it immediately as the sound of Mingyu’s talking, the words equally as muffled yet the intonation clear all the same.

Kicking the sheets off of your overheating body, you squint as you open your eyes in a desperate attempt to reign yourself back to earth, recollections of the past twenty four hours hurtling back to you like a constant line of K.O’s.

The gallery, the picture, the drive up to Mingyu’s place,the sex, the falling asleep in his arms. You sit up in Mingyu’s bed, clad in nothing but his own T-shirt as you realize your brother is downstairs talking to Mingyu, and you have no idea if he knows you're here.

You realize very quickly that you’re trapped, being left with no other option than to remain in Mingyu’s bedroom until he comes back up to give you the clear, despite wanting to walk out to take the tiniest peek. You’re not sure what’s worse, getting caught or sitting in the growing pool of anxiety before Mingyu gets back.

It’s a long, long twenty minutes, in which you’ve done just about everything to get to hear their conversation a bit better; or to distract yourself from the fact that it’s happening at all. Pressing your ear to the door before going back to make the bed. Freshening up in the bathroom before going back to jamming your eye into the keyhole (you aren’t sure why considering door faces a plain wall). You even hijacked a spare cup Mingyu had lying around the room to stick into the wall, hoping all those Mr. Bean cartoons hadn’t been lying to you.

They were simply talking in a tone too low for your ears to catch (despite the Mr. Bean hack), and you resorted to scrolling on your phone to pass the remaining time. It’s catastrophic to say the least, when you’re met with a string of frantic messages from Nayeon as well as a couple missed calls from your brother.

[Nayeon]: fuck [Nayeon]: i didnt see this [Nayeon]: he called this morning asking about you [Nayeon]: i accidentally told him you werent here [Nayeon]: im so sorry where are you [You]: its okay its my fault for texting so late [You]: i was at mingyus place [You]: ill tell you more later [Nayeon]: WHAT???

By the time Mingyu walks in, he’s mildly surprised to see you awake, pausing at the door as he takes in your huddled form. You sit up immediately, noting his still messy hair and the backwards sweatshirt he’s thrown on over his boxers. The question tumbles out of your lips before you can help it, “Was that Seokmin?”

“Good morning to you too,” he grumbles sarcastically, coming up on the bed to join you in your huddle fest. You’re a little embarrassed at the way you’ve greeted him first thing when he sees you, but his expression when he continues replaces it with something akin to fear. “And yeah, it was him.”

You want to ask him a follow up question, but you aren’t sure what to say, simply staring at him, hoping he’d get the hint and continue by himself. He does.

“The idiot has a spare key so he just…” He trails off, rubbing his hands on his face, “he just walked in straight to the room. Got the shock of his life, I suppose, ‘cause it woke me up while you kept snoring.”

“He walked into the room?!” you nearly screech, hand clamped over mouth, horrified. “What did he say to you?”

Mingyu has the audacity to laugh, simply tugging you back down on the bed to hold you. You briefly wonder how he’s so casual about this. “There’s not really an expected reaction from someone when they find you half naked in bed with their sister.”

The haphazardly shoved sweatshirt and no pants look was starting to make sense. “I heard you talking downstairs, what were you talking about?”

“Nothing you have to worry your pretty little head about,” his lips graze the shell of your ear as he snuggles further into you. “He wants you home by seven though.”

You throw your head back in a whine, “God, what am I gonna do?”

“You’ll be fine, he didn’t smack me, he can’t possibly be that mad at you.”

“What was he then, ecstatic?” you retort.

“I mean,” his energy shifts a little. “I think he’s just a little hurt that he wasn’t told.”

“So you’ve done your damage control and now I need to pray he doesn’t disown me.”

“God, you’re being so negative,” he comments and you can’t help but round up on him.

“And you’re acting like you don’t care!”

He’s planting a fat kiss on your cheek at your outburst, coming in to coddle you even more. “I’m kidding, I just want you to relax, don’t be upset.”

“Has he given you his verdict yet?” you ask quietly.

He sighs at the question and you can’t imagine his answer being any good. “Not yet, pretty up in the air about it.”

When he sees you deflate even more in his arms, he continues, “I’m sure he’s gonna come around, he loves you too much to not. It’s just a matter of time while he gets to make sense of the situation, don’t worry about it.”

“I hope so,” you reply.

“We might have wash his socks for the next five years once he does, but it’s okay.”

You can’t help but snort at the prospect, “His feet are stinkier than the regular human’s, are you sure about that?”

He grins, “I’d do it for you.”

You push his face away, rolling your eyes at his attempt to be sappy. “You’re gonna keep me for five years?”

His smile drops as you feel the atmosphere shift in the slightest, his presence moving impossibly closer to you. “I’m gonna keep you forever.”

Hearing it is enough to have you lurching forward, closing the final gap between you so you can give in to the urge to kiss him. He’s enthusiastic to give back, pulling your body to face him entirely as you mumble between kisses, “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

The rest of the day (once your anxiety’s calmed down, at least) is spent loitering around each other as you migrate around the house in random excess. He makes you breakfast, and you need to physically restrain him to stop feeding you every bite of pancake and bacon. You let him make your favourite for lunch though, after you finally admitted how much you truly liked his Chow Mein, going as far as to run to the store to grab the stuff he was missing. He returns with a bag of groceries, not missing an abnormal amount of moonpie value packs that he stashes in his cabinets because “you’re gonna be around all the time”.

6:30 rolls around quicker than either of you would have liked, needing to wiggle out of Mingyu’s hold on his couch to change out of your half naked state. He continues to delay you another ten minutes as he refuses to open his car door to let you walk into the apartment building, leaning over the console to continue mumbling whines between your own consoling kisses.

By the time you’re making the walk of shame up to your door, the pit of anxiety that began to brew this morning returns from its dormancy, no Mingyu here to help ease your nerves, Gripping your key tight in your hands, you brace yourself to jam and twist to finally end this matter once and for all (at least you hope you can).

Seokmin is waiting on the couch for arrival like a parent waiting to catch their child in the act. He briefly glances over at you as you whisper a tame “Hi”, slipping off your shoes. He doesn’t reply as he merely grabs the remote to pause his show, casting a heightened awkward atmosphere at the silence that’s now engulfing the room. You tread carefully over to the couch, where Seokmin sits with his arms crossed.

It takes one look at his face for you to suddenly want to get on your knees and beg for forgiveness. He didn’t look angry, and perhaps you would’ve preferred his aggression if it didn’t mean having to look at a hurt Seokmin. You sit in silence for a couple dramatic minutes, hoping he would start talking so you wouldn’t have to. Yet, when you realize you might have to say something anyway for fear of crushing under the pressure, you find yourself opening your mouth.

“Are you upset?” Of course, he’s upset, you idiot.

“I just–” he starts, before sighing. “I just wish one of you would’ve told me what was going on.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” you reply. “I didn’t want either of you to have an excuse to be upset with each other, so I just…”

“I get that it was a recent thing but I think I deserved as much to know what was happening when I wasn’t around.”

You wince as speaks, realizing he hasn’t caught on to the fact that this isn’t recent at all — for you at least. “Um, about that…”

“What? There’s more?” he scoffs.

“I, uh…I’ve liked him since like fifth grade—” He’s immediately jaw dropped, eyes bulged, taking a sharp breath. “But! In my defense, it was really obvious—it’s honestly your fault for not noticing.”

‘My–My fault?!” he sputters. “That’s like, forever, and you told me nothing? Mingyu told me this was recent, why did he lie?”

“He didn’t, nothing happened till last night, I swear.” You cringe at what you’re entailing. “It was just me that liked him for that long, he figured it out pretty early on but…”

“He’s finally reciprocating now?” he suggests, almost sarcastically.

“Yeah,” you breathe out lightly.

“This is insane,” he blows out a breath of air, massaging his temples.

“I’m not being stupid about him,” you mutter lowly, “This isn’t some puppy dog crush, especially not after so long.”

He’s silent.

“I’m telling you this because I don’t want you to think I’m jumping into this blind, especially for what it means for you too.”

No response.

“I’m sorry that you had to find out like this, it’s really not how I wanted it to go.” And when you’re met with even more silence, you find yourself continuing. “Please, talk to me. Cuss me out if you want, I’d honestly rather you yell at me.”

Seokmin sighs for the near hundredth time, finally looking like he might say something. “I want you to listen to me very carefully.”

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, mind immediately going to the worst. Was he going to ask you to break up with him?

“I’m gonna choose to trust the both of you on this,” he starts, and you nearly melt into the cushions, “It’s your life, you can date whoever you want. And…I guess Mingyu is better than someone else. Probably uses bad hair gel though.”

You’re catapulting yourself off the couch at the sound of that, throwing yourself onto an unassuming Seokmin. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“OW! Okay! Geez, get off,” he grumbles as he finally stops wrestling you to let go of him, hugging you back as you squeeze his shoulders tight.

“I promise I won’t keep anything like this from you again.”

“You better not,” he huffs as you let go of him, “Don’t think this means you’re forgiven. You still have a lot to tell me.”

“I promise I won’t leave out a thing.”

The following weeks are near bliss, following your very loud confrontation with Nayeon when she gets back from her summer vacation, her screams at every plot turn having you praying for her neighbors. You doubt she believed you despite everything, not until she physically sees Mingyu come in one day, making a beeline to peck you on the lips before greeting anyone else. Her dropped jaw was very telling.

Even now, as Mingyu sports the title of the lame alumnus that still hangs around campus as he grips your hand, walking through the grass, the double takes you’re receiving seem to be traveling quite fast. You wouldn’t necessarily blame them considering the trickier than usual dynamic you sport due to your brother (and you guess due to his reputation as well).

But you also knew they’d be quick to die out as the newer batches of students come flying in — Mingyu will soon become a very well kept secret, in one way if not the other.

His neighbors, however, must be wishing he had the same sentiment as well, considering the absolutely foul noises that are coming from his apartment.

You’re learning very quickly that Mingyu’s innocent touchiness can turn into something of the opposite at any given time, exhibit A being now as you try your damn hardest to muffle the sounds coming out of your mouth as Mingyu works his own mouth on your cunt. The knees over his shoulders are shivering from the expense, fingers pumping into your hole as he rubbed a particular spot with his tongue that had you gripping onto his hair tight.

As much as Mingyu loves to hear you, you find his other hand being brought up to place two fingers in your mouth for you as the perfect pacifier, sounds limiting extensively.

By the time you’re coming undone, sprawled on his couch like you just ran a marathon, you’re quick to realize that he has no intention of letting you have a breather. It takes one shove for him to pull his pulsing length out of his pants, tip pushing into your still sopping hole as he invited all of him inside you.

You’ll never forget the first time Mingyu fucked you raw, right after you told him he had the green light after taking your birth control pills. It was magic, you’ve never seen him this vocal as he finished inside you nearly four times in a single night. His moans remain loud even still, as he brings your thighs to press over your chest, basically folding you in half. The mere sound of your wetness as he pumps in and out of you is enough to have you nearly careening over the edge, especially when you feel a desperate hand reach out to rub fast circles on your clit.

You throw your head back as you cum for the second time, pulsing around him in a grip Mingyu can’t believe has the ability to become tighter. It’s enough for him though, as he leans his forehead against your chest as he releases himself inside you.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of it, watching you filled to the brim with his cum, even as it drips onto the blankets you’ve laid down below. He has half a mind to stuff the liquid back inside you, but fears you’re tired enough, the overstimulation too much for you.

By the time you’ve cleaned up and resumed the movie you should’ve been done with hours ago, cuddled impossibly close to him, you find yourself remembering something quite out of the blue.

“Hey, not that I really care anymore,” you start, “But who were the guys you were talking to that day? From the party.”

“Stopped hanging out with them ages ago,” Mingyu scoffs, face souring at the mention of them. “I mean, it was me who said all that bullshit, but they weren’t exactly good influences either. Learned that pretty quick.”

“Oh,” you reply simply, letting your head fall back onto his chest.

He doesn’t seem to be having any of it, grabbing your chin to have you face him. “I’m still really sorry about that. I don’t care if you chase my tail for another fifty years, it’ll always be adorable.”

“Forgave you a long time ago, but I think I have a condition now.”

He quirks a brow at your words. “What does her Highness ask of me?”

“That you chase my tail for another fifteen to make up for all the running I’ve done.”

He’s laughing at that, agreeing to your condition as places loving smooches all over your face. “Consider it done.”

It’s later on in the night, both of you huddled in ratty hoodies and mismatched slippers, plastic bag crinkling along Mingyu’s arm as you giggle about something he said. You’re enjoying your fudgsicle in the peace and serenity of the 1 AM hour, making your trek home after raiding the corner store down the block. Mingyu suddenly halts in his tracks as he sees a particularly pretty set of flowers, illuminated by the fluorescent street lights.

“Babe, babe, stand here let me take a picture of you.”

“What?” you frown, holding up your stick of iced chocolate. “I’m not done yet.”

You watch as he grabs the melting popsicle from your hand downing the entire thing in one go as you watch him, hand still outstretched and jaw dropped. “Mingyu, you bitch!”

He only smiles as he mulls the chocolate in his mouth, words basically gibberish, “‘ere’s more in the ba’, now go stan'!”

You huff as you trudge to where he was asking you to pose, throwing a couple peace signs to satiate the home video urges in him so you could rip open your second fudgsicle.

“Wait! You got a little chocolate on your mouth.” he announces, and you stick your tongue out to lick past the remnants of the sweetness. “No— wait.”

He walks over to you as your still trying to find the spot you missed, unassuming as he swings into your face to kiss the remaining off. “Oh, nevermind, it was nothing.”

You push him off as heat crawls up your face, feigning annoyance at his antics. You decide to forgive him when rips open another fudgsicle for you, offering it with both hands, promising to not steal a single lick. You believe him, snatching the stick from him as you continue your trek home.

It’s not until he’s attempting to send you the pictures he just took to your phone so you could post them (which, with the way you looked, fat chance) that he notices something in your albums.

“Oh, are these grad photos?” he asks as he clicks the album open.

“Mhm,” you hum not paying too much attention as you walked and ate.

“Why’s there only one picture here?” he asks as he pulls up to find nothing more left to load.

It’s only then that you bring your full attention to your phone in his hand as you realize what picture he’s talking about, “Oh god, don’t look at that one.”

He does the obvious thing and opens it anyway, a louder than necessary “aw” coming out his mouth. “Why do you look like I’m about to eat you?”

“It felt like it!” you whine, remembering the moment clear as day. “They kept pestering me to take a picture with you too, I was tryna book it out of there at first chance.”

He giggles as he zooms into the photo, “I’m sending this to myself.”

You groan loudly at the thought, “God, just delete it, leave it alone.”

He tucks the phone into himself further, not letting you grab it. “No, you’re not deleting it. Why do you have it tucked into a separate folder if you hate it so much.”

He’s got you there, you realize quickly, and he reigns in his victory as he watches you grimace at the phone slightly, adding on, “it has a lot of feelings attached to it, I get it. But look, we can attach new feelings to it, now you’ll think about right now the next time you see it.”

“Think about you hijacking my fudgsicles? I think I prefer heartbreak,” you say, bringing your half eaten pop closer to your body in case he tries anything.

You’re deemed correct when he replies, motioning towards your concealed treat, “Careful, I can still pounce when you’re not looking.”

Shoving your hands into the swinging bag hanging on Mingyu’s arm, you bring out a thing of sausage and shove it towards him, “You leave me and my fudgsicle alone, go be lousy and suck on this or whatever.”

“You’d know alot about that, wouldn’t you?” he notes casually, grabbing the sausage anyway as he unwraps it to take a bite.

It takes you a second to realize what he’s talking about while he stares at you with a mischievous expression, coming to shove him when the innuendo finally registers in your head. You do the opposite this time, pointing the melting chocolate toward him instead, threatening to smear it all over his white hoodie.

He laughs at the sight, disarming you by simply moving your wrist away, coming to kiss you on the mouth hard regardless of your annoyed expression.

“Love ya’” he giggles.

“Hm.”

“What, hm? Say it back.”

You pretend to wonder, “I don’t think so.”

“Say it!” he groans, “Say it, say it!”

You manage to wriggle out of his hold, booking it before he realises what’s happening.

“Hey!”

Your both probably waking up the entire neighborhood with how loud you’re yelling and laughing, and even when he manages to tackle you down on somebody’s lawn, coaxing the words out of you with borderline violence, you still manage to smile, thanking your lucky stars that you got what you wanted after all.

“What’re you thinking about?” he asks with an undertone.

“Thanking my stars they led me to you,” you reply.

“More like the other way around. Needed the fattest fucking star to realize what was in front of me all along,” he jests himself.

It sparks a laugh out of you. “I love you.”

“And I love you.”

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readerihardlyknowher · 1 month ago

Note

hello!! I was wondering if you could do a spencer agnew x reader fic (fem!reader if that’s okay) where spencer and reader are coworkers at Smosh. Both are cast and have never really gotten along the best but one day things kinda click for them in a video during a shoot (kinda acquaintance to friends to lovers). During this shoot and once the video airs, other Smosh workers and even fans start to notice the change, like how they always want to be touching or near each other in some way in other videos or even when not filming. It’s just that neither of them realize then the smosh peps try to start and force them into spaces and situations together to hopefully get them to realize their feelings and admit them. Thanks! And hopefully this made sense lol

Okay, so this was originally going to just be a oneshot, but I've been working on it since last week and it's not even close to being done yet, so I'm releasing it in parts.

A Loving Feeling | Pt. 1

Spencer Agnew x Reader Warnings: None WC: 2,195 Pt.1, Pt. 2

It wasn’t that Spencer was bad per say, nor was it that you were particularly stuck up, but rather, you both just hadn’t interacted all that much. It made no sense as to why, really. You knew everyone else loved him, even the more bubbly ones like you, but you just never sat down and chatted with him. Frankly, it had gotten a little annoying how often people brought him up in conversation. Whenever you talked about a videogame you liked, Shayne would bring up how Spencer had already done a playthrough last year. If you brought up a show you were watching, Angela would mention how Spencer tried getting her to watch it. It was kind of pissing you off, and you didn’t really know the guy. It’s not like you watched many Smosh videos anyways, but you especially didn’t watch the videos with him. If you started to like him just from his on-screen persona, then that wouldn’t feel right at all. And if you hated him for his on-screen persona, that also wouldn’t feel fair.

Which is why you were a little nervous to see that you both were supposed to be on camera together as two sisters in a Spud Hut video. You figured that it shouldn’t be too difficult, it’s just a few minutes on camera and a few minutes talking it out beforehand. It’s mostly improv, but you still wanted to get some things straight, like names.

When you walk up to the man (who is currently dressed as a middle-aged woman) you had yet to have spoken to, you suck in a breath, mentally preparing yourself for him to roll his eyes and walk away from you. You don’t even know why you think this, because he’s never been rude or standoffish to you in the past, but since you two had never really spoken anything’s on the table.

“Okay, so I don’t know about you, but I think my character’s screaming ‘Carrie’,” you begin, because nothing better than just jumping in without saying anything like “Hey! Nice to finally talk to you! Sorry we haven’t talked in the whole ass year that I’ve been here!” But to your surprise, he looks down at your outfit with a nonchalant glance and nods.

“You’re absolutely right, that’s a Carrie for sure.” The smile on his face felt like ice cold water in the heat. You felt relieved, safer, that there didn’t need to be anything to worry about. “For alliteration purposes I’ll be Mary.”

You smile back at him, still a little nervous, but now mostly alright. You don’t know how it’ll be improvising with him, you don’t know if you have a similar sense of humor, you don’t know anything about this man you’ve worked in the same building as for the past year except you apparently have the similar interests.

It’s time to get on set, and you both wait until you’re given the go ahead to enter the kitchen where you’re filming. When you’re finally told to head on, you feel Spencer’s arm lock with yours as he walks merrily into the room, where Chanse, Angela, and Damien are standing. You remind yourself to get in character as you walk up to “order.”

“Well I’ll be, this place is… unique, Mary,” you begin, giving your character a southern accent. Spencer glances over at you with a nod. When he speaks, his voice sounds hilariously high-pitched.

“I do agree, Carrie. I don’t know what on earth anyone sees in a place like this.”

At this, Chanse steps forward, introducing himself in character.

“Hi, my name is Jerry Spruce, I’m the owner of the Spud Hut. Our special today is the Oyster Spud,” he says, painfully in-character. You internally cringe at the concept of an “oyster spud” but you nod and put on an impressed face.

“An Oyster Spud? That sounds very well refined, doesn’t it, sister?”

“Very much so, sister. I do say, I heard there was the famed fettuccine alfredo spud here?” Spencer asks, which gets a nod from Chanse.

“Yes, our fettuccino alfredi spud is world renowned. I can get both of those ready for you now.”

You look over at Spencer, feeling less and less awkward by the minute. He turns back to you and catches you staring, so you speak to cover it up.

“Sister, I’m disappointed. You know, a moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips,” you say, mimicking an older, judgy aunt as best you can. Spencer’s face breaks out in a small smile as he tries not to break.

“Sister, I know you are not talking to me about what to eat. I’ve seen the things you put in your mouth and it’s filthy,” he ends with a snap, acting all sassy. You mirror him, yet this whole time you still keep your arms locked.

“I can’t believe you’d call your husband filthy then, Mary,” you finish with another snap, which makes him gasp and clutch the pearls around his neck with his white-gloved hand.

“Well, I’ll tell you Carrie, that the reason your husband left you is because I showed him how much better he could have had it with me.”

By this point, Chanse has now brought over the potatoes, but you two are both so into the fake argument that you take the potatoes from his hands and begin to walk out.

“I am telling mother all the cruel and sinful things you’ve been doing, Mary,” you say, not taking your eyes from Spencer’s. He huffs out a laugh and turns up his nose.

“Have fun talking to a grave then, Carrie.” And with that, you are off the set. Still though, you have to be silent for an extra minute while the crew makes sure you’re not needed again before taking off the costumes. So for that time, you both just look at each other and try not to laugh. Once you’re both given the green light to take off your mics and undress, you let out a snicker and unloop your arm from his. For the first time since walking into the kitchen, you both aren’t pinned to each other’s side. As you undo your mic, you speak.

“God, that was really fun,” you say to no one in particular, looking down partly to see what you’re doing, but mostly to avoid eye contact with him.

“Yeah, it’s no wonder Shayne and Amanda keep saying we should be in videos together. We nailed that shit,” he says, now undoing his own mic. Your snaps up to look up at him at this. You didn’t know he was also getting those same words as you were.

“Yeah, we definitely did.” There’s a pause for a moment before you let out a nervous sigh before looking up at him. “Hey, I feel bad that we’ve never really talked before. I don’t even know why I never just came up to you to break the ice, but I guess at some point I just thought it was too late and so it’d be awkward and all, so I–”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. I get it, I meant to introduce myself when you joined, but then I didn’t,” Spencer says, before finally looking up at you and extending his hand to you. “Let me start over. Hey, I’m Spencer, director of games. It’s nice to meet you, I’ve heard so much about you.”

You stare at his hand for a moment, a little shocked by his actions, before meeting his hand in a handshake.

“Nice to meet you too. I hear we have a lot in common,” you say, a small smile on your face. He chuckles in response, shaking his head before looking you back in the eye.

“So have I. My break’s in a couple minutes. How ‘bout we go grab lunch and talk about it?” Spencer asks. Once more, you’re surprised. Upon first glance at the man, you’d never guess he’s the type of person to be so bold and nice. You just thought he was an introverted shy guy, which you guess he can be at times, but right now he’s asking to hang out to get to know each other more. The thought of finally mending the gap you had unknowingly placed between the two of you makes you smile.

“Sure, that’d be awesome. Let me go get out of this old woman apparel.”

“Aw man, I thought it suited you pretty well.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Have you been on TikTok lately?” Courtney’s voice draws your eyes from your computer. Confused, you shake you head.

“No… why?” You ask, thoroughly suspicious of the mischievous grin on her face. You watch as she pulls out her phone, tapping and scrolling for a couple seconds before shoving it into your face. As you adjust to the closeness, you watch as someone clipped a part of the recent Spud Hut video you were on, specifically the parts with you and Spencer. You don’t see why she was so insistent that you saw the video until you notice someone found you two in the background, still in costume and arms still locked, laughing and looking each other in the eye. Your face twists in confusion, since clearly that must have been a mishap with the camera angles to accidentally keep you two in, just barely in the corner. Glancing down at the caption, your eyes widen.

Literally the cutest non-canon couple at Smosh. There’s a reason they haven’t appeared in videos together up until now 🧐

Your heart practically stops at the sight of those words. You don’t know why, you’ve been shipped with other people in the cast before, but this just felt weird. Maybe it’s because you two had been getting closer and closer in the weeks since filming. You have gone to his apartment a couple of times, mostly to play videogames and hang out with his cats, but there had never been any tension with him. You’ve just become good buddies, which is why this feeling of nervousness and blush makes you confused.

“What? Why would people think that’s anything? It’s clearly just us talking. These fans are crazy,” you say, a little too frenzied to set things straight, which Courtney clearly notices.

“Interesting. Anyways, so how have you two been getting along lately? I’ve seen the both of you chatting it up after shoots, ready to say I was right?” They tease, leaning forward and confronting you on your stubbornness.

“Yeah… fine, you were right. He’s actually… he’s actually really cool,” you admit, somewhat grumbling to avoid the embarrassment you know is coming.

“You guys talking about me?” You hear an all too familiar voice ask from behind you. Just as you turn your head to see him, you feel two pairs of hands resting against the back of your seat.

“Actually, we were,” Courtney says, making your cheeks feel even warmer. “But anyways you guys. In one month. My birthday party. You both better come.”

Your smile widens at that, always excited to hang out with your friends outside of work.

“Yeah, of course. Where will it be at?” You ask, still feeling Spencer’s hands lingering behind you.

“Just our place, it’s nothing too crazy. Just gonna have some drinks and play some games and stuff. So be there or be square!” They say jokingly before walking off, leaving just you and Spencer. You look up, seeing his face from upside down when he looks down at you with a smile.

“Will you need a ride, my lady?” He asks, his voice teasing, but gentle. He normally doesn’t drink much at these events anyways, while you normally get a little tipsy. Not good for driving. You smile back at him.

“Indeed I will, my lord,” you respond, making him smile even wider before letting go of the back of your seat. This grants you the opportunity to turn around to see him as he backs off some more. “Alright, it’s time for me to head back to games. See ya.”

You reply back before watching him turn around and head back the way he came. For a moment, you can’t seem to take your eyes off him, just watching as he walks, before shaking your head and returning to your work on your computer.

You think back to the TikTok Court showed you, how suddenly your fans have turned to shipping you and Spencer. Shaking your head of the thought, you remember how you need to get Courney a gift, so you pull out your phone to text your new friend.

To: Spencer From: You Wanna go to the mall or something later to get Court gifts?

You barely have time to set your phone down before you get a response that makes your smile widen.

To: You From: Spencer Sounds cool. I’ll drive you after work?

You shoot off an affirmative text, ignoring how much happier you feel having received such a quick response. Yet again, you have to shake the thought of him off your head, bringing yourself back to reality as your computer screen waits for your return.

#spencer agnew #spencer agnew x reader #smosh fanfiction #smosh fic

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nghtwngs · 30 days ago

Text

soft currents next to you

description: there is falling in love. there is also falling into another universe. there is also falling in love again.

pairing: robert “bob” reynolds x batgirl!reader, dick grayson x batgirl!reader [unrequited]

genre: angst, fluff, smut [see warnings below], friends to lovers, unrequited love, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, slow burn, found family, crossover, hanahaki au

word count: 12.3k

warnings: 18+ mdni, semi-graphic depictions of a fictional terminal illness [hanahaki disease], themes of mental illness, mentions of drug abuse, addiction, and recovery [bob], doesn’t follow any specific dick grayson canon so the timeline might be kinda weird [you don’t need to know anything if you’re only here for bob], mostly thunderbolts* canon-compliant and obviously spoilers, she/her pronouns used to refer to reader, implied masturbation, skippable smut scene near end: fingering, oral [fem-receiving], unprotected sex [stay safe, guys; this is just a fic], creampie, subtle dom/sub undertones [reader seriously needs a break and i’m a softdom!bob truther], hints of dumbification [i’m also indulgent]

Лена, ты слышишь? [Lena, you hear that?]

a/n: as a dick grayson girl, writing him not returning reader’s feelings tears a piece of my soul away, but i gotta do it for the fic. idk if this idea is way too niche or not but thanks to @b4tgirlz for being a real one and the only person i can talk comics [& obsess over fictional men] with

It itches. Love itches, you mean. Not for everyone, not for the lucky ones. But that’s how it begins for you: with an itch. It’s the kind you can’t scratch. All you can do is suffer and suppress it, clear your throat over and over until Dick starts to look concerned even though you’re not the one in the hospital bed right now. There are million other faces here. You feel like they’re all staring. And then you cough some more, feigning temporary illness. You’re temporarily ill often these days. That’s when you finally excuse yourself to the bathroom.

You wonder if you’d see pity on their faces if you look back.

The flowers claw their way out of your throat as if they’re covered in thorns. Like they’re badgers blindly burrowing out of the tunnel that’s your esophagus. You carefully avoid touching the toilet seat. Your coughs begin to fill up every inch of the room, echoing off the tile. You don’t have to worry about someone hearing you. The rest of the stalls are empty. You checked. You don’t have to risk seeing a stranger look at you with pity, or even worse, a person you know. You don’t even want to think about that.

The mess you’re making might have even been pretty if you didn’t know what it meant, where it came from. It seems rather ironic for such a thing to be so beautiful, but people have been seeing beauty in pain and suffering for centuries, so in some sadistic way, it’s sort of beautiful. The petals always come before the whole flowers, almost as if to prepare you for it. Still, you’re never prepared.

It’s violently red today; generally, a bad sign.

You pick up a stray blue petal from the floor between your fingers, letting it whirl down into the toilet. You wipe the blood off the seat with toilet paper. There’s a sign above the seat covers. ‘Don’t flush flowers.’

Why should you care? Your throat is sore. You’re dying. You’re sure you’d find the disposal box, the one specifically made for the flowers, empty anyway. You flush.

You unlock the stall, walking over to the sink. Your reflection stares back at you with bleary eyes and a hard frown. It’s a sight you’ve grown familiar to. You’re quickly wiping the stray tears off your cheeks and your eyes with the back of your hands. Deep breath. In. Out.

You scrub your hands clean with soap. Again. Again. And again. Specifically, that spot between your fingers. You can still feel it. The flower petal. Soaked and dripping onto your finger. Red. The water is scorching. It gets rid of the feeling.

It’s only the squeak of the door opening that makes you pull away. Like your hands weren’t numb. You pretend like you didn’t just flinch from the sound. You stare down at your hands for a moment before drying them off and exiting the restroom. You don’t spare the stranger a glance.

There was only one home for you, and it was here, in Dick Grayson’s soft bed. For a teenage boy, his room was pretty pristine. For Dick, it embodied the Wonder Boy he was. You’re too tired to continue watching Jeopardy, Dick guessing nearly all of the questions correctly while Wally huffs as he gets nearly all of them wrong. It took him a few episodes to realize you’re supposed to answer with the question because he kept leaving to grab more food. (You’ll help poor Alfred restock the cabinets later, even when he kindly waves off your help. But he’ll eventually relent. He always does.) Wally pouts, quickly speeding to the kitchen to find more snacks for himself to fill up the endless void of his appetite.

Dick’s shoulder somehow manages to be comfortable, and you feel the tugs of the Dreaming, wrapping its delicate hand around your head, pulling you away.

“Goodnight,” you hear faintly when the Sandman opens his gates for you.

You dream of Dick Grayson that night. Like you do every other one.

The mission was supposed to be easy. So easy, in fact, that they sent the Teen Titans out. You were still settling into the team, practically clinging to Robin as much as you could—much to Kid Flash’s dismay—since he was your best friend—also much to Wally’s dismay.

But you wake up dizzy, your head held by your Robin, who you’ve never seen so worried. Normally the most calm and collected one, besides you, Dick slipped into his leader role easily. He holds your head like you’re made of glass, and you can barely make out a few of his words.

Explosion… Down. No. Yes. One. Batman… Help.

His voice, although panicked, is soothing enough for you to slip back into unconsciousness. You don’t even hear him crying ‘Batgirl!’ to get you to return to him.

While recovering from the various injuries you had sustained, you’ve developed a weird cough that won’t go away, even when you take that wonderful Chinese cough syrup three times a day for a full fortnight. That stuff has always worked like a charm for that pesky lingering cough you sometimes get after a cold. On the fourth week, you get terribly annoyed and go see the doctor. They try every scan on the planet (and the galaxy). They tell you there’s nothing wrong but to return if it gets worse.

The prescription-grade cough syrup tastes much worse than Pei Pa Koa.

The coughing does get worse when you spot them one night: Dick has his arm slinked around Kori’s waist, standing a little too close to her to be considered friendly. When she first arrived to Earth, you saw the way Dick’s gaze gravitated towards her. Like everyone else’s, yours did too. She just had that aura about her that made you never want to look away. You think she’s just started up modeling recently. Not for money or anything. Just for fun.

It starts to get blurry, but you think there’s an innocent kiss or a touch or something. You have to get away. People are starting to glance at you because of your incessant coughing. And for some reason, your lungs begin to ache. A constriction roots inside your chest, your hand making a tight fist to dull the pain.

When you go to the bathroom and cough up a single little pink petal instead of the alcohol you’d just consumed, your breath is stolen away by more than just the petal. Denial is a game you love to play, so you flush it quickly down the toilet after staring at it for five minutes. Hanahaki Disease was one of the rarest but most fatal if not resolved quickly.

Surely the world couldn’t curse you that much, could it?

You hear a knock on the door and then that familiar sweet voice you love, asking if you were alright.

Were people really that unlucky?

Two more flower petals have to crawl their way up your throat before you reluctantly step into a doctor’s office again. This time, you don’t go to the Titan’s medical team. You go to someone who claims to be a Hanahaki expert. You feel for those people, the ones who know diseases with no cure like the back of their hand.

When the results come in, both you and the expert stare, horrified, at the x-ray of your lungs. You’d be lucky to make it beyond the end of next year.

New York City is a little different here.

No Batman, no Joker, no Superman—no Nightwing. And who were you if not Dick Grayson’s best friend?

There is no Gotham here, the center of attention on your world for having the highest rate of crime in the world for eighty-six (and counting) consecutive years! Instead, it’s New York City and some parts of Newark that take the brunt of the destruction caused by supervillains, aliens and the like, and superheroes.

The first day you were dropped off into this world, some government agency grabbed you up for interrogation. Twelve hours each day for an entire fortnight like clockwork. Any injuries you sustained were patched up that first day, but your shoulder was still killing you. You’d been on medication for your lung and throat pain already, but the meds they gave you were thankfully a little stronger.

The not-so-friendly agents were assessing whether you were a threat or not to the safety of the American people, but once it was clear your story had no flaws and that you were powerless, they reluctantly gave you proper papers to go about your business until someone—perhaps the new Avengers (whoever they were)—could figure out a way to get you back to your world. Considering this Earth has had its fair share of run-ins with people from other Earths already, your presence wasn’t exactly a surprise.

Still, even after you were freed from government custody, you could feel their eyes on you, scrutinizing your every move. The government was only waiting for the slightest slip-up. It was nice to know you were never alone, even on a different planet.

When Valentina Allegra de Fontaine hears about you, she feels like she struck gold.

Experienced hero plucked right from her earth and dropped right onto this one. All alone and surely in need of some familiar environments—a new home even.

While the Avengers weren’t not getting along, things weren’t exactly smooth sailing either. With the public not exactly accepting them as the new Avengers with open arms, Valentina needed something to bring them some credibility. And now, she thinks she’s found her something.

Immediately, she has Mel reschedule all her meetings that day, so that she could arrange one with you. Shouldn’t be too hard to convince a hero to be a hero now, can it?

It was apparent by your poorly restrained eye rolls and that smile of yours—if you could even call it that—that you were unimpressed by her. But she keeps that grin on her face as she explains to you how helpful your set of skills would be to her and her freshman team, the Avengers.

“With your abilities and prior experience with teamwork as part of the Tights—“

“—Titans.”

She presses her lips together in a sickeningly sweet smile as she corrects herself, “Titans, you’ll be a wonderful fit for my team. None of them have ever been on a team like this before, so it would just be lovely if you could show them a thing or two.”

“Haven’t they been working together for almost a year now? I’ve seen articles.”

Her eyes crinkle again. Valentina nods. “Yeah, but I’m sure you know how it is,” she says with a quiet chuckle.

“I don’t, actually,” you deadpan.

As always, she keeps her head held high, her calm hands sat in her lap. “Well, please consider the offer. I’ll add a generous bonus to it just for you.”

“I don’t need your money, Ms. Fontaine,” you tell her, crossing your arms. “I’d like to go home.”

She kisses her teeth. She’s the one correcting you this time, “De Fontaine.”

You know a bitch when you meet one, but then she offers to fund research for getting you back onto your world if you’ll take a place on the team. Valentina has finally hit the jackpot.

You didn’t like joining teams after they have formed. Not great for bonding when people have already built and burned their bridges, but since you had nothing better to do, you tentatively agree to work with them temporarily while some scientists, and now hers, figure out how to get you home.

Valentina feels like she’s won, but she’s shaking your hand and congratulating you, “Welcome to the Avengers, Batgirl.”

From the news articles you’ve read about the Avengers, New Avengers, B-vengers, whatever… it seems like the public is kinda hot-and-cold with them right now. You wonder if Valentina really believes you’ll boost their ratings.

While you’re not expecting the warmest of welcomes from a team who appears to be a bunch of random people with cool abilities stuck together in Rapunzel’s tower, this is definitely more unpleasant than you had expected it to be.

It also sounds like Valentina just shared with them the news from the obvious apprehension they regard you with.

The elevator ride had been awkwardly long getting up here (which you’re unfortunately used to, considering Bruce likes his Batcaves way below the surface), and now it’s somehow even more awkward. Mel, Valentina’s personal assistant, had been kind to you from the get-go, but you doubt you could trust anybody who willingly works for a monster like Valentina. You also came across the videos of her impeachment trial on YouTube while trying to make sure your favorite creators were also on this Earth.

The woman with the short bleached blonde hair, who you assume is the team’s leader by her assertiveness, tells you her name. Her gaze is reasonably wary but not entirely unkind. Yelena, you learn. The British woman on her left is Ava, also known as Ghost. (Cool name. Thanks.) The man wearing the silly beret is John Walker—Captain America. The giant on Yelena’s right (You heard her call him dad.) is Alexei Shostakov, who boisterously introduces himself as the Red Guardian. He grows twice as excited when he finds out you speak Russian (Лена, he gasps, ты слышишь?), among many other languages. Briefly, Yelena explains that there’s another member, but he won’t return until around six p.m. since Congress closes at five.

You pause to stare at them. “You have a Congressman on this team? Is that even like…? There’s gotta be some conflict of interest there, right?” Each of them shrug at you, clearly never having questioned it before. “Right?”

Christ.

“And we can’t forget,” Alexei starts with a big, toothy smile, holding his palm out towards the person lounging in the chair by the giant window—Is that not a security concern?—“Bob.”

“Bob?” you echo.

They all look at you, nodding. “Bob.”

The man in said chair sits up a little straighter before he meets your eyes with a sheepish smile, returning your little introductory wave. He sets his book down, pretending like he wasn’t already paying attention to this little meet-and-greet going on. Quickly, you realize it’s your turn and lamely introduce yourself to the group.

“Your hero name is… Batgirl?” John snorts.

You glare at him, retorting, “What’s so funny, Captain America?”

Yelena and Ava snicker at each other beside you, murmuring, “Off-brand.”

He huffs, looking at everyone. “Well, fuck you guys.”

“Well, I’d rather not,” you answer, giggling.

“Oh, very funny. Very mature.”

“Don’t mind him. He’s just an asshole,” you hear Bob whisper, having shuffled behind you.

You smile. “Oh, really? Couldn’t tell. Thanks.” You explain to the team, “The name Batgirl is special—it was given to me, and now, since they probably think I’m dead, it will be passed down from me to someone else.”

Yelena says thoughtfully, “Oh, like Captain America… but officially.”

“I was the official Captain America!” John cries out with indignation, throwing his arms up in the air.

“Tell us more,” encourages Alexei. “Is your world much different from ours?”

John quickly gives you a once-over and then interrupts you before you can even open your mouth, “Why not Batwoman?”

“Taken.” You shrug. “I got comfortable. Didn’t really ever feel like I needed to change just yet. But I guess I’m not a teenager anymore.” You let out a quiet chuckle and gesture to Alexei. “And to answer your question, besides several major cities not existing here, not really.” You shrug. “I think the main differences are people… like the heroes and criminals.” You gesture back-and-forth, saying, “We have Batman, you have Iron Man. We have Superman, you have Captain America. I think those are comparable, I’m not exactly sure.”

“Since you’re Batgirl,” John begins inquisitively and not good-naturedly, “there a Batboy, Batdude, Batguy… too?”

You naturally glare at him. “It’s Robin.” Nightwing now, actually.

“Oh, keeping up with the small, flying animal thing,”—he nods thoughtfully—“I see.”

Asshole.

“Ignore him; he just kind of talks,” Ava says, rolling her eyes.

In your lifetime of crime-fighting, there have been plenty of missions gone sideways. But this one? This one definitely takes the cake for being the worst.

“No one even thought to bring a screwdriver?” There was one in your toolkit, granted, it was the one you lost when you slipped through the cracks of the multiverse.

Walker grunts, readying his shield. “Why can’t we just smash it?”

“You can’t break it,” you say for the third time, holding out your palm to stop him, “or we all die.”

“Well, we’ll die anyway if we don’t get out of here.”

“I mean, yeah, just a lot more slowly.”

No wonder Valentina was desperate (She’d never admit to that.) to get you on her little team of heroes. They were a disaster. By some grace of all the higher powers in life there were (You actually knew a few.), you all managed to get out alive and, relatively, unscathed.

“After this,” you say with a strong huff and after a few untimely coughs, “remind me to buy a nice set of tools for each of us.”

The ride home isn’t too bad though. Alexei started a mixtape for them even before your arrival because the silence got a little awkward. And there’s only so much a super soldier can do to keep spirits high. With some enthusiasm, you add a few of your own songs to the playlist, feeling a bit more at home with this team of outcasts turned family.

“Where are you headed?” Walker asks, watching you walk towards the exit, still clad in your suit.

Everyone else was now in their civilian clothing for the night, grateful to shed away their suits for something more comfy after a full day’s mission. And yeah, you all almost died. But that was really just another Tuesday.

“Nightly patrol,” you answer, stopping in front of the elevator. Standing near the air conditioner, your black cape continues to flow. (While Walker would never admit it aloud, it looks seriously cool.) The elevator’s up arrow indicator lights up. “It’s been awhile since I’ve done it, and I need to learn the street names.” Their confused stares grow uncomfortable quickly, forcing you to ask, “What? You guys don’t do patrols?”

Everyone looks around at each other, before shaking their heads with a collective “No.”

“So what… you only do missions?”

“I mean…” Yelena begins, a thoughtful look taking over her face, “yeah.”

“The hell you guys even do around here then?” You chuckle, stepping into the opening elevator, offering them a playful wave goodbye. The alone time would be a relief.

Wayne Enterprises and Wayne Foundation galas, you were no stranger to. After being a friend of the family for more than half your life now, you knew how to smile at the camera and talk some snobby but loaded people into donating to your charities. Although not only a charity gala, but also an entire event dedicated to your inauguration into the Avengers, you still slipped into your socializing mode easily.

Thank Jesus, Valentina thinks as she watches you charm some old money bags. Two dozen reporters had hounded her on her way inside the venue, shouting their questions:

Is she not a liability? She could be lying about her past.

Why would another world’s hero help protect ours? She didn’t grow up here! She’s practically an alien!

Well, Thor was also an Avenger, she pointed out, shutting the reporter up. But maybe he gets more leeway because he’s a man.

But finally, an Avenger with some damn media training that wouldn’t embarrass themselves and her like the other losers. Even Congressman Barnes couldn’t compete, which was as pathetic as it was sad.

The glass of the champagne you’ve been barely sipping has grown grossly warm under your tight grip. Honestly, you just needed something to hold to keep your hands busy. After an entire hour of meeting high profile guests, you desperately need a break. It would be suspicious if you took another trip to the restroom though, so you opt for walking around, pretending like you have somewhere to be, people to charm. That always works, doesn’t it?

On your second stroll around the venue, you catch a stray six-foot man lurking around Yelena like a lost puppy. “Hey,” you greet them. “Enjoying the party?”

“It’s nice, yeah,” Yelena answers, lifting up her champagne glass, clinking it against yours before taking a sip. “Good alcohol. And congratulations.”

“Thanks.” You chuckle softly, taking a small sip yourself. “Didn’t take you for a champagne girl.”

She shrugs playfully, smiling at you. “I’m full of surprises.”

“What about you, Bob?” you ask, glancing at him with a teasing glint in your eye. “You a champagne kinda girl?”

A soft laugh falls from Bob’s mouth as his head shakes. “No, unfortunately not.” He scratches the back of his head, continuing, “Been sober for awhile now.”

“Oh, I see. That’s great. That takes more strength than people think.” With your shoulder, you nudge his, smiling kindly. “This your first gala?”

“Uh, no, it’s my second… We had to attend one for the Avengers’ six-month anniversary or something.”

“Jesus, you have anniversary parties?”

He chuckles, nodding. “Valentina’s idea.”

“I figured.” Your eyes scan around the room before meeting Bob’s once more. “You enjoy these things?”

He pauses for a moment, considering whether or not to be truthful. After seeing no harm in it—you’ve been way nicer than any of the other people he’s met—he answers truthfully, “Not really.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

“Really? You’re really good at talking to these people though. I saw you earlier, and you seemed so…”

“Comfortable?” you add helpfully.

He nods.

“I’m just a master in the art of bullshit,” you joke. “After four-five-hundred of these, it starts to get a little easier.”

“Only three-hundred ninety-eight more to go, then.”

“Don’t worry, Bob, as the resident gala expert, I’ll keep you company. You’re in safe hands.” Abandoning your champagne flute, you link your arm with his. “You mind joining me for my third stroll around the place?”

Neither of you had noticed Yelena slip away from the two of you, and when you did, you didn’t acknowledge it either.

There’s some surprise evident on his handsome features, as if he’d expected you to leave him to the wolves here with Yelena gone. But he smiles back at you and says, “Not at all.”

“You ever gotten Bob the Builder?” you ask after about ten minutes of mindless conversation and making fun of some of the silly-looking guests in their extravagant dresses and thousand-dollar Rolexes.

“No, not yet.” He shakes his head.

You lift your hand over your mouth, which lets out an excited gasp at his admission. “I’m the first?”

“You’re the first,” he echoes back. The corners of his mouth curl up into a smile at your enthusiasm.

A sound of delight forms from your lips. “I like being the first, Bob the Builder.” You pause to meet his gaze, asking sincerely, “You don’t mind it, right?”

“No,” he says truthfully. Not from you, he doesn’t add.

“Oh, no. Four o’clock, incoming,” you whisper into his ear, which nearly makes him shiver—thankfully, it doesn’t. “I’ll lead. Take notes, alright?”

There’s an elderly couple heading straight towards you with pleasant visages, cooing at how nice the two of you look. You accept the compliment with ease, and the pair unknowingly follow your expert lead into the conversation. It’s kind of magic how you manage to hit all your marks: your newfound place on the team, charity, and a hopeful future for the city and the world. Beat for beat.

“That was pretty awesome,” Bob tells you once you’ve parted from the lovely couple.

“And what’d you learn, Bob?”

“I need to become as pretty as you.”

You blink a few times, flattered by the sincerity in his words. “That’s sweet of you,” you thank him, smiling down at your feet. “Thanks.”

Maybe it’s only now that Bob realizes what’s just come out of his mouth because his cheeks redden, almost becoming as red as the wine being served next to you. “It’s nothing,” he replies, smiling coyly. “Did you see the cake yet?”

“The giant one with my face printed on it?” You cringe outwardly. “Yeah, yeah, I did. Could’ve used a better picture though,” you mutter, tongue poking your cheek.

“I think you look nice.”

Your lips press together tightly, appreciative of his reassuring words. “Thanks, Bob. I’ve never really been celebrated like this before… It’s kind of weird. Birthday parties are one thing, but this? This is something else entirely, y’know? I didn’t even get to pick any of these decorations, or the flavor of the cake—honestly, I don’t even like it. Valentina’s event planners arranged everything. I didn’t choose the charity either… Well, I shouldn’t be complaining. This isn’t really even for me. It’s for the team…”

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be able to enjoy it.” He then says pointedly, “It’s your face on the cake.”

“I guess…” You press your lips together before inwardly groaning. “Oh, some more investors are coming our way. I won’t make you sit through this one too. See you later?”

He nearly protests, but the words die on his tongue as he watches you blend back into the crowd, slipping so effortlessly into your charm-the-pants-off-rich-people-for-charity persona.

It’s not for another hour that you see Bob again. Your eyes were automatically searching for him in the crowd as you were speaking to some CEOs or whatever. You felt a little bad for leaving him alone, but he probably went looking for Yelena. But then you spot him walking your way with a white box clutched tightly in his hands.

“Hey, I found you,” he says softly, like he’s been looking for you his entire life. Your throat tingles. He slips the box into your hands, watching you open it with hopeful eyes. “Since it’s your party and all, I knew you couldn’t leave. But no one would notice if I stepped out for a moment, so I went out to a bakery a couple blocks away and got you a slice of cake you’ll actually want to eat.”

Your favorite flavor of cake sits right in your palms, putting a smile of awe on your face. “And it doesn’t have my face on it,” you say, chuckling quietly.

Teasingly, he points his thumb back towards the entrance and says, “I could always go back and—“

“No, oh my God.” You laugh sweetly. “But wow, thank you, Bob. Let me pay you back for it—“

“No, no—it’s okay. It’s nothing, really. I just thought you should at least get a cake you like.”

Holding it tightly to your chest, you admit to him, “I did notice you were gone.”

“Yeah?”

“I was looking for you,” you begin sheepishly. “My star pupil disappeared on me. I thought you went back to the tower, honestly. I wouldn’t have blamed you. I wanna be back in my bed right now.”

“Well… I didn’t.”

“You didn’t.” Kissing your teeth, you offer, “You wanna share this cake with me, Bob the Builder?”

At his shy acceptance, the two of you make it out of that suffocating party together, sitting on the steps out back to take turns eating the cake with the single fork Bob had retrieved—he had only gotten it for you, but he doesn’t quite mind this, nor the fork that’s stained slightly by the pretty color off your lips.

“Are these team building weekends really necessary?” you hear John ask from behind you, stepping off the jet, his bag slung around his shoulder.

You turn your head to raise your eyebrows at him. “You really complaining about a free vacation?”

“Well, we could be doing some actual Avengers work right now.”

“I think we’re allowed a break every once in awhile. We’ve been on mission after mission for the last few months. And frankly, a beach chair and a good book are calling my name right now. C’mon, Bob, book club isn’t gonna start itself.” You pull the willing brunet towards the beach house to claim first pick of rooms.

“Walker,”—Alexei slaps him on the back hard, almost causing him to tumble down the stairs—“only you would complain about beach vacation.”

John tries to shrug him off. “I’m not complaining—we should just be doing field work now.”

“You’re so lame,” Ava remarks with a smirk as she walks in direction you and Bob were headed.

“She’s right,” Yelena adds monotonely, following the rest of the group. “You are so boring, Walker.”

John huffs indignantly, adamantly denying the accusations being thrown at him. “I’m just thinking of the team!” He watches them all walk towards the beautiful, multimillion dollar beach house. Perhaps, it wouldn’t hurt to enjoy a day or two. They’re already out here anyway.

“Do you like the book I got you the other day?” you ask Bob once you’ve claimed your room—the view was arguably the best one in the place. “You were reading it on the way here.”

He nods, lifting it up for you to see. There’s a bookmark neatly wedged in between some pages where he left off at earlier. “Yeah, yeah, it’s good. I’m almost finished.”

“Great. Which room did you end up picking?”

“Oh, just… the one right here.” He points to the room next to yours.

“Hey, we’re neighbors.” You playfully elbow him. “I’m gonna go change, and then we can head to the beach, alright? See you in a bit.”

He offers you a small wave as you disappear into your room, leaving him behind in the hallway.

“Watch out, lover boy, coming through,” John grunts, hauling his bag past him. A soldier should always pack light, but he’s also prepared for whatever comes their way, so he brought most of his weapons.

“What?” Bob splutters.

“Yeah, I mean, if you wanna be a little more discreet about it, then I’d suggest stop making eyes at her.”

“I don’t—“

“As much as it pains me to agree with Walker, he’s right,” Yelena admits, crossing her arms. “But you guys are cute.”

“Sickeningly,” Ava comments, walking up the staircase.

“So very cute.” Alexei nods enthusiastically in agreement, continuing, “You two are like Romeo and Juliet.”

Bob groans internally, clutching the book you gifted him a little tighter. Was almost everyone aware of his little crush on you now?

Ava cocks her head, narrowing her eyes at Alexei. “You do know they kill themselves at the end?”

“I really don’t…” Bob mumbles, offering them all a nervous smile, “it’s not like that.”

“I don’t see any reason not to go for it.” Bucky shrugs, giving him a tight-lipped smile. “She seems pretty into you too.”

Okay, so everyone was aware.

Little did they know, you were hurling up some blue Salvias into your toilet. Right before you flush, you whisper a quick prayer that the toilet pipes don’t get clogged. Out of the various types of flowers your lungs have grown, you hate the long ones the most. They take way too much time to come up and make your throat all itchy. The only good thing about this one was that it was thornless.

There was something sweet about watching the team relax—Well, not stress over dying a painful death because volleyball was not exactly relaxing.—over a game of volleyball. The weather was perfect, hot but not overly so, making the wind feel fantastic as it came through. The smell of the seawater would waft towards you as it did, and it was pretty damn relaxing. You and Bob were sitting under the shade of a beach umbrella, reading your respective novels. After a match or two, Ava taps out to go enjoy the views, forcing Yelena to come and persuade you or Bob to join in on their little game.

You shake your head. “I wanna finish this,” you tell her. “It just started to ramp up.” Turning to your book club buddy, you encourage him with a gentle nudge. “But you should go.”

While Dick Grayson carries your heart (and your life, both unbeknownst to him) on his person, it’s not like you couldn’t appreciate a pretty person. And boy is Bob Reynolds pretty. He got hot easily, so he had quickly ditched his shirt after a few minutes of sitting and reading. It’s been awhile since you’ve wanted to chew your knuckles over the sight of a deliriously beautiful man before, and you think you’ve maybe read fifteen pages in the last hour out here. And because you also want to finish your novel in a timely, decent manner, you shoo him kindly over to the others.

Bob has never played volleyball a day in his life.

Once he gets the rules explained to him, he catches on easily and does pretty well for himself and his team (Yelena). Perhaps it was a mistake to send him off to play volleyball. Your eyes keep wandering over to him and his abs that apparently miraculously appeared because of the Project Sentry serum. Curse you for having needs, you suppose. Bob is your friend, you remind yourself, feeling worse that you could be thinking such impure thoughts about someone who’s so quickly gained your friendship.

Only over his dead body would he confess such a thing, but after seeing you in your swimsuit earlier, Bob had to make a hasty and shameful trip to his bathroom.

You had fallen asleep next to Bob while watching his third favorite movie, your head laying right on his fluttering chest. But when he wishes you good dreams that night, he forgets—just for a moment—about the Void. So when he slips into the same darkness, he opens his eyes, only to see someone who looks an awful lot like you. While he stumbles a little closer to watch, it just takes him another moment before he realizes it is you.

The long white hallways tell him they’re in a hospital, but it’s not you who is injured. You’re standing up, rubbing your hand down someone’s back as he paces along the white tiled floors. Bob can make out your puffy eyes, but there are no tears in sight, only from the man you’re attempting to console.

“She’ll be fine, Dick,” you say softly, taking his hand into yours to kiss his knuckles. The sight makes Bob uncomfortable, but he’s not sure why it does when you’re only trying to console someone. “Babs is strong. You know that as well as I do.”

He blinks, and suddenly, you’re on your knees in the bathroom, violently throwing up. Was that a flower petal? They’re still in the hospital, considering the fluorescent and obscenely bright lights. He hadn’t spotted you earlier, but now he could clearly see you watching your own memory yourself before quickly shooting up from his very real bed to empty your stomach into his trash can.

But you don’t make it in time and something blue and red makes it cruel path out of your esophagus and onto his floor. He quickly realizes the red is blood, but the blue… is a flower? Bob appears, reasonably, horrified at the sight of what had just crawled its bloody way up and out of your throat moments ago.

It has been awhile since you’ve thrown up flowers, but you think it’s because you haven’t been around Dick in awhile. But while he may not be physically present on this earth, it’s obvious he still lives in your every memory.

Bob’s index finger shoots out, pointing directly at the flower on his floor. His other hand come ups to cover his mouth in attempt to stifle his own potential projectile reaction. “What—what is that?”

“A flower,” you cough, wiping your mouth of blood.

“How the fuck did you cough up a fucking flower?”

“I’m dying.” The confession comes out so easily, and you blame Bob for being such a disarming person. He’s now seen your world through your memories. He’s almost been there since day one.

He doesn’t know whether he should laugh or not, so he waits for you to crack a smile or show any sign of amusement after that. You do nothing but stare at him.

“How?”

“Love.” You continue with a defeated shrug, “I’m dying because the guy I love doesn’t return my feelings.”

“You can die from that?”

“On my world, you can. It’s rare but possible.”

“And you…?”

You nod.

He glances down once more to the mess on his floor that you’ll try to clean up later with embarrassment running through your bones, but he’ll help you despite your protests and apologies. He always will. “Does it hurt?”

You wipe your lips with the back of your hand. “Not anymore. You get used to the feeling. And well, I’ve also been stabbed. Like a lot.”

He can’t help but stare, unable to say any words of sympathy. He wants to, believe him, but they don’t come as easy as he would like. “Is he… the one from…?”

You nod pathetically. “Dick Grayson. Bestest friend in the world—my world.”

“You’d think after becoming literally invincible, you wouldn’t be so afraid of heights anymore,” you tease Bob, whose shaky eyes are trained far away from the side of the tower beneath your dangling legs.

He swallows, barely giving a glance down. “Yeah, I’m still not so great with heights,” he tells you sheepishly.

“That’s a shame. I’d have loved to show you some rooftop parkour on one of my patrols. You could’ve kept me company. For a bit, at least. I know you aren’t… ready.” You kick your feet in the air a little as you continue, “I suppose your suit wasn’t really made for that anyway. You might trip on your little cape.”

“Don’t laugh.” Bob pouts.

“I’m—”—you wheeze—“—not.”

He scoffs at you, playfully nudging your shoulder. “Sure you aren’t. And don’t you have a cape too?”

You’re laughing so hard that you double over, clutching your stomach. “Well, it’s shorter, and I also have like over ten years of experience—shit, am I really that old now?”

“Mhm.”

“Oh, shut up,” you mumble, calming down from your fit of giggles.

The air grows quiet between you, but it remains serene. Well, you suppose it’s as quiet as New York gets at night. Less traffic, less honking, less stress. From a rooftop nearby the two of you snuck onto, you can see the skyline clearly. The window lights, which twinkle like a million tiny stars, are breathtaking. It’s a peace neither of you have felt in a long time, sometimes one you can barely afford with a life like yours. It feels like everything you say would just disappear into the air, but you also know the other will hold onto it if asked. So you’re grateful for this and for Bob, who never ever takes and only gives—perhaps even too much. And maybe it’s time for him to take something of yours.

Your voice sounds so small when you hear the words out loud for the very first time. “I don’t think I wanna be Batgirl anymore…”

Bob stares at you with wide eyes, spluttering, “You wanna quit?”

“It’s not that,” you explain. “I mean, I did quit for awhile after I started showing signs… I could barely look at Dick without coughing up rose petals from my lungs, but I just. I think I wanna be my own thing now, y’know? I wasn’t the first Batgirl, and I certainly won’t be the last… I just—I’d like to choose who I’m going to be this time.”

“I get that. When Valentina…” He gestures vaguely around himself. “When she made me into the Sentry, I didn’t get to choose any of it. The team told me after I lost my memory of what happened… that day last year. She came up with the name, gave me the suit and cape, told me what to do. And then, the Void happened… and now, I’m here.”

“Well, if it means anything to you, I think Bob is pretty great,” you say with a tiny, lop-sided smile.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Batgirl is pretty cool too, I guess—hey!” He rubs his arm where you whacked him before continuing with a pointed tone, “I was going to say, ‘Batgirl is pretty cool too, but whoever you want to be, I think I’ll like her too.’”

“You really think so?”

“I know so.”

It seems otherworldly fortuitous when a nightingale flies by, perching itself on the edge of the same rooftop you two were sat on.

You’re sitting on the arm of Bob’s lounging chair, peering over his shoulder to watch a YouTube video on setting up your new IKEA bookshelf on his phone.

“Does somebody have a flower garden in their room?” You and Bob glance up from his chair at Alexei, who’s holding a… familiar-looking trash bag. He picks up a handful of the flowers, stained with your blood but rinsed in case of something like this. “I must say these are beautiful. Very pretty. Shouldn’t be thrown out.” To your horror, Alexei begins to place all the intact flowers across the kitchen counters and the living room.

Bob’s sympathetic eyes are already on you when your gaze reaches his.

“I’m gonna kill myself,” you grumble, groaning quietly to yourself and Bob. “The one time I don’t take the trash out immediately.”

He tentatively places his hand over yours, making you look back at him again. A faint smile appears on your face, but it’s there.

You wake up early the next morning to quickly dispose of the flowers around the common spaces yourself, only to find them already gone. Weird, you think before spotting Bob in his usual relaxation spot. No one else was up yet. He’s relaxing in his chair by the window, reading another one of the books you recommended him. And you can’t help but smile a little, your heart feeling a tad warmer.

The day the itch in your throat—the one you’ve come to accept as second nature, is gone, you think is the day you will die. You had long since accepted your sentence, the terms and conditions you failed to read when you fell in love with bright-eyed and bushy-tailed Robin what feels like lifetimes ago now. So when your throat suddenly clears for the first time in years, you think it will be your last day on this Earth and the only other one you’ve ever known.

You’ve heard the stories… they say it hurts, or it feels cathartic. Those like you eventually all come to accept their fates as you have, but when you wake up the next morning and each one after that, you don’t know how to feel anymore.

After a few days, you show up to the leading team of doctors hired specifically by Valentina to keep her new Avengers alive. They knew about your condition since all your lung x-rays came back with a giant plant root wound painfully around your lungs. You were a medical wonder to them, and unfortunately, it also meant that the only information they had on your disease was well… from you. So when you didn’t die like you were supposed to, they were frankly just as puzzled as you were.

There were only two known ways to get rid of your ailment besides dying: one was to have your feelings returned by your unrequited love, the other was to surgically cut out the root from your lungs. The operation was highly experimental and highly risky. Those who have made it out alive have either lost their ability to feel love for their unrequited or for anybody altogether. In cases, that you’d argue were worse than death itself, some of them came out incapable of feeling any kind of emotion. To you, that would be losing your humanity. And how could you let go of that when you’ve seen what it’s done to others?

Scarecrow, Two-Face, the Joker.

It’s not for awhile that you realize your heart doesn’t stutter at the thought of Dick anymore, doesn’t clench and make that itch in your throat form a cough. But when exactly did you stop feeling that way about him?

Bob appears at your cracked door, knocking the frame with a gentle smile. “Wanna help me with breakfast?”

You glance over at him from your television—it’s playing Doctor Who, a show you’re grateful transcends the bounds of space—and nod. The smile you return him makes his grow a little brighter as you shuffle towards him to follow your somewhat daily routine.

“I know you clicked ‘Leave at door’, but I’ve got ice cream, some pastries, and a Pride & Prejudice Blu-ray for delivery, and I didn’t want your little kit to get stolen,” announces a voice through your door.

You snort, calling out, “I’m reporting you!” You twist the doorknob, finding Dick on the other side with an easy grin.

“Reporting me?” He gasps, clutching the items closer to his chest. “I’m just making sure these make it safely to their recipient. There are some hungry thieves out here, y’know,” he whispers, eyes shifting to a certain speedy ginger who happens to walk by at this particular moment.

You giggle, stepping aside for him to enter your room. “Gimme gimme.” You make grabby motions with your hands, trying to get him to hand you a pastry.

“Magic word?”

A groans slips out of your mouth before you begrudgingly mumble, “Please, Dick?”

“What was that?”

“Don’t push it.”

“You’re not going on patrol with me like… ever.” You scoff in disbelief at John, shaking your head.

“What?” He puffs, adjusting the beret on his head. “Why not? It’s boring here, and I just got my handgun fixed up.”

“Besides that alarming statement, you killed an innocent man in broad daylight…”

“Innocence is a matter of perspective.”

“No, Walker.”

“But it’s my turn to pick the movie tonight,” you grumble.

“Except it’s a stupid movie,” retorts John.

“Pride & Prejudice is not a stupid movie. It’s literally one of the cult classics! You made us watch Die Hard twice.”

“Also a cult classic—The first time was for the experience, and the second for Christmas.”

You scoff. “We’re watching Pride & Prejudice.”

The entire team was hesitant to watch the film at first, but throughout it, there were many tears shed… mostly by Alexei, although he tried to deny it, blaming the wind and dust. (You were inside.) Still, you could tell the others are enjoying it—even Walker, who was trying to pretend otherwise. Somewhere along the line, there was a joke or two about how Bucky—being as old as Jane Austen—should’ve played Mr. Darcy, garnering some snickers and a long sigh.

While Bob was definitely, totally paying attention to the movie, he seemed to be more interested in your expressions as you rewatched it for probably the billionth time. Even so, you were still completely captivated by it, smiling like a little kid. He watched you mouth some of the lines you’d known by heart to yourself. Eventually, he felt a tap on his shoulder, making him look back at Yelena.

While the others are absorbed into the movie, she whispers in his ear, “I know you like her, Bob, but the staring is getting creepy.”

He blushes and reduces his glances to once every five minutes instead.

You’re not sure how to bring it up—the rest of the Thunderbolts (Alexei filled you in on their temporary namesake before they became the Avengers, and then he and Yelena got into an argument about who was the actual sponsor of her Little League team.) aren’t even aware you’ve been dying. It’s great news, however, you’re not dying from unrequited love anymore! Still, you should probably tell Bob, the only person who was aware of your condition. But it had just felt unnatural to bring it up in any of your recent conversations.

Despite this, Bob does notice a change in you. Your face looks visibly brighter, and your body stronger. Your coughs went away almost completely, only occurring when someone is smoking outside or there’s construction pollution. He wonders if the disease that’s plagued you has realized you were too precious of a life to make a true victim. Because, to be frank, Bob has no idea what he’d do without you.

While the Thunderbolts understood pain and suffering, none of it could be considered normal. Child assassin, child experiment, super soldier, super asshole, Alexei. Not to say you had a normal childhood—you became a superhero as a freaking teenager, but your traumas were similar to his: dysfunctional family, depression, insecurities rooted so deeply into your being, you couldn’t get away from it. Although he and Yelena were close, you just got him. You clicked. You didn’t have to explain your feelings because the other always understood.

He never once felt like you looked through him. And whenever you smile at him, laugh with him, Bob feels some kind of euphoria. It’s better, cleaner than any high he’s ever gotten from meth and the like. Perhaps it’s not the most appropriate metaphor to make as a former addict (Nearly 1.5 years sober!), but he thinks he wants to stay high off of you.

He feels too anxious not to ask, so one night, he ends up at your door, knocking gently. Moments later, you open the door. “Oh, hey. What’s up?”

Bob clears his throat. “Just wanted to check in. Haven’t seen you all day.”

“You saw me at dinner,” you remind him, teasingly. You step aside, and he immediately shuffles into your room while you close the door behind him. “Something the matter, Bob?”

He’s not sure how to ask, so he just rips off the bandaid before he can chicken out. “Are you… feeling better now?”

It’s the most he can say it without actually saying it, but like always, you just understand.

“Oh, that…” You bite your lip, nodding slowly. “I am, actually. I think it might be gone.”

You can see his shoulders sag in relief, and he nearly envelops you in a hug. You catch the twitch of his body, as if it aches to be closer to yours. Yours makes the same kind.

“Good, great… I mean, that’s wonderful.”

You return his smile, echoing his sentiment. “It is. I’m just hoping that it clearing up isn’t some weird sign that I’m gonna spontaneously die. That would suck.”

“Don’t say that,” he grumbles. “I don’t really wanna think about that… You said it should go away once the feelings are returned or disappear, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“So that means…”

“Uh-huh.” You bite your tongue gently. “I guess being away from him helped with that. Only took being on an entirely different planet though…” You both release a small chuckle at that. “I knew he was never going to… But back then, I couldn’t really imagine anyone being better than him. But you know, I suppose that’s what best friends are for… What is it?”

A thoughtful little frown has settled onto Bob’s face. “What if he feels the same way about you, and that’s why you don’t have it anymore?”

“I guess I just know. You ever felt your heart beat for someone else?” Your hand presses against your chest, directly over it. “It’s, like, out of your control—and it squeezes up. But in a good way. That doesn’t happen when I think of him anymore.”

Bob knows that all too well.

You had never felt more alive than you did the day you put on the Batgirl suit.

Black, reinforced fabric fitted perfectly to you—the esteemed yellow bat symbol stitched proudly over your chest. Next to you, a cute boy with forest green combat boots and a little yellow ‘R’ over his heart. Playfully, he tugs on your cape.

There was nothing more freeing than feeling the wind in your face, slipping through your fingers as you leap from one rooftop to another with your best friend. Childish laughter fills the air as you start your patrol for the night.

At first, you were hesitant to make that first leap onto the next building. But then a kind hand reached out with an encouraging smile to match, guiding you onto the other side. His yellow cape glimmered gold under the moonlight, luring you to follow him to the edge of the world.

Concrete crumbles around you, the sounds of bombs exploding so loud that they rumble through your chest. Your memory is unfortunately a little foggy, having blacked out for a few moments. Hopefully. Some civilians are in the line of fire of some villains whose names you forget, forcing you to rush to their side to bring them to a safe place. You aren’t even sure what’s safe anymore.

There’s really not much thinking you can do—letting your autopilot run for you, your trained instincts taking the reins until you will eventually drop.

Evade. Save. Dodge. Kick. Jump. Punch.

Most importantly, don’t kill and don’t die.

In your daze of fighting and more fighting, you can barely make out the sounds of fabric ripping over the ringing in your ears and the fresh pain coursing through you. You guarantee there are cuts and bruises all over your face now, which you hope will heal faster and won’t scar like the wounds all over the rest of your body.

Bucky finds you underneath some rumble, struggling to lift it off of yourself, and helps you back to your feet to continue the fight. While Yelena is taking care of one of the people bombing the city, you run towards Ava and John to help them with the other. Alexei is too focused on bringing civilians to safety to notice you disarm the man trying to shoot at him.

Once the threat has been contained, you’re able to mourn the hero suit you’ve worn for the better part of your life. It’s torn in so many places that you can barely recognize it anymore. However, the Bat symbol has been spared and remains intact, as if to tell you your purpose still lives on.

Bob has nearly bitten all of his nails off waiting for you all to return to the tower, especially you. Because he was still technically a civilian, he wasn’t allowed to listen in on your comms. Instead, he anxiously watched the entire battle on the flatscreen in the living room. A few helicopters were circling around the few blocks of the city the destruction was taking place, recording everything.

It is unbearable trying not to pull you into his embrace when the team returns. You’re all headed straight for the med bay to get treated. It seems like you took most of the injuries, much to his horror, but you were the strongest person he knew. You could get through anything.

Your suit has been torn to shreds though. He winces each time he looks at it laying on the table beside you. The dark cape was completely ripped apart, leaving nothing but a few scraps you tried to fruitlessly pick up and take back. But you make light of it, telling him not to worry about it as you sip the warm tea he brought you, made exactly the way you like it. At least you were faring better than the suit.

“I think I was in need of something new anyway,” you muse, licking your lips. “Maybe it’s finally time I spread my wings. I’ve already jumped, or I guess fallen, out of the nest.”

“You pick out a name yet?”

You nod, setting down your cup of tea on the table. “Yeah, I decided awhile ago. You remember that night when we were sitting on that rooftop, and I made fun of your fear of heights?”

The relief that Nightwing feels when he sees that you’re alive and in one piece has him nearly in tears. Is that a new suit you’re wearing? That’s besides the point. The relief that Dick Grayson feels, though? It is immeasurable and shakes his entire body to his very soul. He’s been without his best friend (Sorry, Wally.) for nearly a year now, and to say that it’s been hard or difficult is an entirely gross understatement. He could barely eat or sleep the first few months after you had slipped through the literal cracks in the universe.

He should’ve caught you like he did every other time in your lives. Dick has always been your safety net, and he failed you the one time you needed him most. B told him he doesn’t have to go out on missions for awhile, but Dick needs to bury himself in his work. Not even Kori could console him, but she always tried. And while he appreciated it, he needed to be alone for awhile.

He loved Kori, truly, but his love for you was different. You were each other’s person. It was always you two against the world. (Again, sorry Wally.) Not necessarily in a romantic sense, but you guys were soulmates, completely in tune in every aspect of your lives—on the field and off. As Zatanna liked to put it, twin flames and whatnot.

The hug he pulls you into steals your breath away, bodies shaking. He kisses the top of your head, resting his cheek against it as he listens to you catch him up on everything since you landed on this Earth. If it had been any nicer occasion, he’d be freaking out with you about being on an alternate Earth.

But then you make a confession that’s stealing his breath away.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He looks more distraught than you’ve ever seen him before. There’s a little wrinkle between his eyebrows that you want you smooth out with your thumb like usual. But there’s nothing usual about telling your best friend you were going to suffocate to death because of a rare disease caused by your former love for him.

You breathe out a sad little laugh. “What would that have done?”

“I could’ve helped you—“

“—How, Dick?”

“B knows all the best doctors, he could’ve—“

“Dick…”

“I would’ve done anything to help you.”

You know what he means, and it makes your stomach curl. He is too good for the world. Any of them.

“You can’t force yourself to love me. Or anyone, for that matter.”

“I already do! I could’ve tried!”

You slink your arms around him, wrapping him into your embrace. “Boy Wonder, you can make plenty of miracles happen, but that? I don’t think so. And we both know it’s not that kind of love.”

“I do love you,” he responds defeatedly, melting into your warm, familiar embrace.

“I know you do. I love you too.” It is strange but also cathartic to be able to say that so openly, so honestly. You don’t have to hide it anymore because it’s no longer killing you. “I love you so very much, Grayson.”

A string of apologies fly out of his mouth, but you gently shush him. “You have nothing, and I mean nothing, to be sorry for. It’s not something either of us could’ve controlled. We both know feelings don’t work like that. They’re weird, and they creep up on you out of nowhere—but they also transform. I’m okay now.”

“You could’ve died,” he reminds you, “and it wouldn’t been my fault.”

The only thing you can do is hold him even tighter. “But I’m not dead, and it wouldn’t have been your fault. It’s no one’s fault, Dick.”

It will be a long time before he believes you, but for now, it suffices.

“We should go home soon… I wish we could stay longer, but we don’t know how long we can keep the portal open.” Dick is tugging you gently, but his face then falls at your hesitation. He keeps his arms on you to ground himself.

“Actually, Grayson, I… I think I wanna stay,” you confess.

“Stay?”

“We’ve all felt that—that calling… and I… I think it’s led me here now, Dick. I can’t just leave when these people need a new team who can protect them.”

“But you… you belong with us… with me.”

“I do, but now I belong with them too.” You glance back at the team and Bob, all watching you and Dick from the other end of the helipad. “They’re family now, my third one, I guess.”

“Nobody knows if we can get you back to our world after this.” Dick sniffles, your name so sweet and sad on his tongue. “I don’t want to never see you again…”

“I don’t either, but we’ll hold out hope, alright? If you guys could figure out getting here once, then who’s to say you can’t do it again? I mean, I’m not even the first person to come here from another world. How fucking cool is that? I’ll see you again, Dick. I know it. Don’t you?”

He stares in awe of you for a moment before nodding agreeingly. “I do.” His smile returns. “Wow, I’ve never heard you sound so… optimistic before.”

You sniffle, chuckling through your tears. “I guess I’ve changed since coming here.”

“Yeah, you have, Nightingale,” he teases you.

You let out an ungraceful snort, wiping away your tears with the back of your hand. “Birds of a feather, Nightwing.”

Bob has had almost the entire year to prepare himself for this moment, and yet he still feels like he’s going to throw up at the sight of you leaving for, probably, ever. While your spot on the team was always going to be a temporary thing, he thought that maybe… No, you wanted to go home. And now you were.

The others tried to console him while you were talking to Dick on the helipad, your best friend and the man you almost died over. The tower would feel so empty without you. Who would he cook breakfast with? You were the only one who knew how he liked his eggs. And he was pretty particular about his eggs.

And book club? How’s he supposed to do book club without the club? He thought he enjoyed reading books alone before you joined the team, but getting to talk and laugh and make fun of them with you? And there’s no way he could do it with the rest of the team. He doubts any of them even read.

Instead of disappearing off into the sunset (It was early morning.) with pretty boy Dick Grayson like he thought you would, you turn around and walk back towards them. So this was really it—goodbye.

The words run out of his mouth before he can stop them, and he blurts out a jumbling mess of syllables, “I know it’s selfish, and if you wanna go home, you should, but I don’t think I want you to go—“

Your mouth feels a little dry when you admit, “—I’m not going.”

“W-what?”

“I told Dick I was going to stay here.”

“You did?”

You nod in response. “How could I leave you guys?” Your teeth pull your lip in worry. “How could I leave you?”

“But you’ve been missing home, and I thought…”

“Yeah, I did too. I do miss it, but I’m sure I can go back, I think…” You chuckle nervously. “I hope… But I am home. Here, I mean. I guess somewhere along the line, I got attached to you idiots. And the Avengers need all the help they can get, y’know?”

Your mouth forms all the words, yet it feels like it’s still dancing around what you really should be saying. The confession rests on the very tip of your tongue, threatening to be released out into the world.

“You’re an Avenger too.”

“Yeah.” You chuckle, scratching behind your ear. “Sorry, um, I also wanna tell you… It shouldn’t be this hard. Oh, God, don’t look at me like that—I’m gonna lose my train of thought—“

Never in your life have you been kissed as fiercely or passionately as this. Bob’s mouth slots perfectly against yours, his tongue prodding and prodding until your gasp allows it entrance.

John clears his throat loudly, remarking, “Hey, you guys know we’re still here, right?”

“I don’t know if they care,” Bucky comments, trying not to stare.

“Well finally,” Yelena says, “we’ve been waiting.”

“Took you two long enough,” Ava chimes.

Alexei claps like a proud father. “Oh, this is wonderful! Nightingale is staying, and these two finally figured out they like each other!”

You bury your face into the crook of Bob’s neck, embarrassed by your affectionate display.

“I love you!” you hear Dick Grayson, your best friend in the whole world(s), shout before he does a flip back into the portal home.

“Show-off,” you remark affectionately, tutting.

It’s raining outside today, the sound of the raindrops tranquil. Mindlessly, your fingers run up the back of Bob’s neck (His whole body shivers.) and tangle themselves in soft brown locks. He walks you backwards until the back of your knees hit his bed, and you land on its soft mattress.

He leans back, warm blue eyes meeting your gaze. “This okay?”

“Okay?” you repeat, pecking around his collarbone. “This is more than okay.”

“Okay… Great. That’s great.”

Nervous chuckles escape you both as you begin to undress each other. His shirt lands somewhere on his floor for you to steal later—probably tomorrow morning. You think yours ends up draped over his TV—or maybe it’s your bra—but the way he’s kissing the tops of your breasts is really distracting you from figuring it out.

“It’s been awhile, so… I’m kinda out of practice,” you admit, embarrassed by your little confession.

He lifts his head, shaking it. “Me too. I haven’t… in awhile either.”

The pads of his fingers dance around your waist, skimming past the hem of your pants. You let out an embarrassing whimper from the slightest tap of his fingers against your clit, the only barrier between them the fabric of your underwear.

“You sound really pretty,” he whispers, nibbling on the skin of your shoulder.

A sound between a hum and a whine bubbles out of your lips. “No teasing, please. Not right now.”

His mouth leaves your neck for a split moment. “Okay, no teasing.”

Luckily for you, he means it. And in no time, he has two fingers inside you, stretching your wet cunt out. A warm tongue darts around your sensitive nerves before a pair of lips gently sucks at the flesh. Sometimes, you forget just how strong Bob is, his large hands pressing down onto your thighs to keep them spread open for him with ease. He doesn’t look that strong, but you’ve seen what he hides underneath his shirts and sweaters. A low groan tumbles out of his throat at your fingers tugging his hair, and he whimpers at your sweet, soft whines. He’s making you feel that way, and the thought excites him more than he’d like to admit.

By the time he’s made you come around his fingers and with his mouth, he’s gotten achingly hard and has been bucking his hips into the side of his mattress for any sort of relief. You tug him forward, smashing your lips against his and delight in the taste of your cum on his tongue.

“Need you,” you murmur, whining from sensitivity as Bob continues to circle your clit with his thumb.

Impatiently, you unbuckle his belt and tug down his pants and underwear together with practiced ease, waiting for him to step out of them. He quickly kicks them away before pressing himself back on top of you, eager lips finding yours again.

“You need me?” he asks between sloppy, desperate kisses.

Your teeth tug at the meat of your cheek, chewing with a shyness that he likes seeing on you. “I need you,” you repeat with a small nod.

“Alright, pretty girl. Lay down for me?”

You follow his instructions, and he thinks he could cum solely from the sight of you spread out on his bed for him. He’s already fucked his own fist more times than he can count to the thought of this. He’s praying that it’s not any figment of imagination or some cruel trick of the mind Void is playing—but then again, anything the Void shows never feels this good.

And fuck, do you feel good.

He pumps his length a few times before smearing your cum around your swollen folds to coat himself in your slick. He is already delirious with pleasure, and he hasn’t even been inside of you yet. But when Bob finally slips into you, it’s gentle, and he’s cupping your face so sweetly. You whine as he slowly bottoms out, filling you up until you’re full of him. He’s a lot but not too much, just enough.

“I’ll take care of you, okay, pretty girl?” He feels your tight walls clenching around him, and it takes so much in him not to cum then and there. Slowly, he pulls his cock out of your needy cunt just to slide it back in all the way in one swift motion. “That’s it. You can take it.”

You nod dumbly at his words, feeling your cunt continue to stretch around him. He leans down over you, pressing his warm mouth onto yours. He even tastes like you still.

There isn’t much you can do except cry out his name and hold onto him, nails digging into his back as he fucks himself into you with your legs wrapped tight around his hips—not that he minds any bit. It’s not like you can hurt him, but he’ll end up mourning the scratches you could’ve blessed him with later on. Invulnerability isn’t always a gift.

“You feel so good,” you whisper.

He inhales sharply and jokes, “You should see how you feel.”

Although you’ve been pulsing around him, you need just that little extra push before you can cum. Without much thought—How can you have any when you’re getting fucked like this?—your hand somehow snakes between your bodies, finding your clit with ease.

“Oh, fuck…” he drawls out as you manage to get even tighter around his cock. How was that possible?

Your second release hits you before you can even get the words to come out, your cries filling the room. He realized soon after he got his powers that his stamina never really changed unless he was using his abilities for awhile. And fucking you wasn’t really a superpower—though you are inclined to disagree. Well, it meant that he could continue to thrust into you, drawing out your pleasure until you’re shaking from overstimulation.

Through the haze of probably the best orgasm you’ve ever been given in your life, you vaguely make out his question and answer, “I-inside’s okay.”

After making sure again, Bob finally cums with a last few bucks of his hips, a new delicious warmth filling you inside. Without pulling out, he collapses on top of you, careful not to suffocate you. The mixture of your cum is probably all over his sheets anyway, but you think maybe he just wants to be inside you a little longer.

It nearly makes you cringe, how heavily you’re panting right now—it’s the only thing you can hear. The thought quickly disappears when you feel him place a gentle kiss onto your mouth.

“You okay?”

You’re too fucked out to make any words leave your mouth, so you manage with a little hum.

“I wasn’t too rough with you, was I?” There’s a hint of insecurity that you can detect in his soft, hesitant tone.

Shaking your head adamantly, you can do. You play with his hair while you try to find your voice again. “I wouldn’t let you be rough with me if I didn’t like it,” you whisper, gently pressing your finger into his cheek. “And if you couldn’t tell, I really liked it.”

You also like the smile that makes its way onto his face. It’s a wonder that a man who could do all of that to you could still be blushing crimson at your words right after.

Leaning forward, he nuzzles his nose against yours and asks quietly, “You seriously wanna stay here?”

“Yes, Bob the Builder. I wanna stay here. On this Earth. With you.”

“I’m really glad,” he murmurs against your mouth, an honesty in his words you’ve come to appreciate greatly.

You sing-song a familiar cartoon tune, “Can we stay here?”

Bob snorts, answering, “Yes, we can!”

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” You’re standing next to Bob in your suit, a reassuring expression on your face. “It’s seriously not a big deal, I already do this with Yelena all the time—“

“No, no,” Bob says quickly, waving you off. His bright blue eyes keep darting between you and what’s waiting below off the edge of the building. “I wanna do this.”

“No offense, dude, but you look terrified.”

He nods. “Well, that’s great, because I am.”

You sigh, taking his hand in yours. “And I said you don’t have to. I already appreciate you considering it.”

“I want to,” he tells you with full honesty. “I do. I wanna know if it’s like how you described.”

“Even though you’re scared and squeezing my hand like you aren’t a perfectly safe distance from the edge?”

“Yes.”

You give him your brightest grin. “Just don’t pass out on me, alright? I don’t have super strength, and I will get Alexei to carry you back to the tower by himself.”

#bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds imagine #bob reynolds fluff #bob reynolds angst #bob reynolds smut #robert reynolds x reader #robert reynolds imagine #robert reynolds smut #sentry x reader #sentry imagine #sentry smut #lewis pullman #thunderbolts x reader #thunderbolts imagine #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson imagine #nightwing x reader #nightwing imagine

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immoral-stranger · 5 months ago

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𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐉𝐚𝐧𝐞 𝐆𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐲 // 𝐌𝐕𝟏

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟒. 🪐 “I like to stick to walls. Observing conversations, lifting them when they fall.” – Foster the People, Fire Escape.

Pairing: Max Verstappen x fem!reader

Word count: 5k

Warnings: There's a dinner party and reader is a chef, so a lot of talk about food. Reader is also very self-deprecating. Allusions to issues regarding mental health and self-worth, but it's not really the main story. It makes sense, I promise, I just don't know how to warn about it.

A/N: My sister requested this after we watched the movie Sommartider (very swedish), so there's a similar scene in that. I personally find this one very cute. ♡

The apartment smelled of butter and garlic, the scent clinging to the sun-warm kitchen, filled with light that spilled through the sheer linen curtains. It was small but charming, a snug little nest tucked into the hills of the French Riviera, not too far from Nice. You stood at the counter, hands damp from having peeled potatoes, a half-prepared gratin tray in front of you. It had been a gift from your parents, a fittingly named Marseille bleu Le Creuset roasting pan. You would’ve never bought it for yourself—too expensive—but as a gift, you’d been thankful to receive it.

“Did you decant the wine like I told you?” Imogen’s voice drifted from the other room, where she was preening in front of the gilded mirror you’d picked up at a flea market. It wasn’t her style—too rustic, too worn—but she’d said it added “charm” to your place, always opting for a backhanded compliment instead of the truth. She hated your style because it was the opposite of hers.

You didn’t look up from your work. “No, uhm—”

“Kinda busy,” she interrupted, breezing in. Imogen always moved like she was on a runway, even barefoot in her sister’s modest kitchen. Her hair was swept into a sleek bun, and she wore a silk blouse that you suspected cost more than your entire apartment deposit. Sponsored, most definitely. She paused to eye the tray in front of you. “What even is that?”

“The base to dauphinoise potatoes,” you said, flicking a glance at her. She didn’t care about the answer; she never did. Imogen asked questions to fill the air, not to gather information. You also suspected that she loved the sound of her own voice so much that she never felt the need to shut the fuck up.

She wrinkled her nose, but it was half-hearted, like a habit she wasn’t willing to break. “I still can’t believe you do this out of pure enjoyment.”

You shrugged, lifting a knife to thinly slice another potato. “Everyone needs to eat, Imogen.”

“Yeah, that’s what Uber Eats is for,” she said breezily, perching on one of your barstools. “No need to go to culinary school.”

You turned to give her a pointed look, hand on your hip. “And who do you think works in the kitchens at the restaurants you order from?”

Imogen made a face, part exasperated and part amused, and waved you off. “You do not always have to poke holes in other people’s logic. It’s an unattractive trait.”

Before you could respond, the sharp trill of the doorbell cut through the room. Imogen’s eyes widened, and she hopped off the stool in a single fluid motion. “Oh god, that’s them—” She smoothed her blouse and gave herself a quick glance in the reflection of a hanging copper pot. “Do I look good?”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, but your voice softened in spite of yourself. “You always do. It’s your job.”

As Imogen floated toward the door, a knot of tension twisted in your stomach. It wasn’t jealousy—it never had been. It was more complicated than that: a mix of frustration and yearning that you didn’t want to untangle. Imogen walked through life as though she owned the air around her, while you had spent most of yours holding your breath.

She pulled the door open with a practiced flourish, stepping aside to let Daniel stroll in first. His confidence and laughter preceded him, a quick kiss placed on Imogen’s cheek, and she giggled in a way that made you want to hurl.

Daniel moved with the kind of ease that made it impossible to tell if he was posing or simply existing. Former Formula 1 driver, now Imogen’s on-again, off-again boyfriend, who appeared far more interested in globetrotting and sponsorships than in anything truly meaningful with her. With a bit of self-distance, you actually really enjoyed Daniel’s presence. He was funny and kind, even though you had nothing in common.

“Danny, always good to see you,” you said, managing a polite smile as he stepped into the kitchen, lifting your attention from the food preparations.

“Whatever it is you’re cooking smells wonderful,” he replied, inhaling deeply. “This is Max,” Danny added, stepping aside to reveal the man behind him.

Through a gap, you could spot Imogen in the entryway, observing your reaction and how you greeted the both of them. It was almost like she wanted to make sure you wouldn’t embarrass yourself—or, worse—embarrass her. You, of course, knew who she had invited over for dinner. You’d had to sit through hours worth of gossip all the times you and Imogen caught up on each other’s lives. So, having two world-famous athletes stand in your kitchen wasn’t as surreal as it may sound.

Max was taller than you’d expected, his broad shoulders and quiet presence making the doorway seem smaller. Clad in a simple black t-shirt, he seemed like any other guy your age. He looked relaxed but not indifferent, his gaze curious as he took in your modest apartment.

You raised an eyebrow, unable to resist the rising amusement. “Danny, I don’t know if it’s funny or offensive that you think I don’t know who he is.”

They both chuckled slightly at your words, and it was like you could see how tension released from Imogen’s shoulders, instantly becoming a couple centimeters shorter.

“I would shake your hand, Max, but I have oil all over mine,” you said, holding up your slick fingers as evidence, before returning to the food, dealing with a marinated cut of meat.

“Right,” Danny said, clapping Max on the shoulder and steering him further into the room. “She’s got this whole culinary genius thing going on, doesn’t she? Always smells like a five-star restaurant in here.”

“Not exactly,” you said, though the compliment made your cheeks feel warm. You glanced up at Max, who was still watching you, his smile small but genuine.

“Well, don’t let us interrupt your masterpiece,” Imogen said airily. “We’ll stay out of your way. You’ve got this under control, right?”

You only nodded, turning back to the food. It wasn’t until you heard Imogen’s laughter trailing into the living room that you allowed yourself to relax. There was a faint comfort in being in your element, even if you weren’t entirely alone.

In the background, you heard them talk as Imogen poured up glasses of wine for everyone. The wine she had forgotten to decant—that you knew needed air to taste decent. You heard her talk about the wine like it was something special. You, however, knew that she had stolen all of her knowledge from when she shot an ad for a winery somewhere in South Africa, and it didn’t particularly look like either Max or Danny cared that much. Ironic, for someone who had their own wine company, but you also got tired of hearing Imogen talk about things she didn’t really care enough about to research but talked about anyway to seem interesting.

As she poured the fourth and final glass, you saw Max pick up two of them in your periphery. You tried to not visibly tense up as you heard his steps approach across your creaking wooden floors. He set both the glasses down on your kitchen island with a careful clink.

With a wordless nod, you thanked him, picking one of the glasses up and swiveling the red liquid around to aerate it.

Max lingered near the counter, his hands tucked into his pockets as he studied the array of ingredients you had spread out around you. “Is that you?” he asked, nodding toward a framed photo on the wall.

It was one of the few remnants of your short-lived modeling career—an editorial shot of you, disturbingly close up, showing skin texture and flyaway hairs, vivid watercolour-like makeup in patches around your face and neck. You didn’t even look like yourself in it, which maybe was why it was the only photo of yourself you could bear seeing every day as you spent time in your kitchen.

“Totally narcissistic, I know,” you snorted, keeping your eyes on the frying pan sizzling on the stove.

“No, uhm, I didn’t mean it like that.” Max’s tone softened. “I think it looks cool. You must model too then?”

“Nope.” You shook your head, glancing up at him, surprised by his sincerity. “I mean, I tried to, but I quit a while ago and went to culinary school.”

“That explains all this.” Max said, gesturing to the kitchen.

“I may have gone overboard,” you admitted, laughing softly.

Imogen, perched on the edge of the sofa like a cat surveying her domain, twirled a lock of her hair idly before cutting in smoothly. “Is she boring you with her food talk, Max?” Her voice had that lilting quality you recognized well—equal parts teasing and dismissive, designed to simultaneously charm and belittle.

You stiffened instinctively, your movements freezing, spatula scraping the bottom of the pan.

Max, however, straightened slightly, his casual stance shifting. “Not at all,” he replied, his tone easy but resolute, as if dismissing her suggestion entirely. Then he turned toward you. “Actually…” He hesitated, a small, almost bashful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Can I help with anything?”

“Oh, probably not,” you said, trying to recover from sounding too surprised. “Imogen always says that I’m like a dictator in the kitchen and that my recipes are unreadable.”

Max stepped closer, peering down at your notebook with recipes, pages filled with messy handwriting, arrows, and scratchy diagrams. “No, I get it. It’s like a mind map. Makes it easier to see the process,” he said after a moment. “Even if I don’t know what half of these things mean. What even is… a wild turkey?”

You tilted your head, genuinely surprised that he could make sense of your ramblings. Looking over, you saw his finger point to one ingredient. You let out an unguarded laugh, the sound bubbling out before you could stop it. “It’s bourbon, for the marinade,” you explained. “Does this look like turkey meat to you?”

The meat sizzling in the frying pan was obviously some cut of beef, to judge by the colour. You didn’t need to be a culinary expert to know that.

“No,” Max admitted with a grin. “And it would be weird to measure meat in tablespoons.”

Your lips quirked upward, and you reached for a pear from the fruit bowl beside you, along with a cutting board and a little knife. You were hesitant to give him one of your good knives, worried he’d cut himself the first thing he did. It was quite common for people to do when they were unfamiliar with the sharpness a chef’s knife could have.

“I guess you can chop that pear in little cubes, if you want to help.”

Max took the pear from you, turning it over in his hands as if he were inspecting some foreign object. “A pear?”

“It’s for the salad,” you explained, already turning back to your own task.

“You can put pear in a salad?” he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief. “I don’t think I’ve eaten a pear since I was about seven.”

You arched a brow, glancing at him over your shoulder to see that he was fully sincere. With swift movements, you took the knife and cut a slice of the pear before dipping it into a vinaigrette you’d already prepared.

“Try it, for science,” you said, holding it up for him to taste.

Max hesitated before taking a small bite, his brow furrowing slightly as he chewed. Then he nodded, his expression lightening. “Huh, you know what you’re doing.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks as you dismissed his comment, turning to look at the stove again.

Max chuckled in response, shaking his head. He then stepped closer to the counter as he grabbed a knife. His movements were unpracticed but deliberate, the pear wobbling slightly as he began chopping it into uneven pieces. You felt the familiar itch of not being in control, almost taking over your own movements. But, you stopped thinking for a moment. Dinner wouldn’t be ruined just because the pear wasn’t in perfect cubes. And Max was actually putting in effort, biting down on his tongue, a line forming between his brows as he focused.

“Are you always this much of a perfectionist,” you asked, viewing his motions, “or are you just showing off in front of me?”

“I’ve never put this much brain capacity into anything before,” Max joked, adding a laugh as he examined one of the misshapen pear cubes.

For a moment, the kitchen fell into an easy rhythm. Imogen and Danny’s laughter floated in from the other room, a sharp contrast to the quiet concentration shared between you and Max. You didn’t usually let anyone help in the kitchen—it was your sanctuary, your domain—but for some reason, with Max fumbling his way through chopping fruit and throwing curious questions your way, it didn’t feel like an intrusion.

When the food was done, the four of you gathered around your dining table, decorated with pottery and plates that you had collected throughout the years. Nothing matched, just like you preferred it. The golden hour crept through the windows as the room filled with light from the sun and flickering candles.

And the dinner went fine, just like it always did, even though you couldn’t help but imagine the worst-case scenario of accidentally poisoning someone, or forgetting an allergy, maybe dropping the main dish right on the floor. Your sister and her company ate like they enjoyed it at least. The added blur of wine helping with the atmosphere.

You were always the most quiet one in group settings, only speaking when spoken to, really. But you liked it that way. The stories Max and Daniel could tell from their lives were vastly more interesting than anything you had experienced anyway. Imogen too lived a more eventful life with fashion weeks and world travelling. Everyone seemed to like it that way too, the scrape of forks against plates punctuating Danny’s latest story.

“…and when I finally got the bloody thing out of the house, the neighbour’s dog chased it straight back in,” Danny concluded, laughing as he leaned back in his chair. Imogen giggled, dabbing her lips with a napkin in that poised way of hers.

Max chuckled but shifted his gaze to you, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “So, how did you end up going from modeling to cooking?” He asked, after Danny was done telling the detailed story about a snake entering his house back home in Australia.

You didn’t realise for how long you’d been quiet until you were now forced to speak, your voice sounding foreign to even your own ears. Setting your fork down, you answered, “I gave myself one last runway season to see if I could support myself. I walked three shows, while Imogen walked like thirty.”

“Thirty-two,” Imogen corrected, not missing a beat. She reached for her wine glass, taking a delicate sip before adding, “I’ll always believe you could’ve done it if you didn’t give up so easily.” Her tone was light but pointed.

Your lips tightened. “I didn’t give up, Imogen—I moved on.”

“Sure, if that’s what you want to call it,” she said with a faint shrug. “You never see yourself as anything special, always such a plain Jane.”

The words settled heavily in the air, their weight pressing against your chest. For a brief moment, the table fell silent, the only sound the faint clink of cutlery against porcelain. You forced yourself to maintain an even expression as you reached for your glass of water.

“It’s kind of hard to when you’re having dinner with three child prodigies,” you answered, letting out a pathetic laugh to conceal your emotions.

For someone who was so afraid of you embarrassing her, Imogen really had no issue with her own words causing embarrassment for others.

Max frowned slightly, his hands stilling as he turned toward you. “I wouldn’t call myself a prodigy,” he said, his voice calm but tinged with something else—discomfort, perhaps.

“Yeah, right,” Danny said, nudging Max with an elbow. “Modesty doesn’t suit you, mate. You’re not fooling anyone.”

Max smiled faintly but didn’t reply. There was a softness in his expression that made your stomach twist, though you quickly moved your gaze to look at your plate; the uneven shapes of pear in the salad were suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.

The conversation shifted, as it always did with Imogen, back to her. Something about a designer or a photographer saying she was the best model to work with. Something about a socialite event where ridiculous things had happened. Ridiculous meaning stupidly expensive or over the top. You wanted to laugh, knowing that they most likely didn’t use the real thing for the crazy champagne fountains she talked about, or that the sturgeon caviar they had served was a cheap knock-off, because no chef in their right mind would use the amount she mentioned.

You zoned out as she talked, only starting to pay attention again when the conversation drifted towards what they were doing tonight and that they might need to call a cab soon.

“Oh, where are you going?” you asked, unsure if you actually cared.

“A sponsored event on a yacht in the marina. You know the jewelry company I did an ad for?” she replied casually, her tone almost bored.

You nodded, though the familiar ache of exclusion began to settle in your chest. You knew the exact advert she was referring to, not because you cared, but because those freaking pictures of her were everywhere. In stores, on every social media app, on digital billboards across multiple cities of the French Riviera—hell, you’d even seen it at a bus stop.

“I assumed you wouldn’t want to come,” she added. The statement wasn’t cruel, but it stung all the same. “You never do.”

Your fingers curled around the stem of your glass as you gave a small nod, keeping your face neutral. “No, I guess you’re right.”

Max hesitated, glancing between you and Imogen. “I mean, she could come if she wanted to, right?”

“Yeah,” Imogen said, tilting her head as though the idea had never occurred to her. “I guess I could make a call to get you on the list.”

“Don’t bother, you know it’s not my scene anyway,” you said quickly, your voice firmer than you intended.

Danny grinned, leaning back in his chair. “A wild night for her is solving a crossword puzzle with a pen you can’t erase.”

“Or,” Imogen added with a smirk, her eyes glinting with mischief, “when she’s brave enough, watching an episode of Criminal Minds instead of Friends like she usually does.”

Their laughter filled the room, bouncing off the walls with the kind of ease you’d never quite mastered. It wasn’t malicious—at least not intentionally—but it still left a weight in your chest, heavy and familiar.

You kept your head down, pushing the last bit of salad around your plate, and told yourself you didn’t care. This was the dynamic, after all. Imogen had always been the star of the show, and Danny loved playing her supporting act. You had other friends who understood you better, who you had more in common with. Max, though—Max had been a surprise. And even now, as their laughter rang on, you caught him glancing at you from across the table, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression.

The dinner ended not long after. They had places to be, important people to talk to—while you had sitcoms to watch and dishes to take care of. You were happy to see Imogen every once in a while when she and Danny were both in Monaco, and you loved cooking for people, no matter who they were. But you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little happy knowing that Imogen was busy with work all throughout the upcoming month.

As they filtered out, their voices trailing off into the warm Riviera night, the apartment felt suddenly too quiet. Locking the door after them, you slid down onto the floor, sitting with your knees tucked up towards your body, rubbing your tired eyes with the back of your hands, not caring if mascara crumbled all over your face. You felt empty, the hum of the refrigerator filling the silence. The half-drunk bottle of wine on the kitchen counter looked temping as you considered finishing it yourself.

— — — — — — — — — — — —

Max trailed behind Danny and Imogen as they strolled toward the cab waiting just down the street. The night air was cool, carrying the faint scent of the sea, and the stars twinkled faintly above the rooftops.

Danny was cracking a joke, and Imogen’s laughter rang out like a bell, but Max barely registered it. His hands were shoved into his pockets, his mind somewhere else entirely—back upstairs, at the table, watching you push your food around with that faint, detached smile.

He slowed his steps, his feet dragging. The idea of the yacht party, the glitz and endless small talk, suddenly felt suffocating. He wasn’t sure why, but the thought of leaving felt… wrong. Max hated events like that. Everyone knew that. And while it was nice to catch up with Danny since they didn’t see much of each other nowadays, he found Imogen insufferable. He could play padel with Danny tomorrow if he wanted to talk more with him. Before he could think better of it, Max stopped altogether.

“Hey,” he called after them, making Danny and Imogen turn around.

“What’s up?” Danny asked, his brow furrowing.

Max hesitated, then gestured vaguely over his shoulder. “I think I forgot my phone. I’ll catch up with you guys later.”

Imogen gave him a bemused smile, her head tilting slightly. “You sure? It’s not like we can wait forever.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Max said firmly, already stepping back. He waved them off. “Have fun.”

He turned before he could see their expressions and made his way back to the building.

The walk up the stairs felt oddly daunting now, each step heavier than the last, as though the weight of his own indecision was pulling him back. The soft hum of the building at night—the faint creak of pipes, the muffled sounds of life behind closed doors—seemed to grow louder with every passing moment. Max reached your door and hesitated, his hand hovering uncertainly near the wood.

What was he even going to say? He wasn’t the type to overthink things, but this felt different. He didn’t want to overstep. What if you didn’t want company? The evening had already been a mixed bag of awkward moments, and the last thing he wanted was to make it worse.

Max sighed, his arm lowering slightly, just about ready to turn back when he heard your voice from the other side of the door.

“I miss you too, like craaazy,” you said, your voice muffled but clear enough through the door. Max froze, his curiosity getting the better of him. You sounded close, as though you were standing right by the door. Picking up the pieces, he figured you were talking to someone over the phone.

“Imogen and Daniel came over for dinner earlier, and he brought a friend of his, and it was the most awkward thing ever,” you spoke again.

Max frowned slightly. He was the friend, of course. While he’d sensed some discomfort during the evening, particularly whenever the conversation turned toward you, he hadn’t thought it was that bad. Who would you be talking to like that anyway, debriefing something that had just happened? Did you have… a boyfriend?

“Mum,” you added, your voice cutting through his doubt, “of course it was a boy.”

He relaxed a fraction, leaning slightly closer to the door without realizing it.

“A cute one, too,” you admitted.

Max blinked, warmth creeping into his face. A cute boy. That was a twist he hadn’t expected. He couldn’t help but grin, his chest lifting slightly at the thought. And you definitely didn’t have a boyfriend.

“You don’t have to ask if I bottled it. You already know I did,” you said after a brief pause, your voice quieter now. “I’m not like Imogen. I don’t think I’ll ever learn to be that easygoing.”

Max was back to frowning, this time for a different reason. He didn’t like the sound of that. He wanted to knock, to interrupt, but he didn’t move.

“Yeah, yeah, I love you,” you said, your tone softening into affection as you ended the call. “Tell Dad I said hi. Buh-bye.”

Max barely gave himself a moment to think before he raised his hand and knocked. There was a pause, long enough for him to wonder if you’d heard, and then your voice came through the door.

“Did you forget something?”

By the sound of your voice, he could tell that you were expecting it to be Imogen coming back for something. Not him.

Max smiled despite himself. “Yeah,” he said, the words coming out more confidently than he expected. “I think I did.”

For a moment, there was silence, and then he heard rustling from behind the door, almost as if you’d stumbled to reach it. The lock clicked, and the door opened, revealing you with wide, startled eyes. You looked more tired than you had before, makeup and clothes a bit askew. He assumed Imogen had something to do with how polished you’d looked at the beginning of the evening.

“Max?” you asked, your voice pitched slightly higher in surprise.

He cleared his throat, his hand rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I was wondering…” he started, shifting his weight but keeping his tone light, “if maybe, I could stay here and be boring with you?”

The corners of his mouth lifted slightly, though the words sounded stupid the moment they left his lips. He half-expected you to laugh, but instead, you blinked at him, your surprise melting into something softer.

“Uhm, yeah,” you said, stepping back to let him in. “Sure.”

Max stepped inside, and for the second time that night, he was struck by how inviting your apartment felt. The uneven warmth of the terracotta tiles beneath his feet, the mismatched chairs around the small dining table, and the array of plants lining the windowsill. It was nothing like he was used to, yet it felt like the picture-perfect definition of the word home.

Moving into the kitchen, his eyes landed on something on the counter—a tray of something, its surface dusted with cocoa powder.

“You made dessert?” he asked, tilting his head toward it.

“Yeah,” you said, shutting the door behind him, smoothing out your shirt with your hands. “I made tiramisu. Want some?”

Max didn’t hesitate. Moments later, he was seated on your sofa with a fork in hand, his first bite of the tiramisu silencing any lingering awkwardness. “Fuck me, this is like the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” he said, his voice filled with genuine appreciation.

You laughed, a soft, almost shy sound that Max couldn’t help but find adorable. You really couldn’t handle compliments well, and Max was going to use that to his advantage to make you wonderfully uncomfortable. “And you were going to have all this dessert for yourself instead of going out with us?” he asked, setting his fork down briefly to give you a look of mock betrayal.

“Well,” you said with a small shrug, sitting down beside him with your own plate of dessert. “I wasn’t really invited in the first place.”

Max frowned. “That’s not fair. They should’ve—”

“It’s fine,” you said, cutting him off. “Really. It’s not my scene anyway.”

Max studied you for a moment, his fork hovering over the dish. You were the opposite of so many people that he knew. And so similar to himself that it was almost scary to him.

Tucking up your legs under your body, you made yourself comfortable on the sofa before you continued talking. “I tend to stick to the walls in places like that anyway. Just observing conversations, trying but failing to lift them when they fall.”

“Do you also feel like you’ve got a foot in your mouth whenever you open it?” he wondered honestly.

“Exactly. Always putting my foot in my mouth,” you replied with a chuckle.

“Sounds impressive to me,” he joked with a grin. “I’m not that agile.”

“Oh, shut up,” you said, rolling your eyes. “You were the one to bring it up.”

For a moment, the apartment settled into a quiet hum, the faint sounds of the outside world barely audible through the walls. Max leaned forward, setting his plate down on your coffee table. The TV was noticeably black in front of the two of you.

“So,” he asked, tilting his head slightly, “what is it tonight? A crime show or… what was the other thing?”

“Friends,” you replied, reading in his reaction. “You’ve never seen Friends?”

Max’s brows lifted. “Not really. Maybe bits and pieces, but I couldn’t tell you much about it.”

“Oh my god,” you said, your tone equal parts horror and humor as your eyes widened dramatically. “You have a lot to learn.”

He laughed, the sound light and genuine. “I’m hoping you’ll tell me everything I need to know.”

You smiled, a real one that softened your whole face. You picked up the remote, turning on the pilot episode. Max wasn’t really paying attention, but he liked how certain funny things made you audibly laugh. The more you watched and the more tiramisu you ate—the more the comfortable feeling spread like a fire through your living room, silently burning as he placed an arm around you and shared your blanket.

This wasn’t where he’d thought he’d end up as he had entered your apartment the first time tonight, but now, he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think ♡

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