#cause on my last one someone left a tag that was like

[minniesfiles]

ALWAYS YOU

After being stood up and leaving you heartbroken, Hansol spirals with guilt while you shut down into silence. Desperate to fix what he ruined, he confronts the damage he caused and fights to earn back your trust and love.

❧ PAIRING; hansol x reader

❧ GENRE; angst, hurt/comfort

❧ TAGS/WARNINGS; established relationship, arguments, tears, reader is kind of stubborn, Hansol in an idiot, swearing, happy ending, lots of tears and kisses, maybe quite dramatic (LOL)

❧ WORDCOUNT; 12.1k

[ part of the Silent Treatment series ]

𐚁₊⊹

▎27 NOVEMBER 2021

You were known to have the patience of a saint. It was an almost uncanny ability you had to stay calm in situations that would push most people past their limits. Some admired you for it, even envied you.

“I could never hold my tongue like that,” or “I’d have snapped ages ago” they’d say.

But others didn’t see it as a strength though. They said you were too lenient, or too soft. They’d say how it allowed people to walk all over you and mistake your tolerance for weakness.

And maybe, sometimes, they were right.

There were moments when you looked back on situations and questioned your silence. You would wonder if your refusal to speak out had cost you something. Respect, peace of mind or justice. You would pride yourself on not reacting impulsively and staying level-headed when emotions ran high. You told yourself that staying silent was strength and not cowardice.

But deep down, there were times you wished you had the confidence to just say what you were thinking. Perhaps not out of anger, but out of self-respect. You weren’t looking to lash out, you just wanted to be heard.

There was never really a middle ground in how people saw you. But the truth is, you lived in that gray area. You tried to be kind without being small, and tolerant without being invisible.

And today was your breaking point.

Angry tears welled in your eyes as you stared at your phone for what felt like the hundredth time. Still nothing from your boyfriend. There were no messages or any missed calls, let alone an excuse as to why he still didn’t show up yet. Just the same empty lock screen that mocked your patience.

Hansol promised to take you out for a fancy dinner at the Lotte Tower, a proper date you were both too busy to have for weeks. You even made the effort of dressing up for it. You did your hair just right, applied light make-up and sprayed the perfume he once said he liked. But now, an hour passed, and you were still sitting alone at the table he claimed to have reserved.

You felt so ridiculous.

The waiters approached your table several times and each gentle interruption only deepened the pit in your stomach. They asked politely if you’d like something to drink, perhaps a small starter while you waited. But you would smile tightly each time and shake your head while repeating the same line, “I’ll wait until my boyfriend arrives.”

That was only if he came.

It felt more like a lie each time you said it. A part of you held on to the hope that he’d walk in, flustered and apologetic. But with every minute that passed by, that hope thinned into bitterness.

The staff tried to hide their sympathy, but you saw it anyway. The last thing you wanted was anyone’s pity.

Not only were you overwhelmed with embarrassment, but the sting hurt deeper knowing it was your own boyfriend who left you hanging. While other couples around you enjoyed their meals together and how happily they laughed amongst themselves, you couldn’t help but feel like a complete fool who still waited for someone that wasn’t even going to come.

And if the night didn’t humiliate you enough, you opened Instagram. Just to distract yourself. And that was when you clicked on Hailey’s story, Hansol’s best friend. It was posted five minutes ago.

It was a photo of your boyfriend who was fast asleep on Hailey’s unmistakable pink sofa, body curled slightly and one arm wrapped around a purple whale plushie. His hair was a mess and his mouth was slightly open, completely at peace.

But what really hit you wasn’t the image itself. It was the caption. “Supposed to be looking after me but I’m looking after him instead,” followed by a deadpan, unamused emoji. Like it was some kind of joke. Like you weren’t sitting in a restaurant across town, checking the door every five minutes, still half-believing he might walk in with an excuse.

Instead, he was passed out at her house. It wasn’t even the lack of decency from him to let you know he couldn’t make it that stung the most. It was how casual it all seemed to them.

To say you were absolutely livid would be a gross understatement.

You weren’t just angry, you were shaking with it. It was a white-hot rage bubbling just beneath your skin that was ready to explode within you.

Your jaw was clenched so tightly it hurt, and your heart pounded against your ribs like it was trying to escape. Every breath you took felt shallow, that made your chest tight with disbelief. You were boiling down to the core, like a volcano seconds from erupting.

It blurred your vision and made your ears ring.

Your hand gripped your phone with so much force, it was a miracle the screen didn’t shatter right there in your palm. You swore you heard a small crack, but perhaps it was the plastic or glass protesting under the pressure of your clenched fingers. But you didn’t loosen your grip. You couldn’t. Because letting go felt too much like surrender, and right now, you were clinging to any scrap of control you had left.

The tears that were brimming in your eyes finally came flooding down. You tried to blink them away, but it was no use. They kept spilling over, trailing down your cheeks in silence. And you didn’t even bother wiping them. You didn’t care at this point. You just let them fall. You just let the whole damn restaurant see. What did it matter now?

Your eyes were still stuck on the photo. And her caption…the smug nonchalance of it was enough to make your blood run colder than the North Pole. She knew. She had to know. And if she didn’t, then maybe that made it worse.

Your body was trembling. Every limb of yours was buzzing with energy that had nowhere to go. You felt like you could scream, throw the table across the room, or smash your phone right into the tiled floor.

But you didn’t. You just sat there, paralysed, like a statue made of nothing but anger and heartbreak.

Everything around you became a blur. It all faded into background noise, meaningless against the storm inside you. You were breaking, right there in public, and yet the world just kept turning.

You were furious. But more than that, you were hurt. Deeply and irreparably hurt.

So what do you do now? Honestly, you had no idea.

Your brain was still catching up to everything your heart had just been dragged through. But your body moved on its own, like it was acting on instinct. There was no plan, no thought. Just motion.

You reached into your purse with shaky fingers, pulled out a few bills, and placed them on the table beside your untouched mocktail.

It wasn’t much, but it felt like the least you could do. It was a silent gesture to thank and apologise to the staff for the time you’d taken up sitting there alone waiting for someone who never came.

Without a word, you pushed the chair back and stood. Your legs felt numb and heavy, but you forced them to move. You didn’t look at anyone. You didn’t owe anyone an explanation. All you could do was storm out, heart thudding in your chest like a war drum.

The atmosphere in the elevator felt suffocating as it descended, and the mirrors reflected the tear-streaked version of you that you didn’t want to see. You simply stared straight ahead, refusing to blink.

Then, as the doors slid open and you stepped into the lobby, your phone buzzed with a notification. The sound shot through you like a jolt. Part of you hoped that it was Hansol, but it wasn’t, it was your older brother Joshua.

[JOSH]:

Are you done with your little date? Mum’s bugging me to get her tangerines but I’m too lazy to go out now😴

The message lit up your screen as you walked through the quiet lobby. You stared at the notification for a few seconds, and the absurdity of it made your lips twitch. Despite the ache sitting heavy in your chest, you broke into a small, crooked smile through the tears still clinging to your lashes.

Your mother and her eternal obsession with tangerines. No matter the season, no matter the day, she somehow always needed more. It was ridiculous. But comforting in her sense.

[YOU]:

Got stood up. But I’ll pick some up on my way👍tell mum to tolerate her cravings for a bit lol.

You hit send before you could think twice about how blunt it sounded. And the reply from your brother came almost instantly.

[Josh]:

???

[Josh]:

What do you mean you got stood up?

You stared at the screen. The question felt like salt in a raw wound. Reading his name again hurt more than you expected. You could practically hear the disbelief in Joshua’s voice, like he couldn’t even begin to process the idea.

And honestly? You couldn’t either.

Your thumb hovered over the keyboard. You thought about explaining. But it all was too much. You didn’t want to relive it, not right now. You didn’t want to see the pity, or the anger, or the judgment — not even from your brother.

So instead, you just turned off your phone and shoved it deep into your coat pocket. Maybe silence felt easier than trying to explain heartbreak.

╴╴╴╴╴

You regretted not bringing your car. Deeply. At the time, it seemed like the better option. You thought you’d have Hansol to drop you home. But now, walking alone in the cold with swollen eyes and a heart that felt like it had been wrung out, it was painfully clear that you miscalculated.

It wasn’t that you didn’t have options. You could’ve taken the bus, hopped on the subway, or even called a taxi. But the idea of crying in a crowded space full of strangers while your eyes burned and your chest ached? You couldn't do it. You didn’t want sympathetic looks or awkward glances. You didn’t want to be seen at all.

You didn’t trust yourself to hold it together. Not when every second of silence from Hansol felt like another shove deeper into the hollow pit growing in your stomach.

There was still not a single message. Not one missed call. Not even a lame excuse.

You stood outside a brightly lit convenience store as you held the weight of a full bag of tangerines which was dragging at your arm. Your fingers were freezing around the plastic handles, but you didn’t care.

With a sigh, you fumbled for your phone again and dialed Joshua’s number. You knew he didn’t want to come out.

He’d said as much earlier, “too lazy” and too comfortable, typical Joshua. But you were going to make him come anyway. He didn’t get a choice. Not tonight.

After a few rings, he finally answered.

“Can you pick me up?” you asked tiredly and almost bluntly, not even giving him a chance to greet you first.

There was a beat of silence on the other end before your brother spoke up.

“Hey, are you okay?”

You could hear the worry in his voice, and it cracked something in you.

You bit down on your lip, hard, before answering. “Yeah, I just…I don’t know Joshua,” you said, your voice starting to waver despite your efforts to stay composed.

There was another pause. You could practically hear the gears turning in his head, and him grabbing his keys already.

“Can you please come and get me?” you whispered, softer this time. Less demand, more desperation.

“I’m coming,” he said firmly. “Where are you right now?” he then asked.

You shared your live location with him and he muttered a hum before ending the call. And for the first time that night, you let out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding.

You knew he didn’t want to come out, and on normal days you wouldn’t have bothered him. But right now, there was no one else in the world you needed more than your brother.

Growing up, you and Joshua had always been close. Closer than most siblings, even. Even as kids, you stuck to each other like glue. While other siblings grew apart or bickered over everything all the time, the two of you built your own little world. He was your best friend, and above all, he was your safe place.

Joshua always knew how sensitive you were. He knew despite how tolerant you were, you’d easily get hurt and how deeply you felt things. And while some people might have dismissed that as weakness, he never did. If anything, it made him more protective of you. He knew the world wasn’t kind to people with soft hearts. So he became your shield.

He became some sort of your silent, stubborn bodyguard who would take on the world if it meant keeping you from crying.

You used to tease him about it. Told him he was too overbearing, that he needed to chill out and stop treating you like you were five. He’d just smirk and say, “You’ll thank me one day.” And truthfully, you always did.

Even when he annoyed you, when he pushed your buttons just for fun or gave you dumb nicknames you swore you hated, you never once doubted that he’d be there when it mattered. No matter how big or small the problem was, you could always run to him. He never made you feel like a burden.

And in this moment, with your heart aching and your hands full of tangerines, you were more grateful than ever to have a brother like him in your life.

╴╴╴╴╴

You hadn’t even realised Joshua had arrived until he was suddenly in front of you, gently shaking your shoulder. Not only had the cold numbed your senses, but your mind was too fogged to register anything clearly. You jolted slightly at the contact, eyes wide with confusion until they finally focused and landed on your brother.

“Hi,” he said softly, a little breathless. But the small smile he attempted didn’t last as his face fell. He took in the sight of you and his brows knitted together.

Your eyes were red-rimmed and glossy, cheeks streaked with dried tears, but what stood out the most too him was the lack of spark that usually lived in your eyes. They were simply hollow.

Joshua’s chest tightened as panic crept in. Your breathing was shallow and too quick. Your eyes were wide and glassy, brimming with fresh tears that threatened to spill over.

You looked like a balloon stretched too tight and ready to burst.

“Bubba, what’s wrong?” he asked as his hands moved up to cradle your face gently. His thumbs hovered under your eyes like he could stop the tears before they fell, but it was already too late.

Just the sound of that nickname that only he called you hit you like a wrecking ball. And it was just enough to break you completely.

A choked sob tore from your throat as you collapsed into his chest. His arms were open before you even reached him, wrapping around you and catching everything you couldn’t hold together anymore.

Joshua’s heart pounded hard beneath your cheek as he pulled you close, his hand rubbing circles on your back. You gripped his hoodie like your life depended on it as tears soaked into the fabric almost instantly.

“Hey, hey hey,” he murmured, rocking you gently.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you, okay?”

But your cries only grew louder and heavier.

“Is this about Hansol?” he asked. Though his voice was still soft, the way his jaw was tightening ever so slightly spoke another story.

You didn’t answer him. You just cried harder as your sobs violently shook your whole body.

“I just want to go home,” you choked out between sobs.

Joshua pulled you into a tighter hug and held you like he could somehow absorb the pain radiating from your body. He rested his chin lightly on top of your head and gently rocked you side to side.

“Shh, it’s okay. We’re going home now,” he murmured into your hair low and soothingly, almost fatherly. His hand rubbed slow circles on your back, like he used to do when you were a kid waking up from the nightmares you had.

Though he didn’t need the full story, at least not yet, he knew enough.

The past few days didn’t feel right. You hadn’t been yourself. You smiled less and conversations were shorter. Joshua noticed how you started spacing out more often, zoning out during family dinners or giving half-hearted responses when he cracked jokes.

You were still there, but the dimmed version of yourself, like a light on low battery.

He had a gut feeling Hansol had something to do with it, but he didn’t want to jump to conclusions. Now, standing here with you crying your eyes out in his arms, he wished he had trusted that instinct sooner.

He felt guilty. He wished he had asked more questions, pressed you harder when you told him everything was “fine.” He should’ve protected you before you reached this point. Because seeing you like this right now lit something violent inside him.

╴╴╴╴╴

When Joshua finally pulled into the driveway, the sky had long since darkened. He looked to his right and found you fast asleep in the passenger seat with your head tilted awkwardly against the window. The position looked anything but comfortable, yet you didn’t stir.

Joshua’s heart ached as he took in the dried streaks of tears on your cheeks, clear that you cried yourself to sleep in silence.

He didn’t miss the way you’d shut down during the drive home and how you gave no responses, not even small nods or mumbled agreements. He tried to talk, or at least distract you with light conversation with jokes that usually earned at least a small smile. But you gave him nothing this time.

He knew you didn’t mean it. You just wanted to be left alone, and so he did. But not really, because he was still there, watching every tremble in your breath and every clench of your fingers. He was still there as he silently stayed present even when you needed distance.

With a soft sigh, Joshua parked the car and turned off the engine. The sudden quiet that followed was too loud. He sat there for a moment, just looking at you. Then, without a word, he unbuckled his seatbelt before stepping out and walking around to your side.

He opened the door and carefully unbuckled your seatbelt before sliding his arms under your knees and back. Unironically, he felt like his seven-year-old self again holding you in his arms for the first time when you were born. He lifted you and held you gently as if you were made of glass. Your body relaxed into his hold, head resting against his shoulder.

He shut the car door with a soft kick before heading to the house. And as if timed perfectly, the front door opened.

Your mother stood there with her expression instantly shifting to concern at the sight of you in Joshua’s arms. “Is she okay?” she asked, eyes locked on your sleeping face.

Joshua let out another sigh. “I don’t think so. She had a long night” he answered tiredly.

He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t want to dump everything on her, especially when you weren’t awake to speak for yourself. All she needed to know was that you were safe, and he had you.

“I’m just going to let her rest for now,” he added, stepping past her and making his way upstairs.

He brought you into your room and gently lowered you onto the bed, careful not to jostle you. But barely moved regardless. He took off your shoes, then your coat which he folded neatly to the side.

He crouched down beside the bed and reached out, brushing your hair from your face. His thumb lingered at your temple for a moment. Then, with a tenderness that said more than words ever could, he leaned forward and placed a light kiss on your forehead.

As he straightened up, he looked at you for a long moment. You looked peaceful, but the mark that was left by the pain you carried was still there.

“If Hansol did something,” he thought, jaw tightening, “I swear I’m going to rip his head off” he silently promised.

After making sure you were tucked in comfortably, Joshua gently pulled your blanket up to your shoulders. He stood there for a second longer, just watching you sleep.

With a quiet exhale, he turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him with care. As it clicked softly, he sighed, again.

Heading back downstairs, he slipped his shoes back on and stripped outside again. The cold outside nipped at his skin, but he ignored it as he made his way back to the car. He opened the door and grabbed your small shoulder bag, along with the now slightly squashed plastic bag filled with tangerines you got for your mother.

There were a series of vibrations coming from your bag that made Joshua freeze, then frown. One vibration. Then another. And another. The sharp buzzing continued almost nonstop.

He unzipped the bag and pulled the phone out. Joshua cursed under his breath for remembering your phone’s password to unlock it, but he promised himself it wasn’t snooping. He had to make sure nothing was wrong.

The screen lit up with message after message from one name only.

Hansol.

His frown deepened. There were fifteen missed calls and tons of messages, some that were still coming through as he watched.

[Hansol]:

Baby!

[Hansol]:

Please answer me

[Hansol]:

Fuck, I’m so sorry I completely forgot. I know how bad that sounds, but please let me explain

[Hansol]:

Hailey sprained her ankle at work. She called me crying, saying she couldn’t walk or get a ride, and she didn’t know who else to call. So I left to go get her

[Hansol]:

She was in a lot of pain, and I couldn’t just leave her there so I took her to the doctors. I had to get her meds and ice packs and whatnot before helping her get back to her apartment

[Hansol]:

I know I should’ve messaged you. I should’ve called you right away. I just got caught up making sure she was okay and I didn’t check the time until it was already too late

[Hansol]:

Baby, I know what this looks like. I know how it feels. And I know I’ve let you down before, but I didn’t do this on purpose. I didn’t forget about you because I didn’t care. I was just trying to help my best friend in pain

[Hansol]:

But I swear to you, I wasn’t ignoring you

[Hansol]:

I know I told you this time would be different. That I would make more time for. And I wanted to, I swear I did

Joshua saw another incoming call flash across the screen with Hansol’s name lighting up yet again. He stared at it for a moment with his jaw clenched as his thumb hovering over the answer button. He really fought to answer it and curse him out, but he didn’t want to act out of instinct. So, instead, he pressed decline.

But that only led to more messages to flood in. One after another. Clearly Hansol wasn’t letting up. He was frantic at this point.

[Hansol]:

Shit, baby, listen. I know you saw Hailey’s Instagram story, but I promise it’s not what you think

[Hansol]:

It’s nothing like what you’re probably imagining right now. Please don’t overthink it

I

[Hansol]:

I swear

Joshua’s frown deepened. A low breath escaped his nose. What the hell is he talking about now? He hadn’t seen any story. But the way Hansol rushed to mention it, defend it even, somehow made him rile up even more.

Curious, and now increasingly irritated, Joshua unlocked your phone again and opened your Instagram. And a few taps later, he clicked on Hailey’s story.

Joshua stared at the screen as he tried to process what he was seeing. His lips curled into a slow, humorless scoff. He shook his head in absolute disbelief.

The audacity.

You were sitting in a restaurant, alone, trying not to cry in front of strangers. Meanwhile, your boyfriend was passed out at another woman’s place like he couldn’t be bothered to show up for you.

Before he could even react further, more messages came in.

[Hansol]:

I don’t know when I fell asleep. I didn’t mean to forget, I swear

[Hansol]:

Are you still at the restaurant? Just tell me and I’ll come right now. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Five if I speed. Please

[Hansol]:

Or if you already went home, just text me so I know you’re safe. I’m begging you baby

[Hansol]:

I’m so fucking sorry

[Hansol]:

Please pick up the phone baby. Just talk to me

Joshua watched as the screen lit up again with another incoming call. But he didn’t answer. He just stared at it with a dark expression. His thumb hovered for half a second before he declined it once more, and put the phone back in your bag.

The sheer nerve. The desperation wasn’t what got to him, it was the timing. The panic only came after the damage was done. After you’d already shut down. After your brother had to come find you and carry you home.

Joshua slammed his car door shut and made his way back inside the house. With his jaw locked so tight, he could feel his pulse thumping in his neck.

Joshua knew, deep down, that this was a personal matter between you and your boyfriend. Something that should be handled between the two of you. He didn’t want to cross boundaries or get too involved in something he didn’t fully understand. That simply wasn’t his style, and he certainly wasn’t overbearing. He respected your independence.

But after today, especially after the way you completely broke down in his arms, Joshua couldn’t keep pretending like everything was fine when it wasn’t.

It was damn near impossible to hold himself back. He didn’t want to sit on the sidelines anymore. He needed answers. He needed to know what the hell was happening to you and why the sister he knew was suddenly closing herself up.

╴╴╴╴╴

The moment Hansol blinked awake from what he thought would be a ‘short nap’, his eyes drifted lazily to the clock. Until the time hit him like a punch to the chest. His eyes widened in shock, practically bulging from their sockets as the time sank in.

It was the realisation that it was two hours past the time he was supposed to meet you which made his heart stop.

His body reacted before his brain could even catch up. He bolted upright so fast that the plushie in his arms fell to the floor. His mind scrambled in complete chaos as he reached for his phone, which he nearly dropped in his haste.

The screen lit up with five unread messages and two missed calls, all from you, two hours ago.

“Fuck,” he cursed, as guilt hit him like a truck.

He remembered. Of course he did. He remembered every word of the argument, the conversation afterwards where he promised he wouldn’t mess this one up this time.

But somehow he had.

And now he didn’t know how to fix it this time.

▎25 NOVEMBER 2021 — two days ago

“What could have been so important this time that you had to cancel on me again, Hansol?” you snapped.

You weren’t usually the one to raise your voice or start fights. You were patient and understanding. Maybe a little too understanding.

This was the fifth broken promise in two weeks. The times you got ready for something he planned, you’d sit and wait until your phone lit up with another last-minute excuse.

And this time, you were done pretending it didn’t rile you up.

Hansol blinked, already on the defensive. “Babe, you know I’m not doing this on purpose. It’s just that Hailey—”

You cut him off instantly with a scoff, head shaking like you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. But deep down, you did. You expected it. Of course it was Hailey.

“Hailey this, Hailey that,” you snarled as your eyes narrowed. “It’s always her.”

Hansol flinched a little at your tone, but you kept going. The anger that had been simmering under the surface was breaking through.

“When does she ever not need you? It’s comical how she always seems to need something when you’re with me. Does she not have any other fucking friends besides you? Huh?”

You took a breath, but it didn’t cool the fire.

“Why do you always jump to her side over every little thing? Is she really that helpless? Is she that dumb and incapable of doing anything on her own, Hansol?”

You couldn’t believe the words coming out of your mouth. This wasn’t you, because you weren’t the type to talk about people like that.

You didn’t even realise how harsh the words were until they already came out. They sounded bitter and personal. And maybe they were. Because you weren’t just angry at Hailey. You were angry at your own boyfriend for putting her before you. Again.

Hansol didn’t respond right away, but when he did, his voice was just as sharp as yours.

“She’s my best friend, Y/n,” he snapped back. “I’ve known her for years. Of course I’m going to be there for her if she needs me.”

“I know that!” you couldn’t help but raise your voice as the frustration boiled over.

“And I’ve always respected the fact that you guys are close. I know you’ve known her longer than me. I know she’s important to you.”

Hansol opened his mouth to speak, but you kept going.

“And trust me, the last thing I’ve ever wanted to do is come between you and your friendship with her” you said.

“But what about me?” The question itself was small, but held so much weight.

“What about me, Hansol?” you repeated, quieter this time as your voice trembled. The sting behind your eyes was impossible to ignore now as tears threatened to fall.

You hated arguing with him, but it had been weeks since you were being sidelined or brushed off. All over someone who you could guarantee could take care of herself without needing your boyfriend all the time.

“What if I need you just as much as she does?” you asked, your voice cracking as the tears finally escaped.

“Why is it that her needs always come before mine? Why can’t you choose me just once instead of her?”

Hansol stood there, frozen. He looked at you with a mix of confusion and worry, but he didn’t speak. His silence only hurt more.

You took a shaky breath and tried to compose yourself even as everything inside you wanted to scream. He looked at you like he didn’t understand, and that made your heart sink.

“Y/n…” he finally said, hesitantly stepping towards you.

“Where is this coming from?” he asked with a calm but cautious tone, like he was trying not to set you off further.

You broke eye contact and looked down. You didn’t even know where to begin. How do you explain the slow burn of feeling like a second choice? How do you measure all the little moments where you smiled and swallowed your disappointment just to keep the peace?

“I just…” you trailed off.

“I just want to feel like I matter to you the way she does.”

“But you do matter to me baby” he tried to assure you.

You looked back up at him, with a mocking smile. The ache in your chest was too big to hide.

“I know I do. But I’m getting tired Hansol” you whispered. “I’m tired of being treated like I’m always second place.”

“Call me jealous. Call me insecure. I don’t care anymore,” you continued, blinking back the rest of your tears.

“But I’m your girlfriend for god’s sake. I should feel like your girlfriend” your voice broke completely then.

“I get that she’s your best friend. I get it. And I get that you care about her. But there’s a line, Hansol. There has to be a line, right?”

You then let out a shaky breath.

“And when I have to fight for your attention, when I have to constantly wonder if I’m even a priority to you, that’s not a relationship. That’s loneliness with a title.”

Hansol’s heart dropped. It was like the floor beneath him gave way and he was free-falling. Your words replayed in his head on a loop, and the more they sank in, the heavier the guilt became.

He realised that he didn’t just hurt you by accident, he neglected you without even thinking. And that realisation alone made his stomach turn.

He couldn’t believe this was all brewing inside you. That you felt so alone and pushed aside for so long. And he didn’t notice. Or worse, he already noticed little things but brushed them off thinking you’d be fine.

He thought your love was unshakable enough to withstand being constantly sidelined. But how stupidly and utterly wrong he was.

He exhaled a shaky breath, his chest rising and falling too fast as he took a step forward and gently took your hands in his. Your fingers were cold and shaking slightly in his grasp.

He hated that. He hated that he made you feel this way.

He pulled you closer until your chest rested lightly against his. You didn’t resist, but you didn’t lean in either. You just stood there quietly sniffling while your eyes cast to the floor.

His hands moved slowly, almost hesitantly, up to cup your face. His thumbs brushed along your cheeks, catching the fresh tears rolling down your skin. Your lips were quivering and your jaw was tight, like you were still trying to hold back everything that wanted to break free.

“Baby,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Please look at me.”

You sniffled again, and your eyes flickered up to meet his.

“I didn’t know,” he said softly, barely above a whisper.

“I didn’t know you felt this way. And I hate that I had to hear it like this, for it to reach this point and for me to finally listen.”

He paused and drew in a breath to steady himself, but it didn’t help. “I thought I was being good to you. I thought you knew how much I loved you. But love isn’t just words, is it? It’s what I do. And I haven’t been showing it. Not in the way you deserve.”

You closed your eyes, biting down hard on your lip.

“I kept running to Hailey because I told myself she needed help. Because I thought you’d understand. And every time I did, I told myself you were okay and that you’d wait. That you knew how important you were to me. But I wasn’t showing you. I was showing you the opposite.”

His voice wavered. “I made you feel second. And that’s the last thing you ever should’ve felt.”

You opened your mouth to say something, but no words came out. Your throat felt constricted.

“I’m so sorry baby” Hansol whispered as his forehead lowered until it touched yours.

“I’m sorry I made you feel small. I’m sorry I made you feel like your feelings didn’t matter. I’m sorry I made you feel like you weren’t my priority. Because trust me baby, you are. You always have been, and I was just too blind to prove it.”

A tear rolled down his cheek now, but he didn’t care.

“I’ll do better, I promise” he said, and pulled you just a little closer.

“I love you.”

Hansol stared at his phone and the endless row of his unanswered messages and ignored calls. He stared down at it like it might suddenly light up with your name. The dozen attempts to reach out to you were simply left up in the air.

There was not a single read receipt. Not even the little “typing…” bubble that always gave him a sliver of hope when you both argued in the past.

And that was what scared him the most.

He ran a hand through his hair, tugging it back in frustration before gripping the back of his neck. His skin was clammy and his heartbeat was a deafening thud in his ears. The anxiety gripping his chest was unlike anything he ever felt before. It wasn’t stress. It wasn’t him being overdramatic.

This was fear. Total, haunting fear.

Because this wasn’t like you. You weren’t the type to shut him out. Sure, you’d argue and get upset. But you were never the type to just disappear into silence without at least letting him know you needed time.

You’d always give him some sort of a signal or reassurance that as angry or hurt as you might be, you hadn't walked away completely.

But this time, there was nothing. Not a single word.

And this complete void scared the hell out of him.

What if something had happened? What if you were too hurt to want anything to do with him anymore?

He couldn’t sit still as these thoughts ran wild in his head.

Hansol shot up from the couch and grabbed his jacket off the back of a chair with more force than necessary. His movements were quick and clumsy as he tried to hurry. He barely even noticed Hailey watching him from the living room with confusion written all over her face.

She furrowed her brows. “Hansol? Where are you going? Why are you so— what’s going on?”

“I don’t have time to explain. I have to go,” he said firmly, not even sparing her a glance as he shoved his feet into his shoes.

“Is this about—” she started again, but he cut her off.

“Just— take care, okay?” he said over his shoulder while already halfway to the front door.

He grabbed his car keys off the counter and flung the door open before dashing out.

He didn’t mean to be cold or dismissive, really, but at that moment, there was only one thing, one person, on his mind.

You.

Everything else blurred into background noise. Because if there was even the slightest chance that you were hurting alone, especially because of him, he wasn’t going to waste another second standing still.

He just hoped he wasn’t already too late.

╴╴╴╴╴

Hansol didn’t know if he parked the car straight, if it was even on the driveway, or if he left the engine running. He didn’t care. None of it mattered compared to the mess in his head. What mattered was finding you and fixing things somehow.

He already knew you wouldn’t be at your shared apartment. That would’ve been too easy, because you never stayed there when you were upset, especially not after a blow-up. He knew your patterns too well, when things went south, you always ran to your brother. Joshua was your safe place. Hansol had banked on that instinct.

He slammed the car door shut hard enough to rattle the windows and jogged across the dark, quiet street to your house. All the lights were off, but it didn’t stop him. His fingers hovered over his phone, itching to text you again, but instead, he rang the doorbell.

Once. Nothing.

Twice. Still nothing.

On the third ring, a hallway light turned on. Hansol felt his stomach tighten. The front door swung open with force, revealing Joshua, shirt rumpled, hair a mess and eyes blazing with fury.

“What the fuck do you want Hansol?” he growled. Hansol’s mouth went dry, and swallowed the thick lump in his throat.

“Is Y/n here? I need to see her,” he said quickly, his voice cracking at the end.

Joshua’s expression didn’t change. If anything, it grew colder. His body stiffened like he was preparing for a fight, but instead of throwing a punch out of instinct, he let out a humorless laugh.

“If she is, what makes you think I’ll let you meet her?” he said, every word laced with venom.

Hansol opened his mouth but nothing came out. If Joshua knew even half of what happened, he was screwed. Completely screwed. Seeing you would be next to impossible with your brother standing in the way like a wall of fire.

“Go home Hansol,” Joshua snapped, stepping forward.

“Before I break your fucking nose. After the shit you pulled? You think I’ll let you anywhere near my sister? You’re not even gonna breathe in her direction.”

Hansol stood frozen. His heart was thundering, while guilt ate him alive. He had no plan nor backup. Only one truth, that he needed to see you. But Joshua already made it clear.

He wasn’t getting through that door.

At this point, all Hansol could do was beg. He looked like a mess with his hair disheveled, eyes red and guilt sitting heavy in his chest like bricks. He dropped his head, fists clenched at his sides and jaw tight with frustration. Whatever pride he had shattered the moment he saw Joshua’s face.

He wasn’t here to win a fight, he was here to fight for you.

“I didn’t do it on purpose, okay?” he said almost urgently, finally lifting his eyes to meet Joshua’s glare.

“I’m already beating myself up over this. I know I couldn’t keep my promise to her, and yeah, that wrecks me. But I didn’t flake on her just to hurt her. I was helping my friend out. And I…I lost track of the time. That’s it,” Hansol explained while his voice cracked slightly.

He then paused with his chest heaving.

He took a shaky breath and added, “you know how much I love her—”

Joshua didn’t let him finish. “Yeah, clearly,” he snapped, voice dripping with sarcasm.

The words stung more than they should have, but Hansol bit down his anger and cursed under his breath. Getting defensive wouldn’t help now. Not when he was already on thin ice.

“I just…I just want her to know I didn’t mean to keep her waiting,” he said, his voice growing smaller with every word.

“I want to apologise. She deserves that. She deserves the truth, not this tension and silence between us. I hate that I hurt her, even by accident.”

He looked at Joshua again, but this time there was no fire in his eyes. Just defeat.

“I won’t be able to sleep tonight knowing she probably hates me. I need to explain, even if she doesn’t forgive me,” he whispered. “I need to talk to her. I need her to know she still means everything to me.”

His voice cracked as he finished, barely able to breathe through the tight knot in his throat. “I don’t want to lose her, Joshua. Please. I don’t want to lose her.”

Joshua stood in silence. His anger wasn’t completely gone, but it was slowly simmering down into something else. He stared at Hansol, who looked like he was unraveling at the seams.

Joshua hated how familiar it felt. He hated that he could see the sincerity in Hansol’s misery. The guy looked wrecked. And as much as Joshua wanted to keep holding on to the fury, to slam the door in his face and make him pay, something in him hesitated. Because it was clear now, Hansol wasn’t here to make excuses. He was here to bleed if that’s what it took to make things right.

Joshua let out a long breath. His hand gripped the edge of the door tighter as he stared at the ground. And when he finally looked up again, his eyes met Hansol’s, and for a moment neither of them spoke.

Then Joshua huffed, eyes narrowing. “She’s sleeping right now, come back tomorrow” he said firmly.

Hansol opened his mouth, but Joshua held up his hand. “Don’t push it,” he warned.

He took a step back to leave just enough space to breathe. The tension didn’t disappear, just changed shape.

“But I’m telling you this now. I can’t promise anything, Hansol,” Joshua said. “You showing up, saying sorry, hoping to fix things, that’s not up to me. Whatever happens next, it’s Y/n’s call. Hundred percent. If she tells me she never wants to see you again, then that’s it. You’ll have to live with that.”

He paused as his voice dropped lower.

“And I’ll stand by her no matter what she decides. Because she has every right to be upset. Every right to not forgive you. You hurt her.”

Joshua took one last glance at Hansol, at the guilt and desperation, before gently closing the door between them.

▎28 NOVEMBER 2021

It was nine in the morning, and Hansol barely managed three hours of restless and broken sleep. The rest of the night was a torture as he tossed and turned in his bed that he normally shared with you, mind plagued with guilt.

He tried to come up with something, anything, that might fix the damage he caused. But every option felt futile. He knew words alone weren’t going to cut it this time. There was no perfect apology, and no grand gesture could undo what he did.

Hansol knew he fucked up badly, and there was no right way to fix things other than to fall at your feet and cry for forgiveness. Because losing you would be the end of his world, and didn’t want that.

Reaching over to check his phone again, Hansol stared at the screen for the millionth time, hoping that somehow this time he’d see a new notification, or at least a sign that you read his messages.

But every single text he sent sat unopened.

He let out a sharp breath and tossed the phone onto the mattress beside him, before burying his face in his hands. His palms dragged down over his face, then up into his hair, gripping the roots in frustration. His jaw clenched as he cursed under his breath. He didn’t know what to do. He never felt this lost before.

Suddenly, his phone lit up and began ringing. His heart leapt into his throat as he scrambled to get it thinking you had finally responded.

But to his disappointment, the screen read Hailey’s name instead. And he deflated instantly.

Nevertheless, he swiped to answer as he exhaled a long sigh while dragging a tired hand across his face.

“Hey,” he croaked out, voice rough from the lack of sleep. He pressed two fingers to his temple as he tried to ease the tension building in his skull.

“Hey, are you okay? You didn’t seem alright last night when you left,” Hailey’s worried voice came through the line.

Even though Hailey had been his best friend for years, Hansol wasn’t in the right headspace to talk to her about his relationship issues. Not when his thoughts were consumed by you. Maybe he was embarrassed to tell her that he messed up again. Maybe he didn’t want to tell her that she was part of the reason why this was happening. Or maybe he just didn’t want her to know every detail of his relationship with you.

He knew she meant well, and that she was only calling because she cared. But her voice, her questions, even her concern, it all just felt like noise to him. All he could focus on was the silence from your end. It was too loud. And the longer the silence stretched, the more it chipped away at him.

All Hansol needed was a sign from you. Even a simple “okay” would’ve been enough to give some sort of relief.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Something urgent came up. Sorry I left you like that,” Hansol apologised as he rubbed the back of his neck. He didn’t mean to be so abrupt last night, but his heart was pounding too hard, and his thoughts were spiraling too fast to explain anything clearly.

“Is your ankle okay now?” he asked.

“It’s swollen and bruised pretty badly now compared to yesterday. But I’ve been keeping it elevated and putting on an ice pack,” Hailey replied with a subtle tinge of frustration in her voice.

“I see,” he mumbled. His mind was clearly elsewhere with the way his tone sounded so distant. There was a beat of silence before Hailey hummed in response, perhaps she sensed that his attention wasn’t fully with her.

“You think you can come over later on or when you’re free? I still need a bit of help getting around. Plus I’m really bored,” she added.

Hansol paused. Any other time, he might’ve said yes without hesitation. But not right now. He just wasn’t in the mood to meet anyone besides you. “I can’t today Hailey,” he told her, which caught her a little off guard.

“Oh. Do you have plans with Y/n or something?” she asked, sounding curious, but not surprised.

Hansol hesitated.

How could he explain that it wasn’t exactly “plans” he had with you, but rather a desperate and half-formed mission to salvage what was left of your relationship? That he was losing sleep trying to figure out how to fix what he broke? That your silence was driving him insane?

“Well…kind of,” he finally said.

There was another pause. Hailey didn’t press any further because maybe she sensed the shift in his tone, or maybe she understood more than he realised.

“I’m sorry,” Hansol muttered quietly, almost ashamed to say it out loud.

He swallowed hard before continuing. “Your parents are in town, right? I’m sure they can help out if you really need them. I just…” he trailed off.

He clenched his eyes shut as he inhaled deeply. “I messed up really badly, Hailey. And I’m trying to fix it.”

Hansol didn’t offer more. He couldn’t. He didn’t want to lie, but he also didn’t have the strength to dig through the mess he made just to explain it all over again. This was all he could manage, and he hoped it would be enough.

Hailey, thankfully, seemed to understand. “It’s okay,” she said, not pressing further. “I hope it works out.”

“I hope so too” he whispered to himself.

They both exchanged brief goodbyes, and Hansol ended the call before letting out a shaky breath. He tossed the phone onto the bed and sat there in silence.

His eyes lifted towards the mirror across the room, and grimaced at the sight of himself. His hair was disheveled, eyes were sunken from the lack of sleep, and he was still in the same wrinkled clothes from yesterday. He looked as wrecked as he felt.

A bitter laugh escaped him.

And no matter how pathetic he looked, he was going to make it right.

Somehow.

▎2 DECEMBER 2021

The first day or two without hearing from you, Hansol tried to stay calm. He told himself you just needed space and time to breathe. And he wanted to respect that, he truly did, but silence didn’t mean his heart wasn’t screaming in regret. It didn’t mean he wasn’t fighting the urge to show up at your door and fall to his knees.

So, instead, he did what he could from the distance. He texted. He called. Even knowing full well you were likely with your family, he still desperately hoped that you would answer.

But every time he tried to call, his calls would go straight to voicemail. Every time he texted, his messages remained unread. It was killing him. Every time his phone buzzed from notifications that weren't from you, it added another brick to the weight on his chest.

Still, Hansol held onto hope that you were seeing them. Maybe you were reading them from your notification center. Unless, of course, you had muted him. And the thought itself made him nauseous.

By the third day, he was falling apart.

The apartment was a mess. Takeaway boxes were littered on the counter, his clothes were still in a heap from three nights ago, and the lights stayed dim because he couldn’t find the energy to turn them on. He hadn’t left the apartment since. He barely ate and barely slept. His eyes were puffy from crying. It was something he hadn’t done in years, but now did in quiet gasps as he stared blankly at his phone screen, waiting and hoping.

Joshua wasn’t being much of a good help either. He couldn’t even offer him a sliver of peace. Every time Hansol asked about you, whether it was how you were doing or even something as simple as “Did she eat today?”, Joshua would deflect.

“She’s fine.” “She’s resting.” “I don’t know, man.” Every vague excuse was like a slap in the face. Hansol knew Joshua was doing it on purpose and that he was trying to shield you from more hurt. And to be fair, part of him didn’t blame him. But it didn’t make it any less painful.

The longer he went without hearing your voice, seeing your face, or knowing whether or not you were okay, the more it drove him toward the edge. His sanity felt like it was hanging by a single fraying thread. And that thread was you.

He couldn’t keep doing this. Not another day. Not another hour. He was going to see you one way or another.

He didn’t care if he had to wait outside your house for hours, in the rain or during the night. He didn’t care if your brother tried to shut the door in his face or if you refused to say a word. He just needed to see you. He needed to know you were still there and that you hadn’t walked away from him forever.

Because if you had, he didn’t know what he’d do.

All Hansol knew was that he wasn’t going to spend another night pacing around his apartment like a ghost and haunted by what-ifs and regrets. He was going to find you, and he wasn’t leaving until he did.

╴╴╴╴╴

“Y/n, you can’t keep silent and lock yourself away like this forever. It’s getting ridiculous now,” Joshua said with a firm voice as he stormed into your bedroom without knocking. His frustration was evident in the way his footsteps seemed heavy.

“Get your ass up and talk it out with him. I’m getting tired of all this.”

You flinched under the blanket at his tone, not because it was harsh, but because it awakened the very thing you were trying to avoid, and that was facing Hansol. Joshua stood at the foot of your bed with his arms crossed and eyes narrowed. He wasn’t angry at you, he was exhausted from watching his baby sister spiral day after day.

Joshua wasn’t just irritated. He was heartbroken for you. For Hansol, too, though he never said it aloud. He was pissed at Hansol for making you cry, rightfully, but the truth was, the silence stretched on too long. You and Hansol were both barely functioning, and Joshua had enough.

He saw how Hansol had been trying, really trying. He could see the effort he was putting to get a hold of you though he physically kept his distance to give you space. And every time Joshua gave him a vague answer, he could somehow sense Hansol’s anguish from the other. It was almost too much to bear.

Joshua let out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair.

“I get that you’re hurt. But you can’t stay like this, Y/n. This zombie version of you? It’s not you. And it’s not helping at all, and you know it” he said.

“I’m not ready to,” you whispered, voice muffled as you tugged your blanket up to your eyes.

Joshua had no patience left for that. He strode over and yanked the blanket clean off you, forcing you to curl up tighter into yourself. You didn’t look at him, you couldn’t. The tears were already pricking the corners of your eyes.

“Then when?” he asked with a voice much sharper this time. “Seriously, when? Next week? Next month? Never?”

You stayed quiet.

His voice softened, but his next words hit you harder. “You know, if you’re this affected by what happened that night, why don’t you just spare yourself and break up with him?”

Your breath hitched as you shot your head up, shocked. The suggestion felt like a smack in the face. “What?”

“I’m serious,” Joshua continued.

“You love him, right? But this silence and shutting down, it’s hurting both of you. You’re not healing. You’re just avoiding it which doesn’t help with anything.”

You stared at him as pain swirled in your chest. “It’s not that simple,” you looked away from him.

“I know,” he said much gentler now. “But neither is loving someone. Neither is fighting for a relationship that clearly means everything to you.”

He sat down on the edge of your bed and looked at you with soft eyes. “I’m not saying forgive him right now, nor to forget what happened. But you need to face it. Talk to him. Scream at him if you need to. Just stop letting this eat you alive.”

Silence settled between you both for a long moment. You inhaled shakily, finally allowing your tears to trail silently down your cheeks.

“I don’t know what to say to him,” you admitted.

“Then start with that,” Joshua said simply. “Start with ‘I don’t know what to say.’ That’s something.”

And maybe it was.

Just then, a series of loud, abrupt knocks pounded against the front door, sharp and jarring enough to make you flinch. You shot up from your bed as your heart began to race, eyes wide as they darted toward your bedroom door. Nobody ever knocked like that, not even your angry mother when you wouldn’t open the door while having your headphones in. Given the door bell, people would’ve pressed it.

But this sounded urgent and desperate. And there was only one person you could think of who’d knock like that.

The thought of alone made your pulse quicken. Your stomach twisted as conflicting emotions battled inside you. No matter how hurt and furious you were, your heart still ached for him. Even now, after everything, it still yearned to hear his voice.

“I’ll see who that is,” Joshua said. You barely nodded as he was already moving toward the hallway.

Joshua hadn’t even fully opened the door when Hansol barged past him without a word. The younger’s breathing was heavy. His eyes were red and swollen, the bags under them were visibly dark with exhaustion. His lips were chapped, and he looked like he didn’t sleep in days. Because he didn’t.

Joshua blinked. He was stunned for half a second, before he sighed and stepped aside. He didn’t ask questions, nor did he try to stop him. It wasn’t his place anymore. He already tried everything, from comforting you to yelling at you. Even playing messenger between two people who were clearly miserable without each other. But this was out of his hands now.

With a quiet grunt, Joshua shut the door and walked away, heading to the living room and flipping on the television. He didn’t even check what channel was playing. He just needed the noise as a distraction.

This was something the two of you needed to deal with alone like grown adults. Face to face with no interruptions, and no more hiding.

And so, Joshua left the hallway silent behind him, leaving Hansol standing just a few steps away from your door with heart in his throat.

When he finally reached your bedroom, the door was wide open, thanks to Joshua who didn’t even bother closing it behind him. But either way, it left nothing between you and the person you’d been avoiding for days.

When he was suddenly in front of you, you froze completely. Your heart slammed hard against your ribs as your eyes landed on him. You didn’t know what to expect when this moment came, but it sure wasn’t this.

He stood there, his breathing ragged, fists clenched by his side and jaw locked in a way that made the muscles ripple beneath his skin. His shoulders were stiff, like he was struggling holding himself together.

Hansol looked absolutely beaten. His clothes were the same ones from that night, wrinkled and worn. His lips were trembling despite how hard he was trying to stay strong.

And you? You could barely breathe.

Seeing him like that shattered something in you. Because this wasn’t the Hansol you knew. The Hansol you knew never shattered, he was the anchor when storms hit. But now, he looked like he was barely hanging on. He looked like he was seconds away from falling apart.

Your throat constricted as the tears welling up in your eyes blurred your vision. You wanted to say something, but your lips parted and nothing came out.

“Hansol” you finally whispered as you slowly rose to your feet.

But you didn’t get to say more. In an instant, Hansol leaped forward, catching you off guard. He cupped your face roughly and before you could process it, his lips crashed into yours.

The kiss was intense that left you breathless. It wasn’t soft like how he’d always kiss you, but rather blunt and frantic. It was like he had been drowning and you were the air he needed to breathe again. He kissed you like he was starving of your touch and love. It was messy and heated, but so full of love.

You stumbled backward, but his arm shot out and wrapped around your waist to steady you. He didn’t let go, not even for a second. You stood frozen for a moment, feeling overwhelmed.

And then, your eyes fluttered shut as you kissed him back. Hard.

Your hands grasped his shirt tightly. You could feel his tears trailing down his cheeks, mixing with your own. His soft whimper against your lips shattered your heart all over again. He was crying.

Choi Hansol was actually crying.

You never saw him like this, not once. And now that you did, you wished you never pushed him to the edge like this. But more than that, you hated that he was suffering alone without you hearing him out.

You felt the way he poured everything into that kiss. The fear, the guilt, the longing, the love. It was all there, right between the quivering of his lips and the way his body pressed desperately against yours.

Without a word, you reached up to cradle his face in your hands and brushed his tear-streaked cheeks with your thumbs. He broke the kiss for a split second, and rested his forehead against yours as he tried to catch his breath.

“I’m sorry,” Hansol whimpered.

“I’m so sorry baby” he kissed you again, but this time it was slower and more fragile. You felt the kiss grow more saltier the more tears streamed down his face, and your heart couldn’t take much more.

“I’m such a fucking idiot, I know,” he mumbled breathlessly against your lips.

“I don’t even know what the hell I was thinking all those times I left you hanging. I don’t know what was going through my head when I chose to be there for someone else, when you were the one who needed me the most.”

He let out a sob that vibrated against your chest as he buried his face against your shoulder. You didn’t speak. All you could do was hold him closer with your fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt as his guilt poured out of him.

Hansol pulled away slightly, just enough to cup your face again. His thumbs gently stroked the apples of your cheeks as his red and glossy eyes locked with yours.

“You’re right,” he said. “You’re my girlfriend, for fuck’s sake. And you should feel like you are. You shouldn’t ever have to fight for my attention, or feel like you’re competing with anyone else.”

You watched the torment ripple through his expression. Every word looked like it cost him to say, but he meant them all. He needed you to know he was owning it.

“You didn’t deserve to feel like you were second,” he continued with his shaky voice. “You didn’t deserve to sit there wondering why I couldn’t show up for you the way I always did for someone else. And I hate that I made you feel that way. I hate that I didn’t see it sooner.”

You slowly brought your hands to his face, brushing your thumbs over the trails of tears on his cheeks. He leaned into your touch like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely.

“I— I know I try to be a good friend to Hailey,” he admitted, “but I should’ve set boundaries. Because you were right. She does have other people around her, people she can turn to besides me. I just— I guess I kept telling myself I was helping, not realising how much I was hurting you in the process.”

He shook his head. “Maybe that’s a talk I need to have with her too.”

He took another breath, but it got caught in his throat. “I just—” he paused, swallowing hard.

“I’m so sorry I made you feel like this. Even though it was never my intention, I still made you feel like a second choice. And I fucking hate myself for it.”

He dropped his hands from your face, only to wrap them around yours, the ones still resting on his cheeks. He squeezed them tightly.

“You know I love you, right?” he whispered, his voice breaking again. “That I never, ever meant to hurt you? Not on purpose. I love you more than I know how to say. So please, please give me a chance to make it right. I can’t keep going through this silence. It’s killing me baby. I swear it’s fucking killing me.”

And this time, his knees buckled as he sank to the floor, pulling you down with him.

You felt like your heart had been ripped out of your chest and crushed right in front of you. The sight of Hansol sobbing this much into your embrace was something you never thought you would witness.

You instinctively held onto him tightly like a mother cradling a child through a nightmare as the two of you slowly sank to the floor. In all the years you had known Hansol, this raw display of vulnerability was something completely foreign to you. He was always the strong one, and the rock for everyone else. Especially for you.

So to see him fall apart like this scared you.

“H-Hey, shhh,” you whispered, gently rubbing his back in slow and soothing circles. You pressed a kiss to the top of his head, another, then another.

“It’s okay, I forgive you, honey. Please stop crying,” you murmured as you were desperate to calm him down.

You tried to gently pull back to coax him into lifting his head and looking at you, but he only buried himself deeper into your chest. He kept his face hidden like he was ashamed to even be seen by you.

“Can you look at me?” you whispered, your voice cracking. But Hansol shook his head against you.

“Hansol-ie, baby, please look at me,” you said again more tenderly as you pulled out the name only his mother and you ever called him so endearingly.

And that finally did it. His body shifted as he slowly pulled himself up. He looked at you, tiredly yet with so much love and intensity.

Without a word, your hands found their way to his face. You cupped his cheeks as you brushed your thumbs gently over the wet trails. He leaned into your palms, closing his eyes and letting out a long, shaky breath.

“I’m sorry too,” you said.

Hansol opened his eyes slowly, brows furrowing in confusion. “Why are you sorry?” he asked, reaching out to hold your hands in his.

You offered him a small, halfhearted smile. “I guess I was being childish with how I acted. I shut down instead of talking to you. I pushed you away instead of letting you in.”

Hansol immediately shook his head. “No. You had every right to be upset. I was the one who broke my promise,” he said firmly, his thumb gently rubbing the back of your hand.

“It was all on me, not on you my love.”

He reached up to tuck a few stray strands of hair behind your ear. “Don’t blame yourself for reacting to the pain I caused.”

You swallowed hard, leaning into his touch. “But I should’ve at least told you I needed time. I shouldn’t have left you guessing like that.”

“Maybe,” he replied softly. “But I should’ve never put you in a position where you had to choose between silence or feeling like a second choice. You deserve so much better than that.”

Your eyes welled again, but this time from the overwhelming tenderness between you both.

But then you giggled softly. “I guess we’re both childish in our own ways,” you said, brushing a tear from your cheek with the back of your hand.

“Me, a stubborn and sensitive girl who shuts down instead of talking. And you, a loser, lovesick boy who’ll chase his girl no matter what.”

Hansol let out a soft laugh and he tilted his head. “And I love that beautiful, stubborn, and sensitive girl so much,” he whispered, “that I promised myself I’d chase her for her in every lifetime. No matter where, no matter when.”

Then, leaning in, he placed a gentle peck on your lips. Your smile paused, lips quivering as you tried to fight off another wave of tears. You stared into his eyes, “God, I really don’t deserve you” you whispered.

The words tumbled out of your mouth from the guilt and ache that still lingered in your chest. You pressed your lips against his again, hoping he could feel everything you didn’t know how to say.

But Hansol shook his head gently, pulling back just far enough to look you in the eyes. “No,” he said with conviction.

“It’s me who doesn’t deserve you.”

He reached up to cradle your face in both hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that slipped free. “If it were anyone else, they would’ve kicked my ass to the curb already and never looked back. But you?” he paused, his voice cracking, “You still gave me a chance. Even after everything. And I swear, I’m never taking that for granted again.”

“I promise, and I truly mean it this time,” he whispered, resting his forehead against yours, “I will never make you feel like that again.”

You let out a shaky breath. You’d never been so vulnerable like this with each other. It was so messy and so emotional.

“I hate that we hurt each other,” you whispered.

“I do too,” he said. “But if we’re going to hurt, I’d rather hurt with you than be without you.”

You rested your forehead against his, eyes closed and hands tangled in the fabric of his shirt. “We’re such a mess, aren’t we?” you chuckled through your tears.

“Yeah,” Hansol breathed, “but we’re our mess.”

You smiled softly and slowly wrapped your arms around his neck. The moment your body met his, a deep sigh left your lips as you buried your face in the crook of his neck.

Your voice came out muffled, “I love you,” you whispered against his hot skin, your lips brushing his collarbone.

Hansol let out a shaky exhale. He immediately snaked his arms around your waist and pulled you closer. He closed his eyes as you breathed you in.

“I love you too baby. More than I can ever express,” he murmured into your ear, before tenderly kissing the top of your head.

“I’ll never hurt you again,” he whispered as he pressed his forehead against yours. “God, I’d rather die before I ever do.”

“I don’t care what it takes. I’ll spend every day proving to you.”

a/n; it’s finally here!! please reblog if you like it🫶🏽

[beehunterkisser]

Absolutely OBSESSED with butch transfem Buford, could we please be graced with her presence once more 🙏

OF COURSE.. A GIFT FOR YOU

[gnomewithalaptop]

Rereading the Our Worlds at War tie-in again and God I miss their friendship every day

[nabaath-areng]

Been impossible to take photos of these nails due to horrible weather lighting, but since it was specifically inspired by Ieeha I needed to figure out a way... thank you closet for having surprisingly decent lighting and dresses for being a surprisingly decent backdrop!!!

[milo-is-rambling]

Weight talk tw I guess idk how to describe the post sorry im a little high

It’s so weird being around people who talk about weight problems (IOP) and like idk it brings up weird shit in my brain almost anxiety that I should feel bad about myself somehow like I’m doing this wrong being confident idk. Weird self doubt thing that happens when you’ve loved yourself (hmm. Rephrase. I don’t care about being fat. let’s say that.) and then you’re in a room full of people having a group discussion about how they avoid living their life in happy ways because they don’t want to become like you. But you love yourself. But everyone in your life since you were little has been dieting and talking about weight and specific numbers (someone was anxious about gaining seven pounds! SEVEN. If they saw my scale they would shit themselves. I put on seven pounds taking a big bong rip Jesus fucking Christ seven pounds. I wanted to rip my hair out.)

Next time weight issues come up in IOP I’m stepping out of the room. Like idk how to explain it cause it’s like not a trigger but I guess it is ? But it’s just so weird like the way I’m triggered makes me want to cry why does the world hate me for being fat what the fuck !!!!

[ghouljams]

Date Needed For Easter Reunion. Desperate.

Rating: E Words: 23.6k Tags: Soap x f!reader, Dead Dove Do Not Eat, unreliable narrator, unstable!reader, self-inflicted brainwashing, gaslighting, manipulation, strangers -> ???, non/dub con, cnc, wrestling, Erectile Dysfunction, Catholicism, biting, marking, non-consensual kissing, non-consensual marriage, religious delusion, oral sex (f and m receiving), piv sex, craigslist meet-cute, dirty talk, implied stalking, mild kidnapping, implied past abuse, on the run!reader, Johnny has a traumatic brain injury, breeding kink, unsafe bdsm dynamics, non-consensual sub training, fingering, cockwarming, hand jobs

Summary: You need an escape plan and respond to an ad online looking for a date. John Mactavish doesn't exactly offer you freedom in exchange.

<-Date needed for Easter reunion. Desperate.

[casual encounters]

“I'm a recently discharged, disabled veteran(medical: TBI) who never had time to date but has a very nosey (very catholic) family that asks a lot of questions. My mam just wants to know someone is taking care of me (can take care of myself) so I may have lied to her and told her I was dating someone. Which is where you come in.

You are:

-single

-willing to lie

-looking for a holiday in Scotland

-able to sit through mass

I will pay you in:

-my mam's cooking (it's good)

-free trip to the highlands

-whatever you want to steal from my sister's closet

Date is needed for my family reunion on Holy Saturday so I can reassure people I’m not going to accidentally die alone in my flat.

*

You stare at the man across the table from you and try to catalogue his features. If you don’t break him down piecemeal then the weight of his good looks might cause you to buckle. Two eyes, electric blue. Staring at them too long forces your gaze to wander away from them to other parts of his face. Two lips, pink and quirked into a crooked smile, showing off slightly discolored teeth. Coffee, you think, glancing down at his steaming cup. Your eyes drift up to his again, and again you find them drifting away. One bold pink scar at his temple, star shaped and cutting through his closely shaved hair in a single jagged slice. Your eyes linger on it until he reaches, almost sheepishly, to touch the thing.

“Aye, let’s get that out of the way first.” John agrees with your silent staring. You shake your head and focus on his eyes again, on the slight crease between his brow that speaks of unease.

“Oh, no it’s-” you hesitate on the words, “You don’t have to explain anything if you don’t want to, we can just ignore it.” He stares at you and you tack on, “I’m sorry for staring.”

“Nae the first person to stare, willnae be the last.” He hums. It feels like a reminder of sorts. For him you’re sure, but the familiarity of his tone makes you feel oddly… included. 

“Does your-” You stop yourself from asking if his family stares, that feels a little too personal in a way that you can’t be with a stranger, “-Does your family already think you have a girlfriend?” You ask instead. John laughs and it’s so deep and throaty that it catches your breath in your chest. 

“Aye, been tellin’ them I had you for a while now.” He nods, “Been dyin’ tae meet ya, but I kept putting it off.”

It’s your turn to nod. You understand that. It’s easier to keep a lie going than have a new one to tie together.

“Y’are a bonnie thing,” John mumbles, his lips catching against each other, his tongue weighted and his brows drawn low, he swallows before enunciating, “so sweet Ah cannae believe someone else hasnae sunk their teeth intae ya.” 

You’ve held his gaze too long, the violent blue shivers and shakes, with the strain of staring back at you. You feel your left eye twitch and jerkingly look down at your folded hands on the table. The color of your knuckles looks thinner, strained by the clench of your fingers against the wood. Anything to keep the anxious shaking at bay. Impatient to get away from the public eye, but grateful for the chance to meet a stranger with so many witnesses.

Your brain tries to latch onto John’s… compliment, and you brush it off. The doctor had said traumatic brain injuries make people impulsive, make it harder for them to police what they’re saying and doing. You can’t hold it against him if his inside thoughts roll off his tongue into the outside.

Actually, you feel sort of bad for taking advantage of the guy. You need him more than he needs you. The quick escape he offers isn’t one you take lightly, and this ruse is more reliable than anything else. It’s just… he seems nice. The way he fusses with his jumper reminds you of a puppy trying to walk with shoes on for the first time. He’s big and uncoordinated in a way that you should find endearing. His hands shake, his fingers plucking at the hem of one of his sleeves as a way to divert the energy. He squeezes his fingers into a tight fist when he notices you staring.

“Another gift from the bullet that had me discharged.” He huffs, “Makes mah mam worry seein’ me shake, made mah captain worry too.” The words are bitter in his mouth and you meet his gaze against your better judgement. “S’why they tossed me, cannae have a trigger finger this itchy.”

“Your mum must love you a lot.” You offer, the words feel hollow in your mouth. What’s that like, you wonder, having a parent that cares enough about you to worry over something like the tremor in your hands? 

John smiles, turns his gaze down to his fist and spreads his fingers out onto the table. It’s warm. The sort of expression that people with normal families have.

“Ah ken,” He shakes his head, “but she’s getting older, cannae have her running down to London for every doctor’s appointment.”

“Oh,” you frown, “that would be annoying.” Though you can’t say you aren’t envious. Had your family ever done the same for you? It was always a fight just to stay home from school, you know wouldn’t drop a thing for a doctor’s appointment much less driven across the country. 

“Ahm a grown man, dinnae need mah mam fer mah PT.” John insists. “Mah sisters are bad enough with all their badgerin’ me.” He sighs. “They mean well, Ah s’ppose, shouldnae fault them tha’.”

“Well,” you falter. It’s more than just taking advantage of one guy, you’re conning an entire family just to get yourself out of a situation of your own making. He should find someone else, someone better suited for dealing with a family that so clearly cares about him. But he’s not going to, you need this. You plaster on a smile and tell him, “It’s good you’ve got me, we’ll convince them you’re doing better than ever.”

John’s eyes flick to yours and you get the distinct impression of someone looking through rather than at you. It sends a shiver down your spine and you scramble to explain yourself before John can call your bluff. “I’ll make sure to tell her how capable you are, I mean.” You supply. John nods, his smile cut by his teeth in a way that feigns sincerity better than your mother ever could. 

“Gonna have to convince more than just mah mam and sisters,” he reminds you, “Plenty of kin for ya tae meet.” You must make a face because his smile grows to a size you’re sure must hurt his cheeks. “Got more than 50 people comin’ tae the reunion, more than that cannae take the time off for travel.”

You sit back in your chair with a rush of breath. Fifty? Fifty people. Fifty strangers you have to lie to for a whole day. Fifty names you’ll have to pretend to remember. Jesus.

“Jesus.” You mumble.

“Aye,” John hums, “it’s His doin’ that Mactavishes are a fertile brood.” The way he purrs it makes your stomach clench. You’re missing the context that haunts his voice, and you shake off the feeling in favor of changing the topic.

“So how long is the reunion?” It’s inelegant but it gets the job done. If John notices he doesn’t show it, immediately humming and bobbing his head like he’s trying to think. He crosses his arms over his chest and you’re struck by how big this guy is. Not uncoordinated then. John’s biceps strain against the bulk of his jumper, his broad chest squeezed between the trunks of his arms in a way that makes him look bulky. His shoulders roll back to a broad, square set that makes his neck seem thicker. You should get the impression that he’s putting on a show for you, but there’s no flex to his musculature, just the unquestionable presence of strength.

Strength that always seemed to haunt the silent wishes of every other man in your life, now personified and stripped of the authority to use it.

You swallow down the interest that slides to settle warm between your legs. 

“I can drive up Friday night, then the reunion is Saturday, and Mass on Sunday.” He counts off eyes roaming around the shop. He- 

Well, you don’t know how to describe it. John’s mood seems to change as quickly as the wind, his bright bubbling air turning teasing then wistful or purring and now this serious tone. Business-like where you would have sworn he was flirting with you. You glance at the scar on his temple, the pink seam of it seeming more obvious with each symptom that adds itself to the list. You wonder if he’s also forgetful, impulsive, if he’s prone to short tempers. You wonder how his vision is, and the thought of him driving suddenly makes you very nervous.

“I can drive.” You tell him quickly. He blinks at you and you find the air changed again, his expressions more open than you’ve seen even in children --perhaps that’s it, perhaps it’s not his mood changing so much as it is an openness that you’re not used to, you tell yourself he wears his heart on his sleeve, and find the thought somewhat relaxes you-- a gentle parting of his lips and soft raise of his brow that says you’ve caught him off guard.

“Ya wouldnae prefer flyin’?” He asks, and you cringe. You had mentioned in your emails that you were looking at flights, and he’d generously offered to compensate you. At the time you’d been eager to snatch up the opportunity, but now? Now the thought of leaving this man alone, with his shaking hands and poor vision, to drive for hours up to Glasgow felt wrong. You were already taking advantage of his need for a body to get yourself out of trouble, you couldn’t let him die in a road accident too. 

“No, I-” You search for an inoffensive answer, something that doesn’t make you sound like the terrible person you are, “I think it would be better if we arrived together, right? Happy and in love?”

John studies you for a moment before pouting his lips briefly and nodding, he hadn’t considered that you suppose.

“Aye,” He says slowly before he tips his head ever so slightly, “an’ we are happy an’ in love people, aren’t we, hen?”

“Oh definitely,” You agree. There’s something nervous and fluttery in your chest at his tone. Something that squeezes tight and fawns before you can chase the feeling down. It makes him smile, and the wide toothy grin he fixes you with crooks your stomach as quickly as it crooks his lips.

“Then we’ll drive up together.” He agrees. 

*

Despite the short notice you manage to get a hotel booked for Easter. It makes you feel a little slimy, squirms in your stomach oddly, but you plan on dipping out right after mass and leaving John with his family. If they’re as doting as he makes them out to be then he’ll have no trouble finding his way home. Besides, he already offered his car for the drive, so it’s not like he’s totally stranded. You made your peace with the sort of person you are long ago, you shouldn’t feel so bad leaving some disabled veteran in better hands. 

It’ll be a nice little vacation in a beautiful place, you’ll do something touristy, and then start figuring out your new life. You don’t deserve the vacation, but you don’t deserve a lot of things. John does though, for all you’re sure he’s been through, so you make yourself happy to play house with him. At least he’s not bad to look at. You could do worse, and you have.

You’re almost surprised by how short the bus ride to his flat is. He’s so close-by but you’ve never run into him. You recognize one of the patisseries you pass and hesitate to continue the rest of your walk at the prospect of getting a slice of cake. You check your time and decide to stop in for a road trip snack. You can give John this kindness at least. You hope he likes sweets.

Of course your detour leaves knocking on John’s door feeling like a herculean task. You raise your fist and hold it there for what feels like ages, your mind running a million miles a minute trying to spin out all the worst case scenarios.

This is insane. Actually insane. You’re running off to Scotland with a man you don’t know to meet a family that might not even exist --though you did spend a good few hours googling the Mactavish clan and what do you know John’s face is front and center, along with his discharge notice (ouch)-- just to get away from- well, you know what you’re running from. No sense dwelling on it when you’re so close to your new life. You learned your lesson with the Austrian, you’ll get away from John as soon as you’re able to and disappear into the highlands. Maybe you’ll herd sheep.

You knock on the door with your confidence renewed and John pulls it open immediately, his eyes wild, his hair disheveled and his shirt on inside out. His breathing is haggard and you watch him quickly end a call with someone marked only by a skull emoji, the tinny voice on the other end sounds rough and unhappy before it’s cut off. John offers you an apologetic smile and scratches the back of his neck.

“I thought you weren’t coming.” He says by way of explanation.

“I, um-” you hold up the bag of biscuits, “I stopped for a snack, for the road.” You check your phone. “I’m only a few minutes late.”

“Right.” John shakes his head, blinking his eyes as his brows draw down, like he’s trying to clear it, “Sorry, that- of course you’re not late, why would you be late?” He trails off, muttering to himself as he turns and stalks back into his flat. He seems to remember you and turns back to the door. “Come in, Ahm just finishin’ packin’ up.”

“It’s just the weekend.” You tell him, shuffling into his flat. You keep close to the wall and try not to look like you’re looking around. It’s sparsely decorated. Honestly it reminds you of those “male living space” memes that float around occasionally. The guy has a folding chair set up at a card table and not much else. You try to tip your head to get a glance at the bedroom and catch the corner of a mattress set on the floor. You grimace at the thought. 

You hear him muttering to himself and do your best not to eavesdrop too much. You’re sure he’s stressed about going to see his family, and you’re even more sure that living like this isn’t helping. Maybe his mum is right and he really does need the help. You feel that ever present pang of guilt start to gnaw at you at the thought. Fuck.

You’d read up a bit more on traumatic brain injuries --always eager to go the extra mile for someone else where you couldn’t for yourself-- and the idea that John had been living with virtually no support, his family a hundred miles away and his house barely fit for habitation, makes you really fucking sad. This guy probably lost everything he’d been working towards in the army, and now he’s living in this shitty flat with nobody around to care about him. And you’re taking advantage of his desperation to prove he isn’t the incapable man his mum is worried about in order to get a free trip and a new life. You’re really despicable.

Looking around though it’s pretty clear he isn’t taking care of himself. You don’t see any PT equipment or pictures, there’s not even a second chair or dishes in the sink. It’s like no one lives here. Even you had keepsakes tucked away in your “weekend” bag. John’s got a whole lot of nothing. 

“Sorry,” John sighs, hefting a packed duffle bag over his shoulder, his entrance jolts you out of your thoughts and you nearly crush your biscuits in surprise, “movin’ y’ken?”

“Sorry?” you blink, “Moving?”

“Aye.” John nods, dropping his bag to rifle through it, he tugs a pillbox free and opens the Friday morning tab, shaking the couple tablets into his waiting palm. He takes the pills dry before zipping the bag. “Back up tae Glasgow, be closer to mah mam an’ all that.”

“Oh.” You feel heat burn your cheeks, that explains the empty apartment. Guilt pokes at you again, you’d put him in the same category as his mum, incapable of taking care of himself. God. Are you a bad person? You are. You know you are, but are you this sort of bad? The “tbi automatically means this guy is dysfunctional” kind of bad?

You didn’t think you were before all of this.

“That’s nice.” You cover. John hums as he stands. 

“Isnae nice, means Ah’ll ‘ave ‘er breathin’ doon mah neck, taggin’ along tae the doctor like she’s ne’er seen mah heid on straight.” There’s no anger in his voice, just a gentle exasperation that reminds you of a pouting puppy. You cover your mouth to hide the smile it inspires. John flashes you a grin and you know you’ve been caught.

“Dunna be blate, laugh if ya want tae.” You let out a short giggle and cover it with a cough.

“Are you going to get less intelligible the closer we get to scotland?” You tease. Another smile, and a roll of John’s eyes.

“Aye ya ken mah mam’s gonna love ya, now yer actin’ out.” John grabs you and pulls you against his chest. The action is so familiar and affectionate that it makes you stiffen. Your stomach drops and you go rigid. Something shifts behind John’s eyes and you have to tighten more to keep tremors from running through you. Those bright blues feel electric, a flash of lightning before thunder, an unstoppable natural force that bears down on you with no warning but that quick burst of light. He doesn’t release you, and you can feel the pop of his shoulders as he rolls them, tipping his head to the side just enough to properly look down on you. He clicks his tongue and a shiver rushes down your spine.

“Relax hen,” it’s an unkind suggestion coated in false charm, “it’ll never fit if you’re wound this tight.”

“What- what?” You stutter, fingers shaking to find the right place to push to get him to let you go.

“Ah thought we were a happy loving couple,” John reminds you, “Cannae flinch like this.”

“Right.” You settle your hands against his chest and push. It’s like trying to move a brick wall. He barely budges, in fact you think his arms might tighten their hold on your waist.

“Got plenty of time tae get ya used tae me, yeah?” He hums, and leans closer. You duck your head to avoid meeting his gaze, or anything else, and feel his nose against your hair. He takes a long inhale and you squeeze your fingers into fists.

Impulsive, you remind yourself, he has a brain injury that makes him unable to control his impulses. That’s all it is. That’s all it can be.

“Do ah scare ya hen?” John’s voice rumbles so low in his chest that you feel it under your fingers. The question startles you enough to jolt you back to his gaze. 

You’re free of his grasp as soon as you look up. John’s bent to grab his duffle off the floor and you have just enough room to catch your breath.

“Of course not.” You lie. You’ve dealt with far worse than an overly touchy man with a brain injury. Overly touchy men giving out brain injuries, for one.

“Good,” John nods, tugging his bag up over his shoulder, “We’ve got a long drive ahead, no sense gettin’ scared now.”

Right, the drive. You’d almost forgotten about it. At least you can rest easier knowing John’s probably not stupid enough to let his impulses take over if you’re driving.

*

John’s hand is on your thigh as soon as you get out of his garage. He barely moves it when you complain about not having room to shift gears. It’s big and warm and entirely too high on your leg to not be distracting. Your traitorous body reacts to it immediately, your pulse quickening as your cunt throbs. It’s been a while, but you still remember what it feels like to have a man touch you, and it feels an awful lot like the wide spread of John’s fingers across your thigh. 

“So um,” You try to think of anything to talk about while John’s thumb rubs hot against your thigh, “we should probably get our story straight.”

“Told everyone the story already.” John says, and you struggle to find what that might mean. Is his hand moving higher on your thigh? You can’t keep your thoughts straight when he’s touching you like this. “Dating for six months, met in a coffee shop, you’ve been wanting to meet mah folks but time’s never been right.”

“Right.” You mumble, “John, um-”

“Johnny.” He cuts you off, “You call me Johnny.”

“Johnny,” You restart, “could you, uh, could you move your hand?” He gives your thigh a squeeze so tight it almost hurts, and slides his fingers up your thigh to rest just at the junction of your hip.

“Already know your lines,” he jokes, you think it’s a joke, God you hope it’s a joke, “Just gotta ask me if ya want somethin’, hen. Ahm a doting boyfriend after all.”

“Right.” You repeat, your knuckles creak with how tightly you grip the steering wheel.

His hand leaves you and your body reacts to the loss almost as violently as it had the initial touch. A chill crowds the space Johnny’s hand used to be, and threatens to wrack through your spine. You squeeze your thighs together quietly. It’s fine, you’re fine. He said he’d start getting you used to being touched, that’s all it is.

“So what are you into?” You change the topic. 

Johnny is silent for a while, so long that you chance a glance over at him. It makes you nervous taking your eyes off the road, but you lose a moment tracing the strong line of his nose as you watch his profile. He glances at you and you lock your eyes on the road again.

“Art.” He says finally. You nod. Art is good, you like art.

“What sort of art?” You prompt. You can’t fault him a stilted conversation you suppose, you did change the subject rather abruptly.

“Sketching,” he tells you, before thinking better of it, “pencils and charcoals. Never got into painting, too hard to take into the field.”

That must be it, it’s a reminder of his time in the military. You’re bringing up bad memories with such a simple question. You must have a talent for sticking your foot in your mouth if it’s this easy for you to stumble upon touchy subjects.

“That makes sense.” You nod and attempt to end the conversation, “You’ll have to show me some of your sketches sometime.”

The shift in the air is immediate. Even in your periphery you can tell Johnny’s perked up at the idea.

“Really? You’d want tae see ‘em?”

“Of course,” You shrug, keeping your eyes forward, “I like art.”

“Maybe ya could pose fer me sometime,” Johnny grins. “Ah’d make sure ya looked as bonnie as ya dae now.”

You laugh at the compliment, a weak attempt at covering your discomfort. You don’t need any buttering up, the false affection of it rings so hollow in your ears that it’s almost painful. It’s an unwanted politeness, an engagement in the conversation that makes you sick at the thought of engaging with. You don’t need to see yourself in graphite, it’s bad enough seeing yourself in the mirror. 

“Or maybe ah’d draw ya nude,” Johnny muses and you shut your mouth hard enough to hear your teeth click. “That’d be braw.” He hums, looking out the window, “Could have ya spread those bonnie legs and show me yer cunt. Ah’d make sure tae get real close and get a good look, talk tae ‘er real nice ‘til she’s drippin fer me, no fun drawing’ ‘er dry.”

Your eyes flick to him, your chest tight. He’s looking out the window, his chin cradled in his hand, as if he hadn’t said anything at all. You could almost believe you imagined it, but there were too many words, too detailed, to delude yourself into thinking you’d misheard the rumble of the engine.

You press your thighs together, fix your eyes on the road, try to ignore the man in the seat beside you. What are you supposed to say? Do you say anything? Is he hoping you’ll pull over and open your legs, pull his head between them and let him make good on his desire to talk to your pussy? 

The thought sends a shiver through you. You can’t say if it’s good or bad but it certainly catches Johnny’s attention to see you shudder. His teeth flash in the sun, and you know you’ve been caught.

“Aw hen, ya like when Ah talk like that?” His hand finds your thigh again, too high for you to mistake it as anything but what it is, a promise, “Ya want me tae tell ya how good ah am with mah tongue? Or are ya wet just thinkin’ about it?” He’s leaned closer, his hand squeezing your thigh so tightly it hurts, his shadow taking up too much of your periphery. “Fuck ah can smell it on ya-” His hand jumps to cup your cunt, and you freeze, “-warm, wet, little cunt. Stupid little girl. Should’ve worn a skirt so Ah could stick mah fingers in that pussy of yers and have a taste.” 

Your heart is beating out of your chest, your face burning as hot as the rest of your skin. He’s right, fuck he’s right. You’re aching, barely holding back from shifting in your seat and rocking against his searching fingers, all from a little dirty talk. You can’t open your mouth, can’t turn, can’t even move from the rigid position you’ve found yourself in, too scared that the barest twitch will make Johnny pounce,

And make the car crash.

You can’t be responsible for another death.

Johnny’s mouth opens, his body leaned far over the center console of the car (too far to survive a crash) and you feel his teeth scrape your neck.

Your body moves on its own, your shoulder jerks and you loosen your hand from the steering wheel to push him away. He goes willingly, laughing as he falls back into his seat and his hands leave you.

“Are you trying to kill us?” You demand, you can barely catch your breath, barely hold onto the boiling heat in the pit of your stomach.

“Ach, just havin’ some fun with ya hen,” He placates, “won’t it be easier holdin’ mah hand now that we’ve got that over with?”

You glare at the road and tamp down the heated humiliation that threatens to rise over you. No, you don’t think it will be. Especially not when you catch Johnny palming himself, and just know that’s the hand he’ll grab you with.

You can read the full fic here

[checkeredflagggs]

Please Don’t

Pairing: max verstappen x girlfriend!reader

summary: max didn’t realize that an increase of pregnancy hormones would also mean an increase in willingness to fight people in his behalf…or the 5+1 fic of fighting people for love

a/n: seriously redbull??? This was not what I had planned next but c'est la vie…

a/n2: I have a request for another piece of this series that I’m really looking forward to writing — there’s a little Easter egg for that in this one!

a/n3: congrats max!

Masterlist

Duckies Rookies Masterlist

Private Messages, Max and y/n

f1

liked by user, y/n, user, and 934,821 others

f1: BREAKING: Daniel Ricciardo to leave RB, the team have announced

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user1: NOOOOOOO

↳user2: what the fuck

↳user1: I am utterly heartbroken

user3: did you see the paddock this weekend??

↳user4: it’s obvious they all knew even if it wasn’t said…

↳user5: I’m so fucking mad — they didn’t give him a proper goodbye! 😡

user6: Danny legit looked like he was gonna cry…

↳user7: I don’t fucking blame him

↳user6: fuck redbull

↳user7: fuck marko and Horner

user8: ok but did anyone see y/n??

↳user9: she was not fucking around this weekend

↳user8: I didn’t even think she was supposed to be in Singapore?

↳user9: I didn’t either — I thought max had said she was still back in Monaco

↳user8: do you think that she flew last minute just to be there for Daniel?

↳user9: oh my god

user10: omg i was in the paddock this weekend and y/n was a BEAST. she showed up, she verbally flayed the redbull management, she slayed, then she left

↳user11: you have to spill everything!

↳user10: ngl I couldn’t hear everything but when she saw Horner I swear to god she pulled something out of her purse and threw it at him

↳user11: what a fucking Queen

↳user10: they disappeared back into the garage proper after that but man…

user12: raise your hand if you’re not shocked y/n went to bat for Danny 🙋🏾‍♀️

↳user13: 🙋🏻‍♂️

↳user14: 🙋🏼‍♀️

↳user15: I’m a new fan — why aren’t we shocked?

↳user12: don’t worry hun I got you — Danny and max are really close (going back to their days together in redbull)

↳user12: and y/n has said multiple times that she thinks of Danny as an big brother — he’s stepped in and helped her out with a few things over the years apparently

↳user12: and she’s been very vocal in previous years (against McLaren 🤮) about how certain teams have treated Danny — who’s given so much to the sport

↳user15: ooooohhhhhhhh thank you!!

↳user15: then 🙋🏽‍♂️

y/n

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris, charles_leclerc and 1,823,193 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

y/n: THATS MY MAN!! I GUESS WINNING IN THE FASTEST CAR ISNT FOR EVERYONE HUH?

view all comments

user16: damn Queen 👸🏻 dragging team principals all over the grid

user17: ok but is it just me or is y/n dodging the drinks tonight?

charles_leclerc: Congratulations!

maxverstappen1: mijn leeuwin…really?

↳y/n: THERES MY CHAMPION!!!

↳y/n: YOU DID JT!!

↳y/n: AND SOMEONE HAD TO SAY IT

↳maxverstappen1: 😂😂

lewishamilton: A well earned win man 🖤

user18: am I missing something? Was there something funny about her caption?

↳user19: haha a little bit — Brown (McLaren’s ceo) had made a comment previously that max only won WDC with the fastest car

↳user18: ohhhhh! So she’s pretty much saying suck it?? liked by y/n

↳user19: knowing y/n? Yes

Private Messages, Max and y/n

Bluesky

user20: oh my god this is exactly what I needed #teammax

user21: come on max went too far — to put George’s head into the wall?? #teamgeorge

↳user22: oh come on — we all know that’s a load of shit #teammax

user23: can I say something?

↳user24: go for it

↳user23: I’m #teamy/n cause I know max wouldn’t do anything but race his best but y/n? Oh she’s got that rabid energy to her

↳user24: bold but I agree

↳user25: I’m sat. I’m seating. I need to know how y/n responds

Private Messages, Max and y/n

Private Messages, Max and y/n

Private Messages, The Pride

assholegossippage

liked by user, user, user, and 1,293,933 others

tagged: y/n

assholegossippage: y/n l/n, longtime girlfriend of F1’s World Champion Max Verstappen, looking disheveled as she shows off her pregnancy belly

view all comments

user26: wow

↳user27: I’ve never seen such a fucking asshole comment before

maxverstappen1: Have fun hearing from my lawyers.

↳user28: Max I’m gonna need you to fucking bury them

↳y/n: Max!

liamlawson30: What fucking bullshit is this??

↳isackhadjar: Why would you say something like this?

↳user29: loving the kids coming to mom’s defense!

↳isackhadjar: Of course we are!

↳y/n: let’s not pick to many fights guys…

olliebearman: This is such disappointing behavior ☹️☹️

↳y/n: It’s fine Ollie

↳olliebearman: It is not!! They have no right!

↳user30: You tell them Ollie!

jackdoohan: Trying to shame a pregnant women for going outside? Do you have no shame??

↳gabrielbortoleto_: obviously not…

↳y/n: you guys…

↳user31: when they’re protective…

kimi.antonelli: Che essere umano disgustoso! What a disgusting human being!

↳y/n: Kimi…

↳kimi.antonelli: No! They can’t say these things!

Private Messages, The Pride

Taglist

@anamiad00msday @suns3treading @daniskywalkersolo @awritingtree @justheretoreadthxxs @coral7161 @lost4lyrics @mastermindbaby @freyathehuntress @angelluv16 @nichmeddar @mxm47max @justaf1girl @a-beaverhausen @tallrock35 @elizamoe133 @jessica3478 @il0vereadingstuff @taylorrrrrrrrrrswiftttt @widow-cevans @1-of-my-many-obsessions @charlesgirl16 @anunstablefangirl @evie-119 @sugarfreerbr @princessesgarden @tukes @mayax2o07 @teti-menchon0604 @galaxygurlll @star73807-blog @shelbyteller @ihaveitprinteddout @lilymaleshka @kuolonsyoja @allthings-fandom @mountainshuman @hannahmotors10 @moonypixel @dying-inside-but-its-classy

[5sospenguinqueen]

Espresso | Max Verstappen x Singer! Reader

Summary: Despite going back to his relationship with Kelly, Max can’t stop thinking about you. Every night. It certainly doesn’t help that you keep cropping up in the McLaren garage.

Warnings: softcore angst? Swearing. A pining man 

Requested: yes by many of you on the previous part 

Facelaim: Sabrina Carpenter (she was used on the last one and yes, she's used a lot but I stole her song and her job so I'm also stealing her face)

F1 Masterlist

prev. || next.

this will end up having 4 parts total. they're planned but not fully written

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

yn_ln just posted

liked by mclaren, oscarpiastri and others

yn_ln what do you do when you get woken up at 2am and can’t get back to sleep? write a song espresso is out now 

16,331 comments

user1 is this what the kids call a soft launch? is she seeing someone?

user2 okay but who is the guy reflected in her sunglasses? a new beau perhaps?

alexandrasaintmleux i don’t know what’s hotter. the song or the body 

→ francisca.cgomes the men in the video

→ pierregasly i can see this

user3 at least we know this new guy is dicking her down good 

user4 why do i feel like this is about max?

→ user5 why tf would it be about max? it’s a fun song about fucking all night

→ user4 because it feels teasing. like, he’s with someone else but can’t stop thinking about yn

→ user6 i’m with user4. maybe she’s trying to throw us off?

landonorris the sun looks bright in that pic

→ user7 uh oh. norizz is alive and well everyone 

user8 does this mean max keeps contacting her? 

user9 max is 100% messaging her at 1am saying how he misses her 

user10 i need a camera in max and kelly’s house when they first heard this 

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

yn_ln just posted

liked by redbullracing, kellypiquet and others

yn_ln i know i mountain dew it for ya (although, most of these had vodka) tagged: alexandrasaintmleux, francisca.cgomes

17,094 comments

user11 she looks like a hot librarian

→ user12 i‘d let her help me with my homework

user13 red bull admin is a canon yn stan

francisca.cgomes hot girls do bottomless brunch

→ alexandrasaintmleux maybe they shouldn’t. i still can’t find my left shoe

→ yn_ln i have it

user14 i bet the debrief was piping hot 

→ user15 oh to be in a gossip sesh with yn, kika and alex 

charles_leclerc stay away from my girlfriend. she came home drunk ranting about how much she loved you and the colour of your hair 

→ pierregasly and mine wouldn’t stop talking about how pretty your eyes are and how good you smell

→ yn_ln i have unbelievable rizz 

user16 i’d let yn step on me

→ yn_ln and i won’t even charge you 

user17 max fumbled so bad 

landonorris who’s that cute blonde?

→ yn_ln oscar isn’t in this post??

→ user18 i don’t think he was talking about oscar, hun

→ yn_ln why would he publicly embarrass his boyfriend like this?

→ oscarpiastri i hate you 

f1wags just posted

liked by verstappencom, shortnsweet and others

f1wags not even 6 weeks after reconciling, max verstappen and kelly piquet were caught arguing 

3,330 comments

user1 can they just stay broken up this time??

→ user2 i love max but i’m fed up now 

user3 yet you’ve not got any pics of it? why all the old lovey dovey pics of them

→ user4 the pics are all over twitter. i think f1wags chose not to post them because max looks like he’s trying not to cry in them, and f1wags has always been nice towards the drivers

user5 why is no one talking about the fact that both verstappencom and shortnsweet liked this??? 

→ user6 the fact that their teams are so desperate for them to be together that they’re publicly rooting for kelly’s demise 

user7 i’ve seen the clip on twitter and i wanna know why she’s yelling at him so aggressively 

→ user8 i bet it’s cause he’s been all up in yn’s likes 

→ user9 yeah but so is she 

→ user10 you’d think their relationship would be strengthened by their shared obsession with yn 

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

mclaren just posted

liked by lilymhe, flavy.barla and others

mclaren papaya party it wouldn’t be a maiden win celebration without some celebs. guess who got to hear espresso live 

7,814 comments

yn_ln why is lando’s hand like that? he’s not a ken doll 

→ landonorris i’m the barbie. you’re the ken

→ yn_ln you wish you were the barbie. you don’t have barbie energy

→ oscarpiastri i’m confused

→ yn_ln you’re an alan 

→ landonorris you take that back! 

→ user11 does this mean lando and yn saw barbie together?

→ oscarpiastri yes and they left me back at the mtc 

user12 not all the wags liking a mclaren post 

→ user13 it’s the power of yn

user14 lando and yn’s interactions give me life 

user15 i love how mclaren’s engagement has increased since yn started commenting on everything

→ user16 they’ve become more enjoyable since she became a fan 

user17 okay but she looks so good in orange

→ redbullracing except she was meant to be in navy

user18 her and lando make such a cute couple

→ landonorris ew no

→ yn_ln ew no. besides, you guys told me she was with oscar. i can’t break that up

→ oscarpiastri @/mclaren can we ban her from the garage?

→ lilyzneimer no! 

→ mclaren no! 

→ landonorris @/yn_ln i know i said no but why did you say no?

user19 guys, max liked and unliked this 

user20 mv1 fans, i think we’ve lost her 

landonorris posted a new story

yn_ln replied still serving cunt though 

maxverstappen1 replied is that yn?

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

requests open

coming next; oscar piastri. rivals to teammates to more

tell my why i lowkey feel bad posting this after the pregnancy announcement. i mean, i still don’t like kelly but i wish them every happiness for a safe and healthy delivery.

there will be NO lando x yn in the next two parts 

tag list

@peachiicherries @rosecentury @c-losur3 @heavy-vettel @evie-119 @raizelchrysanderoctavius @lilorose25 @sillyfreakfanparty @justaf1girl @omgsuperstarg @seonghwaexile @alejandrablacklupin @nina-or-anna-or-nora @shelbyteller @raynetargaryan2 @astroniii @jxnellat @seasonswinter @casey1-2007 @chemiru @strengthandstay @ivanag1rl @chaoswithus @ivegotparticulartaste @kiyoke3xe @pookynknowntranger

[myfictionaldreams]

Hey, I was wondering if you are still going to write for Natasha Romanoff x reader. If you are, imagine something where the avengers don’t know that they are together, until one of them (maybe Tony because he talks too much) sees reader with hickies and messy hair early in the morning after an intense night 🤭. And then maybe Natasha would be wondering why she’s taking so long away and comes in after. 🤭🤭🤭🤭

⁀➷ Classified // Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Summary: A quiet night at Avengers Tower turns into something much more intimate when secrets begin to unravel—and nothing stays hidden forever.

Requested by: I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to write! I've actually had this drafted for months and months, but I'm so glad to finally get around to finalising it.

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, soft dom!Nat, sub!reader, doctor reader, secret relationship, marking (hickeys), hair pulling, minor injuries, fingering, oral, praise kink, protective nat, power play

Words: 2.4k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

Restocking the medical supplies was usually a monotonous task that dragged endlessly. Today, however, you completed the task with the precision of someone trying not to think about worst-case scenarios.

Gauze, antiseptics, sutures—each item slid into place like it could stop your hands from shaking. The mission was supposed to be routine—in and out. But they were late. No one had heard a word from the jet in hours. 

While wiping down the already sterile and clean surface for the tenth time in the last two hours, you tried to avoid your colleagues’ quizzical looks, but your phone buzzed.

Heart thudding painfully in your chest, you snatched it up.

Natasha. Thank fuck.

You answers, relief flooding your chest. “Romanoff.”

“Mm”, came her voice, low and sultry. “I love it when you call me that. Makes me feel like a bad girl.”

Turning your back on the other doctors and nurses in the room, you tried to act casual, ignoring her remarks that had already caused heat to creep up your neck at her teasing. “How can I help you, Miss Romanoff? Are you in need of some medical assistance?”

Natasha laughs lightly down the phone at your professional response. “I need you to come to my room and check on me. My face has been missing its home between your legs.”

Her words caused an immediate reaction between your legs, your core tightening with arousal. Coughing to release some pent-up frustration, you tried to answer, “Your left knee casually? It hurts? Can you come to the hospital level, or do you need me to come to you?”

“You can come alright. I’m in my room. Alone.”

“I’ll be there shortly with my medical supplies.”

“That’s my girl.” The line went dead.

Pocketing your phone while turning to your colleagues, you tried to explain that you needed to attend to Black Widow’s knee. Slinging a medical bag over your shoulder, you tried to walk and not run like you wanted to out of the medical bay and into the elevator.

When stepping onto Avengers’ personal floor, you could see no other individual. Tentatively, you knocked once on her door before entering.

The room was dimly lit, and soft orange light from the setting sun cast through the ceiling-to-floor windows. Natasha, beautiful as ever, stood near her bed in just a sports bra and leggings. Her red hair was still damp from a quick shower, and the room was sweet from the scent of her body wash.

Those fierce green eyes clash with yours as you close the door.

“Shirt off”, she commands, her tone light but firm.

Blinking in response, you remark whilst dropping the bag onto the floor. “I thought I was here to check on you, baby.”

Natasha gives you her signature smirk. “You are. But I’ve missed you. And you’re wearing too many clothes for that, even though I love seeing you in those scrubs.”

Still, you stepped toward her first, fingertips brushing against her bare stomach that tensed at the action as you stared at the discoloured bruise along her left side. All the excitement had quickly given way to worry.

“How’d you do this?”

“Threw a guy over a railing. He didn’t go quietly. You know how it is.”

You sigh, pressing your palm gently over the bruised skin to assess the extent of the bruising. The lack of reaction from Nat was reassuring; you knew that her pain tolerance was higher than most of the US population.

“You need to rest. Ice. Maybe you shouldn’t be on your feet.”

She leans in, her voice a purr against your ear. “Then you’ll just have to keep me in bed, won’t you, Doc?”

There was barely any time to react before she was kissing you- hard and hot, like she’d been waiting days, weeks, too long. Her hands tangled in your hair, guiding your mouth open so she could taste you deeper. She tasted sweet, like cherries and gum.

Nat walked you backwards until your knees hit the bed. Collapsing onto the mattress, she’s quick to follow, straddling your hips with a predator’s grace.

It took entirely too long – seconds – for your shirt to be removed, but her lips are all over the moment it’s removed. From your neck, biting and licking, to your stomach, kissing and caressing with her tongue like she wanted to taste your entire body.

“You taste like antiseptic”, she murmurs against your skin, her admission not stopping her actions at all as she gently nipples on your collarbone, her fingers massaging your breasts through your bra. “And anxiety, did you miss me, hm?”

Tugging her closer, your nails dig into the flesh of her hips, “And you smell like trouble, baby.”

“Mmhm,” she hums in agreement, “but you love trouble, don’t you, Sugar?”

Her lips are on yours again with renewed hunger, but slower, like she savoured everything you had to offer. Your hands move to cup her arse, pulling her hips closer until you’re both grinding together.

“Let me take care of you for once.”

Natasha arched a brow. “You think I need taking care of?”

Flipping the two of you with surprising ease - meaning Natasha allowed you to do so - you hover over the assassin, taking a moment to admire the redness of her hair, mixing with the orange streaks of sun beaming through the window.

“You’re so fucking beautiful”, you breathe the words out as your fingers bring down the waistband of her leggings and underwear as she removes her bra, leaving her completely naked beneath you.

While mindful of her bruised side, you eased her to the edge of the bed. Sinking to your knees, Natasha’s eyes darkened as she bit her lips, thighs spreading as you ease each leg over your shoulder.

“You’re going to ruin me, aren’t you?” she asks as she idly plays with her nipples until they’re taunt, rosy and peaked.

You didn’t answer. Just pressed your lips to her inner thigh, slowly kissing your way upward. Her fingers laced through your hair, but her grip faltered when your mouth finally reached her. Tongue licking up the length of her hairless pussy, adding pressure to slip between her softness to feel the firm, throbbing clit that drew out a choked sound from the back of her throat.

“Fuck,” she groans, her eyes closing and head tipping back.

You work her slowly. Needing to memorise her taste, the sounds she makes, the way her body moves from her hips, trying to dictate your movements by a subtle role, to the way her strong thighs nearly suffocate you between them. 

“Don’t stop,” she rasps, the hand in her hair tightening to the point of pain. “God, baby, just like that.” 

You were never going to stop, even if you couldn’t breathe as your lips sealed around her clit. Two fingers slipped inside, curling in time with your pulsing mouth, the other hand pressing lightly above her pubic bone, attempting to keep her hips on the bed so you can have some form of control.

You watch, mesmerised as her cunt begins to pulse around your fingers. Back arching, thighs unbelievably tight around your face, a moan so breathtaking that you’re sure your arousal is now staining your scrubs with how turned on you were. She was utterly fucking beautiful.

Ever the dom, Natasha’s orgasm hadn’t even subsided fully before she’s pulling your body back onto the bed, swapping your positions so you’re lying against the sheets.

“That was dangerous,” she teases against your mouth, nipping your lower lip between her teeth until it snaps back to place. Now, I’m going to have to remind you who’s really in charge.”

Her slender fingers skim beneath your waistband, teasing and lingering.

“Say it”, she says against your throat. “Say you missed me.”

“I missed you.” Your voice quivers as her fingers finally dip lower, brushing beneath your underwear, touching exactly where you want her most.

She was always like this, dominant and teasing, but you’re always rewarded.

“That’s my girl, always so wet for me”, she compliments before sucking on the skin to the point of pain beneath your ear. You grunt at the mix of discomfort and pleasure as her fingers idly stroke over your soaked pussy.

There was no rushing Natasha, not when she’d been kept from you for so long. A small part of you worried that the other doctors and nurses would wonder where you’d disappeared, too, but all rational thoughts escaped you as she spread your labia, pressing her finger directly there.

One finger became two, slipping inside as you gasped and arched into her, rolling your hips until her palm pressed against your clit. With slow, deep curls, Natasha's fingers have your thighs trembling and breathy moans becoming desperate in no time at all.

All the while, she keeps her forehead pressed against yours, eyes locked on your face, studying every moan, every flutter of your lashes.

“God, look at you,” she whispers, voice rough. “Fall apart for me. Are you going to cum on my fingers, Sugar?”

You nod your head, whimpering as she applies more pressure to your clit. Bucking up and grabbing her shoulders. “Please - Natasha-!”

“I’ve got you”, she promises, lowering her face now until she’s biting your nipples through your bra in a sharp sting of pain.

You came with a startled cry, your cunt pulsing around her fingers, sucking her in deeper, like your body never wanted to give up. She keeps the pressure, continues to curl her fingers as your orgasm draws on and on until you’re a pile of numbness, still half dressed from work.

Nat withdraws her fingers with slow movements, leaving you twitching in the sensitive area. Watching her movements, you groan deeply as she sucks her wet fingers into her mouth, tasting your juices with a pornographic moan, her eyes closing as she savours the taste. 

She curls around you protectively, damp fingers brushing against your cheeks whilst kissing your temple, then your shoulder. Lazily dragging her lips down your neck, sucking another deep hickey against your skin. 

Groaning whilst half-laughing, “You’re marking me on purpose”.

She smiles against your skin. “Obviously. You’re mine.”

~~~~~~~~

Later, you were lounging on one of the couches at the tower’s low-key celebration, which was never really low-key when it came to Tony Stark. Thankfully, you owned a turtlenecked dress that was soft and comfortable on your sensitive, heavily marked skin.

Something Natasha noticed as she caught you in a dark crevice, easing away your neckline to admire her artwork with a bite of her full lips. That wasn’t all, though. Usually, at public events, the two of you would stay on opposite sides of the room, but tonight, Nat couldn’t help herself.

Frequently, she would walk back, her warm hand brushing the small of your back, her eyes watching your every sip, every shift in your chair; your secret girlfriend missed nothing.

Since then, the party has dwindled to only a handful of individuals, who are, for the most part, members of the Avengers or close friends of the Avengers.

“You know,” the billionaire loudly declared while holding up his glass of scotch. I know I’m a genius, and you guys never really appreciate it, but I’ve just cracked a code, and I need to share.”

Not thinking anything of it, you continued to sip from your drink idly, eyes flicking to the red-haired woman sitting across from you in the circle of couches.

“I know who’s been sneaking around like hormone-crazed teenagers.” Tony grins widely. You stiffen, eyes once more flicking to Natasha, who remains nonchalant. Her reaction has you calming. Of course, he wouldn’t know about you and Natasha. She’s an assassin; she could keep secrets, hide in plain sight, and, of course, your relationship was still hidden.

However, as your eyes moved back to the billionaire staring only at you, you knew nothing good would come from his following words. “Our very own medbay angel and Miss Romanoff. Caught the Doc here leaving her bedroom with messy hair and a constellation of hickets. Pretty classic evidence, honestly.”

A beat of silence followed. Every head turned to look at you. At Natasha. At the space between you.

All you can do is freeze. Not blinking and not breathing. They knew. They all knew. The attention made your skin feel too tight, like your heartbeat had jumped outside your body.

It wasn’t just embarrassment—it was vulnerability. The intimacy you’d guarded for so long was exposed. It was no longer a private, secret thing. It was no longer yours and Natasha's alone.

Finally, dragging a deep breath in, the urge to flee the room came over you, but an enraged redhead stepped into your path. Her arms rested comfortingly on your upper arms, thumbs stroking in slow circles. The energy emanating from her was unmistakable. She was protective, sharp, and unapologetic.

“That’s enough”, she said evenly, tone calm but laced with authority. “We kept it private for a reason, Tony.”

The man blinked, taken aback by the reaction from the room. “Hey, it’s not a bad thing-”

“She’s not a punchline,” Natasha continues to defend you. “And this isn’t gossip. I don’t want the whole world, including our enemies, Stark, knowing what she means to me. Understand?”

You felt her hand slip behind you, curling gently around your wrist, anchoring. But the tremble of anger was there.

“Nat,” you whisper, stepping closer to her side as your heart hammered.

Turning away from her friends and colleagues, her features soften, eyes tracking every emotion written across your face. “You okay?”

You nod, even if you weren’t entirely sure.

She leans in, her breath tickling your eye. “You’re mine. And I’m not letting anyone make you feel small about it. Not even Stark,”

There was another beat of silence until Clint, of all people, groaned and toasted an empty beer bottle at Tony’s head. “It took you this long to figure that out? I’ve had fifty bucks on them for months.”

“Same,” said Sam, raising his hand.

Steve snorted, “I told you she wasn’t just icing her injury in the medbay.”

Tony looked around, betrayed. “You all knew?”

Bucky shrugged. “It wasn’t that subtle.”

Laughter filled your ears from those surrounding you. Natasha’s grip on your wrist eased, but her hand kept you close. Exhaling shakily, you watched the group ease back into their jokes and drinks, the weight slowly lifting from your chest.

When you glanced back at Natasha, she was already looking at you. She pressed a sweet kiss to your cheek. “Not a secret anymore. Now there’s no hiding that you’re mine.”

And somehow, that made it all ok.

[whoreforsexymen]

The VIP Booth | Vander Smut Oneshot 🫗🤎

(Gif creds: me <3)

Pairings: Husband!Vander x Wife!Reader

Pronouns: Fem!Pronouns

Rating: NSFW, 18+, MDNI !! You WILL be blocked! 🤺

Word Count: 3.1k (whoops. got carried away with storybuilding)

Tags: Cunnilingus, Fingering, Face Fucking, Finger Sucking, Hair Pulling, Semi-Public Sexual Acts, Established Relationship, etc.

Summary: You coax your husband into eating you out in the only private area The Last Drop has to offer.

Notes: AAAA!! Idk if this idea is ANY GOOD but it came to me in a moment of delusion. The last bit was probably a little rushed, too. SORRYYYY. I’ll make it up to yall later.

Also, tell me I’m wrong when I say that Vander will go to any length to eat some pussy. Do it, cowards. I dare you. YOU KNOW JUST AS WELL AS I DO THAT THIS MAN WOULD HAPPILY DIE WITH HIS FACE IN BETWEEN A PAIR OF THIGHS.

Asks/Request fics are coming soon, as well as a few more special treats for y’all!! Enjoy, my lovelies, & stay tuned. 🤍

(I can see you, minors!! Get outta here 🤺🤺. BACK! BACK, I SAY!)

Inside the walls of The Last Drop, there was one booth unlike any other—a private, exclusive spot tucked away behind the bustling central room. It was a booth reserved for those willing to pay for top-tier service, offering a secluded escape from the usual chaos of the bar’s environment. But as co-owner of The Last Drop—and wife to the main owner—you didn’t need to fork out any cash to reserve it. Especially not on a night like this. No—tonight, luck was on your side. The booth had gone unclaimed by any paying customer.

Truthfully, the undeniably significant feature were its curtains. The enormous maroon tapestries that enveloped the entrance ensured complete privacy, shielding it from prying eyes. After all, that’s what made it the VIP booth—an oasis of solitude amidst the drunken chaos of the crowd.

With the booth left unreserved, its privacy ensuring a rare moment of seclusion, and the crowd blissfully distracted by their own drunken revelry, the opportunity was simply too perfect to pass up. You had concocted a devilish plan—one that had been simmering in your mind all night. It wasn’t just about messing with your husband—it was about messing around with him.

Your overwhelming desire for your husband was impossible to ignore on any given day, but tonight, it seemed even more intense—an insatiable hunger that gnawed at you, its cause elusive and beyond your comprehension. Whatever the reason, it gripped you with a force you couldn't obstruct, leaving you restless and consumed by pure unadulterated lust.

This, naturally, allowed your plan to unfold effortlessly, as if guided by an invisible hand, bringing it closer to fruition.

To carry out your devious plan, you had carefully cultivated the trust of one of the few individuals who worked for you and Vander. They weren’t exactly employees in the traditional sense, but rather a handful of people you kept on the fringes, offering a few coins in exchange for their occasional assistance. Their loyalty was fleeting, bought with small tokens, but it was enough to serve your purpose. Especially in a moment such as this. A seemingly crucial one—at that.

You kept things vague, framing your request as though it were purely concerning a business discussion needing to be had. You asked your employee to discreetly inform your husband that someone was calling him from behind the velvet curtains of the VIP booth. You also made it clear that the employee should mirror your discretion, avoiding any mention of your name or your connection to him.

The employee appeared curious, even somewhat uneasy, at first. That was, however, prior to you slipping a generous cash bonus their way, eliciting their cooperation without room for protest.

"Go on, please," you plead with your unsuspecting employee, your voice laced with a blend of urgency and excitement. "But remember—don’t tell him it’s me."

As the employee slips into the bustling crowd, you struggle to contain the surge of excitement building within you, all while fighting to maintain a sultry—yet composed, demeanor. You adjust your hair, breasts, and clothing, making subtle moves to enhance your allure and mystery. Every gesture is deliberate, designed to keep you as collected and captivating as possible, cultivating an air of intrigue about you as you desperately await the arrival of your beloved husband.

They fulfilled your agreement as you waited—approaching their boss and informing him that someone had entered the VIP booth, insisting on speaking with him directly.

"VIP booth? Thought nobody booked it tonight," Vander remarks, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms over his chest as he takes a moment to process the information. Normally, you were the one who handled the VIP booth, and he’d have gladly passed this task off to you—if the employee hadn’t mentioned that the VIP “customer” specifically requested Vander. Looks like he’d have to put on a more hospitable facade and give them what they wanted.

If only he knew just what this "customer" truly wanted from him.

After a series of grunts, groans, and huffs, Vander finally made his way to the booth. After forcing a welcoming smile onto his face, he slowly pushed aside the curtains.

"Sorry for the wait. You wanted to speak to the owner—"

His voice faltered, trailing off faster than it had taken him to summon the words.

You feel your own response threaten to catch in your throat, but you won’t cave. You abandon your nerves.

"Why yes, I did. Although..." you drawl, your tone laced with playful mischief, "...'speak' isn’t exactly at the top of the list of things I want to do to the owner."

Your sultry gaze locks onto his, deliciously teasing. Vander, already an imposing figure, looms even larger from your vantage point in the booth. Seated as you are, you find yourself craning your neck significantly just to meet his eyes, the angle only amplifying his commanding presence.

A slew of unidentifiable emotions cross his face in a mere flash before fading into a singularly—equally mischievous to yours—-expression.

“Well. Seein’ as how you are the VIP patron of the night, how can I oblige you?” He queries, his eyebrow raising once more.

Your heart stutters beneath your breast as his expression shifts, his eyes darkening with a lust-filled intensity that sends a shiver through you. The chemistry between you two never failing to baffle you.

"...Serve me," you murmur, your voice soft yet determined to keep the air thick with seduction.

"And what, if I may be so bold to ask, can I serve you with?" he inquires, his voice dipping low, the provocative edge in his gaze unwavering.

"Your body." you quip, your voice steady despite the flutter of nerves stirring in your gut, desperate to make it quiver.

Vander eyes you carefully for a moment, savoring the way your confidence wavers. He deliberately toys with the knowledge of how easily he can unsettle you, his gaze lingering as if relishing every flicker of hesitation you try to hide. A smirk slowly spreads across his mouth—the very one you ached for—his eyes glinting with an all-knowing, deviously sexy twinge. He nods softly, his hand rising to casually caress his beard as he watches you, the tension thick in the air.

“Mmhmm. I see," he murmurs, his tone laced with teasing amusement. "Who am I, if not a man willing to care for his loyal customers?" He phrases simply, the words carrying a heavy, unspoken promise before he moves, gracefully lowering himself to his knees across from you. There’s a moment of silence, the air thick with anticipation, before he slowly begins to push himself beneath the table that had kept you both apart.

You don’t dare look beneath the table, almost afraid to meet his gaze at this moment, unsure of what you might see on his face now that the situation has shifted. The tension coils tighter, each passing second amplifying the anticipation that overwhelmed your senses.

You practically jump at the brush of his shoulders against your shins as he crawls to them, the rush of anticipation making every nerve in your body jolt. The aching desperation pulling through you draws attention to your core as you feel his strong hands gently caress your legs, the heat of his touch settling on your knees, sending a shiver through you. The way your teeth begin to tug at your bottom lip seemed like the only way you could physically process your eagerness.

Vander remains silent, his hands moving deliberately in opposite directions, the gesture designed to spread your legs—yet he did so with enough force to split you down the middle if he hadn’t been careful enough. It isn’t until he successfully parts them that he speaks again.

“No bottoms? My. What a dirty girl you are, my dear customer. What if someone else had walked in here, hmm? Did you plan on flashing your bits to any bloke who popped his head in?” He teases, practically groaning some of his words, the guttural tone an unintentional yet instinctual reaction to the sight of you so bare—-so clearly prepared for whatever scenario it was you anticipated happening in this little corner of the establishment.

It was obvious to your husband, from the way you were reacting, that the possibility of him crawling under the table to bury his face between your thighs hadn’t even crossed your mind. The surprise and hesitation in your twitches and subtle movements told him everything he needed to know.

The distant, familiar chatter of real customers beyond the thin barrier tightened the knot in your stomach, throwing you into the reality of the moment. It became an unrelenting presence, grounding you in the tension that hung in the air. Meanwhile, the hot, damp breath of your husband seethed against the cold slickness seeping from your cunt, a stark contrast that deepened the unease coursing through you.

A shiver ran up your spine, your body trembling as nervous spasms raked through your bones when he edged even closer—his hair grazing your skin in that familiar way you knew so well. It wasn’t uncommon for your husband to spend most of his time down here, yet no matter how often it happened, the anxiety it stirred within you never waned.

You had an even harder time controlling how your body writhed as you felt the warmth of his tongue flush itself against your sopping heat. Your nails pressed into the soft wood of the table, digging in as you braced yourself, your body jerking. The spasms faltered for a moment, your body going rigid once he started violently lapping his tongue against your aching clit. The abrasing way his beard rubbed against the skin of your thighs sent you into a spiral.

You had expected him to fuck you directly on the table, to take you in the way you were used to—but instead, he toyed with you from beneath it, the unanticipated choice leaving you bewildered. You had been aching for what felt like ages, the desperation almost unbearable. It was a struggle to keep your mouth from parting—your head tilting back, eyes closing as your husband began to ease the tension that had gripped you for so long.

All you wanted was to whimper, to cry out for him, but you couldn’t—not with the patrons so close, just beyond the curtains. If he had only fucked you as you’d expected, he would’ve easily pressed a hand over your mouth to keep you quiet, as he had in similar situations before. But this time, you knew he had chosen this path deliberately, testing whether you could hold your composure.

It was his unspoken way of making you atone for the ploy you used to get him here. He was a patient lover, understanding that even though you had pulled him away from his work—which he didn’t mind as much as he let on—you were just too eager to be patient. Always attuned to your needs, he was more than willing to satisfy the cravings of his most cherished wife, finding joy in fulfilling your desires—no matter the time or place. The absence of his familiar presence behind the bar, and the slight potential for upsetting customers, felt like a small price to pay in exchange for the chance to fully indulge in you. To unravel and claim you in ways only he could.

His tongue was relentless. He sloppily sucked and licked at your needy clit, his nose rubbing against the mound of flesh above as he devoured you. His hands were as equally hungry as his mouth, and in need of something to grab. He manhandles your legs, draping them roughly over his shoulders, his fingers gripping at your plush thighs as he curls his arms around them. In doing so, he pulled you closer, your back slipping against the booth as he guided you down, drawing you nearer to him with a purposeful force. His cock was begging to be set free from its cloth prison as he sunk his tongue deep into the void of your cunt. The rhythmic, wet sounds became a melody more captivating than any song he'd ever heard, especially when paired with the soft mewls of you struggling to stay collected—and most importantly—silent.

You can both hear and feel his laugh against you, a deep, low chuckle that carries a mix of arousal and amusement, vibrating through you with every huff. He found the way he could make you squirm incredibly sexy, the reaction sparking a deep sense of pride within him. There was something about the ease with which he could unsettle you that thrilled him, and he took great satisfaction in knowing how little effort it took. He knew all too well that it only took something as simple as a certain look to have you coming undone—and right now, he was determined to make you come undone. All over his tongue.

Vander knows just how wild his fingers can make you on their own— yet especially so when paired with the mastery of his expertly quick and thoughtful tongue.

He wasted no time in combining the two, intent on making you crack under the pressure. While Vander didn’t particularly want to be caught by patrons, either—or, for that matter, by one of your employees—his desire to make you scream was always his top priority.

He grips your thighs with more gusto than before, continuing to pull them further apart in hopes of expanding his ‘workspace’. He releases one of them, the fingers of that hand moving to replace the tongue that was working its familiar magic inside you. He doesn’t give you so much as a single moment to collect your thoughts as he makes the exchange, effortlessly ramming and curling two up into your cunt as his tongue continues its prior attack on your clit.

You swore you were seeing stars behind your eyelids, your grip on the table faltering just like your efforts to stay in control. You couldn't even attempt to cover your mouth, not with the relentless—yet unintentional—way your hands found their way under the table, tangling in his hair and gripping with enough force to pull some strands loose.

You greedily buck your hips down to meet the thrusting of his digits, pulling his head as far into your cunt as possible. He doesn’t complain. He never would. Maybe it was his own type of preferred masochism, but he’d consider suffocating and perishing in between your legs in this way, a noble death.

Your toes ache from the force with which you’re curling them, your legs clutching and winding around his shoulders and neck like a python.

By now, you had abandoned all caution, hope, and effort to moan quietly. You were practically screaming over the deliciously knowing way he prodded his thick fingers into your cunt. He had long forgotten to move them in and out. He knew exactly what spot drove you mad, and he made his most conscious effort to curl them into it as rapidly and frequently as possible.

As much as Vander adored your cries, they were truly becoming far too loud. He really didn’t want any curious folks to come wandering in to spoil the moment when you were so close to your inevitable peak. He has no choice but to silence you. With the hand that remained on your other thigh, he removed it from its resting place, reaching up from beneath the table as he gazes up at you. With a smirk against your cunt, and his eyes studying how your head was still thrown back against the booth, eyes shut tighter than a steel trap—-he shoves two of his free fingers into your mouth. Your eyes shoot open. You look down at him, earning a wink from your husband as he smirks harder against your cunt. The eye contact was filthy, in the most erotic way possible. It always made you feel slightly awkward, in an oddly arousing way, when you made such a type of contact with him in the heat of a moment like this.

You willingly sucked on his fingers, now understanding the purpose for his actions after a thoughtful moment. He groans against your cunt, luckily the sound being muffled by how much his mouth was buried into it. Your tongue swirls itself rapaciously around the digits, drool falling from your mouth as you did so. Vander simply can’t tear his eyes away from such a sight. He groans more as you lower your own gaze, your expression deadly with seduction. He was almost pissy that both of his hands were occupied at the moment. He was anxious to palm at his cock, desperate to find friction of his own now.

His tongue and lips were still working their relentless job on your clit, suckling every few seconds amidst the slurping. The way his facial hair brushes against it every now and then almost sends you into hysterics—bordering on a full blown frenzy.

Your legs are quaking, twitching and spasming with every harsh lick to your clit. It was so sensitive, you couldn’t help how it shocked your nerves, causing them all to fire simultaneously. Electricity burned in your veins, desperate to chase your orgasm as it made your hips flick against his mouth faster than he could lap at you.

Your orgasm burrowed itself into the pit of your stomach, commanding you to follow it down to your cunt.

It didn’t take much longer for you to keel over the edge of your impending climax. It burst through you, your legs clamping shut around his face—a move which Vander was used to by now—-hips mindlessly gyrating against his face as you brutally cum around his fingers. Vander can feel your walls clenching and relaxing back to back with each additional thrust he gave, your voice begging to slip past his fingers as you come undone. He thought you had been dripping wet at the start of this—but he had been sorely mistaken. Your arousal was seeping out of you despite his fingers plugging you up.

“Attagirl..” He whispers against you, giving your clit a few final licks before reluctantly pulling away. The grip on his hair finally loosened as your body went almost completely limp. Your breathing came in rapid, shallow gasps, just as desperate as Vander, himself, now was. His cock was so hard, it felt like it was being choked by his trousers. But he had the patience of a saint. He could wait as long as needed for you to collect yourself once again.

“So, was the service to your liking?” he asks, his tone teasing—and entirely rhetorical—as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. The fingers that had been in your mouth slide free as he takes a moment to compose himself.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he chuckles, clearly amused by how speechless you’ve become.

“Just don’t forget to tip your server..” He teases, alluding to the painfully obvious fact, that this situation is far from over.

[jlle-marie]

THE SWEETEST SIN — levi x fem!reader (PART 2)

⪼ please mind the tags: age gap (levi early 40s / reader early 20s), dbf levi, a lot of forbidden/taboo things, a lot of teasing cause levi’s trying to behave (he failed), slight voyeurism, risky setting, levi is jealous (irrationally), oral (f & m receiving), p in v sex, mdni. WC: 4.5k

⪼ sum: A friendly dinner with your parents’ longtime friends. Among them is Levi — your dad’s best friend, and someone you’ve known for as long as you can remember. It’s been a while since you last saw him.

part one | crossposted to ao3 | my masterlist ᰔ

The laughter from the living room feels miles away, Levi doesn’t even glance at them. He walks straight upstairs to the bathroom, shoving the door shut behind him. Locking it doesn’t even cross his mind in the rush – he just leans against it and breathes like he ran ten miles.

His shirt is still rumpled and half untucked, your doing. He staggers to the sink, braces himself with both hands on the cool ceramic, and bows his head. His body’s burning up, but when he splashes cold water onto his face, it does nothing. You’re still everywhere, your scent on his clothes, your voice echoing in his head.

Outside, you’re probably still flushed, wondering what happened. What he just let happen. But even now, he’s not sure which part of him is louder, the guilt or the need to go back out there and feel you again.

That’s why he won’t look at himself in the mirror. He already knows what he’d see.

Cleaning the stain on his pants was supposed to be his priority, but the ache is just too sharp and demanding he can’t escape it. He barely made it to the bathroom in time.

He doesn’t mean to do this, not really. But he’s already cursing himself as his fingers fumble open his fly. His hand slips under the fabric, and the slick heat of pre-cum coats his fingers. It’s more than enough for his hand to move as his thoughts loop and tangle with everything that just happened outside.

-

You’re boneless in the chair, still trembling, when it hits you: he left you. You blink, vision coming a little blurry like you’re coming down from something bigger than just an orgasm.

The night air feels too cold now against your overheated skin, especially where your panties cling, sticky and damp. You shift, feeling aching and so desperately empty. Your body still remembers him, the shape of him, hard and thick beneath you, pressed right there. It’s imprinted on you.

You try to stand, and for a moment, you’re sure you’re going to collapse right back into the chair. But somehow, your legs move. You know where he went.

Your heartbeat pounds in your ears when you reach the bathroom door. You shouldn’t be here. Because you already know what he’s doing. Inside, you hear the subtle shifting of fabric and the jagged, irregular rhythm of his breathing. It coils low in your belly, tight and hot.

Trembling, your hand hovers at the doorknob for a beat. Then, slowly, you try it — and you’re surprised to feel it turns under your hand. He didn’t lock it.

The sight is seared into you right away, hot and dizzying. He’s leaning over the sink, head bowed. Not undressed, but undone, his belt hangs open, pants tugged down just enough to free himself.

One hand is planted on the sink, the other wrapped around his cock. The flushed head glistens in the mirror’s reflection, and his fist tightens on each stroke, the muscles in his forearm flexing.

Your breath catches in your throat. Heat flares fast inside you, so overwhelming you feel your knees weaken all over again. You have to brace yourself against the doorway.

Levi doesn’t even notice you at first.

Not until the door creaks again, louder this time.

His head jerks up and his eyes meet yours in the mirror. A flicker of panic passes through him. Then he realizes it’s you.

His jaw clenches, his hand stills mid-stroke and he reacts fast, but not fast enough. He jerks his hand away and fumbles to yank his pants up, belt. Half-turned toward the door, nothing can hide what you’ve just seen, nothing can take it back and he knows it.

Your cheeks are burning. “I’m sorry— I didn’t think it’d be unlocked…” you blurt out, knowing full well you should have knocked or called out. But you didn’t.

Levi flinches, his reflexes come before reprimanding you. He reaches out, grabs your waist, and pulls you inside to close and lock the door behind you. When you sway he catches you without thinking, hands steadying you, drawing you in closer than either of you should be.

“You’re lucky it was me,” you breathe. “And not someone else…”

“Lucky?” he mutters like it’s the dumbest thing he’s ever heard. “This is already—fuck. You shouldn’t be here. You should be with the others.”

He exhales, torn between embarrassment and frustration. Maybe at you–but mostly at himself. When he sees the flicker of hurt in your eyes, the edge in his voice softens immediately.

“Listen,” he says quietly. “You didn’t do anything wrong. But I did.”

You’re already moving, pressing your cheek to his chest, your breath against his skin. Your hands slip beneath his shirt and roam over his heated skin, feeling the sharp lines of his body. He inhales hard, his chest rising under your touch.

“You really shouldn’t…” he rasps, his mouth grazing your neck as his grip slides lower, rough hands squeezing your ass. His body betrays him completely, he spins you and pushes you backward until your hips bump the sink, his breath hot in your neck.

“Why wouldn’t you let me help?” you murmur.

You reach down, your hand brushes over his wrist where his hand still hovers protectively above his cock, and then you ghost your fingers over the front of his loosened pants. You feel him already, the hard insistent press of his cock straining through the fabric. He jerks as your palm meets him.

“Shit—” He chokes, but his hips push into your hand, chasing the heat of your palm. You squeeze him gently, fingers pressing into the damp patch where his pre-cum seeps through the material. A low groan escapes him, and without hesitation your hand slips beneath his waistband, fingers brushing bare skin.

His hand is still gripping your ass, guiding your hips, making you grind against him. He’s unraveling, all the restraint from before gone, and you can tell he’s close to losing control completely.

Your hand strokes him once, twice, slow and uncertain. He’s burning hot in your hand, pulse throbbing thick beneath your touch. The look on his face makes you want to see more.

Before waiting any longer, you drop to your knees. You press your cheek to his thigh, nuzzling the warm skin.

His pupils blow wide when you sink down in front of him. His hands twitch, hovering—like he doesn’t know whether to yank you back up or push you closer. But the moment your thumb brushes over the head of his cock, his decision’s already made. One hand slides into your hair, trembling, holding you. A bead of wetness smears beneath your touch, making him groan.

“Shit—don’t…” he rasps, his grip in your hair tightening enough to make your scalp tingle.

He runs his other hand through his hair, like he’s trying to collect whatever’s left of his rationality, but it’s long gone.

Your mouth parts, slow and deliberate, as you take him in.

You drag your tongue over the head, tasting salt and heat, then sink down, taking as much of him as you can. Your lips stretch around him, warm and slick, cheeks hollowing as you suck gently.

He tips his head back, eyes shut and breath ragged. One hand grips the edge of the sink, the other stays in your hair, guiding and holding. You moan softly around him, and he shudders. The sound wrecks him, as though it confirms that you want this as much as him.

Your hand strokes where your mouth can’t reach, fingers curling around the base, your mouth sinking deeper with every pass. You marvel at the weight of him on your tongue, the way he pulses with need. He’s right there, you can feel it.

And then—

Knock, knock.

“Levi?” The familiar voice of your father echoes from the other side of the door. “You in there? Everyone starts leaving downstairs.”

You freeze just for a second.

Levi’s eyes fly open. His stomach knots as his hips jerk forward involuntarily. He forgets how to breathe but his cock twitches in your mouth, caught between panic and pleasure. His hand clenches in your hair, still cupping the back of your head – he doesn’t even stop his movements, just slow down them.

“Yeah,” he calls out hoarsely toward the door. “I’m… just cleaning a stain off my pants. I’ll be right out.”

He feels the pulse of his cock throbbing on your tongue, so close to tipping over the edge. But you don’t stop. If anything, you take him deeper. Your lips glide down his cock, your tongue swirling along the underside. Applying yourself with devotion like you know this is exactly when you need to be good for him. His body shudders and he bites back a curse.

“You haven’t seen my daughter, have you?”

The question slams into both of you. His gaze snaps down with wide eyes. Your eyes meet his, glossy, mouth full of him but he swears he can see you smile.

Your tongue circles him slowly, deliberately, and his jaw clenches hard. He mouths your name, shaking his head. He should stop you, his grip in your hair desperate, almost begging you to stop before he completely falls apart.

But when you whimper and drag your tongue along that sensitive vein just beneath the head– his hips rock forward, pulling himself deeper inside your mouth.

“Levi?” Your dad calls again.

He swallows hard, his throat suddenly dry. “…No. Haven’t seen her,” he manages to rasp.

And it’s wrong, so wrong, the shame is unbearable, but it only makes the pleasure burn hotter.

The sound of your dad’s footsteps fades down the hall.

Your mouth works him relentlessly, throat stretching to take more. His thighs tremble. His breathing is ragged.

“If you keep—fuck, I’m—” he tries, his hips pushing into your mouth again, needing more.

You hum softly around him and your lips tighten, drawing him in. He grips the sink, your hair, anything, and his body jerks once, then again. A strangled groan escapes him as he comes, spilling across your tongue. His body convulses, hips twitching, hand pressing you down just enough to feel every pulse of it.

You feel dizzy, overwhelmed and drunk on the taste of him as you swallow around him, until the last of it is gone. He holds you there, panting, his chest rising and falling hard.

When he finally lets go and his hand slackens in your hair, you pull back, your pulse pounding in your ears. He stares down at you and bends down. His hands find your arms, steadying you as he helps you up slowly, still breathless, still shaken.

You brace both hands on the sink to catch your breath, you don’t hear move until his chest presses along your spine. Gentle hands smooth your dress down slowly and reverently. His palms skim your sides, mapping the curve of your ribs, your waist before sliding lower.

He still hasn’t said a word yet. One hand slides upward, his fingertips warm under your chin as he guides your face towards the mirror. Your gaze finds your own reflection first, swollen lips and glassy eyes. Then his eyes lock on yours in the glass.

His thumb brushes the corner of your mouth, wiping away the barest trace of himself still there.

“Clean yourself up,” he murmurs, his voice still a little hoarse. And as if that command hadn’t just made your knees weaken, he leans in and presses a long kiss to your temple.

One hand still cradles your jaw, the other trails back down. His fingers trace the front of your thighs, where your skin is still warm and damp. More than earlier, he notices.

His breath ghosts over your ear. “You can’t go downstairs like that,” he mutters.

He tilts your face toward him again, brushes his lips over your cheek in another lingering kiss. You turn toward him instinctively, trying to meet his mouth, but he pulls back at this moment.

You’re left swallowing your breath, your body’s still humming.

“They’re waiting for me,” he says, almost apologetic.

And then he’s out of the bathroom.

You’re alone again, with your skin still tingling from every place he touched and the ache he didn’t quite take away.

With shaking fingers, you grab a tissue and clean your mouth, then your chin. Then hesitantly between your thighs. You almost can’t bring yourself to do it, it’s too sensitive. It would take so little to push you over the edge again.

One last glance in the mirror, you tug your neckline back into place and straighten your spine. Try not to look ruined – even though you are.

When you come downstairs a few minutes later, you slip quietly into the living room, making your steps light and invisible – like everything is normal. But nothing can hide the way you feel inside.

He’s already there, of course he is. Calm and composed. Leaning near the doorway, talking with someone, a drink in hand. He doesn’t glance your way, not once. His gaze is politely focused on the conversation at hand. But his posture shifts slightly the moment you enter, like his body registers you.

“Thanks for the dinner,” you hear him saying, addressing your parents, casual as ever.

Then you see your dad clapping him on the shoulder. “You’re staying the night?”

“If that’s still alright.”

“Course,” your dad replies. “Guest room’s yours, as always.”

He's nodding and taking a final sip of his drink. Pretending nothing happened so well it makes your stomach twist. You shut your eyes and try not to think about how badly you want him to look at you again, just once.

You disappear into the kitchen with some empty plates, forcing yourself to focus on something else. But when you move, the ache between your thighs pulses again, you’re hot, dizzy and still tasting him on your tongue.

The house is quieter now, just the faint hum of goodbyes in the next room.

“Hey,” a friendly voice says, snapping you out of your thoughts. “Want help with those?”

You glance sideways and recognize the son of one of your parents’ friends.

“Oh–uh, it’s okay. I’m just wiping…” You’re not even sure what you’re doing.

“Let me feel useful,” he teases lightly. “Otherwise I’m just standing around like a loser.”

He leans against the counter as you both work. He talks easily, something about school, some class he’s taking, maybe a professor. You smile and nod along but you’re not really listening. Your mind is somewhere else, straining toward the sound of Levi’s voice from the other room. Your whole body still hums with the need he didn’t quiet completely.

Then–

“Need something?” Levi’s voice cuts in, flat and directed at you. He doesn’t even glance at the guy.

The boy beside you straightens a little. “Oh—just chatting,” he says, clearly confused. “Didn’t realize you needed the kitchen, Levi.”

“Didn’t say I did,” Levi replies without blinking.

There’s a pause, the tension creeps in.

“…Right. I’ll go see if my parents are ready to leave.”

And just like that, he’s gone, leaving you both in a growing silence.

“He’s more your age,” Levi states, voice almost bitter.

You don’t get the chance to respond before you feel him slot behind you, his body pressing into yours against the counter.

“Could’ve let him fuck you instead, huh?” he mutters at your ear. “Would’ve been easy. Quick. Probably would’ve finished in two minutes.”

A startled sound escapes your throat, half laugh, half protest. “You’re such an asshole,” you breathe. “He was just being nice—”

“I know what he was being.”

You close your eyes and try not to breath too hard as his hand slides slowly over your stomach, dipping lower. Your thighs try to press together before you can stop them. Voices still echo faintly, but all you can hear and feel is him, all over again.

“Still warm down here?” He asks, voice almost smug.

“Levi—” you squirm

“I know, I know. Don’t get frustrated on me,” he says, almost amused.

“You didn’t even kiss me,” you blurt out. You hadn’t meant to say it, but it comes out anyway, accusing. Like it’s all his fault.

He stills behind you, then leans just enough to see your face over your shoulder. “You want me to?”

“I think about it.” You swallow and admit.

“This is wrong,” he scolds you, amused. Then he bites the soft skin just under your jaw.

Your lips part in a soft gasp.

“Then, I’ll fix that,” he continues, voice even lower, and suddenly his hand is under your dress. Knuckles grazing your inner thighs where your skin is burning.

Your hips buck in his hand. He hums, pleased.

His fingers trace up slowly until they meet the soaked fabric between your legs, hand cupping between your thighs like he owns the right to. His palm moves against you, deliberately slow, just the pressure of him through your underwear.

You try to speak, warn him, plead him, but his other hand slides up and cups over your mouth, firm. “Shh,” he mutters at your ear. “Or I’ll stop.”

His fingers rub slow circles over your clit, still through the fabric. A desperate noise slips into his palm, muffled and aching. Your thighs shake slightly, your whole body tense and buzzing.

“That’s it,” he whispers, his lips brushing your jaw. “You needed that, didn’t you?”

You nod, panting against his hand as he kisses just beneath your ear. He gives one more grind of his palm, one more press and he lets go. You stumble slightly, he tilts his head a little.

“Come upstairs,” he says softly, then smirks the slightest. “Actually—fuck it.”

And without another word you’re scooped into his arms. You let out a startled breath, arms wrapping instinctively around his shoulders.

“Levi—!”

“Quiet,” he murmurs, amused.

Your heart races as he carries you silently through the hallway and up the stairs, steps light like he’s done this a hundred times.

The door clicks shut behind him, and your back hits it a second later. His mouth crashes into yours in a kiss that steals breath from your lungs. There’s no space to think, he’s starving for you and you for him.

His hands are already under your dress again. “Can’t believe I let you stain my pants earlier,” he mutters between kisses. His hand cups your ass as he speaks, his knee slipping between your legs and he lets you grind against it.

“It’s your fault,” you gasp, biting his lower lip.

“Yeah?” He breathes, nudging his head aside so he can get to your neck. “And now you’re desperate for it?”

“Yes.”

Levi lets out a low chuckle. “Good.” He kisses down your neck, your collarbones, biting, sucking, leaving marks. He walks you slowly backward until your knees hit the edge of the bed. You fall back with a soft gasp, your dress hitched up high and thighs parted.

He just stands over you for a second, watching you and breathing hard. Then he tugs off his shirt and leans down.

His hands slide up under your dress, pushing it higher as he kisses your stomach. One hand slips under your thigh, lifting it easily over his shoulder so he’s mouthing over your panties, tongue flattening over the soaked cotton in hungry, slow laps.

You moan helplessly, fingers clenching in the sheets. You were already on edge, too close – it only takes a few more strokes of his tongue and the tension inside you shatters, orgasm crashing over you right into his mouth.

You barely have time to recover before he pushes his pants and briefs down, his cock springing hard against his stomach.

“Come here,” he mutters, grabbing your ankles and dragging you toward him.

When your hand reaches for the waistband of your panties, he catches your wrists, gathers them in one strong hand and pins them up above your head.

“Leave them,” he breathes, kissing your jaw when you whine in protest.

“But—”

“This is fine,” he pants, voice a little strained like he’s trying to convince himself too. His other hand wraps around the base of his cock, guiding it along the soaked fabric. “I’m not going further.”

His cock slides up and down, grinding against the heat of your cunt, just the pressure of him through the drenched cotton. Your thighs twitch every time he catches your clit just right, little gasps escaping as your hips start rolling up toward him helplessly.

Then the head drags lower, nudging your entrance through the barrier of cotton. He’s not inside. But it’s like he’s trying, testing the barrier. A barrier that says this is still forgivable, barely.

Every pass has your body jerking up toward him. He kisses you to quiet your whimper, and his hips stutter against you. You’re gasping, eyes half-lidded and blurry.

“You want more?”

You nod, gasping, eyes half-lidded and blurry.

“Can’t,” he breathes against your lips. “You know that.”

But he doesn’t stop. His hips grind deeper, messier, a little harder. The friction is maddening, the cotton clinging tight, sliding to the side. Pressure builds, his cock pushes harder, and without meaning to, the tip catches right at your entrance–slipping in accidentally.

You both gasp into each other’s mouths.

“F-fuck,” he chokes against your lips, hand fisting the sheets beside you. “I didn’t mean to—I’ll pull out—”

Only the head is in, but the sudden stretch makes you clench down hard, a needy noise catching in your throat. “No,” you pant.

He’s still. His cock throbs where it rests inside you, barely buried. But it already feels like too much, and not enough.

He lets go of your wrists, hand moving to brace himself beside your head, trying to back out—but you’re squeezing around him, drawing him in.

Your hands grip his biceps, afraid he’ll leave you like this.

“Don’t move,” you whisper again. Please—just stay like this…”

He groans softly, pressing his forehead to your shoulder. “You’re already choking me.” His breath is ragged, almost amused despite the situation. “Let me in at least, sweetheart.”

Your nails dig into his biceps, your whole body trembling as he shifts carefully above you. His hand grips under your thigh again, bending it up over his waist. The angle opens you more, stretches you open for him, and he sinks just a little deeper.

You gasp again, body arching up into him. He’s thick inside you, your walls fluttering around the stretch.

“Shh,” he soothes, pressing his lips to your cheek, your jaw, your throat. You feel the scrape of his teeth at the curve of your neck, the heat of his breath on your collarbones.

Then lower, dragging the neckline of your dress down to expose your chest. His lips close over one nipple, tongue circling slowly. He sucks and hums softly when your hips twitch up into him, loosening around him.

“That’s it,” he breathes against your skin, licking again, his hand smoothing over your side.

“More,” you whisper, hands sliding into his hair.

He shifts, grinding gently and carefully. Another inch pushes in, your walls stretching wider, clutching at him. You whimper into his mouth as he kisses you again, swallowing your cries.

“You feel too good,” he groans, his hips rocking forward just a little. His fingers stroke over your ribs, your hips, as he keeps moving. Barely, just enough to let your body soften and take him.

“L-Levi—” You tighten again around him when he sinks deeper, past the tightest point, finally filling you. His hips still just for a second, letting you feel all of him. You’re stretched wide around his cock, panting under him, dizzy with the intensity of it. He brushes your hair from your face and presses his forehead to yours.

“You okay?” he murmurs, thumb brushing your cheek.

You nod, dazed, still catching your breath when he begins to move.

The first thrust is so slow you barely register it, just the delicious drag of him pulling out a few inches before sliding back in. Your mouth falls open in a moan, but his hand covers it gently, muffling you.

“Shhh,” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple. “You want your parents to walk in?”

You nod under his palm, eyes wide and wet. Your face burns in embarrassment at the thought of your parents hearing it. He lets go of his hand, only to replace it with his mouth, kissing you.

“You feel–” he groans, teeth grazing your bottom lip. “Tight… warm—fuck, you’re perfect.”

His hips roll forward again and again, and your body yields to him now, every inch drags against your swollen walls, your sensitive clit rubbing just enough with each grind to keep your thighs shaking. He pulls out almost all the way before pushing back in, this time with more force.

You cry out softly, fingers scrabbling at his back, and he silences you again with his lips.

“You can take it,” he whispers. His hand grips your thigh, holding you in place.

The head of his cock nudges that spot inside you, again and again. The wet slap of your bodies meeting grows louder, harder to muffle, every crack of the bed is a risk.

His teeth graze your jaw, your collarbone, your chest, leaving marks behind. You’re whimpering, clinging to him and he feels you getting tighter around him again.

You can’t even warn him that your face is already buried in his shoulder as you come, back arching beneath him and pulsing around him.

“That’s it,” he breathes, still moving inside you, chasing his own release now. “Keep squeezing me like that.”

He kisses your cheek, then your mouth and he keeps going. His thrusts grow sloppy, rougher, deeper, rutting into your soaked, trembling body.

“Gotta pull out,” he exhales in your neck, arms beginning to tremble.

You’re too gone. You nod, but you’re barely aware of anything except the stretch and the heat.

At the last second, he slips out with a gasp, just enough space to press his cock against your soaked folds and grind against you one last time as he comes right inside your panties.

You shiver at the heat, feeling his hot and thick release coating your folds and your soaked panties.

He holds himself up on shaking arms. His lips brush your cheek. You still feel his cock twitches where it rests between your thighs, still making you whimper.

“I’ll help you clean up in a second,” he murmurs, rolling on his back to not collapse into you. Both your chests are still rising and falling hard.

You just hum sleepily, eyes fluttering shut as he reaches for you, his arm wrapping around your waist to curl you into him. You’re barely awake now, your limbs are loose, your body pliant under his touch, the guilt hasn’t caught up yet.

“Gonna fall asleep like this?” Levi asks softly, a faint amusement in his voice. “You should at least go back to your own room.”

But when he tries to move, you only hold him tighter with a sleepy little whine.

He lets out a slow breath that almost sounds like a laugh, he pauses then leans down and kisses your forehead.

“Won’t make you.”

[halohalona]

🎀 A Little Redecorating

Logan wakes up to you rearranging the living room in the middle of the night

Logan Howlett x Reader

this is inspired by my impulsiveness (i don't know if that's the right word) to clean and rearrange my room at 11 at night until like 12:30 in the morning.

not beta read

masterlist

warnings/tags: fluff, reader possibly having adhd and making impulsive decisions, husband!logan, a little ooc logan, kinda domestic, probably a bit incoherent towards the end cause i decided to finish writing this at 2 in the morning

To be completely honest, you have no idea why you suddenly got the urge to rearrange and reorganize the living room. You were laying in bed when the idea popped up in your head, and couldn’t sleep since. So you quietly slipped out of bed, careful not to wake up your husband, and got to work.

You were moving the TV stand when your hip accidentally hit the edge of a side table causing the vase placed on top to fall.

CRASH

Logan immediately sat up the claws on his left hand unsheathing. Instincts kicking in, he looked over to your side of the bed to see if you were ok, only to see no one.

“Shit!” he heard someone speak before hearing a loud thud. In an instant he was out the door running straight to where the voice came from.

You were sweeping the remnants of the broken vase onto a dust pan when you heard Logan frantically shout your name. “Y/N!!”

“I’m okay!! I just knocked over a vase!”

When Logan finally reached you his body visibly relaxed. “Thank fuck, you’re okay. I thought you were getting taken.”

“I’m sorry.” you say sheepishly.

He looked around, the room was in disarray. The couch was no longer in its original place, instead it was blocking the path to the stairwell where Logan came from. The TV stand no longer against the wall he was facing but instead in the middle of the room. The TV itself was laying on one end of the couch while books and knickknacks were scattered on the other end. The rug was also rolled up and put against the wall.

“Love, why are you rearranging our furniture?” he asked, confused.

“I honestly don’t know. I suddenly got the idea while in bed and I couldn’t wait until morning.” you answered looking around, the corners of your lips turning down. “And now I can’t exactly go to bed while the living room looks like this…”

Placing his hands on his hips, he took another look around. “Well then, let’s get to work. Let’s finish this before sunrise,” he sighed before hopping over the couch. “You got an idea how you want the furniture placed? "A smile makes its way to your face before nodding excitedly.

It took you only an hour to get everything in place thanks to Logan doing most of the heavy lifting. After placing the last book on the shelf you let out a loud yawn starting to feel exhausted.

“Alright, let’s get you to bed” your husband said, carrying you up to your room.

Bonus:

That morning you sat at the dining table hard at work on something on your laptop.

Logan had to do a double take making sure he was seeing things correctly. "Is that our living room?”

“Yep”

“Did you seriously build our living room in—”

“The Sims? Yep. I actually built our house in the Sims.” you zoomed the camera out to show the entire first floor of the build before shrugging. “It makes redecorating easier.”

a/n: the bonus was really just an excuse to add the small detail that the reader uses the sims as reference for decorating the house lol

word count: 511

[angel-writes-skz-here]

Seduction

Prof! Minho x Student! Reader Synopsis: Moving to Korea for higher education comes with its perks. But what happens when you play a game of seduction with your new Professor? Will he crack? Or is he just too cold? Warnings: SMUT, protected p in v, dom LK, a little name calling, drinking, mentions of smoking devils lettuce. A/N: I hope you guys like this! Not sure how long it'll be. I apologize if I'm slow getting stuff out this week. Please comment if you want to be tagged. I appreciate the love and support and if Lee Know is ooc plz let me know. I did my best with it, though. Next Chapter

You pass through the crowd, sweaty drunk bodies colliding and brushing up against you as you make your way to the bar. It was the last night of summer vacation before your first day of university. Transferring from the states was a huge deal, your parents couldn’t be prouder, and you knew this wasn’t the normal college experience where you could goof off and mommy and daddy would pay for your next round of the same classes, so you used the summer to blow off steam.

Parties, drunken one-night stands, even dabbling in smoking weed a few times just to give it a shot. To take the rebellion in your veins and express it before it was time to buckle down.

That’s why you’re at the club tonight, trying to maybe meet a friend, granted it was hard moving to a new country where the language was less than ideal to learn, let alone in three months. You also left a broken-hearted boy at home, who swore that the minute you came back your relationship would resume. You agreed to that, thinking that you would miss him a hell of a lot more than you do.

At the bar you order another drink, the alcohol causing you to sway every so slightly, as you sip on it, you bump into a handsome stranger. He’s slightly taller than you, his eyes dark and brooding, mouth formed into a tight line, slightly muscular and somewhat intimidating.

“Sorry,” you giggle. He looks you up and down, a blush blooming on your cheeks. His features are striking even in the dark lightening. It causes your heart rate to climb.

“Hmm,” he purses his lips and turns his attention back to his friends. He's cute, so you decide to go for it. You tap his shoulder, noticing how he tenses under your touch. He turns around with a quirked brow.

“I’m y/n,” you stick out your hand, tipsy but sober enough to feel the slightly awkward tension.

The stranger rakes his eyes up and down your body, his gaze intense as he almost studies you.

“Minho,” he shakes your hand cautiously.

“Would you like to dance?” you ask batting your eyelashes before wrapping your lips around the straw and sucking up the last bit of your drink. He glances at the dance floor. His better judgment tells him not to, but he’s also noticed you throughout the night, the guys you’d let buy you drinks, the one’s you’ve already danced with and while he would consider himself a slightly humble man, he knew if you walked away you’d dance with someone else, someone that wasn’t as good as him, after all who knew what could happen to such a little pretty thing like yourself if he wasn't protecting you? He was the best option in the whole club that night, or so he told himself, so reluctantly, he downs his drink and takes your hand.

Your breath hitches the way his skin feels against yours, his hand in yours, it feels like fate. Like something out of a movie. It feels like something totally right and you suck your bottom lip between your teeth as he dominantly weaves through the crowd in front of you.

You reach the dance floor and immediately you turn your backside to him, pressing against him as you sway your hips. He watches you methodically. Minho is a smart man, never allowing himself to really give in to too many of his desires, and yet here you are, almost nineteen years old, grinding against his crotch without a care in the world. He didn’t want to touch you, well no he did, but he didn’t want to let himself. You were temptation in skimpy black dress though.

Your eyes, the way the color just mesmerized him, the way your body moved causing him to think of taking you to the bathroom right then and there and showing you what a real man can do for you. The way he wanted to taste your lips and tongue for himself, though he wouldn’t show it; any of it. Truth be told you couldn’t read him.

But when his hands decide to rest on your hips, you feel the electricity course through your veins. The way it draws goosebumps on your skin despite the thick muggy air of the club.

You grin to yourself, feeling as he presses his hips against yours just barely. It’s not long before you notice something else too, feeling him press into the swell of your ass, causing your heartrate to thrum in your ears again. You aren’t sure how long you dance for, time and the music fade into the background as you feel his chest press against your back, his face coming down beside your ear. He’s so close that the world doesn’t feel real, like it’s only the two of you. His breath on your ear driving you wild.

After a while you get the courage up to look at his face, the haze of the night filling your senses but you notice the concentration on his face, like he’s holding himself back. You get a cheeky idea, turning your self around quickly and throwing you arms around his neck. He looks at you almost surprised before quickly masking it with a stoic look.

You grin up at him, barely biting the edge of your lip.

“Come on, I don’t bite,” you wink, “Unless you want me to.” He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer, swaying the both of you to the beat as your noses oh so barely touch, the tiny hairs kissing each other. You can see something primal shift in his eyes, like he can’t do this for much longer.

You raise up, lips brushing his ear.

“Minho,” your voice drips with desire and lust. His grip on your hips tightens as you say his name. You chuckle in his ear.

“You want me,” you utter over the music, tongue then flicking out over the shell of his ear. You can feel him take a deep breath his chest bulging out a little against yours, trying to steady himself; but he's unsteady in your grip.

“Don’t hold back, I’m right here. Ready to be used, ready to please,” you murmur just over the music. You place a kiss just below his ear, teeth grazing his skin. He growls, his cock growing tight in his pants. He rushes you off to the bathroom, pulling you so fast you almost stumble and you have to stifle a giggle. The bathroom is empty, lights bright, humming despite the muffled sound of the music, and Minho shoves you into a stall, connecting your lips to his in a rough, possessive kiss. He tastes of soju, a little bit of beer, and a breath mint he must have put in on the way to the bathroom. He shoves his tongue into your mouth, rough, dominating, and you can feel the little remnant of the mint left in his mouth as his tongue glides over yours, forcing the tiny candy onto your tongue.

You moan into his mouth, his hand coming up around your throat, not to choke, but to hold, possessing you. There’s a mix of teeth, lips, tongue, and ragged breathing from the two of you before his lips move down to your neck, your fingers threading through his hair.

“Fuck you smell so good,” he groans. You chuckle quietly as he sucks a harsh mark on your collar bone.

“Ah, shit,” you playfully giggle with your eyes closed as he lets go. He pulls his wallet out of his back pocket, grabbing a condom.

You can feel the pulse between your legs, the dampness to your panties at the thought of him ramming into you. He drops his pants just below his length, ripping the condom open with his teeth as you stare.

He’s huge.

You aren’t sure how it’s gonna fit.

The sight of him alone has your walls clenching. He slides the condom on, forces you to turn around, smushing your right cheek against the door. He hikes your dress up, over your ass, smirks to himself at the slutty lacey underwear you’re wearing before leaning in to whisper in your ear.

“Wear these slutty things for me, baby? Hmm? Or did you wear em just so some poor guy would fuck you like the whore you are?”

He pulls your under wear down around your ankles and you whimper against the door, his head teasing your slick folds.

His hand comes down, colliding with your left ass cheek, a yelp following as your eyes close. He shoves his cock in and you groan against the door, walls immediately fluttering causing him to curse under his breath. He doesn’t take it slow, doesn’t wait for you to be ready, he just drills, quick and fast chasing his release and yours.

The door jiggles as he thrusts quickly. Your hands flex at your sides, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you that makes every nerve ending in your body come alive.

Minho notices the way your hands flex.

“Aww, go ahead, touch yourself, show me how you do it when you secretly hope someone’s watching you.” He smirks.

Your hands reach down, despite the redness in your cheeks from both your heartrate and embarrassment. Your rub tight little circles on your clit, your body arching into your hand.

“Mm, so pretty. You follow directions well, fuck you’re so tight.” He grumbles as his breathing becomes ragged. He begins grunting as your hand moves sloppier, your climax close to the edge.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you warn as you feel the coil getting too tight to the point of bursting. Minho doesn’t respond, only slams his hips as hard as he can, causing temporary stars in your vision from the pleasure as you wrap around his cock and explode. A loud, pornographic noise leaves you and he comes a few thrusts after.

He leans against your back, catching his breath for a moment. Both of you completely and totally sober now. He pulls out of you, tying up the condom and tossing it in the trash can. Your faces are flushed, and you make a mental note of how cute he looks with his skin a shade of pink and lightly shiny from sweat, the ends of his hair sticking to his forehead.

“Fuck,” you breathe as you pull your panties up and smooth your dress down.

“Minho huh? I would’ve named you Maxho.” You snicker to yourself, earning a smirk from the man you just met not two hours ago.

You unlock the door to the stall walking out to check out had bad your hair is messed up.

“Thanks,” he mutters sparing you one last glance in the mirror.

“No kiss goodbye? Nothing to remember you by?” You fake pout.

“That hickey should do the trick.” He smirks. You glance in the mirror to see the purple mark.

You smile before turning back to look at yourself in the mirror, beginning to fix your hair, before you feel a pair of hands spin you around and hold you close, lips finding yours in a needy and hot kiss. You rifle your hands through his hair one last time, tongues greeting one another again, before he pulls away and squeezes your ass, only giving you a moment together before leaving the bathroom and your life forever.

-

The next morning you’re getting ready for school when you notice the purple mark, the tips of your fingers brushing over it as you remember Minho and your encounter. Not many one-night stands have you wishing to see the guy again, but something about Minho, the way he wasn’t intimidated by you, or shy about letting you know who was in control, it lit up a fire in you. One that you couldn’t extinguish.

You chose to wear a cute skirt and top to match, doing light make up before rushing out the door. You go through each class, having to cross campus a few times as some classes were far from the other.

You'd even made a friend, Duri from your math class.

Finally the end of the day comes and you're running from the front of campus all the way to the back to Psych. 101. The bell rings as you step foot in the door. Most seats are taken, except for the ones up front.

The teacher is standing with his back to the class and you slip in the front row, putting you laptop and text book on your desk.

The room is silent except for a few whispers from other students. You feel small compared to the big room. The teacher begins to write his name on the board.

“Professor Lee,” you whisper to yourself.

“Good morning, everyone. I assume you’re all here for Psychology 101.” You take a deep breath. His voice is familiar, where have you heard it before? He’s in dark brown jacket and black slacks, hair is brown and neatly combed.

“I will be your professor this semester, Professor Lee.” He turns around you can’t help the audible gasp that leaves your mouth.

Minho.

Your eyes are wide, body stiff as he scans the room, eyes stopping a little too long on you, not showing any physical signs of recognizing you, but he does. Immediately.

Your eyes follow him, like you’re waiting for something, some kind of special little acknowledgement. However, you get nothing. He collects the papers from his desk and walks up to the front row. Handing out a stack of papers to each area of students, passing the papers along to each other. He comes to you, on the end, and hands you the stack of papers, your eyes meet briefly, but he won’t linger.

“This here, is your syllabus. I emailed one to each of you but just in case you have a paper copy as well. It has our lesson topics for the year,” he sets the stack down on the table, despite your hand being out for him to hand them to you, his eyes scanning the rows behind you. You furrow your brow slightly, but purse your lips and listen to his sweet voice.

“It has the classroom supplies on here. Things that should be common knowledge like your laptop and textbook. There will be no sleeping in my class, there will be no cheating, if you are caught cheating, I will automatically fail you and you will be forced to retake the class.” He explains.

“The door to my room will lock at 1 pm sharp. If you are late, you will miss class for the day. Do not email me for notes, you must get them from someone else or simply do without them.” He walks back over to his desk.

He spends a few minutes on the syllabus, then talking about the Milgram’s experiment in detail, already having his class takes notes.

“So Milgram wanted to know how far people would go to obey authority. He had people administer what they believed to be electric shocks to those who gave incorrect answers on a test. Many people continued administering the shocks despite the pleas and cries of the person being shocked, simply because they were told to. Proving how powerful authority really can be in someone’s mind.” He finishes as the bell rings, signifying the end of your class.

You take a deep breath, saving your notes on your lap top, slowly packing up, eyes flitting to Minho as he walks over to his desk not looking up.

Minho can feel it, the way you’re staring at him. The way your eyes watch his every move, but things are different now. You’re his student.

Just. His student.

You wait until the room is empty, finally slipping your laptop into your bag.

“So, Professor Maxho, we meet again.” You smirk and Minho glances up from his desk.

“Ms. Y/l/n, if you wish to speak with me about class work my office hours are Monday, Wednesday and Friday, 3 pm to 5 pm. I am very busy and you have other classes to attend.”

“It’s the first day Professor fussy pants. Besides you're my last class of the day. Maybe I want to get to know my new teacher,” you sing. He keeps his breathing even, shoulders slightly rising and falling. His jaw tight.

“You will refer to me as Professor Lee, nothing else, do you understand?” He snaps.

You walk around the desk, resting your lower back against the edge, the close proximity causing him to face you.

“Yes sir,” you tug on your lip.

“That hickey you gave me-,” you go to move your top to display it, but his voice stops you.

“Ms. Y/l/n,” he breathes.

“You are to reach out to me for class work, and class work only. Whatever you do on your own time off campus is none of my business." He says, jaw clenching.

“It was last night,” you mumble and he stands up, walking closer to you, you’re heart jumping in your chest. He’s only slightly taller than you, but his gaze is enough to make it feel like your significantly smaller. You're caged between him and the desk.

“That was a one-time thing. You are my student now, you and I will remain professional. I refuse to lose my job and my reputation due to a frivolous one night stand,” he bellows quietly. You look between eyes.

Cold.

Serious.

Unwavering.

You purse your lips as you bounce yourself off his desk causing him to back up a little.

“Yes, Professor Lee.” You mock respect and turn to walk away, a smirk on your face as your hips sway dramatically. Minho watches for a moment before tearing himself away.

Challenge accepted.

Tags: @breakmeoff @thelovelybireader @crystal005

Do not repost my work

Love notes and comments are greatly appreciated!

[bluuminng]

I REMEMBER YOU (WHERE THE NIGHT LEFT ME).

jimin turned 25 yesterday. what about her celebration caused you to wake up in her sheets?

cw. light swearing, mentions of dying/kms jokes (happens only like once i swear)

tags. non idol!karina x fem!reader, friends to lovers, cooper is mentioned once, aeri is practically their cupid

a/n. everyone shut up its yu jimin's day (and user synkqngels tumblr comeback 💔) this isn't proofread bcs it's like 4am and the ending is SO ass oh my hod i apologise deeply

pain is the first thing you feel as you come to your senses — your head is throbbing, and you swear you feel dried drool on your cheek as you rub your eyes. the sheets feel..cooler, softer, against your body as you cradle your aching head in your hands. your bed feels strange— the duvet feels heavier and the sheets too soft and the mattress strangely hard. taking a deep breath in, you count to five.

after five, i'll open my eyes. fuck, i need ibuprofen.

one.

in — out. your chest heaves with every pained breath.

two.

three.

four.

i'm going to be sick, you think to yourself.

five.

you peek from behind your closed fingers, pulling the covers back. the room is…obviously not your own, and you're met with the sight of someone’s back; not bare, thank god, but you're still in bed with someone. you're still in bed with someone following a birthday party involving alcohol, none the less. somehow, the shock of your surroundings outweighs the hangover.

and the faint smell of blackberry with a hint of bay leaves hits you. groaning, you roll over to face the other side; the side which wasn't facing the unforgiving sunlight. your eyes squeezed tightly shut, you silently curse yourself for your actions the prior night. ears ringing and body aching and weak, the only option left for you is to go back to sleep.

something feels missing, however. your body is cold rather than warm.

“i'm twenty-five now, im getting old.”

jimin huffed, however her lips were pulled into a toothy grin as she clinked her glass against your own before she downed her drink. you watch as she giggles at something aeri said. jimin’s appearance is comical: glittery birthday hat and a chrome silver sash reading: ‘birthday girl’, but despite this, she doesn't look odd or silly at all.

you're tired.

it's a friday, the last day of the week that you have to work, the weight of the past five days weighs heavy on your shoulders. face flushed and red from the alcohol in your system, your dulled senses allow you to effortlessly converse with the group— even with the morsel of goguma cake you've bitten off in your mouth.

laughter bubbles up around the table, stories from each girl’s week float around; from what happened at yizhuo’s fashion school, to the squirrel cooper had chased up a tree on his last walk to minjeong’s inability to do her own makeup. nodding and smiling absentmindedly, you laugh along with them, sharing your thoughts and input. the cakes slight sweetness leaves your throat tingling slightly.

as if noticing your behaviour, minjeong nudges your shoulder. “you okay?”

you nod and offer her a smile. “just a little tired,”

maybe thirty minutes had passed since then, maybe it had been an hour— or two, but the buzz had softened, the apartment quiet (and the cake long finished).

minjeong had decided to leave first; then it was ning, who decided to leave with the former to save money on an uber, or something.

and then there were three: you, aeri, and jimin.

with your head rested against the table’s cool surface, you missed aeri as she gathered her belongings. the redhead had leaned into jimin’s side, whispering something in her ear. pulling away, she slipped her shoes back on by the front door, calling out a, “yn! i'm going home, i'll text you later!” before the door clicked shut.

you had missed the way jimin had flushed red at aeri’s words.

the next thing you know, she placed a hand on the small of your back, coaxing you into her arms. the overwhelming scent of her perfume hits you almost instantly as her arms wrap around you: blackberry with hints of bay leaf.

fuck, i'm done for.

wallowing in your pain, you force yourself to open your eyes once more. right, it was jimin’s birthday party. you were drunk, how could you have possibly driven yourself home?

it hits you then.

the woman next to you, you notice, has pale skin and a blunt, black bob cut. you had never left jimin’s place after all. the perfume from earlier: blackberry— jimin. it's jimin’s perfume. oh, god.

the realisation and shock alone is enough to make you sit up and stare at the person next to you, no, jimin— before taking in a breath you didn't even realise you were holding. thank god she's a deep sleeper, and thank god she wakes up late. then, in another wave of realisation, you glance down at your attire— sleepwear.

a hand flies up to your mouth as you procure not to scream: she saw you naked. no, she didn't just see you naked— yu jimin had undressed you and put clothes on you last night. holy fuck.

this thought alone is enough to shake you completely awake as you scramble out of jimin's bed, tripping over yourself to change back into your own clothes. shit, shit, shit! you silently curse at yourself, albeit silently as you hurriedly slip your shoes back on and dash out the front door.

your headache from earlier long forgotten, you rummage through your purse for your car keys. the elevator dings and comes to a stop. and when the doors finally open, you dash out the apartment lobby as if jimin was going to appear right behind you if you wasted any time. after fighting with your jammed car door for another minute, you start the engine and let your head fall against the steering wheel.

and you yell.

in frustration and confusion, you scream against the leather wheel and kick your legs. “oh my god, i'm gonna kill myself, this is so embarrassing!” it's comical, really, and to anyone walking by, you look borderline insane. “how do i face her now?!”

(in hindsight, you don't. you don't face her.)

-

jimin wakes up alone.

she stares at the cold space on her mattress for a while, before noticing the neatly folded sleepwear resting on top of the pile in her laundry basket.

her morning doesn't change — she brushes her teeth, cleans the place a little before sitting at her kitchen island with a cup of green tea. opening her phone with a huff, she taps on aeri’s contact.

jiminie: ur actually evil - sent at 11:04 AM.

aerichan: oops! - sent at 11:05 AM. read at 11:05AM

no new messages from the group chat, a few happy birthday messages from relatives and acquaintances that she passively responds to before her manicured thumb hovers over your contact. her lips are bitten; her mind is at the crossroads. fuck it. after typing out a short, “thanks for coming, y/nie,” jimin shuts her phone off, finishing the rest of her tea.

-

to tell the truth, you saw the message and just didn't bother opening it. how could you, anyways? you let yourself, drunk and inebriated, find solace and warmth in the bed of your own best friend (of five years, no less), and now you're reaping the consequences of your actions.

the consequences, however, is the gnawing shame and feeling of impending doom. the feeling of: ‘holy fuck, jimin knows. jimin knows i like her and there's nothing i can do about it.’

“i'm so stupid.” you whine into your pillow, throwing your phone across the bed. “i wanna die.”

‘you're overthinking it.’ is what aeri had told you over the phone earlier. “she doesn't get it. it is that bad.”

-

over time, your replies to jimin's messages lessened until you stopped.

you stopped replying, returning her calls, and eventually reading her messages.

“it's actually killing me!” jimin groaned, venting to aeri over beer and some tteokbokki she'd ordered from the shop near her apartment complex. “i messed up! it's your fault, i hate you.” she took another sip from the can, the liquid burning her throat as she leaned against her couch.

“she hates me now.” she sulked. “i'm never taking advice from you again.”

rolling her eyes, aeri took a swig from her own can, crinkling her nose at the sensation of the cool liquid. “i swear, you're so extra, jimin.” she lunges forward, playfully hitting the older girl on the back. an attempt to lighten the mood. “you're overcomplicating things.”

“just wait it out.”

-

another week passed, your game of cat and mouse growing more intense. but it you're not opening up to jimin, she's coming to you. she bangs on the front door of your apartment, a bouquet of tulips and a bag filled with candy clutched in her other hand. “y/nie! it's jimin, can you open the door?”

when she's met with silence, jimin doesn't back down. instead, she continues knocking, hellbent on reaching you.

another minute of silence passes. something isn't right.

eyebrows furrowed, she searches for the spare key you'd mentioned to her once. jimin pulls the silver key from under your doormat and mentally applauds herself for her discovery — as if any norma person wouldn't think to check under the doormat. she pushes the door open and slips her shoes off, quietly as to not disturb you.

“hello? y/n?”

no response again. weird.

the door to your room is slightly ajar, and jimin’s met with the sight of you bedridden, tissuebox resting atop your bedside table. her eyes widen and she's by your side in a second, already pressing the back of her palm against your forehead. “oh my god, are you okay?” jimin gasps, her eyebrows furrowed and her lips pulled into a frown. “you're burning up.”

“why are you here…?” you mumble, wrinkling your nose at the contrast in temperature: her cool hand against your burning forehead. it feels gross. you feel gross, with your baby hairs sticking to your skin uncomfortably, your throat scratchy and your lips unusually dry. why is she..?

jimin’s frown deepens. “you were ignoring me.” moving your hair out of your face, she continues. “ever since my birthday, you've been ignoring me.”

the fever is rendering you unable to form a coherent thought and youre delirious. at this point, you're only able to come clean— it's impossible to hide a secret for jimin, and before you're able to stop yourself, it comes out at once. “i'm sorry— i really, really like you, like, ever since last year i've liked you! i'm sorrypleasedonthateme.”

breathless, you blink at her pathetically as she kneels at your bedside.

“you're so stupid.”

“what?”

“why do you think i did that, huh?” jimin huffs. “i literally sent everyone else home so you could stay with me.”

the silence that follows her admission is deafening. you're only able to stare at her in shock as you process it. “you…”

she cuts you off, moving to hold your hand. “yes, i like you. but i'm still mad at you for ignoring me. i hate you for that.” jimin wraps her arms around your frail body, letting her sickeningly sweet fragrance cling to the air, now softer. “but i was worried, so worried.”

yes, jimin was supposed to give you medicine, but for now, you seemed content with her embrace and warmth.

and maybe later, she would thank aeri.

[coichii]

SUPER RICH KIDS ! L.F

summary ── a graduation party has you getting drunk at a spoiled rotten pretty boys house, causing you to accidentally spend the night there. one small problem though. you’re a loser, and the pretty boy seems to be taking a liking to you. tags ── richboy!felix x loser!fem!reader | highschool au | fluff, angst, comfort, etc | (4767 wc)

warnings & notes ── itzys yuna & le serrafims yunjin mentioned, alcohol (I’ve never had alcohol before, sorry for inaccurate descriptions) throwing up + hangover, some cursing, bullying, harassment, some strange behavior from Felix (slight stalking), I’ve never been to a party, blood, and fighting.

Okay, having outgoing friends is absolutely not for the weak.

Graduation, the thing you had been looking forward to all 4 years of high-school had just passed. Finally, the idea of never logging into that damn school email sounds like heaven on earth.

It’s summer, meaning three months of freedom before it’s straight to college. You’re 18 now, officially an adult. But you will admit, attending a party hosted by a random rich asshole from your school wasn’t exactly what you had planned to celebrate this recent freedom.

It wasn’t your idea ofcourse. If anything, you wish you could be at home binging a new episode of that one show you started recently. Being surrounded by a bunch of alcohol and random kids smoking is pretty much the last thing you wanted to do on your first weekend off.

“Cmon! It’ll be fun!” Yuna exclaims, grabbing your hand and yanking you towards the huge mansion. Woah. This is the biggest house you’ve seen in a while.

Where you’re from, it’s not uncommon to see rich kids with huge houses. Actually, it’s pretty common. But none exactly compare to the “prince of the school’s” house. Well, that prince of the school stuff is just bullshit.

What’s so special about owning a big home or having a butler? It’s certainly something you would never understand. You’re well off, but compared to these kids, you might as well have nothing.

And it showed in the way they treated you. Whether it was bullying or judgmental stares in the hallway, it’s like they were always watching and judging, waiting to make fun of you.

So why your friends would want to hang out with a bunch of pricks who put on fake smiles behind all their evil is beyond you. Especially in the house of somebody like him.

“Please let me go home.” You whine, closing your eyes and the sound of music blasting out of the windows of the home. Hopefully someone will call the cops for a noise complaint. No wait… it’s not like the cops will do anything anyways.

“I’m not letting you spend your only summer before you go off to college in your room rotting. Please, y/n? You just need to come out of your comfort zone.” Yunjin, your other friend begs, pouting her lips at you like a kicked puppy.

A deep sigh leaves your lips. Of course she’s the one to try and guilt trip.

“Fine. But if any thing pops off, I’m calling an Uber.” You oblige, finally walking into the house.

There’s so many people here, yet it seems empty because of the sheer size of the house. Loud, bass boosted music carries itself throughout the entire house, echoing throughout your ears.

People are scattered throughout the building. Some just mingling, others drinking & dancing. Jeez, how the hell did this prick get his parents to agree to this.

“Hey! My crush is here! I didn’t know he was coming.” Yuna shouts, turning towards you with a giddy smile. “I’ll be right back, k?”

Before you can mutter a single sound of protest, she scatters toward the random pile of people. When you look to your right towards Yunjin, you notice she’s missing as well.

Great. She could be anywhere.

You’re in the last place you wanted to be, and now you’re alone with a bunch of random people. You would normally leave, but you need a ride from Yuna first, and the Uber was just a front. Of course today was a day you left your wallet.

Not only that, but it’s the middle of summer, so it’s hot as all get out. Seriously, how does a place like this not have a working A/C?

A thirst sets itself into your throat, stinging slightly. You walk over to a table with drinks, but it’s only alcohol, the smell burning the insides of your nostrils.

“Excuse me?” You ask, walking up to a random person that was laundering around the drinks table. “Is there any water?”

“No, only alcohol. Who even are you?” The boy answers rudely, staring at you with an expression mixed with disgust & confusion.

“Thank you, I guess?” You reply, a condescending tone falling onto your lips. Welp, with how bad this thirst is, I guess you don’t have much of a choice.

You pick up a plastic red cup, the drink shimmering in the light coming from the ceiling. A deep breath, then a sip.

It’s spicy, yet it’s surprisingly pleasant. It has a nice floral ring to it while also obviously including liquor.

You finish slurping on the drink, quickly picking up another to try. Different than the last one you had, but still delicious.

─── ★

Honestly, by this point, it’s hard to tell exactly how long you’ve been here. Maybe it’s dark, you can’t tell. All the blinds in the house are down.

Your phones somewhere, you don’t know. The only thing you do know right now is that you’ve definitely had too much to drink.

Your walking is unsteady, and you can feel the fogginess in your head. Okay, maybe 2 cups full was a bit much to have at one moment as a beginner.

Another thing you’re aware of, it’s been way too long since you’ve last seen Yunjin or Yuna. There’s also significantly less people in the house than there was when you got here.

“Oomph!” A deep voice shrieks as you feel your body bump into something. Looking up, you see a face, but you can’t exactly make out who it is.

They’re pretty.

“Woah, sorry about tha-“

“You’re pretty. Can I have your number?” Something you’d never expect to say tumbles from your lips, catching you slightly off guard. The alcohol is outweighing the logic in your body telling you to go look for Yuna & Yunjin and is telling you to keep talking to this random handsome guy.

“Flattered, but are you drunk? You have a reputation for hating people like me.” The voice says, soothing your ears.

“Forget that, I’m fine. Number. Now.” You slur, smiling and looking for your phone in imaginary pockets. “Fuck, where’d my phone go.”

“I think you’re drunk. Did you come with anyone, y/n?” They ask, voice sincere and soft. …Wait, how did they know my name?

“You know me?” You ask, an odd feeling washing over you.

“Yeah, I think you’re cute. We were in the same english class, how could I not.” he chuckles, and your eyes widen.

“Did you come with anyone?” He asks again, grabbing a cup of water for you and handing it to you. Ah. So they did have water. “Everyone’s going home, it’s late.”

“Yeah. I came with Yuna & Yunjin. Yuna was my ride.” You say, water soothing every part of your body.

“Ah, they left earlier. I think they were drunk.” He sighs. “Well, I guess you should spend the night.”

“Yeah, okay.” You respond, basically not understanding a single word he’s saying to you. Your only focus is drinking more water, helping the parched feeling on your throat.

“Well, you need to get sober. I guess I should give you more of that.” The guy says, going towards the empty kitchen to grab cold water out the fridge.

Suddenly, a random sickening feeling comes in your stomach. You gag, running towards the nearest trash can and releasing the contents of your stomach into it.

It’s a disgusting feeling, one that quickly has your head snapping right back into common sense mode.

Where the hell am I? What time is it? Where’d those two go?

“Y/n!” A familiar deep voice shouts, causing you to turn towards the noise.

Oh my God. The whole time, the man you were talking to, flirting with, begging him to give you his number. It was Felix. The epitome of everything that you hate.

His hand rubs over your back, pulling your hair out of your face and staring with concern. Why. Why is somebody like him concerned? He has bigger issues to worry about, not you.

“Get off of me.” You say, pushing his arm off of you. Your breath quickens up, a fear settling in your voice.

“Oh, seems you’ve sobered up. You should still spend the night, it’s too danger-“

“Shut up.” You spit, and he’s immediately silent, staring at you with widened eyes.

“I don’t know what ideas you have, but you can do them with someone else. I’m sober now, no need to play sympathy with me anymore. Thanks for the hospitality.” You say, a condescending tone in your words.

Standing up, you find where you left your purse on a random couch and try to make your way out of the house. Gosh, why are they all like that.

“Y/n! Cmon, I’m not like that. It’s dangerous this late, even for an Uber!” He pleads, racing towards you to try and stop you from leaving.

“Why would you care. You’re all the same. I’ll give you props for at least knowing my name, so stop acting like you give a shit about me.“ You say, turning your head back towards the man. His expression looks genuine, but it can’t be. It never is.

“It’s not that! I’ve liked you for a while, seriously I have. I’d do this for anybody, but especially you. Please. Think about it. It’s too dark.” He begs, eyes wide with sweat dripping down his face.

A deep breath in, and a deep breath out.

“Goodbye.” You deliver, turning your back towards him and slamming the door behind you.

Okay, he’s right. It’s dark & it’s dangerous out here. But whatever is out here is better than being in the same place as him.

You know where you’re going, all you have to do is keep running.

─── ★

The sun creaks its way through your blinds, stirring you awake. A headache is the first thing you feel when you come to your senses, echoing throughout the chambers of your skull.

You reach for you phone first thing, groaning at the brightness of the screen. 4pm… fuck.

Not to mention that, but your phone is spammed with instagrams notifications. They’re not from Yuna or Yunjin, so who else could it be.

30 messages from yongbokspg unread. Great. I thought I blocked him.

Not even bothering to read the messages, you put your phone down on the nightstand, taking in a deep breath of air in an attempt to subdue the growing nausea in your stomach.

Why’d you go to that stupid party, just for Yuna & Yunjin to leave you. You get they got drunk as-well, but still.

It doesn’t take long for tears to start swelling in your eyes, one rolling delicately down your cheek as you choke them down in your throat.

Ring! The doorbell sounds, causing a pit to form in your stomach. Of course, your parents are off on vacation. That’s the only way you got to go to this party anyways.

Planning to ignore it, you close your eyes again, hoping to be able to fall back asleep to help the exhaustion settled into your body. The sound rings again, again and again, the person being persistent on the other side.

Sighing, you get up out of bed, tying your hair up and washing your face while the doorbell ringing persists, groaning with annoyance at whoever the hell is doing all that on a random Saturday afternoon.

Walking towards the door, you swing it open, an expression of annoyance written all over your face as you lock eyes with the stranger.

“Can I hel-“

It’s him.

“Y/n. Are you oka-“

“How the hell did you get my adress.” You fumed, narrowing your eyes at him as his expression softens.

“I uh.. I-I got it from my dad. He works for the school board.” He admits, eyes turning down as a wave of guilt hits him. The only thing that hits you is anger.

“You what?” You hissed, surprise finding its way into your body. “I’m supposed to listen to what you say after you tell me that? That’s fucking creepy.”

“I know. I know it’s creepy. That was wrong of me, but I needed to make sure you were okay. Cmon! You ran out my house in the middle of the night then didn’t respond to any of the messages I sent you either! I had no choice.” He pleads, but it’s hard to believe him.

“Don’t you see the problem? I left your house because I’m scared you’ll take advantage of me the same way every other spoiled rich kid in the whole school does. Then, you use the same privilege you have to find me when I don’t want to see you! That’s the problem. You can’t even see past that and I’m supposed to talk to you? Get over yourself. Think about others, or is that impossible for people like you?”

Your words cut like a knife, sharply carving his soul into tiny little pieces of nothing. It’s then, where every moment leading up to this hits him like a truck.

Sure, he noticed you, and he did seriously like you. He always had from every single sight he got of you in english class or in the hallways. He always found you to be absolutely beautiful.

But.. how the hell were you supposed to know that? It’s not like he ever made an effort to talk to you. Not even a word. All the stuff you had to deal with in school, and you were just supposed to accept and trust him? How could you.

It’s so obvious that it’s shocking when he comes to this realization. You weren’t running away from him for any irrational reasons, it was all his fault that he didn’t realize. It was all him, and all he did was make everything worse, and give you even more of a reason not to trust him.

What an idiot.

“You’re right.” He concedes, and you let out a gasp of surprise.

“You’re absolutely right. I wasn’t thinking of anybody but myself. You made the best choice, and all I did was ruin the little trust you had for me even more. I’d understand if you called the police, but there’s something I need you to hear before that.”

You don’t know why, but you let him keep speaking.

“I’m being genuine. I’ve liked you since I first saw you in english class. I never talked to you because I was too nervous. Hard to believe, I know. But no one’s ever made me that nervous before. And I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. All I did was think of myself, and continued to pursue you even when you were uncomfortable all because I got the chance to. I wanted you to be safe, but all I did was make you even more uncomfortable. I’m so, so sorry. I’ll leave you alone now.”

His voice is uncharacteristically low and somber, weird for somebody so outgoing. The look in his eyes, the genuine regret that looms in his eyes is enough to cause your heart to beat fast, your breath quickening up in the process.

He turns around, walking away from you and heading back to the car he had parked on the side of the road.

This boy. He lives in a completely different world than you do. He’ll never understand exactly what you go through. You’ve hated people like him since you could first remember. So why, why you find your self speaking is something you don’t think you’ll ever understand.

“Felix. I forgive you.”

He snaps his head back immediately, shock mixing in with his previous somber face. “What?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself. I might.. never truly believe the fact that you’re even a bit attracted to me, but I don’t believe the fact that you’re a good person with good intentions. And for that, I forgive you.” You say, twisting your hands through your hairs. “You can leave n-“

Suddenly, you’re gagging. Ah. Hangover, right. Immediately, you make a run for the bathroom, throwing up the insides of your stomach into the toilet.

If there’s a top 1 worst feeling, throwing ups gotta be it. It’s a feeling that shakes you down to your core, spreading through your skin and body like poison.

Tears spring back into your eyes, cascading down your face as you attempt to stifle down your sobs.

“Y/n!” Felix shouts. Ofcourse he’s in the house now. God damnit.

“Where’s the nausea medicine, let me get it for you.” He says, a strangely soothing tone in his voice as he rubs your back.

You don’t have it in you to tell him to get the hell out, so all you can do is sigh and point to the cabinet above the sink. He immediately reacts, opting the doors and searching diligently through the messy shelves.

“Found it!”

He puts the correct dosage of pills into your hands, running to your kitchen to grab a bottle of water to help you swallow.

He watches as you take the pills, continuing to run his hands down your back in a comforting manner. Unlike yesterday, you let him.

His blonde hair falls over his eyes as you turn your head to him, a blush over his cheeks as he turns his head away. His hand moves to your head, giving you warming pets that melt into your soul.

“Uhm. Please, tell me if there’s anything you need.” He mutters, brown freckles shining. It’s easy to observe them to distract from the nausea. Huh, one’s a heart. Cute.

“No. Just.. don’t stop that hand thing.” You whispered, cringing at yourself in the process as you see a small smile fall upon his lips.

“With pleasure.”

─── ★

It’s been about six months since that whole interaction with Felix, and you two have been inseparable since. Where you went, he went and vice versa, of course.

It started with you following him back on instagram. Then it was texting & calling. That turned into hanging out whenever you got free time off your classes.

Surprisingly (at least to you), Felix was actually enrolled into a pretty decent college that wasn’t too far away from yours, so you were able to see each other pretty often.

Being his best friend was so easy for you, but for him, it was excruciating. All he wanted to do was pull you close and kiss those pretty lips of yours all day— no, for the rest of his life.

But to him, it just seemed like you didn’t see him like that. Like there was something in you preventing you from giving your heart to him, and he hated it.

He’d never want to make you uncomfortable, so if he had to bury his feelings down in the deepest pits of his heart in order to keep you in his life— hell, just even looking at him? He would, without any hesitation.

It wasn’t like that though, you did like him, you really did. The way his smile shined and warmed your heart every time wasn’t something that went unnoticed, just unaddressed.

You knew Felix was a good person, and you loved him for that. Even so, it’s not that easy to erase the fear in your heart that you’d never be good enough for him. I mean, he’s beautiful, a pure stunning angel sent from heaven itself.

And there’s you. Sure, you wouldn’t call yourself ugly, but can you call yourself beautiful around someone as gorgeous as him? Not really. He’s talented, smart, funny, kind, everything. And you, you’re a nerd who’s already cried at least 5 times over school and it’s just the first semester of freshman year.

As fate would have it, just like him, you’ll keep your feelings buried deep inside yourself. A future with him caged by the intimidation of senseless fear.

“It’s packed in here.” Felix says, grabbing your hand in an attempt to not lose you. A blush paints itself on your face.

“Since when are you not used to parties like this.” You reply, and he glares playfully back at you, stifling a giggle.

A party celebrating the end of the first semester at his school is where you were currently at. Interesting… you think you would have given up on parties after how the last one went.

Well you would have if Felix didn’t beg for you to come along, citing that “your presence helps him not get drunk.” or whatever nonsense he shared with you before dragging you out of your dorm room.

“Cmon, I heard they’re passing out drinks over there.” He squeals, squeezing the palm of your hand tighter as you scrape past multiple random people.

Felix was right; it is packed. The music bounces off the walls of the random dorm building, and it is smoldering hot. Ah, flashbacks.

All of a sudden, your body feels like it’s been hit by a brick wall as you slam into a random person infront of you. Their drink splashes all over you, soaking your clothes in the sour smell of the beer. Gross.

“Oh! I’m so sorry about that. I can go get you another. What did you ha-“

“The hell is your problem?” He screams loud enough for the people in the vicinity to hear over the deafening music and stare. As soon as you lock eyes with the stranger staring you down, your heart drops all the way down to your stomach.

It’s the guy you ran into at the party back in Highschool.

“Oh, it’s you. Still can’t get your head screwed on right at places like this, huh?” He spits, bitter words reopening an old wound you thought Felix had healed.

Speaking of Felix, he had been staring down the man ever since he noticed the smallest bit of malice in his voice, but now he’s trying to calm himself before he gets expelled.

“Hey man, chill out. She said she was sorry.” He says, voice covered in fake calmness. You can tell, you know him well enough.

The man turns his head towards Felix, and you can see the shock coat his face. “It’s that Felix I see. What are you doing here.. with her?” Oh.

“That’s none of your business. Cmon, let’s go get our drinks.” He responds before returning his attention to you, starting to pull you away from the man.

“Wait.”

Moments later, you feel him hand grab your shoulder. He has a sickeningly strong grip. It hurts, and he’s squeezing even tighter.

“Hey.. let go of me!” You scream, yanking your arm out of his grasp all running to Felix. You burry yourself into his arms, watching as the rather calm anger on his face turns to rage.

Usually, you’re able to protect yourself against pricks like these. Today though, something is different. You don’t know if it’s the setting of the party, or the fact that you’ve got someone who will take some of the weigh off your shoulders now. Whatever, it doesn’t matter. Especially not now that Felix is walking up to the man with balled fist and a beyond pissed off expression.

You’ve spent a lot of time with Felix, but you’ve never seen him that angry before. The cliche saying “if looks could kill a man” unfortunately really fit with this situation.

“I know you didn’t just touch her.” He says, anger spilling through his clenched teeth.

“What? You actually give a shit? I don’t even know her name.” He rolls his eyes, folding his arms. “I just want a ‘proper’ apology, so why don’t you move on somewh-“

His sentence is cut off by felix swinging his left fist towards his jaw, knocking him clean down on the ground. An audible gasp is let out from most of the people standing around the commotion, some chanting fight while others silently grab their phones.

“Huh?! Do you wanna repeat that?!” Felix yells, and the guy gets off the ground before wiping the blood off of his bruised cheek.

“Whatever dude.. have fun with your bitch.” He dismisses, turning around to his back facing Felix.

“What did you just s-“

“Felix.” Your voice cuts through the thoughts he was having, brining a calmness through the fury in his brain. “Let’s just go home, k?”

Felix takes in a deep sigh before nodding a yes towards you. He doesn’t forget to take your hand once again while walking towards the exit, ignoring the judgmental & disappointed faces of everyone in the crowd staring at you two. The only thing that mattered to him was making sure you were comfortable and okay.

It doesn’t take long to exit the dorm. Since it was his college too, and thankfully also him dorm building, you two just decide to walk to his dorm, walking in silence as the music slowly fades out of radius.

When you walk into his dorm room, all you can do is give him a tight hug, pressing your whole body into his as if you were trying to merge into him. Not that you or him would be against that at all.

“Thank you.” Is all you can manage to say to him, burrowing your face into his chest and his face heats up from the proximity.

“Of course. Sorry he got to touch you first though.” He sighs, stroking your back just like you’ve always liked since you met him.

“Why are you sorry? It was all that guys fault for being a prick. You stood up for me when I couldn’t myself.” Your voice is low, each syllable soothing the still angry thoughts in Felix’s head.

“Yeah well, I hate when anyone messes with you. Feel like I failed at protecting you like I should’ve.” He stops running his hand up and down your back at this point, lifting your chin so that you’re looking him in his eyes. “I just.. don’t want you to suffer anymore.”

It’s as if the timid version of you from mere minutes ago is completely erased. Now, all you can think about is how close you two are.

You’re hugging the man you’ve liked— no loved since half a year ago so close for what? Just for you to throw it all away again because of a stupid fear that you’ll never be good enough for him? What’s the point in living in the cages of a fear made by those who never got the chance to know you.

Those cages might keep you safe, but if they’re going to take away the opportunity to be with the man that your heart desperately yearns for, they’re absolutely worth shattering.

“Y-You know… there’s something you can do to make me feel better.” You whisper, embarrassment quickly rushing over your features when he looks you in your eyes.

“Yeah? What’s that?” He asks, sincerity in every bit of his voice. A deep breath.

“Kiss me.”

His eyes widen, body growing hot within a matter of milliseconds. “H-huh? Are you sure? You always turned me down before.”

“I know, and that was always out of fear. But, I don’t want that to hold me back anymore.” You murmur, face growing hot. “So kiss me.”

Felix doesn’t wait any longer, bringing his hand to your head and bringing his lips to yours.

It’s soft, yet passionate at the same time. He presses deeper into you, walking you over to press you to a wall as you kiss him back.

If there’s anyway to die, it’s gotta be like this. The utter peace you’re feeling as you try to stop a tear from rolling down your face is unfathomable. It’s him, the man you thought you’d always hate. The man who’d soon became the final piece to the hole in your soul. The man who you soon fell madly in love with that you’re kissing.

And wow, does it feel like heaven on earth.

“Wow, I’ve wanted to do that for forever.” He sighs once he pulls away from your lips, a flush shared on both of your faces.

“Me too.” You whisper, putting your head into the collar of his neck. Peace & contention. The perfect feeling for right now.

“So… can I take you out for lunch tomorrow? I hope you know I plan on making you my girlfriend now.” He sheepishly asks, fiddling with his fingertips.

“Of course, but.. wasn’t that always the plan?”

“Sure, but now I can actually implement it.” He giggles, brining his hand to caresses your cheek again. “Now, kiss me again.”

[pianostarinwonderland]

Hello hello guys!! I participated in the Octazinelle zine 😳👉👈 and this was the fic I wrote!

Link of the zine is found in the notes section. I really hope you enjoy!

graduation [octazinelle: high tide fic submission]

in the few months they have before getting ready to leave for internship, floyd and jade go through the turbulence that future uncertainties bring: where will they go, what will they do, but most importantly... what will happen to their relationship with azul?

ft. floyd leech, jade leech, and azul ashengrotto

╰┈➤ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: hello hello!! i participated in a zine titled octazinelle: high tide! you can find the full zine through here~ this was a very fun project and i'm so excited to post the fic i wrote for you guys ^^ i really care about this fic so much, so there will be additional notes that i will leave somewhere :3c don't worry, they won't be hard to find fufufu

“Floyd Leech.”

Said student is just climbing down the steps of the lecture room when he hears his name being called in an austere manner. Any remaining students in the classroom cast Floyd that ‘oh boy’ look as they leave the room. Floyd looks to the teacher’s table where Professor Trein stares at him sternly. He returns the stare with a miffed look, but he approaches the professor nonetheless.

“This is the second time this week that I have caught you sleeping in my class,” Trein rebukes. “This may be your last semester in Night Raven College before you go on your internship, but that doesn’t mean that you can be negligent in my class.”

“Uh huh.”

“Don’t give me that attitude, Leech. I do not want to give any penalties so late into the semester, but if I catch you sleeping one more time, I will. Do I make myself clear, Leech?”

“Yes, sir.” 

“You may now go.” 

Floyd steps out of the classroom with the same expression as he wore when getting called out. Damn Professor Red Squid, if you don’t wanna give detention, then just don’t, he thinks to himself. Meh, oh well. I don’t feel hungry at all, should I even go to the canteen? But where do I even wanna go? Everywhere’s so noisy. 

He walks for a bit, hands in his pockets.

Ah wait. 

There’s the supplies arriving today for Mostro Lounge. 

Floyd barely notices his frown growing ever so slightly deeper, but students walking along the same path as him instinctively step aside. Nobody in their right mind would dare interrupt a disgruntled Leech twin. 

I’m not going to help out with those. Azul can suffer with those all he wants.

“Floyd! There you are!” 

Floyd stops in his tracks. He does not look at the classmate who briskly walks up to him, but he already feels the annoyance rushing to his head. 

“Floyd, we got a paper due in two days,” the classmate yells. “We just need your part, and we'll be done! When are you gonna send it in the gc?”

“Go away.”

“Hah? Don’t give me that!” The groupmate’s voice raises in anger. “We have a literal group paper to submit, and we just need your part so that we can submit it earlier!”

Floyd faces him finally, but this time, his eyes are dilated, teeth are displayed, and brows are furrowed. An all-too familiar menacing expression. “I said go away.”

“Eep!” The classmate takes a step back, expression immediately shifting to fear for his life. “O-ok ok! Just- just submit before the 11:59 deadline in two days! That’s all I needed to say, ok!”

And right after, the student runs away.

Floyd huffs. He has now made up his mind on where to go. 

Jade is wiping the sweat off of his face in the locker rooms when one of his Octavinelle classmates approaches him. “Hey, Azul’s calling for you,” he says. “He’s by the gates right now.”

“Oh?” Jade looks up in confusion. “I thought Floyd was supposed to be with him right now.”

“Well, he’s not there now,” the classmate replies while scratching his head. “They need more backup and Azul’s calling for you.” 

“Ah, I see.” He smiles. “I shall be there, then.”

The classmate leaves the locker rooms, leaving Jade all by himself. The rest of the class has already left, eager for lunch. 

Jade slows down in cleaning himself up.

Azul’s name brings back a rip that’s been tearing at his heart. It burns in the way that electricity probably burns, maybe to a lesser degree: his body stops working the way it usually does, and his chest still reels from a shock of pain. It’s not physical by any means, though by the Sea Witch, he wishes it was. It would have been so much easier to deal with. He’d be shipped to the best hospital, all bills easily paid for, and he’d be recovering well back in Octavinelle. Or if he dies, then that is that. No more pain to feel.

No, it’s a harder kind of pain. It’s the kind of pain that makes him want to tear flesh and bone with teeth and claws, the kind of hurt that urges him to destroy a ship, the kind of ache that makes him want to burn his already burning eyes. It’s the kind of pain that won’t go away even if he does all three.

Jade breathes in. Hold it. Breathe out. Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. Breathe in… breathe out…

He cannot afford to lose himself now, whether by wrath or by tears. 

He packs his bags, changes back to his uniform, and leaves the lockers. His light footsteps are overshadowed by the sounds of enthusiastic jogs to the cafeteria in the corridors. Jade takes a moment to breathe in the afternoon sunny air, letting out a bit more of his worries out of his lungs before he walks down the stairs and through Main Street. 

And soon, he finds himself nearing the tall gates of the school, where a group of students are gathered around large boxes. 

It annoys Jade that the gleam of silver hair stirs mixed emotions. On one hand, his troubles are dashed completely from seeing the very person he keeps close. On the other hand, it is the same person who’s making him go through hell.

He swiftly shifts his focus to the situation in front of him. Some of the other boxes should have been on the way to the Mostro Lounge by this time, yet there are still several of them that the other Octavinelle students have to carry. It isn’t surprising—after all, they decided to upgrade a few things, in preparation for the next dorm leader. Supplies that a simple run to Sam’s shop won’t cover, no matter how much he claims to have it all in stock. 

“Be extra careful with that. That tableware costs us quite a fortune.” Standing by the boxes with a clipboard resting on his arm, Azul watches his dorm mates as he writes notes on the clipboard. He has his dorm leader facade on, serious and stern, but even from a distance, Jade can see his slightly nervous gaze towards the supplies. 

As another pair leaves with a heavy box, Azul looks at them before his eyes fall on him. “Jade, good you made it on time.”

“Hello, Azul,” Jade greets. “I thought that Floyd was supposed to help with the supplies.”

“Well, he’s not here now,” Azul answers, frowning from annoyance. “I was wondering if you had any idea as to where he is right now.”

“I don’t. His history class should have ended 10 minutes ago.” 

“Hmph, nevermind. We need to get all of this into the lounge.” He gestures to the boxes. “All the boxes are complete, and we’ll do a final count of all the supplies once everything has been moved there.”

“I see.” Jade nods. “Will you need me to assist you?”

“No, you may enjoy your lunch break after helping us move these boxes,” Azul answers. “I’ll be making my next successor do that. It’s a part of his learning, after all.” 

“Ah. I see.” 

It annoys him to feel that same shock of hurt returning to his chest. 

A bemused look crosses Azul’s face. “Does that offend you,” he teases. “I never took you for one to be tilted by that.”

Jade blinks. “Why Azul, whatever makes you think I’d be offended over that?” He smiles, with a bit more effort than he’s used to. “You must be imagining things from how little rest you have in passing on your position to the little siren.”

“You exaggerate.” He keeps his clipboard and pen into his bag. “We need to move. Jade, carry that box over there.” He points to one of the smaller boxes, marked with the word FRAGILE, and picks up another box. 

And wordlessly, Jade follows, carrying a box that must contain brand new tea sets. New tea sets that remind him that a new dorm leader and manager of the Mostro Lounge will take over. 

That his term and Azul’s will end because they’ll move up to 4th year and go their separate ways. 

Jade resists the urge to break them. He’ll carry these then find Floyd. 

Back at home, the schools of fish would band together, staying close until Floyd swam past them, splitting their perfect formation. Together, apart. Together, apart. 

Together. Apart.

Separation was not new to Floyd at all. In an “eat or be eaten” world, fish and merfolk alike live with the thought that the people closest to them may be gone the next day. Floyd has hunted before, has fought before. He’s even the one who said goodbye to his parents when leaving for Night Raven College.

But he said goodbye with the promise of seeing them again after school is done. 

He stares down at the river that runs below the bridge. This spot is rarely ever frequented by students at lunchtime, if only because everyone else is either eating in the canteen, having meetings, or just being with friends, and the bridge is on the other path away from the Hall of Mirrors. Besides Octavinelle, it feels the closest to home on this campus: here, he can watch the current flow, and the fish that live below its clean stream. 

Home, huh? Floyd wonders if home will still feel like home once he returns from Night Raven College. 

It will be the same dark passageways and bioluminescent lights, the same faces but all grown up. Except that he isn’t a child that can pick fights with anyone and nab their scales as a prize, he is to be stuck with running the family business of making deals, expanding connections, beating up people who betray their trust. Pretty much like what he already does with Azul now. 

Except that the boss that would stand with him and Jade is not Azul at all. 

The fish in the river swim with no obstacle in their path. They may split apart to avoid the occasional rock, but they would be together again. Together, apart. Together. In the small space that they share, there is no vast ocean that opens up new paths for them to split ways. Not until they swim down the cliff and into the open sea. 

Floyd has never envied river dwellers until now. 

Jade walks behind Azul going to Mostro Lounge. It’s something of a routine that started in Night Raven College. When Azul walks, he and Floyd follow him from behind. He doesn’t remember how or when it started. Probably started to make Azul’s image look powerful: he is in the front, wearing a coat that imposes authority, and Jade and Floyd standing at the back makes him look almost impossible to touch. 

Regardless of the hows or the whys, it’s a position that has always given him comfort. From behind, Jade can watch Azul. He can see if Azul is pleased with something by the bounce in his step, or if he’s pissed by the clack of his heels. And from the front, Azul can’t read Jade since he’s always looking forward, and that lets Jade startle him with a random brutal teasing remark. 

Right now, though, he wishes to not look at Azul. 

Azul appears to be beaming, and Jade knows exactly why. He’s found the perfect successor for not only leadership of Octavinelle but also manager for his prized restaurant. He’s gotten accepted in all the places he applied for his internship. 

He’s gotten accepted already into the university that he aims to go to.

Jade vividly remembers the way Azul grinned from ear to ear when he received the email. He remembers the audible, “Yes! Yes, I got in!” that almost sounded teary-eyed. He remembers Floyd saying that they should celebrate over some drinks. He remembers smiling to the best of his abilities while saying congratulations for being accepted. 

That was two weeks ago. He’s said many fake things in his life, and he would never say sorry for them. But until now, the heartless congratulations weighs heavily in his conscience. 

It’s simple, really: Azul has been working hard all his life to achieve his dreams. And Jade was there to witness the journey, from the ideas to the headaches to the defeats to the victories. It’s a huge milestone for Azul to get to stay on land and study in a place where he feels he will thrive. So it’s unfair really, to not be able to celebrate such an achievement happily. 

And yet, Jade can’t bring himself to. 

Their relationship started as something transactional. Tweels keep his secrets, Azul lets them in his plans. Tweels support him, Azul entertains them. And if Azul fails to entertain, then they will drop him like plastic to the chute. There and done. That’s supposed to be their relationship. 

So why then does it hurt to hear that Azul got accepted? Why does it hurt to think about how in a few months, he won’t see Azul as much as the present? Why does it hurt to think about the uncertainty of when they will see each other again? 

“Jade, you can put down the box over there.”

Jade blinks. He’s at Mostro Lounge. Has he been so deep in thought that he didn’t realize when he arrived?

Schooling his expression, he puts down the box on the counter that Azul gestures to, unaware of the concerned expression on Azul’s face. 

Floyd doesn’t know when he started staring into nothingness to gaze at memories, but he’s now seeing the stone stage from middle school, where his younger self is playing drums to his brother’s bass and someone’s piano. 

He remembers, he was getting irritated with the piano melody, and at the time he couldn’t pinpoint why, except that it lacked something. Now that he thinks about it, it’s because that pianist’s playing had no life. No vigor, no passion, just technique that wouldn’t get anyone dancing. “Next,” he had said and stopped playing. The pianist was protesting. Floyd forgot what he said, just that he protested that he wasn’t done playing, but he didn’t care enough to hear about it.

“Everyone sucks, Jade,” he threw his sticks to the ground. “No one’s good enough to be part of our band. Let’s just go.” And he and Jade—who was bigger than him at the time—left the small auditorium of their school. And it’s a blur, Floyd doesn’t remember why he and Jade didn’t go home right away, but he remembers very well the syncopated melodies coming from the piano they forgot to close. 

And he remembers the gasp he made, the way his heart was stirred from how alive the music sounded. 

And he remembers how quickly he swam back inside to see who’s playing, and his wide-eyed gaze when he spotted the familiar octopus.

“Hey hey, that was so cool,” he said to the flustered Azul. “Play some more, play some more!” 

“Huh? No way, I have to go soon!”

But he didn’t let him go. He insisted he play the piano as he picked up his sticks and played a beat. “Come on, just one song! Then you can go!”

And he started his beat. And when it was just him for a long moment, Floyd had wondered if Azul left. But the sound of an E minor reached his ears, and the next moment, Azul’s playing was matching to the beat of the drums. And his music had heart. It had spirit, it had technique, it had passion. 

And the best part? Azul matched his rhythm when nobody else did. 

“I knew I’d find you here, Floyd.”

Eyes turning away from his reflection in the water, Floyd looks up to the face that he’s known since birth. Jade, impeccably presentable despite having PE class earlier, walks towards Floyd, leaning on the railing of the bridge he stands on. But he does not go near him. 

“What do you want,” Floyd asks. 

“We had a new batch of supplies arrive at the Lounge today,” Jade answers. “You were supposed to help out with the unpacking.”

He only answers with a curt hum before turning back to the water below. 

He hears a sigh. And footsteps approaching.

“You’re thinking about last last week, aren’t you?”

Floyd turns again to Jade. He’s by the bridge railing now, same side as him, but he continues to keep a respectable distance. Jade doesn’t look at him directly either, his gaze directed at the horizon ahead of them. 

He’s thinking about it too.

“Yeah, you could say that,” he answers. “It’s just, really ass, y’know?”

Floyd believes that in spite of their identical genetics, they are two people with different identities, dreams, and beliefs. And don’t get him wrong, it is a lot better that way to have individuality. But deep down, there is a comfort knowing that Jade probably feels the same feeling that leaves Floyd dizzy with frustration, that binds his chest with a mix of anger and sadness. And Sea Witch knows, Floyd needs that comfort now. 

“‘Ass’, you say,” Jade repeats. “Tell me about it.” 

A beat of silence passes between them. 

“It’s just that. It takes half a fish brain to know that Azul’s got grand plans after graduation. Get into the best business school, build his own corporation, build another company, and a third company. And I’ve known this for Sea Witch knows how long, and it was all fine, I didn’t care that much, but then…”

“...But then the letter came in.” Jade fills in. 

“Yeah,” Floyd emphatically answers. “That damned acceptance letter from whosit business university came in. Like, I don’t know why, but it just made everything feel… real. That Azul’s really gonna go somewhere else. And I hate that it’s been hitting me like this for the last two weeks. I can’t focus well, I’m pissed off, Trein’s told me off about sleeping. It’s so ass.”

The silent air between the twins weighs heavier. Floyd’s eyes briefly look at the fish in the river again—the damned fish that he wants to throw a rock at so they separate too—before he turns to Jade. “How ‘bout you? Was it also the letter?”

Jade doesn’t answer right away. Floyd understands; in moments like these, Jade hesitates to speak his mind, even to him. It’s part of their nature to be cowardly, after all, just that Jade exhibits it more between the two of them. 

“... Somehow, yes, but if I were to think about it… it’s actually been a while now,” he finally answers.

“Eh? Really?”

“I knew down the line that there would be farewells to be made,” Jade says. “Like you said, Azul has already made plans for himself, and he invests in those plans, years in advance. But there’s always that part of me that wonders… if there’s space for us in those plans.” 

Floyd finds himself inhaling sharply at those words. 

“I see his goals coming to fruition, and it pains me to say that I can’t even properly support him. The letter, the new supplies, the little siren he’s going to appoint… they’re all reminders that it will all change.” Jade smiles, but in pain. “Azul won’t be the dorm leader, I won’t be the vice leader, and we won’t do the things we used to do. And we won’t see each other until perhaps the next VDC. And when we graduate… would he call an end to our agreements? Would we grow so busy that we become strangers again? We would always say that our relationship is merely transactional and that we would leave him if we get bored, but…”

Jade stops, and the air weighs even heavier. Floyd feels taken back to the first day on land, when breathing with lungs felt heavy and difficult. 

Suddenly, Jade laughs. “What clownfish have we become?”

Floyd too joins his twin in mirth. “Can’t help it, Azul makes me feel understood.”

He raises a brow. “Is it gonna be about the first time you played together with him?”

“I mean, it’s how it started,” he answers. He doesn’t realize the small smile that settles on his face as he remembers once more. “Like, back then, everyone just kinda avoided, y’know? And that’s fine, at least, I thought it was. ‘Twas fun and all to be intimidating. But no matter what I’d do, Azul always matches me. He knows exactly what to play to my rhythm. And even in how we work, he knows what’s the stuff I’d like to do or the stuff I’d do well in. It just feels nice.”

It feels too nice. 

Too nice that if it disappears, it will leave his heart bound tightly by melancholy. 

“…Hey, I can’t be the only sappy one here.” Floyd eyes Jade. “C’mon Jade, share too what’s made you appreciate Azul.”

“I already shared a lot earlier,” Jade says defensively.

“Heyyy, be fair at least. I know you have your own thing.”

“What else is there to say? You already said everything.”

“Liar. I know how you started reading your books more after meeting him.” 

“So? Those were lessons that we had to learn as well.”

“Uh huh sure. Then explain why you’ve only gotten better in everything you do after meeting Azul.”

Jade glares at him. 

Floyd grins in response. “Gotcha.”

A beat of silence, then Jade sighs. “If he makes you feel understood, then he makes me feel capable.”

“How so?”

“One reason.” He puts up one free hand, with one finger up. “He’s demanding.”

Floyd chuckles. “That’s an understatement.”

“You’re right.” Jade grins, teeth flashing. “He’s exigent. Making us run around the school to do 5 things at once, on top of schoolwork. Even before NRC, he was just like that. I assumed he was insane. Until now, I still think he’s insane.”

“You say that, but you don’t look like you’re complaining at all.”

“Because thanks to that, I wasn’t pretending to be good at something anymore.” His next smile is closed. Softer. “I went from barely comprehending a textbook and barely lifting a seashell with my magic to understanding contract language and unlocking my unique ability. He made me do things, and I planned to just make someone else do it and pretend it was me.” 

“Ohhh.” Floyd’s eyes widened with remembrance. “And then he caught you.”

“Yes.” Jade shakes his head at the thought. “And I was expecting him to laugh at me, but he didn’t. All he did was sigh and teach me. Magic, studies, law, something about the way he taught those things clicked something in me. And even the things that he didn’t teach but always talked about, like culinary and how people behave, I was able to absorb things and got better. Dare I say,” a smirk forms on his face, “I’m better than Azul in some things.”

“Like flight class.” Floyd grins.

“Like flight class,” Jade repeats smugly. 

And they stop talking. Jade turns his gaze to the distant horizon, looking at something farther than the blue of the sky. Meanwhile, Floyd glances back at the river. He understands that Jade is done talking personal. But it’s fine for him. He can almost hear the unspoken thoughts. Once Azul leaves, who’s going to be the pianist in their little band that makes their every day exciting? Once Azul leaves, who’s going to tell them that they can do it? 

Once Azul leaves, who’s going to understand them?

“So this is where you two are.”

Simultaneously, Floyd and Jade whip their heads around. Floyd swears his heart almost leapt to his chest when he saw those familiar blue eyes. 

One hand in his pocket, Azul stands on the threshold of the bridge. He and Jade fully turn around as he walks towards them until he’s directly in front of both of them. 

“Hello, Azul,” Jade greets, like the conversation a while ago never happened. “How was teaching your next successor what he has to do?”

“Went well,” he answers. “His prior experiences already reassure me, but he’s also demonstrated that he knows what he’s doing. Currently, he and our other dorm mates are taking care of the supplies.”

“Weird that you’re not being so strict, considering how much you value your restaurant,” Floyd comments. “You’re not even gonna be there to make sure nothing’s going wrong?”

“I trust that things are going well with my new successor in charge. I’ve taught him very well enough,” Azul says. “But more importantly… I have matters to discuss with the both of you.”

He turns his head to look at Jade. “Jade, you’ve been out of focus lately. Just a while ago, when you were bringing the box of teacups to the lounge, you were so deep in thought, you didn’t look like you were aware of where you were going. And even during work hours, you haven’t been as sharp as you usually are. A few professors have commented on your slouched posture as well.”

Jade’s eyes widen in surprise. 

“And Floyd.” Azul turns to look at Floyd. “Professors have reported to me that you’ve either been asleep during lectures or interrupting class with an outburst. You’ve also been moodier than usual, and it shows in your cooking and your behavior. I’ve heard a few students rant about you in group projects.”

Floyd briefly remembers the group mate that approached him earlier. 

“So what are you getting at exactly, Azul,” Jade asks. “Even we have our off days as well.”

Azul casts him a pointed look. “Off days for two weeks straight.” 

He receives no quip in reply. 

He crosses his arms. “Jade, Floyd.” His neutral serious tone changes. It quivers slightly. He’s worried. “I know you two well enough that there’s something going on. Is there something that happened?”

Floyd looks away. Jade does as well.

Floyd hates the concern in his tone. It makes him want to break. It makes him want to be upfront about his feelings and how it’s been bothering him. 

But how can someone like him really tell someone like Azul that you’re afraid to lose him somehow? How can he retract all the times he said that their relationship is all transaction and no emotional connection? How do you even start bearing something so vulnerable? 

They must be the same questions that Jade is grappling with now. Jade, who’s usually good at worming his way out of any conversation, has nothing to say to leave this topic. 

Azul sighs, breaking the long silence. “Is this something that has to do with me?”

The twins stiffen. 

Floyd can feel Azul’s gaze towards him. 

A tense moment passes. 

“... I had a feeling.”

He finally looks at him but in confusion. Jade is also facing him with wide eyes. 

Azul exhales through his nose. “You don’t have to tell me anything about what you’re feeling right now. If at all.” He turns around, preparing to leave. His head is bowed down, not letting either twin see his expression. “But I just want to let you know, I’m always here if you need me. Not just for this, but for anything, even if in the future.”

Floyd’s breath hitches.

“Do you… really mean that?” Jade asks, almost meekly.

Azul looks at Jade in puzzlement. “Why wouldn’t I? You two have been with me for all these years, even in my weakest hours. It’s not like I’m going to leave you even after we graduate.”

“Really,” Floyd asks. “Even when you get really busy with university and we’re running our family business?”

“Well, I won’t deny that we will be busy,” he answers. “But I’m not letting go of you two just because of that. You know me too well, after all. And you’ve supported me all these years, it would be embarrassing to leave that unpaid.”

“You mean that?”

“Have I ever broken a promise? If you want, I can even put that on a contract and have you sign it.”

In one single breath, the binding sadness and worry that tightened Floyd’s chest leaves. 

Without thinking, he moves towards Azul and wraps his arms around his slim frame. He ignores the surprised gasp as he buries his face on his shoulder. His breathing feels lighter than it has ever been the past two weeks. 

He feels Jade joining in, hugging Azul from the other side and burying his face on the other shoulder. His breathing sounds even to any person, but to Floyd, he can hear a slight quiver, like Jade is trying to hold back tears. 

“Is… is this what it’s been all about, all this time,” Azul finally asks. His hands move to pat their heads, a motion that always comforted the twins. “You two are strange for worrying about this type of thing.” 

Despite his words, Floyd can hear the smile in Azul’s voice.