#if I could convince someone to come with I would probably make it an actual road trip

[starsinthesky5]

LSU JB9 (headcannons) // JOE BURROW

✰ description: a collection of detailed headcannons about what it would be like to be with LSU joey <3

✰ joe burrow masterlist

✰ pairing: LSU!Joe x Reader

✰ a/n: wrote this on a whim so please don't tell me if it sucks <3 party 4 u is still in progress and on it's way!! this wasn't meant to be this long but here we are

warnings: NSFW/suggestive content, mdni. language. wc: 10.5k taglist: (ask to be added): @joeyfranchise @joeyb1989 @joeyburrrow @softburrow @burrowbarbie @yelenasbraid @lovelyburrow @majestic87 @grittysbiggestfan @definitelynotdomanique @burrowswomen @lilfreakjez @fourburrow @ladyluvduv @jbnine99

── .✦ he absolutely thought you were out of his league

you and joe met through a group of mutual friends, though it took him weeks to build up the courage to actually talk to you. he played it cool on the outside—stoic, steady, the calm-in-a-storm quarterback everyone counted on—but the second you were in the room, it was like someone pulled the rug out from under him. his stomach would flip, mouth dry, palms way too warm for comfort. his teammates would tease him endlessly, whispering “there she is,” every time you walked in, just to watch the tips of his ears flush bright pink. he had no idea what to do with himself when you were nearby. his brain ran a mile a minute “don’t stare, do not stare, is my shirt wrinkled? do i smell weird?”—while trying to come up with something, anything, to say that wouldn’t make him sound like a complete idiot. usually he ended up blurting out things like “uh…nice notebook,” then immediately wanting to evaporate on the spot.

when you’d laugh or tilt your head toward him during group conversations, joe would lose his train of thought entirely. he’d get fidgety, tapping his thumb against the seam of his sweats, tugging at his sleeves, bouncing one knee under the table like he was running plays in his head. once, you’d accidentally brushed his arm while reaching for your drink, and he swore he didn’t breathe for ten full seconds. he replayed that moment in his mind for days, convinced it meant something. he’d linger in places he thought you might pass through—by the vending machines, near the quad, waiting just a beat longer in the hallway after practice was over and you were coming back from the gym—then pretend it was coincidence when your eyes met. he smiled every time, slow and sheepish, like he couldn’t believe his luck.

what killed him most was how easy you made it look, how you talked with that bright, effortless laugh and looked at him like he wasn’t about to combust under the weight of his crush. he’d lay in bed at night staring at the ceiling, replaying everything you’d said, wondering if you could hear how hard his heart was pounding when you stood close. wondering if maybe...just maybe...you felt the same kind of dizzy, giddy, butterflies-in-your-ribs kind of thing he did every single time you smiled at him.

it wasn’t until three whole weeks later, after endless teasing from his teammates, half-baked pep talks in the locker room, and at least four different times where he almost did it but chickened out, that joe finally worked up the nerve to ask for your number. it happened on a random tuesday, tucked in the back corner of the student union during a group study sesh, his knee bouncing under the table and fingers fidgeting with the seam of his hoodie. you were mid-sentence, laughing at something he’d said (probably dumb, probably charming), when he suddenly slid his phone across the table, screen open to a new contact, that sheepish, lopsided grin tugging at his lips.

his ears were pink. his voice cracked just a little when he said, “only if you want to,”.

you’d been smiling back at him for weeks, meeting his eyes in the dining hall, catching his glances at fred's, lingering just a second longer during group hangouts, quietly hoping he’d finally get brave. so when you picked up his phone with a grin and tapped in your number, joe looked like he’d just won the national championship. all the tension drained from his shoulders in an instant, pride and disbelief blooming across his face like he couldn’t quite believe he’d actually done it.

in that moment, the cool, collected quarterback? gone. all that was left was a nervous, giddy boy falling stupidly in love. and you? you were already halfway there.

── .✦ picked you up for dates in that tragically old truck

joe’s old pickup was a tragic kind of pride and joy. its faded paint chipped in places, the creaky door that never quite closed quietly, and a passenger seat that squeaked whenever you shifted your weight. but every time he had a date with you, he’d spend nearly an hour making sure that front seat was spotless. free from grass stains and the stench of post practice sweat. he’d scrub at the worn fabric like it was a sacred ritual, determined to make it perfect for you despite the truck’s rattles and quirks.

when he rolled up to your building, cudi blasting from the speakers—something nostalgic and familiar, like the soundtrack to all his best memories—he wore that signature athens high backwards hat and an easy, laid-back grin, pretending like he was cool as ice. but beneath that calm exterior, his hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white, and his heart hammered against his ribs like he’d just run a touchdown sprint. the truck rattled noisily when he shifted gears, and he could feel his stomach twisting nervously the entire drive to the diner, silently praying you weren’t bored, that the noise wasn’t annoying, that you didn’t mind the less-than-perfect ride. even though he acted casual, teasing you with jokes and playful banter to break the tension, every glance he stole at you in the rearview mirror was full of quiet hope, hope that these imperfect moments were exactly what you wanted, that you saw the guy behind the beat-up truck, steady and nervous and completely smitten.

── .✦ the softest drunk you’ve ever met

post-big win joe at LSU was honestly the softest, most adorably clingy drunk you’d ever met, and it was a side of him that made your heart swell in ways you didn’t expect. from the moment he spotted you standing by the bar, his whole posture softened, his usual confident swagger giving way to a kind of gentle vulnerability that was rare and utterly captivating. his arm slid around your waist like a lifeline, pulling you close as if you were the center of his entire universe. his cheeks were flushed this perfect shade of rosy pink, curls damp and sticking just a little at his temples from the buzz of celebration and the late summer, early fall humidity. he swayed lightly beside you, his wide grin lighting up his face like a kid who just scored the winning touchdown for the first time, eyes sparkling as they locked onto yours. his voice dropped to that low, husky murmur only meant for you, breath warm against your ear as he whispered sweet, sincere words that made your skin tingle,“’m so glad you’re here,” and “couldn’t do any of this without you,”. the world around you seemed to blur, the noise of the rowdy bar fading until all you could focus on was joe’s steady presence and the way his fingers gently squeezed your hip with quiet pride.

when someone approached to congratulate him, joe’s first instinct was to shift the spotlight onto you. with that trademark smirk and a proud squeeze of your side, he’d say, “my girl’s my good luck charm,” making you feel like the most important person in the room. his voice was thick with affection, a mix of exhaustion and elation that wrapped around you like a warm blanket. half the night, he’d lean his head against your shoulder or bury his face in the soft curve of your neck, mumbling sleepy i-love-yous that felt like whispered promises.

you’d try to coax him to drink some water, your hands smoothing his hair back, feeling the warmth of his flushed skin against your palm, but he was too caught up in the moment, too enamored with you, to care about anything else. as the night wound down and the crowd began to thin, joe stayed close, arms wrapped tightly around you as if he never wanted to let go. when the uber finally pulled up, he practically melted into you, resting his head on your shoulder during the ride home, every so often brushing your cheek with his thumb as he murmured half-jokingly, “promise me you’ll never leave,”. the soft haze of the buzzed haze made him more open than usual, more honest, and you could see in his eyes the deep gratitude he felt—not just for the win, but for you, for the way you’d been there through every pass, every tackle, every moment.

those nights revealed a tenderness beneath joe’s tough exterior, an emotional vulnerability that only you ever got to see. and in that quiet closeness, with his heartbeat steady against your side and his lips warm against your skin, you knew this was love, messy, sweet, and utterly perfect.

── .✦ the first time you wore his jersey

the moment you surprised joe at tiger stadium wearing his #9 jersey, the 9 tight and perfect across your back, everything shifted. you could almost see his breath catch, that usual confident front slipping away like a secret no one else was meant to see. the boy who owned the field—the one who led the team with quiet power—morphed into a blushing mess in an instant. his cheeks flushed a deep, flushed hue, and before you knew it, he was tugging you close by the wrist, like a protective golden retriever caught doing something adorably awkward. his face buried itself in the soft curve of your shoulder, hiding behind you with a goofy grin that made your heart flutter.

“you look way too good in that, stop it,” he grumbled quietly, voice thick with timidness and awe all at once. but even as he protested, his thumb was tracing the fabric lightly over your spine, as if trying to convince himself that this wasn’t some dream—that you really chose to wear him so boldly, so unapologetically. it was like he was seeing you in a new light, one that made his chest tighten with pride and nervous excitement all tangled together. throughout warmups, joe couldn’t keep his eyes off you. every few minutes, his gaze flicked up toward the stands where you sat, a mixture of thrill and terror sparkling behind those deep, intense eyes. he was proud, beyond proud, but also a little overwhelmed by the vulnerability of it all. this was more than just a jersey; it was a bold, public declaration, and knowing you were there wearing him like that made the whole stadium feel electric with possibility.

── .✦ “study sessions” were just an excuse to nap on you

joe swore up and down he was there to help you cram for midterms—armed with neat highlighters, meticulously color-coded notes, and a strategic stash of snacks—but honestly, those study sessions quickly became something else entirely. within twenty minutes, the carefully organized piles of textbooks and flashcards were forgotten, because joe would inevitably stretch out across your dorm bed, sinking into your space like he belonged there. his head would find the soft curve of your lap, eyes fluttering closed as your fingers absentmindedly wove through his curls, tracing gentle circles that seemed to lull him into a peaceful calm.

“you make it too comfy,” he’d mumble with sleep and contentment, that trademark grin tugging at the corner of his lips even as he drifted off. you’d try everything to wake him, lightly tapping his shoulder, softly calling his name, even a few playful kisses, but his arms would lazily wrap around your waist, pulling you closer until you were tangled up with him. it was like he knew, deep down, that these quiet moments nestled against your warmth were more restful than any bed, any blanket, any pillow. he’d whisper in a sleepy half-joke, “i swear, i sleep better tucked against your stomach than anywhere else,”. the room would grow quiet except for the soft rhythm of his breathing and the comforting brush of your fingers through his hair. sometimes, you’d peek down at his peaceful face and smile, knowing these naps weren’t just about rest—they were a way he felt close, safe, and home. and when you finally did try to move, he’d clutch you tighter, muttering sleepy protests that made your heart ache with affection. those “study sessions” weren’t about cramming facts or acing tests, they were about finding solace in each other, stealing moments of peace in a world that often felt too loud.

── .✦ refused to kiss you on the mouth before games (a silly superstition)

joe was weirdly serious about his superstitions, one sock inside out, the caramel apple sucker situation, and especially the one where he claimed full mouth kisses would curse his throwing arm. so before every kickoff, he’d press a soft kiss to your cheek, tap his helmet gently to your forehead, and whisper “see you after,”. what he didn’t warn you about was the way he’d make up for it later. sweat-slick and flushed, adrenaline still coursing through his veins as he found you in the parking lot or the stands after everyone left, grabbing your waist with greedy hands and kissing you so hard your knees buckled. he always cradled your face like it was something fragile, thumb sweeping your cheekbone while he growled against your lips, voice ragged and low, “waited all damn day for this shit,”. postgame kisses were everything he’d held back, poured out in full. the reward, the release, the ritual he’d never skip.

── .✦ he kept every love note you wrote him in a shoebox under his bed

you always assumed joe tossed your silly little love notes once they’d made him smile. those hurried post-it scraps stuck inside his locker, the crumpled dining hall napkins with quick messages like “good luck, baby,” or “proud of you my love,”. you thought they were just sweet, fleeting tokens, small reminders that brightened his day before being casually discarded. but one afternoon, while helping him clean his bedroom, you stumbled upon something unexpected, a worn, slightly battered nike box tucked away behind a pile of laundry under his bed. curious, you pulled it out and opened the lid, your breath catching as you saw what was inside.

dozens of your notes filled the box—each one carefully folded, edges softened and smoothed from countless readings. some were scribbled on torn scraps of paper, others on napkins stained faintly with spilled coffee or your lip gloss, the subtle smudges still visible where your lips had pressed. it was a private collection, a secret treasure trove of your words that joe had kept close to his heart. when he caught you holding the box, his face flushed a warm, honest shade of red, and a shy smile tugged at his lips as he admitted, “those are my lucky charms. rereading them before games, especially on nights when i can’t fall asleep without you, it helps calm my nerves, reminds me why i keep pushing,”. the quiet vulnerability in his voice made your chest tighten, realizing that these simple notes were more than words. they were a lifeline, a quiet source of strength when the pressure felt overwhelming for him.

── .✦ knocks twice before slipping into your dorm at 2am like it’s a secret mission

joe always approaches like he’s on a confidential mission, knocking softly twice before slipping into your dorm at 2 a.m., like he’s stealing moments no one else is allowed to see. he moves with a quiet confidence, sweatpants slung low enough to threaten a slow slide off his hips, a hoodie pulled up just enough to cast shadows over his damp curls, eyes half-lidded and glowing with the sticky warmth of those late baton rouge nights. his footsteps barely make a sound on the worn carpet as he eases the door shut behind him, the subtle click of the lock echoing like a whispered promise. then, turning toward you, he wears that sleepy-soft smile—the one that makes your heart skip and your knees weaken in equal measure.

with one big hand, roughened from practice but tender in the moment, he cups your jaw, tilting your face up just enough to meet his gaze. his voice drops to a hoarse whisper, the kind of tone reserved only for the darkest hours and closest confessions, “couldn’t sleep without you, baby,” the words hang in the air, heavy and true, like something he’s been holding back all day, too shy to say in the sunlight but impossible to keep inside now. in that quiet, stolen moment, the world falls away, and it’s just you two, bound by whispered truths and the soft rhythm of a love that’s as deep as the night itself.

── .✦ he cannot keep his hands to himself

his self‑control completely evaporates the moment the lock clicks. one hand braces against the wood behind your head while the other roams under your oversized t‑shirt, fingertips tracing the line of your spine until you shiver. he noses along your jaw, breathing ragged as he mutters how soft you feel, how good you smell, every syllable warm and damp against your skin. his palms are greedy as they slide up your thighs and around to grip your ass, tugging you flush against the hard shape of him as he whispers, “been thinking about you all day, couldn’t focus in meetings ‘cause i knew i’d have you like this tonight,”.

── .✦ he's awful at keeping quiet during sex

you’re constantly covering his mouth, fingers slipping between his lips or pressing firm over them, because joe is so fucking bad at staying quiet. especially when he’s buried deep inside you, all flushed and frantic, eyes blown wide with need. every sound he makes is desperate, obscene—low groans that vibrate against your palm, ragged moans punched out of him every time you clench around him just right. he loses it when you tug his curls or rake your nails down his back, hips bucking like he can’t stop himself, breath catching in his throat as he gasps your name like a curse. in your suite, walls thin and roommate far too close for comfort, he tries to hold it together, biting into your shoulder, voice muffled as he pants hot against your skin, “fuck, baby,” like you’re unraveling him from the inside out. and when you grind just a little deeper, a little rougher, his restraint shatters, he starts whispering broken things against your collarbone, “please...don’t stop...so good, fuck, please,” like he’s not even aware he’s saying it, every word dripping with raw, needy heat that makes it impossible not to give him exactly what he wants.

── .✦ obsessed with you sitting in his lap on your tiny full sized bed

there’s nothing in the world he loves more than pulling you into his lap, thighs spread wide on that cramped full mattress, knees hanging off the edge, your legs bracketing his hips. he’ll nudge his nose along yours, coaxing you to settle on top of him, big hands sliding up the backs of your thighs as he hums “there you go, pretty girl,” once you’re seated, he presses up into you slowly, deliberately, his fingers digging into your hips as he guides you in lazy little rolls. he loves when you brace your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself, his breath coming harsher, hotter, the deeper your hips dip, and murmurs how “sweet” you feel when you clench around him.

── .✦ draws patterns on your bare thigh while teasing

he takes his time, that lazy, confident joe burrow smirk curling his lips as he leans close but doesn’t quite touch, letting the tension build. his thumb moves in slow circles along your bare inner thigh, each gentle stroke sending little electric jolts straight through your skin. his eyes darken as he whispers, “that’s what you want?” with a voice soft and laced with promise, like he already knows the answer but loves making you beg for it anyway. the way his breath fans against your ear, warm and steady, contrasts sharply with the teasing, delicate touch of his fingers, drawing out your every shiver and soft gasp until you’re shaking beneath him. underneath it all, you can feel the solid, unmistakable proof of him pressed against you, a slow burn ready to ignite.

── .✦ secretly melts when you tug on his waistband

there’s something so effortless, so fucking lethal, about the way your fingers slide beneath the hem of his shirt, teasing just enough to make his muscles twitch beneath your touch. your nails trail over the firm ridges of his abs, featherlight but full of intent, and it knocks the air right out of him. his breath hitches, body going rigid for a split second before it melts, like your touch just short-circuits everything in him.

then comes the waistband, the slow, sinful drag of your fingers against his skin, right where his sweatpants hang low on his hips. you hook your thumbs there and tug, just a little, and he loses it. lips parting, jaw going slack, he exhales a soft, broken “fuck...god,” like the word itself is fragile in his throat.

his head tilts back ever so slightly, lashes fluttering, like he’s offering himself up without realizing it, completely undone by such a small, filthy little gesture. there’s awe in his eyes when he looks down at you, like he can’t believe how easy it is for you to ruin him. like your hands are the only ones that have ever touched him like this—teasing, confident, yours. and the worst part? he loves it. the way his stomach clenches when you pull again. the way his cock twitches in anticipation. every subtle tug makes him feel worshiped and wrecked, dizzy with need and helpless to anything else you might want from him.

── .✦ always insists on pulling his your hoodie back on you after sex

after every heated moment, every desperate gasp and lingering kiss, joe’s instinct is tenderness. when you’re both sticky with sweat, completely spent and dazed, and your breathing still uneven, he’ll carefully tug that oversized hoodie back over your shoulders, the fabric soft and familiar. his fingers brush the hair out of your face, and then he presses two gentle kisses to your forehead, murmuring, “wanna keep you warm,”. it’s such a simple gesture, but it holds all the weight of how much he wants to protect you, like you just rocked his entire world against the cramped dorm room walls and now he wants nothing more than to hold you close and keep you safe from everything else.

── .✦ falls asleep with his hand on your stomach and leg thrown over yours

even after the heat fades and the world quiets down, joe is still the biggest, gentlest presence beside you. wrapped around you like a warm shield, his large hand rests softly on your stomach as his leg drapes over yours, anchoring you together in a cocoon of closeness. his breath slows, lips still swollen and tinged pink from kisses, hair tousled in that charming, messy way. soft snores hum against your skin as he drifts off to sleep, utterly content and utterly yours by 3 a.m.

── .✦ he's grade A munch.

joe eats you out like it’s his life’s purpose. like your body is the only thing that makes sense in a world full of chaos. he doesn’t just go down on you, he sinks into you. slow, steady, with the kind of focus that makes your head spin. he starts by spreading you open, fingertips tracing along the softest parts of your thighs, his breath hot and heavy as he looks up through his lashes with that lazy, cocky grin—the one that says he already knows he’s about to ruin you.

his mouth meets you with soft, lingering kisses first. wet, warm, slow drags of his tongue that make your hips jerk and your breath catch. he’s not in any rush. he takes his time, learning and relearning you every time, tasting you like you’re honey on his tongue. when he licks a slow stripe up your center and his nose presses right up against your clit...fuck...your whole body arches. and he doesn’t move. he stays there, mouth wide and tongue deep inside you, nose grinding firm little circles right where you need him most, nudging and rubbing as his fingers dig into your thighs to keep you spread and still. and it’s so much. the pressure of his nose, the way he groans into you when you whimper, like the sound goes straight to his dick.

every moan from him sends heat flooding through you. he doesn’t just make you come, he drags it out of you, with his face soaked, mouth messy, eyes glassy with lust. and as you start to come undone, his hands move up—slow, sure palms gliding over your stomach, then higher, until he’s cupping your tits, thumbs brushing over your nipples like he’s trying to make you fall apart in every way at once. sometimes he squeezes just hard enough to make your back arch, your chest pushed into his hands while his mouth works you over, and it feels so fucking overwhelming. you’re being touched everywhere, devoured everywhere, and it’s him, it’s always him.

and he loves it. he lives for the way you shake beneath him, for the way your thighs clamp around his head when he hits that spot just right. he lets you ride his tongue, nose still pressed tight against your clit, chin slick, fingers tugging gently at your nipples as you come apart. and he doesn’t stop. if anything, he gets more desperate. tongue flicking faster, nose rubbing harder, hands holding you down while you sob out his name like a prayer. he wants it all, every gasp, every cry, every twitch. and he wants to be the only one who gets to see you like this. wild, wrecked, and his. when you finally collapse back into the sheets, breathless and dazed, he pulls back just enough to look at you. his lips are shiny, chin drenched, eyes dark and blissed-out as he runs his palms soothingly over your thighs, your hips, your stomach. he presses a slow, wet kiss to your lower belly and mutters something like, “you’re so fuckin’ perfect. can’t get enough of you. never will,”.

and the worst part? he means every word.

── .✦ your makeouts always start slow, full of teasing touches

joe never rushes that first kiss. it’s a slow, delicious tease that sets your insides humming like a secret song. his fingers thread gently around your waist, pulling you close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body, but he holds just enough distance to let the anticipation simmer between you. his thumbs drift over your cheekbones with a delicate, almost reverent touch, warm and soft like a whispered promise, as if he’s tracing the shape of you for the first time and wants to savor every detail.

his eyes lock on your lips with a mix of longing and restraint, like he’s holding back a tidal wave just to savor this moment with you. when his mouth finally grazes yours, it’s feather-light and searching, like a question, a gentle exploration of what it means to finally be this close.

then that small, knowing smile curls on his lips just before his kiss deepens, sending sparks crackling through your chest, stirring every nerve ending awake. his breath mingles with yours, slow and warm and utterly intoxicating, as if the rest of the world has melted away. one hand slips down your back, fingers pressing into your hip with a fierce, tender possessiveness that makes your heart flutter wild and free. every soft flick of his tongue, every feathered brush of his lips is a silent vow, an unraveling that leaves you dizzy, breathless, and craving more—even in the gentlest moments.

── .✦ flirty banter between heated kisses

between kisses, joe’s playful confidence flares like a match struck in the dark. hot, quick, impossible to ignore. when you pull back just enough to breathe, your lips swollen and your chest heaving, he grins like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. that cocky, half-lidded glint lights up his eyes, his fingers already sliding down the curve of your spine like he owns it. “you’re dangerous, you know that?” he murmurs, voice rough and low, like gravel wrapped in silk. you smirk, fingers brushing along the sharp edge of his jaw, your thumb dragging across his mouth like a dare. “oh, please. you’re the one who can’t keep his hands off me,”.

his laugh rumbles deep in his chest, a sound that vibrates against your skin, and before you can get another word out, he’s kissing you again, harder this time, like he needs to shut you up with his mouth. his lips crush against yours, all heat and hunger, his tongue sliding in with a groan as his hand fists in your hair, pulling just enough to make your toes curl. he doesn’t stay still. he kisses you like he’s starving for every inch, trailing his mouth along your jaw, down your neck, biting lightly before soothing the spot with his tongue. “talk too much,” he mumbles against your throat, lips brushing your racing pulse. “but fuck, i love hearing you,”.

you breathe out a laugh, but it turns to a moan when he sucks a mark into your skin, his teeth scraping just enough to make you melt. every kiss becomes part of the game—the way you tug at his shirt, the way he presses you harder into the wall or the mattress or anywhere, the way your bodies move like you’ve done this a hundred times and still can’t get enough. teasing becomes tension, every flirty remark sharpened by the fire building between you. and still, between every breathless kiss, every wicked grin, joe keeps pulling you closer like he can’t stand the thought of space between your bodies. like the only place he wants you is right there, tangled up in him, lips swollen, voice wrecked, utterly his.

── .✦ sex with him is a mix of fiery passion and tender connection

sex with joe is a fever dream, a raw, all-consuming fire that leaves you breathless and aching, like he’s trying to crawl inside your very soul with every desperate thrust. he starts slow, almost, lips ghosting over your skin like he’s tasting something sacred. those first kisses are gentle and worshipful, savoring every inch of you, every shiver beneath his touch. but that tenderness doesn’t last. soon it’s swallowed whole by a fierce hunger that rips through the quiet, turning kisses into something filthy and possessive. his mouth claims yours with teeth and tongue, quiet growls vibrating against your lips, desperate and demanding, marking you like his.

his hands are rough, gripping your hips like he never wants to let go, fingers trailing up to cup your breasts with a touch that’s desperate and tender all at once. his thumbs tease your nipples, drawing out sharp gasps and soft cries, fanning the flames burning between you. when he finally slides inside, it’s like a dam breaks—his rhythm brutal and relentless, pounding deep into your core, cock hitting every perfect spot with precise, bruising force. you can feel the unmistakable imprint of him, wide and thick, filling you so completely you swear you’ll remember it forever. his breath hitches, hot and ragged against your neck, voice a rough whisper tangled with praise and lust, “mine. you’re so fucking perfect. so tight around me. fuck, i can’t get enough,”.

his moans spill out uncontrollably, raw and guttural, mixing with your own helpless cries as his hips slam into yours with punishing power. he watches your face like he’s memorizing it, the way your eyes flutter with every drag of his cock, the way your mouth parts in desperate gasps, every little tremble and whimper carving itself into him. and when you unravel beneath him, back arching, nails digging into his skin, he’s right there, forehead pressed against yours, breathing you in as his hips stutter and shudder, spilling into you with a guttural groan—his voice raw, trembling, utterly undone by you and the way you make him lose control. when it’s over, he doesn’t let go, he kisses your shoulder, your cheek, your jaw, whispers “i love you,” into your hair, arms still tight around your waist like letting go would break him completely. the air stays dense with heat and the scent of sex, bodies tangled, skin slick, hearts pounding in sync—and in that breathless, boneless quiet, there’s no doubt left, you aren’t just his obsession. you’re his fucking religion, and it's in your lips, in your touch, in every part of you that you let him have.

── .✦ late night talks about everything and nothing 

sometimes, long after your dorm suite has fallen silent and the only light comes from your laptop screen or joe’s flickering phone, you two lie awake and talk for hours—about everything and nothing. joe’s naturally into the nerdier stuff you bring up, he listens wide-eyed when you get excited, explaining your latest favorite science fact or a weird historical tidbit, and he loves when you quiz him on random trivia like the physics of throwing spirals or the probability of certain plays succeeding. sometimes the conversation spirals into playful debates about whether he’d survive a fantasy world or which superpower would actually be the most practical on the field. those silly, random “what if” questions have you both laughing so hard your sides ache, but beneath the jokes is this quiet, special space where you can be completely yourselves. joe traces slow, lazy patterns on your arm as you talk, his voice soft and steady, and in those moments, no matter the chaos of football, classes, or expectation, you both feel this deep certainty that you’re facing everything together, as a team.

── .✦ the way he’s totally different around his teammates versus just with you

on the field and in the locker room, joe carries himself like the star quarterback he is, focused, razor-sharp, and with a teasing confidence that’s borderline cocky. he’s all quick jokes, friendly trash talk, and that subtle leadership vibe that pulls the team together. but the moment he’s alone with you, it’s like a switch flips. his shoulders drop, the tension in his jaw melts away, and the sharp edge of his voice softens into something especially reserved for you, as if he’s finally letting himself breathe, and it can only happen when you're in his space. you catch him smiling differently, less showman, more sincere, when he thinks you’re not looking. his eyes lock onto you with a quiet kind of intensity, full of warmth and a tenderness he doesn’t share with anyone else. in those moments, he’s not just the golden boy quarterback; he’s the guy who’s utterly and completely yours, and he savors every second of that. whether it’s a late-night walk across campus under the streetlights or sitting close in the corner of a nearly empty diner, he talks slower, listens harder, and laughs softer, like you’re the only person in the world who really matters.

── .✦ he’s the guy who memorizes your schedule so he can surprise you

joe isn’t just laser-focused on football and the roar of tiger stadium on saturday afternoons, he’s quietly tuned into the rhythm of your life at LSU. he notices how you carry your textbooks across campus from cedar hall to the business building, how you sometimes linger a little too long in the union bookstore browsing when exams are coming up, or the way you always grab a coffee from CC's before your morning classes. one random wednesday, without a word, joe shows up just as your history professor calls roll in himes hall, balancing a hot cup of your favorite caramel latte and a bag of fresh beignets, the kind you always sneak for midnight snacks during finals week. his grin is that unmistakable mix of pride and mischief, like he just threw the perfect touchdown pass, and when he hands you the treats, his voice drops to that soft, teasing tone, “thought you could use a little extra fuel before that paper, i'll see you later tonight,”. it’s never loud or showy; it’s the kind of quiet devotion that fills the spaces between classes, the kind that makes you feel like, even in the chaos of college football and academics, he’s your constant, your biggest fan, your secret weapon. and if you ever catch him slipping a little sticky note with a dumb joke or a “you got this, tiger,” tucked inside your notebook? well, that’s just joe making sure you never forget how much he believes in you.

── .✦ sassy man apocalypse.

lowkey sassy LSU joe is so fun because it’s not loud or performative. it’s quiet, bone-dry, perfectly timed, and exclusively for you.

like picture this, you’re both at a crowded party, music thumping, sun blazing, and some overly confident frat guy starts making conversation with you while joe’s grabbing drinks. joe returns, tosses you a water, and without missing a beat, eyes the guy and mutters just loud enough, “she’s got a type, huh?” he doesn’t even wait for a response—just hooks his fingers through your belt loop, pulls you back into him with a subtle little smirk. not jealous, just cheeky. that deadpan sass that makes your stomach flutter.

or when your roommate launches into another one of her wild conspiracy theories, “i’m telling you, the moon landing was staged”, and you and joe exchange that look. he leans in, raspy voice brushing your ear like a secret, “you really let her shape your worldview like that?” then acts totally normal the second she glances your way. but later, in bed, he’ll bring it up again, all warm and sleepy, teasing, “babe, you ever think about how you almost believed the moon’s made of cheese?”.

it’s that special brand of sarcasm that never feels mean. it’s just…joe. sharp. knowing. flirty in its own right. and it always makes you feel like you’re on the inside of some delicious, private joke, just the two of you against the world. like even when he’s roasting you, he’s doing it with stars in his eyes. it’s his love language, in a way. that teasing bite, that perfectly timed quip, it’s how he shows he’s paying attention. how he keeps you laughing. how he reminds you, without saying it, that he sees you. every bit of you

── .✦ he’s such a little shit, and you love it (more sassy man apocalypse)

it starts with the way he leans against the doorframe of your dorm room like he owns the place. he’s in a worn geuax tigers hoodie and grey sweats that hang low on his hips, arms crossed over his broad chest, one ankle kicked lazily over the other. his hair is still damp from practice, a curl falling boyishly across his forehead, and his grin is all slow mischief. his gaze drags down your body and back up with zero shame, taking his sweet time before finally drawling, “that’s what you’re wearing?” he clicks his tongue, feigning disbelief, like the sight of you knocked the air out of him.“didn’t realize i had competition tonight,”.

you scoff, turning away so he doesn’t see how fast your cheeks heat up. “you wish,” you toss over your shoulder, brushing past him, pretending not to be flustered. but you can feel the weight of his eyes on you, feel the way his smile grows, smug and knowing.

he follows without hesitation, long strides catching up before you make it three steps. he’s at your back in a flash, chest to your spine, the heat of him unmistakable. his breath ghosts over your ear as he dips his head, voice low and dripping with that cocky drawl. “you know no one else can handle you like i do,” he murmurs, and it’s infuriating how right he is. how your stomach tightens, how your knees weaken, just from his tone alone. you swear he smirks against your skin when he feels your breath hitch.

you push at his chest, trying to bite back your laugh, but he catches your wrist with ease, pulling you into him like it’s nothing. his grin turns damn near electric, soft around the edges but still laced with challenge. his nose bumps yours as he leans in, lips hovering, teasing.“you gonna keep talkin’ or are you gonna kiss me?” his voice is low and dangerous now, a velvet rasp threaded with heat and arrogance, like smoke curling off embers. it crackles in the quiet, makes your skin tingle and your stomach flip, something about the way it slides over your name like a promise and a threat all at once. when you finally give in, fingers in his curls, mouths crashing like you’ve both been waiting all day for it, he groans into the kiss, deep and satisfied. and then, just as you're catching your breath, he pulls back with a maddening smirk, “told you so,”.

he’s insufferable. but he’s yours.

── .✦ joe’s terrible but lovable attempts at cooking

joe insists he’s a natural in the kitchen, but every time he tries to whip up something for you, usually during those late-night study breaks when you both desperately need fuel, it turns into an adorable mess. like the time he confidently flipped pancakes only for them to burn on one side and stick stubbornly to the pan on the other, leaving you both staring at a half-charred, half-stuck disaster while he scratches his head and grins sheepishly. or the mornings he tried to make scrambled eggs but somehow managed to scramble them into the pan, leaving a sticky, burned layer that no amount of scrubbing could fix. the grandest catastrophe was when he ambitiously attempted gumbo, one of your favorite dishes, and forgot to add the seasoning, so the whole pot ended up bland and sad, much to your amusement. through every kitchen fail, joe’s midwestern charm shines bright, he flashes that crooked grin, shrugs like it’s no big deal, and promises to make it up to you next time, usually by ordering takeout. but honestly, those messy, laughter-filled moments where you’re elbow-deep in flour or scrubbing pans together are some of your favorites. they’re a messy, imperfect kind of love, full of warmth, teasing, and joe’s determined effort to take care of you, even if he can’t quite get the cooking part right.

── .✦ he loves to bite

sometimes joe tries to bite you, and it’s the most ridiculous form of affection you’ll ever get. it’s never serious or rough, more like playful little nips meant to tease and claim, but it catches you off guard every single time. maybe you’re laughing at something dumb he said, and suddenly his mouth closes just a little too close to your neck or your shoulder, teeth grazing your skin with a light pressure that makes you jerk and laugh all at once. his eyes sparkle with mischief, that half-smile tugging at his lips as he mumbles a barely-there apology mixed with a tease, “can’t help myself, you’re just too damn cute,”.

sometimes it’s during lazy afternoons when you’re sprawled on the couch, and he leans over, fingers tangled in your hair, then gently bites your earlobe like it’s the funniest thing he’s done all day. it’s awkward and sweet and completely joe, an odd little sign that when words aren’t enough, he’ll let his teeth do the talking, all while grinning like he just got away with the best joke ever.

── .✦ the way joe looks at you when you laugh at his dumb jokes

when you laugh at one of joe’s dumb jokes, sometimes so bad they’re almost painful, there’s this moment where the whole world seems to narrow down to just you two. he watches you like you’re the only person in the room, eyes locking onto yours with a softness that almost makes you forget the noise around you. his gaze isn’t just warm, it’s magnetic. like a quiet pull that draws you closer even when you’re already near. there’s a teasing sparkle in his eyes, mischievous but tender, like he’s silently daring you to laugh even louder. you can feel the heat radiating from him, subtle but undeniable, as he leans in just a fraction—enough to catch your breath, to catch the space between your heartbeats. his voice drops a little, deeper and rougher, when he murmurs, “i like hearing that,” the words barely more than a breath, but charged with a kind of electricity that makes your chest tighten and your stomach flutter. as he brushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear with that careful, gentle touch, your pulse speeds up, and you swear your heart does a little flip, like a secret only he’s allowed to know. it’s simple, almost effortless, but the way he looks at you in that second tells you everything: that to him, you’re the whole world, and nothing else quite matters.

── .✦ he listens when you ramble

you’re sprawled out on the faded couch in his apartment, clutching a lukewarm cup of coffee that’s long since lost its bite, your voice spilling out about that brutal 8 a.m. lecture—the one where the professor drones on like the roaring crowd at tiger stadium, and your brain’s stuck in slow motion, caffeine barely nudging you awake. joe’s sitting beside you, eyes fixed on you with that slow, tender kind of intensity that makes your heart stumble in your chest, like the moment the tigers score in the last seconds of the game.

he’s not just hearing your words, he’s soaking them in, the frustrated sighs, the small laughs you can’t hold back, the way your fingers nervously twist the edge of your sweatshirt. his gaze is soft but fierce, warm like the golden sun streaming through the window, the kind of look that makes you feel wrapped in a blanket even when you’re exhausted and overwhelmed.

his lips curve into that familiar half-smile, the one that’s equal parts teasing and full of affection, and he leans in a little closer—just enough that you can feel the heat of his breath against your cheek, as if he’s trying to catch every syllable between your words. when you stumble over a detail or laugh at how wiped you are, his hand moves without thinking, brushing a stray piece of hair back behind your ear. his touch is so achingly gentle, and it sends a shiver racing down your spine, like the first cool breeze after a long hot summer day in baton rouge.

and then there’s the way he looks at you, eyes gleaming with adoration, a quiet hunger buried deep beneath his calm exterior. it makes your stomach flutter wildly, like you just caught the perfect pass in front of a screaming stadium crowd. before you even realize it, his low, husky voice cuts through your ramble, warm and steady like a slow southern drawl, “i don’t care about the professor’s annoying ex-wife. i just wanna know about you,”.

and in that moment, with the smell of old textbooks and coffee lingering around you, all the early mornings, the long lectures, the exhaustion—none of it matters. because he’s here. he’s listening. and that’s everything.

── .✦ marvel or dc movie nights where you both nerd out

joe’s always been a little surprised by how much you actually love his nerdy side, and how much you tend to nerd out with him. so naturally, movie nights centered around marvel or dc films are his absolute favorite way to unwind with you.

you two set up your dorm or his room like a mini theater—blankets piled high, pillows scattered everywhere, and a big bowl of popcorn that somehow turns into a battlefield for who gets the last handful. joe’s not picky when it comes to snacks; he’ll happily munch on whatever junk food you pick out (as long as it's balanced out with something healthy to abide by his diet) even if it’s questionable candy or chips you swear are just too salty. picking the movie? that’s where the real fun begins.

he teases you relentlessly when you argue over which universe has the better heroes or who would win in a fight—tony stark or bruce wayne. sometimes he pulls out his phone to fact-check your claims or show you fan theories he’s found, which only makes the debates livelier. between scenes, he’ll nudge you and whisper jokes, or mimic the characters’ iconic lines in his goofy southern drawl, making you burst into laughter every time. and during the emotional or epic moments, he pulls you closer, fingers threading through yours like he never wants these nights to end. it’s a perfect blend of nerdy passion, playful banter, and quiet intimacy. just the two of you, fully yourselves, wrapped up in the glow of the screen and each other.

── .✦ he always insists on a specific post-practice snack from the union

after draining, sweat-soaked practices under the relentless louisiana sun, joe’s mind zeroes in on one simple pleasure. a spicy chicken po’boy from the union’s little sandwich shop. the smell of toasted french bread and that fiery, tangy sauce has become his personal reward, and he drags you along with a grin that’s both teasing and sincere. you tease him about his sauce obsession, but watching him take that first bite, eyes closing briefly as the spice hits just right, makes you understand it’s more than food. it’s comfort, routine, and a small moment of joy after the grind. the two of you sit side by side on a worn bench outside, sharing fries and stories from the day, the afternoon sun warm on your skin as the campus buzz hums around you.

── .✦ joe has a collection of old game tickets and wristbands, and lets you keep them

joe’s sentimental side isn’t always obvious, but he keeps a hidden stash of game-day mementos tucked away. faded tickets with frayed edges, wristbands stiff from sweat, even a worn bowl game hat he only brings out on special occasions. when you started dating, he surprised you with a small pile of these tokens, pushing them across the table with that easy smile and a quiet, “now you’re part of this too,”. you tuck them carefully into your own keepsake box, scraps of memories that tell the story of his journey, the team’s highs and lows, and the moments you’ve shared along the way. every time you glance at them, you feel connected to something bigger, to him, and to the history you’re helping build together.

── .✦ he knows every shortcut across campus and loves showing you hidden spots

joe’s campus knowledge runs deep even though he spends minimal time actually there. he knows every shortcut, quiet quad, and secret bench that’s perfect for stolen moments away from the chaos. when you’re together, he’ll grab your hand mid-walk, tugging you down a narrow path shaded by ancient oaks dripping with spanish moss. the air smells of damp earth and blooming magnolias, and the late afternoon sun filters gold through the leaves. he’ll lead you to a little-known bench tucked behind hergert hall, where you can watch the sun dip below the treetops, the campus stretching out in peaceful silence. those small adventures are like secret escapes—places just for you two to breathe, laugh, and feel completely wrapped up in each other away from the spotlight.

── .✦ nerdy tangents

joe loves going on these random, nerdy tangents, and one of his favorites, totally out of nowhere, is about how fishes can’t drown. like, you could be sitting out on the patio of his apartment, just chilling after practice, when he suddenly gets this gleam in his eye and starts explaining, all serious and earnest, how fish breathe underwater by pulling oxygen from water through their gills, so drowning is literally impossible for them. he’ll get all animated, waving his hands around, maybe even doing some half-baked fish impression, and you’ll just watch, amused and completely charmed by how passionately he dives into these weird facts. then he pauses, looking at you like he’s just dropped some life-changing knowledge, and adds, “so basically, fish are the ultimate survivors..kind of like me, but less handsome,” and you can’t help but laugh, because that’s joe in a nutshell. equal parts goofy science nerd and cocky quarterback, and completely, utterly yours.

── .✦ stubble and silence

he lets you shave his beard in the quietest, most intimate kind of way, like it’s a ritual only meant for the two of you. he sits on the closed toilet lid in front of the sink in just a pair of gray sweats, towel draped over his shoulders, legs spread wide, arms relaxed at his sides while you stand between his knees with a warm towel and that little purple razor you always use on him. his eyes never leave your face. he watches you with that glazed-over eye, lovestruck look, like he’s letting you touch a part of him no one else ever gets.

the bathroom is foggy with steam and silence, broken only by the quiet scrape of the blade and the occasional brush of your fingers under his jaw. every time your touch lingers just a second too long, his lips curl at the corners, and he teases you in a low voice, “you’re really taking your time, huh? liking the view?”, but he doesn’t move. not even when you straddle one of his thighs for better access, or when your thumb brushes the corner of his mouth to steady him. he’s still, trusting, his skin warm and damp beneath your fingers. and when you finally finish, wiping away the last bits of shaving cream with a soft towel, he grins and pulls you into his lap like he’s waited the whole time just to kiss you smooth-faced. “how’s it feel?” you ask, running your hands along his jaw. “like i belong to you,” he says simply, mouth already on yours.

── .✦ he calls you during film study just to hear your voice.

he’s sitting in the back corner of the football facility, hoodie pulled up, headphones in, eyes fixed on the glowing screen where grainy footage of last week’s game loops endlessly—plays, mistakes, formations he’s already seen a hundred times. his pen taps absently against his notebook, and his jaw clenches tighter every time something doesn’t look right. he’s supposed to be focused. locked in. but his head feels crowded and his chest tight, like no amount of tape will make the noise go away. so he picks up his phone—thumb hovering for half a second—then calls you without thinking.

“tell me something good,” he says when you answer, his voice lower than usual, tired around the edges. “anything. what you ate for dinner. what song’s stuck in your head. what color your socks are. i don’t care...just talk to me,”.

you smile instantly, curling deeper beneath your blanket in your dorm bed, phone pressed to your cheek, your voice soft and easy as you start to ramble. you tell him how your professor went off-topic for twenty minutes, how you spilled iced coffee all over your notes, how you ran into that guy from welcome week who still can’t remember your name even though he tried to hookup with you. and as you talk, joe exhales slowly, shoulders dropping, pen forgotten beside him. he leans back in the chair, eyes fluttering shut for just a second, letting your voice wash over him like warm rain, familiar, grounding, the only thing cutting through the static in his head.

sometimes he doesn’t even respond, just lets you fill the silence while he watches the tape in the background, your words soft in one ear as game film plays in the other. and when you laugh—really laugh—he smiles for the first time all day. “you have no idea how much i needed this,” he says eventually, his voice quieter now, the tension in his chest finally loosening. “just hearing you...it’s like everything slows down,”. and in that small, quiet moment, between football and fatigue and the echo of your voice in his ear, it’s clear that no matter how much pressure he’s under, no matter what’s riding on the next game, you are his calm. his breath. the thing that brings him home, even when he’s still in the middle of it all.

── .✦ around his parents, he’s so soft with you it almost embarrasses you (in the best way)

it starts the second you walk through the door, his fingers loop gently through yours like muscle memory, and he doesn’t let go, not even when his mom pulls you into a hug or his dad claps a hand on his shoulder. you can feel the nervous energy rolling off him, not in a bad way, but like he wants so badly for this to go well, for you to feel at home here. and you do, especially when he’s like this. especially when he’s watching you with those gentle, love-sick eyes like you personally hung the stars.

he’s extra careful, pulling out your chair at dinner, sneaking glances to make sure you like what’s on your plate, rubbing small soothing circles into your knee under the table. when you let out a laugh at something his mom says about baby joe’s bowl cut phase, he doesn’t laugh with you, he watches you instead, eyes crinkling in that boyish way, mouth tugged up into the kind of smile that makes your whole chest ache. he’s younger around them. a little more playful, a little more easily flustered. teasing in that only-child-who-grew-up-too-fast kind of way. but the moment your fingers graze his or you rest your head on his shoulder in the middle of a movie, that softness blooms all over again—he’s leaning down to press a kiss to your temple like it’s instinct, like your skin is the place he always wants to land.

you catch his mom watching once. she doesn’t say anything right away, just smiles to herself like she knows a secret. later, while you’re drying dishes and joe’s outside tossing a football with his dad, she nudges your elbow and says quietly, “he’s different with you. softer,”. and the way your heart flutters in your chest. you feel it for days. and maybe the best part? he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. doesn’t know that the way he checks on you, makes your plate, or lets you borrow his favorite childhood batman blanket when you get cold, makes you feel like you belong, not just in his house, but in his life.

── .✦ joe never lets you carry your own bag when you're visiting his hometown

whether it’s a heavy duffle slung over your shoulder or just your tiny makeup bag clutched in your hands, joe is already reaching for it before you can even adjust the strap. it’s instinct now, part muscle memory, part soft ritual. the second your feet hit the tarmac in ohio or you’re climbing into his car for the long drive to athens, he’s there, palm skimming the small of your back, murmuring “i got it” with a quiet certainty that makes your stomach somersault.

he never makes a show of it, never boasts, never asks, just quietly insists on carrying it himself, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. and when you’re staying at his parents’ house? you barely get through the front door before your bags disappear entirely. one moment you’re greeting robin in the kitchen, and the next you’re being pulled down to the basement where his room is, only to find everything already unpacked, your clothes folded neatly in the dresser, your favorite robe hung on the back of his door against his faded kid cudi poster, your skincare laid out just the way you like it by the sink.

“baby,” you whisper, heart tight in your chest, “did you do all this already?”. he just shrugs, lifting your hand to kiss the inside of your wrist. “i want you to feel at home here,”.

because to joe, bringing you back means something. he wants his parents to see how well he loves you. he wants you to see the world that made him, to feel like you belong in it. when his mom asks what you want for breakfast, he’s already rattling off your coffee order and how you like your eggs. when his dad offers to set up a movie night, joe’s quietly tucking your favorite blanket over your legs before you can ask. he notices everything. remembers it all. because loving you, especially in the place that raised him, feels so special for him.

and watching him carry your bag like it’s nothing, like you’re everything, is just one of the many ways he shows it.

── .✦ stargazing on the levee

on quiet nights when the air is thick and humming with the heat of a humid afternoon, joe drives you out past campus, past the glow of tigerland and into the dark quiet of the levee. the truck bed’s been lined with old blankets he snagged from his apartment, worn cotton and faded fleece smelling faintly of his detergent and your shared life. he helps you climb in with a gentle hand on your waist, always guiding, always careful. you stretch out beside him, shoulder to shoulder, heat lingering between you as you both tilt your heads up to the stars.

his fingers find yours, thumb stroking lazily against your knuckle as he murmurs things in that silly, boyish voice—half science, half poetry. he tells you the names of constellations he remembers from grade school, points out the north star, then gets distracted watching your face instead. “you shine brighter than all of ‘em,” he mumbles with that crooked smirk, and you roll your eyes, but you’re blushing, and he’s grinning because he knows it worked. sometimes you fall asleep out there, tangled together under the stars, the sound of crickets and faraway trains the only thing keeping time.

── .✦ home.

when things got overwhelming for him, media, pressure, expectations, the mounting noise of being the guy on campus, he always found his way to you. even if you were all the way across campus in your dorm, even if it was the middle of the night, he'd send a simple, quiet text, “can i come over?” no punctuation, no small talk. and within minutes, he’d be there. hoodie on, hat pulled low over his messy hair, headphones around his neck, carrying all that weight in his shoulders.

you never asked questions when you opened the door. just stepped aside, let him in, and made space for him on the worn-out couch. it didn’t matter if you were in the middle of studying or halfway through folding laundry—you'd drop it all to pull him in (knowing he'd do the same for you), tangle your legs, and let him bury his face in the crook of your neck. his breaths always came a little slower there, a little deeper, like you were the only place he could exhale. sometimes he didn’t say much, just hummed a soft “hey” against your skin, or wrapped his arms around you tighter when you reached for the blanket.

and every time, without fail, after a while, after your fingers slid gently through his curls, after the silence worked its magic, he’d whisper, “i’m okay now,”. just like that. like you'd patched up whatever the world had scraped raw.

he might’ve been the guy out there, bright lights, cameras, expectations heavy enough to crush most people, but with you, he never had to perform. never had to prove anything or be anything other than yours.

long before the trophies, before the draft buzz, before the fans started painting his number on their cheeks...he already knew what mattered.

you.

you were his place to land. his calm. the one thing he didn’t have to chase or win or deserve. you were just his. his home, always had been.

always would be.

--the end--

[wolfsbanesparks]

Do you have any story ideas that you’ll probably never write, but wish you could?

Thanks for the ask anon!

I had to take some time to think about this one because I am one of those people that has a million ideas and the subtle hubris to think I can write all of them someday despite knowing full well that's not going to happen.

With that in mind, one idea I've had for a long time that I wish I could write but probably won't (at least not anytime soon) is my Pretty Woman AU.

I've mentioned it once or twice on here, but I'll go into detail below the cut (this got long whoops)

Okay so I dont know how many of you have actually seen the movie Pretty Woman but thats okay because it's only tangentially related to the set up.

It would open with Damian, 18/19 years old and feeling a lot of pressure to start dating/have sex despite his overall disinterest in either. Fed up with teasing remarks and feeling like he was falling behind, he decides to figure out what is so great about it all. On a trip to Fawcett City he decides to take the chance to do something about it without his friends or family around- namely he decides to hire a sex worker to lose his virginity. He's fighting against both internalized amatonormativity and heteronormativity too.

Cue Billy, 18, trans and strapped for cash as he tries to pay rent and tuition for community college while his freelance journalism podcast struggles to take off. He's been homeless on and off for years and has occasionally had to resort to less than legal means to make ends meet. He's known plenty of sex workers over the years and eventually decided to give it a shot for a quick buck. He dresses as a girl because its easier to find clients that way despite the dysphoria it causes.

When the two of them meet, Billy quickly realizes that Damian is trying to force himself to do this out of some misguided attempt to be "normal" and the two of them spend the rest of the night having a deep conversation about sex/sexuality/etc. Before Billy leaves Damian makes the impulsive decision to ask Billy to be his date to the event he's attending - offering more money than Billy can rightly turn down.

By the time Damian leaves for Gotham he and Billy have a deal: Billy will pose as his girlfriend at various events (both for the public and later for his family) and Damian will pay him enough to live more comfortably than he ever had.

I think about it all the time, I love to play with the different directions it could go, which characters would make appearances, the identity reveals, the ORDER of those reveals etc. I feel like it could be a great vessel for talking about subjects that don't usually come up in my fics and exploring aspects of characters I rarely focus on.

Things get complicated when the rest of the Bats try to get to know Damian's mysterious new girlfriend. Because they like Billy, and are so happy Damian has found someone. He's getting dating advice and bonding with his brothers over relationships. The press have been going crazy and eating up all their public dates and they're hurtling towards celebrity couple status. Everyone is so happy for him that he can't figure out how to tell them its all a lie or even how to stage their "break up". And on top of that him and Billy are growing closer and becoming real friends. If it weren't for the fact that he's still paying Billy weekly and staging displays of affection for the paparazzi Damian can almost convince himself that he and Billy are actually dating.

Crucially they are both still heroes (so lots of secret identity shenanigans ensue) and they don't actually end up in a romantic relationship. They are both on the aro and ace spectrum (but slightly different points) so I was thinking of exploring a QPR type situation for the end game.

There are subplots to this too. Like Talia getting involved to judge the worthiness of her son's girlfriend. And attacks from both rogues galleries. And maybe a long lost twin Mary arc even.

Freddy and Jon will both be major characters as well. Freddy dislikes Damian because he knows he's paying to be with Billy and hates that Billy is dealing with a lot of dysphoria pretending to be a girl so often. As CMJ he purposefully "saves" Billy to make Damian jealous (thus sparking a possible love triangle in the tabloids) Jon meanwhile waffles between being jealous that Billy is monopolizing Damian's time (and feeling like he's drifting from his best friend) and being jealous that Damian's new girlfriend is actually really cool (look he's got a crush on both of them and it's distressing to him).

Its the fake dating trope with a lot of complicated moving pieces.

The reason I say I'm not going to write it (at least not for a long time) is because I have to seriously consider a lot of things going into it. Like how to approach the discussions around sex and sexuality, how to balance Billy being misgendered for a large portion of the fic with still respecting him being trans, how explicit to be regarding the sex work he's done etc.

And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried about the reception of this kind of story 😅

But yeah, that's the idea!

[baldieboi]

@ghrgrsfdesfrfg @w-40-k @jackalwolfsoul

So I was (still) wondering about Primarchs having kids. How many would they want to have and how many will they actually have? Because sometimes life is going different than it's initially planned. Even with (most of the) Primarchs. Also, just for fun... appearence, names and personalities for the children (it will be in a different post since tumblr decided to post a draft instead of saving it) simply because I don't have anything else to do (it's a lie)

It's getting too long (and so much time) that I separate it. Part 1 is down below. Part 2... Will come eventually. Part 1 took about 1-2 weeks. Expect similar time. But this definitely will be finished.

Lion El'Jonson

The Lion is someone who I don't imagine wanted to have any kids. Probably because of his paranoia, maybe because how unpredictable children can be or because they present a very serious weakness, a vulnerability that can be dangerously exploited — or maybe all of them and more combined... but despite that here he is, having 3 children. Not just one but three. He probably internally panics. Not only because of all those mentioned above but because he knows he can't handle a child. Or several. Fortunately, you do.

At first he is cold towards his children. He is internally confused. He didn't want to have any children, he still has more than one — if he failed that, how will he be able to properly do any of his duties? He grows more paranoid simply because he is... himself. Even if no trouble happens, he remains like this.

The only thing changing is him slowly, very slowly and very slightly opening a bit to his children in the sense of curiosity. They carry his genes. His traits. They have potential. If he trains them, then they will be able to defend themselves and the vulnerability will be get rid of this way. He doesn't even realize that's not the only reason he wants to train his children.

He wants them to be safe, yes, but also to spend some time with them; he justifies this feeling thinking he simply makes sure there won't be security risk, the kids learn valuable lessons from him and won't deviate (these all are true though).

But let's not forget you are there. Which means... Maybe you can convince him to spend different kind of time with his kids. Like, can you imagine the Lion braiding the hair of his daughters? I do and it's suprisingly a cute mental image (and I am absolutely not into him).

Fulgrim

Fulgrim is a bit outsider here simply because he was married several times and maybe... hear me out. Since this is basically a Primarchs can have children AU, he might have had children but had to watch them grow old and die just like his previous wives.

This would make him not wanting to relive that kind of pain. Can you imagine? The trauma he carries within himself? The pain? It made him not wanting to ever truly love someone like he loved his previous wives... but guess what? Here he is, being the foolish himself into you, wanting to have you as his wife... and maybe, just maybe give it one more try. Maybe he finally could watch the whole 'they grow old and die while I remain' without breaking. Maybe he had grown enough to be able to.

Which is why he actually allows himself to... want to have children. Not much, you see, he would say 'quality over quantity' which translates that he wants to mold hid children to perfection (while loving and spoiling them at the same time).

He doesn't care about gender. Son, daughter, does it matter? This is his child/ren we talk about and that should be more than enough.

He and you would have 2 daughters. They definitely are beautiful, Fulgrim would be absolutely joyful and proud of them. Carrying them around, showing them like the treasure they are in his eyes.

Perturabo

I am unsure if Perturabo truly would want a child. Or children. He'd probably have conflicted feelings about it. On one hand he'd want to have to prove he can create a true masterpiece, but on the other hand? He'd be maybe afraid (he'd not even admit to himself he is afraid) that he'd hurt the child/ren. Or hate them. I think he still entertained the thought at least a bit before snapping at himself for thinking about things that are not worthy of attention.

(The answer is 1. He wants to have a child. Not sure about gender. Depending on the day, on the hour or even the minute when you ask him. He might say son because he'd understand a son (he'd also probably hate the son, I lean into the headcanons about that), but maybe a daughter. Or neither.)

Now, just like Perty slaps that big man child, I love him though I am conflicted. I am considering several options. One child? Two children? Not sure. Hm, I'll go with three. Two daughters and a son. (Again, that particular headcanon is in effect here)

Now, having three children would terrify him deep down. He wouldn't admit it, of course. Not even to himself. But he is afraid he will mess up. He is a genius when it comes to things he understands and excells at. Children? Child care? He'd take it very seriously. Treat it more like a military project (he'd give that kind of dedication) than anything else.

But, besides all this... he'd build many-many wonders for his children. But first and foremost he'd make sure that when the birth is due, the nursery is the best in the entire galaxy in every sense. And his children have everything.

Jaghatai Khan

The Khan is one of the few Primarchs who actually has knowledge about childcare, married life and that sort of thing. It makes the whole thing much easier for him and you, because unlike most of his brothers he doesn't struggle. He understands not only what it means to have his own children but also what it means to a mortal to bear such children, the toll on the body, on the mind... and I think he'd be with you. He is independent who loves racing, yes, but he is also loyal to his own people. Be it his men, his people or you. Especially when it come to you.

It doesn't mean he'd abandon his own nature, oh, absolutely not. It's the simple... he is with you when he knows you need it the most. He, in my eyes, is one of the biggest green flags, to be honest.

Now, he is fine with having or not having children. He won't pressure you, he won't tell you that he wants children. He simply goes along with whatever is your choice. You want children? Fine.

And yeah, let's say you wanted. This is how you ended up with having 2 sons and 3 daughters.

He loves each of his children the same, teaches them to all those things he learnt in his life so far and he'll not leave them. Of course, he won't stay put all the time... but imagine him on his bike, holding 2-3 of the kids and racing. The children would (will) love it.

Leman Russ

I am not entirely sure about Russ. He appears to be a savage while we know he is more than that — that being said I am not into him but a recent headcanon (can't remember exactly which one was it) made me actually think about him. He is more than he appears.

Generally, I think the Primarchs would be fine with either having or not having actual children but it differs whether some would be deeply disappointed if not having some (or because of having some) or not.

Russ made me think about it. Just like the Khan, he also would be absolutely fine with your choice. He loves and protects you fiercely, and also he values you just as much he values his legion of his wolves.

Now, what I want to say is that normally I would say he'd be disappointed if you didn't want to hace children but what if it's the opposite? What if he is just as absolutely fine with whatever you choose?

Either way, you end up having a... whole pack with him. It's not a deep story, or a story at all, so let's go with that (spoiler: all of them will have 1 or more. )

So, you two have more than 6 children. How much? Errr, 4 sons, 3 daughters and another on the way. shrugs You are certainly strong enough to bear that much children shrugs again

That being said, he loves his kids. Each of them are precious in his — and his legion's — eyes. Your children have an entire legion of uncles being ready to protect them, play with them and... well, anything else the Space Wolves do. Besides drinking.

Russ makes sure each of his children know how to defend themselves, how to fight, hunt and even to lead. No children of his is left out. And as the kids grow older them brawlign with their father or some of the legionaries become more and more common sight.

Rogal Dorn

I don't think Dorn would think it is efficient to have children. Not because he hates them or because he thinks they are a burden; they are vulnerable and fragile and he knows he would be distracted from his duties which is a thought he does not like. At least until you.

He probably never understood why people wanted to have children, why did they waste their time pursuing someone, why dates and such thing existed (I want to believe these still exist to some extent with some difference) and why people seemed to be caring so much about all of it. It is inefficient. Time is wasted.

At least... yeah. Until you. He found himself suprised by how those seemingly inefficient things became such primary concerns of his that his duties felt like secondary to it; which was not something Dorn ever thought before (probably).

But since he had these thoughts which didn't disappear no matter how much he focused on his duty, on his work. It was instead as if the more he tries to find other things to focus on — these inefficient thoughts became more permanent. So, what did Dorn do?

The thoughts won't go away. That was clear soon enough. He is not someone who wouldn't realize such thing. As such he planned the optimal family structure. 2 children; a son and a daughter is the most ideal. Of course this is something that cannot be planned entirely but he did anyway.

But, anyway, he and you ended up having a son and a daughter. And of course everything has been baby-proofed, reinforced to withstand an orbital bombardment. He creates schedules, plans the children's education and upbringing.

Konrad Curze

He never wanted children. Maybe secretly hoped he is infertile, not that he ever expected himself to do anything that would result in child.

The thought alone is a cruelty to him. Why would he subject another soul to the same torment that haunts him every moment? His own existence was a curse, visions drenched in blood and suffering. To pass that down? It was unthinkable. Until it wasn't. Oopsie?

The universe has never been kind to him. That'd have been too easy.

The moment he learns of the child, he freezes. Terror, true and unfiltered courses through him. This isn’t supposed to happen. This can't be happening. And yet...

It has.

He doesn’t even know what to feel. Anger? Fear? Or maybe guilt? All of it, probably. And maybe even more. He tells himself it’s resentment, that this is just another chain around his neck, another vulnerability to exploit. But deep down, beneath the layers of denial, dread and self-loathing, there’s something else. Something small and fragile and terrifying.

What if he fails them?

What if he doesn’t?

He tells himself that he will ruin the child. He doesn’t know how to be a father. He doesn't even know if he can be a father, at all.

He is a monster, he tells himself. He barely knows how to be a person, he adds afterwards. But the child, his and yours, exists. It changes things. Many things. He is a father now. The father of your son. He could escape. Leave. But he... can't. And won't.

So he watches. He observes. Mainly from the shadows, at first. Afraid to get closer. To touch his own son. He tells himself for the nth time that he doesn't want to ruin him, that his presence alone will bring suffering for this little child who looks so much just like him... but his features seem softer, reminding him of you.

Your son reaches for him, anyway, and Konrad doesn't pull away. Not entirely, and absolutely not forever.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough.

(Or it isn’t. Maybe he’s lying to himself. Maybe this ends in tragedy, like everything else in his life. But for now, for this fleeting moment, he allows himself the delusion that it could be different. He tells himself that he shouldn't. He does, anyway.)

Sanguinius

I think those who don't know much about Sanguinius — in universe — would expect him to want children. I mean, it makes sense from that kind of pov. He is seen as radiant and compassionate with a kind soul and he is beloved by all. The truth is, what I am sure we all know, that he is terrified.

Of himself.

He is afraid to pass down his own darkness, he wouldn't want another to be subjected to those. What if his child/ren inherit it? The guilt would be even more overwhelming than his worry that he constantly has. It's like wanting something badly but knowing that it's the best to not have it, no matter how painful it is. And Sanguinius is nothing if not ready to sacrifice his own deep wishes. He is just that kind of person.

And yet...

When he learns you're carrying his child, something in him breaks. Not in the way it would break someone else. He... surrounded himself. In a way. Kneeling before you, wings trembling, pressing his forehead to your stomach in pleading.

'Let them be free of my sins.'

He pleads and perhaps something out there listened. The little girl looks so much like him but also so much like you, almost like a perfect blend of the two of you.

He loves both of you. Of course he does. How could he not? You two are the centre of the universe for him.

He is not a perfect father, nobody truly is. He knows that. There are nights when he simply watches his daughter sleep, his heart aches with the knowledge that he cannot shield her from everything.

He does so many things for her. For you. You could say he basically lives for the two of you.

He teaches your daughter art, discipline, everything he knows. He sings, tells stories, comforts her, you, and whatever you two need anything, he is there. He'll always be there.

And he really hopes it is enough. That he is enough. He always think to himself that he won't let his own curse be the little girl's inheritance... only his love for her.

Ferrus Manus

Ferrus Manus is not a man who entertains frivolous thoughts. Children? A distraction. An inefficiency. His purpose is war, conquest, the forging of empires, not the soft, messy reality of fatherhood. Or so he tells himself.

The truth is he doesn’t trust himself with something so fragile.

His hands are weapons. His will is iron. He tempers himself in fire and blood and tenderness has no place in that existence. What use does someone like him have for a child? What could he possibly teach them besides violence? The thought alone makes him scoff.

But if there’s a quieter thought, buried deep, one that wonders what it would be like to hold something... unbreakable in his palms, something he didn’t have to fear crushing, he ignores it.

Well...

Until you.

You, who stands unbent beneath his glare. You, who calls his stubbornness what it is and refuses to let him pretend he is made only of war. You make him consider it. And that — that is almost worse than the idea itself. Because now he can’t stop thinking about it.

You will have a son.

A boy forged from his father’s unyielding strength and your resilience. Ferrus doesn’t know what to do with him at first. He holds the child stiffly as if afraid his hands will harm him. But the boy, his son, grips his finger with a stubbornness that is achingly familiar and something in Ferrus shifts.

He will not be a gentle father. He will not cuddle. But he will teach his son what it means to be strong, not just in body but in will. He will show him how to temper himself, how to endure, how to rise when the world tries to break him.

And if, in rare moments, he lets the boy press against his side while he works, if he ruffles his hair after a training session, if he speaks to him in a voice softer than he uses with anyone else, well...

No one needs to know.

(Least of all Ferrus himself.)

[yurrrsssss-ghoul]

Just to spite those kinds of batfam 'fans' that say Damian is a gremlin child, I like to hc that Bruce was the gremlin child growing up.

Like in a public setting or something, someone has the mistake of saying that Damian was a gremlin child and immediately someone from Bruce's generation corrects them that actually that's tame. At least this youngest child of Brucie only snapped at them when annoyed, Brucie bit people when he was younger.

Alice couldn't help but to grumble her way as she stomped towards her group of friends— her supposed 'cliques,' as some would suggest— face red with anger and her hair, once pristine and well-kept, somewhat disheveled. Her heels clicked rather loudly, echoing the enormous room, but it was drowned with others' idle chatters.

How dare he! How truly dare he!

That baby Wayne!

All she did was say something about the boy. Sure, it might've come across as hurtful, but it was an honest thought! She didn't expect the boy to be so— so— outrageous by it, so much so that he said she looked like a baby the doctors know experienced fetal alcohol syndrome.

And he said with a completely monotonous voice, somehow being able to deadpan and sneer at her. Seriously, what a freak! Who does that?

"Alice! Alice darling!" A woman called out to her, probably because she saw how disgruntled she had looked as she hastily made her way towards the bathroom for a quick touch up. The woman was dressed rather boldly for her age, though she strides rather confidently towards the woman regardless. "My, don't you look stressed. What on Earth happened?".

Seizing the opportunity, Alice immediately opens her mouth and complains.

"It's the Wayne kid!" She cried out, her face contorted into fury as she gestured at the kid subtly; even with a few more feet added between them, Alice could still feel the kid glaring daggers into the back of her head. "He's so sure, don't you think?".

"Damian, wasn't it?" The old woman asked, before her voice booms and a chorus of rich-sounding laughter erupted from her mouth when Alice nodded, "Oh! Isn't that boy such a darling one?".

What?

"What—? No!" Alice shook her head, "He's a darling one? Please! He's nothing like Brucie!".

And suddenly the air went still.

The old woman, once so cheery and full of laughter, only stares at Alice with a silent fury. A kind of a thousand yard stare you'd give to someone so horrendously misinformed, it genuinely offended you.

"Dear girl," the woman spoke after what feels like eternity, "You do not want Damian to be anything like his father."

__________

I couldn't help myself lol.

People who genuinely believe that Damian would go around and bite have been completely fooled by WFA. That boy is an angel. Sure, he might have the tongue of a serpent, but God knows how better he is compared to Bruce by a wide margin.

I also do a lot of things to spite those BatFam fans who insisted that the BatFam are barely tolerating Damian/looking for many ways to 'humble' Damian/thinks that the BatFam are the best thing that has ever happened to him.

For example, that one discourse where 'Damian is the only one Bruce didn't choose to love/is stuck into loving' out of the virtue being his only biological son.

I would say that Damian could choose to leave. I would say that whenever Damian says anything about being the 'blood son' (he hasn't for years now, and only said it like twice) it's more or less to convince himself into staying because FUCK if these people are annoying. I would make Damian leave and stay with his mom because if these people don't want him around, fuck if he wanted to stay.

[rotidefender]

Here to holler about total drama again. Anyway.

So we know very few actual motivations for winning total drama, and I can’t think of any real motivations any of the villains have, including Scott. This is a not very subtle way of me saying here’s why I think he wanted to win Revenge of the Island and what he wanted from the money.

So most of this comes from his biography. The first thing of note is what he says his interests are. He states his favourite music artist as Kan’Ya East (Kanye west) which doesn’t really align with the character that he’s presented as in revenge of the island. Now of course, country people and people that live on farms can enjoy rap music, but considering how stereotype based total drama is, this doesn’t really track. To talk about this I need to look at Kanye from the perspective of 2012, where he was seen as a phenomenal rapper and was incredibly successful, despite his controversial behaviours, most notably with the Taylor Swift fiasco.

The next thing worthy of mentioning was his “best memory from childhood”. He states it was “the first time he got his parents to argue”, taking pride in causing this. I’ve seen some people rule this off as him being the sole cause of any familial and home issues but we know from Dawn that he “wasn’t held enough as a child” and this strikes him pretty hard. I think that this entry is less saying that he caused all the issues at home and instead see this from the perspective of the first time he took control of the issues. We don’t get an age but to be able to “make your parents argue” you’d probably be at least seven or eight. We also don’t know the ins and outs of how he was raised but from what is said in the show I think this is the conclusion that best fits.

The first job he describes having is running a lemonade stand and guilting his neighbours into buying some. So. We all know that he was raised on a farm, and yet despite what the logical assumption would be his first job has nothing to do with this. Almost every other roti characters first job links to a pretty major part of their character (like Anne Maria working in a clothing store, Mike working with his uncle, Sam working at an arcade), so what would seem like the easy option for Scott that would admittedly make sense, isn’t the one they went for. Instead, he run his own lemonade stand. This point links into the next one so i have no cool transition or way to end this paragraph.

Finally the comment that made me make this post, what is your dream job; “maybe a CEO”

Ladies and gentlemen my big point of the week is that I think that Scott didn’t want to live on the farm and wanted to grow up to do something different, completely different. From Kanye West being a famous rapper, who grew up in an environment that didn’t exactly help his end results, who at the time was admired and revered despite his controversial behaviours, to most likely growing up in an environment he didn’t like, most likely due to his parents, stating his favourite childhood memory to be when he made them suffer, and ran his own lemonade stand as his first job where he realised that he could become a CEO when he is older, as he “enjoys telling people what to do” and was able to convince people to buy probably overpriced lemonade. Wanting to be a CEO, arguably one of the furthest jobs from a farmer, in which often are respected and admired and live an “ideal” life. And winning total drama would’ve been his easy out from a life he didn’t quite want to be living. One million dollars would be an easy escape, and the fame from it surely would’ve helped. Wanting to leave the farm and peruse a different life was his motivation.

Now im ready for someone to tell me that he did in fact say his motivation and that I missed it completely and this was all for nothing, or that im looking too deep into this of which I say fuck you

[trashcanwithsprinkles]

Question about Natlan-can

I don't quite get what was upsetting about Natlan, besides the lack of formality, could you tell me what makes it something that needs a rewrite? I have a Natlan fic of my own that I'm trying to write well, and I want to understand what parts of it people are put off by. Your writing is amazing and an inspiration to me, so I was thinking that you could tell me what's wrong with the region.

this isn't so much a question about natlancan as it is about canon natlan but your wish is my command

(beware: massive ramble below)

contrary to what my ramblings might've led you to believe, i don't actually think natlan as it is needs a rewrite. i quite like it, both in a vacuum and in the context of genshin as a whole. could it improve? oh god could it improve. does it have things that are upsetting? yeah. it's far from perfect. but there's a lot to like there natlancan came not from the idea that natlan needs a rewrite, but that it already has been rewritten. that what we have rn is either a completely different story or a heavily altered version of what was originally planned. so the thought process was, if i was also given the order to suddenly rewrite natlan with little time and while having to abide by what the public already knew (stuff like travail and what little info there was pre-alleged rewrite); then what would i have done?

but that wasn't your question, so, i think we can separate the things i personally (and that i think a good chunk of the community as well but idk for sure) take issue w natlan in two categories: overall concerns, and story concerns. for a fixit fic, i think it's far more reasonable to ignore the former and try to correct the latter, as trying to deal with the overall concerns would require far more time and effort than any single fan should be expected to sink into something like this. still, it's your call, overall concerns:

the designs of the main roster. hardly any of them give you any meaningful information about what their characters and their roles in the plot actually are from first glance, which is what a design is supposed to do, usually. like not to beat a dead horse but why is mavuika in full leather. why is ororon an emo bat boy. isn't he a farmer? what in xilonen's design could possibly tell you she's a blacksmith? or a dj, for that matter? and what does her being a dj have anything to do with literally any part of her character in the plot? what even is varessa. why is citlali like that. what is the deal with kinich's pixels when no other ancient dragon technology has it. what is up with chasca. ifa is literally the only design up to par w the other regions and he's the random tall male that comes out after the aq is over. also hoyo is scared of melanin wbk but just because we know doesn't mean it stops being upsetting that they refuse to change. natlan isn't supposed to be based on a predominantly white-skinned region. on that topic,

what is natlan even based on like specifically. why is it all over the place. they reached for so much they ended up with nothing in the end. like i'm all for having tons of representation for tons of different people but at some point you want to think about the kind of representation you want and if you wouldn't rather just quality over quantity. like idk about you but i don't see people complaining that fontaine is mostly just france or that liyue and inazuma are literally just china and japan and nothing else.

story concerns:

natlan in-game isn't a nation at war, it's a nation with a war. outside of the best part of the aq (the war segment), the war they have doesn't affect the nation in most ways an actual war would: there seems to be little human life toll, there is negligible structural damage, and there is very little land damage. the pilgrimage is once a year (?) and they send what, five people? per year? and usually they just come back to life in the end anyway? so where are your casualties? in attacks like the ones we see in game? not from everyone's reactions, i'd think. the way the characters reacted it was like that was not the norm. so where is your war if nobody feels it? where is your war if all your warriors come back to life and you send them off elsewhere out of sight out of mind to do their nebulous fighting? i don't necessarily want doom and gloom but i want proper weight to this conflict, and outside of the war segment, there just is none.

why are the saurians built up and made to be the companions of all natlan warriors, these super important creatures they share the land with; and their coexistence is as basic as yours is with your dog? they're no more than glorified pets, slightly more sapient. but that's a minor nitpick and maybe my remembering them wrong. what's more glaring is that, of our entire main roster, hardly any of them have a saurian companion the way every natlan warrior ought to. ajaw, cacucu, and alaye don't count, just look at them. chasca has her mom and cucusaur sister but they're not her companions, they don't fight in the war with her. i'm down to accept mavuika's died five hundred years ago except would you look at that, the massive yumkasaur is also supposedly from back then?? unless i'm misremembering that?? so where is hers?? and kachina has one, right? why doesn't it fight with her? is it because it's young? if that's the case, then,

why is nobody distraught at the fact kachina, a child, has to fight in the war? aside from pacal acting like a normal person abt kachina suddenly having an unknown adult friend, nobody else seems to worry about her like they would a child. i'm not saying they have to baby her, but all the concern about her is bc she's mualani's friend and she's not strong enough yet. but not about the fact she's a literal child being made to fight a war. and if you want to say that that's the point, that natlan is in such dire straits that it's normal for children to go to war; then where are my children npc fighting in the war? i don't see them. i don't see a single other one. oh is it because kachina is the only one w an ancient name? weak excuse. if you want child soldiers you're not gonna start discriminating on which child is fighting unless you wanna make it a class/racist thing. and even then, okay, maybe there's never any reaction from anyone bc that's just how things are, right? but then what's the point of having the traveler and paimon as the protagonists? the entire reason why you have an outsider pov (which is what they are btw) is so they can be culturaly shocked when shit isn't as they are used to. so they can give you a different perspective. but no. the traveler and paimon aren't any more shocked at anything (bar the war segment) than they are during any other aq. if you wanted natlan to be this super violent always at war nation then make if fucking feel like it. again, the war segment is saving this, but still, outside of it?

mavuika is a mary sue, sorry. it's not the fact that she's perfect, it's the fact that the plot and the characters and everything around her bends over backwards to make sure she stays that way. it's not about her not having any flaws (i'd argue she has plenty), but about the 'flaws' she has never having any meaningful impact or consequences in the story. she has a batshit insane plan that never faces any relevant friction, never falters, and suceeds with full scores and with a surprise super special even better result than anticipated. all of this could work if the story just presented it differently. you wouldn't even have to change all that much about her, just about how you show it. think abt her situation for more than two seconds. could you imagine the levels of angst we could've gotten? the actual proper foil and paralels we would've had with capitano? with her relationship with those around her? but no. no, instead we have to sell, so she has to be powerful and perfect, and capitano is a man so he must have compelling depth to sell so he's the only one allowed to be decently written between the two. fuck i have thoughts about mavuika but god she's trapped in a gacha so nothing can be done

i'm a firm believer that as an outside pov protagonist, the traveler is at their best when they're filling in their role of the witness. i got secondhand embarrassment from the tumaini dance celebration sorry. i'm not against them being important to the plot, but i much prefer it when they're not the chosen one, the super special one, the only one who could ever do this job. natlan walks this line very clumsily and sort of dips into chosen one territory for a good chunk of it, but it could've been worse. the fact that mavuika is there at the end does keep it from being too bad, but like. man. this isn't even touching on the optics of the white blond foreigner being the savior here. that's a different can of worms lmao

the entire magic cure for ptsd interlude. what even. again, you could pull pretty much anything off with proper writing, but proper writing there was NONE in that scene.

i know they've been getting better and ik why this happens this is a gacha etc but i'm not the biggest fan of the whole. suddenly you have these characters after the aq is over. this isn't a natlan-only thing tbf it's an issue w all the regions. like who is varessa even. i know they give us a quest for her there's worse examples (still don't know who heizou is), but like. if you're gonna be making a fixit fic you might as well consider making her part of the actual world LMAO even if it's a minor role. always remember baizhu was in the liyue aq for all of five minutes 👍

[likablemuffin]

I know I already have a ROTTMNT separated au but like

Seeing everyone else’s separated aus makes me want to make another one… 👁️👁️

[teaandinanity]

It continues to give me the warm fuzzies that basically every person at work has said they'll miss me. And it's not really utility, even if I'm useful; I am not in a critical position. There are many people who can do the things I do, even if the majority are less experienced. I'm not management, or a lynchpin, just a long-time worker bee.

But people like me, and I just handled a Crisis Situation well enough that the AD took the time to personally thank me, and my manager was like 'not only am I willing to be a reference you can use my personal phone number if that's easier' and even some of the newest additions said they're going to miss me on desk, and I just.

I love my job and my coworkers and it's really nice that the people there know it and love me back.

[hballegro]

I had a dream where there was a murder mystery and some of the suspects were Obama, the couple from Ruthless People, Scott Bakula [like, present day, not QL era], three people from my middle school, and like half my immediate family, and upon getting an ending I didn't like [Scott was the killer] I woke up, remembered 90% of the dream including a final chase sequence, decided that ending SUCKED and I didn't wanna be awake yet, fell RIGHT back asleep, and returned right back to my fuckin dream and got a different ending that I now cannot remember [it wasn't any of the people I listed, but I also can't really remember who it was? It was a guy, and he was affluent, but I dont remember rip]

You WISH you were me

[avaricefics]

I do, I do, I do | charles leclerc social media au

| charles leclerc x childhood best friend fem!reader

| It's always been you- his loyal friend, his unrelenting pen pal, his doting girlfriend, and now, his wife. Through curated posts on the socials of people close to you, your story together is played out.

| had a lot of fun writing my last smau with Kimi Antonelli, this one is pretty spur of the moment, but I'm excited :) And this one has an ABBA song as a title too haha

f1updates

f1updates Wedding bells are ringing for Ferrari driver Charles Leclerc and his longtime girlfriend, now wife, Y/n L/n-Leclerc! Fans are flocking to the accounts of wedding guests to get a glimpse at these two loverbirds' ceremony, and it's no surprise as to why!

comments

user1 When you literally watch your favorite ship grow up together... actual tears in my eyes

user2 Man, he actually put a ring on her

user3 The amount of organs I would sell to have been a guest at that wedding

-> user4 Real for that tho

user5 Mom and Dad are finally married!!

youroldersister

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc, and 204, 587 others

youroldersister Ever since you were little, you and Charles were inseparable. I remember one night specifically, you were over at Charles' house and Mom and Dad sat me down after dinner. I was probably around 10 or 11, you would have been only 6 or 7. Mom started talking first. She explained to me that a big sister's job was to protect her little sister, no matter what. She said that nothing should come between us- not distance, not money, especially not boys.

Of course, I asked about Charles. 'Does that mean Y/n shouldn't spend so much time with Charles? 'Cause I think he's really nice, and he doesn't pull at my hair or make fun of me like other boys do.' And that's when Dad whispered to me, like it was a special secret just for us three, 'Charles is someone special, sweetheart. He's a part of the family, too.' Even as children, everyone could tell that you two were meant for each other.

comments

youroldersister Sorry for the paragraphs, but I love this story ❤️

-> yourusername 🥹

charles_leclerc My favorite sister-in-law in the world

-> youroldersister I'm your only sister-in-law, but it's the thought that counts

user8 Omg, little Y/n in one of Charles' racing helmets?? My heart 🥰🥰🥰

user9 The fact that mama and papa L/n KNEW, even at such a young age... So precious!

user10 The holding handssss, they were adorable

user11 Can just imagine them terrorizing the streets of Monaco when they were little

-> youroldersister Trust me, they did. They may have looked cute, but they were evil masterminds at manipulating our parents into more pastries

-> yourusername Not my fault I was born with the better puppy dog eyes

-> charles_leclerc Now that she's done convincing her parents to buy her croissants, she's moved onto me

-> yourusername Speaking of croissants... 🥺

-> charles_leclerc Anything for you, ma cherie 💕💕

maxverstappen1

liked by charles_leclerc, yourusername, and 764, 928 others

maxverstappen1 Charles, I mean this in the nicest possible way, but you were insufferable as a teenager. Seriously, I've never met a single other teenage boy pine so besotted over a girl. After every single race, as soon as you were done reviewing the data and checking over the kart, you sat down and began writing a letter. Without fail, after every race you filled page upon page with everything you wanted to tell this one, special girl.

Once, I asked what you seemed to write so much about, and you told me with a straight face that you were telling her about the race, everything down to your tyre strategy and a lap-by-lap review. I thought for sure that no girl would want to date you if all you wrote about was karting, but apparently, Y/n was that girl.

Even if you two are so in love it makes me a bit sick, I'm so happy for both of you. To your future together 🥂

comments

charles_leclerc My best man, everybody!

-> user12 Best man??? Watch me go insane over this information

-> user13 I NEED to know all the drivers who were at this wedding... Guest list must go crazyyy

yourusername Aww Maxie 🥹

lando.norris What he doesn't mention is that his speech at the wedding was about ten times this length

-> charles_leclerc I wouldn't have asked him to be by my best man if I wasn't ready for the Maxplaining of my own relationship

-> user14 So now we have Lando confirmed at the wedding?!

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, youroldersister and 67, 302 others

yourusername My love, we've done it! Married at last- though now that all the wedding planning is over, I can't wait for it to be just us two once more. (And Leo, of course.)

I've loved you all my life, and I'm so excited for us to start building a new life together. You are my light, je t'aime jusqu'à la lune et les étoiles ❤️[I love you to the moon and the stars]

comments

user15 The reason I believe in love fr

user16 Married life looks good on you!!

charles_leclerc Tu es ma vie <3 [You are my life]

user17 Their relationship >>>

-> user18 No one does romance like them lol

-> user19 Absolutely! When I heard that they literally exchanged love letters for years, I knew they were made for each other

charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername, maxverstappen1, and 309, 291 others

charles_leclerc Y/n, mon cher, you are the calm in the storm that is my life. Without you, I'd have drowned or succumbed to the pressure a thousand times over. With you, I am strong enough to withstand anything, as long as I face it with you. Monaco is my home country, but you are my home. Being yours is better than any podium, and our future together is brighter than any trophy. Je t'aime, je t'aime, je t'aime!

comments

yourusername Je t'aime ❤️

-> charles_leclerc ❤️

user20 'Being yours is better than any podium'??? Excuse me while I go cry from pure adorableness

user21 Her literally being his anchor 😭

lewishamilton Congrats to both of you! Definitely winning cutest paddock couple award this year

maxverstappen1 Congratulations, both of you

user22 The grid in the comments congratulating them 🥹

carlos.sainzjr Congrats!

oscarpiastri So. Grid mom?

-> yourusername Ofc darling!! I'm bringing stepmom brownies next time I visit

-> oscarpiastri 😁

-> lando.norris Eyy Osc my buddy! Abt those brownies, sharing is caring, right?

-> oscarpiastri 🤨

-> yourusername Dw Lando, I'll bring some for you too

-> charles_leclerc Darling? Betraying me this early in our marriage?

-> yourusername Don't be dramatic, you're my favorite taste tester and spoon licker!

[eyelessfaces]

save the date

bob reynolds x reader

summary: bob is gutted to find out you’re looking for love on a dating app, not knowing the only reason you are is because you're convinced he will never make a step in your direction – you’re now both trying to move on from each other while neither of you know how much you actually want each other.

tags: f!reader, friends to lovers, misunderstandings/miscommunication trope, dating apps, oblivious idiots in love, mutual pining though both parts think it's unrequited, angst, alcohol consumption, bob takes care of drunk reader, mentions of bob's former addiction, insecurities, the thunderbolts are very involved, yelena being an amazing supportive friend and an aroace icon, I pick on walker a few times in there but I actually like the guy dw

word count: 6k

masterlist | taglist | ao3 | @eyelessupdates

buy me a coffee ♡

“I made a selection already but I’m not sure how to slim it down and which ones I should pick”

Yelena gives you a single, confident nod that tells you she got this and silently motions for you to hand her your phone, her lollipop standing by itself inside her mouth as she carefully looks through the different pictures you selected to potentially put on your profile, scrolling through them with the same focus she reviews mission plans with. 

She had helped you come up with things to write down for the descriptions on your profile, but you knew damn well that this was the most important part, the main object of attention, the thing that would make your first impression on those men you could potentially date. And you had to admit it was fucking terrifying in some way.

“Oh this one is nice. You look so cute” she says as she picks the lollipop out, stopping on one picture. “It’s definitely going up on your profile.” 

Before you can respond, she swipes again and nods decisively. “Oh and this one too.” she says it like it’s a fact, not up for discussion. “Your eyes look like you might want to kill someone, which is probably attractive to some people”

You huff out a laugh. “You say it like it’s a good thing”

“I told you, I wouldn’t be surprised some would be into it,” she says with a shrug as she sticks the baton back between her lips.

You chuckle and nod in appreciation though you're filled with a strange mix of feelings, caught somewhere between excitement and anticipation. It's all new to you, it's not something you have tried before, and you can feel a stress blooming at the bottom of your stomach – picking pictures for dozens of strangers to see is a bit intimidating, even when your face is already known for working as a New Avenger; it feels widely different to choose how you’re wanting to be seen, to put yourself out there for others to judge.

You watch as Yelena continues swiping to the left. “Oh I took that one!” she exclaims, face lighting up with pride as she points proudly to the screen. “Yeah it’s got a little kick. You didn’t even know the picture was being taken so it looks natural. Brings out your casual charm” 

You snort up a laugh and nod. “Okay thank you,” you grin, picking your phone back to set the couple pictures she chose and add them onto your profile. “Hey, thank you for helping me with this” you nod, giving her a grateful smile. “I know dating is not your thing so I appreciate your involvement even more”

“Sure, anytime” she tilts her head, giving you a shrug and a friendly smile. You go over your whole profile, assessing the final product, watching how it’s all supposed to reflect you for good now. 

Yelena turns around when a couple of knocks hit her door, and she allows entry, her face brightening when Bob reveals himself behind the door, a smile over his face. He greets the both of you sitting cross legged over Yelena's bed, and you reciprocate the smile as he steps inside. 

“Oh Bob, good thing you’re here we need a masculine input” Yelena swiftly takes the phone from your hands, showing Bob the set of pictures over the screen. “This looks alright to you?” 

Bob steps closer, eyes moving across the images slowly. “Yeah?” he shrugs positively, nodding genuinely, eyes darting back and forth between each picture of you on the screen before they land on you for real. “I mean you look great, what’s that for?” he asks, unsure what is expected of him.

“Dating app” Yelena says as she hands you your phone back. You look up at Bob, quickly feeling a slight heat creep up your cheeks before your gaze darts back down at your phone.

“Oh” Bob’s voice drops a little before he catches up with a smile. “Well you’ll do great,” he nods, his voice sincere. “I mean, whoever matches with you, they’ll be lucky”

“Thank you, Bob” you genuinely smile. 

Yelena glances up and watches as he fiddles with the hem of his sweater, and chooses not to say anything. 

Bob lightly clears his throat before he talks again. “Well I was just checking up on you, I’m gonna get going,” he says, gesturing vaguely over his shoulder. “Good luck with that,” he smiles.

You nod, watching as he heads for the door and closes it behind him with a soft click. Yelena raises an eyebrow at you once the sound fades, a little something in her gaze you can’t exactly define. “What?” you ask flatly, but the heat remains on your cheeks as she looks at you accusingly.

“Nothing,” she shrugs. You know she means the whole opposite of it.

—

This past week hasn't been the calmest, but then again, nothing ever really had been – not for Bob. 

He had been used to carrying the discomfort his whole life, tossing it quietly at the corners of his mind, letting the mess grow until he couldn’t handle it anymore. Like everything else, it had just been a matter of dealing with it, pushing through, and trying to come to terms with it. 

Bob sits in his usual spot of the common area when he reads, but now, it's not really what this is about, as he can't seem to focus and rereads the same line over and over again without ever truly grasping its meaning and the image that is supposed to be painted inside his mind. 

Because the only thing he can think about is you, knowing that you're dodging movie night tonight to go on that date.

You had just mentioned it earlier this week – hadn’t made much of a show out of it, just told the team you wouldn’t spend that Friday evening with them the way you did every other Friday, the way your routine as a group had set it. 

And you didn’t even specify what it was, where you were going, what you were doing and who you were doing it with. 

But it made sense and spoke for itself, but still, as Bob heard Alexei ask and you answered him with what was implied, it still hurt.

This whole dating app profile thing shouldn't have him overthinking it so much, because technically, there was no reason for it to.

And the worst and most confusing thing was, it wasn't even jealousy or something – being jealous would imply he had something to lose, but there, he didn't have anything to begin with, not rightfully. 

He knew damn well he could never be enough for you, that was something he had figured out the moment he realized the feelings he had for you. 

So he didn’t feel angry. He felt less than. He felt small.

And he hates feeling so deeply about it, hates that an overwhelming ache grows inside his stomach every time he has to think about it, hates the insecurity that creeps up his thoughts and gnaws at everything else until it's all he can think about, until all he can hear is the distant voice of the Void telling him he could never be worth it, could never deserve someone like you. He’s used to it, but it feels different now that it involves someone else indirectly. Hurts in a whole different way. Especially when he truly wants someone to make you happy, even if it involves it not being him.

“Bob” Bucky calls, watching him from a distance, noticing Bob’s gaze unfocused, away from his book, not even pretending to read anymore. “You alright kid?” he asks once Bob’s head perks up, giving him his attention. The team had taken the habit of snapping him out of it whenever it looked like Bob was too deep inside his own head, to distract him with something else before his thoughts got too intense – though Bucky knew for a fact there sometimes was no use trying to chase it away, that if it had to crawl back and consume you whole, it would. 

“Yeah,” he says quickly. “Yeah I'm fine” Bob smiles. 

That was the default answer, no matter how he truly felt, despite having been wanting to be more honest about his feelings as per his therapist’s advice – it wasn’t supposed to be that deep in this specific case, it was just some teenage-like feelings, so lying about it wasn’t so wrong, it didn’t feel like the kind of thing worth confessing, wasn’t the kind of pain that deserved air. 

Yet it still hurt.

Bucky nods, barely convinced, but chooses not to say anything, not to push it.

He knows better than anyone else how much it costs to be honest about whatever the hell goes on inside your own head.

—

You stumble out of the elevator, gathering the little focus you have left to try not to trip over your own feet as you make your way inside. Your eyes are glassy, your gaze unfocused and the view around you is scattered from the alcohol poisoning your blood, but the force of habit makes you quick to join the couch and finally sit down. Your limbs somehow feel equally heavy and light, but your legs ache in a whole different way, one that makes you dread the fact that you’re going to have to drag yourself to your bedroom – it makes you consider crashing here, on the couch, without even taking care of removing your makeup and getting into more comfortable clothes, because you swear that once the thought lodges itself inside your brain, it makes you convinced you could fall asleep right then and there. 

That is until a soft shuffle draws your attention, and you notice Bob quietly sitting in his corner, turned to you. “Hey,” you smile, the muscles of your face numb.

“Hey” he responds gently, standing up to join you. “You okay?” he asks as he sits beside you, a worried frown transforming his usually soft face when he sees how glassy your eyes are, how tired the lines over your face make you seem to be.

“I’m so drunk, Bob” you whine softly, hand coming to rub at your eyes, smudging your mascara even further. 

“Happens,” he shrugs with an easy smile.

“‘m sorry, I didn’t want you to see me like this, ‘figured everyone would be sleeping” you apologize. 

He hums quietly and presses a hand at your back. “I’ve seen and been way worse, believe me” he pinches his lips into a small, compassionate smile. “Come on, let me help you get to bed”

“I’m okay,” you wave him off just to be polite, already embarrassed enough that he has to see you in this state. You get up and he’s quick to do the same, grasping your wrist when you almost lose balance.

“Yeah, sure” he snorts a small laugh, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to stabilize you as he starts to lead you towards your room. 

You lean against him, instinctively trusting the way he guides your stumbling feet towards the room. “I just– don’t wanna be a drag” you mutter.

“You’re not,” he assures you. His face grows warm when you wrap your arm around him for more balance, the path of your feet shifting slightly before he rectifies the trajectory. “I would have liked having someone to care for me back when I was using”

Once in your room, Bob turns the light on and helps you sit down on the edge of your bed, a soft sigh of relief escaping you when you're finally there and finally able to rest your aching legs. 

He has already moved to your bathroom before you can thank him for helping you, coming out with a few cotton pads and your bottle of makeup remover. You watch as he sits beside you, the mattress dipping softly under his weight. “Can I?”

You nod, suddenly feeling the urge to remain quiet instead of wanting to apologize once more. 

His hand hesitates with a slight tremble before it gently settles at your jaw, holding your face while the other starts to carefully wipe the makeup away; he can clearly feel the heaviness of your gaze over him while he does this for you, can almost taste the quiet tension filling the air.

Neither of you speaks or attempts to fill the silence, you're way too close to each other to bring yet another layer of closeness, and you're too mesmerized by the way his gaze focuses on you yet remains avoidant anyway.

You're convinced the warmth in your chest has nothing to do with the alcohol anymore – it's intimate in a way that momentarily has you slightly sobering up, anchoring you to reality.

Your eyes flutter shut when he wants to clean the mascara off your lashes, and the gentleness and carefulness he handles you with leaves you weak. 

Bob lightly clears his throat when he’s done, giving you a small, awkward smile. 

“Pajamas” he points out, quickly walking over to your dresser as if to move on and diffuse the tension that has settled. He rummages through, pulling out one of your large shirts and a pair of shorts before he turns back and hands them out to you. 

“Here,” he says, voice dipping, a bit awkward now.

You reach out for them, immediately already pulling your shirt off over your head, not even thinking. Bob practically leaps to turn around, ears burning red. “Oh! Sorry– I didn’t– I’m not looking.”

You giggle tiredly. “You’re fine, Bob.”

The heat in his face barely fades away as he waits, swaying back and forth on his feet, eyes glued to the wall. He only turns back to you once you confirm you’re done, waiting a couple seconds just in case, to avoid further embarrassment.

“Alright,” he huffs out softly. “You all good? Can I do anything else?”

He's too gentle, too devoid of judgement, too caring. You don't answer right away, just stare at him for what you think you would judge to be way too long if you were sober. 

Your tiredness hits you in the face at full force, your stomach tightening in a way that is different to the feeling of needing to spill your guts.

You eventually shake your head slowly, vision still swaying. “Thank you,” you murmur quietly, voice cracking slightly.

You know it's over the moment your tears are flooding your eyes before you can even think to hold them back. 

You start profusely apologizing the moment Bob rushes back to your side when he sees you breaking into soft sobs, sitting down next to you. “I’m sorry, this is so stupid” you apologize.

He shakes his head immediately, hand reaching and hovering over your knee before he decides to put it over your shoulder instead. “Hey. No it’s not. What’s wrong?”

You shake your head, trying to swipe your tears away, ashamed of how freely they fall now that you have no control over them. “It’s just– you’re so nice,” you whisper, a tremble laced through your voice. “And I’m making a fool of myself while you watch and help and it’s so fucking embarrassing, and now that I’m crying it’s even worse” 

Bob huffs out a soft, almost fond laugh. “Come on, I used to be an addict. I’ve embarrassed myself more times than I can count. You think you being drunk and crying a little is gonna change the way I see you?”

You breathe out something between a sob and a laugh, and when you look up at him, his smile somehow makes you mirror it.

Until it all catches up to you and your smile fades as quickly as it came, and the lump that starts forming in your throat seems to be carrying the weight of what you’ve been dragging around for weeks.

You shake your head, letting out a scattered breath. It feels different than the silliness of crying because you’re embarrassed that you’re drunk – it’s like the switch has been flipped, and the precise reason why you got drunk is now floating back to the surface and clawing at your back.

And Bob feels it. He watches you carefully, doesn’t push you, waits for you to say anything, ready to listen.

“It's just– I spent most of the night at the bar down the street after the date” you eventually say. “Just to get drunk and forget about it” you admit, your voice lowering. Bob’s eyes flicker along your face, intently listening. “The guy was nice but I hated it, I think I'm the problem, Bob, and you’re–” you croak out as you look back at him, blinking your tears away when it gets too much before you go on. 

His head instinctively shakes, his hand reaching your face to brush away the hair that sticks to your tears stained cheeks. “I thought that dating app thing would be a good idea but it’s not working and it’s barely… keeping me distracted from the fact that–” 

“Hey,” he murmurs, a frown over his face. “Just because it didn’t work out this time doesn’t mean it never will” he shrugs, eyes roaming along your face. “I’m sure you will get other opportunities and– and I’m convinced you will eventually find the right person” he nods, a reassuring smile over his face when you look up at him, eyes blinking your tears away. “And when you do… I’ll be rooting for you. You deserve it.”

You nod, holding it back. It’s no use telling him more, not when he made it clear he’s not the one waiting for you at the end of this, not when you’re now set on the idea before you could even unburden yourself of it all.

—

Your dating app is a mess of half assed conversations with good looking but painfully uninteresting men – you’re not pretending to be better than them, but it’s an actual torture to try to go through texting some of them, between the stupid and cringe ones, those who take two to three business days to respond, and those who only want to get in your pants and don’t even try to disguise it.

The nice ones make themselves rare but still can’t seem to do it for you, so it pains you to have to go through the whole process again, but you take a chance at trying to match with some new faces. 

You look up from your phone when you hear the sound of Bob’s laugh when Ava says something to piss Walker off, making him roll his eyes and leave the room.

Ava sighs something about him having an ego so massive he can’t even take a joke, and joins you, taking a look over your shoulder behind the couch. 

“Oh my god, what is that” she grimaces as she glances at the screen of your phone, an obviously disgusted expression over her face. 

“I know,” you sigh, immediately clicking the cross on the side of the screen, making the profile vanish, revealing the next one. “I want to give up already”

“You would probably do yourself a favor”

“Is it really going that bad?” Yelena asks from her spot on the couch, gaze still focused on the show on the television. 

“I mean,” you start, taking a breath as you adjust your position on the couch. “I have a date planned in a couple days, and he’s nice and actually cares about me and what I have to say” Ava watches as Bob swiftly picks up his book from the table and flees the scene once he sees the direction the conversation is going, leaving the three of you to it. “But I feel like I need a backup plan in case it doesn’t go so well”

“Okay, I’m gonna need a picture so I know who my next target is if that man hurts you in any way” Yelena casually declares, her slight frown indicating she’s half joking, half serious.

“Mhm, count me in” Ava nods in agreement. “You can also guess their intentions and good faith through their eyes”

You huff out a small laugh before you go fetch the guy’s profile, pulling up his pictures.

Ava sees them first and hurries to climb onto the couch from behind to sit down next to you. “Oh honey, I know what your backup plan is, and he lives with us” she scoffs, mouth hanging in disbelief as she takes the phone from your hands to get a better look. Yelena frowns softly, still waiting to see the pictures, and you’re almost as confused, raising an eyebrow at Ava. “This guy looks just like Bob” she huffs out low enough so no one outside the room could hear if they happened to be nearby, eyes wide as she points at the screen of your phone like she tries to make you see it.

This makes Yelena grab the tv remote and pause her show, reaching to grab the phone from Ava.

“Come on, back me up on this,” Ava urges Yelena.

Yelena’s mouth twists into a small grimace that makes her suspense agonizing. “I mean, they do have the same haircut, yeah” she says before she scrolls to take a look at the other pictures, her head tilting slightly as she goes on. “Yeah he does look like Bob. Like a more pretentious Bob” she eventually declares, surrendering to what’s obvious, giving you an apologetic grin. 

“Thank you!” Ava whisper-shouts. “You have to admit it’s a hell of a coincidence”

You chuckle, unsure what to say for your own defense. “We’re in New York, Bob is bound to have plenty of doppelgangers” you declare matter-of-factly with a shrug.

“I’m afraid this isn’t exactly what this is about” Yelena counters in a mumble, looking away when you glance at her, scratching her temple, teasingly pretending she didn’t say anything. 

You know exactly what she means. But no part of you wants to talk about it, no part of you wants to admit it, because this is all you have been trying to avoid, this is the reason you have been trying so hard to make something out of that dating app. 

“Whatever,” you sigh, suddenly wanting to crawl inside a hole and never come out.

“God, it’s so painful watching you two,” Ava rolls her eyes.

“Ava–” Yelena scolds, throwing her a knowing glance when she guesses where she wants to take the conversation.

“No, come on, I can’t be the only one. I can’t be the only one who sees it, and this evil Bob twin is proof” she insists, trying to get Yelena on her side.

Yelena sends Ava a death glare that you know barely impresses her, but still prevents her from adding more and makes her lift her hands in surrender.

The silence that follows is carrying the weight of everything you don’t want to name out loud, the weight of everything Yelena is trying to hold back from Ava too because it is not their business to resolve, but only yours.

And while you're deep down aware of the problem, you’re not exactly sure how to do it.

—

Things get worse before they get better.

That was all you heard during your whole life, and so far, the saying had proven itself to be true.

Only now, things only seem to get more awful as you go on. 

Because you cannot, despite everything you have tried, stop thinking about how stupid everything gets whenever you try to stop thinking about it and eventually end up only thinking about it more.

Because as you watch Bob dig through the crates of the record store while you’re supposed to do the same, you can't help but face the fact that there is no one else you would rather do this with, and trying to bury your feelings only makes them resurface and hurt tenfold.

You know pulling away isn’t the solution and can barely be considered as an option – he’s still one of your closest friends and you don’t want to hurt him that way, and the idea of losing him altogether is unbearable. 

And maybe all of this is what makes it all the more complicated.

So trying to find someone else to have feelings for still seems like the best solution despite not going great so far, but you have to give it a try, you have to find a way out of this dead end. 

You have to give that date tonight your best chance.

That’s the only solution you see when you stare at Bob.

“I found grace” Bob says suddenly, hands braced on the edge of a crate, tearing you out of your thoughts.

You blink, suddenly snapped back to reality, the distant sound of Soundgarden playing from the speakers of the shop clearer now that it’s not just your thoughts overtaking your brain. You squint at Bob, frowning in confusion. “Huh?”

“The album. Grace. Jeff Buckley” he makes clear as he lifts the record slightly to show you the album cover, chuckling softly when he realizes how it sounded.

“Oh, right” you let out a soft, breathy laugh. “Nice” you smile.

“You can have it,” he offers, pulling it out from the vertical pile. 

“Nah don’t be stupid. You found it” you chuckle, watching as he nods in surrender before tucking the record under his arm. 

It had become a thing, your thing. To go and search through local record stores after you both had established wanting to get a physical copy of all of your favorite albums – sharing the same taste made it a little more interesting, and it felt special to share that activity. Borderline intimate, even. Which in the actual context, makes it worse for you. 

“Are you alright?” he eventually asks, noticing you don’t seem fully present. 

You give him a quiet approval, trying to ignore the front pieces of his hair falling in front of his eyes and how much you would want to push them away if you weren’t actively trying to get over him. 

“We should go to that place you like. The one with the carrot cake” he suggests, smiling when he sees your face light up at the offer. “I think we have enough time before I have to go to my therapy session”

—

Bob enters Yelena's room without even knocking, much against his habits – he considers apologizing for the matter of half a second before the reason he's here floods back at him in urgency and nothing else seems important anymore. “I need to talk to you about something.”

She raises an eyebrow in interest as she quickly glances up from her phone, letting him know that despite being busy, she's ready to listen. “Sure.”

“It's serious,” Bob adds, voice low with gravity. 

Yelena is quick to toss her phone aside and give him her full attention, concerned by his tone, foot pushing to the floor so her chair can spin towards his direction. “Okay, spit it out.”

“I–” he starts, eyes closing momentarily when he lets go of the loose thread he's been pulling at on his flannel to scratch his forehead, an uncomfortable smile over his face. He thinks of backing out, considers it for a moment, but he knows he’s not a coward, knows he shouldn’t be, and knows he has to go through with it before it’s too late.

Yelena waits, watches Bob intently as his mouth opens to no sound, moving like he's unsure how to articulate whatever he wants to say. 

“I know,” she eventually grins before he can begin to talk, too impatient to not pull the rug from under his feet and make it easier for him, guessing what it's all about from seeing the nervous expression over his face just from having to word it out loud. And as much as she would like to hear him say and finally admit it, she's the last person who officially needs to hear about it.

“What?” he frowns, confused. “I didn’t even say anything yet” he chuckles, borderline offended that she caught him off guard with such force and ease.

“I know what you're going to say, and I don't even want you to say it because I'm not the one you should be saying it to” Yelena shrugs, mouth twisting into a grin. 

Bob doesn’t know what to say, not really. His mouth closes in defeat though it’s barely one, his neck suddenly itching from the anxiety growing from the pit of his stomach.

“It’s all over your face, Bob. Has been for a while. And you shouldn’t even need my opinion. Go for it” Yelena nods, a supportive smile tugging at her lips. “You got this.”

—

You set on wearing the exact same thing you did on that previous, disastrous date. 

If you were superstitious, you would probably throw it back into your closet and never pull it out for that kind of occasions again, but it happens to be an efficient outfit on all the other levels aside from whatever factor it was that made your other date bust, and looking good and feeling comfortable is an undeniable privilege that is worth keeping.

You feel strangely excited – it’s so surprising that you start to wonder if there’s not something you’re leaving out of the equation, but you easily roll with the fact that you for once believe things could go well and decide not to question it.

You leave the pieces of clothes folded onto your bed like a physical representation of your procrastination – maybe that the later you will wear it, the later you will start anticipating and feeling nervous about that date, but preparing things so early when your date is far away as four hours already attests to how much you’re deep down overthinking it. 

When you join the common room in hopes you will channel your energy into something and it turns out to be completely vacant, you’re not so sure what your plan is; you’re even starting to wish even Walker was here, which attests to how strange everything feels at the moment. 

You catch glance of a sheet of paper on the floor and immediately assume it got loose from one of Bucky’s files – you know he likes working here on the rare occasions the room happens to be less than half empty, so you pick it up and put it back over the table so he knows it’s here. 

The room is so quiet it has you looking out the window like it is the only thing you can busy yourself with. You’ve grown so used to the view that you sometimes forget how impressive it actually is, that high up above New York. 

When you turn around after a few moments of watching the other buildings and thinking about how intimidating they look as opposed to their view at night, you go and pour yourself a glass of water, picking and filling another one when the light sound of Bob’s footsteps echo through the empty room when he finds you. 

“Don't go on that date tonight”

The unexpected mention of the subject from him shakes something within you, and you still for a second, eyes meeting him as you put the jug of water back down. “What?”

“Please don’t go on that date.” Bob repeats, his voice gentler this time, less firm. 

“Why?” you let go of the glass in your hand.

A short silence hangs for a second before he talks, like he’s waiting and contemplating before the bomb goes off. But there’s no turning back now, he knows that. “I see how much it has you struggling, don’t tell me it’s doing you any good” he frowns softly.

Your eyebrows raise, your gaze shifting back down at your glass of water. He has a point, but in the long run, you don’t want it to remain true, and you don’t even see why it would matter that much to him. “It’s not, but I have to give it a better try, and I’m actually confident about that date, so,” you explain in your own defense, even though it sounds more like you’re trying to convince yourself. “I can’t just sit around and wait for it to happen” you shrug.

“It's happening right now,” he chuckles uncomfortably. 

He forces himself to take a steadying breath when he sees the small frown growing from confusion over your face, and he gathers all the confidence he couldn’t get for months before he says it. 

“I like you,” he declares. 

It should feel like the world stops there, but it doesn’t, so he goes on. “And it’s getting really exhausting pretending I don’t” he huffs out in a nervous admission, hands gesturing at his sides.

No matter how intensely he tries to read your gaze at that moment, nothing gives away the way you’re taking in the information – the confusion is etched all over your face, like a mask that hides everything else. 

Your mouth opens before it closes, opening again just a second later. “Wha– why didn’t you tell me sooner?” 

His mouth tightens into a strained smile. “Uh… I figured I wasn’t worth it” he shrugs indifferently, like what he’s admitting about himself is barely important. “Still kinda do,” he admits, head tilting slightly. “But my therapist– we've been working on opening up. I've been working on opening up” he nods in earnest. “That's what I'm doing right now” he affirms, voice quieter with endearing awkwardness.

It’s what it must feel like when machines short circuit, because you have no idea how to function anymore, how to go on from there, what to say. 

You let out a breath you barely realize you had been repressing, one that holds all the disbelief of the situation, and despite that relief, your chest remains tight from his confession – you don’t think this one feeling is going to go away so easily. 

“Bob I thought you didn’t–” you halt, unsure what to pick out to say out of the whirlwind of things coming and going inside your head. “I’ve been trying to tell you” you blurt out. “That night I came back drunk.” 

“What?” he asks, face twisting in bewilderment.

You nod, lips pinching into a half amused smile. “I thought you would never ask me out, and it’s the exact reason I put myself on that dating app” you explain.

Bob breaks into a stunned chuckle, hand coming to rub at his eyes. “So you’re telling me it was right there and…”

“Mhm,” you nod, huffing out a laugh. 

You both shift into a soft laughter from how you have obliviously made things complicated between you, and when it quiets down, the atmosphere falls back to seriousness again, but now that everything is let loose in between you, the dynamic feels relaxed in a whole other way, like that previous overwhelming tension had been looming over your heads.

“So…” he rests a hand against the table, leaning onto his side. “Date offer can still stand, but, y’know…” his head tilts to the side teasingly. “With me”

Your chest rises with a quiet inhale, shaken by how fast your heart rate has managed to rise. “Okay,” you say softly, grinning at the idea of a proper date with him – it suddenly changes the whole aspect of going on a date for you.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” you smile.

He blinks, then that smile, the one that makes your stomach flip every single time without fail, grows across his face like he still can't really believe it, like he had stepped into this without expecting anything but walked out with everything. “Okay,” he repeats, voice gentler now, like he’s really taking it in.

“Hey, just one thing,” you ask, making him raise an eyebrow expectantly. “I think we should keep it on the low and enjoy it for a little before the team starts to make fun of us.”

—

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[yuujispinkhair]

NERD!SUKUNA HEADCANONS - Part 1

Modern!Sukuna x Reader (female). College AU. 2k words 18+, fluff + smut (Sukuna has some dirty fantasies about Reader. The actual smut will be in Part 2). "Enemies" to friends to fuckbuddies to lovers. Reader is shy and struggles with her grades. Sukuna is a genius but bad at feelings ;) Minors don't interact. Divider @/.lacedolliee. Credit for the super sexy fanart of Nerdkuna goes to my sweet friend @winterrbluess. The pic was used with Winn's permission 🖤 You asked if someone could write a little something about your fave sexy nerd, and I couldn't resist ;) I hope you'll enjoy it!

Nerd!Sukuna, who looks like a bad boy but is actually at the top of all his classes and a huge nerd when it comes to his studies and his various interests. Very intelligent, passionate, and hardworking. Sukuna always wants to be the best in everything he does.

Nerd!Sukuna, who could be one of the most popular guys on the whole campus if he wanted to, with his good looks and impressive height and fit body. But he keeps everyone at arm's length, not giving a fuck about popularity and not wanting to get distracted from his academic success.

Nerd!Sukuna, who once beat up a football player who tried to make fun of Sukuna's passion for all things history-related, and ever since that day, no one dared to bother Sukuna again.

Nerd!Sukuna, who is arrogant and condescending and thinks (rightfully so) that no one is fit to hold a candle to him. He is constantly looking down on everyone around him and would rather spend his free time perfecting his skills and studies than doing something useless.

Nerd!Sukuna, who hates group projects and prefers to work alone because everyone else is just holding him up, and Sukuna has to control all of their steps to fix their mistakes.

Nerd!Sukuna, who rolls his eyes in annoyance when he gets paired up with you for an assignment. A shy little thing whose name he never heard before, which means you are definitely not playing in the same academic league as him.

Nerd!Sukuna, who towers over you with his backpack slung casually over his broad shoulders and his tattooed face cold and hard when he informs you that he expects you to work hard and not fuck up his grades, or he will make your life hell.

Nerd!Sukuna, who is fully convinced this will be a disaster when he sees you wring your hands nervously and promise him you will work your ass off for this assignment because you really need a good grade so you can pass.

Nerd!Sukuna, who is a control freak who plans everything ahead and, therefore, doesn't let you have a word on how often you meet or when or where. He doesn't like having people over at his place, but he invites you over anyway because his kitchen table is his favorite place to study.

Nerd!Sukuna, who fixes you with a stern look through his nerdy glasses as he shoves a huge stack of books across the table, informing you he expects you to read all the needed information, which he already marked for you with various color-coded sticky notes. "Because you probably don't even know what we need for this assignment."

Nerd!Sukuna, who is surprised by how thoroughly you work and by the questions you ask him, which let him know you aren't as dumb as he thought.

Nerd!Sukuna, who likes how you hang on his lips when he explains stuff to you, clearly impressed by his detailed knowledge. And maybe, just maybe, he intentionally lowers his voice a bit more, just to see you get all nervous when he is talking in such a husky way, almost as if he isn't explaining political intrigues in the Heian era to you but rather telling you what he wants to do to you in his bed.

Nerd!Sukuna, who finds devilish joy in seeing how flustered you get around him and how clearly intimidated you are by his tall and broad body and his tattoos and arrogant attitude.

Nerd!Sukuna, who has to admit (only to himself) that getting paired up with you isn't too bad because at least you give your best, and you are actually kind of cute. The kind of sweet, shy girl who usually doesn't cross paths with him.

Nerd!Sukuna, who catches himself watching you during study time in his kitchen or in the library. He tells himself he is just checking if you really do your work, but his gaze mostly lingers on your glossy lips, which wrap around your pen while you focus on something or on your nose, which looks super cute when you scrunch it up in confusion.

Nerd!Sukuna, who isn't one to brag because he thinks that is something for losers, but he can't help but mention casually some of the academic awards he already won just because he is getting addicted to the buzzing in his veins when he sees the way you gulp hard and get all shy and cute on him, muttering something about how you struggle to even stay in college.

Nerd!Sukuna, who usually loves to be a little sadist and make fun of people who have bad grades, but somehow, he can't bring himself to do that when it comes to you.

Nerd!Sukuna, who instead surprises himself by reaching out and ruffling your hair, telling you that he will help you with your studies.

Nerd!Sukuna, who forms a strange little companionship with you, almost looking forward to your meetings and even preparing an extra plate of snacks for you.

Nerd!Sukuna, who usually isn't someone people would refer to as nice, but who drops his arrogant and mocking attitude at least a little when he is in his kitchen with you and instead jokes around with you and feels his heart throb weirdly when you get his humor, and laugh about his even most sarcastic remarks.

Nerd!Sukuna, who likes it when you come out of your shell more and more, joining in on his playful teasing or telling him about your favorite books and shows.

Nerd!Sukuna, who accidentally overhears you telling your classmate that you don't have time to go to the coffeeshop with her because you are already meeting your friend Sukuna after class, which leaves Sukuna standing in the middle of the hallway for a whole thirty seconds, with his mouth hanging open, completely stunned and looking like a brainless idiot as his mind tries to wrap around the fact that you see him as your friend when Sukuna never had a friend before.

Nerd!Sukuna, who makes sure to bake your favorite muffins and prepare your favorite type of tea before you come over that afternoon, wordlessly showing you that he values your companionship, or friendship, as you called it, too.

Nerd!Sukuna, who feels a small smile tug at his usually smirking lips when he sees your big happy smile and hears your sweet "For me? Oh, thank you!" when you see the plate with muffins on your place at his kitchen table. And yes, he refers to it as your place, and the thought makes him feel strangely warm.

Nerd!Sukuna, who playfully teases you for your Hello Kitty pens and glittery pink notebooks, asking if you are in some "Little Princess Kindergarten Club" or something. Only for you to march up to him the next morning before class to press a Hello Kitty text marker set against his chest so he can join the club, too, causing Sukuna to sit in class with a stupid grin on his face for a whole hour.

Nerd!Sukuna, who likes how easy things feel with you. How he can put all his hard work into your assignment and also see you working hard on it, but also have this light-hearted, playful banter with you, making him realize how boring and dry his afternoons used to be before you became his assignment partner.

Nerd!Sukuna, who has to admit that you definitely aren't as bad of an assignment partner as he thought you would be. He even allows you to fill out a whole page all by yourself, which is the biggest compliment he can give you.

Nerd!Sukuna, who catches himself playfully flirting with you, smirking smugly when he catches you staring at him when he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "See something you like, princess? Aww, no need to be embarrassed. I know those glasses look sexy on me."

Nerd!Sukuna, who loves to tease you like that and who ducks just in time when you scream in embarrassment and throw a pen at him while looking so fucking cute that Sukuna just teases you even more.

Nerd!Sukuna, who is quite happy with how your assignment is going. Usually, he would do the whole presentation by himself because he trusts no one else to deliver it the way he wants to, but Sukuna knows how shy you are about talking in front of the class, and Sukuna wants to teach you how to lose that fear.

Nerd!Sukuna, who just smirks at you when you complain loudly, "I can't do that! I am so bad at presenting things. I get all nervous and flustered, and then I mess up. Please do it yourself, Sukuna! You are so much better at this!"

Nerd!Sukuna, who tells you, "If you always run away from everything that scares you, you will never make it in life. So, nope. You will do your part. But aren't you such a lucky girl that you have me as your teacher?"

Nerd!Sukuna, who makes you stand in front of his fridge and practice your presentation over and over again while Sukuna sits on the kitchen chair, long muscular legs spread, tattooed arms crossed in front of his broad chest, occasionally pushing his glasses up as he watches you with an amused expression on his tattooed face, providing a brutal but honest opinion and actually helpful advice.

Nerd!Sukuna, who isn't just an overly critical and perfectionist asshole, but also someone who gives praise when he thinks it is deserved. And you, his cute little assignment partner, really deserve it. Sukuna walks over to you, stopping in front of you with a broad grin, "You did really well, princess. I'm proud of you."

Nerd!Sukuna, who wonders why your pupils look so blown out all of a sudden when you tilt your head to look up at him, stuttering in a slightly breathless voice, "Th... thank you. You were a really good teacher."

Nerd!Sukuna, who laughs and pets your hair as he smirks at you, saying something about how he could teach you lots of other things, too. Not sure anymore whether he is still just teasing you or if he really means it in a sexual way.

Nerd!Sukuna, who realizes he has a little big problem when he starts noticing the way your tits get pushed up and almost spill out of your shirt when you press a stack of books against them. Or when he loses his thread because you decided to wear a sexy little skirt, and now Sukuna can't stop thinking about how cute it would look if you were bouncing on his cock while still wearing that little skirt. Or when you suck on your stupid Hello Kitty pen, and Sukuna can't help but imagine how those sweet glossy lips of yours would feel wrapped around his cock instead.

Nerd!Sukuna, who tries to suppress those thoughts though, not wanting to mess this assignment up.

Nerd!Sukuna, who feels like encountering a world boss in a computer game, when you have a breakdown at his kitchen table, the evening before your presentation, crying and sobbing because you are nervous and convinced you will fuck up. And suddenly, Sukuna finds himself comforting you, gently caressing your arms with his large hands while murmuring reassurance to you. "Hey, stop being a brat. I know you can do it. You learned from the best, after all, didn't you, princess? And you got me. Just look at me the whole time, ok? Nothing bad can happen when you just look at me."

Nerd!Sukuna, who is surprised by how protective he feels over you at that moment. You are sitting in front of him looking like a wet cat, with your eyes all red and swollen from crying and snot running out of your nose, but somehow you still look so fucking cute to him, and somehow you make him so much softer and less rational than he usually is.

Nerd!Sukuna, who sighs and growls, "Oh, just come here." sounding annoyed but contradicting it by pulling you into his strong arms and holding you until you feel ok again. Sukuna still complains that you got his shirt wet with your tears, but his words lack the bite.

Nerd!Sukuna, who is genuinely proud of how much you improved when he watches your part of the presentation the next day. He even catches himself smiling a real smile at you when he congratulates you after class.

Nerd!Sukuna, who experiences a strange fluttery feeling in his stomach when you smile back at him and put your small hand on his tattooed biceps, "Thank you, Sukuna. It was really nice working with you."

Nerd!Sukuna, who manages a "same," but then just stands before you, opening his mouth and closing it again, not knowing what else to say because there are too many thoughts racing through his mind, and all of them seem to be too honest. And you do the same, shuffling around shyly, looking at him with wide eyes, parting your lips, but no words come out. And so both of you just lift a hand in an awkward farewell gesture and leave on opposite sides of the hallway.

Nerd!Sukuna, who tries to tell himself he is glad that your assignment is over and he can work in solitude again but then ends up staring longingly at the empty chair at his kitchen table, where you used to sit those last few weeks.

Aww Sukuna, do you miss us? ;)

I AM VERY ATTRACTED TO HIM AAAHHHH please, Kuna, tell me more about history and physics and every other subject that there is!!! You are so sexy!! 😘😘

Winn's fanart of Nerdkuna made me swoon so much and fall in love with him, and I always picture him as being at the top of classes anyway, so I think it was really time to finally write about him living his best nerdy life.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the headcanons! I will post Part 2 in a few days 💗 Will Kuna find a way to get us back onto his kitchen chair?

Comments and reblogs would be very sweet!

Here is Part 2

[halfmoonaria]

the cost of hate

pairing: tara carpenter & gp!fem!reader

summary: tara always knew you drove her crazy — she just never expected it to go this far

warnings: smut 18+ / NSFW content (explicit sexual content), angry sex, alcohol intoxication.

author’s note: this was a request and turned out extremely long so buckle up.

Tara wasn't sure when exactly you became her nemesis.

It could've been the time you called her "Tinkerbell with anger issues" in front of the whole group — completely unprovoked, by the way.

Or maybe it was the fact that you always showed up to group hangouts exactly eight minutes late. Not seven. Not ten. Eight. Like you were trying to be casually inconvenient on purpose.

And somehow, you always had an iced coffee in hand and sunglasses on, even if it was dark outside, looking like you were arriving for an interview you didn't need to prepare for.

Whatever the origin story was, all Tara knew was that you were insufferable. Loud, cocky, always smirking like you were the punchline to a joke only you found funny.

And worse? You flirted with everyone. Constantly. Half the time you weren't even saying anything particularly charming — just leaning too close, dragging out compliments, tilting your head like you were always three seconds from kissing someone just because you could.

And people loved you for it. Chad thought you were the funniest person alive. Mindy treated you like some chaotic little science experiment she'd adopted. Anika had actually said the words "I think she 's kinda iconic" once, and Tara had nearly choked on her drink.

She didn't get it. She didn't want to get it.

You were the kind of person who made her blood boil and her eye twitch. She'd convinced herself that every time you opened your mouth, it shaved at least a day off her lifespan. You always had to have the last word. You always pushed the exact button you knew would get a reaction.

And worst of all, you did it with that face — that smug, slow-smiling, resting-brat expression that made Tara want to throw something heavy at you. Preferably a chair.

She'd tried ignoring you. She really had. But you made it impossible. You talked too much, laughed too loud, spread out across the couch like you paid rent there, and had the nerve to act like she was the uptight one whenever she snapped at you. You acted like everything she said was just part of some game you were both playing — like you didn't even take her seriously.

And maybe that was the worst part.

Because sometimes, late at night, Tara would catch herself replaying your dumb little one-liners, thinking of all the better insults she could've said. And sometimes, she'd spend way too long trying to decide whether you actually meant it when you told her she looked "surprisingly good" that one night in her new jeans.

She told herself it didn't matter.

Because you were not funny. You were not charming.

And if anyone thought otherwise, they were probably just under the influence of your freakish ability to spin basic, mediocre nonsense into something that sounded clever. It wasn't wit. It was volume control and eyebrow raises. That was your whole personality — speaking like you were narrating a scene and reacting like you knew you had an audience.

Tara hated that you always acted like you had the upper hand. Even when she was clearly, objectively winning an argument, you'd throw out some offhand line like "You're cute when you're wrong" and somehow — somehow — everyone would laugh like you were the second coming of George Carlin. It made her want to scream. Or hit you. Or both.

You always took up space without asking. You sat on counters like chairs didn't exist. You interrupted people with questions no one asked and nicknamed her things like "Captain Cranky" or "Tiny Terror," depending on your mood. There was never a day you didn't have some quip ready, like your entire goal in life was to make her feel just annoyed enough to snap in front of other people.

And the worst part was how good you were at pretending it was all harmless. Like she was the only one taking it seriously. You'd look at her with that stupid half-lidded stare, eyebrows lifted, head tilted like you were trying to figure her out. Like she was the one being weird.

God, it was infuriating. You were infuriating.

And yet, somehow, her brain had decided you deserved this much mental real estate. Which wasn't fair. Because she didn't like you. She wasn't even curious about you. She just... needed to understand why you bothered her so much.

Yeah. That was it. She was just trying to understand you.

Which is totally normal.

Totally sane.

Totally not bordering on a hyperfixation.

Tara blinked, the sun catching the edge of her vision as the sharp buzz of lunch chatter brought her back into the moment. She was sitting on one of those uncomfortable benches in the quad, elbow resting on the table, a half-eaten sandwich in front of her that she'd mostly forgotten about. The group was scattered around her — Mindy sprawled with her laptop open even though no one believed she was doing homework, Chad snacking on something loud, Anika sipping from a thermos and pretending she wasn't eavesdropping on everyone at once.

And you — of course — were across from her, leaned back like the bench was a recliner, sunglasses pushed up into your hair. Your mouth was moving, which meant Tara was already irritated.

"...I'm just saying," you were saying, mid-rant about something that had nothing to do with anything, "if I wanted to scam someone, it'd be super easy. Like, I could sell people fake concert tickets and just vanish. New name, new identity, new city. Easy."

Chad looked genuinely impressed. "Wait, you've thought about this?"

"I have a backup plan for my backup plan," you said, proud.

Tara didn't look up from her phone as she muttered, "Yeah, the plan is called 'being an idiot with too much confidence.'"

Anika pressed her lips together like she was trying not to laugh. Mindy glanced up, half-interested, just in time to see your face twist into that annoying little smirk you always pulled when Tara spoke.

You leaned forward slightly, tapping the table with your fingers. "Aw, don't be mad just 'cause your only backup plan is murder."

Tara looked up at that — slow and unamused. "If I ever do commit murder, guess who's at the top of the list?"

"Oh, I hope it's me," you said without missing a beat. "You thinking about me in your darkest hours is kind of hot."

Mindy muttered a faint Jesus Christ into her drink. Chad quietly asked Anika what the hell was happening.

Tara rolled her eyes and went back to her phone, but her ears were hot. And unfortunately, she knew you noticed that. Because you were watching her. Still.

Always.

Tara told herself she wasn't going to engage again. She had already given you one line — that was one too many. But you were still there, grinning like you'd just won something, like her irritation was a gift, and it was taking everything in her not to throw her sandwich directly at your stupid face.

God, she hated you.

She hated the way you always found a way to make the conversation about yourself — like you were the main character and everyone else was lucky to exist in your orbit. She hated your fake-deep takes on random topics, your smug little shrugs, and how you somehow got away with doing absolutely zero schoolwork but still passed everything. She hated how you never used a phone case. She hated your handwriting. She hated that you had a fanbase in school like this was a Netflix original.

And most of all, she hated that you always sat across from her.

"Okay, but if you had to pick someone in this group to survive the apocalypse with," Anika was saying, gesturing dramatically with a carrot stick, "who would it be? And you can't say me, because obviously I'd carry all of you."

Mindy snorted. "You? You panic when the WiFi goes out."

"I have emotional strength," Anika shot back.

"Emotional strength doesn't reload a crossbow," Mindy said.

"Wait, wait—" you leaned forward like you were about to say something important, which already annoyed Tara, "—do we mean zombie apocalypse or, like, nuclear winter? Because that changes everything."

Tara didn't even look up. "Why do you sound like you've practiced for both?"

You didn't miss a beat. "Why do you sound jealous?" That earned a soft laugh from Chad. Tara glared at him.

Mindy was already shaking her head. "This is why you two can't sit next to each other. It's like watching a romcom written by sociopaths."

"Excuse you," you said, hand on your chest. "I bring levity to this group. I'm the charming one."

"You're the delusional one," Tara muttered.

Chad leaned back. "Speaking of delusion — is everyone still going to that party Friday night?”

Tara finally looked up again. "You mean the one at that junior's house? Josh-something?"

"Josh Valera," Mindy supplied. "He was in that weird film class last semester. Wears too much cologne. Thinks Letterboxd is a personality."

"That's the one," Chad said. "Apparently he's got a pool and like five kegs."

Anika perked up. "Five?"

"Two of them are root beer, but still," Chad added.

You shrugged. "I'm going. I like chaos.”

Tara rolled her eyes. "Of course you do. You are chaos."

You grinned at her again. "Flirting already? Slow down, Carpenter. Buy me a drink first."

Tara didn't respond. She just reached over and stole a grape off your tray.

You blinked. "Hey."

"Shut up," she said, chewing slowly.

You didn't argue. You just gave her that look — the one that made her want to throw you into traffic. Or maybe into a wall. Hard to say.

Tara turned back to the group, pretending like the grape theft had ended the interaction, but her thoughts didn't exactly follow. Her fingers tapped absently against the table as Mindy and Chad started debating whether keg root beer was a crime or a revelation, voices blending into background noise.

She wasn't even sure she wanted to go to this party.

It wasn't her scene. Too loud, too messy, too many people trying to be seen. She'd already told herself she might flake. She had a paper she could use as an excuse. A headache she could fake. A completely made-up allergy to chlorine if anyone asked about the pool.

But now you were going — and somehow that made her want to not go even more, and also want to go twice as hard just to make sure you didn't say something so dumb no one could recover from it.

That was the thing about you. You made her feel like she had to be there. To monitor the chaos. To fact-check your nonsense in real time. And sure, yeah, maybe parties were a little more fun when you were around — but only because watching you try to dance and hit on people like a malfunctioning dating sim was basically free entertainment.

She wasn't going because of you.

Obviously not.

She was going because she was invited. Because all her friends were going. Because maybe she deserved a night out after surviving another week of your voice echoing through every goddamn group hangout like a mosquito that wouldn't die.

Totally normal reasons.

Mindy was saying something again, something about outfit coordination or theme or whatever, but Tara barely caught it. Her eyes flicked back across the table where you'd gone back to talking with Anika — animated, leaning in, saying something Tara couldn't hear but that made Anika snort.

You looked relaxed. Stupidly relaxed. Sunglasses still pushed up on your head, like you hadn't even noticed the sun or the way it bounced off your smile or how annoying it was that you smiled that much.

God, Tara hated people like you. The kind who didn't try and still got attention. The kind who didn't care and still got invited to everything. The kind who never shut up — ever — but somehow never got told to.

And now you were going to be at the party too.

Great.

Because of course you were. Of course you'd show up, talk too loud, drink too much, and somehow still end the night with everyone thinking you were fun. And Tara would have to deal with it. Like always.

Totally fine.

She could survive one night. As long as you didn't say anything too stupid.

Or try to talk to her.

Or exist within her peripheral vision.

___

Tara didn't even know why she was standing in front of her closet like that. Like she was frozen. Like any of this actually mattered.

It wasn't her first party. Wasn't even the first one this month. She knew exactly what to expect — same drinks, same music, same people. She wasn't nervous. She wasn't trying to impress anyone. She wasn't standing there for any reason at all, really.

Still, she'd been flipping through the same six hangers for almost ten minutes.

She wasn't overthinking it. She just didn't feel like hearing some dumb comment about how she wore the same shirt every time. Not that she cared what Mindy said — Mindy had zero taste and even less room to talk — but still. It wasn't about the top. It was just... the principle.

She grabbed a black crop top. Put it on. Looked at herself. Took it off.

Not because she didn't like it. She just didn't feel like dealing with it right now.

Tried something else. Looked fine. Took it off again.

God.

She tugged her hair into a loose ponytail, held it there for a second, then let it fall. Stared at herself in the mirror. Walked away. Came back. Tried on the black again. Threw it on the bed.

Her phone buzzed. Again.

The group chat was full-blown chaos now — Mindy sending voice notes nobody asked for, Chad trying to be funny and failing, Anika suggesting shots before they even left the dorm. Tara rolled her eyes. She opened the chat, typed something halfway, deleted it, then checked her lockscreen out of habit.

And of course, your name was sitting right there. With another voice note. Two, actually.

She played the first one, not because she wanted to hear it, but because it auto-played when she tapped it. That's what she told herself anyway. Not like she was listening. Not like she replayed it when it cut off halfway through because she didn't have her volume up.

She didn't even laugh. Not really. Just that weird half-smirk thing she did when she was trying not to give anyone credit for being funny.

Whatever.

She tossed her phone across the bed and sat down next to it with a dramatic flop she'd never admit was on purpose. Let her head fall back. Closed her eyes.

This wasn't her being weird. It was just her getting in the right headspace. That's all. Normal pre-party stuff. Not dread. Not anything serious. Just the kind of minor, manageable irritation that came with the territory.

People were going to be annoying. The room was going to be too hot. Someone was going to spill beer on her shoes again. And yeah, maybe you'd be there, being loud and smug and pretending like you didn't love hearing your own voice. But so what? Tara could handle that.

She always handled that.

And if she didn't, it wasn't like anyone noticed.

She'd gotten good at that — at faking it. At keeping it light. Whatever the opposite of spiraling was, that's what she did in public. Kept things casual. Played it off. Made the right faces. Said the right things. The trick was not to stop moving. Not to let people look for too long. Not to give anyone time to ask questions.

And if something slipped — if her voice cracked, if her hands shook — well, that's what alcohol was for.

It made things easier. Smoother. People didn't ask why you were acting weird if you were drinking. They just laughed and passed the bottle and told you to take another one. And Tara? Tara could always take another one.

She never had to explain anything if she was drunk.

It was a cover. A convenient excuse. And sometimes, yeah, it worked a little too well — like when she woke up still in her jeans or couldn't remember who had walked her home. But that was part of the deal. Part of the plan. She'd rather feel nothing at all than have it spill.

She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, and rubbed her hands over her face.

Tonight wouldn't be different. It wasn't going to be some dramatic thing. Just another night where she drank enough to not think too hard. Just enough to laugh too loud and say something kind of mean and not care if you looked at her like you wanted to say something back.

Just another night. Same as always.

That's what she told herself as she pulled on her jacket and stepped out into the dark. She didn't rush. Didn't think too hard about it. The door clicked shut behind her, and for a second, she just stood there, her hands buried in her pockets, the quiet pressing in from all sides. Not a calm kind of quiet — not peaceful — more like the kind that made her feel too aware of everything. Her breath. Her pulse. The buzz in her ears that hadn't gone away since last week.

She started walking.

The streets were mostly empty. A few cars passed. Somewhere in the distance, someone was laughing way too loud, maybe already drunk. She didn't look. Just kept moving. It was muscle memory at this point — her feet knew where to go, even if her mind wasn't really in it yet.

She used to put music on for walks like this. Something loud, something fast. Something to drown things out. But now she didn't bother. Now she liked the silence better. Or maybe she just didn't want to give herself the chance to start assigning meaning to lyrics again. She hated when she did that. It made everything feel too obvious.

So she walked in silence. Past the same corner store, the same flickering streetlamp, the same crooked fence that probably still hadn't been fixed. Her fingers itched for a cigarette even though she didn't smoke. She was just used to the image — used to pretending she was the kind of person who'd do that. Careless. Detached. In control.

By the time she turned onto the right block, she could already hear the music. Not loud enough to be annoying yet. Just enough to feel like a warning. Like a reminder of what came next.

She didn't slow down.

The house wasn't far. Just a few blocks down — she could already hear the thump of music by the time she reached the corner. That same playlist they always used. That same vibrating bassline that never quite matched the beat. Someone had left the front door cracked open, and warm air hit her in the face the second she stepped inside, carrying with it a wave of voices, sweat, perfume, and cheap alcohol.

Same as always.

She didn't stop at the entrance. Didn't hesitate. She shoved her hands in her pockets and headed straight for the back — toward the kitchen, toward the glass sliding door with the broken lock, toward the corner that had somehow, over time, become theirs.

Mindy spotted her first.

"Tara!" she shouted, like they hadn't spoken that morning, already tipsy and holding a Solo cup with something suspiciously pink inside. She lunged in for a hug Tara barely returned, then immediately started talking about something she didn't really understand. Chad followed, grinning wide and already pulling her into one of those awkward side-hugs he gave everyone, like he was too big to fully aim.

And then there was you.

You leaned back against the counter like you owned it, one eyebrow raised, drink in hand. You didn't even say hi at first. Just let your gaze drag up and down her outfit — slow, deliberately unimpressed — before you spoke.

"Wow," you said. "She changed out of the hoodie. What's the occasion? You get drafted?"

Tara blinked once. "Wow," she repeated, tone deadpan. "That was almost funny. You've been practicing, huh?"

Mindy laughed. You grinned. Chad muttered something about not starting again.

But it was too late. The ritual had begun.

Tara took the drink Mindy offered, clinked it lightly against yours in some mock toast, and took a long sip without breaking eye contact. It tasted like something toxic, but she didn't flinch.

The circle closed around her again, just like it always did — warm, messy, loud, familiar. Anika slid in beside her and started complaining about the DJ. Mindy was yelling about rules for flip cup that no one asked for. Chad had already disappeared, probably looking for food. And you... you stayed exactly where you were, always within arm's reach, always with something to say.

It felt normal.

Same as every other night. Same drink in her hand. Same laughter around her. Same practiced smile on her face, tight but believable. And if she stayed moving, stayed distracted, stayed loud enough or quiet enough or just enough of something — then no one noticed anything at all. Not even you. Who noticed everything.

Anika was halfway through telling the story — apparently Chad had knocked over a whole drink onto the stereo setup earlier, and they all thought the music was going to short out and ruin the night. Mindy kept cutting in to dramatize it, claiming Chad had "shrieked like a toddler," and Chad, who was now camped out by the snacks, shouted back through a mouthful of chips that it wasn't that loud.

You half-listened, swirling the last of your drink around in the cup. Your focus kept drifting back to Tara, who had slouched into the armchair next to you without much enthusiasm, tapping the bottom of her cup against her knee like she was counting down the minutes until she could leave.

"Yeah, you missed it," you said finally, tossing it casually in her direction. "You took so long getting here we were about to send out a search party."

Tara didn't answer right away. She shifted a little in her seat, tapping her cup once more, before muttering, "Sorry people have other shit to do besides drink themselves stupid."

You smirked at the sharpness in her tone. That was the thing about Tara — she always bit back, even when it only made it worse for her.

"And here I thought you were just busy picking out an outfit," you said, resting your elbow lazily against the back of the couch. "Took you forever and you're still the worst dressed one here."

Mindy barely looked up from her phone. "Okay, but to be fair, Y/N would say that no matter what she wore."

You clicked your tongue like you were hurt, but Tara beat you to it, lifting her cup and aiming a lazy smile at Mindy.

"At least someone around here has taste," she said, clinking her drink lightly in Mindy's direction.

You eyed Tara's outfit again — black jeans, black top, black jacket. Somehow three different shades.

"Taste?" you echoed, eyebrows lifting. "You're wearing two different blacks right now. You look like a printer error."

Tara exhaled through her nose — not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. "Right, because I should take fashion advice from someone who thinks jean shorts are business casual."

The reaction from the group was instant — a few low laughs, Mindy muttering something under her breath you didn't catch. Tara just shook her head like she was so done, but you could see the slight twitch at the corner of her mouth, like she was holding back a smile she didn't want to give you.

Still, she couldn't leave it alone. She never could.

"You know what?" you said, straightening up like you'd just remembered something crucial. "At least I show up on time. Not everyone's gotta wait around pretending to enjoy freshmen karaoke because someone can't figure out how to use Google Maps."

That one hit — a few more chuckles around the room. Tara narrowed her eyes, shifting forward in her seat.

"It's a five-minute walk," she said, her voice dripping with disbelief. "Even you could find your way here, and you still get lost inside a Target."

You gasped like it was an outrage, slapping a hand to your chest. "Oh my god. I got lost one time."

"Three times," Anika corrected, not even looking up from the cup she was fiddling with.

You turned your betrayal onto her with a dramatic glare. "That's because Target is a maze. They do it on purpose. Like a trap.”

Tara was already leaning back, tipping her head against the wall like she was exhausted by your stupidity. "You're just dumb," she said sweetly, smiling over the rim of her cup.

You smiled wider, teeth and all, like you had been waiting for it.

"Yeah?" you said. "You got an F in Health class, Tara. You're basically a public hazard."

It was immediate — a loud snort from Mindy, Anika covering her mouth in a poor attempt to hide her laugh. Tara, for once, didn't have anything fast enough to say back. She just gave you a look — all narrowed eyes and simmering annoyance — and took a long, deliberate sip of her drink instead.

You leaned back into the couch, pleased, letting the laughter fade around you. Tara was still glaring at you from behind her cup, and you shot her a wink just to twist the knife a little deeper.

Like always — you got the last word. And like always — she hated you for it. God, she hated you.

She hated the way you acted like you didn't care, like nothing ever touched you. She hated the way you could tear her apart without even raising your voice, how you never got rattled no matter how hard she tried to knock you off balance. How you smiled at her like you liked seeing her lose.

She hated your mouth — sharp and quick and always moving — and the way you dressed, like you didn't even try but still somehow won. Tight black tube top stretched over your chest, low-slung jeans clinging just right, a little messy, a little dangerous, a lot hotter than she could stand to admit.

Tara let her gaze slide sideways, just for a second. You were leaning back against the kitchen counter now, a red solo cup dangling carelessly from your fingers, grinning lazily, legs crossed at the ankle like you couldn't have been more at home. The hem of your jeans was frayed, the belt slung low across your hips, the sharp lines of your body slouching there like it wasn't killing her.

You looked like every bad decision she had ever barely survived. And you knew it.

Tara took another long sip of her drink, swallowing down the burn. She told herself she was just annoyed — just irritated by you — that the flush creeping up the back of her neck was from the alcohol, not from the way you kept laughing, easy and bright, with everyone except her.

Not because you looked good.

Not because you made her want something she was supposed to hate.

She tapped her cup against the edge of the counter again, harder this time, trying to shake it off.

Trying to ignore the way you shifted your weight, the way the band of your belt caught the low light, the sharp gleam in your eye every time you caught her looking.

God, she hated you. And if she didn't, she was going to have to start lying a whole lot harder.

Tara cracked an eye open at the sound, her gaze dragging over you — slow, irritated, and just a little too heavy. She could already feel the alcohol blooming hot under her skin, prickling at the back of her neck, tightening in her chest like it wanted to crawl out. Definitely more than she usually drank. Way more.

But what was she supposed to do? Stand here stone-cold sober while you — in all your smug, infuriating glory — kept shooting her that half-smile like you knew you were winning just by existing?

No chance.

She shifted her weight, letting her shoulder knock loosely against the cabinet behind her, and took another sip even though she didn't want it. The liquor was starting to taste stale. Bitter. And it still wasn't working. Still wasn't shutting off the sharp, gnawing awareness of you — standing there way too close, belt catching the light, black tube top doing absolutely nothing to not make her night worse.

She blamed the red in your eyes on the alcohol too. Had to. Because the alternative — that you were already three steps ahead of her, soft and glassy and loose-limbed and still managing to make her look like the idiot — was something she wasn't about to deal with tonight.

You caught her looking again. Of course you did. You tilted your head just slightly, a silent challenge, your fingers toying lazily with the rim of your cup.

"Just you and me then, princess," you said, smirking around the rim of your cup.

Tara scoffed, hard, eyes narrowing. "Don't call me that."

You blinked innocently. "No? What about...Pissy Missy?"

She made a face like she just swallowed something sour. "Worse."

You grinned wider, pushing off the counter to face her more fully. "Snappy?"

She shot you a look that could've cut glass. "Try again and I'm breaking your nose."

You lifted your free hand, pretending to think it over, pretending to take it seriously. "Mmm... Crankzilla?"

"Jesus Christ," she muttered under her breath, rubbing her temples like the very sound of your voice was giving her a migraine.

You pushed yourself up onto the counter with a little hop, drink sloshing slightly in your hand but somehow you didn't spill a drop. You perched there like you owned the whole damn room, legs swinging loosely, head tilted just enough to seem amused, still grinning, refusing to let up. "Tantrum Tot?"

Tara let out a short, humorless laugh. "You are the last person who's allowed to call me that."

Your smile turned sly. You leaned in just a little — enough to make it annoying, enough to make it clear you were doing it on purpose. "Mean Bean?"

Tara actually recoiled like you'd slapped her. "I will literally throw you out the window."

You laughed under your breath, couldn't help it. "So that's a no?"

She shook her head, looking half-ready to murder you, half-ready to laugh. She wasn't sure if it was the alcohol making everything feel looser around the edges — the thrum in her veins, the heat crawling up her neck — or just you being a stubborn, smug little shit, the way you always were.

You looked at her, feigning disappointment. "Guess I'll just stick to 'princess.' You seemed to like that one the best."

She let out a sharp, disbelieving breath — not quite a laugh, not quite a groan — and nudged your knee with her hand as she stepped past you to grab another drink. "God, you're insufferable."

But her mouth twitched at the corner when she said it. Just barely.

And you caught it.

Of course you did.

Your eyebrows lifted, slow and smug, and you tipped your cup toward her like a lazy kind of toast before taking a sip — dragging it out just enough to make sure she noticed.

Tara rolled her eyes, whipping her head to the side like she could physically shake you out of her sight. But it was too late — you'd already seen it.

The tiny, reluctant pull of a smile at the corner of her mouth. Like she hated you, God, she hated you — but sometimes you were just... so stupid, it scraped a laugh out of her before she could stop it.

Not a full laugh — just a quick breath through her nose, a barely-there twist of her mouth — but enough to make you catch it.

And enough to make your smirk deepen.

You leaned back against the counter a little more comfortably, soaking it in, almost like you were proud of yourself for chipping away at her.

Which, of course, you were.

The room around you buzzed louder — people laughing, shot glasses clinking together somewhere across the kitchen. You turned your head lazily toward the noise, watching as a group gathered by the kitchen island, shouting numbers and already spilling cheap liquor across the counters.

Your gaze shifted back to Tara, a lazy spark lighting behind your eyes.

"Let's take a shot," you said, voice low and smooth, like you were suggesting something way worse.

Tara blinked at you, like she genuinely thought she had misheard. "What?"

You shrugged one shoulder, your smirk never dropping.

"Scared you can't keep up?"

This time, the laugh actually escaped her — a short, incredulous sound, almost more like a scoff.

"You wish," she said, shooting you a look so sharp it could've taken your head off if you were standing any closer.

You pushed off the counter, setting your drink down without a second thought, already moving toward the mess of bottles and half-filled glasses at the island.

You didn't even have to look back — you could feel her eyes burning into your back, feel the weight of her decision hanging thick in the air.

For a second, you thought maybe she was going to be stubborn — dig her heels in and refuse, just to spite you. But when you slowed up near the table, pretending like you hadn't even noticed she hadn't followed yet, you heard her exhale sharply.

You didn't have to look to know she was giving in.

You grabbed two shot glasses from the cluttered island, ignoring how sticky the counter had gotten, and poured quickly — a lazy, messy hand on the bottle.

You very obviously tipped a little more into hers, the clear liquid sloshing closer to the rim, before sliding it across the counter toward her spot without a word.

Tara caught it, narrowing her eyes immediately — but she didn't say anything. She just adjusted her grip like she was already planning how to get you back later.

You grinned, picking up your own glass, and tilted it toward her expectantly.

"C'mon," you said, nudging the rim of yours toward hers. "Don't be rude."

She rolled her eyes but lifted hers too, clearly ready to just get this over with — but you didn't let it stay casual.

You smacked the two glasses together a little harder than you should have, enough that a splash of alcohol flew up and splattered across her hand and wrist.

"Asshole," she laughed — real this time, but quick and rough like she didn't mean to let it out — wiping her hand absently on the side of her skirt.

You shrugged, pretending like it hadn't been on purpose at all, and tipped your glass up.

Tara followed a beat later.

The tequila hit her tongue hot — too hot.

Not the smooth burn she was used to — the kind that melted into your chest and stayed there — but something sharper, harsher, like her whole mouth dried up at once and she was still somehow drowning.

She squeezed her eyes shut as she swallowed it, scrunching her nose instinctively after.

She'd taken shots a hundred times before. But right now, it felt... different.

Maybe it was the amount she'd already had tonight — more than she usually would've touched.

Or maybe it was the way the room spun a little when she tipped her head back down, how everything felt just slightly off-balance, like the floor under her feet was shifting.

Or maybe, just maybe, it was the fact that you were standing there, cocky and stupid and smirking at her like you knew she was going to keep saying yes to every little thing you dared her to do.

Maybe it was that.

Either way — she wasn't about to let you win again.

You were already reaching for the bottle again, tipping it over both your glasses without even asking.

You didn't even look at her — just poured like it was obvious she was going to stay.

Tara moved automatically at first, grabbing her glass to pull it away — but she hesitated halfway through. Her fingers tightened around the rim instead, her mouth tightening too, like she couldn't believe she was actually doing this.

She was shotting with you. Standing next to you — just you — out of her own free will.

Nobody forcing her, nobody dragging her by the wrist, nobody making a joke or daring her into it.

She could have walked away fifteen minutes ago. Hell, she could have never said yes in the first place. But here she was.

And the worst part — the part that made her want to throw the shot straight in your face — was that it didn't even feel completely insufferable.

It should have. God, it should have.

Instead, there was a lightness to it. A weird, easy kind of tension that didn't make her want to throw a punch — not really. Just... knock your stupid smirk off your face a little.

You caught her staring, of course — because you always caught everything — and shot her a look like you were already laughing at her inside your head.

You smirked wider, raised your glass, and clinked it against hers again.

"Cheers, princess," you said, all slow and mocking.

Tara narrowed her eyes — but when you both tipped your heads back and took the second shot, she was smiling.

She hated it.

But she smiled anyway.

The first shot was already starting to hum under her skin — or maybe it was the second, she didn't know. She told herself that was why she was still standing there with you. Why she hadn't already shoved past you and disappeared into the crowd.

It wasn't because it felt good — leaning there, beside you, the air crackling faintly between your arms whenever you shifted too close. It wasn't because of the way you kept glancing at her, like you were waiting for her to crack first.

It wasn't because the tiny part of her — the tiny, traitorous part — kind of liked it.

No.

It was just the alcohol.

That's what she decided as she placed her empty shot glass back down, a little too hard.

That's what she decided when her head swayed slightly, and the room tipped for a second too long before steadying.

When the blurry edges of the world made it easier not to think too hard about anything.

You were leaning your hip lazily against the edge of the folding table now, one foot hooked behind the other, like you didn't have a single worry in the world. One hand still cradling your drink, the other tapping a slow, easy rhythm against your thigh.

You were too relaxed.

Too comfortable.

Like standing next to her wasn't supposed to be the most aggravating part of your night.

It made her jaw clench — and at the same time, her stomach twist in a way she didn't really want to name.

She didn't realize she was staring until you turned your head, catching her again — always catching her — and cocked your eyebrow slightly, like you could read every thought she hadn't even figured out herself yet.

You didn't say anything for a second — just kept leaning there, easy and casual, like you didn't notice the way she was barely keeping herself upright. But then your smirk deepened a little, sharp and taunting.

"Want to dance?"you said, tipping your head toward the living room, where the music was still loud and heavy.

Tara almost laughed in your face.

Almost.

But the alcohol made the floor feel softer under her sneakers.

It made the flicker of lights around the room seem farther away, easier to ignore. And it made the idea of saying no — of staying here while you went off and smiled at someone else — feel unbearable.

So she rolled her eyes, muttered something under her breath that sounded a lot like "fuck you," and shoved off the table to follow.

The bass was pounding when you reached the middle of the room, people already packed tight enough that there wasn't really much space to move properly.

You didn't seem to care. You just spun around to face her, stepping backward into the crowd and waiting, daring her, with a tilt of your head.

Tara hesitated — but only for half a second.

Because fuck it. It was just dancing.

And it was definitely just the alcohol making her heart trip when your hand brushed lightly against her wrist.

You didn't grab her. You didn't even really touch her again.

You just started moving, lazy and easy, like you knew she was going to fall in step with you eventually.

And the worst part — the part that made Tara want to rip the stupid black tube top off your body — was that she did.

The music was loud enough to drown everything else out.

The lights blurred. The people around you blurred. And suddenly it was just you.

The way you moved. The way your jeans clung low on your hips. The flash of your belt buckle when you twisted just right. The way your shirt stretched tight across your stomach, showing off every sharp line of you.

Tara's mouth went dry. And just like that, the anger was back.

Because of course this was happening. Of course the second she let her guard down for half a second, you had to go and be hot.

She blamed the alcohol. She blamed the shitty lighting. She blamed the way the air felt sticky and electric. She blamed everything — except herself.

Because there was no fucking way she was actually starting to want you.

Tara moved half a beat off from you, just enough to look casual — just enough to hide the way her eyes kept flickering up, catching on you every other second.

The lights kept shifting overhead, blurring everything in flashes of purple and red, but somehow you stayed sharp.

The slope of your neck when you tossed your head back, laughing at something someone said behind you.

The way your shirt bunched and stretched with every shift of your hips.

The way your fingers hooked lazily through your belt loops, casual, cocky, like you owned the whole fucking room.

It all felt like slow motion.

Too vivid. Too loud inside her own head.

Tara gritted her teeth and forced herself to move, let the music drag her along so she didn't freeze up completely.

Because she could not let you catch her staring. She could not give you that satisfaction.

But even as she danced — even as she made herself sway to the pounding bass — her hands curled into fists at her sides.

She wanted to slap herself across the face. Or better — slap you.

Because you weren't even doing anything. You were just existing — just breathing and smiling and moving like you didn't have a single thought in your stupid, pretty head — and it was wrecking her.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fucking fair that you could get under her skin like this without even trying.

And it made her furious.

Furious that she couldn't look away.

Furious that you looked so good under the lights, all effortless and smug and just a little wild.

Furious that her pulse stuttered every time you shifted closer.

Furious that a tiny, traitorous part of her — deep, deep down — almost didn't hate it.

Of course this was happening. Of course it was.

It wasn't like she hadn't seen it coming — not really. Not with the way you hovered around the edges of her life now, like a bad habit she couldn't kick. Not with the way the bickering had started sounding less like hatred and more like a language only the two of you spoke.

But this — this heat licking up her spine every time you so much as shifted in her direction —

This wasn't supposed to happen.

It couldn't happen.

Not when she hated you.

Not when she'd spent months convincing herself you were a mistake — a fluke — an accident she was smarter than to repeat.

You were cocky. You were smug.

You were a walking disaster, and you didn't even try to hide it.

You made her want to scream into her pillow and punch holes through walls and maybe — maybe —pull you closer by your stupid shirt and kiss you until she forgot how much she hated you.

And that was exactly the problem.

Because if there was even the smallest chance she could want you — even for a second —even with the alcohol burning through her bloodstream and the lights spinning overhead —then everything she thought she knew about you — about herself —was a lie.

And Tara Carpenter didn't lose.

She didn't fold.

She didn't want things she wasn't supposed to want.

Especially not you.

Her head buzzed — heavy and slow — like she was moving a few beats behind everything else. Every noise — every shout, every laugh, every thud of bass — felt a little too loud, rattling inside her skull like a marble in a glass jar. She blinked hard, trying to clear the static clouding her brain, but it only made the lights streak across her vision worse.

She caught herself swaying a little where she stood, the floor tilting under her feet, and scowled hard at nothing.

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides — like maybe she could squeeze the dizziness out of herself if she tried hard enough.

Great.

Exactly what she needed.

As if this wasn't already a fucking disaster.

The music thumped louder, vibrating up through the soles of her shoes, knocking against her ribs like a second heartbeat. Someone bumped into her shoulder, laughing, a drink sloshing over their hand, and Tara barely managed not to stumble sideways.

She realized she wasn't even really dancing anymore — just standing there, stuck, her pulse pounding too close to the surface, her breath coming quicker than she wanted.

Everything felt too hot. Too close. Too slow and too fast all at once. She needed to move.

She needed to get away from you — your stupid mouth and your stupid smirk and your stupid eyes.

Without thinking, she spun on her heel and pushed away from the crowd, her boots scraping hard against the sticky floor.

The bodies around her blurred together, all sweat-slick skin and flashing lights. She shoved her way through without caring, elbowing past groups hunched over drinks, sidestepping half-hearted apologies she barely heard.

The smell of cheap liquor and something burnt clung to the air, thick enough to choke on. Every step felt heavier than the last, like her boots were sinking into the floor, dragging her down.

She squinted through the chaos, trying to find somewhere — anywhere — less suffocating, her hands flexing uselessly at her sides.

Her eyes caught on a worn-out couch shoved against the wall, sagging in the middle, a mess of abandoned jackets and empty cups piled onto one side. It was barely any quieter over there — the music still thudding through the walls — but it was better than standing around like an idiot.

She stumbled her way toward it, weaving through the crowd, her shoulder clipping someone's arm without so much as a sorry. By the time she dropped onto the couch, the seat gave a tired creak under her weight, and she let herself slump back — her legs sprawling.

She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, willing the dizziness to settle, the roaring in her ears to die down.

The world kept tilting anyway.

She hated this.

Hated the way the night felt like it was slipping out of her hands.

Hated the heat clinging to her skin.

Hated you for making it worse without even trying.

She didn't even hear you approach — not at first.

But she felt it — the shift in the air, the invisible pull of you stepping closer.

That same stupid electricity sparking just from you being near.

Tara gritted her teeth, dropping her hands back onto her knees like she hadn't noticed anything at all. Like you weren't already there, lingering behind her, all smug and cocky and impossible to ignore.

She barely had time to slump back before you caught up, dropping down onto the couch beside her like you belonged there.

Your voice was low and stupidly smug in her ear.

"What's wrong? Can't keep up?"

Tara flipped you off over her shoulder without even bothering to look at you.

The motion was sloppy — her middle finger wobbling a little in the air — and she hated how you immediately laughed under your breath like you thought it was cute.

She scowled harder at the wall in front of her.

God. She hated this.

You didn't let up, of course.

You just shifted lazily closer, sprawling back like you had all the time in the world, your knee knocking against hers.

"What," you teased, voice low and impossible to ignore, "not used to anything outside of Beethoven?"

Tara whipped her head toward you — or tried to — but the whole room lurched sideways and she had to slam a hand down on the seat cushion to steady herself.

You laughed — actually laughed — and it was so stupid and smug that Tara couldn't help it.

A tiny, treacherous snort escaped out of her before she could stop it.

She immediately clamped her lips together, furious at herself — but it was too late.

You'd definitely heard it.

And worse, you were already grinning like you'd just won some invisible game she didn't even realize she was playing.

Tara cracked her eyes open again — a mistake — and immediately caught you staring right back at her.

Her chest tightened, too hot under her skin, and she tried to look away — but it was already too late.

Your eyes locked.

The air between you stretched tight — tight enough to snap — and Tara felt her own gaze flicker down, stupid and uncontrollable.

Straight to your mouth.

God, your lips were glossy — pink and wet under the shitty lights — and she hated that she noticed.

Hated the way the thought hit her like a punch:

That she could just lean over and kiss you.

That she could wipe that stupid fucking smirk right off your face with her mouth.

The thought should have mortified her.

Instead, it just burned — angry and wild, crackling in her chest like static.

She didn't chase the thought away. She didn't even try. She just sat there, letting it ruin her, letting it make her crazy.

Because it wasn't like you could hear what was happening in her head.

It wasn't like you knew.

But then you spoke — low, lazy, almost bored — and she realized you absolutely knew.

"Wanna make out?" you said.

The words weren't even really a question — more like a taunt — sliding off your tongue slow and smooth, like you already knew the answer.

Tara's whole body locked up at once.

Her fists clenched hard against her thighs.

Her heart slammed against her ribs like it was trying to break out.

She stared at you, open-mouthed, furious —

Furious at you, at herself, at the alcohol humming thick under her skin.

And the worst part — the absolute worst fucking part —was that her first instinct wasn't to say no.

It was to say yes.

And that terrified her more than anything else.

Because it wasn't just the alcohol talking.

Not just the warmth in her chest or the slow spin of the room.

It was the way the air felt heavy around her, the way your knee brushed against hers on the couch and she didn't pull away. The way her eyes kept dragging to your mouth and how she couldn't, for the life of her, seem to stop.

Her thoughts were sticky and slow, crawling through her head like syrup.

Everything around her — the voices, the music, the clatter of cups and laughter from the next room — had started to melt together, one indistinct blur of sound.

But you?

You were sharp. Clear. The only thing not spinning. And that pissed her off.

Because you weren't supposed to look like that — not here, not now.

You weren't supposed to be this version of yourself.

Not flushed and grinning and leaning back on someone else's couch like it belonged to you.

Not with those fucking glossy lips and the heat in your eyes and that low, teasing voice that kept sliding under her skin like it knew how to get there.

You looked good.

Too good.

Not in the annoying, arrogant way she was used to seeing you at school — mouthing off in class, flashing smug looks from across the cafeteria like you knew everything.

Now, in this lighting — under the soft yellow bulbs and the flicker of whatever movie someone had left playing in the background — you looked warm.

Inviting.

Your shirt slightly rumpled from dancing, your lashes casting shadows on your cheeks when you blinked.

And your mouth.

God, your mouth.

Tara's eyes flicked to your lips before she could stop them, catching the faint sheen of gloss that hadn't completely worn off yet.

She wanted to blame the shot.

Both of them.

The burn still lingering in her throat, the warmth still spreading in her chest.

She felt high.

Not drunk — high.

The kind of high that made her limbs feel light and disconnected, her fingers slightly numb where they fidgeted in her lap.

She felt like if she moved too fast, her body would tip right off the edge of the world.

And you had the audacity to say it like it meant nothing — like you hadn't just thrown a live wire into her already scrambled brain.

Like it was funny.

Like it wasn't about to ruin everything.

She froze — only for a second — but it felt longer than that.

Long enough for her brain to scramble for something.

Some reason, some excuse, any explanation that didn't end with her admitting what she was actually thinking.

None of it will matter tomorrow.

You're drunk. She's drunk.

This isn't real.

You wouldn't even say something like that if you were sober.

So she didn't have to take it seriously.

She didn't have to mean it.

She let her head fall back against the couch — the real kind of surrender — and turned it lazily to the side so she could look at you without making it obvious.

You were already watching her.

Her gaze dropped again, and this time, she didn't pretend it was an accident.

Your lips looked soft.

Mocking.

Like they were daring her.

And for just a second, she imagined what it'd be like to shut you up with a kiss.

Hard.

Fast.

Just to wipe that look off your face.

The thought made her stomach flip.

It made her angry, how easily her mind went there.

But you weren't going to hear those thoughts.

So what did it matter?

Her lips curled before she could stop them — a slow, crooked smirk — and she finally gave in.

"Sure," she said, her voice low and dry.

Your eyebrows ticked up, just slightly.

And then you leaned in, already smiling like you knew.

Tara barely had a second to breathe.

Your face was suddenly so close — the heat of you, the smell of your skin, some mix of alcohol and mint gum and whatever lotion you used.

Too close.

And then your mouth touched hers.

It was hesitant at first. Just a press. A test.

But it was warm — soft — and her breath caught in her throat.

You tilted your head just slightly, and her lips followed without thinking.

They parted for yours like they knew how.

The kiss deepened.

Slower than she expected.

Sloppy, yes — but controlled.

You kissed like you were making sure she felt it.

Every inch of it.

Tara's lips moved with yours, instinct kicking in where reason had checked out.

She shifted her weight, angling closer, and felt your hand graze her knee before sliding up to her hip, anchoring her there.

You adjusted, one elbow slipping up along the back of the couch — the actual term she was too drunk to think of — your fingers brushing her shoulder as you leaned in further.

It made your bodies press together in a way that sent sparks shooting down her spine.

She kissed you harder.

Or maybe you kissed her harder.

She didn't know anymore.

All she could feel was the warmth of your mouth — wet, slow, maddeningly soft — moving against hers.

It wasn't clean or careful.

It was messy.

Unsteady.

Like neither of you really knew where the rhythm started or ended, just that you didn't want to stop.

Your lips parted again, and she followed.

Breath hitched.

Tongues touched.

Tara's fingers dug into the edge of the couch cushion, her balance swaying between you and the seat, and she didn't care.

Your lips tasted like cheap liquor and something sweeter underneath.

Your teeth grazed her bottom lip and she inhaled sharp through her nose — just enough for you to notice — before kissing you again.

It was chaotic.

Uncoordinated.

Hot.

Her heart was hammering.

You kept kissing her like it was easy. Like you weren't even thinking about it.

And she couldn't stand how badly she wanted to keep going.

How her body leaned into yours like it needed to.

Every second of it was wrong.

Every second of it felt too good.

But Tara didn't pull away.

Not yet.

Your hand was still resting at her hip, light but grounding, and her fingers curled unconsciously against your leg, needing something solid to hold onto. Her lips moved against yours again — slower this time, deeper. Like she couldn't help it. Like the heat simmering in her chest had nowhere else to go.

She didn't even try to think anymore.

Didn't care.

Her thoughts were loud — messy, tangled, barely strung together.

She shouldn't be doing this.

She shouldn't want this.

But she did.

God, she did.

She kissed you harder, angling her head to the side, and you met her without hesitation — like you'd been waiting for that exact pressure, that exact urgency.

Her legs shifted against the couch, thighs tightening involuntarily as your hand brushed up her side — not even high, not even skin — and still it sent a jolt right through her.

She was drunk.

That had to be it.

It had to be.

Because she could feel it now.

Low in her stomach. Between her legs.

A slow, pulsing heat — the kind that wouldn't go away. That never just went away.

It was ridiculous.

So fucking ridiculous.

But you tasted good.

You felt good.

And when your lips dragged slightly down to the corner of her mouth — just enough to make her breath hitch — Tara realized she didn't just want to kiss you.

She wanted more.

Her mind raced.

Images flashing too fast to stop — her hands gripping your shirt, your mouth lower, your body under hers — and she wanted to shake herself.

Yell.

Do something.

But all she did was kiss you again. Again and again and again.

She could barely think, barely breathe, could feel herself pooling between her legs — warm, aching, needy in a way that made her want to scream.

It was humiliating. It was infuriating.

And it wasn't stopping.

You shifted slightly, pulling her closer without even trying — and Tara let you.

Let you kiss her like you owned her.

Let your tongue slide against hers with that same cocky rhythm.

She wanted to push you back.

Push you down. Pull your hair. Something. Anything.

Because she needed more.

Even if she couldn't say it.

Even if it killed her.

The thought alone made her dizzy.

Not the alcohol. Not the heat.

Just you.

You, sitting there like you hadn't just lit her whole body on fire.

You, staring at her with those eyes like you knew exactly what she wanted and how badly she wanted it.

And fuck — she hated that she couldn't hide it anymore.

Not with her lips swollen from yours, not with her chest rising too fast, not with that hungry, throbbing pull between her legs that wouldn't stop gnawing at her.

Her mind twisted in circles — a thousand reasons why she should stop, why she had to stop.

This wasn't her.

She didn't do this.

She didn't want this.

But that voice was buried now — drowned under the heat, the rush, the way her thighs squeezed together like they had a mind of their own.

The only thing louder than her thoughts was the ache.

She wanted to lean back in.

Wanted to taste your lip gloss again, to bite your bottom lip and hear you gasp.

Wanted to see just how far you'd let her take it.

Instead, her body moved on instinct.

Sharp. Sudden.

She pulled away — barely — lips parting from yours with a sound too soft for how hard her heart was beating.

She sat there for a second, just breathing.

Just staring.

Your eyes locked with hers, confused but already glinting with that same smugness you always had.

And still — she couldn't look away.

Her hand twitched. Fingers curled.

"Come on," she muttered — voice low, tight, like the words cost her something.

Then she grabbed your wrist.

Not rough. Not gentle.

Just determined.

You didn't say a word.

Didn't ask where you were going.

You just followed.

She pulled you through the crowd, heat and bass and sweat pressing in from every side.

Bodies crushed together — laughing, moving, swaying — and Tara didn't look at a single one of them.

She didn't care.

Didn't slow down.

Her grip on your hand tightened as she shoved through, weaving past shoulders and spilled drinks and sticky floors.

The music was louder now, the air thicker, and she could barely breathe — but she didn't stop.

Because you were still behind her. And your hand was still in hers. And she needed more.

Wherever this was going —

Whatever happened next —

She needed more.

And oh, did she get it.

She barely registered the room as she dragged you inside — the faint whir of a ceiling fan, the messy tangle of an unmade bed in the corner, a dresser with half-open drawers.

It didn't matter. None of it did.

The second the door clicked shut behind you, Tara's hands were on you again — shoving you back against it hard enough to rattle the frame.

You let out a breathy laugh — smirking — and Tara wanted to punch it off your face.

Or kiss it.

Apparently her body decided for her.

Because the next thing she knew, her mouth was on yours again, hot and rough and starving.

She felt you grin against her lips — cocky and pleased — and it made something furious and electric twist deep inside her.

She kissed you harder.

Sloppier.

Your bodies crashed together, uncoordinated and messy.

It was all teeth and heat, lips sliding and tugging, hands scrabbling for something to hold onto.

Tara barely remembered how to breathe.

Her hands fisted in the hem of your shirt, tugging you closer, feeling the way your body molded into hers.

You were warm — too warm — and the heady smell of you, your perfume and sweat and beer, filled her lungs until she was drunk off it.

Drunker than she already was.

You tilted your head, deepening the kiss, and Tara almost whimpered — feeling it all the way down to her knees.

The way your tongue brushed against hers, teasing, coaxing.

The way you bit down gently on her bottom lip, pulling it between your teeth for just a second before letting go.

Fuck.

She pressed her whole body against you, chasing the feeling, desperate to steal more.

And all she could think — all she could fucking think — was:

More.

More.

More.

Her hands moved before her brain could catch up — yanking at the hem of your shirt, dragging it upward in one rough pull.

You didn't resist — you even raised your arms to make it easier — and Tara barely tossed it somewhere across the room before her eyes dropped automatically, hungrily.

You were wearing a black bandeau bra — simple, tight, strapless. It hugged your chest perfectly, the curve of your breasts pressed up and together — smooth and effortless and unfairly fucking hot.

Tara stared for a second longer than she meant to, heat punching through her chest so sharp it almost hurt.

And then she was on you again.

Her hands framed your face, grabbing you roughly, and she crashed her mouth back onto yours like she could erase the thoughts racing through her head if she just kissed you hard enough.

You made a low sound in the back of your throat — something between a laugh and a moan — and suddenly, you started walking forward, guiding her with you.

Tara stumbled a step back, caught off-guard, but didn't think, didn't care — she just followed, letting herself be pulled wherever you wanted her.

It was messy, chaotic, bumping into furniture, nearly tripping over shoes left on the floor. The floor kept tilting under her feet, the alcohol swirling through her blood like fire.

But none of it mattered.

You didn't give her time to overthink.

Before she could fully process it, the back of her legs hit the edge of the bed —

And your fingers were already at the hem of her shirt, bunching it up and over her ribs.

Tara didn't move at first.

Didn't breathe.

She just let you.

Arms raising slightly, letting you peel the fabric up and off — another piece of herself surrendered without even a second thought.

Her head spun so violently it almost made her laugh.

And then your eyes flickered down — blatantly — lingering at her chest. Tara didn't even have time to brace for it.

She was wearing a black lace bra — something strappy, barely-there, a little too much push-up if she was being honest.

The way your gaze darkened made heat lick straight down her spine. You smirked, slow and lazy, like you had all the time in the world.

"Fancy, Carpenter," you murmured, voice low and teasing.

Tara opened her mouth — maybe to tell you to shut the fuck up — but then you tilted your head, grinning even wider.

"Did you pick this out just for me?"

Your hands slid up without warning — fingers tracing lightly over her ribs before cupping her breasts through the lace.

It wasn't even that rough, but it didn't have to be.

Tara almost moaned.

Almost.

Her knees went a little weak, her body flaring hot all over — and god, it pissed her off how easily you could get to her.

Instead of giving you the satisfaction of hearing her fall apart, she grabbed your face again — rough, desperate — and pulled you back into her.

"Don't remind me that you're you,” she growled into your mouth.

And then she kissed you — hard, messy, almost feral — her hands fisting tight in your hair like she needed something to hold onto just to keep herself grounded.

Tara kissed you like she was trying to knock the smugness right off your face — open-mouthed and clumsy and a little too desperate.

Your hands stayed right where she hated them — cupping, teasing — your thumbs brushing over the lace in a way that made her hips stutter forward without meaning to.

And somewhere in the swirling, drunken haze of it all, Tara had the fleeting, stupid thought that maybe she regretted what she said. Because doing this — this — with you didn't make her hate you more.

It made it hotter.

Made her want to crawl out of her own skin.

Before she could sink too deep into that terrifying realization, your hands slid down to her waist — gripping tight — and without warning, you pushed.

Tara stumbled backward with a sharp gasp, the backs of her knees hitting the bed.

She let herself fall — dropping onto the mattress with a bounce — glaring up at you like she wanted to murder you and kiss you at the same time.

You just smirked down at her, maddeningly calm, stepping in even closer. Your knees bumped against the edge of the bed, and for half a second, neither of you moved — the air thick between you, your breathing ragged and shallow.

And then — slowly, lazily — Tara spread her legs apart, leaving just enough space for you to step between.

She tilted her head back against the bed, looking up at you with dark, furious eyes — like she was daring you to fucking do something about it. Tara could already feel herself slipping.

Her thighs tensed where they framed your hips, her chest heaving with every shallow breath.

She didn't know what it was — the alcohol, the heat, you — but she needed something.

Needed you to move, to touch her, to do something.

If that meant bending her over and fucking her until she forgot her own name, then so be it.

She didn't care. She just needed it.

Her whole body ached with it — restless, buzzing, desperate — and she barely lasted ten seconds under the weight of your stare before her patience snapped clean in half.

"Are you just going to stand there fucking stare," she snarled, her voice low and wrecked, "or are you going to fuck me?"

Tara propped herself up on her elbows like it might make her look tougher —like it might somehow hide how desperate she was underneath all the glaring.

Your mouth fell open slightly at her words, caught somewhere between a smirk and actual shock —like you hadn't expected her to say it out loud.

You let your gaze rake down her body, slow and lazy, and when you looked back up at her, your smile was downright cruel.

"Wow," you said, voice dripping with mock-sweetness. "Someone's needy, huh?"

You leaned in, one hand bracing on the bed beside her hip, your mouth just barely brushing her ear.

"Poor little princess," you whispered. "Should I help you out?"

Tara muttered a "fuck you"under her breath — something sharp and furious— but her hands were already moving.

Shaky, rushed, desperate.

She grabbed at your belt first, fumbling with the buckle like it personally offended her, her fingers clumsy with alcohol and want. She yanked it loose hard enough to make the metal clatter, then popped open the button of your jeans, dragging the zipper down in one rough pull.

And fuck, there it was — hard and heavy against the fabric, clear as fucking day.

The sight made her head spin worse, made something low and tight pull deep in her stomach, but she didn't let herself stop to think about it — not even for a second. She shoved at your jeans until you stepped out of them, until they hit the floor with a messy thud.

Her heart thundered, wild and wrecked against her ribs, but she didn't move away — not yet.

Her hands hovered there for half a second, like she was caught between hating herself and wanting you more than she'd ever wanted anything.

Tara's mouth actually watered — hot and heavy and shameful — and she clenched her jaw tight like that could somehow make it stop.

Before she could even think about it, you were already moving again — your hands sliding down her sides, gripping tight at her hips. And then you were tugging at her skirt, so much easier than the fight she'd had with your jeans.

All it took was a little lift of her hips, and the fabric slid right off, pooling somewhere forgotten at the edge of the bed.

And fuck — she was wet.

She knew it.

You probably knew it too.

The thin black lace of her panties — delicate and stretched tight over her — left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Tiny little bows sat at each hip, the material riding low enough to make her look even more wrecked than she already was.

Your eyes dragged down her body slowly, like you were memorizing every goddamn inch.

And Tara, stubborn as ever, tilted her chin up — like she wasn't seconds away from begging you to touch her already. You didn't even hesitate.

Your fingers hooked into the delicate black lace at her hips and tugged, slow and deliberate, dragging the soaked fabric down her thighs. Tara didn't move at first — didn't even breathe — but the second they were off, she let her head fall back against the bed, her elbows still propping her up, gaze tilting up toward the ceiling.

The room spun around her, thick and heavy and slow, but she didn't care.

Not when she could hear the faint shuffle of you undressing too, stripping off that last piece of clothing between you.

She didn't even have to look to know you were naked now.

She felt it — the heat rolling off your body, the slow, deliberate weight of your gaze dragging across every inch of her.

Her chest rose and fell fast, uneven.

Her thighs pressed together for just a second — instinctive — but then she forced herself to relax them again, stubborn even now.

Waiting for you to make your move.

You still weren't doing anything.

You were just standing there, hovering over her, like you had all the time in the world — and it made her insane.

Tara threw her head up from the bed, snapping in a wrecked, furious voice, "God, could you be any slower?"

But she barely had the words out before you finally pushed into her.

Her breath punched out in a strangled, desperate moan, her head falling back again, slamming lightly against the mattress.

Her bare legs immediately wrapped themselves around your waist, locking you in place, like she couldn't stand the thought of you pulling away even for a second.

"Fuck," she gasped, low and broken, her voice raspy from how much she needed this — from how much she hated how good you felt inside her.

Without thinking, she tried to grind up into you, desperate for more, desperate to chase the dizzying pleasure curling in her stomach —but your hands clamped down on her hips, hard enough to bruise, forcing her to stop.

You didn't let her set the pace. You didn't even let her move.

You held her exactly where you wanted her — then shoved her hips deeper against yours, guiding her exactly how you wanted it: hard, rough, relentless.

Pushing her into you, dragging her back, pushing her forward again — over and over, like you were using her body to fuck yourself, like she wasn't even given a choice.

And God, it was good.

Every drag, every thrust was blinding —

Tara could feel you everywhere, splitting her open, filling her until her thighs were trembling from the force of it.

She bit down on a moan, fingers clawing uselessly at the sheets beside her, barely able to breathe through how fucking good it felt —how good you felt —how much she hated it and loved it and needed more anyway.

The rhythm was brutal.

Your hips crashed into hers again and again, rough and relentless, dragging these helpless, wrecked sounds out of her throat with every thrust. The bed squeaked under the force of it, your bodies slamming together, slick and messy and perfect.

It felt fucking fantastic.

Tara couldn't stop herself — couldn't even try to stop — moaning over and over again, broken, desperate sounds ripping free of her lungs like she had no control over them anymore.

It was euphoric. It was almost too good.

Her mind was spinning so violently she swore she might black out, the pleasure building under her skin like fire.

Fuck, you were so good at this. FUCK

So fucking good it made her angry.

She squeezed her eyes shut tight, tried to ground herself — but when she opened them again, when she saw the way you were looking down at her —so cocky, so goddamn smug, so fucking hot — she had to throw her head back again, moaning even louder, because fuck, she couldn't take it.

Her body betrayed her, gave her away completely, hips bucking up to meet yours every time you snapped forward into her.

And even if her brain was screaming at her not to say it —not to admit it —every single wrecked, desperate sound coming out of her mouth was saying it for her.

You were making noises too — low, heavy grunts punched out from your chest — but Tara barely even noticed. She was too far gone, too consumed by the feeling of your cock stretching her open again and again, your body pinning her down so perfectly she never wanted you to stop.

And then, of course — you just had to fucking smirk.

"Geez, Tara," you said between rough breaths, that infuriating grin tugging at your mouth, "if I knew this would shut you up, I would've done it ages ago."

You shifted your hips with a brutal snap, driving yourself harder into her just as she opened her mouth to fire back — and the only thing that came out was a wrecked, desperate moan.

"Yeah, well— maybe you should've—" Her voice cracked, the words collapsing into a breathless whimper when you slammed deeper, grinding mercilessly against that perfect, aching spot inside her.

Tara's head fell back against the mattress, her whole body jolting with every sharp, perfect thrust. She tried to scramble for the sheets again, tried to cling to anything to ground herself, but her hands were useless, clutching nothing but air.

Every time you moved, it was overwhelming — relentless and raw and fucking perfect — and it made her legs tighten around your waist like she was scared you might pull away.

Her breath was stuttering now, spilling out in broken little gasps that only made you smirk harder. And when you pushed in again, harder, rougher, she whimpered so loudly it almost sounded like a sob.

Fuck, she hated how good it felt.

Fuck, she hated how fucking good you felt.

Her hands scrambled uselessly against the bed — grabbing fistfuls of the messy sheets, tangling in her own hair, clawing at her flushed face — but nothing grounded her, nothing eased the brutal, overwhelming way you were slamming into her.

She felt like she was going to snap.

She wanted to snap.

The bed creaked under the force of it all, the air thick with rough breaths and low grunts. Tara's entire body burned — from rage, from need, from how fucking good you felt ruining her.

And you just kept going. Kept fucking talking.

"You sound so pretty when you're desperate," you panted against her ear, smirking because you knew what you were doing to her.

Tara's jaw clenched so tightly it ached. Her whole body tensed under you — furious and humiliated and desperate all at once.

"God," she snarled, her voice low and wrecked, "shut the fuck up.”

You just chuckled darkly under your breath — and pushed even deeper, harder, like you were punishing her for even thinking she had the right to tell you what to do.

Tara threw her head back against the bed, a choked moan breaking out of her throat — furious at herself for how fucking good it felt, furious that she was the one begging now, without even needing to say a word.

And it only got worse.

Rougher.

Harder.

Better.

The slap of your bodies hitting echoed in the room, each thrust forcing little desperate sounds out of her no matter how tightly she bit her lip to hold them back. Her thighs shook where they were wrapped tight around your waist, the sheets she clawed at were useless under her hands, and fuck —that heat in her lower stomach was starting to grow.

A dangerous, simmering pit that started as a little thrum — a warning — and then kept building, sharp and dizzy and huge, way bigger than anything she was used to feeling.

She knew what it was.

She knew she was about to come — fuck, she was about to come — and it scared her how fast and hard it was coming.

It was like her whole body had turned traitor. It was like she couldn't stop it even if she wanted to.

And you must have felt it too — the way her body started tightening around you, the way her nails dug harder into the sheets — because you only fucked her rougher, dirtier, faster.

And Tara couldn't hold back anymore.

She gasped out something — something wrecked and half-broken — her head pressing back harder into the bed, her mouth falling open on a silent cry.

You were right there with her, dragging her closer and closer to the edge, like you wanted to watch her fall apart. Like you fucking needed it.

And Tara didn't stand a fucking chance.

One more thrust — brutal, rough, deep — and she was gone.

Her whole body tensed hard, legs locking tighter around your waist, her back arching sharply off the bed as a broken moan ripped straight from her chest.

It slammed into her all at once — fast, wrecking, almost violent — like something had snapped inside her. Her vision went white around the edges, her fingers clawing helplessly at the sheets, at her own hair, at anything she could grab.

Her hips bucked without her even meaning to, grinding desperately against you like she still needed more even as her orgasm ripped through her.

And you —fuck, you lost it too.

The second her body clamped down around you, tight and soaking wet and shaking, you cursed low under your breath and slammed into her one final time, burying yourself as deep as you could go.

You spilled inside her with a wrecked grunt, your hips grinding into hers, trying to ride it out as your body shuddered with the force of it.

It wasn't clean. It wasn't soft.

It was messy and hot and frantic — both of you coming so hard it almost hurt, both of you falling apart into each other like you didn't care if it fucking killed you.

Tara barely even realized she was whining until it was already out of her — high and wrecked and fucking needy, her whole body trembling as you finally, finally stilled.

And for a second, neither of you could breathe.

The only sounds were the wet, sticky slap of skin, the broken, panting breaths you both tried to catch, and the furious hammering of Tara's heart in her ears.

You pulled out of her slowly, dragging a low whimper from Tara's throat that she tried — and failed — to swallow down.

The second you were gone, she let herself collapse fully onto the bed, chest heaving, skin flushed and slick with sweat.

You hovered above her for a moment, both of you panting, just staring at each other. Tara glared up at you — or at least, she tried to.

But her anger didn't land the way it usually did; she was too fucking tired, too wrecked, too spent for her eyes to sharpen into proper daggers.

It was more of a seething, half-lidded glare now. One that didn't scare you at all.

And that was when it hit her —what had just happened.

What she'd just fucking done.

It felt like the alcohol evaporated out of her bloodstream in one horrifying instant.

Her heart hammered in a completely different way now — heavy and sick. For a second, she thought she might be sick.

What the fuck had she done?

The shame hit her first — hot and brutal — almost strong enough to drown her.

She hated herself for it. Hated you for it.

Hated how fucking good it had felt.

And that was what saved her —the memory of how good it felt. The sharp edge of her panic dulled, just a little.

The anger simmered lower, curling into something she could almost stomach.

Still — she had to get the fuck out of there. Now.

Tara shot upright so fast it made her dizzy, scrambling across the bed, snatching up her underwear and yanking it up her shaky legs.

Her skirt came next — wrinkled and inside out, but she didn't give a shit — she just needed it on.

As she struggled to tug it back into place, she looked up at you —still half-naked, still smirking like the smug piece of shit you were.

"Not a word about this to anyone," she snapped, her voice low and wrecked and shaky, "Okay?"

And you — of course — just smirked wider.

___

At first, Tara didn't think much of it.

She figured she was just still hungover — the party had been brutal, after all. She hadn't exactly treated her body well that night.

Half a bottle of vodka, God knew how many shots after, plus whatever the hell she'd eaten off some random guy's plate at three in the morning... it made sense she still felt like shit days later.

That was all it was. Hangover.

Or maybe she ate something bad.

Maybe that sketchy half-burnt pizza from the gas station.

Maybe some stomach bug going around campus.

Or maybe — worst case scenario — she was just getting sick. Some late-winter flu. Something that would pass in a few days if she just drank enough Gatorade and slept it off.

Because seriously, what else could it possibly be?

She shoved the thought away. Refused to let herself even consider anything bigger than that.

But then the days passed.

And the nausea didn't go away. It just got worse.

Creeping up on her in the middle of class — making her have to fake-cough into her sleeve just so she wouldn't gag in front of everyone.

Gnawing at her stomach late at night when she tried to sleep, making her curl tighter under the blankets, teeth clenched, trying to will the feeling away.

It felt like her body was rejecting something. Like it wasn't even hers anymore.

By day five, even the smell of coffee — something that usually got her through her worst mornings — made her stomach flip.

By day six, brushing her teeth made her gag so hard she had to sit down on the bathroom floor for ten minutes after.

Still, she told herself it was nothing.

Stress, she thought, scrubbing her face at the bathroom mirror with angry hands. College. Lack of sleep. Nerves.

Maybe her immune system was just wrecked.

Maybe it was her period coming and being a bitch about it.

It had to be something like that.

It had to be.

She kept telling herself that —over and over, louder and louder —right up until she opened her calendar app one morning and her whole body went cold.

Because she was late.

Really fucking late.

Her stomach twisted.

Not from nausea this time — from panic.

She counted again.

And again.

Counting on her fingers like a dumbass because her brain couldn't make the math make sense.

No matter how she spun it, it had been almost two months.

Tara had sat back against her bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, trying not to hyperventilate.

Trying to tell herself she was wrong.

That it was still stress, still nerves, still something normal.

It's not that, she told herself, breathing through her nose, gripping the blanket so tightly her knuckles turned white. It's not that. It's not that. It's not that.

But deep down —deep, deep down —she already knew exactly what it was.

She could keep lying to herself.

She really could.

And maybe she would've kept lying, would've shoved it down and ignored it and pretended it wasn't real,

if it hadn't been for that night.

The night she ended up hunched over the toilet, sweating and shaking, the taste of acid clawing up her throat.

No warning. No time to pretend it was something else.

It hit her halfway through brushing her teeth — one second she was fine, the next she was dropping her toothbrush into the sink and bolting for the bathroom like she was being hunted.

And as she wiped her mouth, breathing hard, hands clutching uselessly at the cold tile floor —it sank in.

Cold.

Sick.

Unavoidable.

No more excuses.

She didn't remember making the decision.

Not really.

One minute she was pacing her room, hands trembling, heart crawling up her throat —

and the next, she was standing in some grimy drugstore aisle, blinking under the too-bright fluorescent lights, staring at a wall of small pink boxes like they were a firing squad.

She grabbed the first one she saw.

Didn't read the label.

Didn't check the price.

Just threw it into her basket, keeping her head down, as if someone — anyone — might see her.

Might know.

The walk to the register was a blur.

The cashier barely looked up.

She paid in cash.

She didn't even wait to get home.

She just —well.

The bathroom at the back of the store was disgusting.

The kind of disgusting that made her hover awkwardly over the toilet, chewing on her thumbnail, breathing through her mouth because the smell was so bad.

She didn't care.

She couldn't care.

The box was torn open with shaky fingers.

The instructions were left crumpled on the floor.

She didn't need to read them anyway.

Everyone knew how these things worked.

It was over before she even realized she had started.

A few minutes that felt like years.

She sat there — cold, half-numb — perched on the closed toilet lid, arms wrapped tight around herself like it could somehow keep everything from slipping out of her control.

She didn't look at it at first.

She couldn't.

Just sat there, staring at the wall, feeling the seconds bleed out slow and awful, until every heartbeat felt like it could crack her ribs wide open.

And when she finally forced herself to glance down —just a glance, nothing more —it was there.

Blunt.

Undeniable.

Positive.

Tara didn't even have time to think.

Her stomach lurched viciously, and she was barely able to twist around and yank the toilet lid up before she was gagging into the bowl, retching hard enough that her whole body trembled.

It wasn't the same kind of nausea as before.

This was something worse — something heavier.

Shock.

Terror.

Grief.

When she finished, she just stayed there — bent over, forehead resting against her forearm, the test lying on the counter behind her like some cruel, stupid joke she couldn't wake up from.

She didn't know how long she stayed there.

Five minutes? Ten? An hour?

Time didn't feel real anymore.

Eventually, she forced herself up, stumbling to her feet on shaky legs.

She paced the small bathroom, bare feet slapping against the tile, hands buried deep in her hair like she could physically tear the panic out of herself if she just pulled hard enough.

Muttering under her breath.

Cursing herself.

Cursing you.

"What the fuck," she whispered hoarsely, dragging her hands down her face. "What the fuck."

She couldn't breathe right.

Her chest felt too tight.

Her mind kept spinning in wild, useless circles.

Who the fuck was she supposed to tell?

Sam?

Absolutely not — Sam would kill her. Not even just yell — actually kill her.

Mindy?

No way. Mindy would ask a million questions. She'd want to know who. When. How.

Anika?

Same thing. Just softer. And worse.

Chad?

Tara almost laughed — a sharp, broken noise that didn't sound right at all.

Chad wouldn't even listen for more than ten seconds.

He'd probably just high-five her over the sex and completely miss the part where her whole fucking life was falling apart.

Which left you.

The last option.

The last person she wanted to talk to.

Because this?

This was your fault.

Maybe partly hers, sure — she wasn't stupid — but mostly yours.

And the thought of calling you made her stomach churn all over again.

She didn't even remember saving your number.

She didn't even remember getting it.

But there it was — staring back at her from the cracked screen of her phone, mocking her.

Her thumb hovered over the call button.

Her heart pounded so hard it hurt.

And then, before she could think better of it, she pressed it.

She pressed call.

And every second that the phone rang, her panic grew louder, shrieking inside her chest.

One ring.

Two.

Three —

You answered, your voice so casual it made her want to scream.

"Well, well," you drawled, smug and slow, like you were grinning already. "Couldn't get enough, huh? Already calling me back?"

Tara swallowed.

Hard.

The words sat like a rock in her throat.

She opened her mouth — nothing came out.

Because saying it out loud would make it real.

Saying it out loud would shatter whatever thin, desperate hope she still had that this was some sick mistake.

You didn't say anything either.

The teasing dropped into silence — just the faint crackle of the line between you, waiting.

And then you said, more cautious this time, "...Hello?"

Tara squeezed her eyes shut.

Felt her hands start to shake.

And before she could stop herself — before she could take it back — she forced it out in a broken whisper:

"I'm pregnant."

[to-the-beginning--the-end-waits]

Unnoticed

Summary: When the campus heartthrob fails to catch your attention despite his best efforts, he decides to ditch his perfect image for something real. It’s only after his transformation from it boy to the quiet guy with glasses in your library corner that you finally start to notice him and discover that the most genuine connections happen when someone stops trying so hard to be perfect.

Pairing: Choi San x Reader

Genre: College AU, fluff, slice of life

Word count: 2.6k~

Warnings: None, just pure fluff and soft feelings

When you took notice of The Choi San, he was standing in the middle of the campus quad with his perfectly styled black hair catching the afternoon sunlight. A small crowd had gathered around him. Mostly girls giggling and whispering, but a few guys too, all drawn to whatever magnetic pull he seemed to have.

You paused on your way to the library, textbooks clutched against your chest, and watched as he flashed that famous smile of his. Even from a distance, you could see how his eyes crinkled at the corners, how effortlessly charming his dimples looked as he was chatting with his admirers.

San was the guy on campus. Star of the dance club, decent grades, and blessed with the kind of voice and looks that made people do double takes in the hallway. You’d been in a few classes together over the past two years, but you were pretty sure he didn’t even know your name.

“Earth to Y/N,” your friend Mina said, appearing beside you with an amused grin. “Staring at San again?”

“I wasn’t staring,” you protested, though your cheeks warmed. “I was just observing... campus social dynamics.”

Mina laughed. “Right. Come on, let’s go study. Some of us actually have to work for our grades instead of coasting on natural charm.”

As you walked away, you missed the way San’s gaze had found your back in the crowd, the way his confident smile faltered slightly when he saw you leaving.

What you didn’t know was that San had been trying to get your attention for months.

It started small; him choosing the seat closest to you in Modern Literature, enough that you could smell his cologne -something expensive and woodsy that probably cost more than your textbooks-. He’d lean forward sometimes, seemingly to pick up a dropped pen or retrieve something from his bag, and you’d catch a glimpse of his concentrated expression as he took notes.

“Hey,” he said one day after class, catching up to you in the hallway. Your heart did an involuntary skip as you turned to face him, taking in his casual but perfectly put together outfit. Designer jeans that fit just right and a simple white shirt that somehow looked incredible on him.

“Oh, hi San.” You shifted your bag higher on your shoulder, suddenly aware of your worn-out sneakers and the coffee stain on your sweater sleeve.

“I was wondering if you wanted to grab coffee sometime? There’s this new place very close to campus that’s supposed to be really good.” His smile was charming and hopeful, and for a moment you forgot how to breathe.

But then reality crashed back in. San asking you out? It had to be some kind of mistake, or maybe a dare from his friends.

“That’s really nice of you,” you said slowly, “but I’m pretty swamped with assignments right now. Maybe some other time?”

His face fell slightly, but he recovered quickly. “Of course, no problem. Another time.”

You hurried away, missing the way he stood there for a long moment, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair with a frustrated sigh.

The attempts continued throughout the semester. San would appear next to you in the campus bookstore, making casual conversation about your shared classes. He’d save you a seat in the lecture hall, waving you over with that brilliant smile. Once, he even showed up at the same study group you’d joined, claiming he needed help with the material. Even though you noticed he seemed to understand everything perfectly well.

Each time, you’d convince yourself it was coincidence. Guys like San didn’t go for girls like you. You were too ordinary, too focused on your studies, too invisible among the sea of perfectly put together college students who orbited around him.

Summer break came and went in a blur of part-time jobs and catching up on sleep. You’d almost forgotten about San’s strange burst of attention toward you, chalking it up to end of semester delirium or boredom.

When you returned to campus for the new academic year, you fell back into your usual routine: early morning classes, afternoons in the library, evenings studying in your dorm room. The first few weeks passed in a comfortable haze of new classes and fresh notebooks.

It was during your third week back that you noticed him. You were in your usual spot in the library. A table tucked away in the corner of the second floor, surrounded by towering bookshelves that provided the perfect amount of privacy for serious studying. Perfect for your introverted self. You’d just settled in with your laptop and a stack of research materials when someone slid into the chair across from you.

“Sorry, is it okay if I sit here? Everywhere else is full.”

You looked up, ready to politely agree, and froze. The guy across from you was… so pretty. Not in the flashy, attention-grabbing way you were used to seeing around campus, but in a quiet, underappreciated way that made you want to keep looking.

His dark hair was unstyled, falling softly across his forehead in a way that looked natural and effortless with his bare face. He wore a simple gray hoodie and black rimmed glasses that framed his kind, intelligent eyes. There was something familiar about the shape of his face, the curve of his smile, but you couldn’t quite place it.

“Of course,” you managed, moving your books to make more room. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“San,” he said quietly, and your brain short-circuited.

San... This was San? Gone was the perfectly styled hair, the designer clothes, the confident posture of his that commanded attention. This version of San looked… normal. Approachable. Real.

“San?” you repeated, probably sounding stupid. “Like… Choi San?”

He winced slightly, glancing around as if worried someone might overhear. “Yeah. I know I look different. I was hoping people wouldn’t recognize me right away.”

“Why?” The question slipped out before you could stop it, and you immediately felt heat rise to your cheeks. “Sorry, that’s none of my business.”

“No, it’s okay.” He pushed his glasses up his nose, a gesture that was somehow incredibly endearing. “I just… needed a break from all the attention, you know? It was getting overwhelming.”

You studied his face, noting the way his shoulders seemed more relaxed without the weight of everyone’s expectations. “I can imagine.”

For the first time in two years of sharing classes, you found yourself actually talking to San. Not the campus heartthrob version of him, but this quieter, more genuine person who asked thoughtful questions about your research project and shared his own struggles with balancing academics and personal life.

The library became your regular meeting spot. At first, it was just convenient. You both needed a quiet place to study, and the corner table had room for two. But gradually, those study sessions turned into something more.

San, you discovered, was nothing like the image you’d built up in your head. Yes, he was still unfairly handsome, even hidden behind glasses and oversized hoodies, but he was also incredibly thoughtful. He remembered details about conversations from weeks ago, brought you your favorite drink from the campus café when you mentioned feeling stressed about midterms, and had a dry sense of humor that caught you off guard and made you laugh until your sides hurt.

“I never thanked you properly,” he said one afternoon, looking up from his anthropology textbook.

“For what?”

“For not making a big deal about… this.” He gestured vaguely at himself. “Most people have been doing double takes all semester. Some girl in my sociology class spent twenty minutes trying to figure out if I was really me.”

You smiled, closing your laptop to give him your full attention. “I know It's not really my place to say this but... I like this version of you better, honestly.”

Something shifted in his expressions. Surprise, maybe, or hope. “Really?”

“Really. You seem more… I don’t know. Yourself?”

He was quiet for a moment, fingers playing with the corner of his notebook. “I never felt like myself before. It was all just… a performance to me, you know? Being what everyone expected me to be.”

The vulnerability in his voice made your chest tight. “What made you decide to stop acting?”

San looked up at you through his lashes, and even behind the glasses, his gaze was intense. “A lot of things. But mostly… there was this girl I really wanted to notice me. The real me, the show I was putting on apparently didn't work.”

Your heart stuttered. “Oh.”

“She was always so focused on her studies, so genuine about everything she did. I realized that trying to impress her with the whole cool guy thing was probably the worst possible approach.”

“Probably,” you agreed softly, though your voice sounded distant to your own ears.

He smiled, that same crinkly eyed smile showing his dimples, you remembered from the quad, but softer now, more intimate. “I’m hoping she’ll give me a chance now that I’ve figured out how to be myself.”

The implication hung in the air between you, and you felt your cheeks warm under his steady gaze. “San…”

“I know I messed up before,” he continued, leaning forward slightly. “I know you probably thought I was just playing around, or that you were some kind of conquest. But I’ve been interested in you since our first year philosophy class. You were the only person brave enough to argue with Professor Kim about his interpretation of female philosophers .”

You laughed, startled. “You remember that?”

“I remember everything about you, Y/N. The way you chew on your pen when you’re deep in thought, how you always sit in the third row because you think it’s the perfect distance from the board, the fact that you only drink coffee before 2 PM because it keeps you up otherwise.”

Your breath caught. All those little interactions you’d dismissed as coincidence suddenly took on new meaning. “You were paying attention.”

“I was always paying attention. I was just very bad at showing it.”

“So,” you said carefully, trying to ignore the way your heart was racing, “what exactly are you asking me?”

San’s confidence seemed to waver slightly, and he ran a hand through his unstyled hair a gesture you were beginning to recognize as a nervous habit. “I’m asking if you’d like to go on a date with me. A real one, where we can just be ourselves and see if this thing between us is what I think it is.”

You looked at him, really looked at him. At the way his glasses had slipped down his nose again, at the tiny hole in the sleeve of his hoodie, at the genuine nervousness in his expression that the old San would never have let show.

“Okay,” you said simply.

His face lit up. “Okay?”

“Yeah. But I have conditions.”

“Name them.”

“No fancy restaurants or expensive gestures. And definitely no bringing me flowers in front of half the student body.”

San laughed, and the sound was warm and unguarded. “Deal. How do you feel about terrible coffee and old bookstores?”

“Perfect.”

Your first official date was exactly that-terrible coffee from a hole-in-the-wall café near campus and two hours wandering through a cramped bookstore where San revealed an unexpected passion for mystery novels and you bonded over your shared love of marginalia in old textbooks.

It was awkward at moments, both of you trying to navigate this new dynamic, but it was also easy in a way you hadn’t expected. San was funny and self-deprecating, admitting to the ridiculous lengths he’d gone to try to impress you during sophomore year.

“You showed up to my study group,” you accused, nudging his shoulder as you browsed the philosophy section.

“I may have asked around about your schedule,” he admitted sheepishly. “And then panic-studied for three hours before each session because I was terrified you’d realize I didn’t actually need help.”

“You were so obvious! I thought you were just really bad at statistics.”

“I am really bad at statistics. But I’m also really good at pretending to be even worse when it means spending time with you.”

The confession was delivered with such earnest charm that you couldn’t help but laugh, and something warm and hopeful unfurled in your chest.

Dating San was nothing like you’d imagined it would be. There were no grand gestures or public displays that would have made you uncomfortable. Instead, it was built on small, quiet moments that felt perfectly suited to both of you.

He’d save your favorite spot in the library and have your preferred tea waiting when you arrived for study sessions. You’d find little notes tucked into your textbooks, terrible jokes or doodles that made you smile during particularly boring lectures.

The physical affection developed slowly too. It started with accidentally bumping hands when you both reached for the same book, then progressed to San shyly taking your hand as you walked across campus. The first time he kissed you, it was after you’d been dating for three weeks, and it happened in the stacks of the library when you’d made a particularly clever observation about your shared literature assignment.

“Sorry,” he whispered against your lips, glasses slightly askew. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a really long time.”

“Don’t apologize,” you whispered back, reaching up to straighten his frames. “But maybe warn me next time so I can be prepared.”

“Prepared for what?”

“For how much I like kissing you.”

The smile that spread across his face was radiant, and when he kissed you again, soft and sweet and perfect, you thought that maybe sometimes the best things were worth waiting for.

THE END

BONUS PART:

“I still can’t believe you didn’t recognize him,” Mina said, shaking her head as she watched San approach your usual table at the college café with two cups of tea and what looked like homemade cookies.

“I recognized him,” you protested.

“After he told you his name. That doesn't count”

“I was distracted by how cute he looked in glasses.”

San slid into his seat across from you, pushing one of the tea cups in your direction and the other towards Mina. “My mom sent cookies,” he announced. “Fair warning: she may have put too much love in them. They’re aggressively sweet.”

You bit into one and made an exaggerated face of delight that made him laugh. Over the past year, you’d learned that San’s quiet confidence was far more attractive than his previous persona had ever been. He still turned heads when he walked across campus -his good bone structure was hard to hide, even behind wire rimmed glasses- but he seemed genuinely oblivious to the attention.

“How’s the paper coming?” he asked, settling in with his own books.

“Better now that my research partner is here,” you said, and was rewarded with that soft, crinkly eyed smile that still made your heart skip.

San reached across the table to brush a cookie crumb from the corner of your mouth, the gesture casual and intimate and perfectly them. “Good,” he said simply. “I like being helpful.”

As you settled into your afternoon routine-books spread across the table, feet tangled together underneath it, the comfortable silence of two people who’d found their perfect study partner-you couldn’t help but think that the best things really did come to those who waited.

Even if sometimes you needed a complete makeover to see what had been right in front of you all along.

A/N: Hii, hello again. There are so many drafts of mine that I can barely decide which ones to release first- or even release at all. The poll i posted seems to be going in favor of Jongho. And since I've already written it with him in mind I just need to read and edit it to finally post it. That doesn't mean that I didn't start writing ff with office worker manbun yeosang -I'm just too inspired to not to- ㅇㅅㅇ

🫟 Reblogs&comments&tags&likes are appreciated they really give me motivation to post more♡

[cheriveil]

( 07.27.25 ) ⓘ ── federal girlfriend ㅤ!

. . . ⓘ bruce wayne, richard grayson, jason todd, timothy drake, damian wayne, duke thomas 𝔁 fbi!reader ( separated ) headcanons !

❪ 🖋️ ❫ in which, they date someone from the fbi. ( sfw. fluff. not proofread. incorrect grammar. probably ooc. ) — 𝗦𝗜𝗚𝗡𝗘𝗗 𝗕𝗬 𝗩𝗜𝗔𝗡𝗔

📜. another repost !! i promise i'll post my other smaus ( ahem, ahem, jojar ),,, i've been so busy lately, sighs. anw, i removed a few hcs because i didn't like them,,, eeee.

ⓘ ㅤㅤ bruce wayne ㅤ 𝔁ㅤ fbi!readerㅤㅤ ㅤ

bruce is very overprotective of you, especially when you work late. he's used to having you surrounded by danger, but he still gets worried whenever you get yourself involved in a case that may end in violence.

occasionally, you need to convince him not to call in his "backup" ( a.k.a. the entire batfamily & that includes alfred ) when you head out for a solo field case.

he admires you & your work but is still worried. he'll have alfred deliver you a blanket or some coffee after a particularly difficult case, even if you're not home yet.

oh, girl. alfred loves you. so whenever you come home late, expect not only your boyfriend, but alfred who's preparing a hot cup of coffee & a meal.

bruce can be stand-offish sometimes, especially after a long day of fighting crime, but you're one of the only people who can get past his defenses & actually get him to talk.

you've discovered his identity ( how could you not,,, ) & he's not as shocked as he ought to be. nevertheless, he feels uncomfortable discussing it initially.

bruce is the kind of person to leave you little notes with directions or reminders on a case you're handling, typically signed "b.”

he can't help but respect your mind. if there's anything that makes him relax around you, it's discussing about each other's jobs. like, breaking down patterns, reviewing cases, reports, & deciphering criminal minds.( criminal minds mentioned !? )

when he's batman, he doesn't want to admit it, but he'll occasionally leave you a little token or a note in places that only you would be aware of — such as the office desk drawer or the kitchen counter.

he always asks how your day was, but only after he's finished with his batman business. he'd ask you,,, "how's your day, my love?" & really listen as you speak.( #needthat )

bruce may be rough, but when you report to him that you have solved a tough case, his face will crackle with pride for you even though he may attempt to hide it behind his glowering.

ⓘ ㅤㅤ richard grayson ㅤ 𝔁ㅤ fbi!readerㅤㅤ

richard is a goofball & a big tease. he'll always joke with you about your serious, no-nonsense approach to work & tell you that you're too serious for your own good.

but, despite richard having a love for joking around, he's intensely defensive of you when it comes to the risks of your job. he attempts to keep things light, yet he doesn't miss if you appear slightly too exhausted or stressed.

he enjoys having you assist him on cases, even though it annoys him when you point out things he missed ( because, naturally, you're smarter than him,,, at times( his word, not mine. ) ).

he can't help himself from texting you all day long, even when you both have work to do. most of it is just random junk, like memes, jokes, or just checking in.

richard enjoys learning about the cases you're handling, & you'll find him asking questions that get him way too involved in things that don't pertain to him.

if you ever get him catching you becoming too stressed out or overwhelmed, he'll trap you in his arms & explain that it is alright to rest.

he loves to hear your observations about the criminal mind ( hehe. cm mentioned. again. ) & frequently calls you "the smartest person in the room" when you're around him.

when you're out in the field, richard keeps a close watch on you, but he covers it up with a smile or a joke. he trusts you, but he can't help himself.

richard will spoil you with little things. like dropping by your office with coffee just because he knows you like it.

ⓘ ㅤㅤ jason todd ㅤ 𝔁ㅤ fbi!readerㅤㅤ

jason is much more serious about your well-being, & he will usually try to keep you from getting into harm's way ( even though he knows you're going to do your job no matter what his opinion may be ).

he doesn't understand why you work in such a high-risk job( says the red hood ), but he respects it because he can tell how much you love your job & the people you're helping.

jason's affection is subtler. he might give you a kiss on the forehead when you're working, or text you something like, "don't make me come save your ass.”

he is enchanted when you're in control. he'll joke with you about being the "brains" behind the operation while he's the "muscle" but secretly adores your ‘brains’. definitely finds you hot whenever you analyze a case( on field and off field ).

jason is also super good at reading your mood. if you're tense, he'll pull you onto his lap & get you to discuss it, sometimes going so far as to make you watch a film just to take your mind off things.

he's extremely proud of what you do, even when he doesn't say anything. he understands how difficult it is, & every now & then he'll just hold you in silence after a bad case, giving you a quiet "you did good.”

jason doesn't exactly try to be discreet about his love language. expect lots of trash talking, possibly some sarcastic remarks, but you can always tell he's got a spot in his heart for you.

he keeps sending you silly stuff like, "will you bail me out of prison if i got arrested?" or "i'm going to blow something up. what are you doing?" just to catch your response.

when you fight, it's, well, intense., but always ends with him pulling you near & apologizing in his manner. the gruff exterior disguises how much he cares about you.

jason will open up emotionally more often after a rough fight. when he's had a bad night on patrol, he'll turn to you & show you how much he values your support.

ⓘ ㅤㅤ timothy drake ㅤ 𝔁ㅤ fbi!readerㅤㅤ

tim is the most intrigued about your work, questioning you incessantly & wanting to know everything there is to know about criminal analysis. you're always the first with the best theories, & he can't get enough of picking your brain( detective x detective ily ).

he values your knowledge a lot. it's not unusual for tim to utter the words, "you're so much smarter than me," but you'd never let him catch on.

he's such a considerate person & will leave little treats for you. a cup of coffee in your favorite mug, an assistive case file, or something random he thinks you'll like( handcuffs /j ).

if you're working late, tim will sit in with you, sometimes just hanging around your place to keep you company or help you with the case.

he has a tendency to drop by your office unexpectedly, but he's not there to flirt. he really does want to know how your day is going & whether you need anything.

tim enjoys hearing about your cases, especially when you're working on something tricky. he'll geek out over it, even coming up with new theories that make you think( this is so spencer reid, if you think about it ).

when you are frustrated with a case or having a bad day, tim will instantly try to make things better by coming up with solutions or by reassuring you with his silent understanding.

he's the one who checks up on you all the time, even when you have your hands full. count on receiving out-of-the-blue texts such as, "how's your case going?" or "need a break?”

tim's also going to be most likely to plan date nights including you geeking out together — such as a movie marathon, reading through case files, or cracking puzzles together.

he certainly does have times when he'll get too engrossed in a case & forget to check in, but he always apologizes afterwards, checking that you're alright.

if you ever find yourself in harm's way( ahem, ahem, unsub ), tim is the first to devise a plan of action, going over everything down to the smallest detail to ensure you're safe.

ⓘ ㅤㅤ damian wayne ㅤ 𝔁ㅤ fbi!readerㅤㅤ

damian wayne is a perfectionist & will demand that level of precision & attention from you. he has the utmost respect for your work, but if you ever slip up & mess up something minor in any case, he will call you out on it. not to be rude, but because he knows you can do it better.

his protective persona is a little too much. he's the sort of man who will hover if you're in harm's way & will insist that you don't interact unless he's with you. he doesn't believe anyone can protect you the way he can.

damian is impressed by your intellect, though he'd never say so in public. he may casually quiz you on criminal profiling ( wooo, cm mentioned. you know i had to. ) or the cases you're handling, attempting to subtly display how impressed he is with your abilities.

he tries to keep his jealousy concealed, but if he notices that someone is getting too close or familiar with you, he'll either keep his distance from you or confront the person in a rather "damian" fashion.

if you've been working too hard, damian will pull you away from your case to ensure you get some rest, even if that means forcing you to sleep.

he doesn't get upset when you're discussing work with other individuals, but if someone tries flirting with you, you'll notice a side of damian you never knew existed.

during the times that you feel stressed out, damian would quietly volunteer to spar with you. that's how he winds down & how he finds that it's also a way to bond with someone — albeit not a suitable stress relief for you.

damian will sometimes pretend not to care about your work, but he's always listening quietly, taking things in. when you come up with something, he'll be the first one to point out how brilliant you are ( in his own way, obviously ).

his idea of a date could be assisting you with an especially tricky case, or inviting you on a training session, demonstrating that he is able to mix work & "romance" in his own particular way.

he doesn't just say so out loud, but he is immensely proud of you. there are little signs of affection only you can read — such as his hand casually touching yours or his tendency to huddle with you after a rough day.

ⓘ ㅤㅤ duke thomas ㅤ 𝔁ㅤ fbi!readerㅤㅤ

he's a bit of a worrywart. when you're out working on a case, duke will be calling you & bombard you with questions like, "are you sure you're safe?" or "do you need assistance with something?”

duke also admires your intelligence,, of course, but he's not beyond joking about your seriousness as a special agent. he'll attempt to lighten the atmosphere by cracking jokes or sharing random memes while you're heavily engrossed in case analysis.

when you're stressed, duke's the type of guy who'll pull out all your favorite snacks & have you sit down to watch a movie or something fun to take your mind off it, even if you complain about having to work more.

he's a bit of a sentimental softie with you, always showering you with affection in little but nice ways — such as making sure your coffee is the way you like it or giving you a tight hug after a tough day.

duke values teamwork. he'll do his best to assist you with your cases whenever he can. although his abilities are more street-level crime fighting, he's willing to provide any assistance he can in terms of research or brainstorming.

he enjoys helping with cases. he'll gladly hear your theories & share his own insights, & when you make a breakthrough, you'll notice his beaming smile.

he hates seeing you burning out, & he will nag you to get breaks. walking outside or grabbing lunch, sometimes even.

if you ever second-guess yourself or doubt your capabilities, duke is on hand to calm you down. he'll remind you of your strengths & all the great things you've achieved.

he doesn't feel so serious about himself, which makes him excellent at your sometimes more serious dedication. his sense of humor & playfulness will always make you feel at ease.

duke also tends to text you silly jokes or remarks during the day, just for the sake of making you smile, particularly when he knows that you're up to your neck in work.

▌⠀࣪ 🍒 ،، ٠ 𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒗𝒔𝒉，﹞ all rights reserved to me. my works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. thank you for understanding, mwah, mwah !!

[shuaflix]

kim mingyu’s (unhelpful) guide to losing your virginity

❝ you’re telling me that you, Miss Dick Repellent, had sex with Captain Chastity By Choice over here. ❞

PAIRING ▸ kim mingyu x fem!reader

GENRES ▸ smut, fluff, humor, college au, best friends to lovers au, friends with benefits au

WARNINGS ▸ profanity, alcohol consumption, rated m for mingyu, slow burn, he fell first but she fell harder but then he tripped and ate shit, probably the most self-indulgent thing i’ve written, mingyu and mc are both virgins, sexual content, sexual tension, protected and unprotected sex (i would not advise doing the latter), lots of teasing and banter, oral (f. and m. receiving), fingering, wall sex, couch sex, public sex, mingyu discovers what pasties are, soonyoung orders 20 connect fours, they are avid enjoyers of the barbie movies

SUMMARY ▸ after accidentally telling your friends that kim mingyu took your virginity (he didn't), you’re shocked when he proposes to relieve you of the fabled v-card for good (he does).

PLAYLIST ▸ perfect by one direction • spell by niki • fatal flaw by ellise • give me a kiss by lolo zouaï • step? by bibi

WORD COUNT ▸ 31,273 words

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ someone (fia) once told me i write too many college aus. i said yeah ur right. and i’m gonna do it again

“BIRDS AND BEES CANNOT PHYSICALLY FUCK.”

You sounded more distressed than informative while you were trying to reason with your longtime best friend, Kim Mingyu. He, on the other hand, appeared visibly worked up over this childish level of argument you two were having.

“It is a metaphor,” he said. “Everyone knows birds and bees aren’t screwing each other up in the trees.”

You still couldn’t wrap your head around it. Hours ago, you had fucked yourself over after Kwon Soonyoung had casually brought up the topic of body counts. After everyone in your friend group went around listing theirs (Soonyoung: 3; Jungwoo: 3; Minghao: 2; Vernon: 5), you accidentally blurted out that your body count actually existed—one, to be exact.

This was a problem because, to everyone’s prior knowledge, you were a virgin.

Sure, you kissed a few guys before—maybe had a few heated makeout sessions—but you never really went all the way. Yeah, Mark Lee was coming onto you freshman year, but before he could start sliding his hand down your pants, you nearly screamed and killed the vibe. It was safe to say that Mark never thought about trying to get with you again.

After being barraged with questions about who finally claimed your v-card, you decided to blurt out the one name that felt the safest to you.

And that was Kim Mingyu.

Now, you and Mingyu had been friends for a long time, dating back to your freshman year of college when he wound up being your dorm neighbor. After about a month of Mingyu only knocking on your door to use your printer or air fryer, your relationship finally upgraded to having semi-deep conversations and going to the dining hall together. Eventually, Kim Mingyu became a staple in your life—or perhaps more like a pesky gnat you couldn’t get rid of.

Either way, since you figured that Mingyu was equally as sexually inexperienced as you were, you felt as though your safest bet was to keep your secret with him. This way, the both of you could finally not be labeled as the friend group’s token virgins.

To make matters worse, though, you didn’t expect your friends to have such a dramatic reaction to the news. They were convinced that you and Mingyu were going at it every night. In reality, he was only coming over to your apartment at the dead of night because his fridge had been broken since September. You made a pact with him that you two would take turns cooking every other day, and today was his turn.

(You secretly looked forward to the days when he would cook. Mingyu’s culinary skills were surprisingly top-notch. You were pretty sure his flavor palate was 250% more refined than the average human, considering he could tell apart regular butter from I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter.)

So, while Mingyu was frying salmon, you were bombarding him with questions about sex. After all, if you were now living your life as a self-proclaimed non-virgin, then you had to educate yourself on the birds and the bees.

That was where the argument arose because what the fuck did the birds and the bees have to do with anything?

“So why do they use the birds and the bees?” you asked. “Why don’t they use, like, the butterflies and the bees? You know, pollination? I feel like that makes more sense.”

“It’s ‘cause birds hatch eggs, which is supposed to symbolize, like, female ovulation,” Mingyu explained, “and bees pollinating flowers is for male fertilization.”

You leaned back in your seat, absolutely mind-blown. Mingyu took your silence as understanding and turned on you, pointing his large cooking tongs in your direction.

“You’re way too innocent to be telling everyone we slept together,” he said. “I’d start watching porn or something, ‘cause asking me about the symbolism of the birds and bees isn’t gonna cut it. That’s middle school behavior, Y/N.”

Your cheeks heated up with embarrassment. “I’m not innocent! I know how sex works; I just don’t understand how you like… you know, do the deed.”

Mingyu snorted. “You can’t even say it properly!”

“Can to!” you fired back before folding your arms across your chest. “I just choose not to because of my Miranda Rights. You know, my right to remain silent and all that.”

“I don’t think that applies here.”

“It can.”

“Yeah, okay. But not when Soonyoung asked about your body count?”

“You’re not still upset about me telling the group we slept together, right? I swear it was a total—”

“Of course I’m upset, Y/N,” he interjected. “I wanted my first time to be my first time, and you just told everyone we fucked like it was nothing.”

Yeah, it was safe to say that the tension between you and Mingyu had been growing for a while. You two still hung out as usual, but he would sometimes drop passive-aggressive comments about your fuck-up that would make you feel miserable for the rest of the day. There wasn’t anything you could do but apologize, especially when Mingyu insisted that you two keep up the farce so that your friends wouldn’t get on your back for being a liar.

You could tell he cared—deep, deep down—about how this would affect you. Honestly, he was too good for you.

“Anyway, we can’t do anything about it now, so let’s drop it.” He sighed, and the only sounds you could hear for a moment were the fan running and the salmon sizzling on the pan. You waited until Mingyu started plating the food. “Dinner’s ready.”

For a few minutes, you two ate in utter silence. The only sounds in the room were the occasional scraping noises of fork against plate.

Mingyu decided to speak up. “I submitted one of the pictures I took to an art gallery.”

“Oh, really? The sunset ones you took when you went camping with Jungwoo?” you asked.

“Yeah, a few of the ones I developed looked really good, so he suggested I try sending them in. They haven’t reached out yet, but I’m hoping they put it up for their exhibition.”

“That’s sick. I’ll go see it with you if they put your work up.”

You two relapsed into silence after Mingyu hummed appreciatively. He was back to chewing his thoughts away while you wanted to crawl in a hole and die.

“I fucked up, Gyu,” you admitted. “I really fucked up. I’m sorry.”

He smiled one of those lopsided, easygoing grins that could put anyone at ease. Yet, you still felt disheartened that he knew exactly what you were referring to.

“It’s whatever. At least you saved us from being asked if we’re still virgins.”

“I feel like I’m living a lie,” you grumbled. “It’s been eating at me for the past week. I might just fess up to Soonyoung.”

“You do know he’s gonna get mad at you for lying about something so petty.”

“But it’s even worse if he finds out later on!”

Mingyu just hummed in response, brows knitted together like he was pondering over something.

“Yeah, I guess,” was all he said, ending the discourse as he set your plate of food down in front of you on the dining table. You poked at the delectable salmon with your fork. “Don’t worry about what Soonyoung thinks. Sex isn’t something you can just jump into if you’re not ready.”

“But I am ready,” you complained between mouthfuls of food. “Every time I’m in the mood, I get so close and then chicken out. Maybe I’m just not doing it with the right person.”

“That would also be an important factor.”

You shook your head to dismiss the topic. “Whatever. Maybe they won’t bother us about it now that they think the deed’s done.”

“Maybe,” Mingyu echoed, although clear uncertainty hung in those syllables.

Once, in high school, you lied to your P.E. teacher about being on your period so that you wouldn’t have to participate in swimming for a week. On another occasion, you lied to your parents about going to your friend’s house to work on a group project so that you could actually drink alcohol for the first time.

Lying to Kwon Soonyoung was a whole other realm of difficulty.

It had been less than a day since you and Mingyu brushed off your lie that blew out of proportion. You were stupid to think that it wouldn’t haunt you further because Minghao wore a simpering smile on his face as soon as he saw you and Mingyu walk into the library together.

As soon as you two took your seats at your friend group’s respective table, Soonyoung and Jungwoo immediately started hounding you with more questions. Mingyu was clearly irritated—whether that was because he didn’t want the topic brought up again or he didn’t appreciate Soonyoung getting distracted from their little app developing session, you had no idea. They must have been excited now that they had both of their targets to harass.

“You are never willing to put out,” your bewildered friend rambled, “and you’re telling me that you, Miss Dick Repellent, had sex with Captain Chastity By Choice over here.”

“Wow,” Mingyu spoke up. “That was, like, the worst possible way to phrase that.”

You frowned. “Dick repellent?”

“C’mon, everyone here knows about the whole Mark-gate incident.”

You rolled your eyes. “Look, whatever went down between Mingyu and I just… happened. I have nothing else to say on the matter.”

“You know what just happens?” Vernon Chwe, who normally kept his two cents to himself, decided to blurt out. “Losing your passport. That’s the kind of thing that just happens.” The sour tone his voice took on indicated that he was still bitter about showing up at the airport with Boo Seungkwan for his Italy trip last summer without his passport. “But sex? That doesn’t just happen. It’s a process.”

“Unless you were under the influence,” Minghao added. Then, he turned to you and Mingyu with curious eyes. “Were you drunk? High? Coked out?”

Obviously, you and Mingyu weren’t smart enough to cover all the bases of your lie, so neither of you planned out a story beforehand. Taken by surprise, he ended up stuttering, “N-no?”

“So it didn’t just happen,” Jungwoo said with a grin. “You two knew what you were doing.”

“I think you guys are making this way deeper than it actually is,” you replied. “We were just horny and things ended up going that way. That’s all there is to it.”

Minghao snickered. “I don’t believe that for one second.”

“Well, you should,” you started, voice rising along with your temper, “because Mingyu’s hot, and it’s perfectly normal for a young woman to want to have sex with someone who looks like a walking wet dream!”

Your table fell silent, and you suddenly wished you had dramatically stormed away after your (loud) confession. There was nothing subtle about the judgment and concern in everyone’s eyes, but most importantly, you were horrified to see Mingyu’s equally horrified reaction to your outburst.

“Walking wet dream,” Soonyoung parroted in a quieter voice, amusement tugging at his lips. “I’m gonna make that his contact name now.”

Jungwoo shrugged. “Well, I guess it checks out. Mingyu did say he found Y/N cute for a while.”

Your cheeks burned. He found you cute?

Mingyu, who was now blushing tomato red, covered his face with his hands and groaned. If you weren’t so mortified about embarrassing yourself and Mingyu in front of your entire friend group earlier, then you might have found him a little adorable.

So, you fucked up. Again.

You played out your conversation with your friends about five different times, thinking of various outcomes that could have taken place instead. If you didn’t blurt out the first thing that came to your head on impulse, then maybe you wouldn’t have dug a deeper hole for yourself.

Plus, you had to deal with Mingyu now.

Jungwoo’s words kept parroting in your head like a broken record. Cute. What did that mean, anyway? Squirrels were cute, and you were hoping you had enough sex appeal to not be put on the same tier as squirrels.

Of course, you ended up leaving the library after mumbling some excuse about having to attend a professor’s office hours. Although that was a complete lie, your friends seemed to buy it. You thought you were off the hook until you received a text from your friend.

mingyu: can we talk later?

You didn’t know what to think. If this lie of yours ended up breaking your friendship with Mingyu for good, you weren’t sure if you would ever be able to forgive yourself. So, you settled for curling up on your couch and spooning ice cream into your mouth until the pain subsided.

It was nearly midnight when the knock came at your door.

When you opened it, the very man you didn’t want to see was standing big and tall. You were tempted to close the door on Mingyu, but there was no point in pushing him away even more.

“I forgot to reply to your text,” you said.

“I know.” Mingyu looked you up and down, which you couldn’t help but blush at, but you figured he was just eyeing your Hello Kitty pajamas. “Can I come in?”

You opened the door wider, allowing him to step inside. “Are you here to yell at me?”

“No, although I should after what you pulled,” he teased, and you were grateful that he sounded lighthearted again. The tension was still thick, though, and you were certain it was because of the indirect confessions of attraction you both let slip. “I’m here to make a proposal.”

“What is it?”

Mingyu shrugged off his jacket, revealing his toned, muscular arms. You wondered just how much work he put into bulking up at the gym, and then your thoughts started to drift elsewhere. Thinking about how buff his chest was, thinking about how broad his shoulders were, thinking about how—

“A solution to both of our problems,” Mingyu interrupted your thoughts as he took a seat on your couch. He pointed at the bowl of ice cream you left on a cushion. “Is this cookies and cream?”

“Yeah, you can have some.” You took a seat next to him and inquired, “So… explain.”

“Okay, uh, well…” He trailed off, trying some of the ice cream after fiddling with the spoon for minutes. “Hey, this is really good ice cream.”

You gently pushed his spoon down before he could scoop more into his mouth. “Gyu, get to the point already.”

“I never noticed your coffee table was such a nice shade of brown.”

“Mingyu.”

“Could this be mahogany?”

“Mingyu.”

“Alright, alright.” He sighed, turning his head down ever-so-slightly. You were a little terrified that he was going to go on a spiel about ending the friendship, but then he said, “We’re both in predicaments. Our friends won’t leave us alone about the sex thing and you’re still heated about being a virgin. I mean, I’m also tired of my partner being my right hand, so like…”

Oh god. Mingyu was going to ask you to have sex. Kim Mingyu was about to get in your pants right now.

And were you against it? Not at all. The only thing that worried you was that you weren’t sure if you were ready—for sex and potentially blurring the lines of friendship between you and Mingyu.

“So, what are you getting at?” you asked, trying to play off your unnaturally high-pitched voice with a cough.

“Well, after that uncomfortable conversation earlier, I was just thinking… I clearly find you attractive and you find me attractive,” he said, and when he ducked his head a little, you could see the tips of his ears flaming red. “I’m saying I’m down for you to be my first.”

You willed yourself not to stammer over your words as you said, “I thought you wanted your first time to be special.”

“I do,” he mumbled. “That’s why I started thinking about it seriously after you called me a—”

“You don’t have to repeat it,” you cut him off quickly, your face feeling hot again. “But yeah, I’ve always thought you were hot—um, objectively. I didn’t think you thought the same about me, though.”

“Yeah, I do,” he replied shyly, “but I also know you’ve tried to have sex multiple times and back out whenever you get close.” Before you could respond, Mingyu pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and set it down between you two. “That’s why I made this.”

You eyed the paper curiously, glancing at Mingyu for his approval to go ahead and open it. When he gestured for you to do so, you picked it up and unfolded it.

(EX) VIRGIN CONTRACT

Both parties may request whatever they want to try

Either party may approve or deny the other’s request

The contract ends at either party’s request

The friendship must not be ruined, and if the friendship is ever in danger of being ruined, the contract will be terminated.

“I figured it would be less intimidating with you since we both have no idea what’s going on,” Mingyu continued. “This way we can explore whatever we want without judgment.”

(Mingyu would never admit it to you, but part of him was eager to see you underneath him with that shy expression of yours melting away into pure, unadulterated lust. And you would never admit that you wouldn’t exactly hate that.)

“I’m not gonna lie,” you started, “I think we would be bullied even more for this.”

“That’s the unspoken rule number five,” he explained. “We keep whatever this is between ourselves. I know you struggle in that area, but—”

“Oh, shut up.” You couldn’t help but giggle as you set the paper down. “I don’t know…”

“Take your time to think it over.”

“Actually, I’ve made up my mind. Let’s do it.”

Mingyu did a double take, his features curiously pulling together. “Um, I meant that you could take a few days. Not milliseconds.”

There was a reason as to why you caved quickly. Your thoughts had been running at a billion miles per hour for the entirety of your conversation with Mingyu. You were confident that your decision was well-calculated.

Did you want to fuck Mingyu? Yes.

Were you terrified of possibly ruining your friendship? Absolutely.

However, considering the conversation had already happened, the course of your friendship had drastically changed already. The only thing even more potentially damaging than bringing physical intimacy into the relationship was rejecting this offer. If you turned Mingyu down now, your interactions with him would soon fizzle into awkward, cordial small talk.

“Hey, I think it’d be fun,” you decided to say instead of giving him the rundown of your internal crisis.

“Really? You’re sure?”

“I wouldn’t agree to it if I wasn’t. I mean, it’s a big proposal.”

He gave you one of his lopsided smiles. “Right. I didn’t wanna rush into it or anything, but I think we should talk about it more when you’re ready.” Mingyu picked up the remote and handed it to you. “So, wanna get back to our Barbie marathon? We’re on Fairytopia, right?”

“Yeah,” you agreed, taking the remote from him with a touch of disappointment settling into your bones. Part of you was hoping he would get to it right away. “Yeah, we can talk about it later.”

You two did not talk about it.

It had been approximately six days and Mingyu had not reached out once about your contract. You were starting to think that you should have added some sort of clause about response time because the silence was killing you.

The next time you saw him was at a Kappa Sigma party. Soonyoung and Jungwoo always extended an invite to you, which was nice because that meant you could walk right in without being checked out and approved by some frat brother. You would normally drag Shin Ryujin along with you, but she insisted that she wouldn’t be able to wake up for her midterm if she went out to drink. Thus, you figured you wouldn’t show up, but after seeing Mingyu in the background of Minghao’s Snapchat story (which was a video of Vernon snorting a line off some girl’s stomach), you got your ass out of bed and threw your sluttiest top on.

Thirty minutes later, there you were, listening to Lee Chan ramble inside of the Kappa Sigma house. Ten feet from your target: Kim Mingyu.

“I got scammed, Y/N,” the frat brother, who was deep in five beers and four vodka shots, ranted to you while occasionally slurring his words. “Soonyoung ropes me into joining for friends, but I already knew all the people in the frat, anyway!” He paused to take another swig of his beer. “Zero benefits! Zero!”

Although you enjoyed Chan’s company, you were really trying to get Mingyu’s attention. Since walking in and waiting for him to approach you didn’t work, you were going to have to march up to him directly. Unfortunately, the drunk freshman in front of you was not helping one bit.

“That blows,” you replied sympathetically, “but at least you get to party, and you don’t have to worry about finding housing.”

Chan scoffed. “Yeah, if I’m not a sober monitor, then I just get alcohol poisoning. I can never win.”

For the next thirty minutes, you ended up listening to Chan drone on about how the world was against him. Eventually, he started to realize that he didn’t have it all that bad, and then he passed out after you helped him to the couch. You gave up on trying to get Mingyu’s attention; all of your attempts had been in vain, and you didn’t want to embarrass yourself.

After talking to Vernon briefly, though, you found the opportunity to strike. Jungwoo announced a game of rage cage, so you were going to expertly place yourself next to Mingyu. Since everyone else would be focused on the game, you would use that chance to invite him to talk privately later.

Your plan was going smoothly until you stood next to Mingyu and realized he was a shot away from blacking out.

“You look like you’ve been through the trenches and back,” you said.

“Can’t tell where the floor is.”

“Under your feet.”

“Wow, you’re right.”

He was most definitely not in the right headspace to have a conversation about the contract—or to have any conversation, really.

“I’ve been wondering if you’d show up,” he continued. “I wanted to see you.”

Curse your heart for fluttering pathetically.

“You did?” you asked.

There was no time for Mingyu to respond because everyone around the table started screaming at you. When you turned your attention back to the game, you realized the red solo cup was in front of you and Vernon was about to stack you.

“Careful, Y/N, Vernon’s been on a roll,” Minghao taunted, eyes lit up with amusement as he watched you fumble with the ping pong ball.

“I have,” Vernon confirmed. From across the table, he smirked at Joshua Hong, who you figured was his victim from the last game.  

Your lips curled up in a lazy grin. “Yeah? Let’s see if you can stack me even once.”

So, you lost. Miserably.

Vernon was on a roll, and you formally apologized for ever doubting him. (You apologized after getting stacked for a third time, but Vernon didn’t ease up on you. He was a ruthless killing machine.)

On top of the six times you got stacked, you also ended up being the unfortunate bitch cup receiver. You downed it without too many complaints; you were past the point of scowling through your drinks. It would have been less pathetic if you hadn’t talked yourself up so much.

On the bright side, you and Mingyu had gotten so drunk that Soonyoung ushered you two into his room to sober up. Since Chan had already thrown up on the couch, your friend decided that it was better to make sure you were in close proximity to a toilet.

Soonyoung instructed, “Remember, if you feel like throwing up, make sure you go to the—oh my god, Chan, keep your clothes on!”

He groaned and slammed the door shut so that he could chase after his intoxicated friend. You were just thankful that you weren’t that drunk. The room was starting to spin, however, so you were dreading waking up with a headache in the morning.

“You were terrible today,” Mingyu mumbled. His shoulder brushed against yours, and you ended up leaning against him. “But I’m glad you sucked ass.”

Your lips curled in distaste. “What the hell?”

“I only got stacked once thanks to your god-awful performance.” He let his head hang so that he could suck in a sharp breath. “Wow, I feel like shit.”

“You’re such a bitch,” you complained. “I was gonna ask you something serious, too!”

“Oh, really? What is it?”

“Well, I’m not gonna tell you now!”

You almost stammered at the end of your sentence when you saw Mingyu’s puppy eyes on full display. Despite the pleading look on his face, you couldn’t help but notice the way the stray rays of sunlight that poured into Soonyoung’s room were catching onto Mingyu’s honeyed skin. It made his dark brown eyes look like melted amber.

You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol making you feel hot or if the humidity was created by the drunk college students packed into the house like sardines, but Soonyoung’s room felt balmy. Your shirt clung to the sweat beading your back, but all you could think about was how close you and Mingyu were.

It seemed as though he was thinking the same thing. “We should open a window or something.”

“It’s so hot,” you whined. “Feels like a sauna in here.”

“I know. Soonyoung never opens the windows, even though there’s no air conditioning in here.”

“He should invest in a fan.”

“Yeah, that’s why I like your place. You have a nice cooling system.”

You laughed. Mostly because you had very different intentions for this conversation, and here Mingyu was, talking about your air conditioning.

You were sobering up, but you still felt drunk off Mingyu’s attention.

Like he was sharing a secret, your best friend leaned in close to your ear while trying to suppress a giggle. “Should we get out of here?”

“And go where?”

“Your place. Duh.”

“I don’t know if I can even walk downstairs,” you mumbled, suddenly afraid that he was going to think you were a bore.

“I can,” Mingyu said, and before you knew it, he was kneeling down with his back facing you and his arms reaching back. You just stared at him for a moment before he shot you back a questioning look. “What’re you waiting for? Get on.”

You sort of let your body fall against his, but Mingyu helped you regain your balance almost immediately. He gripped your thighs firmly while you looped your arms around his neck. When he stood up, you almost gasped upon realizing how high up you were. It was in that moment when you were suddenly hyper-aware of how massive he was, how strong his back muscles were, and—

He yelped. “Bug!”

—how this man was terrified of everything under the sun.

If you had Mingyu’s height, you wouldn’t let anything stop you. But here he was, cowering even as he towered over the tiny spider that was crawling across the floor.

“You have got to be kidding,” you deadpanned. “You can so easily step over it.”

“They jump.”

“Name one instance where a spider’s ever jumped on you.”

He stiffened. “Uh, never. But that’s because I avoid them at all costs.”

Eventually, with some persuasion and promises of ice cream at home, Mingyu did manage to step over the beast, which was a common house spider. Kim Mingyu struck gold in the gene pool lottery. It was only fair that he had some stupid-sounding fatal flaw.

You whispered instructions on how to sneak past the crowd and giggled into his ear while he tried to creep downstairs and walk out the front door. Thankfully, the house was so packed that hardly anyone noticed you and Mingyu leaving. Only a few guys outside greeted him, but they were simultaneously puking their guts out.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to the party?” you asked as your chin rested on his shoulder. You were genuinely curious because Mingyu always invited you if there was a party. “I only found out when I saw Minghao’s story.”

“Uh… I was about to text you, but then Soonyoung wouldn’t shut up with the teasing and I didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable if you showed up,” he admitted, and, from where you were, you could see the tip of his ear turning pink. “But I was hoping you’d come on your own.”

You tightened your grip on him. “I wouldn’t have felt uncomfortable.”

There was silence for a while between you two, and you felt like the balmy night air was thick with undiscussed feelings. A topic that you and Mingyu were mindful about skirting around, even when the aftereffects of liquid confidence still coursed through your blood. You could hardly even realize it yourself.

Your chin rested on his shoulder. Mingyu had given you piggyback rides before—back when you two were freshmen and still a little shy around each other. The first time was when you ended up twisting your ankle during a Halloweekend party, resulting in Mingyu offering to carry you back to your dorm. You hadn’t had many guy friends before college, so the thought of casual physical contact with a man was strange to you back then.

Everything slowly started to feel natural between you and Mingyu. Now, it was as if someone took a hammer and smashed your perception to pieces. The air was suddenly stifling and you were overly-conscious about how Mingyu’s chest swelled whenever you adjusted your hold on him.

He set you down once he reached the front door of your building. You had mostly sobered up by now, though you were certain you would lose your footing if you took the stairs instead of the elevator.

By the time you two had reached your door, you were already going off on some tangent about how you technically had more sexual experience than Mingyu, despite your total confusion over the actual mechanics of intercourse.

He kicked off his shoes before walking into your living room. “I think you’re underestimating me. Just because I’m saving my first time doesn’t mean I have zero experience whatsoever.”

“Saving it for me,” you teased.

“God,” Mingyu hissed, pinching the bridge of his nose as if your words were truly headache-inducing (but it was mostly to hide his blush). “I never should’ve told you that.”

“Hey, you can’t take it back now.” A giggle bubbled from your lips. “You think I’m cute.”

“I didn’t say cute.”

“I’m repeating exactly what Jungwoo told me.”

“No, he downplayed it for you. I told him”—Mingyu had turned to you fully, placing his hands on your shoulders and letting them slide down to your forearms—“that you’re…” It was as if he snapped out of some sort of trance, shaking his head to stop himself from rambling. “Never mind. Forget what I said.”

“What?!” you exclaimed, pushing at his chest. Hard. “You can’t just say that and back out!”

He winced, shooting you those puppy dog eyes that always made you melt. “I’ll tell you one day.”

“And that day better be today, ‘cause—”

“One day,” he repeated. “It’s too late now. We have a busy day tomorrow.” Mingyu squeezed your forearms gently before letting go and fishing out his phone and keys from his pockets. “I’ll take the couch.”

“Whoa, hold on. What do we have tomorrow?”

The corner of his lip raised in amusement, nearly going unnoticed. “We have that contract to get to, don’t we?”

Obviously, you weren’t able to get any sleep when Mingyu’s words kept sending butterflies to your stomach.

It took an hour of tossing and turning for you to finally get some sleep. That smirk of his kept replaying in your head, flashing behind your eyes over and over again until you forced yourself to blink the image away.

When you woke up in the morning, it was because Mingyu gently tapped your shoulder until you stirred. Since it was a Saturday, you were hoping to sleep in, although the sunlight making Mingyu’s tanned skin glow under its rays was a pleasant sight to wake to.

He grinned, flashing his brilliant white teeth. “Morning.”

“Good morning.” You yawned. “Was the couch comfy?”

“Yeah, I fucking love your couch,” he said, “but it did get a little lonely out there.”

Your chest seized for a moment. Was that an invitation? Or was he suggesting that you could have joined him? Not to mention you could detect the faintest trace of longing in his eyes.

It was too early in the morning for you to think straight, though, so all you could do was that breathy laugh of yours—the one that always sounded frazzled and nervous. Laugh and change the topic.

“So, why’re you up so early?”

“I gotta meet up with Jeonghan real quick, but I’ll drop by later,” he explained. “Forgot I agreed to go to the gym today.”

You remembered Jeonghan—the cute senior from Kappa Sigma that always brought a different girl to their parties. You had spoken to him once or twice after Soonyoung introduced you. It was all small talk, though, nothing of significance. The only distinct memory you had of Jeonghan was how Soonyoung sent him home in an Uber during one party he was blacking out at last year only for Jeonghan to take that Uber right back to the party.

“Alright,” you mumbled, voice still thick with sleep. “You can take the spare key.”

“Say less.”

After Mingyu left and you stretched in your bed for a while, your phone went off with several texts from Minghao. Some of them were from last night, but you had passed out by the time he started sending them.

hao: dude where are you hao: AND WHERE’S MINGYU hao: we’re about to uber back soon hao: soonyoung said he left u guys in his room and now ur both missing?? hao: wait jk i forgot i have ur locations hao: BRUH hao: oh my god hao: u gmfu hao: psa i will be extremely annoying until you spill everything

hao: GOOD MORNING hao: RISE AND SHINE hao: now spill

y/n: good morning. y/n: dot dot dot

hao: bitch hao: i'm onto you

y/n: 😀 y/n: wanna get breakfast? y/n: we can go to that new açai bowl place that opened up near campus y/n: i can spill then

hao: sure i’ll pick you up in 10

The açai bowl place was unfortunately mediocre.

You were not impressed with the range of toppings and neither was Minghao. You two ended up settling for your regular orders with several inclusions left out. To top it off, the bowls were insanely overpriced, leaving you and Minghao thoroughly unsatisfied.

You sat at one of the tables with him, scooping granola into your mouth as you listened to him talk about his experience at the party. Apparently, Vernon started to black out as soon as they made him do a keg stand, so Minghao and Jungwoo took the liberty of taking him home and tucking him in bed. Soonyoung was scrambling around the house because the party had gotten so out-of-hand that one of the neighbors called the cops on them.

You ended up explaining how you and Mingyu ended up going home, fighting down the heat spreading across your face whenever Minghao would shoot you a knowing look. It was as if he was saying, Oh, man, you two are practically already dating.

“Yeah, and about that,” he started and cleared his throat, “you two are still virgins, right?”

Your jaw went slack for a moment, and all you could do was stare at your friend until he let out a questioning hum.

“What?” Minghao continued. “Okay, I haven’t told the others about what I noticed or anything. I just picked up on it last night.”

You frowned before asking, “You picked up on… my v-card?”

“No.” He scoffed. “I picked up on the way you and Mingyu were acting around each other. If you guys actually had sex, there’s no reason for you to act all shy whenever Mingyu comes near you. So, I concluded that either you two haven’t fucked or you caught feelings for him.”

You swallowed hard. For the most part, Minghao had pieced it together perfectly, but you were unsure about his last presumption.

First of all, you had zero idea that you were acting shy in front of Mingyu last night. Sure, there were moments where you felt like your heart dropped to your stomach, but you didn’t think it was noticeable enough for other people to pick up on it.

Second of all, you were pretty sure you were just caught up in the excitement of potentially having sex with Mingyu. Minghao was probably mistaking your anticipation for an emotion too complex for you to feel for your best friend.

Lastly, he caught your virgin self red-handed. Since you still hadn’t established a proper story with Mingyu yet, there was no way you could defend yourself now. Not when you were blanking on excuses.

“H-huh?”

“You were still acting like Little Miss I’ve Never Felt The Touch Of A Man, is what I’m saying.”

You frowned. Okay, rude.

“Fine. You got me,” you replied, sighing in defeat. “We’re both still virgins. I really fucked up when I started running my mouth in front of you guys.”

Minghao almost seemed alarmed for a moment, but his expression relaxed. Slowly, his smile tugged into a proper laugh. It wasn’t enough to wipe the mortified expression off your face, though; in fact, you felt even more humiliated.

“I knew it,” he said. “I knew there was something fishy about your story!”

“Please don’t tell the others,” you begged. “Soonyoung’s gonna hate me if he finds out I lied to him.”

Kwon Soonyoung was especially sensitive about lying. Most people were, of course, but Soonyoung prioritized trust in his relationships, whether they were platonic or romantic. Once, when he found out his ex-girlfriend lied about where she would go on Friday nights, he broke up with her a week later.

You weren’t sure how he would react to your lie, but you weren’t enthusiastic about finding out.

“You’re gonna tell him eventually, though, right?”

You sighed. “I know I have to eventually. I just have to find the right timing. Things got complicated between Mingyu and I, so I’m trying to figure that out first.”

Minghao took a sip from his Coca-Cola. “What happened between you and Mingyu?”

You swallowed down a mouthful of açai and granola before explaining, “So, basically, to clear up the lie about Mingyu and I, we’ve decided to lose our virginities to each other.”

“You’re losing your virginity… to cover up a lie?”

“No! I mean, technically yes, but, like, I just think—”

“Listen,” he interrupted. “I know you’re terrible at math, but let’s put two and two together here.” Despite the offense drawn across your face, he continued, “Mingyu’s been saving himself for that ‘special someone,’ so obviously, he wouldn’t just lose his virginity to anyone.”

“You’re saying he’s gonna back out?”

“I’m saying—” Minghao cut himself off and a smile spread across his face. “You know what, I’m gonna let you figure that out for yourself. My work here is officially done.”

“What?! You can’t just say that and give me no context!”

He folded his arms across his chest. “Vernon told me not to meddle, so I’m going to keep my mouth shut until you see it for yourself.”

“See what for myself?” you asked with an exasperated sigh.

“You’ll see.”

When you got home, Mingyu was already in your house with a large whiteboard in the center of your living room. Before you even opened your mouth to ask where the hell it came from, he explained that he “borrowed” it from the community room downstairs. (You made a mental note to return it before anyone noticed it missing.)

Your head was still turning after your conversation with Minghao, and you weren’t all that great at hiding your expression. As soon as you made eye contact with Mingyu, you could tell he knew something was up.

“Did something happen?” he asked.

“Nothing, I’m fine,” you replied as you shrugged off your jacket. “How was the gym? Also, why the whiteboard?”

He grinned. Scrawled on the board in blue Expo marker were both of your names as headers for columns. Mingyu handed you a black marker and stood with one hand gripping the top of the board.

“Step one,” he started. “We write down anything we wanna try, and then we approve or veto the options.”

You uncapped the marker. “Anything?”

“Anything.”

“No judgment?”

“No judgment.”

You started writing down whatever desires you had pushed down for years. Albeit short, you figured they covered all the bases. Weeks ago, you wouldn’t have dreamed of admitting any of them to Mingyu; now that your relationship with him took a turn, however, it wasn’t so hard to reveal them.

Next to you, Mingyu was shamelessly jotting sex positions down like he had them memorized. You peeked at his list out of the corner of your eye and nearly did a spit take. The first one on your list was kissing, but Mingyu had started off with anal.

Although he agreed to zero judgment, you were finding it hard to feel the same way.

Once you two were done, you stepped back to look at the whiteboard with its two complete lists side-by-side. Mingyu’s list was considerably longer than yours, but you stood by your own. You felt as though yours was more natural, more gradual.

Y/N

Kissing

Neck kissing

Touching

Penetrative sex

MINGYU

Anal

69

Cowgirl

Wall sex

Public sex

Phone sex

It had come to your attention that Mingyu, like every other man, was incredibly horny.

You had been worrying about the act of sex itself for ages, and your best friend was suggesting something far beyond your capabilities? You weren’t even considering doing anal in the next ten years, let alone for the sake of your contract.

Mingyu snorted. “Kissing.”

“You said no judgment!”

“I thought it was cute, that’s all,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Anyway, anal?” You scoffed. “I don’t know if your list is exactly beginner level.”

“Well, that’ll just make you an expert by the end of this, won’t it?”

You couldn’t stop your cheeks from heating up. “Okay, how about we start with my much more reasonable list, and then we can get to your scary, intimidating one once we actually, um… do the deed.”

“You have seriously got to start just saying sex.”

“Shut up.”

Mingyu’s smirk was not helping your blush one bit, so you just pretended the embarrassing warmth spreading across your chest didn’t exist. Instead, you grabbed the whiteboard eraser to wipe off the ink from the word anal.

Your best friend slash fuckbuddy let out a petulant whine, so you smacked his bicep.

“I approve of the others for now,” you started shyly, “but we start yours after my list is finished. Do you have anything from mine that you don’t approve of?”

The question wasn’t very sensible, considering all of your list was a prerequisite for more than half of Mingyu’s list. However, after your conversation with Minghao, you were still unsure if Mingyu actually wanted to go all the way with you.

“Nope,” he answered, smiling at you with questioning eyes as if his answer had already been clear as day. “Your list is pretty tame, y’know? Not that it’s a problem or anything.”

Before you could answer, he sucked in a sharp breath and looked over at the board again. “Actually, maybe we should get rid of your first one. It might mess with, uh, rule four.”

Ah, the fourth rule: The friendship must not be ruined, and if the friendship was ever in danger of being ruined, the contract would be terminated.

You were devastated that it had come back to bite you in the ass.

In an attempt to veil your disappointment, you shrugged and turned your head away so that your best friend wouldn’t see the rejection clouding your eyes.

“I’m just curious, but why’re you against kissing?” you asked. “I mean, I just feel like it’ll be awkward if we don’t.”

“You know, it’s the whole neurotransmitters and dopamine rush thing, Y/N,” he explained. If you weren’t feeling so miserable about your best friend turning you down, then you probably would have giggled at his random neuroscience tidbit. “It’s such an emotional act.”

Part of you understood Mingyu’s reasoning behind avoiding kissing. If you were so affected just by his words and eye contact now, then kissing him would mess with your emotions. You weren’t exactly sure if you held kissing at more of a sentimental level as Mingyu did, but you agreed that it intensified intimacy.

Before you were about to hesitantly accept his words, though, Mingyu added, “Judas, in fact, betrayed Jesus with a kiss.”

You couldn’t believe those words came out of his mouth.

“Yeah,” you started, “I don’t think these situations are comparable.”

After gingerly prying the whiteboard eraser from your fingers, Mingyu crossed out “kissing” from your column. The dried ink from the dry erase marker streaked across the board, leaving fragments of ink scattered about that he didn’t bother wiping off. (You were a little distracted by the little zap of electricity that coursed through your veins after his fingers brushed against yours.)

Without missing a beat, Mingyu asked, “You don’t have, like, crabs or anything, right?”

“You’re accusing me of having pubic lice?”

“Well, when you put it like that,” he mumbled, “I guess it sort of sounds like I am. I mean, I don’t actually think you have crabs! I just—you know… it’s good to ask.”

“No, Mingyu, I don’t have crabs.”

“Good, good.” His voice trailed off awkwardly and he leaned against the frame of the whiteboard. His unrelaxed mannerisms were making you feel nervous. “That’s always good.”

“Do you have crabs?”

“I do. Her name’s Clawdia, but with a w, like claw.”

“Mingyu,” you warned.

“I’m kidding.” He held his hands up in defense. “No crabs here. Except Clawdia, but she belongs to Wonwoo.”

You rolled your eyes. Mingyu’s roommate since freshman year, Jeon Wonwoo, was someone you surprisingly didn’t have a lot of interactions with despite him and Mingyu being best friends. Whenever you went over to Mingyu’s place, Wonwoo was normally locked up in his room, either studying or gaming away.

Apparently, he also owned a crab.

“Alright, so,” you started in a small voice, “when do we start?”

His eye contact was galvanizing, sending little currents shooting up your spine. For a moment, you felt like you couldn’t breathe. All you could think about was how brown Mingyu’s eyes were and how they swallowed you whole whenever his gaze set on you.

Normally, you could see glimmers of sunlight dancing across his irises. Now, the look in his eyes was almost ferocious, like two voids that sucked you in.

His lips were pressed together in a thin line, and you almost picked up on the raised pitch of his voice when he proposed, “How about later?”

“Later sounds perfect.”

Telling white lies became increasingly easier around Kim Mingyu.

Later never came.

You were starting to experience major déjà vu because it was so like Mingyu to chicken out after giving his word. Not one phone call or text to meet up, nor did you two bring it up in day-to-day conversations.

On one particular night, though, Mingyu sent you a semi-suggestive message, asking for permission to come over. Since you figured you would be in for a long night, you made sure to shave and spritzed yourself all over with your favorite Givenchy perfume. To your dismay, Mingyu was quick to mention that he wanted to continue your Barbie movie marathon. You begrudgingly spent your night watching Barbie in the 12 Dancing Princesses.

(And you swore his fingers brushed against yours under the blanket you two shared, but when you glanced up at his face, flickering with the shifting TV light, he pulled his hand back faster than it happened.)

The very moment a Barbie movie would start playing, you knew that absolutely nothing would happen between you and Mingyu. And, even if he tried to initiate anything, you wouldn’t reciprocate because there was no fucking way you would taint your wholesome Barbie marathon experience with sexual intercourse.

A week flew by without any follow-up on the contract, but you supposed you were partly to blame, too. There were several times where you could have brought up the topic yourself, but you were just as hesitant as Mingyu. Talking about it was one thing, but acting on your hormones was a feat of its own.

All the waiting and anticipation over Mingyu hopefully making a move was simply making you hornier. It was hard to even think properly whenever you started daydreaming of his lips on top of yours, dragging down your neck, moving down your body—

“—and that’s why you will be receiving twenty boxes of Connect Fours.” Soonyoung finished, causing you to snap out of whatever fantasy was playing in your head.

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t really know how to articulate myself better here,” he said. “Twenty boxes of Connect—”

“No, no, I heard what you said,” you interrupted, “but why the fuck?”

He waved your question off. “That’s not important. What’s important is that you let me know when you get those twenty boxes.” He flashed you a grin and a thumbs-up when you just nodded, dazed. “Thanks. This is why I love you.”

You took a nervous sip from your vanilla milkshake. (Soonyoung worked for the Undergraduate Student Council, which meant you could exploit him for his free dining dollars.)

You couldn’t help but feel crushing guilt every time you spoke to Soonyoung, especially when you two were hanging out one-on-one like this. Mingyu had been harping on and on about how it wasn’t that big of a deal, but maybe it was because the thought of losing your virginity was such a huge deal to you that you kept brooding over your lie.

And, to make matters worse, all you could think about was Mingyu because you were horny out of your mind. The longer he stayed away from you, the longer you kept thinking about him. You almost wished he hadn’t initiated this stupid contract if he wasn’t going to follow through with it.

“Hey, look, it’s your walking wet dream,” Soonyoung said, and lo and behold, there he was: Kim Mingyu fitted in a sleeveless white shirt and gray sweatpants.

He was walking with Jungwoo, whom you assumed came from the gym, too. Mingyu’s hair was damp and matted to his neck, and his muscles were accentuated by a faint sheen of sweat. They didn’t notice you and Soonyoung at first, too occupied with their own conversation, but after Soonyoung hollered from the table you two were sitting at, the two men started looking around until they spotted you.

Maybe you were seeing things, but it was almost like Mingyu seized up at the sight of you.

“Y/N!” Jungwoo was looking at you as if a lightbulb just went off in his head. “I’m formally inviting you to join Kappa Sigma in Vegas this weekend.” When you were about to protest, he continued, “Apparently, Chan’s date flaked on him last minute, so he’s looking for someone else to go with him.”

You folded your arms across your chest. “So what’s the catch?”

“No catch. You get to go to Vegas for free and hang out with me and Soonyoung.”

“Seriously?”

Soonyoung grinned. “C’mon, it’s Sin City.”

Mingyu scoffed. “Wait, this weekend? Isn’t that kind of short notice?”

“It’s Vegas, and everything’s covered. All you have to do is pack a bag or two.” Jungwoo clicked his tongue before patting Mingyu’s chest. “You won’t mind, right? Y’know, since you two fucked and all.”

“Jungwoo!” you screeched, horrified by his blunt wording.

“What? It’s true.”

Mingyu lowered his gaze. “It just happened once. No big deal.”

“See, Mingyu doesn’t have any hard feelings,” Soonyoung said, elbowing you gently in an attempt to lighten your mood. “You have Chan’s number, right? Just shoot him a text when you decide.”

You nodded half-heartedly. Some sort of sick grief pressed against your lungs, snaking its way up your throat and making it hard to breathe. It grew hotter and hotter until you had to swallow it down before any tears started rolling down your cheeks.

“We gotta get to our next class,” Jungwoo said, jerking a thumb in Mingyu’s direction, “but just say yes! Think about it: free hotel, free transportation, free drinks—we’ve got you covered.”

“Yeah,” you muttered, huffy. “Maybe I will.”

You felt stupid. Completely and utterly stupid.

Kim Mingyu, although easy on the eyes, was proving to be quite difficult for your heart.

It wasn’t like you two were dating, nor had either of you even kickstarted your friends with benefits relationship, so there was no reason for you to be upset over his words. As many times as you tried to push it down, you kept seeing his twisted expression when he uttered those three words that pricked you like thorns. No big deal.

No big deal that you felt like crying your eyes out over Kim Mingyu, who wasn’t even anything to you other than a friend. No big deal that you were curled up on your couch, watching a TV show that you were barely paying attention to, but the noise made you feel less alone. No big deal that you were scooping your cookies and cream ice cream into your mouth, thinking about how it was his favorite flavor.

The stupid part was that Mingyu was just covering up your mess. You two didn’t even have sex, and he was just going along with the lie that you came up with. There was no logical reason for you to be mad at him.

And you realized that logic wasn’t often involved in matters of the heart, anyway.

A knock came at your door at approximately 9:15 p.m.—right when you were about to take a shower and drag yourself to bed. You figured it was Mingyu before you even opened it because no one else would show up uninvited.

“Hey,” he said, taking note of your disheveled appearance with an agonizingly slow sweep of his eyes. An ugly part of your heart wanted to believe he possibly could have been checking you out. “Are you busy right now?”

“I was just doing my assignment, but it’s due tomorrow, so I’m chilling.”

“Sorry, I should’ve called or texted.”

You shook your head. “No, it’s all good. Did you need anything?”

You could see him visibly swallow before asking, “Can I come in?” As soon as you opened the door wider, letting Mingyu step through the entry-way, he turned to you and let his shoulders sag. “I feel like I fucked up somehow.”

“You didn’t fuck up,” you said, keeping your back turned to him as you closed and locked your door. Your hand lingered on the door knob for a moment until you pulled away and headed to your living room, hardly sparing Mingyu a glance. “You were just covering for our lie.”

That clearly wasn’t what was plaguing Mingyu, though. Even after you clarified that he hadn’t done anything wrong, it still looked like something was bothering him. His eyes were hard and his jaw was jutting out, which was what his face usually set into when he was sulking.

“Are you really going to Vegas?” he asked, then added, “With Chan?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know yet. It sounds fun. I mean, they’re covering practically everything for me, so I might.”

The reality was that you didn’t care if you went to Vegas or not. Sure, you were more interested after finding out that you didn’t have to pay for transportation or the hotel. Plus, getting to spend time with Jungwoo and Soonyoung away from your college town sounded like a fun experience.

However, you didn’t like the idea of being Chan’s replacement date. You also didn’t want him to feel obligated to go with you just because he had no one else to go with. You also didn’t know what being his date actually entailed because you didn’t want the whole weekend to consist of his frat brothers egging him on to make a move on you.

Like Mingyu said, it was short notice. You were definitely going to feel stressed about making plans for Vegas when it was days away. Not only did you have to pack, but you had to make sure you were all caught up on your schoolwork before you spent your weekend drinking and partying. It didn’t help that you weren’t even done with your assignments due tomorrow.

Mingyu frowned. “You do realize it’s this weekend, right? And you’re probably gonna have to skip your Friday classes to make it.”

“Yeah, I realize that.” You scoffed. “I don’t see why it concerns you, though, considering you and I have both skipped classes before just because we didn’t feel like going. Do you not want me to go or something?”

“It’s completely your decision.”

“If it’s completely my decision, then why are you here? And why are we talking about this?”

He faltered, stammering over words that he couldn’t string together before saying, “Look, it’s your choice whether you go or not. I’m not gonna sit here and tell you I don’t want you to go.”

You paused. A stupid jolt of your heart made you ask, “You don’t want me to go?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You literally just did.”

Mingyu took a moment to replay his own words in his head, his expression morphing from confused to dumbfounded in a matter of seconds. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before letting out a heavy sigh.

“Okay, yeah,” he said, “but I didn’t say that to change your mind or anything.”

“Well, if you’re gonna bring it up, then at least give me a reason to stay,” you said with an exasperated breath, “or else why should I pass up a free trip to Vegas?”

He pulled away quicker than it happened. One minute you were frustrated, and the next you felt Mingyu’s soft lips pressed against yours for a brief moment. Then, you were frustrated again because it was over so soon. You were blinking away your shock as Mingyu’s hair tickled your face before pulling back.

He kissed you.

Kim Mingyu kissed you.

“You could just stay here,” he murmured in that velvety voice of his, reaching over to card a hand through your hair, brushing that one spot under your ear that made you shudder, “with me.”

Your eyes followed his movements while the rest of your body was frozen, stunned by the sudden physical contact. Mingyu’s voice grew huskier and his eyes darker, but all you could think about were how big his hands were as his fingers ghosted your collarbone.

His lips tugged up in amusement because from one glance, anyone could tell he had an effect on you. There was no denying the electric current running through your body; it was making it harder and harder for you to resist him.

You wasted no time in pulling him down by his collar and kissed him with earnest longing tucked into the corners of your lips.

He didn’t reciprocate until his eyes glazed over with lust, and then Mingyu was grabbing at your waist and pulling you closer. His touch burned, nearly making you flinch underneath the pads of his fingers. If you were being perfectly honest with yourself, there were times where you imagined his lips on yours like this—a thought that crept into your head whenever you saw girls chatting him up at parties.

In sophomore year, Mingyu had a thing with a girl named Hayoung for a few months. There wasn’t a party that would go by without you seeing Mingyu in a corner with her, whispering little secrets that they would laugh at. That was also the year when you became scarily good at hiding your lingering stares. You eventually mastered the art of people-watching without being caught.

And, deep down, you were probably jealous.

And that was probably why you felt like you were in the clouds when Mingyu’s lips were finally on yours.

The two of you were soon engulfed in a cloud of lust once Mingyu nipped at your bottom lip with his sharp canines and slid his tongue into your mouth. You let slip a sound that was something between a whimper and exhale, but it was quickly muffled by Mingyu’s mouth pressing harder against yours, licking into your mouth eagerly. It was as if your lips were molding together in perfect harmony.

It felt as though time melted away, pooling at your feet until you couldn’t move one bit. You felt Mingyu’s big hands ravage down your body while yours were looped around his neck. Just when he started tugging at your clothes, he pulled back and sucked in a sharp breath to ground himself.

You did the same, letting your chest rise and fall steadily as you stared up at him with hints of lust in your eyes that hadn’t ebbed away just yet.

A few moments of silence passed before Mingyu looked toward the whiteboard that you had moved up against the wall.

“Why was kissing on your list, anyway?” he pressed. “You’ve already done it before, so it’s not like it’s anything new to you.” You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Nothing was making sense in your own head. Mingyu stepped closer to you and let his gaze fall to your lips. “Is there another reason?”

You two were impossibly close. So close that you could smell the cologne wafting off him. Feel the cold metal of his chain against your skin.

You were positive that Mingyu could pick up on the nervous hitch in your breathing. Your stomach knotted tighter and tighter as he towered over you, and your heart bruised against your rib cage with how hard it was beating.

“I guess I just felt like I wanted to kiss you,” you admitted, dropping your voice so low that it was barely audible.

But Mingyu heard it. It was clear by the unmistakable grin that stretched across his face.

Always the gentleman, Mingyu asked, “Does that mean we’re ready for step two?”

“What’s step two?”

“Step two on losing your virginity,” Mingyu announced with a dramatic flourish of his wrist to amplify his theatrical voice, “is to set the mood.”

You were pretty sure you and Mingyu already had a good mood going on until he interrupted to announce that.

“Wait, so you were waiting for…” You cut yourself off, shaking your head in disbelief as your eyes focused on his sheepish grin.

“You have to actually want me so that we can start,” he reasoned. “I can’t, like, make you feel good if you’re not into it.”

“But you knew I was attracted to you. I literally called you a ‘walking wet dream’ in front of all our friends.”

“That’s different. You finding me hot isn’t the same as wanting to kiss me.”

“O-okay,” you stammered, “but how do I know if you feel the same way or not?”

“Well,” Mingyu started in that low, husky voice of his, setting his hands on your hips after a beat of hesitation and pulling you closer, “I could just show you.”

His breath was hot against your ear, and you felt as if it lulled you into some sort of trance as he pulled you toward him. Closer and closer until he was sitting on your couch and pulling you on top of him. Before you could even straddle Mingyu properly, he started planting kisses up the column of your neck. Each one grew more hungry than the last as he nipped and sucked at your tender skin.

This was not happening.

Well, of course this was supposed to happen, but you hadn’t exactly mentally prepared yourself for this very moment. The very moment when you and Mingyu would physically cross the line of friendship.

“That feel good?” he purred against your skin, the vibrations making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. The fire in his stare made you feel like putty in his hands.

“Mmhm,” was all you could muster without falling apart, so you just wrapped your arms around him tighter.

You winced when he bit down on a particularly sensitive patch of your flesh. For a while, Mingyu just sucked and nipped at the side of your neck until he was pulling back and you were whining for more. His thumb brushed against the bluish-black mark he created, and you could only imagine how much concealer you were going to need to cover it up.

His lips attached to your neck again. For a moment, you thought he was going to give you another hickey until his pecks traveled up all the way to kiss a tender spot under your ear, and then you two froze for a few seconds, not knowing how to proceed. Mingyu’s lips tugged into a frown as he looked at you with an inquisitive hum.

His gaze fell to your lips. “Should I just—”

He cut you off with a swift, experimental peck to your lips. A small smile tugged at his lips when he saw how flustered you looked after.

“Mingyu,” you said in a small voice, “I thought you said no kissing?”

“I don’t care anymore.”

Once again, his lips chased yours until he successfully captured them in a searing kiss. You immediately melted in his hold, and even though part of you was screaming at the other half to stop and think about what you and your best friend were doing, all you cared about was the way Mingyu pulled you closer by the waist, higher onto his lap.

Yet, although you were unbearably horny, you still flinched when Mingyu’s fingers slid under your shirt and sprawled out against your bare midriff.

He froze instantly and then drew his hands back until they were resting on your thighs. You couldn’t help but let out a disappointed sigh, curling your hands into fists so that your nails were pressing crescent-shaped indents into your palms.

You shook your head, your breath stuttering in your chest. “I’m sorry. I’m all good. I just need to—”

“No, no, don’t apologize,” Mingyu said, reaching over to brush your hair out of your face. His other hand stayed on your thigh and gave you a comforting squeeze. “We’re doing this at your pace, remember? We can stop whenever you want.”

But even though he said the right words to put you at ease, you still couldn’t help but feel frustrated with yourself. You just didn’t understand why you had that mental block keeping you from going further. The mixture of discontent and irritation painted across your face was clear as day. But you didn’t want to feel like an idiot in front of Mingyu, so you uncurled your fists and placed your hands on his chest instead.

“Can we try again tomorrow?” you asked shyly.

A single angry tear slid down your cheek, which Mingyu took notice of and promptly wiped from your face with his thumb.

“Of course.” His eyes were a little wide, like he was momentarily buffering while he was trying to figure out how to comfort you. His eyes darted around the room before they settled on the TV remote you kept neatly on top of a stack of books on the coffee table. “Wanna continue our marathon? I think we’re on Island Princess now.”

After you nodded, Mingyu gently helped you off his lap so that you two could watch the movie together. As he toyed with your remote, you couldn’t help but glance at his arms, watching his biceps flex under his shirt. You thought about how they were just circled around your body, and you soon wished his touch was back on your skin.

A short while into the movie, Mingyu’s hand found itself on top of your knee, and you bit back a small smile as it stayed there for the rest of the night.

Mingyu spent another night on the couch—accidentally, because you two fell asleep in the middle of Barbie and the Island Princess—but, this time, you ended up spending the night right next to him.

Of course, nothing happened other than you tossing and turning a few times due to Mingyu’s snores and prying yourself out of his grip so that you could nestle into your blanket. It was an unfortunate fate that you and Mingyu wound up waking up on opposite sides of the couch.

You kept your eyes screwed shut after you woke up, though, choosing to wallow in your own thoughts for the first ten minutes of your day. You couldn’t get over what happened between you and Mingyu last night, and it was making you dread the thought of facing him once you opened your eyes. You were praying that he wouldn’t regret what went down.

It made you feel better that he didn’t shy away from you during the movie. He even made some light jokes about what you two did, which, at the very least, made you glad that he wasn’t having second thoughts.

(“I don’t know why they didn’t call you Captain Chastity By Choice,” Mingyu blurted out while scooping popcorn into his mouth. “We already knocked out half your list.”)

“Morning,” he grumbled in that husky morning voice that made your stomach feel like you were free-falling off a cliff. His soft, sleepy eyes gave you a once-over before he said, “I know you’re awake, Y/N.”

You had been peeking at him through barely-open eyes, but you gave up your farce and straightened up to face him properly.

“Good morning,” you greeted back. “Sleep well?”

He hummed before leaning in to peck your lips—a gesture that caught you off-guard because you didn’t think he would just start casually kissing you whenever. It felt far too intimate for you to brush it off as hormones acting up. You didn’t have the time to ask Mingyu why he did that before he started complaining.

You thought back to the whiteboard where Mingyu crossed out kissing, leaving behind faint traces of dry ink.

“Sort of,” he replied with a pout. “You stole the blanket! I had to curl up in the corner because I was freezing.”

He was rubbing small circles on your thigh with his thumb as he spoke, and you wondered if he knew the effect he had on you.

“By the way,” he continued, “I have an idea.”

“What’s your idea?”

“Let’s not make sex our goal. We can start slow today—maybe just foreplay until you’re comfortable with me.” He straightened up and crossed his legs so that he could face you. “No one’s taken the time to make you feel comfortable first, right?”

You recalled your list of unsuccessful trysts, starting with good old Mark Lee, who unfortunately became reduced to an inside joke in your friend group. After that, you were only intimate with two other men in your college years.

One was Choi Yeonjun, who you stopped while he was in the middle of stripping down so that you could make your escape. He was hot and all, but your nerves caught up to you by the time his tongue was down your throat. The other was Lee Minho, who was an absolute sweetheart, but you ended up calling an Uber to take you home after you saw his (somewhat intimidating) hard-on.

They were quite embarrassing recollections.

“You’re gonna spend the whole day making me feel comfortable?” you asked, and there was a hopeful gleam in your eyes that made Mingyu feel like he was a supernova among stars.

“If that’s what it takes.”

You had to appreciate Mingyu’s commitment.

After making pancakes for you and showing you Reddit stories on TikTok as you ate (which you also spent nearly an hour dissecting afterward), he got right to pulling you onto his lap and tracing a path up and down your forearms. Of course, he let you keep scrolling through his TikTok because you had gotten so immersed in the Reddit stories. Mingyu offered commentary as you two listened to each one under your new favorite profile of the hour.

“Her boyfriend invited another girl to his team dinner?” Mingyu gasped upon hearing the further details, still ghosting his large hands along your arms.

“Not the asshole,” you confirmed at the end with an adamant nod. “He was totally shutting her down when she told him she was uncomfortable.”

“He’s definitely got feelings for the other girl.”

You nearly sucked in a breath at his words. For whatever reason, the very mention of feelings made your nerves feel like cut wire. It was probably because whatever you and Mingyu had become was toeing the line of situationship.

Later, you ended up laying on top of him as a random Disney movie played on your TV. You didn’t exactly remember the process of you two choosing what to watch, but neither of you paid any attention after Mingyu slipped his hands past the hem of your shirt. The pads of his fingers burned against your skin as he drew circles on your bare waist.

“Higher,” you whispered.

Mingyu hummed inquisitively, peering down at you with an amused smile. He ran his hands up your torso so that his fingers rested right under the underwire of your bra.

“Like that?” he asked, and the teasing inflection in his voice made it clear that he was waiting for you to beg for more. And, oh, he loved the look on your face as you fought down your embarrassment. You shook your head before he cooed, “No?”

“No,” you echoed, “higher.”

Mingyu’s fingers slid up just enough to feel the wiring lining your bra cups. He frowned and moved one hand to the small of your back, snaking his hand up until he was holding onto the clasp.

“Mind if I get this out of the way?”

“Go ahead.”

He unclasped your bra with expert precision, his fingers working effortlessly to undo the hook. Your eyes were practically bugging open as you felt the fabric fall from your chest, wondering where in the world Mingyu learned how to do that. You didn’t have the mind to ask, though, because as soon as your bra straps came loose and fell down your shoulders, Mingyu’s hands cupped your breasts and squeezed experimentally.

This was probably the farthest you had gone in terms of physical touch, and you didn’t feel strange at all. Something about Mingyu’s touch was comforting, like the warmth of the sun enveloping you whole.

He rolled your nipple between his thumb and pointer finger, making you wince upon contact. You didn’t realize you were so sensitive already. It was clearly affecting Mingyu, too; you could feel something hard poking your thigh, and from what you gathered, it was impressively large under his sweatpants.

“So,” you started, a little too nervous for your liking, “all this is supposed to help me feel comfortable during sex?”

“Yeah, I worked it all out in my head,” Mingyu said between intervals of circling your nipple with his thumb and kissing your neck. “This is all part of my extremely helpful guide to helping you lose your virginity.”

“I wouldn’t call it extremely helpful, considering you’re a virgin yourself.” You laughed when Mingyu pouted in response. “What? I’m just saying I don’t think you have the credentials.”

“I will in”—he proceeded to check an imaginary watch on his wrist—“two business days.”

Two business days, as in the two days Soonyoung and Jungwoo had left for their Vegas trip. Mingyu was determined for you both to lose your virginities by then, although he reassured you over and over again that you could always speak up if you needed more time.

You had been getting several updates from Soonyoung and Jungwoo throughout the day. Apparently, Chan ended up going stag, but last night you saw two girls draped over him on Jungwoo’s Snapchat story. It made you feel a little less bad about turning down being his date.

“Plus,” Mingyu continued, “I have no problem getting naked right now. You’re the one who’s holding back.”

There was a challenging fire in your eyes. “You have no problem?”

“Nope.”

“Alright.” You put your hands over Mingyu’s and pushed them away from your body. “Then strip. Getting comfortable being naked means we have to actually be naked, right?”

“That means you have to undress, too.”

“Fine.”

He looked amused. “Fine.”

Fuck.

You were nervous.

And surprisingly, it wasn’t the thought of being naked in front of Mingyu that made you nervous, it was seeing your best friend completely nude that had you worried. It was no surprise to anyone that Mingyu was a looker, and you weren’t sure you were ready what he looked like under those clothes.

Mingyu gently moved you off of him and stood up to start stripping off his pants and shirt. His shirt came off in a single, swift motion, revealing his toned, muscular body. Years of work were etched in the grooves of his abdomen, his soft stomach complemented by strong muscle. Mingyu was never the type to show off his body at the gym, but you were starting to wish you were prepared for how gorgeous he was.  

Next, he pushed his sweatpants down until the fabric swamped his ankles. You swallowed hard when you saw the growing bulge in his boxers, but seconds later you were looking at how his hard cock stood right up as soon as his boxers had been discarded somewhere across your living room floor.

He was huge.

“Your turn,” he murmured.

You felt your pulse race.

“That’s not fitting inside me,” you blurted out, cheeks heating up with embarrassment. “There’s no way that fits inside me.”

“It’ll fit, Y/N,” he replied softly, reaching forward to take your hands in his. “I’ll do everything I can to make it fit comfortably, and if it doesn’t work out, then we can just keep trying at whatever pace works for you.” You looked skeptical but Mingyu held up his pinky finger. “Promise.”

There was no room for you to doubt him when he was looking at you with those big, hopeful eyes. So, you hooked your pinky finger with his and smiled when he helped you take off your shirt, still keeping your fingers interlocked.

Since you normally slept without a bra, your torso was fully bare once your shirt was off, so Mingyu nearly choked on his spit when he saw you. You moved your free hand to slide your shorts down while his eyes were fixed on the swell of your breasts.

“Can I motorboat your tits?” he asked bluntly.

You snorted immediately, taken aback by his straightforward question. Not only that, but your pinky fingers were still hooked together—a rather intimate gesture followed by a vulgar question.

“Whoa there, Sex Education. Let’s take it down a notch.”

He chuckled before sitting back down on the couch. You thought he would’ve wanted to take care of his hard-on, but Mingyu just held out his arms to you.

“What?” you asked, letting him grab your waist and pull you flush to his chest. Your brows furrowed more when he grabbed the TV remote from your coffee table. “What’re you doing?”

“We have to finish Barbie and the Island Princess, don’t we?”

You gave him a look before it clicked for you. This was all part of Mingyu’s plan to make you feel comfortable—pushing your limits and then settling for something that would put you at ease—so you cozied up to him and let him play the movie.

A demure smile stretched across your face. “Only if we can cuddle.”

“As my lady commands,” he joked, and then you were both laughing.

(And, spoiler: he did more than cuddle.

The way he kissed you made you feel like you were standing on hot coals. His tongue was halfway down your throat and his hands ran up and down your sides. You kissed him until your lungs burned for oxygen and you had to pull back for air. Mingyu peppered love bites all over your body and, by the end of the night, you two were a tangled mess of limbs on the floor with your sweat matting your hair down.

But, most importantly, you two finally got through Barbie and the Island Princess.)

There were a few reasons why Mingyu was roommates with Jeon Wonwoo.

He specifically chose not to room with someone in the friend group for two reasons: the first reason was because Wonwoo’s living habits aligned more with his, and the second reason was to avoid any possibility of ruining the friendship dynamic. Mingyu had his fair share of horror roommate stories, dating back to freshman year when his roommate in the dorms lived like a slob and muttered borderline psychopathic threats in his sleep. You remembered countless nights when Mingyu would knock at your door and ask if he could sleep on the floor.

For Mingyu, Wonwoo was his only saving grace since sophomore year.

You had gone to their room a few times, but you never overstayed your welcome. Although Wonwoo never complained, you felt guilty every time he walked out of his room with AirPods in. It was like he knew to block you out when he heard you coming in.

Today, since Mingyu had been working on code all day, you offered to bring him boba from the farmer’s market that you went to with Ryujin.

You double-checked the label on the side before handing him the drink. “Strawberry matcha.”

“Thanks. I’ve been deprived of boba since fall semester.” He grinned as he tore the plastic wrapping his straw was in. Mingyu popped the straw into the sealing film and took a sip before handing it to you. “Want some?”

“Sure.” You graciously took the cup to sip the delicious fruity blend. Shyly, you added, “It’s also a thank you… for last night. You actually helped a lot.”

You could tell Mingyu was fighting down a smirk; you could practically hear it in his tone. “Oh, did I?”

“Yeah, I actually did feel a lot more comfortable after all that.”

He flashed you a bright grin. “See? It’s the guide.”

“Uh-huh, sure.”

“I’m serious! It’s effective, isn’t it?” He set his drink down to turn his chair and look up at you properly. “You may think I thought of all that on a whim, but I really put extensive thought into it.”

You had to give him credit for the whole scientific method thing he had going on. You wondered if Mingyu’s consecutive six years of participation in the science fair had prepared him for this very moment.

“Extensive thought,” you echoed. “What? Did you write it all down in a notebook or something?” You laughed it off like it was a joke, but when Mingyu’s expression didn’t budge, you realized that you had hit the nail on the head. “Oh my god, you wrote it down!”

Mingyu huffed. “It’s not even that big of a deal! Writing stuff down helps me organize my thoughts.”

“Well, can I see it?”

“Hell no.”

“Just tell me which notebook you wrote it in.”

“No, ‘cause then you’re gonna look at it later.”

Mingyu thought he was subtle enough to pick up the notebook in front of him and move it away from your reach. Rookie mistake.

Your eyes followed his movements.

“That’s the one, isn’t it?” you asked, pointing at the red notebook that you’ve seen Mingyu jot notes down in before. He always carried it in his school bag, and you were starting to piece together why you hadn’t seen it around lately.

“N-no.”

“You’re such a bad liar, Gyu.” You hardly noticed his hands finding the backs of your thighs and pulling you down to straddle his knees. “Will you ever let me see it?”

“Maybe,” he replied, “or I can just show you what I have planned.”

It was then when you realized that the front of Mingyu’s jeans did look strained. The visible outline of his bulge made you unconsciously clench, which he smirked at once he felt the pulsation against his leg. You weren’t even sure if he was fully hard, but you could definitely feel him through your cotton shorts once you were pulled onto his thighs.

His lips found yours in seconds. Days ago, this was something you were hesitant about doing, but now it came more naturally. Your hands moved in a familiar path from his chest to loop around his neck, and then it was like a switch turned on for your best friend.

You broke from the kiss for air and you both looked down, foreheads touching as Mingyu grabbed your ass with rough hands and helped you grind down on him. Your head clouded over, and all you could think about was moving your hips to meet his so that you could chase the growing ache between your legs.

“That’s right,” he rasped. “That’s a good girl.”

Oh, if he knew the effect his words had on you. You were shamefully ruining the front of his jeans with how aroused you were.

At this point, his hardened length felt massive under you, so you lifted your hips to see just how big his pants had tented up. Mingyu’s grip on you loosened and he lowered his head, embarrassed. Before he could apologize, though, you got off his lap and sank to your knees.

Ever-so-sweetly, you asked, “Can I help?”

You swore you had never seen Mingyu look so blown away in his life.

“A-are you sure?”

“Of course.” You pouted. “You’ve been doing so much for me, and I wanna make you feel good, too.” You balanced your forearms on his knees and grinned up at him, watching his Adam’s apple bob nervously. “So, can I?”

“Please,” he nearly whimpered, fumbling with his zipper to get his jeans and black Calvin Klein boxers down. You helped him out graciously, tugging the fabric down to his ankles and marveling at his cock once it sprung up, curved slightly to your left. Mingyu nearly fell apart when he saw you between his legs, letting out an eager groan. “Jesus Christ, Y/N.”

“You’re really big,” you mumbled, tracing his v-line accentuated by his taut muscles, then his hip, and then the long vein that ran down his shaft with your thumb.

You weren’t even sure if you would be able to take all of him in your mouth. Plus, this wasn’t exactly your area of expertise. You knew this wasn’t Mingyu’s first time receiving head, so you were slightly intimidated. You were slightly terrified about possibly not being good at sucking dick, but you figured your mouth could do a better job than his right hand.

But you had already come this far.

Mingyu’s hand carded through your hair, pulling it back from your face. The gesture only made your confidence falter, wanting to just melt like putty in his grip. You reached out to wrap your hand around his shaft, surprised how rock-hard it was. That just made it all the more nerve-wracking to take him down your throat.

He seemed to pick up on your hesitation, gently asking, “Want me to talk you through it?”

You looked up at him and nodded, flushing hotly when you saw his sincere eyes gleam with amusement.

“Open your mouth,” he instructed, grabbing your jaw and gently pressing down on your bottom lip with his thumb. You obeyed and parted your lips just enough for him to slide his thumb into your mouth. “Wider.”

You complied. Mingyu adjusted his hips quickly before encouraging you with a nudge to put your mouth over the head of his cock. You wrapped your lips over his tip, licking off the precum that beaded his slit, and Mingyu hissed sharply.

He let out a sharp breath and let his gaze fly to the ceiling, gripping the arm of his chair. “Fuck, Y/N.”

Mingyu calling out your name so desperately only spurred you to take more of his cock until it hit the roof of your mouth. You were addicted to the sounds of his whimpers, relishing each high-pitched whine from him as you licked the underside of his head. Before, you thought the act of giving head was just extra work for women, but now you were starting to see why it was so addicting. Every moan and cry from Mingyu just made your pride inflate.

You looked up at him through your lashes to see the breathtaking view of his head thrown back and neck veins strained. Mingyu’s hips bucked up slightly, but he fought down his moans to make sure Wonwoo didn’t hear anything.

“Sorry,” he grunted out, eyes screwed shut in pure bliss. “Couldn’t help it.”

You pulled off of him for a moment to reply, “I don’t mind if you do it again.”

“Really?” His voice was almost breathless, half-surprised and half-excited.

You nodded, and Mingyu regained his composure a little so that he could sit up and slide his hand into your hair once more. Your lips wrapped around his cock again and sucked gently on his impressive length. His fingers buried themselves into your hair for leverage so that he could hold onto you while he started slowly moving his hips into your mouth.

With the way Mingyu was moving, you could feel the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat and making you gag. He looked at you for confirmation to continue, so you nodded eagerly and sat up higher on your knees to take him in fully.

The first push into your mouth he did was meek—just enough to get the tip of his head down your throat. You tried to relax your throat to take him in easier, blinking back a few stray tears that were brought on by your gag reflex. The second push was a little stronger, getting a little deeper, which roused a moan out of you. Mingyu must have felt the vibration in his cock because he groaned and bucked his hips into your mouth rougher. His thumb found your bottom lip and rubbed it gently, as if he was prying it open wider.

“Fuck, Y/N, your mouth feels so good,” Mingyu breathed out, soft grunts and curses falling from his lips as he went faster.

His free hand wiped away the tears that started streaming down your cheeks. You were past the point of slight discomfort now, and now you were too focused on listening to Mingyu’s pretty moans to think about anything else.

Without any proper warning, Mingyu’s entire body tensed up and he let out a loud groan, shooting his cum down your throat. He threw his head back, and then his whole body relaxed. His grip on your hair tightened and loosened. You squeezed your eyes shut and swallowed down his load before you pulled off of him, watching his chest heave as he tried to control his breathing.

“F-fuck, I’m sorry,” he apologized profusely. Still winded from his own high, Mingyu was stumbling over his own words. “I didn’t… didn’t think it would happen that fast.” He opened his eyes again and nearly fell apart at the sight of you. “Fuck. Did you really swallow?”

You nodded, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Yeah, I remember Jungwoo told me before that spitters are quitters, or something like that.”

The tension was thick in the room. Although you intended for your comment to lighten things up, the look in Mingyu’s eyes only darkened.

“Come here.”

You could only squeak in surprise as Mingyu pulled you up to kiss him, his rough hands cupping your cheeks. He didn’t seem to care that he was tasting himself on your tongue, and the act only made you moan against his lips. Seconds stretched into minutes before he pulled back.

“My turn,” he said. “Take off your shorts and get on the bed.”

You were reaching to tug down your shorts before he had even finished talking. After sitting down on the edge of your bed, your fingers flew down to tug at your underwear, but Mingyu got to it before you did. He knelt so that he was between your thighs, looking up at you carefully as he slid the cloth past your ankles and lifted one of your legs higher before propping it over his shoulder.

He pulled you in by the hips, dragging his nose up your middle thigh until it reached the apex of your legs. You looked down at Mingyu, breath hitching as you put your other leg over his free shoulder. His hands slid up your thighs and gripped your hips tightly. His long fingers were splayed out at your abdomen, and you felt your stomach flutter.

“No one’s ever gone down on you, huh?” he asked, and you confirmed his statement with a shake of your head. “Just sit back and let me do all the work, then.”

Your nerves caught up to you for a moment. You started to overthink, wondering if the position you were in was unflattering, or if you even tasted good down there, or if Mingyu was only doing this because he felt obligated.

But then he circled your clit with his tongue and you couldn’t think at all.

You cut yourself off by slapping a hand over your mouth, trying to muffle the moan that threatened to slip. Your train of thought had completely derailed when Mingyu licked a long stripe between your folds. His eyes were half-lidded, clouded with lust as he flattened his tongue against your cunt to taste you better. A soft groan from him vibrated through your core and up your spine.

Your back arched almost immediately. “Oh—oh my god.”

He started kissing your cunt, and god, it all felt so dirty. You had never felt this way before, and now that you knew that Mingyu’s tongue could make you feel this good, you were starting to see the full appeal of sex. He paused to suck on your clit, and you felt like you were short-circuiting while he ate you out like a man starved.

A pressure started building. You grew anxious and shot right up, tugging on Mingyu’s hair. He was unaware of your panic at first, and then he lifted his head once he felt you tap his shoulder repeatedly. Once his mouth was gone, though, you felt that pressure ebbing away.

“Something wrong?” he asked. “Need me to stop?”

You had to push down all of your shame to admit, “I think I have to use the bathroom.”

To your surprise, Mingyu just laughed. “The bathroom?”

“I’m serious!” You flushed, and the warmth that prickled your skin was different this time.

“I promise you, that’s not what you’re feeling,” he said, rubbing your thigh with his thumb in slow circles. His voice was gentle, like he was trying to soothe your nerves. “Just trust me and let that pressure keep building. Eventually, it’s gonna reach a point where it can’t hold itself in anymore, and then you’re gonna feel really good.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, so just relax for me, okay?”

You let out a shaky breath, nodding before sitting back in your previous position where you had your elbows propped up. Mingyu returned to your cunt with an experimental lick, lasting all of two seconds before he resorted back to his rough kissing and sucking.

You held onto the sheets for dear life as Mingyu plunged his hot tongue into your core, reaching a specific spot that made your eyes roll back and your toes curl. He kept your hips pinned to the mattress as he licked into you. His nose brushed against your clit with how close his face was. It was the final push to send you over the edge, and the warmth that had been building up finally unleashed into blinding white pleasure.

You came hard. The force of your orgasm nearly knocked the wind out of you, and your back was lifting off the bed as Mingyu tried to hold your hips down with great effort. The warmth of it coursed through your entire body, causing the surface of your skin to bead with sweat and cling to the sheets you were laying on.

And, as a photographer, Mingyu had taken pictures of countless gorgeous views that he’d come across in his lifetime, but the sight of you falling apart because of him was, by far, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

He pulled back to rub your clit in gentle circles while you were being pulled and swept away by the undertow of your orgasm. Mingyu murmured sweet nothings to keep you grounded, but you couldn’t process any of his words as your ears rang with white noise.

You blinked slowly as you came down from your high, whining as soon as Mingyu took his hand away from your sore clit. Before you were going to praise him for how good he was with his mouth, his lips returned to clean up the mess you made. You could only writhe and whimper as Mingyu licked at your soaking cunt.

He pulled back to grin at you, his lips and chin glistening with your arousal. You had always thought Mingyu looked attractive, but he was godly like this. Your heart raced just by looking at how his dark hair fell into his face and how his canines showed in his smile.

“Earth to Y/N,” he called, waving a hand in front of your face. When you snapped back into reality, you shot him a questioning look. “I was asking how you’re feeling.”

“Good—great,” you corrected, and then you let out a blissful sigh. “Amazing.”

“Great.” He grinned. “Ready for round two?”

“Round two?”

“Yeah, beautiful. You didn’t think we were done yet, right?”

“Jesus Christ, Y/N.” Ryujin looked mortified upon first glance of the bruises that littered your neck. “Are you hooking up with a leech?”

You had gone over to Ryujin’s apartment to drop off one of the prints she got from the farmer’s market and left in your car. Naturally, you ended up spending the evening there. Since you were so eager to share what had happened between you and Mingyu (telling Vernon or Minghao simply wasn’t an option right now), you ended up spilling everything that went down.

From the contract to you and Mingyu going down on each other earlier today, Ryujin hung onto every single word of yours with her jaw hanging in an almost comical way. She was shoveling handfuls of Hot Cheetos into her mouth as you gave her a detailed rundown of the story.

“This is so messy,” she gushed. “I love it.”

“It’s not messy!” you defended, and then added, “Okay, it’s a little messy, but we agreed to stop if it ever starts affecting our friendship.”

“So, you think sucking and fucking isn’t going to affect your friendship at all?”

You stayed silent.

“You should know that cross-contamination in the friend group most likely leads to disaster,” Ryujin continued as she popped a Hot Cheeto in her mouth. “It’s all fun and games because you guys think you’ll be able to maintain the friendship, but as soon as someone catches feelings, it’s over.”

A heavy sigh fell from your lips. “To be honest, I’m a little worried.”

“Worried?”

“We had this whole rule against kissing and it lasted, like, a week,” you explained. “I mean, we didn’t even do anything during that week, so I guess it lasted, like, five minutes. The rule was supposed to be there so that we wouldn’t catch feelings or anything, but Mingyu completely ignores it now. I’m not reading too deeply into this, right?”

Ryujin pondered in thought for a moment before redirecting the question back to you. “Do you want it to be deeper than it is?”

You frowned. “Huh?”

“Like, think about it,” Ryujin said. “Remember when you had a little crush on Mingyu during freshman year? Well, sometimes attraction doesn’t go away, so maybe your old feelings are coming back up now that you guys are, like, hooking up. Probably doesn’t help that Mingyu’s considered conventionally attractive.”

Sure, you had your occasional moments of weakness bubble up to the surface. It was something you tried to keep under wraps, but you were sure Mingyu could pick up on it whenever you were being extra touchy after intimacy.

They were never really of concern to you, though. You figured that you and Mingyu would live out the rest of your lives in parallel lines, neither of you crossing over to the other. It was what made your relationship with him rather simple, really. You would never cross over to his side, and he would never cross over to yours.

That was, until the contract was put into place.

“I don’t know…” you trailed off, and Ryujin clearly wasn’t pleased with your answer.

“Y/N, imagine him kissing another girl,” your friend instructed. She motioned for you to close your eyes, so you groaned and did as she said. You cleared your head to make room for whatever visualization she was making you do. “Imagine him kissing that girl from the Kap Sig party last year. The one who was all giggly and talkative when Mingyu was with us, and then she ignored us after he left.”

“Oh.” You made a face, not even wanting to picture that in your head. “Yeah, I don’t like that, but that girl was bitchy. I don’t think that necessarily means I have feelings for Mingyu, though.”

“Now, imagine him kissing the most likable girl you can think of,” she said. “This girl is the perfect match for Mingyu. She’s gorgeous, and she has a shoulder tattoo—the kind he went crazy over in freshman year. Not only that, but she’s smart. She takes good care of him. She brings him and his friends cookies whenever she bakes. She’s the kind of girl that everyone can’t help but adore when they meet her for the first time.”

You tried to really picture it in your head this time.

You imagined Mingyu next to someone who would be in his league, someone who made people want to stop and stare. You imagined how he would be complimented wherever he went for him and his girlfriend being such an attractive couple.

You imagined him making dinner for her and eating together. You imagined him laughing at inside jokes only the two of them knew about. You imagined him watching Barbie movies with her.

And it made your heart twist painfully.

You decided to shrug it off instead, saying, “If he’s happy, I’m happy.”

“Enough with that shit,” Ryujin deadpanned. “I’m here for drama. Give me something to work with, at least.” She shook her head disappointedly, and you couldn’t help but laugh at her. Once you simmered down, she continued, “But, in all seriousness, I think you should really be careful with whatever you and Mingyu have going on. It won’t end pretty if someone catches feelings while the other person doesn’t.”

You pressed your lips together in a grim line. “You’re right. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Anyway, back to the juicy stuff,” Ryujin said, inching closer to you while hugging her knees. “What else did you guys do?”

“We sixty-nined,” you whispered, as if it was some scandalous bit of gossip. “He was the six; I was the nine.”

“Okay, never mind, let’s tone down the juicy.”

You woke up to several Snapchat notifications from Jungwoo. They were all sent at four in the morning, and most of them were just him running through the streets of Las Vegas at night without his shirt on. You were mildly concerned, but you figured they were just having fun.

You tapped through the other snaps Jungwoo sent you. Soonyoung blacked out on a bar counter. A hooker sitting on Chan’s lap. Jeonghan with several hundred dollar bills in his hands. Another snap of Jeonghan with the caption stating that he lost all his money.

Then, it struck you that it was their last day in Vegas.

“We have one more day,” you informed Mingyu over the phone, “and then we have to start seeing each other secretly.”

“That’s kinda hot.”

“No! Not hot! I don’t know about you, but I experience crushing guilt whenever I have to sneak around them, like when I lied about us sleeping together.”

“Technically, we’re already doing that.”

You snorted. “You know what I mean.”

“By the way, not contract-related, but you should come over right now,” he said. “I have some good news to share.”

“Is it about your pink eye scare?”

At around two in the morning, Mingyu texted you a picture of his puffy eye and claimed he was “allergic to pussy.” You sent him back a picture of you flipping him off.

It turned out to be allergies, but Mingyu was completely convinced he had pink eye—all thanks to WebMD. You had to listen to him freaking out for thirty minutes until he calmly informed you that his eye wasn’t puffy anymore.

“Not funny,” he warned. “Okay, kinda funny, but—okay, wait, point is, you should come over.”

You giggled. “Okay, I’ll come over. See you soon.”

You hung up the phone to get ready, feeling oddly excited about going over to Mingyu’s. Ryujin’s words from last night started to get into your head, making you wonder how you truly distinguished your relationship with your best friend. Because why did you feel the need to put on makeup to see him when you had never thought about that in your four years of being friends? And why were you taking extra long to pick out an outfit that was supposed to be casual?

You were deep in thought all the way to his doorstep, only letting it dissolve into the backwaters of your memory once the door opened to Mingyu’s excited face.

“They chose my submission,” was the first thing he said, his eyes shining.

You didn’t even have to ask for clarification. Right away, you knew exactly what he was talking about: the sunset photograph he submitted to the exhibition. It had been all he was raving about for weeks.

“Oh my god!” Your eyes were wide as you looked down at your hands helplessly. “I don’t have anything for us to celebrate with! Hold on, I can run to the store and buy, like, cake or—”

“Slow down.” Mingyu laughed. He grabbed you gently by your forearms and grinned. “We don’t need to celebrate anything. Just promise me you’ll come see my photography.”

“Of course.”

“My submission was for you, so you have to go. Promise?”

If it was even possible, your eyes grew even wider. “It was?”

“You’ll see.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Anyway, the gallery opening is in a few days. I’ll text you the address and time later.”

“Alright.” You held out your pinky to interlock with his own. “I promise.”

Mingyu wrapped his pinky around yours and grinned before tugging you by the same finger into his apartment. You followed him into his room, eyeing how strong and wide his back was. You were starting to fall back into dangerous imaginations again, wondering if he was going to make a move on you again now that you two only had a day left. Not that you would admit it to your best friend, but you were hoping something would happen.  

“Wonwoo found out Clawdia was getting lonely, so he’s out looking for a pet store that sells hermit crabs,” Mingyu explained. “He was on my ass about it, too, because I said crabs are probably fine being on their own. I mean, they’re called hermit crabs. How was I supposed to know they’re social creatures? Misleading name, if you ask me.”

Although you were (partly) engrossed in his story about Wonwoo’s pet crab, your eyes couldn’t help but linger on the red notebook on Mingyu’s desk.

He picked up on what was distracting you before you could even tear your gaze away, saying, “You’re so nosy.”

You made a face. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.” His shoulders slumped as a retired sigh escaped his lips. You could see that you had been wearing him down over the notebook, so he bargained, “Alright, I’ll show you on one condition.” He plopped down on the edge of his bed. “I want something in return.”

You were most definitely taking his words the wrong way because your cheeks were heating up while Mingyu remained completely impassive.

“Something in return?”

“Yeah, I want an answer,” he started, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “When exactly did you start finding me cute? Or, in your words, a ‘walking wet dream,’ right?”

You barked out an unamused laugh. “Yeah, there’s no way I’m telling you.”

“Notebook,” Mingyu reminded.

Suddenly, you were elated about show-and-tell.

“You first,” he insisted. “I assure you, mine is regrettably more embarrassing.”

“The first time I found you cute…” you trailed off, trying to recall the exact moment you started appreciating your best friend’s attractiveness. “I’d say it was in freshman year when we went on the hike together during orientation week. You were all sweaty and wrapped your arm around me when we took a group picture at the top. I was going crazy about it to Ryujin, but then we became good friends, so I just pretended I never felt that way.”

“Freshman year?” he asked, wide-eyed. “You thought I was cute back then? I was a baby!”

“We were eighteen. Don’t make me sound like a creep.”

Mingyu laughed. “I just can’t believe you thought I was cute back then. I didn’t even think you thought about me like that.”

“It was our first week and I was cut loose from my parents.” You shrugged. “Plus, I think every girl in our orientation group wanted to get in your pants.”

“Not Ryujin.”

“No, she was still dating that guy from her high school, remember?”

You scrunched up your nose at the memory; back in the first few months of your freshman year, Ryujin always ditched you and Mingyu at random points during the night because her controlling boyfriend would call to make sure she wasn’t out and about. He was especially suspicious of Mingyu for being an attractive, well-liked man. You found the whole thing ridiculous because her boyfriend was keeping her from having fun and making friends.

To make matters worse, Mingyu ended up finding out Ryujin’s boyfriend was cheating on her after seeing one of his mutual friends post him on her private Snapchat story. It was a picture of them in bed together, and he completely denied it when confronted. You and Ryujin bonded the most during the week she planned to dump her boyfriend, and she ran straight to you once she did. After she cried her tears and used up all of your tissues, you two had your own beach bonfire to burn all of the gifts he got her.

You still remembered how you and Mingyu were back then. Since you two were still new friends, things were still a little shy and awkward. It wasn’t until your third year that you and Mingyu got closer, starting to hang out one-on-one instead of with Ryujin. Since she got busy with internships and her club activities, Ryujin grew a little distant from Mingyu, although they were still on good terms.

“Alright,” you said, impatience sticky like honey on your tongue, “your turn.”

“Ah, right.”

Mingyu walked over to his desk and picked up the notebook. You watched how he rubbed the back of his neck before turning back to you, and his head was turned so that you wouldn’t catch sight of his blush. (You noticed, though.) He flipped past several pages, eyes skimming through math formulas and physics problems before he landed on a page with several scribbles and arrows.

“It’s, like, this page and a few more,” he explained. “Knock yourself out.”

(You decided not to point out that it was more like ten pages.)

You grinned, thrilled, and laid out the notebook in front of you so that you could take everything in. Right away, Kim Mingyu’s Guide to Losing Your Virginity was scrawled at the top. You snorted, grabbing a pencil from his desk to write Unhelpful before Guide. He watched you nervously as your eyes flitted from note to note, your smile growing bigger at certain things he wrote.

A poorly-drawn arrow from how to make y/n feel comfortable to make sure she knows she can take everything at her own pace made you feel something warm and fluttering in your chest. You couldn’t believe Mingyu put this much effort into making you feel good—so much effort that he had entire pages in his notebook dedicated to brainstorming how to pleasure you. You had never been so focused in your life as you read through what he penciled in, and one idea in particular caught your attention.

suggest REALLY sexual things so she feels more comfortable sharing what she wants to do. this will probably make her judge (bully??) you but it’s for good reason

“You’re kidding,” you said, eyes still fixed on the notebook. “You made your list that long just so I wouldn’t feel awkward?”

Even though you asked the question, you were barely listening to him as your heart pounded in your chest and your blood rushed in your ears. You didn’t even have half the mind to see the shy expression painted over Mingyu’s face because you were so locked in on the notebook. His stammering and backtracking became background noise as you were hyper-focused on the words he wrote.

Somehow, this felt bigger than any emotion you had experienced before.

You were consumed, and it scared you. Sweltering in the overwhelming feeling of longing and possibly something more. And you realized that even if you ended up with someone else after all this, a part of you would always belong to Mingyu—the part of you that watched Barbie movies and liked coming home to a dinner for two.

Was it presumptuous for you to assume that Kim Mingyu could possibly harbor romantic feelings toward you? Was it safe to say that maybe you felt the same way?

“—but now that you’ve seen it,” you finally heard him say (after taking a few seconds to register his voice), “can we take out phone sex from the list? I was never really big on that.”

You looked up at him and laughed, a touch distracted because you were still caught in the tide of your own revelations. But you laughed like you were eighteen again, sitting in Mingyu’s dorm room and listening to him recount one of his hilarious stories about him getting lost on campus or being chased by seagulls.

And now you were twenty-one, sitting in Mingyu’s apartment and giggling like you were eighteen again.

Everything melted away, and all you could think about was how badly you wanted to kiss Mingyu.

You sat up on your knees and wrapped your arms around his neck. You didn’t think you had ever looked at Mingyu with such unadulterated desire in your eyes.

Craving. Longing. Yearning.

All of it was festering inside you.

“You’re such a dork, Gyu,” you murmured before pressing your lips to his.

This time, when you kissed him, you felt like all of the stars in the sky hung below the clouds just to witness this very moment. Mingyu was stunned for a few moments before he brought his hands up to pull your face closer to his. His nose brushed against your cheek, and you let a giggle slip between soft pecks and deeper kisses.

He pulled back for air, labored breaths falling from his lips before he found you again. This time, the kiss was deeper, rougher. Adrenaline coursed through your veins as Mingyu held you tighter, squeezing your sides so hard that you were arching up against his body.

You had always tried to push down hope before it was born, but the way Mingyu held you made you feel like you were on top of the world. You wanted to believe there was longing in the way his hands ran up and down your body, but you were too scared that you were mistaking his lust for something more.

Even as he pulled away once more to catch his breath, keeping his eyes flitting between your eyes and lips while his forehead was pressed against yours, you so desperately wanted to believe that there was something more behind his affectionate gaze. Something real.

It was when he pressed a chaste kiss to your nose that your hope bloomed in your chest like a valley of flowers kissed by spring.

His hand found its way behind your head, bringing you back to him for more. You felt like you could be there forever, just exchanging wordless affection and holding each other close. Mingyu moved over you so that he was suspended over your body, starting to lick into your mouth once your back hit the bedsheets. You accepted it almost immediately, parting your lips so that your tongue could dance with his.

Then, you were whining against his lips, begging for more. The sloppier and dirtier your kisses got, you were desperate for more skin-to-skin contact. You hooked your finger into one of his belt loops and tugged him closer, which resulted in Mingyu grinding his hips down against yours.

“You want more?” he asked, more raspy than coherent, really, and you could only nod in response as you pulled him closer. Mingyu peppered kisses from your jawline to the column of your neck, leaving behind love bites that you would need a lot of concealer and color corrector for later. “I don’t wanna rush—”

“No, Gyu,” you urged him, tugging him forward by the front of his shirt. “I need you.”

His voice came out in a breath. “Need me?”

“I want you. I want you to be my first because I… I trust you.”

He grinned brightly, canines on full display while his hair was a tousled mess above you. You were pretty sure his smile would be imprinted behind your eyelids forever.

His hand slipped under your shirt and ran up your back, maintaining eye contact with you and looking pleasantly surprised at the absence of your bra.

He pressed a tender kiss to the side of your neck before helping you pull off your shirt. Mingyu’s face was set in a grin before his smile slowly fell, replaced by a look of utter confusion. His brows were pulled together in perplexion as he stared at your tits.

Or, more specifically, the pasties over your nipples.

“Oh, my bad,” you said, unfazed, “I forgot I still had those on.”

“What is it?”

“Seriously? You’ve never seen a nipple cover?” you asked, making your best friend yelp when you peeled the adhesive off your skin. Mingyu shrunk back with a wince before you placed the silicone in his hand. “It doesn’t bite.”

He weighed it in his palm carefully before placing it on his bedside table. “Looks like a chicken breast.” Then, he looked back at your tits. Instead of bedroom eyes, there was genuine concern in his gaze. “It didn’t hurt when you ripped it off, right?”

You stifled a laugh. “No, it didn’t hurt. My boobs are all good.”

You took his hand and placed it over your left breast for good measure. He squeezed experimentally, but you were certain he was just still in shock over the nipple cover. This would normally be when you shrunk in on yourself, but Mingyu discovering the existence of pasties was far too entertaining for you to shy away.

“Good,” he said before he sighed, a little too dreamy to convince you that this was purely platonic. The lighthearted moment settled back into tension. Barely loud enough for you to hear, Mingyu murmured, “You’re so pretty like this.”

You wondered if your eyes were as big as they felt. “You think I’m pretty?”

“You don’t?” He frowned, as if he was offended that you weren’t seeing what he was. “I think you’re beautiful.”

He said it before, but you thought it was just a pet name because he was in the mood. Now that he was saying it so sincerely, looking at you like you were his entire world, you felt like you had turned into putty in his hold. Your nerves were practically on fire under your skin.

“You’re sure about this, right?” he asked again, brushing a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. When you nodded, he readjusted his position so that he was underneath you, moving your hips so that you were sitting on top of him. “Just let me know if you wanna stop.”

“It’s your first time, too,” you said softly, reaching out to trace his jawline. “Are you ready?”

“Oh, I’ve been waiting.” He smiled before pulling you down for another long kiss.

He kissed you for what seemed like ages, running his hands all over your body and teasing you with kisses to your neck and jawline when he pulled away. While he was getting a condom from his nightstand, you wondered how you could ever get enough of him if this was what sleeping with Kim Mingyu was like.

While you both were a mess of limbs, you managed to remove every article of clothing from each other until your bare bodies were pressed against each other. He tore the silver wrapping of the condom off to slide the lubricated rubber over his cock. Of course you had seen him naked before, but you still couldn’t get over how wonderfully sculpted his body was. He had to have been blessed by a Greek god.

Mingyu held you close to his chest, his eyes raking your body again and again until you felt weak in the knees. When he hovered over you, lining up his cock with your soaked cunt, you had to swallow down your anxiousness.

Questions billowed in your head, floating about until they turned into butterflies and flew straight to your gut. What if he didn’t fit? What if you couldn’t take all of him in? What if it hurt?

But Mingyu had always been so reliable, so comforting. You felt safe in his arms, even if you had been working yourself up over this very act for years. You wanted to be brave for him.

“Are you ready?” he asked once more—just to be safe because he was right there. This was your last chance to back out and he wanted to make sure you truly wanted this.

You nodded with firm self-assurance. “Yeah, I am.”

“Okay, bear with me here,” he replied, the tips of his ears going pink as he tried to laugh off his awkwardness. “I’ve never exactly done this before.”

You laughed. “Me neither. We can figure it out together.”

His lips tugged into a small smile. Mingyu leaned down to press a soft kiss to your lips before he tried pushing his cock into you, guiding it with his entrance. It took him a few tries to work the head in without accidentally slipping out. The first stretch you felt wasn’t painful, but there was mild discomfort that you pushed down.

But then Mingyu couldn’t push into you any further. Your excitement fizzled and your emotions were swinging dangerously into a pit of worries.

Your best friend was a problem-solver, though. He hummed inquisitively before repositioning himself at your entrance.

“Wrap your legs around my hips,” he instructed. “I think that’ll be easier for you.”

You did as he said, tucking your legs around his hips and hooking your ankles together. Your arms hung loosely around his neck, playing with the ends of his hair and twirling them around your fingers. You bucked your hips up once to indicate you were ready, not realizing that it would make Mingyu grunt instead. You could feel your core pulsing from how badly you needed him.

After sucking in a shaky breath, Mingyu started pushing into you once more. Your arousal made it easier for him to slip inside, finally pushing the head of his cock past your folds. You cried out, tightening your grip on Mingyu as you adjusted to his size. You hadn’t even gotten his full cock in you yet.

Mingyu eased his way inside you for what seemed like ever. He didn’t care about how long he was taking or if he was getting impatient; he calmly took the time to work his cock into you. The long vein that ran down his length made you shudder as it brushed against your walls.

“That feel good?” he rasped, looking into your eyes for any signs of pain.

You nodded eagerly. “Y-yes! Please keep going.”

Your body was hot. Feverish. It felt like your pleasure was building up slowly—a dull ache at your core that grew as Mingyu pushed deeper inside you. He lowered his head to kiss your neck at the same time, nipping and sucking at your tender flesh while you moaned and writhed under him.

Finally—finally, finally, finally—Mingyu’s hips pressed flush against yours and you bit down on your lip to keep yourself from screaming out. The pain was sharp, almost dizzying, but after Mingyu held you and kissed you all over until you relaxed, you felt it subside slowly. He sighed happily, bucking into you slightly to feel how deep he was. You buried your face into his chest once you felt the room going a little fuzzy.

Aching, gnawing pain.

Deeper and deeper, but the pain built with each push into you. One certain thrust made you feel as though you hit a peak, but then you felt yourself coming down. You closed your eyes through it, taking deep breaths until the pain had mostly alleviated, a new feeling of pleasure rushing through your body.  

He didn’t say anything for a long while, just letting you take things at your own pace. It was only until you begged him to move that Mingyu complied and started moving his hips.

With an experimental, shallow thrust, you let out a whimper and let one of your legs unhook from the other, letting it lay on the bed instead. Mingyu held your other hip up and started thrusting slowly into you, making sure to keep his pace exact so that he didn’t slip out again. Your pleasure was building up fast, like a spell of vertigo that left your head spinning and your body flushed.

“F-feels so good, Gyu,” you cried out, and then you couldn’t say anything at all once his tongue pried its way into your mouth. His lips slotted against yours perfectly, like both of your lips had been specifically molded to fit each other’s.

He thrusted deeper. Some of his thrusts hit that golden spot inside you that made your world turn blinding white. You were dangerously close to an orgasm with how good he was making you feel.

Mingyu sped up his thrusts, holding your hips and dragging his lips across your skin to leave love bites along your collarbone and shoulders. With the way he shifted your hips to pound in at a better angle had your legs shaking and your eyes rolling back into your head. You were far too sensitive to last long, especially since this was your first time experiencing such pleasure.

Realizing that your muscles had started involuntarily twitching, Mingyu thrusted into you deeper and caged you in his grip. You were teetering on the precipice of a release, holding onto his strong arms for leverage—something to ground yourself while you about to dive into your own ecstasy.

The brute strength in his thrusts led you to falling over the edge, jolts of pleasure coursing through you as you chanted Mingyu’s name over and over again like a prayer. The force of your orgasm nearly knocked the wind out of you, making the world before you go blurry as Mingyu fucked you through your high.

You nearly didn’t register him moaning out, too, his lips framing your name as he came. It felt as if you had short-circuited, laying underneath him helplessly as you rode out your orgasm. The current tugged and swept you away, sending aftershocks of pleasure to your sore cunt.

You blinked twice to reorient yourself, coherence bleeding back into you. It was when Mingyu kissed your forehead that it finally clicked for you.

You finally lost your virginity.

“Thank you,” he whispered against your temple. “That was incredible.”

You nodded, dazed, about to thank him back before you noticed that something was running down your hip. You touched the liquid curiously, wondering if you had just been that overstimulated, but what you found on your fingertips was blood.

You shrieked.

“What happened?” he asked, eyes wide before he saw your hand. He chuckled lightly. “Oh, I see. This is normal after your first time; it’s no big deal.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, don’t sweat it.”

Mingyu didn’t seem to understand the gravity of the situation, though; he was smiling delightedly while you were a panicked mess. Blood was gushing out of the very place Mingyu’s cock was buried, and you were humiliated because of your new position as Human Ketchup Bottle.

“Wow,” he cooed sarcastically, rubbing your hips gently, “it’s like you’re my personal little volcano.”

“Oh my god. Please shut the fuck up, Gyu.”

After helping clean you up and a few more sessions of you two gushing over how good your first time felt, you and Mingyu laid in bed together, side-by-side. He had gone on several tangents about how it was nice that you two didn’t feel awkward around each other and that he was almost worried because he heard a lot of horror stories about people’s first time.

Apparently, Vernon’s first time was quite unmemorable because it was a quickie in a hot tub. He had never considered the friction caused by the water being uncomfortable, so it wasn’t one for the books.

To your surprise, when Mingyu headed to the kitchen to get you some water, you felt strangely hollow. As your eyes grew unfocused, the ache from the penetration was more clear, and you started to feel a little empty.

No one ever talked about what happened after sex. No one ever talked about how, shortly following the aftermath of your first time when you were coming down from the dazzling glow of your orgasm, the only thing you could feel was overwhelming vulnerability.

It was like you had been flying up in the clouds, got too close to the sun, and dropped right into a void of sadness. You were bordering on a feeling of emptiness as you stared up at Mingyu’s popcorn ceiling.

Then, the bed dipped next to you. Mingyu came back with a glass of water for you and one of his sweaters—the black Ralph Lauren one his mom got him for his high school graduation. Yeah, he was definitely starting to outgrow it, but he kept it hung up in his closet, anyway. Something about it being sentimental to him.

“You good?” he asked in a gentle voice, setting the glass of water on the nightstand. He slid onto the mattress next to you, wrapping a strong arm around your waist. “You look a little out of it.”

“I’m better now,” was all you said, smiling contently after placing your arm on top of his.

“Did something happen? Did I do something?”

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to tell Mingyu how you were feeling; you just didn’t know how to. There was nothing he had done to upset you at all, and the night had been incredible. You were still over-the-moon from losing your virginity to your best friend. That was why the wave of sadness that hit you afterward was strange and foreign.

“No, no, it’s just…” You sighed. “I just felt really sad for a few seconds. Like, don’t get me wrong, that was the best feeling ever, but after you went to go get water and stuff, I just got really sad.”

Something flashed across Mingyu’s face. It was the look he always wore when he was correcting someone or explaining some nerdy bit of information he knew. You were anticipating him to go on some tangent about heightened emotions peaking during sex would lead to a crash—something along those lines.

But then, he simmered. His expression was immediately replaced with understanding as he squeezed you tighter. Mingyu must have known that you just wanted to be comforted, not talked to, so he just tucked his head into the crook of your neck.

You felt warmer. Safer.

“Do you feel better now?” he asked.

You sucked in a breath. “Much better.”

Somewhere between your mumbles and whispers of conversation, you and Mingyu ended up drifting asleep in each other’s arms.

It was around twilight when you woke up, dusky purple streaming through the windows and across Mingyu’s peaceful face as he was deep in slumber. You turned your gaze back up, staring at the chipped paint and grooves in the popcorn ceiling, feeling as if you were drowning in your own emotions.

The feeling settled in your chest. It was always there, like a dull ache, but now it was loud. Pounding.

You were in love with Kim Mingyu.

You ran into Ryujin later—much later. It was well after you went back to your apartment and had a meltdown over your newly-recognized feelings for your best friend.

After you talked yourself through your feelings for nearly an hour, you realized that you couldn’t handle this problem head-on. You needed the assistance of your favorite cookies and cream ice cream from Ben and Jerry’s, so you walked to the nearby grocery store in sweatpants and a jacket.

While you were trying to balance three tubs of ice cream in your arms, Ryujin happened to wander into the freezer section, looking mildly concerned at the sight of you. She was pushing a cart full of groceries with her glasses sitting low on her nose.

“Need any help there?” she asked, moving aside her bag of cilantro to make space for your ice cream.

“You were right,” you admitted, and you nearly sounded hysterical with how breathless and frazzled you were. “I’m in love with him.”

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah.”

“That explains the ice cream.”

“Totally overshot the much simpler feeling of just liking someone, or being attracted to someone,” you rambled, allowing her to take the tubs of ice cream from your hands. “It couldn’t even just be a silly little crush, either. I’m just… in love with him.”

“So, what’re you gonna do now?”

You paused. “Would it be reasonable for me to think about it after I see him again?”

“Reasonable? Absolutely not. Stupid? Probably.”

“Well, that’s what college is for, anyway.”

“I support you,” she started, “even if I think you’re a dumb bitch.”

“Thanks, Ryujin, I think.”

The golden rule about being in your twenties was that it was the prime time to be young, dumb, and make stupid decisions.

The stupid decision you settled on for today was inviting Mingyu over when you really should have been taking some time to figure out your feelings for him. You knew very well that this would fuck with your emotions, but you had to give in to your carnal desires. Now that Mingyu had relinquished you of your virgin title, you couldn’t get enough.

You had always wondered what it would be like when you finally lost your virginity. Part of you thought it would be some sort of final form that you would achieve, but it wasn’t exactly all that different. Society overvalued deflowerment, you figured, but there was something that rang true.

Your face glowed a little brighter. Whether that was because of your recent confidence boost or your post-sex elation, you weren’t sure.

But now, you were in a predicament: you wanted more. Naturally, that led you to calling Mingyu and subtly asking if he wanted to come over.

That was how you ended up with your chest pressed against the wall while Mingyu’s body was caging yours. His strong chest was against your sweat-beaded back, and you swore you could feel every muscle of his keeping you from budging. It took him a few valiant efforts to fit his cock inside of you, and you had to reposition yourself several times for him to find a good angle. Once he had slid into you with ease, though, he started thrusting into you with vigor, soft grunts falling from his perfect lips.

(You realized Mingyu wasn’t able to get enough of you, too. He walked in, exchanged a greeting and gave you an update on Wonwoo’s crabs before his rough hands were turning you around and holding you against the wall. While his lips worked on your neck, you managed to sputter out some nonsense about being happy for Wonwoo’s new crab, Clawmander.)

“You’re wet,” he observed, his tone frank and even.

“Excellent observation, Sherlock Holmes.” You managed to gasp out the words before Mingyu’s cock hit that perfect spot inside you that made your vision curl with darkness at the ends.

“Jesus,” he hissed, lips brushing against your left ear. You let out a sound that was somewhere between a whimper and a moan while he used his free hand to rub your clit in torturous circles. “I didn’t think you’d get this worked up over me.”

You didn’t answer him. This wasn’t the right time or place for him to hear the true reason. Plus, you could hardly string any words together when he was making you feel so good.

“Don’t cum just yet,” he muttered, and you whined when his cock slid out of you. When you turned around to ask him what his deal was, Mingyu lifted you up effortlessly and carried you to your couch. He had you straddling him while his hands rested on your thighs. “I want you to ride me, beautiful.”

Intimidation settled in. Mingyu could see it in your eyes—the way they refocused and your gaze flitted around hesitantly.

And, because Mingyu was just a tenderhearted, loveable ray of sunshine, he added gently, “If you want to, of course.”

Your eyes went lust-lidded as you wrapped your arms around his neck. You just wanted to make him proud.

“Sit back,” you told him, and you lifted your hips so that you could sink down on his throbbing cock.

Mingyu sucked in a sharp breath, holding your hip with one hand and helping adjust his length with the other. You winced, still not used to the penetration, but the initial pain was less sharp than it was the first couple times. Once you felt the mild discomfort replaced with the hot pleasure you were chasing just minutes before, Mingyu helped you start moving your hips up and down on him. He let go of your hips to throw his head back and run his hands down his face, agonized that he couldn’t fuck into you himself.

You placed one hand on his chest and let your body hover over his as you fucked yourself on his cock. Then, Mingyu decided to pull you flush to his body and buck his hips up on his own. You cried out from feeling him deeper inside you, but then you were moaning into the curve of his neck.

“You feel so good around me,” he whispered into your hair. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.”

You pulled back, still bouncing on his dick with spurts of clarity returning to you. You were still dazed from how good he felt inside you, but Mingyu’s words were trying to reel you back into proper coherence.

“H-how long?” you stuttered out.

Mingyu smirked up at you, but before the fluttery feeling returned to your chest, you were paralyzed with fear when you heard a loud knock followed by the door handle turning. Your oncoming orgasm came to a halt and dissipated immediately after.

You and Mingyu repelled like magnets; you winced as he practically manhandled you off his lap and scrambled away, so you pushed him off the couch as payback. You only had time to pull your blanket up to cover your bare chest before Soonyoung appeared in the doorway. Mingyu, butt naked, was perfectly facing the front door, and he could only cover his crotch with both hands in time.

Cue Soonyoung screaming, then Mingyu, then you.

For a few seconds, it was a perfect choir of discordant screeching.

“What the hell are you doing here?!” you yelled as Mingyu tried to duck out of the way. He eventually realized there was no immediate escape and just turned around, making Soonyoung sigh heavily and cover his eyes with his sleeve when he saw Mingyu’s ass on full display.

“Well, my… my Connect Fours—”

“You could’ve knocked!”

“You told me I could come over and pick them up!”

“You still could’ve knocked!”

“Don’t blame me; I am the victim here! Normally, you’re in here watching a rerun of Jersey Shore, so I wasn’t exactly thinking, ‘Oh, what if Y/N’s actually getting dicked down by Mingyu right now?’ No! Because no one tells me what’s going on anymore!” Soonyoung argued. “I just came here to get my Connect Fours, not for front row seats to the Magic Mingyu show!”

“I’m sorry.” You sent Mingyu an uneasy look, and then you grew more concerned as you watched him manage to awkwardly wrap most of his body with the white drapes at your windows. You turned back to Soonyoung. “You didn’t see too much, did you?”

“I just saw Mingyu’s asscheeks on full display!”

Mingyu pouted, taking great offense to Soonyoung’s panic. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Okay, I’d rather see your asscheeks, like, on purpose,” he replied, exasperated, “not like this! My eyes feel violated.”

“Soonyoung,” you whispered harshly, and, if looks could kill, you were sure your friend would be six feet under. You waved your hand, motioning for him to leave as the situation was becoming increasingly awkward. “I’ve only got ten of the boxes so far. I’ll text you when the rest come.”

“Right, right,” he mumbled, turning to grab the large package at your entryway. “I’ll just take this and go, then. Let me know when the rest come.”

You sighed. “Yeah, of course.”

“By the way, how big is Mingyu’s dick? He won’t tell us how—”

Mingyu, who looked horrified at this point, raised his voice so high that you nearly burst out laughing from how squeaky it sounded. “Can you leave already?!”

“Before I go,” he said, “I’ll see you guys at Kap Sig for the Beerlympics tomorrow, right?” After he was met by two piercing glares, your friend realized that this was probably not the time nor place for this conversation. “Sorry! Just text me if you decide to show up!”

Soonyoung closed the door behind him loudly to make it known that he had left, and you and Mingyu relaxed once he was finally gone.

“I’m gonna lock your door,” Mingyu started, all huffy and flushed with embarrassment, “and then we can get back to what we were doing.” While he was making sure your lock was secure and walked back, he kept lecturing, “You know, you should really keep your door locked all the time. You never know what’s going to happen.”

You heard him loud and clear, but your mind was still buzzing with questions from what he said before you two were walked in on. All you wanted to know was how long he had been waiting to sleep with you, and you were so curious that you weren’t even feeling humiliated anymore over Soonyoung nearly seeing you naked.

“How long have you been waiting?” you asked. When Mingyu only gave you a confused look, you clarified, “You said it earlier while I was on top of you.”

“Oh.” He rubbed the back of his neck before his lips stretched into a smile. “How about this: I’ll tell you when you come to see my work in the gallery.”

You folded your arms across your chest. “Fine, but I was gonna show up either way.”

“See, that’s what I like about you.” You were too busy blushing to notice that Mingyu had already made his way between your legs and was hovering over you. He peeled the blanket off from your body and put it over the head of your couch. Tapping your knee, he said, “Now, open up, beautiful. Since you were doing so good for me, I’ll make it up to you.”

It was the next day around noon, and the remaining ten boxes of Connect Fours arrived at your door in another giant package. You texted Soonyoung that he could come pick them up (and wait for you to open the door).

You still hadn’t cleared things up from yesterday when he walked in on you and Mingyu, so you weren’t sure how to look him in the eye without feeling absolute shame. Not only that, but the guilt from your lie had been swirling in your chest constantly now that you were hit with the reality that Soonyoung had already perceived your strange friends with benefits relationship with Mingyu.

After you spent practically the entire day with Mingyu yesterday, even driving him to 7-Eleven for munchies at 3 a.m., you ended up getting the green light from him to tell Soonyoung everything. He knew that the guilt was weighing on your chest, and you both concurred that you would feel much better after coming clean.

After all, Soonyoung was one of your best friends, and you didn’t want him to keep deceiving him, no matter how big or insignificant your lie was to him.

When Soonyoung arrived at your door, making sure to knock three times, he greeted you with his usual cheery smile.

“Hey,” he said with an awkward edge to his voice. “Proud of me? I knocked this time.”

You went over this conversation about a million times in your head, thinking of different possible scenarios and outcomes that could happen. For each one, though, there was no eloquent way to bring up your lie without you sounding like you were overcompensating by rambling.

Just rip the bandage off, you told yourself.

It was hard to find the words, though, and your brain couldn’t figure out how to smoothly deliver the news.

Soonyoung looked like he didn’t know what to do, considering you had been staring blankly at him for several seconds without saying anything. “Is this a bad time?” he asked after a pause.

You shook your head quickly. “No, I have something I need to tell you.”

“Yeah? What’s up?”

You gestured for him to come inside, and Soonyoung took off his shoes before walking into your apartment. You felt yourself flush when he intentionally avoided sitting on your couch and just stood between your hallway and living room.

Soonyoung liked to joke around most of the time, but even he could tell that you were trying to bring up something serious. His arms were folded across his chest, the bewilderment in his eyes coalescing into sympathy. You intended for this to be honest, clear communication, but your breath was getting short and your eyes were darting to your feet before you could even get the words out.

This was deeper than your lie. You could admit that you were a liar, but something inside you withered at the very thought of admitting that there was something going on between you and Mingyu. Something that crossed the line of platonic friendship but kept its distance from romance.

So, before anything else, you blurted out, “I lied about being a virgin. Mingyu and I didn’t have sex.”

Your voice was thick with emotion. For a moment, your friend just stared at you, unblinking.

“Huh?” He sounded utterly confused as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t want to make things awkward and bring it up, but didn’t I walk in on you and Mingyu yesterday?”

“No, I’m talking about the time I told you I had sex with Mingyu.”

“In the library?”

“Yes.”

“So you guys didn’t have sex?”

“Well, technically we did, but—”

“Wait, let me get this straight,” Soonyoung said, pausing before he continued, “so, you’re a virgin?”

“No.”

“No?”

“I was a virgin, but now I’m not. The timeline got fucked.”

“Wait, so, you were a virgin when you told me you weren’t a virgin,” he recounted, to which you nodded in response, and you could tell a few of the pieces in his head fit together when he finished, “and then you lost your virginity.” You nodded again to affirm his statement and your friend let a low-pitched whistle slip. “Wow, that is some crazy lore.”

Fiddling with your fingers, you asked, “Are you mad that I lied to you guys?”

“Mad? No way,” he said. “Like, sure, I don’t really understand why you lied. I guess you had your own reasons. It’s not like it’s a bad thing to be a virgin. There’s no way I’d be mad over something like that, though.”

“I was worried because I thought you hated liars,” you explained, and although you didn’t mention his ex-girlfriend, it seemed as though Soonyoung knew exactly what you were talking about.

“I care about lies that hurt, and, hey, you told me eventually,” he said. “I’m not gonna hold it against you for not telling me about something you weren’t ready to share.”

He worried at his lower lip before adding, “You didn’t lose it to Mingyu because of what I said, right?”

You felt like a weight was lifted off your shoulders, and your breathing steadied. You didn’t even realize how fast your heart was beating until you could feel every muscle in your body relax.

“No, of course not.” You finally cracked a smile. “To be honest, when you guys grilled us about it in the library, it did set things in motion. I don’t regret any of it, though—except lying to you guys about it. I’ve been wanting it to happen for a while now.”

“Good. You should probably tell the others when you’re ready, too.” He gave you a warm smile before amusement seeped back into his eyes. He turned to pick up the large package of Connect Fours and said, “Congrats to you and Mingyu, by the way. I always knew you two would get together.”

You nearly got whiplash from how fast you turned your neck. “Soonyoung—what?”

“Yeah, I mean, he’s been crazy for you ever since freshman year. I figured he would eventually grow a pair and ask you out,” he elaborated. Once Soonyoung hoisted the box up and turned around to look at you, he froze when he saw the dumbfounded look on your face. “Oh, shit. You’re not dating him, are you?”

“No, Soonyoung. No, I’m not.”

“Oh… my bad.”

Around twenty minutes after Soonyoung’s slip-up, you decided you would go with him to Kappa Sigma’s “Beerlympics,” which you hadn’t exactly been banking on showing up to. When you were informed about it yesterday, you had to research online to make sure that no, Soonyoung wasn’t speaking some alien language.

You never really understood half the things Soonyoung and Jungwoo talked about in relation to their fraternity. It usually went in one ear and out the other. It was always something about chapter meetings, pledges, and the sort of nonsense that made you wonder if you two were even living in the same world.

Before you decided to go, Soonyoung had to guide you to the couch to sit down and process your thoughts, which you figured was a great feat for him considering he was still traumatized from walking in on you and Mingyu.

Even after you stared blankly at the wall, though, you still couldn’t fathom the thought of Kim Mingyu liking you all these years. And, you didn’t outwardly admit it to Soonyoung, but the thought of your best friend liking you back made you inexplicably happy.

After you quickly changed into more appropriate clothing, Soonyoung and you walked over to frat row, passing by several large fraternity houses before arriving at the male-infested Beerlympics event. Your friend was still carrying his box of Connect Fours, which kept rattling as you two walked.

Yesterday, you were considering not going, mostly because you committed to going to Mingyu’s exhibition today, too. He had texted you the details, informing you that it would be early in the evening, so you weren’t going to spend longer than a few hours at Kappa Sigma.

Plus, now that Soonyoung had accidentally revealed the feelings Mingyu was harboring for you, confessing to him was weighing heavy on your mind. You desperately needed to tell your friends about your feelings before you ended up self-combusting.

In a matter of minutes, you were sitting between Vernon and Jungwoo on the couch, watching Minghao and Soonyoung shotgun a Coors Light. The box of Connect Fours was currently being used as a drink stand.

“You just came back from Vegas,” you told them, “and you’re already hosting a Beerlympics?”

“What did you expect us to do? We only drank hard alcohol in Vegas,” Jungwoo explained. “It’s only right that we come back and drink beer.”

You rolled your eyes, incredulous. “You guys can’t be serious.”

“By the way,” Vernon started, “is Mingyu coming? I haven’t seen him in a while.”

“You went to the gym with him yesterday,” Minghao pointed out.

“And that was in the past.”

Soonyoung cleared his throat once he was done with his beer. “Speaking of Mingyu… Y/N has something to tell you guys.”

“Right.” You cleared your throat before announcing, “I’ve gathered you all here today because someone said something he wasn’t supposed to.”

“And that someone was me,” Soonyoung mumbled, dejected.

“Wait,” Jungwoo interrupted, “we need context.”

Although you talked to Minghao before about the pact between you and Mingyu, you still hadn’t explained the whole ordeal to Vernon, Jungwoo, and Soonyoung. As you rambled on about how Mingyu proposed the idea and you two started becoming friends with benefits, Soonyoung’s face fell more and more as he realized he had royally fucked up. Vernon, on the other hand, despite having been kept in the dark this entire time, kept a placid expression on his face while the other three boys lost their shit.

You went on to explain the whiteboard, the notebook, how scared you were about ruining your friendship with Mingyu, and how Soonyoung walked in on you two and accidentally revealed that Mingyu had been crushing on you for a while.

“There’s no way you actually wrote all that down on a whiteboard,” Soonyoung said with an incredulous laugh. When Minghao pointed out that your whiteboard (that you still hadn’t returned to the community room) was literally in the living room, your friend cried, “I can’t believe I didn’t notice that!”

“Yeah, it was front and center when you walked in on Mingyu and I,” you said.

“To be fair, Mingyu’s ass was very distracting.”

You folded your arms across your chest, staring the four boys down. “Okay, well, that’s my side of what happened. It’s your turn to spill what you know.”

They all looked at each other warily before Vernon decided to break it down for you. He explained how Mingyu had been crushing on you ever since you two were in the same orientation group, and your breath caught in your throat because that was exactly when you also found him cute. Apparently, since you had become good friends with Soonyoung and Minghao shortly after (and later, their respective roommates: Jungwoo and Vernon), Mingyu didn’t try to read into your closeness too much.

All of the pieces were connecting in your head—all of the little moments and things he said that you brushed off as a coincidence. Every realization was like a firefly in your head, flickering and blinking under dim light until it shone bright and clear in total darkness.

Every time he called you beautiful. Every time he kissed you. Every time he looked at you like you were all he wanted.

Mingyu saying he wanted his first time to be with someone special wasn’t just a previous notion of his that he discarded once you two made the pact. You were the someone special he wanted to be with.

And god, if only he knew how badly you wanted to be with him right now.

“Alright, Y/N, do not tell Mingyu about any of this,” Soonyoung warned. “I’ve survived Jungwoo’s stupid ‘ecstasy water’—fuck you for that health violation of a drink, by the way—and I’m not letting Kim Mingyu be the reason why I end up six feet under.”

“I’m gonna have to tell him I found out from you, Soonyoung,” you argued. “There would literally be no other way for me to find out if it wasn’t from one of you guys.”

Vernon was quiet before he suggested, “What if we throw Jungwoo under the bus?”

“Yo, that’s hella smart,” Soonyoung praised before giving Vernon a high-five.

“I would prefer not to be thrown under the bus, thank you,” Jungwoo deadpanned.

“We are not throwing Jungwoo under the bus,” you agreed. “Besides, there’s been something that I’ve been thinking about for a while, too.” You paused to pour a shot for yourself, downing the contents of your red solo cup in one go. Wringing your hands together, you confessed, “I think I like Mingyu.”

“Oh, wow.” Jungwoo nearly choked over his words and held out his cup to you. “Pour me a shot, too. I’m gonna need it.”

Minghao decided to take over, asking, “As a person?”

“As a… man.”

“Well, men are people—sometimes.”

You groaned, unlacing your fingers to drop your face into your hands. You couldn’t believe you were saying this at the Kappa Sigma house, of all places.

“I—well, yeah, obviously. I just… okay, the point is, I sort of realized I really like him, and I was scared because I don’t know how this is gonna affect the group dynamic.” You felt your face growing hot as you talked about it, but you continued, “I wasn’t going to say anything, but what you guys just told me changes things, I think. I feel like I really need to tell him how I feel, if that’s okay with you guys.”

(You took another shot.)

You had never said the words out loud—not even to yourself. Your emotions felt more real now that they were out in the open for your friends to hear. Amidst all the booming music and drunken shouts in the house, your friends were silent.

“Why’re you asking us for permission?” Jungwoo finally spoke up. “We aren’t gonna be dicks and say you shouldn’t ask him out just so we can keep our friend group as it is. Just ask him out.”

(Another shot.)

“What he said,” Vernon agreed. “If Mingyu’s crush on you didn’t affect our friendship for four years and your crush on him didn’t make things weird, then I don’t see why you have to hide how you feel.”

(You gulped down your fourth shot.)

By the time Minghao started harping on about how you should be following your heart, you were starting to feel the alcohol settle. It ran through your veins, thick like molasses, until you felt sluggish. Then, spurred by your determination to confess your feelings, you rose up to your feet.

“I’m gonna do it,” you breathed out.

“When?” Soonyoung asked.

“Now.” You stopped to gather your belongings—your phone from the Connect Four box and your bag from the couch. “I’m gonna go see him.”

“Let’s call you an Uber,” Jungwoo said, and when he realized he was probably the most sober out of his friends, he dragged himself off the couch. Apparently, he was drinking in moderation after nearly getting alcohol poisoning in Vegas and dealing with a nasty hangover. “Okay, I’ll call you an Uber.”

Jungwoo walked you outside, waiting with you on the sidewalk until your Uber arrived. He recounted some of the highlights of his weekend in Vegas to you, and you listened intently even though you could feel your heartbeat drumming in your ears. You weren’t sure if it was because you were intoxicated or your nerves over potentially confessing your feelings to Mingyu.

When your Uber pulled into the driveway—a white SUV that was large enough for you to assume that Jungwoo accidentally booked an Uber XL.

As you were getting into the passenger’s seat, Jungwoo held the door open long enough to tell you, “Hey, I’ll let you in on a little secret: Mingyu never really cared for watching movies until he met you.”

While your Uber driver took you to your destination in silence, you were certain your heart was glowing brighter than any sunset out there.

The gallery was empty when you arrived—eerily quiet. A long, white table sat at the foyer where the front desk was. Plates of what you suspected had cookies on them were left littered with crumbs. The gallery assistant seated at the front desk must have been a student working part-time because her nose was buried in a textbook, hardly noticing you walking inside the building.

Your buzz was wearing off by now and your stomach had dropped in a deep pit when you realized that you were late. You swore you had timed it right. Mingyu told you to be there at 5 p.m., and yes, you were twenty minutes late, but you didn’t expect the whole venue to be cleared out.

Maybe everyone else was just late. That had to be it, right?

When you tried to look up Mingyu’s location on Find My Friends, he was miles away and looked as if he was on a trail.

You decided to call him, wondering why he hadn’t texted you yet. You were too disoriented in the car to give him a heads up, but he would normally text you, anyway.

After three rings, he picked up. “Hello?”

“Mingyu!” you cried in a hushed voice. “Am I late? Did you leave already? I can’t see anyone here.”

“Where?” he asked. “Uh, if you’re talking about Beerlympics, I didn’t go because I had a project due tonight.”

“No, the gallery. You said it started at five, right?”

Mingyu was silent for what seemed like forever before he stifled a laugh. “You mean the gallery opening tomorrow night?”

You had never sobered up so quickly.

While Mingyu was laughing at you on the other end of the line, you were pulling up your text messages to confirm that he had given you the wrong details. Instead, you were met with the horrifying realization that you just read the invite wrong.

“I mean, you can still see my work while you’re there,” he continued. “I think they’ve already switched out their old art.”

You groaned. “I’m so stupid.”

You roamed around the gallery as Mingyu told you about his day, looking at all of the art pieces that were submitted. After you took some pictures of various paintings and sculptures that were on display, your eyes fell upon a sunset photograph hung up on the wall.

The very photograph you came here for.

You had seen gorgeous sunsets before, but you had never seen pictures that did them any justice. What Mingyu had captured, though, was absolutely breathtaking.

Over the foliage, the sky was a wonderful blend of oranges, yellows, pinks, and purples. The great ball of light dipped below the horizon, peeking out just enough to see its wonderful color. The rays of sunlight reached out past the frame, illuminating the treetops and the current of water that ran to the side.

To the right, you saw Mingyu’s placard fixed to the wall, hanging proud next to its photograph.

Kim Mingyu You’re My Sunset 2023 The sun’s last kiss to the sky. If there’s a world where I can watch sunsets forever, I hope she’s there with me.

“—so I’m pretty sure I’m gonna get a C on the quiz because he made us write out our code on paper. My handwriting is dogshit, so I hope he has a fun time reading mine.” He trailed off when he realized you went silent on the other end. “Y/N?”

“Where are you?” you asked, a touch distracted as your eyes drank in the words etched onto the placard.

“Huh? I’m on that hiking trail near the freshman dorms,” he said. “I was gonna go watch the sunset, if you wanted to come see it with me.”

And because you were so helplessly in love with him, it was easier than breathing to say, “I’d love to watch the sunset with you.”

It took you one more Uber and forty minutes to find Mingyu where he was waiting for you. You told him not to walk all the way back down to meet you, so you made your journey to the top on your own. You were definitely not dressed for a hike, but sunset was coming soon and you didn’t have time to stop at your apartment to change.

You waved once you saw him, biting back your smile because you didn’t want to look overly-excited to see him. He had probably been outside for a while, judging by the sheen of sweat that made his biceps glisten under the setting sun.

“You made it just in time,” he said. “Sunset’s in a few.”

Your chest heaved as you recovered from your hike up. It had been ages since you worked out properly, so part of you was glad that you didn’t let Mingyu go back down and fetch you. You surely would have had to make him stop several times for you to take a breather.

He was sitting on a large, flat rock—so smooth that it was probably the perfect spot on the entire mountain to watch a sunset. Mingyu scooted over so that you had room and you sat down right next to him, knees knocking and shoulders brushing against his.

You had never seen anything as formidably beautiful as the view before you. The sun had started to dip below the horizon, glowing a spectacular orange. Muted colors of blue and gray vanished like a skip, blurring into colors more intense, more breathtaking. Oranges and yellows blend into the canvas of the sky, soon blending with pink and red hues that made the clouds look like the seventh heaven.

It felt like the sun was setting, calling the stars out just for you two. It cast its rays onto the lake below, leaving the surface glittering with millions of golden sparkles.

This was the sight that reminded Mingyu of you.

For a while, you two just watched the sky wordlessly until you started, “I saw your—”

“What if we watched the entire Marvel Cinematic Universe for our next marathon?” he asked at the same time, but his words were stronger—more purposeful—so you answered him instead.

“We still haven’t finished our Barbie marathon,” you said. “We’re still on Barbie and the Diamond Castle.”

“But… when we finish.”

You hummed. “How long does it take to finish all of the Marvel movies?”

You tried to mentally note down all of the titles you knew with the limited knowledge you had of the Marvel cinematography. You were pretty sure you watched a good amount of them—the big ones that broke records in theaters—but you never tried watching them in order.

“Seventy hours and forty-six minutes. I checked.”

“We’d be marathoning forever.”

He smiled. “It wouldn't be the end of the world if we marathoned forever.”

You laughed, loud and clear. It was almost ridiculous to think of you and Mingyu in your fifties, sitting on a couch and watching yet another movie marathon in the measly hours of free time you had between work and other responsibilities.

And then it hit you. Your heart jumped to your throat.

You and Mingyu, doing the same things you did now in your fifties. You and Mingyu, sitting on a couch and watching another marathon together. You and Mingyu, swamped with work and responsibilities but still spending time with each other amidst all that.

You and Mingyu.

Your lungs were trees and there was a forest fire. It tore its way through each leaf, each branch, and it felt like that fire would burn forever. Burn until the sky had no sun and the world was in ruins. You couldn’t think straight as your heart raced and your breath got caught in your throat.

“Forever?” you asked in a small voice.

Mingyu’s eyes softened, more sincere and longing in them. At this point, he had gone pink beneath his golden skin. He moved his hand over yours, giving it a gentle squeeze, but all you could focus on was how the last rays of the evening shone on your best friend’s face. He was painted with sunset.

“Yeah, forever,” he confirmed. “I guess this is my way of confessing, so… Y/N, my forever marathoner, my sunset, will you go out with me?”

You were choked up at what felt like the worst possible time to be malfunctioning. “Sunset—”

“You saw it, right? The dedication next to my sunset picture?” he asked. “You finally realized that I’ve been in love with you for the past four years?”

He said the words so casually, as if he was telling you the color of the sky. But you could feel the weight settle in—the years of longing and pining.

This time, instead of just craning your neck, you turned your whole body to face him. The way he looked at you sent butterflies to your stomach, but your eyebrows pulled into a frown. You were sure that you couldn’t have possibly let it slip to him that Soonyoung told you everything.

“How did you… how did you know?”

He grinned, leaning back a little on his hands. “Before you got here, Soonyoung drunk FaceTimed me and started apologizing for exposing my four-year crush on you. He also apologized for assuming that I had the balls to ask you out.”

You scoffed a little, recalling how Soonyoung was practically begging you not to tell Mingyu yourself. It only made sense that he would be the one to fess up after all that alcohol got into his system. You made a mental note to call him out on this very moment the next time you saw him.

“Things get messy when someone likes someone else in the friend group, you know?” he continued, looking over the cliffside for a moment before turning back to you. “But, with you, I don’t think I mind things getting a little messy.”

“Do you remember when Jungwoo told you I found you cute, and I told him I really said something else?” he went on, turning his head away this time. He sounded more shy when he admitted, “Beautiful. I called you beautiful.”

“I just…” You faltered, trying to work up the courage to look him in the eye. When you did, the melted amber swirling in his eyes nearly made you stammer. “I didn’t expect any of this.”

Mingyu must have mistook your nerves for hesitation because he immediately said, “It’s all good, Y/N. I just wanted to come clean to you. You don’t have to answer—”

“No, Mingyu,” you cut him off, breathing out the words with an edge of desperation, “I didn’t expect this because I came here to ask you out.”

It was his turn to be shell-shocked. Mingyu’s pink lips parted in surprise, mouth opening and closing like he wanted to say something, but he clearly hadn’t even thought of this outcome. You watched his Adam’s apple bob nervously.

He looked at your lips, then your eyes, then your lips again. He lifted his hand to touch your cheek, fingers spreading so that he could cradle your jaw. He looked transfixed, looking at you like you were far more captivating than the sunset that was playing out for you two. His eyes fluttered shut once he closed the distance and his lips met yours.

If you were his sunset, Mingyu was your sunrise. Every time he kissed or touched you, you felt warmth spread through your whole body, making you beam brighter than any star in the galaxy.

He pulled back, but he was still so close that his nose was touching yours, both of your ragged, uneven breaths mixing in the tight space between you two. He held the back of your head and pressed your foreheads together, a gesture of his that always made you feel like you were soaring.

Your voice failed you as Mingyu’s calloused hands bunched up the fabric of your shirt to glide down your back, tracing the bumps down your spine and gripping tighter once he reached your hips. It was like he was charting a map of your body, taking note of every little curve and dip he came across.

“W-we’re outside,” you stuttered out.

“No one’s gonna catch us. I wanna show you how I feel every time I look at you,” he murmured in a low voice that only you could hear. “Lay down for me, Y/N. I want you to watch the last of the sunset while I show you how much I love you.”

You didn’t reply, mostly because you wanted to let your actions speak for you. You pulled him in for a short, chaste kiss before you scooted up on the rock and laid down for him. The solid surface was uncomfortable at first, but then Mingyu had you get up for a moment so that he could spread his jacket out for you. You laid back down and looked up, gasping when you realized you had a perfect view of the setting sun.

Mingyu tugged down your shorts and underwear, making sure to carefully fold them and set them aside instead of just discarding them somewhere. Now that you could feel the coolness against your bare skin, you were grateful that his jacket was under you. He pulled his sweatpants down past his hips and hovered over you, eyes flickering up to meet yours. They were hazy, swimming with lust, but you could see his sincere adoration, too. He refused to kiss you because he didn’t want to obstruct your view of the sunset.

“Are you ready?” he asked, lifting his middle and ring finger to his lips and licking them for extra lubrication.

You sucked in a sharp breath at that. “Please—yes.”

Slowly, Mingyu pushed his fingers inside of you, watching you bite your lip and screw your eyes shut with an amused half-smile. His thumb worked slow circles on your clit while his fingers were nestled in you.

“Open your eyes, beautiful,” he instructed. “You’re gonna miss the sunset.”

Finding a steady pace was no problem for Mingyu at all. He watched you squirm and moan underneath him as his fingers slid in and out of your cunt. His knuckles were glistening with your arousal, and Mingyu stared at where they disappeared inside you with unfocused eyes. He curled his fingers inside you ever-so-slightly, passing over your g-spot, and you arched your back at the feeling.  

His name stuttered past your lips, coming out so raw and passionate that all the blood rushed to Mingyu’s cock. His boxers were tented, and you were once again intimidated by how huge he was. His bulge brushed against your thigh as he plunged his fingers into you.

You felt limp under his touch, but just when you felt prickles of heat under your skin, Mingyu’s fingers slid out of you. You nearly cried out over his false promise of a release as you dug your nails into his shoulders.

“The sky,” he whispered. Like it was instinct, he licked his fingers clean without batting an eye. An embarrassed rush of heat sank into your cheeks. “I need to be inside you for the rest of the sunset. Fuck, I don’t have a condom on me.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck loosely. “That’s okay. You can just pull out.” You looked straight into his eyes and said, “I trust you, Gyu.”

“Go raw? Are you sure?”

“Yeah, we can just get Plan B tomorrow, if anything.”

Kim Mingyu looked like he could die a happy man then and there.

He tugged down his boxers, letting his cock spring up and slap the underside of his belly. It was already huge and flushed with beads of precum collecting at his slit. Mingyu shuddered almost immediately when the cool air hit him.

He spread your legs with his large hands, and you swallowed thickly before Mingyu started rubbing the head of his cock along your slit. He made sure to smear the arousal between your legs to your clit. The last rays of the sun shone on his face, and you could see the glint of hunger in his eyes.

At this point, you were nearly begging for him, so Mingyu started pushing into you carefully. His brows were pinched and his bottom lip was sucked into his teeth while he worked his way into you, his eyes glinting with utter focus.

It was so different without the condom. Intense. Hot. The drag of his cock inside you made you falter, absolutely loving the new friction and texture you were feeling.

You swallowed down your gasp with a shuddering breath. Your tight expression slowly relaxed as Mingyu’s cock worked its way inside you. Every time you wanted to close your eyes, you snapped them back open to catch a glimpse of the blurry hues above.

“That’s it,” he cooed, the praise only turning you on more. “You feel so good.”

He started circling your clit with his thumb again, getting your walls to relax so that you immediately took more of him in. Mingyu’s cock twitched inside of you, causing that one muscle in your leg to twitch. You weren’t sure how long you were going to be able to last if he kept teasing you like this.

When his head dipped into your opening, you sucked in a breath, but he did not enter just yet. Your hips bucked up against his, and Mingyu held them down so that he could position himself without slipping out of you. A sound that was between a deep chuckle and a grunt rumbled in his chest at your eagerness.

With little preamble, Mingyu started pushing deeper into you, letting himself sink while his breathing grew short. His cock brushed sensitive spots inside you that left your toes curling and your vision going blotchy. You watched the sky grow darker and darker, vibrant orange colors blending into deep reds.

A debauched moan bubbled past your lips once Mingyu started fucking into you slowly. Each roll of his hips brought a blinding wave of pleasure that left behind a sheen of sweat coating your body. The initial sting of penetration dissolved quickly into pleasure.

You dragged your nails down his well-defined back muscles, sighing blissfully with each thrust of Mingyu’s hips. His back muscles flexed underneath your hand as his cock worked in and out of you. He tucked his face into the crook of your neck and moaned along with you, and the look in his eyes told you that all he wanted to do was kiss you, but he was adamant on making you see the sun.

“Oh my god!” you cried out once Mingyu used his free hand to lift your leg over his hip, getting a better angle so that he could plunge into you. Blinking away tears, you were nearly sobbing when you said, “I… I didn’t say it back, Gyu. I love you, too. God, I’ve loved you back for so long, too.”

All the lust in Mingyu’s gaze had melted away, being replaced by the most loving gaze you had seen in his shining eyes. He leaned down to kiss you slow—a completely different pace from how he had been fucking you. When he pulled away, he kept his lips at the shell of your ear, whispering sweet nothings.

With his hips snapping into you at a near-animalistic pace, you were quickly reaching your peak. Mingyu seemed to take notice and rubbed your clit faster to catch you up to speed. Heat spread under your skin, making each nerve ending feel like it was on fire.

“There,” he gasped out after he turned his gaze up for a moment. “Do you see it? The sun kissing the sky?”

He had been waiting so long for you, pining so hard, that when your orgasm ripped through you, Mingyu came almost immediately after. He groaned before pulling out of you, his strained expression melting quickly into bliss once his release came. It seemed as though Mingyu didn’t want to get you dirty, so he shot his load to the side where he could hide it easily.

You looked up, and you finally saw how devastatingly beautiful the sunset was with its palette of colors exploding across the sky.

Reds. Oranges. Dying glimpses of yellows. You felt like you were experiencing a sensory overload with how the colors mixed and blended together while Mingyu was helping you ride out your orgasm.

This was it. This was the seventh heaven.

While you were still twitching from your intense orgasm, Mingyu sat up so that he could fix his pants, his chest rising and falling in tune with yours. You were still sprawled out on the rock, watching the last rays of sunlight dip below the horizon. The previously colorful sky had been drowned out by black and blue, but it was still bright enough to make out your surroundings.

“I never answered you properly,” you said after you caught your breath. The clouds rolled out of view, revealing the illuminated moon that shone down on you two. You sat up, meeting Mingyu’s curious gaze and declaring, “I’d love to go out with you.”

You had never really been able to fully understand what love was. It had been a foreign concept to you for years. When Mingyu smiled brightly and kissed you again, though, it had never been so clear to you.

You honestly felt bad for the librarian.

As soon as you and Mingyu walked into the library hand-in-hand, you heard a chorus of groans from your friend group’s table. They were all jeering at you like they hadn’t been the ones convincing you to ask out Mingyu a few days ago. This time, Ryujin was also mocking you with them.

(You had asked her to show up so that you could give her the Smiski figurine she had delivered to your house. You had no idea why your friends kept ordering things and using your address for delivery.)

Soonyoung cupped his hands over his mouth and yelled, “Get a room!”

“We’re just holding hands!” Mingyu exclaimed. “You’re acting like we’re in the Victorian ages.” He waved his hand to get Soonyoung to move. “Give me some room so we can work on our project together.”

You giggled and took your seat next to Mingyu, your pinkies interlocked under the table. You were sure the honeymoon phase would wear off in a few months, but for now, you couldn’t get enough of each other. Of course, you kept most of your PDA behind closed doors so that your friends would taunt you, but you were happy with that.

Speaking of your friends, they were all over-the-moon when you and Mingyu announced that you were dating. Ryujin had screamed into your ear so loudly that you were pretty sure you experienced temporary hearing loss.

You and Mingyu also finally returned the whiteboard to the community room after erasing all of the sexual terminology on it. You two were surprised that you actually managed to knock out everything on both lists that hadn’t been canceled. Apparently, Jeonghan had been distressed over the whiteboard’s disappearance and filed a complaint to get a new one. He got his happy ending, too, when you and Mingyu rolled it back into the room.

“Y/N, Mingyu,” Jungwoo called. “Body counts—go!”

Mingyu blinked. “One?” he deadpanned. “Why would it be higher than that, dude?”

It was your turn now, with all eyes on you. Before, you wondered why you even felt the need to lie about something like that. It had all seemed like such a silly concern back then, but now you realized that there had never been a rush to lose your v-card.

Now, you could confidently say, “One.”

Because Kim Mingyu’s Guide To Losing Your Virginity really was effective.

mingyu: hey mingyu: what happens when we finish the marvel marathon

y/n: wdym

mingyu: like what do we do with our lives mingyu: 70 hours and 46 minutes mingyu: it has to end eventually mingyu: we’ve been marathoning all this time with no foreseeable end until now

y/n: what did we do before the marvel marathon

mingyu: the barbie marathon

y/n: and what did we do before that

mingyu: the disney princesses marathon

y/n: and before that

mingyu: the saw marathon

y/n: exactly y/n: we will keep marathoning for as long as marathons exist

mingyu: is that your way of saying we’re forever?

y/n: yes it is

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ if you made it all the way to the end, MUAH! thank you so much for reading !! and thank you to everyone who asked to be on the tag list, i was so floored by the love you guys showed the teaser ♡ first and foremost, i have to shoutout fia for being the reason i changed my magic mike joke to magic mingyu. i would also like to shoutout mingyu for existing because his existence is the reason why this came into fruition. also shoutout to you for reading this because wow!!! you sat through all those words??? i am so honored, really :’) i hope you enjoyed this, thank you for being on this rollercoaster with me, and i hope you look forward to my future works

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