Text
keeping score â˝ mingyu x reader.
hating mingyu is easy. seeing him in any other light takes work, and youâre tired of trying to figure that out.
â˝ uni soccer player!mingyu x reader. â˝ word count: 20.4k â˝ genre: alternate universe: non-idol, alternate universe: university. romance, light angst. offshoot of @xinganhao's soccer team!hhu verse. â˝ includes: mentions of food, alcohol consumption. cussing/swearing. frenemies to ???, looots of bickering, slowburn, pining!! yearning!! tension, idiots in love, feelings realization/denial. reader is a fashion major, mingyu is a goalkeeper. hhu ensemble (mingyuâs soccer teammates). other idols make a cameo. â˝ footnotes: this entire piece of workâ all 20k words of itâ is dedicated to @maplegyu. this couple is our magnum opus, and i owe so much of this vision to her; i can only hope iâve done them justice. my favorite gyuldaengie! iyong iyo âto. ily. <3 đľ the official keeping score s01 playlist.
⸠S01E01: THE ONE WITH THE MONTHLY FAMILY LUNCH.Â
The bane of your existence arrives like clockwork every month, complete with a three-course meal, polite conversation, and the insufferable presence of Kim fucking Mingyu.
You love the Kims. Really, you do.Â
His mother is an absolute angel, his father tells the best stories, and his sister is one of the few people in this world you can actually stand. But Mingyu?
Mingyu is a menace. A thorn in your side. A perpetual migraine dressed in a soccer jersey and an overinflated ego.
And yet, because your families are close, youâve had the misfortune of growing up with him. There has never been a time in your life when he wasnât there wreaking havoc, getting on your nerves, making these monthly lunches a test of patience and endurance.
You barely step through the Kimsâ front door before he spots you, and the smirk that spreads across his face already has you bracing for impact.
âYou spend all your money on clothes, donât you?â Mingyu drawls, gaze sweeping over your carefully chosen outfit. This monthâs best attempt at dressing to impress. âDo you ever buy anything useful, or is it just fabric and brand names at this point?â
You flash him a saccharine smile, one wide enough to make your cheeks hurt. âI would ask if you ever spend money on anything besides soccer cleats, but then I rememberedââ You snap your fingers. âYou donât. Trust fund baby, right? Still trying to deserve that, Kim?â
He clutches his chest dramatically, as if wounded. âLow blow.â
You step past him, muttering, âNot low enough.â
The act drops at the dining table, of course. Because despite the mutual irritation that fuels your every interaction, you both have the social awareness to play nice in front of your parents.Â
Mingyu is seated next to you, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to roll your eyes when he oh-so-helpfully pulls a serving dish closer. To himself, obviously.
âLet me guess,â you say, resting your chin on your hand. âYouâre carb-loading for a game?â
Mingyu, mid-scoop of mashed potatoes, doesnât even blink. âNah, just loading up so I donât wither away listening to you talk about⌠what was it last time? The âpsychological complexity of lipstick shadesâ?â
His mother lets out a dramatic sigh, though thereâs no real dismay behind it. âMingyu, be nice.â
âI am nice,â he says easily, flashing his mother an innocent smile before turning back to you, tone all too sweet. âAnd personally, I think youâre more of a soft pink girl than a red one.â
Itâs a direct dig at your choice of makeup for the day. You know heâs just speaking out of his ass; he doesnât know the first thing about shades, and red is definitely your color. You take a slow sip of your drink before matching his tone. âThatâs funny. I was just about to say youâre more of a benchwarmer than a starter.â
His father chuckles, far too used to this by now. âOh, come on,â he chuckles. âYou two have known each other since you were in diapers. When will you stop with the little jabs?â
âMaybe theyâll finally get along,â your mother says amusedly, ânow that theyâre graduating.âÂ
You and Mingyu exchange a look, one perfectly in sync despite how much you loathe the idea of ever being on the same wavelength.
Nose scrunch. Head shake.
Not in this lifetime.
There was a timeâ brief, fleeting, and foolishâ when you thought you might actually be friends with Mingyu.
You mustâve been, what, eight? Nine? Young enough to still believe that people could change overnight, that rivalries were just a phase, that some friendships took time to bloom.
Back then, it was silly competitions: Who could swing higher at the playground, who could run faster in the backyard, who could stack the tallest tower of Lego before the other knocked it over. It was childish, harmless, even fun at timesâ until you saw his real colors.
And now, over a decade later, nothing has changed.
He still finds new and inventive ways to drive you up the wall.Â
Case in point: Your familiesâ traditional group photo.
You donât know why you still expect him to behave. You shouldâve known better.
Just as the camera shutter is about to go off, you feel something tickle the back of your neck. You tense immediately, but itâs too late. Mingyu, standing behind you, has flicked the ribbon of your dress like an annoying schoolboy pulling on a pigtail.
You whirl around, shooting him a sharp glare.
âDonât,â you warn through gritted teeth.
He gives you a wide, infuriatingly innocent grin. âDonât what?â
You turn back, forcing a pleasant smile for the next shot. And yetâ there it is again. A slight tug, barely noticeable, but just enough to let you know heâs doing it on purpose.
The camera clicks.
This time, you whip around so fast he actually takes half a step back.
âI swear to God, Kim Mingyuââ
âKids,â your mother calls, barely looking up from her phone. âLet it go.â
âWeâre not kids,â you shoot back.
Mingyu nudges your side with his elbow, leaning down ever so slightly to murmur, âYouâre right. Weâre adults now. Which means you can use your words instead of glaring at me like youâre trying to set me on fire with your mind.â
You retaliate by elbowing him in the ribs. He squeaks and begins to whine to his mother.Â
There is no universe in which you and Mingyu will ever get along. No amount of family lunches, no shared childhood history, no forced photo ops can change that.
And youâre perfectly fine with that.
⸠S01E02: THE ONE WITH SOCCER PRACTICE.Â
Mingyu is having a good practice sessionâ until Seungcheol ruins it.
âYo, loverboy,â the team captain calls out, grinning as he jogs up beside him. âYouâve got an audience today.â
Mingyu frowns, breath still heavy from his last sprint across the field. âHuh?â
Seungcheol subtly tilts his head towards the stands.
And there you areâ looking as out of place as a flamingo in a snowstorm.
Youâre sitting as far from the field as possible, like being too close might infect you with âsportsâ. Your arms are crossed, your pink-clad form nearly swallowed by the ridiculous sun hat and oversized sunglasses shielding you from the very concept of nature. A frilly umbrella is propped up beside you, even though there isnât a single drop of rain in sight.
The sheer disgruntlement on your face is almost impressive.
Mingyu groans. âOh, come on.â
âWhoâs that?â Vernon asks casually, appearing beside Mingyu and Seungcheol like a curious puppy. Heâs the newest, youngest guy on the team, so he canât be blamed for knowing the semi-constant fixture in Mingyuâs life.Â
Wonwoo, stretching nearby, lets out a knowing hum. âThat,â he responds, âis Mingyuâs one true love.â
Vernon blinks. âOh.âÂ
Seungcheol laughs, slinging an arm around Mingyuâs shoulders in a way that always ticked the latter off. âThe love of his life. His childhood sweetheart. The Juliet to his Romeo,â the older boy sing-songs.Â
Mingyu scowls. âShut up.â
Vernon looks at you again. The way your expression barely changes as you sip from an offensively fuschia thermos makes him squint in confusion.
âShe doesnât seem too happy to be here,â the youngest notes, and Mingyu holds back the urge to snort.Â
Youâre fidgeting now, glaring at a single blade of grass thatâs found its way onto your lap, as if deeply offended by its existence. Heâs half-tempted to dump an entire barrel of dried leaves on you, just to see you screech.Â
For now, though, Mingyu settles with shoving Seungcheolâs arm off him. âYou guys are so annoying,â Mingyu grumbles.Â
Wonwoo pushes his glasses further up his face. âWeâre just stating facts.â
âTheyâre not facts,â Mingyu snaps. âAnd sheâs not here because of me. Trust me, if she had any choice, sheâd be anywhere but here.â
Vernon looks between Mingyu and you again, then back at Mingyu. ââŚSo?âÂ
âSo, what?â
The younger player shrugs. âWhy is she here?â
Mingyu rolls his eyes. âSheâs waiting for me.â
Seungcheol lets out a dramatic gasp. âOh? Waiting for you? Just how deeply are you entangled with this woman, Kim Mingyu?â
Itâs a story that Seungcheol and Wonwoo already know. Mingyu knows theyâre just being difficult for the hell of it, trying to goad him into reacting. He focuses on indulging Vernon, knowing the longer he avoids it, the longer heâll be picked on.Â
âI owe her family,â Mingyu says through his teeth. âItâs not some stupid love storyâ her parents basically helped raise me when mine were busy working. You think I want to drive her places? I donât. But my mom guilt-trips me into it every time.â
Seungcheol and Wonwoo share an unimpressed look.
âUh-huh,â Wonwoo says. âPoor you. Forced to chauffeur a beautiful girl around in your nice car. Sounds awful.â
Mingyu fights the urge to sulk. âIt is. Sheâs unbearable.âÂ
âShe seems pretty quiet,â Vernon grunts as he adjusts his cleats.Â
âThatâs because sheâs sulking.â Mingyu isnât sure why, but once the explanation starts, it just keeps going. âNormally, she never shuts upâalways going on about useless crap, complaining about things normal people donât even think about. Like, oh no, her new nail set doesnât match the vibe of her outfit, or God forbid a restaurant uses the wrong kind of parmesan.â
He realizes heâs said too much when he notices Wonwoo fighting back a smirk, and Seungcheol biting the inside of his cheek. The latter pushes it further with a drawl of, âSo, what Iâm hearing is⌠you listen to her. A lot.â
Mingyu groans, rubbing his temples. He really had to learn how to keep his mouth shut. âNo, I suffer through her,â he insists. âThereâs a difference.â
Wonwoo folds his arms. âYou know, itâs funny. You talk all this smack, but I donât think Iâve ever heard her rant about you.â
âThatâs just because sheâs stuck-up. Always has been,â scoffs Mingyu.Â
His mind flashes back to childhoodâ when he was seven and you were six, and you turned your nose up at his scraped knees, saying, Only boys who donât know how to run properly get hurt like that.
When he was ten and you were nine, and you refused to eat a slice of pizza at his birthday party because you only liked the fancy kind with real mozzarella, not whatever that was.Â
When he was fifteen and you were fourteen, and he caught you scoffing at his old sneakers, telling your mom some people just have no concept of âaesthetics.â
And yet, despite everything, your families had always forced you together.
Mingyu was never given the option to just avoid you. Your parents and his were practically inseparable, and since childhood, heâs had to deal with your high standards and exasperated sighs and perpetual disapproval over whatever nonsense you deemed worth being mad about that day.
âI promise you, sheâs the worst,â Mingyu mutters, stretching his arms behind his head.
Vernon, still watching you, tilts his head. âSo, what does she think of you?â
That oneâs easy.Â
âShe hates me,â Mingyu says simply. Like itâs a fact. The sun is warm, the sky is blue, and you hate Kim Mingyu.Â
Seungcheol grins, his smile a little too sharp and knowing for Mingyuâs liking. âOh, well. At least thatâs mutual, right?â
Mingyu doesnât answer, but he does glance back at you just in time to see you struggling to shove your umbrella back into its case. You catch his eye and stick your tongue out at him, the act so childish that Mingyu can only roll his eyes and flip you off.Â
The feeling was most definitely mutual.Â
The practice goes as usualâ drills, passing exercises, a scrimmage where Mingyu manages to nutmeg Wonwoo (which earns him a half-hearted shove after the play). By the time theyâre finishing up with cool-down stretches, the sun is dipping low in the sky, casting the field in warm golds and oranges.
Mingyu runs a hand through his sweat-dampened hair and chugs the last of his water bottle before chucking it at Seungcheolâs back. âCaptain,â he calls mockingly, âwe done?â
Seungcheol catches the bottle before it can hit him. âYeah, yeah. Go, be free.â
Mingyu doesnât need to be told twice. He grabs his bag from the bench and jogs off the field, presumably heading toward you, who is still seated cross-armed, looking thoroughly unimpressed with the entire practice.
The three boys watch the interaction from a distance. Mingyu says something; you scowl. He nudges your knee with his foot; you swat at him.
Wonwoo rolls his shoulders. âYou think todayâs the day?â
Seungcheol lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. âNot yet. Give it another few months.â
Vernon furrows his brows. âWhat?â
âThe bet,â Wonwoo says simply.Â
Vernon blinks. âWhat bet?â
âWeâve had a running bet for years about how long itâll take those two to get together,â supplies Seungcheol.Â
Vernon looks between them, then at you and Mingyu again. The two of you now seem to be engaged in some sort of bickering match. Mingyu pulls at the edge of your pink cardigan, and you swat his hand away with increasing irritation.
How long itâll take the two of you to get together?Â
âYou guys are insane,â Vernon says flatly.
Wonwoo snorts. âTell me something I donât know.â
âI mean, look at them.â Vernon gestures vaguely in your direction. At this point, youâre looking like youâre five seconds away from pouncing Mingyu. âThey hate each other.â
Seungcheol and Wonwoo do it again. That shared look, that quiet understanding.Â
âLook again,â the team captain urges, and Vernon does.Â
He watches as Mingyu steps back, laughingly avoiding your physical assault. Youâ despite your obvious frustrationâ fight a smile before rolling your eyes.
Thereâs something there. Some spark of familiarity, of knowing each other too well, of a connection that might just be a little too deep for pure hatred.
Huh.Â
A beat. And then Vernon digs through his pocket and procures a couple of loose bills.Â
âBefore the year ends,â he declares, making Seungcheol and Wonwoo chuckle.Â
⸠S01E03: THE ONE WITH THE JANKY ELEVATOR.Â
You donât know why you always end up here.
Actually, no. You do know why. Because your parents insist you wait at Mingyuâs place whenever theyâre running late to pick you up, since apparently his apartment is safer than a cafĂŠ or a mall. Nevermind that the biggest threat to your wellbeing is standing right beside you, scrolling through his phone with a self-satisfied smirk.
âWas a functioning lift too much to ask for when you were looking for apartments?â you say, eyeing the rickety metal doors of his apartment buildingâs elevators.Â
Mingyu doesnât even look up. âOh, sorry, princess. Next time, Iâll make sure to move into a high-rise penthouse with gold-plated buttons just for you.â
You make a noise of disgust, jabbing at the button with unnecessary force. âAs if Iâd ever step foot in your place again after today.â
âYou say that every time.â
You open your mouth for a comeback, but the elevator doors groan open just then. The lights flicker ominously. Thereâs a suspicious stain on the corner of the floor. You step in with a sigh, Mingyu following behind you.
The doors shut. The elevator lurches upwards with a wheeze.
âYou know,â Mingyu says, âif you hate coming here so much, you could always just Uber home.â
âOh, believe me, if I didnât have to be here, I wouldnât. But my mom insists youâreââ You pause, making air quotes, âââtrustworthy.ââ
He smiles like heâs some God-given gift. âI am trustworthy.â
âYou once stole my fries in front of my face and claimed I was hallucinating.â
âOkay, butââ
Before he can finish, the elevator gives a violent jolt.
And then everything goes black.
For a moment, thereâs silence. Just the quiet hum of the emergency light kicking in, the faint creak of metal settling.
Then, Mingyu takes a sharp inhale.
âUh.â His voice is suddenly tight. âNo. Nope. No way.â
You blink, eyes adjusting to the dim lighting. âOh, great,â you grumble. âFantastic. This is what I get for stepping into this death trap of a building.â
âI thinkâ I think I need to sit down,â Mingyu mutters, lowering himself to the floor.
You huff. âBe so for real right now, you lumbering idiot.â
But then you actually look at him.
The usual cocky tilt of his head is gone. His fingers are gripping the fabric of his joggers, his breathing coming in short, uneven bursts. His eyes are darting around the elevator, as if checking for an exit that isnât there.
Oh.
Oh.
Heâs genuinely scared.
A new, unfamiliar kind of concern settles in your chest. âWait,â you say, kneeling beside him. âYouâre not actuallyââ
âI justââ Mingyu gulps. âI hate elevators. And small spaces. And, you know, the whole getting stuck thing.â
And then it clicks.
You remember being kids, when the power went out at the Kimâs summer house during a thunderstorm. You remember little Mingyu, barely taller than you, sitting stiffly on the couch with his knees pulled to his chest, tryingâ and failingâ not to let his fear show. You remember the way his face twisted when the room was swallowed by darkness, how his mother had to light candles and sit beside him until the power returned.
He never admitted he was scared, of course. Mingyu never admitted anything.
But you knew.
Looking at him nowâ his face pale, his jaw tightâ you realize some things donât change.
Without thinking, you place a hand on his arm. âHey. Breathe, okay? Itâs fine.â
Mingyu exhales shakily. âI am breathing.â
âYeah, like a terrified chihuahua,â you mutter. âDeep breaths. In through your nose, out through your mouth.â
He gives you a look, squinting at you through the darkness, but he obeys. Inhale, exhale.
You squeeze his arm. âSee? Not so bad.â
He closes his eyes, focusing on his breathing. You sit beside him, fingers still on his arm, grounding him. After a few beats, his breathing evens out. His shoulders relax.Â
â⌠Donât tell anyone,â he finally says, voice barely above a whisper.
âOh, Iâm definitely telling the team.â
âI will murder you.â
An unbidden laugh escapes you. You nudge his knee with yours. âSee? Youâre fine.â
âStill hate this,â Mingyu exhales, rubbing his face.Â
âYou are kind of pathetic.â
âYeah, yeah.â He leans back against the wall. Then, like it pains him to say it, he adds, âThanks, though.â
You roll your eyes, but you donât remove your hand from his arm.
With a sudden jolt, the elevator whirs back to life. The overhead lights flicker before settling into a steady glow, and the quiet hum of movement returns beneath your feet.
Mingyu exhales the biggest sigh of relief youâve ever heard. âOh, thank God.â
Heâs on his feet before the doors have even fully opened, practically leaping into the hallway like heâs just escaped certain death. You follow him with a disbelieving huff.Â
It isnât until youâre several paces into the hallway that you realize youâre still holding onto him.Â
Your fingers are curled around his forearm, right where theyâd been when you were calming him down. Mingyu, ever the opportunist, notices right before you can subtly let go.
He tilts his head. âAww, you care about me,â he coos, but thereâs a hint of something in his tone. You think it might be genuine appreciation; youâre not about to dwell on it, though.Â
âShut up,â you snipe. You want to shove him back in the elevator and see just how cocky he can be when it crashes out again.Â
âAdmit it,â he sing-songs, trailing after you toward his apartment. âYou were worried about me.â
âI was trapped in an elevator. I was worried about myself.â
âUh-huh. Sure.â
You choose not to dignify him with a response, striding ahead until you reach his door. Mingyu unlocks it with a beep, stepping aside to let you in.
As soon as you enter, you do what you always doâ make yourself at home. You toe off your shoes, toss your bag onto his couch, and march straight to his kitchen. The years of forced proximity have made this something as good as a routine.Â
âYou got anything to eat?â you ask. The question is rhetorical; youâre already prepared to rob him of whatever he has in his pantry.
Mingyu scoffs as he kicks off his sneakers. âThis is not a restaurant.â
âClearly,â you huff, swinging open his fridge. The contents are bleak. A few eggs, a half-empty carton of orange juice, a suspiciously old container of takeout, and at least three protein shakes.
You make a face. âBe serious.â
He sprawls onto the couch. âWhat?â
âYou live like a caveman.â You shut the fridge with an exasperated sigh, turning to scan the apartment. Your gaze lands on a new decorative shelf against the wall, filled with an assortment of mismatched trinkets. Theyâre all atrocious and generic.Â
Youâre inclined to tease him that itâs why heâs bitchless, this sheer lack of consideration for aesthetics. You reel that in, though, opting instead for a lighter, âSince when did you care about home decor?â
Mingyu props his feet on the coffee table. âItâs called having taste,â he shoots back.Â
âYou donât have taste.â
âExcuse youââ
âThis,â you gesture at the shelf, âis ugly.â
Mingyu grabs the nearest throw pillow and chucks it at you.
You barely dodge it. It whizzes past your head, and once again, you think this is exactly one of those things you shouldâve expected from Mingyu. Heâs immature, and obnoxious, and unbelievably rude.Â
âDid you justââ youâre gaping, but then another pillow flies your way.Â
You snatch it out of the air, and then you catch the way heâs already scrambling for another âweaponâ. âYou are such a child!â you screech, except youâre not above retaliation.Â
What follows is a semi-violent pillow war that neither of you are willing to concede. Itâs ridiculous, and loud, and it feels exactly like every argument youâve ever had with him. Full of unnecessary dramatics and zero real malice.
Just like that, the moment in the elevatorâ the quiet, vulnerable, human side of him youâd glimpsedâ disappears into the back of your mind. A moment of weakness, never to happen again.
Because Kim Mingyu is still the same as heâs always been.
⸠S01E04: THE ONE WITH THE NIGHT OUT.Â
Mingyu swears heâs going to kill you.Â
Heâs probably made that threat dozens of times in the past years, but tonight, heâs fairly sure heâll actually do it.Â
He should be in bed right now, getting some much-needed shut-eye for tomorrowâs game. Itâs the type of do-or-die match where scouts will be in the audience, after all, and while Mingyu doesnât really give two damns about going pro, he wouldnât mind the validation.
Alas, instead of being in his bed, heâs stuck in traffic en route to wherever the hell youâve gone drinking tonight.Â
If it had just been you that asked to be picked up, Mingyu wouldâve ended the call without question. Probably would have told you to get off his case and book a cab yourself.Â
But itâs your mother whoâs asking, who has entrusted your safety and well-being in Mingyuâs allegedly capable hands. Heâs not about to turn down the woman who practically helped raise him.Â
Disgruntled, Mingyu pulls into the parking lot of where you said youâd be drinking. Some swanky club with thumping music and neon lights.Â
âSo help me, God,â Mingyu grumbles underneath his breath as he stomps out of his car and toward the establishment. When the bouncer charges him an entrance feeâ an entrance fee!â Mingyuâs urge to cause you bodily harm only triples. He coughs up the fee and marches into the club, fully prepared to give you grief for this little stunt.Â
The club is alive, full of sweaty bodies pressing against each other and questionable house remixes that everyone is pretending to like. Itâs an assault on the senses, and Mingyu absolutely loathes it.
He wasnât about to act holier-than-thou. Heâs had his fair share of drinking escapades, had even been to this very club himself once or twice. Still, itâs different when youâre ready for a night out and when youâve been forced out of your restful evening because of a person you can barely even consider a friend.Â
It takes him all of three minutes to find you.Â
Take away the history, the tension, and fine. Mingyu would willingly admit: Youâre gorgeous. Sometimes. When you tried.Â
Itâs more than the sinfully short dress, more than the ankle-length boots that no one else would pull off. Itâs that laugh of yours, so bright and open and loud as you let one of your friends twirl you around on the dance floor. The sound reaches Mingyu over the din of debauchery, and he feels a muscle in his jaw tick.Â
He hates it. He hates you.Â
He wants to be home, back in his bed, instead of standing five paces away from a stunning you. A you that he will have to drag down because of responsibility, because of his blasted pride. Whether or not he cares to admit it, he hates that, too.Â
Mingyu weaves through the crowds of dancing people until heâs reached you. Heâs just about to call your name when the DJ plays a song that you seem to like, because you let out a loud squeal and try to jump.Â
Key word: Try. Youâre just a little off-balance from your choice of shoewear and the alcohol running through your veins, because your attempt has you stumbling.Â
Instinctively, Mingyu reaches out to catch you. His palms land on your waist as your back falls against his chest, and it nearly kills himâ the sound of your drunken giggle. You tilt your head back to look up at him.
It starts off as a half-lidded, hazy expression, one that shows off just how intoxicated you already are. But thereâs something different there, too. A heat. A hunger. One that shows youâre out for something, someone tonight. Mingyu hates that the most.Â
He hates how that look on your face disappears when you realize who caught you. Immediately, your unchaste expression gives way to something more akin to sulky discontent, like Mingyu is the bearer of bad news.Â
And he is, really, because his fingers squeeze at your waist as he glares down at you.Â
âItâs past midnight, Cinderella,â he says, pitching his voice just loud enough above the music. âTime to head home.â
Your reaction to him is always a good litmus test of how intoxicated you are. When you jut out your lower lip and whine out a petulant âMingyu!â, that gives him the idea that youâre pretty damn gone.Â
âYouâre no fun,â you whine, trying to wriggle free from his grip. âThis is my favorite songââÂ
âAnd itâs one in the fucking morning. Letâs go.â
Somehow, you manage to peel away from him. One of your friends links arms with you, the two of you bursting into laughter of giggles. Mingyu is tempted to leave you then and there. Thereâs nothing funny about this situation, and heâs already planning to tell you off for how this might affect how he plays tomorrow.Â
âOne more song!â You put up one finger, practically shoving it up to Mingyuâs face. âPleaseee?âÂ
Heâs only halfway through saying something like no, letâs go before your friend is dragging you further into the throng of dancing people. Mingyu can already feel a headache blossoming beneath his temple.Â
Resigned to his fate, he steps to the fringes of the crowd. He isnât in the mood to scream to All I Do Is Win with all of these strangers; the least he can do is keep an eye on you.Â
You, scream-singing the lyrics. You, whose dress rides up with every little sway. Youâ laughing, dancing, still several paces away from Mingyu.Â
He crosses his arms over his chest and briefly closes his eyes, exhaling through his nose. A voice snaps him out of his reverie.
âHey, handsome. Want a drink?âÂ
Mingyuâs eyes flutter open. He hadnât noticed the girl sidling up to his side. Sheâs a bombshell, sure, with a lecherous gaze and a barely-there dress, but Mingyu trips up over the fact that the two of you kind of smile the same.Â
âNo, thank you,â he says curtly. âIâm driving.âÂ
The girl throws her head back and laughs. Mingyuâs headache feels like itâs worsening.
âYouâre too good-looking to be the designated driver,â the stranger purrs. When she reaches out to run an innocent finger over Mingyuâs crossed arms, his lips tug into a slight frown. Heâs no stranger to girls coming on to him. Heâs entertained a couple, even, in settings exactly like this.Â
Tonight, heâs not in the mood. Thatâs it. Thatâs all there is to it, he thinksâ as if heâs trying to convince himself.Â
Thatâs how he builds the courage to lie through his teeth.Â
âIâm here to drive my girlfriend home, actually.â
In the morning, he will justify it like this: He wanted the stranger to leave him alone. He wasnât exactly lying. You were a girl, and you were⌠kind of his friend. And he was driving you home. That much was true.Â
In that very moment, though, his heartâ the treacherous fool that it isâ skips a single, infinitesimal beat at the prospect of calling you his âgirlfriendâ.Â
The stranger is undeterred. Itâs a common throw-off, after all. The lie about having a significant other.Â
âWhereâs this girlfriend of yours?â she asks, one eyebrow cocked upward in amusement.Â
Mingyuâs eyes flick over the throng of dancers. Right. He had been watching for you. He opens his mouth, about to mention some notable feature of yours, when the words stick in his throat. Because heâs looking right at youâÂ
You, with your arms over the shoulders of some guy. You, tilting your face upward to kiss said stranger.Â
The strobe lights cut Mingyuâs vision into strips. He sees each moment like a flashbulb blinking on and off: Your eyes fluttering close. The strangerâs hand slipping to the small of your back, right over the curve of your ass. Your body, arching upward a little bit more.
Mingyu, still paces away.Â
By the time youâre pulling away from the man, Mingyu is already at your side. Heâs still ever so gentle as he yanks you away from the strangerâs grasp.
âWeâre going,â he announces.
The guy you had just been kissing lets out some strangled sound, something to the effect of âwhat the hell, man,â but Mingyu canât be bothered to stick around and clarify. He focuses on hauling your ass away, even as you begin to kick up a fuss.Â
âBut he said I was prettyââ youâre whining, the tone of your voice grating on every single one of Mingyuâs nerves.Â
âBecause you are pretty!â he snaps as he guides you through the crowd. âDonât go around making out with anyone who compliments you. Jesus!â
Somehow, the two of you manage to spill out of the club. Mingyu has a white-knuckled grip on your shoulders as he attempts to push you forward, towards his car.Â
You only add to his mounting annoyance when you dig the heels of your boots into the ground, keeping him from going any further.Â
âFor fuckâs sakeââ Mingyu grumbles. âI swear to God, I will leave you. Iâm going to leave you to your own devices in this parking lot, you leech.âÂ
âYou wouldnât,â you say shrilly. âYou would never leave me!â
âI would,â he shoots back. He contemplates just throwing you over his shoulder and being done with it.Â
That train of thought is swiftly interrupted by you spinning around to face him. You plant your hands on your hips, speaking surprisingly evenly for someone who looks drunk out of their mind. âI was having fun,â you sniffle.Â
âAnd I was supposed to be asleep four hours ago,â he seethes. âInstead, Iâm dealing with your bratty assââÂ
âI didnât ask you toââÂ
âYour mother asked me toââÂ
âWell, she can go andââ
âPlease!â
Mingyu huffs out the word with his whole chest. Honestly, at this point? Heâs not above begging. He runs his hands over his face before wringing them together.Â
âCan we just go home already?â he pleads. âI have to be up by six, and the student manager will have my neck if Iâm late one more time. Please, please, please just get in my car already.âÂ
You only stare him down with that steely expression of yours. Once again, Mingyu toys with the idea of manhandling you into his backseat, until you speak up.Â
âHe said I was pretty,â you repeat, like thatâs somehow the most important fact of the night.Â
âYou are,â he responds exasperatedly.Â
âYouâre lying,â you insist. It might be a trick of the light, a fleeting moment in the darkness of the otherwise empty parking lot, but Mingyu swears he sees a flicker of insecurity in your eyes.
You go on, âYouâre just saying that. Unlike the guy back there, you donât actually thinkââÂ
âOh my God. Fine. Fine. I donât think youâre pretty!â Mingyu throws his hands up in the air in a gesture of defeat.Â
You look like youâre about to deflate, but then he barrels on, going absolutely insane over this whole stupid affair. âI think youâre breathtaking. I think youâre the most gorgeous girl in the world,â he bites out. âBut, holy shit, are you the most annoying one, too!â
If youâre surprised, thereâs no indication of it in your expression. But your hands do drop from your sides, and youâre looking at Mingyu with a little less disdain than a couple of seconds ago.Â
A beat. And thenâ
âYou think Iâm breathtaking?â you ask, the ghost of a smirk on your lips.Â
To hell with it. Mingyu surges forward and wraps his arms around your waist, hauling you off the ground.Â
Youâre squealing and raining punches down his back the entire way to his car.Â
⸠S01E05: THE ONE WITH THE MORNING AFTER.Â
You wake up to the distinct smell of something warm and buttery wafting through the air, the scent tugging you out of your heavy slumber.Â
Your head is pounding, and your throat feels like you swallowed a gallon of sandpaper, but worst of all, thereâs a familiar sense of displacementâ the kind that comes with waking up somewhere that isnât your own bed.
Cracking one eye open, youâre met with the soft glow of morning light filtering through unfamiliar curtains. It takes you a second, but then you recognize the room instantly: Mingyuâs apartment.
The realization doesnât startle you as much as it should. In fact, you sigh, rolling onto your back and rubbing at your temple. It isnât the first time youâve found yourself here after a night out, though itâs usually because of some family event that went on too long rather than Mingyu being forced to drag your inebriated ass home.
Still, the headache and vague memories of last night are enough to sour your mood. You groan, sitting up and taking in your surroundings. Your shoes are neatly placed by the door. A bottle of water and a pack of painkillers sit on the nightstand, which youâre quick to grab.Â
And then, thereâs the smell. The one that pulled you out of sleep in the first place.
You shuffle out of bed and into the kitchen, where you find an actual, plated breakfast waiting for you on the counter. A plate of eggs, toast, andâ because you assume Mingyu is still an insufferable health nutâ a side of fruit. Stuck to the rim of the plate, a bright yellow Post-it with the worst handwriting known to mankind.
Stop drinking. -KMG
You find yourself staring at the plate longer than necessary. No matter how crude the note is, the fact remains: Mingyu cooked this. For you. Before his game.
Thereâs an uncomfortable flutter in your chest that you quickly stomp out.
Because sure, Mingyu cooked for you. Sure, he bought you medicine. But he also had the gall to leave you a rude Post-it note like the patronizing asshole that he is. You grab the note and crumple it in your fist before popping one of the painkillers in your mouth. You mutter âfuckinâ bitchâ to no one in particular, but it lacks real venom.
Your thoughts are interrupted by your phone ringing. You frown before spotting Mingyuâs charger plugged into the wall, your phone attached to it. You donât have time to unpack whatever that means, because your motherâs name flashes across the screen.
With a sigh, you answer. âHello?â
âWhere are you?â she asks, voice sharp with concern. âI tried calling last night, but your phone was off.â
âI wasâŚâ You hesitate, glancing at the breakfast on the counter. âWith Mingyu.â
Thereâs no need for your mother to know where you really were dancing, who youâd spent the night flirting with. Hell, all of that is pretty much a blur at this point. The only thing left in your alcohol-addled mind is Mingyu calling you Cinderella, Mingyuâs hands on your shoulders, and⌠Did he carry you to his car? Youâll have to wheedle that information out of him later.Â
Your motherâs reaction to your white lie is immediate. Her sigh of relief is so loud you have to pull the phone away from your ear. âOh. Thatâs good,â she breathes. âAt least I know you were in good hands.â The food in front of you suddenly looks much less appealing. Of course. Of course thatâs all it takes for her to drop her interrogation. You could have told her you spent the night at any of your friendsâ places, and she still would have had a million questions. But mention Mingyu, and suddenly sheâs appeased.
âYeah,â you say flatly. âGreat hands.â
You donât like it. You donât like feeling indebted to him. You donât like that he has that effectâ not just on your mother, but on you, too.
As much as you want to brush it off, you canât help but glance at the plate again, at the neatly arranged breakfast that he didnât have to make, at the medicine he didnât have to buy.
And that flutter? That stupid, tiny, treacherous flutter in your chest?
You shove it deep down where it belongs.
Meanwhile, Mingyu fights his own battles. On the field, heâs a wall. A force of nature.
His muscles burn. His mind is sharp. Every time the ball nears his goal, heâs already two steps ahead. The opposing team is relentless, throwing every tactic they can at him, but it doesnât matter. Not today.
Today, Mingyu is untouchable.
The scouts on the sidelines are nodding, murmuring to each other with increasing interest. His teammates are exhilarated, feeding off his energy. Seungcheol is the first to voice it, panting as he jogs past the goal. âYouâre playing like a fucking monster.â
Mingyu doesnât answer, just adjusts his gloves and keeps his gaze locked on the field. Wonwoo watches him a beat longer, brow furrowed. âYouâre not usually this aggressive.â
Mingyu exhales sharply. âGotta keep the scouts entertained, donât I?â
Itâs a good enough excuse. No one questions him after that.
But the truth is, he knows exactly why heâs playing like this.
Because across the field is himâ the guy from last night. The guy who got to kiss you, to touch you while Mingyu watched.
And the jerk looks perfectly fine. Well-rested, even. Ready to play.
Mingyuâs jaw tightens.Â
When the next shot comes, he doesnât just block it. He slaps it out of the air with enough force to send it soaring toward midfield. The sound of his palm meeting the ball echoes across the stadium. The forward who took the shot looks stunned; the murmurs from the scouts grow louder.
Seungcheol lets out a low whistle. âI donât know whatâs gotten into you, but I like it.â
Mingyu exhales, flexing his fingers inside his gloves. His heartbeat pounds in his ears, but heâs locked in, focused. He doesnât care how many more shots they take. None of them are getting past him today.
Youâre not even here, but you might as well be by the way Mingyu thinks of you the entire damn time.
And if, after the final whistle blows and his team secures the win, he happens to walk past him with just a little too much shoulder in his stride? Well.
Thatâs just the cherry on top.
He feels proud. Vindicated. He revels in it for a full minute beforeâ much like youâ shoving the feeling as far away from him as possible.Â
Now itâs even. Now, he doesnât owe you a thing.Â
⸠S01E06: THE ONE WITH THE PERFUME.Â
Mingyu isnât sure how he ended up in the fragrance section.Â
The trip to the mall had a purposeâ find a birthday gift for their student manager, someone patient enough to handle their chaos. Seungcheol was atrociously down bad for the girl, and was still trying to prove himself worthy of her time.Â
Seungcheol, Wonwoo, and Vernon debate between a sleek planner and a wireless charger.
âThe planner will help her deal with us,â Wonwoo pushes, âweâre always bombarding her with our schedules, anyway.âÂ
Vernon butts in. âGetting her a gift that benefits us is a shitty thing to do.âÂ
The man of the hourâ Seungcheol, who is balancing the two gifts in his handsâ gives the worldâs shittiest suggestion. âLetâs just get both!â
As the three try to argue the merits of the gifts, Mingyu wanders off. For some reason, he finds himself drawn by the gleam of glass bottles and the faint hum of different scents in the air.
He has no business being here. Cologne isnât something he puts much thought into; he has his one bottle, the same one heâs used for years, and it does the job.Â
Still, his fingers ghost over the display, picking up a tester bottle without much thought. The label is understated. Minimalist design, black serif lettering against a frosted background. Expensive-looking. He presses down on the nozzle, sending a fine mist into the air.
The scent unfurls slowly. First, thereâs a burst of something citrusyâ bright, crisp, and fleeting. Then it settles into softer notes, something warm and clean, like white musk and fresh linen.Â
But underneath, lingering just at the edge, is something else. Something vaguely floral, but not overpowering. A hint of jasmine, maybe, softened by vanilla.
His grip tightens around the tester. Heâs suffered through this scent before.
It clings to his couch cushions, stubborn even after airing out his apartment. It lingers in his car, filling the spaces between his words when you're in the passenger seat. Itâs in his hoodie the morning after you crash at his place, making his head turn before he remembers youâre already gone.
Mingyu frowns, inhaling again, as if the scent will offer up an explanation for why it pulls at something deep in his memory.Â
Could it be your own perfume? Could your shampoo have the same notes?Â
He debates it for a second. Buying the bottle, testing if it really does smell the same. If it would fade the same way, settle the same way. If it would remind him of you just as much.
And thenâ what the hell is he doing?Â
Mingyu sets down the tester bottle, clicking the cap back on. He tries to chalk it up to curiosity. That has to be it. Heâs a man of logic, someone who likes to confirm hypotheses like whether this inconspicuous bottle of perfume is the same as his arch rivalâs.Â
Thatâs all there is to it, he thinks, as he stalks back over to his teammates. A verdict has been reached: Seungcheol will get her the planner. The charger will be halved three-way by Mingyu, Vernon, and Wonwoo.Â
âWhereâd you go?â Wonwoo inquires.Â
âNowhere,â Mingyu answers, even though his mind is still on the stupid smell.Â
He wipes at his wrist like that might help him get rid of the thought of you.Â
(In the other side of the mallâ)Â
⸠S01E07: THE ONE WITH THE SHOPPING TRIP.Â
You love shopping.Â
Not just for the thrill of it or the satisfaction of walking out of a store with a new find, but because itâs part of your studies. As a business major with a minor in fashion design, you donât just see clothes. You see craftsmanship, marketability, trends, and the little details that separate the exceptional from the ordinary.
Which is why you donât take it lightly when a saleslady looks down on you.
It starts with the way she barely glances at you when you step into the boutique, her gaze flickering from your casual outfit to the more expensively dressed customers lingering by the racks. She doesnât offer a greeting, doesnât ask if you need help, just wrongly assumes that youâre not worth her time.
You brush it off at first. Itâs not the first time someone has made a snap judgment about you, and it wonât be the last. But then, as you pull a dress from the rack, inspecting the stitching along the seams, you hear her scoff.
âThat oneâs a little out of budget, donât you think?â she says, her voice coated in artificial sweetness.
You arch a brow, turning the dress over in your hands. Itâs a designer piece, sure, but itâs not about the price. Itâs about the construction, and this one? Overpriced for what it offers. You could name at least three brands that do a better job at a fraction of the cost.
Instead of rising to the bait, you hum thoughtfully. âThe stitching here is uneven,â you muse, holding the fabric up to the light. âAnd the lining? They cut costs with synthetic blends when they should have used silk. The structure wonât hold up after a few wears.â
The saleslady falters, clearly unprepared for an actual critique. You donât stop there.
âFor the price, Iâd expect better craftsmanship. If youâre going to charge this much, at least make sure the dress can justify it.â
A beat of silence. Then, another voice chimes inâ a stranger, another customer, who suddenly looks interested in what you have to say. âThatâs actually a good point,â she murmurs, inspecting her own dress more closely.
The salesladyâs expression tightens, and she suddenly looks less inclined to speak. You hide a smirk, setting the dress back on the rack.
You love shopping. But more than that, you love knowing exactly what youâre talking about.
The next store is quieter, more minimalist, with racks of clothing spaced out deliberately to give each piece a sense of importance. You skim through them idly until something catches your eye.
A shirt. Simple, well-tailored, the kind of thing that would sit well on broad shoulders.Â
Mingyuâs shoulders.
You wrinkle your nose at the thought. The idea of picking something out for him makes your stomach turn, and yet⌠you keep looking at it. Itâs a nice color, something that would complement his skin tone. The fit would be flattering. Itâs practical, stylish, something he could wear effortlessly.
You chalk it up to habit. Itâs the same as when you find a cute piece that would suit a mannequin perfectly. Just another exercise in styling. Nothing more.
Besides, if you bought it, it wouldnât be for him. It would be for the sake of aesthetics. Like dressing up a doll. Orâ better yetâ like charity.
Yes. Thatâs all it is. You like knowing what youâre talking about, and this is just a manifestation of it.Â
You grab the shirt, holding it up for a final once-over before tossing it into your basket. If anything, you can pass it off as a Christmas gift. Thatâs reasonable. Normal, even. No big deal.
But then you see a sweater that would pair well with it. And a jacket thatâs undeniably his style. And before you know it, your basket is full.
Itâs only when youâre standing in line to pay that it truly hits you.
What the hell are you doing?
Your grip tightens around the handle of the basket, heart hammering in your chest. You stare at the pile of clothesâ clothes for Mingyuâ and feel a wave of unease creep up your spine. This is not normal. This is not something you do.
You were supposed to get one thing. One. Now youâre standing here like some deranged personal shopper, about to spend money on a man you claim to tolerate at best.
No. Absolutely not.
You step out of the line, return to the racks, and unceremoniously dump the basketâs contents back where they belong. One by one, you rid yourself of every last piece until thereâs nothing left.
Your heart is still racing by the time you exit the store. You need a spa day. Desperately.
⸠S01E08: THE ONE WITH THE GAME.Â
âYouâve got to be fucking kidding me.â
Mingyu stares from across the field, frozen in place as his teammates jog past him. The pregame warmups blur into the background because there you are, sitting in the stands. Willingly.
It shouldnât be a big deal, shouldnât mean anything, but it does. Because in all the years heâs known you, youâve never voluntarily attended one of his games. Not without some level of coercion. Not without at least thirty minutes of complaining.
And yet, here you are.
Unfortunately, you also stick out like a sore thumb.
He sees you draped in obnoxiously bright colors, layered in mismatched school merch like someone who got dressed in the darkâ or someone trying too hard to look like they belong. The cap, the oversized hoodie, the scarf, all of it is excessive.
The worst part? It works.
Because even from across the field, even as his teammates stretch and the crowd chatters, Mingyu sees you. And now he canât unsee you.
He ignores the cheerleaders calling his name. Ignores the people waving at him, the fans holding up banners with his number. Ignores the way his coach is probably going to yell at him later for getting distracted before the game.
Instead, he heads straight for you.
âWhat the hell are you doing here?â he demands, stopping just short of the stands.
You lower your phone, where youâd clearly been snapping photos, and peer down at him like heâs the one acting weird. âYour mom asked me to take photos of you,â you reply, voice maddeningly nonchalant. âDonât lose.â
Mingyu scoffs. âDonât tell me what to do.â Then, a beat later, he petulantly adds, âAlso, I never lose.â
You roll your eyes, already angling your phone for another shot, but Mingyu doesnât move just yet. The fact remains; youâre here, looking infuriatingly good, and heâs going to spend the next 90 minutes fighting for his life. He canât decide if thatâs a good or bad thing.Â
Either way, he knows one thing for sure: He really, really canât afford to lose.
But he does.
Itâs a hard-fought game, and Mingyu plays like a man possessed. He dives for impossible saves, yells orders at his defenders, and shuts down shot after shot. The crowd roars every time he denies the other team, and for most of the match, it looks like his team might just scrape by with a win.
Then, in the final minutes, everything falls apart.
A miscalculated pass. A stolen ball. A breakaway that happens too fast.
Mingyu sees it unfold in real-time, feels the moment slip through his fingers before it even happens. He charges forward, determined to cut off the angle, to make himself big, to stop the shot. But the ball soars past him, hitting the back of the net with a deafening thud.
The stadium erupts. The other team celebrates. And Mingyu, chest heaving, fists clenched, can only stare as the scoreboard confirms it.
A one-point lead. Game over.
He barely hears the whistle. Barely registers his teammates patting his back, muttering things like You did great and Weâll get them next time. None of it matters. Because he lost. Because he let that shot in.Â
Because somewhere in the stands, you saw him fail.
He drags his gloves off, jaw tight, shoulders tense. He doesnât want to look up. Doesnât want to see if youâre still watching.Â
Against his better judgment, his gaze lifts toward the stands anyway.
There you are, camera in hand, expression unreadable. Of all his losses that day, that was the one that inexplicably ticked him off the most. The fact that you werenât smiling, werenât frowning. You were just⌠watching. Heâs never been able to read your mind, but he despises that inability the most today.Â
Mingyu exhales sharply, looks away, and storms off the field.
He doesnât expect you to wait for him outside the locker room. Youâre there anyway when he steps out, your arms crossed and your lips pursed. He doesnât slow down, doesnât acknowledge you beyond the look he shoots your way; you have to take large steps in your ridiculous heels just to keep up with his pace. He feels like a hurricaneâ one thatâs about to sweep through your stoicism, about to leave significant collateral damage.Â
âCome on, then,â he mutters, shoving his duffel strap higher onto his shoulder. âTell me just how shitty I am.â
âExcuse me?â
He lets out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. âYou must be dying to rub it in my face. Go ahead. Get it over with.â
You frown. âWhat the hell is your problem?â
That sets him off.
âMy problem?â he snaps, finally stopping in his tracks to glare at you properly. You follow suit, and it amuses him for a fraction of a secondâ just how easily he towers over you. âI just lost a game, in case you missed that part while taking your stupid pictures.â
You scoff, fully displeased now. âAre you serious? You think I came here just to laugh at you?âÂ
âWouldnât be the first time.â His voice is sharp, low. âYouâve never had a problem making fun of me before.â
Your jaw clenches.Â
âNo need to make me your punching bag, Kim.â In turnâ your tone is piercing, almost hurt. âI came here to comfort you. Iâm not the fucking devil you make me out to be.â
The words hit harder than they should.
The weight of the loss still clings to him, frustration simmering beneath his skin. His hands are still balled into fists, his shoulders locked up so tight they ache. But the way you say it, the unexpected offense in your voice, makes something in him falter.
He rubs a hand over his face. The hurricane in him quiets, runs out of rain. âYeah.â His voice is quieter now. âSorry.â
You roll your eyes. Really, you have every right to give him more shit; he knows he deserves it. âI should just leave you here to wallow.â You make a grand show of turning awayâ really, you have every right to give him more shit; he knows he deserves it.Â
But then you glance at him over your shoulder. âSince Iâm feeling benevolent, Iâll treat you to a meal.â
Mingyu stares at you like youâve lost your mind. âYou?â He gestures vaguely between the two of you. âTreating me? Are you dying?â
âMaybe,â you deadpan. âFrom secondhand embarrassment.â
He lets out a sharp exhale, something between a huff and a chuckle. âWow. Real comforting.â
You shrug. âI never said I was good at comfort,â you snipe, and he knows that much is true.
Somehow, thatâs how he finds himself behind the wheel of his car, hands gripping the steering wheel. Heâs still mildly dazed as he glances over at you in his passenger seat. He doesnât remember actually agreeing to this. He doesnât remember deciding to take you to his favorite restaurant. And yet here you are, scrolling through your phone like this is the most normal thing in the world.
For the first five minutes, the drive is quiet. Mingyu fiddles with the AC, rolls his shoulders, frowns at the road ahead. But the longer you sit there, humming under your breath, mindlessly playing with the hem of your sleeve, the more it starts to sink in.
This is the first time the two of you have willingly shared a meal together.
Not because of mutual friends. Not because of a group project or an event neither of you could get out of. Not because your parents forced you into it.
Just⌠because.
Itâs the strangest possible way for Mingyu to have possibly ended the night.Â
He spares you another glance as he pulls into the parking lot. âYou better not complain about the food,â he warns, âor Iâm leaving you here.â
Of course, that gives you the leeway to complain, bitching about things like sanitation and standards for cuisine. He tunes it out like he often does, instead trying to figure out how the hell he ended up here.Â
Here, sitting across from you in a restaurant that he usually only visits with his teammates. It felt like a fever dream to approach the host stand and ask for a table for two; his voice had come out a little too uncertain, like he couldnât quite believe the words himself.
The host had seated you without question, handing you both menus before disappearing, leaving Mingyu to sit there and take in the absurdity of the situation. You, sitting across from him, elbows on the table, flipping through the menu like this is any other meal with any other person.
His mind flickers, unbidden, to a thought: Are you like this on all dates?
Then, he scowls. No. This is not a date.
âAlright, what am I getting?â you ask, still scanning the menu. âYouâre the one who dragged me here, might as well give me a solid recommendation.â
Mingyu raises a brow. âI dragged you here? You were the one who insisted on treating me.â
âTomato, tomahto.â You shoot him a sharp glare, as if his insolence was something that caused offense. âJust tell me whatâs good.â
He studies you for a second like heâs waiting for the punchline. When you just blink back expectantly, he sighs, resigning himself to whatever surreal alternate reality this is. âGet the beef stew,â he finally says. âAnd the garlic rice. Youâll thank me later.â
To his surprise, you actually listen. He half-expected you to ignore him just to be difficult.
The conversation that follows is easy in a way that confuses him. You bicker, naturally, but itâs mostly over trivial thingsâ your tragic lack of appreciation for his taste in sports documentaries, the way he insists that pineapple on pizza is a crime against humanity. Nothing about the game, nothing about his loss, nothing about the way frustration still lingers in the tightness of his jaw.
Instead, you seem content commenting on the restaurant itself, mentioning how you like the warm lighting, how the playlist is surprisingly good. And then thereâs the way you eat. Without rush, without any of the absentmindedness he sometimes sees when youâre multitasking with your phone. You actually appreciate the food, nodding approvingly after each bite like youâre mentally scoring it.
Somewhere between your satisfied hums and the way you swipe an extra spoonful of his rice when you think heâs not looking, Mingyu realizes something strange: Youâre actually enjoying this.
And, maybe, so is he.
Itâs disorienting, how quickly the irritation from earlier has faded.
He tries to remind himself of the reasons youâre infuriating. That youâre picky about things that donât matter, that you have a bad habit of being late, that you roll your eyes too much, thatâ
But every thought is immediately met with another. That you actually care about things enough to be picky. That you only run late when youâve lost track of time doing something you love. That you roll your eyes, sure, but you also laugh, also banter, also make things more interesting.
Mingyu stares at you for a moment, something warm settling into his chest.
By the end of the dinner, heâs forgotten why he was so upset in the first place.
⸠S01E09: THE ONE WITH THE HIGH SCHOOL REUNION.Â
The party is already in full swing by the time you and Mingyu arrive.Â
Itâs the usual reunion sceneâ too many people packed into a house slightly too small for the occasion, music loud enough to drown out the conversations but not enough to stop them altogether, and a lingering smell of something fried mixed with overpriced cologne.
Youâre still annoyed. Annoyed because Mingyu had, with all the grace of a wrecking ball, insulted your outfit on the drive here. Something about how your skirt was too short and your heels were impractical for a house party. As if he was some kind of fashion authority.
âThanks for the unsolicited advice, asswipe,â you had snapped back, crossing your arms and staring out the window. He only scoffed in response, muttering something about not wanting to be responsible if you tripped and broke your ankle.
Now, hours later, youâre still disgruntled about it. You refuse to think about how, deep down, it had been less about disapproval and more about the way his gaze had lingered.Â
That would be a problem for another time. Maybe never.
You make your way to the kitchen, eyeing the assortment of drinks lined up on the counter. A bottle of something expensive-looking catches your attention. You grab it, twisting the cap with determination, but it refuses to budge. You try again, gripping it tighter, but all you manage is an embarrassing squeak of effort.
âSeriously?â you mutter under your breath, frustration bubbling up.
Before you can attempt another futile try, a large hand appears in your periphery. The bottle is plucked effortlessly from your grip. In one swift motion, Mingyu twists the cap open like it was nothing. No struggle, no hesitation, no unnecessary flexing. Just pure efficiency.
He doesnât even smirk. Doesnât gloat or tease you like you expect him to. He just hands the bottle back to you before turning away as if it had never happened.
You blink. Then blink again.
The room suddenly feels a little warmer. Must be the alcohol in the air. Or the heater. Orâ
Oh, God.
With absolute horror, you realize Mingyu was kind of hot for that.
You take a generous swig from the bottle, hoping it burns away whatever ridiculous thought just took root in your brain. Unfortunately, the warmth spreading through you has absolutely nothing to do with the alcohol.
You take another sip, then another, letting the burn of the drink ground you. Itâs fine. Itâs whatever. Youâll drink and have fun and not think about the way Mingyuâs hand had so easily dwarfed yours when he took the bottle from you.
You wander back toward the living room, where clusters of people are chatting, laughing, reliving the glory days. Just as you settle into the buzz of the atmosphere, you catch Mingyuâs name being thrown around in a conversation nearby. You donât mean to eavesdropâ okay, maybe you do a littleâ but something about the way his voice carries through the room makes you pause.
âNot drinking tonight?â You hear someone ask him.
âNah,â Mingyu replies, nonchalant. âIâm her designated driver.â
Your stomach does a weird little flip.
Well, then.
If thatâs the case, if Mingyuâs already consigned himself to the role of responsibility, then thereâs absolutely no reason for you to hold back.
You tilt your head back, take another sip. Then another.
A warmth spreads through your limbs, but whether itâs from the alcohol or the fact that you now have free rein to drink without consequence, youâre not sure. You tell yourself itâs definitely the alcohol, though. Because the alternativeâ the thought that it has anything to do with Mingyuâ just isnât an option. Not tonight.
The alcohol has settled comfortably in your veins by the time the dancing starts. The living room has been cleared to make space, furniture pushed against the walls. Now the music pulses louder, the bass vibrating through the floor.Â
Youâre laughing with old friends, moving with the rhythm, when you feel a sharp tug at the hem of your skirt.
You whirl around, already prepared to snap at whoever dared, only to come face-to-face with Mingyu. Heâs standing there, a frown on his face. He leans in slightly, voice low but clear over the music. âI told you it was too short.â
You blink at him, thrown off by the way his fingers had just been on you, tugging fabric downward like it was some sort of personal mission. Something fizzes beneath your skin, something that has nothing to do with the alcohol and everything to do with the fact that Mingyuâ annoying, overbearing Kim Mingyuâ is looking at you like that.
Itâd been such a boyfriend move. You force yourself not to dwell on it.Â
You donât know what compels you, but maybe youâre just tipsy enough. Maybe you want to make him suffer.Â
You suddenly reach out, looping your arms around Mingyuâs neck. His whole body goes stiff, his eyes widening in immediate suspicion.
âDance with me,â you say, tilting your head, voice syrupy with tipsiness and mischief.
Mingyu shakes his head, already taking a step back. âAbsolutely not.â
You grin and pull him right back in. âYou sure? âCause I know things, Kim. Lots of things.â
âAre you blackmailing me?â he squeaks.Â
You sway closer, pretending to consider it. âItâs more of a⌠strategic incentive.â
A battle wars in his eyes. But then, with a low âtchâ and a mutter of âYouâre insufferable,â Mingyu lets your grip pull him in.Â
The moment is bizarre.Â
His hands find their placeâ one cautiously at your waist, the other hovering near your shoulder like heâs afraid to touch too much. You move to the beat, feeling the heat of him through his shirt, the solid press of his frame against yours.Â
Itâs ridiculous. Itâs stupid.
Itâs also the best decision youâve made all night.
The song shifts into something heavier, the bass thrumming through your chest, the kind of music meant for bad decisions and blurred memories. Mingyu hasnât bolted yet, which is a miracle in itself. Heâs actually keeping up with you, moving in sync, matching your rhythm with ease. Itâs unexpected, the way he doesnât seem like he hates this, like heâs maybeâ God forbidâ having fun.
You scoff at the thought, but the amusement lingers. The insults come easy, natural, tossed between the two of you like a ball neither wants to drop.
âYou dance like an old man,â you tease, voice warm with liquor.
âAnd you dance like youâre trying to summon a demon,â he shoots back.
You laugh, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. Maybe itâs the dim lighting or maybe itâs the alcohol, but Mingyuâs gaze doesnât seem as sharp as it usually does. His grip on your waist is firm but not forceful, like heâs not entirely opposed to being here, to this, to you.
Itâs too easy to forget that this is Mingyu, that this is the same guy who has made a sport out of getting under your skin. Because right now, heâs just a tall, ridiculously handsome man who happens to be an unfairly good dancer.
The thought sneaks up on you before you can fight it. If he wasnât Mingyu...
The words slip out before you register them. âI wonder what Iâd do if you werenât you.â
Mingyuâs eyebrows raise. âWhat?â His voice is a little rough around the edges, and far too sober.
Shit.Â
You blink rapidly, force a laugh, and shake your head as if you can brush it off. âNothing. Ignore me.â
But the thing isâ you canât ignore it.Â
Because somewhere, in the back of your mind, youâre already picturing it. A world where Mingyu isnât Mingyu, where heâs just some stranger with sharp eyes and broad shoulders who smells good and dances well, who looks at you like heâs actually seeing you.
A world where you wouldnât have to fight every instinct telling you to lean in.
Eventually, your feet start to protest. Youâre wearing heels that were never meant for this much standing, much less dancing. You havenât even said anything about it, but your expression must be reflecting your discomfort and your frustration. Mingyu sighs like youâve personally ruined his night before crouching down and unlacing his sneakers.
âWhat are you doing?â you ask laughingly as he kicks them off, right there on the fringes of the dance floor.Â
âGiving you my shoes,â he says, like itâs obvious, shoving them toward you. âIâm not carrying you to the car.â
You snort. âYouâd probably drop me anyway.â
âExactly.â He watches as you swap out your heels for his much-too-big sneakers, which make you feel ridiculous but are, admittedly, a godsend.
You donât realize until youâre halfway to the car that Mingyu is walking in only his socks, completely unbothered. You slide into the passenger seat, tipsy and warm and just self-aware enough to realize something terrible is happening.
You are warming up to Mingyu.
It hits you like a truck.
Mingyu, your mortal enemy. Mingyu, who has annoyed you since childhood. Mingyu, who insults your outfits and steals your food and opens your drinks without a second thought.
Your head lolls against the seat as you stare at him in horror, combing through the memories, trying to pinpoint exactly when this started going wrong.
By the time he pulls up in front of your house, youâve made a decision.
You need to stop being too nice to him.
⸠S01E10: THE ONE WITH THE TEAM LUNCH.Â
Mingyu is halfway through his second helping of rice when he hears itâ the unmistakable sound of his personal hell approaching.Â
He doesnât even have to look up to know itâs you. The dramatic click of your heels, the way the conversation at the cafeteria table shifts just slightly, the exasperated sigh that escapes Wonwoo before you even arrive.
And then, as expectedâ
âKim.â
Mingyu exhales sharply through his nose. He doesnât know what you want, but if the past few weeks have been anything to go by, itâs nothing good. Ever since the high school reunion, youâve been nothing short of a menace.
He still doesnât know what changed that night, but suddenly, youâve taken it upon yourself to be the most irksome person in his life. There was the time you texted him an obnoxious amount of links to ugly sneakers after heâd lent you his at the party. The time you âaccidentallyâ swapped his shampoo for some floral-scented one that lingered in his hair for days. The time you sent him a video of him losing his last match, edited with clown music in the background.
He finally looks up from his food, expression already set in a scowl. Youâre standing at the edge of their table, arms crossed, a shit-eating grin plastered on your face. Seungcheol, Vernon, and Wonwoo all look between the two of you like theyâre watching a horror movie unfold in real-time.
âWhat do you want?â Mingyu asks, voice flat.
You feign offense, placing a hand over your chest. âCanât I just stop by to say hello?â
âNo.â
Vernon snorts, covering his mouth with his hand. Seungcheol nudges him under the table, but heâs grinning, too.
âYou wound me, Kim.â You pull out the chair beside him and sit down like you belong there. âBut fine, I do need something.â
Mingyu rolls his eyes, shoving another bite of food into his mouth before jerking his chin at you. âThen spit it out already.â
âI need a favor.â
Mingyu groans. âNo. Absolutely not.â
âYou donât even know what it is yet!â
âI donât need to know what it is.â He glares at you. âItâs a no.â
Wonwoo sighs, setting his chopsticks down. âJust let her talk, Mingyu. Weâd like to finish our meal in peace.â
Mingyu gestures wildly. âI would like to finish my meal in peace!â
You pat his shoulder condescendingly. âThis is more important than your third bowl of rice.â
He swats your hand away. âItâs my second bowlââ
âNot the point,â you cut in. âListen, I just needââ
Mingyu groans again, slumping back in his chair, already regretting every choice that led to this moment. He knows, deep in his soul, that whatever youâre about to ask is going to be something ridiculous.
And yet, for some godforsaken reason, he doesnât immediately tell you to leave.
âI need help moving some furniture.â
Mingyu blinks. âThatâs it?â
âYes, thatâs it,â you deadpan. âAre you going to help or not?â
He stares at you. Itâs one of those things thatâd be a given for anybody else. Mingyu was the type of friend who would drive someone to the airport, would help someone move, would cook if someone was sick. Those were things heâd do for someone he was friends withâ something the two of you were decisively not.
âAnd why, exactly, would I do that?â he challenges.Â
âBecause you owe me?â
He lets out a laugh. âI owe you?â
âYes, forââ you flounder for a reason, ââfor existing, Kim Mingyu. Do you know how exhausting that is?â
Unconvincing to a fault. Mingyu is half-tempted to call you out for being a spoiled brat, but heâs not interested in escalating this argument in front of his team.Â
âNot my problem,â he settles on saying.Â
âYouâre the fucking worst.â
âAnd yet, here you are.â
The two of you go back and forth like that, the jabs mostly inoffensive and subjective. Mingyu is vaguely aware of Seungcheol pinching his nose like heâs nursing a headache, Vernon sipping his drink as if watching a spectacle, and Wonwoo calmly chewing his food, unfazed.
Finally, Seungcheol decides heâs had enough.Â
âBoth of you,â he interjects, voice firm. âCan you stop fighting for five minutes?â
To Mingyuâs shock, you actually fall silent. You roll your eyes but begrudgingly listen, arms still tightly crossed.Â
Mingyu scoffs. âOh, so you can listen to people,â he mutters. âDidnât know you were capable of being nice.â
Your head snaps toward him. âI am capable of being nice. Just not to you.â
âRight, because youâre a little devil sent from hell just to ruin my life.â
âYour life was already in shambles before I showed up. Donât blame me.â
The bickering immediately picks back up, much to the dismay of Mingyuâs teammates. Vernon exhales dramatically. âMamma mia,â he sing-songs jokingly to Wonwoo, âhere we go again.âÂ
You suddenly reach out, snatch a piece of Mingyuâs pork right off his plate, and pop it into your mouth as you ready to leave. His jaw drops; heâs stolen your food a fair amount, but youâve never done it to him. âHeyââ
Youâre already turning on your heel and walking away, not sparing him another glance. âThanks for absolutely nothing,â you chirp.
Mingyu watches, speechless at the petulant display.
âDid sheââ he starts, then stops. His grip tightens around his chopsticks. None of his teammates push, all too wary of the dark look that passes over his expression. Seungcheol promptly tries to change the topic.Â
Mingyu finishes his meal in a foul mood, stabbing at his food with unnecessary force.
He doesnât understand why youâve gotten so absurd with him lately. Every interaction with you feels like a new test of patience, like one day you just woke up and decided to amp up all the ways you could make him miserable. He had almost started to believe, for one fleeting second, that maybe, maybe you werenât that bad.
But no. The night at the reunion was just a flukeâ when youâd danced together and heâd privately thought it was something he could get used to.
You were always meant to be his worst nightmare, and he resolves that heâs not waking up any time soon.Â
⸠S01E11: THE ONE WITH THE REASON.Â
The joint family meal is as lively as ever, voices overlapping in conversation, laughter ringing between bites of food. You, as always, have taken it upon yourself to make Mingyuâs life difficult today.
âWow, even you managed to show up on time for once,â you remark as he slides into the seat across from you. âDid hell freeze over?â
Mingyu shoots you a deadpan look, clearly not in the mood for your antics. âNot today, Satan.â
You grin, but thereâs something off about him. He doesnât come back with anything more biting, doesnât engage in the usual back-and-forth. His shoulders are tense, and thereâs a blankness to his gaze that makes you wonder.
Your mother places a generous serving of food onto your plate, and you idly push some rice around with your chopsticks, gaze flickering toward him again. âWhat, got scolded for being too slow on the field?â
Mingyu finally looks at you properly. His frustration is clear. âCan you not today?â His voice is quieter than you expect, worn at the edges. âI had a shitty day at training, and I really donât have the energy for you right now.â
The words catch you off guard. You could leave it at that, let him have his peace for once. A part of youâ one you stubbornly refuse to acknowledgeâ almost wants to ask why, wants to pry into whatâs bothering him and offer something resembling comfort.
Instead, you shove that impulse down. Whatever this is, whatever softening that night at the reunion did to you, needs to be stomped out immediately.Â
So you double down.
You spear a piece of your meat a little too forcefully. âRight, because Iâm the problem here. You always find a way to suck at things all on your own.â
Mingyuâs expression shutters. For the first time everâ in all of your interactions with himâ you feel something unpleasant coil in your stomach. He shakes his head and then goes back to eating without another word.
Thereâs a small, screeching voice in the back of your head that wants to demand an explanation. Not for Mingyuâs dismal mood, no, but for that flicker of disappointment thatâd passed his face when he shook his head.Â
Why would he be disappointed over your cruelty? Why would he expect anything else from you?Â
The rest of the meal passes without his usual jabs in return, and you tell yourself thatâs a victory. It feels like anything but.
As dessert is doled out, your mother calls out to the pair of you. âYou two, go somewhere else for a while. The adults need to discuss business.â
You open your mouth to protest. Youâre both adults already; surely you and Mingyu could sit in, rather than be forced into yet another awkward situation neither of you can run from.
But Mingyu is already pushing his chair back with a grumbled âfine.â The look your mother shoots you indicates that this is not about to be up for debate. You follow Mingyu out, both of you stepping into the cool evening air.Â
The restaurantâs outdoor area has an old playgroundâ rusting swing sets, a chipped slide, and monkey bars that have seen better days. You walk ahead and hop onto a swing, the chains creaking slightly as you push off the ground.
Mingyu stands nearby, watching you for a moment. âDidnât take you for the type to get sentimental,â he snorts, and that slight edge in his tone gives you just a bit of hope that he doesnât completely despise you.Â
âIâm not. I just need somewhere to sit thatâs far away from you,â you say matter-of-factly.Â
He huffs but doesnât argue. Instead, he heads towards the monkey bars. He grips one, testing his weight against the metal. âRemember when you got stuck on these in second grade?â he asks as he free-hangs.Â
âI wasnât stuck,â you sniffle in protest. âI was strategizing.â
Mingyu lets out a bark of laughter. âStrategizing how to fall on your ass?â
You drag the tip of your shoe against the dirt, narrowing your eyes. âIf I recall correctly, you werenât any help. You just laughed at me until my dad had to come pull me down.â
âHey, in my defense, it was funny.â He swings himself onto the lowest bar, legs dangling. âYou had snot running down your face and everything.â
You lunge half-heartedly to kick at his shin, but he pulls his leg away just in time. Thereâs a beat of silence, the air filled with the distant chatter of your families inside. Itâs strange, this reminiscing. The usual bite to your exchanges is still there, but itâs smooth around the edges, tinged with something dangerously close to fondness.
Mingyu exhales, gaze fixed on some nondescript point in the distance. You think heâs gearing up for his next jab about something. Probably your embarrassing high school days, or that one summer vacation you hate talking about. InsteadâÂ
âWhy arenât we friends?â he asks. His voice is quiet, thoughtful.Â
You blink. The question is so absurd it momentarily stuns you. âWhat?â
âI mean,â he shifts, âweâve known each other our whole lives. Shouldnât weâ I donât knowâ be close?â
If you didnât know any better, youâd think he was teasing. But the question doesnât sound rhetorical, and he seems almost wistful.Â
You hate it.Â
You hate him.Â
Your chest tightens, unbidden memories surfacing. There were plenty of reasons. The bickering, the competition. But at the core of it, there was one moment. One day that cemented everything in place, whether Mingyu realized it or not.
You were seven. It was summer, the sun blazing high as the neighborhood kids gathered for a game of soccer. Everyone had been split into teams, and you had waited, jittery with anticipation, as Mingyuâ the fastest, the strongest, the boy everyone wanted to followâ started picking players.Â
One by one, he called out names, grinning as kids ran to his side. You had stood there, heart pounding, willing him to say your name next. You were family friends! Sure, you were a girl, but surely Mingyu could see how fast and strong you were, too.Â
In the end, Mingyu had picked everyone but you. When there was no one left, you had been shuffled onto the other team by default. You still remembered the sting of it. The two of you were already acquainted, and yet he hadnât even seen you as an option.Â
It was stupid. It was petty. And yet, that wound had never quite healed. Everything that came after was just a domino effect after that.Â
If you were a little meaner to Mingyu than you had to be, if you were much more curt and snappy with him than you were with anyone else? It all came back to that. That moment where Mingyu hadnât seen youâ worse.Â
He had pretended not to.Â
You swallow, dragging yourself back to the present. Mingyu is watching you expectantly, waiting for an answer.
âBecause you didnât pick me,â you say at last, the words slipping out before you can stop them. âThat one time.âÂ
Mingyuâs brows knit together. âWhat?â he asks, and it feels like a punch in the gut.Â
The look of confusion on Mingyuâs faceâ you donât know if itâs a curse or a blessing. He doesnât remember. Of course he doesnât. Why would he?Â
But you do. You remember, and you hold on to it for the lack of a better thing to hold on to.Â
Hating Mingyu is easy. Seeing him in any other light takes work, and youâre tired of trying to figure that out.Â
Mingyu opens his mouth. For a second, it looks like he might protest. His brows pull together, his lips part, and thereâs something foreign in his expressionâ something that makes your stomach twist uncomfortably. But before he can say anything, you hear your mother beckoning for you from the restaurant.Â
You stand up and brush nonexistent dust off your clothes. âWell, thatâs my cue,â you say airily, praying to any higher power at all that Mingyu wonât call out the way your voice shakes. Just a little bit.Â
Instead, he remains by the monkey bars, watching you with an impassive look on his face. You can feel the weight of his stare even as you turn away.Â
You hesitate for half a second before glancing back at him. âWeâre probably better off this way,â you say, because you always have to have the last word.Â
His grip tightens around the swingâs chains, knuckles going white. Thereâs a pause.Â
Then, finally, he nods. A jerky, forced thing.
âYeah,â he says, voice strangely even. âProbably.â
You donât acknowledge the way the word sits heavy between you, donât let yourself linger on the way it sounds more like reluctant acceptance than agreement. Instead, you pretend not to hear it at all, turning on your heel and walking back toward the restaurant.Â
Hating Mingyu is easy. Itâs all youâre good for. As you leave him standing alone, you hope it feels a little bit like that day in your childhoodâ when youâd been the name he hadnât called.Â
⸠S01E12: THE ONE WITH THE SMILE.Â
Mingyu doesnât get it.
Heâs been off his game for days.Â
Itâs not an injury. Itâs not exhaustion. Heâs been training the same way, eating the same meals, sleeping the same hours. And yet his shots donât land the same. His passes are sloppy. He misses easy blocks he could have made blindfolded.
It pisses him off.
The ball soars past him yet again, hitting the back of the net with a dull thud. Vernon cheers and Wonwoo does a victory lap. Mingyu just stands there, hands on his hips, jaw locked tight. His fingers twitch at his sides, itching to punch the goalpost out of sheer frustration.
Seungcheol, ever the captain, jogs over. âThatâs enough,â he barks, voice edged with authority.Â
Mingyu bites the inside of his cheek. He knows whatâs coming for him, and yet he still tries to protest. âOne more round.â
âNo. Youâre done.â Seungcheolâs tone leaves no room for argument. âGo home. Figure out whateverâs got you playing like shit and come back when your headâs on straight.â
Mingyu has to bite back the retort that heâs not playing like shit, that he does have his head on straight. The numbers donât lie. Thereâs no talking his way out of this one. With a sharp exhale, he yanks off his gloves and stalks off the field, muttering curses under his breath.
As he grabs his bag and heads toward the exit, he runs through every possible reason for his sudden slump.Â
Training? No. Diet? No. Stress? Maybe, but itâs never affected him like this before.
You?
Youâve been distant ever since that night at the playground. The constant quips, the snarky remarks, the way you always seemed to find a reason to pester himâ itâs all dialed down to nearly nothing.Â
It should be a relief. He should be thriving with all this newfound peace and quiet.
Instead, heâs a goddamn mess.Â
Mingyu kicks a stray rock on the pavement as he walks to his car. He doesnât get it. He doesnât get you. And worse, he doesnât get why it bothers him so damn much.
Itâs entirely by accident, how he ends up spotting you. Maybe itâs some form of twisted divine intervention, some cruel twist of fate.Â
Heâs at a red light, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, when he happens to glance to the side. And there you are, ripped right out of his scrambled brain, standing outside a cafĂŠ with a group of friends.
Youâre wearing one of those preppy outfits he always mocks you for, all pristine pleats and crisp collars. Itâs the kind of thing heâd usually say makes you look like you stepped straight out of some rich kid catalog. He tucks away the insult in his mind, filed for the next time you annoy him.
But thenâ
Youâre laughing. Your head tilts back; your eyes crinkle at the corners. The street lights catch on the soft highlights in your hair, the gentle slope of your nose, the flush on your cheeks from whatever ridiculous joke was just told.Â
You look light. At ease. So effortlessly happy.
Mingyu watches, unseen, his grip tightening on the steering wheel.
Heâs seen you smirk, seen you grin in that infuriating, self-satisfied way when you get under his skin. Heâs seen you scoff, roll your eyes, pout. But he doesnât think heâs ever seen you smile like that in front of him.
And whatâs worseâ
Why does he want it?
He presses on the gas pedal once the light turns green. By the time he pulls into his parking lot, his mind is still spinning. He kills the engine but doesnât move, just sits there, glaring at the wall in front of him.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he sees it. A stray hair tie, wedged between the seats. One of yours.
He stares at it, his brain stalling. The last time you sat in his passenger seat⌠when was that? His mind scrambles, trying to pinpoint the moment, but he comes up empty. The fact that he doesnât know unsettles him more than it should.
Something else comes, too. A stupid, fleeting burst of happiness. An excuse to message you, to return it, to say something anything just to get you talking to him again.
The realization slams into him all at once.
His frustration. His inability to focus. The way your absence has been gnawing at him. The way your happiness without him made his chest ache.
Mingyu slumps forward in his seat, his forehead resting against his steering wheel.Â
Not even the screeching sound of his horn is able to drag him out of the horrific realization that heâs off his game because he likes you.
He likes you, the one person in the world he shouldnât. The one person in the world he canât have.Â
âFuuuck,â he grouses, banging his head on the steering wheel so that the beeps come in sporadic bursts. âFuck, fuck, fuck!â
Heâs fucked.Â
⸠S01E13: THE ONE WITH THE PLANNING.Â
You don't know when it startedâ this weird, drawn-out awkwardness with Mingyu.
Itâs not like youâve stopped arguing. You're still giving him shit for his stupid hair, his dumb socks, his loud chewing habits. But lately, heâs... off. Slower to snap back. Not quite meeting your eyes.Â
Worst of all? Heâs barely even tried to make fun of your outfit today.
Itâs part of the Mingyu playbook. Some wisecrack about your clothes, some comment about how you should be running hell in Satanâs place. If heâs feeling particularly inventive, he even deigns to bring your course into it.Â
Today, though, itâs all painfully polite. Curt answers and absentminded nods. You know youâve frozen him out since that night on the playground, but you didnât expect to get the same chill in return.Â
âSo what Iâm hearing is,â you say, tapping something into your phone, âyouâre fine with anywhere as long as thereâs pasta. Are you five?â
Mingyu squints at you like he's struggling to come up with a comeback. He opens his mouth. Closes it. Shrugs.
You narrow your eyes at him. âWow. Riveting. Have you always been this dull or did I finally break you?â
He laughs, but there's no real bite to it. âIâm just being agreeable,â he offers. Even the snark in that is half-hearted, hesitant. âYou should try it some time.â
âOh, don't get all mature on me now,â you scoff, scrolling through the list of local restaurants your parents emailed. âGod forbid you grow a personality overnight and forget how to argue.â
Mingyu mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like âstill better than yours.â He seems distracted, for the lack of a better term. The two of you have the unfortunate task of deciding on the next joint family mealâs venue, and heâs been uncharacteristically civil throughout it all.
Somehow, it unnerves you more than when heâs being an insufferable asshole.Â
âSeriously, are you okay?â you press, a touch of concern making its way into your tone. âYou're kinda giving... robot with a mild software glitch."
âYeah, âm fine,â he grumbles. âJust tired."
âTired or scared Iâll beat you in the battle of wits today?â
âNot scared. Letting you have the spotlight for once.â
âTouching. Very generous.â You know a lost battle when you see one, so you scroll down the list again before turning your phone so he can see it. âOkay, vote: Overpriced fusion place with truffle everything or rustic hipster cafĂŠ that serves lattes with art so complicated it should be in a museum?â
Mingyu squints. âThe second one has better lighting.â
â... Lighting?â
He raises his shoulders in a shrug. âFor your parentsâ photos. You know how your mom gets.â
Something twists in your stomach.Â
The fact that Mingyu is considering your motherâs happiness, that he knows how she is and heâs not complainingâ instead accommodating?Â
You feel almost grateful, almost admiring, but you shake it off with a dramatic sigh. âFine. Hipster cafĂŠ it is. Letâs go, then.â
âIâm literally only here because you begged me to come.â
âYeah, but I begged louder. So I win.â
There it isâ the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Not quite a comeback. But closer.
It doesnât quite explain why his ears have turned pink, but thatâs a can of worms you decide youâre not ready to open up just yet. Instead, the two of you go to scope the venue, lest your parents call you out for not fulfilling your duty-bound obligation to this godforsaken tradition.Â
The cafĂŠ is aggressively quaint. All pastel walls and potted plants and menus printed in cursive. A waitress greets you at the door with a bright smile and a clipboard in hand.
âTable for two?â
âYeah,â Mingyu says.
She glances between the two of you, then beams. âPerfect! You're just in time for our coupleâs lunch special. It comes with two entrees, a shared appetizer, and dessert for only half the price.â
For a moment, you wish you could see yourself through the waitressâ eyes. You canât imagine a single thing that might give off the impression that you and Mingyu were a couple. Thereâs too much space between the two of you, and the look you two share is enough for you to gleam that heâs equally flabbergasted.Â
He turns to look back to the unassuming waitress. âOh, weâre notââ
The worldâs most brilliant idea strikes you then. You act on it before you can develop a semblance of shame.
âWe'll take it,â you cut in smoothly, linking your arm through Mingyuâs before he can ruin it. You smile sweetly at the waitress, completely ignoring the way Mingyu goes rigid beside you.
As youâre led to a corner table by the window, he leans down to frantically whisper, âWhat the hell was that?â
âA good deal,â you respond cheerfully. âUnless you want to pay full price just to protect your ego.â
He glares. âYouâre unbelievable.â
âYou knew that when you got in the car.â
The waitress sets down your menus and tells you sheâll be back shortly for your order. Mingyu slumps in his seat, looking very much like youâve told him he can never play soccer ever again.Â
âCheer up,â you say, nudging his shin under the table. âIf you play your cards right, I might even feed you.â
His eyes narrow. "You wouldnât dare."
Ah, but you would dare. The moment the pasta arrives, youâre already grinning. You twirl the noodles with your fork; he tries to communicate with his gaze that he wants you dead.Â
âSay ahhh, loverboy,â you sing-song.Â
âAbsolutely not.â
You kick him again. He hisses mid-sip of water. âJust pretend, Mingyu,â you say through the teeth of your smile. âGod, have you never faked a relationship for free food before?âÂ
âI have not, actually,â he retorts. âFuckinâ cheapskate.âÂ
Begrudgingly, he opens his mouth. He at least seems to know that youâre not about to let up. You shove the fork into his mouth; he retaliates by âfeedingâ you some chicken piccata, though itâs more of him forcing the bite into your mouth even after youâve protested the presence of peas.Â
The next half hour is full of increasingly absurd couple behavior. You fake gasp when he offers you water. He pretends to be offended when you steal his garlic bread. You stage-whisper pet names across the table just loud enough for the waitress to hear, coos of baby and sweetheart in between eye rolls and grimaces.Â
And through it all, there are momentsâ brief, fleetingâ when his eyes linger on yours just a second too long. When his smile is a little too soft. When his hand brushes yours and he doesnât pull away immediately.
You tell yourself itâs all part of the act.
But maybe thatâs not the whole truth.
The meal ends as it should. Mingyu foots the bill, and he does it without complaint. On your way out, the waitress smiles at the two of you like youâre some couple to be revered.Â
Pride sparks like a flint in your chest. You douse it as quickly as you can manage.Â
Outside, the sun is bright and the sidewalk smells like coffee and car exhaust. With your joint scoping done, the two of you walk a little slower than usual. Youâre unsure why youâre not rushing to get back to the car.
âWell,â you say casually, âyou make a convincing boyfriend. Color me shocked.â
Mingyu gives you a flat look. âGlad to know my fake relationship skills impress you.â
âWhat can I say? Low expectations,â you chirp, then jab him lightly with your elbow. âNow that I think about itâ you're pretty single, huh. Why is that, again?â
Itâs a jab that youâve delivered far better in the past. Jokes about him being unable to pull. Remarks of him not knowing the first thing about romance or women.Â
Today, though, it comes out as a query of genuine curiosity. One you typically might throw at someone you wanted to gauge interest in, and my God, how damning was that?
Mingyu doesnât make a big deal out of it. He answers your question with frustrating casualness, toying with his car keys as he drags his feet. âBusy. Not looking. The usual.â
You raise an eyebrow. âLame excuse. Try again.â
âWhat about you?â he counters, the attempt at evasion only driving you a little more crazy. âStill turning down anyone who doesnât meet your god-tier standards?â
You tilt your chin up, mock-offended. âAbsolutely. Only the best for me.â
âYeah? What does that even mean?â
Itâs obvious. You know the answer to this.
âSomeone whoâs funny. Smart. A little annoying but not, like, murder-worthy,â you ramble. âTall, but not weird-tall. Knows how to argue without being a total asshole. Kind to animals. Can cook. Probably has nice hands.â
The words come out easily, too easily. You mean to keep it jokey, casual, but the list tumbles out before you can really filter it. Itâs only when you hear it out loud that it hits you.
You know someone like that.
Your mouth goes dry. A beat passes.
You realize, too late, that you've gone quiet. That the silence between you has shifted. Itâs not awkward, but itâs charged.Â
Mingyu bumps your shoulder with his, snapping you out of your reverie. âThatâs oddly specific,â he taunts. âAnyone I know?â
You scoff and shove him away. âShut up.â
From the corner of your eye, you can see him fighting down a teasing grin. You can feel your pulse thudding in your ears, can feel the heat creeping up the back of your neck.
You donât dare look at him.
You hope Mingyu doesnât know. You hope he doesnât realize you just described someone that sounds suspiciously likeâÂ
⸠S01E14: THE ONE WITH THE WORST SEVEN MINUTES OF MINGYUâS LIFE.Â
Mingyu knows better than anyone, just how true the platitude every second counts is.Â
He plays soccer. Of course he knows the value of a ticking clock, of a last-minute save, of seconds that tick by arduously slow.
The clock has always been his enemy. But, today, itâs his friend.
Every second that ticks by moves the hands on the clock. Every movement on the clock will end this game faster.
He had this coming, really. When Ryujin dared him to kiss a girlâ any girlâ in the circle, he had known he was being baited. They all wanted him to choose you, to confirm whatever stupid assumptions theyâd made about your complicated relationship.
Mingyu lived to defy expectations, so he leaned over and pulled Chaeyoung into his lap, and he kissed her like it meant something. Did his eyes briefly flicker open to check if you were watching? Did he feel some sort of sick, perverse triumph when he saw that you looked annoyed?
He should have known that karma would bite him back fast. You had the tendency to do thatâ knowing just how to piss him off right back.
Itâs been two minutes and thirty-five seconds since you stepped into that goddamn pantry with Yugyeom.
âSeven minutes in heaven,â Jinyoung had teased when the bottle landed on you, giving you free rein to choose anyone.
And Mingyu knew immediately that it wouldnât be him.Â
Your high school friend group had jeered and laughed and teased when you reached for Yugyeom. Mingyu was not an inherently violent person, but he wanted so badly, in that moment, to wipe the smug smirk off the other manâs face.
You didnât even look at Mingyu as you slinked away with Yugyeom.Â
Mingyu is nursing a new bottle now.Â
Trying to focus on the game. Trying to ignore the empty spaces in the circle. Someoneâs daring something scandalous, a strip tease of some sortsâ
Youâre wearing his jacket, Mingyu realizes. From the little spat earlier this night when youâd spilled rum down the front of your shirt. Before you could throw a hissy fit, heâd shoved his varsity jacket in your arms and told you to suck it up.
The thought of Yugyeom unbuttoning that piece of clothingâ that one thing on your body that might mark you as Mingyuâs, if it mattered at allâ has the keeper clenching his beer bottle a little tighter.Â
Itâs been three minutes and twelve seconds. Mingyu doesnât know why heâs counting it down, but he also doesnât know how to keep his cool.
His brain keeps supplying him with images of what he might do if he were in Yugyeomâs place.
The realistic answer: Youâd sulk, probably. Find a way to blame him for the situation. The two of you would bicker the entire seven minutes and then come out of the secluded pantry in foul moods. Seven minutes in hell, he would say sarcastically, when asked, and youâd flip him off.Â
Underneath the realistic answer, though, is something thatâs close to a fantasy. His hands resting at your sides, his touch warm over yourâ hisâ jacket. Your fingers entangled in his hair. The way he'd have to lean down, to tilt his head.
Would you taste like all the alcohol youâd drank that night?
Would you taste like everything heâs ever dreamed of?
Mingyu shakes his head and takes a sip of his beer, his fingers trembling around the bottle. Eunwoo is stripping as part of a dare; Mingyu tries to focus on that, and not on the fact that itâs been five minutes and fifty-two seconds.
Jungkook lets out a loud squeal. The sound pierces through the pre-drunk migraine that Mingyu already feels coming on. The soundâ
What would you sound like?
In his arms. Against his mouth. Underneathâ
âFuck,â Mingyu cusses lowly, the word spoken mostly to himself.Â
Heâs drunk. Heâs riled up. And youâre just so pretty tonightâ
âOi, lovebirds!â Jinyoung calls out in the direction of the pantry. âSeven minutes are up!â
Mingyu barely registers the sharp ring of the seven-minute alarm going off, or the jabs that everybody else throws out. His gaze is now fixed on the pantry door, the one he has to fight every urge to approach. Every second that ticks past the required mark has his head spinning with thoughts, with ideas that he would rather not dwell on.
Yugyeom emerges first, that smirk of his still in place. You come out right after, looking unruffled as you smooth out the front of your shirt.
You donât waste a single beat. Your eyes find Mingyuâs face, where heâs poorly concealed just how much more intoxicated he's gotten in your absence.
A corner of your mouth tilts upward in a vicious smile. The action you give him next is so brief, he could have imagined it.Â
You pucker your lips.
A flying kiss.
Mingyu has never wanted you so badly.
⸠S01E15: THE ONE WITH THE WORST SEVEN MINUTES OF YOUR LIFE.Â
Seven minutes.
You could do anything in seven minutes.
Say something stupid. Say something brave. Let someone kiss you. Let someone else go.
You step into the pantry and it smells like cinnamon and dust and maybe a little bit of regret. Yugyeomâs behind you, grinning like this is just another game. And maybe to him, it is. A dare. A kiss. A story to laugh about later.
The second the door shuts, the world dulls. Muffled cheers and drunken cackles blur into the walls, and itâs just the two of you in this cramped little time capsule. His hand grazes your arm. Your breath catches, but not for the reason itâs supposed to.
âHey, pretty,â Yugyeom greets, and thereâs some sort of vindication in knowing he actually does think youâre pretty.Â
This was an evening of unepic proportions, of high school friends coming together for a birthday party and bad decisions. In your head, thereâs some small consolation to the fact that thereâs not much light in the pantry.
Just the hint of fluorescence flooding through the door crack, reminding you of a loose circle where Mingyu is seated.Â
The thought of him makes your skin crawl. Itâs bad enough that you donât know how to act around him anymore. But then he went in to make out with Chaeyoung of all fucking peopleâÂ
âLetâs get on with this, Kim,â you tell Yugyeom, trying to sound convincing, sultry.
Your voice wavers just a bit on the surname. Wrong Kim.Â
To give Yugyeom some credit, he laughs softly before leaning in. His lips are warm. Kind. And you think, briefly, that he must be good at this. The kind of guy who gets picked in these games a lot. The kind of guy who smiles and means it.
You wonder if youâll feel anything when he kisses you.
You donât.
Itâs not bad. Itâs just not⌠anything.
You try. You really, really do. Your fingers curl at the front of Yugyeomâs shirt; his own hands dance over your sides. Over the jacket, over Mingyuâs jacket, and you wince because youâre thinking of him, of the way heâd introduced himself to the unfamiliar faces with that winning smile and that nickname of his, the stupid Gyu you never get to call himâÂ
âMmm,â Yugyeom hums against your lips. He pulls back, eyes still closed, a lazy grin on his face. âDid you just say âGyuâ?â
Fuck.
You blink at Yugyeom, your brain slow to catch up. âNo, I didnât,â you sputter.Â
He opens one eye. âYou totally did.â
You could say you said Gyeom. You could simply shut Yugyeom up with a fiercer kiss, maybe a little more action.
But itâs there, out in the open, curling in the space between you two like something dangerous and damagingÂ
The slip wasnât just a slip. It was your heart showing its cards. A royal fucking flush you canât even begin to run from.
Your hand falls to your side. Yugyeom steps back.Â
No annoyance, no dramaticsâ just something soft in his smile that makes it worse. âYou wanna try that again? With the right guyâs name this time?â
You cover your face with your hands. âYugyeom,â you groan, because while you canât bring yourself to try making out again, you can at least say the right name. âPlease donât make fun of me.â
âNever,â he chirps. He shifts to lean on one of the pantryâs low shelves, hands tucked in his hoodie. âSo. Mingyu, huh?â
You donât answer right away.
Because what is there to say? That youâve spent more than half your life wrapped in arguments and almosts and the kind of tension that shouldâve burned out by now but hasnât? That the sound of your name in Mingyuâs mouth makes you want to scream or kiss him or both? That he gave you his stupid jacket and youâre still wearing it like it means something?
âItâs complicated,â you gripe.Â
Yugyeom cackles. âThatâs the most girl-whoâs-in-love thing Iâve ever heard.â
âShut up.â
He doesnât. âYou know he was watching the door like a lovesick puppy, right?â
That shouldnât make your heart flutter. It does anyway. âHe was?â you ask, and you could kick yourself for just how giddy you sound.Â
Itâs as close to a direct confirmation that Yugyeom is going to get. You think that he might be grinning, but itâs not something you can be sure of in the darkness. Itâs something you hear instead, bleeding into his words. âPretty sure he was ready to fight me.âÂ
You sit beside Yugyeom. The shelf creaks. Your hands are cold in your lap, but your face is burning.
âDo you love him?â he asks, and itâs so straightforward you want to laugh.
You donât say a thing. Itâs one of those silence-means-yes moments, one of those things that should go unsaid.Â
The sun is warm, the sky is blue, and youâre in love with Kim Mingyu. Â
Despite how much the fact has simmered underneath your skin, itâs something you canât bring yourself to say out loud. Because itâs not that easy. Because itâs him. Because you know the way he isâ impulsive and stubborn and so good at pretending he doesnât care when really, he cares too much.
And so you donât answer Yugyeom. The two of you kill the remaining minutes in silence; itâs almost like your friend is letting you sit with the truth, the realization.
After a long moment, he leans in to press a chaste, friendly kiss to the top of your head.
âWhatever it is,â he mumbles into your hair, âheâs one lucky bastard.âÂ
You let out a watery laugh. You hadnât even realized you were tearing upâ the sheer fear of the reality overwhelming you.Â
Jinyoungâs voice echoes from outside. âOi, lovebirds! Seven minutes are up!â
âCome on. Gotta act like we had some fun in here,â Yugyeom urges. âYou picked me to make him jealous, right? Letâs make it look like that.âÂ
âI owe you my first born child,â you respond, genuinely grateful despite everything.Â
âHopefully the one youâll have with MingââÂ
âLetâs not go there.âÂ
He messes with your hair. You rumple up his shirt. Itâs all a farce, a show, and Yugyeom is kind enough to play along. He throws you a conspiratorial wink as he steps out, that smirk of his slotting right back on to his barely-swollen lips.Â
You take a deep breath, and then you follow.Â
Itâs almost like a magnet, how your eyes seek out Mingyu. He looks just a little more drunk; a feat, considering the fact youâve been gone for only seven minutes.Â
You canât help it. Your mouth twitches in a fond grin. The way his gaze is burning into you, the way heâs clutching his beer bottle just a little too tightly?Â
That might be what compels you. Itâs a flicker of an action, a ghost of a tease. You throw him a flying kiss, giggling to yourself when his face flushes a shade of red.Â
You have never wanted Mingyu so badly.Â
⸠S01E16: THE ONE WITH THE âMISTAKEâ.Â
He doesn't want to be mad.
Truly. Logically. On paperâ whatever. Mingyu knows he started it.Â
He kissed Chaeyoung first. He played the game. He played you. And now here you are, sitting cross-legged on his couch in your usual over-the-top family dinner outfit. Like that one night at the party didnât end with him counting down seconds that felt like drowning.
Youâre humming some song under your breath. Youâre so calm, so nonchalant.Â
Mingyu is not. He stomps and clenches his hands into fists and slams his drawer with more force than necessary.
You glance up from your phone. âDamn,â you say with a low whistler. âDid the closet offend you or something?âÂ
He doesnât answer. Heâs pulling clothes out of his dresser like they all personally insulted him. Button-down, slacks, watch, socks. All too formal for something thatâs supposed to be casual, but tonight everything feels like a performance.
He ducks into his room and dresses quickly. By the time he emerges, youâre already standing by the front door. It shoots a momentary panic through him, the thought of you leaving.
But then youâre quipping, âYou said we had to leave at seven. Itâs 6:55. Just reminding you before you start blaming me for being late.â
âIâm not blaming you,â he grunts, padding across his living room in search of his wallet.Â
He can see you looking skeptical in his peripheral vision. âSure feels like it,â you huff.
âCan you not?â
âCan I not what? Breathe in your general direction?â
Mingyu exhales sharply. He should stop. He should apologize. He should not make this worse.
He does.
âYeah?â His tone drips with derision as he finally shoves his essentials into the pocket of his trousers. âMaybe if you werenât so good at pretending nothing ever touches you, I wouldnât have to.â
You laugh; the sound is incredulous, sharp. Offended?Â
âRight, because clearly youâre the one whoâs been suffering,â you jeer. And then, completely out of the left fieldâ
âI forgot how hard it mustâve been for you, kissing Chaeyoung like your life depended on it.â
Thereâs so much to unpack. The way youâre bringing this whole thing up days after it happened, even after you and Mingyu have just kind of⌠bristled at each other a lot more. Mingyu wanted to think your patience was just a lot thinner than usualâ as was hisâ but he hadnât imagined it would be related to that night. Or to Chaeyoung.Â
It makes his heart, the traitor that it is, practically stop in his chest.Â
He knows where youâre getting at. He knows what this could mean. He just has to make sure, and itâs in the way he tries to keep up with his rage when he snaps, âWhat does that have to doââÂ
âWhy didnât you kiss me?â
And there it is.Â
The question cuts through everything. Your voiceâ loud at first, angryâ is suddenly small. Wounded.
Mingyuâs head spins.Â
You wanted him to kiss you.Â
You wanted him to kiss you.Â
His mouth opens then closes. Your face is incandescent, burning with shame. He knows this about you, knows youâve never been able to deny yourself a thing. Youâre an open book, a heart-on-the-platter type of girl. As badly as he wants to try and figure out all the signs he might have missed, heâs more concerned with the fact that youâre already trying to take it back.
Your hand is on the door handle. Youâre about to make a run for it, Mingyu realizes, and thatâs not something heâs going to let happen.Â
Before you can get too far, his fingers are wrapping around your wrist and tugging you back.
When you look up at him, his expression is contorted into a mix of torment and want. Youâre not looking any better yourself; you look caught between desire and fear, like all the years youâve shared are bearing down on the two of you.Â
You look as crazy as Mingyu feels.Â
âI was waiting,â Mingyu breathes, his eyes wide and wild. âI was waitingââ
âFor what?â you bite out. âWhat were you waiting for?â
His sharp response is softened by the desperation edging his tone. âFor the perfect moment,â he snaps.
Mingyu tugs you into his space. Heâs gentle, still, as he snakes an arm around your waist and pulls you closer until youâre chest to chest. He has to tuck his head to press his forehead against yours, and he canât breathe.Â
Youâre holding your breath, too, like youâre fighting every instinct to kick up a fuss at how patient heâs being. He has to be. He has to be, or else heâs going to give you everything when the two of you have to meet your families for the night.Â
His breath ghosts over your lips, which are already parted so beautifully for him.
âBut I guess,â he whispers, his heart in his throat, at your feet, in your hands, âmy shitty apartment is as good as any for a first kiss, huh?â
Mingyu doesnât even wait for you to answer.Â
He closes the distance and presses down into you, enough that you end up taking a step back. When your nails sink into Mingyuâs shoulders to hold yourself steady, he lets out a low hiss against your mouth but refuses to pull away.
He kisses you like heâs thought about doing it for years.Â
And maybe he has. Maybe itâs always been thereâ this prospect, this possibility, and he couldâve gone his whole life just wondering what it might be like.
Now that he has it, has you, he doesnât know if he can go without it.
It might be a mistake. He knows that.Â
Heâs crossed a line youâve both danced around for too long. There's a part of himâ rational and carefulâ that screams this could ruin everything.
But then you kiss him back.
You kiss him back like you mean it, like youâre angry about all the years wasted not doing this. Like you want to climb into the marrow of him and stay there.Â
Mingyu doesnât know how long it lasts. Doesnât care. Eventually, the space between you pulls taut again, and you're both left staring, dazed, stunned, as if the world has shifted under your feet.
His fingers ghost over his lips. Theyâre swollen, just like yours, and he knows thereâs no going back from this. Thereâs no way heâll ever be able to convince himself that youâre some annoying pest instead of the love of his goddamn life.Â
âWeâ we should go,â Mingyu says hoarsely, barely above a whisper. Itâs all he can manage.
And for once, you donât fight him.
⸠S01E17: THE ONE WITH THE PROMISE.Â
The bane of your existence drives you to your familyâs monthly dinner in his car with its one working speaker, and a half-eaten protein bar wedged into the cupholder.
You complain about the lack of legroom. He snarks back about your giant tote bag taking up all the space. Itâs almost impressive how easily the two of you slip back into the familiar routine of bickering.Â
If someone were to eavesdrop, theyâd never guess youâd made out half an hour ago. That heâd kissed you like you were the only thing keeping him breathing; that youâd kissed him like he had all the answers to the questions youâve been afraid to ask.Â
Mingyu parallel parks like an assholeâ too far from the curbâ and you mutter something under your breath as you slam the door shut behind you.
âYou could say thank you,â he says, locking the car.
âThank you,â you echo. âFor the trauma.â
He almost smiles. The sight of him fighting that back reminds you of his lips, how theyâd been so soft against yours despite the heated, desperate way he moved.Â
Your brain is going to be in the gutter the whole evening. Youâre sure of it.Â
Your families are already there at the vouchsafed hipster cafĂŠ when the two of you walk through the door. For a treacherous moment, everything feels like clockwork again. The smell of garlic bread wafts through the air. His mother greets you with a warm hug. His dad already has a story locked and loaded. Your parents give him the same doting affection.Â
Itâs so normal you almost forget whatâs changed.
Almost.
Mingyu sits next to you instead of across from you. He offers you the breadbasket first, tops your glass when nobody else is looking.Â
At one point, you arch a brow at him, suspicious. He says nothing.
Itâs all suspicious.
Conversation flows easily enough. Your families are familiar, loud, opinionated. Thereâs some rapport between you and Mingyu; if your parents notice that itâs not as scathing as usual, they donât point it out.Â
Under the table, something changes.
You feel it before you see it. Mingyuâs hand, careful and tentative, resting on your knee. His touch is featherlight, like heâs giving you a chance to move away.
You donât.
Itâs hidden by the table cloth, and you think you might be imagining it until you glance at him.
Heâs already looking at you.
His expression is half-agony, half-hope.
And thatâs the thing about Kim Mingyu. Heâs always been too much and never enough. Too loud, too cocky, too frustrating. Never thoughtful enough, never serious enough, never willing to make the first move until now.Â
Youâre done keeping score. This isnât a battle of wits, a challenge of who can hold out better. This is a game neither of you will win.Â
No. This is a game you no longer have to play.Â
You lace your fingers through his.Â
Mingyuâs shoulders drop like heâs been holding that breath for years. He squeezes your hand, and you think you could get used to this, to him. Youâll have to talk about it later, to decide; for now, though, the promise of it is more than enough.
You used to think there was no universe in which you and Kim Mingyu could ever get along.
But maybeâ just maybeâ this one will do.
3K notes
¡
View notes
Text
for research purposes
pairing: caleb x reader
summary: how on earth were you supposed to write a good sex scene with almost zero experience? good thing your best friend was always willing to lend you a helping hand.
themes: childhood best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, friends with benefits, college! au, slowburn, humour, fluff, angst, petnames, profanity, alcohol consumption, sexual tension, explicit sexual content (oral fem receiving, fingering, nipple play, protected + unprotected sex, clothed sex), porn with so much plot, they're both down bad asf
word count: 25k
lyns notes: its been so long since i've written a full length fic like this, and it ended up being so much longer than I anticipated but please don't get scared by the wc đ its so self indulgent because i love caleb and I had way too much fun writing this so I hope you enjoy! <3
This was utterly insane, even for you.
The idea started small, though you supposed you couldnât ever classify it as innocent. At the time, it had been just a flicker, a fleeting thought that slipped through the cracks of your composure. You were in your best friend's dorm, lounging on his bed like it was your own as you complained.Â
âIâve been stuck for weeks now. Itâs like Iâve lost the ability to write.â
Caleb glanced over at you from his desk, leaning back in his plush chair as the movement of his fingers over the laptop keyboard stilled for a moment. The expression you received was familiar, you had been on the receiving end of it for years now. One of his lips quirked up, deep lavender eyes alight with amusement, and one eyebrow raised as he took in your anguished state.Â
âYou havenât lost the ability to write, Pipsqueak, it's just writer's block. Youâve had writer's block before.â
âNot like this.â You shook your head, pulling your knees to your chest and resting your chin on them. âI usually manage to overcome it in a week or so. Itâs been like, three months.â Your annoyance with yourself was obvious to him, so clear in the slight pout on your mouth paired with that indignant expression.
It was true, you had been writing ever since you were little. Your imagination ran wild as a child, even before you could physically write, you would spin tales and make up stories to entertain yourself with, frequently getting lost in your own little world. You prided yourself on this talent of yours that helped you breeze through English essays and writing assignments, even going so far as to major in English at university. Writing was your bread and butter. It was more than just being good at it, it was the passion and fulfilment you felt when you did it.Â
Passion and fulfillment your ass, you couldnât feel any of that right now.
You were writing a book, your very first one that you started penning in the summer before your sophomore year. The idea had come to you out of nowhere, and once you spent hours outlining all the details, you were certain it was something you wanted to bring to life. The need to finish it burned through you as you spent most of that break stuck at your desk, hunched over your laptop. Caleb had to quite literally drag you out of your room most days, muttering some nonsense about vitamin D and too much screen time.
He had always been like that ever since you were kids â protective, caring, attentive. It was built into his very being, you supposed, ever since he saw you cry outside the first-grade classrooms as a seven-year-old and promised to help you find your way to the correct one. Even now, as he hummed in thought, offering silent support for your frustration.Â
âYouâve gotten through a large chunk of it, right?â
âYep.â
A slow, bargaining smile stretched out on his face. âHey, you know, maybe if you let me read itââ
âHell no.â You shook your head stubbornly. âI told you, Iâm only letting you read it once it's finished, and I think itâs good enough.â
Caleb snorted, âSo you mean never?â
You promptly threw one of the plushies on his bed at him. He deftly caught it, laughter slipping from him as he threw it back. The plushy was a grumpy apple one that he had won you back home at the arcade, but the pile of plushies on your bed was so huge that you graciously suggested that he keep it for you. Partial custody, you had joked, I have visitation rights.
âYouâll be the first to read it. I justâŚ.need to get through this one bit.âÂ
Ah yes, the bit. The part that you seemed to be cursed to never finish. Everything before it had gone so smoothly, the words flowing and pouring out of you so perfectly. A fun romance novel full of twists and humour was what you aimed to achieve, and it seemed like you were succeeding.
That was, until you reached a part of the story that you truly had no idea how to write. The technicalities of it were.âŚ..unknown at best, to you, who had almost no experience in the matter.Â
âYou know, maybe you could tell me about it. Maybe I could help.â You knew the offer was genuine. Caleb had always been someone you could fall back upon for any assistance. Being two years older than you, in your eyes, he always knew what to do when you were in a pickle. He was the type of friend who placed bandages on your scrapes and offered you candy so youâd stop crying. He carried a hair tie around for when you wanted to tie your hair and helped you study for tests, and explained the concepts that you didnât understand. Every time you had a problem, he never hesitated to help you in any way he possibly could.
But thisâŚ.this was something youâd rather die than ask him about.Â
Immediately, you shook your head a little too quickly, shooting him a tight smile. âNope, it's fine. Just something I gotta figure out myself.
He stared at you skeptically but shrugged. âAlright. Let me know if you change your mind, okay?â
You wouldnât.
Would you?
Absolutely not. Even thinking about it felt like a betrayal. It was like opening a can of worms that held snakes. Deadly venomous ones.Â
And yet here you were, your teeth digging into the plush of your lower lip as he turned back to his laptop screen, continuing to work on whatever assignment he had due. He was in his final year and was infinitely busy, though he somehow still managed to make time for you.Â
Shamelessly, your eyes studied him. His arms, so well defined and firm-looking, were basically on display for you when he wore that white, sleeveless tee. Dark hair, unruly and messy, no matter how many times you ran your fingers through it in an attempt to fix it. A defined jawline that could probably cut you if you dared touch it. He had grown up unfairly well, no longer the lanky young boy you once knew, now a man. A hot man you had incredible chemistry with.
A very hot man who was completely off-limits.Â
Still. You supposed that his help couldnât be the worst thing in the worldâ
A sex scene. That was what you were struggling to right. In terms of the story, it was a very natural next move for your characters, and it made sense, and while you could simply artistically describe the ordeal and fade to black, you felt it was a necessary addition. You wanted to showcase the desperation the two characters felt for each other, just how deep their feelings ran through something more primal. You wanted it to feel right, to feel magical.Â
The issue? You hadnât the faintest idea of how to go about it. In all your nineteen years of life, you had only had sex once, and it had been far from magical. It had been uncomfortable and rushed, the result of a very stupid, drunken one-night stand in your first year. The guy very evidently didnât know how a woman's body worked, and even thinking back on it made you cringe and fold in on yourself. If it were possible to manually pluck the memory out and destroy it, you would have done it in a heartbeat.
So how on earth were you supposed to write the perfect sex scene when your one sole experience in the matter had been so terrible?
And you couldnât ask Caleb for help. Even considering doing so made you feel as if you would spontaneously combust. He was your best friend, for crying out loud, and this crossed so many lines. You knew very well that he wasnât a virgin by any means, having caught glimpses of the occasional hickey on his neck despite his best efforts to hide it from you. He was twenty-one, experienced and could probably talk you through itâ
Nope. Not going here.Â
The idea of Caleb explaining sex to you was mortifying. You didnât want to hear about any of his conquests, even just the thought of him talking about it made you want to throw up. The notion of him having sex only made your cheeks warm and your throat go uncomfortably dry.
Against your will, the thought festered. It burrowed its way into your mind and settled there as if it belonged, despite its having no business being there. This was completely unethical, but before you could stop yourself, your gaze zeroed in on his tongue darting out of his mouth, licking his lips in concentration as he typed out something. For a second, you wondered how it would feel if he dragged that tongue across the skin of your neck.
Oh my god. What if he simply showed you?
The moment that depraved idea popped into your head, you shot up, getting to your feet with urgency. Startled, he looked over at you, frowning at the alarmed look on your face.
âAre you good?â
âIâm great!â Your voice sounded funny, like you were trying to digest a rock. âI justâ erâ remembered I have some homework to finish for tomorrow. So I should get back to my room.â You padded over to his door, slipping into your shoes and waving at him. âSee ya.â
â....Bye.â He watched your awkward, rushed movements with a puzzled look on his (very nice) face.. You nodded curtly before opening the door and escaping the confines of his dorm, out of his scrutinising gaze that could read you annoyingly well. Another minute in there and you knew he would be grilling you for your odd behaviour.Â
Jesus Christ. You were so screwed.
âY/n? Girl, you gotta get your head in the game.â
Taraâs voice cut through your reverie, causing you to snap out of it. One glance up at her would reveal an unimpressed look directed at you, her hands on her hips. âOur darling editor wants to know why your article isnât on her desk yet.â
Tara was your closest friend after Caleb, and you had met her when you joined the university paper as a student journalist. She was smart, pretty and always had your back no matter what. Blinking rapidly, you sighed, waving your hand.Â
âTell Jenna Iâll have it there by the end of the day.â
âYou better. You know how she is about deadlines.â Tara pulled one of the chairs from the desk beside yours closer and sat on it, resting her elbows on the armrests. âSeriously, though, why are you spaced out today?â
Well, there was no way you could tell her the truth about that. So you resorted to using a half-truth as an answer. âWriter's block.â
âAh.â
You turned back to the screen of your computer, staring at the article you had been writing. It was almost finished, thank god. At least here, you had the facts to write around, having done your research. Very different to the situation you found yourself in regarding your stupid book.
Ugh.Â
âBy the way, your boyfriendâs here.â
Your head snapped up at her words, already ready to argue, knowing exactly who she was talking about. Walking into the newsroom holding two coffees was Caleb, wearing that blue-orange jacket that you had bought him for one of his birthdays. He did this pretty often, sauntering in like he owned the place even though he was technically not allowed to be there. Jenna had repeatedly reminded him of this, but he brushed it off, and after a while, she simply stopped bothering. Thus, despite not being on the paper, he spent a lot of time in the newsroom.
This was another problem you faced daily: people mistaking him for your boyfriend. The number of times you had to rehash the fact that he was simply your best friend was astounding, and back when you were a freshman, the constant whistles about you dating an upperclassmanâ and none other than Caleb Xiaâ drove you mad. You chalked it down to none of them being fortunate enough to experience a friendship as fulfilling and real as the one you had with him.
âHeâs not my boyfriend.â You dropped your voice, keeping it just loud enough for her to hear your rebuttal that held a hint of venom, plastering a smile on your face as he closed in. Tara snickered.Â
âSure, and Iâm the queen of England.â
âHey,â Caleb grinned down at you, his eyes momentarily flitting to your friend. âAnd what?â
âNothing,â you said brightly, shooting her a murderous look that silently told her to zip it. She smiled innocently and shook her head, slipping back to her desk without another word.
âSheâs an odd one,â he quipped, handing you one of the coffees and then shrugging off the jacket, dumping it on the free space on your desk. You already knew it was your regular order, something he had memorised years ago. You sipped the drink, letting the hot liquid calm you down, grateful for the caffeine. You hadnât gotten much sleep the night before, spending it tossing and turning in your bed.
And why was that?
Caleb leaned against your desk. âAre you free later today?âÂ
A dejected sigh escaped you. âUnfortunately, no. I need to finish this article by the end of the day, and it seems like my writer's block has infected every aspect of my life.â It was ironic, just how true that statement ran.
âDamn.â You could hear the tinge of disappointment in his voice. âI was hoping we would have movie night. I stocked up on your favourite candy.â He reached over, his fingers brushing against the skin of your forehead as he pushed some of your hair that fell in front of your eyes away from your face, neatly tucking it behind your ear like it was second nature. It was, you supposed, considering he had done so about a hundred times.
But something was different this time, or perhaps you were paying far too much attention to every little thing. To how he pulled back and the way the muscles in his forearm shifted subtly, making you wish he had kept the jacket on. The brief touch lingered on your skin, burned into it.
Fucking hell, you were a mess. A tragic, down-atrocious mess.
Your eyes lingered on his fingers for a moment. Heat crept up your neck, and you coughed, rubbing it absent-mindedly, hoping to push down the flush you felt taking over your body. It had been like this ever since the day in his dorm when your brain had decided to work against you and infect you with the thought of sex with your best friend.
What better way was there to describe your state than calling it an infection? It certainly felt like some sort of sickness with the way it plagued you against your will. Somehow, it was worse than the doomed crush you had harboured for him back when you were in high school, because at least that had been innocent. That was born out of pure admiration, and you were sixteen. A lot of things done at sixteen could be brushed off under the excuse of being young and naive. You had quickly gotten over it.Â
You were evidently no longer so naive. In fact, you knew too much.
âMaybe next time.â You managed to choke out finally after a silence that had stretched a beat too long. Part of you hoped heâd leave you alone now so that you could calm down and refocus your attention to the article.Â
But of course, he didnât. Instead, he occupied the chair Tara previously had, complaining about one of his classes as you nodded along, sipping your coffee and glancing between him and your screen. The smooth cadence of his voice usually soothed you and calmed you down, but now it only put you on edge, flowing over scrambled thoughts like honey. Had his arms always been this nice?
You were going to hell.
All things considered, you held yourself to certain standards. You were a woman with morals and integrity, and you were not in the habit of staring at shirtless men.
Except when it was Caleb, apparently.Â
âWhy are you half-naked?â You blurted out gracelessly, heat viciously curling up your body as your eyes dropped down to his torso. You gripped the Chinese takeout you had gotten on your way back from your evening class a little tighter as you took in his figure. A silver chain with a tag and apple pendant (something you had given him before he left for university while you were still struggling in high school) on his bare chest and perfect sculpted abs, running shorts hanging low on his hips.Â
âI was working out.â He said casually, taking the bag of takeout from your hands and walking back into his dorm, leaving you to follow him. You bit down on your tongue hard, almost hoping youâd draw blood.Â
This was ridiculous. You had seen him shirtless several times before and had never reacted like this. The other times hadnât caused you to flush and definitely didnât cause your heart rate to spike. It didnât have you furiously fighting off thoughts that had threatened to consume you for over a week now, pushing them back into the furthest parts of your mind and locking them there.Â
âIâm almost done, could you grab sodas from the fridge?â Caleb placed the food on the table beside his bed. You wordlessly complied, picking the apple-flavoured sodas that both of you liked. Turning back to the main area of his dorm, you walked over, only to stop dead in your tracks.
Caleb was on the floor. Doing push-ups.
There was nothing inherently sexual about it in the slightest. You knew he liked to stay in shape, hitting the gym at least thrice a week to maintain his physiqueâ a very nice physique that seemed to be your current undoing. His hair fell across his forehead, a little matted from sweat. You watched as he pressed down and back up, and in a moment of weakness, you wondered how it would be if you were under him instead of standing to the side and ogling like an idiot. Would his necklace dangle above you, swinging back and forth in your face?
Dear god. You needed to be sedated. Put down, even.
Finally, he seemed to be done, lowering himself down and then rolling onto his back. He sucked in a breath of hair, running his hands through his hair and messing it up even further. Finally, he sat up and looked up at you, a singular eyebrow raised.
âWhy are you just standing there?â
Brilliant question. If only you could answer it.Â
Choosing to skillfully evade instead, you tossed him his soda can and grabbed his laptop from his desk, settling down next to him on the floor. Tonight, the two of you had decided to have dinner together and catch up on an anime you had started together a couple of weeks ago. It had been a while since you had properly hung out, and you knew damn well that it was all your fault.Â
You were avoiding him. Mentally and physically, especially physically. Caleb, however, being the understanding, saint of a man that he was, chalked it up to you being busy. He made sure to check in on you, shooting you texts or sending you funny videos he knew youâd like.Â
âWe should try and finish all the episodes up until the latest one,â You said, opening up his laptop and logging into the anime site. âThey released a new one on Wednesday.âÂ
Caleb hummed, stretching his arms as he shuffled closer. Immediately, you froze, the close contact inciting pure panic within you. Jerking away from him, you glared, holding a hand out to keep an arm's distance between the two of you, much to his confusion.Â
âPut on a shirt.â
He frowned. âWhy? Itâs really hot.â
Indeed, it was. âExactly. Youâre all sweaty and gross.â
You really shouldnât have said that. The moment the words left your mouth, his mouth curled into a smirkâ one so disgustingly attractive that you were sure your knees would have probably buckled if you werenât already sitting downâ and his eyes lit up with a mischievous glint that told you he was up to no good. Carefully, he wrapped a hand around your wrist, and the contact has your brain short-circuiting and going into overdrive.
âI think that means you want a hug.â
âWaitâ donât you dareâ Caleb!â You yelped as he tugged you harshly, forcing you to fall into his lap, his laughter resounding through the small dorm room. Awkwardly, you shoot your other hand out to steady yourself, placing it on his shoulder as you tumble into him, knee slotting in between his legs and body so dangerously close to his that you wanted to scream. Smoothly, he wrapped his other arm around your waist, circling it and somehow tugging you even closer, until you were flush against him.
âWhat are you gonna do now, Pips?â He taunted, voice just above a whisper right against your ear.Â
Unicorns, you bleakly thought to yourself. Puppies. Cupcakes. Sprinkles.
âYouâre so annoying,â You hissed, throwing as much irritation into your voice as you possibly could in the hopes that it would drown out the shakiness you felt. His skin under your fingertips was warm, and you could feel that warmth through the fabric of your tank top. âGo fuck yourself.â
He laughed harder, the sound so contagious it broke you out of your downright sinful thoughts. You gripped his shoulder a little harder, mentally chastising yourself for the situation you found yourself in, knowing that there was no good reason for you to be this riled up. Playfighting with him was something you were used to; it was natural. It should not have had your blood pressure rising and heart slamming in your chest so violently.
Swallowing thickly, you barely processed how he let go of your wrist, his other arm also coming to rest around your waist as he pulled you further into his lap so that you were now sitting on top of him. Before you even had the chance to react to that, he buried his face in the crook of your neck and inhaled.Â
âMissed you this week,â He mumbled softly against your rapidly heating skin. You froze for a split second at the contact, hopelessly blaming the flush spread over your cheeks on the humid weather.
And then you softened.Â
Instinctively, your arms wrapped around his neck as you hugged him back. âI missed you too,â You whispered, following up with a lie to keep him off your trail. âJust had a lot of work.â
âI know,â he said so patiently that you instantly felt guilty. He lifted his face from your neck so that he could stare at you, and it hit you just how intimate the position the two of you were in was. Although reserved with others, Caleb had always been pretty openly affectionate with you. His hand on the small of your back, fingers intertwined with yours, a light kiss to your temple in encouragementâ he had been doing stuff like that to you since you were ten.Â
So why did it suddenly affect you so much? Why did something so normal for you make you feel so different now?
âJustâŚ.tell me about it,â he continued, those mesmerising purple eyes of his locked onto yours. âShoot me a text. Let me know what's up with you. Donât you remember the last time you shut everyone out because you were stressed?â
You did remember. It was during your finals last year, when the workload you had overwhelmed you so badly that you simply pushed everyone away until they were over. Caleb had to practically storm his way back into your life and demand that you take a break and slow down before you worked yourself to the bone. The fact that he remembered this only made your guilt worse because your distance this time had nothing to do with your classwork.Â
It had everything to do with him, though.Â
âYeah, yeah,â you mumbled, slowly slipping out of his embrace and settling down next to him once again. You had to remind yourself of what he was to you, and all this thirsting for him was neither healthy nor something a good best friend would do. âIâm not gonna do that again.âÂ
âIâm just saying. And what the hell am I supposed to do with my free time if youâre not here to bother me?â He flashed you that shit-eating grin of his that you were starting to think was more devastating than mischievous.
You had to resist strangling him.
There was only one possible conclusion: something was deeply wrong with you.
How else were you supposed to explain your borderline insane behaviour? It had gotten even worse lately, causing you to daydream at the most inconvenient times, like when you were trying to get an assignment done or even in the middle of class. It was a wonder your professors hadnât called you out for it yet.Â
Some level of restraint seemed to remain, though, with you stopping your thoughts from crossing any lines. The moment you caught your mind straying into dangerous territory, you forced yourself to stop, desperately searching for another distraction.
But there was only so much you could do. Thinking was proving to be a dangerous activity.
You pressed your palms into your eyes, hard. It was almost three in the morning, and you hadnât gotten a wink of sleep. Earlier, you had tried to write around the damned scene, but emerged fruitless. It was like an obstacle you had to clear before you could get to the next level of a game, taunting you with its incompletion.
Something else taunted you, simmering underneath the expanse of your skin. Things that hadnât even happened yet, but you had already dreamed of themâ his mouth on yours, his hands tracing your body with a feather touch.Â
You were even wearing one of his shirts right now, the oversized tee reaching down to your mid-thighs. Several, just like the one you currently wore, sat neatly in your closet, having been stolen from him over the years. You could faintly smell his cologne; cidery and comforting, enveloping you in what felt like it could be his embrace. Turning onto your side, you pulled the blanket over your body and stared at the wall blankly.Â
Caleb had been your safe space for so long, and perhaps that was why you gravitated so easily to thinking about him like this. If there was anyone you trusted in such an intimate sense, it was him.Â
Even if it shouldnât have been.
God knows you needed to get laid. Unfortunately, you didnât want just anyone.
You swore you had never been this horny before, least of all for your best friend. Thinking about him in such a salacious way was strictly a new development that was quickly ruining your life, haunting you day and night. Even now, lying in your bed, heat that was impossible to ignore bloomed between your legs.Â
Maybe if you just indulged once, this madness would stop. Maybe you just needed an orgasm, and then youâd stop going insane over every single interaction you had with Caleb. It didnât even have to be about him, and this was normal; everyone needed a release now and then.Â
Your fingers slipped between your legs, pushing the fabric of his shirt up, tracing the outline of your cotton underwear. Your eyes fluttered shut as you let your fingertips gently graze against where you needed them most, letting your legs fall apart just a little bitâ
Deep purple eyes flashed behind your closed eyes.
Gasping, you retracted your hand like you had been burned. There was no way in hell you could touch yourself with him in mind; that was everything you had been avoiding for the past three weeks, ever since the notion had first sprouted. Groaning, you buried your face into the pillow.
This had to have been the stupidest cause of insomnia ever.
Caleb đ [15:32 pm] : i better see u at the party tonight :D
Caleb đ [15:32 pm] : will pick u up at 9
Caleb đ [15:32 pm] : no buts.
Caleb supposed that this was technically his fault.
Mentally, he had already prepared for this outcome. It was why he had barely drunk the entire night, barely finishing two drinks and opting out of playing beer pong with the rest of his friends, despite Gideon's need for another member on his team.Â
âCome on, Pipsqueak.â He had an arm around your waist to help steady you, ensuring you wouldnât fall flat on your face. You stumbled into the elevator, and he jammed the number of your dorm floor as you wrapped your arms around his torso weakly, leaning into him. Right now, he was the only thing keeping you upright.
You were drunk, slurring your words and unable to walk in a straight line without any assistance type of drunk. And yes, this was his fault.Â
Probably. Definitely.
One of the frat houses had thrown a party, and he had insisted that you come with him. He had always been great at reading you, and for the last couple of weeks, you had seemed tense over something, though you hadnât told him what exactly it was yet. That was fine, he knew that eventually youâd spill, but for now, all he wanted to do was help you let loose.Â
That was exactly what he told you to do when both of you arrived at the party, even pouring you your first drink. Halfway through the party, you seemed more relaxed than you had in the last couple of days, swaying along to the music by his side. He made sure not to drink too much, wanting to be sober enough to safely get you back to your dorm just in case you overdid it.
His intuition always ended up being right when it came to you.
You whined as the elevator dinged, the doors opening. âEverything is spinning.â
âI know, honey, weâre almost there.â He helped you walk into the hallway, smoothly taking your handbag from you and extracting your keys. Holding you tighter, he opened the door and pulled you through, carefully seating you down on your bed and taking your boots off.
Like clockwork, he grabbed a bottle of water from your bedside table, unscrewed it and held it to your cherry-tinted lips. You only used that specific lip-tint when you were going out, and each time you did, he found himself wondering if it tasted like cherry as well. Even now, as he gently propped his index finger under your chin and tilted your face upwards, he entertained the idea of tasting it for himself.
But he wouldnât.Â
âDrink up,â He said softly, âYouâre gonna have a nasty hangover tomorrow.â
Obediently, you parted your lips, drinking with his help. Your cheeks were flushed due to the alcohol, hair a little frizzy from the heat, but still maintaining the styling you had done before the party. To him, you looked stunning at all times, but he could see the effort you had put in to look nice tonight, from your outfit (a black halter top and jeans) to your makeup, which he knew heâd have to help you take off now.Â
Once he deemed the amount of water you had drunk enough, he put the bottle back and went into your bathroom, knowing exactly where to find your makeup wipes. He had taken care of you like this once before, so his body moved like clockwork. There was no point in trying to get you to the bathroomâ youâd probably just sit down on the floor and stay there for the rest of the nightâ so he took the wipes with him and crouched down in front of where you sat on your bed.Â
Smiling, he held your face again, this time a little firmer. âYouâd hate yourself if you went to sleep before you took your makeup off,â he whispered, pulling one of the wipes out and dragging it over the apples of your face. Then, he glanced up and into your eyes, noting how you stared at him so keenly, even through a half-lidded gaze, lips slightly parted.Â
If Caleb couldâve kept your attention on him like this for the rest of his life, he would have.Â
âWhat's going through that head of yours?â He cocked his head to the side, studying your intent expression. Immediately, you looked away, but he wasnât going to back down. Something had been troubling you, and he was determined to find out what. If you wouldnât tell him outright, he would simply have to guess. âIs it your book, again?â
Your inebriated state made it hard for you to hide things from him. You stiffened in his touch, and he chuckled. âBingo. You know, if you just told me what you were struggling with, Iâd help.â He pressed your chin lightly, angling your face downwards. âClose your eyes.â He gently wiped over your eye makeup, making sure it was all off before continuing. âI know Iâm not a writer, but Iâm sure I'll be of some value.â
Finally done, he neatly folded the dirty wipe and placed it to the side. âWant some more water? Alcohol is dehydrating.â
And then, out of nowhere, you spoke.Â
âSex.â
Well, blurting would probably be a better way to describe how you said the word. Caleb blinked rapidly, wondering if he had heard you correctly as his face snapped back to yours, eyes wide.Â
âWhat?â
âSex.â You slurred a little bit as you leaned closer to him, jutting your lower lip out in a pout and repeating it once more for good measure. âSex.â
âI heard you the first time,â Caleb could hear how strangled his voice was, unable to think straight at your sudden declaration. Oblivious to his mental distress, you thrust out your hand and pointed at the laptop that sat on your desk with drunken animosity.Â
âI canât write a stupid sex scene.âÂ
You sounded so crestfallen, and he would have totally started sympathising with you if not for the reason. A sex scene? What on earth were you writing?
âIââ He swallowed, âWellââ
âI mean, how am I supposed to write a good sex scene if I donât know what good sex feels like? Or what even like, happens?â Alcohol had certainly loosened you up, and perhaps a bit too much, having erased any filter that you had. This resulted in you rambling on about everything you would have usually kept to yourself, and for good reason. âThe sex Iâve had has been shitty.â
The sex youâve had? Caleb almost bit his tongue off in shock, staring at you incredulously at the information you had dumped on him. He hadnât even known you had been having sex, and thank every god for that, because he would have probably jumped off a cliff if you ever talked about your sex life with him. Surely, this was some sort of twisted fever dream he had found himself in. This could not have been real life.
âChrist,â He choked out, âIâokay, maybe I canât help youââ
âYeah, you can.â Your eyes cut to his, a little too intense for his sanity. âIf you fucked me, Iâd probably be able to write the scene.â
He gaped at you, about a dozen inappropriate thoughts running through his head before he could stop it. âWhat did you just say?âÂ
Teenage Caleb would have died if he had heard you say that. Adult Caleb nearly did.Â
You sighed heavily, and it only succeeded in causing him to spiral even more. âI thought about it. Iâm sure it would be good, yâknow. Youâd know what you were doing, you even look like youâre good at it.â
âYouâre so drunk.â He tried to reason with himself out loud, but could hardly recognise his voice with how strained he sounded. Looked like he was good at it? What alternate dimension had he just fallen into?Â
âOh, come on, Caleb. I need some hands-on learning, and youââ you slurred the words as you leaned close and wrapped your hands around his bicep, peering up at him through your lashes. ââhave very nice hands. Theyâre hot.â
You, his best friend, his pipsqueak, had thought about sleeping with him. You thought his hands were hot. The news nearly killed him, and he had to force himself to look away from you, his mind running at a mile a minute. Heat prickled at his face and neck, impossible to ignore as he cleared his throat and stood to his feet, pulling away from your touch.Â
âYou should sleep.â He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans, stepping away from you. âIâIâll see you tomorrow.â It was as if he were going through puberty all over again, with the way his voice cracked embarrassingly as he spoke. He left your room hurriedly, barely getting his shoes back on as he closed the door behind him and leaned against it.
Caleb exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose as the back of his head hit your door. All these years of barely keeping it together around you, carefully tiptoeing between right and wrong, only for you to come and crash into whatever self-restraint he had left.Â
Right and wrong.Â
All of a sudden, he wasnât sure if he was going to choose correctly anymore.Â
Death had to have been more merciful than the pounding in your head. Grabbing the covers, you pulled them over yourself like a cocoon, trying your hardest to block out all noises and sink even further into your mattress.Â
Unfortunately, your hangover-induced headache made it nearly impossible for you to go back to sleep. Cursing, you forced yourself out of bed and into the bathroom to freshen up and change out of your clothes and into something more comfortable. Naturally, you gravitated towards an oversized shirt and a pair of shorts, pulling them on after a quick shower.Â
Then, you went right back to your bed, not wanting to face the day in the slightest. You had managed to resist throwing up so far, and even the thought of having to function like a normal human being made you recoil into your blanket and stay there for the rest of the week. Just as you began to genuinely entertain that notion, a sharp knock at your door caught your attention.
You would have ignored it if you didnât know the pattern of this knock by heart. No one but Caleb knocked twice in sequence.Â
Cursing under your breath, you scrambled to the door and opened it, squinting as the bright light of the hallway outside nearly blinded you. There he stood, grinning down at you as he held up a paper bag.Â
âAspirin.â
âThank god,â you immediately let him in, taking the medicine from him and pouring yourself a glass of water. He stood right behind you as you took the pill, ruffling your already messy hair and staring for just a second too long.Â
âBad morning, huh?â
âYou have no idea.â You winced at the whiny nature of your voice. âIt feels like my head is trying to stab itself.â
Caleb chuckled dryly, sitting down on your bed and watching as you settled at your desk and ran your fingers through your hair, trying to smooth out the knots. Something was different about the way he was looking at you, but you couldnât quite put your finger on it.
âYouâll be fine,â He muttered, shifting his gaze to the ceiling. You frowned, taking in the way his jaw ticked, and placed your glass of water down.
âAre you okay?â
âMe? Yeah, Iâm fine.â He said it a little too brightly, glancing down at your desk. Something flickered in his eyes. âMade any progress on that book of yours?â
A frustrated sound left you buried your face in your hands, elbows on your desk. The reminder of your stagnant writing somehow worsened your headache, as if that was even possible. Of course heâd bring that up. âAs usual, no.â
For a while, you had hoped that inspiration would strike you eventually, but it seemed like you were well and truly stuck. It had only taken a turn for the worse, with you suddenly despising everything you had already written, unable to even skim any of it without cringing and wanting to hit delete. Your inability to write had morphed into impostor syndrome, which was a development you didnât appreciate in the slightest.
âItâs okay,â he said, and you would have mistaken his tone for reassuring if not for the way his lips twitched slightly. âIâm sure youâll be able to write eventually. After you fuck me, apparently.â
Silence.Â
Razor-sharp silence.
Slowly, you turned your head to face him, eyes wide as saucers. âWhatâŚ.did you just say?â
âOnly what you said last night. You said you were sure it would be good, which I beg to differ. It would be amazing, thank you very much.â He dared to smile oh-so innocently, as if he hadnât just upgraded the superlative of what sex with him would potentially be like.
If you thought you were going to throw up before, you were sure you were going to now. You almost choked on your spit, waves of unadulterated shock crashing through your system as you gawked at your best friend, who appeared much too pleased with himself at the moment. If you werenât so utterly horrified, you would have tried to slap the smug expression right off of his face.
âNo.â The singular word comes out breathless, much to your mortification, your gut churning at the implications of that statement. âNo, no, noââ
âOh yes,â He grinned wickedly, leaning back on the palms of his hands.Â
âWhatâwhat the fuck did I drink last night.â You tried your levity, but your embarrassment ran too deep. Reaching up, you covered your face with your hands in a pathetic attempt to hide away from him. Never, in a million years, had you ever accounted for having this conversation with him, of all people, and you were almost certain there was something in your drinks that had made you say what you did.Â
His velvety laugh echoed through your dorm, and you wanted nothing more than to fold in on yourself. This had to have been the worst moment of your life.Â
âI guess you donât remember, huh?â There was an amused lilt to his tone that made you want to jump out of the window. âI can refresh you, if youâd like.â
âNO!âÂ
The shriek that left you was nothing short of abashed. He leaned forward now, smirking at you conspiratorially. âWhat's wrong? I thought you needed,â he paused, as if recollecting the exact words you had said to humiliate you even further. âHands-on learning?â
You pointed to the door, biting back a scream. âGet out.â
The smirk only grew. âAw, but if sleeping with me is gonna help you write againââ
âOUT!â You glared, cheeks flaming. Your anxiety had prepared you for at least a hundred outright ridiculous situations that had no chance of ever occurring, but none of them accounted for the possibility of your best friend talking about sleeping with you. You couldnât fathom how he seemed so unaffected by it, as if he were speaking about something as mundane as the damn weather.
Caleb tongued his cheek, evidently fighting off another bout of laughter. He raised his hands to his sides in a placating gesture, but it did nothing to soothe your frazzled nerves. If anything, it only distracted you further, your eyes betraying you and straying to glance at his hands. A suppressed memory from last night resurfaced in your mind's eye, much to your displeasure.Â
You have very nice hands. Theyâre hot.
That was it. You were never going to touch alcohol again. Sobriety was your way of life now, seeing that you couldnât keep your mouth shut when under the influence. The next time you need to let off some steam, youâd have an iced coffee.
âAlright, alright, Iâll go.â He moved towards your door, hiding his teasing smile behind his fist, disguising his chuckle with an exaggerated cough. âBut Y/n?â
He didnât use his beloved pet name. You straightened slightly, momentarily pushing away your embarrassment at the sudden serious shift of his voice. He opened the door and paused, hesitating for a single second. Then, he looked back at you, all-consuming, violent eyes locking onto yours.Â
âI would do it if you asked.âÂ
You sighed heavily as you walked out of your last class of the day, rubbing the back of your neck and peering up into the darkening sky. Thursdays were the one day of the week when you had longer classes one after the other, which always resulted in you feeling exhausted by the end of it. You barely had the energy to even think about putting together dinner, which your best friend knew, always swinging by once your class ended with enough take-out for both of you and to walk you back to your dorm.Â
Which meantâŚ
âI hope youâre in the mood for Thai food.â
Caleb slid into your view with that easy-going smile of his, though lately and much to your annoyance, there seemed to be a knowing glint in his gaze every time it settled on you.Â
âIâm in the mood for anything edible.â You sighed as you began walking back to your dorm. He easily fell into step beside you, as always, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. You supposed it was, considering how long your friendship had lasted. It would be almost twelve years soon, and honestly, you could hardly remember a time when he wasnât around.Â
He hummed, knowing how cranky you got when you were hangry. âSo easy to please.â It was the way he said it, knowing and with a tone so low that it almost resembled a purr. It had goosebumps rising on the surface of your skin. A little outraged at the way you reacted, you glanced over at him, only to find him already looking at you.
It was how he always looked at you, with conviction and every ounce of his attention. Yet, it felt different, more intense. Or maybe that was just your brain playing tricks on itself.Â
I would do it if you asked.
Those seven words had haunted you from the moment he had spoken them. The serious expression on his face mixed with the quiet way he had said itâ it had undoubtedly fucked you up a little more than you would have liked to admit. You were beyond infuriated and in complete disbelief over how he had simply offered to sleep with you. Like it wasnât a big deal or a very major, clear boundary that existed in friendships. In your friendship.Â
If you asked. Like it was that fucking simple. He left your dorm since you demanded it of him, but left you to deal with the aftermath of that absolutely criminal statement of his.Â
And then there was the teasing.Â
Relentless and unsteadying. Caleb would say something a little too suggestive or downright sexual before retreating and pretending like nothing had happened. Heâd hold your gaze a little longer, or let his touch linger, before looking away with a satisfied smirk. He knew damn well what he was doing, and although you did too, it didnât stop you from flushing or freezing up. It certainly didnât stop scenarios from writing themselves in your head.Â
He was torturing you for your little slip-up. He found it hilarious, and now you were the punchline for every joke that blossomed from it.Â
He cocked his head to the side now, a small, tilted smile on his lips as he spoke. âWhat's going on in at head of yours?â
You realised you had stopped walking, and so had he, instead standing right in front of you and occupying every part of your vision. âNothing.â
Caleb quirked an eyebrow, taking a step closer. âYou sure about that? Youâre obviously thinking about something.â The cadence of his voice had always been nice, but now the velvety smoothness of it put you on edge in more ways than one. âAre you maybe thinking aboutââ
âI am not thinking about that.â The statement tumbled out of you before you could bite your tongue. His eyes lit up mischievously.
âOh, so youâre thinking about something after all, are you?â
Your mouth opened and closed like a fish, struggling to findd to find a comeback to that. Somehow, he was even closer now.Â
âMind telling me what exactly that is?â
âStop it,â You almost snarled, shooting him a withering look as you pushed him away in order to reclaim your personal space. This teasing streak of his was getting unbearable, especially since it was anything but innocent and was driving you up the wall. âOr Iâm gonna take the Thai food and leave you with nothing.â
An offended gasp. âYou wouldnât.â
âI would.âÂ
He laughed at your threat and finally let up on you, going back to being the Caleb you knew. He spoke of his classes and the group project he had due at the end of the week, for which he had terrible teammates to work with. It was jarring, how easily he could shift back into acting like he hadnât just insinuated something soâŚ.
Maybe it was just your dirty mind.Â
Unbeknownst to you, it definitely wasnât just your dirty mind. Caleb was mentally punching himself.Â
Caleb had had years of practising self-control when it came to you. Years of holding back and hiding the feelings he had for his best friend, shying away from every opportunity to divulge them. He knew how to keep his hands to himself, his mind from straying and his tongue from running into dangerous territory. He hadnât meant to do it, but your drunken confession had flipped a switch inside of him. The lines had gotten a little blurry, but he would never, in a million years, ever actually cross them.
So what the hell was wrong with him?Â
You still hadnât written a word. Unfortunately for you, you couldnât even complain about it in peace anymore. Not if you wanted to maintain even a modicum of your sanity.
The reason for said dwindling sanity was sitting beside you right now on his bed, his arm slung around your shoulder, fingers tracing abstract patterns on the top of your shoulder. Usually, this would have calmed you down and even made you sleepy, but it achieved the complete opposite right then. You were painfully awake, his feathery touch like electricity against your skin.Â
God, you were so fucked. You had hoped that Calebâs incessant teasing would have put a damper on your sudden, strong attraction towards him, but nothing of the sort had happened. It seemed to have only gotten worse, with you ending up being jumpy whenever he was around, and considering the amount you hung out with him, you were starting to resemble a kangaroo.
Around him, you were constantly tense and always on the precipice of being turned on. To say it was hellish would be an understatement.
âYouâre distracted,â he murmured as the credits of the movie you were watching played. Finally, the two of you had managed to find the time to have that movie night you had passed on weeks ago. You shook your head, glancing up at the clock that hung on his wall. It was a little past midnight.Â
âJust frustrated,â you said finally, because it was the truth in more ways than one. Your frustration with your writing, or lack of, ran deep, but now it was intertwined with another very persistent reason. Being sexually frustrated wasnât something you were used to dealing with.
He seemed to have caught on, though, his hand falling from your shoulder to your waist, curling around it. âWhy are you frustrated, Pipsqueak?â He drawled, turning his head so that he faced you now. Of course, heâd pick this moment to torment you, when you were already frazzled.
âNo reason,â you said quickly, voice clipped. A slow, languid smile stretched out on his lips.Â
âNo?â He asked, the side of his mouth tilting. âCould it beâŚ.â
âStop talking.â You despised how hoarse your voice sounded. You wantedâ no, needed him to stop doing this before it became unbearable. He was your best friend, for fucks sake. The smile on his annoyingly perfect face melted into a smirk that would have had your knees weak if you werenât already sitting down.Â
âI donât think I will.â He whispered, pulling you even closer as he dipped his head down until his lips brushed against your ear. It was like he wanted you to break, and god, you were so close to doing so. His hand slid up your waist just a little bit. A shiver ran through you, one you couldnât have suppressed if you tried.Â
âTell me,â He mumbled, the words sounding much too loud even though he was still whispering. âDo your frustrations have anything to do with a certain sex scene youâre trying to write?â
You inhaled sharply.
Rationality was a funny thing. Every bit of it seemed to disappear whenever you truly needed it. Things you had no business thinking rushed through your head, courtesy of your bright imagination that chose the most inconvenient moments to work. Thoughts you had suppressed and pushed aside every time they had the nerve to pop up swirled around.
The spark that you had been trying so hard to put out crackled to life in your core, its flames spreading all across your body like wildfire. You were painfully aware of every part of you that was in contact with him, his hand just above your waist, sitting there so possessively, his breath fanning across your neckâ fuck. It was too much, but somehow not enough all at once, and immediately you knew what you wanted.
More.
You snapped.Â
Something possessed you as you turned to look at him, a surge of confidence appearing out of nowhere as you drew closer to him. âYeah.â
He raised an eyebrow. âWhat?â
Right then and there, three things became very clear to you. One: You wanted to write. Desperately and preferably sometime soon, because you did want to finish the first draft before you could go in and edit. Two: For some reason, you needed to have sex in order to get over the mental block you had when it came to writing it. Lastly, three: You only wanted to have sex with one person, and it was the man right beside you.
âMy frustration has everything to do with the sex scene.â You said, surprising yourself with how steady your voice was. âBut you can help with that, right?âÂ
Without waiting for his response, you got to your knees, swinging a leg over him and settling down on top. Surprise flickered in his eyes for a second as your hands found his shoulders to maintain your balance, before he spoke again.Â
âPipsqueak,â he started, voice low and careful, attempting to keep the teasing lilt in his voice but royally failing. âWhatâ exactlyâ are you doing?â
âYou told me to ask.â You muttered, dropping your gaze to his lips for a moment before letting it travel back up. âYou said youâd do it if I asked. Iâm asking right now.âÂ
Caleb couldnât respond, still staring up at you, eyes wide and ears a little redder than they normally were. Good. It was about time he had a taste of his own medicine. His hands found your waist again, and he blinked twice, slowly, and you prayed he wasnât all bark and no bite.Â
You wanted him to bite.
âY/n,â he muttered, âIâŚ.I know what I said.â
You raised an eyebrow, your hands slipping up his shoulders simultaneously until they were cradling his neck, playing with his hair at the nape of it. Was he shy? Now? After everything he had said and insinuated, he had the audacity to be all bashful? âSo then you know what Iâm asking for.â
âWellââ
âCaleb,â You cut him off, shifting so that you were closer. âIâm asking.âÂ
Conviction laced those words. You could tell he was reasoning with himself, god knows you could read him well enough to know when he was conflicted, when he bit the inside of his cheek before exhaling shakily.Â
âPips,â He rasped out your nickname. âYouâ youâre sure?â
You didnât recognise the look in his eyes right then as he looked up at you, but it had you unravelling all the same. You leaned in subconsciously, but he quickly moved one of his hands from your waist to your mouth, covering it as his jaw clenched, still studying you. âI need you to tell me youâre sure, Y/n.â
Oh, so this was actually happening. You could feel the heat of your breath recoil against your face because of his hand. The ticking of the clock in his room filled the charged silence between him and you, his fingers brushing against your chapped lips. You swallowed.
âIâm sure.â
Whatever had shifted in you five minutes ago seemed to shift in him as well now. He let his hand drop from your mouth, shamelessly staring at it. âWe shouldnât.â But he pulled you closer, his arms circling your waist and palms splayed out on the small of your back.Â
âItâs for research purposes,â You breathed out, doing your best to justify how badly you needed him. âPlease, Caleb, I needââ
He didnât let you finish.Â
You gasped as he crushed his mouth to yours, effectively shutting you up. The pressure of his lips against your own was dizzying, especially with the way they moved; slowly and precisely, as if he was committing the feel of your lips to his memory. You were hyperaware of his touch on your back, the warmth from his hands permeating through the thin fabric of the T-shirt you were wearing.
Pulling him closer, you tilted your head so you could kiss him better. For the number of times you had mentally chided yourself for even thinking about this, it felt remarkably natural to kiss him, your instincts taking over. Your fingers slipped into his hair, entangling in the dark strands and tugging lightly.
Caleb groaned, and you were on fire.Â
âGod, Y/n.â There was nothing playful about the way he mumbled your name into the kiss, and the unfamiliarity of it sent a shiver down your spine. His lips, soft and just a little hesitant, moved in tandem against your own, slotting in between them perfectly like you were pieces of the same puzzle, meant to be pushed together like so. He nipped at your lower lip before swiping his tongue over it to soothe the sting, and the intoxicating sensation drew out a needy whimper from you.Â
The second that sound escaped you, all indecision disappeared from his end, and the temperature in the room seemed to increase, growing hotter with every smack of his lips against yours. Kissing him was addictive, it felt as if neither of you could bear to pull away from each other.Â
Without warning, Caleb lifted you off of him and pressed you into the mattress, swiftly climbing on top of you. For a moment, he hovered, looking down at you, taking in the flush on your cheeks and heavy breathing, proud to have been the cause of your breathlessness despite barely doing a thing. Going in once again, he brushed his lips against yours teasingly, before giving you what you truly wanted, the intensity of the kiss taking a turn for feverish.
A hand of his slid up your side until he cupped your jaw oh-so gently, turning your face to the side to give him better access to your neck, upon which he pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses that had heat rush right to your core. The ache between your legs grew, slowly becoming unbearable, and you rubbed your thighs together with a whine, chasing any sliver of friction.Â
âShit,â he muttered against you, his other hand slipping underneath your shirt and coming into contact with your stomach, causing goosebumps to rise on the skin. Spreading his fingers and pressing lightly, he kept you from squirming. âPips, you gotta tell me to stop.â
âDonât you dare,â you almost snapped at him, impatient and so painfully aroused it was embarrassing. He couldnât hold back the breathless chuckle that escaped him as he moved lower, teeth grazing your collarbone.Â
âIf, at any point, you want to stop, tell me,â he gritted out, trying to hold onto any semblance of self-control he still possessed. âI donât wanna do anything youâre uncomfortable with.â
You nodded quickly. âI trust you.â
That was all he needed. Lifting his head slightly, he fumbled with the buttons of your shorts as he leaned back, all his weight on his knees. Once he managed to undo them, you lifted your hips slightly to help him tug them off your body. He settled between your legs, spreading them until the pretty cotton panties you wore were exposed.Â
Caleb swallowed, his breathing growing erratic and heavy. The wet patch on your panties was his undoing; everything about this situation was bound to be the death of him, but he was too far gone now. He let his hand trace up to your hips, hooking his finger through the waistband of your panties, toying with it.
âIs this ok?â The column of his throat bobbed as he stared up at you from between your legs. When you whispered a needy yes, he pulled the panties down your legs, his eyes darkening the moment they settled back on your core.Â
âY/n,â He said your name like he was drunk, a certain sense of reverence infused in his tone that had your cheeks kissed rouge. âYouâre even prettier than I thought.â
Than he thought? You would have to take the time to dissect that statement later, much too distracted to do so at the moment when he began peppering kisses along your inner thigh, starting from your knee and working his way upwards. The sensation of his mouth tantalisingly close to where you wanted it so badly was almost too much. Just the sight of him there was so erotic that it had your head swimming. You had never felt more vulnerable than you did right then, exposed and willing.
And then finallyâ finallyâ his breath fanned out over your soaked cunt, driving you insane. Liquid fire thrummed in your veins beneath the surface of your skin as your anticipation spilled over. He pressed a light, teasing kiss against your clit.Â
Caleb dragged his tongue over your slit, licking up it all the way to your clit, which he wrapped his lips around and sucked, knocking all the air out of your lungs. You gasped, bucking your hips up against him, and he chuckled, the sound sending vibrations up your body, from your toes to the top of your head.
âImpatient,â he chided. âLet me take my time with you, princess.â
The new pet name sounded so natural coming from him, and immediately, you knew you wanted to hear him call you that again. He flicked his tongue against the throbbing bud that had been aching for his attention this entire time, positioning your legs to rest over his shoulders. The sounds that left you were shamefully loud, and you had never been more grateful that he lived in a single dorm.Â
âCal- oh fuck,â You mewled when he swiped two of his fingers through your wetness, rubbing your folds.Â
âYouâre so fucking wet,â he all but groaned against you, and you could feel more slick gush out of you at that. âIs this all for me?âÂ
Your back arched off the bed when he pressed a finger to your dripping entrance, nodding with a sense of desperation you had never experienced before. âYes,â you exhaled the word as he pushed his finger inside your pussy slowly, your jaw falling open at the pleasurable intrusion.Â
Slowly, he began pumping it in and out of you as he continued to give your clit the sweet attention it deserved, basking in the noises that you made. The pads of the fingers of his other hand dug into the flesh of your thigh, keeping you nice and spread out despite all your attempts to shut your legs around him.Â
When he introduced a second finger to your cunt, your hands found purchace in his hair, gripping and tugging as you panted, unable to focus on anything else. Your eyes fluttered shut as the tips of his fingers brushed against a spot that had you seeing stars, crooking inside you so perfectly. It was as if he knew exactly how to push you to the edge.
Your best friend was eating you out like a starved man and you were enjoying every fucking second of it. He could feel your legs begin to tremble, your impending orgasm building. Shamelessly, you bucked your hips against his face, and the moment he realised what you were doing, he increased the pace of his fingers.
âCome on baby,â he encouraged you, flattening his tongue against your clit and pulling you closer, spurring you on even further. You ground against his mouth desperately, feeling the coil in your core draw tight, so, so close.
âCaleb,â you stuttered his name helplessly, but he somehow understood, knowing just what you needed. âIâIâm gonnaââ
He scissored his fingers inside of you, hooking them just right as he gave your clit little kitten licks, determined to have you fall apart on his tongue. Your sweet gasps sent blood rushing straight to his cock, which was already painfully hard, confined in his jeans. Taking your mound into his mouth, he sucked harshly, thrusting his fingers knuckle deep in your sex.Â
A broken moan escaped you when your climax hit you, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as waves of pleasure washed over you. Your legs shook, but he didnât let up, grinning proudly against you as he drove his fingers back into your gushing entrance, helping you ride out your high and prolonging it. Once he was satisfied, he lapped at you, refusing to waste even a single drop of your essence.Â
Caleb pulled away, and the sight of you nearly did him in. Eyes screwed shut in ecstacy and hair fanned out on his pillow, undoubtedly tangled from all your writhing. You looked like the picture of sin, and it was the hottest thing he had ever seen. He climbed back, hovering over you again as he licked his lips.
Your eyes fluttered open, pupils blown out and dark due to the sheer level of desire that coursed through you. You were stunning, and he was destroyed, knowing that heâd never be able to forget the way you were looking at him right then. The way you tasted.
When he kissed you again, it was different. It was a heady mix of heat and tongue and want, messier than the kisses he gave you earlier, the control he had before nowhere to be seen anymore. You could taste yourself on his tongue and moaned, reaching out to touch him.Â
You started at his collar, dragging your hands down, down, down until you reached the hem of his shirt, whining against his mouth as you tugged at it.Â
âTake it off.â
Who was he to deny you? He stopped kissing you, sitting up so that he could pull the shirt off, exposing his torso for you. The way your eyes raked over him hungrily was more than gratifying, especially when they caught on the silver chain that hung from his neck, the pendant sitting on his chest. Tossing his shirt to the side, he pushed your own up your body, exposing the skin of your stomach.Â
âYour turn.â
You let him take off your shirt, tossing it to the side and slipping his hands slip behind your back. He silently asked for your permission, which you gave to him in the form of an impatient nod to which he smirked, unhooking your bra and peeling it off of you, letting the discarded garment join the rest of them on the floor.Â
One look at you and he was a goner.Â
âFuck,â he could feel himself straining his jeans as he took in the sight of your breasts, so perfect and plush. He allowed himself a moment to appreciate you in all your naked glory, before leaning back down, his mouth back on your overheated skin. He dragged his tongue down your neck, sucking and biting like there was no tomorrow.Â
His lips trailed downwards, kissing the swell of your breast before wrapping around your already hard nipple, stroking his tongue against the aching peak. He palmed the other breast, giving that nipple equal amounts of attention and rolling it under his thumb. You hissed in pleasure, breathless as you arched into his addictive touch.
You could barely think straight; everything he was doing to you sent you into complete overdrive. Every touch was criminally good, the simplest of them causing your arousal to increase tenfold. Perhaps it was because it had been so long since you had last had sex, but you had never before felt so frenzied.
Hooking your legs around his waist, you could feel the outline of him pressing against your thighs. Angling your hips, you pressed your bare pussy against his bulge, the roughness of the denim rubbing you just right. He looked up at you from your chest through hooded eyes, earning another whimper as he pinched your nipple.
âYou sound so good.â His words went straight to your head. âTell me what you want.â
He said it like it was a command, and who were you to disobey, especially when you knew exactly what you wanted?Â
âI want you inside me,â you whimpered, voice heated with lust.Â
How could he ever refuse you? Caleb gave you one last kiss before reaching over to his bedside table, grabbing something from the drawer and sitting up and unzipping his pants. You couldnât help but stare as he impatiently kicked off his jeans and boxers, eyes widening when you finally saw his cock.Â
Fuck, it was big. Long and painfully hard, you could hardly believe he was hard because of you, but the proof was in front of your very eyes. Your lower lip caught between your teeth as you drank in the sight of him, hyperaware of the wetness that coated your thighs.Â
He tore open the condom packet, smoothly sliding it onto himself before settling between your legs once.Â
âW-will it even fit?â You squeaked, a spike of fear cutting through the lust-filled haze of your mind. He grabbed one of your hands, bringing it to his lips and pressing your fingers to them, kissing your knuckles soothingly as he bit back a smile.Â
âItâll fit.âÂ
âButâ there's no way,â You spluttered, âItâs gonna hurt.â Not that the prospect of being in a little pain deterred you by any means, you were way too horny to stop now. Complaining was probably the least sexy thing you could have done in the moment, but he seemed unbothered, the dark, hungry glint in his eyes never fading. The amused look on his face, however, was not lost on you, nor was the way he bit the inside of his cheek, fighting a smile. You glared weakly.Â
âAre you laughing at me?â You asked, incredulous. âI swear to god, Caleb, youâre going to split me in half, and youâre laughing?â
âBaby,â He breathed, âYouâll be fine.â
âEasy for you to say!â
You wouldnât even blame him if he decided he was done with you and pulled his pants back on, but nothing of the sort happened. Instead, he gripped your hips, grounding you to the moment.Â
Both of you were completely nude, and despite this, you had never felt more comfortable. Not when he looked at you like that, like you were something sacred.Â
âRelax, Pips, Iâve got you,â He whispered, sensing your apprehension. You exhaled shakily as he pressed his hard-on against your folds, groaning at just how wet you were. âEyes on me.â
The way he took control so naturally was alarmingly attractive. You looked up, locking your eyes with his, unable to stay silent when the head of his cock rubbed against your swollen clit. âO-oh.â
He shuddered at the feeling, dropping a little so that he was keeping himself up on his elbows. His necklace swung above you just like you had imagined as he ground against you, but it still wasnât enough. âReady?âÂ
You didnât think youâd ever be ready, but you wanted it so badly you didnât even care. Nodding eagerly, you intertwined your fingers with his, letting him press the back of your hands into the mattress. When his tip caught at your entrance, you whined. âPlease.âÂ
Having you beg him like that was dangerous. He squeezed your hands, and then slowly, carefully, sank into your wet heat, inch by devastating inch. Your jaw slackened, loudly moaning his name as he filled you up and stretched you out so pleasurably. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he pushed into you until he bottomed out, going breathless himself. One glance down to where the two of you were connected had him actively having to fight off coming right then and there.Â
Caleb was in heaven, and he was fucking delirious. He forced himself to stay still, moaning lowly when he felt your walls flutter around him, adjusting to his size. âYouâre doing so well, princess.â He praised, lowering his head to your neck and burying his face in the crook of it, inhaling deeply in an attempt to calm himself down.Â
There was so much wrong with this, so why did it feel so right? You felt so perfect, like you were made for him.
âCaleb,â You whimpered once the sting faded, letting go of his hands and looping your arms around his neck, âMove. I need you to move.âÂ
He pulled out until only his tip remained inside of you, before sheathing himself again, causing you to curve off the bed, nails digging into his skin. He did it again and again, nearly growling when he felt you grow even wetter, coating the length of his cock in your slick. Wet sounds that had your cheeks burning filled the room repeatedly.
âFuck baby, youâre so tight,â He practically growled, contrasting the tender pace he set, telling you he was holding back for your sake. You could feel every inch of him as he dragged against your walls, reminding you how big he was with every thrust. Â
Your friendship was potentially ruined, but it felt too good for you to care. With your legs locked behind his back, you gripped his biceps, a wanton moan escaping you as your eyes fluttered shut, the pleasure overriding every other sensation. Â
âSo good,â words were hard to put together, and he understood and nodded, holding your hips so tight you were sure there would be marks, just like the marks that blossomed all over your neck and chest from his earlier ministrations. Right now, though, you didnât care about that, consumed by the waves of euphoria rushing through you.
Slowly, the frequency of his thrusts increased, rendering you completely winded and unable to do anything but gasp for air. You felt another orgasm steadily build up inside you.Â
Then he tipped his hips a certain way, the tip of his cock brushing against a spot that made you cry out his name, throwing your head back into his pillows. The look on your face was something he wanted to imprint in his memory; the desire lacing your voice was beyond exhilarating.Â
Caleb could feel his own impending high, so tightly wound because of just how long he had waited for something like this. When you clenched around him, he knew you were close as well, but the act nearly did him in.
âDonât do that.â his voice was all scratchy and strained, but you promptly did it once again, high off the notion that you were affecting him just as much as he was affecting you. His hips stuttered against yours as his violet eyes flashed. âFucking hell.â
âOh my god,â you moaned, âI canâtââ
âLook at me,â he demanded, âI want you to look at me when you come all over my cock.â
Never in a million years would you have thought your best friend would be so good at dirty talk, but the shock quickly melted into obedience as you managed to hold his heated gaze. Reaching between the two of you, his index finger found your engorged clit and rubbed circles against it.Â
You squealed, overly sensitive. âShitâIâm gonnaâ Cal-!â
âCome for me.âÂ
Caleb would never forget how you looked: at his mercy, crying out his name over and over like it was a prayer as you came, spilling over his cock with a euphoric sob. He snapped his hips to yours with renewed urgency, drawing out your second climax and prolonging the feeling. When he saw the fucked out look on your face, it hit him at once.Â
With one final thrust, he buried himself inside you, coming with a moan, burying his face in your neck once again. His body was damp against yours, his hair tickling you as you breathed heavily. He stayed like that for a couple of seconds, recovering from the intensity of what had just happened.
Wordlessly, he pulled out of you gently, the sudden emptiness you felt having you whimper softly. Peeling the condom off, he tossed it in the bin next to his bed before climbing off of you, muttering something about being back. Seconds later, you felt a warm, wet cloth drag over your core. He cleaned you up, pressing little kisses to the inner side of your thighs.
Once he was done, he gathered you in his arms and pulled you close, kissing your temple.Â
âAre you okay?â He asked, pulling away just enough so he could try and gauge how you felt, rubbing his thumb over your cheekbone as he cupped your face tenderly. âI didnât hurt you, right?â
You shook your head and leaned into his touch, completely spent. âNo, it was perfect.â
He sighed in relief. You curled into him, and he wrapped his arms around you. âYou did so well,â he murmured into your hair, massaging your scalp gently. âYou were amazing, actually.â Another kiss to your forehead made you simper as your eyes closed, exhaustion settling into you now that the adrenaline had faded. âTired?â
âYeah,â You mumbled. Your legs entangled with his, and he stopped talking, tracing shapes on your back while you drifted off to sleep. He watched you for a bit, savouring the skin-on-skin contact, his mind reeling from what had just happened.Â
This was strangely normal, no awkwardness or post-nut clarity hitting either of you. Your body lay against his with all of you pressed up against him like that was exactly where you belonged. He could feel the beating of your heart, strong and steady in your slumber, whereas his remained erratic and fast. This was more than just a taste that he had had of you; it was the entire deal, and the knowledge of it all had his morals scattered and all over the place, because now that he knew what he knew, well.
Caleb wasnât sure heâd be able to stop.
It was supposed to be a one-time thing.
At the time, you had justified sleeping with Caleb as research, something you needed to do in order to get it out of your system. You had assumed, albeit foolishly, that once it was over, youâd be able to go back to normal and continue with your life.
But research was an activity that required constant revisiting. Most of it had to be repeated over and over, especially if it included gathering data from an experiment. There was always a control, and then variations of the experiment would be conducted to record the differences in the outcomes.Â
At least, that was what you were telling yourself right now as you straddled him, his cock buried inside you.
Truthfully, you didnât know how this had happened. After that day, everything seemed to be normal, until he showed up at your dorm to help you study for a class he had also taken when he was in his sophomore year. One thing led to another, or rather, one heated touch later, you found yourself under him once again.
And then it happened again, and kept happening. Whispers of it being just for research mixed in with both of your moans became a melody you were more than used to. This was all for your book, after all. For the sake of accuracy and your integrity as a writer.
Definitely not because of how mindblowing sex with Caleb was.
And it absolutely was.Â
He had made you completely insatiable for him, and almost every time the two of you hung out in one of your dorms, it ended up with both of you in bed. Every other aspect of your friendship remained exactly the same, though, which left you considerably confused. He didnât look at or treat you any differently, poking fun and driving you up the wall, staying his usual reliable self.Â
Calebâs hand cradled the back of your head as he kissed you now, fingers entangled in your hair and pulling slightly. You moaned softly against his lips, grinding on him.
You were in one of his shirts, panties tugged to the side since he hadnât had the patience to take them off, needing to be inside of you as quickly as possible. Despite his earlier hurriedness, the pace the two of you settled on now was almost teasing, slowly rocking against him as you lazily chased the delicious high that you had gotten so used to experiencing these past two weeks.Â
âYouâre so gorgeous,â he muttered, more to himself than you, hand slipping under your shirt and cupping your breast, squeezing. When he caught you biting your lip, he tutted, letting go of your hair and using his thumb to release it from your teeth. âAh, ah, donât do that, youâll hurt yourself, pretty girl.â
âToo good,â you complained in that whiney, desperate tone he had gotten so addicted to. Pinching your nipple for good measure, he smirked up at you when you squealed.Â
Caleb quickly learned that he loved having you on top of him. Getting you all to himself like this was a privilege in itself, but fucking you while you wore his shirt? He was on cloud nine. He could feel himself throb in your sweet pussy that welcomed him so eagerly, in turn pulsing around him.Â
He cursed under his breath when you started to bounce, eager to get to the finish line with him. He sounded so good when he swore, youâd never understand it, just like how you wouldnât get how he looked so pretty with a flush decorating his face and sex-mussed hair.
Gripping his shoulders, you tipped your head back, giving him access to your neck. He had taken to marking you up as and when he pleased, new hickeys surprising you every time you glanced in the mirror. Despite his tendency to leave them in places everyone could very easily spot them, you didnât tell him to stop simply it just felt so good.Â
Everything with Caleb felt good, and not only did it feel good, but you felt completely safe. He was so attentive, doing the most to make sure you were never in any pain, often times focusing more on getting you off rather than himself.Â
He thrust up into you suddenly, his earlier impatience returning, and you cried out, falling into his chest. He held you, working you through it and dragging you closer and closer to release. One of your hands fell to his torso, tracing the hard lines of his abs and trailing downwards before your fingers found your clit and rubbed.
Shit. If having you ride him was good, being able to watch you touch yourself as you did was unbelievable. When you came, you came hard, and the feeling of it tipped him over the edge.Â
You were a dream he never wanted to wake up from.
You didnât bother moving, clinging to him even tighter like you couldnât bear to not be touching him in some way as you came down from your high. He smelled like sex, sweat, and that cologne of his that you loved. It was the reason you stole his clothes so much and why you were wearing his shirt even now.
Your first time with Caleb was the getaway drug, and now you were addicted to him, to having his hands caressing you all over and him whispering praises in your ear.Â
âHey there,â He chuckled, rubbing your back. âAll good?â
âGreat even,â You mumbled, sitting up properly before finally lifting yourself off of him. You failed to register how jelly-like your legs felt, promptly losing your balance. He caught you before you fell, grinning.Â
âCanât walk?â You could hear how smug he was without even having to look at him. It was then that you registered the burn in your thighs and huffed.Â
âDonât sound so proud about it.â
âYouâre no fun,â he pouted, leaving you to scoff as he helped you to your feet, following suit. âIâll help you clean up. Do you wanna watch the new episode after?âÂ
Ah yes. Of course, heâd start talking about anime after taking away your ability to stand. That had been the reason he had shown up at your dorm in the first place, but the moment he saw you wearing his shirt, it had quickly become an afterthought. Â
The whiplash you felt was indescribable, and you could only nod, letting him pick you up and carry you to the bathroom. After a quick shower and change of clothes, the two of you settled down with your laptop like nothing had happened, your head resting on his shoulder as you focused on the show.
Neither of you bothered to talk about your redefined friendship despite having sex regularly. It was justâŚ.a new addition. A benefit that you were both taking advantage of, nothing more and nothing less.Â
But even as you reminded yourself of that now, you found yourself doubting it.
There was something to be said about formal events.Â
You enjoyed getting dolled up as much as the next girl, but that was where the fun ended. Having to sit through the event was boring and not the way you liked to spend your Friday evenings. You would have much preferred staying in and catching up on some much-needed sleep.
The editor of your universityâs paper, Jenna, had organised an affair that was being held in one of the college halls. She had worked very hard on it, inviting several alumni who were all successful in the fields of journalism and writing back so that the current batch of students had the chance to make connections. It was open to the entire student body, but she had made it clear that everyone on the paper was obligated to attend.Â
Connections were what helped people get further in life. You were grateful for the opportunity to interact with industry professionals, but didnât understand why she had insisted on keeping it a black tie affair. That probably had something to do with keeping up appearances.Â
You stood off to the side, sipping on your cranberry juice from a cup that was made for something much more refined. So far, you had spoken to a couple of the guests, but seeing that you had been here for over an hour already, your social battery was slowly dying out. The dress you wore was a black number, floor length, form-fitting and plain except for the slit that reached up to a little above your knee. Perfect for an event like this, not too much and on power with what everyone else was wearing.Â
Still, it was a little overstimulating. You guzzled down the rest of your juice and placed the empty glass down on one of the tables.Â
âYouâre welcome, by the way.â
You spun on your heels immediately at that voice, eyes widening and settling on the culprit who stood two, maybe three steps away from you.Â
âCaleb?â You asked in disbelief, taking in his presence. He was wearing a suit.
âThe one and only,â he grinned, his hands stuffed in his pockets. âHere to rescue you from your boredom.â
âWhat are you even doing here?â To say this wasnât his scene would be an understatement. He didnât like wearing the whole suit getup, much preferring casual clothing. Hell, Caleb hadnât even attended his high school prom (though when you asked why, he would never give you a straight answer), opting to spend the night in with you instead.Â
He looked unfairly good. The collar of his shirt hid those lovely collarbones of his and reminded you of how you had bit down on them the other day, the bottom of it tucked into black slacks. He had even worn dress shoes, instead of the sneakers he so loved and a tie around his neck. The entire getup.
âI literally just told you why. To get you out of here. Are you hard of hearing now?â
You returned his jibe with an exasperated sound. âI meant here, at this thing.â
âOh. Well, you did mention it was open to anyone yesterday,â he shrugged, grabbing a glass of juice and sipping on it. âSo that editor of yours technically canât complain about me being here.âÂ
That was true. Still, you found yourself bewildered as you stared at him. He was here. For some reason, even though he was allowed to be here, it didnât make sense to you. You pressed your lips together and cocked your head to the side, studying him.Â
âSo you dressed up and came here.âŚonly to convince me to leave?â The notion sounded strange even to you. Why on earth would he do that? He finished up his drink and put it down next to your empty glass, taking a step closer to you. The simple movement had butterflies erupt in the pits of your stomach.
What the hell?
âStop thinking so much. Do you want to stay?â
You considered it. âNot really, no.â
âDo you enjoy arguing with me for no reason, woman?â he muttered dryly under his breath, his eyes catching on something over your head. âOn second thought, I think you should stay a little longer.â
Now you were just plain confused. One moment he was talking about saving you from boredom, and the next he was insisting you stay? Before you could undoubtedly start another argument just to spite him, he took you by your shoulders and spun you around, pointing in a certain direction. When you figured out what, or rather, who he was gesturing to, you couldnât hide your gasp.Â
âIsnât that the author you like?â
You could only nod dumbly. âRaymond.â Last year, you had a phase where you only read his books day in and day out, absorbing the stories he spun like a sponge. His books were the reason you had decided to start writing your own in the first place, inspired by his storytelling skills.Â
Caleb nudged your side gently, âGo.â
âHowââ you cut yourself off, looking up at him. âHow do you even remember that?â You werenât sure why this entire interaction with him was throwing you off so much, but you felt completely unbalanced. You hadnât spoken about Raymond or his work in a long time, so how did he know? He shrugged noncommittally.Â
âI know you.â He said it so plainly, like it was something trivial and basic, but his eyes bored into yours.Â
Had Caleb always looked at you with such quiet intensity?
He nudged your side gently, reminding you to move. Forcing yourself out of your stupor, you promised him you wouldnât take too much time and walked over, buzzing with excitement.
The conversation itself wasnât long, but it was insightful. He answered all your questions about the industry, and you even had the chance to share for appreciation for Raymond's work as well as ask him questions that you had about his novels. You gave him your utmost attention when he gave you advice, but when he started talking about his characters, your eyes and mind wandered.
Back to your best friend, who was waiting for you on the other end of the hall, leaning against one of the walls and scrolling through his phone. He didnât give a flying fuck about this event, but had still come here for your sake, even when you hadnât asked him to. He glanced up, his eyes meeting yours, and flashing you a small smile.
Oh.
You looked away and back at Raymond, nodding politely and tuning yourself back into the conversation. Internally, however, you were freaking out. Something was very wrong; that was the only reason you could conjure up at the moment for what was happening to you. How else could you explain the sudden sweatiness of your palms, or the odd, fluttery feeling in your stomach? Maybe it was the excitement you felt from meeting the author you loved so much, but even as you considered this possibility, you knew it wasnât the answer you were looking for.
Oh.
Oh fuck.
This could not be happening. You plastered a smile on your face as you tried to pay attention to whatever Raymond was talking about, but the damage was done. Your brain had never been one to let go of a single thought you had, especially ones that had to do with Caleb. He had a hold on you that no one else did, and why was that?
Because you liked Caleb.
The horrifying realisation hit you, startling you out of your rapidly spiralling thought process. Blinking, you realised Raymond was done speaking.Â
âThank you so much for your time,â You said, trying not to sound as troubled as you felt. The author smiled at you before turning to another student.Â
Swallowing the newfound lump in your throat, you turned around and walked back to Caleb. This was bad. Having sex with him was already vaguely immoral and probably something that shouldnât have happenedâ and shouldnât keep happening like it didâ but having feelings for him? That was out of the question.
âGood talk?â He asked, slipping his phone into his pocket. The genuine interest he had in your excitement made the entire situation worse. Why were you noticing all this now, of all times? It wasnât like he had suddenly turned into someone considerate. He had always been this way; it was written into his DNA.Â
You realised he had even tried to tame his hair for today. âIt was great.â
âIâm glad. Now I can steal you away from this place.â His eyes were lit up with mischief, just like they did when the two of you were younger and he did something he wasnât supposed to. Ever the rebel, this one.Â
You felt a little guilty. All this effort for you? It seemed completely useless. âOkay, but Caleb, seriously, you didnât have to do this.âÂ
He frowned. âDidnât have to do what?â
âThis!â You waved in his general direction and then gestured around. âI mean, you donât even like wearing a suit, but here you are. Itâs not like it's compulsory for you like it is for me. You could be doing anything else.â You were rambling, you knew, but it was hard to stop. He rolled his eyes.Â
âHas that stopped me before?â
You paused. âWhat do you mean?â
âI show up to your newsroom even though Iâm sure Jenna wants to castrate me for breaking the rules so much.â He raised an eyebrow. âI attended that lecture of yours when you had a presentation. You know Iâm here because I want to be.â You knew he said stuff like this all the time, you always were the recipient of his support. This was normal.
But it didnât feel normal. For fucks sake, this was the boy you had grown up with. He had seen you fall off your bike, fail tests and puke your guts out when drunk. In each of those situations, he had also been the one to pick you up and bandage your wounds, help you study and hold your hair back for you.Â
Did he think it was an obligation now?Â
âYouâŚ.you shouldnât feel like you have to do that.â You said slowly, but he didnât let you continue.
âOh, please. Everyone knows that where you go, I go too.â He flicked your forehead, immediately receiving a glare in return. âWeâre likeâŚâŚ.â He stopped for a moment, eyebrows furrowing and lips pursing like they always did when he was thinking hard about something. Then he snapped his fingers. âWeâre like those yoghurt-granola snack packs!â
You stared at him blankly. âWhat?â
âYou know.â He decided to explain his stupid analogy, as if your head wasnât muddled enough. âThose things you can buy at the grocery store. The small yoghurt tubs that have a container filled with granola on top of them? Like, theyâre both okay separately, but much better when together. People buy those packs for a reason.â He slipped his phone back into his pockets and beamed at you. âWeâre like that.â
Oh my god. That barely made any sense. You werenât sure if you were mortified because of that terrible explanation or because it hadnât put a damper on your newfound feelings for him. âYouâre such a fucking dork.â
He feigned offence, holding his hand over his heart. âExcuse me? You mean cute, right?â
Right. Wait, no, you didnât. Ugh. âI thinkx ridiculous.â
âAre you coming with me or not, Pips?â
âBut Jenna insisted-â
He rubbed a hand over his face in annoyance before fixing you with a droll look. âWould you rather be here or be with me?â
Be with you.Â
You ignored the way your stomach flipped. You didnât have the time or the mental stability to process everything that was happening to you right now. The logical part of your brain swooped in, telling you that you were just confused because of the sex. Yes, that was it. You did not have feelings for Caleb Xia.
Sighing, you relented. âYou.â Saying that didnât mean anything, after all. Nothing about the two of you meant anything, so there was no reason for you to be freaking out, even if it sounded like you had just confessed. A wide grin made a show on his face when he realised he had won, and he tilted his head towards the exit.
âFinally. Wanna get out of here?â
âJust to be clear, this is not what I meant when I asked if you wanted to get out of there.â
You huffed out a soft laugh, fingers curling around his tie as you tugged him closer. âNo? Could have sworn you planned for us to end up in a janitor's closet.â
Caleb bit back a laugh of his own, knowing that making too much noise would get both of you in trouble. After leaving the event, somehow, his guiding hand on your hip had turned into the two of you making out in the hallway. You blamed the mess that your head was in for not realising what a bad idea that was immediately, but once you did, you did the most responsible thing you could think of.
And dragged him into the janitor's closet that was close by.
Naturally.
He braced a hand over your head on the cabinet that you were leaning against, essentially caging you in as he dipped his head to kiss you again. âPretty sure that was youâre doing.â
âExcuse me? Youâre the one who kissed me first!â You protested against his mouth, but could hardly complain when he kissed you like it was a relief to do so. Honestly, he was probably the best kisser you had ever experienced.
That must have been the reason for your spiralling thoughts. That and the amazing sex that you were so weak to.Â
Yep. Thatâs all. Anyone could be susceptible to such things.
âCan you blame me? Have you seen yourself in this dress?â His free hand slipped into the slit at your knee, slowly dragging the rest of the dress up until it was bunched up around your waist. âYouâre stunning.â
He couldnât stop kissing you. He knew he shouldnât have kissed you out there like he had the right to, because he was well aware of the unspoken rules of this arrangement, but he couldnât help it. If getting too comfortable with whatever you had going on with him was a crime, a sin, then he was a criminal of the highest order. The worst part? He didnât feel a shred of guilt.
But you were wearing that fucking cherry lip gloss, and god knnows he had waited long enough to taste it.
Warmth spread over your chest first before it rushed to the apex between your legs. The control he seemed to have over your body was truly astounding. In his hands, you were putty.Â
âYou donât look so bad yourself,â You whispered back, loosening the knot of his tie and pulling it off completely, dropping it to the side. âThis suits you.â
His lips twitched. âThe suit suits me?â
âShut up and kiss me, loser.â
He complied, grinning against your mouth as he pulled you into another earth-shattering kiss that did positively nothing to soothe your frayed nerves. Stubbornly, you pushed down the feelings bubbling around the confines of your heart, refusing to give them any attention if you could help it.Â
You gripped the front of his suit jacket, helping him peel it off his shoulders and letting it join his tie on the floor. Without warning, he pressed a knee in between your legs, and you nearly melted against him.Â
Sex was great. Sex with him was phenomenal. This was just the lust getting to you.Â
Caleb gripped the leg that your slit now exposed and lifted it, propping it up against his waist. He trailed his fingers against your inner thigh, his touch feather-light yet scorching at the same time. When his index and middle finger pressed against your clothed cunt, you were glad for the hot he had on you, pressed up against the cabinet, because you would have surely buckled if not.Â
âWow,â he mumbled amusedly, pushing your panties to the side and teasing your wetness. âYou really like the suit, huh?â
The fact that this type of interaction was now commonplace should have been the first sign that things had gone too far.Â
Usually, you couldnât think straight when he touched you like this, but today it was all a mix of feeling way too much and dangerous, fleeting thoughts that made you want to tear your hair out.Â
âMaybe,â You peppered kisses along the column of his throat, determined to get out of your head and focus only on how good he could make you feel. Pleasure and person were entirely separate entities, and you would make sure it stayed that way.
âSuit kink.â
âNever say that again.âÂ
He only smirked, plunging his fingers into you. All you could do was cry out as you gripped the front of his shirt, momentarily forgetting that you were supposed to be quiet. Quickly, his palm covered your mouth, muffling any further sounds you could make. âCanât have you being loud here, princess. What if someone catches us?â
The way you practically gushed the moment he suggested someone catch you in such a compromising position was downright embarrassing. Raising an eyebrow, he leaned even lower and whispered. âOh? You like that?â
You whined against his hand, cheeks flushing furiously. You began fiddling with the top buttons of his shirt, and he chuckled lowly.Â
âFor someone who likes my suit so much, you sure are trying to get rid of it quickly.âÂ
âFor someone who was dying to kiss me two minutes ago, you talk too much.â You rocked your hips against his hand even as you sassed him back. He moved his hand from your mouth into your hair, carding it through gently, tugging slightly to tilt your head back for him so he could kiss you again, swallowing every sound you made.Â
No one could sue you for being attracted to a hot man. That was just biology.
You could feel the familiar tightening of your core, signalling your impending crash. You broke away from the kiss, licked your lips and palmed him over his pants, earning a hiss of pleasure in return.Â
âDonâtâ donât do that,â He choked out, and you smirked triumphantly, refusing to relent on your movements. Batting your eyelashes, you stared up at him through them in faux innocence, unaware that it affected him so much more than you thought.Â
âJust fuck me already.â You whined, half out of desperation for him and party because now you needed him to fuck you to prove to yourself that this was just sex. To be able to brush away all the compliments he dropped that seemed to go straight to your head, to get the intoxicaing fucking way he kissed you out of your head and away from further dissection. To stop the slow-burning feeling of yearning that was growing inside of you for the boy you had grown up with.
Because you couldnât possibly have feelings for him. You shouldnât.
âFuck, okay,â He slipped his fingers out of you and unbuttoned his pants, releasing his cock. You would never get used to the sight of it, precum already leaking out of the tip; the image itself sending shivers down your spine in anticipation of him.Â
He pressed back against you, grinding it against your fluttering pussy, going right back to making out with you. It was like he was devouring you whole, claiming every part of you like it had always belonged to him. You could feel yourself get carried away again, forgetting that this was just something he and you did now.Â
And then he froze.Â
âShit,â he muttered. âI donât have a condom.âÂ
You were too far gone to even care anymore. Cupping his face, you pulled him into another messy kiss, beyond delighted when he moaned, still rubbing his length through your slick folds with a want that rivalled your own. âPut it in.â
Caleb gritted his teeth. âPips, thatsââ
âIâm on birth control,â you kissed his jaw. âAnd I trust you. Iâve always trusted you.â
That was undeniably the truth. He was the one person in the world that you didnât have to think twice about when it came to anything, no matter what the situation. He blinked down at you, pupils blown wide with desire but somehow still so focused on you, holding your sides so gently as he hesitated, silently dealing with the conflict in his head.Â
âIâŚ..are you sure?â
Oh, this sweet, considerate boy. How could you not love him? The thought was instantly forced to be a passing one as you push it away, refusing to acknowledge it.Â
âCaleb, if you donât stick your dick inside of me right now, I will cut it off.â The threat earned you a winded chuckle from his end, the strain in his face from holding back so painfully evident. Realising he needed another push, you looked into his eyes, bucking your hips against him and licking your lips as you purred. âNow, fuck me.â
There was a reason you phrased it like that. Crude and so filthy, the words set out a challenge for him. If there was one thing you knew about Caleb, it was that he could never back down from a challenge. His eyes darkened as he grabbed both your wrists and pinned them together above your head with one hand, positioning his cock at your entrance.
Without another warning, he slammed into you, once again covering your mouth to soften the obscenely loud broken moan that left you. He pressed his fingers against your lips, smirking mischievously.Â
âThis is what you wanted, hmm?â He groaned in your ear as he fucked you hard, making it increasingly difficult for you to stay silent. You knew he was doing it on purpose, remembering how he had briefly confessed that he liked it when you were vocal, but here? Here it was risky and stupid, and you couldnât believe how into it you were.
âYes,â You gasped, biting his hand at a particularly hard thrust, doing your utmost best to keep all your noises to a minimum. He was just so good, and the feeling of him bare inside of you was almost too much for you.Â
âGod baby, you feel incredible,â he panted, never relenting on his pace for even a second. His breathing was heavy in your ear, almost pained, along with soft grunts that only succeeded in making you even wetter.
âSo b-big,â you could only whimper, too caught up in it all to speak properly.Â
He had well and truly ruined you for anyone else. Your heart and mind were at war with each other, but your body was perfectly content with how he held you like this. With nothing between you, he fucked you raw, and it felt so much more intimate than you thought it would have. You could feel everything, hyperaware of every touch and kiss and overwhelming drag of his cock in your sobbing cunt.Â
For a moment, you almost wished it wasnât this good. If only you had never succumbed to your desires that day, maybe you wouldnât have found yourself in this position, fighting so desperately against feelings that felt so wrong and right at the same time. All this was supposed to have been a temporary fix, a means to an end. Not the start of something you could never see through.Â
When both of you came, it was intense and devastating, holding onto each other like nothing else mattered. You could feel him fill you up with his cum and as you went limp, one last terrifying realisation making itself known to you.Â
It wasnât just sex.Â
A shattered breath escaped you at the revelation, and you shut your eyes, trying to reason with yourself one last time, but to no avail. Caleb surrounded you completely, holding you up upright with so much care, so deliberately, that it made total sense why you felt this way. With unending affection, he pulled you against him and kissed the crown of your head.Â
âThats my girl.â
Except you werenât. And it would be better for everyone if you remembered that.
You were writing.Â
It had been so long since you had been able to write like this, but the ability had come rushing back to you all of a sudden. Your fingers flew across your keyboard as you steadily typed, focused and satisfied at the work you were producing for the first time in months.
It was two in the morning when you finally snapped out of your concentrated state, yawning as you shut your laptop. Stretching, you quietly padded to your bathroom to get ready for the night and go to bed. You couldnât believe you had written almost half of the sex scene when even the prospect of starting it had sounded so unachievable not too long ago.Â
Courtesy of Caleb, you had plenty of material to pull from.
You splashed water on your face, hoping the cool temperature of it would help you stop thinking about him. To say you were frustrated with your feelings was an understatement; you outright despised them.Â
This was your fault, you knew damn well it was. If you were going to get a fuckbuddy, it should have been someone who you werenât so close to, someone you had no personal connections with. Anyone but the best friend you've had since you were seven years old, who you knew like the back of your hand, who knew you like it was second nature to do so.
Gripping the sides of the sink, you shut your eyes, grounding yourself to the moment. Part of you wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. How on earth did you let yourself get in such a predicament?
You needed it to stop. For these confusing feelings to leave before things got even more complicated than they already were. Somehow, you needed to forget about them.
But how could you possibly do that? How were you supposed to forget the deliberate way he kissed you, or how good he made you feel when he looked at you that way? How were you supposed to get the scent of his cologne out of your sheets and closet, or pretend like you didnât know what it was like to be touched by him?Â
How on earth were you supposed to get over being in love with him?
You didnât even notice him walking in.Â
Writing for your book again meant that you had fallen behind quite a bit when it came to the work you had due for the paper. As a result, you had to stay behind and work late on the articles you had to present to Jenna, stuck at your desk in the newsroom when it was almost nine-thirty at night.
âThought Iâd find you here.âÂ
Your eyes flickered up to find Caleb standing in front of your desk, one hand stuffed in his pockets and the other holding a bag of takeout from a diner that both of you liked. He gave you a soft, knowing smile that made your mouth go dry.Â
âHey,â you straightened up in your seat, knowing that your posture tended to get worse the longer you wrote for. âYou were looking for me?â
âNot exactly.â He grabbed a chair and parked it next to yours, sitting down. âI just figured youâd be working and forget to have dinner.â
âOh.â
He was right, and you would have been embarrassed if this hadnât happened before. Wordlessly, he began unpacking the takeout he had gotten. âTake a break for ten minutes and eat, okay?âÂ
This was just like him. Knowing exactly when you needed to be taken care of while being well aware you could do just fine by yourself. You bit the inside of your cheek as you watched him, apprehensively nodding slowly.Â
âOkay.â
You grabbed a fry and began to chew, turning to face him and away from the computer. He looked the same as always, unkempt hair and all. It was like he knew you were tired and a little out of it today without you even having to tell him, falling into a comfortable silence as he ate with you.Â
There wasnât another soul in this world that knew you so intimately. In the past, this wouldnât have scared you, because you were so used to him and the ways he fit into your life so perfectly. Now, it frightened you to no end, reminding you of how much you had to lose when it came to Caleb. He was the most precious person in your life, which made it so much easier to fear losing him.Â
If there were rules when it came to having a best friend, you were certain you had broken all of them. Number one: Donât sleep with your best friend. Already off to a rough start with that one, it seemed, but there was nothing you could do about it anymore. Number two: Donât fall for your best friend. You doubted you even needed to go over the rest of the rules. Breaking those two had caused you enough damage.Â
Finishing up his food, he took a sip of his soda, noticing you were watching him intently. For the first time in a long time, he couldnât quite decipher the look in your eyes. It almost felt as if you were hiding it from him on purpose.
He tilted the soda cup to you, silently asking if you wanted some of his. You leaned closer and took the straw in your mouth, taking a couple of sips before looking away.Â
Something was off. âIs everything okay?â
You pressed your lips together and gave him a half smile. âYeah, everything's fine.â
Caleb narrowed his eyes at you, reaching out and propping a finger under your chin, lifting your face so you were forced to look at him.Â
âPipsqueak,â He mumbled, dropping his gaze to your mouth for a split second, but it was enough to make you feel like you were set on fire. Like you were made of porcelain, he swiped his thumb next to your lower lip, rubbing away a stray crumb that had stuck there from your food. Then he looked at your mouth again, subconsciously leaning towards you as if he was about to kiss you.Â
Immediately, you jerked out of his touch. Guilt ate away at you when you noticed how he reacted to this, the flash of hurt that passed over his face as he frowned. As much as you hated being the cause of it, the way he was looking at you has started to inexplicably hurt. You were unable to stop the tenderness that unfolded in your chest anymore. It was potent, too real to fight against.Â
âWe should stop.â
The words were out of your mouth before you could think about them any further, inciting confusion. He retracted his hand, the corners of his furrowed eyebrows tilting upwards. âDinner? Because weâre pretty much done with that anyway.â
You could have taken advantage of his confusion and put this conversation off for a while, but you knew that letting this go on any longer would end up being torturous.Â
âNo, Caleb,â You looked away, trying to ignore the way your throat seemed to close in on itself. âIâm not talking about dinner.â
âThen what are you talking about?â His voice took on that impossibly soft tone it did when he was trying to understand how you were feeling to properly help or sympathise with you. It was something he did when you were younger and got hurt, and he wanted to make sure you knew you werenât dealing with it alone.Â
Sucking in a breath of air, you looked down at your hands in your lap, playing with your fingers. âI think we should stop having sex.â
A beat passed. You could feel the weight of his stare on you. âOkay.â
You werenât sure where to go from there, your heart pounding within your ribcage like it was trying to escape. The light from your computer felt too harsh and the ticking of the clock hands was unnaturally loud in the stiff silence that settled over the two of you. Clearing his throat, he spoke again.Â
âDidâŚDid I do something?â
âNo,â the caution yet dejected way he said it made you blurt that out quickly, refusing to let him think something was completely wrong. âYou didnât. At all. Itâs justâŚ..â You trailed off, biting your tongue and regretting bringing this up already. âIâŚ.I wrote the scene.â
âThe scene?â
âThe sex scene. In my book.â The awkwardness in your cadence is foreign to your ears and his. You had never been so apprehensive around him because you had never had a reason to. This was a first you despised vehemently, scorning the way you had to phrase everything so delicately, as if you didnât, the damage caused would be irreparable.Â
âRight.â Now he had an unreadable look in his eyes too, matching yours.Â
âRight,â you echoed softly. âSo there's no reason for anymoreâŚ...research.â Because research had spiralled into forgetting your regular roles when it came to each other. Research had made you aware of feelings that had been dormant your entire life and should have stayed that way.Â
In an ironic twist of fate, you had literally fucked around and found out.Â
âI see.âÂ
You didnât know what possessed you to keep talking when it was so obvious that both him and you wanted nothing more than to move on from this conversation. You risked a glance at him to find him aimlessly tracing the edge of his soda cup, eyes trained on the straw. âSo we can go back to being just friends. Regular friends.âÂ
The clarification made you wince. When his eyes met yours again, you were surprised to find something different in the way he looked at youâ those dark purple depths swirling with an intensity that superseded their usual levels, startling you.Â
âWeâll always be friends, Y/n.â
Caleb didnât call you pipsqueak. A minute detail that shouldnât have shaken you at all, and yet here you were stuck on it in spite of the fact that he had just agreed to being friends again. Or rather, the normal definition of friends, because you werenât ever anything more than that. You swallowed, turning back to your computer.
âOkay. I should get back to working on this article.â
Your dismissal of him was quiet but obvious. The air had started to get suffocating and you needed as much space from him as you could get until you sorted out the mess in your head, one that was your cross to bear. Your fault.
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him nod and get to his feet, turning to leave, but hesitating for just a moment.Â
It was only when he exited the newsroom that you realised it wasnât any easier to breathe without him there. It felt even harder now, like someone had their foot over your chest and was putting all their weight on it, letting gravity do the rest of the work. You pushed yourself away from your desk, the wheels under your chair smoothly rolling away until the back of it hit the wall behind you.Â
Even the impact of that wasnât enough to shock you out of your misery. Surely, love wasnât supposed to feel as cruel as it did right now, like claws sinking into your skin and making you bleed. It shouldnât have felt wrong, but you knew that it was. Perhaps this was retribution for allowing yourself to indulge in something that was so clearly off-limits to you.Â
A familiar pressure built up behind your eyes as you turned resentful. The sting of your sorrow manifested as tears welled up and caught in your lower lashes. You shut your eyes, but not before those tears slid down your face, cementing the bitter, indisputable reality of your heartbreak.
Caleb stayed away.Â
He had known damn well that whatever was between the two of you wasnât forever. It wasnât even real, solely for the sake of your writing and the book you were so proud of. It was his fault for getting caught up in it all and expecting you to never call it off, to stay in that limbo with him forever.
Saying no to you was something he wasn't capable of. Not when he was ten and you were eight, and you wanted the last piece of cake even though it was his favourite flavour. Not when he was fifteen and you used to beg him to let you wear his shirts because you liked how oversized they were on you. Not when you would give him puppy eyes and sweetly ask him to cook those braised chicken wings you loved so much.Â
And not when you needed help with writing about sex.
Even if it went against all his morals and everything he had forced himself to believe for the past twelve years he had known you. He had held himself together around you for as long as he could remember, hands to himself and thoughts strictly friendly. Caleb was used to the best friend role. He was good at playing it, even when the script pained him to recite, he did so anyway with a smile on his face.
Because smiling back at him was you. It was always you, with your bright eyes and angelic laughter.Â
Caleb had accepted this role when he was only nine years old and had stuck to it ever since. He let it consume him, living in ignorant bliss as he silenced the pleas of his heart and what it wanted, no, begged for.Â
How was he supposed to know where to go from here? The script had deviated too much for him to return to its safety. He knew how your lip gloss tasted, sweet and inviting and maddening, just like everything else about you.Â
So he stayed away from you and your cherry lip gloss, hoping the marks it had left all over him would fade.
It had been almost two weeks since Caleb last set foot in the newsroom.Â
Jenna was overjoyed and Tara was suspicious. The latter asked you where your âboyfriendâ was, to which you refused to look at her as you muttered the reminder: heâs not my boyfriend. It felt like you were reminding yourself more than her, lacking any of your usual annoyance.Â
You supposed this was your fault as well. It wasnât like you had made any effort to reach out either, stuck in your pathetic little cycle of self-pity and fear. You felt his absence, though, cutting deep into you and leaving you with a Caleb-sized hole in your life. The last time you experienced something like this was when he left for university for the first time and you were finishing up your senior year, suddenly having to deal with not having him around for months on end.Â
At least he was calling you back then, and when you joined him at university, it never happened again. You hadnât realised what a big part of your life he was until he was missing from it.Â
God, you missed him.
You missed that stupid, smug chuckle of his when he knew you were getting riled up because of something he said, and his terrible sense of humour. The smirk on his face when you were losing an argument, and how heâd stick his tongue out when he was concentrating on something. Hell, you missed the sound of his voice and the comfort it brought you.Â
After you finished your work for the day, you walked out of the newsroom and down the hallways of the university building. The cool evening air swept around you, making you think of one of Caleb's jackets that was still in your dorm from the last time he had been, draped over your desk chair. You almost wished you had it with you right now.Â
Your feet carried you to the dining hall, reminding you of your need to eat through the wall of your troubled thoughts. It was not so much hunger as it was a necessity. Your appetite had been less than robust these past few days, your emotions weighing you down in more ways than one. You didnât have him to remind you to eat or sleep, or run like a normal human being.
Grabbing an apple to appease your stomach, you bit into it and looked around, mentally going over everything else you had to do that day. Start an essay you had due the next week, beg the members of your group to do their parts of the presentation that was worth a whopping thirty percent of your grade and polish the last scene you had written for your book.Â
It turned out that your turbulent emotional state had translated into you being more productive than ever, throwing yourself into your studies and writing like you had never before. Anything to avoid thinking about him and what you felt. An unhealthy coping mechanism for sure, but it worked for you.Â
Kind of.Â
Unable to stomach anything else, you tossed the core of the apple into a nearby dustbin and left the dining hall, eager to make it back to your room. You hadnât slept very well lately, and you wanted to get all your work out of the way before crashing. Sleeping, you discovered, was another excellent course of action to take when you wanted to avoid facing something, and at least it wasnât downright unhealthy. The dark circles under your eyes would certainly thank you.Â
When you turned the corner, he was there.
Caleb stood there, just a few paces away from you in all his six-two glory. His back was turned to you, but you knew it was him, deep in conversation with his friend, Gideon. You were unable to do anything but stare, your pulse picking up in speed at the sight of him. You wondered if the chasm he had created between the two of you had affected him as much as it had you.Â
When he bid farewell to Gideon and turned, you panicked. When he saw you, you remained rooted to the spot, watching as his steps faltered and came to a stop. He looked almost as tired as you felt, dawdling briefly before speaking.
âHey.âÂ
Hey. Hey? Was that all he could say after refusing to look your way for over a week? Your apprehension flared up into anger, and you took three furious steps towards him, your docile stare melting into a glare.Â
âYou sure talk a lot of shit about keeping you informed for someone who has been avoiding me.â
He winced. âI wasnâtâŚ.avoiding you.â
âOh really? Could have fooled me.â You scowled at him as you took another step forward. You were pissed, and rightly so, but it stemmed more from how hurt you felt rather than any genuine anger.Â
Caleb didnât bother to meet your eyes, opting to look off to the side instead. That stung a little more than you cared to admit. âIâm sorry,â he mumbled, shifting his weight from one foot to another. âHave you eaten yet?â Barely five minutes around you, and he had already jumped into trying to take care of you. It was so infuriatingly like him.Â
Every time he didnât want to face something, he would deflect and redirect the conversation. Your years together had taught you well, making it impossible for him to sidestep you even if he tried. You could tell he was avoiding you even when you were right in front of him.Â
âStop changing the subject.â
You watched as his jaw tightened and relaxed, something he did when he was conflicted. All his tells were so laughably obvious to you, and yet you couldnât make heads or tails of how he was acting right now, so forcibly distant and detached, like being close to you was painful. Your eyes burned.
âDo you hate me?â You asked, hating how your voice suddenly sounded so feeble. His eyes snapped back to yours, wide and defiant.Â
âI could never hate you.â The finality in the way he said it told you he was telling the truth, and yet, you couldnât help but fall victim to the doubt creeping into your mind. He was looking right at you nowâ except he wasnât really. It was more like he was looking through you.Â
âThenâŚthen why?â You whispered, taking another tentative step forward. The space that both of you created, consciously or not, was unbearable. You just wanted things to go back to normal, was that so much to ask for?
âI donât hate you. You just donât understand.âÂ
âThen make me understand!â You threw your hands up in the air in exasperation, wondering what the hell you had to do to make this conversation go somewhere, because right now it just felt like you were running in circles. âCaleb, please, just tell me why youâre avoiding me, because you are.â
He knew he was and hadnât a single excuse, other than the reason he swore you never burdened you with. You were looking at him so pleadingly, grasping at straws to figure him out, but for the first time in his life, he found himself unable to give you an answer. Instead, his throat constricted, his anxiety keeping him silent.Â
âItâs my fault, isnât it?â Your face crumbled, and upon witnessing it, so did his heart. Your lower lip trembled like a leaf on a windy day, and you bit down on it to stop it from doing so, doing your best to stay composed. Running a hand through your hair, you let out a shaky sigh. âI knew it, I should have neverâ we shouldnât have slept together. That should have never happened and now everything is fucked up, and its all because of me.âÂ
Yes. No. The answer wasnât as straightforward as he needed it to be, and it paralysed him. The anguish you felt was on display for him and anyone who happened to walk by you to see, plain as day, as it twisted your features. It felt as if he had been stabbed in the gut when you backed away from him.
Turning away, you walked off. You had ruined things, you were sure of it, and it killed you. Once again, you let the rift between him and you grow with every step you took to escape the crash you had been responsible for.Â
A hand on your wrist. You gasped as he caught you, spinning you around and forcing you to face him once again.Â
Caleb had followed you into the gardens.Â
âDo you regret it?â
The question cut through you, and you gaped at him. The fervour you were so used to seeing in him suddenly returned, burning brightly in his eyes as he pinned you in place with them, his grip on your wrist never letting up. Question for question, with neither of you getting the answers you wanted.Â
You scoffed, rapidly blinking away the tears that you felt coming on. âIf it's the reason things are weird between us, then yes! I do regret it. I need my best friend, Caleb. I need you.âÂ
How could you not need him? He was your constant, the one person who had been by your side through thick and thin. You needed him in your life, by your side, in whatever way you were allowed to, even if it wasnât what you truly wanted anymore.Â
He let go of your wrist. âI canât do it.â
Your biggest fear was coming true right in front of your very eyes, and you hadnât the faintest idea of how to stop it. It was taking form, bleeding into existence. You were losing him.Â
âYou canât do what?â
âI canât be your friend. I just canât.â He shook his head, shutting his eyes like he couldnât bear to look at you.Â
Your voice comes out weak. Small. âBut you said weâll always be friends.â
âWell, I lied, okay! I canât be your friend, not whenââ He sucked in a breath, rubbing a hand over his face as he tried to reign himself in, stopping his outburst before it could happen. It wasnât fair to you, none of this was, but he was at his breaking point. âI could do it before, but not anymore.â
âWhy?â You whispered, those tears you had so valiantly fought off surging back. Once again, you felt like you had been trampled on, pinned down by a merciless gravity that had no regard for your need to breathe. You werenât sure there was a reason to fight against it anymore.Â
He looked up at the darkening sky, deflating. Staying away from you hadnât made it any betterâ if anything, it had only made it worse, his yearning to be beside you bubbling to an all-time high. There wasnât a point in hiding anymore, not when it was turning out to be detrimental rather than soothing.Â
âBecause,â he paused, peering up at the cloudy sky. He couldnât see the stars. âI canât go back to being your friend when Iâve tasted you. How am I supposed to act like Iâve never kissed you when Iâve had you in my bed? To pretend like I donât know how it feels to have you like that? God, Y/n, I canât do it.
Caleb, whom you had viewed as strong and untouchable all your life. Caleb, whom you had endlessly looked up to, sounded almost tortured, like it pained him to even have to tell you this.Â
âWhat are you saying?â
You hoped you didnât look as terrified as you sounded. It felt as if someone had pulled the rug out from beneath you, but the ground underneath it was falling apart too, leaving you to stumble around and try to find your footing amidst the cracks that remained. If you fell now, you werenât sure youâd ever be able to get up.
But that was the thing, wasnât it? You had already fallen, and hard.Â
Caleb was stripped of his usual self-assuredness and confident smile. He was laid bare there in front of you, fixing you with a look that was so pained it tore through you.Â
âIâm in love with you.â
The confession ripped through you, although you didnât register it at first. Those five words felt so improbable to have been said by him to you of all people that the only thing you could feel was disbelief. It just didnât make sense. Why would something you longed to hear so badly be said with such sadness?Â
He mistook your stunned silence for aversion. He should have stopped there, given up and walked away, but now that he had finally, finally let it out, it was hard to stop. It was like a dam had broken within him; everything he had ever kept to himself when it came to you rushed out all at once.Â
âIâm in love with you, Y/n,â he said again, scoffing slightly at himself. No nicknames, just your name spoken in that reverent tone, like you were a divine being he was a devout follower of. âAnd it kills me because I know youâll never see me as anything more than a best friend. Youâve made that very clear, and I never want to overstep, so I stayed away from you.âÂ
âCalebââ
He didnât let you cut in. âI could do it when I didnât know what it felt like to have you as something more than friends. The moment we crossed that line, it was all over for me. I would be your friend until I died if I didnât know.â His hands were shaking, but they stayed by his sides, fingers curled into frustrated fists as he rambled.Â
âIââ
âBut I canât, Pips. I canât do it anymore. I canât be your best friend when Iâve loved you my entire life.â And youâre falling all over again, gravity pulling you down, down, down as something unfurled in your chest. âSo please justââ
âGoddamnit Caleb, would you just shut up for one fucking minute!?â
You hadnât meant to snap, but he was seriously to piss you off, going on and on without giving you the chance to speak your mind. Immediately, he clamped his mouth shut, preparing himself for the inevitable rejection he had imagined too many times to count in his head. You, on the other hand, thought you were going to faint, overwhelmed by everything that had just happened. It was everything you had convinced yourself was impossible.
And yetâŚ
You kept your eyes locked onto his as you closed the distance between the two of you, so close now that you could feel the warmth radiating off of him, combating the chill in the evening air. Swallowing, you asked.Â
âYouâre in love with me?â
He clenched his jaw and nodded. He knew what the consequences were, he was ready for them. It was about time he faced the truth anyway.Â
What he didnât expect was for you to start laughing.Â
You clamped a hand over your mouth as incredulous laughter left you, eyes practically sparkling. Oddly enough, it sounded a little watery, like you were crying at the same time.
And then he realised you were, in fact, crying, tears streaming down your face. Alarmed, he stepped forward and cupped your face, instinctively wiping them away with the pads of his thumbs. This did nothing to dampen your hysterical laughter as you leaned into his touch.Â
âWhat the fuck?â He muttered, concern overtaking his previous, heartsick expression. âAre you dying or something?â
âOr something,â you managed to get out, gripping his arms, âWeâre so stupid.â
âThatâŚ..okay, Iâm officially confused. And a little scared.âÂ
âCaleb,â you whispered once you stopped giggling, lethally soft. You looked up at him adoringly, eyes shining and tinged slightly red from your tears. âIâm in love with you, too.â
He froze, mouth falling open. He didnât have to say anything, though, because honestly, he had said enough. It was your turn now.Â
You leaned further into his touch, nuzzling your cheek against his palm. âI think Iâve loved you for a long time, but I only realised afterâŚ.after everything that happened between us.â You flushed, trying to word it as delicately as possible. âAnd I drove myself crazy because I thought youâd never see me that wayââ
âIâve always seen you that way.â He breathed out, those captivating eyes of his trained on you in wonder. Butterflies came to life in your stomach.Â
ââ So I called it off. I said we needed to stop because I was so scared Iâd lose you.â
By the time you finished, you were both staring at each other wide-eyed. His grip on you tightened, one hand falling to your waist as he tugged you closer.Â
âYou love me?â
âI love you,â you nodded. âIt just took me a while to figure it out.âÂ
âPipsqueak.â You had never been more grateful than you were right then to hear that stupid petname. âOh my god, we are stupid.â
Without another word, Caleb pulled you into a kiss. You reciprocated instantly, wrapping your arms around his neck as you smiled against his lips, unable to contain yourself anymore. He kissed you like it was the only thing he ever wanted to do, holding you like you were precious, which to him, you undoubtedly were. It was your first proper kiss with him without any pretence or excuse surrounding it, and you couldnât have asked for more.Â
Chuckling when you dissolved into more giddy giggles, he wiped away any stray tears from your face and rested his forehead against yours. After all these years waiting and hoping that youâd feel the same way, he knew heâd never let you go now.Â
âI love you, too.â It was a relief to say out loud and to your face, coming out of hiding and letting the truth of his feelings sit out in the light. You pecked his lips again and hugged him, revelling in his warmth and the delight of your feelings being returned. Your best friend loved you back, and everything in the world made sense again.Â
âDonât be my best friend,â You mumbled fondly, cheek against his shoulder as you laid out your final request. âJust be mine.â
He smiled, an expression so dazzling youâd never forget it. âIâll always be yours.â
When Caleb looked back at the sky, he could see the stars.
âAre you done?â
âShh.â
You rolled your eyes, flopping onto the pile of plushes on your bed as you pulled out your phone and went through your messages. To be fair, it had barely been two minutes since you handed him your laptop, but you were impatient, wanting to know what he thought as soon as possible.
Calebâs eyes were focused on the screen as he read, humming occasionally as he scrolled through the scene. If anyone had told you a year ago that youâd be letting him read a part of your writing, let alone a sex scene of all things, you would have either laughed in their face or had a mental breakdown.
Yet here you were. Life sure had a sense of humour.Â
Finally, after an agonising ten minutes, he spoke. âWow.â
âIs it good?â
He shut your laptop and put it back on your desk carefully, before walking over to where you were. Then, he dropped himself onto the bed as well, purposely caging you in his arms and making sure you were trapped under his weight. Squealing, you hit his arm playfully.Â
âCaleb!â
Your boyfriend laughed mischievously, lifting his head so you could see the smirk that curled on his lips. âIt was good. Very good.â
You sighed in relief. âThank god.â
âSo I must be really good in bed, huh?âÂ
There it was. You groaned as you tried to push him off of you, even though you knew it was a futile task. âDonât even try, you smug asshole.â
âWhat?â He asked, dripping in faux innocence. âI mean, you did use me for research purposes. Is it not a fair assumption to make?â He was so proud of it, and knew damn well that the entire sex scene he had just read had been falicitated because of him. Every part of it had been pulled from things the two of you had done, the thought of which made your skin heat up and your cheeks burn.Â
âYouâre so annoying,â you huffed, giving up on trying to get him to stop squashing you. Instead, you adjusted, curling into him. Accepting this, he switched your positions, pulling you on top of him and resting his chin on your shoulder.
âYou like it.â
âUnfortunately.â
You yelped when he pinched your side, but it dissolved into giggles when he began peppering kisses all over your face. Slipping his arm around your waist, he held you close, grining against your skin. If you had to stay like this forever, in his arms and under the glow of his radiant smile, you would be content.Â
âYouâre an amazing writer, Pipsqueak,â he cradled your face in his hands, his love for you so achingly obvious in the way he looked at you that you wondered how you had never noticed it before. Rubbing his fingers against your cheek, he kissed your nose. âIt would be just as great even if I hadnâtâ uhâ assisted.â
Though you snickered at him, you couldnât stop yourself from beaming at his praise for your work. âIâm glad you did though,â you let him pull you closer, arm looping around your waist as you propped a leg over his. âOtherwise we might have never figured our shit out.â
He snorted. âThank god for research. You would have kept me in the friendzone forever.â
âHey!â
He silenced any further protests that you could have made, pressing his lips to yours in a sweet kiss. All possible complaints fled your mind the moment he did, eagerly kissing him back. You didnât think youâd ever get enough of this and you had no idea how you had survived for so long while denying yourself of it.Â
Caleb had loved you for twelve years, steadily standing by your side and holding your hand even when you couldnât see it. He had walked beside you through it all, the highest of highs and lowest of lows, lifting you up high over his shoulders with a grin on his face. He would never leave you behind, because he was your home. The one you had grown up with and wanted to wake up to everyday for the rest of your life.Â
He had taught you love without imposing it on you, silently showing it to you with every little thing he did. Your best friend. Your love. It had taken you a long time to catch up, but when you finally made it to the finish line, you found him waiting there for you patiently, holding out his hand for you to take.Â
The next time Tara called him your boyfriend, you didnât correct her.
fin.
12K notes
¡
View notes
Text
SAVE THE DATE.
pairing:Â kim mingyu x f!reader
genre:Â smut, fluff, angst, frenemies to lovers
summary:Â 5 weddings in one year. 5 dates you saved for you and your boyfriend to attend â before he cheated. and now, you had to force your best friend, vernon, to go with you. but after losing a bet, mingyu agrees to take vernonâs place and be your date. this wasnât how any of this was supposed to go, but you guess you could settle going with your only one-night-stand from college.
warnings: oral (f!recieving), fingering, 69ing, unprotected sex, reader on top, praise, mingyu has boyfriend dick<3, sub-ish!mingyu, also power bottom!mingyu đ, multiple sex scenes, marijuana smoking/shotgunning, marijuana-induced horniness lol, one bed trope, forced proximity, miscommunication, HEAVY mutual pining. nsfw (minors / ageless blogs dni).
word count:Â 19.9k
note:Â first things first, APOLOGIESSSSS for this taking so long. I've had a lot going on (which I know just about everyone says) and I was lowkey struggling to write this, even tho I was so amped for it. nevertheless, I'm so glad I was able to focus and finish it, because I care so much for these two and I desperately wanted to share their story with you đ per usual, please expect angst with your smut, and if you cry, I will not judge you and honestly would love to hear it lol. enjoy friends! (taglist posted at the bottom.)
in rotation: bmf, sza / mona lisa, mxmtoon / gorgeous, taylor swift / moonstruck, enhypen / finally // beautiful stranger, halsey
Your mom had told you that the friends you make in your first year of college stay with you for life, but you didnât expect that when you met Vernon. He had been shy, refusing to speak to anyone in your orientation group, but knowing glances turned into sitting next to each other, which then had you both whispering jokes back and forth, until finally, he told you his name. Hansol Chwe to be exact, but he insisted on âjust Vernon.â By the second semester of freshman year, you both had become inseparable. He was your best friend, been with you through some of the toughest moments of your adult life, and you wouldnât trade him for the world.
Vernonâs friendship survived through many of your boyfriends, and you knew heâd outlast many more. He experienced some of the worst ones â a.k.a. the men who refused to believe you two were just friends â and also the boring ones â the one guy who used you to get to him. But none of them had pissed him off more than your most current breakup: the man who was three years your senior and cheated on you with a 22-year-old. You assumed by age 27, youâd know how to pick âem, but that was clearly wrong.
Now you were left to your own devices with five weddings to attend this year. In retrospect, maybe there was a few you couldâve skipped, but you hated saying no in situations like this. You had agreed to go to all of them with your now ex-boyfriend in mind, placing a 2 on the inviteâs attending line. Per usual, Vernon had stepped up and begrudgingly offered himself to be your date.
So why were you now meeting up with Kim Mingyu to discuss the dates of said five weddings?
You first met Mingyu when Vernon joined a fraternity in sophomore year to make more friends. âI canât just have you. I need to have at least some friends that are dudes,â he said, which made you reply, âThatâs the toxic masculinity talking.â And boy, had Mingyu been the epitome of that statement. Him and Vernon had connected instantly, sharing the same major and an affinity for art girls. You had never really gotten along with him like Vernon had hoped, but he was ⌠attractive, to say the least.
Okay, maybe you had a crush on him. You had eyes.
But it was college and you both were on the cusp of 20. It was so hard to confess feelings back then, especially to someone like Kim Mingyu. Who you didnât particularly enjoy talking to in the first place. However ⌠he was probably one of the hottest men youâd ever seen; made in a lab for every young girlâs fantasy. Sometimes you couldnât help but just stare at him, admiring his perfect teeth or the way his honey-gold skin shined in the afternoon sunlight. (You thanked your lucky stars that Vernon joined the college football team alongside Mingyu, just so you could secretly ogle him during practice.)
Suffice to say, you did eventually hook up. In the most cliche way possible, you had both gotten a little too tipsy at the first frat party of senior year and wound up in Mingyuâs dorm, locking out his roommate for the entire night. It almost felt weird, realizing your attraction had been reciprocated, but he hardly said a word to you come morning. In fact, he never mentioned it again, period, choosing to avoid you except in group settings with Vernon. You werenât a fool; you were quick to realize it meant nothing to him, just another notch on his bedpost.
Mingyu was every girlâs dream, but Mingyu was also uncommitted.
And he was walking towards you right now.
You looked up from your phone after stalking â looking through Mingyuâs Instagram. You never followed him, never checked in on him after graduation, but you knew how close he still was with Vernon. He even posted a picture with him recently. You rolled your eyes. Despite his long hair, you recognized Mingyu instantly as he went up to the barista and ordered a coffee. You studied him for a moment, noticing that there was a curl to his hair and the way those dark stands hung around his eyes. His skin was as perfect as ever and â goddamn, did he get bigger? He was wearing a jacket over his t-shirt and you could still tell how big his muscles were.
When he finally looked over his shoulder and your eyes connected, his face remained unchanged, if not a little awkward. He walked up to you, rubbing at the back of his neck, and said your name as if it were a question. âYeah. Hi, Mingyu,â you replied with a wave. âItâs been a while.â
âFive years since graduation,â he added, pulling out the chair across from you and plopping down. âSo you stopped putting those blonde highlights in your hair?â
Your eye twitched. Before you could spit out a response, a cute, dark-haired barista came over and set a fresh mug of coffee in front of him, completely ignoring that your own was practically empty. Mingyu flashed her a smile, showing off his pretty canines as she walked away. You frowned.
Vernon had told you last night that Mingyu wasnât the same guy you knew in college, but you begged to differ.
Turning back to you, he took a sip from his mug and asked, âWhy did you want to meet up again?â
âBecause my best friend is an asshole and you lost a bet.â
âOh, yeah. That.â He nodded.
You almost didnât believe Vernon when he told you. You knew he didnât exactly want to be your date to all these weddings and probably felt like he had to, but he did offer so you didnât think much of it. Until he told you last week that he put all his guest invites on the line while playing a drinking game with Mingyu, which the latter lost. So now Kim Mingyu, your college one-night-stand that was scared of commitment, was committing to being your date to several weddings this year.
Kill me now, you thought.
âI thought drinking games and making silly bets like this didnât happen once your frontal lobe formed,â you said, and his dark eyes flickered up to yours.
âThatâs where youâre wrong,â he cleared his throat and set the mug down again. âMen never really grow up.â
You crossed your arms over your chest and sat back in your chair. âApparently,â you muttered under your breath. âHow do you have the time to actually commit to this? Donât you have a girlfriend or something?â
âOne,â he held up a single finger, âI take bets very seriously and Iâm not a sore loser. Itâs only removing five weekends out of the year for me. No biggie. And two,â he lifted another finger, âNo.â
You raised a brow. âWell, I guess that answers all my questions.â
Mingyu stared at you for a moment, running those two fingers over his bottom lip. You suddenly had a flashback to that night, remembering his hands all over you, remembering his fingers plunging inside and curling â
Not the time.
âDonât you have a boyfriend? Why put down two people on these RSVPs you sent back and then force just anybody to be your date?â He fought the urge to smile, trying to dig a little deeper into you. You werenât falling for it this time. âI love the guy, but I know Vernon wasnât your first choice to accompany you.â
âMy ex and I broke up,â you replied. âNot much to it.â
Intrigued, he sipped his coffee again. âWhy?â
âItâs none of your business, Mingyu.â
âWell, as your new date ââ
âDrop it,â you said, voice taking on a new tone. âIâm serious.â
Mingyu raised his hand in surrender, and you shook off your anger. This was supposed to be a friendly, quick conversation, but it was seemingly moving off the rails. A sigh escaped your mouth before you asked, âSo you said this is only taking five weekends out of the year. What do you do with your time? Are you working?â
âI thought I answered all your questions.â
You narrowed your eyes.
He chuckled softly, exposing those canines once again. His smile was so ⌠ugh, you needed to stop getting distracted. âI work at a restaurant four days a week as a cook, and then teach flag football at a rec facility the rest of the time. Iâve been trying to save up to open my own restaurant for years, but I got the time to be a makeshift wedding date.â
You knew Mingyu had always loved to cook â you remembered when heâd been the resident chef at the fraternity â but to hear he was still passionate almost ⌠melted you a little. Almost. You were dedicated to not being too swayed by Mingyuâs pretty words. This was a deal and that was the end of it.
âI see,â you nodded, uncrossing your arms to play with the handle of your still empty mug. âIâve been working at the same marketing agency since college. Pays the bills, you know?â
Mingyu gave you a knowing look before running a hand through the long strands. âAlways so committed.â
Your lips pursed. âOne of us has to be.â
âSpeaking of commitment,â he said without missing a beat, pulling his phone from the pocket of his jeans. âWhat are the dates for those weddings again?â
Save the Date for the wedding of Choi Seungcheol and Holland Levine: February 28th
It was a rainy Sunday in February. Your coworker, Choi Seungcheol, was getting married today at a local venue on the outskirts. His girlfriend, Holland â otherwise known as, Hinge Holland, when he met her on the dating app 3 years ago â was a little kooky and asked for them to be eloped that morning. Seungcheol was too in love to say no; heâd do anything she asked. They were married early morning, and lucky for you and Mingyu, all you had to attend was a reception. It was a nice way to test the waters of this deal before anything got too crazy.Â
Mingyu had picked you up in his truck, and together struggled to help lift you inside with your dress and heels on. As he drove away from the city and into a more rural area, he commented, âYour coworker must be real whipped to agree to a reception here.â
âWhat are you talking about?â You looked through your phone for the address Seungcheol had sent you months ago. âI thought the reception was at some small venue.â
Mingyu said your name, and you glanced over, seeing the smile on his face. âItâs a VFW owned by someone in his girlfriendâs family.â
You realized just how right he was when he pulled up to a spot in a VFW parking lot, seeing a crowd of Hollandâs family pour into the post. You knew what the inside of a VFW looked like; you had your sweet 16 at one. But going to a wedding reception at one was a whole different story. Were the walls so old that theyâd crumble once the DJ dared to play Dancing Queen?
Rain pounded from the sky, making the cold February wind even more chilly. Mingyu rounded the truck and opened your door, making sure to hold an umbrella above your head as you slid out of the seat. He looked ⌠okay, he looked extremely handsome in his suit, tailored exactly to his body. You were in an old, off-the-shoulder black dress with mesh sleeves that were doing nothing in this wet cold. This wedding had crept up on you, and before you knew it, you remembered you didnât have any new dresses to wear. And while it looked nice, the dress just barely zipped and you had to keep pulling up the neckline. Clearly, you had grown a bit since the last time you worn this. Probably in college.
Mingyu was staring at you now, letting his eyes wander down, and you were yanking at the neckline again. He didnât deserve to see more of your cleavage. He whispered, âYou look âŚâ
âJust come on,â you cut him off, tugging him in the direction of the VFW. He struggled to keep up for a moment, rushing to hold the umbrella above both of you.Â
As soon as you both walked inside, you realized just how dressed up you were compared to the place. The building looked like it hadnât been updated since the 1990s. There was, at least, a huge buffet-style food setup in the corner and a man so old that he probably had one foot in the grave behind the bar. A sign in front of him said, OPEN BAR, written in thick sharpie. Various family members were congregating at tables, while the DJ â who looked like a Pitbull impersonator â was setting up at the head of the room.Â
Seungcheol ran over the second he saw you meandering through tables. He had the biggest smile on his face, tugging his new wife over to introduce her to you before wiggling his eyebrows at you when he noticed Mingyu on your arm. Even Holland couldnât help but ogle him. Seungcheol was one of your closest coworkers, so it wasnât weird when he asked, âWhoâs the beefcake?â
Mingyu was too busy dealing with Hollandâs questions to hear you reply, âDonât ask. Iâve cycled through many options before I was forced to bring him.â
âIâm sure it was quite difficult for you,â he snorted, before carefully pulling his wifeâs hand off of Mingyuâs and introducing himself. Not long after, he was ushering her away to start making speeches.Â
You and Mingyu found your seat quickly, and luckily enough, you were sat with most of your coworkers. Every single one was looking at Mingyu like he was a piece of meat, but he didnât seem to notice as he had a friendly conversation with each of them. You struggled to not roll your eyes. How was he perfect with everyone? Maybe your dislike of him was irrational and unwarranted, maybe he did change. But ⌠ugh, could he fuck up for once?
Your coworker, Minghao, sat to your left, watching Mingyu converse with the young assistant â Amelia, right? â who was very clearly batting her eyes at him. Leaning towards you, Minghao whispered, âI thought you were bringing Vernon?â
Minghao was one of the few people you told about your breakup, as well as Vernon and of course, your girlfriends. It wasnât like you to go around everywhere and post on social media about your breakup; it wasnât anyoneâs business. But Minghao gave great advice, and he was one of the first people that helped you get over the heartbreak. He wasnât just a coworker. He became a trusted friend.
Turning your head, you said, âWould you believe me if I told you that he lost a bet?â
âConsidering who you ended up with,â he chuckled, âIâd say itâs a win in your favor.â
âHeâs not that great.â
âThen you might want to pull Amelia off of him before she starts sucking his face.â
The reception ended at an early hour thankfully. Most of the elderly guests were falling asleep anyway. Mingyu was a class act, per usual, trying to get you up and out of your seat to dance with him, but the last thing you wanted to do was dance to Toxic by Britney Spears in front of your boss at the marketing agency. Instead, he took the lead to asking Seungcheolâs mom to dance, and made Ameliaâs day when he asked her to join. Minghao only continued to laugh when you rejected each of Mingyuâs advances.
Once 10 PM rolled around and you both were exiting the doors of the aging VFW, you noticed the rain hadnât let up. In fact, it seemed to have gotten even worst. You had to run to Mingyuâs truck with him holding the umbrella above both of you and almost trip over your dress as you hopped up inside the cab. Assuming it would be fine to drive, just a few minutes in the rain left you both realizing that it might be extremely unsafe to drive back to the city in this weather. You really couldnât argue with Mingyu when he suggested you stay the night at a motel right down the road.Â
The woman behind the front desk at the motel was chewing so loud that you thought the wad of bubblegum between her teeth might be larger than your palm. She informed you both that the only rooms available were ones with a single queen-sized bed. As much as you desperately wanted two, youâd take what you could get. She started grabbing both of your informations to check in when a loud bolt of lightning cracked, followed by a crash of thunder. You instantly gripped Mingyuâs arm, and he paused signing his name to look down at you.
âAre you scared of thunder?â He asked playfully.
Realizing how tight you were holding on, you quickly removed your hand. âNo, Iâm ⌠itâs fine.â
His bicep felt so much harder than anticipated. All muscle.Â
Stop that.
The front desk attendant gave you an actual metal key to open your room, the number dangling from a kitschy pendant. This was the kind of motel where you needed to venture outside to get to your room, and with your arms locked together, Mingyu led you both through the pouring rain to the right building. He shoved the key in the lock, immediately opening the door and allowing you to walk inside first.
The room was smaller than expected. The heat was hardly circulating and you were still shivering. A queen-sized bed was situated in front of an old RCA TV, decorated with a comforter that looked strangely similar to the one from the 80s that your mom had given you when you first moved out. The room smelled like bleach and all you could hear was the rain on the roof. Noticing you shiver, Mingyu walked over to the thermostat and adjusted the heat.
âMaybe this was a bad idea,â you said, hugging your arms around yourself.
Mingyu pointed to the large window by the door. âI canât drive in that. It takes an hour to get back to the city and I can hardly see the road.â
âOkay, well ââ
Lightning struck again, painting the window white, and you jumped. Mingyu shook his head and walked over, closing the shades over the glass. He looked down at you, and you were acutely aware that he was the kind of person who could say everything just with his eyes. âBetter?â He asked, a smile playing at his pink lips.
He was so close that you could smell his cologne and â god dammit, you were such a sucker for men that smelled good. He smelled like violets mixed with smokey sandalwood, spicy and musky. Whatever you were going to quip back died on your tongue, leaving you to reply, âI canât sleep in my dress. I have nothing to wear to bed.â
Walking over to the tiny closet, Mingyu spotted a robe hanging up next to the vintage ironing board. He placed it in your arms and remarked, âTake a shower and put this on.â
âAre you saying I smell?â
He laughed. âNo, youâre shivering and itâll help warm you up.â
You nodded, heading off to the bathroom and shutting the door. As you slipped off your dress and let it pool onto the tile, you realized how antagonizing you were being for no reason. Mingyu had been nothing but nice to you, but you were suspecting him to switch-up at any moment. Maybe Vernon was right, or maybe you just needed to take a chill pill.
Mingyu was helping you out, after all.
After taking the warmest shower of your life and probably using all of the hot water in the motel, you walked out into the room with your robe tied firmly around your waist. The cotton smelled like mothballs and you hardly left an inch of skin showing. Granted you werenât naked underneath, but you wouldnât give him the satisfaction of seeing your underwear. Again. After five years.Â
He was wearing only a tank top and boxers while setting up a makeshift bed on the floor. You struggled to maintain focus with him looking ⌠well, like that, and eventually spoke up, âWhat are you doing?â
He hardly jumped at hearing your voice. âI figured it would just be easier if I slept on the floor. Trust me, Iâve slept in far worse places.â
âMingyu, you donât have to do that,â you sighed, pulling back the covers and tossing the mismatching throw pillows on the floor.Â
âItâs not a big deal.â
âI know, but itâs just ââ
Thunder clashed outside, sounding like pots and pans clanging together, rattling your bones.
Your eyes connected with Mingyuâs, and you pointed to the empty side of the bed. âSleep in this bed right now.â
âYes, maâam.â
You both agreed â more like, you told Mingyu and he listened â to place a wall of pillows between you two, leaving you on the edges of the bed. You curled up into yourself, your spine facing him, as Mingyu laid on his back and pinched the bridge of his nose. The rain was so loud. The thunder was deafening. You considered plugging your fingers in your ears as you slept.
Mingyu was shifting on the small sliver of mattress he had, wishing internally that he brought a joint or two with him. This bed was so uncomfortable that he probably wouldnât sleep. But hopefully, you would. Although that was seeming highly unlikely from the way your back tensed with every boom of thunder.
He watched you from the corner of his eye, and eventually, you did stop shaking. Soft snores filled the room, replacing the sound of the rain. And then Mingyu felt himself relax, swiftly falling asleep with his arm thrown above his head.
Despite the pillow wall you built, you woke up with your head on his chest.
Mingyu had wanted to tell you how beautiful you looked that day, but he couldnât find the courage to finish his sentence.
Save the Date for the wedding of Lee Chan and Adrianna Olson: April 4th
Tapping your freshly manicured nails on your bare arm, you leaned against the passenger side door of your car and huffed. You uncrossed your arms, beginning to pace outside Mingyuâs apartment building. The ceremony today started in two hours and you were about ninety minutes from the venue. Not to mention, there was only a matter of time before one of his neighbors showed up, forcibly removing you from the parking spot in front of the building you definitely did not live in. What the hell was Mingyu doing anyway? He said heâd be down ten minutes ago.Â
You tugged off your heels, realizing theyâd be a bitch to drive in, and pulled your sneakers from the back seat. Your floral, strapless sundress blew in the Spring breeze. Your curls â that looked like they couldâve been done by a toddler â whisked off your bare shoulders as you stepped into your favorite Nikes.Â
âSorry.â
Popping your head up, you halted while shoving the back door closed. You blinked, assuming your eyes were deceiving you, but there he was, sprinting down the front steps of his building with freshly chopped hair.
Mingyu was quickly walking over to shove his duffle in your backseat, pulling at his tie, when you leaned in and placed your hand on his head. Yep, that was his real hair. Those long locks that had reached his chin were gone, replaced by a hairstyle that was similar to how he looked in college.Â
âI know weâre running late,â he apologized, letting your fingers sink into the strands for a moment, âbut do you have to ââ
âThis is not about that.â You removed your hand, leveling a look at him. âYou cut your hair.â
Mingyu raised a brow. âIt was getting long.â
You paused, blinking at him. âWhy didnât you warn me of your new look?â
âI didnât think I had to?â He shrugged, genuinely confused as to why you were questioning him. âMy hair had gotten even longer since February, so I just thought Iâd freshen up for you ââ
You completely missed his words â for you, heâd freshened up for you â because you were already interrupting him. âWell, itâs just â it might look weird in pictures because my hair is up and your hair is so short. And Iâm already going to have so many people looking at us wondering why my ex, whoâs name I put on the invite, isnât here. And I just want to eliminate as much attention as possible. And, well â and ââ
Mingyu placed both hands on your shoulders. His palms were large, practically burning into your exposed skin. âAre you overthinking?â
âNo, I âŚâ
When your voice trailed off, Mingyu hesitated for a moment longer and then slid his hands off. âVernon told me that you dated the groom. Chan, right?â
Of-fucking-course, Vernon told him. Your lips pursed before you replied, âWe were friends before that, and we only dated for like a couple months in college. I introduced him to the woman heâs marrying.â
âThen why are you so nervous?â
âI think I have a lot of reasons to be nervous these days.â You continued to stare at him, waiting for him to come up with another quippy remark, but it seemed he contested and shoved his hands into the pockets of his suit. The same tailored suit he wore to the wedding in February, a few loose threads at the seams. âLetâs get going. Weâll be in the car for a while,â you said, rounding your car and hopping inside the driverâs seat.
As Mingyu dealt with finding room for his duffle in your trunk, you took this small second to text Vernon.
You: your friend is infuriating
You: also Iâm never going to forgive you for telling him that I dated chan
Vernon: youâll get over it lol
Vernon: is that the only reason why heâs infuriating?
You: HAIRCUT
Vernon: oh I probably shouldâve told you about that when I saw him last week
Vernon: sorry :/
You closed your texts when Mingyu hopped in the passenger seat, turning on your music to drown out your thoughts. The drive was long and you were lucky that you got to the venue with ten minutes to spare. You parked the car in a haste, running to your back seat and quickly tugging your heels back on. You chucked your sneakers onto the car floor, almost hitting Mingyu in the face when he went to grab his phone from the same area. Locking your car, you grabbed his arm and yanked, both of you running towards the venue attached to a pretty hotel. Mingyu, even with his long legs, was struggling to keep up. He was also slightly impressed that you could run so fast in heels, and that was definitely the only reason why he was staring at your legs. He wasnât admiring how long they looked when the wind lifted your skirt and he got a flash of your calf.
Even from your seat in the back of the ceremony, you could see Chanâs face light up as Adrianna was escorted down the aisle. She was wearing a vintage wedding dress, the veil sheer enough to see how beautiful she was underneath, and Chan was eager enough to lift it as soon as they said, âI do.â Adrianna looked like she hadnât aged a day since school, and you could probably say the same for Chan. But he did manage to finally remove the earrings he got six years ago, which made you giggle to yourself.
Mingyu pretended not to notice.
Most of the people at the wedding were old friends from undergrad, even a few Mingyu knew in passing. Every time you were approached, you prepared yourself for the same question: âWhere is He Who Will Not Be Named?â Or, for those that actually knew Mingyu: âSince when did you know Gyu?â You werenât sure how much longer you could fake a smile and laugh, pretend that your heart still wasnât sore from the breakup, rehash the same words over and over again. It was tiring; you were tired.Â
Same explanation. Same heartbreak. You wouldnât be surprised if the whole planet knew of your breakup by now. You didnât announce it anywhere, besides telling your family and close friends. It was natural for people to be curious; you had been with your ex for a couple years, enough for your family to assume that heâd propose. But then he cheated, and you found out, and you were left in pieces, tied to Kim Mingyu as your date for a full year of weddings.
You just didnât want to keep on doing this, explaining yourself ten times over, realizing that everyone was looking at you with interest. Maybe a second glass of champagne would be a good distraction âŚ
âWanna dance?â
You looked up from the rim of your empty glass. Mingyu had knocked you out of your daze, laying out a hand for you to take. The reception was lively with family and friends mingling on the dance floor, but Mingyu had still noticed you alone at the table, lost in your thoughts. Had he always been this attentive, or was he just prone to watching you?
Ignoring your internal monologue, you took his hand, allowing him to lead you to the dance floor. Just as Mingyu was about to place his hand on your waist, the song changed, switching to a more upbeat track you used to blast in college. You immediately started laughing at all the older folks trying to follow the beat, and then found Chan with his wife, shimmying on the dance floor. Mingyu pinched the bridge of his nose, but found himself beaming when he finally saw the smile grace your features. He didnât let go of your hand, let you twirl him to the song that took you back to the musty basement of a frat party.
Chan, at some point, had managed to dance over in your direction, bumping into you with a big grin. âI knew all the alumni here would love this,â he shouted over the music. âDo you remember when you puked outside a window once at some party and you said that it was this song that induced it?â
You were surprised when Mingyu said, âYes,â at the same time as you. Both you and Chan glanced at him, eyebrows raised, until he added, âThat was at one of my parties. I cleaned your vomit off the windowsill!â
The four of you erupted in laughter. Even Adrianna remembered that party, considering that was the night you drunkenly introduced her to Chan. She eventually pulled you away from Mingyu, leading you towards her group of bridesmaids so you all could dance together. But your eyes couldnât help but find Mingyuâs across the floor, and then he was looking at you, and â god dammit, staring at him felt like a crime youâd consider going to jail for.
Everyone was looking at him, but he was looking at you.Â
Actually, Mingyu couldnât seem to take his eyes off you. Not once.
He stared at you as if it was just you two, as if you were stripped bare before him, just for his eyes to see. You could tell from the way he bit his lip while smiling. He looked at you as if you were naked.
Soon enough, you were slipping through the crowd and by his side once again. He was now leaning against the wall by the open bar, nursing a scotch. The party was winding down; all the older family members had left, leaving Chan and Adrianna â plus a few other young couples â swaying to a classic Ed Sheeran song. It wouldnât be long until they ended the night with Canât Help Falling In Love by Elvis Presley. The time war nearing 11 PM.Â
Slinking beside him, he offered the glass to you and you took a sip, wincing at the burn. You stuck out your tongue. âHow can you drink that so smoothly?â
âYears of practice,â he replied, and then flicked your nose in a way that shouldnât make you blush. But you definitely did.Â
You blinked up at him, admiring how pretty he was in the faint, yellow light. Actually, he was pretty in every light, but you liked to find any excuse to admire him. Even if you denied it.
âWanna get out of here?â You asked then, digging your nails into your palms. So afraid of rejection after all these years, even though he agreed to be here. âI think the reception is going to end soon anyway.â
âYeah, sounds good.â He set his half empty glass on a random table and straightened his back before adding, âWhatever youâre comfortable with.â
God, you needed to get it together. Those words were the bare minimum, but when he said them in that slightly muffled voice, it made your nails pinch the inside of your hands harder.
You both stood on opposite sides of the elevator, dragging up, up, up to your room on the seventeenth floor. Your eyes connected. A smile played at his lips. An unspoken tension brewing between the two of you. A feeling you didnât want to be there in the first place, but something you couldnât simply ignore.Â
This couldnât be happening. Not today. Not tonight. Not ever again.
He opened the door for you, allowing you to slip inside and grab your bag. While he rifled through his duffle, you brought your bag into the bathroom and leaned against the sink. You allowed yourself a moment to just breathe. Maybe if you kept exhaling like this, you would release all the tension from your body. You knew how silly it sounded, but desperate times called for desperate measures. You stared at your reflection in the mirror, turning your face from side to side. Was it the makeup that made him look at you that way sometimes? Perhaps he still had a fondness for lipgloss, like he did back in the day.
When you finally stopped studying your appearance, you wiped off your makeup and tugged on a pair of loose pajamas. Wearing these would be so much more comfortable â and less awkward â than the robe you wore after the last wedding. You still had nightmares about that. Carefully tiptoeing out of the bathroom, you expected to find Mingyu already in one of the two full size beds, scrolling through his phone and ignoring the noise you naturally made. But he was on the deck just outside your room, smoke billowing from his mouth.Â
You stood near the unoccupied bed, balancing on the balls of your feet, as you debated your options. A smart person would go right to sleep, leave him to his business. You chewed on your bottom lip nervously.
Despite the slight warmth to the air, you threw on a hoodie, scared of the possibility of your nipples showing through the thin fabric of your t-shirt. You slid open the door and immediately closed it, preventing any smoke from getting into the room. He didnât turn; he knew exactly who was behind him. His back muscles flexed underneath his suit jacket, the joint dangling between his lips as he prayed for his lighter to work again.
âYou probably shouldnât be smoking in this suit,â you said, saddling up beside him.
He chuckled, finally taking a long drag. âI promise to get it dry cleaned before our next adventure.â
Before our next adventure. You bit the inside of your cheek.
Your eyes didnât leave the joint now sitting between two of his fingers. (Jeez, were they always that big?) He let more smoke filter from his lips and into the open air, clouding up the starry night sky. Without even looking at you, he asked, âWhy are you staring?â His words hung in the silence for a moment. âHave you ever smoked before?â
You shrugged. âOnly once or twice with Vernon. Probably as freshmen.â
âYou want me to show you how?â
Blinking at him, all you could do was dumbly nod. Mingyu laughed under his breath, fighting with his lighter again, before eventually holding the flame to the end. He then cautiously passed the joint over to you, allowing the filter to brush your lips. âTake it in your mouth,â he instructed, ânow inhale.â
When you did as he asked, you mustâve inhaled far too deeply, or just didnât exhale at the right time. Because then you were coughing, doubling over as you tried to catch your breath. âHey, hey, hey,â he said, concern etched in his tone, and patted your back as you hacked up what felt like your left lung. His voice was soft, soothing, but you could hardly hear it through the ringing in your ears.
âYeah,â you sighed, voice hoarse, âIâm definitely out of practice.â
As you stood up, his hand stayed on your shoulder, his thumb rubbing patterns. Your breath stilled as you looked up at him. Playing with the joint between his lips, he said, âLet me show you an easier way.â
âOkay,â you agreed, before your conscious could stop you.
You watched as he took a long pull from the joint, sucking it all in until you could see his eyes get a little pinker, and then moved closer to you. Instinctively, your eyes closed and your lips parted, welcoming the scent of him. His lips only lightly grazed yours as he exhaled the smoke into your mouth, letting it engulf your very being, and you felt yourself start to relax. He craned back, grinning down at you, and it took everything within you to not ask for another hit right then.Â
In the moonlight, you could see why you fell hard for Mingyu. He had only gotten more handsome since college. Light, in any form, was so kind to him, but with the stars hanging above his head ⌠it allowed his dark hair to shine, casting a slightly blueish tone to his warm features. You could see the twinkling stars reflecting in his eyes, especially when he leaned back in, expelling more smoke into your mouth.
This felt too intimate. This felt like fucking.
Once you both were so high you could do nothing but laugh, Mingyu stubbed out the joint and you stumbled back into the room. You both were finally going to have a good sleep at one of these, especially since there were two beds. Rolling into your bed, you immediately burrowed under the covers as Mingyu took off his suit in the bathroom.
The last thing you expected was to feel him plop down in your bed. He was wearing so little that it made your thighs press together, or maybe that was just the weed talking. He was disoriented, laying halfway off the edge of your bed, staring at you as if you were the Mona Lisa. You huffed, âMingyuuu. You need to get in your own bed.â
âDo you really want that though?â
His words made your eyes immediately snap open. A grin was tugging at his mouth again, his teeth sinking into that plush bottom lip. Oh, so also wanted ⌠Oh.
You tried to sound cool and nonchalant, âConsidering this is a full size bed, yeah.â
Even in the darkness, even with his back to the moonlight streaming through the glass door â his presence was making you nervous. His eyes werenât leaving yours. You felt your hand inch over, your pinky curling around his.
âIf I can be so honest with you,â he whispered, licking at the corners of his lips, âyou are so beautiful that I want to kill any guy that has done you wrong.â
You exhaled, âMingyu âŚâ
He leaned in, smiling like he knew he caught you in his trap. âYes?â
You were pretty sure that you knew Kim Mingyu by now. You knew that this would be just another night that meant nothing to him. No matter how much he âchangedâ in Vernonâs eyes, it was very clear to you that he remained uncommitted. But fuck it, your heart was still burning from the breakup, stinging from the memory of people uttering your exâs name tonight. It was only going to be a kiss. Just something to soothe the pain.
He was so much closer now, invading your space, his hand completely eclipsing yours. He smelled like marijuana and lingering cologne. âTell me to stop,â he murmured, but you didnât. You let him kiss you, and god, it would be so much easier to dislike Mingyu if he didnât kiss so well.Â
It wasnât long before his tongue was pushing into your mouth, his large body looming over yours as he pressed you into the mattress a little more. And youâre desperate for it; you couldnât stop. This was supposed to be simple â just a kiss â but you could feel yourself falling under his spell, feel how his palms burned against your skin as they dragged down your torso. He explored your mouth like it was the first time, parting your legs to make room for himself on top of you. When his lips left yours, you almost let out a whine, but he helped take off your hoodie before reattaching his mouth to your neck. Those large hands snake under your shirt â up, up, and up â until he was cupping your breasts and you can feel how hard he is against your thigh.
Mingyu looked up at you as he kissed down your torso, his spit soaking through the thin fabric of the t-shirt you were still wearing. He lifted one of your legs, adjusting it so your thigh could rest comfortably on his shoulder and â shit, you knew where this was going. Reaching the waistband of your panties, he begged, âLet me go down on you.â
You mulled over his words. âAre you sure thatâs a good idea?â
âNo,â he grinned against your skin, meeting your eyes from between your legs. âBut thatâs a tomorrow problem. Please?â His head tilted. âDo I have to beg? Iâm willing.â
You bit your tongue, egging him on a little as he nipped at the inside of your thigh. He bucked his hips once, them twice, trying to get the smallest bit of friction on his cock that was currently throbbing in his boxers. He grunted softly against your skin.Â
âAnd if I say, âNo?ââ You asked with a raised brow.
He lifted his head and pouted his lips. After all these years, he still managed the perfect puppy dog eyes that could make just about anyone weak. âDonât be mean,â he pleaded, and you couldnât help but giggle.
âYou like when Iâm mean,â you quipped, giving him permission by helping him shimmy your panties off. He adjusted your legs again, presenting you like a meal.
âI do,â he chuckled, his breath ghosting over your pretty, pink folds. âEspecially, when you act like you didnât want me here in the first place.â
Before you can rebuttal, heâs pressing his face between your thighs, dragging his tongue up your slit to collect the wetness that gathered there. Just the small amount of attention had you keening, your hips jumping for more of him, and Mingyu was happy enough to oblige. His tongue flicked at your clit as he slid one single finger inside of you, testing your limits. Those puppy dog eyes lifted from between your thighs, wanting to see you crumble, knowing that it was him who made you like this. You sighed out his name, your hand coming down to tangle in his hair. And god, if Mingyu didnât love that ⌠heâd be a dead man. He groaned when he felt you tug at the strands, beginning to swirl his tongue in a circle around your puffy clit.
You couldnât even prepare yourself when he shoved another finger inside, pumping them in and out at an unreasonably fast pace. But you were bucking into him, tears pricking at your eyes as you whimpered for him. It was too much but almost too little at the same time. You could practically feel him smile as he devoured you. The bed rattled against the wall when he ground his erection against the frame, so needy and aching. His plump lips suckled on your clit, your slick smearing over his face, but he didnât want to miss a drop of you. He needed more of you, so he started curling three fingers inside of you, teasing that sweet spot.
This wasnât your first rodeo with Mingyu. He knew what you could take.
âMingyu,â you whined, and he glanced up at you again with the most fucked-out eyes imaginable. And still, he didnât stop. âYouâre gonna ⌠Iâm gonna cum so fast.â
He moaned into you, then begged, âPlease. Need to taste you.â
He was so determined, so desperate to feel you shake and moan and cry until he was completely spent on the taste of you. And it wasnât long before he got his wish: as he shoved those three fingers into you, grazing your g-spot while lapping at you like you were his last meal on death row. You unraveled on his tongue, muffling your cries for the rest of the people sleeping on your floor. Biting into your hand, you had physically restrain your body from shaking as your orgasm rocked through you, but Mingyu held you down with a gentle hand on your stomach. He was staring at you again and you were staring at him and fuck, his half-closed eyes made him look like he was drunk on you. You could feel him smirking into your pussy as he collected every last drop of you, knowing that he did a good job. He sighed with relief when he could finally taste you again and again and again.
Once your body settled, you felt him start to tug at your shirt and kiss up your stomach. The thought of now having him inside you made your hands clench with excitement, but dear god, he just knocked the wind out of you and you werenât sure how you could last. You were spent, tired, probably could just fall asleep right now.
You werenât feeling his lips on your skin anymore, so you opened your eyes. The moonlight gave you just enough to see that, despite the raging boner he probably had, Mingyu was now snoring softly with his head resting on your hips. Brows raised, you almost couldnât believe that this was the moment he decided to fall asleep, but you couldnât deny that you had been on the verge of doing the same.Â
Untangling yourself from him, you quickly cleaned yourself up and wiped his face clean with a washcloth. You sighed, using all the brute strength you had to haul him up on what was supposed to be your bed, and wrapped the covers around him. You admired him for a moment, your hand coming up to smooth back his dark hair. Somehow, this felt even more intimate than you cumming in his mouth. So you quickly moved away and slipped under the sheets of the other bed, using his snores as white noise.
The next morning, neither of you spoke of what happened.
Mingyu had wanted to tell you that he had a crush on you the moment Vernon introduced you two all those years ago, even when you disliked him. And slowly but surely, he was starting to realize it never truly went away.
Save the Date for the wedding of Joshua Hong and Jordan Lo: June 20th
Two months passed and the spring air turned sweltering. It was on days like this when you rolled the windows down and wasted gas just to get an overpriced iced coffee that you reminisced. You were taken back to a time when you waited by the curb as Vernon appeared from football practice, and even though he was sweaty, you still always agreed to drive him back to his dorm on the other side of campus. You would watch him say goodbye to his teammates and â shit, the light would catch, and suddenly you were looking at Mingyu wipe the sweat off his face while laughing with the quarterback and â
Now you were thinking about Mingyu again.
You had been thinking about him since April.
All of this felt so silly, like stupid games young 20-somethings played. You knew it wasnât good for you in engage in â well, anything with Mingyu. He had always been perfectly uncommitted with women, and he was clearly obsessed with his work, posting his new recipes or pictures of him and his flag football team on his Instagram stories. You could handle this. You could be an adult and have a functional acquaintanceship with someone you found attractive.Â
So you kept your distance. On the off chance that Mingyu was free and asked if you wanted to get together (which was a shock in itself), you declined. Even if you wanted to. Even if you desperately wondered what would come of it. The next wedding wasnât until the end of June and you were already biting you lip at the thought of seeing him in a suit again.
The only person you could finally blabber to about this was Minghao, and in typical fashion, he laughed. Not that you expected anything less.
âYouâre overthinking the entire situation,â he said over drinks. âItâs completely normal for you to have a little fun, especially while healing from a breakup. Thatâs what being single is all about, my friend.â
He was right. Of course, he was right. But what if Mingyu rejected you yet again, like he did in college? You wanted to talk to Vernon about this. He always gave you the best advice with this stuff, but this was his friend. The last thing you wanted was to make his friendship with Mingyu weird.
You attempted to ignore him. You redownloaded some dating apps as a distraction. You deleted them just as fast.
On the morning of June 20th, your cousin, Jordan, was marrying her longtime boyfriend, Joshua Hong. You had only met Josh on a number of occasions, but considering that they had been together for almost twelve years, you trusted him enough to take care of her. You felt lucky to be chosen as a bridesmaid and youâd never make a fuss, but dear god, the dark blue of this dress clashed with just about everything. The color was so dark and the dress was clinging to just about all of you and Mingyuâs tie was the wrong shade of blue â
Damn, did he look handsome though.
Jordan had made you both get to the venue early for a rehearsal dinner, and then once the morning came, you were whisked off to hair and makeup. You had barely said a word to Mingyu, too scared to give him anything besides small talk, but you couldnât help but compliment the new suit he bought for the last few weddings. âFigured Iâd cave and invest in one that wasnât from Goodwill,â he explained, âfor you.â
For you. For you. For you.
Your heels were hurting your feet halfway through the wedding, and despite how hard you were trying to focus on Joshâs vows, you couldnât help but find Mingyuâs eyes in the crowd. He wasnât paying attention to anyone else, his stare burning into yours to let you know his intent. You swallowed hard. Would anyone notice if you hid your blush behind the bouquet in your hands? It felt like torture having him look at you like this, as if there wasnât an extravagant wedding happening around them, as if he wasnât Kim Mingyu.Â
It wasnât until the reception that you could finally get a word in with your cousin, some much needed alone time after what was surely going to be the craziest wedding you went to this year. You both parked yourself near the open bar, ignoring the guests on the dance floor that were screaming for another round of the Cha Cha Slide. Tucking a strand behind your ear, Jordan said, âI canât thank you enough for doing this for me. Jeez, I really didnât think when I was three and met you a couple weeks after you were born that weâd be here. But I wouldnât have it any other way.â
You grinned, âI wouldnât miss this for the world.â The bartender handed you a new glass of wine and you took a sip. âBesides, these days all I do is work or go to weddings. The life of being a permanent wedding guest, I supposed.â
âSpeaking of guests âŚâ Jordan turned her head slightly, ogling Mingyu from where he was standing up and trying to decline your great auntâs advances to dance. Your cousin giggled. âHe isnât the older guy I thought youâd bring.â
âCircumstances change.â You shrugged, and she gave you a look. âIâd rather not get into it.â
Jordanâs brow raised. âYou guys are having sex though, right?â
You almost choked while taking another sip of your wine. âAbsolutely not.â
âYou sure?â
âWell, I ââ You sighed, and then decided to suck down the rest of the glass in one go. Jordan whistled. âWe did at one point. Very long time ago. But heâs Vernonâs friend and ⌠itâs a long story.â
âSounds like it,â she snorted, eyes flickering around the reception until they landed somewhere behind you. âWell, if youâre not having sex with him, my friend just might tonight.â
Your expression muddled, until she pointed over your shoulder. Turning around, you found Jordanâs Maid of Honor chatting up Mingyu near the stairs that lead to the restrooms. Her hand was inching up his sleeve and he was blushing at what you could only assume was a compliment coming from her lips. He was clearly enjoying the conversation, despite the intimate looks he was giving you earlier.Â
Classic fucking Kim Mingyu, you thought.
A pang of jealousy surfaced that you couldnât control. It was probably best for everyone if you walked away and took a breather. After Joshua pulled his wife onto the dance floor, you adjusted the tight silk of your dress and headed for the bathrooms. You walked past them, your perfume wafting past Mingyuâs nostrils, a scent he would know anywhere.Â
Instead of going inside the bathroom, you decide to stand in the empty hall connected to the venue and brace your back against the cool wall. You sighed, gathering yourself, completely unaware it wasnât just you here until you heard the squeak of someone elseâs shoes.
âI noticed you were empty,â Mingyu muttered as a way of greeting. He was holding two glasses of rosĂŠ between his fingers, stepping down the small staircase to get to you.
It was just you two now, and he was handing you the glass while standing so close that you could smell his cologne. Had this dress always felt that tight, or could you just not breathe right now? You watched the way his eyes flickered to your mouth, and it took everything in you not to yank him closer by the tie. Instead, you took a big gulp of rosĂŠ.
âYou didnât have to come after me,â you remarked, and then nodded your head in the direction of the Maid of Honor now on the dance floor. âYou looked like you were having fun.â
Mingyu simply tilted his head to the side, studying you carefully.
âSheâs pretty. Donât stop on my account, but please be aware that we are sharing a room so you canât bring anyone back there.â
Mingyuâs lips slowly curved into a grin. âAre you jealous?â
You scoffed, âNo. Iâm just ⌠being realistic.â
Taking your half empty glass from your hand, he set them both down on a side table right near the womenâs restroom. Your mouth opened, but the words died as soon as he placed a hand beside your head on the wall. He was so tall that he towered over you, even in heels, leaning into your space with pretty, half-opened eyes as he stared at your glossy lips.
âCan I be realistic with you?â He didnât give you a moment to answer. âI cannot stop thinking about our last night together. I know you probably thought it happened because of the weed, but I ⌠these past two months, itâs all Iâve been thinking about. And itâs killing me that Iâve been trying to be normal this whole night when all Iâve wanted to do is drag you away and make you cum again.â
Your breath hitched slightly at his words. He leaned in then, grazing his nose over the side of your face, desperate to be in your orbit. You took your bottom lip between your teeth and tried to control your heart rate, but how was that even possible when Mingyuâs other hand was brushing up and down your side, tangled in the silk.
âWell, that âŚâ You swallowed hard. âThat wouldnât be a good idea considering all my family is here.â
He tsked under his breath. âObviously, it wouldnât be, but âŚâ You felt his nose at your jaw, inhaling the scent of your perfume again, the one that made him crazy. And he damn near groaned in your ear.Â
âMingyu, you ⌠you ââ
âFuck, how could you think Iâm looking at anyone else here when you look this good in your dress?â His voice had taken on that needy tone he always got when he was horny. It almost felt like a reward to be able to hear it again. âIâve been half-hard this entire reception just from looking at you, remembering the way you tasted âŚâ He muttered another curse.
This was how he always acted. Mingyu could be so desperate and pleading when he wanted to get someone in bed, needy to the point he would do anything just to please you, but god â you couldnât deny how much you liked it. He was reeling you in. You were like fish to bait.
Slowly, he laced your dominant hand with his and moved it from his belt buckle to his groin. You could barely breathe when you felt him harden under your touch, and then you remembered you were still in a public hallway, where just about anyone could walk by.Â
Your eyes met his half-lidded ones as he murmured, âLook what youâre doing to me.â
And god help you, because you whimpered at the sound of his voice, slick starting to gather between your thighs.
âOkay, Mingyu, just âŚâ You sighed, composing yourself because you knew he wasnât going to any time soon. Your hand slipped away from his and he huffed, his forehead falling to rest on your shoulder. âGo to our room and let me make my rounds. Iâll meet you up there.â
He stood up. For a moment, he was almost tempted to drag you into the bathroom and bury his face between your legs, too hungry to let you get away now. But one of your uncles was walking down the hall, and you separated quickly. With a nod, you walked back to the reception and said goodbye to your family that you didnât get to talk to for too long prior. Jordan gave you a look when you mentioned about going to bed early, and even Josh told you how weird you were being, but your cousin shut him up and sent you a wink.
You exhaled heavily and headed back to hotel on the other side of the venue. Slipping your heels off once you were inside the elevator, you debated if giving into Mingyu this easily was the smart thing to do. Smart? Definitely not. But would it be enjoyable? You didnât need to answer that question. Mingyu knew what he was doing.
As you unlocked the door to your hotel room, you began to wonder if you were just setting yourself up to be hurt again. He didnât come back to you like this in college, but whatâs stopping him from telling you that heâs âjust not that into youâ at the next wedding? Or what if he just thought of you as an easy hookup that would get his dick wet every 2 months? Well, you hadnât done that yet â
Yet. Yet. Yet.
The word repeated in your head like a melody, because when you threw your purse down and saw Mingyu walking out of the bathroom, fresh from a shower and dressed in only a towel around his waist, you realized that you were most definitely getting his dick wet tonight. Whether it was in your mouth or somewhere deeper, you were salivating for it.Â
He was smiling at you and you were smiling at him and Jesus, he was so goddamn handsome that you couldnât believe that he was the one desperate for you. Droplets of water trickled down his tan skin and that towel around his waist was just barely holding on. His torso was chiseled and his arms â fuck, his biceps were bigger than you remembered. He was something out of a dream â some horny, fucked-up dream that you only had after masturbating before bed.
He was on you instantly, pushing you against the wall and kissing you hard. Sighing into the kiss, your hands fist into the towel to yank him closer, but it only makes the flimsy fabric fall. You break away for a moment to mutter, âOh, shit,â but his lips canât stay away from yours for long. And heâs laughing, like you did exactly what he wanted. You were too hypnotized by the scent of his body wash to care.
Dragging his lips down your neck, he sucked at the spot that he knew made your thighs press together, grinning proudly against your skin when you moaned. His fingers gripped the soft silk of your dress, slowly pulling the fabric up to feel you that much closer. But it wasnât enough. No matter how much he liked you in this dress â and god, did he like you in this dress â he needed you out of it. Now.
Mingyu unzipped your dress with precision, setting it down on one of the two beds in the room, and both of you were suddenly wishingthere was only one. His hands smoothed down your sides, his breath hot against your mouth. He just wanted to feel you everywhere. He almost didnât want to step away, afraid youâll slip through his fingers like sand. When you two had hooked up in college, it was quick and explosive, letting out the tension that had been building for years. There was so much territory for him to cover now, so many ways for him to find out what made you whine and sigh with pleasure. But, if he were being honest, all he wanted right now was for you to â
âSit on my face,â he begged, caging you into the wall, pressing his hard cock against your stomach. So desperate for just an ounce of friction, so hungry for another taste of you. He could literally start drooling at the thought of it. He was mesmerized by you; heâd do anything you asked just to have your pussy on his tongue again.
But you seemed to be debating your options, biting you lip again, and he wished that didnât turn him on even more. You were just so pretty, and the way your face scrunched as you decided on something was a sight he couldnât help but think about when he touched himself, even all those years ago. It was just you. You.Â
Eventually, your face relaxed, and you replied, âWell, you donât have to beg me.â
Mingyuâs lips pulled into a smile, and he laughed while pulling you down onto the nearest bed. Despite his request, you continued to straddle his torso and kiss him for just a little while longer. He was needy, moaning into your mouth whenever his cock bumped against your ass, but all you wanted to feel his lips on yours, tangle your tongue with his, even if it was just for another minute.Â
You forgot Mingyu was stronger than you, though. It wasnât much longer before he was yanking your body up and turning you around so you knelt just above his face. He inhaled the scent of your pussy and almost breathed a sigh of relief, but instead muttered, âSuch a tease sometimes.â
Now that you were hovering above him, you were suddenly self conscious about how excited you were and if your arousal was seeping onto his face. You couldnât even see if he was thrilled or not, since he had turned you to face away from him, but the way his cock jumped in front of your eyes told you enough. His hands gripped your thighs tight. âI donât want to crush you,â you said nervously.
âYou could suffocate me and I wouldnât have a problem with it."
You chewed on your bottom lip. His tone was firm, probably the most serious youâd ever heard from him. But you were embarrassed and this was crazy and you still so wet. With flushed cheeks, you asked, âMingyu, are you ââ
âYes,â he answered before pulling you down onto his face.
He wasnât teasing you tonight. He was devouring you without even letting you catch your breath. His tongue swiping at your clit before he sucked on it â hard. So hard that you let you a sound that was a mixture of a yelp and a moan. Gripping you roughly, he spread you wider, drinking more of you in. Your hips moved on their own, grinding against his face, which made him groan into your pussy. The vibration in his voice spread throughout your entire body, goosebumps lining your flesh. âMingyuuu,â you whined, begging for more, and you could practically feel him smirk as he flicked at your swollen clit.Â
Leaning forward, you turned your head up and noticed again just how hard he was. His cock had always been perfect: the perfect size, dark pink at the tip, veins etched into the shaft. Precum beaded at the head, sliding down every so slowly, as he throbbed and ached and â god, his hips were almost thrusting into the air now. You didnât doubt he could get off for hours on this, but that didnât mean he needed to be unsatisfied.
Besides, you wanted something to do with your mouth anyway.
Mingyu whimpered as you shifted slightly to reach his cock. Your body stretched, your mouth at the perfect angle as you flicked the head with your tongue. He pulled you back towards his mouth, shoving his tongue inside your tight hole and making you gasp at the same time you licked a stripe up his shaft. His tongue worked you open while you swirled your own along the tip, and then finally took him into your mouth.
The grunt he released shouldâve caused an earthquake.
You bobbed your head up and down his shaft, choking when he bucked into your mouth. You could hardly breathe, taking every opportunity to inhale through your nose, but you couldnât stop. You didnât want to stop. God forbid, you have a hobby like wanting Kim Mingyuâs cock in your mouth. He took the liberty of grinding you against his face with his own hands, wrapping his lips around your clit again, eager to taste your climax. And to be honest, he wasnât sure how much longer he was going to last if you kept sucking on his tip like that. He groaned each time, feeling your tongue circle his head before going back down, taking as much as you could, as if you were rewarding him. And he just couldnât help but whine along with you.
Your lips pulled off him to kitten lick the veins along the sides of his shaft, and you breathily asked, âAre you close?â
His only response was a moan straight into your pussy.
You nodded, even if he couldnât see it, before your mouth opened like second nature. You spit on his cock and stuffed him down your throat once again. Head moving faster, you were slobbering on him like a dog in heat, trying not to gag and failing. Your free hand snaked up to cup one of his balls, and the sound he released was deafening. His tongue flicked and sucked at your clit like he had nothing left to live for, hungry for every last drop of your essence.
But then you were cumming, and he was too not long after.
You cried, choking on his cock as you came all over his face. White blurred in your vision, and you were a mess of sweat and spit and so much cum. He exploded in your mouth a moment later, hot seed running down your throat, and you consumed all of it. Neither of you wanted to miss out on the taste of each other. It was filthy, intoxicating, how much you liked this. How much you could suck him off over and over again, and not get tired of him.
You didnât know it at the time, but Mingyu would say the same about you. If not worse.
He could spend all day between your thighs and never want to leave.
When you both finally angled off each other, spent and exhausted, your breathing was heavy and off by two seconds. Mingyu was glancing over at you before you could even process, a smile playing at his swollen lips. He brushed away a strand of hair that was stuck to your sweaty forehead.
âMingyu,â you finally said, âhas anyone ever told you that you have boyfriend dick?â
Mingyu had wanted to tell you how much heâd been dreaming of that moment, how much you had haunted his dreams and left him waking up so hard that he felt he was going through puberty again. Sometimes he dreamed of how good it would feel when he finally slipped into you, inch by inch. Youâd feel like home.
Save the Date for the wedding of Lee Seokmin and Quinn Song: July 31st
You couldnât go a day without talking to Mingyu. Whether it be through text or over the phone, you were joking with him, telling him about your day, and vice versa. Just a month prior, you had tried keeping your distance, but now ⌠you simply couldnât help yourself. It was like there was a voice inside your head telling you to contact him, to send him a funny video you saw that day, to tell him about the show you were currently watching. And on nights when you had too much to drink, that voice made you text him that you missed him. He always said he missed you too.
Mingyu: Iâm watching that show you recommended
Mingyu: kinda wish you were watching it with me
Mingyu: but Iâm still content here and I can see why you like it so much
You: right?? I knew youâd like it!
You couldnât help but giggle at your phone when his texts came through. And you answered them immediately, like you always did.Â
Mingyu: what are you doing right now?
You: wouldnât you like to know
Neither of you made the effort to go on an actual date. It was all just flirty texts with a TikTok mixed in every once in a while. Promises about going back to that coffee shop someday, but never planning the day. To be honest, this was one of those moments where you were glad Mingyu was so uncommitted. If you started going on dates that didnât include a vow exchange in between, it would be so easy to fall for him again, and then be let down when he eventually didnât want to see you after wedding season.Â
Mingyu: I mean thatâs why I asked
You: Iâm hanging out with
A pillow was suddenly thrown at your head. âOw!â You shouted, head shooting up from your phone to glare at Vernon sitting on the other side of the couch. âWhat the hell was that for?â
âAnakin is literally burning alive and all you can do is look at your phone!â Vernon scoffed, turning Revenge of the Sith back on. You set your phone down on your lap as he muttered, âKinda wish I never won that bet.â
Vernon, obviously, was becoming increasingly annoyed that you and Mingyu had rekindled ⌠whatever this was. Sometimes you wondered if you were talking to Mingyu more than your best friend, but given the way Vernon was acting, that was probably the case. You probably shouldnât even be texting Mingyu while hanging out with Vernon. Bad friend move; happens to the best of us.Â
You apologized to Vernon in the best way possible: you bought him fried chicken from his favorite spot.
As summer came along, so did Seokmin and Quinnâs wedding at the end of the month, an invitation that was barely hanging on by an old Britney Spears magnet on your fridge. Quinn Song had been your first ever roommate out of college. You both had met on a Facebook group to find roommates in the area and quickly hit it off. She had been your roommate up until last year actually, when her now-fiancĂŠ Lee Seokmin asked her to move in with him. It was at that point that you finally decided to live alone, besides the few days out of the week that Vernon crashed at your apartment.
The wedding was being held on a pretty island in the northeast, nestled on the expansive grounds of a bed and breakfast in the area. The spot felt warm and lived in, the exact kind of place you imagined Quinn would get married at.Â
Meeting Mingyu at the airport had been awkward, but at the very least, you two were sitting in different rows of the plane. Maybe it shouldnât have been as cringe-worthy as it was, given the fact that you two had been talking nonstop, but it was the memory that the last time you did see each other in person, you were sitting on his face and his cock was so far down your throat â
Mingyu had found your eyes a couple rows behind him on the plane. Even he was blushing now, as if he could read your thoughts.
You had rented a car once you reached your destination and threw him the keys, letting him drive the convertible down the coast while the summer breeze whipped through your hair. You tried not to notice the way his hand twitched on the gear shift, like he was itching to place his palm on your thigh, to ground himself to your presence. But he didnât. He couldnât. Especially when all you could do was stare out the window with a big smile on your face.
Unfortunately, you had to book a room at a small hotel near the bed and breakfast since all the rooms were used for the wedding party. The hotel was quaint, but definitely old and smelled like the Febreze scent your mom used to love when you were a kid. Your room was tinier than the pictures implied, but it was on the first floor and had a screen door that opened to a pretty view of the ocean. You didnât have much time to enjoy it though, considering that the ceremony was in a few hours and the reception would probably carry on until way past midnight.
You decided to rewear the floral sundress that made a previous appearance at Chan and Adriannaâs wedding. It wasnât like anyone here was at that event, and honestly, you didnât care. Throwing your hair up into a perfectly messy updo, you curled a few pieces and took your time with your diligent makeup routine. Mingyu was in his suit before you could even blink, biding his time while you got ready by watching past game recordings of the flag football team he taught and trying to identify key moves they missed out on. As you finished up and clumsily slipped on your shoes, the perfume you sprayed seemed to beckon him like a siren song, and suddenly, he was leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom, meeting your eyes in the mirror.
Your brows shot up. âDone with your flag football research?â
âYouâre beautiful,â he replied.
You turned, unable to stop your lips from pulling into a soft smile. His expression was so warm, cheeks tinged slightly pink either from embarrassment or a nasty sunburn. He was beautiful. In ways you couldnât even comprehend.Â
Holding out your necklace to him, you asked, âCan you help me put this on?â
He nodded, plucking the dainty chain from your palm. You moved back to the mirror as he struggled to open the clasp with his thick fingers, but he got it eventually. Placing the thin, gold chain around your neck, you watched the small, star-shaped pendant sit so delicately under your collarbones. He fixed the clasp on your neck, his fingers brushing the top of your spine, and you watched him lean forward in the mirror.
His lips ghosted over the shell of your ear, breath hot and making the hairs on your neck stand up. âI meant it, by the way,â he whispered, and then placed the softest of kisses behind your ear.Â
Your breath hitched, and you were unable to form a single coherent thought. For the first time in a while, he was catching you by surprise. He was moving back, and you noticed him smirk in the mirror, knowing exactly how he was affecting you. That annoying asshole â
âReady to head out?â He asked, grabbing his wallet from the desk.
You huffed and tugged the strap of your purse onto your shoulder. âOf course.â
The grounds of the bed and breakfast were bigger than you assumed, enough to fit an extremely large tent and hardwood floor for all the guests to congregate. The ceremony was held near the shoreline of the ocean, and it was so, unapologetically Quinn to have a few seashell pins in her veil as she walked towards her husband. You had known Seokmin as long as Quinn had been your roommate, but you had never seen this kind of smile on his face until now. He completely lit up at the sight of her, and he didnât waste a second to say, âI do,â once his time came.
As the guests crowded into the tent for the reception, Mingyu seemed to hold onto you like a toddler with itâs parent. His arm was locked around yours, letting you lead him through the crowd, even though he was tall enough to see over the tops of everyoneâs heads. His palm was so warm on your wrist, and then his fingers were so easily lacing through yours, and you squeezed because you simply couldnât help yourself.Â
You were able to find your table easily, but you didnât recognize the other people already there. They introduced themselves as Seokminâs friends, and you remembered seeing one or two of them at a bar. You still couldnât get a read on these people, and found yourself swiftly growing silent around their shared camaraderie. But Mingyu was suddenly so talkative, catching along with their jokes just as quickly, so you stood and whispered in his ear, âDo you want a drink?â
He leaned back to meet your eyes, and you swore time stopped for a moment. His hand reached down, squeezing your wrist, as he said, âYou know what I like.â
Jesus. Fuck. Since whendid he have you this wrapped around his finger?
(Probably since sophomore year of college.)
You nodded, swinging your head in the direction of the bar, and your feet had started to head there when you halted in place. It almost felt like your heels were glued to the floor as you found the face of the last person you expected to be here. The only face that could make all the noise drown out around you.
Your ex.
He still had that same curl that always got in his eyes. He was wearing the same suit he wore to your motherâs engagement party last year. The same watch on his wrist; the same cufflinks. Same. Same. Same. And now, he was meeting your eyes across the room. Bodies formed in clusters under the tent â some hugging, some stumbling into each other â but he was unable to look away.
Until a head popped up in front of him, standing from her chair at the table. Her wedge sandals almost made her taller than him, and her dress looked expensive enough that he probably bought it. You didnât know her, but you knew of her. Well, at least, you knew what the back of her head looked like, and that was her right there.Â
You couldnât forget the night even if you tried. Exhaustion had your shoulders sagging as you unlocked the door to your boyfriendâs apartment. He didnât typically keep it locked, but you had a key anyway. You remembered how quiet the place was, except for the soft sounds echoing from his bedroom. At first, you thought he was just masturbating, and to be honest, you were too tired to engage in anything tonight. But a voice in your head had urged you to move, to go, go, go towards his room. And you were slowly pushing open the door, only to find your boyfriend fucking your 22-year-old neighbor from behind, yanking on her short hair like a leash. You had been too scared to move, too scared to breathe, but eventually, you had started wailing. His eyes had found yours â exactly like in this moment â and he screamed, slipping away completely as your back slid to the floor. He had tried explaining, tried to yell at the young girl, but everything had drowned away in that moment, and all you could hear was the ringing in your ears â
Your breathing was growing rapid, just like that day at his apartment. Sprinting to the inside of the bed and breakfast, you tried to act normal and say hello to whoever you knew mingling by the bathroom. But something was clearly very wrong. It was evident in your eyes, the way tears were pricking at the sides. You almost thought the universe was pulling a cruel prank on you, but then you remembered that it was Quinn who had introduced you two in the first place, that he had been a friend of a friend.Â
Climbing up the staircase in the lobby, you plopped yourself down on the middle step and let your face fall into your hands. You began to count your breaths â one, two, three, one, two, three â anything to make you get a semblance of control. But you could feel your brain spinning, and your heart was beating too fast. Was this what it felt like to die? Was your cheating ex going to be the last face you saw before you completely slumped against this staircase? Vernon always said you had a flair for the dramatic. What a fitting way to end.
You felt a weight sink into the plush carpet next to you, and you lifted your head, tears brimming your eyes.
âYou do realize that this isnât your party. You canât cry if you want to,â Mingyu joked, reaching out and swiping the tear at your lash line. His eyes softened then, looking at you like you were something fragile, like a baby bird. âWhatâs wrong?â His voice was hardly about a whisper.
You sniffled, dabbing at the corners of your eyes with your knuckles. The last thing you needed was your makeup messed up. âThis is so embarrassing. Iâm crying over something so âŚâ Your words trailed off, noticing that he was leveling a look at you. You sighed before admitting, âI forgot that the bride, Quinn, might invite my ex because they were friends. Somewhat.â
âYour ex? As in that ex?â His brow shot up, and you nodded. âDid he come alone?â
You looked down at your hands in your lap, and after a moment, you watched his large palm slowly envelope one of yours. The rough pads of his fingers â the hands of a cook â brushed over your knuckles, and his touch was so warm that it could burn.Â
His voice was soft in your ear as he said, âYou donât have to talk about it if you donât want to.â
You chuckled a little, turning to look at him again. âThen weâd be sitting on this staircase forever.â
He smiled at you and stretched out his long legs. âThatâs fine with me.â
Your lips pursed, and you found him staring at them for a moment. A sigh escaped, and you glanced down at your laced hands. How perfectly they fit together, how he held you with such a fierce softness. His thumb grazed the scar on your knuckle that you got the first time you fell off your bike. Finally, you answered, âHe came here with the girl he cheated on me with.â
Mingyu didnât speak, but you did hear him do a sharp intake.
âSheâs twenty-two. She didnât â she doesnât know any better. Heâs in his early thirties and heâll do it again,â you continued, chewing on your bottom lip for a moment. âI found them in his apartment after I came home from a late meeting at work. It was ⌠messy. Walking in on them, the fallout, now this ⌠everything about that breakup has felt like one big mess. And now, I have to see him here and be reminded of it allâfuckingâover again.â
You didnât even dare to meet his eyes as the next words tumbled out of your mouth, already feeling your voice start to break again. âIt didnât just hurt because I found them. It hurt because ⌠I never wanted to become my mother. I love her. I really do. But the last thing I ever wanted was to become her. Be in the same situation as her. And yet, there I was, witnessing yet another infidelity that would affect my life for what seems like forever.â You rubbed at your running nose. âI found my father cheating too. It wasnât exactly the same. I found him kissing my best friendâs mom in my parentâs bedroom one night when my mother stayed at work too late. The sentiment still stands, and history was always bound to repeat itself. Daughters always become their mothers and I always have to bear witness to another man not choosing to stick around ââ
Mingyu stopped you by turning your face towards his, one hand cupping your cheek. His thumb skimmed the tears running through your blush. He didnât say anything; his eyes let you know that he was here. That he was sticking around. Despite everything you thought of him, despite your past â Mingyu was here.Â
He held you for as long as you needed, gathering you in his arms and cradling your head against his shoulder. He let your tears soak into the fabric of his expensive suit, promising heâd get it dry-cleaned, which made you laugh. Your fingers clutched his lapels and you almost considered not letting go. You would give anything to stay in this bubble, to sit on this staircase in his embrace forever.
âI meant what I said all those months ago,â he said, his voice muffled from his lips at the crown of your head. âI would kill any guy that has done you wrong. Do you want me to kill him?â
You chuckled and raised your head from his shoulder. âWhat are you gonna kill him with? A butter knife?â You shook your head. âNo chef is gonna let you in that kitchen tonight to grab a weapon. You of all people should know that.â
Mingyu grimaced. âThis conversation is getting morbid.â
Another laugh bubbled at your lips. âYou brought it up!â
âAnd youâre smiling again,â he said, making your hands hold onto him tighter. âThatâs all I could ask for.â
Such simple words could take your breath away, especially when they came from his mouth. You searched his eyes for a moment, your fingers now smoothing out the creases in his lapel. Eventually, you whispered, âI donât know if I can survive this whole reception. I hate the awkward tension, but I should stay for Quinn.â
âTrust me, I know,â he snickered, and his hand covered over yours as an anchor. âI say we stay at the reception for as long as your comfortable. Then we go to bed early. Whatever works for you.â
Your smile was so kind as you nodded along with his plan. After touching up your makeup, you took his hand and let him lead you back to the reception. Once you saw Quinn in her short, after party dress and looking at Seokmin with stars in her eyes, you instantly felt more at ease. This was her day; you wouldnât let one person sour it. And Mingyu, clearly, wasnât going to let your own nerves sour it either. Anytime you locked eyes with your ex, there Mingyu was, distracting you by whispering in your ear how pretty you looked or asking you about your best memories while living with Quinn. There was one moment where you saw your ex heading in your direction, assuming he was finally going to talk to you, and Mingyu stood up to whisk you onto the dance floor. His large arms enveloped you, holding you close, as you swayed to one of your favorite songs. Everything about him felt safe, secure, and he even let you stand on his feet when you told him you had never been that good at dancing. And when you looked at him, you noticed that he was staring at you like how Quinn looked at Seokmin during her speech. Even when you had cried, had let him in, see parts of you that not even Vernon touched ⌠he looked at you like you were the only person in the room.
You stayed at the reception far longer than anticipated. When you told Mingyu that you were too tired to stay any longer, he didnât question it. He simply grabbed your purse and jacket before taking your arm in his, walking the short distance back to your Febreze-ridden hotel. The first thing you did once you were back in your room was take off your heels. They were only a kitten heel, but your feet were already blistering, and you winced as you went to the bathroom to wash off your makeup. Mingyu had set your stuff down on the small desk before walking out onto the deck connected to your room. You craned your neck out, assuming he was going to smoke a joint, but he was just staring at the ocean, noticing how loud the waves crashed against the shore.
You padded out of the bathroom and leaned against the door frame for a moment, admiring him in the dim light. It almost left in you in disbelief how you had roped Kim Mingyu, one of the most attractive men youâd ever met and probably one of the longest crushes youâd ever had in your life, into being your wedding date for an entire year. He had a lost a bet, but he really didnât have to be here. He didnât have to invest in a new suit. He didnât have take the time off from his two jobs. He didnât have to listen to your trauma, or look at you like you were this painting to be worshipped, this Mona Lisa of sorts. Mingyu couldâve said no.Â
But he didnât.Â
âIâm going to take a shower,â you finally informed him, and he turned to meet you eyes. âCan you help me out of my dress?â
He nodded diligently, following you to the bathroom. You pulled your hair up with one hand, and with deft fingers, he slid the zipper down your back. Typically, you would hold the dress to your chest until he left the bathroom, out of respect, but you were letting it pool at your feet tonight. You stepped out of it, your gaze locking with his as you turned on the shower. You were giving him this look and he was still standing there in his half-buttoned dress shirt, hands forming into fists as he fought the urge touch you. Waiting for a sign. Waiting for your permission.
But you didnât even have to say anything. Your eyes said the words for you. As you climbed into the standing shower, he took his time removing his suit, pretending as if he wasnât fucking dying to have his hands on you, and then he was behind you, the hard panes of his chest flush against your back. He closed the shower door as the glass began to fog up.
The water was scalding as it rained down on your head, steam forming around the small bathroom. You could still feel the dried tears on your face, imprinted underneath your makeup all night, and you did your best to wash them away. Mingyu noticed the way your shoulders sagged, the way you sighed while you were lost in thought, and as much as wanted touch you in places that made those sweet sounds fall from your lips, he held himself back. Instead, he let his hands comb through your wet hair before scrubbing shampoo into the strands. You relaxed against him, closing your eyes as he washed your hair.
It was so domestic that you could cry.Â
(Again.)
The last person you ever thought could be capable of this kind of care was Mingyu. You both had known each other for eight years, and not once had he displayed this kind of person around you. Or maybe you just werenât paying attention, too lost in your own perception of him. Even now, you couldnât help but remind yourself of when he avoided you after the hookup in senior year. He really isnât the same guy, Vernonâs voice echoed in your head. Give him a chance. You had never trusted those words, but in this moment ⌠you realized where you had went wrong.
The water began to get cold when it came time to wash his own hair and you could tell he was struggling to rush. His mannerisms made you giggle, and even though the steam began to dissipate from the room, you still turned to his front and rested your forehead on his chest, letting the lukewarm water beat down your neck.
When you walked out of the shower, you had never felt more fresh and at ease. Your body was all warm and you had brought the comfiest pajamas for summer weather. The breeze wafting off the ocean blew through your room from the open screen door, and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore could lull you to sleep.
But right now, it seemed like neither of you were keen on the subject. As you slipped under the covers next to each other, you were grateful that there was only one bed: one large, king-sized bed that both of you could be using to spread out. Instead, you were huddled close, hair still wet from the shower, and his arms locked around you like he couldnât bear the thought of letting you go. Your hands cupped his face, studying parts of him that you didnât think of in your previous lust-induced hazes. Fingers traced his lips, brushed over the tip of his nose â where his tiny mole was stamped â before you skimmed the shell of his ear.
You almost didnât recognize your own voice as you whispered, âThank you for tonight.â
âAnytime,â he smiled.
A beat of silence. Hands stilled. Lips pursed.
âMingyu?â
âYeah?â
âPlease, kiss me.â
His mouth was on yours before you could even finish the sentence, but he still took his time exploring new ways to make you moan into the kiss. He kept one hand splayed on your back, pressing you further into him, while the other played with the hem of your loose t-shirt. Your hands knotted into his hair as he kissed you slow, savoring you like a fine meal. And you simply let him. You were like molten lava, melting in the palm of his calloused hands.Â
You felt his fingers prod at the waistband of your shorts, and it was game over. Slipping them under, he practically whined into your mouth when he realized you hadnât put any panties on after the shower. His mouth disconnected from yours, fingers sliding between your slick folds. âAre you trying to kill me?â He breathed against your lips.
âIn my defense,â you chuckled softly, âI forgot to bring them to the bathroom.â
He laughed with you, and you were debating on crying again because he was so kind and good and definitely just as obsessed with you as you were with him. No matter how many times you didnât want to admit it, you had somehow fallen into Kim Mingyuâs trap once again.Â
He kissed you again, hungrier this time, as he spread you open with his fingers. You whimpered, but he swallowed it with his tongue and began to rub tight circles on your clit. Your leg lifted, hooking onto his waist, and you bucked against his hand. Your body felt like it was on fire, but Mingyu was careful, plucking your strings like a guitar, and you needed moremoremore. Pushing two fingers inside of you, his kiss was like a sound barrier as he consumed all your sweet sounds, as if that would allow him to hear them forever.Â
It was only when you came apart that he dragged his lips to your neck, wanting to focus on your moans as he fucked you with his fingers. He felt you shake, your pussy squeezing his thick fingers, and he kept rubbing your clit through it, wanting to prolong your orgasm as much as possible. If not for you, then for him, just so he could hear you. He would make you cum as many times as you wanted if it meant he could hear his name falling from your lips.Â
Neither of you wanted to stop; all fumbling hands and shaky limbs as he finally tugged your shorts off. It was a lot more difficult to take off his boxers without separating from you, but you laughed and you were so pretty that he almost forgot what he was doing in the first place. Once he was situated, you rolled on top of him, straddling his lap. You held his face in your hands, and for a moment, you could almost see reflections of the dark ocean outside in his starry gaze. Your palms drifted down, fingertips tracing the hard panes of his chest. He was all muscle, sculpted like your very own David statue; his complexion so similar to golden hour personified.
You lifted your t-shirt off and tossed it onto the floor. Mingyu was already so hard that it hurt, but he took a few more seconds to stare at you. He wanted to remember this moment forever: the sight of you on top of him, naked and vulnerable, hair wet and a faint blush on your cheeks.
Sitting up on your knees, you positioned yourself right over his cock and gripped the shaft to get the perfect angle inside of you. You were looking at him and he was looking at you as you lowered yourself slightly, grazing his tip against your wet slit, still dripping from your previous orgasm. Mingyu groaned at the sensitivity, throwing his head back against the pillow and muttering, âThis is so mean.â
âYou like when Iâm mean,â you giggled, repeating the same words you uttered that fateful night after Chanâs wedding, when Mingyuâs face was buried between your thighs.
And Mingyu recognized it too, a grin making itâs way to his lips. But that was soon replaced by look of complete bliss as you finally sunk down onto his cock. He was the perfect size, filling you just right but never uncomfortable. He gave you a moment to adjust, but you could tell from his white-knuckled grip on your hips that he was damn near fighting the urge to thrust up into you. He didnât though. He was patient and perfect and all yours.
You anchored yourself to him with one hand on his shoulder, beginning to rock into him at a snailâs pace. Your eyes connected, and even as he moaned underneath you, he was unable to stop smiling. Mingyu let you set the pace, and you took your time, getting to know what speed had him pulling your hips harder. The angle had him buried so deep inside that you could practically feel him in your stomach, and you sighed each time as you moved against him.Â
âFuck,â he whined, shifting to sit up against the headboard. âIâve needed you so bad.â
âI know, I know,â you confessed in a breathy whimper. âMe too.â
He was digging his fingers into your hips so hard that you were sure thereâd be marks, but you didnât care right now. You just wanted him, wanted this. Wanted to be this connected to him and feel him this deep and cum together as the waves crashed against the shore outside. He began to move you on his own accord, bouncing you on his cock as he leaned forward to nip and suck at your neck. âSo pretty,â he mused against your skin, breath stuttering as your walls tightened. âSo pretty sitting on my cock.â
You were the one whining now, raking your fingers into his dark strands as your thigh muscles burned. Your breasts jumped with each slam of his hips against yours, and he planted hot, open-mouthed kisses down your throat, dipping his tongue into your collarbone, before latching his mouth around one of your nipples.
Your hands pulled at his hair. âMingyu, please,â you cooed, not exactly sure what you were begging for. Just moremoremore.Â
His eyes lifted to yours and you watched him fucking smile while tugging at your nipple. You were melting like putty, and he was able to still move you with one hand, using his free one to cup your other breast and run his thumb over that nipple. Tears pricked at your eyes, feeling him pulse inside you with each pass. And when he started to thrust up into you, you were pretty sure that you were close to seeing stars.
âWanna cum with you,â he rasped while switching breasts and flicking his tongue over your other nipple. âPlease, wanna cum inside you.â
You nodded, too cock drunk to say anything besides, âYesyesyes.â
He was rolling your hips now, practically rutting into you as he lifted his head from your chest, leaving a trail of spit. You leaned down and let his lips ghost over yours. Moans slipped from your mouth into his, and he was bouncing you on his cock so fast you almost couldnât register to breathe. His breath was hot against your lips, so close he could feel his body shaking, but he needed you to be closer, needed to feel you tightened around him and milk him for everything he was worth.
Snaking a hand between your bodies, he found your clit easily, knowing your body better than anyone ever had. All you could hear in that moment was the sound of the ocean through your screen door and skin slapping against skin. You were so wet and warm and â shit, you were starting to clench around him. He rolled your clit between two fingers, and a whimper slipped out of his mouth when he felt your pussy clamp around his throbbing cock.
He needed to cum and so did you and â fuck, he could feel it, feel you, feel how deep he was inside.
He would do this forever if you asked.
âFuck, Mingyu, oh my god, right there, right there ââ You pleaded in his ear, feeling yourself tip right over that edge â
Then you were cumming.
And so was he.
You moaned his name like it was a prayer, shattering as you came undone. Your walls were squeezing him like a vice, and he was unable to hold himself back anymore, burying himself to the hilt before painting your insides white with his orgasm. Hips jerked, bodies went taunt. You felt your whole being dissolve into nothing but pleasure, molding yourself to him in his arms. When the rush of warmth started to fade and he felt your combined releases seep from between your thighs, he breathed out a sigh of relief, brushing kisses over your jaw.
You werenât sure you were in your right mind. Everything was so hazy. But you didnât want to move away just yet. Even when his cock started to go soft inside of you, you stayed connected to him, pushing his hair back from his forehead and whispering praises in his ear like, âYou were so good ⌠So good to me ⌠My Mingyu ⌠Iâve always been yours âŚâ You could feel him smiling against your skin, his hands tracing circles on your lower back.
But as time seemed to stop and you felt peace for the first time in a while, you realized just how deep you had fallen. You were drowning in him.
Mingyu had wanted to tell you that it felt exactly like his dreams. If you were drowning in him, he had already sunk to the bottom a long time ago.
Save the Date for the wedding of Nathan Chaney and Your Mother: September 5th
Your mother was remarrying. Her and Nathan had been together since you went off to college, and then got engaged just a year after you graduated. They decided on a long engagement, choosing to plan out a destination wedding in the Caribbean. You thought it was crazy at first, but then your mother said, âIf this is going to be my last wedding â and it is â I want to go out with a bang.â You couldnât exactly blame her. After your dad had cheated and the divorce was finalized, you knew your mother deserved something like this. She deserved the world.
When she had called you just a week before the wedding, babbling on about who you were possibly bringing now that your ex was completely out of the picture, you paused. Holding the phone to your ear and watering one of your half-dead plants with the other, you said, âIâm ⌠Iâm going with Mingyu.â
âVernon?â She asked, not believing what you said.
âMingyu.â
âLike ⌠the Mingyu from university? The football player?â
You sighed, playing with the dead leaves on the plant. âHe was also â and still is â one of Vernonâs good friends.â
âOh,â your mother said, more surprised than anything. âWell, you better watch for Nathanâs sister. If Mingyu looks anything like how I remember from Family Day, she will go buck wild over him.â
âIâll make sure of it,â you chuckled.
The truth was ⌠you werenât exactly sure how this wedding was going to go. Ever since the last one, you had been progressively putting more distance between you and Mingyu. Once again. Your last night together had been so real ⌠too real, and you wanted to save yourself from the heartbreak after this wedding when you never saw him again. As much as you hated to admit it, feelings were now involved, seeping into your bloodstream, until your heart thrummed like the sound of his name on your tongue.Â
Slowly pushing him away ⌠it hurt, but it was better this way. Pain was temporary and so was your arrangement. You knew that going into it, so how did you end up in this mess? You remembered what had happened after Chanâs wedding, the way Mingyu looked at you as he was shotgunning smoke into your mouth and â yeah, you knew exactly how you ended up here.
If you kept telling yourself this was for the better, maybe youâd start believing it. Maybe your feelings would drift like smoke and your motherâs wedding would be a final farewell before you two went your separate ways.
But you had been doing that for a month now.
And those feelings refused to fade.
You had an early morning flight the day of your motherâs wedding. Typically, you wouldnât be getting to a destination wedding on such short notice, but the ceremony was small. So small your mother refused to have a rehearsal dinner and no bridal party. It was about her and Nathan, and you had to respect that she was doing things her way this time around.
You had waited at your gate right before doors closed for Mingyu, since you were on the same flight. But he was clearly running late and you were much too awkward around him now to text him. So you finally got on the plane and found your seat, noticing the one seat in the back still left unoccupied. Once you had landed five hours later, you quickly headed to the hotel that Nathan had booked for the ceremony and reception. Your phone lit up as you hailed a ride.
Mingyu: Iâm sorry, I got a new flightÂ
Mingyu: Iâll be there just 2 hours after you land
Mingyu: Iâll make it for the ceremony. I promise
Feeling his anxiety radiate through your phone, you believed him, and then wondered if maybe this was a blessing in disguise. You were rewarded a few more hours of alone time before you had your last hurrah with Mingyu. Maybe if you buried your feelings deep enough, you wouldnât tense up the second you saw his face. Maybe if you didnât look into his eyes, you wouldnât have the urge to kiss him. Or let him hold your hand. Or spread your legs to welcome him inside â
You dropped your lipgloss onto the bathroom counter, sick of your own thoughts. Your square-neck, baby blue dress was clinging to every curve, but you felt like you were being suffocated by the fabric. You had just finished doing your hair and makeup, but you couldnât quite keep your thoughts at bay. Nerves batted against your skull, making your hands shake slightly. What would you do once Mingyu walked in? Would you avoid his stare? Would you tell him immediately how much you liked him and how this wouldnât work out and you knew you set yourself up for heartbreak â
Maybe you needed a walk.
Grabbing a spare pair of sandals, you headed outside to walk the beach just along the grounds of the hotel. There was still an hour before the ceremony, and you could just see the planners putting finishing touches on the decorations laid out on the shore, where your mother wanted it to take place. Couples were still walking through the water. Kids were making sand castles. The sun was slowly beginning to set and the breeze was whipping your hair off your shoulders.
And you smiled, despite everything you were feeling. Because where there was an end, there would always be a new beginning.
âHEY!â
You spun around, your sandals sinking into the sand. Although you recognized his voice, the last thing you expected to see was Kim Mingyu running towards you in his pristine black tux, his tie loose around his neck and blowing in the breeze. It was like something out of a movie, the kind of movie where there was supposed to be a happy ending, but you knew you werenât afforded luck like that in real life.
He stopped in front of you, running a hand through his hair. Sand sprinkled down the tops of his shoes.
âWhen did you get here?â You raised a brow.
âAbout twenty minutes ago. I flew in my tux because I figured I wouldnât have enough time to change. But now it just kind of smells like âŚâ He lifted the sleeve to his nose and inhaled. âLike peanuts and old plastic.â
You giggled, holding a hand to your mouth and just ⌠staring at him. He was smiling at you, fangs poking out from under his top lip. His skin was even prettier in the sunset. His hair, despite the messy texture, was effortless and perfect. He embodied sunshine in its purest form.
âWell, you âŚâ You looked to the water, your hands flexing at your sides. âYou didnât need to come find me out here.â
His voice was sweet, soft, like fresh sheets, when he replied, âYes, I did.â His hand reached out a little, attempting to lace your fingers together, but he stuffed them in his pockets instead. âWhen I was wondering where youâd be, I remembered something you said to me in college ⌠Do you remember Move-In Day of junior year when we had that bonfire with Vernon and a few other people? You really didnât enjoy my company back then, but I sat next to you because you agreed to sharing that god awful cheap vodka we used to like.â He laughed when you grimaced. âWe got to talking and I asked you, âIf you could be anywhere right now, where would you be?â And you said something like, âI want to be walking on a beach. Iâve always felt the most calm with my toes in wet sand.ââ
You blinked, wondering if you had heard him right. He ⌠how did he ⌠âYou remember that?â
âI remember a lot of things.â
And there he was, reaching out again and brave enough to brush his fingers over your knuckles. You looked down, watching his hand interlock with yours, and his palms were balmy and calloused. They felt familiar, like home. And you simply couldnât believe that you had deprived yourself of this.
âDid you mean it when you said, âIâve always been yours?ââ
Your head snapped up, tsking under your breath. Hand still intertwined with his, you pushed a lock of hair behind your ear. âYou came all the way out here to ask me that?â You asked, flustered and agitated.
His brow shot up. âSo thatâs a yes then?âÂ
Your mouth opened, but then closed when you realized that he caught you.Â
He added, his voice like velvet again, âThen why are you avoiding me? I can sense it.â
âWell, if youâre that sensitive to other peopleâs feelings than I guess that ââ You paused, taking a deep breath as you gathered yourself. Your ears reddened. âLook, I think itâs pretty obvious that Iâve ⌠I like you. A lot. But having feelings for you would be so messy. The last time I went through this, we hooked up and you hardly spoke to me after.â
Mingyuâs brow furrowed. âThat was years ago.â
âYou know how uncommitted youâve always been,â you quickly remarked, even though you didnât fully believe those words anymore. âWerenât you the one that told me at the start of this that men never really grow up?â
His eyes narrowed a little. âAre you playing psychological warfare with me right now?â
Slipping your fingers away from his, you shrugged. âMaybe.â
âIâve been your date to five weddings this year. It wasnât just about losing some bet. I did it for you.â He stared at you incredulously. âAre you really going to hold me to a mistake I made six years ago? When I was a shitty 22-year-old that was terrified to tell the girl I liked for years that I was interested in her?â
âI never ⌠I never thought you liked me back then.â
Mingyuâs gaze softened, and he tucked another curl behind your ear that blew in the wind. âI made you believe that I didnât because it was easier than admitting my feelings. I was terrified of rejection. And an idiot.â
You couldnât help but snort at his comment, but you knew this conversation was far from over. âWell, I âŚâ You rubbed at your nose and turned away from him, facing the water that looked almost sapphire in color. The waves sparkled under the setting sun. âWedding season is over after this and we can both go back to our normal lives. Vernon wonât flip a lid when he sees me texting you all the time and everything will be back to the way it was. I always prepared for you to just forget about me after this anyway.â
âI love Vernon, but this isnât about him.â Mingyu stepped forward into your line of vision. âWhat if I donât want to go back to the way things were?â
Your eyes flickered to his, and it was his turn to step closer again. His large palm cupped your cheek, his skin always so cozy and inviting that you just had to lean into him. Fingertips traced your brow bone as his gaze lingered on your lips.
âI donât want to forget about you or never see you again. I want to be around you,â he confessed. âI ⌠want to go on more dates with you. I want to be your date to more than just weddings.â
You hesitated, unraveling and dissecting each word in your head, before you came to the conclusion that ⌠oh, my god, he had feelings for you too. Had you always been this much of an absolute moron?
Getting on your tiptoes, you closed the distance between you two, your lips crashing onto his like the water against the shoreline. Your body almost suctioned to his, bringing him even closer when your arms wound around his neck. He kept that one hand on your cheek, the other splaying on your lower back, like how he always did when he was nervous. But he had nothing to be nervous about, because you liked him and he liked you. The world felt like it was spinning, but also just right, and his tongue was licking into your mouth enough to make you feel breathless. You could do this forever, be this relaxed in his arms, kiss him as if it was only you two in your own world. And as he tugged on your bottom lip to make your breathing heavy, you decided that your dream had become a reality.
When you broke the kiss, your cheeks were definitely flushed, even under the layer of blush you put on. Mingyu grinned, tilting his head as he whispered, âSo you have always been mine then?â
âSuch a tease sometimes,â you repeated his fateful words from June.Â
You turned, tugging on his hand playfully as the waves begin to lick at the sand near your feet. âCâmon,â you chuckled. âIf weâre late to this wedding, my mom will kill me before I can even think about calling you my boyfriend.â
Mingyu had wanted to ask you to marry him only two years later, and thank god, he finally found the words.
tag list: @syluslittlecrows @yeosayang @eisaspresso @healingmv @nightshadeblooming @dmstoyangyang @amaraeofsunshine @thepoopdokyeomtouched @reiofsuns2001 @tigerhoshii @yoongznme @nerdycheol @gyuguys @ninixgyu4eva @tokitosun @wooyugta @dawn-iscozy @thecowboy7 @wonu-won @whoisbaek15 @alexie-blog
5K notes
¡
View notes
Text
Angel of Her Own Making | Epilogue
Synopsis: Will history repeat itself?
Content Warning: Reader is not default MC, use of Y/N, flashbacks of traumatic events, eventual fluff
Author's Note: I pray that the timeline makes sense... I only articulated this just now in one of the replies to this post, so Iâm adding it here to hopefully give everyone some clarityâa time paradox occurs if Sylus travels back only to the moment before he made the mistake and stopped himself (this would have been during Readerâs Life #2), thus preventing his regrets later on and eliminating the need to travel back in time in the first place. There are only two ways to solve the time paradox. Either Sylus has to always fuck up (thereâs no changing the past) or he creates a new timeline altogether. In the story, he fucks up -> he travels back to her very first life, before sheâs meant to meet him -> he still gets to live one life with non-MC as himself. Otherwise, if he goes back only to the point where he fucks up and then un-fucks up, he would delete himself and we would have no story đ¤đ¤đĽ´đĽ´
Parts: (1), (2), (3), (4), (5), (6), (7), (8), (9), 10, 11, 12, Epilogue
Taglist: @sillyfreakfanparty, @exactlysizzlingdonut, @sylustoru, @nayukiyukihira, @sinnamon-bunn, @mangooes, @codedove, @vigtore, @wrimaira, @bxtchopolis, @phisen, @schrodingerskimdokja, @miffysoo, @everythingistaken00, @lucifers-silhouette, @curryexpress, @miss-dior, @anon34570, @rosalietodd013, @souppooppie, @nommingonfood, @babyx91
The meadow outside Taurus City lies cloaked in the deep, velvety blue of twilight. The wind whispers through the tall grass in rhythmic waves that undulate like a vast, verdant ocean. Itâs just past the peak of summer, where the golden warmth has begun to yield to the crispness of autumn, which has stealthily crept into the green of leaves. The birds are quiet in their cozy nests, their usual chatter hushed by the approaching night, while the cicadas, who once filled the air to the brim with sound, have long ceased their song.
Sylus stands alone, arms crossed over his chest as if the gesture could still his heartbeat. He keeps his gaze locked on the hills in the distanceâwatching, waitingâfor the shape he knows like his own shadow.
Itâs been days since he left his foster home. Days since he stopped coming to school. Itâs ridiculous how he already misses seeing you across the room, waiting to walk you home as he has always done since you two were about the same height (now, he easily towers over you and has grown a habit of flicking your forehead whenever you pout at him).
And just yesterday, he was standing under your window and calling for you, his heart soaring as you poked your head out to see who it was. When your eyes landed on him, you looked relieved, and he almost wanted to apologize. Instead, he asked you to meetâhere, at the meadow into which you two retreat every time the world becomes too muchâclassmates too mean, teachers too harsh, parents too rough.Â
Heâs nervousâone of the few times in his life he is afflicted with such an emotion. His muscles are tense, his jaw locked in that particular way it always is when he expects a fight but prays for something else. And though he wouldn't name the emotion, wouldn't allow himself the softness of hope, he wantsâdesperatelyâfor you to come.
Because heâs going to ask you to run away with him.
The idea seemed so bright when he first entertained it, but as the seconds pass, and the silence stretches on, itâs becoming apparent that he might have overestimated his own standing in your life. What right does he have to ask you to leave the comfort of your home and everything youâve ever known? And to what endâto roam with him in the shadows like a pair of fugitives? With increasing alarm, he realizes he has nothing to give you but this stubborn longing that overtakes his rationality every time he thinks of youâthe very thing thatâs led him to this.
The silence breaks with the sharp crunch of a branch underfoot.
Sylus turns, nerves on edge.
In the shadow between two twisted pines, a figure emergesâtall, cloaked, and moving with unsettling certainty. The boy doesnât hesitate. He jumps forward, fist clenched, his body all instinct. His punch cuts clean through the airâonly to be caught mid-swing.
The strangerâs hand is like iron.
The cloak falls back.
And the first thought that enters Sylusâs head isâthis must be an illusion.
Some wizardâs sick attempt at a trap. Or his own mind playing tricks on him.
But no, heâs staring into his own faceâonly older, sharper, more deadly. There are faint crowâs feet near the eyes, a scar over one brow, and an intensity behind the crimson gaze that is unmistakable. And this strange apparition of himself is astonishingly tall, clad in black armor threaded with red veins, a blade of polished obsidian secured on his belt.
For a moment neither speak. The younger Sylus feels nearly unmooredâstruck by a bone-deep sense of dislocation, as if time had folded and heâd stumbled into the crease.
The man takes a slow, deep breath, raising both his calloused hands in a show of peace. âI donât mean any harm,â he begins, voice low and steady with restraint, like a song played on an old instrument. âBut I donât have long, so youâd better listen.â
The teenagerâs lips part, but the words die before they become sound.
âSo this is how I looked,â his older counterpart chuckles ruefully. âI bet youâre pretty confident you know what youâre doingâI used to be like that. I used to carry so much pride and anger that I could wield it like a weapon.â
âWait, what are you sayingâŚ? Who are you?â
A wind picks up, carrying the scent of cold metal and distant pine smoke. The man steps forward, and something in his gaitâsteady, regal, weariedâreminds the younger of the dragons from the old texts: creatures that move like kings even as their bones ache with the weight of millennia.
âI am what was and what could be,â he says plainly. You taught him to be kinder to himself, and his heart no longer holds resentment for this childâthis version of himself that saw the world in absolutes.
The boy looks at him as if gazing into a mirror. âIf you are me, youâd know Iâm not too damn confident right now.â
âIn her?â replies the man, one eyebrow quirked. âOr in yourself?â
The younger Sylus says nothing, though in his hearts of hearts, he knows the answer.
âI am not you, child,â the elderâs voice is softerâpatient. âNot yet, that is. I let her die more times than Iâve lived beside her. Lifetimes went by while I let her think she didnât mean anything to me.â
âWhatâŚ?â the boy sputters in disbelief. Suddenly, he wantsâno, needsâto put as much distance between him and this stranger as possible. âYouâre lying!â
âNo, you listen to me now,â the man commands, all without raising his voice, seizing his younger self by the shoulders. The boy is caught dead in the gaze of his left eye, which bleeds red like a ghostly flame.
And then heâs not standing in the meadow anymore.
The air smells of ash and metal. His shirt is soaked with rain, and the feeling of being exposed makes his skin crawl. One glance around and he realizes heâs surrounded. City folkâpious eyes staring out from gray faces, clothes as dreary as the sky above them. Another glance, and he realizes they arenât even looking at him.
Theyâre looking at you. But it isnât youâit couldnât be? For why are you so still, your skin so pale, your eyes closed? The haze lifts, and he can see clearly now.
âNo, no, nononoââ he hears his own words echo back at him. Spoken by his tongue but carried on someone elseâs voice. An older, lower voice. A voice that he has just heard minutes before. His eyes land on the figure slumped near you, cradling you in his arms. Obsidian horns protruding from silver hair, crimson wings sagging like windless sails.
It feels like heâs wading through water when he tries to run to you, his arms outstretched in the vain hope of reaching youâof seeing for himself your broken body. The fear in his heart is total and all-consuming. Because he knows heâs already too late.
âWaitââ he tries to scream but heâs already being swept along by swirls of red and black. The current of memories deposits him elsewhereâin a semi-darkness made possible only by the scant light that trickles down from the mouth of a deep abyss.
A sound, like the rustling of clothes. Then a female voiceânot yours, why canât it be yours?
A deal is being made. A pact to bind oneâs soul with that of another. But for the life of him, he cannot fathom why itâs not you.
Because you thought she betrayed you. The truth rings in his ears, and he flinches. You fool.
The scene changes again, but heâs too busy covering his ears to notice at first. Only when you walk through him does he lower his hands to hear the poisonous words heâs hurling at your retreating back. He raises his eyes to see, in full profile, his older selfâa creature blinded by hatred, an accursed future he could never have conceived.
He wants to chase after you. He wants to say heâs sorry. He will beg if he must.
But before he can say a thing, he finds himself back at the meadow, faced with the same endless night. Except now thereâs the flicker of torches in the distance and drawing closer. The clang of metal signals weapons, and voices warn of retribution. He blinks, and the Justiciars are on him, pressing his face into the dirt.
âLet me go!â he spits at them, claws digging into the ground. âI cannot leave herâ!â
âHer?â his faceless persecutor mocks. âSheâs the one who ratted you out, demon.â
âWhat?! Noââ he doesnât want to believe. He canât. Not after what heâs just witnessedâyour death, his cold rejection of you, his betrayal. The bones in his shoulders snap, and he can feel the wings breaking skin. He has to get out. He has to get to youâ
âEasy!â
He doesnât listen, keeps struggling until heâs hoisted off his feet.
âYou can change it,â the elder Sylusâs voice breaks through the chaos. âSnap out of it, and Iâll tell you how.â
At that, the boy goes mostly still. When his feet touch the ground again, his knees nearly give. His hand flies to his chest, clutching at his frantic heart. His throat feels dry, like his vocal cords had been rubbed raw with sand. âIâno, you did that to her.â
âI did,â the older man nods, his eyes dimming.
âWhy? You loved her.â
âI still do.â
âThen how could you?â
âI couldnât. I went back. I changed the course of history just to see her again. She forgave me, even though I didnât deserve it. And I held her hand when her hair turned silver. I memorized the shape of her laughter, the sound of her footsteps in the house we built together.â
The older manâs voice thins. âOne full life with her was more than I could ever ask for. But youââ he reaches forward and places a hand on the boyâs shoulder, solid and grounding, the gesture almost fatherlyââyouâre standing on the threshold of the mistake that cost her nine more. Nine lives wasted because I let my insecurities cloud my judgment. Do not make that mistake.â
He steps back. To the young Sylusâs alarm, his body has begun to fade, crumbling at the edges like parchment touched by flame.
âWhatâs happening to you?â the boy asks, voice barely there.
âMy time has come, kid,â the elder answers as though stating a simple fact. âFor centuries, Iâve had to go on without her, because I was waiting for this moment. My beloved is gone, but yours is still here. Never let her go.â
And as the wind carries the last of him over the tall grass, daturas follow, blooming across the earth in a quest to cover every inch. Deep redâalmost black, sweet, ghostly.
Sylus stands silent, heart still thudding, the meadow no longer empty.
He stays there long after the last of the ash had vanished, long after the flowers have reached his feet, dizzy from the weight of what has been placed in his hands.
He feels raw, as if something has been peeled away inside him, exposing the soft, uncertain boy beneath the defiance he wears like armor. He looks down at the flowersâso fragile, so impossibly soft for something born of such ruinous powerâand he kneels, fingers curling around a green stem.
"Never let you go," he whispers to the petals. Then, slow as though carrying a holy mandate, he rises to his feet.
Because from the crest of the hill, you come running.
You remember. For the most part.
You remember the way Sylus looked as he walked by your side. Not the Sylus of this life, but the Sylus from long ago. From when you were living in a city of steel and glass.
Itâs come back to you in bits and pieces. Sometimes, a tune brings back the memory of him humming while putting your children to sleepâgods, your two beautiful children, a boy and a girl, with his eyes and your hair. Other times, a flavor reminds you of one of the dishes he used to make for you when you were sick. Most of the time, itâs the fact that you see another Sylus in the flesh every day, every glance triggering a sense of deja vu. Your Sylus is much younger, the shadows under his eyes not so pronounced, the lines of his face more rounded with youth, but itâs him alright. Because regardless of which version of him youâre thinking of, he drives you nuts.
Nuts enough to make a rope out of torn bedsheets and sneak out of your locked room in the dead of night. Your parents will bury you alive if they ever find out.
Your cloak snaps in the wind as you slip through the bramble and nettle edging the western wall of Taurus City. The sky hangs low, twilight bruised and sullen, brushing the ground with a hush of color. Your lungs burn with both effort and exhilaration, but you run in silence, as if the sound of your breath might give you away. Youâve waited until the last oil lamp guttered out in the hall, until your fatherâs snores unfurl in steady procession like the soft turning of pages. Your mother padlocked your door, and you kept it that way. They trained you to be obedient. They didnât train you to be clever.
On the way, you identified and loosed the Justiciarsâ horses, cut their reins, tossed handfuls of smoke powder to ignite panic in the animals. Even now, hooves thunder uselessly in the distanceâpursuing shadows, not quarry. It wonât last. They will regroup, and quickly.
But for now, youâre free. Your feet could find the path to the meadow even if you were blindfolded, and you run.
Soon, you crest the hill and spot him exactly where he said heâd be.
Your wayward classmate is leaning against the trunk of a large oak tree, framed by the blackening sky. He doesnât pace. He doesnât look around. You make eye contact, and your heart beats out of control.
âSylus!â you call, waving with one arm. âTheyâre coming! You need to leaveânow!â
He doesnât run. Doesnât even blink.
You stumble toward him, chest heaving, the fabric of your cloak catching on the dry grass. âTheyâll kill you. You donât understand, theyââ
âI do,â he says, moving toward you slowly, like he doesnât want to startle you, and sets his hands on your arms. His touch is solid, warm. His eyesâthose eyes that once flared with temper and recklessnessânow hold a wisdom youâve never seen before.
You shake your head. âThereâs no time for this.â
âThen we make time,â he insists. Then on one knee, he changes your future forever. âI love you. I donât care if weâre too young. I donât care if we donât make sense to anyone else. I would rather stand beside you for one doomed moment than live a long, hollow life without you.â
You think you might have stopped breathing. Any other day, and you would have thrown yourself into his arms with joy. Instead, you pull him up and start stuttering, âI-I love you, too. So, so much. But theyâre almost here! You have toââ
He hushes you with a kiss.
Itâs gentle, unhurried. The kind of kiss that carries the unspeakable weight of recognitionâthe way you might touch the face of someone returned from the dead. Your fingers find the fabric at his collar, clutching it like a lifeline, as though afraid he might vanish if you let go. The air between you contracts, and the world collapses into a single, trembling axisâthe place where your lips meet his.
You feel it in your ribs, in the marrow of every life you will ever live, and it dawns on you: this is a rejoining. A reclamation. For a brief, impossible moment, there is no crusade, no prophecy, no blood-soaked future bearing down on you. Only the knowing. The astonishing fact that youâve found each other again.
Torchlight spills through the trees. Horses neighing, men shouting. Unsheathed metal glinting coldly in the encroaching darkness.
You break apart. And understanding passes wordlessly between you before you both turn, hand in hand, to face towards the commotion.
Two dozen Justiciarsâmore than you expected. More than even Sylus could hope to take on without being hauled in chains back to Ivory City, where theyâll sentence him to death in the Abyss.
âAre you sure?â you check one last time, giving his hand a desperate squeeze. âI can hold them off, buy you some time. This is your last chance.â
âThey canât take both of us. You can fight, right? Iâve seen your work with the school bullies,â he replies, eyes twinkling with mischief. Once, it would have frightened you to see him so careless. Now, it only makes you love him more.
His eyes turn serious. Crimson wings burst from his shoulder blades, stretching to full span. Dark horns erupt from his forehead, curling like burnished metal. His transformation is more fluid than youâve ever seen it. More controlled. His claws are longer than your fingers.
You ready yourself. A sharp white gleam takes form in your open palm. A bladeâa daggerâconjured out of pure energy.
âWell, well,â a heavy voice booms across the meadow. âIf it isnât the runaway fiend and the poor misguided soul he tricked.â The captain, you think, steering his horse to the head of the pack. He doesnât bother to dismount, but gestures at the rest of the Justiciars to form a tight semicircle around you and Sylus. He narrows his eyes and lets out a dry chuckle. âY/N, I thought I saw your old man on his way to the Magistrateâs office this morning. This bratâs parents, too. Been making some interesting reports, they have.â
The words are a punch to your gut. Your father. He meant it when he told you to stay away from âthat demon child.â Your eyes burn with the sting of anger, but you tamp it down, not allowing these bastards the satisfaction of seeing you troubled.
âIâm not my father,â you tell the captain. âIâm here of my own volition.â
âGood to hear,â the man shrugs, waving a hand and spurring his men forward with a single word: âSeize!â
Sylus takes a step in front of you, wings flaring as the Justiciars advance. The first two are on him in no time, but fall just as fast to the quick arc of his armâclaws cleaving flesh from bone.
The third lunges to restrain you with a coarse shout, and you duck just in time. You turn, bringing the daggerâs edge across his face, and he cries out as he collapses to the ground. One of them gets smart, aims a crossbow in your direction, but the bolt never hits its mark. Sylus is there in an instant, catching it with one hand like a thrown spear, and launching it back at the shooter with the force of a god. The man drops. You two stand back-to-back in the darkening field, immersed in the chaos of flying steel and curses. For every Justiciar you take down, two more leap in to take his place. It seems hopeless. But you glance at each other, and you smile, and for some reason it feels like youâre winning.
âTheyâre putting up more than a fight!â one of them yells in panic. A handful of the soldiers begin to fall back, retreating into the night.
âCowards! Theyâll hang you for desertion!â the captain shouts at the defectors, finally dismounting and drawing his own sword. âGet back here!â
"This is it," you shout over the din to Sylus.
He closes his eyes, summoning a new roar from deep within. This one is different, erupting from his throat in a hot, orange burst. Some of Justiciars catch fire as they tumble to the ground.
You throw up a shield, a shimmering half-dome. It glows like a second moon as arrows rain down, disintegrating on the surface. You grit your teeth and focus, feel your energy pulsing with a strange and feral rhythm.
âHold it!â Sylus yells, his voice raw. You nod, the force field flickering with your breath.
A flaming figure lunges through, a blazing comet of muscle and fury. A Justiciar, robes tattered, eyes wild. You jerk your hand, conjuring a spear. It solidifies midair, electric blue, and pierces him through the chest. He crumples, and with a flash of heat and light, you dissolve the spear and collapse the shield.
âNow!â you scream.
Sylus charges, his roar splitting the night. Flames leap from his skinâhe is a firebrand, a meteor. You can hardly see him through the wall of heat. The Justiciars fall back, the sky raining ash. You mold a new weaponâa sharp, crackling swordâand follow him.
Itâs chaos. You dance through the smoke, your bare skin unscathed by the blaze of Sylusâs wake. You are a tempest, a wild spirit. You are beautiful, and you are terrible.
The captain is shouting, orders or obscenities you canât tell. You see Sylus bring him down in a single, flaming swipe, throwing the manâs sword to the grass and pinning him to the earth. The captainâs eyes widen in terror.
âDemon!â he shrieks, his voice surrendering to fear. âTheyâll find you! Theyâll hunt you down! Theyâllââ
A last cry, and he goes limp. Sylus pulls back, chest heaving, his breath alive with embers and fire.
The few remaining Justiciars flee in all directions, their torches disappearing into the night.
âScared of a little heat?â Sylus taunts, shaking the last of the flames from his wings.
You let out a breathless laugh, almost a sob, and run to him. He catches you, pulls you close, the edges of your cloak scorched and still smoking. His heart is a drum against your ear, steady, reassuring.
âLetâs get out of here,â he murmurs into your hair.
You pull back just far enough to look him in the eyes, and you see it againâthe knowing. The memory of a life you thought was only a dream.
âI thought youâd never ask,â you reply, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his horn.
By the time you reach the edge of the forest, you are almost giddy with disbelief.
âWhere are we going?â you ask, exhausted but happy.
âWherever you want,â Sylus saysâand you have no doubt he means it.
Then he wraps his arms around you, wings forming a cocoon. The air ripples like the surface of a pond, and the meadow vanishes from under your feet.
A heartbeat later, you are standing on the edge of a seaside cliff, the expanse of the ocean stretching to the horizon, the sound of the tide crashing below.
You let go of him and spin around, eyes wide with wonder. Youâve never seen the ocean before, and it is everything you imagined it would be. Wild, loud, untamed. It reminds you of the boy staring at you with a mix of pride and fear, as if he canât believe youâre still here, still choosing him.
It reminds you of the man you once knew, the one youâre certain this boy will become, and you canât help but love him for it.
âThis is perfect,â you tell him, throwing your arms around him and burying your face in his neck. âYouâre perfect, Sylus. But... how did you know? My parents, the Justiciarsââ
âIâm not as cocky as I used to be,â he says, leaning back to meet your gaze. âTakes more than a stupid lie to catch me off guard now.â
You laugh, and it feels like the first time youâve laughed in a hundred years.
âI mean it,â he says, holding you at armâs length. âI know what Iâm doing, Y/N. I know who I want to be. Just say youâll come with me.â
âAlways,â you answer. âEvery part of me belongs with you, until the end of time.â
A cloud passes over the moon, and for a moment, the world is plunged into darkness. You stand together, unafraid, waiting for the light to return.
417 notes
¡
View notes
Text
The Boyfriend Brigade
Pairings: Various Love&Deepspace Men x reader
Summary: After being away on a solo mission for quite some time, you return to Linkon City feeling unwell. After failing to respond to text messages, you end up getting unexpected visitors and find yourself in a predicament.
Note: I had this fanfic in the drafts for months and couldn't finish it because of how busy I was ;v; but I finally got to finish it! The next update is another LADS update, but this time, it's a smut fic! I'm not sure if it will be separated by character or if all the men are involved in one smut fic. I'll probably have a spinning wheel choose for me. In case anyone is interested in joining, my Discord server is currently open. If you're interested in joining a small community of people who play LADS alongside Hoyoverse games, I'll provide the server link at the end of this fic. Anyway! I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr), Ko-Fi (also Genshinluvr/Aaliah_exo), and AO3 (Aaliah_exo).
Warnings: Mother Nature comes to visit you unannounced, if that counts as one
Word Count: 8.2k
You lean against the tree behind you, trying not to collapse to the ground while in the middle of the woods of a foreign country. Youâre exhausted, and things have not been slowing down for you. The metaflux levels are through the roof, and wanderers lurk in every corner, forcing you to stay on high alert (as if you werenât on high alert already). During the first few weeks of your solo mission, you infiltrated Everâs secret base two hundred meters from where youâre currently gathering intel on protocores and aether cores.Â
Once you have gathered enough information and sent it to the Hunters Association, you continue with your solo mission: handling the wanderers and entering an area with a high protofield. Is it a smart idea to enter a protofield all alone? No, no, itâs not a bright idea, especially now that youâre dealing with endless hordes of wanderers in the woods, sniffing you out like a bloodhound.Â
Youâre not injuredâ or at least not horribly injuredâ but you are feeling under the weather. You barely have the chance to get some rest and sleep. Youâre always on your feet, constantly looking over your shoulders to make sure that there arenât any wanderers ready to strike while youâre trying to take a breather. After what felt like forever, it could be longer than you expected, but you digressâ the protofield is stabilized, and you can finally rest after who knows how long. But before you can relax, you decide to return to Linkon City and report to Captain Jenna about your completed mission. On your flight back to Linkon City, youâre knocked out and sleep until one of the flight attendants (bless her heart) wakes you up from your slumber.Â
You didnât inform anyone of your return to Linkon, so you didnât expect anyone to pick you up from the airport. Usually, it would be Zayne who picks you up from the airport, and sometimes itâs Sylus. So, here you are, sitting at the bus stop, waiting for the bus to arrive.Â
Your eyelids feel heavy, and you can barely remain conscious. You lean against the bus stop, trying your best not to nod off. You pull your phone out from your pocket and turn it on. Once your phone finally has connection, a slew of notifications pop up on your screen. From text messages to phone calls to video calls, it just keeps popping up now that your phone has a decent connection after who knows how long.Â
RAFAYEL:
âMiss Bodyguard, when are you going to be back from your dangerous solo mission? Personally, I donât think you should be doing this mission alone, but thatâs just me.â
âI donât want to have an art exhibit without you present. Youâre my number one supporter and my bodyguard! I canât go anywhere without you by my side!âÂ
âThomas is talking my ears off about it, and Iâm trying everything I can to ignore him, but heâs giving me this look.â
âMiss Bodyguardddddddd. When are you coming home? :(âÂ
âAre you back yet?â
SYULS:
âKitten, I will be expecting you to return to Linkon City unscathed. Do not do anything reckless, alright? Always be two steps ahead of your enemies and know their weaknesses.âÂ
âKick their asses, and donât let them kick yours. Show them what I have taught you in the boxing ring.â
âI will see you soon, alright? I want you to return to me safe and sound. If anyone lays their hands on you, tell me who they are, and Iâll take care of everything.â
âLuke and Kieran keep pestering me about your return to the N109 Zone.â
âI found something interesting in Mephistoâs nest today. I believe these are your earrings and bracelets. [PHOTO ATTACHMENT] Mephisto loves shiny things, and he so happens to take a liking to your jewelry.â
ZAYNE:
âHow is your mission coming along?â
âAre you resting? Make sure not to overexert yourself, and make sure to eat plenty of food.â
âItâs been a few days since Iâve heard from you. You are safe, right?â
âIf you need any assistance, I am one phone call away.â
âText me back when you get this message.â
XAVIER:
âMake sure not to storm into the protofield recklessly.â
âLet me know when your mission is completed. I want to be the first person you see when you return from your mission.â
âI made sure to water the plants on your balcony and organize the plushies in your room. They are waiting for your return, and I am waiting for your reply.â
âI hope you do not have to resort to this, but if you are in any danger and cannot complete your solo mission, donât hesitate to call me for help. I will be there in a heartbeat.â
âItâs been a while since I sent my previous message, and I still havenât heard back from you. Are you alright? Do you need me to step in to help you?â
Before you can unlock your phone to answer any of the text messages you have received, the screen suddenly goes black. You close your eyes and slump in your seat at the bus stop, realizing that you did not charge your phone at all before boarding the plane. Now that your phone is dead, you have no way to contact any of the four men to inform them of your return to Linkon City.
âThis is fine,â You mutter, too exhausted to do anything. âIâll message them once I charge my phone.â
When the bus finally arrives, you sit close to the back of the bus with your belongings and close your eyes. Itâll be a fifteen-minute drive to the nearest bus stop near your apartment, so you might as well sit back and get some shut-eye before arriving home. When the bus arrives at the bus stop a block from your apartment, you nearly miss your stop due to your nap. You stumble off the bus and trudge toward the direction of your apartment, still groggy from your nap on the bus.Â
A small gust of air causes you to tense up and shiver. You hug yourself with one arm while dragging your luggage with the other, now realizing how cold you are. Despite feeling like a walking popsicle, your body is also covered in a thin layer of sweat. Dear goodness, you must look like a mess to whoever lays their eyes on you.
Everything is a blur after, and you find yourself collapsing on your couch after closing and locking your apartment door. Your luggage is abandoned next to the shoe rack, while one boot is beside the luggage, and the other lies beside your couch. Youâre too tired to change out of your clothes and go to your bedroom. Your entire body is aching, and every limb feels like lead. You shift on the couch, digging your hands into your pockets to take your dead phone out of your pockets before tossing it onto the coffee table.
Once you get that out of the way, you curl up into a fetal position and hug your knees to your chest. Your body wracks with shivers when a wave of chills washes over your body as you slowly drift off to a dreamless sleep.
- Two Days Later -
Rafayel steps out of the elevator and turns to the right, walking towards a specific apartment. Before choosing to stop by his precious bodyguardâs apartment, Rafayel realizes that all of his messages are left on read. Now, Rafayel may not be much of a texter (only when it comes to other people who arenât you), but seeing his messages being left on read with little to no response drives him up the wall. However, since youâre the cutest and most precious person in the world, Rafayel lets you off the hook.Â
âSheâs probably busy with the Hunters Association debriefing.â Is what Rafayel would say to himself, trying to bury the clenching feeling in his chest. But as time goes by, Rafayel will find himself opening the message between you and him, staring at the âREADâ receipt at the bottom of his messageâ still no response from you, not even a phone call, voice message, video call, nothing.Â
Rafayel doesnât want to be seen as clingy, but he canât help but crave for your attention, your voice, your laughter, your touch, you, you, you. Rafayel checks the tracking device he left on you (he did it for your safety) and sees that youâre at your apartment and not in some foreign country the last time he checked! Rafayel pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, letting out a long exhale through his nose.
âI guess she wants me to be the one to stop by this time,â Rafayel mutters before standing up. âThomas, Iâm heading out. It seems like Miss Bodyguard wants me to stop by her place.â
Thomas looks up from his phone, watching the Lemurian man grab his coat and car keys. Before Thomas can say anything, Rafayel is already out the front door, closing the door behind him. Thomas sighs, shaking his head.
As Rafayel approaches closer to your apartment, Rafayel slowly stops in his tracks. Rafayelâs mood worsens after seeing familiar faces in front of your apartment door. Just when Rafayel thinks heâs going to be your first and only visitor after you return from your mission, three other men have the same plan in mind. Rafayel stops before the three men, sensing tension among the trio.Â
Zayne chuckles dryly. âI see we all have the same intention,â Zayne mutters, his gaze flickering from Xavier and Sylus to Rafayel. âYou three donât need to be here. As her primary care physician, it is my duty to check up on her to make sure sheâs okay.â
Xavier smiles at Zayne and crosses his arms over his chest. âDr. Zayne, while I understand that youâre [Y/N]âs primary care physician, Iâm her coworker and neighbor. I believe that I have every right to check up on her after not hearing back from her in a while.â
Zayne and Xavier continue to stare at each other; both men have fake smiles on their faces. Sylus chuckles, shaking his head while tapping on his temples as he watches the tension rise between your so-called coworker and primary care physician.Â
Rafayel narrows his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest, puffing his chest out as he nods in Sylusâs direction. âAnd what about you?â
Sylus looks at Rafayel with amusement, pointing at himself. Rafayel nods, pressing his lips into a thin line as he waits for Sylus to respond. âOh, [Y/N] and I areââ Sylus is cut off by the sound of footsteps approaching the door. The three men (Sylus, Xavier, and Zayne) take a step back, going silent as they try to hear other things coming from behind the door. Finally! Finally, youâre going to show your cute face to them all, reassuring them youâre okay and that youâre trying to recharge after a draining mission.
In a perfect world, thatâs how everything will go down. In each manâs fantasy, they imagine you telling the other men to go home so you and he can spend time together after not seeing each other for a while. However, no one lives in a perfect world, no matter how much they hope. The doorknob wiggles, and a faint click and beep comes from the door. What everyone expects to see is you in a sleepy haze, answering the door in your cozy pajamas with an extreme bedhead, rubbing your eyes, and yawning. What they all did not expect to see isâ
âHello there! Is there anything I can help you all with?â A boy-next-door voice asks.
â A man in his mid-twenties answering your door⌠the very same door that belongs to your apartment. The man has black hair and French lilac with a hint of rose gold accents in his eyes, and heâs tall, perhaps the same height as Sylus. Maybe a little shorter than the Onychinus leader. Zayne tenses up the minute he and the mysterious black-haired man lock eyes.Â
Shit. They didnât get the wrong apartment, did they? Rafayel quickly glances at the apartment number above the door to make sure he (and the others) didnât get the wrong apartment, but itâs the correct apartment, and Rafayel can see your signature furniture behind the manâs shoulders.
A look of surprise flashes over the manâs face before being replaced by a wide smile, and he crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the doorframe of your apartment. âZayne! Itâs been a while since weâve seen each other!â The man says.
Rafayelâs eyes dart between the two black-haired men, looking at them incredulously. âYou two know each other!?â Rafayel blurts, grabbing Zayne and the mysterious black-haired manâs attention.
âOf course! We've known each other since we were children,â the black-haired man replies. âIsnât that right, Zayne?â He smiles, tilting his head to the side as he waits for Zayneâs response.
Zayne nods. âThat is correct. Caleb and I have known each other since we were children.â
Silence falls over the five men, no one saying a single thing. Rafayel puffs his cheeks out and sighs, crossing his arms over his chest while leaning on one leg before switching to the other. This Caleb guy is close friends with your primary care physician, but what is Calebâs relationship with you? Surely youâre not dating this man, are you? Could he be your brother, by chance?
Xavier is the first person to break the silence. âIf you donât mind me asking, why are you in [Y/N]âs apartment?â
A look of surprise flashes over Calebâs face. Caleb smiles and stands straight, propping both hands on his hips. âIâm here to take care of [Y/N]. I messaged her not long ago to let her know that Iâm in Linkon, but she never replied. So, I took that as an opportunity to stop by her apartment to check up on her,â Caleb replies.
Sylus raises his eyebrows at Calebâs reply, eyeing the man from head to toeâ almost as if heâs sizing Caleb up. âHow did you enter [Y/N]âs apartment? You didnât happen to, oh, I donât know, break into her apartment while sheâs asleep, did you?â Sylus asks, narrowing his eyes at the black-haired man.
Caleb raises his hand before digging one hand into the pocket of his jeans and pulling out a key. âMe? Breaking into [Y/N]âs apartment? I would never,â Caleb rolls his eyes. âAnd for your information, she gave me a spare key a while back.â
Sylus briefly glances at the key in Calebâs hand before continuing what heâs doing prior: sizing Caleb up (or at least thatâs what it looks like to others around Sylus). The more Caleb stares at Sylus, the more he notices that Sylusâs eyes have a faint glow. Caleb breaks eye contact with the white-haired man before laughing bitterly.
âI assume you all want to check up on [Y/N]. Iâm afraid I cannot let you all into her apartment as of now due to her current condition,â Caleb states, now crossing his arms over his chest.
That catches the four menâs attention immediately. Not only does it bother them that theyâre not allowed to see you after not seeing you in a while, but the vagueness of Calebâs response irks them to no end.Â
Xavier takes a step forward, his eyebrows furrowing. âWhat do you mean by her current condition? Sheâs not hurt, is she?â Xavier frowns, his heart pounding in his chest.
Caleb sighs, unsure of whether he should explain the situation to the three unfamiliar men and Zayne. Residents of the apartment weave through the four men in the hallway to get to their apartment and the elevator, grumbling about people taking up space and being inconsiderate. Caleb presses his lips into a thin line before gesturing for the four men to enter the apartment so they wouldnât block the hallway for the residents.Â
After everyone is in the apartment, Caleb closes and locks the apartment door. Zayne, Sylus, Xavier, and Rafayel each take their shoes off and put on the spare slippers on the shoe rack. Caleb observes each man closely, mildly miffed over the fact that they know about the (now) unspoken rule when entering your apartment: shoes are to be taken off and put on house slippers. Everyone slowly migrates to the living room, some sitting on your couch while others refuse to sit.Â
Caleb takes a deep breath. â[Y/N]âs sick,â Caleb says. Caleb looks at each personâs face to see their reaction.
The frown on Zayneâs face deepens as he crosses his arms over his chest, eyebrows furrowing with worry. âHow long has she been sick?â Zayne demands, his eyes occasionally lingering in the direction of your bedroom.Â
âI donât know how long sheâs been like this, but whenever I stopped by not long ago, she was unconscious on the couch. I carried her to her room and made sure she changed into loose and comfortable clothes. Thankfully, she took her medication when I handed her cold medicine. However, it seems her sickness has gotten worse overnight.â
Rafayelâs eyes widen with disbelief and horror. âWorse?! What do you mean by worse? Miss Bodyguarâ [Y/N]âs not going to die, is she!?â
Zayne pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head after hearing Rafayelâs ridiculous question. Xavier and Sylus look at Rafayel with a questioning gaze while Caleb chuckles with amusement, shaking his head.Â
Xavier crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back against the couch. âIf sheâs sick, then why didnât she let any of us know about her condition?â
Sylus looks at the coffee table and sees your phone lying face down. âSheâs either too drained to reply to our messages to inform us of her whereabouts orâŚâ Sylus trails off, reaching for your phone. Sylus presses the button on the side of your phone, expecting your phone to light up. But alas, your phone doesnât turn on, even if he presses down the button for ten seconds. âShe forgot to charge her phone, and her phone is dead.â
Zayne turns toward Caleb and says, âAs her primary care physician, itâs my job to check up on her.â
Caleb holds his hands up in a surrender gesture. âI know that, Zayne. Iâm not stopping you from checking up on [Y/N]. Sheâs still sleeping in her room. I tried getting her to eat something, but she refused. She only took cold medicine before going back to sleep,â Caleb says, frowning.
Caleb gestures for Zayne to follow him before turning around and walking towards your closed bedroom door. Caleb grabs the door handle and quietly opens the door. Zayne and Caleb peek their heads into your bedroom to see you out cold on your bed, buried under mountains of blankets. Caleb opens the door wider before entering your room, with Zayne following close behind. The other three men stand by the doorway, eyes glued on your unconscious body.
âIf [Y/N] wanted something to warm her up as she sleeps, she couldâve just asked me,â Rafayel mutters, leaning against the doorframe.Â
Zayne kneels at the edge of your bed, eyes scanning your face. He presses the back of his hand against your forehead. You sigh with relief when you feel something cool press up against your hot forehead. You subconsciously lean into Zayneâs cool touch, wanting more of his touch to cool you down.
âYou said she hasnât eaten anything, correct?â Zayne mutters, looking at Caleb.
Caleb nods wordlessly, his eyes never leaving your face. âShe has not, unfortunately. Again, I tried to convince her to eat the congee Iâve cooked, but she just wanted to sleep,â Caleb replies, now standing beside Zayne.Â
The chatter around you slowly brings you back to consciousness. You crack your eyes open and look around your bedroom with bleary eyes. You mumble incoherent words, grabbing the attention of the five men around you. Upon seeing you awake, the men remaining at the doorway of your bedroom rush over to where you lie. Your body heat and the mountains of blankets over your body cause you to squirm as you struggle to sit up and push the blankets off your body.Â
Xavier and Zayne help you sit on your bed while Rafayel fluffs the pillow behind you, cushioning your back against the bed frame. Sylus hands you a cup of water to drink after seeing you rub your throat while wincing. You weakly smile at Sylus before taking huge gulps of water.Â
Xavier chuckles, sitting beside you, and tucks your hair behind your ear. âCareful, now. You wouldnât want to choke, now, would you?â Xavier murmurs, wiping the droplet of water from the corner of your lips after you downed the cup of water.Â
You shakily place the cup on your nightstand, leaning your head against the wall, and stare at your lap. No one says anything as they stare at you, waiting for you to say or do something. You rub your eyes with your knuckles, still groggy from your sleep. It feels nice to finally be home after a long mission, but youâre sick, and you feel like you got hit by a bullet train.
âAre you hungry, pipsqueak?â Caleb asks, rubbing your head affectionately before fixing your bedhead.Â
You shake your head. âNo, Iâm okay.â You lie.
Before anyone can say anything, the silence is broken by a loud rumbling in your stomach. You clear your throat and hug your pillow to your chest, ignoring the gnawing feeling in your gut. Youâre starving, but you donât want to eat.Â
Sylus frowns, crossing his arms over his chest as he scrutinizes you. âSweetie, just because youâre sick and tired doesnât mean you should starve yourself,â Sylus lectures you, shaking his head with disapproval. âIf you donât eat anything, how else will you recover from your illness, hm?â
You stare at the Onychinus leader with a visible pout on your face. The way you stare at Sylus makes him feel weak at the knees. You resemble a stray kitten found in a downpourâ pathetic but cute.Â
âMaybe she doesnât want to eat congee. Is it possible she wants to eat something else?â Rafayel mutters, stroking his chin. âHey, cutie. What do you want to eat? Definitely not boring old congee, right?â Rafayel jokes.
Caleb raises an eyebrow at Rafayelâs comment, turning to you. You press your lips into a thin line and think for a minute. You donât mind eating congee since it's easy to stomach, but youâre not entirely sure if you want to eat the same thing over and over until youâre no longer sick. The congee Caleb makes is delicious, but you want something new and easy to eat, similar to congee, but without eating congee itself.Â
âHow about I make you some chicken soup? It has plenty of nutrients your body needs in order to recover from an illness.â Xavier says, grabbing hold of your hand and gently squeezing them.
Hearing Xavier offer to cook you something to eat nearly has you in tears. Itâs not like you donât want Xavier to cook you foodâactually, it is that. You love Xavier and his willingness to cook something for you to eat, but cooking isnât his best suit. Xavier looks at you worriedly after not hearing a response from you. The puppy dog eyes Xavier has on his face is killing you.
Zayne clears his throat, sighing to himself. âChicken soup is a good option if you donât want to eat congee. Caleb can cook the chicken soup while I get your medication. Xavier, Rafayel, and Sylus can keep you entertained.â
You nearly cry in relief when Zayne says itâs going to be Caleb whoâs going to cook the chicken soup for you to eat (sorry, Xavier). You nod, immediately agreeing to Zayneâs suggestion. After Zayne and Caleb leave your room, you lie back down and hug your pillow. You notice Sylus slip out of your bedroom for a moment, but instead of heading to your living room, he goes straight to your bathroom.
Rafayel pouts, staring at you like an angry toddler. âYou donât want to cuddle me, cutie? After not seeing each other for such a long time, you donât want to cuddle to make up for the lost time?â Rafayel grumbles, his bottom lip jutting out as he plops down at the edge of your bed.
Xavier glares at Rafayel before looking elsewhere. âItâs not a good idea to cuddle with someone while theyâre sick. [Y/N] still has a fever, and cuddling her will only add to the discomfort,â Xavier lectures Rafayel.
Rafayel rolls his eyes before lying down on you, his head resting on your lap as he grabs your hand, completely disregarding Xavierâs lecture and glare. Rafayel laces his fingers with yours and presses a gentle kiss on your knuckles. âNothing is going to stop me from cuddling with you, cutie. Unless you demand personal space, then itâs too bad because Iâm here to stay,â Rafayel states, smirking over in Xavierâs direction.
Xavierâs nostrils flare, and his hands clenched into tight fists. âYouââ
âNow, now, gentlemen. I believe now is not the right time to be bickering with one another. You two will only make [Y/N]âs headache worse the more you argue with one another. We wouldnât want that, now would we?â Sylus clicks his tongue with disapproval as he exits your bathroom with a wet cloth in his hand.Â
Sylus sits at the edge of your bed near your head, brushing your damp hair away from your face and forehead. You stare at Sylus, watching him fold the small hand towel in half before placing the cool, wet towel over your forehead.Â
You sigh with contentment. âThat feels really nice,â you murmur, closing your eyes. âThank you, Sylus.â
âAnything for you, kitten. Now, get some rest. Iâll wake you up when itâs time for you to eat,â Sylus murmurs, leaning down to kiss your cheek.
Rafayel and Xavier stare at Sylus with their mouths agape and eyebrows furrowing. Sylus chuckles and shakes his head at their reactions before getting up from your bed. âMake sure to behave, you two. You wouldnât want another lecture from Dr. Zayne and Caleb, now, would you?â
Rafayel and Xavier glance at each other from the corner of their eyes before watching the leader of Onychinus peer from your bedroom door to see what Zayne and Caleb are doing. You pull the blanket up to your chin and slowly fall into a dreamless sleep.
- 40 Minutes Later -
âHow in the world did she fall asleep already?â
âYeah, she can be a pretty heavy sleeper when sheâs sick.â You hear Caleb laugh.
Sylus sighs. âSweetie, you need to wake up and eat. You canât skip your meals while youâre sick.â
The voices around you continue to chatter, making it nearly impossible to fall asleep, but not impossible enough to stop you from doing so. Youâre not sure how long youâve been asleep, but when you open your eyes, you find yourself sitting on the couch with the blanket draped over your thighs.Â
You smack your lips together, rubbing your eyes with your knuckles, almost struggling to lift your arms. You furrow your eyebrows, annoyed you canât get your limbs to function. Your head is resting on the couch cushion, nearly lulling you to sleep again.Â
âOh, no, you donât! Donât fall asleep on us now, cutie.â Rafayel protests, rushing over to your side and gently patting and poking your cheeks to keep you conscious.
You softly whine, struggling to grab hold of Rafayelâs hand. You open your eyes, only to see how close Rafayelâs face is to yours. You stare at him, confused. Rafayel sighs in relief and slowly backs away, now sitting beside you. Your head droops forward as you try to fight off the need to sleep. How in the world did you get on this couch?
Xavier kneels beside you, grabbing your hand. âYou donât remember what happened before you were carried to the living room?â Xavier asks, staring into your bleary eyes.
You shake your head. âNot really.â
Caleb places a food tray on your lap and then sets down a bowl of chicken soup and cutlery in front of you. The bowl has shredded chicken with chicken broth, chopped carrots, and celery. The aroma of the soup is so delicious that it causes your stomach to let out a growl thatâs loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.
Zayne sits to the right of you. âDo you want to take your medication now, or do you want to take it after you finish your lunch?â Zayne asks, holding up the bottle of cold medicine.
You stare at the bottle, hesitant about taking the medication again. You should really get new cold medicine because the one Zayne is holding makes you feel nauseous every time you take it. Could it be because you took the medication on an empty stomach? You point at the chicken soup before scooping the broth and shredded chicken with the spoon, and begin eating the soup that Caleb cooked for you to eat.
When you pick up a piece of carrot with your chopsticks, Zayne visibly narrows his eyes at the orange vegetable and watches you bite the soft vegetable. Caleb chuckles, shaking his head at Zayneâs reaction to seeing a carrot.
âYou still donât like carrots, Zayne?â Caleb teases, crossing his arms over his chest.
Zayne clears his throat, almost rolling his eyes. âWhat about you? Do you still hate cilantro?â Zayne mutters, looking at Caleb from the corner of his eye.
Rafayel, Xavier, and Sylus glance at each other while internally questioning the strange interaction between Zayne and Caleb. Caleb and Zayne said they were âchildhood friends,â but the way theyâre acting with each other says the complete opposite. The others around Caleb and Zayne can almost visibly see electricity spark between the two men, the more they shoot not-so-subtle glares at each other. If this continues, the two could burn down your (and Xavierâs) apartment building.
You set your chopsticks down on the bowl when you feel a sharp pain in your lower abdomen. You try to ignore the pain and grab the spoon, taking small sips of the chicken broth, hoping the warm soup will ease the pain in your abdomen. Your stomach isnât hurting; in fact, it hasnât been hurting since you returned to Linkon City. You start listing the possibilities of what can make your abdomen hurt while sipping your soup.
You havenât eaten much since your return to Linkon City, so the possibility of eating something âbadâ is out of the question. But thatâs stomach pain, not lower abdominal pain. Waitâ When was the last time you had your period?Â
Xavier squeezes your hand, pulling you out of your thoughts. âWhatâs wrong?â He whispers, leaning over and staring at you intently. âDo you not like the soup? Would you prefer for me to cook you something instead?â
You blink at Xavier, slowly shaking your head. âThe soup is fine, butâŚâ You trail off, feeling the familiar pain return. âI donât think Iâll be able to finish this soup.âÂ
The men around you peek into the bowl to see how much soup you have left, and you barely make a dent in the soup. Youâve probably eaten three slices of carrots and four shredded chicken and sipped the broth around two or three times, but either way, youâre not even close to finishing the chicken soup that Caleb made for you.
âCan you try to finish at least half of the soup? You donât have to finish the entire thing, but half would suffice,â Sylus suggests, gazing at you worriedly.Â
You stare at the soup, sighing. Itâs not like youâre full, itâs just that the cramps youâre suddenly feeling are making it hard for you to want to finish your food. The longer you stare at your food, the more you can feel holes being burned into the back of your head from how hard the five men around you are staring at you.
You grab the food tray and place it on the ground before getting up from the couch. Just when you thought the cramps you were feeling a moment ago were bad, they just got worse the minute you stood up. You clear your throat, acting like youâre not being stabbed in the abdomen over and over by a box cutter. You point to the bathroom, letting them know youâll be right back before sprinting away. During your journey to the bathroom, you feel the familiar sense of dread fall over you when, youâre assuming, blood starts gushing out of your lady bits.Â
You accidentally slam the bathroom door shut behind you as you rush to the toilet, pull your pajama pants and underwear down. You grit your teeth and silently groan at the sight. Thatâs going to leave an ugly stain.Â
âMaybe youâre the reason why Iâm sick,â you grumble, poking at where your uterus is located. âDropping by for a week-long visit with no notice ahead of time is absolutely foul.â
You remain on the toilet, letting the blood drip out of you as you wipe the blood from your panties. Well, at least you didnât bleed through and stain your pajama pants. You reach into the sink cabinet, searching for your pads and tampons, only to find nothing. Your heart falls into the pit of your stomach, causing you to lurch forward on the toilet, peeking your head into the cabinet to double-check if you may have misplaced it somewhere.
You shake your head, in denial. âFuck. Please tell me I didnât forget to restock my pads and tampons,â you whisper.
âEverything alright in there, pipsqueak?â Caleb knocks on the door.
You close the sink cabinet with silent defeat, flush the toilet after wiping (a lot of wiping), fold toilet paper, and place it in your underwear as a temporary pad. You pull up your pants and underwear, waddling to the door. You crack the door open, peeking out to see Caleb and the others standing outside the bathroom door.Â
You press your lips into a thin line and proceed to push past them, walking straight to your closet to pull out clean clothes to change into after your shower. Itâs probably not the best idea to shower while youâre sick, but right now, itâs very much needed. You stop in your tracks, sighing. You still need to restock pads and tampons.
âWhatâs wrong, sweetie? You look distraught,â Sylus says, approaching you.
God, heâs so tall.
âHuh?â You blink at the Onychinus leader owlishly.
Sylus smirks, letting out an amused laugh, and crosses his arms over his chest. âYou really are out of it, arenât you?â He teases, now standing in front of you, and presses his hands against your forehead. âYou shouldnât be showering when you have a fever, kitten.â
You frown at Sylus, feeling all sorts of emotions hitting you like a brick wall. Youâre angry that your period started, youâre also sad because you completely forgot to restock your tampons and pads, youâre humiliated that you stained your panties with your blood and now have to use toilet paper as a temporary pad, but youâre so tired and in so much pain.
You want to cry, but you also want to scream and obliterate the entire planet. Of all people, why you and why now? Sylus tilts his head to get a better look at your face; his gaze softens when he sees the look on your face. Before Sylus can say anything, you drop your clothes and bury your face into his chest, sighing.Â
Rafayel takes a cautious step forward. âWhatâs wrong, cutie? Itâs okay if youâre too tired to finish your soup. We wonât force you to eat,â Rafayel says softly.
You press your cheek against Sylusâs chest, peeking at Rafayel and the others with a pout. God, this is making you feel even worse. You shake your head, closing your eyes. You shudder, feeling like a stepped ketchup packet.
Xavier rubs your back, eyebrows knitted together with worry. âPlease tell us whatâs wrong. You seem to be doing far worse before you went to the bathroom,â Xavier pleads, pulling you away from Sylus.
âYou guys know that Iâm sick, right?â You mutter, sitting on the edge of your bed.Â
The men around you nod, slowly migrating over to your bed.
You sigh, rubbing your eyes with your knuckle. âWell, turns out, Iâm also menstruating! Yippee! Hooray! Someone please kill me and end my suffering.â You plop over on your bed and rub your temples. âOh, and to top it all off, I completely forgot to restock my tampons and pads! Things just keep getting better and better!â
You grab your pillow, tempted to take yourself out of your misery. Instead, you hold yourself back and hug it against your chest, zoning out. Caleb makes a noise, grabbing your attention. You look over at Caleb to see him staring at his phone, stroking his chin.
âThat makes sense on why Iâve been getting notifications about your menstruation cycle nearing,â Caleb says nonchalantly.Â
You stare at Caleb owlishly. âYou keep track of my period?â You ask with millions of questions running through your mind rapidly.
âI do too,â Rafayel says, waving his phone. âIn fact, I just got notified that your period should be starting sometime this week, but it looks like it starts today! I should mark it.â
You sit up, ignoring the feeling of your blood staining your temporary âpad.â Wait, since when did they keep track of your period?Â
Noticing the clueless look on your face, Zayne pats your head with a small smile. âIn case you forgot, which, judging by the look on your face, you did, you wanted me to keep track of your cycle. By the looks of it, it seems like Iâm not the only one whoâs tracking your cycle,â Zayne says, looking over at the others.
You stare at the five men blankly, with your mouth agape, when the others show you their phone screens. You look at the ceiling, trying to recall the time when you asked them to keep track of your period. Well, at least you wonât have to worry about forgetting your impending cycle when you have five people who will notify you about it before it happens. Today, however, is different. No warning signs at allâ well, maybe you getting sick is the warning of your impending menstrual cycle, and having no pads and tampons stocked in your bathroom is the worst situation to be in.Â
Xavier strokes your hair. âIf you want, you can go take a shower while we go to the store to buy you some pads and tampons,â Xavier murmurs, gazing at you with those adorable puppy dog eyes of his.
âIf we do that, someoneâs going to need to stay back and keep watch of [Y/N],â Caleb interjects, crossing his arms over his chest. âI know [Y/N] long enough to know what products she uses.â
You groan and flop over on your stomach. You canât believe Caleb wants someone to babysit you while they go out to buy you menstrual products. Youâre an adult, you can be left alone in your apartment while theyâre out shopping at the nearest store. Itâs not like you will bleed out and die if they leave you all by yourself. Plus, this isnât your first rodeo as a menstruating woman, a hunter to be exact.Â
After convincing all five of your lovely guests to let you be alone in your apartment while they go out to restock your menstrual products, you find yourself sitting in the shower, staring at the tiles. You watch the blood and shampoo trickle into the drain, wincing when another wave of cramps hits you. You lean against the shower wall, questioning everything. You have no idea how long youâve been in the shower, but you truly hope that Caleb, Zayne, Xavier, Rafayel, and Sylus return before youâre done taking a shower.
MeanwhileâŚ
Zayne walks to the cash register with three boxes of pads in one hand and a box of dessert from the storeâs bakery in the other. Zayne stops in his tracks when he sees the other four, raising an eyebrow at them as they approach the cardiac surgeon.Â
âFive boxes of tampons! [Y/N] wonât have to worry about running out of menstrual products for the next few months!â Rafayel says, looking smug.
Xavier scratches his head, holding up four boxes of both pads and tampons, each one different from the other. âI bought one of each for [Y/N]. If I remember correctly, she said her period flows tend to be different and unpredictable each month and day.â
The others nod and murmur with approval, earning a shy yet satisfied smile from Xavier. Everyone turns to look at Caleb, your childhood friend and Zayneâs childhood and maybe current love rival.Â
Caleb laughs, shaking his head. âWow, all of you went all out. I, on the other hand, got her the period essentials,â he says, holding up a shopping basket that contains pads, tampons, a couple of your favorite snacks, a heatable teddy bear, and a soft throw blanket.Â
Zayne hums, mentally critiquing Calebâs cart. Despite there being differences between Zayne and Caleb, Zayne approves of Calebâs cart. Everyone turns to look at Sylus, who came empty-handed. Everyoneâs silently judging the leader of Onychinus. Sylus chuckles, tapping on his temples before crossing his arms over his chest.
âWhile you all were shopping around, I put in a bulk order of pads, tampons, and wipes that will be delivered to [Y/N]âs apartment. It should be there by the time we return to her apartment,â Sylus says, glancing at the watch around his wrist.
Rafayel looks at Sylus with wide eyes, a mix of horror and awe. âBulk order?! Are you implying [Y/N] is going to get warehouse-level type of shipments to her apartment?â Rafayel asks.
âYes, because I donât want her to worry about having to run back to the store to restock her menstrual products,â Sylus says nonchalantly, propping his hands on his hips.Â
Caleb scrutinizes Sylus, propping one hand on his hip. âWhere did you get the money to do all of this, Sylus?â
Sylus smiles, waving off the skeptical looks thrown his way. âIâm just a fruit vendor with a very successful business, that is all.â
- 15 Minutes Later -
You shut off the water and grab your towel, wrapping it around your body. You stand in the shower, debating whether you should step out and get dressed or wait for the others to return with pads and tampons. A knock on the bathroom door interrupts your thoughts, making you nearly cry out in relief. Oh, thank goodness you wonât have to make a temporary pad out of toilet paper!
You leave the shower and walk to the door, unlocking it. You crack the door open and take a peek. Zayne, Caleb, Rafayel, and Xavier are holding bags of pads and tampons. No Sylus in sight.Â
Noticing your questioning gaze, Zayne gestures to the door leading to the living room. âSylus is stocking your storage room. Youâll understand when youâre done with your shower,â Zayne says.Â
You sigh in relief. You thanked the four men before grabbing a random bag from one of their hands, closing the door, and getting dressed. After changing and securing your underwear, you unlock and open the bathroom door. Caleb helps you with restocking the pads and tampons in your bathroom while Xavier and Rafayel help Zayne with throwing the boxes away.
âWhere is Sylus?â You mutter, closing the sink cabinet door.
Caleb shrugs. âProbably still stocking up the storage room,â Caleb replies.Â
Caleb wraps his arm around your shoulders before leaving the bathroom with you. When you and Caleb step into the living room, you stop in your tracks when you see Xavier, Zayne, and Rafayel helping Sylus stock your apartment storage room. You look at Caleb, who shrugs in response to your questioning gaze.Â
You leave Calebâs side, approaching the four men while trying to peek from their shoulders to see what theyâre doing. Xavier and Rafayel move out of the way for you to look; your eyes nearly pop out of your skull after seeing your storage room, once empty, now completely full of boxes of pads, tampons, and wet wipes.
You look at Sylus, who reminds you of a smug cat showing his owner his successful hunt. âThis was your doing, wasnât it?â You ask.
âWell, of course it is, sweetie. I donât want you to worry about restocking your menstrual products for the next few months. If you happen to use up the entire stock, then you can always let me know, and I will have them restocked in no time,â Sylus says.
Next few months?! You look back at the storage room, filled to the brim with boxes of pads, tampons, and wipes. Maybe itâs your period thatâs making you emotional, or the fact that these men care about you so much that they would go out of their way to buy as many boxes of pads and tampons for you, you find it very touching. You canât help but tear up at the sweet gesture, causing mass panic among the five men.
âCutie, why are you crying?! Youâre not in pain, are you!?â Rafayel asks, grabbing you by the shoulders and staring at you with pure panic.
You laugh and cover your face, bending over to avoid their worried stares. Rafayel looks at the others, unsure of what to do aside from pulling you into his arms and cradling you, patting your back. You wipe the tears running down your cheeks and let yourself loosen up in Rafayelâs arms, sighing.
âWhat do you want to do now, pipsqueak? Do you want to finish your food now or later?â Caleb trails off, stroking your hair.
You continue clinging to Rafayel, peeking over at the untouched (and most likely cold) soup. âCan we watch a movie first? Iâm not really in the mood to eat right now. Maybe Iâll be hungry after we finish a movie,â you mutter, peeking at Caleb and the others.
Each man agreed to your proposal and began setting the living room up for the impromptu movie night. When everyone starts to settle down for the movie, they all leave space for you to sit next to themâlots of space. You prop your hands on your hips, unsure of where to sit, while these men subtly glare at each other.Â
âCan you guys scoot a little closer?â You ask, gesturing for everyone to move in.
Caleb, Sylus, Zayne, Xavier, and Rafayel reluctantly scoot closer to each other. When they stop to look at you, you shake your head with disapproval and continue to gesture for them to move closer. Once theyâre finally sitting side by side, thighs touching, you nod with approval. You grab the throw blanket that Caleb bought for you and drape the blanket over their laps, ignoring the confused stares thrown your way. You grab a plushie that works as a pillow and place it on Sylusâs lap. You walk to the light switch, turn the living room lights off before returning to where the others are waiting for you, still confused about what youâre plotting. On your way back, you grab the spare plush blanket that hangs from the armrest of the sofa. This is probably the most youâve moved around since returning from your solo mission.Â
You briefly sit on Zayneâs lap before lying down on everyoneâs lap. If these men want to fight over who gets to sit beside you while watching the movie, you might as well make them your bed. You lay your head on the plushie pillow on Sylusâs lap, draping your blanket over your body.
Rafayel frowns. âHey, how come Iâm the only one with the short end of the stick?â Rafayel mutters, lightly tickling your feet, making you jolt.
You peek at Rafayel with a playful glare. âDonât worry, Rafayel. Iâll be switching positions when we start watching another movie after this one,â you reply, getting comfortable.Â
About twenty minutes into the movie, you slowly start to doze off. There are many times when you try to force yourself to stay awake during the first few minutes of the movie. But the more the movie drags on, you canât help but slowly fall asleep. Youâre so comfortable: fresh out of the shower, wearing cozy pajamas, lying on top of Sylus, Caleb, Zayne, Xavier, and Rafayelâs lap with a blanket over you.Â
You donât mind spending your vacation and sick days like this as long as youâre surrounded by the people who cherish you and care about you. Right when you succumb to your slumber, you feel someone press a kiss on your head, and more kisses soon follow after the first.
Note: I can't believe that this is my second fanfic for Love&Deepspace and the next fic is going to be smut đ One of my ideas for the smut was going to be based on the Tomorrow Catch-22 memories, but then that (the fic) ended up being the complete opposite of the event and the memories. So, I'm probably going to scrap that idea and come up with a new one for the upcoming smut-fic for my LADS series. If you're interested in joining my Discord server, the invite to my Discord server can be found [HERE]! The Discord server invite links will be different every time I post a new fanfic, and these links have expiration dates. It's a relatively chill server, which I like because the server nearly crashed when it was first created. Anyway, to all my new and returning readers, keep in mind that I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr), Ko-Fi (Genshinluvr/Aaliah_exo), and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!
Read more of my works on my Grand Masterlist, which contains every masterlist I have created! Maybe support me by tipping me on Ko-Fi or by reblogging my fanfics! ^^ I will also be posting exclusive fanfics on Ko-Fi as well very soon! I might post all of my stories there, too, but who knows. You can also tip me on Tumblr if you'd like as a way to show support! ^^
362 notes
¡
View notes
Text
welded by water

â you take the time to explore the base he offers you as your home, wandering through countless doors. but your favorite will always be the one that leads to him.
Ę ęá´ĽęĘ: OR SYLUS SWIMMING IN A POOL đŠ sylusâs birthday is in 3 days & iâm unwell ă˝(°ă°)ďž heâs gonna be celebrated for the first time and my heart bleeds i love him sm. anyway! this idea was born out of that one ingredient story where he pulls u in the pool I SCREAMED its so romantic & thinking abt sylus in a private pool changed my life đľâđŤ i hope you enjoy!! â-urs
sylus x reader | fluff, romantic tension, smoochie kisses, sylus in a swimming pool hehehe
tw: suggestive touches, very brief description of drowning
You knew the base was big. You barely found your way around to the training room, feeling as if the halls shift and shuffle like an enchanted maze. Usually, Sylus would show you aroundâ lead you by the elbow pushing forward, clasp your hands together to pull you to a secret garden, hike you up his hips and carry you to his bedroom.Â
But today you decided exploring would be a good thing. Equipped with Mephisto on your shoulder (a ceasefire between you two today), you walk down the dim crossroads and forks of the building with confidence.Â
Youâd asked permission before, to walk around and open doors. Sylus merely hummed, lips pressed to your shoulder, saying, âEverything I own is yours.â
You didnât take that lightly. You refusedâ tried toâ but you knew he was certain. Every word uttered from his lips weighs like a stone in water. You knew, in your heart, he would claim the world and say that all he has conquered is yours to take and use according to your will.Â
So here you are, assuming responsibility. Knowing the kingdom where you lay claim. With your phone on the notes app open, you tap tap tap away at directions and take stock of the rooms there are in hisâ your home.
Itâs fun to discover to an extent. Although, when all Mephisto can give you is a head nuzzle and a squawk, you quickly lose interest by the fourth armory. Light fingers trace a line down from the birdâs head to his beak, âWhereâs Sylus?âÂ
Mephisto shakes, his metallic feathers fluttering like real ones except they sound like windchimesâ extremely thin iron tendrils clinking against each other like rain. One of your many favorite things about him.
The bird takes off to fulfill your request. This time, he waits for you to keep up. He leads you past an artificial greenhouse, another showcase room displaying his many gem collections, the boxing gym and thenâŚ
Mephisto perches himself on the top of the doorway of two double doors. If youâre correct, you should be west of the house. Maybe a wall of the whole structure. Beyond the threshold could be taller windows and maybe the sky. Maybe a telescope. With all the things youâve seen, an observatory wouldnât be surprising.
âBet you three nut-bolts itâs an observatory.â you say and lean your weight into your shoulder against the door. âThough, I never thought him to be interested in astronoâŚâÂ
The words fizzle and die on your lips as youâre kissed by a faint blast of moisture and the sound of splashing echoing loud through the hall. Your gaze is drawn upwards at the high ceiling reverberating the sound, and then across the molded crowns of the walls. You follow the pattern, bewildered gaze racing down the curves of the large french windows. The starsâ no, the galaxies, splattered like paint onto glass. The moon shines through the glass, and reflects unto the rippling water of the swimming pool.Â
The pool where Sylus swam with refined grace. Running through laps with no signs of tiring. Breaking the surface of the water for breath, and then going back under to pop up again on the other end.
Youâre too engrossed by the look of it allâ how a room with a pool can rival the size of a library, can also feel like an observatory. You file your initial guess as a win at that.
Carefully, you step inside. Almost as if afraid to disrupt the sanctity of it all. But you push forward, into the candle-like glow of the lamps around the pool.
You make your way to the edge, sit cross legged and watch him swim. Up and down. Fast, faster. Silently and then with more force. A faint beeping signals his stop, and he emerges from the water like a god that commands the seas. The moonlight shines on his hair and transforms it into liquid silver melting over his eyes.Â
Warm and cool reflect of the wet planes of his body, creating an ethereal illusion glimmering an otherworldly glow.Â
And his eyes, so dark and yet brighter than a dying sun, find you. Hold you captive in their focus. Your stomach caves and your chest burns at his perception.Â
The little jolt he gets in his chest whenever he finds you staring at him like that never fails to fluster him. What a gift to see you in general, but he cannot deny that he loves when you seek him out. When you emerge from your world and join him in his. When he finds you sitting there, staring, waiting for him.Â
He swims from the other edge of the pool towards you. A swan through the water with practiced grace. And when he reaches your dry little island, he pulls himself up by his forearms to greet you. âDone exploring, sweetie?âÂ
You swallow. Happy he is here, but you often tend to forget how he looks beneath all his designer refinery and comfy, steal-able clothes. Strangled, an âmhmâ manages to wriggle its way out your throat.Â
âCat got your tongue?â he smirks, catching the way your pupils scramble down so quickly and clumsily over his body. Beneath his cool exterior, his heart spasms with endearment. âKitten?âÂ
And heâs backâ love of your life, most annoying man on the planet. Stupid, cocky look dripping along with the droplets of his face as he challenges you. You dig through your pocket and find a coin.Â
Swift and easy, you toss it into the pool. It plops and leaves ripples right by his hip. A beat, and then he tilts his head at you in confusion. âMade a wish?âÂ
âEnriching this pool.â you explain. âIt lacks gold, and Iâve always seen you as someone who should be swimming in it.âÂ
âIs that a compliment?â
âDonât take it then.â you huff.
He chuckles, turning your upturned nose back towards him with wet fingers, making you scowl. He grins wider, âNo, no. itâs just⌠not enough.â
Your eyes widen. âOh. Iâm sorry, would you like me to throw in a hundred in there?âÂ
He snorts. âSweetheart, you can do better than that.â
âYour black card drowns then.â
He laughs, whole and soulful. And it echoes through the hall as this beautiful symphony. âNone of that is enough to enrich the pool.âÂ
âCalling yourself broke isnât as humbling as you think.â
âDarling.â
âWhat?â
âHold your nose.â splash! In a single movement, heâs grasped your hand and pulled you into the water. Your arms flail, but his touch never leaves you as he hauls his soaked little dragon li up to the surface.
âSylus!â you screech, finding his shoulders and pulling yourself flush against him for leverage. You didnât expect it to be that deep. His arms wrap around you tightly as he chuckles.Â
Truly, how delightful is your misery.
âNow itâs enriched.â he says slowly. Glancing down at your downturned lips and your angry brow. A request you recognize and melts you right away.
Your distance makes it easier to curl your fingers on the nape of his neck and tug his lips to yours in a slow, languid kiss.Â
You breathe, âHowâd you know my wish?â
He grins, pressing one, two, three kisses to your lips in rapid successions. He has no answer, but he lets you know that he wished for it too.Â
Youâre pulled further into the pool, his movements smooth and unhurried as he kisses you again. A man starved. The first drop of water in the desert.Â
You cling tighter, worried when your feet canât find the ground. But he guides your thigh up and taps the back of your knee so you wrap your legs around his waist.Â
âSweetie.â he murmurs, motions taking pause. He delights in the way you push more, chasing his halted kisses with your soft lips. âMm, beloved.â
âYes?â you almost whine, irked by the interruption. Every fiber of his soul frays and blows into the wind at the sound anyway.
âLook.â he says, only because he knows youâll love it. Gentle fingers wrap around your chin, turning your head towards the length of the pool. With your stillness, the water follows suit, and reveals an endless mirror for the endless sky.Â
âOh,â your lips part, your eyes widen, and you get the urge to cling onto Sylusâs strong shoulders a little more. You press your cheek to his to marvel at the beauty he beholds you.
The flecks of lights dance on the warbling glass you swim in, the lunar touch transmutes the water into silk. The sky is on your body and both are doused in starlight.Â
âBeautiful.â you breathe, touching the silver surface carefully, watching the tiniest waves disturb the image.Â
âYes.â he says, but his fingers find your cheek. And his eyes have never left your face, waiting and watching for this reaction exactly. Delighting in the cosmos as wellâ on your skin, in your eyes. He thinks: Gorgeous. Ethereal. Divine.
All mine.Â
You turn to see his drunken gaze at you and smile at the implication of his words. Noses brush and kisses resume.Â
âI think this is my favorite room.â you say, but your head is filled with him who holds you in his space. Â
His amusement takes form in a laugh, low and suave. âYeah?âÂ
You hum. Brush his hair backâ bundles of moonlight slipping through your fingersâ plant your palms on his chest, and lean your forehead on his.Â
His warm hands travel up your back, pushing you impossibly closer to his warmth. Until youâre welded by the sparks of light in the sky. Until you meld together in a warm loving tangle of limbs and breath. He says, âItâs all yours.â
But amongst all the wealth, the treasures and the rooms he chooses to share with you, he is the only one you truly desire. Him, and your soul asks nothing more.Â
đ˘đ¸ đ˘đ¸ đ˘đ¸ ŕż ŕż*:シďž
âď˝ĄË âď¸ Ë・â・Ëâ˝Ë・â more sylus thoughts âď˝ĄË âď¸ Ë・â・Ëâ˝Ë・â
thank you for reading!
3K notes
¡
View notes
Text
how to accidentally catch feelings while baby-sitting a man-child | sylus
synopsis : You were just a quiet, book-loving college student trying to survive academia and avoid emotional damageâuntil Sylus crashed into your life like a hot, smug hurricane who never left. content : fluff, college!au, sylus being drunk(not really), crackhead energy writing, comedy
It was a Saturday nightâwhich, in your world, meant a sacred ritual of staying in your dorm, reading a good book, and letting Spotify decide your fate with its chaotic shuffle.
A peaceful, introvertâs haven.
Your roommate had long since abandoned you for brighter, sweatier pastures, hollering, âIâm gonna get laid tonight!â as she tottered out in an outfit that couldâve doubled as a napkin.
Youâd only offered her a solemn nod and returned to your paperback and playlist, cocooned in your sofa bed like a content little hermit.
Nothing could disturb your peace.
Until something did.
A knock.
You blinked at the door. Once. Twice. Frowned. Who knocks past 10 p.m.? Who dares?
Your mind immediately went to one personâyour best friend, Sylus. The same Sylus who had texted earlier, bragging about some frat party he was going to âgrace with his presence.â You had rolled your eyes then.
You were rolling them again now.
Still, you peeled yourself from the embrace of your blankets with a martyred sigh.
âComing,â you muttered like a wronged Victorian heroine.
And there he was.
Sylus, leaning on your doorframe like a drunken Greek tragedy. The unmistakable scent of alcohol hit you in the face like an offended slap.
âW-WhaâSy??â you gasped, arms flailing as you caught his teetering form.
He slumped against you dramatically, mumbling something that suspiciously sounded like âNeed⌠y-you,â into the crook of your neck.
Your entire spine straightened. Goosebumps. Betrayal.
âAgain?â you asked, somehow dragging his dead weight into your dorm like a disgruntled EMT.
You dumped him onto the sofa, where he sprawled like a starfish in distress.
âHow much did you drink?â you asked, already grabbing your emergency water bottleâstandard best-friend-care protocol. You tilted it to his lips.
He tried to drink it sideways.
You sighed, loud and long. âOf course youâre useless.â
His eyes fluttered open just a crack as he sipped at the water, managing to prop himself up with one wobbly arm like he was posing for a very tragic Renaissance painting.
âYouâre so⌠nice,â he slurred, dragging the word out with an attempt at a smirk that looked more like a sleepy grimace.
You exhaled sharply through your nose. âYeah, yeah. Save the drunk flirting for someone who didnât just haul your dead weight off the hallway floor.â
This wasnât your first Sylus Situation.
Probably wouldnât be your last.
You and Sylus had met on the very first day of college. Youâd been an eager, introverted bookworm just trying to get to your dorm before anyone could talk to you.
And thenâbamâSylus. Tall, cocky, and very lost, standing in the middle of the corridor looking as confused as a cat in a swimming pool.
Heâd stopped you by physically planting one muscled arm across your path and declaring, with absolute seriousness, âI need help finding the toilet.â
A moment you would never forget, nor forgive.
You had rolled your eyes back then tooâbut still showed him the way, mostly because he had somehow clamped onto you like a gym-sculpted koala.
To this day, you had no idea why someone at age eighteen had the physique of a Marvel extra, but you had learned not to ask too many questions when it came to Sylus.
Especially when he was drunk and whispering compliments like you were the second coming of hydration.
Now, two years in, you and Sylus were pretty much inseparable.
Not exactly by your choice, of course. He had basically crammed himself into your life like a determined cat forcing its way into a box half its sizeâand then refused to leave.
Ever.
But you, being the kind-hearted, ever-patient soul that you were cough pushover cough, didnât really complain. Much.
In his own chaotic way, Sylus had proven⌠useful.
He was your self-appointed human shield against overly confident frat boys who thought âYou read? Thatâs hotâ was a seductive line.
More than once, heâd slung an arm around you and declared, âSheâs taken. By academia. Leave her alone.â
You, in turn, had helped him survive the academic hellscape that was calculus. Which mostly meant sitting beside him during study sessions and watching him squint at formulas like they were written in ancient Sumerian.
At one point he tried to bribe you with tacos to do his entire homework.
You took the tacos and still made him do it.
It was an odd, messy sort of friendship. One built on sarcastic banter, mutual blackmail, and late-night ramen runs.
And maybeâjust maybeâa little too much unspoken something lingering in the quiet spaces in between.
Like right now, for example.
He blinked blearily at you from your sofa, shirt slightly rumpled, hair a tousled mess, water bottle still clutched like a lifeline.
âYou know,â he mumbled, âyouâd make a great wife.â
You narrowed your eyes. âDrink your water before I drown you in it.â
He grabs the bottle and downs it in one dramatic go, like he was auditioning for a Gatorade commercial.
Then he thrusts it back at you with all the triumph of someone who just solved world hunger.
âThere. I finished it,â he announces, his arm swaying a little as he wobbles in place, clearly very proud of his accomplishment.
You roll your eyes but take the bottle anyway, muttering something under your breath about man-children and alcohol tolerance.
You place it on the table and then, with the kind of exasperated sigh that only comes from long-term best friend duty, plop yourself down next to him on the sofa.
He immediately slouches, his shoulder knocking lightly into yours, like his body had decided it belonged at a thirty-degree angle from yours. You donât move.
Itâs not like this is the first time heâs drunkenly ended up in your space.
Sylus had a talent for turning up half-conscious on your couch like some sort of overgrown housecat that went out, got into a fight, and came back demanding affection and snacks.
Still, as he leaned a bit closer, you caught the faintest scent of his cologne beneath the layers of beer and poor decisions.
That same one he always woreâthe one you refused to admit you liked.
He gave a tired little groan and let his head loll toward you. âYouâre warm,â he muttered, barely above a whisper. âLike⌠those fuzzy blankets. But with better insults.â
You blinked. âThank you, I think?â
He gave a lazy grin, eyes barely open. âAnytime, wifey.â
You smacked his shoulder with a throw pillow.
âOW.â
You had to admitâthough only internally, and only under very specific, delusional circumstancesâyou might have feelings for the guy.
Not that youâd ever admit it out loud. Absolutely not. Youâd rather eat a raw onion whole.
Besides, you and Sylus were practically heaven and earth. He walked through campus like he owned the place, girls tripping over their own feet just to bat their lashes at him. Your dorm mate had been one of them, once.
Keyword, once.
That ended the moment she got bold and tried to drape herself all over him like a weighted blanket in heat.
Sylus, being the tactful gentleman he was, had responded by physically lifting her off and shoving her away with all the grace of a bouncer at closing time.
She hit the floor with a squeak and a very visible bruise forming on her hip.
Youâd been mortified.
While Sylus looked mildly annoyed, you were busy apologizing profusely, scrambling to help her up while simultaneously smacking him on the arm.
âWhat is wrong with you?â youâd hissed.
âShe was being gross,â heâd replied simply, like that was an acceptable answer. âAnd touching me.â
âSheâs a human being, not a leech!â
âA touchy leech,â he muttered, unfazed.
That was the thing with Sylus.
He never asked to be popular. Girls just looked at him like he was the answer to all their bad decisions.
But you? You were the one dragging him by the ear out of messes he caused. The one making excuses.
The one covering for him when he showed up drunk or bailed on class or told a professor their quiz âwas an act of violence.â
You were the constant.
And somehow, in a very twisted way, you were okay with that. Even if your feelings stayed buried beneath layers of sarcasm and very loud sighs.
Especially now, when he was leaning half-asleep on your shoulder, muttering something about you smelling like books and cinnamon and safety.
And damn it, you liked that too much.
Your expression softened despite yourself when you heard the soft, steady rhythm of Sylus snoring.
He had slumped a little more against your shoulder, completely out cold now, mouth slightly parted in the most annoyingly adorable way.
With a small sigh, you leaned forward, grabbing the throw blanket from the armrest and carefully draping it over both your laps. He didnât stir.
Just exhaled, warm and slow against your collarbone.
You reached for your book again, flipping back to the page you had abandoned during The Great Drunken Entry of Sylus.
And then, as if summoned by the universe purely to torment you, your Spotify decided to betray you.
Under the Influence by Chris Brown began to play.
Your heart dropped straight to your stomach.
âOh, no,â you whispered like you were in a horror movie and the killer had just creaked open the door.
Because you remembered the last time this song had come on while Sylus was drunkâless drunk than tonight, unfortunately.
That time, he had turned to you, eyes low and voice deep, and said with a completely straight face, âThis song represents the things I want to do to you.â
You had choked on your drink. He had passed out shortly after.
You had spent three business days trying to pretend it never happened.
And yet, for some completely inexplicable reason, you never removed the song from your playlist.
Why?
That was a question for your therapist.
You shot a nervous glance at Sylusâs sleeping form. He twitched a little, mumbling something unintelligible.
âNo, no, no, no,â you whispered under your breath. âDonât you dare wake up.â
He let out a soft sigh.
You stared at your phone, debating if skipping the song would be too loud and risk waking him.
You decided to risk it.
Your finger hoveredâthen paused.
Because deep down, despite your better judgment, part of you wanted to hear what he might say if he woke up again.
And that was the real betrayal.
You scrambled through your playlist like a woman on a mission, muttering curses at your past self while frantically searching for somethingâanythingâless incriminating than Chris Brown.
Eventually, you landed on something soft and unassuming, a gentle acoustic ballad that sounded like it belonged in a rainy cafĂŠ montage.
Peace.
At last.
You settled back in, the weight of Sylus still warm beside you, blanket tucked around your legs, your book finally resting in your hands again.
You exhaled slowly.
And then, without warning, the air was violently knocked out of your lungs.
âWhaâ!â
One second you were comfortably seated.
The next, Sylus had flipped you flat on your back, your book flying out of your hands with a soft thud.
A startled yelp escaped your throat, legs tangled in the blanket, brain scrambling to catch up to the fact that you had just been ambushed.
He hovered over you, forearms braced on either side of your head, eyes half-lidded but openâdefinitely awake now. Great.
âSylus!â you hissed, face heating. âWhat the hell?!â
âShhh,â he murmured, voice low and hoarse, like he hadnât fully emerged from dreamland yet. âYou moved.â
âI was reading.â
He blinked slowly, eyes flickering across your face with an intensity that made your breath catch.
Then he mumbled, almost like a confession, âThought you left.â
Your heart stuttered.
âIâSylus, I live here.â You tried to squirm, but he just shifted closer, lowering himself so his forehead bumped gently against yours.
âYou smell like lavender,â he whispered.
You were going to die. Right here. Of cardiac arrest and secondhand embarrassment.
âAnd books,â he added softly, eyes fluttering shut again. âYou smell like home.â
Your hands hovered awkwardly in the air, unsure whether to shove him off or pull him closer.
You did neither.
Because the worst part?
You liked hearing that more than you shouldâve.
âWhy are you⌠so cute?â he slurs, eyes glassy and unfocused, his breath warm against your lips.
You barely had time to process the questionâif it was a questionâbefore he leaned in and slammed his lips against yours with all the grace and coordination of someone who definitely shouldnât be operating heavy machinery.
Your brain short-circuited.
Yep. Heâs super drunk tonight.
It wasnât even a kiss, really.
More like a very committed face-plant. His lips mashed clumsily against yours, all instinct and zero finesse, like his drunk brain had gone, âTarget acquiredâinitiate smooch protocol.â
You froze. Arms still mid-air. Eyes wide. Mind absolutely screaming.
It lasted all of two seconds before he let out a satisfied little hum and promptly collapsed against you like a human pancake, burying his face into the crook of your neck as if the kiss had been a casual prelude to nap time.
ââŚSeriously?â you croaked.
No response. Just light snoring and a very warm, very solid Sylus draped across your body.
You stared at the ceiling.
This was fine. Everything was fine.
You were definitely not blushing.
Not still feeling the ghost of his lips against yours.
Not wondering why the hell your heart was racing like youâd just run a marathon.
Nope.
Totally. Fine.
ââ˘
The next morning, sunlight peeked through the blinds, warm and accusing. You blinked groggily, only to realize that your limbs were pinned.
Sylus was still slumped against your body, face buried in your shoulder, arm thrown around your waist like a weighted blanket with abandonment issues.
He was out, dead to the world, breathing softly like last night hadnât been a whole fever dream.
You stared at him for a long moment.
Then, very carefullyâlike you were defusing a bombâyou began to wiggle out from under him.
One leg. Then the other.
You held your breath as you slipped free, standing over him like some war-weary survivor of battle. He didnât stir.
Honestly, you were impressed. You could have probably vacuumed the room and heâd still be there, drooling peacefully.
You didnât have time to process it. Class was calling.
And you had never gotten ready so fast.
By the time you made it to your seat, slightly out of breath and still pulling your hoodie over your head, your mind was already spiraling.
The lecture blurred into a series of droning syllables you couldnât quite absorb.
Because God, you hoped he didnât remember.
If he didâif he looked at you with that signature smirk and said anything about last nightâyour soul might physically evacuate your body.
You kept your head down, notebook open but blank, your pen frozen mid-air.
And still, your thoughts wandered.
Back to the feel of his lips on yoursâsloppy, warm, unexpected.
Back to the sound of his voice, low and slurred, calling you cute like it was a sin he couldnât forgive.
Back to the way your heart had reacted like it was hearing something it had been waiting for.
Your teeth grazed your bottom lip, and before you could stop yourself, you caught it gently between them. Just to see if you could remember.
Andâdamn itâyou could.
Which was exactly the problem.
Class ended faster than you realized.
One moment you were lost in a daze of accidental kisses and existential dread, the next, students were filing out around you and your professor was reminding everyone about next weekâs quiz that you absolutely did not hear.
You packed your stuff in record time and bolted, telling yourself youâd walk it off. Or compartmentalize. Or, ideally, both.
It was a crisp morning, birds chirping, sun shining, world spinning just fine without dragging your dignity behind it. You were just starting to calm down, your feet falling into a steady rhythm along the pavement, whenâ
An arm slung over your shoulder.
You stiffened like someone had just hit your internal panic button.
âThanks for not waking me,â came a familiar, smug voice from your right, laced with far too much amusement for someone who had been drooling on your hoodie six hours ago.
You turned your head slowlyâlike in a horror filmâand there he was.
Sylus.
Disheveled but well-rested. Hair tousled. Hoodie slightly crooked on his frame.
Looking every bit like someone who had zero regrets and somehow still got eight hours of sleep.
And worse?
He was smirking.
You stared at him.
He stared back.
Then you exhaled, long and slow, a rush of relief loosening your spine. âSo⌠you donât remember anything?â you asked as casually as you could.
His smirk deepened. âNope.â
You nodded, clutching your bag a little tighter. âGood. Great. Fantastic.â
He glanced sideways at you, amusement dancing in his eyes. âYou look tense,â he said, as if you werenât actively reliving one of the most unhinged nights of your life.
You kept your face blank. âDo I?â
âMm-hm.â He leaned in slightly. âWe didnât do anything weird, did we?â
Your soul briefly tried to exit your body.
You cleared your throat, gaze fixed straight ahead. âDefine weird.â
Sylus chuckled, his grip around your shoulders tightening playfully. âKnew I could count on you to protect my innocence.â
You resisted the urge to shove him into a bush.
Because he didnât remember.
And maybe that was for the best.
Right?
ââ˘
Later that afternoon, Sylus had peeled himself away from your side with his usual casual flair, stretching like a cat and shooting you a wink over his shoulder.
âGot a date,â heâd called, walking backward with that insufferable grin. âDonât miss me too much!â
You managed a forced smile, waving him off like it was no big deal.
But it was.
Because the moment he turned the corner, a sharp, unwelcome pang bloomed in your chest. It wasnât jealousyânot exactly.
Just⌠something heavy. Something tight.
Something you couldnât name without digging into places you werenât quite ready to go.
You sighed, long and low, and forced your feet toward your next class, pretending that maybe youâd feel better if you just kept moving.
Spoiler, you didnât.
Classes passed in a blur, lectures droning like white noise in the background.
You tried to focus, really, but your mind kept driftingâback to last night, back to his weight against you, his breath on your neck, the taste of his lips.
Back to the way he didnât remember.
And now here he was, out on a date, completely unaware of the emotional chaos heâd left you in.
You returned to your dorm that night with your brain fried and your heart somewhere under your shoe.
You flopped onto your bed face-first, ready to disappear into the mattress forever, when your phone buzzed.
Sy: getting drunk again tonight lol
You groaned, dragging your pillow over your head like it could block out both the light and your bad decisions. You tossed your phone aside with more force than necessary.
âHe better not come here again tonight,â you muttered to yourself.
But even as you said it⌠a tiny, traitorous part of you kind of hoped he would.
And that was the worst part.
Of course he did.
Because why wouldnât he?
You stared at the door for a solid five seconds after the knock. It was almost comedic at this point.
Like the universe had a twisted sense of humor and Sylus was its favorite punchline.
You dragged yourself up, already exhausted before you even turned the knob.
And there he was.
Leaning casually against the doorframe like he hadnât been out on a date just hours ago, like he hadnât already hijacked your emotional equilibrium last night.
The now-familiar scent hit you immediatelyâhis signature cologne, warm and clean, now drowned under the unmistakable sting of alcohol.
Not subtle this time.
He smelled like heâd gone swimming in a cocktail shaker.
He grinned at you, lazy and lopsided. âHey, wifey.â
You stared at him. Blinked once.
Then sighed. âI literally said, âHe better not come here again tonight.ââ
He tilted his head. âBut I always come here.â
You resisted the urge to bang your head against the doorframe. âYou have a room. A perfectly good room.â
âBut yours has you in it,â he said, like it was the most logical argument in the world.
And just like that, your heart did the thing againâthe flutter, the ache, the full-body sigh of someone dangerously close to caring too much.
You stepped aside wordlessly, letting him stumble in and flop onto the sofa with all the grace of a drunk swan.
He missed the armrest entirely and groaned into your throw pillow.
You closed the door.
âDonât throw up on anything,â you warned.
âNever,â came his muffled reply. âI have standards.â
You rolled your eyes. âSure you do.â
As you fetched the water bottleâagain, you glanced over at him. Hair a mess, face flushed, shoes still on.
And yet, somehow, despite it allâdespite the alcohol and the chaos and the absolutely maddening way he lived inside your headâhe still looked like home.
And that was the problem.
You sighedâagainâand knelt beside the sofa, already in caretaker mode. It was routine now. Predictable. You unscrewed the cap of the water bottle with one hand and gently lifted it to his lips, not even bothering to ask this time.
But tonight was different.
Because he didnât drink.
He didnât even move.
He just stared at you.
Silent. Still.
Your brows furrowed as you held the bottle there, confused. âSylus,â you said softly, nudging the rim against his bottom lip.
Still nothing.
You looked up, properly meeting his gazeâand froze.
He wasnât out of it this time. His eyes, though glassy, were clear. Awake. Watching you with an intensity that made your breath hitch.
Your hand slowly lowered the bottle.
âWhat?â you asked, voice barely above a whisper.
His head tilted slightly against the pillow, eyes never leaving yours. âYou were biting your lip in class today.â
You blinked. âWhaâhow do you evenâ?â
âI wasnât that drunk,â he murmured, almost like an apology.
Your heart dropped.
He remembered.
He remembered.
The kiss. The things he said. The way he collapsed on you like you were something he could fall into without consequence.
He remembered everything.
Your voice caught in your throat. You straightened up a little, putting distance between you. âYou said you didnât remember.â
He smiled faintly. âI lied.â
And just like that, the air shiftedâheavy, warm, dangerous. The room felt smaller. Your heart louder.
You didnât know what to say. So you didnât.
You just stared back, bottle still in your hand, feeling everything youâd tried to bury clawing its way to the surface.
He sat up with a sigh, rubbing a hand through his hair as if he could shake off the tension clinging to the air between you.
You watched him closely, bottle still in your hand, heartbeat pounding like a warning.
Then he looked at youâreally looked at youâand said quietly, âI didnât go on a date.â
Your brows lifted.
âI didnât even drink tonight.â
That made you pause.
You stared at him, eyes narrowing slightly. And?
Your expression said it all. So?
He shifted, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, fingers interlaced like he needed something to hold onto.
His frown deepened, not from annoyance but from something far more raw.
âDonât you get it?â he asked, voice softer nowâless teasing, more real.
You blinked.
No smirk. No sarcasm.
Just Sylus, stripped of his usual bravado, staring at you like he didnât know what else to sayâlike the weight of what he felt had finally grown too heavy to carry without showing it.
And suddenly, everything felt louder.
The silence. The breath you didnât take. The confession waiting just on the other side of his words.
Because maybe⌠you did get it.
You just werenât sure you were ready to.
He groaned, dragging a hand down his face in frustration like he couldnât believe he was having to spell it out.
âCome here,â he muttered under his breathâlow, almost like he didnât mean for you to hear it.
But before you could even react, his hands were on either side of your face, warm and certain, pulling you toward him.
And thenâhe kissed you.
Not like last night.
Not messy or sudden or slurred with alcohol and adrenaline.
This kiss was different.
It was gentle. Intentional. His lips moved slowly against yours, like he was trying to say everything he hadnât had the courage to say out loud.
Like he wanted you to feel itâfeel him.
There was no rush. No stumble. Just soft, quiet honesty.
Your hands, unsure at first, slowly rose to grip the front of his shirt. His thumb brushed along your cheek, steadying you, grounding you.
And for a moment, the noise in your head stopped.
No questions. No what-ifs. Just the feeling of himâreal, solid, and heartbreakingly tender.
When he finally pulled away, barely an inch, his forehead rested lightly against yours, breath mingling with yours in the stillness between you.
âI remember everything,â he whispered.
âAnd I meant all of it.â
âIâve liked you for a long time.â
The words settled between you like something fragile and warm, and terrifyingly real.
You barely had time to absorb them before he sighed, shaking his head with a look that was equal parts fond and exasperated.
âFor someone whoâs considered a nerd,â he muttered, thumb brushing against your cheek again, âyouâre so stupid.â
Your jaw dropped slightly. âExcuse me?â
He gave you a lookâthe one that always came right before he said something that would both annoy and fluster you to death.
âYou seriously didnât notice? Two years of me practically living in your room, fending off every guy who looked at you twice, âaccidentallyâ falling asleep on your shoulder, telling you a Chris Brown song described what I wanted to do to youââ
âI thought you were drunk!â you hissed, flushing.
âI was,â he admitted, smirking. âBut that doesnât mean I was lying.â
You stared at him, heart a riot in your chest.
He leaned in again, voice softer now.
âI liked you even before I knew what to call it. When you helped me find the toilet on the first day, and I thought, âWell. Thatâs it. Guess Iâm not letting her go now.ââ
You blinked, wide-eyed. âThat was⌠the first day of college.â
âExactly.â He grinned, nose brushing yours. âAnd youâre just now catching up?â
You opened your mouth to argue. Nothing came out.
He laughed under his breath, pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth. âGod, youâre lucky youâre cute.â
You were still staring at him, wide-eyed, frozen in the moment like your brain had blue-screened.
Your mouth opened. Nothing came out.
You had so many things to say, but your thoughts were tripping over each other in the hallway of your mind, arms full of emotional baggage.
He just chuckled.
Low. Warm. Smug.
That infuriating smirk curved at the corner of his lips again, the one that always spelled trouble and somehow still made your heart flutter.
âYou really are slow,â he murmured, tilting his head. âGuess Iâll just have to make it clearer.â
And before you could process that ominous statementâ
He kissed you again.
But this time, it wasnât sweet or tentative.
This kiss was deeper. Hotter.
Full of all the pent-up feelings he clearly hadnât been hiding as well as you thought.
He pressed you back into the sofa, one hand cradling the side of your face while the other slid around your waist like he already knew he belonged there.
You gasped softly against his mouth, fingers fisting in the fabric of his shirt, body reacting faster than your brain could.
And he groanedâlow in his throat, like just the sound of you was enough to unravel him.
He pulled back only a breathâs distance, lips barely brushing yours, voice rough. âStill think Iâm joking?â
You couldnât think at all.
And maybe, for once, that was okay.
You didnât answer him.
You couldnât.
Because the second your breath hitched, the second your lips parted like you might say somethingâhe kissed you again.
And this time, it wasnât hesitant.
It was consuming.
All heat and hunger and tension finally unraveling between two people who had been orbiting each other for far too long.
Sylus pressed you further into the cushions, his body aligned with yours like he belonged there. Like this had always been inevitable.
His hand slid from your waist to your hip, fingers curling just enough to make you shiver, while his mouth moved against yours with growing urgencyâsoft and then firm, teasing then demanding.
Your hands were in his hair before you even realized, pulling him closer, needing more. He groaned into the kiss, low and strained, like heâd been holding himself back for too long.
âYou drive me crazy,â he murmured against your lips, his voice rough with restraint. âAlways walking around in those stupid sweaters, acting like you donât know what you do to me.â
You whimpered as his mouth trailed along your jaw, down the slope of your neck, finding that spot just below your ear that made your back arch slightly into him. His name slipped out of you before you could stop itâbreathy, half-plea, half-warning.
He stilled for half a second, like he needed to hear it again.
âSylus,â you whispered, and just like that, the last thread of control snapped.
His hands were under your sweater now, fingers splayed across your waist, not rushingâjust feeling. Like he wanted to memorize you. Commit every inch of you to memory.
You gasped when his lips found yours again, this time slower, deeper. As if he were trying to tell you something he didnât quite know how to say.
And in between every kiss, every breath, every graze of skin, you heard it loud and clear.
I want you.
Iâve always wanted you.
Only you.
You broke the kiss with a gasp, lips tingling, chest rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths.
Your hands were still fisted in his shirt, your bodies still pressed close, but you needed a secondâneeded to breathe. Because what the hell just happened?
âHoly shit,â you whispered, voice raw and dazed.
Sylus stilled, eyes searching yours, flushed and breathless. âToo much?â
You shook your head, still trying to catch your breath. âNo. I justâŚâ
Your brows furrowed, a stunned laugh escaping you.
âIâve been walking around thinking you didnât feel the same for two years?â you said, incredulous, voice cracking on the last word.
Sylus blinked, then tilted his head slightly, a small, helpless smile tugging at his lips. âYou seriously didnât know?â
âYou hid it ridiculously well!â
âI practically moved into your dorm.â
âYou ate my snacks and called me wifey. Thatâs not a confession, thatâs just being annoying.â
He laughed, the sound husky and breathless. âI flirted with you constantly.â
âI thought that was just your default setting! You flirt with the barista.â
âI donât press her against the sofa and kiss her like Iâm about to lose my mind,â he muttered, his voice low, his thumb brushing along your jaw. âOnly you.â
Your heart clenched, hard.
The air between you shifted again, softer nowâless fire, more gravity.
He leaned in, resting his forehead against yours. âYou really didnât know?â
âI didnât want to know,â you whispered, eyes fluttering shut. âI thought⌠if I hoped too much, Iâd ruin it.â
His fingers curled gently around the side of your neck, grounding you. âYou didnât ruin anything.â
You opened your eyes and found him looking at you like you were the only thing that had ever made sense to him.
âIâve been yours,â he said quietly, âsince the first day you showed me where the toilet was.â
You let out a soft, disbelieving laughâand kissed him again.
This time, you didnât stop.
You kissed him like you were catching up on everything you hadnât let yourself feel.
He kissed you like heâd been waiting for this moment since that first awkward hallway encounter.
There were no more games. No more pretending. Just whispered names and stolen breath, soft laughs between kisses, and the feeling of finally, finally being seen.
By the time you fell asleep tangled in each other on the sofaâhis hand on your waist, your head tucked under his chinâit was quiet.
Not the lonely kind.
The peaceful kind.
The kind that only comes when youâve stopped running from something⌠and finally let yourself fall.
2K notes
¡
View notes
Text
ever after | sylus | sequel
synopsis : Fate may draw the lines, but it is choice that colors the heart. content : soulmate!au, zayne x reader x sylus, zayne x non-mc!reader, unrequited love, angst (light or not, you decide) note : here is a short peek into readerâs life after the events of through the fire and red. This was super short because I kinda just ran out of ideas, forgive me loveliesđĽš
âOw,â you groaned softly as the tiny needle pricked your wrist.
A low chuckle came from beside you. Sylus leaned back in his chair, holding up his arm. âI already got yours tattooed. Besides, this was your idea.â
âI know,â you muttered, trying not to flinch. âBut it hurts.â
The tattoo artist grinned beneath her mask. âWonât be long now.â
âThatâs what you said thirty minutes ago,â you grumbled, earning laughter from both of them.
ââ˘
You stared at your wrist, eyes wide with something between awe and disbelief.
There it was. His name. Sylus.
Written in bold black ink, permanent against your reddened skin.
Beside you, he smirked and slipped an arm around your waist, pulling you close without a word.
âHowâs it feel?â he asked.
You glanced up at him. âItchy.â
He laughed.
âAt least itâs my name,â he said, looking ahead with a rare softness in his voice.
You followed his gaze, then grinned, bumping your shoulder against his.
âYeah,â you said quietly. âI guess so.â
Suddenly, the world around you fell quiet.
The hum of the city faded into a comfortable stillness as you and Sylus walked side by side beneath the soft glow of the evening lights.
There was no rush. No need to fill the silence. Just the sound of your steps, the breeze brushing past, and the warmth of his hand resting gently at your waist.
He turned to you, eyes softer than usual, the sharp edges of his expression dulled by something quieter.
âHow are you feeling?â he asked.
You looked up to meet his gazeâthose deep crimson eyes that had once unsettled you, now familiar, mesmerizing.
You reached down, letting your hand rest atop his, grounding yourself in the moment.
âTo be honest,â you began, your voice calm, steady, âit was empty at first. I had to get used to not feeling the pull⌠the ache.â
You smiled gently, not bitter, just honest.
âBut Iâm here with you now. And itâs my choice.â
You paused, the weight of those words settling between you like a vow.
âItâs⌠liberating.â
Sylus said nothing at firstâjust looked at you, something unreadable flickering behind his gaze. Then, slowly, his fingers curled around yours, steady and sure.
And in that silence, you both understood.
This wasnât fate.
It was something better.
You leaned your head gently against his shoulder, eyes half-lidded as the quiet between you settled deeper.
âThank you,â you murmured.
A lazy smirk tugged at his lips.
âHavenât you thanked me enough?â he drawled, voice low, amused.
You chuckled softly, the sound warm against the cool evening air.
âI donât think a lifetime of âthank youâs will ever be enough.â
He glanced down at you, the teasing glint in his eyes softening just slightly.
âGood,â he said, a hint of fondness lacing his words.
âGuess Iâll stick around to collect them all.â
It had been almost a year since you walked away from it all.
The heartbreak.
The mark.
The unbearable weight of loving someone who could never choose you back.
Now, your days were quiet. Peaceful in ways they hadnât been in years.
Life with Sylus wasnât perfectânothing ever truly wasâbut it was real.
There were still nights when the past reached out with ghostly fingers.
Times when youâd turn away from his touch, not because you didnât want him, but because the emptiness still echoed too loud.
Your body had been trained to ache for someone else.
To mourn.
To burn.
Choosing Sylus hadnât been easy.
But he never rushed you. Never pulled when you needed space.
He waited. With the kind of patience only someone who understood pain could offer.
And little by little, you let yourself lean into him.
You let his hands steady you, his voice soothe the cracks, his presence remind you what it felt like to be wantedânot by fate, but by choice.
Now, there was no one you trusted more.
He knew you in ways no one else did.
He understood the quiet battles. The loneliness that crept in when the lights went out. The guilt that lingered like a scar.
And still, he stayed.
Not because he had to.
But because he chose to.
Just like you did.
Shaiya still called, every now and then.
The first time, you had finally felt strong enough to answer. To explain why youâd vanished without a word.
You remembered sitting on the couch, knees pulled up to your chest, the phone pressed against your ear as her voice broke on the other end.
She cried.
She apologizedâagain and againâfor something that was never hers to carry.
You had only listened.
Because what could you say?
That it hurt more to know she cared? That her kindness made the healing harder?
You never once blamed her. You never could.
But ZayneâŚ
You hadnât spoken to him. Not once.
Not because you didnât want to.
But because some things are better left untouchedâlike old letters in a drawer or wounds that have just stopped bleeding.
The surgery had taken away the physical painâthe pull, the burnâbut not the years of quiet devotion.
That kind of love didnât vanish with ink or tissue.
And that was enough.
For you, and for him.
Shaiya had mentioned they got married. No fanfare. Just a small gathering, vows exchanged quietly with people they trusted.
Youâd smiled faintly at the news.
âCongratulations,â youâd said softly, fingers brushing over Sylusâs as he sat beside you.
He didnât say anythingâjust watched you with that ever-present smirk, his thumb lazily tracing slow circles against your palm like he was reminding you of his presence.
And now, things were steady. Familiar. Whole.
Until Shaiyaâs voice rang from the other end of the call again, âIâm going to be in town for work. Do you wanna meet for coffee?â
You glanced at Sylus. Heâd already heard.
He arched an eyebrow, not saying a wordâjust letting you choose.
You smiled into the phone.
âSure. Iâd like that.â
Shaiya clapped, the sound muffled but full of joy. âOkay! See you soon!â
The call ended.
You lowered the phone, and Sylus leaned in, resting his chin on your shoulder, his fingers still tangled with yours.
No questions. No tension. Just presence.
And for the first time in a long time, you were at peace with the past.
Your eyes drifted down to his wrist, to the place where your name was inked in dark, permanent linesâetched into him like a promise.
You reached out, running your finger over it gently, tracing each letter with a quiet kind of reverence.
âIâll never get used to seeing it,â you whispered, a soft smile tugging at your lips.
Sylus chuckled low in his throat, the sound warm as he leaned in closer, his breath brushing against the curve of your neck.
âI know,â he murmured, as if heâd been waiting for you to say it.
And you both stayed like thatâentwined in each otherâs warmth, your heartbeats slow and steady beneath the quiet hum of the room.
No strings pulled by fate.
No ache left behind.
Just two people, holding on.
Not fate.
Choice.
ââ˘
âSy, stop it.â
âWhat?â he replied innocently, even as his fingers continued their relentless missionâpinching your cheek with maddening precision.
âStop doing that!â you huffed, swatting at his hand, your pout deepening as you tried to glare at him.
He just laughed, completely unfazed. âHow intimidating,â he teased, his voice low and amused.
You groaned in defeat, crossing your arms dramatically as he leaned back, clearly proud of himself.
The two of you were sitting outside a quiet little coffee shop, tucked beneath a striped awning, the afternoon sun filtering through the trees.
You were waiting for Shaiya, but somehow, with Sylus next to you, it didnât feel like waiting at all.
Just another soft, easy momentâwith a side of cheek-pinching torment.
He only stopped when he caught movement from the corner of his eyeâShaiya, approaching with a bright smile and an excited wave, her footsteps light as always.
Sylus lowered his hand, finally releasing your cheek, though his signature lazy smirk remained firmly in place.
You turned at the same moment, catching the familiar warmth in her expression, and your features softened.
You lifted your hand to wave back, fondness blooming quietly in your chest.
Beside you, Sylus leaned back in his chair, still watching you, but now with something gentler behind the teasing glint in his eyesâlike he could see the weight of everything this meeting meant.
And for a moment, the world felt still again.
Steady. Safe.
You stood as she reached you, pulling her into a hug that was tighter than expectedâtight enough to steal a bit of your breath, but you welcomed it all the same.
âHow are you?â she asked, her voice laced with concern and hope all at once.
You pulled back just enough to smile, then glanced over your shoulder at Sylus, who was still lounging in his seat with one arm lifted in a lazy wave.
âNever been better,â you replied, the words easy, true.
Shaiyaâs face lit up, her smile blooming wide as she took your hand and gave it a squeeze.
Then the three of you sat, the air light with something like peace.
No ghosts. No ache.
Just the quiet comfort of healing, and how far youâd come.
âZayne couldnât come,â Shaiya said, reaching into her bag, âbut he asked me to give you this.â
She placed a small box on the table in front of you.
You stared at it, unmoving. First at the box, then up at her, then finally at Sylus.
He met your gaze calmly, offering only a small shrug, as if to say, Itâs okay. If you want to open it, do.
With a steadying breath, you lifted the lid.
Your fingers stilled.
Inside was your doctorâs tag.
The one you hadnât seen since the day you left. The one you were sure had been lost in the shuffle of your quiet escape.
Your breath caught.
Shock flickered across your face, tangled with confusion.
Shaiyaâs expression softened. âHe said youâd need it. If youâre going away.â
Your eyes lifted to hers again, searching.
She smiled gently. âHe had me search your old apartment top to bottom to find it.â
You looked down at the tag again, the weight of it suddenly heavier than its size should allow.
Memories pressed at the edges, but beside you, Sylus reached out under the table, resting his hand on your kneeâgrounding, steady.
You exhaled.
Not everything had to hurt.
Some things could just be part of the journey you left behind.
And maybe, a small piece of it could come with you as you moved forward.
You understood what he meant.
This was his way of saying goodbyeâquietly, gently.
Of apologising, to tell you heâs let go.
There was no letter, no grand parting speech. Just a small, familiar tag. A memory returned, so you could finally move forward without looking back.
You blinked back the emotion gathering in your chest and turned to Shaiya with a soft, grateful smile.
âThank you,â you whispered.
She only nodded, eyes warm and knowing.
And beside you, Sylus gave your hand a gentle squeezeâno words needed.
You were free now.
And finally, you were ready to be.
ââ˘
Soon, you returned to work.
It felt strange at firstâstepping back into that world, but something inside you had settled. Healed.
With your resume and years of experience, the hospital welcomed you without hesitation. Chief surgeon. Yeah, just like that.
You were still wrapping your head around it when Sylus let something slip, far too casually, over dinner.
âI might have made a few calls,â he said, swirling the wine in his glass with a smug tilt of his head.
You narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously.
âYouâre full of secrets, arenât you?â you teased, leaning forward. âFirst, you lied about your soul mark. Then you decided to casually reveal that you own this city.â
He arched a brow, unbothered.
âIs there more I should know?â you asked, grinning.
He smirked, that signature lazy curl of his lips.
âOh, probably.â
He leans in close.
âLike how Iâm exceptionally good in bed,â he said with a straight face, though his eyes gleamed with mischief.
You didnât miss a beat. âI know that already.â
He smirked, undeterred. âHow I ride bikes?â
You raised a brow. âThat too.â
He leaned in closer, grinning now. âThen that means you know everything already.â
You chuckled, resting your chin in your hand as you met his gaze.
âHardly,â you said, lips curling into a smirk of your own. âYouâre an open book with missing pages, Sylus.â
He tilted his head, clearly amused. âGuess youâll just have to keep reading, wonât you?â
You tilt your head back laughing as he smirks at you.
Your heart felt warm.
There was someone who finally saw you.
And you arenât ever letting that go.
Soul marks be damned.
That night, as you lay in bed with Sylus, wrapped in the quiet hush of the room, you couldnât remember a time youâd felt more at peace.
His arm was around you, his chest rising and falling beneath your cheek in a slow, steady rhythm. You listened to the sound of his heartbeatâcalm, unwaveringâlike the world outside couldnât touch you here.
Then, you felt the soft press of his lips against your wrist.
You let out a quiet chuckle, warmth blooming in your chest. âWhat are you doing?â
He smiled against your skin, not lifting his head. âKissing my name,â he murmured, voice low and fond. âThe one thatâs on my love.â
Your breath caught.
And for a moment, the world disappeared.
Just his voice, his touch, and the way your heart skipped a beatâreminding you that this, here, with him, was real.
Not fate.
Not obligation.
But love.
Chosen, freely and entirely.
âSy?â
He turned to you instantly, eyes softening the moment they met yoursâgentle, steady, like he was always ready to listen when it came to you.
âYeah?â
You hesitated for only a breath, then reached out, fingers brushing lightly against his cheek.
âI love you,â you whispered.
The words settled in the space between you like they belonged there.
His eyes didnât widen. He didnât freeze.
He just smiled. Slow, warm, and so full of something that made your heart ache in the best way.
âI know,â he murmured, voice quiet with affection. âIâve been waiting to hear that.â
And he pulled you closerâlike you were already home.
Perhaps you were.
1K notes
¡
View notes
Text
romeo and cinderella | sylus
synopsis : He was romeo, and you were cinderella, not juliet. content : highschool!au, angst/fluff, light/implied smut
âYou better be home right after school, or else.â
Your motherâs voice echoes behind you as the screen door slams shut, a sharp final note to the morningâs lecture.
You swing your leg over your bike, muttering under your breath, âYes, Mother,â though you know sheâs probably already turned away, satisfied enough by the command, not the response.
You begin pedaling down the cracked sidewalk, the same route as every other morning.
Past the corner store with its faded awning, past Mrs. Tanaka watering her sunflowers.
Nothing ever changes here.
Not the way to school, not the way home, not the rhythm of your days.
You live a simple lifeâthough calling it âyoursâ might be generous. Itâs a life curated by someone else, shaped by rules you never agreed to and expectations you never asked for.
Youâre eighteen. Old enough to vote, drive, be trusted with futures and responsibilities.
But not old enough to stay out past seven. Not allowed to date, to fall in love, to bring friends over, or even choose your own clothes half the time.
Itâs a cage dressed up as safety.
And youâve lived in it long enough to memorize every shadow on the bars.
At school, you barely register your arrival. Your feet move on autopilot, locking your bike in place and weaving through the murmuring clusters of students.
You offer polite nods, a faint smile here and there. No one notices your mind isnât really with you. No one ever does.
Classes pass in a blur of chalk dust and droning voices. You scribble down notes you wonât remember taking, your handwriting slanting with disinterest.
By the time the lunch bell rings, your body moves instinctively, your thoughts still elsewhere.
You make your way to your usual spotâthe one place that still feels like yours.
Tucked behind the gym, nestled beneath a towering tree that blooms early and sheds late, itâs quiet, hidden. Youâve claimed this little slice of peace for as long as you can remember.
But today, someoneâs already there.
You stop short.
Sprawled lazily beneath the treeâs shade is a boy youâve never seen before.
Tall. Long legs stretched out like he owns the place. A mop of white, unkempt hair flops over his eyes.
Heâs got his hands folded behind his head, earphones in, entirely at ease.
You hesitate, unsure. Heâs in your space.
Clearing your throat, you step forward, hoping your presence might be enough to make him move.
He doesnât notice you at firstânot until you stand close enough to block the sun.
One eye cracks open, then the other, sharp and startled. He pulls out an earbud, brows knitting together.
âWhat are you doing here?â His voice is laced with irritation, edged like heâs the one being intruded upon.
You blink at him, unimpressed. âI could ask you the same thing.â
He sits up a little, smirking. âGo away. Iâm trying to relax.â
You roll your eyes, not in the mood for games. âThis is my spot.â
Before he can respond, you lower yourself onto the grass beside him and open your lunchbox, ignoring the way his gaze lingers.
He doesnât say anything, but you can feel the weight of his curiosity. Most students avoid him, you can tell. Heâs probably used to being left alone.
Which makes your defiance all the more intriguing.
You take a quiet bite of your food, refusing to look at him. But in your peripheral vision, you can see him watching youâlike heâs trying to figure out why youâre not scared, not flustered, not gone.
You take your third bite in silence, pretending not to notice the eyes still fixed on you.
But they donât move. Not even once.
Annoyed, you finally turn to him, and it startles him enough to make him flinchâjust slightly, like he didnât expect to be caught.
âWhy are you staring?â you ask, your tone sharper than you intended. Irritation prickles under your skin, but so does something else. A flicker of curiosity.
He blinks, processing the question for a beat too long before that crooked smile returns.
âYouâre not running away,â he says, like itâs the most curious thing in the world.
You raise a brow. âShould people run from you?â
He shrugs, dropping his gaze to the grass as he reclines back onto his elbows. âPeople think Iâm trouble.â
Thereâs no real emotion in his voiceâjust a statement, tossed out like it doesnât matter. Like heâs used to it.
You chuckle under your breath. âI can see why.â
That gets his attention.
He sits up again, turning to face you more fully this time. âReally? You can see why?â
The sudden shift in his voice catches you off guard. It isnât defensive. It isnât smug.
For the briefest moment, something cracks in his expressionâjust a flickerâbut enough for you to see it. The vulnerability beneath the bravado.
The way his sharp features donât quite mask the tiredness in his eyes.
You blink. âIâI meant that as a joke,â you say quickly, your voice quieter now. âI didnât mean it like that.â
He looks down for a moment, something unreadable crossing his face. Then, slowly, he meets your gaze again.
âIâm Sylus,â he says, extending a hand between you, palm open.
You stare at it for a moment, unsure why your heart gives a strange little stutter.
Then you slip your hand into his. His grip is warm, firm, and not quite what you expected.
âY/N,â you say, softer than before.
And for the first time in a long time, it feels like something unfamiliar is growing in the quiet between youânot fear, not obedience. Just something⌠new.
The shrill cry of the school bell cuts through the quiet, startling a few birds from the branches above.
You sigh, glancing down at your half-eaten lunch with reluctant eyes.
Time always moves too quickly when you actually want it to slow down.
You push yourself to your feet and glance at Sylus, whoâs still sprawled in the grass like the concept of responsibility doesnât apply to him.
âArenât you going to class?â you ask, brushing crumbs from your skirt.
He stretches lazily, not even pretending to feel guilty. âNot really my kind of thing.â
You chuckle despite yourself, the sound escaping before you can stop it. Heâs strange. Infuriatingly nonchalant. And yet⌠thereâs something about him that tugs at your curiosity, something that makes you pause just a little longer.
âThen you can have my lunch,â you say casually, setting the box down on his lap.
He blinks, surprised, but before he can respond, youâre already standing, turning to leave.
âSee ya,â you toss over your shoulder with a small wave, your voice light.
You donât wait to see his reaction. You donât need to.
But if you had lingered a moment longer, you mightâve seen the way he sat up straighter, mouth parted in astonishment as he called after youâsoftly, almost like he didnât mean to.
âWaitââ
But youâre already gone, swallowed by the hallway crowd, the echo of your presence lingering like sunlight after clouds.
Sylus stares at the empty space you left behind, then down at the lunch box still warm in his lap.
His fingers curl around it, and for some reason he canât name, his chest tightens just a little.
A slow smirk tugs at his lips as he leans back again, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.
âInteresting,â he murmurs to no one in particular, and this time, the word tastes like a promise.
ââ˘
You return home after school, the weight of the day pressing heavier on your shoulders than usual.
The front door creaks as you open it, and the moment you step inside, voices drift from the kitchenâsharp, angry, overlapping. Your parents. Again.
You pause in the hallway, listening for a beat. Same tone. Same fight. Different day.
With a sigh, you toe off your shoes and head straight for the stairs, not bothering to greet them. You know they wouldnât notice if you did. Youâre just a shadow in this house anywayâseen only when convenient.
Your room welcomes you like an old habit, quiet and familiar. You drop your bag by the door with a dull thud and collapse face-first into your bed.
The sheets are cool, and for a moment, you just breathe, hoping that if you lie still enough, the world might forget you exist.
But the yelling doesnât stop.
Even through the walls and the floorboards, their voices seep inâaccusations, bitterness, blame hurled like knives across countertops. You bury your head into your pillow, groaning softly.
Itâs always like this. The noise. The pressure. The invisible weight of being stuck somewhere you donât belong.
You close your eyes.
And for a fleeting second, you wish you could disappear.
Not forever.
Just long enough to breathe.
You press the pillow harder against your ears, trying to block out the sounds of your parentsâ voicesâeach word another crack in a foundation already long crumbled.
But then, without meaning to, your thoughts begin to drift.
To him.
To Sylus.
You picture him beneath that tree, white hair catching the dappled light like strands of silk, that half-lidded gaze studying you with something between amusement and disbelief.
You didnât even know him. Not really. And yet, his presence stuck to you like the scent of rain after a stormâfaint, lingering, impossible to forget.
You remember the surprise in his eyes when you didnât flinch. The flicker of something vulnerable he tried to mask behind smirks and sarcasm. And the way his voice had softenedâjust barelyâwhen he said his name.
Sylus.
It rolls around in your mind, foreign but familiar, like a secret you werenât supposed to hear.
You shift on your bed, hugging your pillow to your chest.
You werenât supposed to care.
He was just a stranger. A boy who didnât go to class and didnât follow rules and didnât care about things like fitting in.
And yet⌠when you handed him your lunch, when you turned your back and walked away, something in you felt lighter. Just a little.
Like someone had finally seen you.
And didnât look away.
ââ˘
Dinner passed in silence.
Not the peaceful kindâbut the brittle, suffocating quiet that stretches too long and says too much without a word.
Your parents didnât speak. Not to each other. Not to you.
They just sat at opposite ends of the table, chewing mechanically, eyes locked on their plates like looking anywhere else might reignite the fire.
The remnants of their earlier argument still hung in the air like smokeâunseen but heavy, clinging to the walls, to your skin, to every breath you took.
You ate quietly, each movement practiced, calculated.
Youâd long since learned how to cut food without scraping the plate, how to set your chopsticks down without a sound.
Any noise could become an excuse. A trigger.
And tonight, the last thing you wanted was to become your motherâs outlet again.
So you focused on your food, on the silence, on being invisible.
And then, without warning, your thoughts slipped elsewhere.
To the shade of that tree. To a pair of unreadable, red eyes beneath a mess of white hair.
Sylus.
The name echoed softly in your mind, drawing the smallest smile to your lipsâso faint it barely formed.
But it was there. A crack in the numbness.
Would he be there again tomorrow?
You didnât know. He seemed like the kind of person who drifted through places like wind, never staying long enough to be caught.
But the thought of seeing him againâof hearing his voice, that low drawl half-laced with amusementâwas enough to make your chest tighten, just a little.
You stared down at your half-finished plate, the tension in the room pressing in around you.
But for once, your thoughts were somewhere else entirely. Somewhere quieter.
Somewhere he was.
After dinner, you escape back to your room without a word. No one notices. No one stops you.
You close the door behind you with a gentle click, shutting out the rest of the houseâthe cold air, the silence that somehow feels louder than shouting, the ghosts of conversations that never lead anywhere.
And then, without bothering to change, you sink into your bed.
The mattress greets you like a friendâsoft, familiar, forgiving. You exhale slowly, the weight of the day bleeding out of your limbs as you melt into the covers.
Your face sinks into the pillow, and for the first time that day, your body feels like it belongs to you again.
Your thoughts driftânaturally, inevitablyâto him.
To the boy with white hair and eyes that looked like theyâd seen too much.
To that smirk of hisâsharp, teasing, but not quite enough to hide the quiet behind it.
Sylus.
You didnât know anything about him, not really. And yet he lingered in your mind like a whisper.
Something about him felt⌠different.
Like he existed just slightly outside the world you knew. Untouchable. Unapologetic. And for some reason, he hadnât looked away.
You turn onto your side, pulling the blanket up to your chin.
Maybe he wouldnât be there tomorrow. Maybe it had been a one-time thing.
But the last thought that flickers through your mind before sleep pulls you under is not a maybe.
Itâs a hope.
That he will.
ââ˘
The next morning came like it always didâsame time, same routine.
But something was different.
Your steps felt lighter, like the air was just a little less heavy. Like your heart remembered how to float, if only for a little while. And you knew why.
Sylus.
Just thinking of himâhis careless sprawl under the tree, the way heâd blinked at you in surprise, the unexpected softness behind his smirkâmade something stir in your chest.
Something warm.
You smiled. Not the kind you wear when someone expects it. A real one.
And as you pedaled your way to school, wind brushing against your cheeks, you even waved to Mrs. Tanaka watering her sunflowers.
She blinked in surprise, then returned your greeting with a smile of her own.
Same sidewalk. Same cracked roads. Same school gate.
But everything felt just a little less gray.
You parked your bike, walked to class, slid into your seat. But this time, your mind wasnât lost in thoughtâit was focused, waiting. Listening for that bell.
The hours dragged like molasses. You stared at the clock more times than you could count.
Your notebook remained mostly blank, your pencil tapping restlessly against the desk.
Every tick of the second hand felt like a lifetime.
And thenâfinallyâthe lunch bell rang.
Before your teacher could finish their sentence, you were up, books shoved into your bag in a clumsy blur.
You heard someone call your name, confused by your sudden burst of energy, but you didnât slow down.
Youâd never bolted out of class so fast in your life.
Because for the first time in a long time, you were going toward something.
Someone.
And you couldnât help the way your heart raced just a little faster with every step.
You stepped onto the familiar patch of grass, the sun filtering through the leaves of the old tree, casting dancing shadows across the ground.
It was just as you rememberedâquiet, tucked away, untouched.
Except⌠he wasnât there.
Your heart sank a little harder than you wanted to admit.
You stood there for a moment, staring at the empty space beneath the tree.
Maybe he really was just passing through. A flicker in your routine, never meant to stay. You scolded yourself for getting your hopes up, but the sting of disappointment still pressed against your chest.
With a small sigh, you lowered yourself onto the grass, the silence pressing in around you againâbut this time, it felt heavier.
Lonelier.
You pulled out your lunch box and set it in your lap, staring at it for a beat before opening it.
Your fingers hesitated at the lid. The food looked the same, but somehow the moment felt⌠emptier. Duller.
You were just about to take a bite whenâ
âYouâre here again.â
The voice came from behind youâcool, casual, and unmistakably familiar.
Your breath caught.
You turned your head quickly, eyes wide. There he was, hands in his pockets, the ever-present smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Sylus.
His white hair was a little messier than yesterday, like heâd slept through the first few periodsâwhich, knowing him, he probably had.
But his eyes held a glint of amusement. And something else.
Relief.
âYouâre late,â you said, voice softer than you expected, betraying the way your heart had leapt.
He shrugged, stepping forward, dropping lazily onto the grass beside you like he belonged there. âHad to make sure youâd actually show up.â
You tried not to smileâbut it was hopeless.
You watch as he settles beside you, pulling a blade of grass and twirling it between his fingers like it holds some grand meaning.
âWhat do you usually do in class?â you ask, curiosity slipping into your tone before you can catch it.
He glances at you sideways, as if debating whether to give you a real answer.
Then he shrugs. âSleep. If not, sleep.â
You blink, then let out a laughâquiet, but genuine. âImpressive. A man of great ambition.â
Sylus smirks, turning his head to face you more fully. âI get by.â
You shake your head with mock disapproval, though your lips are still tugging upward. âYou know, most people come to school to learn.â
âMost people arenât me.â
You raise a brow. âAnd what makes you so special?â
He leans back on his elbows, eyes flicking up toward the branches overhead. âWouldnât you like to know.â
You donât reply right away, letting the silence stretch between youânot awkward, but comfortable, like the space under the tree was made to hold secrets too heavy for classrooms and dinner tables.
And even though youâre not sure what heâs hiding behind that smirk, for now, youâre just glad heâs here.
âTell me more about yourself,â he says suddenly, arms slung over his knees, posture relaxed but eyes focusedâreally focusedâon you.
You blink, caught off guard. âLike what?â
He shrugs, but thereâs a weight behind the gesture, like heâs genuinely interested. âI donât know. Something real. Something that isnât âmy favorite color is blueâ or âI like cats.ââ
You pause, unsure where to begin. No one really asked you things like that. No one ever really cared to know.
âOkay,â you say slowly, picking at the edge of your lunch box.
âI⌠hate the sound of yelling. I memorize the floorboards that creak so I donât step on them. I like quiet places. And I like the smell of rain.â
He hums softly, and you glance at him. His expression is unreadableâno teasing smirk, no snide remark. Just quiet attention.
âRain smells like everythingâs starting over,â you add, voice softer now. âEven if it never really does.â
Thereâs a moment of stillness. Then he leans back again, lying on the grass with one arm folded behind his head.
âThatâs the kind of answer I wanted,â he murmurs, eyes half-closed.
You turn to him, watching the way sunlight filters through the leaves, painting dappled patterns across his face.
And for the first time in a long while, you feel seen.
Really seen.
You watch him for a moment longer, then tilt your head, curiosity tugging at your voice.
âWhat about you?â
He doesnât answer right away.
His gaze stays fixed on the canopy above, lashes casting shadows against his cheeks.
For a second, you think he didnât hear you. But then he exhales through his noseâquiet, almost like a sigh.
âWhat about me?â he echoes.
You smile faintly. âSomething real. Nothing about favorite colors or animals.â
Sylus is quiet again. Not in that dismissive, detached way youâve seen beforeâbut in a way that feels like heâs weighing something. Testing the edges of trust.
Then, finally. âI donât like making promises.â
You blink. Thatâs not what you expected.
âIâve seen what they do to people when they break,â he adds, voice low, almost like heâs not talking to you at all.
He glances at you then, just briefly. âSo I donât make them. I donât like pretending I can protect something I might lose.â
Youâre quiet, letting his words settle. Thereâs pain thereâburied beneath the surface, guarded by sarcasm and smirks. But itâs real.
You donât push. You just nod.
âOkay,â you say softly.
And somehow, thatâs enough.
He shifts his gaze back to the sky, but thereâs something different in the air nowâlike a thread pulled taut between you, fragile but undeniable.
The bell rings, its shrill cry slicing through the peaceful hush under the tree.
You sigh, already missing the silence, the strange comfort of his presence.
âTime to go,â you murmur, standing and brushing grass from your skirt. Youâre about to turn away when you feel itâa gentle tug at your wrist.
You look down.
Sylusâs fingers are curled loosely around you, not tight, not demanding. Just enough to stop you.
You meet his eyes.
âSee you again tomorrow,â he says, voice softer than youâve ever heard it. Thereâs no smirk this time. No sarcasm. Just something quiet and sure.
You feel your heart stutter, warmth spreading through your chest before you even know what to say.
You nod, unable to help the smile pulling at your lips.
âYeah,â you whisper. âTomorrow.â
And as you walk away, his touch still lingering on your skin, you donât even realize youâre smiling the whole way back to class.
ââ˘
It became a routine before you even realized it.
Each day, youâd wake to the same gray house, the same dull mornings, the same heavy silence at breakfast. But the air felt a little lighter now.
The walls didnât press in as much. The arguments still happened, but they didnât follow you as far. Because you had something else. Someone else.
Classes dragged, slower than everâyour eyes drifting to the clock, counting down until the bell would ring and you could escape.
Not from school, not from your life.
But to something.
To him.
Every day, heâd be there beneath the tree.
Sometimes already sprawled out with his earphones in, sometimes tossing pebbles or tearing at blades of grass, always waiting. Always staying.
And every day, youâd sit beside him like you belonged there. Because you did.
You learned little things about himânot all at once, but in fragments he let slip when he thought you werenât paying too close attention.
His favorite season was autumn, because it felt like the world was quietly falling apart, and no one noticed.
He hated the cold, though. Said it reminded him of places he never wanted to go back to.
And once, when the light had turned especially soft through the trees, heâd said it out loud, âI wanna run away from here.â
You remembered the way he said itânot in a dramatic way, but like it was just a fact. A quiet truth heâd been holding for too long.
You had smiled at that. âBring me along.â
And heâd glanced at you, surprisedâbut then his lips curled into the faintest smirk, and for a second, it looked like he was actually thinking about it.
Sometimes heâd hand you one of his earbuds without a word. You never asked what he was listening toâyou didnât need to. You just leaned in, shoulder brushing his, and let the music fill the space between you.
There was something inexplicably sweet about it.
The intimacy of sharing sound. Of hearing what he hears, just for a moment. It felt like being invited into a part of his world he didnât show anyone else.
And slowly, gently, it stopped feeling like escape.
It started to feel like home.
Perhaps this was love, you thought to yourself.
Not the kind you saw in movies or read about in borrowed books.
Not loud declarations or roses at your doorstep. Not dramatic confessions in the rain.
This was quieter.
This was sitting beneath a tree, knees nearly touching, his music in your ear and the warmth of his presence beside you.
This was the way your heart stilled around himânot in fear, but in peace. The way his voice could cut through the noise in your head and leave behind something calm.
This was the way he listened. Really listened. Even when you talked about things that didnât matter.
Even when your words trailed off. He stayed.
It was the way you caught him watching you when he thought you werenât looking. Like he was memorizing you.
And maybe you were memorizing him too.
His sharp features softened in sunlight. The quiet rhythm of his breathing when he closed his eyes. The sound of his laugh when it cameârare, unguarded, and entirely real.
You never said it out loud.
Maybe you didnât have to.
Because love, you were learning, didnât always have to be declared.
Sometimes, it was felt.
In the way your heart fluttered at the thought of seeing him again.
In the way the world stopped feeling like something to run fromâŚ
and started feeling like something you could share.
ââ˘
You woke to the sound of something softâbarely there.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Your eyes blinked open slowly, adjusting to the moonlit darkness of your room.
For a moment, you thought you were dreaming. But then it came again. Gentle. Persistent.
Tap. Tap.
Groggy and confused, you slipped out of bed, the cool floor meeting your bare feet as you shuffled toward the window.
You pulled the curtain backâand nearly screamed.
Sylus.
His face was right there, peering in through the glass, silver hair glowing faintly under the pale moonlight. He wore that same smug smirk he always did when he knew he was getting a rise out of you.
You stared at him in disbelief, heart racing in your chest. His breath fogged the glass slightly, his eyes gleaming with amusement.
You slid the window open with a hurried, startled whisper. âWhat are you doing here?â
He leaned casually against the frame, one hand gripping the edge, the other tucked in the pocket of his hoodie. âThought Iâd drop by,â he said, voice low, teasing. âCouldnât sleep.â
You blinked. âSo you climbed up to my window?â
âWouldâve knocked on your door,â he shrugged, âbut your mom doesnât seem like sheâd take that well.â
You almost laughedâbut the sound caught in your throat as you took in the sight of him.
Standing outside your window in the middle of the night like something out of a dream you werenât supposed to have.
And yet, he was real.
Real, and here.
You glanced over your shoulder, half-expecting to hear footsteps down the hall. But the house was still. Silent.
With a sigh, you reached out and offered him your hand.
âCome on. Carefully,â you whispered, heart pounding in your chest as though it might give you away.
Sylus raised a brow, clearly enjoying himself. âAfraid of waking the beasts?â
You shot him a look. âAfraid of you falling and taking me down with you.â
He chuckled under his breath, then took your hand. His fingers were warmârougher than you expected, but steady.
You stepped back, guiding him through the window as quietly as possible. His feet landed on the floor with barely a sound, though the thrill of it made your pulse race.
When he straightened, you were suddenly very aware of how close he stood.
Only a breath away.
His eyes flicked around your roomâwalls painted in soft tones, books stacked in uneven piles, a few pictures tacked on the corkboard above your desk. It wasnât much, but it was yours.
He didnât say anything right away. Just⌠looked.
âWhat?â you asked, trying to keep your voice low and steady.
âNothing,â he said, though his voice had lost its usual edge. âJust⌠didnât think this would suit you.â
You frowned. âWhat do you mean?â
He shrugged. âYouâre too big for this room.â
You blinked at him.
âItâs like putting a star in a shoebox,â he added with a smirk, stepping past you and collapsing onto your bed like he belonged there.
You stared at him for a second, heart still racingânot from fear, not even from the absurdity of it allâbut from the way he looked so natural there.
Like heâd always been meant to be in this space.
In your space.
You crossed your arms, trying to ignore the heat creeping into your cheeks. âYouâre unbelievable.â
He grinned up at you, arms behind his head. âAnd yet, here I am.â
You sigh, shaking your head as you draw the curtains shut and switch on the small lamp on your desk. Its glow is dim, casting your room in a gentle amber light. Soft shadows stretch across the walls, and for a moment, it feels like time has slowed.
You turn back to him.
Heâs not smirking anymore.
His eyes are on the ceiling, the faint creases in his brow more noticeable now that heâs not hiding behind sarcasm. He looks⌠tired.
Not the kind of tired that sleep can fix, but something deeper. Something old.
You sit on the edge of the bed, careful not to get too close.
âYou okay?â you ask, the question barely a whisper.
For a long moment, he doesnât answer. Then:
âSometimes,â he says quietly, âI get this feeling like Iâm not really⌠here. Like Iâm just walking through everything. Going through the motions.â
You glance at him. Heâs still looking at the ceiling, but thereâs something fragile in his voice. A crack beneath the surface.
âItâs not even about being bored. Itâs more likeâŚâ He trails off, brow tightening.
âLike you donât belong?â you finish for him, gently.
His eyes flick to yours. And this time, he doesnât look away.
âYeah,â he says. Just that. But itâs enough.
The silence stretches between you again, softer now. It doesnât feel emptyâit feels like understanding.
Like a shared ache neither of you fully know how to name.
You shift, your voice tender. âI feel that way all the time.â
He studies you for a beat longer, then exhales through his nose, something in his shoulders loosening.
âI donât talk about this,â he admits, almost reluctantly. âNot with anyone.â
You nod. âMe neither.â
He turns his head toward you, his expression unreadable, but no longer guarded.
And in the hush of your dim-lit room, with only the moon beyond the window as witness, you feel the space between your bodies shrinkânot in distance, but in silence.
You donât reach for him. He doesnât move toward you.
But something important shifts.
He came here to run from the world.
And instead, he found someone who stayed.
Heâs still looking at you. The kind of look that feels like itâs peeling back layers.
You swallow. âMy house⌠itâs not really a home.â
Sylus blinks, his expression shiftingâstill quiet, but more alert now. He doesnât interrupt.
âMy parents argue all the time,â you continue, voice low. âSometimes itâs shouting. Sometimes itâs just silence. But itâs always heavy. Always there.â
He shifts, turning more toward you on the bed. âIs that why you eat so quietly?â
You let out a soft, humorless laugh. âYeah. I learned early on not to make noise. Not to draw attention. Especially when theyâre angry.â
âDo they everâŚâ he hesitates, the words sticking. âDo they take it out on you?â
You pause. Then nod. âMy mom does. Not always physically. But words can bruise just as much.â
His jaw tightens. He looks away for a second. âI know what thatâs like.â
You glance at him, surprised.
He lets out a breath. âMy dad used to yell. At my mom. At me. At nothing. I stopped listening at some point, but the noise⌠it sticks.â
Thereâs a silence that follows. But itâs not uncomfortable. Itâs a shared space now. A small pocket of honesty.
âIs that why you donât like making promises?â you ask.
He meets your gaze again, this time without deflecting. âYeah. I watched too many get broken.â
You nod slowly. âMe too.â
Another pause. Then, quietly,
âSometimes I think about leaving,â you admit. âJust⌠packing up and going. Even if I donât know where.â
He gives a soft smile. âStill want me to bring you along?â
You manage a small laugh. âIf youâre offering.â
He nudges your knee with his. âAlways.â
The quiet stretches again, but this time itâs warm. Safe.
He looks at you like he wants to say something more, but instead he just says, âThanks⌠for telling me.â
You smile faintly. âThanks for listening.â
And just like that, something delicate is built between you. Not loud. Not spoken with grand gestures. Just two people sharing the weight theyâve carried alone for too long.
And for once, it doesnât feel quite as heavy
ââ˘
A week passed.
And somehow, everything changedâwithout the world even noticing.
Every day, he was there beneath the tree, waiting. Like he always had been. Like he always would be.
Youâd sit beside him, knees brushing, sharing lunch, music, thoughts neither of you dared to voice out loud anywhere else.
Your laughs came easier now. Your silences, more comfortable. The smirks he wore softened when he looked at you.
And your smilesâreal onesâcame without effort.
But it was the nights that changed everything.
Every night, just past midnight, there would be a soft tap at your window.
And every night, youâd let him in.
It became something sacred.
The hush of your room, the warmth of whispered words, the stolen hours under moonlight. You talked until you couldnât keep your eyes open.
Some nights, you sat close enough to feel the press of his shoulder against yours.
Other nights, heâd lie beside you on the bed, quiet, eyes on the ceiling, your hands just barely touching between the sheets.
You didnât know what it meant.
But it felt like something.
Something real.
That night, he was lying next to you againâone arm under his head, the other draped loosely across his stomach.
You were turned toward him, propped on your side, watching his profile in the soft lamplight.
âHey,â you whispered.
He turned to you, eyes meeting yours. âHmm?â
You hesitated for a second, heart beginning to thrum. âCan I tell you something kind of⌠embarrassing?â
His mouth curved slightly. âYou? Embarrassed? Now I have to hear it.â
You smiled faintly, then lowered your gaze. âIâve never dated anyone before.â
He blinked, surprised, but he didnât speak.
You continued, quieter now. âNever kissed anyone either.â
There was a long pause.
And when you looked up, he wasnât teasing you. There was no smirk. No snarky comment waiting to pounce.
Just him.
Present. Listening.
âWhy?â he asked gently.
You shrugged. âMy parents⌠they never let me. I was always too afraid to try. And I guess no one ever really looked at me that way either.â
He tilted his head. âThey were blind.â
You blinked at him, caught off guard.
He held your gaze, voice soft but steady. âYouâre⌠something else, you know that?â
Your throat tightened, breath caught somewhere between disbelief and the unfamiliar warmth curling in your chest.
You smiled, a little shakily. âYouâre just saying that.â
âIâm really not.â
And for a moment, in the stillness of your room, with the lamp casting its soft halo around the two of you, the world outside disappeared.
Just you.
And him.
And the space in between⌠getting smaller every night.
Your smile faded slowly, but the warmth he left behind remainedâsettled deep beneath your skin, in your chest, in the air between you.
He was still looking at you. Not just glancing. Looking. Like he could see right through to the quiet parts of you no one else had ever tried to find.
Your voice was barely a whisper. âHave you?â
He blinked, eyes softening. âHave I what?â
âKissed someone before.â
There was a pause. Then he nodded slowly. âYeah.â
You swallowed, looking down for a second. âWas it⌠nice?â
âIt wasnât this,â he said quietly.
Your eyes lifted to his, and your breath caught.
He was close now. You hadnât realized how close until your knees were touching again, until you could feel the faint warmth of his breath brushing your cheek.
âCan Iââ he stopped himself, brows pulling together slightly.
You tilted your head, heart fluttering. âWhat?â
âI was going to ask if I could kiss you,â he murmured, voice low, raw with sincerity. âBut I donât want to ruin anything.â
âYou wonât,â you whispered.
The distance between you was a thread nowâthin, fragile, and pulling tighter with every heartbeat.
You could feel his hesitationâlike he was waiting for you to change your mind, to pull away.
But you didnât.
You leaned in first.
And when his lips finally met yours, it wasnât perfect. It was careful. Almost hesitant. Like he was afraid he might break something if he moved too quickly. But it was soft, and warm, and yours.
He pulled back just slightly, forehead resting against yours. His voice was breathless, barely there.
âDefinitely not ruining anything.â
You smiled, eyes still closed, heart pounding.
And when he kissed you againâslower this time, more sureâyou melted into it like youâd been waiting your whole life for this moment to happen.
Because maybe you had.
His lips lingered on yours for a breath longer before he pulled back, just enough to see you clearly. The soft glow from your bedside lamp caught the edges of his hair, and in the stillness of your room, you could hear everythingâyour heart, the silence, the hush between words.
Neither of you spoke at first.
It wasnât awkward.
It was reverent. Like something fragile had bloomed between you, and neither of you dared to move too quickly and break it.
Your voice came out quiet, barely more than a breath. âIt doesnât feel real.â
Sylus looked at you, the smallest furrow forming between his brows.
You swallowed. âThis. You. Being here.â Your gaze dropped to where your fingers were now tangled in the hem of his sleeve. âItâs like⌠a dream I donât want to wake up from.â
He didnât say anything right away, just watched youâlistening, really listening.
You continued, voice thick with the ache youâd held back for too long. âThis house, this lifeâI feel trapped in it. Like Iâve been holding my breath for years. And then you showed up and suddenly I could breathe again.â
A pause.
You met his eyes, the words trembling on your lips. âSave me from this.â
Something flickered across his faceâlike he felt those words in his bones.
He reached up, gently brushing his thumb along your cheek. âI canât fix the world,â he said, voice rough. âBut Iâll stay. As long as you want me to.â
Tears burned at the back of your eyes, not from sadnessâbut from the sheer relief of being seen, of being chosen.
âI want you to,â you whispered.
âThen Iâm not going anywhere.â
And in the stillness of your room, wrapped in that soft, fragile promise, you leaned into him againâyour forehead against his, your fingers curling into his hoodie like you were anchoring yourself.
The world outside could wait.
Because in this moment, in this little pocket of warmth and moonlightâyou were safe.
You didnât move at firstâstill caught in the feeling of his breath against yours, the weight of his promise lingering in the air.
But something had shifted.
The line had been crossed.
And you didnât want to go back.
Your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, anchoring yourself in the warmth of him.
You pulled back just enough to see his faceâhow close it was, how soft his eyes had become.
âCan I ask you something?â you whispered.
âAnything.â
You searched his gaze, heart thudding. âWhat happens now?â
He blinked slowly, as if the question reached someplace deeper in him. âYou tell me.â
âI want to know what this feels like,â you said, voice quieter now. âReally know. Iâve never⌠I donât know what comes next. But I want to learnâwith you.â
His breath caught.
Your cheeks burned, but you didnât look away. âI want to feel what itâs like to be close to someone. To be touched like I matter.â
He stared at you for a long moment, something breaking open in his expression.
Then he moved, slowlyâreaching out to brush his fingers along your jaw, down to your collarbone, so gently it made you shiver.
âCome here,â he murmured.
You leaned in as he guided you, one hand on your waist, the other at the back of your neck.
When his lips met yours again, it was different this timeâdeeper, more certain. You kissed him back, matching his pace, the ache in your chest melting into warmth.
His hand slid beneath the hem of your shirt, resting against the bare skin of your waist.
He didnât rush. His touch was exploratory, reverent. As though you were something delicate and sacred.
Your fingers found the edge of his hoodie, tugging gently, and he let you.
He pulled it off in one smooth motion, revealing the soft ridges of muscle beneath his shirt. You hesitatedâyour breath shaky as your hand pressed lightly against his chest.
He looked at you then, truly looked at you. âAre you okay?â
You nodded. âI want this.â
He leaned his forehead to yours. âThen Iâm yours. However you want me.â
The way he said itâso honest, so completely unguardedâmade your chest ache.
You kissed him again, letting your hands explore, touch, memorize. His kisses moved to your neck, your shoulder, each one slower than the last.
His fingers slid under your shirt, lifting it with a question in his eyes.
You answered with a quiet nod, helping him pull it off.
And in the hush of your dimly lit room, the two of you moved carefully. Not rushed. Not frantic. But slow and deliberate, like every touch meant somethingâbecause it did.
You traced his skin like it was the first time youâd ever been allowed to feel, and he kissed you like he was trying to give you back every piece of yourself youâd ever been made to hide.
When you finally lay pressed against him, chest to chest, limbs tangled beneath the covers, your body was buzzingâbut your heart was still.
He held you like he was afraid to let go. And you clung to him like you finally had something worth holding on to.
In his arms, nothing else existed. Not the silence downstairs. Not the bruises your motherâs words left. Not the life you felt trapped inside.
Only this.
Only him.
And for the first time in your life, you didnât feel like a ghost in your own skin.
You felt real.
Wanted.
Loved.
But fate, cruel and untimely, had other plans.
ââ˘
The next morning, you woke to sunlight cutting through the curtains, warm on your skin, tangled in sheets that still smelled like him.
You were still glowing from the night beforeâheart full, limbs heavy with a kind of peace youâd never known.
You got ready for school humming softly, the memory of his hands, his breath, his voice still lingering on your skin like a secret no one could take from you.
You slipped on your shoes, lunchbox in hand, already imagining the way heâd be waiting under the tree again. How youâd sit close.
How your smile would mean something different now.
But just as you reached for the doorknobâ
âStop.â
Your motherâs voice cut through the morning like ice.
You turned slowly.
Both your parents stood in the hallway. Stiff. Still. Like theyâd been waiting.
Your heart stuttered. âIâIâm going to schoolââ
âSit down,â your father said, voice quiet. Too quiet.
You stood frozen. The warmth from earlier drained slowly from your chest, replaced by the cold ache of instinctual dread.
Your mother folded her arms. Her gaze sharp. Knowing. âWho was in your room last night?â
Your blood went cold.
You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.
âDonât lie,â she snapped. âWe heard voices. We know someone was there.â
You took a shaky breath, gripping the strap of your bag like it might anchor you to something real. âNo one. It was just me. IâI was on the phoneââ
âDonât insult our intelligence,â your father said flatly.
âDo you know how dangerous that is? Letting someone into this house? Into your room?â your mother hissed, fury barely held behind her teeth. âWhat kind of girl sneaks boys in through windows?â
The words hit like slaps. Each one sharper than the last.
You flinched. âHeâs notâheâs not justââ
âYouâre not going anywhere today,â your father cut in. âNot until we figure out how to keep this from happening again.â
Your chest tightened. âYou canâtââ
âWe can. And we will.â
It felt like the walls closed in. Like the air had been sucked out of the room.
Just hours ago, you had been pressed against Sylus, whispering that thisâheâfelt like a dream.
Now, reality had come crashing through the window, ruthless and loud.
And you were trapped again.
Not behind locks.
But behind the bars of control, guilt, shame.
Your hand fell from the doorknob.
And as you stared down at the floor, all you could think about was his face.
Waiting under the tree.
Wondering why you never came.
ââ˘
You sat in your room, the door shut tight behind you. Not lockedâbut it didnât have to be. The threat hung in the air like smoke.
One wrong move, and everything youâd found could be taken from you.
Your lunchbox sat untouched on the desk.
The hours dragged like weights tied to your ankles, and all you could do was stare at the wall, counting the seconds between your parentsâ footsteps outside.
He was out there.
Waiting.
Under the tree.
And you werenât coming.
Your heart ached at the thoughtâat the image of him sitting alone, music in one ear, head tilted like he was listening for something. Listening for you.
You wished heâd come.
Not like in stories with white horses and grand speeches. You didnât need saving in a way that looked perfect. You just wanted him.
Wanted to open your window and see his face again, hear his voice telling you it was okay, feel his hand reach out and pull you back into something that felt like yours.
âCome save me,â you whispered, voice barely audible. âLike Romeo.â
But even as the words left your mouth, you shook your head.
No.
You werenât Juliet.
You werenât going to die for love, or weep behind a locked door, or let anyone write your ending for you.
If anythingâyou were Cinderella.
And when the clock struck twelve, you hadnât turned into something smaller.
Youâd woken up.
You hadnât left behind a slipper.
Youâd left behind fear.
You stood from your bed slowly, crossing the room to your window.
You drew the curtain back, heart pounding with hope that was almost painful.
But the street was empty.
No tapping at the glass. No smirk. No silver hair in the wind.
You stayed by the window, heart pressed against the silence. The street below was empty, washed pale in morning lightâbut in your mind, he was still there.
Waiting.
Still and steady beneath the tree, earphones in, pretending not to care, but glancing up every few minutes to search for you. Just in case.
The thought made your chest ache.
You moved before fear could stop youâcrossed the room, pulled open your desk drawer, and grabbed a sheet of paper.
Your hands trembled as you picked up your pen. You didnât know what to say at first, not exactly. But the words came anyway.
Slow. Honest.
Sylus,
Iâm sorry I wasnât there today.
They found out. About you. About us.
Iâm not allowed to leave the house for now. I donât know how long theyâll keep me in here.
But I need you to know somethingâ
Your pen paused. Your breath caught.
Then you wrote, carefully, deliberately:
I know you arenât fond of promises,
but would you promise to be my Romeo?
You stared at the words.
Not because you needed a savior. Not because you were waiting for someone to rescue you.
But because if there was anyone in the world who could understand what it meant to run, to fight, to choose someone even when everything was stacked against youâit was him.
Wait for me, you added, smaller now. Iâll find a way back.
You folded the note carefully, pressing your thumb into each crease like sealing a vow. Then you tucked it into your schoolbag, heart pounding.
Later, when the house fell into its afternoon hushâyour mother in the kitchen, your father on the phoneâyou slipped down the hall, eased open the front door, and slipped out barefoot, just long enough to run.
The school wasnât far.
You knew every step of the path like a song.
No one saw you.
You reached his locker, breathless, heart in your throat, and tucked the note insideâright at the edge, where heâd see it the moment he opened it.
Then you turned and ran back home, lungs burning, adrenaline singing through your veins.
You werenât Juliet. You werenât waiting to die for love.
But maybe, just maybe, heâd still be your Romeo.
They found out.
You werenât sure howâmaybe a creak in the floor, maybe they noticed the front door slightly ajar, or maybe they just knew the way only people bent on control can.
But this time, they didnât just yell.
They locked the door.
Not metaphorically. Not emotionally.
Physically.
The sound of the key turning in the lock still echoed in your ears, colder than anything your mother had ever said.
âYou donât leave this room,â she snapped through the door. âNot until you learn to behave.â
You didnât respond. You didnât give them the satisfaction. You just sat on your bed, knees pulled to your chest, and waited for the sound of her footsteps to fade.
The air was thick, suffocating. The walls pressed in, closer with every hour.
But what hurt most wasnât the lock. It was the distance.
You didnât know if heâd gotten the note. If he understood. If he thought youâd just disappeared.
So you waited.
Every night, when the house finally fell into that deep, still quiet, you crept to the balcony.
The wind was colder now, but you didnât care. You wrapped a blanket around your shoulders, sat with your knees drawn up beneath you, and looked out into the night.
You didnât cry.
You prayed.
Please come.
Not as a prince. Not on a horse. Just as him.
With that silver hair and that crooked smirk and those eyes that somehow made you feel whole.
Every gust of wind had your heart leaping. Every shifting shadow on the street below pulled your breath tight. You waited. Night after night.
And each night you whispered it softly into the dark,
âBe my Romeo.â
Not because you needed rescue.
But because you needed him to find you.
Because you werenât running this time.
You were trapped.
And you had never wanted freedom more.
ââ˘
A week passed.
Seven days.
Seven endless days of silence.
Of being locked in. Of unanswered prayers whispered from your balcony into a wind that never carried them far enough.
You hadnât seen him. You hadnât heard from him.
Not even a glimpse through the shadows, no pebble at your window, no tapping on glass like before.
And yet, you waited.
Each night, you curled up by the door or sat out on the balcony in the cold, eyes scanning the street until they blurred, hopingâachingâfor him.
Sylus⌠where are you?
The silence gave your thoughts too much space to wander. And they always came back to that momentâone so soft, so silly at the time, but now carved into you like a memory worth bleeding for.
You were both lying in the grass, sunlight scattered through the leaves overhead.
Heâd just scoffed at something in his playlistâan old track from a childhood movie youâd convinced him to listen to.
âFairytales are stupid,â heâd muttered.
Youâd sat up instantly, jabbing a finger into his chest with faux offense. âTake that back.â
He laughed. âSeriously? Happy endings, magic love, royalty running off with peasants⌠itâs all fake.â
You jabbed him again, harder this time. âThen I guess Iâm stupid too. Because I believe in all of it.â
Heâd raised a brow, amused. âYou think youâre some kind of princess?â
Youâd grinned wide, proud and unwavering.
âIâm Cinderella. And youââ you pointed at him dramatically, ââare my Romeo.â
Heâd stared at you then, just for a second, something unreadable softening the edges of his usual smirk.
âThat so?â he murmured.
Youâd nodded with all the certainty in the world. âEven if you hate fairytales, youâre in mine.â
He hadnât said anything after that.
He didnât have to.
And now, a week later, locked away in a house that had never felt more like a prison, you curled into yourself and whispered the words again like a prayer.
âEven if you hate fairytales⌠youâre in mine.â
And you could only hopeâwherever he was, whatever had kept him from youâthat he remembered.
Because you were still here.
Waiting.
You sat curled on the cold floor, your cheek resting against the edge of your bed.
The blanket around your shoulders had long since slipped off, and your fingers had stopped shaking hours ago.
Everything felt quiet.
Too quiet.
You werenât sure when the nights had begun to blur, or how many times youâd stared at that empty street, whispering his name like it might summon him.
You didnât know how much longer you could keep holding on to nothing but memory and hope.
And thenâ
Tap.
You froze.
Your breath caught.
You thought you imagined it.
Tap. Tap.
This time louder.
Your heart lurched violently.
You stumbled to your feet, legs half-asleep beneath you, and rushed to the balcony, hands fumbling against the door.
You flung it open and stepped out into the night air, lungs burning with disbelief.
And there he was.
Sylus.
Leaning against the tree across the street, hood up, hands in his pockets, head tilted up toward your window. Like heâd been waiting for you to come out and see him.
Your lips parted, but no sound came out.
You gripped the railing, eyes wide, breath trembling.
He stepped forward.
âI got your note,â he said, voice quietâbut it carried.
Your eyes blurred with sudden tears, your knees weak from relief, from joy, from all the emotions you had buried in silence.
âYou came,â you whispered.
He gave a faint smirk, but it didnât hold the usual teasing edge. It was soft. Tired. But real.
âYou asked me to be your Romeo,â he said. âTook me a little while⌠but Iâm here.â
You laughedâa breathless, broken soundâand covered your mouth with both hands.
He looked up at you, eyes glowing faintly under the streetlamp. âAre you ready to run, Cinderella?â
And suddenly, the lock on your door, the house behind you, the world that had caged you in for yearsâit all meant nothing.
Because your fairytale had come back for you.
And this time, you were going.
You stood there, frozen on the balcony, heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it from the street. The cold bit at your bare feet, the railing digging into your palms as you gripped it tightlyâbut none of it mattered.
Because he was there.
Looking up at you like you were the only thing in the world that existed.
Sylus took another step forward, into the pool of light cast by the streetlamp.
He pulled down his hood, silver hair catching the glow, eyes locked with yoursâsteady, sure, unshaken.
Then he lifted his arms.
âJump.â
Your breath caught.
âWhat?â you whispered.
His mouth tugged into a faint, familiar smirk, but his voice was nothing but steady. âYou said you were Cinderella, didnât you?â
His eyes softened, shining with something quiet and unspoken. âThen run from the clock. Run from the cage. Just run to me.â
Your fingers gripped the railing tighter. The drop wasnât farâbut it felt like more than height.
It was leaving everything.
It was choosing something wild, uncertain, terrifyingly real.
âI donât know if I canââ
âYes, you can.â
His arms stretched wider, voice quieter now. âIâll catch you.â
Tears burned in your eyes as the wind whispered around you. Your worldâyour prisonâstood behind you, cold and familiar.
But everything youâd ever longed for was standing just below, arms open, waiting.
You climbed onto the railing, heart in your throat.
He didnât move.
Didnât flinch.
Just watched you with a look youâd never forget.
You met his gaze, your voice breaking.
âPromise?â
And this time, the boy who never made promises gave you one.
âI swear.â
So you let go.
You fellâ
And he caught you.
Arms wrapped tight around you, your body pressed against his chest, the world spinning as he held you like you were something precious.
Neither of you spoke.
There was no need.
Youâd leaptâand he had been there.
Just like he said he would be.
829 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Alternative: Sylus has succumbed to his frenzy and when he wakes up, he's faced with absolute horror. 1.3k words. â â
â
â
ââââ ⥠âââ â
â
â
âââ â
â
â
ââââ ⥠âââ â
â
â
â A deathly silence reigned in the dim room. Dust slowly settled, dancing through the pale beam of artificial light. The air was heavy, thick with iron and remorse, as if the very space itself mourned in silence. In the center of the vast cage, Sylus stirred back to consciousness. He didnât know how his awareness had returnedâonly that the first thing he saw were the cold metal bars enclosing him. As thoughts and memories began to resurface, his numb body sent a sharp reminder: the premeditated strike meant to bring down Ever, the fighting, the desperate cries for helpâ And you. You.
As though connected by instinct, both his mind and body reacted in tandem, his very being tethered to the thought of you. You mustâve escaped, just as he had planned should things go wrong. Nothing couldâve happened to you. You were capable, strongâyou would have locked him in and walked away without looking back, exactly as he had begged you to do.
But then, as his fingers combed through his long, snowy hair, he froze. The scent of blood was far too close for comfort. Startled, he looked down at his right handâslick with blood, from what appeared to be claw marks. Only one person couldâve done this to him. Alarms went off in his mind, screaming louder than any siren, as his crimson eyes searched the cage for something he dreaded finding.
And when his gaze landed on your motionless body, sprawled a few feet away, his heart stopped.
Maybe it was an illusion. Maybe you were unconscious. He had once possessed strength beyond comprehension, but his legs refused to move. His body no longer belonged to himâit was weighed down by lead. And still, that weight was nothing compared to the ice-cold terror that crawled up his spine when he realized your head wasnât facing him. Not even slightly. That one detail sent him spiraling. It made it unbearable to determine whether this nightmare was real.
When he finally reached you, the first thing he noticed was the absence of your pulse. Your chest remained stillâfrozen in a breath you would never take again. Sylusâs heart thrashed in his chest, frenzied, uncontainable. Trembling, he reached out for you.
Your neck was red, marked with bruisesâstrangulation. He couldnât bear to look. He couldnât have. He would never have done this. Not to you. Not to the only light that had ever pierced his endless night. And yet⌠If a sound could express the breaking of a heart, Sylus was certain he heard itâdeep within the hollows of his being. You were cold. No warmth remained. There was nothing left. Only the void.
Refusing reality, he pulled you into his arms. He held you as if his love alone could drag you back to life. He, the man always composedâcalculating, restrainedâwas now a ruin of himself, desperately seeking life in your lifeless form.
He pressed your face to the curve of his neck, searching for a breath, a shiverâanything. But it was the chill of your skin, your nose, your cheeks, that finally shattered him. His crimson pupils widened in horror, and in the absolute silence, he stopped breathingâalmost hoping your soul might return in place of his breath.
And then, everything heâd held back exploded.
His tears fellâheavy, unrelenting. They stained your body, the ground, the shame. He had killed you. It was him. No one else.
You, the woman he loved. You, for whom he would have kneeled without shame, obeying your every word. You, who had bloomed under his care, discovered your true self with him. You, whom he had dared to dream of loving. Now those same hands cradled your hairâso gently, as if tenderness could erase their crime.
What a cruel irony.
Perhaps it was guiltâor the desperate need for truthâthat made him lift your face one last time. He took your features into his large hands with infinite care. You looked as though you were simply asleep. But the dried tears on your cheeks finished what was left of him. You had cried. He rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed, as though trying to fuse your memory with his.
What did you think in that final moment? Were you afraid? Did you despise what he had become? Did you hate himâfor hurting you, despite every promise he made never to do so? And himâwhat expression had he worn as his hands closed around your neck? What kind of monster had you seen in his eyes before fading into nothing?
The more the thoughts swarmed him, the more tightly he held you. Sylus couldnât let you go, as if your body might still summon back your soul. In his arms, you were so fragileâand he had been the one to destroy you, in the most brutal way imaginable. He loathed himself for being able to hold you like this, when he was the reason your body no longer breathed.
âIâm sorry,â he whispered, brokenlyâhis voice cracking like something long unused. âIâm so sorry.â
This hadnât been what he wanted. This wasnât the future he had envisioned for you. He had sworn to protect youâto give you a gentle life, maybe even one that included him. Because deep down, Sylus had held the naĂŻve hope that he could make you happy, even just for a moment. A year or two. A lifetime. Perhaps, somewhere, a monster like him could have brought you joy. But in the end, he had been your undoing.
A darker hatred began to swell inside himâfor the world, for Ever, for his enemies. Pure resentment for his life, his presence in your life. He cursed himself. He despised himself for what he had done.
The agony twisted into rage. And when his gaze fell upon your weapon, still strapped to your thigh, a new thought emerged: He could end it all. Oh yes, he could. Life had no taste left. He wasnât foolishâhe knew heâd never forget you. Not ever.
But to die so easilyâa bullet through the skullâwould be too simple. Too merciful. It would be an insult to your pain, to the terror you must have felt as he tortured and strangled you.
His lifeless eyes locked on your face as his hand slowly removed your weapon and cast it away, beyond the cageâs bars. He slumped back, pressing his body to the cold metal, still holding you, refusing to let go. He would never release you, not as long as he remained in this cage. If death were to come by thirst, starvation, infectionâso be it. He would welcome any form of death as long asâ
As long as he could still live in the same world as you. Just one more time.
Maybe in another life, circumstances would be different. Maybe your meeting would bloom into love, mutual and softâlike the nights when youâd fall asleep beside him on the couch, lost in romantic comedies. Maybe then, he would love you as he should have.
Then perhaps he'd cherish you as he should and love you exactly as your heart and his would wish.
***
Since then, it is said that the HQ of NightStrix HQ has been invaded and destroyed in order to build new structures for Linkon's future, unaware that beneath the rubble, two tangled souls still lay in their final farewell, frozen in the icy embrace of an aborted love. Their names faded from the record books, their faces from memory, but those who passed by the place spoke in hushed tones of how the nights there seemed longer than elsewhere, colder, as if silence itself were still mourning their tragedy.
And in that silence, somewhere, perhaps in the shadow of a memory or in the folds of a forgotten dream, your laughter still echoes in the heart of Sylus.
Because even though everything has been reduced to ashesâhis future, his convictions, even the little humanity he had leftâhe still believes that your soul will come back for him. One day. In another life. Under different skies.
Maybe then, he'll love you the way he should have.
Without violence. Without chains. Without regrets.
369 notes
¡
View notes
Text
You Have Me
Sylus x gn!Reader
Sooooo I got this idea suddenly and I had to write it.... I'm sorry đ
Warnings: major character death, love confession, unrequited love, blood, angst, hurt no comfort, forehead kiss
Word Count: 650
Main Masterlist
Love and Deepspace Masterlist
AO3
Tag List Form
You werenât making it out of this. You had to accept that. Had to remain one with the fact that your blood was leaking out of your wounds too fast. That you canât move without making things worse.
You know it the second Sylus lays his eyes on you. The way his jaw tightens and brow pinches together. He kneels in front of you, in a growing puddle of red. When he finally meets your eyes, he must recognize the realization in them. Youâre dimly aware of Luke and Kieran shouting for help as they run through the building. It would never get here in time.
âI warned you about rushing in, kitten,â he chastises. It holds no venom. You shiver and he takes off his jacket to cover you. It does nothing to stave off the cold.
You huff. âI had to protect her,â you say. âI had to save her, for you.â
The her in question hesitates at the doorway. All her Hunter training flees from her mind. She would have been where you sat now, had you not jumped in to save her like you did. She owed you her life. You wouldnât have time to cash in on it.
Sylus sighs. âI know.â
You reach a hand out for his cheek. He meets you halfway, not allowing you to strain yourself. Your soft touch leaves blood behind. His sharp cheeks and pale skin, tainted with your ichor. âYou were never mine.â
Your eyes are glossy as you look from your rouge fingerprints to his eyes. Wet with unshed tears. Death is inevitable. You donât want to meet it sobbing.
You smile. Itâs shaky, and it sends a dagger straight through his heart. âBut I have you right now⌠right?â
He holds your hand, pressing it firmly against his cheek. Your fingers are growing cold. Your skin is losing its color. Your cheeks donât flush for him like they used to. âYou have me.â
His other hand holds your cheek, tilting your head down as he leans forward. A kiss, lingering and carrying the weight of your life, presses to your forehead. He pulls away and stares you directly in the eye. He canât bear to look at your wounds again.
Your body shudders. Your eyes nearly close. His hand on your face shakes you slightly, urging you to stay awake. âYou⌠You donât have to say it backâŚâ you start. Your breaths are ragged and slow. You wince, but you keep your eyes locked on him. Warm tears fall down your cheeks as you blink away the black spots encroaching on your vision. âI love you⌠I⌠I always haveâŚâ
He canât. The words stick to the back of his throat like molasses. Instead, he forces a cocky grin. âLetâs go on a trip,â he says. âJust name the place. We can go anywhere you want.â
You wheeze something that should have been a bright, bubbly laugh. âReallyâŚ?â
He nods. âWeâll take my jet. And weâll see all the sights.â
âEven the⌠tourist trapsâŚ?â
âWeâll see those first.â
You smile. Your energy is waning. The candle of your life burns low, the flame flickering trying to stay above the melted wax. âI like⌠the sound of⌠thatâŚâ
He leans in close, clinging to every last word. Your hand is only on his cheek because he keeps it there. You donât have the strength to hold it there yourself. âAnd weâll go to every shop that catches your eye. Iâll buy you anything you want.â He corrects himself, âEverything you want.â
You nod faintly. Your lips move, but no sound comes out. He presses his forehead to yours.
âYou have me,â he whispers.
You smile. Your eyes flutter shut. He feels your last breath on his face. The smile doesnât fully fade. The corners of your mouth stubbornly refuse to fall. A cold tear brushes his thumb.
---
Tag List:
@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow
411 notes
¡
View notes
Text

THE COLONEL'S KEEPER.
in a war-torn world where survival is a privilege, you never expected to become the object of a feared colonelâs obsession. but as whispers of his lost love haunt your every moment and bullets become the least of your worries, you realize that falling for him might be the most dangerous battle of all.
â⡠pairings. caleb, fem!reader
â⡠genre. heavy angst, smut, historical au
â⡠tags. colonel!caleb, nurse!reader, reader is not l&ds!mc, ooc, war times, unrequited love, profanity, violence, loveless sex, explicit smut, mentions of sexual assault (not from caleb), obsession, possessiveness, jealousy, injuries, blood, killings, death. themes contain material that are heavy and disturbingâreader discretion is advised.
â⡠notes. 8.3k wc. divider by thecutestgrotto. this is heavily inspired by my other gojo fic s.o.s and the manhwa my beloved oppressor :) couldnât stop thinking about this au for caleb that i had to just write it :âD reblogs and comments are highly appreciated!

The world above was long dead. Ruins of cities stood as monuments to a past civilization, swallowed by the aftermath of World War VI. Beneath the surface, buried in a labyrinth of steel and stone, was where the remaining humanity clung to survival. Here, Colonel Caleb was both a savior and a nightmareâa man whose presence alone sent shivers down the spines of even the most battle-hardened soldiers.
But he was not just any soldierâhe was the fleetâs best fighter pilot, a legend in the skies before the war even forced them underground. Even now, when the remnants of humanity relied on aerial supremacy to hold off their enemies, Caleb was the one they turned to. The one who led the most dangerous missions, who never failed, who returned even when others didnât.Â
You have loved him for as long as you could remember.
You were a humble nurse, stitching together broken bodies, whispering soft reassurances to the wounded. Your duty was simple yet relentless, saving as many lives as you could with the limited resources and skill at your disposal. You werenât the best, nor did you claim to be, but you were one of the few who refused to surrender to despair, even as the war bled your world dry. While others faltered under the gravity of endless suffering, you endured. And after a year of tending to fallen soldiers and civilians, you remained steadfast. You were the only one among your female colleagues who hadnât lost herself to the horrors of war.
That was how you met him.Â
Caleb was the fleetâs toughest and most formidable leader. He was unyielding and merciless to those who dared cross him. Even with his own people, he remained strict, and his resolve never wavered even in the face of devastating losses. But the night he staggered into the private ward, wounded and bleeding out, you were the first to reach him. You ensured he was cared for, your hands steady as you fought to keep him alive.Â
âYouâll make it through the night, sir.â You could still remember the desperation in your voice as you tightened the tourniquet around his broken arm, fighting to stop the bleeding. âIâll make sure of it.â
He lay there, teeth clenched, body tense with pain, every breath labored. âIf I die, I die.âÂ
âNo!â you shot back, your grip firm with determination. âNot tonight. You will live. Weâre rooting for you, sir. The people need you.â
They said falling in love during wartime was a surefire path to heartbreak. Yet, meeting Caleb, seeing beyond his striking exterior, and loving him despite the battlesâboth on the field and withinâwas a fight you willingly embraced. You surrendered yourself to him without hesitation, and in return, the hardened soldier who was weary from war found solace in you. He called you the prettiest nurse in the ward, but to him, you were far more than that. You were the one thing he never saw coming.Â
You were the apple of his eyes.Â
But, of course, the other nurses didnât take kindly to that. They resented how you had unknowingly ruined their chances with him, and even more so, how an undeniable favoritism began to surface. While they were left to sleep in rusty bunk beds, you were the one Caleb brought to his private quarters, where the sheets were soft, the air was warm, and food was abundant.
It was easy for them to judge. After all, rumors spread like wildfire about the nurse who shared the colonelâs bed. The gossip wasnât confined to just the nurses; it reached the soldiers who eyed you whenever you passed, their gazes lingering with knowing smirks as if fantasizing what their colonel saw at night. Even the older civilians bore disapproving glances whenever they saw you. Their silent verdict was clear as day. You were seen as a woman who had traded her virtue for privilege. A harlot draped in a white uniform. A disgrace hiding behind the pretense of care.
You werenât sure if Caleb knew about it, but it was impossible not to. He simply didnât care because he had an entire nation to think about. Clearing your name was the least of his concerns. And you knew it. After two years of serving as a war nurse, when night fell, you were simply the woman Caleb claimed as his. A common-law partner, nothing more. He never made promises, never told you that you were the only one in his heart. Because you werenât. That space belonged to anotherâthe woman he had truly loved. The woman he had lost to war.
His wife.
You tried. You tried to live with the ghost between you, tried to endure the way his fingers sometimes trembled against your skin, as if remembering someone else. You tried to pretend that when he held you, it was because he wanted you, not because he needed something to numb the ache inside him.
But love, when unreciprocated, was a slow and agonizing death.Â
And all you could do was live with it for as long as you were with him.
Because one day, you knew he could love you the same. And one day, when the war ends, you would be in his arms, building your life together with your kids playing freely and no longer living in fear.Â
For now, you had to endure what came your way. There are no saints in war times, and patience was a virtue at times like these.Â
The sharp scent of antiseptic filled your nose as you moved swiftly through the underground ward, checking pulses, changing dressings, and murmuring reassurances to the wounded who groaned in pain one after another. It was just another day in the relentless cycle of war, patching up soldiers only to send them back out to die.
Then you heard him.
Colonel Calebâs commanding voice felt like an alarm to everyone in the ward as he strode down the hall, flanked by his army of men. You werenât even looking, but you could picture the way they walked, with Caleb at the front, exuding effortless authority, and the others keeping pace just slightly behind him.
âThe turbine failed mid-air,â one of his officers reported. âPreliminary analysis suggests a mechanical fault. Possibly a lubrication issue in the main rotor bearings.â
âOr sabotage,â another interjected grimly.
Caleb didnât slow his steps. âHas the wreckage been recovered?â
âScouts are en route, sir. We should have an assessment within the hour.â
âToo late,â Caleb muttered. âIf they hit us now, weâll have one less bird in the sky. Reassign Squadron Echo to cover the eastern perimeter. Deploy anti-air artillery in sector four, and keep the missile launchers primed.â
âYes, sir.â
Just then, a distant explosion rumbled aboveground, rattling the dim lights overhead. You even had to hold onto one of the cabinet doors to steady yourself. A fighter jet had gone down.
âDamn it.â One of the officers pulled out a small tablet, scanning over the mission logs. âPilotâs confirmed dead. Theyâre already moving in on the wreckage. We need reinforcements at the north trench.â
Caleb barely hesitated. âSend Private Halloway to the front lines.â
âRoger that.â
His words were sharp and clinical. No emotion. Just another name spoken into a void, another body to be thrown into the fray.Â
Your hands stilled over a soldierâs bandages. Halloway. You recognized that name.
The same Halloway who had leaned a little too close when you handed him his rations. The one who had brushed a stray lock of hair from your face and smirked, murmuring something about how the battlefield could use more beauty like yours. The kind of beauty that he fantasized at night.Â
And now he was being sent to die.
A strange thrill coiled in your stomach. Caleb had heard about it. Or he might even have seen. It was a foolish and delusional thought, dangerous even, but you clung to the fact that this was surely his way of claiming you.
As his group passed, your pulse quickened. You turned slightly, letting your gaze linger on him. Tall. Unshaken. Unreachable. This was your man. He was yours and you were his.Â
You smiled as soon as he saw you, just a little, as if sharing a secret only the two of you understood.
But Caleb didnât stop. He simply looked away. His eyes remained fixed ahead, his expression unreadable, and in a matter of seconds, he was gone. Nothing more than the cold air that he often carried.Â
~~
Steam curled in the dimly lit room as you stepped out of the shower, water forming in rivulets against your skin. The underground base was always cold, but in Calebâs quarters, the warmth always stayed. Not just because he had his own luxury of a fireplace, but because the warmth also included faint traces of him in the air, in the sheets, and in the ghost of his presence.
Not that it mattered. You were just emotional because he hadnât been here in three days.
Sighing, you wrapped a towel around yourself, already resigning to another night alone. But just as you reached for your comb, the door swung open with a slow and deliberate creak.
You froze.
Caleb stood in the doorway, his uniform dusted with dirt and gunpowder. His sleeves were rolled up, veins prominent on his forearms and tension coiling in his stance. His gaze flicked over your damp skin, bare shoulders, the towel barely clinging to your body.
You let a small smile play on your lips. âYou finally remembered where your bed is?â you teased, stepping closer. âI was starting to think you found another.â
He didnât respond. Just shut the door behind him with a quiet click.
And the thick, suffocating silence stretched as he began removing his shoes. You took this moment to clear your throat. âI heard about Halloway,â you murmured, tilting your head. âPeople are saying you sent him to a death sentence.â A pause, then a knowing smile. âDid you do that for me?â
The shift was instant. And it wasnât what you pictured in your head.Â
Before you could react, Caleb was in front of you, his body pressing you back until your spine hit the cold wall. His hand gripped your jaw firmly, tilting your face up until you had no choice but to meet his eyes. They were dark, smoldering, and unreadable. This was the version of Caleb that everyone was afraid of.Â
âYou worried âbout him?â His voice had a dangerous edge lacing each word.
While you, your breath hitched, fingers curling into the towel. âN-No.âÂ
âYou think I didnât hear?â His grip on your jaw tightened just enough to make you gasp. âThe way he talked to you? The way you smiled at him? Handsome guy, isnât he?â
You denied everything he was saying. You knew one of his officers had been feeding him information, but they seemed twisted to make you out as someone you werenât. Were they trying to turn him against you? âNo, darling. Thatâs not true. In fact, I canât even stand him.âÂ
His lips curled, but there was no humor in it. âI have eyes and ears everywhere, Y/N.â He leaned in, his breath warm against your cheek. âAnd if I catch you entertaining anyone else again, I wonât just send them to die.â
A shiver ran down your spineâfear, thrill, or perhaps something darker twisting deep inside you. His warning did what it was supposed to do: to scare the hell out of you. But the most dangerous part was how much you enjoyed it all.Â
And then, before you could even form a response, he pushed you towards the bed.Â
By the time you looked back at him in surprise, he was already unbuttoning his shirt, looking at you merely as an object of his desire. âStrip off,â he growled, face rigid as ever. âThe past few days were damn stressful. Been thinkinâ of you naked all day.âÂ
And so, your nightly duties began. Caleb demanded his reward, and you were too foolishly in love that you surrendered to him without hesitation.Â
Because as unhinged as his obsession seemed, it ignited something deep within you. The thought of Caleb claiming you as his prize, something he craved at the end of each brutal day, sent the most passionate fire through your veins. That the same man who barely spared you a glance in daylight was the one who burned with desperation to have you all to himself at nighttime.
âI missed you,â you whispered as you slowly unraveled your bare body in front of him, dropping the damp towel on the floor. Not once did you break eye contact, and it was the sexiest thing you had ever experienced in your life.
As for him, he had already rid himself of his clothes. They were a pile on the floor, discarded lazily as he pinned you down. First, he went for your lips. Completely devouring, savoring your taste, and dominating every inch of your mouth. The moment his tongue connected with yours, he deepened the kissâa little too rough, too desperate that you could barely breathe.Â
âM-My love,â you gasped, the only time he allowed you to catch your breath was when he was positioning himself between your legs. And then he crashed his lips onto yours once more, enjoying how you moaned against his lips, exchanging warm breaths as he explored your mouth. The kiss was so intense that you barely noticed the feeling of his hardened member pressing against your leg. It felt huge and hard as a rock, a clear sign that he had been wanting a good release for the past few days. And you? You were crazy about it. You had seen his member plenty of times before, but nothing excited you more than feeling it inside.Â
That wasnât his agenda for now, though. He took his sweet time trailing kisses along your collarbone, leaving purple marks around your neck, before he feasted on the same breast he had been kneading for more than a minute. You could feel your back arching as your body naturally responded to his touch, with your own hand guiding him to massage your other mound. He nibbled on the nipple, sucking and licking around the nub, then moving to give the other the same amount of attention.Â
He was like a hungry beast that hadnât eaten for weeks. With the way he squeezed your tits together and running his tongue along the cleavage, you could already feel yourself dripping down there.Â
âC-Caleb.â
âHm?â He didnât pull away. Instead, he crawled down, spreading your legs apart, and eyeing the swollen lips that he was about to demolish. âWet already?âÂ
You nodded, looking down at him and watching as he pressed his fingers along the slit, sliding and circling his digits on your entrance. âMmhâthatâsâŚâÂ
âBe patient now,â he mocked, âArenât you so needy?âÂ
That was true, but how could you help it? How could you not want him inside if you could see him stroking his pulsing cock while he was using his other hand to play with your clit? Just when you thought you couldnât go crazier, he eventually sucked his digits to taste your slick, then he returned them back to your entrance, only this time, entering without warning.Â
âA-Aah!â
His fingers alone could make your legs shake, and whatever he was reaching for inside you was making you weaker by the second. You were a moaning mess under him, hands clenching on his sheets for dear life as he fingered your cunt like there was no tomorrow. It was only a matter of seconds until you disintegrated in front of himâyour legs trembling as your fluid released itself in a series of squirts.Â
Embarrassed as you may be, it was what Caleb wanted to see.Â
And he didnât let you rest before he was already positioning his crotch on your face, his hand holding his cock in place as he slapped his swollen tip against your lips. âMy turn,â he spoke in a low voice, smirking as you wrapped your shaky hand around his shaft and let your tongue swirl around his bulging pink head. You could taste the precum on his tip, licking every corner and every ridge under, from his balls back to his tip before you swallowed him entirely.Â
âFuck,â he cursed under his breath, pulling your hair as you bobbed your head on his cock, enveloping the warm walls of your mouth around his member as if you were milking him of his cum. Your eyes welled with tears as you fought the urge to gag despite feeling the tip of his cock repeatedly hitting your throat. Each and every moan he released made you more determined to please him, to be called a good girl, to be wanted.Â
You could feel it. With how his cock was twitching inside your mouth, he was about to explode. But he didnât let it happen. Everything happened in a span of a second when he pulled his member from your mouth before opening your core and slamming his cock into your pussy.Â
His thick, hard cock stretched you open without mercy. And he didnât slow down or savor the time. He was ramming into you, hands holding your hips in place while your tits bounced wildly. Calebâs sweat was starting to trickle along his toned upper body, his abs now glistening as he continued to pound into you endlessly.Â
âIâd fuck you everyday like this if I can,â he grunted, each word came out raspy. âYou like that?âÂ
âY-Yes! A-Aaah!â You struggled to form coherent words as he hit your sweetest spot at each hard thrust. âC-Caleb.âÂ
The walls were thin. But surely, the colonelâs private quarters would have some sort of soundproofing, otherwise it would be embarrassing how loud the skin-slapping and squelching noises you two were making. It didnât help that you were practically screaming as Caleb started increasing his speed as he chased his climax. Your walls were clenching around his girth, milking him of his load that he soon spurted inside of you.Â
You were in a battle of catching each otherâs breaths as he pulled out, watching his cum seep out of your cunt before he plopped on the bed next to you.Â
âTake the pill as soon as you wake up,â he ordered, laying on his back as he closed his eyes. His chest rose up and down as he eventually caught his breath.Â
But you remained a ragdoll beside him, your lower body still twitching from the intense orgasm and muscle memory. âO-Okay.âÂ
The night was supposed to end romantically. It was supposed to be you and him cuddling and declaring your love for each other, but the thought of him only using your body to relieve himself was torture to your mind. You convinced yourself it meant something more, something deeper.Â
But the hard truth was, you were only there to fill the silence.
You traced lazy circles over his bare chest, your voice soft yet full of devotion. âIâm all yours, Caleb. Only yours.â
âYeah,â he muttered, running a hand through his hair. âI know.â
~~
The next morning, the bed beside you was cold.
You reached out instinctively, your fingers brushing against the empty sheets where Caleb should have been. But there was nothingâno warmth, no lingering presence, just the stark reality that he hadnât even stayed.
But you told yourself you just had to get used to it and that Caleb would come wanting you again at night. Like he always did. And so, biting back the hollow ache in your chest, you forced yourself up, got dressed, and headed to the mess hall for breakfast.Â
The moment you stepped in, you felt it.
Eyes. Watching. Judging.
The low murmurs didnât stop as you walked past the rows of civilians, soldiers, and nurses, pretending not to notice the whispers that followed you. You kept your chin up and sat down with your tray, forcing yourself to eat the stale bread despite the tightness in your throat.
You had no illusions about what they were saying. They all thought they knew what you were or what you did. Calebâs woman. His plaything. And after last night, they had even more reason to talk.
But you had work to do.
By midday, you were back in the ward, slipping into your role as if nothing had changed. Patients needed tending to, and you werenât about to let their petty gossip stop you.
At least there was something to occupy yourself with. They brought in a new soldier to the base, barely back from the front lines if you could add. His face was gaunt, sunken with pain, sweat beading on his forehead as he lay on the cot. His leg was in ruinsâshattered bones, torn muscle, the kind of injury that didnât fully heal in wartime.Â
You approached him carefully, offering a calm, practiced smile. âIâm here to helpââ
His reaction was instant. It was as though you were the trigger to a ticking time bomb. His eyes, bloodshot and wild, snapped to you, and before you could blink, his hands already shot out, grabbing at you with a strength you didnât expect.
âYouâ!â he snarled, his fingers digging into your arms, nails raking against your skin as he yanked you forward. âYou whoreâyou whore!â
You gasped, struggling against his grip, but he was fueled by pain and rage, his voice hoarse with accusation. âOw! P-Please!âÂ
âYou ruin men like us! Youâyouâget innocent soldiers sent to die!â His nails scratched at your cheek, his grip tightening as he shook you. âYouâre the reason Hallowayâs goneâ!â
The words hit like a slap, but before he could do more, hands were on him. And on you. Other soldiers rushed in, prying him off you, restraining him as he thrashed against the cot.Â
âStand down, soldier!â one barked.
You stumbled back, breath coming fast, your skin stinging where he had just scratched you.
But the worst part wasnât the pain.
It was the way the nurses across the ward just watched. Their gazes were cold, as if saying you deserved it. Not a single one had moved to help.
You couldnât understand the hostility. Couldnât fathom why people looked at you with such disdain. If it had been another woman in your place, would they have treated her the same? All you had done was love a manânothing more, nothing less. You werenât trying to hurt anyone. You simply fell in love.
But as you locked yourself in the bathroom, staring at your reflection while washing the bloody scratches from your cheek, that was when the realization struck.
They didnât respect you because Caleb never had.
Not once had he claimed you in public, never shown his affection where others could see. He had never treated you like someone worth honoring, never given you the respect you deserved. And if the leader of this war-torn world didnât respect youâwhy would anyone else?
The thought alone made your eyes well with tears, but you quickly washed them away. No. You refused to doubt. He loves me. Heâd even kill for me.
A sudden knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. You opened it hesitantly, only to find Simone standing there. The only female soldier with a rank high enough to command real respect. At first, you assumed she was just waiting for the restroom, but the way she looked at you said otherwise.
âYou got a minute?â she asked, her tone cool and unreadable.
You hesitated before nodding. âYeah⌠sure.â
~~
The storage room was cold and dimly lit by the single flickering bulb overhead. Dust clung to the forgotten crates, and the faint scent of metal and oil lingered in the air. Hardly anyone came here as it was a place for old supplies and broken equipment, not whispered conversations.
And yet, here you were, in the only room without surveillance.Â
Simone leaned against one of the crates, arms crossed as he narrowed her eyes at you. âYou need to end things with Caleb.â
You stiffened instantly. âExcuse me?âÂ
She sighed, rubbing her temples as if she had already anticipated your reaction. âThis thing between you and him, you know it isnât healthy. Not for you. Not for him.â
You scoffed. Who does she think she is? âYou donât know anything about us.â
âI know more than you think,â she shot back. âI know what kind of man Caleb is. What heâs become.â
You folded your arms, defensive. âI donât know what youâre talking about. All I know is that he cares about me.â
âCares about you?â Simone let out a humorless chuckle. âDo you even know what heâs done? How many men heâs killed just for looking at you?â
Your lips parted, but no words came out.
âFive soldiers. And counting,â she continued coldly. âSome he sent straight to the gas chambers. Others? He had them tortured in ways I wouldnât even wish on our enemies. And all because they made the mistake of mentioning how beautiful you are.â
You felt the blood drain from your face. âB-But thatâs because he wants to protect me. Thatâs just how he loves.â
Simone watched you carefully before she sighed again, her voice softening this time. âThis isnât love, Y/N. You donât know Caleb⌠I donât even know if heâs capable of loving again.â
What does she mean?
âHe wasnât always like this,â she continued, almost nostalgic as if he had seen another version of Caleb that you hadnât. âBefore the war. Before his wife died. He was kind. Gentle. A man who knew the difference between power and cruelty.â She hesitated, then admitted, âShe was my colleague. And my friend. Calebâs childhood sweetheart, his true love, and his whole life. He loved her sincerely, so much so that he was fighting to make the world better for her. Not destroy it. But seeing him right now, she wouldâve hated what heâs become.â
Your hands clenched into fists at your sides. Everything she had just mentioned shot a bullet straight to your heart, but you refused to let it kill you. You refused, denied. No!Â
âYou canât replace her,â Simone added, her words cutting through you like a knife. âNo matter how much you try. So I suggest you leave him before it destroys you.â
~~
The door to Calebâs private quarters slammed open as you stormed inside, your blood boiling, your mind a haze of rage and betrayal. You couldnât stop Simoneâs words from echoing in your head even if you tried hard enough. You canât replace her. Sheâs his true love. His whole life.Â
âNo.â Adamantly did you shake your head. âStop.âÂ
He loved her sincerely. And still does.Â
Your breath came in ragged gasps as you yanked at the blankets, overturned chairs, kicked over the table. The frustration inside you was begging to be released, and destruction was the only thing that made sense. How could you get extremely jealous over a dead person? You laughed in your head. She was dead. She was gone. Good for her. But despite the constant reminder to yourself that the woman you were jealous of didnât exist anymore, you knew that you could never erase the fact that you would still never amount to her. And you hated it. You hated her!Â
In your rage, you didnât even realize you had grabbed one of his jackets from the pile of discarded uniforms until something tumbled out of the pocket.
A necklace.
It landed with a soft metallic clink against the floor. It was a simple chain, worn with age, with two wedding bands strung together. Your stomach twisted as you picked it up, seeing the engraving was delicate but unmistakable. It had Calebâs name and hers.
Your hands trembled.
She was still here. She had never left. Not in his heart, not in his mind. He carried her with him, even now, even after all the ways he had made you believe you were his.
Something inside you snapped, as though you were a madwoman who had finally lost her sanity. Like Caleb always said, that âthere are no saints in wartimesâ. So, what was stopping you from going all out? She needed to be destroyed. She needed to be forgotten. In your desperation to search for more pieces of her, you lurched toward his drawers, pulling them open and shoving things aside. Your promise to never touch his things? Forgotten.
That was when you saw a wooden box, hidden beneath neatly folded uniforms.
You yanked it out, prying it open with shaking handsâonly to find it stuffed with letters. Some yellowed with time, others crisp as if he had reread them over and over. Her handwriting. Her words. Her love, immortalized in ink.
My Dearest Caleb,
If I close my eyes, I can still see you standing on the shoreline, hands in your pockets, pretending youâre not waiting for me. But I always knew. You were never good at hiding how much you loved me.
Are you eating well? Have you been sleeping? I know youâll lie if I ask you in person, but in a letter, you canât hide from me. And I worry, darling. I always do.
I miss the way you hold me before you leave. I miss the way you kiss my hair, thinking I donât notice how long you linger there. I miss the way you look at me like Iâm the only thing in this world worth coming back to.
Sometimes I wonder⌠do you know how much I love you? Do you feel it, even when weâre apart? I hope you do. I hope itâs enough to keep you warm when the nights are cold, to keep you safe when danger is near.
Come back to me soon, my love. The house is too quiet without you. And when you do, Iâll be right here, waiting. Just like always.
Forever yours,
Your wife
A strangled sob tore from your throat.
You didnât think. You couldnât. You just couldnât.Â
Through hot tears and reckless fury, you grabbed the box and flung it into the fireplace without regard. All her letters spilled out, each and every one of them catching flame within seconds. And you didnât hesitate to throw the necklace soon after, letting it vanish into the fire with a dull shimmer.
You stood there, watching the flames devour every trace of her. Of them.
âYouâre gone,â you let out a mirthless laugh, wiping the tears that followed after. âYouâre gone! Leave him alone!âÂ
Your entire body trembled at the thought, your chest undulating in heavy breaths. Then, as if realizing what you had done, you collapsed onto the floor, staring blankly at the fire.
The anger was gone.
Replaced by the terrifying thought of what Caleb would do when he came home.Â
~~
The FY-26 cut through the sky like a phantom with its sleek titanium frame reflecting the nautical glow of the setting sun. It was the most powerful fighter jet in the fleet; faster, deadlier, a mechanical beast designed for war. And only one person from the DAA was given the honor to pilot it.Â
Caleb gripped the throttle, voice steady as he spoke into his comms. âSpecter-01 to Specter-02, enemy reconnaissance spotted at 2 oâclock, altitude 15,000 feet. Adjust trajectory and prepare for engagement.â
âCopy that, Specter-01,â came the reply of his fellow fighter pilot. âVisual confirmed. Awaiting further orders.â
Calebâs gaze flicked to the horizon, where a lone aircraft hovered in the distance. He could hear the chatter of enemy comms scrambling to react, but for a moment, his focus drifted.
Below him, a small, crescent-shaped island came into view. His grip on the controls instantly tightened.
He knew this place.
The memory surfaced like a ghost from another lifeâof a time when war wasnât all he knew. When he had taken her here, flying low so she could see the crystalline waves shimmering under the sun. He had told her to look down, to read the words he had carved into the sand earlier in the day.
"Will you marry me?"
He could still hear her laughter, the way it had crackled through the radio before she screamed yes over the comms, her excitement drowning out all other noise. His adorable pipsqueak. Her beautiful smile, her sparkling eyesâŚÂ
Caleb exhaled sharply, forcing himself back into the present. âI miss you, my love.â
That was a lifetime ago. She was a lifetime ago.
His eyes darkened as he thought of his new realityâyou. You werenât her. Not in the way you spoke, the way you carried yourself, the way you looked at him with that foolish devotion. But maybe⌠maybe he should stop pretending that it mattered.
Maybe he should just settle with what he had left.
You were still there waiting for him. A woman who, despite all odds, loved him with reckless abandon. The same woman who cried on the night he was on his deathbed, doing everything in her might to make sure he lived. And though he could never give you what he once gave another, he knew youâd still smile, even just from the smallest things.
A glance. A touch. A mere kiss from him, and your entire world lit up.
His hands flexed against the controls.
âSpecter-02, engage the target. Iâm circling back to base.â
Because tonight, maybe heâd give you something to smile about.
~~
The moment Caleb stepped into his quarters, he could tell something was wrong.
The air alone was thick with the acrid scent of smoke, an unusual warmth persisting as dying embers crackled weakly in the fireplace. His gaze swept over the roomâfurniture askew, drawers flung open, papers and personal belongings scattered across the floor. His gut twisted. It was like a crime scene. Like something vital had been gutted from this space.
Then, his eyes landed on you.
Curled up on the floor, body trembling, and your arms wrapped around yourself like a feeble shield. Your shoulders shook through stifled sobs, but the moment your tear-streaked face lifted to meet his gaze, everything inside him snapped.
His heart slammed against his ribs, a foreign pressure crushing his chest as his vision tunneled straight to the fireplace.
No. No, no, no, no!
It was as if his vision blurred, as if there was a deafening ringing overtaking his ears as he stormed forward, shoving past the mess to get to the source of his rage. The flames had long since died, leaving behind nothing but fragile wisps of ash. But even in its destruction, he recognized what it used to be.
Burned letters.
A melted necklace, the twisted remains of two rings fused together.
The last pieces of her.
His wife.
His breath left him in a sharp, ragged exhale, his lungs refusing to pull in air as scorching rage flooded every nerve in his body.
âYou,â he seethed. Your name didnât even make it past his lips. The word was a knife, laced with something lethal, something beyond fury. His boots pounded against the wooden floor as he closed the distance between you, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles went white. âIâd fucking kill you! What the fuck have you done?!â
You flinched, your body recoiling as if his voice had physically struck you. âCalebââ
âShut up!â His hand shot out, gripping your arm down to the bone, yanking you up with enough force that your legs nearly gave out beneath you. âDo you have any fucking idea what you just did?âÂ
âIâI didnât mean to⌠I wasnât thinking straightââ you choked out, shaking your head frantically, eyes wide with panic.
âDidnât mean to?â He let out a sharp, humorless laugh, the sound so devoid of warmth it sent chills down your spine. Before you could react, he was already shoving you back against the nearest wall, his arms caging you in, his breath hot with rage as it fanned against your skin. His eyes were cold, piercing, murderous, menacing.
âYou burned her letters, our rings,â he said, each syllable aiming to intimidate you. âDestroyed the only damn thing I had left of her! And for what?!â
Tears spilled down your cheeks as you tried to shake your head, tried to explain, but your throat was too tight, your breath too uneven. Calebâs gaze alone was enough to make your entire body tremble. But you had to try. âI was hurt, Caleb,â you finally sobbed, the words tumbling out like a plea. âIâI just wanted you to forget her. I wanted you to see me!âÂ
âForget her?â His jaw clenched. His grip tightened on your wrist, the pressure just shy of bruising. âYou think you could ever replace her? You think you have any fuckinâ right to want anything from me? That you could be anything more than a pathetic substitute?â
The words sliced through you like a blade, carving through every delusion you had ever let yourself believe.
Yet⌠you had nothing left to lose.
âI love you,â you whispered, broken, desperate. âCaleb, I love you⌠Please. Iâll be everything you need. Iâll offer everything I have and more. Just⌠just forget about her.â
For a terrifying second, you thought he might actually hit you.
But then, just as fast as it came, he wrenched himself away from you, staggering back as though you were the thing poisoning him. It hurt. It hurt like hell to see the way he rid himself of you as he ran a hand through his hair, his fingers itching to wreck you.Â
â...Caleb.âÂ
â...Iâm sorry, Caleb.âÂ
â...I love you, Caleb.â
No matter how desperately you fought to win his heart, his voice remained eerily calm when he finally spoke.
âGet the hell out of my sight.â
You stood frozen, barely able to process the words. âB-Butââ
âI said GET THE FUCK OUT!â His roar thundered through the room, rattling your entire being like an insect in a heavy storm.Â
You swallowed down the sob threatening to rise up your throat, willing yourself to moveâto breatheâas you staggered toward the door. Your fingers curled around the handle, and for a split second, you let yourself hope for him to stop you. To say something. Anything.
But all he did was stare at you with a gaze so cold, so hollow, it made your heart cave in on itself.
And then, his final words were more merciless than you thought.Â
âYou wanna play with fire?â he muttered. âFine. Iâll throw you out into the front lines soon enough. See how much you really want to be a soldierâs whore.â
A strangled gasp left your lips, your vision blurring with fresh tears.
You couldnât breathe.
You couldnât think.
And for the first time since you met him, you realized that no matter how much love you poured into him, Caleb had none left to give.
~~
He stayed true to his words.Â
The front lines were nothing short of hell. Explosions tore through the sky, painting it in hues of orange and black. The ground trembled beneath relentless bombardments, screams of the wounded and dying mixing with the fusillade of gunfire. It was chaos. It was pure, unfiltered war.
And you were in the heart of it.
Thrown into the battlefield as nothing more than a discarded afterthought, yet you worked tirelessly, tending to the broken, the dying, the ones who begged for mercy even when there was nothing left to give. Blood soaked your uniform, stained your hands, and for the first time since you had arrived at this forsaken place, you realized Caleb was never coming to rescue you. That this wasnât as simple as temporary punishment where he could rescue you back to the base the moment he saw that you had already paid for your sins.Â
You had been foolish to think otherwise. Because the punishment was greater than the crime.Â
Day after day, you watched the planes soar overhead, wondering if one of them carried him. If maybe, just maybe, heâd glance down and remember you. That heâd order someone to retrieve you, to take you home.
But no one came.
Not even him.
And just when you thought it couldnât get worseâthe enemy arrived.
You barely had time to react before the camp was raided, soldiers storming in with brutal efficiency. Screams filled the airânurses, wounded soldiers, no one was spared. You tried to run, but handsâso many handsâgripped you, dragging you with them.
âNo, please!â you sobbed, thrashing, digging your heels into the dirt. âSomeone, help me!â
But the only response was the harsh, guttural laughter of the men dragging you away. You didnât understand their language, but you understood them. The way their dark, hungry eyes lusted over your trembling form. The mocking smiles curling their lips. The way they spoke to each other, like you werenât even human.
Like you were property.
One of them cupped your chin, tilting your face up with a sickening grin. âSheâll do nicely,â he murmured in a thick accent.Â
Another joined in on the amusement. âA fitting pastime for the long nights ahead.â
A fresh wave of panic crashed over you, bile rising in your throat as you began to foresee your fate in their hands. Your fate as the enemyâs new plaything.Â
âNoâNO!â you shrieked, thrashing harder, your nails clawing at their arms. âCaleb! S-Someone, please!â
But no one came.
No one ever came.
That was when your real nightmare began.
They dragged you to their camp, a place so desolate, so devoid of mercy, that it made your previous suffering look like a fleeting dream. There was no hope here. No salvation.
Just pain.
The foreign army passed you from one to the next like you were nothing more than a worn-out relic of war. Their touch was greedy, using your body at their convenience, their grip bruising as they took what they wanted. They stripped you off everything; clothes, dignity, sanity. Sanity. Where is God in all of this?
Your mind drifted, escaping to anywhere else but there. You imagined a different life, a different fate. But the pain kept pulling you back. The jeers, the mocking laughter, the cruel hands that touched every inch of your skin reminding you over and over again that there was no escaping this. You felt dirty, felt disgusted of your own flesh, felt sick that you had to wake up each day living for only one and one purpose alone.Â
You stopped counting the days.
Stopped screaming when they came for you.
You had nothing left.
Their cruelty settled deep within your bones, your spirit breaking piece by piece until all that remained was a hollow shell of who you used to be.
And the worst part?
He never came.
Caleb, the man who once whispered possessive threats in your ear, who swore no one else could have you, who claimed you as his prizeâhad abandoned you to this.
It was almost laughable. Truly spectacular.Â
As you lay on the cold, your body too battered to move, you allowed yourself to accept the truth.
He never loved you.
He never would.
~~
Before you were a war nurse, you once interned as a nurse at Akso Hospital. Life was peaceful then. Even as whispers of an impending world war grew louder, there was an unshaken belief that your nation was too powerful to fall. No one dared to wage war on the strongest nation in the world.Â
That was the world you knewâquiet, bathed in golden light. You stood in the familiar white halls of the medical facility, the place where it all began. Where you trained. Where you dreamed of making a difference.
Dr. Zayne stood before you, his crisp uniform as pristine as ever, his silver-rimmed glasses reflecting the medical abstract he had on hand. He had always been composed and steady. A true professional that you looked up to. He was the best cardiac surgeon there was, and everyone in the same field dreamed of working with him. Of becoming like him.
âYou're ready for this,â he said, adjusting his gloves. âThe war will test you, but your handsââ he reached out, taking yours in his own, running his thumb across your palmââwere meant to heal.â
You gripped his hands a little tighter. âWhat if I canât save everyone?â
He thought for a moment before letting out a quiet sigh. âYou wonât,â he agreed. âBut you will save someone. And that will always matter.â
You felt your chest tighten. âThank you for being a good mentor, Dr. Zayne. I hope to see you again someday.âÂ
The golden light around him began to fade, his figure growing distant, hazy, slipping through your fingers.
âGood luck, Y/N.â
It was the chilling air that woke you up from your dream. The icy breeze seeped into your bones, deeper than any wound, any bruise, any violation. Every inch of you ached, skin marred with purple and black, lips split and dry. Your body was no longer your own. It was something broken, something discarded.
You barely had the strength to keep your eyes open and every breath was a struggle as your ribs protested with each inhale. The faint scent of blood and sweat lingered around you, suffocating you. Killing you.
Somewhere in the distance, you heard voicesâa noise.
A sharp crack split through the air, followed by a screamâshort, cut off, wet. Then another. And another.
Gunfire.
Shouting.
The heavy thud of bodies hitting the ground.
You tried to move, but your limbs wouldnât obey. The exhaustion of everything they had done to you pinned you down. Your pulse was sluggish, your vision swimming, but you could hear itâhim. And the distinct roar of his rage. Perhaps it was your hallucination. After all, you had already lost your mind from this war.Â
But one of the soldiers outside, his voice barely rising before it was cut offâa sickening gurgle of a sound, as if something sharp had torn straight through his throat. Gunfire erupted in rapid succession, followed by panicked shouts, orders barked in a language you barely understood, only for them to be silenced just as quickly. A storm was tearing through the camp. A massacre.
Then, the door was kicked open. A figure stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the moonlight.
You held your breath.Â
The familiar combat boots. The bloodied gloves. The cold, murderous gleam of his eyes.
Caleb.
Your lips partedâhalf in disbelief, half in something uglier. Because now, after everything, after you had finally accepted that he was gone, he was here. His gaze was fixed on you, and something in his features cracked as he took in your state. Bruises. Cuts. The torn remains of your uniform that barely covered your violated body. His fingers twitched over the trigger of his gun.
Slowly, he took a step forward. And when he finally reached you, he knelt, his bloodstained hands brushing against your trembling form as if to confirm that you were real.
Why? Why now, Caleb?
You let out a broken sob, your body giving out as you collapsed into him, while his arms wrapped around you, holding you tightly and desperately.
It was for the first time since meeting him where he genuinely, unselfishly took you in his arms with fragile care. âIâm sorry. Iâm here. Iâm here now. Iâve killed every single one of âem for you,â he said in a tone so affectionate you almost wondered if it was a dream. âIâll take you home. No oneâs gonna touch you ever again. I promise.â
The irony, however, presented itself the moment Caleb touched you. Because rather than feeling a sense of relief in his own way of apologizing, a deep, all-consuming dread wrapped around your bones instead.
Because this wasnât salvation. This wasnât a rescue. This was a return to a different kind of prison.
Your battered body trembled in his grip as his presence, something you once ached for, now loomed over you like a cruel joke. You thought being hereâbeing dragged through hell, used, and discardedâwas the worst fate imaginable.
But, no.
The true horror was returning to Caleb.
Because you knew now. You finally understood. There was no future for you. Not in his arms. Not in this world. And the look in his eyes, that dangerous, unhinged gleam that he would never let you go. You were only going to submit yourself to a never ending cycle. Of pain. Of being unloved.
So before he could react, before he could drag you back into the nightmare of his possessive grasp, your trembling fingers wrapped around his gun.
His own gun. His own weapon.
For the first time, his cold, calculating gaze faltered, widening in shock as you tore it from his holster with the last of your strength. âY/Nââ
The barrel was already pressed to your temple. His hands lunged for you, fast, too fastâ
BANG!
The world stilled.
Your body swayed before a slow, almost gentle descent to the ground. Caleb caught you before you could hit the dirt, but warm blood seeped between his fingers. His hands, the same hands that had killed and destroyed, now shook as they cradled you. âNo! NOOO! Y/N!â
But it was too late.
You smiled with your red-stained lips. âYou deserve to live a life where the women you loveââ you coughed, blood bubbling at the edges of your lips as you said your last words, âleave you.â

3K notes
¡
View notes
Text
Impartial Hearts | Sylus - Part One

Pairing -> Boss Sylus x Non MC Reader
Parts -> Part One | Part Two
Synopsis -> Youâve been working as Onychinusâs accountant for two years, and youâve been carrying two heavy secrets for a third of it. You were in love with your boss, and your mother was dying.
A/N -> Guys this shit is just sad icl I need to lay off the sad songs... anyways, reader is not MC but MC is mentioned I called her 'Miss Hunter' or 'MC' bc I couldn't come up with a name, sorry.
EDIT: Thanks for all the love <33333 I honestly didnât expect so many people to want a part two, I promise itâs in the works and Iâll try to get it out ASAP.
Trigger Warnings -> Death mentioned, heart issues mentioned.
Word Count -> 7.3K
âIâm sorry, what?â The question slipped out of your lips without much of an attempt from your brain to restrain it. You regretted that instantly.
âWatch your tone, Y/N.â The scarily low timbre in Sylusâs voice threatened retribution if you didnât.
âSorry⌠Itâs just thatâ are you sure? I feel like this is a decision that requires a little bit more contemplation. Like getting a dog!â You tried to backpedal, but from the look of Sylusâs narrowing eyes, he wasnât happy with your response.Â
âAre you comparing her to a dog?â There was a threat thinly encased in Sylusâs question and under the thick layers of fear, you felt the slightest pang of jealousy that the he felt so strongly about defending her honour.Â
What a dramatic and far-fetched conclusion. You wanted to say, but instead you bit your tongue.Â
âN-No! Of course not. Not at all. Iâm just wondering if wiring her such a significant sum from your equity account is a good idea when you met herââ You make a show of glancing at your shabby watch ââ 13 hours ago is a sound decision.â
âSo youâre questioning my judgement? Is that it?âÂ
You couldnât blame him for being difficult, you walked right into that one.Â
âNo! Well⌠yes?â One would think that after two years of working for Sylus, youâd have the ability to stand your ground against him. But there was only so far someone could push a man like Sylus before he deemed you irredeemable. The consequence of which involved a hollow point in your skull.Â
âWrong answer. Wire it. Now. Iâll deal with your insubordination later.â He quickly left the room that doubled as your âofficeâ; you shared it with the twins who liked to use it as their reprieve from crime. You wouldnât have minded had they chosen less rambunctious ways of cooling-down, like reading or watching a show. Instead theyâd play-fight, actually fight, play video games on the loudest volume or â the worst option of all â karaoke.Â
The sarcastic yes sir died on your tongue as quickly as it crossed your mind. You pissed him off far more than usual today, and he was already way more tense since her arrival.Â
Miss Hunter. Sylus kept her first name under lock-and-key, said it was safer that way. You barely caught a glimpse of her as Sylus dragged her out of his office, which was across from yours. From the glimpse you did catch, she was beautiful. Fair skin, jet black hair, a fit body. Her outfit, which was the Hunterâs Association standard issue uniform, had never looked so good.Â
From what you knew from shameless eavesdropping, she was extremely important to Sylus. She was part of some critical master plan you werenât privy to.Â
You hated her.
Albeit, completely unfounded, your hatred for her stemmed from an ugly feeling you could not shake. In the two years you worked as an accountant for Onychinus, Sylus touched you once. Correction, you touched him once accidentally when you had too much to drink with the twins after work. You were taking careful steps to the bar to pour yourself another glass of a gross vodka raspberry mixture when you tripped on the edge of one of Sylusâs extremely expensive rugs. Your feet pedalled forward in an attempt to keep you upright, and you clashed right into Sylus who was innocently scrolling through his phone on the wall next to the bar.Â
You could recall the fear you felt vividly. You almost felt the same wedge lodged in your throat. Sylus quickly removed you from him, steadying you with his cold palms on your shoulders (an action that made you blush like a schoolgirl) before verbally deeming you cut-off from all liquor from the night.
That was the full extent of all physical contact youâd had with Sylus in two whole years, meanwhile it took Miss Hunter less than 24-hours before he was holding her hand. God, you hated her.
âOi, Y/N, weâre using the company card for lunch today.â Luke quickly yelled out to you from the hallway, too engrossed in your self-loathing and plain old regular loathing, you forgot to remind Luke that they only had $40 left on their weekly lunch budget.Â
Knowing the twins, they wouldnât have cared anyway, creating yet another problem you had to fix.
Looking at the excel sheet that contained this monthâs trial balance, you shivered at the thought of having to deal with Sylusâs wrath at yet another monthly increase in expenses. So, you shifted the remaining balance on your lunch budget, a generous $255, into the twinâs joint account. It was only Thursday morning, and theyâd managed to max-out their $1000 budget.Â
You hated them too.
You looked through your drawer in hopes you had a leftover snack that could sadly double as your lunch and felt a wave of relief at the sight of a protein bar.Â
It wasnât like Sylus didnât pay you enough to afford your own lunch, in fact he was the most generous employer youâd ever had. But the only thing bigger than his bank account was corporate greed, and the blood-sucking heathens at Akso hospital were milking you dry.
Life in the N109 Zone wasnât easy for most people, especially your mother who raised you all on her own after your father left. She worked 3 jobs to put you through university in Linkon, so the least you could do was use every last cent you made on ensuring she had the best medical treatment money could buy.Â
Your mother had a bad heart ever since she was born, it was a hereditary condition that would sometimes skip a generation only to show up in the next. She had an atrial septal defect, or in another words, a hole in her heart. You were born with one too, although yours was much smaller. Sheâd undergone several surgeries to repair the hole, but it reopened, and now the scar tissue surrounding the surgical site was obstructing her arteries. She was now on bypass patiently awaiting a heart transplant you couldnât quite afford, but youâd make it happen. You were sure of it.Â
With half the protein bar in your mouth, you began to call Dr Zayne, the cardiovascular surgeon who was overseeing your motherâs care. You called him for updates on your mother and the transplant list every day, since a train ticket to Linkon was too big an expense to justify, youâd settle for Dr Zayneâs cold recollections of your motherâs heart function.Â
âAh, Miss L/N, I was beginning to think you werenât going to call today.â The dead-pan sarcasm dripped from his tone.Â
âYour bedside manner needs serious work.â You bit back. You werenât sure when or how your relationship with your motherâs doctor turned so hostile, but you figured the busy chief of surgery was annoyed by your constant calls.Â
âNeed I remind you, Y/N, youâre not the patient.âÂ
âThere isnât a waking second Iâm not thinking about the patient, Dr Zayne.âÂ
An uncomfortable silence hung in the air at your confession. You didnât mean to make him feel guilty, in all honesty, you looked forward to the banter before the updates on your mom, it helped ease the nerves.Â
âDo you want to see her?â
âOf course, but Iâm working a lot.â
âNo, I mean right now.â
âAre you finally letting me borrow the hospital helicopter?â
âNo, but I will let you borrow my phone so you can FaceTime her.â
His kind offer caught you off guard. âReally?!â
âSure, you caught me in a rare moment where I donât have someplace to be.â
âIt must be Christmas.â
âRarer than Christmas. Think solar eclipse.â
âOkay, okay, I get it. Now give me my mother.â
Zayne kept his promise, and you spoke to your mother for your entire lunch break, and then some. You wouldâve continued talking to her until the sunset if not for Sylusâs interruption.Â
âI donât pay you to FaceTime your friends, Y/N.â
âSorry, I have to go. Talk to you later. I love you!â Your mother rasped out that she loved you too before you quickly hung up the phone.Â
âSorry.â Your apology fell on deaf ears as Sylus took slow, deliberate steps toward your desk.Â
âDo you hate this job?â Sylusâs asked this deceivingly innocuous question while sliding a finger across the mahogany tabletop.Â
âUm⌠no?â You placed your hands in your lap as you answered to hide the slight tremor.Â
âYou sound unsure.âÂ
âI like this job very much.â You made the declaration with as much confidence as you could muster. Your mood was already depleted from seeing your motherâs sick face for the first time in months. She wasnât looking any healthier, and Zayne told you sheâd barely moved up the list.Â
107. There were 107 people whoâs lives were more important than the woman who raised you. You were well aware that wasnât the way they calculated the metric, but it didnât make the number hurt any less.Â
Sylus let out an sigh that suggested whatever heâd say next was a much tamer version of what he truly wanted to say. âThen Iâd suggest you start acting like it. Remember, sweetheart, everyoneâs replaceable. Especially you.âÂ
His comment stung like antiseptic on an open wound, though you were sure that was his intention.Â
âRight. Of course. I wonât let you down.âÂ
âFor your sake, I hope not. The twins told me they went to that seafood buffet for lunch, you havenât let them go over the budget again, have you?âÂ
You quickly pulled up the online banking account connected to the company card. You saw the $189.95 charge for the seafood buffet and swallowed the lump in your throat.Â
âNope, itâs all dandy.â You gave him a smile that didnât quite reach your eyes. He noticed.Â
âGood. You wire that money like I asked?â The venom in his tone alleviated, and you were glad at least one thing seemed to have worked out for you that day.Â
But alas, your joy was short-lived.
âYes, an hour ago, but itâs still processing until you put in your access code.â You moved away from the computer to give him room to step around and put in the code like he usually did. However, his feet never moved from their position in front of your desk.
âWhy didnât you tell me that?â Just like that, his voice was all venom again.Â
You were beginning to grow agitated with his misplaced anger constantly being taken out on you. It didnât happen often, but when it did, heâd tear into you like a bear would a boxing bag and then act like everything was fine the next day. You never got an apology, you knew not to expect one.Â
But lately these fits of unbridled rage came about more often than not, and Sylus took a shovel to your mole hill of resolve every time.Â
âI always need your access code on transfers over $500,000. Iâve never told you before, I just assumedââÂ
âAre you stupid?â You didnât bother answering the mean rhetorical question. âWhat about this transaction seemed usual to you? Did I not convey my urgency effectively earlier? Or are there rocks where your brain should be?â His voice never went up in volume, but you could tell he was angry. Livid even. Seething with fury at your supposed incompetence.Â
Your eyes welled up with tears at his outburst. Normally you could take whatever insults heâd throw at you with little outward reaction, but you were particularly sensitive from the sandwich-shaped hole in your stomach, and the maternal hole in your heart which ached every second, reminding you of the much bigger one your mother bore.
Before you could stop it, a tear rolled down your cheek, and the second you registered the sensation you quickly went to wipe it.Â
âStop crying.â Sylus ordered.
âIâm notâcrying.â Your voice betrayed you, a hitch in your throat interrupting the sentence. The tears began to stream down faster, so fast your hands couldnât keep up.Â
You prepared yourself for a speech about how weak you were, how he wouldnât tolerate such inane shows of infirmity. But all Sylus did was watch as you embarrassingly tried to pull yourself together.Â
You werenât sure how much time passed before Sylus moved next to you, hunching down to input his code into the transaction. His eyes glanced at the second monitor, displaying the company cardâs account, and he zeroed in at the twinâs charge, and your lack thereof.
âDid you have lunch?â Sylusâs voice was softer, you attributed that to the fact that he was inches away from you. The question was so out of left-field it actually caused your tears to cease.Â
âYeah?â
âYou didnât use the card.â Your eyes followed his to the bank statement and you let out a sigh of relief.Â
âOh, I had some extra cash on me I wanted to get rid of.â
âYouâre supposed to use the card, Y/N. Thatâs what itâs for.â
âItâs fine, Iâll have an extra big lunch tomorrow. Granted youâre not firing me?â You were only half-joking, but you couldâve sworn you saw the corners of his lips perk up in an almost-smile before he shut it straight down.Â
âI wonât fire you if you tell me whatâs got you this upset? Iâm not so proud as to assume it was me.â It was that moment you realised Sylus was capable of feeling empathy. He was aware of how hurtful he was being all those times heâd berate you over the smallest inconveniences for virtually no reason, and he simply didnât care.Â
It was far worse to know that he did possess empathy, but chose not to extend it to you.Â
âItâs just that time of the month.â You lied, convincingly. Youâd mull over your blatant betrayal to feminism later, but for now you needed a means of shutting this inquiry down and quickly. You didnât want anyone knowing about your mom, you were sure the pity would destroy you. She wasnât going to die, and you didnât want people to treat you like she might.Â
Sylus waited for the transfer to clear before he left. You let out a breath you didnât know you were holding when the door closed behind him.
âAre you sure we only have $105 on our lunch budget.â Lukeâs question grated on your frayed nerves.
â$105 and five cents.â Your distinction didnât do much help.Â
âCome on, canât you do your weird accounty magic and make more appear? We want steak.â Kiernanâs plea wasnât helping either. Youâd exhausted every last option, anything else would definitely cause alarms when Sylus eventually reviewed the accounts.Â
âI already did all I could, I gave you an extra $255!â And a fat good that did you, now you were hungry and annoyed.
âWell, we both know thereâs plenty more where that came from.â
There really wasnât, but you didnât tell them that.Â
âIâm sorry, $105 is all youâve got.âÂ
âFine. But weâre very unhappy with you, Y/N. Very unhappy.â Luke chastised you, but you couldnât even pretend to care.Â
âBetter you than Sylus, now please leave.â The twins opened their mouths with a retort, but a domineering voice interrupted them.Â
âYou heard her. Beat it and stop bothering my accountant.âÂ
The twins scurried at the sound of Sylusâs voice, and you wondered how much of that conversation he overheard.
âSo, where did that extra $255 come from, Y/N?â
Too much of the conversation. Way too much.Â
âMy budget.â You cut your losses and told him the truth. Any other answer would have surely pissed him off.Â
âI give you $300 for the whole week. Your sandwich costs $15. Either you havenât been eating, or you've been paying out of your own pocket against my orders. Which is it?âÂ
Well, that was a lose-lose situation if there ever was one. You didnât want to deal with the questions about why you were skipping meals, so you lied again. You always were an exceptional liar, your mother taught you that the less people knew about you, the less they had to hurt you with.
âI made too much food for dinner so I had leftovers. Itâs no biggie.â You didnât even look up from your screen as the lie left your lips.Â
âWhat leftovers?â He asked.Â
âPasta.â You answered.Â
âWhat kind?â
âAlfredo.â
âWith mushrooms?â
âYeah.â
âYou hate mushrooms.âÂ
Shit. Why did he know that?
âI had a change of heart.â
âYouâre lying.â
You bit your lip in worry, wondering how you were going to get yourself out of this one.
You stalled as much as you could, pretending to be engrossed in something on your screen, until the sound of Sylusâs phone ringing broke the tension.Â
You internally thanked every deity that could possibly be watching over you as he took the call, and prayed to all of them that it would be something urgent.Â
You heard the faint sounds of a feminine voice through his phone.
âKitten, where are you?â
Wait, whoâs kitten?Â
âJust calm down, tell me where you are.â Sylus didnât even give you a second glance as he quickly stormed out of your office. Leaving you to mull over the intimate pet name, knowing exactly who it was intended for.
As Sylus left the room you reflected on the cacophony your feelings created in your mind. You werenât sure when you developed such strong feelings for Sylus â or why. His personality was the antithesis of yours. Where he would free fall off of the proverbial cliff of his life without a second thought, every risk you took was meticulously calculated. Where he was rough and respected, you were sort of a pushover. Where his deadpan sense of humour tended to elicit more fear than laughter, you had an awkward habit of cracking jokes in situations they were not appropriate.
You were polar opposites, two parallel lines that were destined never to intertwine. You figured that was why everything hurt so much around him. He wasnât right for you, but he would be right for someone else.Â
The envy youâd carried for so long began to subside for the first time in years. Sylus had an array of estranged lovers that heâd bring around his mansion every once in a while, and now Miss Hunter. But for the first time the reminder of that fact didnât hurt as much as it usually did.Â
It was Mid-September and you warned yourself that if you couldnât eliminate all the romantic feelings you had for Sylus by the end of Autumn, youâd cut your losses and quit.Â
Of course, youâd have to find another job that paid just as well, but you were willing to cross that bridge when it came to it. There was only so much turmoil your fragile heart could take, and if you were dead, your mother would be as good as dead too.Â
Happy with your iron-clad plan, you opened up your notes app and began to draft âOperation Sylus: No Moreâ. You could change the name later.
Operation Sylus: No More
The foolproof guide of getting rid of all feelings Sylus related by the end of November.Â
Step 1: avoid Sylus and all thoughts of him at all costs.
Step 2: no more funny jokes, his laugh is seriously deadly.Â
Step 3: force yourself to remember Miss Hunter in moments of weakness. Sheâs the one he really wants.Â
Step 4: try to find love elsewhere, like the corner shop owner, he may be in his 50s and happily married but heâs kind of a silver-fox!
Step 5: do not, under any circumstances, allow yourself to be alone with Sylus for too long.
You looked back at your list, proud of the relatively easy steps to follow. This should be a cakewalk. Whoever said you couldnât be the master of your own feelings clearly never met you.Â
âBoss needs you in his office. He says bring your laptop.â Kiernanâs voice broke your focus. You were almost finished with the end of year report for this financial year, a task Sylus forced you to complete annually. It was meaningless, considering Onychinus wasnât necessarily a legitimate business listed on the stock exchange, but you took it seriously nonetheless.Â
âOkay, Iâll be right there.â You felt Kiernanâs eyes bore into you as you continued to make minor edits to the report. Youâd sleep so much better once this 180 page document was out of your life.Â
âHe needs you now, Y/N. Weâre both toast if you make him wait.â You sighed and couldnât help but roll your eyes at Sylusâs lack of empathy for your large workload.Â
You berated your past self for being so eager for this role, completing far too many tasks far too quickly, and setting the precedent that you were some sort of accounting machine. You really should learn to stick to the bare minimum.Â
You walked over to the door leading to his office, and gave it a soft rap with your knuckles. The door opened by itself, or rather with the help of Sylusâs evol, to the sight of him leaning back in his chair, with Miss Hunter sitting directly in front of him on his desk.
Step 3 of your guide felt less like a friendly reminder and more like a stab in the gut. Think of corner-shop man. Think of corner-shop man. Think of corner-shop man.
âWe donât have all day, sit down, Y/N.â Sylusâs command woke you from your trance, and you hoped your envy wasnât as obvious as you thought it was.Â
This was the first time youâd seen Miss Hunter up close, and when your eyes travelled to meet hers, she gave you a warm smile. You felt like the shittiest person to exist for ever hating her.
Your eyes scanned the room for somewhere to sit. The chairs opposite his seemed like they would intrude on the intimate moment he was clearly having with Miss Hunter, so you settled on an armchair in the corner that had a coffee table in front of it.Â
Sylus sighed and didnât even bother to ask you to move before he used his evol to whisk you up and deposit your body onto the chair at his table like a rag doll. You hated when he used his evol on you, it felt like the arms of a prickly cactus.Â
âIn a few minutes, Iâll be getting a phone call from a possible investor. Heâs extremely exclusive and known for running tests on his potential partners before agreeing to invest with them. My intel suggests heâs going to propose a joint project, but the numbers heâll give me will be far off. I need to counter-propose numbers that would generate a high return and quickly, or heâll hang up and Iâll never hear from him again. So, open up your laptop and prepare, because if you tank this for me, there will no longer be a place for you here. Understood?â
When Sylus did things like that, it made it easier to love him a little less. He could be a complete and utter dick sometimes, and while youâd learned to accept it as a human flaw, recently it seemed more like a permanent predisposition.Â
Perhaps Sylus was nice to you because you were entertaining, now that he had someone better to occupy his time, you were nothing more than a forgotten bygone.Â
âYeah, I got it.â You opened up an excel sheet with a project analysis template. These were the types of questions youâd get in your first year accounting courses but you let Sylus think it was much harder than it actually was â just to make him sweat.Â
When the phone rang, Sylusâs muscles grew tense and Miss Hunter gave him a comforting squeeze on his shoulder. You bit your lip to hide the sudden scowl on your face. Think of corner-shop man. Think of corner-shop man. Think of corner-shop man.
Your eyes bore into your excel sheet with an intensity that wouldâve produced laser beams in an alternate reality. You focused entirely on the calculations, listening intently to the brassy voice of the investor on the phone.Â
It didnât take you long to generate the minimum initial investment theyâd need to generate some form of return, as well as the payback period. You wrote the numbers down on a notepad, and you let him do the rest.Â
When you heard the investor let out a humorous âIâm impressedâ you packed up your laptop and left the room without so much as a wave. You felt Sylus and Miss Hunterâs eyes follow you out of the room, but you didnât bother looking back.
You felt the thin line between love and hate begin to grow blurry. Where Sylus was concerned, your feelings were as clear as the muddy water in a swamp. Maybe two and a half months was too much time. You needed these feelings gone expeditiously.Â
You decided to take your lunch early, and you left the extravagant mansion that doubled as HQ to find your bike. You couldnât really afford a car, or a license, but your bright yellow bike could do everything a car could for a fraction of the price. You were in the process of strapping up your helmet when Luke walked up.Â
âWhatâs up with you lately?â His question was inevitable. You wondered how long it would take for someone to notice that you were fighting internal battles on every front. Your motherâs health, Sylusâs sudden chronic asshole syndrome flareup, your dwindling bank account.Â
âNothing, Iâve just been tired.â
âWell, weâre having a few friends over tonight. Just a small group, if youâre not too tired, you should come.â Luke was the more sociable twin, and he was most likely extending this invitation to you out of pity, but youâd take anything over being trapped in your own mind.Â
âWill there be alcohol?â You quipped.
âDuh.â Lukeâs response brought the first genuine smile to your face in weeks.Â
âIâll be there.â After your agreement, you cycled away toward the corner shop for lunch.
It was a quaint bakery/deli run by a Turkish man who you knew on a first name basis. He was aged-like-fine-wine handsome. Features weathered tastefully by age, with a full head of hair that quelled your fears of your future children inheriting the early onset male pattern baldness gene.Â
But when you entered the store and saw Mr Demir, there were no butterflies. Your heart didnât skip a beat. Your hands didnât even quiver as you paid for the sandwich. In fact, they were so steady you figured you could give Dr Zayne a run for his money.Â
Speaking of Dr Zayne, his daily updates were growing scarcer in detail, and you were worried that something was wrong. He insisted he was just busy and since your mother had moved up to 93 on the transplant list, you let it slide.Â
âYou know youâre allowed to try the other sandwiches, right?â Mr Demirâs handsome face contorted into a teasing smile, and if he didnât own this shop with his beautiful wife, you mightâve asked him to marry you then and there.Â
âI like this one. Your family is very talented.â You smiled at him, but it seemed even he could tell that it wasnât genuine.
âYouâre getting skinnier you know, and you havenât been coming as often. Is something wrong or are you cheating on me with a salad store?â His joke brought a giggle out of you.Â
You never thought that people noticed you in a way that was significant. You felt as if you were akin to a missing bird poster on a telephone pole in the middle of a busy street. People would glance at it, remember how common and undistinguishable birds are, and forget it ever existed.
Mr Demirâs concern warmed your heart, and you promised that if you ever won the lottery, you would give him half.Â
âIâve just been cooking more, thatâs all. Thank you Mr Demir, say hello to your wife for me!â You gave him a small wave as you exited the shop and the weight suffocating your chest was a little lighter.
Mr Demirâs family had boundless love to share, and while their shop was small, they were happy. Maybe things would work out for you and your mother after all.Â
The rest of the workday passed by like a fever dream. You finally managed to complete the annual report, a copy of it sitting in Sylusâs email, surely unopened. He left soon after that phone call with Miss Hunter, you didnât bother to ask where.
The mansion was empty when you turned off the last monitor, and you thought youâd start pre-gaming early. Sylus always warned all of you that his bar was off-limits unless he stated otherwise, but the man had so much alcohol, you doubted heâd ever notice.Â
He only drank red wine and whiskey, and you hated wine, so you settled for an almost full bottle of whiskey. You took one sip and realised you couldnât stand the taste either, but it was still better than the wine, so you chugged glass after glass like they were shots.Â
The heavy alcohol burned your throat on the way down and continued to burn in your stomach, but the feeling kept you warm so you didnât really mind. Youâd consumed half the bottle by the time the twins returned with two other men and one girl following in suit. Â
âY/N! Good, youâre here. Help me set up the drinks on the table.â You nodded your head at Lukeâs request, knowing your speech would likely be slurred.Â
You helped him line up the bottles of cheap tequila, vodka, fireball and a fear-inducing amount of absinthe. These cheap spirits were much more your speed.
âAlright, weâre starting with truth or dare. Pick your poison and sit around the coffee table.â Kiernanâs announcement had everyone scattering around the coffee table with cups in hand. You opted for the fireball, too scared to mix alcohol this early in the night.Â
You recognised everyone from another one of the twinâs impromptu parties. They only ever threw them when they were sure Sylus would be gone overnight. You didnât let yourself dwell on where he was or who he was with.Â
The game was more entertaining than you expected, everyone had interesting questions, and when it came to dares, the twins always had something sadistic in mind.Â
It was your turn when they decided to up the stakes. You were already wasted, so you committed to answering whatever question they pummelled at you.Â
âTruth.â
âYouâre so boring, you always pick truth.â Luke whined, his arm shaking yours in protest.
âThatâs because Iâm scared of your dares.â
Luke rolled his eyes but conceded.
âFine. How many people have you slept with?â
All conversations came to a stifling halt as everyoneâs eyes landed on you. Far too embarrassed to tell 5 people you barely knew that you were still a virgin, you changed your answer. There was nothing to be ashamed of, but you knew the twins would mercilessly make fun of you, and you didn't have the energy to explain that between the constant pressure to succeed for your mother, and her eventual illness, your love life had been placed on the back-burner.
âDare.â
âYou know the rules, if you switch options and refuse to do it, you have to finish everyoneâs drinks.â
âYeah, yeah. Hit me.â You glared at Luke with determination. You shouldâve known that when everyone was this drunk, the dares could only get progressively more outrageous.
âI dare you to call Sylus and tell him you crashed his McLaren.â Luke looked proud of his dare, and the smile dropped from your face instantly.Â
Even Kiernanâs eyes flashed with concern before he broke out into an obnoxious laugh.
âOh- Holy shit! Thatâs gold.â The words left Kieranâs mouth in-between his laughter. Everyone around the table looked at you eagerly.
You knew if you finished off everyoneâs cups youâd definitely die, or worse, throw up.Â
âFine.â Too drunk to realise the implications of what you were doing, you dialled Sylus. There was also the chance he just didnât pick up, but four and a half rings later his annoyed voice resounded through the speaker of your phone.Â
âWhat is it?â From the sound of Sylusâs tone, youâd interrupted something important. You bit down the bitter feelings that threatened to spill out, and stuck to the objective.
âI have something to tell you, but you have to promise you wonât get mad.â There was no universe in which Sylus couldnât tell you were drunk.
In all honesty, your phone call was a welcome reprieve from his mind-numbingly boring conversation with Linkonâs politicians. Heâd offered to attend this event with MC with little thought as to what it would pertain. His eyes raked over her baby pink dress, and since he couldnât get her out of it just yet, he entertained your drunk rambling.
âI donât have to do anything.â Sylus expected you to apologise, but all he heard was a sound foreign to him. Were you laughing? Sylus heard indecipherable voices in the background, and he found himself wondering who was making you laugh.Â
âTrue. Okay well, you know that dark grey sports car you love soooooooooooo much?â Nice going, Y/N, remind him just how much he loves this car. You thought. The phone was on speaker, per the requests of the fellow attendees.Â
Everyone bit back laughs at the situation which was extremely unfunny to anyone with a blood alcohol level under 0.05.Â
âWhat did you do?â Sylusâs question had a deadly underpinning, but you couldnât bring yourself to care.
âI crashed it!â At your exclamation, the room exploded in laughter, and you muted the microphone quickly before Sylus could hear it.
âYou crashed it?â
You quickly unmuted to add. âYup! Absolutely totalled.â
âAre you okay? Where are you? Iâm coming.âÂ
The laughter immediately died down. That was not how he was supposed to react, not at all.Â
Luke and Kiernan gestured for you to shut it down and you quickly began to backtrack.
âNo! No you donât have to come home. Iâm fine. It was just a prank.â
âOh, so youâre at my place?â ShitShitShitShitShit.
âYes⌠The twins and I had too much to drink and we thought it would be funny to prank you. Iâm sorry, I really shouldnât have interrupted your night.â
You braced yourself for the angry lecture on how Sylusâs time was more valuable the rarest ruby, but it never came.
âJust you and the twins, right?â
Luke and Kiernan gestured for you to agree.
âYes.â
âYou should probably call an exorcist.â Were you drunk or did he actually just tell you to call an exorcist?
âHuh?â Everyone in the room looked just as perplexed.
âYou know, since those three other people in my living room must be apparitions.âÂ
âYou didnât rig the camera?â Kiernanâs shrill scream was definitely registered by the phoneâs mic.Â
âFuck! I forgot.â Luke exclaimed in response as they scrambled to pack everything up.Â
âUmâŚâ With everyone frantically running around the room, you were left to deal with Sylusâs wrath alone.
âHow come you never laugh when youâre with me?â And with that question you were convinced the alcohol had induced auditory hallucinations.
âYouâre not very funny.â You decided to play along, after all, imaginary Sylus was much more fun than the real one.
âHmm, I thought I was.â
âNope. All your jokes end in someone dying, and usually that someone is me.â
âOh, sweetheart, those arenât jokes.â That was something real Sylus would say. Damn, these auditory hallucinations were realistic.
âI know, I really thought you were going to kill me last week.â You let out an involuntary snort at the hilarious image of your head on a pike.Â
âWhyâs that?â
âBecause I screwed up that wire transfer to Miss Hunter. You were soooo mad. You must reaaaalllyyyy like her.â
âI guess I do.â The line went quiet on both ends after that.Â
This auditory hallucination was no fun following his confession, so you hung up. Sylus called a few times after, but you never noticed. The room began spinning and your eyes began watering, so you curled up on the floor until your head stopped pounding, but by then you were fast asleep.
Sylus returned to his mansion the next morning to find your office empty. It was still an hour before you were due to start, but you were always early.Â
With an internal promise to check again in an hour, he walked toward the living room. It didnât take long before he noticed a mop of light brown hair on his rug.
He walked toward your sleeping form with indignation, only to find every ounce of anger sucked out of him when he knelt down to find your sleeping face.Â
He hadnât been that close to you in what felt like forever. Was your face always that pale? His eyes caressed your under eye bags, and your hollow cheeks. He couldâve sworn they were fuller when he hired you. What happened to you?Â
Before Sylus could give in to the urge to wake you up and ask, your phone made a sound from the coffee table. He picked it up and saw you were getting a call from Zayne.
Who the fuck was Zayne?
He answered the phone before he could think it through.
âOh, Y/N, good. Iâve been trying to reach you since last night.â
âYou shouldâve taken the hint.â Sylus couldnât help the bite in his tone. He wasnât sure why he was so angry at this Zayne, but his emotions were beginning to confuse him more often than he cared to admit.
âWhoâs this?â
Sylus couldâve said that he was your boss. He shouldâve said that he was your boss. But what he said insteadâŚ
âY/Nâs mine.â His employee, but that distinction didnât seem necessary in the moment.
âWell, could you tell her to call me back as soon as possible. I have urgent news about her mother.â
The comment about her mother perplexed Sylus even more.Â
âWho are you?â
âIâm her motherâs heart surgeon. I have to go, have her call me soon.â Sylus felt stupid for the unnecessary show of hostility, but he only had more questions following Zayneâs answer.
It seemed the conversation was enough to wake you up from your slumber, and the moment you registered your surroundings, the headache you had was amplified tenfold. Your muscles hurt from sleeping on the hard floor, and you were sure your legs had morphed into jelly.Â
You were never drinking again.
âWell hello, sleeping beauty.â Sylus watched as you groggily rubbed your eyes. The right side of your face had an indent matching the pattern of his rug, and your hair was dishevelled. He couldnât help but smile at the sight.
âSylus. Iâm so sorry.â You spoke through a yawn before cradling your head in your hands. The world needed to stop spinning.
Sylus shoved an open bottle of water in your face, and you greedily snatched the peace offering before he had time to change his mind.
âZayne called, said he had some news about your mother.â
You shot straight up, spilling some water in the process.
âWhat did he say? Whereâs my phone?â You glanced at large Sylusâs hand which was wrapped around said phone. If you werenât so worried about your mother, you mightâve found the sight of Sylus holding something covered in a floral case amusing. Powering through the piercing pain in your temple, you held your hand out.
âPlease give it back.âÂ
âWhatâs wrong with your mother?â
âPlease Sylus, I canât do this right now.â You tried to lunge for the phone, but he was faster. Raising his hand above his head and well out of your reach.Â
âYouâll have this back once you answer my question.â
âShe has the flu. Now give it back.â You jumped up in a feeble attempt to retrieve the phone, but he was just so goddamn tall.Â
âI didnât know flu treatment protocol involved heart surgery now. Guess I need to brush up on the latest medical news.â His sardonic tone made you scoff. Only Sylus could be such a dick while your mother's life was in limbo.
Curse Dr Zayne and his blabbermouth.Â
If it wasnât for the severe hangover, you mightâve been able to think of an explanation. But you were so nervous you felt sick and you needed to know the news Dr Zayne had.
âFine. She needs a heart transplant, sheâs on coronary bypass and if she doesnât get a heart soon sheâll die. Is that good enough for you?â You continued to try to reach the phone, not bothering to check Sylusâs reaction to your confession.Â
He dropped the phone in your hand and you all but sprinted out of the living room to make the phone call.
The line rang once, twice, three times before Zayne picked up.
âY/N?â
âYes! Whatâs wrong? Is my mom okay? Tell me sheâs okay.â
âSlow down, sheâs alive, but she had a cardiac event. Not a heart attack, but it still did some damage. Her condition is worse, much worse, Y/N. Iâm sorry.âÂ
Your back slumped against the wall of the hallway and you felt your knees give in as you slid to the floor.Â
âHow long does she have?â The tears streaming down your face fell onto your shirt, leaving uncomfortable wet spots in their wake.
âA few weeks, a monthâs top. But this did move her to the top of the list. She might get a transplant in time.â Zayne must have heard the sadness in your voice if heâd offered words of encouragement. He never did that.Â
âThank you. Iâm going to come see her.â
âIâll get the nurses to bring in an extra bed. Iâll see you soon, Y/N.â
You couldnât bring yourself to respond so you hung up instead. The pain in your head was now but a mere memory as your heart began to splinter into a million little pieces.Â
There was so much you still had to do. You needed to buy your mom her first ever house, and help her plant the prettiest flowers in the garden. You had to get her the dog she always dreamed about and the outdoor swing she missed from her childhood home. She still had to walk you down the aisle and sing your future children the lullabies she sang to you. She couldnât go. Not yet.Â
You didnât even notice Sylus enter the hallway until you felt him sitting down next to you. He wove an arm behind your head, bringing your face into his chest. The intimacy of the act only made you cry harder. The last person to hold you that close was your mom, a few days before sheâd collapsed.Â
âIt hurts.â You choked on your words and they came out muffled against Sylusâs chest.
âWhat hurts?â He asked.Â
âMy heart. It really hurts, Sylus.â You sobbed harder. It felt good to finally admit that you werenât okay. To have someone hold you as your life fell apart around you.Â
âTell me what to do, Y/N. Anything.â
âCan I have some time off?â You took deep breaths as you tried to slow your crying down. You could break down once you reached the other side of this tumultuous predicament.Â
The humble request drove Sylus insane. Heâd offer you his own heart to save your mother if he wasnât sure it was severely damaged, and all you could think to ask for was time off.Â
âOf course.â
âCan you give me a ride to Linkon?âÂ
That request was a little better, but still not enough.Â
âIâll take you now, come on.â
âNo wait, I need to go home and pack some things. Iâll be back in an hour.â
âYou know you can still get a DUI on a pedal bike, right?â
âIâm not drunk.â
âBut thereâs still alcohol in your system, and youâre very upset. It wonât be safe, Iâll take you home on the way. Letâs go.â He stood up, his hand outstretched toward you.Â
And with a heavy heart, you took Sylusâs hand.
3K notes
¡
View notes
Text
Impartial Hearts | Sylus - Part Two
Pairing -> Boss Sylus x Non MC Reader
Parts -> Part One | Part Two
Synopsis -> Youâve been working as Onychinusâs accountant for two years, and youâve been carrying two heavy secrets for a third of it. You were in love with your boss, and your mother was dying.
A/N -> I'm sorry it took so long. I have been obsessing over trying to make part two perfect but I don't think I can. It's time I share my baby with you, and I really hope you enjoy it.
Tags -> Angst, fluff :)
Trigger Warnings -> Character death, heavily mentions grief. Some parts are suggestive but there is no smut.
Word Count -> 18.8K (it got kinda crazy)
Late October
It was cold, dark and gloomy; the weather a perfect pathetic fallacy to the narrative of your life. The freshly disturbed patch of grass failed to convey the significance of who laid underneath it. It was vexing, how the world continued to spin on itâs axis despite the fact that it stopped spinning for you.Â
It hurt to think about the events that led to your undoing. The weeks prior to the moment your mother drew her last breath. You were a cracked vase filled with wilting flowers and overflowing regret. Every breath you took consumed more energy than you could spare and yet the world just. Kept. Spinning.Â
âI brought you flowers. Yellow tulips, by the way.â The words felt like lead on your tongue. It was one thing to accept your mother was never coming back, it was another to try to act normal about it. âI know you never cared for them, but I didnât think leaving a pack of cigarettes on your grave was very tasteful.â You bitterly smiled to yourself at the memories of your mom sneaking a cigarette in the backyard when she thought you were asleep. It was a nasty habit you did everything to rid her of. A fruitless attempt to protect her from the inevitable.Â
âIâm sorry I havenât figured out your epitaph yet. Itâs just so hard to condense your entire life into a few words. Plus, they charge by the letter, so Iâm trying to be really selective.â It felt weird, speaking into empty space, but you read online that it helped with grief, so you tried anyway.Â
That was how you approached most things nowadays. Eating, drinking, sleeping, they all seemed meaningless. But, you knew you couldnât survive on just antagonism and mourning, so you did it anyway.Â
âZayne called again. I know you told me not to hate him and that it wasnât his fault, but I canât bring myself to agree.âÂ
The moment Zayne told you that the heart that could save your motherâs life was going to someone else replayed in your mind like a scratched vinyl stuck on an aggravating note.
âI got so frustrated by his constant calls that I threw my phone into the ocean.â You let out a sad laugh. âGuess thatâs the last time I bring anything with me when Iâm walking along the coast.âÂ
You paused for a moment, feeling stupid. But you had so much to say to her, it all just began spilling out.
âI know you donât want to hear this, but I might lose the house. I burned through all my paid leave, and the idea of going back to work for Sylus makes me want to put my head through a wood-chipper. I know I have to, but how can I focus on work when I have nothing left to work for?â You tasted the tears before you felt them, the saltiness reminded you of your weekends at the beach with your mom. You did everything to get out of joining her, you hated the beach, but it was her favourite place to be and in a desperate attempt to cling on to whatever was left of her, you forced it to be yours too.
âIâm sorry I never got you that house you dreamed of, or the dog. Iâm sure there are lots of dogs in heaven, and at least the dogs there have been screened. With my luck any dog I wouldâve gotten you wouldâve been evil.â You teetered around the grievance you truly wanted to apologise for.Â
âIâm sorry I couldnât spend much time with you before you passed away. I was so sure you would get the transplant. I tried so hard to save for it. I shouldâve been with you. If I knewââ The sobs raked through you with a force that knocked the air out of your lungs. You sat down next to her tombstone, leaning your head against the chiseled rock.Â
There were moments when youâd wake up, and in the haze of your muddled mind youâd forget she was dead. But then the ache in your body is deciphered by your mind, and youâre reminded of just how much youâve lost. Maybe thatâs why they called it mourning. Grief dawned on you like the rising sun.
Life had a way of being entirely unfair, and there was nowhere to hide from fateâs piercing claws. And as if to ensure you hadnât forgotten just how cruel life could be, your head whipped around at the sound of footsteps behind you to find the last person you wanted to see.
Sylus was dressed in a long black coat hanging effortlessly off of his broad shoulders, a black dress shirt that really shouldâve been buttoned up to the top, and a pair of black slacks that made his long legs look impossibly longer. He looked every bit the cunning grim reaper, and it wasnât just because he was surrounded by graves.
âI didnât know you were back in the N109 Zone.â The words came out harsher than you intended as your head returned to itâs position against the rock.Â
Sylus stopped in front of you, lowering himself to his haunches so that you would be face-to-face. It stung to look at him, so you focused on picking at the grass instead.Â
âI only got back a few hours ago. I heard about your mother. Iâm sorry.â Having been deprived of his voice for over a month, you cursed the butterflies that coursed through you like muscle memory. Part of you wished heâd returned disfigured, but you knew it wouldnât have made much of a difference. Ugly or devastatingly beautiful, the storm that was Sylus could not be stopped, only weathered.Â
âSorry that she died or sorry that you werenât there?â The bitterness in your tone was unfamiliar to you. Even though you knew it was unfair of you to expect him to have stayed, he left immediately after he dropped you off at the hospital and you hoped heâd have been there just a little longer. It didnât help that you didnât hear from him until two weeks later, and by then you were too engrossed in your battle against Akso hospitalâs medical board to respond.Â
âYou havenât been answering my calls; theyâre not even going through anymore. You havenât blocked me, have you?â Sylus countered your question with one of his own. If you cared enough, you mightâve called him out on his diversion.Â
âNo, my phone broke.â That was an understatement if there ever was one.Â
âHow long ago?â
âA week.â That much was true and since you couldnât afford a smart phone, a shitty $30 flip phone weighed down your pocket.Â
âAnd all the times I called before then?â Sylusâs eyes perused you with intensity, and you suddenly felt self-conscious. You werenât dressed well, in a pair of black sweatpants that were too big on you and a matching hoodie. Grieving people were allowed to dress terribly without judgement, Y/N. Itâs okay.
âI didnât feel like picking up.â The grass continued to bare the brunt of your nerves as you answered. The you that wasnât effectively an orphan wouldâve made up some excuse to protect his feelings, but you were resolved to change that. Your mother was strong, independent, and she never backed down from a fight. Not against men like Sylus, and not against her illness. If you wanted to honour her memory then you had to live your life the way sheâd want you to.
âDo you have a phone now?âÂ
You reached into the pocket of your sweatpants to take out the grey flip phone. You watched as Sylus bit back a laugh.
âIâll get you a new one.â
âI donât need you to get me anything.â You quickly retorted.
âYouâre going to need a phone from this century if youâre working for me, Y/N.â He said it so casually, as if you were put on this earth solely to serve him as his accountant.Â
âRight, about thatâŚâ Your determination to be confident and unapologetic began to dwindle as you wondered how to tell Sylus you needed more time.
âNo. Resigning is not an option.â Twelve minutes. It took Sylus twelve minutes to return to his usual controlling self. You were impressed, truly, it was a new record after all.Â
âWe donât have a blood pact, Sylus. I can resign if I want to. Besides, thatâs not what I was going to say. I need more time off.â You didnât sound very convincing, but it wasnât like you could change who you were overnight. It would take a lifetime to unlearn your bad habits.Â
Sylus looked conflicted, as if he didnât know what to say. When he chose to finally open his mouth, you wished he hadnât.
âIâve given you a month, Y/N. Thatâs enough.â His statement came out so matter-of-factly, you wondered if you had imagined it. A month was not nearly enough to recover from losing your mom, but you figured a man who killed people for a living wouldnât understand.Â
âItâs only been two weeks since she died. And Iâm sure the temp youâve got is perfectly competent.â
âThe temp doesnât know the company like you do and I havenât bothered teaching him on the premise that you were returning. If youâre not back soon I canât promise youâll have a job to come back to.âÂ
The tension in the air dissipated as you began to laugh. Loudly. Obnoxiously. Hysterically.Â
âYouâ You seriously think I care whether or not I have a job? I can barely will myself to eat right nowâemployment is not my priority.â You wiped back the tears that began to spill out. Their origin unknown, between your hysteria and sorrow, your eyes were constantly puffy.
âPeople die all the time, sweetheart. Itâs no reason to throw your future away.â Sylus stood up straight at the end of his statement, holding his hand out to you.Â
The angel on your shoulder whispered that in his own peculiar way, this was his attempt at comforting you. But you stopped listening to that angel when they buried your mom under six-feet of dirt, and you couldnât help the word vomit that escaped you like water barrelling out of a splintered dam.Â
You pushed away his hand, and stood up to look at him with a ferocity you didnât know you possessed.
âI get that something really dark and twisted must have happened in your youth to make you so heartless, but most people have shitty childhoods, sweetheart. We choose not to be terrible, insufferable people because of it.â The unbridled rage youâd spend so long trying to suppress seeped out of you uncontrollably as you screamed at Sylus. You walked toward him, your anger taking hold of you as you began to push him away. A few months ago you wouldâve given anything to touch him, now all you cared about was making him feel a semblance of the pain he instilled in you.Â
âSome of us choose to feel our emotions in their entirety, regardless of how much it hurts, because weâre not scared to love and lose. Youâre a coward, Sylus and you may think that my mother dying is just an inevitable consequence of life, but my world will never be the same.â In an attempt to calm down, you took a deep breath.
âYou can judge me all you want, but it wonât change the fact that when you die, no one will mourn you.â The word vomit continued, and when you saw the hurt flash briefly within his eyes, you felt the arms of regret begin to sink their claws into you.Â
You shouldnât have said that. It wasnât you.
But before you could take it all back, Sylusâs phone began ringing and you figured from the urgency in which he answered it mustâve been her.Â
âI lost track of time, Iâll be right there.â He spoke in a low voice in what you could only assume was an attempt to mask the fact that he was leaving you for something more important, again.Â
He opened his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it.
âJust go.â You waved him off and turned back around to face your motherâs grave, though now the tears welling up in your eyes couldnât be entirely attributed to the grief.Â
Early November
You werenât sure time could heal the gaping wound your motherâs passing left behind, but grief had settled into your life like an imposing aunt. It was in your home, touching your things, ruining your food, and never once leaving you alone. It didnât feel so all-consuming anymore, but it clung onto you constantly like a shadow.Â
You were watching the third Harry Potter movie at 8am when you received the eviction notice via Email. Youâd been expecting it, ultimately you were behind on rent, but the reason plastered on the paper was exponentially worse than your own incompetence.
âŚSelling to developersâŚsuburban expansion projectâŚ
As if losing your childhood home wasnât bad enough, they were planning on destroying it. Memories were bound to decay with time, that was an inevitable consequence of being human. Sooner or later youâd forget the way your mom dressed, or the smell of her perfume. Tangible things like photographs, places, they kept those memories anchored. You couldnât lose the house, it wasnât an option.Â
You spent the next hour trying to reason with your landlord over the phone, but he was committed to selling. He rejected every single one of your proposals, though even you knew they were weak at best. The developers were offering significantly more than market value, there was no way you could beat that. Stupid gentrification. But, your landlord told you he was sympathetic, and the deal hadnât been finalised just yet. If you could match the developerâs offer by the end of the month, heâd gladly sell it to you instead.
Of course the developerâs offer was $800,000, and by the looks of your financials, you were about $796,312 short.Â
Desperate for a catharsis for your unending frustration, you screamed into the throw pillow on your couch until your throat felt raw. Then, you opened up your laptop to figure out a plan.Â
30 minutes later you had:
Sell your kidney to an organ broker and use the money to get a loan from any dodgy bank that would accept your mediocre credit score.Â
Dabble briefly in prostitution and use the money to get a loan from any dodgy bank that would accept your mediocre credit score.
Become a squatter and protest the demolition of your home environmental-activist style.Â
âWow, Y/N. Graduated top of your class and this was all you could come up with, huh?â You muttered to yourself as you stared at the list of terrible ideas. Your mind hadnât come up with something so horrific since the bed-in-breakfast Motherâs Day fiasco when you were 11.Â
The only option that didnât end in bodily harm or a prison sentence was to work as many jobs as humanly possible for the next few weeks in hopes you could somehow manage to accumulate the deposit for a loan. You could probably sell some appliances too, and maybe revisit the kidney idea if it came to it.Â
Despite it being a long-shot, you had to try. You changed into a pair of flared leggings and a sweater. It was basic and borderline mismatched but traversing your explosive closet was a large undertaking you tended to avoid. You dug a copy of your old resume out from your file drawer, after all, it wasnât like your experience as Onychinusâs accountant was going to do you any good. Further, listing Sylus as a reference would ensure you never got a job again.Â
You figured the easiest place to start was the central district of the N109 zone, bars and restaurants there were constantly hiring and from what youâd heard their only requirement was that you had two functioning legs and arms. But when you tried to leave through the door to begin the job search you collided with a formidable wall.Â
Since when was there aâ
âWhere you headed to, Y/N?â The familiar voice was so surprising it made you jump, the action accompanied by a shrill scream.
âWhat the fuck? Why are you just standing outside my door?â You rarely ever swore and you were sure that if your mother was still alive sheâd throw her shoe at you for using the devilâs language. But of all the things you expected to see that morning, Sylus outside your door was not one of them.Â
âIs that any way to welcome your old employer?â Sylus stepped into your home without an invitation. Conclusive proof against your theory that he was secretly a vampire.Â
âWhat are you doing here?â You asked again, still staring at Sylus like he sprouted a second head. You couldnât think of a single reason why heâd show up at your place of residence, he never did while you were still his employee.
âI need you to come back.â You choked back a laugh at his ridiculous request. Was he insane?
âGo to hell.â Your vicious response didnât sway Sylus.Â
âIâve fired an accountant every week since you left. The accounts are in complete disarray, half my businesses are behind on their bills, the other half have been paying the wrong amounts to the wrong companies. My investors are unhappy, my debtors are one week away from assuming Iâve gone bankrupt and I havenât slept in weeks. Come. Back.â While it stroked your ego to hear that the organisation was suffering in your absence, you couldnât just forget the terrible way heâd treated you in and out of the workplace.Â
âYou insisted I was especially replaceable and now youâre saying you canât replace me?â You chose to remind him of just how horrid of an employer he was, an action he didnât appreciate.Â
âIf youâre going to dwell on the semantics Iâd rather just cut to the chase. Whatâs it going to take to get you back?â Sylusâs tone suggested he was truly trying to negotiate with you. Of course a man like him didnât know how to take no for an answer.Â
âPigs to fly.â You quipped, opening your door in hopes heâd get the hint and leave.Â
âY/N, Iâm serious. We canât survive without you.â His desperation went straight to your head, but you stood your ground.Â
âThen die.â You tried to shove him out of your doorway, but he was about as easy to move as a truck.Â
âEveryone has something they desire, sweetheart. Name your price.â While you were ready to fire up a quick retort, his suggestion reminded you of the very reason you were about to leave the house.Â
Perhaps this was a sign; you could swallow your pride if it meant you got to keep your home.Â
You pretended to give it thought, sighing loudly in contemplation. âFine. I want a sign-on bonus. Or in this case, a re-sign-on bonus, I guessâŚâ You trailed off, unsure if he would agree.Â
âAlright, how much?â He was quick to accept your terms, and you decided to test the waters of just how desperate he was for your return.Â
âA million dollars.âÂ
âDone.âÂ
Dammit, you shouldâve asked for more.Â
âI want a personal driver too, Iâm sick of biking to work.â You wouldâve been okay with just the bonus, after all, it was insanely generous. But youâd be a fool not to milk this opportunity for what it was worth.
âAnything else, princess?â The condescending nickname only added fuel to the fire as you fired off more requests.Â
âI donât want to share my office with the twins anymore, theyâre loud and annoying and they have no respect for the sanctity of my monthly budgets.â
âOkay.â
You masked your shock at his sudden magnanimity. âOne last thing. Since youâve come to the realisation that I am, in fact, a valuable asset to your organisation, youâre not allowed to be a dick to me anymore.âÂ
âElaborate.â
âNo more calling me stupid or other degrading insults, threatening my job security, threatening my life â just no more threats in general â and if youâre going to assign me extra work that is beyond the scope of my job description, a please and thank you would be nice.â
âYouâre pushing it, Y/N.â Of course treating his employees like human beings was the most difficult request.Â
âYou just agreed to give me a million dollars and being nice to me is where you draw the line?âÂ
Sylus sighed, deliberating in silence for a moment. When he saw that your resolve was unrelenting, he begrudgingly agreed. He wasnât sure where your newfound confidence was coming from, but he would be lying if he said he didnât find it the slightest bit attractive.Â
âAlright, youâve made your case. Iâll agree to your conditions. Now, please fix it.âÂ
It took every fibre of your being not to break out into song and dance at your victory. âLet me get my coat.â
______________
You stared at the horrific mess your beautiful spreadsheet had turned in to. This was a disaster. A colossal, unfathomable disaster. âHow could you let it get this bad?â Your voice was dripping with fear, it was like staring a train wreck.Â
âIt wasnât like it happened on purpose. Besides, if youâd neverââ Sylus interrupted his own sentence which you were sure contained an insult, and you could almost hear the evil chuckle resounding in your head at the sight of his obedience. This was going to be fun.Â
âThis is going to take forever to fix.â It would actually only take the day, but you didnât need to tell him that.
âI need it fixed by the end of the week. Please.â He looked pained as he added the nicety. Soooooo much fun.
âAdd on a massage chair for my office and Iâll get it done by Wednesday.â You wondered just how far you could push his desperation.Â
âDeal.â He held his hand out for you to shake and when you did, you felt a strange sense of accomplishment. Now you could tell people âHow to Tame Your Dragonâ was loosely based on your life.Â
âYou know, Sylus, Iâm liking this new dynamic.â Your shit-eating grin couldnât be wiped off of your face no matter how hard you tried.
âOh I can tell. Now, get to work.â Sylus made a show of pulling out your office chair for you, and when you sat in it for the first time in two months, you felt an overwhelming sense of nostalgia. And for once, the recollection of your past didnât hurt as much as it usually did. Â
Mid-November
This time around, your employment under Sylus was much more pleasant. Surprisingly, heâd actually adhered to your conditions.Â
The twins were slightly offended that you no longer wanted to share your office with them, but their gratefulness for your return trumped any antagonism they had for you. You were kind of a celebrity in Onychinusâs executive team, their saviour, if you will.Â
But, the enjoyment of your newly established status could not be savoured. Undoing months of mistakes was turning out to be positively exhausting. You were an accountant; socially awkward, stuck to her Excel sheets, spent most of her free time indulging in shitty rom-coms. You were not built for briefing CEOs, Chairmen, investors, subsidiaries and of course, debtors, on your commitment to stability via video call.
Sylus insisted it had to be you, even though he usually handled the bureaucratic part of the organisation. Something about him not being able to answer their questions regarding the numbers. You told him you would tell him what to say through an ear piece like a spy movie, but he responded with a resounding no.Â
It was more like âhell will freeze over before I turn into a glorified puppet, Y/N, blah blah blahâ.
Every single one-on-one conference call made you feel like you were getting hives. Not to mention the active effort it took you to refrain from making stupid jokes at every opportunity. When the last one with the representative from Onychinusâs main bank was over, you had officially smoothed over all bad blood between Onychinus and itâs stakeholders.
Giving yourself a moment to recalibrate from the sheer amount of social interaction you had been subjected to, you glared at the shared calendar event. âMiss Hunterâs Birthday in 13 daysâ.
You tried to distract yourself from that familiar sinking feeling in your gut with your work. Sylus never remembered your birthday, but it wasnât like it mattered. You were his accountant, he was your boss. That was the extent of your relationship, even though youâd both said things to each other that would cause your HR department, if you had one, to self-emulate. But in the chaos of buying your home, going back to work and learning how to navigate life with your unwanted companion; grief, youâd forgotten all about your feelings for Sylus.
They werenât gone but they were muted, like a voice screaming out to you while your head was underwater. Most of the time they were easy to ignore, but in times like these they were too loud to overlook.
You couldnât dwell on your self-pity for long because there was a knock at your door. No one ever knocked on your door, people just tended to barge in.
âCome in?â Confusion dripped from your voice. When the door opened to a pair of twins with shameful smiles, you knew they were about to ask you for a favour.
âWe⌠fucked up.â Three words you never wanted to hear coming out of either Luke or Kieranâs mouth.
âWhat have you done?â
âLong story short. Boss sent us to pick up a gem for Miss Hunterâs birthday. Itâs really rare. The man who owns them is this older, heart of gold type old guy who refuses to sell to nefarious people because of his outdated principles. He wouldnât give it to us, said something about us being part of Onychinus. We knew if boss didnât get this gem today heâd have our heads displayed on mantels in his office, so we threatened the old man with a gun and then an entire arsenal of security appeared out of thin air and we were blacklisted from the property.â Kieranâs explanation left you astounded.Â
The twins had their fair share of asinine mistakes, but this one might have taken the cake.Â
âYou threatened an old man with a gunâŚâÂ
âYes.â Kieran responded.Â
âOver a gem?â You asked in disbelief.Â
âA very rare gem!â Luke corrected.Â
âHuh. How am I supposed to help?â It was a genuine question, you didnât really see a way out of this one.Â
âCan you go and convince the old man to sell the gem to you?â Kieranâs request made your eyes widen in protest.
âNo way! Iâve had my fill of uncomfortable business meetings.â And wasnât that the truth. If you had to see one more man in a business suit ask you âif you even knew what you were talking aboutâ you might throw your laptop into the first body of water you could find.Â
âPlease, Y/N. Sylus will kill us. Do you want our deaths to hang over your conscience?âÂ
Lukeâs question was an innocent hyperbole, but at the mention of deaths hanging over your conscience, you were reminded of your mom. Your face dropped, your fingers slowly forgetting what they were supposed to type. Kieran, the more observant twin, elbowed Luke.
âFuck, Y/N. Iâm sorry, I forgot.â
âNo, no, itâs fine. You donât have to walk on eggshells around me, Iâm not going to burst into tears.â You werenât sure that was true quite yet, but fake it till you make it, right?Â
âWill you help us? Please. Weâll owe you big time.â The line was clearly rehearsed since they said it in unison, or maybe it was some weird twin telepathy thing. Either way, it freaked you out so much you agreed.Â
âFine, whatâs the address?â
_____________
You knocked on the large wooden door of a beautiful home. It was classically designed, a perfect intersection between modernity and the timeless complexity of archaic house designs. It was rare to see homes like these in a society that prided itself on progress.Â
When you heard the sound of soft feet shuffling toward the door, you felt the guilt eat at you internally. You were tricking an old man into selling a gem to people he very reasonably did not want to sell to.
âY/M/N?âÂ
Did heâ why did he call you by your motherâs name?
âThat was my mother, Iâm her daughter, Y/N.â
âOh, thank god, I was beginning to think Iâd finally lost it. Come in, come in.âÂ
Your interest had been piqued, and you forgot all about the gem as you entered the old manâs home.
âI must say, Iâm surprised youâre here. Did your mother send you?â
You swallowed the lump in your throat. âShe passed away just over a month ago.â
âOh god. Iâm so sorry, dear. Are you alright?â The question was filled with so much warmth it made tears well up in your eyes. Your mother never had any friends, and you were estranged from your extended family. You were all alone in your grief, and hearing someone who knew your mom in some capacity ask you if you were alright felt bittersweet.
âYeah. Iâm doing okay. If you donât mind me asking, how did you know her?â
âYou donât know? I figured that was why you were here.âÂ
Right. The reason you were here, the gem.
âNo, Iâm actually here entirely coincidentally, I came to acquire a gem.â
âWhich gem were you after, dear?â He asked the question as he looked around his living room for something.
âThe Painite one.â
He stopped pacing and turned to you with an accusatory stare. âThis wouldnât happen to be related to those two rowdy boys who came by earlier, right?â
âWellâŚâ You couldnât lie to him. He looked like the old man from âUpâ, it was entirely unfair.Â
âIâm afraid I canât sell to you. Iâm concerned youâve even gotten yourself wrapped up in such a terrible organisation.â He shook his head, his disappointment evident in his tone.Â
âLook, I know what youâve heard, but most of the rumours you hear about Onychinus donât have a modicum of truth to them.â
âThen why hasnât your boss cleared them up?â A great question.Â
âIn this business its good to have a reputation that instills fear in others. Youâve seen what people do for Protocores and black-market items. Onychinus serves as a⌠regulatory body of the underworld, the only people they harm are those that harm others.â The practiced speech came from years of listening to Sylus give it to yourself and others.Â
âI donât know dear, Iâve heard some horrific things about their leader, Sylus.â You were probably responsible for a few of those rumoursâŚ
âThe only horrific thing about him is his sharp tongue. Seriously, he has a way of finding your worst insecurity and then using it to drag you through the dirt.â Recognising the unhelpful tangent, you digressed.
âBut when it comes to business, heâs fair and when someone hurts the people he cares about, heâs merciless. He has a good heart, itâs just encased under a very thick layer of stone.â When he didnât look convinced, you continued.Â
âIn fact, he wants this gem for a woman. Sheâs special to him and its her birthday in a few days. Sheâs a hunter, by the way, she saves lives. So, even if you donât want to sell to Sylus because heâs probably half demon, you should sell it to her. You know, by proxy.â The argument was a stretch but you couldnât help your rambling.Â
âYou are the spitting image of your mother.âÂ
The comment caught you off-guard.
âYou think so?â
âI knew your mother when she was your age. She used to sing live at a bar I frequented with my friends. It was a simpler time, before wanderers attacked. I was head over heels in love with her, and I knew she felt the same way about me. But, she got wrapped up with the wrong guy, a real bad man, and it took finding out she was pregnant with you to break it off with him.â He recounted his past as he continued to search his drawers for something, when he came back to the couch in front of yours, he handed you a photo.
It was of your mother, except she was much younger. She was on a stage performing, a part of her life she never told you about. She looked happy and was glowing with the kind of ethereal beauty that never dwindled with time. He was right, you looked a lot like her.Â
âCan I keep this?â You looked up at the man, and he gave you a small nod.Â
âOf course. You know, I offered to help her when I found out, said Iâd raise the baby as my own, but she told me I was destined for more than she could give me. Said she had to do this on her own. She was stubborn but she loved boundlessly, Y/N, just like you.â
You were confused, this man hadnât known you for very long, how could he know such a thing? âWhat do you mean?â
âI donât know what that Sylus man has done to deserve your adoration, but I can tell you love him. And for you to come here on his behalf to convince me to sell him the rarest gem in the world for another woman? You truly do have your motherâs heart.âÂ
His words sprouted doubt and introspection. Why were you trying so hard to get Sylus such a romantic gift when it was meant for someone else? Were you secretly a masochist?
âIf itâs alright with you Y/N, Iâd love to get to know you. Your mother was my first love, and itâs nice to have someone to talk to about her.âÂ
You gave him the sincerest smile you could come up with. âIâd like that. I donât really have anyone to talk to about her either.â
âAs for the gem, Iâll sell it to you but only if you promise to love a man who will go to these lengths for you, not someone else.âÂ
âI promise.â Youâd promise to try, at least. You told the man, who you now knew was Dr Jeffery Hunt the geologist, that you needed to get back to work. You exchanged contact information with a promise to catch up later and trade stories about your mom.Â
You left the house with the rarest gem in the world in one hand, and an infinitely more valuable picture of your mother in the other.Â
___________
You walked toward your office where Luke and Kieran should have been to find the door slightly ajar. You stopped just outside the door when you heard Sylusâs voice from inside your office.
âYou sent Y/N to get the gem? Was the task too difficult for the two of you?â You tried to sympathise with the twins, but it was kind of funny to see Sylus berate someone else for once.
âThe owner said he wouldnât sell to Onychinusââ Kieranâs attempt at an explanation was shot down instantly.
âSo you pick some random person off the street and send them in instead. You donât send the girl the gem is for to go retrieve her own present. You have completely ruined the surprise.â
Wait, what?
âNo, itâs fine, we sent Y/N not Miss Hunter.â
âMiss Hunâ why would you assume itâs for her?â The question hung in there for an uncomfortable moment, after all you assumed the same thing.Â
âHer birthdayâs in a few days.â Luke timidly added.Â
âHow do you know that?âÂ
âItâs in the shared calendar.â
âFuck.âÂ
With your ear plastered shamelessly against the door, you smiled to yourself. He had a bad habit of putting personal events in the shared calendar.
âThe gem was for Y/N. Thanks to you imbeciles I have to figure something else out.âÂ
Why was the gem for you? Was it poisonous? You started down at the velvet box in your hand and wondered if the gem was secretly a teeny tiny bomb.Â
âIs it Y/Nâs birthday soon too?â Kieranâs question offended you. Your birthday was in March and both he and Luke were at your celebratory birthday dinner last year.Â
âNo, thatâs in March. Itâs to celebrate her 3rd year with Onychinus. Although now Iâm wondering if your time here has come to an end.â It was kind of sadistic, but it was comforting to know that Sylus threatened other peopleâs job security over minor inconveniences too.Â
âNo! Please, we promise weâll make it up to you.âÂ
You stopped listening to the conversation as you opened the box in your hand. The gem glistened under the artificial lights as questions fired off in your brain. He wanted to give this gem to you? How did he even remember the day you started at Onychinus? And he knew your birthday?
Before you could search for the answers, the sound of footsteps approaching the door made you panic. You tried fruitlessly to escape the long hallway but Sylus stormed out before you could.
âI um, got that gem for you.â You pretended you werenât eavesdropping and held the gem out to him, but he pushed it back toward you.Â
âThanks. I was going to have it turned into a necklace, but since the catâs out of the bag, you can decide what to do with it.â He clearly knew youâd heard everything and gave the twins a pointed glare as they scurried out of your office.Â
âItâs really too much. Most employers get their employees a gift card or something.â You tried to hand it back again, but he was unrelenting.Â
âIâm not most employers, and you definitely arenât most employees.â The loaded compliment made you bite back a smile.Â
âIn that case, a necklace would be nice. I have a photo of my mom when she was my age, she wore a necklace with a similar looking gem. Do you think you could find someone who can copy the design? It would mean a lot. Iâd pay for it, of course.â You kept the photo in your wallet now, it quickly became one of your favourites. When you passed the photo to him, he looked at it for far longer than necessary.Â
âConsider it done, and your moneyâs no good with me. Save it for something else.â He paused for a moment, took a photo of the necklace on his phone and returned the photograph. âI see where you get your beauty from.â The comment was so nonchalant and inconsistent with Sylusâs usual dialogue that you were left speechless. Your heart battered against your ribcage as if it were trying to escape and mount itself onto him instead. Traitorous organ.Â
You watched him turn around and walk toward his office. The sight of him walking away from you brought back memories of that day in the graveyard and what youâd said to Sylus before he left.Â
âYou can judge me all you want, but it wonât change the fact that when you die, no one will mourn you.â
The guilt was eating away at your conscience, and you knew you had to let him know that you didnât mean what you said. Especially not now.Â
âSylus, wait.â He stopped just as his hand reached the doorknob of his office door and looked up at you expectantly.
You raked your mind for the right thing to say, and Sylus didnât make a sound as you prolonged the silence.Â
âIf you died, Iâd mourn you.â And you meant it. You maintained eye contact despite the urge to look away from his intense gaze in an attempt to convey your sincerity.Â
He shook his head with a slight chuckle in response, and walked into his office wordlessly.Â
You figured he hadnât given what you said a second thought. It was foolish to think you could ever hurt the impenetrable Sylusâs feelings. You werenât even sure he had feelings.Â
But, unbeknownst to you, when Sylus closed the door behind him, he felt himself let out a breath that alleviated a pressure in his chest he didnât know heâd been carrying. What youâd said to him in the graveyard weighed on him like an uncomfortable tumour.Â
Sylus knew you were right, but the idea of no one caring for him never bothered him before, not until you said it. It dawned on him that the only person whoâs idea of him actually affected how he thought of himself was yours.Â
Late-November
âFinish up, we have a reservation at six.â At the sound of your bossâs voice, you looked up from your computer screen. Your eyes were watery from staring at the ledger for hours but you still couldnât reconcile the $15.70 that was missing. It was driving you insane.
âWas there a meeting I forgot existed?â The calendar looked empty from where it stood on your second monitor. Well, it was empty now that Sylus deleted the shared calendar event for Miss Hunterâs birthday which shouldâve been yesterday.Â
âNo, itâs just us. Iâm taking you to dinner. Now hurry up.â You couldnât help the frown on your face. There was surely an ulterior motive.Â
âTaking me to dinner? Are you asking me out on a date?â You were teasing; hell would freeze over before Sylus would ask anyone out on a date. Though, maybe he already had, after all he was busy yesterdayâŚ
âDonât be ridiculous. Weâre celebrating your third year with Onychinus. As an employer I believe rewarding long-term employees can strengthen their loyalty to the company.â He regurgitated the words like they were toxic.Â
âYou stole that from the last issue of Forbes magazine. I would know since I was the one who gave you the article.â It was titled âTen foolproof ways to make your employees like youâ and you thought it would be funny to leave it on Sylusâs desk.Â
âAnd Iâm responding to your feedback like number 4 on that list suggested. Now, do you want to go to this dinner or should I ask someone else?âÂ
You quickly scrambled out of your seat, you couldnât miss out on a chance to see Sylus actively try to be a regular boss. Who could say no to dinner and a show?
âNo, no, Iâll go.â You grabbed your bag off of the floor and followed Sylus out of the building. You asked him a series of questions about where you were going, when youâd be back, if you were getting paid for the time you were forced to spend with him, but he answered none of them.Â
Sylus was driving for all of 2 minutes before you began to draft an appreciation letter to the inventor of seatbelts in your head.Â
âYou know, you may be harder to kill than a regular person, but I will die if you crash this car.â Pleading for your life in an expensive sports car was not how you expected to go.Â
âItâs a little early in the night for your theatrics, Y/N.â Sylusâs deadpan tone did nothing to soothe your concerns as he turned yet another sharp corner with aggressive speed.Â
âItâs also a little early in my life to die.â You unhelpfully added.
âRelax, will you? Iâve never crashed before.âÂ
Well, thereâs a first time for everything. You thought as you tightly gripped the handle of the door. You found yourself suddenly missing the middle-aged man who would grouchily drive you to and from work. At least he drove like he valued his life.Â
 _______
When you arrived to the place in one piece you felt severely under dressed. Sylus was wearing his regular attire, a suit without the tie, and you were dressed in linen pants and a turtleneck. Sylus never enforced a business dress code, though in that moment you found yourself wishing he did.
The restaurant was multi-level and sat at the top of a mountain. The exterior screamed affluence and you were sure everyone who dined there was in a different tax-bracket. Sylus reserved a table on the rooftop which unfortunately meant you had to ascend four levels in your mediocre outfit that made you stick out like a sore thumb.Â
When you eventually reached your table, you quickly hid in your seat. While it was unrealistic to assume anyone would pay you any attention but your embarrassment was usually irrational. Nor, did it help that Sylus naturally made heads turn wherever he went. He was freakishly tall and unnervingly handsome; next to him anyone struggled to look attractive.
âYouâre in a rush. Hungry?â Sylus asked across from you as you buried your face in the menu. You didnât feel like explaining how being out with him made you feel insecure, so you forewent a response.Â
The waiter quickly returned with a bottle of wine. Of course Sylusâs favourite wine was known universally. Why wouldnât it be? He practically ruled the N109 Zone.
âThanks, sheâll have a mojito.â Before you could tell the waiter not to bring you your favourite cocktail, he was gone.
âIâm not drinking.â Your protest fell on deaf ears. âDrinking with your boss is like number 1 on the list of things you shouldnât do if you value your job.â
âYou donât have to worry about embarrassing yourself in front of me, Y/N. Youâve done that plenty of times sober.â Sylus smirked as he made the dry joke and you held back the urge to step on his foot under the table.
Never mind. You needed a drink pronto.
âAsshole.â You muttered under your breath.
âWhat was that?â
âArtichokes! I said the artichoke salad looks good.â You could tell Sylus wasnât convinced, but he dropped the matter anyway.Â
âOrder whatever youâd like.âÂ
âThereâs no prices on the menu.â You flipped it around every which way but not a single price appeared.
âSweetheart, the people who can afford to dine here arenât too concerned with prices. Donât worry and order what you wish.â
Aw, how sweet. Sylus thought you enquired about the prices because you were concerned about overspending. As if. You knew that manâs financials inside and out, if anything, you wanted to order the most expensive things on the menu.Â
âJeez, my bad Mr One-Percent.â Your joke was not well received.
âCan we have one night without your incessant sarcasm?â The plea sounded genuine, but it was denied.Â
âWe could, but thatâs no fun.â
âI find you painfully unfunny, Y/N.â You smiled to yourself at his blatant lie. Everyone found you funny.Â
Before you could think of a retort, Sylus pulled out a large velvet box and slid it toward you on the table.
âWhatâs this?â
âThe necklace.â
You opened it up eagerly and the sight of it brought pure bliss to your heart. It was exactly like the one your mother wore, and it was even more beautiful in person.
âItâs perfect. Thank you.â Feeling slightly remorseful for your attitude prior to the gift-exchange, you gave him a sheepish smile.
Sylus watched you lift it up to put it on, but quickly interjected. âAllow me.â He stood up, walking toward your seat. Flushed, you clumsily turned around so your back was facing him. You felt goosebumps on your skin when his cold hands bunched your hair away from your neck, the tips of his fingers leaving a trail of wired nerves in their wake.
You took your hair from his hand to hold it up, the mere feeling of your fingers brushing his gave you heart palpitations. The act was way too intimate, and despite how it good it felt to have him so close, your brain knew it was safest to pray it would be over soon.
When Sylus was done he spun you around to face him and shamelessly observed his handiwork. âIt looks good.â Your brain short-circuited the moment your eyes met his, so you sat in front of him in complete silence.
The moment was rudely interrupted by the sound of a familiar voice.
âSylus? Y/N? Fancy seeing you here!â You both turned to the source of the voice to see Miss Hunter in a beautiful baby blue gown. As if you didnât feel bad enough about your choice in attire. You began to smile until you noticed that the arm linked with hers belonged to your mortal enemy. Dr Zayne.Â
You got up to greet them, despite your primal urge to push Zayne off the roof, but Sylus beat you to it. âMiss Hunter, always a pleasure.â You tried not to gag at the sight of Sylus being so gentlemanly. It became particularly hard when he kissed the top of her hand.Â
âI didnât know you knew Dr Zayne.â The comment slipped out of Sylusâs tense smile with a twinge of what you thought was hostility. Was he jealous that she was with Dr Zayne? Were you jealous that he was jealous? Are you in a soap opera?
âOh, heâs a childhood friend andmy doctor! Iâm very lucky. How do you know him?â Before you could whisper to Sylus to make up some excuse, he was firing off information about your personal life to the last two people you wanted to discuss your personal life with.Â
âHe was Y/Nâs motherâs doctor.â Everyone went tense, everyone except for Miss Hunter, of course.Â
Your eyes followed her as she turned to you, praying she wouldnât ask about your motherâs health. Instead, she praised your nemesis. âHeâs brilliant, isnât he?â
You wanted to scream in protest. You wanted to swing a chair into Dr Zayneâs head, and then use the broken scraps to beat him to a pulp. But you opted to force a painful smile instead.Â
âHeâs definitely something.â You looked right at Zayne, hoping heâd understand the implications of your backhanded compliment. Â
âWell, we were just here to celebrate my birthday yesterday, but the hostess said it was all booked out and silly Zayne forgot to make a reservation. We just came up to the rooftop to get some pictures, but you guys should enjoy your dinner!â Miss Hunterâs polite dismissal was the perfect opportunity to end the painfully awkward interaction and move on with your night.Â
âThanks.â You were about to return to your seat when Sylus decided to continue with his commitment to ruining your life.
âYou guys should join us, the more the merrier, right Y/N?â
The question you had no idea how to answer only poked at the jar of pent up murderous rage you were trying to suppress. It wasnât like you were subtle about your hatred for the Doctor, why the hell was Sylus inviting them to stay?
âRight.â You couldnât have sounded less sincere if you tried, but you couldnât bring yourself to care. You had to focus on making it out of this building without a homicide charge.
When Miss Hunter happily agreed, Sylus quickly waved down a waiter and made them transform your two-seater table into a four-seater. Unfortunately for you, the seating arrangements somehow ended up with you next to Zayne and Sylus next to Miss Hunter .Â
Zayne could feel the hostility radiating off of you in waves, but he was too scared to do anything about it.Â
âHappy birthday, by the way.â You offered Miss Hunter the nicety, since she was really the only innocent person at the table. Your unfounded hatred for her took the back-burner when Zayne was around.Â
âThanks, Y/N. I love your necklace, where did you get it?â Yet another question you didnât know how to answer. If this was how the entire night was going to be you might as well cut your losses and take your chances with jumping off the roof.
âItâs um, custom made.â You avoided Sylusâs glare.Â
âWell itâs beautiful.â You couldnât help but smile at her compliment. Her sunshine-y attitude could rival yours.Â
âSylus knows the guy who made it, Iâm sure he could get one for you too.â You glanced at him only to see him quirk an eyebrow at your response. Was he seriously mad? You were practically the worldâs greatest wingwoman.Â
When Miss Hunter turned to look at him, he quickly shut her down. âHe retired right after making that piece, actually. Something about getting arthritis.âÂ
He was definitely lying. You werenât sure why he was gatekeeping this jeweller and you never got the chance to ask.Â
âOh, thatâs unfortunate. Hey Zayne, youâve been awfully quiet. Say something!â Miss Hunter gave him a playful push on the shoulder as she teased him. The sight wouldâve been adorable if it werenât for satanâs incarnate sitting inches away from you.
âYeah Zayne, how was work? Steal anymore hearts lately?â You asked the deceivingly innocuous question while breaking apart a piece of bread. The double-entendre was like a secret you both shared; though the idea of sharing anything with that waste of space made you inscrutably angry.Â
Sylus silently observed the interaction with curiosity. Your passive-aggressiveness was a trait he thought you only reserved for him. You were always nice, to everyone. Seeing you treat Zayne so coldly was like witnessing a beaver play the piano. It was unnatural.Â
âWork went as well as expected.â Zayneâs clipped reply left no room for further discussion. The conversation came to do a lull, and you took it as the opportunity to excuse yourself to the bathroom. You immediately beelined away from the table that currently situated your nightmare blunt rotation and toward the womenâs bathroom that was positively Zayne-free.Â
The bathroom was just as extravagant as the rest of the restaurant but you didnât get to admire it before you splashed water on your face in an attempt to cool down. There was no way you could last an entire dinner next to Zayne. Maybe you could say you were feeling sick. Probably a bad idea when heâs a doctor. Work emergency wasnât plausible, your boss was at the table. What if you just ran away? You could live with the shame and embarrassment.
You looked up at the ceiling and silently cursed the heavens for your terrible luck. Seriously, you mustâve been a serial killer in your past life to deserve this fate. It was a never-ending series of unfortunate events, and you were desperate for a break.Â
When you eventually left the bathroom, Zayne was standing right outside the door. He startled you, but the moment the shock wore off your face morphed into a deadly glare.Â
âLook, I know you think Iâm a terrible person butââ
âMonster is the term Iâd use, but go on.â You rudely interrupted Zayne. He chose not to acknowledge your comment.Â
âI rarely get to spend time with MC and Iâd really appreciate it if you didnât ruin her birthday dinner because of me.â It didnât take long for you to realise that MC mustâve been Miss Hunterâs first name.Â
Zayne ruined everything he touched, he needed no help from you.Â
âIâm sorry, does the fact that Iâm angry at you for letting my mother die put a damper in your dinner plans?â
âYes it does, actually.â Zayne responded quickly. He either didnât understand sarcasm or was an even bigger dick than you thought.
âThen might I suggest you take her someplace else. Itâs your fault you couldnât get a table here. Why should I have to suffer because your incompetence knows no bounds?â You couldnât think of a time youâd insulted someone so much in such quick succession. Dr Zayne brought out the worst in you, but you could reflect on your actions later. Right now you were at war.Â
âWe are perfectly capable of having an amicable dinner.âÂ
You rolled your eyes at his condescending tone. âYou might be, Iâm not that mature.âÂ
âY/N. Weâre both adults.â He pleaded.
âBite me.âÂ
Before Zayne could open his mouth again, Sylus interrupted.
âEverything all good here?â For once in your life, you were grateful for Sylusâs interruption.Â
âNo.â You said.
âYes.â Zayne also said, at the exact same time.
âZayne you should head back to the table. Miss Hunter's waiting for you.â Zayne didnât think twice before taking the out and you internally flipped off his retreating form.
Sylus grabbed you by the forearm, his grip tight as he dragged you to a secluded part of the rooftop and away from the bathrooms.Â
âWhatâs going on with you?â He asked the moment you stopped moving, his hand still gripping onto your arm like a vice.Â
âCan you let go? Youâre hurting me.â He quickly released you, his eyes washing over with something you couldnât recognise as you soothed the part heâd rubbed raw.Â
âWhy are you acting so childish?â His question would've angered you had you not been angry already.
âI hate his guts.â The response did not help your case, but you werenât very articulate when you were upset.Â
âWhat did he do to you?â Sylusâs eyes narrowed, and he spoke in a low tone that was laced with danger. You didnât think too much of his strange reaction, Sylus acting strange was pretty much the only consistent thing in your life lately.Â
You gnawed on your lip, unsure of how to respond. Your grievance against the world-renowned doctor was one youâd always kept to yourself. After all, everyone had nothing but praise for the brilliant Dr Zayne.Â
âY/N, if he touched you Iâllââ Your eyes quickly widened in shock at his interpretation.
âNo! Nothing like that. Itâs just, a few days before my mom died, a heart came in that was a match. But there was this other guy who was younger and needed it just as badly. The policy was that the hospital's medical board would vote on who got the heart and the entire board, Zayne included, unanimously agreed that the heart should go to the other guy.â They said it wasn't personal, that it had everything to do with survival rates, but there was no way to detach personhood from medicine.
You realised that when you said it out loud, your hate seemed unfounded. âI know it wasnât entirely his fault, but he didnât even try to give my mom a fighting chance. He didn't say anything to sway them, he just silently agreed. He was supposed to be her advocate.â The frustration began to boil over, and before you knew it there were tears welling up in your eyes.
âGod, I spent every last dollar of my paycheque to make sure she got the greatest medical care money could buy. Everyone said he was the best, but when it really mattered, he did nothing for her. I was such an idiot.â There was an uncontrollable fountain of tears streaming down your face, and you were grateful for Sylusâs decision to drag you to somewhere secluded.Â
The familiar tendrils of an oncoming panic attack began to wash over you as you began to hyperventilate. No matter how much you wanted to blame Dr Zayne, or the universe, or your shitty luck, the only person you could really blame was yourself. You sent her to that hospital, you convinced her to hold on for a transplant, you spent her last months on this Earth slaving away in another city instead of by her side. There was no way to get that time back.Â
âY/N, look at me. Itâs not your fault.â Sylusâs voice was like a beacon of light that led you through the dark tunnel you were trapped in. He cradled your face in his hands, wiping away your tears as they continued to stream down your face. But when your tears showed no signs of slowing, he pulled you into his arms, his hands holding your tear-stricken face against his chest.
He ran his long fingers through your hair as he whispered everything you wanted to hear. "Itâs not your fault. Itâs okay to hate him. It will get easier."
You werenât sure how long you spent with your face buried in his chest, but by the time youâd returned to reality, his white dress shirt was slightly transparent where your tears soaked through the material.Â
You laughed a little at the sight, and the corners of Sylusâs lips raised ever so slightly at the sound. When he saw you were okay, Sylus began to speak. âDonât move. Iâll grab your bag and weâll get out of here.â
Before he could leave you tugged on the sleeve of his suit jacket. âHey, Iâm sorry I ruined your dinner.â You truly were. Sylus did not deserve to be subjected to yet another one of your meltdowns, but he seemed to have a habit of being at the wrong place at the wrong time.Â
âNo it's my fault, I ruined it by inviting them to join us. I promise Iâll make it up to you.â Sylus then manoeuvred through the restaurant toward the nightmare table. When he returned with your bag in one hand and the other outstretched toward you, your heart skipped a beat. Or two. He played the role of the knight-in-shining-armour quite seamlessly, and he looked every bit the handsome prince charming. You tried to remind yourself why it was so dangerous to be attracted to a force like Sylus, but when he smiled at you like you were the only two people in the room, all caution was thrown to the wind.Â
_____________
In the spirit of making things up to you, you made Sylus take you to a restaurant of your choosing. It was a hole-in-the-wall dumpling place that charged so little one would question if they were serving real meat. But you never found better dumplings, so you took the risk anyway.
The dynamic was completely subverted as you sat on the table that was slightly sticky with cheap cleaning chemicals. Sylus was the one who looked out of place, his suit was unarguably the most expensive thing in the room and it brought joy to your miserable night to see him out of his comfort zone.
âHow did you find this place?â The question was warranted, other than you two, the only other occupants in the restaurant were a few middle-schoolers. Â
âI used to come here a lot with my friends in high school.â
âDid they all die from food poisoning?â Sylus seemed proud of his quick-witted joke. You gave him a pointed glare to convey just how unfunny that joke was.Â
âFunny, but no. We just drifted apart after we graduated.â The clipped reply shut down any further inquiry. You thought back to the fond memories you had in that restaurant. Things were different when you didnât yet know the cost of failure; before you knew what youâd be losing. And while everyone may have moved on from this small town in the N109 Zone, you never left.Â
âDo you even have any friends?â You choked on your drink at the question. He was genuinely asking and the worst part was, you really didnât.
Your constant struggle to make ends meet and maintain a high GPA for your academic scholarships made it impossible to have a social life. It didnât help that you went to a college you couldnât afford. It was hard to find people to relate to when everyone had grown up with silver spoons. Then after you graduated you landed at Onychinus, and it wasnât exactly a friendly environment.
âOf course I have friends.â Your lie was a feeble attempt to preserve the last of your dignity. Sylus had seen you at your absolute worst, but there was something extremely dehumanising about letting him know you were insanely lonely.
âReally, who?â His genuine surprise only made your insecurity worse.
âYou donât have to sound so shocked. Plus, you wouldnât know them.âÂ
âTry me.â Of course he wouldnât drop it. When has Sylus ever let something go?
âWell, thereâs Mr Demir, and Luke and Kieran, and my newly acquired friend Dr Hunt.â In a desperate attempt to keep up your lie, you pretty much just named all the people you knew.Â
âY/N, thatâs the man who sells you your sandwiches, my assistants, and a geologist who sold you a gem.âÂ
âHas anyone ever told you that no one likes a know-it-all?âÂ
âI think you should get out more. Maybe tone down the sarcasm and you might just make a friend or two.â Your jaw-dropped in faux shock at his unsolicited advice.
âYouâre one to talk, your best friend is a mechanical crow.â You snuck a dumpling off of his plate while he was distracted.
âI donât need friends, theyâre unnecessary burdens.â He took a swig of his beer. You thought heâd burst into flames if he drank anything other than red wine, but he adapted to his surroundings with little effort.
You put a hand on your heart as if in pain and jokingly gave him a solemn look.âThen why would you wish such a cruel fate onto me?â
âBecause I hate seeing you this miserable, Y/N.â The amusement from your banter died a quick death at his confession. You thought you kept it together most of the time, though bawling your eyes out in the N109 Zoneâs hottest restaurant probably didnât do that facade any good. But for the most part, you handled the death of your mother relatively well.Â
âIâm not miserable. Not all of the time at least. Like right now, Iâm only mildly annoyed!â You tried to change the topic the only way you knew how, with humour, but Sylus wasnât budging.
âYou take care of everyone but yourself and all itâs done is isolate you. There needs to be a give and take, sweetheart. People donât like feeling useless.â He spoke to you softly, as if he was scared the timbre of his voice would cause you to shatter into a million pieces.Â
There was a sinking feeling in your stomach that followed his oddly specific guidance. He seemed to know more about you than you thought he did, and you were torn between feeling seen and feeling judged.Â
âThatâs sound advice. Guess youâve been reading more magazines.â You were grasping at straws, willing to try anything to get the unwanted spotlight off of your inadequacies.Â
âYou also need to learn how to accept help without downplaying your problems.âÂ
âOkay, okay. You sound like my mother. Has her soul possessed you?â There you go Y/N. Play the dead mom card, thatâll work.Â
He chuckled at your joke. You knew he found you funny.
âYou donât know when to quit, do you?â
âYeah, the manufacturers didnât include an off-switch. No refunds, sorry.â You stuffed a dumpling in your mouth as the tension subsided.Â
âOh, Iâm not returning you, sweetheart. Theyâll have to pry you from my cold dead hands.â While you knew he was probably referring to the value you brought his company as his accountant, you couldnât stifle the butterflies that wreaked havoc in your stomach.
You didnât move when Sylusâs car stopped outside your house.Â
âThanks for tonight, I had fun. Sorry it didnât go to plan.â You turned to him after you unbuckled your seatbelt and the tight confines of the car felt even smaller.
âItâs fine, I liked this version of events better anyway.â His low voice reverberated through the small distance between you, nestling in your heart that was beating unhealthily fast.Â
âMe too. Next time you take a girl to dinner you ought to let her know if sheâs supposed to dress like sheâs going to the met gala.â Your advice had a bitter undertone because part of you still wished you could be the only girl heâd take to dinner.Â
âI usually do, but this particular girl doesnât need a fancy dress to be the most beautiful girl in the room.â The candid compliment made the butterflies do summersaults, and while their gymnastics routine continued, you found yourself at a loss for words.
âGoodnight, Y/N.â Sylus leaned over the centre console and opened the door for you, completing the chivalrous act of opening the door for you in his own unique fashion. He was so close, all it would take was one small move and his lips couldâve been on yours.
âGoodnight.â You barely got the word out through the sudden bout of breathlessness you were experiencing. And when you were finally encased in the familiar four walls of your home, you thought about every moment you shared with Sylus and how different he seemed from the man you knew before.Â
The weekend passed by in a blur. The necklace that looked like a carbon copy of your momâs was nestled on your neck. A permanent reminder that made âOperation Sylus: No Moreâ infinitely harder to achieve.Â
Perhaps you shouldnât have asked him to stop being a dick, because what you thought would be an easy feat was beginning to feel like climbing a mountain with a peak you couldnât even see.Â
You were staring at the list on your notes app on your brand new phone in hopes of searing it into your memory.Â
Operation Sylus: No More
The foolproof guide of getting rid of all feelings Sylus related by the end of November.Â
Step 1: avoid Sylus and all thoughts of him at all costs.
Step 2: no more funny jokes, his laugh is seriously deadly.Â
Step 3: force yourself to remember Miss Hunter in moments of weakness. Sheâs the one he really wants.Â
Step 4: try to find love elsewhere, like the corner shop owner, he may be in his 50s and happily married but heâs kind of a silver-fox!
Step 5: do not, under any circumstances, allow yourself to be alone with Sylus for too long.
You violated step 5 that Friday when you let him take you to dinner and you were reaping the consequences of your mistake. There was no way you could survive the free-fall if you couldn't get your heart to obey your mind. The disconnect between the two vital organs might be the thing that kills you.
When you heard something shatter in the hallway, you quickly put your phone down and went out to investigate.
The door opened to Mephisto standing on a side table where an empty vase used to sit. The vase was now on the floor in pieces in front of your feet.Â
âYou did this on purpose.â You pointed an accusing finger at the bird, but all he did was tilt his head to the side as if he couldnât understand you. You knew he could understand you perfectly well.
The cold war between you two started in your first week at Onychinus when he would swoop at your head spontaneously for no reason. Sylus told you he did it to everyone he didnât trust and that heâd be over it in due time, but you were too vindictive to let it slide.Â
Several back-and-forth pranks later, the bird seemed to have remembered the tradition you managed to forget. âIf this is your way of saying you miss me then you take an awful lot after your owner.â Your words faded as you made your way to the kitchen to find the broom. However, upon your return you saw that the floor was flawless and the door to your office was closed.
You rushed in with unparalleled speed to see your worst nightmare; Sylus leaning against your desk in his usual model-like fashion with your phone in his hand.
Panic coursed through you like never before as you remembered what had been left open on your phone when you set it down and the painful fact that you left it unlocked.Â
Prayers for a sinkhole to open up and consume you in that very moment went unanswered as Sylus looked up at you with a smirk on his face.
âIs my laugh really deadly?â He looked amused.Â
Come on sinkhole. Anytime now.Â
When you didnât answer, Sylus moved toward you. When he was close enough to touch you, he leaned down to make sure your eyes were on his.
âYour deadline is fast approaching, Y/N. Care for a progress report?â The taunting question made heat rush to your face.
âIt was stupid, I wrote it months ago.â
âThen why did you have it open?âÂ
You couldnât exactly tell him that his willingness to change his cold and cruel demeanour just to keep you as his accountant revived the feelings you thought were long dead. You definitely couldnât tell him that the necklace that suddenly weighed down your chest made your heart skip a beat every time you touched it. And there was no way you were telling him that the dinner you shared was the happiest youâd felt in a long time.
âI was going to delete it when I heard Mephisto break something in the hallway.â
âDelete it? Guess you donât need it anymore.â
âNope.â You popped the P on the word for emphasis. âCan I have my phone back now?â He placed the device into your outstretched hand.Â
âSo how do you feel about me now, sweetheart?â
You tried your best to appear unperturbed by his taunting. âMad at your blatant violation of my privacy.â
âForgive me. I saw my name on your phone when I went to check in on you and I was curious.â
âMephisto told you I broke the vase, didnât he?â
âDonât deflect. Do you still have feelings for me?â
âNo, theyâre gone. Can we please drop this? Itâs embarrassing.â You lied in favour of self-preservation and hoped he wouldnât be able to see through your act.
âThereâs nothing to be embarrassed about, Y/N. Many women confess their love for me every month.â You rolled your eyes at his ardent display of over-confidence and narcissism, though you knew he wasnât exaggerating. Â
âOkay, brace yourself there bachelor. No one said anything about love.â It was true, you never said you loved him. Whether or not you did, well that was a secret youâd take to the grave.Â
âSo then which feeling are we discussing?â The loaded question came out of his mouth so casually, like someone ordering a latte. A display of power that reminded you of just how little this mattered to him.Â
Your feet felt like they were grounded in their place by an invisible force and you were sure your cheeks were beet red. You knew your mouth was slightly agape in shock, but you couldnât even close it. Meanwhile, Sylus was unfazed, treating your feelings like a game.Â
âSince when do you even care about how I feel?â The sudden outburst was accompanied by your hand running through your hair out of frustration.
Sylusâs jaw clenched and for a moment he said nothing. There was no hint of amusement left on his features.Â
âYou think I donât care about you?â He seemed irritated by the premise, but you couldnât figure out why. You thought Sylus was proud of his clear disregard for other peopleâs emotions.Â
âYou treated me like gum stuck to the bottom of your boot for years. What reason did you give me to think otherwise?â
âI donât know, maybe the fact that I pay you more than my highest ranking footmen. Or that I had Mephisto tail you when you used to bike to and from work to make sure you got home safe. Hell, I invented the lunch budget when I hired you just to make sure you were eatingâ I even banned mushrooms from my kitchen in case you wanted to eat here. Not to mention the bullshit extra work Iâd assign you just so you would stay longer.âÂ
Choosing not to dwell on the implication of his silent acts of kindness, you interjected. âHey, I took those tasks seriously!â The twins thought you were crazy when you asked if Sylus was making those assignments up. You knew you were right.Â
âDonât interrupt me.â Your mouth clamped shut at his rather reasonable request. Sylus wasnât a big talker, so when he monologued, it was important.Â
âYour kindness, your humour, it all caught me off guard. No one ever treated me like you did and I had no idea how to feel. The little doodles you sent back to me on the notes I left you delineating tasks? I kept every last one. When Mephisto complained to me about that time you put corn-starch in his water fountain and almost destroyed his wiring, all I could do was laugh. I treated you like I treated all my men because I didnât want people to find out that you were my weakness.â
You swallowed the lump in your throat, but the pressure wasnât budging. There was so much you didnât know about Sylus, so much you completely misunderstood. This revelation caused a series of chain reactions to go off inside your brain and the weight of what he was trying to say felt suffocating.
You dreamed of a time where Sylus would reciprocate your feelings, but the reality of it was more daunting than you realised.
âAll my threats are empty with you, Y/N. Youâre the only one who gets away with the attitude you give me. You tell me you crashed a car worth over half-a-million dollars and all I could think about was if you were okay. I even offered to buy your house for way more than it was worth just to get you back. Do you seriously think I donât care?âÂ
All sound came to a stifling halt.Â
âWait, you were the âdeveloperâ?â
The inklings of betrayal wove their way through your skin as the pieces began to fall into place. The timing of the eviction notice, the fact that heâd shown up at your house the day you received it, the way he was so quick to agree to the ridiculous bonus.Â
He manipulated you like a puppet on a string and let you think you were in control the entire time.
âDonât look at me like Iâm some traitor.â His audacious demand made your blood boil.
âYou are a traitor! How could you do that to me?â You yelled.
âYou were going to leave me like I was nothing!â For the first time since youâd met him, Sylus raised his voice to match yours. Your entire body went cold at his vulnerability. He was afraid of being abandoned, and that was a fear you both shared.
âNot seeing you every day made my heart feel like it was being ripped out of my chest. I could barely focus, all I could think about was what you were doing, who you were with. So imagine my surprise when I come to find that while Iâm being tortured every minute Iâm away from you, you needed more time.
âI knew I was being selfish, I knew that your grief had nothing to do with me, but Iâve never been good at putting my feelings into words. That day in the graveyard when you wouldnât even look at me, I thought Iâd lost you for good. It ate at me like a parasite. I had to get you back and I wonât apologise for not playing fair. There isnât a rule I wouldnât break for you, Y/N.â Â
It was hard to hate him for what he did when you understood where he was coming from. You were two sides of the same coin. While you overcompensated for the lack of love in your life by becoming the ultimate people-pleaser, he avoided it at every turn, saw it as a weakness. But at the core of every human being was an innate desire to be loved and an inherent fear of being abandoned.Â
People couldnât leave your life if you never let them in. That was a philosophy you saw both your mother and Sylus live by. It was lonely and difficult, and if you had the power of hindsight you wouldâve tried harder to convince your mother she was worthy of love. You couldnât make that same mistake again.Â
You loved Sylus, that much was ingrained into the flesh of your heart. For all his rugged edges, he had a way of making things happen that was akin to magic. His determination, his grit, it was admirable.
His intelligence was infuriating, you couldnât get anything past him. If he received the Greeksâ horse instead of the Trojans, you were sure heâd have seen right through their ruse.Â
His desire to make the N109 Zone a better place stemmed from a sense of altruism you could only hope to possess. And when Sylus did things for others, he never expected anything in return.Â
But for all his greatest traits he had some difficult ones too. Heâd hurt you more times than you could count, and even if heâd changed drastically since your motherâs death, you couldnât quite trust that he wouldnât hurt you again.
âYou already know how I feel about you.â You confessed. It was no secret you wore your heart on your sleeve, despite your motherâs constant reminders that the world was filled with terrible people whoâd take advantage of your candour. You chose to see the good in others, it boded better than the grim lifestyle that came with perpetual pessimism.Â
âThen why are you fighting this?â His question came out pained, and it was one you could answer.Â
âIâve loved you for a long time, Sylus. I loved you even though you insulted me, ignored me, reminded me I was replaceable every chance you got.
âI told myself it was just how you were, that it wasnât personal. But when you walked out on me in the hospital when I needed you the most, I loved you a little less.â
Sylus felt an unfamiliar twinge in his chest, like someone took a needle to his heart. He left that hospital because he wasnât sure youâd even want him there, and it pained him to see you so distraught over a problem he couldnât fix. When MC came to him with an important mission in Skyhaven, he saw an out, and like the coward he was he took it. If he knew that youâd lose your mother while he was away, he never would have left your side.Â
âWhen you didnât call until weeks later, when you showed up only to tell me I was being dramatic for grieving, I loved you even less. Every time you screwed me over you made it easier to live without you.â
It hurt to remember the pain you were in back then, the immense pressure of the burdens you carried. But if there was ever a chance of you and Sylus working out, he needed to know the truth.Â
âIâve only ever loved two people, Sylus, and in one month it felt like Iâd lost them both. I still love you, Iâm afraid I couldnât stop if I tried, but I donât know if I can be more than your accountant right now.â You couldnât survive another heartbreak, that much was for sure.Â
Even though Sylus looked like he was going to be sick, you continued.Â
âI thought I was okay with you treating me like everybody else, thought I was strong enough to take it. But when I saw you with Miss Hunter and the softness with which you spoke to her, it broke me. I saw that you were capable of being gentle. You just didnât think I was a worthy recipient of your kindness.â
He was quick to correct you. âThatâs not true, sweetheart. Not at all. She has something I need, something I canât take with force. Itâs why Iâve had to adopt unusual methods. If Iâd known it was causing you so much pain I wouldâve explained. Fuck, Y/N, you deserve so much more than just my kindness, more than I could ever give you. I canât even think of a person on Earth who deserves you at all.âÂ
When Sylus saw the tears begin to slide down your cheeks, he resisted the urge to wipe them away.
âIâll give you anything you ask for, anything but letting you go. Thereâs nothing so broken it canât be fixed, Y/N. You taught me that. Let me fix this.â He tested the waters by taking your hand in his and when you let him, he pulled you into his arms.Â
For a moment, the room was silent. You listened to his heartbeat through his chest and it might have been even faster than yours. It felt like deja vu, reminding you of that moment in the restaurant, or that time in his hallway after Zayneâs phone call. Sylus was there to comfort you more often than not, why were you so scared of letting him in?
âI want to believe you, I just donât know that I can.â Your voice was small, timid. As if you were afraid something youâd say would shatter the sanctity of this moment and youâd find out it was all a dream.Â
âI wonât stop trying until you do, sweetheart. Youâre it for me, thereâs no one else.â He kissed the top of your head with a softness you didnât know he possessed and the words were like bandages wrapping around the wounds inflicted by your own envy.
In the comfortable silence, Sylus made a vow. âI donât have regrets â you know that quite well â but I regret the way I treated you. Iâll spend every lifetime repenting for my mistakes, Y/N, and I promise Iâll never let anything hurt you again.â He squeezed you tighter and the comfort his warmth brought you was a welcome change to the cold you lived in all the time.Â
Desperate to diffuse the overwhelming angst of the situation, you pulled away from his embrace and clapped your hands together. âOkay then, as of today we commence âOperation Sylus: The Redemption'.â
His loud laugh resounded through your office, and it was a sound youâd never get tired of hearing. He grabbed your chin. âHave you always been this corny?âÂ
âI watch a lot of movies, okay? Now, shake on it.â You shook his hand off your face and held out your hand with an invitation that he instantly accepted. With his warm hand encasing yours, you whole-heartedly hoped this operation would be a success.Â
Late December
You assumed the dynamic between you and Sylus would drastically change following your impromptu heart-to-heart. But the changes came in small waves.Â
It started with the middle-aged man who silently drove you to and from work with a permanent scowl on his face being replaced by Sylus himself.
Then there was the sticky notes heâd usually place on documents explaining the task and deadline, now with an added addendum.
â That necklace was the best decision Iâve ever made.
â Your hair looks especially nice today.
â Did you switch perfumes? I like it.
â That new lipstick suits you. Your lips are all I can think about.Â
You saved all of them in a drawer at your desk.Â
He had someone bring you your lunch every day and spent your entire lunch break with you. Somedays you talked until your tongue felt like it was going to fall off, other days you just sat and ate together in silence. And every Friday afternoon, instead of taking you straight home, heâd take you to visit your motherâs grave with a new bouquet in his hands.Â
You were glad he was taking things slow. His small gestures made your heart flutter without overwhelming you, but it had been a month since your confrontation, and he didnât even try to touch you.Â
While your inexperience with love, lust and romance never impacted any significant aspect of your life before, it was growing increasingly difficult to wait for Sylus to make the first move. He didnât want to scare you, that much was understandable. But you were growing angsty waiting for him the tension between you two hit a boiling point.
The glorious plan came to you while you were shopping with Luke and Kieran for Onychinusâs annual Christmas gala. It was a networking event masked under the guise of a holiday celebration where the people hiding in the shadows of the underworld could spend one night communicating on the surface.
Every year, Sylus insisted he couldnât outsource waiters for the event because of potential security leaks, so you, the twins and a couple other of his staff were forced to fill in as the help. Sylus told you that you wouldnât have to participate this year, but you began to look forward to the event. It was like an unorthodox Christmas tradition.
Your eyes drifted to the costume section of the party store, and when they landed on a short red Santaâs helper dress, you felt a lightbulb turn on in your head. Maybe you had to give Sylus a little nudge.
âHey, aren't you guys kind of bored of the slacks and the dress shirts he makes us wear?â You sowed the seed of doubt into your unwilling accomplices.
âDuh. I hate dressing like a butler.â Lukeâs eyes continued to scan the aisle for decorations. The hall was professionally decorated, but you added your own little details every year. It made things less drab and it gave the twins an excuse to spend hours in the party supply store.Â
âWhat if we went with Christmas themed costumes this year?â The twins turned to look at you with confusion, but they quickly warmed up to the idea when you pointed at the wall of seasonal costumes.
âIâm Rudolph!â They made their declarations in unison before breaking out into an argument in the middle of the party store.
âJust flip a coin!â You desperately suggested, taking a coin out of your wallet and placing it on your thumb, ready to flip. People were beginning to stare.
âIâm heads!â They said in unison, again.
âKieran youâre heads, Luke youâre tails.â You assigned them the parts of the coin alphabetically and watched it flip through the air. When it landed in your hands, it displayed tails. You silently hoped they would move on from this unnecessary battle and restore peace to your shopping trip again.
âSorry Kieran, Lukeâs Rudolph.â Kieran complained for the rest of the day about how annoying being an elf was, and how, since he was an inch taller than Luke, it only made sense for Luke to be the elf instead.Â
They argued like the siblings you never had, and for all the pain and suffering they caused you, there was no denying you loved having them around. Besides, working for Sylus left the three of you trauma-bonded for life. There wasnât really an out from this unconventional friendship.Â
_________________
You failed to remember to clear the costume idea with Sylus before the gala. He was just so busy trying to organise the event, and you were similarly swamped with ensuring all the invoices were sent out on time to the right vendors. You barely saw each other in the days leading up to the big event.
The dress was shorter on you than you anticipated. Coming up just above mid-thigh, it was nothing like anything you owned in your closet. The little hat it came with was cute though and you pinned it to your hair. The make-up you wore was the same as your everyday makeup, barring the eyeliner youâd spent way too long trying to perfect and your lipstick.Â
Other than the dress, you really did look the same as you did most of the time. Would Sylus even notice?
Right on cue, a knock on your door snapped you out of your train of thought, and you took a deep breath before opening it.Â
As you expected, Sylus looked unfazed by your choice in attire as you moved out of the doorway to let him in.
âI see weâve foregone the uniforms this year.â His comment was a welcome distraction from your insecurities.
âWhimsy is part of the Christmas spirit, you know.â
âItâs cute. Did you get that dress from the childrenâs section?â
The question came so out of left-field it left you were stunned. Once the shock settled in, you suddenly felt self-conscious.
âNo⌠Why? Does it look childish?â You couldnât help the vulnerability in your voice.Â
Sylus closed the distance between you in a few long strides, his hands were on you in an instant. His palm was holding onto your waist the other tracing alone the edge of your dress.Â
âQuite the opposite, Iâm just wondering why theyâd make a dress so short for adult women.âÂ
âAdult women can dress however they want, Sylus.â You chided.
âI know, but Iâll have my hands full if Iâm trying to host this event and take care of the hoards of men that will be chasing after my girl at the same time.â He whispered the words seductively into your ear, the hand on your thigh slipping ever-so-slightly under the dress.
You ignored the warm, fuzzy feeling that bloomed through you at the sound of Sylus calling you his girl.
âThere wonât be âhoards of menâ. This will be the third time Iâm working your annual gala and Iâve only ever gotten hit on like four times.â You knew from the way his eyebrows furrowed that you shouldnât have told him that.
âFour times? Men hit on you four times while I was in the room and you didnât tell me?â He was clearly angry, his rage unwarranted since it happened right under his nose.Â
âI didnât think youâd care. Most of them were like fifty, anyway!â That was true, and every time one of them placed a hand on your shoulder or your forearm, it made you grimace.Â
âIf men approached you in long pants and a dress shirt with a plate of refreshments in your hand what do you think theyâll do when they see you in this get up?â He walked you back until you were standing against the wall.
He had a point. Maybe it was too suggestive.
âI can changeââ
âNo. You never have to do that with me, baby. Just stay where I can see you, alright?âÂ
âOkay.â You felt a blush paint your cheeks. The tension was bubbling up between you. His hand was searing into your waist, his other one moving dangerously high on your thigh. You really thought this would be the moment he kissed you. But then the warmth of his hands was abruptly gone.Â
âOkay. You ready to go?â He held the door open for you. That was it? Frustrated at your lack of results, you silently walked out of your house.
__________________
âDid you see Sylusâs date?â
âOf course, sheâs definitely the hottest girl here.â
âI bet sheâs had work done.â
âIf so, I need the name of her surgeon.â
You eavesdropped on the hushed whispers of a group of women who were gossiping in a corner near the kitchen. The second you walked through the doors of the extravagant event hall, you both went your separate ways and you hadnât seen him since. So much for not letting you out of his sight.Â
All you heard about the entire night was his mysterious date and her envious beauty. He never told you he was bringing one, nor did he ever ask you to fill the spot. But before you could completely spiral, you reminded yourself of Sylusâs promise. He wouldnât do anything to hurt you. There had to be a perfectly reasonable explanation.Â
âNow whatâs a pretty girl like you doing working here?â Your train of thought was interrupted by the voice of a man. You turned around, expecting to see one of the many sleazy old men who frequented these events and saw you as an easy target, but all you saw was a young, attractive guy in a three-piece suit. Huh.
âHors dâoeuvre?â You offered the plate to him in place of a response.Â
âNo thanks. Iâve had my fill, though I must say, the other servers arenât quite as easy on the eyes as you.â His eyes shamelessly scanned every inch of you, head-to-toe, and you felt uncomfortable under the scrutiny of his gaze.Â
âOh, um thanks.â The blush on your cheeks was an unwanted biological reaction, you werenât used to attention from men within your age range. It wasn't like you thought you were ugly, you were just a bit of a hermit.
âWhatâs your name, beautiful?â You were about to answer his question when someone did it for you.
âY/N.â The voice belonged to the man of the hour who seemed to have appeared out of thin air.Â
âSylus, hello. Hors dâoeuvre?â Clearly you were running out of things to say if your default reaction was to offer everyone a snack, but it was hard to find the voice to speak when you saw the girl who had her arms wrapped around his.Â
Miss Hunter. You shouldâve known. Your eyes passed over her beautiful dress and pinned up hair. She lived up to the rumours, she was definitely the prettiest girl in the room. Next to Sylus the pair reminded you of a renaissance painting. They made sense, and clearly not just aesthetically if he brought her as his date instead of you.
Sylus saw the way your eyes trailed off to MC standing next to him. He saw the self-doubt turn your eyes glassy, and all he wanted to do was whisk you away to a private room where he could show you just how badly he wanted you, and no one else.
But his enemies were in attendance tonight, it was part of the reason he didnât want you there. Sylusâs only weakness used to be his mortality, and even that was debatable. But now his biggest weakness was tangible, and she wore an adorable Christmas themed dress that made every man in the room brim with desire. Miss Hunter may have been the focus of all the women in attendance, but all the men could talk about was the sexy server in the little red dress. It was driving him insane.Â
But MC was a hunter and if he endangered her, she could get out of it unscathed without his help. Their enemies were the same, which made them perfect allies, but it also made their loved ones easy targets. Sylus would never forgive himself if he let someone hurt you. So despite the excruciating pain that coursed through him at your hurt expression, he did nothing to quell your concerns.
But he couldnât idly stand by and let this man make a pass at you either. It was clear Henry was not aware of Sylusâs newly established no-fraternising-with-the-staff policy.Â
âHenry, not distracting my staff, are you?â Sylus directed his attention to his business associate. Henry ran a security company which supplied a large portion of their weaponry from Onychinus. The contract they shared was a substantial source of revenue that Sylus couldnât afford to compromise.Â
âIâm just wondering where you found such delectable staff.â Sylus felt his jaw clench at the way Henry undressed you with his eyes and your consequential discomfort. Fuck the contract, he was going to make that man pay. But he couldnât inflict his revenge quite yet, so he played nice.Â
âUnfortunately my staff are exclusively mine. Iâm sure you understand how difficult it is to find loyal help.â Well, at least he tried to play nice. The subtle jab at Henryâs recent whistleblower scandal was a low blow, but he wasnât above kicking below the belt.
Annoyed and slightly confused by the exchange, you rolled your eyes at the testosterone-fuelled men bickering and cleared your throat.
âI think Iâm needed in the kitchen. Nice meeting you, Henry.â You gave him the kindest smile you could muster and gave Sylus no smile at all. It was the least he deserved for blindsiding you with his date.Â
âI should check on the catering, excuse me.â Sylus followed you to the kitchen and the second he caught up to you, he pulled you into a nearby storage closet.
There was barely any room for the both of you in there, so you were pressed up against his body. You tried to create some distance between you two, but he just pulled you back in by your waist.
âWhat are you doing? Iâm supposed to be working and youâre supposed to be socialising. We canât do those things from here.â You berated him quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. You didnât really need anyone from the staff discovering you in this compromising position. Youâd had enough embarrassment in one night for a lifetime.
âMiss Hunter is just here with me on business.â Sylusâs statement did little to comfort the tumultuous storm in your mind.Â
âI donât care.â In a sense, it was true. It seemed your mind didnât care whether Miss Hunter was there with him on business or not, it still hurt all the same.Â
âDonât lie to me, I can tell when youâre upset.â Sylus tried to caress your cheek but you pushed his hand away.Â
âOkay, fine. Iâm upset. Now will you let me leave?â You tried to wriggle out of his grasp but to no avail. His hand squeezed your face as he forced you to face him.Â
âIf youâre upset, talk to me about it. Donât antagonise me by flirting with other men. It wonât end well for them.â The fire in his eyes swore retribution and you did not want to be Henry right now.
âI wasnât flirting!â You tried to defend yourself but you knew heâd see straight through your ruse.Â
âThat sweet smile of yours is reserved for me and me alone.â There was no way Sylus wouldâve let that over-the-top smile slide and this was exactly how you expected him to react, but it only made you more upset. Â
âRight, but I just have to make do with sharing you with Miss Hunter.â The irony of the situation was not lost on Sylus, but he had a laundry-list of crimes, hypocrisy was the least of them.Â
âIâm all yours, baby. I promise itâs just business.â He sounded sincere, and you trusted him to tell you the truth. Sylus never lied unless it was out of omission, but when you asked him a direct question, he never failed to answer honestly.Â
âI can help you with business.â You tried to reason, your palm resting against his pounding heart.Â
âNot this kind, sweetheart. Iâm just trying to protect you. I need you to trust me.â You trusted Sylus with your life, with your heart. Which was why you knew you wouldnât like the answer to the question you asked next.Â
âDid you sleep with her?â The mere thought of it tasted like acid on your tongue. It wasnât like you werenât aware of Sylusâs past, but where the other women in his life came and left like the tide, Miss Hunterâs presence was persistent.Â
You needed to know just how far theyâd gone, even if it might destroy you.Â
âYes. It was one time when we first met in September. Before I realised how I felt for you.â The words pierced straight through you like bullets of radiation. Your palm slowly slipped off of his chest and you diverted your gaze to your heels. âY/N, you know I only want you. It meant nothing to me.âÂ
Perhaps it wasnât the fact that theyâd slept together that hurt you so deeply. Maybe it was the way he looked at her, the way she got under his skin. Sylus may love you, but what if he wasnât attracted to you?
The thought slipped out of you before you could mull it over. âHow am I supposed to believe that when you were all over in seconds and you wonât even kiss me?!âÂ
A hint of recognition flashed through Sylusâs eyes as he realised the catalyst behind your frustration. For some odd reason that he could never figure out, you were insecure. Even though your charm bordered on lethal and your beauty was unparalleled, you still felt inadequate. It perplexed him how someone could look so divine and not be aware of it.
âI havenât kissed you because I wanted to make sure you were ready, sweetheart. I was worried Iâd scare you away, because Iâm sure if I got a taste of you I wouldnât know how to stop.â He sounded strained when he spoke, as if he was recalling his frustration at having to hold back.Â
You watched him intently, his words dripped with a desire you both shared. With his body so close to yours, it was hard not to wish heâd just act on his primal instincts.Â
âYouâre entirely unaware of your affect on me. You have no idea how precarious the string holding me back from insanity has become. When I saw you in that dress, I was sure I wouldnât be able to hold back. But then you'd look up at me with those angelic eyes and I realise I canât risk losing you.âÂ
Before you could even think it through, your desire became overwhelming and your lips were on his in an instant.
It was nothing like you expected, nothing like the chaste, sweet kisses you saw in your movies. It was heated, messy, desperate. His lips ravaged yours like a man on death row devoured his last meal. You felt his desire with every movement and all the doubt you had dissipated instantly. His hands were all over you, one softly held on to your neck, while the other held on to your waist like you might disappear.Â
His lips moved to your cheek, your jaw and eventually the sensitive skin on your collarbone. When he bit a particularly sensitive part of your neck, you let out a whine. You hoped he hadn't given you a hickey. His face came up to yours as he looked at your lips which were red from the impact and the desire running rampant in your eyes. It mightâve been the most beautiful youâd ever looked.
âWell? Iâm still here.â You whispered against his lips before giving him a chaste peck.
Sylus knew you werenât just talking about this moment. You never left, even when he gave you a million reasons why you should. He didnât know what he did to deserve such luck, but he knew heâd never give you a reason to walk away from him ever again.
âWe should get out of here.â Somehow you knew he didnât just mean the storage closet. He shifted to lead you out but you quickly stopped him.
âYou canât leave your own party! What about your date?â As much as the idea of MC hanging off his arm made your skin crawl, it wasnât right to just leave her alone.Â
âSheâll be fine. The only woman I care about is right in front of me, and I want to do so much to her than kiss her in a storage closet.â There was an underlying promise in his tone, and you felt the slightest bit of fear that you mightâve bitten off more than you could chew.
âYouâve lasted this long, whatâs one more night?â Your last ditch effort to escape the dangerous situation was unsuccessful.Â
âSweetheart, I can't wait another second.â He gave you a soft, gentle kiss that conveyed his fraying restraint. Your fear felt inconsequential when he was with you, you knew you could trust him wholly with every part of you.Â
So, when he led you out of the storage closet and all the way to his bedroom, you never once felt scared. Or insecure. Or inadequate. Sylus worshipped you like you were his salvation and he never once let you doubt yourself again.
Later that night, as you laid in his bed underneath his covers, staring over at his peaceful sleeping expression, you realised he was your salvation too.
Christmas Day
âWhatâs the surprise?â You asked the same question for the umpteenth time.Â
âJust be patient, weâre almost there.â You let Sylus lead you through what you thought was a building while you obediently kept your eyes shut. Eventually your feet came to a halt, and you were bursting with anticipation.Â
âAlright, open your eyes.â When you opened them you were in the living room of a charming beach house. It was so bright it took your eyes a while to adjust, but when they did you noticed that it was decorated with splashes of your favourite shade of yellow. The large balcony doors opened to the sight of a familiar beach, and you felt a range of emotions wash over you all at once. Sadness, nostalgia, yearning.Â
âMerry Christmas, baby.â Sylusâs voice behind you snapped you back to reality.Â
âWhat is this place?â The awe in your voice could not be concealed.
âItâs yours. I know how much you hate being on the beach, but I also know it meant a lot to your mother. From this balcony itâll be like youâre right there without actually being there.â He sounded almost nervous while presenting his gift to you, worried you might hate it. But there wasnât a word that could describe the pure gratitude and love you felt for the man standing in front of you.Â
âYou bought me a house on my motherâs favourite beach?â The disbelief in your voice was almost tangible.Â
âYeah.â
âSylus, all I got you was a pocket watch!â You thought that since you were both not very big on Christmas, you would exchange small gifts. Clearly small wasnât a word Sylus kept in his vocabulary.Â
âYou gave me so much more than that.â The suggestion in his voice did nothing to soothe your guilt.Â
âThis is too much.â
âY/N, youâre more familiar with my assets than I am, if this made a significant dent in my bank account I think you wouldâve noticed when I bought it a month ago.âÂ
âYouâve had this for a month?â The shock persisted, but he was right. His expenses ranged from a box of paperclips to the purchase of a two-hundred-million dollar industrial complex.Â
âYes, I bought it the first time you asked me to take you to the beach after work.â
âBut what if we didnât work out?â A month ago that seemed like a palpable possibility, but now you couldnât imagine your life without Sylus in it.
âIâd find a way to trick you into taking it anyway.âÂ
You all but rolled your eyes at the memory of his less-than-graceful plan to acquire your house until you ended up working for him again.Â
âRight, of course. Youâre quite good at that I hear.âÂ
âIâm good at many things, Iâll remind you later.â He drawled against your ear, but before you could force him to act on his promise he spoke up again. âFor now, thereâs one more surprise.âÂ
You let Sylus lead you out to the balcony with his hands on your shoulders, driving you forward. He stood behind you, his chest to your back. He pointed to a hill on the left of the house where a beautiful willow tree sat atop the beach on a cliff.
âI bought that plot of land too. I donât want to overstep, but if youâd like, we could move your mother here. Have her final resting place be at the place she loved the most.â His voice kept you anchored as memories of your mother threatened to pull you away. It still filled your chest with overwhelming sadness when you thought of her, but the thought that she could spend forever in the place that brought her the most joy filled you with relief. You didnât get to give your mother much, but at least Sylus helped you give her this.Â
You couldnât stop the tears streaming down your face if you tried.
Sylus had come a long way from that day at the graveyard, an even longer way from the day you met him. The fact that he grew to care about your mother as much as you did made your heart swell with love for him that expanded every day. Something you didnât even think was possible.
âShe would love that.â Sylus wrapped his hands around your waist, placing an ever-so-gentle kiss on your temple. âI wish you couldâve met her when she was alive, you wouldâve loved her.â They were both the strongest people you knew, and it pained you that they never got to meet.Â
âIâm sure I would have. After all, I am a huge fan of her work.â You couldnât help the laugh that escaped you at his cheesy joke. You were rubbing off on him, that was for sure. He peppered kisses all over the side of your face at the sound of your joyful laugh and you had to squeeze out of his grasp to make him stop.Â
While you wished you didnât have to lose someone so important to you to gain another, things always had a weird way of working out. Your future was still murky, but what you did know for sure was that âOperation Sylus: No Moreâ could officially be declared a massive failure. And even though the physical hole in your heart still existed, the proverbial one shrunk to half itâs size; and you had the silver-haired man with the stone-encased heart of gold to thank for that.Â
Tag list: @blue-sky336 @sei-chuun @astolary @luna-looniesblog @rainkissedberries @syluslittlecrows @escape-your-nightmare @mangooes @bibistarx @kathypellar @stxrrielle @mansonofmadness @babygirl-panda19 @wegottastayfocus @zoezhive @futurecorpse92 @diabolichii @chocolatepalacecloudhoagie @cathuggnbear @blue-serendipity @huuvu @thisbitchreallyneedssleep @sh3sa1dwhat @justpassingdontworry @sylustoru @poptrim @mikachux3 @thargelalia @eolivy @vyntheria @dana-nite @miffysoo @babyx91 @fealy @sillyfreakfanparty @cassiesversion @serenity-loves-red @nommingonfood @sylusgirlie7 @browneyedgirl22 @silverbrain
Sorry if you were tagged but didn't get a notif, I think some of you might have your tags off because your blog wasn't coming up for me >:c
4K notes
¡
View notes
Text
wholly to be a fool
genre/warnings/wc. fluff, gn!reader. food mention, unbeta'd. 0.6k. note. for @fxstpace, in response to mingyu + since feeling is first, by e.e. cummings (don't ask how food got in the picture). part of my 100 followers event !
Sunrise streams in from the windows, hitting the countertops of your apartment like honey, running over his knuckles and painting everything golden. The rice is hotâit stings his palms, paints them a splotchy pink, but itâs the only way to shape it well.
All that, though, is no matter. The door of his bedroom opens and there you are, unassuming in your devastation. There are spots of water on yourâhisâshirt, and a telltale dampness at the edges of your face that tells him you had just washed it. As you step forward, honey-gold sunlight glazes you too. Syrupy sweet, he thinks, even as his mouth is dry at the sight of bare legs and messy hair. Youâre squinting as you lean over the countertop, the stool wobbling under the weight of your knee.Â
There is rice between his palms and Mingyu is watching you.
You meet his adoration with a grumpy, âYour side of the bed was cold.â
He has to remember to toss the rice a little, his palms cupping it, forming it into ballsâjumeokbap, but with last nightâs leftovers from recipe development mixed in. Thereâs carrots, spinach, and mushrooms, with some sesame seeds for good measure.Â
He also has to remember to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth.Â
âSorry, baby.â
You pad forward, circling the kitchen island before your arms settle around his waist. The weight of your cheek burns through the thin cloth of his shirt. He can see, in his mindâs eye, the flutter of your eyelashes, the displeased downward curl of your mouth. Heâs helpless to the smile that blooms on his face. He chucklesâgiggles, really, as he twists around. âWhatâs gotten into you?â
Sure enough, thereâs your eyelashes, fluttering, and the jut of your lip in an expression he never thought heâd see. His heart swells enough to rival the sunrise. âJust missed you.â
He melts, leaning against you, relishing in the way your bodies rest against each other. âYouâre not getting rid of me, baby,â realizing even as he says it that perhaps it was not the best thing to begin the day with. He leans against you even more, all quiet reassurance even as you stiffen in your embrace of him. He feels the regret in your postureâpast wrongs that prompt guilt to grate through this slowly blossoming new life.
Mingyu clasps your arms, still wrapped around his waist, waiting until you relax again. Unable to resist, he darts his head forward, kissing the tip of your nose, smile turning brighter at the way you scrunch your face. He does it again for good measure, hoping that you understand that his words held no malice, only silent apologies and earnest promise. You accept his kisses obediently, the little breath of laughter that dances across his skin prompting only more ardent affection.
âDitto,â you eventually grumble, drawing away from his lips to press your face against his back.
Mingyu coos, affection bursting like a bud breaking the soil. You hush him, digging your face into more insistently, as though you could burrow into him. âThe rice will get cold,â you mutter, muffled into his shirt.
âHelp me?â He juts his chin to the sink. Youâre off him more quickly than he would have liked, but then youâre beside him, hands freshly washed but still damp so as to prevent the rice from sticking. Mingyu hands you the paddle, and you scoop rice onto your waiting palm before beginning to mold.
He canât help but giggle, again, and you hip-check him even as a matching quiet chuckle escapes you. Itâs not quite golden hour anymore, the sunlight settling into its more neutral color, but the morning is no less sweet.
What a fool Mingyu would make himself for you. Even if he tried to writeâif his tongue were employed in ways other than tastingâheâs sure that there would be no words for this, no articulation that could limn the joy of mornings with the love of his life.
note. likely an outtake from cooking with chopin (first it was reviving an old draft, now it's making me write a scene for a fic i havent even started on yet ASJAHSAHA aspen your power)
242 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Seaflower â A day at the beach with your favorite person.
cws: fem reader, friends to lovers, semi-public sex, getting together, beach sex, body worship, french kissing, touching, massages, vaginal fingering, yearning, mutual pining, finger fucking, psuedo-incest, i leaned into that a little here, oiled sex, no penetration, maybe in a part 2 idk, puppy caleb, heâs very whipped and gets very clingy with you, oil, masturbation (assisted), overstimulation, teasing, nipple play, no use of y/n, childhood friends to lovers, possessive behavior, smut, confessions, no beta, mature language, fondling, frottage, general submissive/dominant behavior, fluff, squirting, pussy jobs, there is no penetration, it's my first time writing him as a brother figure okayy i'm already stepping out of my comfort zone so much, wc: ~ 3k
a/n: I had so much fun writing this âĄâĄÂ also, i listened to this song while i wrote this.. not sure if that's the vibe i captured or not
available on ao3.
taglist: @m00nchildwrites, @venussakura, @hys-hyangshine, @i-messed-up-big-time, @itxff, @yourlocalcatscammer, @sayoko-ou, @umamaki, @valleydoli taglist applicationÂ
more content on my masterlist!
if you enjoy my content, please consider reblogging âĄ
Caleb lounges next to you, skin shining with a film of sweat and sunscreen. He turns his head to the side, gazing at you with a content smile. He reaches out and brushes his fingers against your heated skin. âFeels good to get away like this, huh?â he murmurs, deep voice carrying over the crash of the waves just a few feet away from the two of you. The frosty mist wafts from the surface of the ocean and covers your skin until it prickles, providing much needed relief from the sun even only periodically. His eyes drift over your body, shamelessly (but without shame) memorizing the way your curves look with the damp fabric of your swimsuit clinging to you. Â
His hands still buzz from minutes ago when you allowed him to coat his large palms with tanning oil and rub every bit of your skin that you want to tan. You wetten your lips and smile into the breeze. âMhmm,â You hum, eyes shut even behind the tint of your sunglasses. Your outfit is coordinated from the pink and white bikini and sandals to the baby pink floral jewelry on your wrists and around your neck.Â
Rolling onto his side, Caleb props himself up on one elbow, facing you. He reaches out and runs a hand over the expanse of your side and across your stomach. He can see how relaxed you are, so glad that he was able to get you some much needed time off from your hunter duties. Caleb likes you here, wearing the tiniest bikini he could possibly find for you, dozing off on a sandy golden (and very secluded) beach all day. He sighs as he leans down to ghost his breath over your shoulder; wondering if now is the time, if youâll reject this or... let him. âIâm glad then...â he whispers the words on your hot skin. âYou deserve a break, honey.âÂ
Beads of sweat race each other down Calebâs toned chest and his touch remains feather-light, repeatedly running up and down the bare skin of your side, slowly and softly. The sun-drenched afternoon stretches on, and his touches soothe you until youâre nearly lulled to sleep but your heart rate spikes when you feel his lips press flush against the side of your neck. Once, hesitantly. The second time, much more deliberate. He watches carefully for your every little reaction to each different touch he leaves on your pretty body. When Caleb kisses your sun-kissed skin again, his tongue darts out to taste you this time and he swears you taste like orange crush and whipped cream. Youâre almost too sweet and he can hardly stop himself from eating you right up. Caleb slowly makes out with your neck and jawline, heart skipping that youâre letting him initiate this with you. He loses track of the number of kisses he leaves along your peachy skin but pauses immediately when he feels the reverberation of your first moan against his pursed lips.Â
You almost canât help it, the embarrassing sound that you let out, but you hum again to wordlessly let him know that he doesnât have to stop. A shiver runs down your spine as his lips lave over your sun-warmed skin, deep voice sending tingles through your body. He doesnât even care if you can feel how hard heâs growing in his swim trunks right against your bare thigh. His lips smack wetly as he licks at you, consuming you, and his free hand begins to wander down your outer thigh. Before you have the chance to gasp at the sudden touch, you utter a few words awkwardly. âTh-thank you for bringing me he-here, Caleb.â You murmur, reaching your hand up to cup his cheek and peek your eyes open to look up at him. Â
He only smiles down at you and nods, his hand only going further down your leg. He can feel each goosebump pop up as his hand travels along your body. âOf course, baby,â His voice is husky as he speaks low and into your ear. You can smell the citrus from a drink he had earlier on his breath. âYou know you donât have to thank me.â You shiver at the pet name. Caleb keeps rubbing at your body, pressing his forehead against the side of your face as his lips continue traveling along your skin. Reaching out, you place your hand over Calebâs chest and feel the way that his heart pumps rapidly just below your splayed palm. He touches you gently, but you can still feel the calluses on his palms from years of training and hard work digging into your pillowy soft body.Â
ââM just glad to be with you.â You assure him as your breath gets heavy. Your fingers curl against the firm muscles of his chest, anchoring yourself to him even as you feel the air between the two of you blistering with heat and growing heavy under the weight of need. Itâs tension that the two of you have always had but opted to ignore and now it all feels like a pot boiling over and a mess becoming more than what you can control. Â
He smiles against your skin. âI like being alone with you too.â His hand has been resting in the crook between your thigh and hip. He slides it lower, fingers splaying over the soft curves of your bikini-clad bottom. He can feel the way your body tenses for a moment before he surges downwards to finally kiss you, the two of you sharing your first kiss. At the same time, Caleb places his hand directly against your mound and cups your cunt through your tiny bikini in his large hand. He doesnât give you a chance to react to either before grinding the sides of his hand into your dewy cunt, leaking through the pink fabric of the bathing suit. The softness of your body molds perfectly against his chest. Your body is alluringly warm. Your flesh is silken. He allows his hand to slip beneath the fabric of your swimsuit, fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of the neediest place on your body. You gasp against his mouth as your body jerks with a sudden jolt of pleasure as Calebâs two fingers slip inside of you bit by bit. He doesnât worry himself with being gentle with you as his long and meaty fingers split your walls apart. Figures thereâs no need with the way he accidentally overhears you finger-fucking yourself in the next room every other night. Â
So, Caleb lets his six-inch-digits plunder the sensitive fluttering walls of your pretty little pussy and screws them into you hard like he hates you, right there on the beach and under the spray of the deep blue ocean. At the same time, his tongue fucks into your mouth and his free hand holds you by your jaw to keep you in place. The dual ministrations of Calebâs lips moving forcefully against yours, devouring you as if heâs been holding himself back for years now, makes you gasp with overwhelm. He parts your lips with his own and claims the sweet recesses of your mouth. He mumbles something about how good you taste, more than once. The taste of him, the scent of his skin, the need that comes from every single one of his poresânearly too much for you to process. You cling to him desperately, fingers curling into the sweat-slicked muscles of his chest as if afraid that heâll disappear if you let go. Â
Your hips begin to move of their own accord, grinding against the hand that touches you so intimately. You lose yourself quickly when he seems to know exactly what buttons to press to make your head spin. The prickle of Calebâs faint stubble causes you to hiccup as it rubs against your skin, the rapid thrusting of his fingers that are as unexperienced as can be force even more little bubbling sounds from between your lips. He pinches at the gentle little petals of your quivering pussy and toys with each slippery fold expertly and almost like itâs an earned right. âYou like that?â He grunts, raspy voice sending even more heat to your core. Â
You nod quickly, stupidly, as you arch your back off the blanket and fuck your hips against his hand. You can feel the evidence of Calebâs own arousal pressing tightly against your leg, a hard, thick length that throbs with need every time he shifts and pushes it flush against you. The knowledge that you have the power to elicit such a response from him, to reduce this strong and capable man to a trembling mass of need and make him whine without even touching you, sends a rush of fresh moisture flooding through your core and you find yourself letting Caleb do whatever heâs ever longed to do to you. You pant as he fucks his two strong fingers into you, aching from the pleasure-pain and wanting him to fill you up in more ways than just this one. Â
Even so, a rational part of your mind nags at you that this is Caleb. Heâs like your older brother. Heâs your best friend. Heâs all youâve ever had truthfully. And yes, he initiated this, but should you really be spreading your legs even further apart and bucking your hips up to meet his thrusts and take him all the way up to his third knuckle like this? Should you really be licking your own tongue into his mouth and filling the shared airspace with desperate little moans that send spiked shockwaves down each centimeter of Calebâs spine like this? Should the two of you be touching each other like this? Â
You cup his cheeks and try to utter any words out to vocalize any of your thoughts but you end up looking up at him, puckering your lips like a fish out of water, and moaning as the soft swishing sound of Caleb playing with your cunt fills the bubble that the two of you have wrapped yourselves in. Your plush chest heaves as you gasp for air. Â
He looks down at you as your body tenses and jumps as if his two fingertips control every part of you every time he presses them against your core. The wet, obscene sounds of his hand moving between your thighs fills the salty air, mingling with the crash of waves against the shore and the cries of the gulls flying overhead. Calebâs lips devour yours, swallowing each of the moans of pleasure that he punches out of you with his well-aimed thrusts. Â
He fucks his digits into you like he knows heâs your dream come true, as if he just knows that heâs the man youâre envisioning when you play with yourself late into the night, fingers weakly sinking into yourself. His fingers are drenched in your juices as it flows like the nectar of a sun-ripened mango. He plunges deeper, stroking and curling within the dripping folds of your core. You can feel the pressure building and coiling against the base of your spine. You feel like heâs holding your orgasm over your head with his deliberate touches, but you know that youâd never have to beg Caleb for anything. You know that heâll always give you whatever you want. Â
The pleasure intensifies and winds itself tighter and tighter in your lower belly like a tree taking root within you and growing until itâs able to produce enough fruit to nourish Caleb and Caleb alone. Thatâs what you feel like in this moment, like something for him to juice and consume. Â
He bothers to briefly brush his hand over the crook of your hipbone to gather a bit of your suntan oil and smear it over your glistening pussy lips. You curse into the air and press your forehead against his chest as you allow yourself to come apart underneath his touches. It isnât much longer before Calebâs thumb finds the throbbing little pearl at the center of your sex, pulsing like itâs been neglected. âI got ya, sweet girl.â He whispers against the crown of your head. Â
Calebâs entire wrist burns with effort as he fucks two fingers into your hole and plays with your clit so roughly that it hurts, as if heâs been practicing for this exact moment for ages now. He pushes you closer and closer to the edge, into the release that he believes his cute little sister deserves. Your back arches so sharply that you press your aching breasts against his hard chest and pant against him as he tears moan after moan from your throat. Â
You come undone as messily as anyone ever has, your body convulsing and shuddering against Calebâs as the first wave of your climax crashes over you. A thick flood of your sweet juice gushes from your pretty core and Caleb can hardly tear his eyes away from the juncture where your cum is gushing and his hand is dripping in it. Your inner walls flutter around his invading fingers, gripping them like a velvet vice as the intense pleasure borders on pain. You grip the cool chain dangling around his neck to ground yourself. Â
He groans into your mouth, feeling the warmth of your cum wash over his skin. He lets his touch go gentle, his digits slowing their stroking to a more sensual rhythm as you ride out the aftershocks and he guides you into your afterglow. You fall back onto the blanket and catch your breath, entire body glistening in the sunlight. Youâre so sexy like this, skin sizzling, clit stinging with overstimulation, still gushing your cream all over him and his favorite childhood blanket. Youâre so fucking sexy like this, Caleb thinks over and over again until he loses count. Â
As the last tremors of your orgasm fade away, you slowly become aware of the hard, hot length pressing urgently against your belly. Caleb frees his throbbing erection from the confines of his swim trunks. It pulses demandingly against your sun-kissed skin. The feeling of his naked flesh, scorching and rigid, almost threatening, fills each of your veins with need. Â
Caleb takes his hand, thatâs still slick with your cum, and reaches for the bottle of tanning oil that sits within armâs reach. He pours a generous amount of the shimmering syrupy liquid across your entire stomach. The oil drips down his wrist thickly to pool in the hollow of your navel. He hardly lets the low groan out before heâs spreading the oil over your belly, his fingers sliding over your soft skin in slow circles. Â
The oil, infused with the heady aroma of blooming hibiscus and tangy mango, wafts off every inch of your skin that heâs poured it on. Caleb looks at you through dewy lashes with a heavy blush on his cheeks as he touches your slippery plump flesh. He leaves you slick and wet to the touch, providing the perfect slide for his cock as he presses himself to the expanse of your belly. ââS okay if you canât take me yet, just let me feel you for now.â He urges, shutting his eyes as he settles his aching dick against your hip and slides it against the mess of oil slipping down your body. You look down at Calebâs length, betting that heâs at least nine inches completely hard and aching. His angry tip turns nearly purple with the desire to be relieved. Â
You nod as he locks his eyes onto you and begins to move. Calebâs pupils are completely blown out with pleasure in no time. He rocks his hips forward, pressing the rigid length against the silken skin of your tummy in a deliberate pattern. Your toes curl and your back arches to press against him more firmly. âYesss, just like that, Gege.â You moan, encouraging him to take his pleasure from you however he wants. Your toes curl and your tits bounce with the growing force of Calebâs thrusts as he fucks himself against you in the slick mess. The pounding of his hips grows more urgent and demanding as he ruts against you, panting harshly as the pleasure steeps and stacks itself against him. Â
His hands slide up to cup the soft mounds, squeezing and kneading as he massages any excess oil into your pliant flesh. He just canât help himself but paw at you. The delicate strings of your bikini top separate and eventually stick to your sap-slick skin in tangled bunches as he gropes at every part of you that he can get his hands on. Caleb groans deeply as he works up a sweat, fucking himself against your soft skin, engorged tip occasionally catching at your belly button. His orgasm approaches quickly, like a predator chasing its next meal, fully spurred on by the slickness of your oiled up body and dutiful moans of pleasure. With a hoarse mumbling of your name, he pressed himself against you one last time, his flesh pulsing and shuddering as thick ropes of his seed erupt from the head. Â
Caleb ruts his heavy throbbing dick against you gently before his rhythm becomes unsteady and he lets it drop onto your abdomen. He cants his hips as the sloppy tip drools quick jets of cum to coat the skin of your tummy. âFuck... fuck... fuck...â He gasps, eyebrows knitting together as he concentrates on drizzling his cum all over you. The contrast of Calebâs cum on your actively tanning skin reminds you of peaches and cream as you look down at the mess youâve made together. The pearly essence splatters against your belly and reaches your breasts, painting your skin with proof of Calebâs creamy release. Â
Youâre wearing a mixture of sweat, oil, and cum, but he presses his body against yours anyway. Caleb clings to you, wrinkling the blanket beneath you as he leans in closer to you. âWhy donât we take a bath together, hm?â He suggests for when you get back up to the rental house. âAnd... I want you to sit in my lap at dinner tonight.â He sighs against you. âAnd we can sleep this close to each other.â He smiles widely as he squishes the two of you together so tightly that it almost feels like heâs trying to turn you into one person, and you canât help but giggle when you nod in agreement, encouraging his instant clinginess to you.Â
if you enjoy my content, please consider reblogging âĄ
305 notes
¡
View notes
Text
openly pining, feat. k.mg

a/n: this isn't a bingo - just me out in the wilds and ughhhh they are so soft for each other
⥠kat

pairing: kim mingyu x f!reader
word count: 2.6k
genre: college au, fluff, confessions, some denial of feelings, cute!mingyu, pining, mutual pining, stepbrother!mingyu, stepsister!reader
summary: Mingyu has always had a crush on his step sister y/n. Heâs also spent years pretending he doesnât have a crush on her, and that he doesnât notice her or the way she flirts with him. But then he ends up being the model for her life drawing class, and he ends up being much closer to her than he could have ever hoped for.Â
warnings: nudity, step-cest (sorry, theyâre in love), explicit language, unintentional voyeurism (she knows he sees her, so is it really?)
a/n: they donât fuck, they need a minute to be fluffy with each other (plz donât hate them)

The room was hot. Probably because the class was in the old art building, the one built in 17-whatever. The only hope for an air current was from the upper windows that were propped open. Mingyu could feel sweat forming at the back of his neck. He sighed, wondering what he had been thinking when he said he would step in as a model for a life-drawing class. Joshua had begged him though, promising that it wasnât so bad since he was basically teaching the class, and when Mingyu initially turned him down, he promised there were cute girls in the class. Deep down, âcute girlsâ were exactly why Mingyu had accepted - âcute girlsâ were distracting.
So when Joshua met him before the class and told him to go strip in the makeshift changing room, he hadnât hesitated. In fact, he had spent extra time in the gym that morning. But now he was hot and sweaty and realizing he really had to sit in front of a bunch of art nerds for like two hours. He had given up his Tuesday and Thursday nights for this. Worse, he knew he had agreed to show up for the semester because he found out it could count as his art credit.Â
Joshua had elbowed him gently, âPerk up - theyâll give you shit if you look all moody,â his voice was matt-of-fact.
âTheyâll give me shit?â Mingyu whispered hurriedly.
Joshua nodded, âYeah, itâs an intense assessment for them, and they kind of get to give you direction - so if you look all surly now, theyâll be dicks because itâs, oh I donât know, basically they get ranked on their sketches and overall paintings and get to pick their mentor for next year based on their ranking - itâs pretty competitive,â he shrugged like it was nothing to worry about.Â
Mingyu blinked in surprise. He suddenly felt nervous, wondering who might be âarrangingâ him or whatever it was. This was supposed to be an easy grade for him so he could finally get out of taking an art class, instead, it suddenly felt much more intimidating than an intro drawing class. His thoughts swirled, with one unfortunate consideration popping to the front of his mind - was it weird that he wasnât circumcised, he wondered, he quickly shook his head, hoping to erase his brain in the process.Â
Joshua brought him out from behind the curtain to a platform covered in white cloth, âJust hang out here while they come in and get set up.â
Mingyu wanted to drag Joshua back and force him to sit between Mingyu and the other students who were slowly coming into the classroom. He tried to keep his face neutral - he didnât want to look terrified. He tried reminding himself that there were hot girls. His stomach did not seem to care at all and continued performing somersaults.Â
After a few minutes, he realized that none of the students seemed to have even noticed him, and he thought maybe it wasnât so bad because he was confident - he liked his body. Why shouldnât people look at him and paint him - he pondered this, imagining stunning paintings and art gallery shows where he would definitely meet hot girls. Different hot girls. He had been feeling like his hook-ups were a bit stale lately.Â
But then a voice pulled him out of his thoughts. He couldnât bring himself to glance up to even confirm the voice was y/nâs or not. Every shred of confidence he had pieced together was suddenly flying away from him. In a way, it was great though - his brain virtually went into a shut down mode when he heard what he thought was his step-sisterâs voice because there was no way she could be there.Â
To be fair, he didnât even know what her major was since he did everything possible to avoid her, including going to boarding school in another state as soon as he was old enough and could convince his mom that it was the best thing for him - he clenched it when he started a fire in his schoolâs bathroom and got hauled into the principalâs office.
And now, of all times, he was going to be trapped in a room with her. In reality, he didnât need to look up to recognize her voice. For all of his attempts to ignore her entire existence, it only made things worse because when they were around one another, his mind seemed to catalog everything about her, her voice, the way her hair fell over her shoulders, everything down to when she was going through a glitter nail polish phase.Â
Not to mention his friends knew her and talked about her - it was when they asked for her number that he would get annoyed, or if they were out and he saw one of them with her - that bothered him. The one thing that really pissed him off was whenever they mentioned wanting to fuck her - that was too far. Too far, even if he had been pointedly trying to ignore her since middle school.Â
He barely noticed when Joshua came over to talk to him about the first pose. He was lost in thought and didnât care about undressing or being guided into a certain position. He vaguely heard Joshua mention it was better if he were limp. Mingyu attempted being limp, letting Joshua and another TA do whatever they needed, down to tucking his hair behind his ears a certain way. There was a spot he was supposed to stare at, even, and so he decided to just see the spot and nothing else.
It was odd how his thoughts could completely die away. He assumed it was the heat of the room, and all the soft sounds around him, or maybe it was his existential crisis setting in. It was a strangely tranquil experience for him. And when it was over and he was dressed and leaving, he barely noticed that y/n was waiting in the hall for him.Â
ââ´ď¸Ë・â ⢠ââ´ď¸Ë・â
If Mingyu were really honest, he wasnât surprised at all to suddenly be confronted by y/n. It was a very âherâ thing, to appear out of nowhere and disrupt his life. So when she threw her arms around his neck and congratulated him for âwreckingâ the entire class. He just nodded.Â
She groaned, âSeriously? Still with the silent treatment? How old are you, Mingyu?âÂ
He knew she hated when he wouldnât talk to her. He watched her shake her head as her arms slipped from around his neck.Â
She reached up to squish his cheeks between her delicate hands,âYou,â she squished his cheeks more, âare such a cunt, Kim Mingyu,â she sighed and backed away, âanyway, whatever, when there are like fifteen paintings of your cock in the end of term exhibition, donât be surprised.âÂ
She laughed as she turned and walked away, leaving him alone in the hallway. Her scent lingering around him.
If he were really honest, he had never succeeded in ignoring anything about her. Even feeling her hands on his face and the closeness of her body was enough for him to get semi-hard, especially since the summer.
That was his biggest issue with y/n - the fact that he couldnât ignore her. He almost hated how easily she could command all of his attention. She could do one tiny thing and turn his brain to mush for weeks. It had always made the summers and holidays exhausting - it was always him attempting to stay away from her and somehow ending up closer to her.
The one thing he could usually manage to ignore were his feelings for her. But she seemed annoyed with that lately. Heâd spent the entire summer wondering if her only goal was to tease him, which only made him curious about what she wanted from him.
ââ´ď¸Ë・â ⢠ââ´ď¸Ë・â
He spent the next day trying to think of a way to tell Joshua that he needed out of the class. But he wasnât fast enough to miss the next session. Where he had the distinct displeasure of two students, a guy and a girl, arguing over some small thing they wanted him to do. One wanted him lying down, left arm slightly covering his left hip - the other wanted him lying down but with his left arm above his head and head tilted back.Â
He sat, naked, listening to them argue while Joshua was out of the room, until the guy walked over and grabbed Mingyuâs hand and put it where he wanted, above his head, which apparently made the line of stomach âbetter.â The guy started to do more, but the girl was having none of it.Â
Mingyu had never felt quite so out of his own body - they were literally treating him like a human doll. And without Joshua there to run interference, he wasnât sure what he was supposed to do - they could pose him - that was part of it. At least, it was his understanding.Â
He was surprised to see y/n appear, âSeriously, you know canât readjust poses without talking Joshua - youâre fucking with everyone elseâs workflow.âÂ
Mingyu recognized her âtry-meâ tone of voice.Â
The guy was quick to round on y/n, âOh, big surprise that you would appear in an argument that has nothing to do with you,â he said sarcastically.Â
Mingyu heard the soft sound y/n made, this little âclickâ thing she did with her tongue that he knew was reserved for when she was acutely angry.Â
âJust because no one else wants to confront you and your bullshit doesnât mean you arenât distrubing the room - not to mention there are rules about the models and who can approach and how, and you know itââ
He cut her off, âYou know it must be exhausting to wake up everyday being such a know-it-all rich bitch, but itâs okay right - daddy will buy all your mediocre paintings, while the rest of us actually need to rely on talent to land shows,â he said acidly.Â
Mingyu was surprised by how quickly that had escalated to something personal. She was just out of Mingyuâs line of sight, so he couldnât see her reaction. And no one got to hear her respond since Joshua came back in at that point, and they all dispersed, back to hiding behind their canvases. Mingyu had maybe only ever heard one person speak down to y/n that way - a drunk guy at a party who wouldnât leave her alone - her reaction had been to give that specific specimen a bloody nose.Â
He hung around after the class, outside the building, more specifically, not wanting to be too obvious. He felt bad because he wasnât sure if she would have stepped in if it were someone else. But that wasnât exactly true - he was sure that she would have, which was probably why the guy had been such a dick to her.Â
Still, when she came bursting through the door, still looking annoyed, he had caught her arm lightly, pulling her back towards him.
She had started to pull away, but he had just pulled her tighter against him. She sighed, knowing he was bigger than her.
âWhat?â she asked, sounding exasperated.Â
He hadnât really planned what to say to her, instead, he stared at her for a moment and then he leaned down and kissed her softly. His lips grazing softly against hers before he slowly pulled back, watching her react.Â
She returned his gaze. âI just want to go home,â her voice was soft.
He nodded, âAlone?â
She shook her head, âNo,â she whispered, her gaze meeting his - her arms around his neck, her fingers winding in his hair.Â
He took the train with her, not caring that she leaned against him the whole time. He wondered why he had never taken any of the chances he had to indulge her when she was like this - when he knew fully that she wanted him.Â
He looped his arm around her waist, wondering why he had let other guys be the ones to take care of her any other time. There were moments that replayed in his mind - times when he had seen the way she looked at him when she was sitting next to her various dates; times that he could only think of as her looking at him with something approaching sadness that always bothered him. Â
He knew her apartment and her door code, letting them in easily.Â
She groaned and threw off her bag. âIf this is just because someone called me a âbitchâ, itâs really not that big of deal, Mingyu. Iâve heard it before.â
He dropped his bag, âItâs not,â he replied simply.
She nodded, glancing back at him. âBecause I donât need your boy pity,â she whispered as he moved closer - her hands landing gently on his chest, like she was giving him an out of the situation.Â
He ignored her and dipped down, kissing her, licking into her. He heard her soft gasp, as she pressed closer, her fingertips tracing along his cheek. It was surprising to feel how tender her touches were. He had always imagined she would be rougher - scratching, pulling hair. Instead, she let him pick her up - her legs going easily around his waist as she returned every kiss with her own. He carried her into her bedroom that way, only dropping her onto the bed when he wanted to.Â
He wasnât worried about undressing in front of her. And he knew she wasnât especially concerned, given the number of times he had seen her lying out in the sun topless over the summer break. But it was different when she wasnât teasing him - when, instead, she felt almost fragile and when he wanted to spend hours kissing her - making up for every moment he had missed.Â
So he didnât rush. Even naked, even with her underneath him, he kissed her delicately. He could finally show her how much he adored her.
He kept waiting for the moment that it shifted to sex, but somehow it didnât. She was lying with her head on his chest, tracing little lines along his collarbones and shoulder. They were both quiet. She moved so she was leaning over him, her hair like a curtain - he reached up, smoothing it back. She stared down at him for a few moments.Â
âShould we fuck tonight?â she asked, biting her lip gently, watching him.Â
He knew her, âyou're tired,â he whispered, still playing with her hair, knowing all the tell-tale signs of when she was genuinely ready for sleep.
She laughed and moved to the side, lying on her back, away from him. âSo in another seven years, then?â
He turned on his side, pulling her back against him, âThatâs not what I said.â
She snuggled closer to him, âItâs how it feels,â she said, a tinge of dejection in her voice.
He sighed, âDo you know how good it feels to just be lying next to you like this?â
She glanced back, âMmmh, tell me.â
He flushed, not knowing what to say immediately.Â
And finally, he managed to speak again, âI donât want to be anywhere else,â he traced his hand over her hip gently, âjust here with you,â he kissed her shoulder, âmemorizing how perfect every part of you is, knowing the closer I am to you, the more Iâm giving myself to you, trusting that youâll feel the same,â he finished.Â
He was surprised when she turned back and kissed him. She took her time, and when she barely broke the kiss, she smoothed his hair.Â
âI love you too,â she whispered.

a/n: i mean...i told you - idk they just didn't feel like they were in the place to fuck yet - go to my masterlist to read mingyu fucking (light hearted but fr too)
⥠kat
⥠my [master list] if you want to read more
⥠if you want to be tagged in my posts, go [here]

tag list: âď¸@syluslittlecrows [e] âď¸ @gyuguys [e] âď¸ @tinyelfperson[e] âď¸@unlikelysublimekryptonite [e] âď¸ @livelaughloveseventeen [e] âď¸ @codeinebelle [e] âď¸ @ateez-atiny380 [e] âď¸ @haik-chu [e - o/m] âď¸ @gigglensnort [e - o/m/priv] âď¸ @lovetaroandtaemin [e - b.f.non] âď¸ @starlit-rin [m - o/m, b.f.non] âď¸
171 notes
¡
View notes