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[jedisupernova]

compress, repress (part iii) — kwon jiyong & choi seunghyun

summary betrayal is irreversible. secrets, in theory, can be kept. but not when cowardice gets in the way.

notes minors dni contains challengers au (for my girls who know: the churro scene, inclusion of 'i told ya' shirt,) fem reader, unabashedly plus size reader as i am myself but anyone can read, takes place in the mid 2000s (hence mentions of certain music, technology, media, etc.), everyone is a college senior, tennisplayer!jiyong and tennisplayer!seunghyun; reader is head of debate team, smut (oral f receiving, p in v, whimpering, sub!seunghyun, pathetic behavior, nipple play, squirting,) angst (all three are at times depicted as not the greatest of people, infidelity, inferiority complex, keeping secrets, severed friendships, deception, greed, lying, yearning, arguments and fights, accidental injury, seunghyun is a shit-stirrer, selfishness, possessiveness, insecurity; this is just messy as fuck,) i don't know anything about professional sports so pls don't laugh at me, if you went to stanford and are reading this no you're not, and inevitable typos though some are intentional.

author's note welcome to part iii of my challengers au!!!! shit is about go Down fr. a brief disclaimer: these are only characters; in no way do i claim either would act this way in real life. please read the previous parts (linked below) or else you will very confused! this is about the same length as part ii (long as fuck) so get comfy. please lmk what you think!! my ask box is always open :) see you next friday for the fourth and final part 🎾

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv

were you an overthinker? sure. well . . . it is your most viable asset on the debate stage. sifting through someone’s argument as it actively deflates their lungs, plugging it through various filters and equations in your head—the result being a reliably succinct, a-through-z rebuttal in a matter of a minute. but when alone, and on the train home no less? it's like a parasite, gnawing away at your last bits of logic. you didn’t necessarily regret what you did, but the question of what do i do now? stuck out like a sore thumb, distracting you from scenic views of the distant beaches, houses you’ll never be able to afford, and expansive forests. upon arriving home, you figured you would use winter break as time to not only decompress, but figure things out. piece by piece, day by day—in the solace of your bedroom, in the mundaneness of doing laundry and unpredictable preparing for the holidays—away from stanford. you answered jiyong’s texts with no issues, skirting around your complex feelings with a quick I miss you too ji baby and Gtg shop 4 xmas dinner. calls were trickier, though. it would cause suspicion if you weren’t available to talk whatsoever, so you took one for the team from time to time. the fact you thought of it that way told you everything you needed to know.

much to his fortune, seunghyun figured it out, too. “how’s the missus?” he asked jiyong, eyes casted on perfecting his spoonful of macaroni and cheese, bringing it to his mouth afterward. his tone was casual and unassuming—perfect for christmas dinner at the kwon household, but also amongst two friends just checking in on one another. seunghyun turned his head, hearing their parents banter in the kitchen. jiyong got comfortable next to him on the couch, fingers tugging at the bunched-up hem of his sweater, other hand holding his water. “everything good with you two?” seunghyun’s word choice was diabolical, considering he was nose deep in your pussy a week and same change ago, and he tugged his dick to the memory of it just as santa claus descended down his chimney. “yeah, we’re good.” said jiyong, “we haven’t talked that much lately, though. she’s been busy with, y'know, her family.” seunghyun nodded, listening. ghosts of a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, thinking of how you and him were on the phone just before he got there, and every night since exams ended, too. “makes sense.” said seunghyun. “it is the holiday season, after all.”

“how was dinner, hm?” you asked, lifting your shoulder to keep the house phone to your ear, folding your outfit away from your family dinner. it was around an hour after either of you returned home. seunghyun laid comfortably in his bed, “really good.” he ran his fingers through his hair, arm relaxing behind his head. “food was fuckin’ amazing. how about you, baby?” “mine was good, too.” you closed your closet door, able to hold the phone with your hand now. you sat on the edge of your bed, a sigh escaping your lips, “a little chaotic, but you know how that goes.” he chuckled, nodding. “i do. jiyong told me something real curious, though.” “he did?” “mhm,” seunghyun cleared his throat. “he said you guys haven’t talked in, like, three days? i thought you went to your aunt’s for christmas.” your face warmed, “i mean, i did go there.” “well,” seunghyun’s tone was smooth and playful, smile heard through the phone. “i’m obviously missing a piece of the story, baby. because we’ve been talking for three days straight. what’d you tell him?” “i told him she lives across state lines, meaning a multiple-day road trip with choppy cell service.” “right.” “well, he probably thinks i’m still on the road.” “does your aunt live far?” “she lives four blocks down. walking distance if i’m up for it.”

you heard him snicker. “am i the worst person in the world?” “not worse than me.” he countered, adjusting his grip on his blackberry. “i mean . . . i was the one that asked him about you. i called you 'the missus’ and everything.” an amused scoff left your lips, pinching the bridge of your nose, hiding your smile behind your hand. “we’re horrible people.” “once you accept that, it sets you free.” he told you, a hearty laugh ringing from his chest. he heard your bed creak, your soft and satisfied hmph after settling your head into your pillow molding his lips into an upside down grin. “i miss you, y'know.” he spoke gently. “i can’t wait to see you again.” you smiled sheepishly to yourself, grateful he wasn’t able to see you at that moment. “i miss you too, seunghyun.” “y'know,” his voice brought you back to him. “it was hard for me to keep quiet last night—” “—we are not doing this on my parents’ landline.” you cut him off with a brisk laugh, though your toes curled around nothing atop your duvet.

seunghyun took his phone away from his ear. he rolled the trackball, lighting his screen, seeing it was half past midnight. “it's late enough. they’re probably asleep.” he said, turning onto his side. “plus, it's not my fault you don’t have enough minutes to talk on your cell.” “and it's not my fault you wanna be all whiny about it.” you countered, chuckling. “its serves you right to be told 'no,’ too.” “i like it when it's you.” “i know you do.” something in you knew seunghyun was still in his mood. with how he was getting you there, too, you checked to see if the small screen on the house phone read Conf.—indicating someone was listening to the call. you let out a small breath of relief, reading Talk with the duration of the call underneath—the coast was clear. “y'know,” here he goes, your inner monologue said. “it's a shame we’re apart for so long 'cause i’m forgetting how you taste. might need to go in a second time. or a third. or a fourth. maybe a fifth.” “maybe? just maybe?” you asked, voice smooth. “you were really greedy in your car.” he kissed his teeth, fingers toying with the drawstrings of his sweatpants. “nah, baby.” he kissed his teeth. “i wasn’t greedy enough.”

you let out a sweet laugh, turning to lay on your back. “noted.” you said. “i’ll clear my schedule.” “you better.” he smiled. “i gotta a lot of time to make up for.” comfortable silence washed over the line, landing you somewhere you knew you would get to eventually. “i’m breaking up with jiyong when we get back from break.” you told seunghyun, hearing his hum of acknowledgment. “do you think he’ll take it well?” “yeah.” he answered earnestly, nodding though you couldn’t see him. “maybe not initially. but he’ll be okay.” “what was his last break-up like? if you remember.” “i do.” said seunghyun. “he took it out on the court and didn’t talk about it again. i can’t blame him. things don’t really work out in his favor sometimes.” your chest sunk, hiding your face behind your palm in shame. “this is going to suck so bad.” “its better than stringing him along and fucking his best friend on the side.” “i know but i already—” you cut yourself off with a sharp tsk. cheated on him, your inner monologue finished for you. you couldn’t bring yourself to say it, though seunghyun felt it nonetheless.

“whatever. forget it,” you brushed it off. “what does this mean for us then, hm? don’t make me feel stupid for asking this.” “i would never.” seunghyun shook his head, honest. a smile brightened his features, “i mean . . .” his voice trailed sheepishly, “i thought you already knew.” “i don’t feel like solving one of your riddles right now, seunghyun.” he was quick to clarify, smiling real damn hard now: “like you said in the car, i have a really big crush on you. i hope you have one on me, too.” “we’re seriously doing confessions after you fucked the shit out of me?” “we did it before!” he exclaimed louder than he intended to, face warm and cheeks hurting from his smile. “b-before we—” “—i know, i know.” you chuckled. “i’m just messing with you.”

“do you have a crush on me, though?” “to think,” you tutted playfully. “you’re the same person who talked to me like he takes his third leg on daily walks when we first met.” seunghyun buried his face into his pillow, “just answer the question, baby.” “of course i do. who wouldn’t?” you said. “it means more coming from you.” your heart warmed, “i know it does.” you continued, “you know we can’t tell him, right? at least not yet.” seunghyun’s eyebrows fluttered in and out of a furrow, “so we have to sneak around? in case mommy and daddy catch us?” “i mean, do you want to tell him?” you challenged, met with anticipated silence. “i thought so. let me figure it out.” “okay, okay.” he couldn’t fight his yawn—how long he’d been up for the holiday catching up to him. “i trust you, baby. i’d take it to my grave if you told me to. i feel you reconfiguring my moral compass as we speak.” “i guess that’s just what good pussy does.” “you said it, not me. but you’re more than that, though.” “oh, i forgot—you’re a card-carrying feminist.” “proudly.”

jiyong’s smile didn’t make it easier. he was over the moon to see your beautiful self again, walking into your dorm. his kiss made it all the more apparent: “hey baby,” his tone was so doting it stirred guilt-induced nausea in your chest, feeling his fingers find yours. he pulled you into him, you inhaled sharply through your nostrils, sudden surprise hidden well by his lips molding against yours—remembering right, that’s how boyfriends greet their girlfriends. you tried to distract yourself, kissing him back in a way that earned his hands rubbing your lower back soothingly, humming in satisfaction once his arms made residence around your waist. “how’ve you been, hm?” he asked. “i’ve been good.” “yeah? c'mere.” jiyong re-connected the kiss slowly, nudging his nose against yours sweetly, savoring the moment. your hands traveled up his chest, his head tilting to the left once your palms found either side of his neck, kissing you deeper. despite the bitter voice in his head telling him he was inadequate in other places, nothing held the power to deny him that he knew what the fuck to do with that mouth of his.

he gently parted his lips from yours, doting on your cheek next. you had to stop yourself from leaning back in, compensating by wrapping your arms around the back of his neck, pulling one another into a warm embrace. “i missed you so much. i wish we could’ve spent new year’s together, at least.” “i know, jiyongie.” your fingers combed through his hair, “i missed you too.” “how was the train back?” he asked, pressing a kiss to your soft jawline. “i feel like i haven’t seen you in forever.” “since last year.” you joked, feeling the vibrations of his chuckle against your neck. “since last year.” jiyong affirmed. though it was only the first week of the spring semester—and both yours and jiyong’s final one at stanford—it didn’t mean either of your schedules let up. though coursework hadn’t intensified yet; senior theses were due in a few months time, the collegiate tennis season was kicking into high gear in the coming weeks, and prep for the national debate tournament before spring break was in full-force. not to mention, both you and jiyong had respective practices tonight, too. it never ends.

“the train was okay.” you told him, feeling him hum against you, a sweet kiss left in his path. “long, though. but nice. how about your flight? any turbulence like last time?” “thankfully, no.” jiyong lifted his head, lips pressing a chaste kiss to the side of your nose, eyes meeting yours. “well, i mean—seunghyun and i just slept the entire time. so if it happened, i’d have no idea.” you hated how the mere mention of his name made you panic. “really?” your eyebrows raised as if jiyong’s anecdote was an earth-shattering revelation. “it's tough for me to sleep on transit like that. you’re lucky.” jiyong shrugged his shoulders, oblivious. “i guess growing up traveling for games helped out.” jiyong spent the latter part of your shared afternoon like it was any other day: running his thumb over the back of your hand, telling you what he did over break, and peppering sweet kisses on your temple when you were talking. you, on the other hand, were working against an invisible timer. everything you practiced to say, everything you thought of faded closer to your periphery every time his eyes twinkled in your direction—the same way they’ve always done since you first met. it didn’t feel good, knowing how he’d leave your dorm differently than when he came . . . but it’d be worse if it was way farther down the line, your inner monologue reasoned, it's the least i can do for him. i’ve done enough, already.

jiyong’s face fell. “wh—what?” his voice went quiet. “i-i thought . . . i thought things were going good between us?” “it's just that—i just don’t think i see myself being in a relationship right now. like, i’m just not in the headspace for it.” “is there anything i can do to help?” he rested his hand atop yours, a ghost of a grip on your fingers. “i—i can back off,” he nodded, hoping this was the answer. “give you space.” “i don’t think that’s going to work, jiyong.” your tone was apologetic, sincere—only for him to hear. your hand left his, fingers fixing his hair before your palm settled onto his cheek, thumb tracing his cheekbone dotingly. “i’m sorry.” you whispered. his shuddered breath of defeat wasn’t for the weak. he turned to your touch, trying to hide his face. “it wouldn’t be right to string you along.” you told him, voice gentle. “not with all the love you have to give.” he sniffled, holding his tears in. perhaps he wasn’t thinking clearly, or this was the clearest his brain has ever been—he leaned in, but you didn’t lean away. jiyong kissed you as softly as his unspoken plea. what was he asking for? he didn’t know. forgiveness? if so, then for what? not knowing you didn’t want to be in a relationship when you smiled in a way that made him want to topple empires for you? pity? perhaps it was that, considering how he didn’t hesitate to prod your tongue with his once your hand found the back of his neck—jiyong deepening the kiss.

“please.” he whispered meekly against your lips. “i’ll do anything.” once you felt his hand on your thigh, you took your lips away—pulling out the hard stops, reminding yourself why you invited him over in the first place. “that’s enough.” you spoke definitively. jiyong’s forehead fell against your temple. you kept your composure, “its over, jiyong.” you couldn’t give him another way in, turning your body to face forward, leaving him contactless next to you. you shouldn't have reached to fix his hair, but you and jiyong were over and done with now for sure—especially if you were the one cementing it into place. jiyong was beside himself, “what do i keep doing wrong?” he thought aloud. “i can’t speak for the other people you’ve dated.” you said. “the one’ll find you. its just not me.” jiyong scoffed, albeit weakly: “that’s what you think,” he said. “you haven’t even asked me when i think.” you took him up on his point, looking at him. “okay, then. what do you think?” “that i’m a nice guy who doesn’t deserve shit not working out.” he grumbled bitterly, eyes casted on your duvet. an angry tear fell through the cracks, his fingers hastily wiping it away. there it is. one of the nails in the coffin, you thought to yourself. “and i told you i love you.” “over text.” you clarified, hoping he would see your point. he didn’t: “yeah, but i told you.”

you kept your stance, not in the mood for any additional whining: “you need to be a lot more secure in yourself, jiyong. you have so much going for you, don’t waste your time making yourself the enemy.” you said. “it’ll work out one day. it just happened to not be with me.” he fell silent. you saw his eyes become glossier than before, “we can stay friends if you want.” your apologetic tone returned, though you meant your words. “i do, if it makes you feel any better. we should stay friends.” you corrected yourself. jiyong lifted his head, looking into your eyes. his hurt was palpable, “i don’t think i can stay just friends with you.” he said. your expression faltered slightly. a sympathetic grin graced your features, looking at him in a way that felt like he was the only man in the world. “you need to try.” you told him. “for me.” it took jiyong a moment, but he put his pride aside. he nodded, inhaling through his nostrils, blinking away his stubborn tears. “i will.” he spoke with conviction. “you know i’d do anything for you, right?” “i do,” you looked into his eyes. “that’s the best thing about you, jiyong.” one look at his best friend and seunghyun knew you’d done it. since the universe had a crude sense of humor, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, too: Debate ends at nine. Come over after? he wrote back quickly, putting his phone away after jiyong set his duffle bag down: yeds.

jiyong was quiet. he mumbled something under his breath whilst doing his stretches, inhaling sharply through his nostrils after retrieving his racket from its case. tuning out their teammates dispersed throughout the athletic center’s indoor courts, seunghyun performed his service motion—thwwacckk!—effectively starting jiyong’s round of drills, as they have historically always started with him. the first set focused on his back and forehand swings, hitting the ball back to seunghyun without issue throughout those twenty shots. his recovery step was steady as he ran side to side, zeroed in like he was trying to distract himself from something—which he was. for seunghyun’s turn, jiyong served the ball with such unexpected strength that he had to skirt off to the side, dodging it. he gave jiyong a look: “dude?” “my bad.” jiyong muttered, going to grab another ball without a second thought. “if you’re gonna kill me, might as well tell me why.” seunghyun joked, hoping to lighten the mood. he walked up to the net, beckoning jiyong over with a subtle wave of his hand.

“y'know you can talk to me, ji.” “i know i can, seunghyun.” “it’ll be a waste of practice if you’re pent up like that.” “i know!” jiyong snapped. “okay? i know that. you don’t need to remind me like i’m someone’s dumbass kid.” seunghyun didn’t flinch. he gave jiyong space to breath, to pace around with his hands on his hips—a parallel to their routine bickering growing up; a testament to their respective knowledge of one another’s ticks. though seunghyun knew why jiyong was upset, he had to ask. after all, it was the brotherly thing to do. “talk to me, ji.” jiyong came to a halt, looking up. “we broke up. okay? that’s what happened.” seunghyun’s eyebrows furrowed—in another life, i’d make a good actor—“what? why? i thought things were going okay with you guys?” “that’s what i said.” jiyong shook his head. “but i guess not.” “what’d she say?” seunghyun kept his tone casual. “y'know, when she—” “—she said she couldn’t see herself in a relationship right now.”

seunghyun’s face warmed, “oh.” he nodded. he quickly ran his hand over his face, effectively stifling his amused grin. she and i really aren’t much different after all—“whatever that means. right?” “no, it makes sense.” jiyong countered. “even if i don’t agree with it, i’ve got no choice but to respect it.” “you’ll find someone better, anyway.” “i don’t know about that, man.” with that, jiyong returned to his side of the court without saying another word—his serve much less intense this time, but still holding a hefty bite. he didn’t mention it again, giving seunghyun a polite nod of thanks before heading to the showers after practice ended. the sight of his best friend looking in his eyes flashed before him prior to you opening your door, but it wasn’t strong enough to stop seunghyun from walking inside, and with a smile no less.

he slipped the condom on, tossing the wrapper into the small trash bin lodged beside your desk. you laid on your stomach in your bed—so naturally pretty, but more importantly comfortable—ass over the edge of your bed, feet on the floor; arms crossed on the duvet, your temple resting on your wrists. a long exhale of satisfaction left your nostrils, feeling seunghyun knead either of your beautiful—fucking gorgeous globes. his bottom lip was caught between his teeth, relishing over how his hands—as big as they already were—just barely were able to hold them. he tapped your right one lightly, a sound of approval leaving through his teeth at how your skin recoiled. you weren’t having it: “i know you can do better than that.” he smacked harder, hearing your gasp. you failed to bite back your pleased smile, “that’s more like it.” you giggled sweetly. his hands pushed your shirt up, palms dotingly rubbing your lower back, tenderly cascading over your rolls—carefully watching his fingers run over your stretch marks. he took his sweet time. he hasn’t seen your entire body yet, but he felt lucky from the proximity alone. to think that sculpting was invented to immortalize bodies like hers, he wasn’t sure if he remembered that fact from the art history gen-ed he took his freshman year correctly. but as far as he was concerned, it was the whole truth and nothing but. shit, i’d go to war for and build temples for her, too . . .

“i can still smell ji’s cologne in here, yknow.” “yeah?” “yeah,” seunghyun leaned down. he nudged his nose against your temple, wordlessly asking for you to turn your head towards him; another silent plea in his chaste kiss. you obliged, feeling his lips linger before kissing yours. his breath was warm against your pores, “needed me that badly, huh?” “don’t get too proud.” you said casually. you backed up an inch, hearing his breath hitch, your ass pushing against him. “f-fuck…” he sputtered, tightening his grip on your hips. “you forget how to spell words when you get all excited.” you referred to his typo from earlier. you felt and heard seunghyun chuckle into the back of your neck, coinciding with your sweet laughter. “i think i still have his hat.” you thought aloud. “for real?” said seunghyun. “mhm.” you hummed. “in the closet, maybe. on the top shelf?” seunghyun walked to the other side of your dorm, pulling the doors of your closet open. he peered up at the top shelf, smirking upon spotting the stanford tennis baseball cap lodged on top of a folded sweater.

you heard him walk back, though you didn’t feel him return behind you. you looked over your shoulder, “where did you—oh.” seunghyun was stood in front of the mirror mounted above your dresser, adjusting the cap to sit backwards on his head. “you’re horrible.” “you’re not telling me to take it off, though.” he pointed out coolly. you were stubborn, “you’re still horrible.” “you are, too.” he countered. his body warmth returned behind you, palms fondling either side of your lush waist. he leaned down to your ear, “'cause you don’t want me to talk it off, right?” it was quiet, but he heard your breath shake. “you’ve made me an honest man, so i’ll tell you that i don’t wanna take it off. is that okay with you? yeah, baby?” “yes.” you swallowed, eyes fluttering closed, mindlessly pushing your temple against his mouth. seunghyun obliged, pressing a kiss. “better fuck me like you deserve it, though.” you told him lowly. seunghyun smacked your left globe hard and unabashed, earning a hum of approval from you. “i will.” he said. he held the base of his cock, pushing his tip between your puffy lips. “you better tell me if something’s wrong.” “you’re always so self-referential.” you giggled—quickly humbled by his slow, yet delectable stretching of you out.

you spread your feet apart, allotting additional room for him, but also for you to settle in more comfortably. seunghyun caught on, “that—that better for you?” he asked, licking his lips, trying to keep his senses tangible through your gummy walls gradually swallowing him. he heard you hum in response, “push my back down. just a little,” he listened diligently, palm pressing your lower back. “maybe he can get you deeper—a-ah!” you gasped sharply. seunghyun was entirely inside, and in fact, deeper. he was completely still, trying to catch his own breath. your moan wasn’t helping. “o-oh fuck!” you whimpered in utmost satisfaction. your muscles relaxed yet you couldn't—your unsolicited wriggling sending fragmented words to his throat, resulting in a wince turned cough. “this is j-just what i—fuck!—this is just what i fucking needed, holy shit.” you bit your bottom lip, sitting up on your elbows. you turned your head, eyes peering at him in your periphery. “this alone would’ve made you a m-mom if it weren’t for the c-condom—sh-shit. . .” his licked his lips, eyebrows furrowed whilst his throat deflated into an impaired, withering whimper. “can i move? fuck, h-how are you so—” “y-yeah—yes.”

seunghyun was fighting for his life. his grip on your hips and sound of his pelvis clapping against your ass would argue otherwise—but the look on his face? with every thrust, his mouth fell more stupidly; head cocked back, visor of the baseball cap rubbing against his neck. his rhythm was consistent—purposefully egged on by your cries of pleasure and breathy encouragements, albeit fragmented from just how fucking good he was fucking you. “this is—this is j-just what i needed, s-seunghyun—ngh!” you never thought in a million years your voice could reach the pitch it just did. but with seunghyun in the picture, it felt as if anything was possible at this point. you bit your lip, taking whatever he gave you with warm welcome, not complaining whatsoever over being spoiled rotten—like you fucking deserve. “o-oh fuck!” was all he was able to conjure, slowly looking down at the scene before him. his eyebrows furrowed, breathing through his mouth, face contorting into one of pathetic sin.

his hips were relentless and strong; the athleticism on full display—watching and feeling your cheeks bounce like water in his palms. “oh fuck!” he prolonged his syllables, voice cracking. “oh f-fuck, baby—” he stopped to re-adjust himself, widening his stance to swiftly lean down to your temple, resuming his intoxicating pace soon after. you gasped, hand instinctively going into his hair, knocking the hat off his head and onto the duvet, keeping him close to you. he kissed the end of your cheekbone, lips staying there whilst he fucked you in the way you liked. “y-you’re so fucking deep,” you told him. your lips parted, eyebrows furrowed deeply and eyes squeezed shut, “feels so fucking g-good.” “oh yeah? am i?” his voice was low. the shakiness in his tone was telling, “do you—o-oh fuck yeah!” he cried out vulnerably, hips stuttering when you clenched around him. he thrusted back in hard, gifting him your relaxed posture and shaky hum of approval—melting into your libido. seunghyun leaned forward some more, hoping his next move wouldn’t strain your neck. “come here,” he pleaded. his hand came to your cheek, turning your head, meeting his lips with ease. he kept your lips together as he pounded into you again, internalizing the sound of your voice breaking against his. at some point, you couldn’t retain focus anymore: “oh f-fuck!” you cried out. “just like that seunghyunnie, just like that—” your wall-shattering gasp startled your hallmate walking past your door, laundry basket in hand, sheepishly scurrying away upon realizing you weren’t in danger whatsoever.

january and february went by faster than expected. it was the rhythmic hustle: wake up, go to class, bury your head in either your laptop screen and lined notebook paper, sleep—repeat. your senior thesis was coming along well, preparation for the national debate tournament in san francisco was steady, and you and seunghyun were practically undetectable. on days where your respective schedules aligned, he set up shop on the carpet beside your bed, solving equations and whatever the fuck for his coursework with nothing but grid notebook paper and his mechanical pencil like it was nobody’s business. perhaps it was adaptability on the tennis court manifesting in other areas of his life, because he was able to study coherently just about anywhere. the only non-negotiable was his ipod nano his parents got him for christmas—wired headphones playing either frank sinatra or wu-tang clan; there never was an in-between, mostly. he got up after a few hours, stretching his arms generously over his head. he took the two strides to your desk, gently ushering you out of your concentrative bubble with a hand on your shoulder, dotingly rubbing down your back when you turned to him with a quiet “hm?” “m'getting panera for dinner.” he said. he leaned down, lips finding your temple before your cheek. “what do you want, hm? you need to take a break.”

when you were over at seunghyun’s apartment, he cleared his desk for you in his bedroom. if he didn’t have a roommate, he would’ve made a key for you to come and go as you please. you lodged there for however long you needed: writing your senior thesis, tweaking outlines of affirmative and negative arguments written by your teammates, answering emails—anything. seunghyun learned the pacing of your schedule relatively quickly, often manifesting in keeping track of the time for you. you were twelve pages deep in an assigned reading, keen on starting its accompanying assignment after the debate meeting this evening. seunghyun returned from the kitchen, knocking on his open bedroom door, “baby?” you looked up from your highlighter. “it’s 6:45. you’ll be late if we don’t leave now.” “shit, really? okay, give me a minute.” you stood from his desk chair, packing your laptop and other materials up. when you slung the left backpack strap over your shoulder, you froze. “oh my god.” seunghyun’s face dropped a little, seeing the look on your face. he walked over, taking your backpack from you, carrying it himself. “what? is everything okay?” “i almost forgot.” you looked at him. “we start drills this weekend.” “drills?” “we—we sort ourselves into pairs,” you walked out of his bedroom, him following closely behind. “and we’re randomly assigned either the affirmative or negative for a case, and we debate each other.” you explained, pushing your feet into your shoes. “there's—there’s logistics involved. i was supposed to plan it today.”

seunghyun was quick to reassure: “it’s okay,” he unlocked the front door, ushering you to lead the way to the elevator. “you have time to do it tomorrow— even with your presentation for democratic theory.” he said before you could counter. “you can do it. i know you.” he opened the passenger’s door for you, safely tucking your backpack away in the backseat. he put his key into the ignition, backing out of his usual parking spot at his apartment complex, “the world doesn’t have shit on you, y'know.” as time went by, seunghyun wasn’t necessarily worried about your anticipated telling of jiyong. he wholeheartedly meant it when he said he trusted you completely—if i’m lucky to enough to be loved by the divine feminine herself, then i’m more than fortunate enough to trust her—and he’d rather pull his hair out one by one than be the one to tell him. on top of that, you didn’t give off the vibe of playing in his face. your stress-induced under eye bags from your workload said enough. after all, who was he to take initiative after the job’s already been taken? to his fortune, anyway, he was too busy being in love to give it much thought. he was willing to take your shared secrecy to the grave. call it delusion or devotion—he was serious. all he needed was your voice of reason to bicker with and your pussy to eat, and he’ll die a happy man.

though it was an impending eventuality, the messier side of seunghyun couldn’t help the question: does jiyong need to know? like, does he need to know that when he waved to jiyong as he did his warm-ups before practice, the reason why seunghyun was blinking so hard was because you sucked his dick so good he was trying to clear his vision even a half hour later? does jiyong need to know why seunghyun’s developed a habit of tugging at the hem of his shirt, because he so often fixes yours when the fabric bunches between the bottom of your back and top of your ass? or when he’s nervous—like before his singles game against ucla—he’s started pacing in the locker room, mentally reviewing his planned plays whilst mindlessly rubbing the tip of his ear, because that’s how you’ve lulled him to sleep before? and does he really need to know that when he invited jiyong over for dinner to catch up after a hectic start-of-the-semester apart, you were in the same chair as jiyong a couple nights ago, offering to settle a petty dispute over who got the last can of coca-cola through rock-paper-scissors? or how about twenty feet away in seunghyun’s bedroom, where he fingered your stress away that same night, telling you he loves you whilst you bless his hand with splashes of your divineness? nah, jiyong didn’t need to know shit . . .

much to your delightful surprise, you and jiyong remained friends. or were at least friendly. you saw him after picking up your bagel and iced coffee up at coho’s, unable to properly say hello as you woke up late that morning, allotting less than ten minutes to head to your democratic theory lecture a couple blocks down, but traded polite grins from across the café nonetheless. you ran into one another on your walk back to your residential building—a care package sent by your parents in your hands, having picked it up at your commons. the expected “how’ve you been?” was exchanged. the conversation was admittedly light, but when you felt the time pass, there was a bit more speed in your step after your amicable “have a good weekend,” because unbeknownst to jiyong, you were ten minutes late for meeting with seunghyun in his car to go out for dinner off campus. you quickly dropped the package off in your dorm, settling into the passenger’s seat with a huff, “sorry i’m late.” “you’re good.” said seunghyun, waving the remainder of cigarette smoke out of his open window. he reached down, spinning the crank to put the window up. “still have some time before our reservation, anyway. hey,” he beckoned. “c'mere.” you looked at him, realizing what he meant. “oh, right. sorry.” your hands held either side of his face. “hi.” you said, leaning in. “hi.” he repeated, an amused grin tugging at the corners of his lips. you closed the gap. seunghyun re-connected the kiss. from the breath of relief leaving your nostrils, he could tell it was needed.

“busy day?” “oh god—i don’t even wanna talk about it.” you shook your head. “to think, nationals in a month and a half.” you thought aloud. “and all the shit i have to do in-between and afterward.” “you’ll do it. i know you can.” “i will. but barely.” you countered. “but how about you? how was your day? did your thesis meeting with your professor go okay?” “way better than i expected. there’s not a whole bunch of edits to make, finally. for once, y'know?” said seunghyun, putting his car into drive. “really?” you put on your seatbelt. “thats wonderful, baby. i’m proud of you.” “thank you. m'proud of you, too.” he looked into the rearview mirror, spotting himself whilst backing out of the parking spot. once done, he glanced at you. “but you already knew that.” he smiled. “i know.” you grinned. “y'know i just saw jiyong? he was walking around here.” “really?” seunghyun merged into traffic, “what’s he around here for?” you shrugged your shoulders, “i don’t know. i mean, what’re you around here for?” you quipped, upside-down grin molding your lips at his playfully annoyed expression. “that’s different.” he said. “i know, i know.” you chuckled. you relaxed into your seat, looking out the windshield. “he looks like he’s doing okay.” you said. “can you attest to that?”

seunghyun nodded, his eyes on the road. “yeah.” he answered. “it doesn’t seem to, y'know, completely consume him anymore. then again, i don’t live with his brain. but still. he’s better than he was.” you hummed in acknowledgement, reading the license plates of the cars driving in front of you. “that’s good. i told him about nationals before spring break. he invited me to your match on sunday with ucla.” the car came to gradual halt, stopping at the red traffic light. “i’m guessing you said yes?” “i said i’d think about it.” you clarified, seunghyun nodding in your periphery. “but it's basically a yes.” he couldn’t help his smile, leaning his head against his seat. “you gonna wear his hat like last time?” you gave him a look, unable to hide your amusement. “look at you, stirring the pot. and what if i did?” “then i’ll have to gear up to be the best man at your guys’ wedding.” seunghyun laughed. he laughed harder when you kissed your teeth disapprovingly, “oh hell no. fuck that.” you ran your hand over your face, feeling the car move again. “but i’m coming. at two, right?” “mhm.” seunghyun confirmed. “it's about time you see your boyfriend play, anyway.” “my two boyfriends.” you muttered, grinning sweetly hearing his laughter. “yeah,” seunghyun smiled grandly, playing into the joke. “your two proud boyfriends.”

the world split into two in march 2006—one being you, lodged in a hotel room in san francisco for the weekend, going back and forth between your teammates’ rooms to review arguments and strategies before heading to the convention center where nationals were held; the other housing seunghyun and jiyong in an almost empty snack bar on campus, cheeks flushed after an intense doubles match against uc irvine. though it wasn’t unfamiliar, either of their bodies felt the weight of their intensified regiment—both seunghyun and jiyong having played grueling singles matches earlier in the week, with another scheduled right before spring break. seunghyun sat in front of the windows in the snack bar, staring at his phone in his lap: Good luck today baby I love you so much he read his text for the nth time, but not as much as your response: I love you too!! good luck w irvine:) Call u tonight muah. jiyong came over with churros in both hands, seeing seunghyun on his phone. he put it away casually before anything could be seen, though what jiyong asked gave him a slight heart attack: “meet someone new?” he handed seunghyun a churro, sitting down in the stool next to him. seunghyun accepted, turning around and placing his elbows on the table behind them. “what? oh. nah.” he shook his head. he took a bite of his churro, other hand wiping the sugar grains from the corner of his mouth. “just something about my study group this weekend.” “oh, yeah. you did mention your midterm earlier.” jiyong thought aloud, nodding.

they talked as they usually did. jiyong turned around, resting his elbows like seunghyun. it was when he reached up to scratch an itch on his eyebrow did his expression suddenly sour. “shit,” he cursed under his breath—a slight stinging sensation on his temple. “you good?” seunghyun asked. “yeah, i think—i think i got sunburned.” jiyong’s fingers gingerly felt his forehead. his skin was irritated, confirming his suspicions. seunghyun took a bite of his churro before leaning in to get a better look, “doesn’t look too red.” he observed. “did you put on enough sunblock?” “i did, but i guess the humidity fucked me over today.” said jiyong, hearing seunghyun hum in acknowledgement. “doesn’t feel too bad, though.” jiyong muttered. “aloe vera’ll fix it up. i need my hat back.” “back?” seunghyun knew damn well, but he would be remiss to not keep himself in the safe zone—though the memory of your cheeks clapping made him adjust his posture in his seat. “did you lose it? that shit was glued to your head, man.” he chuckled. jiyong finished his churro, dusting his hands off underneath the table. “i left it with her.” he spoke in-between chewing. “you think i could get it back?” “sure.” seunghyun nodded, a grin tugging at his mouth. “if you ask nicely, of course.”

jiyong tried to give seunghyun a look, but his smile betrayed him. “very funny. ha-ha.” he chuckled. jiyong felt leftover sugar on his hand, shoving seunghyun’s face with his palm. seunghyun let out a hearty laugh, carefully wiping his cheek after finishing his churro. “y'know,” jiyong started. “i’ve been thinking.” “uh-oh.” seunghyun quipped, smiling at jiyong’s tsk of annoyance. “shut up,” said jiyong. “but for real. y'know how we have our—our end of season banquet, right?” “right.” jiyong fell silent, suddenly overcome with sheepishness. “you’re gonna have to spit it out at some point, ji.” “i know, i know.” jiyong shook his head, trying to level himself. “its just that—” he sighed. “maybe this is just pathetic of me to say. but i was thinking of inviting her.” seunghyun didn’t question it. he wanted to know more. “like as a plus one?” “yeah. i think the registry’s still open.” jiyong responded so quickly it was as if he cut seunghyun off. he looked at him, worried. his next question cemented it: “that's weird, right?” “was it weird when she came to our game against ucla?” seunghyun asked. jiyong shook his head, “no.” he answered earnestly. “but i did spent the entire time wishing we were still together, though.” seunghyun smiled proudly, putting his arm around jiyong’s shoulders. “you fucking snake.” he said. “i didn’t know you had it in you.” this’ll be fun, his inner monologue voiced. jiyong was visibly confused, yet his half-smile contradicted himself. “what? have what in me?”

“it's exciting seeing you this way, ji.” said seunghyun. “and no, i don’t think its weird, personally.” “i’m not—” jiyong went to say something, but seunghyun talked over him—committed to the bit. “its what’s been missing from your tennis.” “what?” seunghyun’s arm returned to his side, “it's nice to see you lit-up about something. even if that something’s your ex-girlfriend. you said she wanted to be friends when you broke up, right?” after he shoved his tongue down his throat, she did seunghyun’s inner monologue reminded him, remembering your play-by-play of what went down. jiyong nodded, “yeah, she did. but i don’t know if this is too forward or something.” “nah, not at all.” seunghyun shook his head. he jutted his bottom lip—perhaps too animated—but with how jiyong looked genuinely concerned, he flew right under the radar. “you don’t think i’m crazy?” jiyong asked, vulnerable. seunghyun’s face dropped a little, recognizing the look in his best friend’s eyes. the lingering hurt—the yearning. jiyong wasn’t over you. it didn’t look like he would be anytime soon. seunghyun could only say so much, having to hold himself back from the protective jealousy stirring in his chest, choosing his words carefully: “it's not considered crazy to be in love, ji.” unbeknownst to jiyong, seunghyun speaking for himself: “it's not crazy to want someone, either.”

the tournament wasn’t a sweep though stanford placed highly nonetheless. you celebrated with dinner and drinks at the end of that long weekend—delightfully surprised after your teammates prepared a graduation gift for their president, along with sentimental speeches that might’ve (just might’ve) made your eyes misty with gratitude. you hid it well behind your margarita, anyway. you walked into your hotel room at half past eleven that sunday night. packing would be rushed in the morning before boarding the bus back to stanford—for now, you just needed the quiet. you kicked your loafers off, set your gift bag down by the television, sitting on the edge of your unmade hotel bed. you leaned to your right, raising your left thigh, fishing your sidekick out of the back pocket of your black dress trousers—too tired to change out of your debate garb just yet. it's not too late, you thought to yourself. seunghyun’s definitely still awake. you scrolled through your notifications, seeing a few texts here and there, eyebrows furrowing seeing a missed call from jiyong a couple hours ago. “huh?” there was a voicemail from him, too. you pressed play, bringing your phone to your ear.

you heard a bicycle bell, followed by the skid of his sneakers against the sidewalk. “hi! this is—uh, this is jiyong,” his pause told you he didn’t know why he said his name. “i hope you've—i hope you’ve been doing good. i wanted to call to wish you good luck at your debate comp. i saw a flyer about it at coho’s, but i wasn’t sure of the time. i hope i didn’t call you when you were on stage or something. that would be really bad,” he chuckled nervously. “a-anyway,” he cleared his throat. “i’m calling ‘cause there’s this—there’s this thing we have in tennis. at the end of the season. well, a lot of if not all the athletic departments do it—but it's a seasonal banquet. there’s, like, food and awards and shit but i was wondering if . . . if—uh, if you’d want to come? it's on june 3rd—the sunday before graduation. totally no pressure. there’s lots of room for plus ones, so don’t worry about that if you want to come. people do it all the time. my parents won’t be able to come out here until graduation, so it’d be nice to have someone i know there. besides seunghyun. we'd—we’d go as friends, of course. i—i get it if you think its weird,” he descended into a characteristic ramble. “i mean, i would too. maybe. but i asked seunghyun about it,” your eyebrows raised. “and he didn't—he didn’t think it was odd. but of course what matters most is what you want. so, let me know? if you—if you want? yeah. you have—you have my number. i hope your comp went well.”

well that was something, you thought to yourself. it seemed relatively harmless, though you just knew seunghyun had something to do with this. he was mentioned twice, you recalled, what a fucking deviant. you didn’t think about your decision too much. you listened to your gut, noticing how there wasn’t a tug towards desired safety, nor the toxic nip of curiosity to just see what happens. your logic perhaps voiced the concern of this not being one of your best decisions … but if anything, the greedy part of your brain took to the frontlines: who wouldn’t want free food and two fine ass men feigning over you in silence? you turned your sidekick horizontally, lifting the screen to reveal the tactile keyboard. jiyong’s nokia vibrated in his pocket, showing seunghyun his screen with glee. “she said yes!” he exclaimed. if he didn’t know any better, seunghyun would’ve thought jiyong proposed. “for real?” he leaned forward, reading Hi! I got your voicemail. I’d love to go :) Send me details. he smirked, “you asked her over voicemail?” jiyong was quick to defend himself, “she didn’t answer her phone.” seunghyun chuckled, swiftly pulling his phone out. you received a slew of texts, one after the other: At jis do pnot call; i will call u latyer; How ur day; I lov youp. you smirked at your screen. seunghyun’s phone buzzed in his hand a minute later, having to control his warming face whilst jiyong ordered the pizza: You’re not slick. I love you more

the closer it got to graduation, the closer you came to the brink. those deadlines were horrendous, making you choose between completing coursework or up-keeping personal hygiene on particularly rough days. debate and graduation prep on your end were done. all that was left was perfecting and submitting your senior thesis, finishing those last few assignments that just happened to be dense as fuck, and preparing for finals. it took a toll on you. after the third day of falling off the face of the earth after the usual Good morning text, seunghyun had enough, too. there was enough on his plate already as a collegiate athlete: consistent games, demanding physical regiment, initiating the transition to go pro—coupled with his own academic pursuits. but if he’s learned anything these last five months, it's that there’s always room for you. no matter what. your phone dinged! at the library, startling you and eliciting disapproving looks from others deep in their studies. you turned your ringer off, reading the text from seunghyun. you had only just realized it was well past midnight, Baby u still at the library? Yes, you wrote back, A lot to do. your phone vibrated a minute later, Youve been there way too much. Its worrying me. you smirked at your screen, Didnt know u were so charitable. only for him to respond, Im being serious.

when twenty minutes went by with no answer, seunghyun called you. it didn’t take him long to pick up his keys after being sent to voicemail, taking the elevator down to his apartment building’s parking lot. an hour and some change later, at around half past one, the head librarian on your floor came on the sound system, announcing the library would be closing in a half hour. you checked the time on your phone, seeing a text from seunghyun: Librarys closing soon. you typed back, I know. Heading home now. seunghyun spotted you walking out of the front entrance. thank god she chose that one, his inner monologue muttered. he left his seat on the bench, “baby?” he called out, jogging over to you. you weren’t sure if it was the sleep deprivation playing a trick on you, slowly turning around and seeing the voice certainly matched who you thought it belonged to. your eyebrows furrowed: “what?” you muttered in a bit of disbelief. “what—what’re you doing here? it's almost two am.” “i could say the same to you.” he said. his hand came up to your cheek, bending down to kiss the other. “where’re you going?” “my dorm?” you said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “but you need to relax.” “i can relax in my dorm.” seunghyun loved your stubbornness as it often complemented his, but in times like these, he felt like he played the role of a husband: “nah, nah.” he tutted, shaking his head through your disapproving tsk. “look at me, baby. c'mere.” he leaned down, softly pressing his lips against yours—satisfied in feeling you kiss him back, even more so when your hands came up to hold his face in your palms.

seunghyun ended the kiss just as gently as he started it, resting his forehead against yours. “it's been a week since i last saw you.” he spoke lowly. “i miss you real bad, baby.” he didn’t need you to tell him you missed him, too. he felt it in how you aligned your nose to nuzzle next to his—in how your breath from your parted lips breathed life back into him, your touch behind his neck so poetically familiar. “fine.” you told him definitively. “but you better have something to eat. i haven’t had dinner yet.” and he did. well, as far as kraft mac and cheese and reheated ready-made garlic bread can go. he gave you a pair of his briefs (“don’t look at me like that—they’re freshly washed. probably still warm from the dryer. plus, you’ve had my dick inside you. so it's not that much different.”) and a loose-fitting tee as makeshift pajamas. the shirt was too snug of a fit to your liking to sleep in, so you opted just to stay in your cami. not that seunghyun was complaining whatsoever—there was a sweet grin on his face as he tucked himself into bed next to, over-the-moon to knock the fuck out next to you after a long ass day.

you weren’t sure if it was the white noise of the air-conditioning, the darkness of seunghyun’s bedroom, your head hitting the pillow next to his, or how tenderly he wrapped his arms around you underneath his duvet, dotingly loving you with his warmth—but you were brought to tears; overwhelmed by how much had been on your shoulders these past few months, this week being the absolute worst without question. it felt now that your mind finally had a moment in the quiet, it took the opportunity to remind you where you are. it didn’t feel good. it felt malicious. enough to turn your face and sink into your pillow in shame, body trembling whilst you cried. seunghyun sprung into action: lifting his head up from his pillow, making out your silhouette in the dark. “hey,” he called softly, afraid to speak above a whisper. “baby—hey. hey,” his lips found the back of your shoulder. he heard your muffled cries, “oh no.” he tutted gently, sympathetic. “oh no, my baby. c'mere. at least let me hold you.” you slowly turned into his chest, grateful he couldn’t see your face in the dark. his palm found the back of your head, bringing your forehead to his lips. “what's going on, hm?” how tender his voice was just made you cry harder. you tried to get yourself together. “tell me, baby. i’ve never seen you like this before. it hurts.” “i’m fine.” you cleared your throat, wiping your cheeks with the back of your hand. “i guess—i guess once i, like, settled down or whatever,” you sniffled. “my brain just . . . i don’t know . . . reminded me of how crazy everything’s been.”

seunghyun hummed in understanding. “i just don’t know how—” you cut yourself off, trying to abstain from crying again. you failed, feeling your sinus loosen and bottom lip quiver, “i just don’t know how i’m gonna do it all, seunghyun.” he held you tighter to him, feeling your muffled sob into his shirt. “you will.” he assured, lips kissing your temple. “you’ve made it this far. there’s no reason for you to not go farther. you’re the smartest person i’ve fucking ever met, you know that? hm?” his hand rubbed soothingly up and down your back, leaning down to press kisses onto your shoulder. “you talk your shit in circles around me daily.” he chuckled. you felt him smile into the supple, plush skin of your arm. you took a few deep inhales, trying to steady your heartbeat. “i’m not usually like this.” you muttered. “doesn’t matter if you cry everyday or not at all.” he said. “however you feel is human.” “i’ve never seen you cry.” “not yet.” countered seunghyun, lips returning to your forehead. his fingers swept your cheeks, collecting remnants of your fallen tears. “if i think about it long enough,” he whispered to you. “you crying’ll make me cry.” his words struck a chord in you, loosening your sinuses for a different reason. you reached for his temple, fingers combing through his hair, pulling him to your lips. “i love you.” your voice quivered in its whisper. “tenderly.” “i love you tenderly too, baby.” he reconnected your lips, “my baby. my beautiful baby.”

seunghyun’s senses awoke to his bladder intruding his rem cycle. his haphazard glance into the kitchen, eyeing the time on the stove, let him know it was half past seven in the morning. returning to his bedroom, he was met with an unwelcome surprise. you were up and out of bed, already dressed in your clothes from the night before, packing your backpack at his desk. “what’re you doing?” he mumbled, voice riddled with lingering sleep. “it's so early.” “the library opens soon—” you cut yourself off with a yawn, putting your laptop in its sleeve. “i have to go.” “you were just crying about being there, like, five hours ago, baby.” “crying doesn’t make it disappear, now does it?” you responded without looking up, sifting through the other pockets of your backpack to ensure you had everything you needed—mentally writing a to-do list for the day. seunghyun walked up behind you, fixing your shirt before sneaking his hand underneath the hem, warm palm settling onto your hip. “c'mon, baby. just stay for a little while.” “seunghyun, i have a—” “—an hour or two won’t hurt, y'know.” he said. he leaned down—pressing slow, purposeful kisses on your neck. satisfied chills ran down your spine. you actively tried to fight your fluttering eyes, or how your knees buckled slightly. but then seunghyun’s hand traveled past your stomach, gingerly kneading your breast through your cami. he knows every fucking thing about me, your inner monologue tsked.

your hand reached for his hair, feeling him hum against your supple skin in approval. “that’s right.” he encouraged. “feel me here with you—just like that.” he ushered you to his bed, telling you to “get comfortable f'me. it's gonna be a while, baby.” seunghyun unbuttoned your jeans, tugged your underwear off too, tossing both onto his carpeted floor. you spread your legs like muscle memory, watching him kiss down your inner thigh—taking his sweet, dedicated time with his favorite part of your plushness. his lips were slow on that soft pouch, cheeks relishing in how warm you felt against him. “so fucking beautiful, baby,” he whispered, inching closer to where you needed him the most, and where he wanted to be. “pussy’s fucking divine.” he ate you out like never before, rendering you speechless. his tongue did all the work, mouth latching onto those sweet, puffy lips of yours. his ministrations were slow and deliberate, making sure you felt every flick of his tongue against your clit, every swipe when he flattened it against you, every lap when he got greedy—or most importantly, his muffled whines whenever you tugged his hair. “f-fuck,” he sputtered into you, trying to re-focus on sucking your clit. “f-fuck, baby”. at some point, you were frozen—legs cemented in a spread, helpless to how good you felt. your eyes were closed, mouth hung open, so caught up in the pleasure you forgot to arch your back. it was as if your body didn’t know what to do, only able to speak in a language of light whimpers and broken whispers of your boyfriend’s name—one hand curled around nothing, the other now lifeless in his hair.

seunghyun slurped and suckled in content, ready to do this all fucking day if need-be. he took his sweet time, relishing in your sweet whimpers, humming in satisfaction the wetter you became, making sure you heard him swallow whenever he came up for a breath. it felt good to know his baby felt good and that he was the one doing it. he missed the feeling of your thick thighs clenching around his head, though. even so, he deduced you felt so good you couldn’t move. i know thats fucking right, his inner monologue commended. “i don’t take this for granted.” he said between lapping your clit. “i know how lucky i am. m’gonna start praying to this pussy if that’s what it takes.” your breath hitched suddenly and loudly. your toes curled into his duvet, hips bucking up unexpectedly, unintentionally making him latch off. before you could rush a hazy apology, he beat you to it: “its okay, its okay.” his voice was quiet—tender. you let out a prolonged whimper, effectively wordless—just needing him. you can’t remember the last time you felt so loved, so cared for, doted on in such a vulnerable state. “i got you.” his palms rubbed your thighs, the divots and crevices of your divine cellulite making love to his fingers. he felt up your bare stomach, sneaking underneath your cami, fingers etching over stretch marks—cascading down your supple rolls before returning to your thighs. “seunghyun’s got you, baby. relax for me.” he kissed your inner thigh. “relax f'me. lemme make love to you.”

you regained consciousness when you came, back arching into damn near oblivion. “fuck!” your voice broke. you let out an airy cry, unable to conjure something more guttural—too enraptured in your dream-like state. you felt a dip in the bed, grounded by a kiss to your cheek. seunghyun hovered above you, hands propping him up. “i love you, baby.” he told you sweetly, a second kiss inching closer to your mouth. “i love you, too.” your voice was almost non-existent, staying in a whisper, as if your subconscious was afraid that if you spoke too loudly, your sanctuary would be disturbed. your hand slipped up the side of his neck, bringing his lips to yours. “you bring me back to life . . .” you said breathily, inhaling through your nostrils. seunghyun’s open mouth hovered above yours hungrily, whimpering into the kiss at your words. he was annoyingly hard in his boxers, but stayed kissing you ever so slowly—at your pace. you could’ve sworn you felt the warmth of the sun when his tongue prodded yours, kissing him with increased fervor—your strength returning. “you’ve changed my life for the better.” he muttered against your lips. you whimpered, seunghyun tilting his head to deepen the kiss in return. “the least i can do is take care of you. right? yeah?” “mhm.” you hummed, keeping him tethered to you. “good.” he gradually separated your lips, satisfied in your shallow, yet quiet breath. he leaned into your touch, nuzzling his nose into your palm, kissing your warmth. “then let seunghyunnie take care of you, hm?”

he pushed your shirt up for the hem to rest under your neck. he laid between your legs, stomach aligning with yours, propping himself up with his elbow, palm against his temple. his right hand snuck underneath your cami, watching himself caress your right breast—able to feel it, but not see it entirely. you sucked in a breath, eyes on his hand underneath the fabric, watching a small peak form in the shape of your hardened nipple in real time. your areola was lodged between his pointer and middle finger, a gasp inflating your lungs as seunghyun leaned down, running his tongue repeatedly over your clothed nipple. after a few more, he took a look. “yeah.” he confirmed quietly to himself— working you up. his hand slipped from underneath your cami, tugging it down enough to let your breast breath. he didn’t waste any time in making only the top of his head visible, capturing your nipple between his lips and making love to it with his tongue. he hummed in content, encouraged by your hand in his hair, enraptured by your moans. “o-oh my god!” you whispered. you were stuck on an inhale, breathing when he popped off. “let me hear you.” was all he said when he went to your left breast, angling his head so you could see what he was doing. you watched his tongue nurture your areola, mouth hung up as he kissed your stretch marks before diving back in. “f-fuck…” your voice trailed. “thats so fucking good.” his dick twitched in his boxers, “y-yeah?” it is, baby?“ his syllables were half-finished as he spoke in the midst of his ministrations, but the eye contact with lethal. he got the message when your fingers carded through his hair, sucking like the good boy he is—spoiling you like you deserve.

the birds chirped as he reached for a condom, shutting the drawer of his nightside table. he made love to you the only way he knew how: with purpose. you kissed one another like lost souls reunited after centuries apart. his thrusts were intentionally slow, hardening upon feeling the ball of your foot rest on his lower back, fueling either his and your pathetic whimpers into each other’s mouths. his speed didn’t falter—wanting to not only take his time, but also speak to you without talking. he meant it when he said you’ve changed him for the better; the sun shines brighter and he suddenly believes he was put on this earth to love you and only you. but when he looks at you, his words get lost between his brain and throat. he’s better at expressing those more sentimental thoughts in writing—like the paragraphs he wrote in the card with fresh roses and daisies before you left for nationals—or in things considered mundane to the passerby but are quintessential in your shared lives: remembering when your meetings are, knowing whether to play lenny kravitz or mazzy star in his car depending on your mood, reminding him to take his supplements before going to morning practices, and introducing him to the world of skincare—even if he thought you were fancy for just using a moisturizer—or just filling you up.

you broke the kiss, mouth hovering his. "oh fuck,” you whined, biting your bottom lip. he hit all the places you needed—that were begging for it—the swivel of his hips telling you he knew what the fuck he was doing; he was the only one who knew you this well. “that feel good?” his breath shook. “yeah?” “yeah,” you nodded, looking at him with heavy eyelids. “so good, s-seunghyunnie.” your hands felt past either side of his neck, mindlessly pawing his back before messily carding through his hair. seunghyun kissed you deeply and with more fervor, soon translating that to his hips. he put more weight on his knees, thrusting faster than before, encouraged by your breathy moan. his bed made noise with every dip of his knees. not that he was moving crazily, but just the right amount to keep your mind deeply intertwined with your delectable libido, stretching you out in a way that feels it should be written in scripture—or just plain common sense, really. his bed frame was also aged and couldn’t withstand much motion without letting everyone else in the apartment know, like his roommate who just woke up down the hall.

“my beautiful baby, so f-fucking stressed out,” seunghyun murmured, hearing and feeling his balls intermittently slap against you. “so overworked, so—hngh!—t-tired f-fuck—” your gummy walls clenched around him, dizzying his senses. he took a deep breath, making the bed creak again. “it's unfair.” he panted, shaking his head. “the least you can let me do is take care of you. that's—t-thats the least i can fuckin’ do, baby—oh my f-fucking god,” he looked down, watching the way your thick thighs jiggled with every thrust. your puffy lips swallowed him deliciously, blessing him with a newfound sixth sense—a peek into the divine feminine herself. he looked at you, eyelids heavier than before. you looked beautiful. hair a mess, a light coat of sweat shining on your forehead, mouth agape, but most importantly relaxed. at ease. spoiled fucking rotten. i’ll do anything to keep her this way, he thought to himself. “w-why don’t you let me, huh? why won’t you let your seunghyunnie m-make you f-feel good? make you forget everything? huh?” he pleaded. he was completely at your helm, evident in the quiver in his voice, and how his lips hovered on your temple. your hand came up to the back of his head, keeping him there. “if—if you w-won’t use me—f-fuck—then i’ll give myself to you.” your eyes rolled to the back of your head, feeling him fuck you deeper as your back arched—your chest smushing against his. “h-how’s that sound, baby? huh? h-how's—how’s that—” “oh, fuck!” you cried out, eyebrows contorted sinfully. his mouth fell open at the sight, bed creaking louder. “fuck me, j-just like that—ngh!”

he tucked his arms underneath your knees, lifting your legs up a few inches. he came to a sudden halt following his first thrust in the new position—one reason being your wall-shattering gasp, the other the need to bring himself back down to earth; uncross his eyes with a handful of harsh blinks. “i’ve never—” you swallowed, mouth dry. your chest heaved, “i’ve n-never felt that b-before—fuck!” you gasped. the feeling was indescribable—arguably too strong. “stop! stop—don’t move!” “sorry!” seunghyun blurted out, panicking slightly. he tried his best not to fidget. “sorry, baby. my bad. do you—oh, f-fuck—do you w-want to stay like this? we could go back to—back to missionary.” “i—i don’t know,” you thought aloud. “i-it feels . . . good. just really fucking intense.” “i get that.” seunghyun nodded. “holy shit, do i get that.” “try a few thrusts.” “a-are you sure?” you nodded, “wanna see how it f-feels.” seunghyun listened. you thought bitches were making shit up, but your ass saw stars. black spots littered your vision. you went mute. seunghyun’s arms were shaking, looking like he needed an oxygen tank. “do you—” he sounded perishable. “d-d-do you—you want me to keep—” “your ass better move.”

neither of you lasted long. that condom was begging to be freed, so creamy and wet, its usage as a protective barrier felt useless. but with those reports of an upcoming recession? no way in hell were you planning on having a baby anytime soon. not that seunghyun didn’t fuck you like he was ready to become a father tomorrow, though. “oh fuck!” he cried aloud, face scrunched up in one of delectable sin, “oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck! yeah! y-yeah! oh fuck yeah!” he babbled dumbly, drooling leaking out of the corner of his mouth, fucking your tight pussy at what felt before like an unimaginable angle. “f-feel me? feel that, baby? o—oh my god!” he whimpered, drawing out his syllables. you were silent—everything you needed to say etched in your furrowed eyebrows and hung mouth. he was hitting places that felt dangerous. you ascended into something otherworldly, crying out his name like he’s never heard before. “s-seunghyun! o-oh my god—seunghyun!” you were wholly aware of your body, feeling your toes curl in the air and your back arch into oblivion, but lost in your illustriously carnal haze. seunghyun felt something wet. his vision blurred, seeing your squirt splashing onto his bed, pussy squelching with his thrusts. his stomach caved inward, “i’m gonna fucking marry you.” he whimpered pathetically. “i’m gonna fucking marry—o-oh fuck me!”

come june, you were born anew. senior thesis submitted, no more assignments, and final exams completed. all that was left was the end-of-season banquet, moving out, and graduation. it wasn’t much in comparison to the hustle you were used to, but with the sudden copious amount of free time you had, it felt like it couldn’t come soon enough. you couldn’t do much in terms of clearing out your dorm until your parents were set to arrive a couple days before graduation later in the week—seunghyun has hidden his amused smirk overhearing your bickering regarding travel and dinner plans whilst on the phone with them—so you filled your time by making your boyfriend take you to the mall, dodging his sneaky kisses whilst an associate tried their best to help you pick an outfit for your ceremony. “i almost forgot you can’t take me tonight.” you said to seunghyun over the phone sunday morning. “i was about to ask what time you’d pick me up.” “s'become natural instinct, i guess.” he said. his shoulder kept his blackberry to his ear, hands sorting through his hangers. he pulled his long sleeve black button-up from his closet, making a mental note to iron it for this evening. “you think romeo and juliet felt like this?” you raised an eyebrow though he couldn’t see you, “like the shakespearean couple?” “is there another one i don’t know about?” he retorted smartly, chuckling. “i think their dynamic was a bit more complicated than ours.” you said. “like, there’s was do-or-die. and they died.” “i’d die for you.” “now will that be before or after we graduate?”

seunghyun let out a hearty laugh, making you smile. you felt your phone vibrate in your hand, “hold on, baby. think i got a text.” you flipped your screen to reveal the keyboard. you did get a message, and it was from jiyong: Hi :) Do u have a ride tn? I can drive u if no. you grinned, thumbs already working: Works for me. 6:30? you flipped your screen down, returning your phone to your ear. “guess who’s hitching a ride with her ex.” seunghyun raised his eyebrows, “for real? ji texted you?” “mhm.” “he wants you back, y'know.” “i know.” you said, mind sifting through his recollection of their conversation when you were in san francisco. “you told me.” there was a brief pause on his end of the line, “are you gonna tell him about us on the ride there?” you made a face, “and have him crash the car and kill us both?” seunghyun ran his hand over his face, “you’re right.” “i’m going to tell him before graduation.” you said earnestly, hearing seunghyun hum in acknowledgement. “college of liberal arts is on thursday, anyway. so i still have time. it’ll be too brash—too much if i tell him tonight.” “you’re right, you’re right.” seunghyun nodded. “i sometimes forgot you’re the logical one of us both.” “then i must not be that effective if you forget.” you quipped, hearing him chuckle. “sorry, i just—” he huffed. “i just get greedy, baby.” “you’ve been greedy.” you corrected him. “can you blame me?” he asked. you looked up, seeing your reflection in the mirror mounted above your dresser. “no.” you said, a sheepish grin tugging at the corner of your lips. “i can’t.”

“but listen.” you continued. “i need you to promise me something.” “anything.” seunghyun said without hesitation. “just say the word.” “if jiyong tries anything tonight, you need to not act afool.” “what do you mean?” you huffed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “you know exactly what i’m talking about, seunghyun. like, if he has a look in his eyes. or tries to kiss to me or—” “—he’s gonna try to kiss you? since when?” “you said he wanted me back.” you made your argument. “do the math. especially since we both know how he can be.” “okay,” seunghyun went into his argument. “but what’s this about him kissing you?” “i’m just saying that if—” “—he won’t do that shit with me there.” seunghyun shook his head, kissing his teeth. “listen to me.” you said sternly. “hence the use of and my emphasis on the word if. i’m not going to let it get that far,” you said. “but if—and i mean if—there’s even a hint of an iota of a semblance of that behavior from him—even a fucking suggestive twinkle in his eye—you need to keep it together.” you heard him take a long breath, stubborn in his silence. “there is not going to be a scene at your banquet tonight. not on my watch, anyway.” you said. “do you hear me?” you were met with silence. “own up to it.” his posture stiffened. “i’m going tonight because of you. don’t sulk now.” “i’ll try my best.” he said, only to hear you tut disapprovingly. “no. i need a yes. absolute and nothing but.” “yes,” he answered. “i’ll behave.” you let out a breath of relief, “thank you. i love you.” “i love you. too much. at the same time it doesn’t feel like enough.” “it does. it will always be enough.”

jiyong arrived at your residential building right on time, waiting for you whilst stood outside his car. he was clad in a dark gray suit with matching trousers, seeing you in your go-to debate ensemble—a matching black blazer and trouser set—freshened up with accented jewelry. he greeted you with a hug. you returned the polite embrace, feeling bad in having to hold your laughter back, thinking of how if seunghyun were here, steam might’ve been coming out of his ears. you caught a glimpse of the backseat as you settled into the passenger’s, swift flashes of what went down just months ago flurrying your mind. “you look really nice.” jiyong told you with a smile, putting his key into the ignition. “thank you.” you nodded. “you look handsome, too.” “thanks.” he said. “thanks for coming with me tonight, too. i know this is probably not what you wanna do right after finals.” he let out a nervous chuckle, merging onto the street. you shook your head in assurance, “its fine, jiyong. it doesn’t have to be awkward if we don’t make it be.” “that’s true.” he nodded. you made friendly small talk during the fifteen minute car ride, pulling into the hotel housing the ballroom hosting the banquet.

conversation continued after jiyong put his car in park, trading chuckles and half-baked jokes. it was the brightest and widest he’d smiled in what felt like forever. “i’m really happy you came.” he spoke honestly, tone sincere. he met your eyes, “i missed you.” the words could have meant nothing—a friend platonically doting on the other. but with eyes like jiyong’s, there was no such thing as speaking plainly. complicated sentiment was the only option. his gaze softened, unabashedly keeping you tethered to him. his expression didn’t hold the insatiable weight of pleading, but it was just sad. perhaps a bit of relief? you thought to yourself, noticing the small breath parting his lips; how his posture molded with the driver’s seat. a moment lasting seconds felt akin to hours—stuck in time. there it was, that look in his eyes. “i—” a car honked. you and jiyong looked out the windshield at the same time. seunghyun waved to the both of you from his car, cigarette hanging between his lips. jiyong chuckled, waving back. you didn’t flinch, turning away from the window when seunghyun pulled into the spot next to jiyong’s car. he tossed his cigarette onto the asphalt, putting it out with his foot. he looked up, amused at the sight of you and jiyong stepping out of the land rover. “did i miss the memo or what?” “hm?” jiyong’s eyebrows furrowed. seunghyun gestured between you two with his pointer finger, “you two back together?”

you refrained from closing your eyes in frustration. seunghyun relished in it, smile widening. “oh—” jiyong cut himself off, growing sheepish. he glanced at you as if with the hope you would say yes. “n-no. just friends.” he shook his head, looking at his best friend. seunghyun nodded, “my bad.” on the walk to the hotel’s front entrance, jiyong was called over by a group of friends who had just arrived then, too. once he was a good distance away, seunghyun walked next to you. “you can speak when in my presence, y'know.” he quipped discreetly, glancing at his surroundings. you did the same, keeping your eyes ahead, “i know.” he turned his head to the left, looking down at you, “you look really beautiful tonight.” “i know i do.” you said swiftly, hearing him chuckle. “that’s my girl, alright.” he muttered to himself. “go talk to him,” you told seunghyun. “alright, alright.” he kissed his teeth playfully, clearly enjoying this. “i love you.” he blurted, loud enough for only you to hear. you held yourself back from telling him off, seeing him quickly turn around, sticking his tongue out before catching up to jiyong.

the universe had a cruel sense of humor. you could feel god herself giggling down at you, clinking glasses of chardonnay with her fellow deities as you sat between jiyong and seunghyun—in the same order as the night at the hotel, no less; jiyong on your right, seunghyun to your left. there were three athletes sitting across the table from you—a layout mimicked all throughout the ballroom. the banquet began with speeches from coaches and department heads, allotting time for dinner before awards were to be handed out. in the middle of someone’s speech, your phone vibrated in your pocket—a text from your mom, asking if you had eaten dinner yet. you responded, changing to a different conversation. seunghyun’s blackberry vibrated in his pocket. he hesitated to check, glancing at jiyong, whom was listening intently to whoever was speaking. seunghyun then looked at you, seeing your phone was away, your attention undeterred as well. I love you too btw he read, upside down grin on his face at your reference to earlier. Youre on the same side like at the hotel. his face warmed, putting his phone away. a few moments later, you felt something graze the side of your thigh. it was seunghyun—discreetly gesturing to let him fix the back of your blazer. you leaned forward in your seat just enough to let his hand through. he swiftly tugged at the bottom hem, flattening the fabric neatly to mold with your curves. his palm gingerly cascaded down your thigh afterward, settling back into his own lap.

there were a few times during the opening program where jiyong turned to you, smiling as he said something seunghyun couldn’t hear. it was usually followed by a chuckle from your end, or you gesturing jiyong to come closer to say something seunghyun also couldn’t hear. it looked and was friendly—but could you blame him for how he needed to force himself to look away, inhaling sharply through his nostrils, and clenching his jaw in muted frustration? seunghyun understood that to jiyong, you and him weren’t friendly like that, so it makes sense as to why you wouldn’t talk. but not even a spare glance? his thoughts wallowed. or a polite grin? he knew you meant business. in fact, thats the quality he loves utmost about you. you set him straight when he needs it, talk your shit in a way he’s never heard before, and made him into a more honest man. there’s no getting any bullshit passed you—not that he would dare, anyway. so he sat there, quiet. unassuming. on good behavior, like you told him to. he would reap his rewards any way he could. if it meant receiving a waft of your perfume every time you fixed your hair—he’d take it.

when the banquet broke for dinner, you and jiyong went to one side of the catering whereas seunghyun went to the other, luckily distracted by a few athletes he was friendly with at the bar. he really was trying, and you felt it. jiyong introduced you to his friends whenever they came up to him to say hello—each “no, we’re not dating,” more awkward than before. you returned to your table some time later equipped with a plate full of food. jiyong was pulled off to one of his friends’ tables, promising he would meet back with you soon. to your delight, seunghyun was the only one at your table, downing the last sip of his rum and coke. “i see you’ve made the most of your drink vouchers.” you grinned, twirling your spaghetti with your fork. you took a bite, hearing him chuckle sweetly. “you’re finally talking to me.” his syllables slurred a little. you wiped sauce off your lip with a napkin, “how’re you already tipsy?” you thought aloud. “you haven’t eaten much, have you.” seunghyun shook his head, jutting out his bottom lip, “saw some friends at the bar.” he said. “here, have mine.” you pushed your plate to him. you rose from your seat, “line’s not long and there’s plenty of food left.”

seunghyun’s eyes grew twice in size. “why’re you looking at me like that? we like the same shit.” “because i don’t want you to leave.” you tsked, unable to hide your smile, feeling your face warm. “grow up, you big baby.” as you turned to walk away, seunghyun looked across the room, seeing the back of jiyong’s head. he reached over, patting your ass. you looked back at him in a panic. you unintentionally mimicked his movement, seeing jiyong deep in conversation with a friend. “get a good one in.” seunghyun listened diligently, groping your left globe. you left with a satisfied huff. seunghyun watched you walk away, bottom lip caught between his teeth as he looked down at his lap. “thats my fuckin’ girl.” he muttered to himself, eating a few bites of what became his food. you returned not too long after with a new plate and a margarita, letting out a sweet laugh upon realizing seunghyun was now drinking a vodka cran. “you better eat.” you said, eating a spoonful of macaroni and cheese. you saw jiyong walk over, other hand stirring your drink with the small straw it came with, “and drink water.” “i will.”

“hold up,” seunghyun called to you and jiyong. “gotta piss. hold this for me?” he handed jiyong his best sportsmanship certificate, carried in an elegant stanford-cardinal red folder. jiyong took it with a nod, holding it with his. seunghyun walked down the hall, turning the corner to where the restrooms were, following the directory on the wall. you stood in amicable silence with jiyong. your hand ran along the back of a luxurious lounge chair—one of many scattered throughout the main lobby—eyes drifting to the chandelier hanging above the front desk. “i forgot to check if seunghyun has his keys.” you turned to jiyong at the sound of his voice. something about his tone told you he was trying to fill the air. “do you think he does? so he can get his car tomorrow.” it was an obvious question with an obvious answer: of course the person who drove would still have their keys on them, even if they’re too tipsy for comfort to drive themselves home afterward. he’s smart enough to know. with the way jiyong’s eyes stayed on you, waiting for your answer, it was evident he wanted an excuse to talk to you. “i’m sure he does, jiyong.” you said. “you can check when he comes back.” “right,” jiyong nodded, sincere. “you’re right.”

the fleeting moments of silence that followed, something stirred inside jiyong’s chest. he tried to thwart it—distracting himself with the groups of fellow athletes filing in and out of the hotel, or the couple going back and forth with the concierge about a mistake made in their reservation. but he couldn’t help it. there was only so much one person could stifle for so long. you knew something was afoot, feeling him lay his hand atop yours. you didn’t waste an iota of time: “jiyong.” you warned him, voice leveled. “we can’t. you know this.” he looked at you, but you wouldn’t look at him. “i miss you so fucking badly.” he sounded broken—the world zeroed in on either of you, cancelling everyone else out. “you have no idea what i’ve gone through. how lonely i’ve felt these past five months without you.” his tone wasn’t spiteful. like his expression in the car, he just sounded sad. wounded. delicate. he took a step closer to you. you still weren’t looking at him. he leaned closer to your face, trying to get those beautiful eyes of yours, “i r-respect your choice, of course i do.” his voice quivered. “but i—i can’t live without you.” he shook his head, breath shallow. in your periphery, he looked perishable—eyebrows furrowed, mouth in a pitiful frown. “you don't—” he inhaled through his nostrils. “you don’t miss me?” your eyes fell closed, posture straightening at his question. he was so pathetically hopeful—anyone with a beating heart would feel sympathy. but you drew those lines already. you weren’t going to suddenly back-track now.

“not even a little bit?” jiyong added. you finally looked at him. you could’ve sworn you heard the tiniest whimper stir from his throat. “jiyong,” your tone remained firm. “of course i feel bad that—” “—then take me back.” he cut you off. you sighed—i can’t get anywhere with him, your inner monologue voiced. “jiyong…” “please.” he pleaded. “i’ll do anything. i’ll do anything for you.” before you knew it, his mouth hovered above yours. you breathed each other in, his hand still on yours. you were aware of your surroundings, not intending on closing the gap whatsoever, yet the sudden proximity couldn’t help but catch you off guard. jiyong knew this was wrong—he knew he was directly contradicting himself. but he couldn’t stop the tip of his nose nudging against yours, or his fingers sliding up to your wrist—his gentle touch pampering your smooth skin. seunghyun was watching from the corner—since jiyong had taken a step closer to you. he was frozen in place. his jaw was clenched so tightly, he wouldn’t be surprised if he shattered his teeth in the process. seunghyun never once doubted your loyalty to your relationship nor him as your partner. but to see your logical prediction play out in real time, coupled with the sheer balls on jiyong?? he needs to get a fucking grip on himself, seunghyun’s inner monologue grumbled bitterly. he was fortunate to have preserved a morsel of self-control in his inebriated state, running his hand over his face, inhaling sharply through his nostrils.

you took a breath, “we can’t.” you said definitively. a tangible whimper escaped his diaphragm—somewhere between a groan and a prayer—shoulders sinking feeling your hand leave his, “and we won’t.” jiyong hit a new low, unable to show his face. his forehead landed on your shoulder, stiffening your posture. you heard footsteps, seeing an irate seunghyun. you made searing eye contact—expression reading don’t do anything crazy. he tried to bite back, face reading how could i not? one cold stare from you and he listened, much to your relief: “am i interrupting something, or—” jiyong shot up, walking away wordlessly. either yours and seunghyun’s respective gazes followed him out the front entrance, turning to each other once he was out of sight. “what the fuck was that?” seunghyun thought aloud in disbelief. you let out a long exhale, running your hands over your face. “did he—did he try anything on you, baby?” you looked up, irrationally scanning for jiyong at the sound of seunghyun’s pet name. “he did.” you confirmed honestly. “but it got nowhere. like i said it wouldn’t.” seunghyun kissed his teeth, half in admiration, half in frustration. he dusted your shoulder off, bringing you back down to earth. “keep it moving.” you gestured with your head out the front entrance. “we need to get home. you better keep it together.” “i—i,” seunghyun hiccuped, trying to swallow the tipsiness away. “i will.”

the car ride was silent. seunghyun was in the backseat of the land rover, safely tucked away behind his seatbelt, twiddling his thumbs. your eyes were out the passenger’s seat window, counting the passing cars. jiyong’s stare was vacant, boring out the windshield. his fingers were tightly wound around the steering wheel, but not enough to paint his knuckles white—mind elsewhere, reeling with what he’s done but currently trying to forget for the sake of his sanity. he pulled into the lot outside of your residential building, putting his car in park. you unbuckled your seatbelt, “thank you for the ride home,” you said to jiyong. “and for tonight.” his meek nod pained you with second-hand embarrassment. seunghyun watched his every move. “mhm.” jiyong hummed, turning his head, but barely sparing you a glance—his shame heavy in the air. “it was nice seeing you again,” seunghyun said, tone polite. “for what it's worth.” you turned your head, meeting his eyes. either of your respective gazes softened—a language only you two understand. “you too.” you said simply. “goodnight.” you addressed both jiyong and seunghyun, turning to leave. “night.” jiyong murmured. “night, baby.”

you froze. seunghyun’s blood ran cold. jiyong’s eyebrows furrowed, confused. he looked in the rearview mirror at seunghyun. his best friend quickly looked away, down at his lap—confirming that his ears didn’t deceive him. “what did you just call her?” jiyong stared at seunghyun through the glass, voice eerily leveled. your heart thumped in your chest—we were so fucking close … your inner monologue said bitterly. seunghyun raised his head, trying to get his lick back—establish his characteristic confidence. “i didn’t call her nothing, ji.” jiyong looked to you. you hadn’t moved. you could have, but you were physically stuck in place in shock. to think, this was the way jiyong was going to find out? so brashly, so—so inconceivably? and who had to pick up the pieces now? you did. it was always you. seunghyun’s eyes closed in defeat, head sinking in shame after jiyong slammed the driver’s seat door shut. nothing would kill seunghyun more than to see the disappointment he just knows is plastered on your face right now. he dared to look up at the rearview mirror, seeing the sight of jiyong pacing back and forth behind the car, but your eyes in the corner—piercing. he shook his head, becoming a blubbering fool in a matter of seconds: “i’m sorry—” “—get the fuck out of this car and own up to it.” you cut him off. “now.” “y-yes ma'am.” he nodded, unbuckling his seatbelt, stepping out of the car.

your door slammed closed after his. seunghyun saw you fix your blazer in his periphery. you two rounded the corner of the car, side-by-side, standing across from a distressed jiyong. “ji,” started seunghyun. “just listen to me for a second, man.” “like the fuck i will.” jiyong kissed his teeth, shaking his head. he paced four steps back-and-forth, hands on his hips, sorting through his quick-fire fragmented thoughts knitting his eyebrows together. “we were—” you corrected yourself swiftly. “i was going to tell you.” jiyong stopped in place, looking at you. his expression was sharp, targeted. “we?” his pointer finger gestured between you and seunghyun, condescending in nature. “so you two are a—are a thing?” you nodded, keeping your calm. “yes. we’re together.” seunghyun mimicked, nodding his head. “for how long?” jiyong asked, “huh?” seunghyun looked at you. his expression wasn’t accusatory whatsoever, but rather encouraging—dependent. “since—” you sighed. though you knew you owed jiyong the truth, some part of you remained afraid how he would react. so, in true debate fashion, you skirted around it delicately. “since the wintertime.” seunghyun picked up on your vague word choice, seeing the cogs turn in jiyong’s brain. clouded by the shock of it all. poor guy, his inner monologue voiced. “since the—since winter?” jiyong thought aloud, shaking his head—in the midst of connecting the pieces.

“since december.” seunghyun clarified, getting some of his lick back. “we’ve been together since december.” “but we broke up in january.” jiyong said to you. you took a breath—this is the worst fucking part. just get through this and it’ll be over—“yes, i know we did, jiyong—” “—is that why you broke up with me?” jiyong made his own connections, taking a few steps closer to you. his expression bordered on wild, eyes pained with hurt, tone teetering into accusatory. “because you wanted to fuck my best friend?” seunghyun’s expression darkened. he didn’t appreciate jiyong’s tone, nor how quickly he got comfortable with disrespecting you. your eyes narrowed, standing your ground: “that would fit perfectly into your little narrative, wouldn’t it?” you asked, eye contact unrelenting. with each condescending nod of yours, jiyong felt himself shrink. “would keep your streak going, too.” you continued, crossing your arms over your chest. “since you wanna swing your dick around, saying you got to fuck me, when in reality you nearly perished at a mere fucking tug. so go ahead,” you nodded, challenging jiyong. “say that shit again.”

jiyong swallowed, clearing his throat. “how did you know i said that?” “how the fuck else?” you spoke with conviction. “you wanna talk like you know everything? go ahead. don’t stop now and make me spoon-feed it to you.” jiyong took a step closer to you, trying to bite back. seunghyun’s jaw clenched. “i’m not inept.” jiyong said sharply to you. “you’re not.” you shook your head curtly. “but you’re fucking insecure.” jiyong fucking hated how quickly his sinuses loosened. he inhaled sharply through his nostrils, trying not to let your harsh reality impede on his back talk—but the truth fucking hurts. he was stuck in an unforgiving cycle: think you’ve got it, then you don’t. was it really repeated misfortune, or is he really just that intolerable? had he really found the one, or did he scare her away—into his best friend’s fucking arms, out of all fucking people? “shit.” he cursed between his teeth, feeling his eyes water. jiyong turned around, pacing a few steps forward, his hands on his head in muted agony. both you and seunghyun watched jiyong in silence, unsure of what to do next. jiyong’s face trembled, nearly succumbing to his tears. why does seunghyun always gets what he wants? his inner monologue quivered, reminiscent of a young child’s, what about me? he felt juvenile for thinking of a serious situation in such a silly manner. he knew there was more nuance to this than his stubbornness was willing him to believe, but how else could he word it? there it was, the other pattern defining—no, bleeding his life dry since he could remember. since that fucking neighborhood block party as a kid.

jiyong ran a hand over his face, getting himself together. he turned around, facing the two of you—subconsciously recognizing you as one unit; a collective, impenetrable moving force. “is that what this is?” he voiced meekly. dissatisfied with himself, he poked his cheek with his tongue, gesturing between you and seunghyun with his finger. “you cheated on me with seunghyun to get back at me for lying about fucking you?” you scoff eviscerated his last shred of dignity. you shrugged your shoulders, “you’re a lost cause.” you told jiyong, shaking your head. the same time you turned your back and walked a few paces away—appalled by his sheer audacity—seunghyun walked up to jiyong. “hey,” he said sternly, pointing at jiyong’s chest. “you don’t get to fucking speak to her like that.” “the fuck does it matter to you! you didn’t give a fuck about her! i was the only one who did!” jiyong yelled, smacking seunghyun’s hand away. his throat felt raw, “you always get whatever the fuck you want!” his voice echoed throughout the empty parking lot. you ran your hands over your face, wanting to be anywhere else but here. “it's not fair!” jiyong yelled. seunghyun didn’t back down from the challenge, looking at his brother since sentience in the eye with undiluted defiance. “how did—how did you even—” jiyong stumbled on his words, awkwardly gesturing to nothing at his side, trying to form a sentence. he shook his head, looking for stability in his thoughts. “how did you even get together, seunghyun?” he looked at his best friend, utterly helpless. “how could you do this to me? she was mine first!”

seunghyun kissed his teeth dismissively. “nah, man. i’ve paid my fucking dues. i’ve learned from my mistakes and how bad i fumbled.” he told jiyong. “but what i’m not gonna let you do is forget that she saw me first. so fuck off with your cuck-ass bullshit.” your face sunk into your hands, “you have got to be fucking kidding me.” you muttered to yourself, they really talk like they’re not a day passed seven. jiyong thought he was going crazy, “what the fuck are you talking about!?” he yelled at seunghyun, throat dry, nearly descending into a coughing fit. he swallowed hard, fingers pounding on his temples dramatically, “what the actual—what the actual fuck are you talking about, seunghyun? do you not hear yourself when you talk!? you told me to bring her tonight, knowing what you two are dating!” he took a deep breath. “what's—what’s wrong with you, man? all of our lives you’ve gotten everything—everything you’ve wanted. and—and now—” jiyong scoffed pitifully, the words caught in his throat. “the—the one fucking time i have someone, you just—you just took her away. like it was nothing. like she’s nothing,” jiyong gestured to your back. seunghyun’s jaw clenched, eye contact with jiyong unrelenting. “she’s not nothing.” murmured seunghyun. jiyong shook his head in disbelief, “why couldn’t i just have this one—this one thing?” his chest felt hollow, head nauseated with shame and inexplicable betrayal. “you couldn’t leave her alone? just this once? out of the girlfriends i’ve had, she’s the one you just so happened to want?” tears clouded his vision. jiyong blinked harshly, “huh? why, seunghyun? fucking why!”

seunghyun shook his head defiantly, getting up in jiyong’s face. jiyong pushed his shoulders, but seunghyun came right back. “i didn’t take bullshit away, ji.” he taunted. “it's not my fault she answered and didn’t hang up. it's not my fault that we went out to dinner and she didn’t wanna leave.” he watched his best friend crumble with every syllable—every breath. “what is my fault is—is that—” seunghyun cleared his throat, zeroing himself back in. “is that i was stupid for not realizing what i wanted before it could hurt you.” “fuck you, man.” jiyong spat, but his pitiful expression said otherwise. “everything’s always been so easy for you.” said jiyong bitterly, “you don’t get to talk.” “nah,” seunghyun stared down at him. “'cause you don’t get to talk either, ji.” he shook his head menacingly, “you think it was easy hearing you talk about someone every fucking day, when you had no idea what to do with all that? what to do with all of her?” he tutted. “you think it was fucking easy to see the look on her face when you didn’t tell her you loved her? and then you went and told her over fucking text? really, ji? have you ever been fucking serious a goddamn day in your fucking life?” your stomach dropped. your eyes widened, body going on auto-pilot. you walked up to seunghyun, “that’s enough.” you spoke with conviction, though he wasn’t budging. you saw how all the color drained from jiyong’s face. it petrified you, wondering how the brash mention of such a sensitive topic would play out. you didn’t want to stick around to find out: “i said that’s fucking enough.”

you weren’t particularly religious—though meeting jiyong’s eyes ushered you into judgment day. his pupils twinkled devastatingly underneath the glow of the street lamp, erasing any surrounding white noise. the world fell silent. it always did with those eyes of his, “you told him?” it was a natural instinct to want to reach out and comfort him. however, it wasn’t attributed to your past relationship, nor basic human empathy. he was born to be comforted—made to feel worthy, re-assured with love. any palm could be molded to fit his cheek—any kiss can rejuvenate his senses. in another life, he was an artist’s muse: elegantly immortalized on canvas, vividly celebrated in marble. his emotions were never misguided, but rather guideposts of the human experience. in this life, unfortunately, he’s been banished to the unforgiving gallows of insatiable want with no means of a tangible end. stuck in a cycle—looking at the love of his vulnerable yet beautiful soul hold the arm of the one who’s tightened that suffocating rope his entire life. “you told him everything?” jiyong’s voice was meek, utterly devastated. you held onto seunghyun’s arm tighter, fighting the urge to comfort his sad soul: “i—” “—you’re talking to me.” seunghyun took a step forward, effectively out of your grip. “not her. me.” he pointed to himself, looking at jiyong. “you’re not gonna get another chance to disrespect her.”

jiyong looked offended. “disrespect her? i’m nicer than you’ll ever fucking be, seunghyun.” he said sharply. “you toss people out like garbage. like you did to her before you—before you decided to j-just randomly change your mind. like you’re doing to me right fucking now.” seunghyun took a deep breath, actively deterring the need to yell—he was historically the more level-headed energy in their arguments. “i didn’t randomly change my mind.” he said calmly. “yeah? well, it fucking feels like you did. just—just swooped in when no one was looking.” jiyong tsked. silence brewed in the tension-filled air. jiyong was at his wit’s end, “that’s the—she’s the love of my life, man.” “mine too.” said seunghyun. “i’m an honest man because of her.” if the unspoken words displayed on jiyong’s face were audible, he would be indicted on federal-level charges. “like you ever were to begin with.” he muttered bitterly. “you didn’t give a fuck. you never give a fuck about people in a normal way.”

seunghyun couldn’t take it anymore: “i always did!” he yelled, voice booming down the lot. “i always cared! do you not fucking hear yourself, ji? huh!?” seunghyun threw jiyong’s words back at him, rapidly tapping his own temple, eyes widening in frustration. “y'know, when we first came here, i wanted you to have a life of your own. because i saw how much it killed you to—to constantly be associated with me at the academy,” said seunghyun. “i’m not fucking stupid, ji.” he shook his head, not giving jiyong the chance to breath with his seething eye contact. “you may think i am, but i’m a lot smarter than you wanna fucking admit. you want people to know you’re the older one. you don’t want to be known for tennis since you got wrapped into it 'cause of me. you fucking hated and i mean hated!” he yelled. “when we both got into stanford, because there’s another thing that’ll tie us together furrr-ever.” seunghyun listed on his fingers, pumped-adrenaline from the roll he was on temporarily compromising his pronunciation. he talked like you’ve never heard him speak before. he became straight up bitter the angrier he got, “you wanna last in people’s memories for longer than five fucking seconds. great. great! go ahead! no one’s stopping you!” seunghyun let out a condescending laugh, throwing his hands in the air.

he looked over his shoulder, arm gesturing at you behind him, his attention returning to jiyong. “you don’t want the love of your life slipping through your fingers.” you covered your mouth. you couldn’t deter your eyes though jiyong and seunghyun were only a few feet in front of you, akin to a car crash. “i get that, ji. okay? i understand.” seunghyun nodded. “but what you need to understand is that you were a placeholder.” jiyong’s knuckles went white, fists at his sides, jaw clenching. seunghyun licked his lips, “i don’t know why it was her and not someone else. i don’t.” he shook his head, earnest. “but i know—i know this is different. i’m not letting her go. no matter what the fuck you say. or do.” jiyong’s voice quivered, “i can’t ever forgive you for this.” seunghyun’s shoulders didn’t slump, nor did his posture falter. “i know.” he leaned forward, staring into jiyong’s mutilated soul. “how’d my dick taste in your mouth, though?”

it all happened so quickly: jiyong swung, seunghyun dodged; popped jiyong on the jaw, nearly sending him toppling onto the asphalt. you gasped sharply, not knowing what to do, moving forward on nothing but instinct. seunghyun grunted, breathing temporarily stalled after jiyong punched him square on the chest, swinging back—completely undeterred by your yanking of his suit; in his own world, hellbent on his own objectives. you grabbed as much as you could, pulling hard. “are you fucking crazy!?” you exclaimed, bottom of your loafers skidding against the pavement. “have you lost your damn—” you yelped, letting go immediately. you registered an intense stinging sensation on your right hand—half of your pinky nail was gone; snapped off after chipping against a loose thread, combined with the force of your pulls. “shit!” you cursed aloud, eyes watering. it was unbearable, almost paralyzing. applying pressure to the wound was useless—it only caused you to wince louder, unable to stop your tears in your immediate reaction. seunghyun turned around, horrified: “look what you fucking did ji—” the wind was knocked out of him again, jiyong punching his chest and pushing hard against his shoulders afterward, sending seunghyun stumbling backwards, and unintentionally into you. you fell onto the pavement. no further physical injury, thankfully, but in the sudden intensity of it all, a moment of weakness slipped through the cracks: a sob ringing from your diaphragm.

seunghyun panicked, scurrying over to you. “h—hey,” he was on all fours, having not gotten up yet, the adrenaline currently fogging his logic. “you okay, baby? a-are—are you hurt? hey—” “—i’m fine.” you wiped the tears off your face harshly, pissed at everything and every-fucking one. seunghyun grabbed your wrist, eyes widening, “oh my god—what happened to your hand? h-holy shit.” “i-it was when i—” your tears had subsided, yet the stability in your voice had yet to return. “w-when you—” “—look what the fuck you did, jiyong!” seunghyun yelled. he got to his feet, “she's—she’s fucking bleeding, man!” jiyong’s face fell, “w-what? i didn’t . . . i didn’t mean to—” “that’s what happens when you do the stupid shit you do,” spat seunghyun, “people get hurt.” “you’ve hurt me my entire fucking life! made me—made me feel weak!” jiyong yelled. he pointed at seunghyun, feeling his bottom lip pulsate. “that’s all you know how to do, seunghyun!” seunghyun stepped forward, about to retaliate. “if only you—” “shut the fuck up!” you yelled, drawing out the last syllable in desperation—or until your breath gave out. jiyong and seunghyun were stunned into silence. finally, some fucking peace—"the both of you are so fucking annoying—god!“ you ended in a frustrated exclaim, pinching the bridge of your nose.

after a moment, you took a breath. you laid your left palm on the pavement in an effort to boost yourself onto your feet. "here, let me—” “you’ve done enough.” you said curtly to seunghyun, who backed off immediately, hands behind his back. you got up, pain searing on your pinky. “fuck,” you winced, wrist limp. on his instinct, seunghyun’s body was close to yours. you lifted your head, looking at jiyong. “we’re done.” you said, plain and simple. “fuck off. forever and always.” you turned your head, glancing at seunghyun. “i don’t care what the fuck you do,” you said. “i just want to go to bed.” with that, you walked away, towards the front entrance of your residential building. seunghyun took a steps forward in your direction, but found himself stalling. he turned to jiyong, their exchange wordless. there it was—their special language, harnessed and utilized since birth, spoken for what feels like the last time. they stared at each other underneath the warmth of the aged streetlight—jiyong’s bottom lip swollen; seunghyun’s left eyebrow scuffed and chest most definitely bruised—in complete silence to the passerby, but a cacophony of madness blasting their brains.

it was a last goodbye. jiyong’s face was unreadable, too tired to show emotion anymore. with how his fingers curled into his palm, however, tugging at the sleeve of his suit, communicated unease. like he wasn’t ready for what this was going to mean with the only person he’s ever trusted in his life. seunghyun’s eyes glistened, not sure where exactly his emotions were coming from, since there were so many avenues: having just fought with jiyong; the love of his life is currently hurting both emotionally and physically; the mess he’s going to repair once he walks inside your dorm; the realization that he’s already made his decision, and once he puts one foot in front of the other, his best friend will become a stranger. seunghyun’s lips parted, taking a breath. he walked away and didn’t look back.

you two stood in silence in the communal kitchen. seunghyun sifted through the first aid kit, collecting a few alcohol wipes, a sterile gauze sponge, and band aids. he tended to your broken pinky nail, cleaning and securely bandaging it up. “i know.” he whispered whenever you couldn’t hold in your wince, feeling it throb. “i know, baby.” he brought your hand to his lips, kissing the back of it. he sat in a chair, you stood between his knees as you tended to the scuff on his eyebrow. you cleaned the cut with an alcohol wipe, protecting it with a smaller-sized bandaid.

seunghyun helped you undress in your dorm, sliding your blazer off your arms before unbuttoning the back of your blouse. he hung his suit on the back of your desk chair, leaving his button-up with it, too. he sat on the edge of your bed after taking his matching trousers off, feeling the mattress dip next to him. “hm?” he hummed. he looked up, seeing you point to his bare chest, a few bruises littering his pecks. you brought out your vanilla-scented body oil, usually used to moisturize your body after a shower, but massaged it into his skin nonetheless. though the oil held no healing properties, the tenderness of your gesture and touch was enough to start healing him. seunghyun’s posture relaxed, head falling back whilst his eyes closed, breathing steadying as your left palm wrote a love letter on his chest—each firm rub an affirmation, each encircled trace of a bruise a vow.

you massaged whatever oil was left into either of his shoulders. your hand found the back of his neck, bringing seunghyun in for a long-needed kiss. it was slow—breathing each other in through your nostrils. the kiss gently broke, the tips of your noses brushing together. you broke long-standing, yet amicable silence: “that was really stupid.” you alleviated the messy tension. seunghyun chuckled, breath warm against your cheek. “it wasn’t a little bit hot?” he quipped in a murmur, making you smile. “maybe.” you giggled sweetly, “a little bit.” your hand combed through his hair, fingers gingerly fixing stray strands laying in disarray on his forehead. “did you think i was gonna follow you?” he asked, voice low. though you took a moment, you answered in earnest. you shook your head, looking into his eyes, “no.” it was plausible: so much history between him and jiyong, it would make more than enough sense to stick by his side, even after nearly bashing each other’s faces in. but as you looked into the love of your life’s eyes, watching his twinkling pupils scatter around your features; mouth parted in unspoken hope, latching on your every word—you couldn’t help but be happy that the one you upended your life for did the exactly same thing for you. this love story is tragic, your inner monologue voiced, but those are always the best ones, right?

“but i’m glad you did.” you told seunghyun. a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. he leaned in, kissing you firmly. you kissed him back, hand with your injury pinky gently riding up his bare chest, settling comfortably onto the side of his neck. seunghyun kissed you again before breaking apart, resting his forehead against yours. you two settled into bed soon afterward, seunghyun reaching over you to turn your lamp off before settling onto your chest. your fingers lovingly carded through his hair, bandaged pinky held in the air to avoid any discomfort on your end. perhaps it was the white noise of your air conditioning unit, the fact that seunghyun was in a dark and quiet room and nestled into your chest, that the emotional gravitas of the evening finally began to weigh on him. this was not to say you went unscathed—you were exhausted to the point of muscular weakness. seunghyun felt his sinuses tingle, loosening expeditiously. he sucked in his bottom lip, trying to keep it from trembling. his shuddering shoulders gave him away. “seunghyun?” you were alert. “hey,” your fingers raked through his hair, trying to get his attention. you heard muffled cries, a part of your shirt dampening. there was a moment he seemed to have leveled. until he couldn’t bear it anymore, breaking out into broken sobs. you held him as tightly as you could, feeling his hands aimlessly paw at your waist. he didn’t say a word. your vision blurred, clamping your eyes shut.

the next few days were for recalibrating. seunghyun called a taxi to the hotel, trying to ward off his hangover with a cigarette. he rubbed his face at a traffic light, skin feeling heavier than usual. he sucked in a breath, pressing gently down on his sore sinuses—evident remnants of how hard he cried just hours before. he pulled into a pharmacy, walking through the aisles for antiseptic, fresh gauze and bandages for your pinky. his phone buzzed in his pocket whilst standing in line for checkout: Im more awake now, you texted. lmk when youre back. ofc baby, he typed with his left hand, right holding the full shopping basket. it was then that he saw the time, 10:37 AM. it's only hitting me now that it's monday, he thought to himself. he looked up, seeing a free cashier gesturing for him to come to their counter, last week ji and i made plans to help each other move out. wonder how he’s gonna do it on his own. jiyong woke up with a blistering headache. he stumbled into the bathroom, squinting at his reflection after hastily turning the light on. his bottom lip was swollen and bruised—not enough to warrant a visit to the nearby urgent care, but enough to begrudgingly put ice on it as his eggo waffles toasted; scarfing them down before throwing back two advils for the pain. just when his brain started to catch up with his body, senses permeated by the memories of the evening previous, his phone rang—ringtone piercing.

“hello? mom?” he mumbled, trying to decipher her words. his headache worsened, “you’re at the airport? how long’ve you and dad been there?” he had forgotten his parents were flying in today for graduation later in the week. to his relief, he hadn’t inadvertently stranded them at san jose international airport, but by his mother’s tone, she was growing impatient. “i’ll leave soon—traffic isn’t bad in the morning. okay. i love you, too. yes—yes, mom. i’ll drive carefully.” his parents were mortified to see their son’s injured mouth. hundreds if not thousands of questions were hurled at him. jiyong couldn’t stomach looking into their eyes, closing the trunk with a huff after putting their luggage inside. “seunghyun and i got into a fight.” jiyong muttered, putting his car in drive. “that badly?” he looked into the rearview mirror, seeing his father point to his lip. jiyong tsked, keeping his eyes on the road. “what could’ve possibly made you two that upset?” his mother disapproved, shaking her head. “this is so unlike you.” jiyong grimaced, tight-lipped as his bitterness clouded his senses. more like who it was, his inner monologue grumbled, merging into traffic.

word travels fast. seunghyun dug into his egg’s benedict as you cut into your breakfast platter—either of your styrofoam take-out boxes squeaking against the table in the communal kitchen—his phone rang. “hello?” his voice was muffled, trying to chew through his bite, wiping his mouth with a crumpled napkin. his father didn’t waste time with pleasantries: ���what’s this i hear about you and jiyong getting into a fight?” seunghyun glanced in your direction. with how you looked at him, it was as if you understood his mother language. seunghyun cleared his throat, expression darkening a bit. his chin sunk, “we’re not talking right now, dad.” he spoke into the phone, “i'll—i’ll tell you and mom when you come tomorrow. it's a lot to explain over the phone. the least i can do is tell you face-to-face.” it surprised you when he called the next afternoon, asking if you were free for dinner.

“talk about a novel way to meet your boyfriend’s parents.” you quipped, holding your phone to your ear with your shoulder. your hands were occupied with folding your clothes and putting them into your luggage—the task you worked through today to slowly pack your dorm up for move-out. “after … y'know.” “i know.” said seunghyun. he overheard his parents in the kitchen, trying to differentiate his tupperware from his roommate’s, “would you be ready in a couple hours? around seven, let's say? my parents have a rental, so they’ll meet us there from their hotel. alleviate some of the—” he cut himself off, unsure of what word to use, “y'know.” you took a moment before responding, “they wanna see if i was worth it, don’t they?” seunghyun was quick to reassure, “you leave that to me.” he said. “you’re more than worth it. you need to know that.” you turned to retrieve the last few sweaters from your dresser, catching your reflection in the mirror. “i know.”

the world moves fast, but you and seunghyun move faster. the following day—wednesday evening, the night before your graduation—seunghyun’s for the school of humanities and science was friday morning—he met your parents over dinner. his eyebrow scuff had healed enough to ward off worry of you dating a heathen. he was a smooth and confident talker, getting to know your parents as much as they got to know him. he offered an easy smile before answering questions about his studies, or how tennis became such an important pillar of his life since a young age. he mentioned jiyong, but not by name: “a family friend and i have done it since we were kids.” he said, quickly taking a sip of his water, “its stuck since then.” though his characteristic confidence spoke for itself, he sought a comforting grip of your hand underneath the table whenever possible—adding a gentle swipe with his thumb after you explained your bandaged pinky away, “i was packing. i didn’t have a good grip on a storage box.” you said to your parents. “it hurts a lot less now, though. but i can’t do much heavy lifting. that’s where he comes in.” you gestured to seunghyun. he grinned, glancing down at his lap, feeling his face warm through his mounting sheepishness.

jiyong saw you in the crowd at graduation. he heard your name being called, but looked away before you walked across the stage to accept your degree. seunghyun and jiyong were tight-lipped in photos and spoke minimally to one another in their shared graduation dinner come friday night—much to either of their parents’ dismay. not that you were planning on it, but you didn’t attend—spending your evening with your parents, finishing packing your dorm to load the mover’s van the next morning. on the way to meet his parents at their hotel, jiyong drove by your residential building. though it was a simple start to the early afternoon on this partly cloudy saturday, the universe still had some distasteful jokes up her sleeve.

he came to a gradual stop at the traffic light, reaching down to recline his seat a centimeter or two. he stuck his elbow out the window, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. his ears caught the sound of rickety carts, turning his head to his left. he was able to make out the open trunk of a uhaul van—seeing you turn the corner, seunghyun behind you wheeling a steele moving cart filled with your belongings. he saw two people standing by the other side of the van in conversation—presumably your parents. his heart sunk bitterly, but for a fleeting second, he forgot the reason why: i didn’t know hyun was gonna be here, his inner monologue voiced, he didn’t tell—

he kissed his teeth, looking away. why would he? he wondered pitifully. resent brewed between his temples, percolating at the back of his neck. his eyebrows furrowed in muted frustration, not like we’d tell each other anything anyway. sharing their immediate thoughts, phoning the other whenever they were just an iota unsure about something, and being one another’s second nature felt long gone—all in a matter of days. a shared life, disqualified with a swing of a fist. not erased, though. at least not to me … jiyong couldn’t stop himself from looking again. he watched seunghyun and your father lift a heavy storage bin into the van—your mother and you talking to the side. once finished, seunghyun checked to see if your parents weren’t looking, sneaking a kiss to your temple. a silent thank you manifested in your hand rubbing his lower back, bandaged pinky running along the fabric of his shirt.

that was also when jiyong saw your shirt: I TOLD YA, in bold letters. the words were stacked vertically, staring jiyong right in the eye. he had never seen you wear it before, let alone in your closet. though the look of the relaxed gray fabric was somewhat familiar, he was too busy jumping to irrational conclusions. it felt like a subliminal message—something out to get him; taunt him. that he would never be happy, everything he will want would eventually be taken away, and vindication wasn’t part of his fate: i told you so. whilst you and seunghyun were clueless—ushered over by your parents to make plans for lunch—jiyong sped off, tight-lipped; vein engorged on his temple . . .

honey's taglist ☕️: @gongyoosgf @infinetlyforgotten @riddlerloveb0t @mesopotamism @pepsicolapussi @breakmeoff @thanosspills @moontabi @tabibabib @lexalith @lavenderobsessed @heartubeatusalon

[minyoongisnewthing]

Han river lullaby chapter nine | myg

Chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five, chapter six, chapter seven, chapter eight

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Genre: angst, fluff, exs to lovers, eventual smut, idol!au, co parents, second chance romance

Chapter warnings: mild suggestive content, mentions of medical situation (humorous)

Word count: 5.2 k roughly

Authors notes: I want to thank everyone for there patience waiting for this chapter life indeed kicked my ass between work emergencies and life just lifting I apologise for leaving you hanging I hope this chapter meets expectations as always let me know what you think in the comments and in my ask box if you’d like as well :)

The bliss of Daegu still lingered like the aftertaste of something sweet—but even the most heart-warming moments couldn’t keep the demands of the ER at bay. Life kept moving, and so did your shift. You were nine hours into what was rapidly becoming a twelve-hour marathon, your body aching from the relentless pace, and your brain running on fumes.

Leaning against the nurse’s station, you took a moment to breathe, letting the hum of machines and distant voices blur into background noise. You fished your phone from your scrubs pocket, thumb hovering over the screen. You needed a moment of softness. A tether.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard.

What did you even call him now that you were back together?

Y/N: Hey sweetie.

No. Too cutesy.

Y/N: Hey honey.

Nope. That felt like a sitcom mom from the ’50s.

Y/N: Hey baby daddy.

Okay, he’d definitely laugh at that one, you could practically hear the scoff of amusement he’d let out when that popped up on his Lock Screen, but still… no.

Y/N: Hey my love.

Your thumb froze. Too much? Maybe. But also… was it wrong? Not even close. You’d felt that way for a long time. You were nearly certain he’d been on the verge of saying it back in Daegu, but then Han had come bounding in, all wide eyes and cookie ambitions, and the moment had slipped away.

You exhaled slowly, your heart thudding, before deleting the message and starting over.

Y/N: Hey Yoon, the ER is wild tonight. Looks like I might be stuck for a 12-hour shift. Is it okay if Han stays over again?

You hit send before you could overthink it.

The reply came fast—like he’d been waiting.

Yoongi: Sure thing, baby. No drama. Han’s currently munching on an apple and telling Tae every single detail about our trip.

You’re welcome to crash here too—so you’re there when he wakes up.

Your heart stuttered. “Baby.” It rolled off his tongue so easily, like it had never left. Like it belonged. The warmth that bloomed in your chest was immediate.

Y/N: Thank you. I’ll head over after my shift.

Kiss Han for me.

Yoongi: I’d rather kiss you.

Your cheeks burned. Right on cue, a familiar voice chirped over your shoulder.

“That Han’s dad?”

You jumped. Grace—your favorite nurse, your chaotic work-wife, and trusted gossip partner—peeked over your shoulder with an infuriating smirk.

You turned, mock glaring. “Mind your business.”

Grace laughed, completely unbothered, already halfway down the hallway. “Too late. I’ve seen the flirty texts. He wants to kiss you and everything. Better be ready to spill.”

You sighed, tucking your phone away—but the smile on your face didn’t budge. Even the ache in your legs felt a little easier to bear with that warmth in your chest.

Fifteen minutes later, you found yourself in the break room, finally snagging a bite of dinner. You collapsed into the chair across from Grace with a sigh, dropping your salad on the table like it had personally offended you.

She arched a perfectly drawn brow. “That kind of sigh usually comes with either a panic attack or a love confession. What’s going on?”

You looked at her for a beat before finally letting it spill. “I need your advice.”

Grace perked up like a cat hearing the treat bag crinkle. “Say less. I live for this. What’s the tea, babe?”

You stirred your salad with your fork, barely picking at it. “Han’s dad… he asked me and Han to move in with him.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Grace’s jaw dropped. “Y/N! What?! That’s huge!”

“I know,” you groaned. “And I’m not saying no. I’m… considering it. It’s just… is it too fast?”

Grace leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, giving you that trademark Big Sister Look™ that was usually followed by painful truths and unrelenting honesty.

“Okay, let’s break this down,” she said, popping a grape in her mouth like a therapist with snacks. “Do you trust him?”

“Yes.”

“Do you still love him?”

Your hand froze halfway to your mouth.

You didn’t answer right away. But you didn’t need to.

Grace’s eyes softened. “Yeah. Thought so.”

“I do,” you whispered. “I love him. I never really stopped, if I’m being honest.”

“And Han?” she asked.

Your expression softened immediately. “He’s obsessed with him. They’re like—ugh, Grace, it’s stupid how much they adore each other.”

“Y/N, that’s not stupid. That’s everything. That’s your kid feeling safe, seen, loved. Don’t you dare brush that off like it’s nothing.”

“I just…” you hesitated, chewing on your lower lip. “I don’t want to ruin it. What if it’s too soon? What if we’re chasing a version of us that only worked because of nostalgia?”

Grace snorted. “First of all, nostalgia doesn’t survive toddler tantrums or early morning school runs. This isn’t a fantasy. You’re living it. You’re showing up for each other. And honestly? You’re already living between his place and yours.”

You blinked. “That obvious?”

“Babe, You left your stethoscope in his bathroom just two weeks ago. That man is basically one romantic dinner away from holding your toothbrush hostage.”

You laughed, unable to deny it. Your heart felt a little lighter, the edges of your anxiety softening under her words.

“And let’s not forget,” Grace added, pointing her fork at you, “you’re not just doing this for you. Han’s happiness matters too. And if moving in makes him feel secure, feel like his little world finally has all the puzzle pieces in place… then don’t let fear stop you from giving him that.”

You nodded slowly, her words settling deep into your bones.

“Okay,” you said, a slow smile tugging at your lips. “I’ll think about it. Seriously.”

Grace beamed, victorious. “Good. Because I better be invited to the housewarming. And if you two make another baby, I get to pick the name.”

You choked on your salad. “Grace!”

“What?! I’m great with names. And this time I’ll keep it under four syllables.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the last of the tension bleeding out of you as the room filled with warm, easy banter.

Maybe this wasn’t rushing.

Maybe this was just… finding your way back home.

As you’d predicted—though hoped desperately against—your shift spiraled straight into the dreaded 12-hour marathon. Your feet throbbed in your shoes, your back ached from hours hunched over trauma charts and triage forms, and your brain felt like it was running on static and adrenaline fumes. The ER never let up tonight.

By the time you arrived at Yoongi’s front door, you were barely holding yourself together. Even lifting your hand to knock felt like too much. Instead, you leaned your weight against the cool hallway wall, eyes fluttering shut as you waited for the door to open, silently praying for comfort in any form—a warm bed, a soft word, his arms.

The sound of the deadbolt turning snapped you out of your daze.

The door creaked open, and Yoongi’s familiar voice, warm and laced with concern, greeted you.

“Damn… Wanna talk about it?”

You looked up. He stood there in sweats and a worn gray t-shirt, hair pushed back messily, eyes scanning you with gentle worry. There was something in his expression—equal parts softness and mischief—that nearly undid you. Without a word, you stepped into the apartment, dragging your aching body toward the couch like a survivor returning from battle.

You collapsed with a sigh so deep it shook the room, letting your head fall against the cushion. Yoongi followed you in, a quiet presence as he padded to the kitchen, returning with a glass of water and a folded blanket he draped across your lap. He sat beside you, one knee bent on the cushion, elbow on the backrest as he turned to face you fully.

“Gonna sound like an asshole,” he said, handing you the water with a half-grin, “but you look like you’ve been through hell.”

You took a sip, then let out a tired laugh, the sound raspier than usual. “Oh, you have no idea.”

“Wanna give me the highlight reel?”

You nodded, your body starting to relax into the cushions now that he was close, now that the chaos of the ER had been replaced with the scent of clean linen and the soft rhythm of Yoongi’s voice.

“Okay,” you said, rolling your neck out. “Let’s see. We started the night with a kid who shoved a magnet up his nose—easy fix. Then a guy with a couple of broken bones, pretty straightforward. The usual parade of non-emergency emergencies. One guy came in because he had hiccups. For three hours.”

Yoongi blinked. “…He came to the emergency room for hiccups?”

“Oh yeah,” you said, wryly. “I gave him a glass of water and told him to hold his breath. Then billed him $600.”

That made Yoongi snort, but you weren’t done.

You leaned in a little, dropping your voice conspiratorially. “But the real gem of the night? A couple walks in—early thirties, super flustered. The guy looks like he’s about to pass out. Turns out…” You paused for effect. “He tried to spice things up in the bedroom. Used one of his girlfriend’s toys on himself. And it got stuck.”

Yoongi blinked again. “Stuck?”

You nodded solemnly. “Stuck. And still on.”

There was a beat of silence before the full horror (and hilarity) of it hit him. His mouth dropped open, then shut, then he burst into laughter. That full-body kind—the deep, chesty kind that Yoongi didn’t give away easily. He clutched his stomach, his head dropping back as he gasped, “Nooo—”

“Oh, yes,” you said, holding your hands up. “The vibrating noise echoed through the trauma room. I had to stay composed while this poor guy was practically in tears. He kept saying, ‘Please, make it stop, I can’t feel my legs.’”

Yoongi wheezed with laughter. “Oh my god—”

“I had to give him a sedative just to remove it,” you said, already giggling at the memory yourself. “He thanked me afterwards like I’d just saved his life. The girlfriend couldn’t even make eye contact.”

Yoongi was red in the face, nearly in tears. “I will never complain about a long shift again. That’s… Jesus.”

You nodded. “ER nurses deserve hazard pay and a therapist.”

The laughter faded slowly, replaced with a familiar warmth as Yoongi looked at you—really looked. The exhaustion in your eyes, the tension still lingering in your shoulders. He reached out, brushing a stray hair behind your ear before standing with a stretch and offering his hand.

“Come on,” he murmured. “You’re done for today. Shower. Pajamas. Then I want you horizontal—no arguments.”

You groaned as he helped you up. “I’m getting you a best boyfriend award like right now.”

He smirked, guiding you toward the bathroom. “I already laid your stuff out. Towels, lotion, some fluffy socks. I even found that hair clip you left last time.”

You paused at the door, touched. “You’re dangerously good at this.”

“I know,” he said with a wink. “Now go wash the vibrating trauma off of you.”

You laughed again, then disappeared into the bathroom. The hot water was heaven—steam rolling over your sore muscles, washing away the ER grime and emotional weight of the day. You stayed under until your fingers pruned and the ache in your back melted into manageable warmth.

When you emerged, clean and wrapped in your softest pajamas, the apartment was quiet and dim, the only light coming from Yoongi’s bedroom. You padded in slowly, hair still damp, and found him already under the covers, one arm stretched across the mattress in silent invitation.

You didn’t hesitate.

You slipped into bed, curling into his warmth as he pulled you into his chest without a word. His hand rubbed slow, lazy circles across your back, and the comfort of it nearly undid you. You buried your face in his shirt, breathing in the familiar scent of laundry, skin, and something warm and safe that only belonged to Yoongi.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, voice barely a whisper.

“You’re amazing, you know that?”

You hummed, too tired to respond with words, but your hand slid beneath his shirt to rest over his heart, your thumb tracing the steady beat that grounded you.

As your eyes fluttered shut, the hum of the ER faded from your mind. The only thing left was Yoongi’s breath in your hair, the way his hand held you close, and the subtle, almost imperceptible shift in the air—like something was settling into place.

Then it hit you, you were home.

The next morning, the soft hush of the apartment wrapped around you like a promise. You stirred awake to the sensation of something gently pressing against your ribs. Blinking against the early light seeping in through the curtains, you looked down—and smiled.

There he was.

Han, curled up between you and Yoongi, his little body sprawled out diagonally like a starfish. One sock-clad foot was wedged into your side while the other rested lightly against Yoongi’s stomach. His head rose and fell with the steady rhythm of his father’s breathing, nestled against Yoongi’s chest like it was the safest place in the world. His tiny hand was pressed sleepily to Yoongi’s cheek, fingers twitching in dreams.

Your chest tightened with a fierce, quiet love.

You slid carefully from the bed, tucking the blanket back over the boys. Yoongi stirred slightly but didn’t wake—his arm automatically tightened around Han in sleep, protective and instinctual. The sight etched itself deep into your heart.

Padding quietly into the kitchen, the coolness of the tiles grounded your aching feet. You started the coffee machine, the low hum and rich aroma instantly soothing. The comforting scent of roasted beans filled the space, mingling with the soft light of morning just beginning to filter through the windows. The city outside was still stretching itself awake.

You were halfway through your first sip when the thunder of tiny footsteps echoed from the hallway.

“Eomma!” Han squealed, launching himself into the room like a pint-sized missile.

You winced and chuckled, crouching just in time to catch him. “Bubba,” you whispered, rubbing his back, “inside voice.”

His eyes grew comically wide as he slapped a hand over his mouth. “Oops,” he stage-whispered, and your heart swelled at the sincerity in his face.

You straightened, moving toward the fruit bowl, starting to slice up a banana for breakfast when Han’s attention shifted. His gaze wandered to the partially open door across the room—Yoongi’s studio.

You hadn’t even realized it had been left ajar.

His brows furrowed as he pointed. “Eomma… what’s that room?”

You turned to follow his gaze, realizing the glass display case was in full view—the awards, the gleaming plaques, the golden trophies all standing proud on the back wall. Han’s jaw dropped slightly as he took in the sight.

“Those are Appa’s,” you explained gently, walking over to close the studio door with care. “Trophies from his music. From him and your uncles.”

Han blinked up at you, eyes shimmering with awe. “Appa’s music?” he whispered. “Can I hear it?”

You felt your breath catch for a moment at how reverent his little voice sounded—like he was asking to hear magic. You smiled and nodded.

“Of course, baby.”

You pulled out your phone and tapped into Yoongi’s Spotify. His solo work was already favorited—your little secret indulgence whenever you missed him more than usual. You hooked it up to the speakers, and as the opening beat of “Daechwita” roared softly to life, Han froze.

The percussion vibrated gently through the apartment, and Han’s eyes widened like he was witnessing a superhero transformation. He looked at you, utterly floored.

“That’s Appa?”

You nodded with a soft chuckle. “Yep. That’s Appa.”

Han’s little body twitched with excitement before he started moving—tiny shoulders bobbing, feet bouncing, mimicking the beat. You joined him, unable to resist, rapping along the parts you could, both of you dancing freely in the middle of the kitchen. It was chaotic and hilarious and utterly joyful.

By the time “Who’s the king? Who’s the boss?” hit, Han was spinning in circles, and you were breathless from laughter, clapping along and feeding off his energy.

You were mid-spin when a soft voice drifted in from the hallway.

“Well, damn. Am I interrupting dance rehearsal?”

You turned, cheeks flushed, to find Yoongi leaning sleepily against the doorframe, hair tousled and sticking up adorably in every direction. His hoodie hung lopsided off one shoulder, and his face was still puffy from sleep—but the smile on his face?

It was full-on sunshine.

“You’re up, did we wake you?” you said, brushing hair from your face, flashing him an apologetic look

“No you didn’t wake me,” he replied, voice rough with sleep but warm with affection. “I just didn’t want to miss the show.”

Han gasped when he saw Yoongi and ran full-speed across the room. “Appa! That’s your song!”

Yoongi crouched just in time to catch him, letting Han knock into his chest like a cannonball. He chuckled. “It is, did you like it?”

“Yes!, can I hear more?” Han begged, bouncing in his arms.

Yoongi chuckled again and nodded. “Sure bubs, why not.”

You switched the playlist, letting BTS’s “Mic Drop” take over the room. Han lost it—jumping, spinning, throwing his arms around like he was on stage himself. Yoongi plopped down on the floor next to him, sipping the coffee you handed him while watching his son with unmistakable pride.

You stood beside them, your hand brushing against Yoongi’s arm.

“Hey, Yoon,” you said softly.

He glanced up at you, his smile fading into something more open, more vulnerable. “Yeah?”

You hesitated for just a moment, your heart beating a little faster. But you were done dancing around it. You were ready.

“I’ve made up my mind.”

His brows lifted slightly. He set his coffee down, full attention on you now.

“Han and I…” You inhaled slowly, then smiled. “We’ll move in with you.”

Yoongi froze.

His breath caught, his eyes searched yours like he was trying to make sure he’d heard you right. And then—

His smile broke across his face like sunrise.

“Really?” he breathed.

You nodded, and barely had the chance to say yes again before Yoongi surged to his feet, cupped your face in both hands, and kissed you—deep and full and bursting with happiness.

It wasn’t rushed. It was slow and sure and full of promise, like the closing of a chapter and the beginning of something new all at once.

Han, oblivious to the emotional milestone, was still dancing, spinning in dizzy little circles.

When Yoongi finally pulled back, he pressed his forehead to yours, his voice low and thick.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

You brushed your thumb across his cheek. “Don’t thank me yoon, It’s what we should have been all along.”

And right there, with music still thumping low in the background, your son dancing in a blur of joy, and your heart beating steady against the man you never stopped loving—you felt like you were home.

The packing up of your life over the next few weeks had felt… surreal.

This apartment had witnessed so much. It had been your sanctuary during heartbreak, your war zone during toddler tantrums, your safe haven when the world outside was too loud. Every chipped mug in the cabinet, every crayon mark on the wall, every squeaky floorboard under your bed carried pieces of the life you built—just you and Han. A life you’d fought for, protected, and nurtured with everything you had.

And now, it was all being folded into cardboard boxes and labeled in permanent marker. Bedroom—Han’s toys. Kitchen—everyday plates. Hall closet—donate.

It was all so tangible, so final. A chapter closing, not with a slam, but with the quiet reverence of turning the last page.

You stood in the middle of the empty living room, staring at the spot where Han had taken his first steps, where you’d cried after one of your hardest night shifts, where you’d once slow-danced with a glass of wine in hand and music playing through your phone speaker. You let the silence settle around you, breathing it in, letting it echo. Letting it go.

Yoongi had offered to help move, of course. He even suggested hiring a moving service. But you’d wanted to do this part yourself. Not out of pride, but because… this mattered. Closing the door yourself mattered.

With the last box secured in the trunk, you took one last look at the apartment—at your first home as a mother—and shut the door behind you.

You climbed into the driver’s seat, hands pausing on the steering wheel for just a beat longer before you looked into the rearview mirror. Han was already buckled in, his little legs swinging with uncontainable excitement. He was clutching his current favorite stuffed toy—a blue dinosaur with a wonky stitched eye—and humming to himself, a tune made up on the spot, off-key and perfect.

The sight made something twist in your chest—a soft ache of joy and nostalgia. His happiness was radiant. It filled the car like sunlight.

You turned the key in the ignition and backed out of the driveway for the last time. As the apartment disappeared in your rearview mirror, you cleared your throat lightly.

“Alright, Han bubba,” you said, keeping your tone upbeat but firm. “You remember the one room in Appa’s house you’re not allowed to go in unless Appa or I say it’s okay?”

Han immediately let out a loud long groan and flopped his head against the side of his car seat. “Eommaaa… I know! Appa’s music room!”

You raised your eyebrows at him through the mirror in warning. “Wanna try that again without the attitude, mister?”

He sat up straight and nodded quickly, lips pressed together in seriousness. “Sorry,” he said, and then his mouth split into a wide, wiggly-toothed grin. “I’m just… happy!”

That time, you couldn’t help but laugh. You reached your arm back between the seats and he eagerly grabbed your hand with his smaller one, squeezing tightly.

“I know you are, baby,” you said softly. “I am too.”

He beamed at you, his joy bubbling over like a bottle of shaken soda.

“But,” you added, giving his hand a gentle squeeze, “just remember… even though Appa will be home, that doesn’t mean he’s always free. He still has to work.”

Han nodded along enthusiastically. “Because he makes music!”

“That’s right,” you said. “Appa’s music room is really important. That’s where he records his songs and helps other people with their songs too. So we have to respect his space when he’s working, okay?”

“I promise, eomma,” he said, solemn as a judge. And then, his voice dipped shyly. “But… do you think Appa will ever let me hear him make music? Like, really hear it?”

Your heart squeezed.

There was something sacred in the way Han said it. Not just curious. Admiring. Like he already knew his father made something powerful, something special, even if he didn’t fully understand it yet.

You turned back to the road, but your smile lingered. “I think… if you ask nicely, and promise not to touch anything, Appa might let you sit in with him one day.”

Han gasped, practically vibrating in his booster seat. “Really? Like… watch him play? And wear the big headphones?”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing. “We’ll see, bubba. You know how Appa feels about his buttons.”

“I won’t press any!” he promised, voice high with excitement.

You reached to turn down the music playing quietly in the background, letting the moment settle in as you merged onto the main road, leaving your old neighborhood behind.

As the skyline of Yoongi’s neighborhood began to appear in the distance, something shifted in your chest. A quiet knowing. A peace.

You weren’t running toward a fantasy.

You were moving toward something real.

A home that Han could grow up in. A space where your little family could build—not just exist.

And in the seat beside you? A promise of a second chance. A man who’d never stopped loving you, even in the moments when he couldn’t say it. A man who’d stayed up late assembling a bed with Han’s help, who put up glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling because “Eomma says you sleep better with the stars watching.”

You reached up to adjust the rearview mirror and caught Han watching out the window, his breath fogging the glass as he whispered to himself, “We’re going home.”

And you couldn’t have agreed more.

Walking into Yoongi’s apartment, you barely had a chance to take in the sleek lines and minimalist decor before you were met with absolute chaos.

“Jimin, just stop moving the boxes—I had a system!” Yoongi shouted from somewhere down the hall, his voice echoing off the high ceilings in pure exasperation.

“I’m literally helping,” Jimin fired back indignantly, arms thrown in the air as he stepped around a stack of labeled containers. “You should be thanking me! I’m putting them where they go!”

“Where they go? According to who?” Yoongi barked from another room. “You’re just putting shit wherever it fits!”

A loud thud echoed through the apartment, followed by the sound of a picture frame teetering dangerously.

“Jungkook!” Yoongi’s voice rose another octave, more desperate now. “Stay out of the kitchen!”

You turned just in time to catch the youngest member of the group sheepishly poking his head out from behind the refrigerator door, a guilty grin smeared with something suspiciously like the leftover kimchi you were planning to use at dinner. “I was checking for… perishables,” Jungkook mumbled, cheeks puffed out mid-bite.

Namjoon, the only semblance of calm in the whirlwind, stood by the open front door holding it wide for you. He looked almost serene, though the slight twitch of his eye gave away his internal suffering.

“Thanks, Joon,” you murmured, shifting the box on your hip as you stepped inside.

“No problem,” he replied smoothly, lips twitching in amusement. “Welcome to your new madhouse.”

The second Han’s shoes hit the floor, he bolted forward like a rocket. “Uncle Kookie! Uncle Minnie!” he squealed, his tiny voice slicing straight through the noise like a bell.

Jungkook lit up immediately. “Han!” he called, dropping the snack and scooping the boy up into his arms with a dramatic twirl. “My favorite nephew!”

From the hallway, Yoongi’s voice rang out, deadpan. “He’s your only nephew, genius.”

You couldn’t help it—you laughed. Deep and warm and surprised by how much this noise, this mess, this family had crept into your heart. You had missed them. All of them. Not just Yoongi, but these men who had stood beside him through everything—who were now standing beside you and Han without hesitation, without question, without condition.

Yoongi emerged a moment later, arms full of more stuff, hair a little sweaty, eyes narrowed at Jimin, who was busy pushing a pile labeled “Bedroom – Fragile” suspiciously close to the bathroom.

“I’m warning you,” Yoongi muttered through clenched teeth, “if I open that box and find y/n’s books or something under a damn weighted blanket—”

“You’re welcome for protecting it!” Jimin shot back. “You know the saying saying moisture ruins the sleeves!”

“That’s not what it meant!”

You shook your head, laughter bubbling out of you. Yoongi was trying so hard to maintain order, but it was like trying to herd caffeinated cats.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Namjoon lingering by the entrance, arms crossed as he watched the scene unfold like a man observing art—beautiful in its chaos. He looked like he wanted to intervene… but also like he was enjoying this way too much.

You carefully set your box down on a side table and turned toward him. “Hey, Joon,” you said, your voice quieting just slightly.

He tilted his head, his sharp, perceptive eyes immediately honing in on you. “Hey,” he answered warmly, though there was a subtle question hidden beneath the greeting.

You hesitated only for a moment before exhaling. “I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to thank you,” you said softly, sincerity threading every word.

Namjoon’s brows lifted in surprise. “For?”

You gave him a knowing look. “You know what for.”

He didn’t answer, just stood there with that typical calm, waiting patiently—offering you space.

“For helping me and Yoongi get to this point,” you said, your voice a little raw, a little vulnerable. “For being his anchor when he needed one. And for being mine… even before I deserved it.”

Namjoon’s face softened, but he stayed quiet.

You chuckled lightly, more at yourself than anything else. “The day you saw me and Han at that café? You could’ve torn me to shreds. You should’ve. I half-expected it. Honestly? And I would’ve accepted it.”

His jaw twitched, his silence turning contemplative.

“But you didn’t,” you continued. “You let me come to him on my own terms. You didn’t pressure. You didn’t guilt me. You supported me through it all, Joon. Without ever making me feel small.”

You looked down, fiddling with a piece of tape still stuck to your hand. “That meant everything. Still does.”

Namjoon let out a long, quiet breath. Then he nodded once, his smile slow and gentle, like sunlight peeking through morning fog. “Yeah, well… it’s what family does.”

The word hit you like a stone dropped in still water. Family.

Not a pitying word. Not a throwaway one. A declaration.

Your breath hitched quietly. You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him, solid and sure. No hesitation. No awkwardness. Just… gratitude.

Namjoon hugged you back just as tightly, warm and grounding. “You don’t owe me anything,” he murmured. “Just be happy. Both of you.”

Your eyes burned with unshed tears, but you smiled against his shoulder. “We’re trying.”

Across the room, Han shrieked with glee as Jungkook flipped him upside down, and Yoongi—finally defeated—sat cross-legged in the hallway with a beer Seokjin had handed him, mumbling, “Fine. Let the boxes live where they fall.”

Han scrambled over to him and immediately climbed into his lap, arms around his father’s neck. Yoongi melted, his lips pressing to the top of his son’s head as he murmured something you couldn’t hear. But you didn’t need to. The sight alone sent warmth spilling through your chest.

You turned back to Namjoon, who gave you one final nod and a squeeze on the shoulder.

And as you crossed the room toward Yoongi and Han, your chest felt so full it was almost hard to breathe. This—this glorious, chaotic, imperfect thing—was yours. A life you’d almost convinced yourself you’d never have again. A love you were no longer running from.

You sank down beside them, Yoongi’s hand reaching to find yours instinctively. Fingers intertwined like it was second nature. Han curled against both of you, babbling about where his toys would go and asking if his dino could live next to the window.

You smiled and nodded, pressing a kiss to the back of Han’s head. Yoongi caught your eye and mouthed one word.

Home.

And it was.

Taglist: @busanbby-jjk @jajabro @kam9404 @yoongiiuu93 @julseka07 @tea4sykes @marihoneywk @maryhopemei @sanarin @misschelliejeon @boraluv @wobblewobble822 @amarawayne @hyuninslutbbgirl @Granataepfelchen @mar-lo-pap @enfppuff @senaqsstuff @vainkiss @rinkud @lanyia @alessioayla @watchingover-hypegirl @muchwita @elliott-calls @kiki-zb

[dxrkxess]

.｡.:* ☆ intro post! ☆.｡.:*

«--- i hope that this helps in knowing me a bit more!! ---»

☆.｡.:* about me ☆.｡.:*

«--- hey hey! my name is shela -- i'm 22 years old (bday is 9/27 ♎) -- black + native american -- pronouns are she/they, though i don't really care for gender labels, i just exist lmao -- i'm bisexual + demiromantic, also single (painfully) -- also a person of faith, but my queerness and faith walk hand in hand with each other ---»

«--- i'm an avid fanfiction writer & reader (never a day w/o ao3) -- semi-retired video editor of 8+ years -- photo editor (sometimes) -- playlist maker -- binge watcher of mostly pro wrestling & other media (will be listed below) ---»

«--- i do have undiagnosed adhd, and possibly autism -- i love talking and rambling if you let me, most often through voice messages and discord calls (sorry not sorry) -- also absolutely love cats! rip in cat heaven to my cat kitty 💔 (10/7/24) ---»

☆.｡.:* interests .｡.:*☆

«--- pro wrestling (as it is the main interest here) -- wwe fan from july 2012 - april 2025; full time aew fan since april 2025 (locked in properly this year!) -- my faves (from both) are: 'hangman' adam page, swerve strickland, will ospreay, kyle fletcher, toni storm, mercedes moné, willow nightingale, seth rollins, drew mcintyre, tony d'angelo, ricky saints, tatum paxley, lyra valkyria ---»

«--- tv shows / web series / animes / movies -- interview with the vampire (iwtv), gotham, supernatural (spn), dead boy detectives (dbd), 9-1-1 (well... it's complicated. iykyk.), it's always sunny in philadelphia (iasip), conclave (2024), wicked (2024), sonic the hedgehog (movies), sonic prime, knives out (movies), mcu (specifically deadpool & loki), arcane, jojo's bizarre adventure, 91 days, jujutsu kaisen, blue exorcist, don't hug me i'm scared, sanders sides (and more) ---»

«--- games -- cookie run: kingdom, mortal kombat, undertale, undertale yellow, deltarune (GO CHECK OUT CHAPTERS 3 + 4 NOW), hades, persona 5, ace attorney (wrightworth canon.), geometry dash, the sims, castlevania, sonic the hedgehog, detroit: become human (and more) ---»

«--- music / artists / osts -- note: i do listen to a lot of things, these are just some my faves! -- hamilton (i have a poster, the physical cds, AND can remember the whole soundtrack from start to finish.), will wood, mitski, jack stauber, prince, the neighbourhood, kendrick lamar, david kushner, toby fox (undertale/deltarune osts), capcom (castlevania/ace attorney osts), sega (sonic the hedgehog osts) ---»

«--- separate section for: wrestling themes!! -- black hat ('hangman' adam page), elevated (will ospreay), big pressure (swerve strickland), ceo (mercedes moné), diamonds up (kyle fletcher), into the rico-verse (ricochet), strictly business (tony d'angelo), no one will survive (tommaso ciampa) -- i have more but that's just a taste haha ---»

☆.｡.:* other things of note .｡.:*☆

«--- please dni/unfollow if you are: racist, sexist, homophobic, transphobic, misogynistic, a pedophile, etc. YOU ARE NOT WELCOME IN THIS SPACE. ---»

«--- i liveblog aew mostly, but please feel free to use the ask box or dm if you want my thoughts on stuff going on, or even anything else! ---»

«--- all of my socials: twitter -- ao3 -- spotify (for ship playlists) -- picmix -- dropkickd -- personal tag for rambles -- youtube (at 291 subs!) -- discord (not linked): draconiamist ---»

«--- s/o to my friends/moots: @punk-o-ween @c-will (she ain't been on here for years but she's one of my besties) @orangepunched @bestboutmachines @pinkwillow @peachyomega @priyalively @thisbarbieisdefyinggravity @peppsta @glitterkairi @lghockey @st4rry4pples ---»

[petersasteria]

Smile For Me - M.Y.G

pairing: min yoongi x reader summary: the new barista at the local cafe doesn't smile at all type: coffee shop au note: yoongi doesn't come in until later in the fic ty for ur patience, slow burn, and the fic is rlly long word count: 9377

Moving alone to a different place scared you a lot. You didn't know anyone, you didn't know who to trust, most of the time, as much as you hate to admit it, you didn't know what to do. After graduating college with flying colors and a degree in business administration (major in finance), you foolishly thought you'd have the world in your hands. Unfortunately, you were very, very wrong.

Ever since you were young, you've always dreamed of living in Seoul. It was everyone in your small town's dream to live there and work. Older generations would always tell you that it was fine to live there, but your heart would still yearn for your small town and for years, you'd disagree. You were sick and tired of living in a small town, so after graduation, you decided to move to Seoul. With the money you saved over the years (from all those different gigs and jobs) and the money your parents saved for you, you were able to purchase a small apartment in Seoul. It's not much, but it's now your home.

Sure, it was cramped and you weren't able to sort out your things yet (most of them are still in boxes), but you found comfort in sleeping on your air mattress (temporary until you buy a new one) on the floor with your coziest duvet while you stare out the window.

Your journey living alone in Seoul wasn't easy at all. You only started looking for a job after moving and it took a month for you to land a decent job. You're now working at Poseidon Holdings Corp. as a secretary. It was stressful and you surely didn't use the things you learned at university, but you kind of liked it. After all, it was a decent job with decent pay. With no exaggerations whatsoever, you could say that the company is a green flag.

You weren't a big coffee drinker before, but lately you found yourself really tired due to all the deadlines you had to meet, countless of meetings, and surprise business trips ranging from a short trip to Daegu or a long trip to Timbuktu.

Now that your workload is lighter, sleep was catching up to you. You'd stare at your laptop and yawn every five minutes. Your colleague, Dara, noticed and dragged you along with other workmates to a coffee shop nearby. You didn't vibe with the coffee shop's atmosphere at all. It was too crowded, the line was never-ending, the coffee was overpriced, waiting for your drinks take too long too. In short, you weren't a fan of it at all. The coffee wasn't even that good. You were most certain that the baristas gave you bad espresso shots on purpose because the people you were with took their sweet time to decide only for them to be ordering their usual drinks.

As you neared your home after a long day of fighting for your life a.k.a trying not to fall asleep at work, you see a small coffee shop with no customers inside. Wanting to make up for the terrible coffee you had earlier, you decided to walk in.

'I deserve it.' You thought to yourself.

The bell by the door chimed and you were immediately greeted by the handsome baristas. It made you wonder why the place was so empty. If the baristas were hot, surely the place would be packed.

"Welcome to Handsome Coffee!" One of them greeted with a sweet smile, causing you to smile too. You saw his name tag: 'Jin', it read.

"Hi, Jin!" You smiled back. Your eyes scanned the menu as Jin proceeded to do what he was doing. You were too busy browsing the menu, albeit it was rather short due to it only having a few choices.

"Would you like some help?" A deep voice asked next to you. You turned your head and saw the cutest boy you've ever seen. You were kind of staring for a long time and he playfully smirked, "Like what you see?"

You snapped out of it and said, "Well, yeah. You're cute."

He laughed heartily, "I'm Taehyung. Would you like some help with our menu? There's not much to choose from at the moment. We just opened. You're our first customer, actually!"

Your eyebrows were raised in surprise. You've never been an establishment's first ever customer before. Though to be fair, you've never been to a grand opening before.

"Is it okay if we take a picture with you to post on our social media? Your photo will also be permanently placed on our wall over there." Jin said as he pointed at the wall. The wall was decorated well and it's obvious that they saved it for their first ever customer. You chuckled and nodded, "Alright."

Taehyung guided you with the menu and you settled on ordering their special drink (an iced shaken strawberry lemonade). Jin was excited to make the drink. "Since you're our first customer, you're entitled to another drink for free which you can claim later before you go, a pastry, and a few of our merchandise." Jin smiled, as Taehyung left your side to join him behind the counter.

"Wow, that's a lot! Are you sure? Won't the owner keep track of inventory or something? Is this allowed?" You asked, concerned.

"It's fine. I own the place." Jin shrugged as he rang your order on the till. Taehyung and another guy were standing behind Jin, watching him as he pressed the right buttons.

"Oooh, so that's how you do it." The other guy said, nodding to himself. "Got it."

Jin stepped away from the till and turned to face the guy next to Taehyung, "Jungkook-ah, all you have to do is get the payment. I've already pressed the things needed to be pressed."

Jungkook did a salute as Jin turned around to make your drink; Taehyung observed him. The guy, Jungkook, smiled at you and asked, "Sorry, what's your name?"

"Y/N."

"Hello, Y/N! Nice to meet you. I'm Jungkook and I'll be ringing in your order. I see that you've ordered our special drink! That's Jin-hyung's masterpiece; his baby. He randomly made it for himself one night and that fueled his passion into opening his own shop." Jungkook said with a friendly smile. You paid for your special drink and watched as Jin hands the shaker to Taehyung and instructs him to transfer it in the prettiest pink glass you've ever seen. Taehyung carefully removes the shaker's lid and slowly places the drink in the in the pink glass. Jungkook clapped his hands when Taehyung successfully did it without spills.

"Good job! All you have to do is work on your speed now. You can't be slow like that forever." Jin said, grabbing the shaker and washing it.

"Noted, thank you." Taehyung said as he carefully served your drink on a small tray and a small biscuit.

"Oh, I didn't order a biscuit." You said softly as you and Taehyung looked at each oher.

"It comes with the special drink." Taehyung smiled, carefully sliding the tray towards you.

"Surprise!" Jin said in excitement. "I thought of adding something small to serve it because it's a special drink."

"Told you that was his baby." Jungkook grinned.

You chuckled, "That's cute. I'll sit down for a bit and enjoy this drink."

"We'll let you settle down for a bit and then we can take this picture!" Jin smiled. You nodded as you took the tray with your drink on it and grabbed a seat near the wall where your picture will be.

You sat down and peacefully took sips of the delicious drink, handcrafted and lovingly prepared by Jin, whom you discovered is the owner and manager of the place. You looked around the quaint coffee shop and smiled to yourself. There were pictures of the baristas on the wall and pictures of Jin talking to contractors while wearing a hard hat on. Pictures of Jin with Taehyung, Jungkook, and one other guy were on the wall too. You guessed it was when they were hired.

"Hey, I'm back!" A loud voice catches your attention. You looked over and you see a tall man, smiling with his dimples showing.

"Took you long enough. I'm starving, hyung." Jungkook said.

"You're always starving." The other guy shook his head.

"He's not wrong." Taehyung said as he fixed the display of pastries.

Jin shook his head as he made his way towards you with his phone in hand. "Hi! Are you ready for the picture?" He asked sweetly.

"Oh, shit. We have a customer?!" The guy, whose name you've yet to find out, exclaimed loudly. Jungkook tilted his head towards you and the guy's gaze followed. He gave you a huge smile, "Hello! I'm Namjoon. Thank you for coming!"

"Hi!" You chuckled before turning to Jin. "I'm ready for the photo."

"Great!" Jin smiled as he called over the three guys. It was just the four of them running the coffee shop and somehow, it was comforting to know that all of them get along like family.

"Take a picture of me and Y/N first and then we can do a group selfie." Jin instructed Jungkook. The youngest boy nodded and took the phone from Jin.

You stood next to your table and waited for Jin to stand next to you. When he did, both of you did a classic peace sign and Jungkook quickly took the photo.

"That was cute." Taehyung commented.

"Is it cute enough to be on the wall?" Jin asked, suddenly feeling conscious about his looks.

"Yes, hyung. You're more than cute! You're handsome." Jungkook complimented.

"Yeah, it wouldn't be 'Handsome Coffee' if you weren't." Namjoon commented, earning a chuckle from Jin.

"Okay, that's enough. Let's take the group selfie!" Jin said happily. Taehyung and Namjoon quickly stood on either side of you and Jin as Jungkook stood in front of you, bending his knees a little as he lifted Jin's phone up with the front camera facing the ceiling.

"What the hell, JK." Namjoon said.

"Oops." Jungkook chuckled as he turned the camera in selfie mode. "Better."

"Say, 'Handsome Coffee'!" Taehyung smiled widely.

"Handsome Coffee!" Everyone said cheerfully as Jungkook took the photo.

Yoongi wanted to switch jobs. He absolutely hated his current job at the music store. At first, he loved working there. Being surrounded by music was his version of heaven, if there was one. He wasn't religious, but he was sure that angels were there when he got hired at the music store.

He would arrange the CDs on the rack in alphabetical order, he'd dust the vinyl displayed on the walls, he'd sweep the floor, he'd talk to customers about music (even suggest a few artists if they want to listen to new sound), and he'd willingly set up the store according to theme if a popular artist does a photo shoot in the store.

Over time, he grew tired. He'd only been working there for only a year and a half, but it felt like a century. He was never promoted nor acknowledged for his hard work, so he resigned. Since then, he's been sleeping, eating, and binge watching on Netflix to pass the time.

He was cooking dinner when the door opened and revealed his roommate, Hoseok, coming in with a gym bag slung on his shoulder and a paper bag on one hand.

"Hey, man." Yoongi said as he turned down the heat to let the food simmer.

"Hey." Hoseok sighed. "I'm so tired. What's for dinner?"

"Seaweed soup and kimchi that my mom made. She went here this afternoon and called our place a dump." Yoongi chuckled, shaking his head as he grabbed the kimchi from the fridge.

Hoseok pursed his lips and nodded, "Well, it kind of is. I mean, we're both men in an apartment that we forget to clean and we sometimes forget to clean up after ourselves."

"That's true, but I'm cleaning around now. I have all the free time now, anyway." Yoongi shrugged as he went to check on the soup. Hoseok opened the container with the kimchi in it and took a whiff of it before smiling to himself.

"Speaking of free time, when will you get a job? I ask this lovingly because I can't pay bills alone forever." Hoseok said as he sets the table.

"Well, that's the reason why my mom came here. She heard that I resigned from the music store, so she wants me to take over the family business." Yoongi rolled his eyes. "When will she understand that I have no interest in merchandising?"

"Well, think about it: it's fun and you'd never go out of business because fan groups like to do unofficial merch and also, you can make t-shirts and sell them as a sideline." Hoseok said as he sat down. "Oh! You can also do those cheesy couple shirts. A lot of girls would buy those, but also, think of the drama. What if one girl buys a couple shirt and gives it to her boyfriend AND THEN she finds out that he already has a couple shirt, but with a different girl? Oh my god, you'd save relationships!"

Yoongi looked at his best friend like he was crazy. "You went way beyond, man. Way beyond."

Hoseok just shrugged. Yoongi served the food and they began to eat. "Oh, I almost forgot. I picked these up on the way here. I got it from the new coffee shop nearby." Hoseok said with his mouth full. He grabbed the paper bag next to him and took out two drinks.

"I didn't know what you wanted, so I got you an iced Americano." Hoseok handed him the drink.

"Thanks. What did you get?" Yoongi said as he took a sip of the drink.

"I got their special drink! An iced shaken strawberry lemonade. It comes with a biscuit too!" Hoseok said, happily taking a sip of the said drink, causing Yoongi to chuckle at him.

"Is it good?"

"Amazing!"

Yoongi nodded and said, "As long as you're happy, I'm happy. Anyway, how was work?"

"It was good. It's tiring as always." Hoseok sighed to himself as he continued eating. Hoseok wanted to be a professional dancer, but life got in the way and now he's working as a zumba instructor at the local gym. It was close enough, right?

"Why don't you just open your own dance studio?" Yoongi asked. "I mean, I've seen you dance. You're amazing. Why not teach it?"

"No one's going to fund it, hyung." Hoseok said as he continued eating.

"Your sister could help you."

"She won't because she wants me to help her with her makeup business." Hoseok said. "I respect it, but the business world isn't for me. I fear that if I turn my talent into business, I wouldn't be happy."

"You wouldn't know until you try it." Yoongi shrugged.

"True, but let's say I do want to, I don't have the money for it." Hoseok explained and Yoongi nodded.

"What're your plans? You looking for a new job or do you plan to rest for a while?" Hoseok asked, serving himself another round of seaweed soup and rice.

Yoongi shrugged, "I'm fine with whatever. Why? Got any suggestions?"

"The place where I bought our drinks is hiring! I met the owner. He's very nice. They just opened a month ago. It's a cute place and they even have a really big picture of them and their first ever customer on the wall. Apparently, it's permanent and they'll never remove it. Something about being humble and remembering simpler times or something cheesy like that." Hoseok said as he helped Yoongi clear the table.

"What's the name of the coffee shop?"

"Handsome Coffee."

"Jesus Christ."

"To be fair, all of them there are handsome too." Hoseok mentioned, causing Yoongi to snicker. "You should try it out. You're not bad looking."

"Gee, thanks." Yoongi laughed.

The next day, after Hoseok left for work, Yoongi decided to take a walk to check out the coffee shop Hoseok was telling him about. Yoongi got dressed in a simple outfit: a bucket hat, an oversized shirt, black jeans, and a pair of comfortable slippers. He brought a small crossbody bag with him to fit his phone, wallet, keys, Air Pods, and a small portable fan.

It didn't take long for him to find the said coffee shop. It was small and because it's lunch time, customers were coming in and out. He walked in and was immediately greeted with a long line. He lifted his head a little bit and took a glimpse of the baristas. Hoseok was right. They were handsome. He was too busy looking at them, he didn't notice a barista next to him, ready to take his order in advance.

"Excuse me," The guy cleared his throat, causing Yoongi to be a bit surprised. The guy smiled, "I'm Jungkook and I'm here to take your order in advance."

"Oh." Yoongi said. "Okay. Um, I can't see the menu from-"

Jungkook hands him a smaller version of their menu and Yoongi thanked him as he browsed through it.

"Feel free to ask questions. I'd be happy to answer them." Jungkook said happily. Yoongi nodded as he looked at the small selection of drinks. They had the usual drinks: Americano, latte, cappuccino, mocha latte, and a cortado, but they also have other drinks.

"Hm, my friend got your special drink yesterday. I'd like to try that. It looks promising." Yoongi said with nonchalance as he handed Jungkook the menu. Jungkook wrote on his little notepad and nodded, "Anything else? We've got pastries too."

"I'll just look at the dis-"

Jungkook wordlessly handed him the menu for pastries and Yoongi was surprised yet again.

"Are you always prepared for things like this?" Yoongi asked. Jungkook shrugged, "We're trained to be prepared. Otherwise, Jin-hyung would kill us."

"Right, okay." Yoongi said before glancing at the pastry menu. It was a whole array of pastries ranging from French pastries to traditional Korean pastries and desserts.

"You don't have to worry about their freshness. Jin-hyung lovingly prepares them all every morning and we have it all ready to bake in case it runs out. Our best sellers are Pain Au Chocolat, lemon tart, apple turnover, apple strudels, egg tart, and cinnamon Danish. Our best sellers for our Korean pastries are: bungeoppang, hotteok, yakgwa, and the classic kkwabaegi." Jungkook said perfectly... as if he rehearsed it a bunch of times at home in front a mirror.

"That's a lot. That's like, half of your menu." Yoongi chuckled as he looked at Jungkook, who wasn't laughing at all. He just blinked. Yoongi cleared his throat and said, "I'll have 2 orders of bungeoppang, 1 order of apple strudel, and 3 orders of kkwabaegi."

Jungkook wrote them all down and smiled as he handed Yoongi the paper. "Here ya go! Jimin-hyung will ring your orders up front." Jungkook bowed before approaching the person behind him. Yoongi took out his portable fan and turned it out as he waited. The noise of the fan drowned out Jungkook's over rehearsed script; it almost made Yoongi sleepy. However, he wanted to see how everything operates before actually applying. By the time he got to the counter, he'd been in line for about 25 minutes.

"Hello! Sorry for the delay. It won't happen again." The boy, Jimin, bowed apologetically.

"Ya, it better not. We only have one till, Jimin-ah. You have to practice speed. You've been here for two weeks." The man with a deep voice sighed. His name tag read: Namjoon.

"Namjoon-ah, don't be so hard on him. He's new. That's why I made him stay there to transact orders so he can learn to pick up the pace. Nothing would happen if you keep lecturing him without letting him grow on his own terms." Jin said quickly, almost as if he was rapping.

Yoongi fought back a smile as he glanced at Jimin who was still confused by the whole thing. Behind him, Jin was scolding Namjoon while Taehyung took a deep breath before stepping up to help Jimin.

"So, it says here that he ordered the 'Jin Special', 2 orders of bungeoppang, 1 order of apple strudel, and 3 orders of kkwabaegi. Press the 'drinks' button and you'll see the 'specials' button. Press the 'Jin Special' button." Taehyung instructed, his voice showing no sign of impatience and anger.

"Okay. What's next?" Jimin asked, after doing it. Taehyung nodded and said, "Press the 'send' button, so the hyungs can start making the drink."

As Jimin hit 'send', the labeler machine lets out a rectangular sticker causing Jin and Namjoon to stop arguing. Jin grabbed the sticker, looked at Jimin, and looked back at the sticker. He quickly gave the sticker to Namjoon, "Make this, and I'll prepare the tray." Namjoon quickly went to work as Jin did what he's supposed to do.

"What's next?" Jimin asked. "I mean, I know he ordered pastries."

"Yeah, so what do you click?"

"The pastries button."

"Right. All pastries are there, so just click on them."

"But what about the quantity?" Jimin panicked after clicking the pastries Yoongi ordered.

"Don't panic. Click on the pastries so it gets highlighted," Taehyung started. Once Jimin did so, he continued, "See the quantity button at the lower left corner? Click that and enter the quantity of the pastry you just highlighted."

Jimin did that and once everything was finished, he turned to Taehyung who nodded.

"Okay, now ask for his name, if he'll be having his orders for here or to go, and tell him the amount he has to pay." Taehyung instructed as he walked to the pastry area to get Yoongi's food warmed.

Jimin glanced at Yoongi to ask all of those, but Yoongi beat him to it, "My name is Yoongi, since my drink is already ready, I'll have my food and drink for here except for the apple strudel and 2 of the kkwabaegi; I'll have those for to go. No need to heat them up."

Jimin nodded as he turned to Taehyung to endorse all those things, but Taehyung had already said, "Got it, Jimin-hyung!"

Jimin turned to Yoongi and said, "Um, the bill is on your screen. Will it be cash or card?"

"Cash."

"Splendid!"

Yoongi handed him the money and received his change quickly after. He turned off his portable fan and took a seat at an empty table. It was then that he saw the line was longer than when he first fell in line. He glanced at Jimin who was already getting the hang of it all. Jungkook, who was done taking the order of the very last customer at the end of the line, walked towards Yoongi and smiled, "Hi! Are you waiting for your order?"

"Yeah. I'll just go grab it when the food comes." Yoongi said coolly.

Jungkook nodded, "I think it's ready. You ordered the 'Jin Special', 2 bungeoppang, 1 apple strudel, and 3 kkwabaegi, right? I'll go and grab it for you."

It all went by so fast. Jungkook was quick on his feet and he conversed a little bit with Taehyung to confirm Yoongi's order before he grabbed the tray and placed it in front of Yoongi.

"Here you go!" Jungkook smiled.

"Wow, thank you! You memorized my order?" Yoongi asked. Jungkook nodded, "I'm good at that. I guess that's why Jin-hyung puts me on advance orders duty when the line gets long."

"Well, maybe he saw something in you that's why he hired you." Yoongi said.

Jungkook thought about it for a moment and nodded, "That's true. Well, is there anything else I can help you with?"

"Not at the moment." Yoongi replied. Jungkook smiled, "Alright! Let any of us know if you need anything."

With that he left. Yoongi looked around as he took a sip of the 'Jin Special'. He saw the wall with your picture on it and he took a picture of it to send it to Hoseok.

Yoongi: Is this the wall you were talking about? Hobiii: Yes! I'm surprised you're out of the apartment Yoongi: I'm surprised you're on your phone instead of teaching ahjummas how to do the dougie Hobiii: ha ha ha, very funny

Yoongi snickered and put his phone down as he ate one bungeoppang. He nodded his head in approval before grabbing his Air Pods and connecting it to his phone. Once connected, he peacefully watched Netflix. Time flew by and he looked around to see that it was already night time. The five baristas were minding their own business now because no customers were coming in.

It was then that he decided he wanted to join the team. He was a fast learner, he works quick, he's diligent, and he can get along just fine with the guys. He disconnected his Air Pods from his phone, left his things at the table and walked up at the handoff area.

"Excuse me?"

The five baristas looked at him expectanty. He cleared his throat, "May I speak to the manager?" Jin straightened up and walked towards Yoongi, "Yes?"

"I'd like to speak with you privately. May we sit down?" Yoongi asked.

"Certainly."

Yoongi led the way towards his table and he sat down, gesturing for Jin to sit across from him. Jin looked at him calmly and Yoongi did the same, but deep down, he was nervous as hell.

"I like how you all work." Yoongi started, earning a small nod and 'thank you' from Jin. "I'd like to be part of it."

"Excuse me?"

"Well, my friend came here yesterday, and he mentioned that you were hiring a new barista. I've been looking for jobs for a while now and the job opening has piqued my interest." Yoongi said with a gummy smile.

Jin, amused, chuckled, "Really? Well, let's see your resume. I can interview you right here, right now so you can start tomorrow."

Yoongi's eyes widened in shock, "Wha-, um, okay! Do you accept a digital copy of my resume?"

Jin shrugged, "Let's not torture Mother Earth with garbage. Send it to me via work email. It's handsomecoffeecareers@gmail.com."

Yoongi quickly emailed his resume and Jin took out his phone from his pocket to view it. Jin skimmed through and nodded occasionally, making Yoongi nervous.

"So, you worked at a music store? What's it like?" Jin asked, leaning back on the chair.

"Well, it was fun at first, but I wasn't given the recognition I deserved. I did more than I should've and although, it makes me upset that I never got anything in return, at least my heart is full to know that I did everything I could to make everything happen. I think it's just some people not liking me." Yoongi said honestly.

"Why do you think they don't like you?" Jin asked.

"I'm a diligent and honest worker, I take initiative all the time, the sales have increased since I started working there, and I may not look like it, but I can be very persuasive when it comes to selling things. I once sold a CD player to a customer along with big speakers that he didn't even need. On top of that, he bought a bunch of CDs too." Yoongi said. He didn't mean to brag, but when it came to work, he was very honest and passionate about it.

"Wow!" Jin looked at him for a while before nodding, "Welcome to the team! Be here at 7am sharp."

"For you, I'll be here at 6:45." Yoongi smiled as he shook hands with Jin.

Yoongi arrived as promised; 6:45am. When he got there, Jin was the only one inside the store. He walked in and they greeted each other. Jin was impressed. He didn't think Yoongi would show up at 6:45am. He thought Yoongi was joking.

"You a fast learner?" Jin asked as he kneaded the dough for the pastries. Yoongi nodded. "Okay. Go to the backroom and place your bag in any of the available lockers. You can see that the other lockers are locked. Choose your locker carefully because that'll be your permanent locker for the time that you work here, so you can leave your things there if needed. Just don't leave food or water in there because I don't want anything spoiled or anything growing mold in here." Jin said.

"Got it." Yoongi nodded as he quickly placed his locker in locker 6 because it was small and he wasn't bringing anything big, anyway. When Yoongi got out, Jin was washing his hands and hands him a neatly folded apron. "Welcome to Handsome Coffee! For our name tags, it's all handwritten in the beginning. That's why Jimin's name tag is different from ours. I'll get yours and Jimin's name tags done once everyone comes in for work."

Yoongi nods.

"We all have tasks here. Since I'm the manager and owner, I handle everything. All the guest complaints, cash handling, ordering supplies, managing the business, and staff scheduling. Namjoon handles all the daily and weekly maintenance check for our equipment, Jungkook manages customer feedback and anything regarding the customers-"

"That's why he was taking advance orders yesterday." Yoongi mentioned and Jin nodded.

"Yup! Taehyung handles the food deliveries and the food's freshness. Him and Jungkook are only part-time workers here, that's why I'm hiring again. Jimin will handle store cleanliness once he's done being a trainee. I figured since he was small, he could fit through every nook and cranny. I'll find something for you to do, don't worry." Jin smiled. "Now, I'll ask you the same question I asked Jimin on his first day- do you want to learn recipes first or do you want to manage the till first? Choose wisely because you'll only be doing the same thing for 2-3 weeks."

"Is that why Jimin was stuck at the till yesterday?" Yoongi questioned as Jin wordlessly nodded as he washed and dried his hands and continued to knead the dough. "Then, I'll choose the till first. I can be quick with it and I promise you, I'll be out of the till within a week."

Jin gave a look of approval, "Alright. I'll give you your till later. For now, you can clean around the store. The utility cabinet is in the backroom near the handwashing area. It's just a small door and it has the broom, dustpan, mop, and inside, there's a small cabinet there containing the air freshener, garbage bags, and other cleaning products. I handle all the baking and food preparation every morning, but we only bake 3 variants of food items at a time."

"So you only bake 3 croissants, 3 apple strudels and basically 3 of each of everything?"

"Precisely! I do have backups, though. The backups I have are 6 variants of each. All in all, we only sell 9 variants of each pastry a day. I don't like wasting food, so 9 is a safe number. If anyone asks, we do bulk orders of food, but it should be ordered a week before the pick-up date so I can order the ingredients. By the way, at the end of our shift, we take home the leftover pastries." Jin explained as he placed the Pain Au Chocolats in the oven.

"You can go ahead and start cleaning around. Taehyung and Jungkook should be here any minute now to open the espresso bar and the cold bar station. You and Jimin aren't allowed to touch anything else yet because both of you are on till duty." Jin said sternly.

"Got it." Yoongi did as he was told and they started their quiet morning together.

"Hola!~" Taehyung happily entered the establishment with a sleepy Jungkook following behind him. "Good morning, Jin-hyung!"

"Good morning, Tae! Good morning, JK!" Jin greeted, only earning a sleepy grunt from Jungkook.

"Good morning! I'm Taehyung!" The young boy greeted Yoongi and they shook hands.

"I'm Yoongi. It's nice to meet you guys." He smiled.

"Thank you for your patience with Jimin-hyung yesterday." Taehyung said with a smile. He was the only customer yesterday that didn't complain.

"Oh, it's no problem. We've all been there." Yoongi shrugged. Taehyung and Jungkook went to the backroom to put their things in their respective lockers and walked out wearing their aprons and their hair styled neatly. Well, only Taehyung's hair was styled neatly. Jungkook opted for a beanie. Both of them immediately started working.

"You guys are only here until what time, again?" Jin sheepishly asked. "I forgot, sorry."

"It's okay, hyung. We know you're tired." Taehyung said.

"We're only here until 1pm because we have class at 2:30." Jungkook answered, still groggy. Jin nodded, "Noted."

When the clock struck at 7:30am, the store was ready to open. Jin was already doing office work at the back, Taehyung was putting the signages for the pastries on display, Jungkook was checking the fridge at the espresso bar station and the cold bar station if all their stocks are there, and Yoongi was counting his till and studying the register's buttons, so he wouldn't take too long in transacting.

Namjoon walked in at 7:35am, walking rather quickly. "Shit, sorry I'm late. My alarm didn't ring." Namjoon basically sprinted to the backroom and almost broke the door.

"Yah! Be careful with the door or you'll break it for real! None of us here can fix a door and I won't call handymen to come in because that'd be embarrassing. Imagine calling them to help us fix a door all because some grown ass man ran through it so quick it got removed from its hinges. They'd think we're too careless. What if you seriously got hurt, huh? We have no nurse here to help you. Our first aid kit can only do so much, Namjoon-ah." Jin screeched.

Taehyung and Jungkook looked at each other and laughed quietly. "Ahh, it's Jin-hyung's daily rap routines. I never thought we'd hear it this early! That's gotta be a new record." Jungkook snickered.

Taehyung nodded with his boxy smile, "Music to my ears!"

Jin just kept going after that, causing Yoongi to turn to his co-workers, "Is he always like that?"

"Oh, you have no idea, Yoongi-ssi. That's only mild." Jungkook chuckled.

"Today's a Monday, so expect Jin-hyung to be in the office the whole day. Every Monday is office work day, so we shouldn't bother him with anything." Taehyung said, giving him a heads up.

"What if the drinks get too much?" Yoongi asked. "I can't help yet and I know Jimin-ssi is new to those things."

"He'll help, but only until the stacks of orders are gone or at least manageable. As for Jimin-hyung, he should be here by now." Jungkook mentioned. As soon as he said that, Jimin quickly jogged to the door with a piece of toast in his mouth.

"Looks like here he is." Yoongi said quietly. Like Namjoon, Jimin busted through the door, earning another sermon from Jin.

"Aish, not you too, Jimin-ah! I just told Namjoon to be careful and you're here acting careless too! What if both of you did that at the same time on either side of the door? Both of you will end up having a bloody nose, I swear to god! Our shop isn't that big yet, so we don't have insurance! What will I tell your parents?! What will I write on the incident report?! What will I do to the blood stains on the door if it happens? That's really suspicious, y'know?" Jin rambled, as Namjoon and Jimin looked at each other.

The three other boys outside heard the whole thing and laughed.

"Yah! I better not hear the three of you laughing out there!"

All three quickly shut their mouths, but not hiding their smiles.

It was only his first day, but Yoongi was already feeling at ease. His first transaction went smoothly, earning a praise from everyone around him. By the time peak hours came, Yoongi was ready for it all. His smooth voice was able to melt the customers' sour moods and they ended up buying more than they should've which impressed and confused the rest of the boys. Of course, Jin had no idea because he was too busy doing office work, but when he glanced at the CCTV, he saw customers walking out with two bags.

"Impressive. Good job, Yoongi." Jin said to himself with a proud smile on his face. Kim Seokjin wasn't sure what his talent was up until he started his own business. Before, when everyone asked him what his talent was, he didn't know what to say. Now? He'd say that his talent is seeing people's potential. As Jin continued to watch the CCTV, he saw Taehyung taking initiative to bake the backup pastries, he saw Jungkook using his charm to ask customers to give them a decent review on Google, he saw Namjoon teaching Jimin the ropes on how to make the drinks, he saw Jimin immediately applying what he learned, and he saw Yoongi doing what he said he was best at and Jin couldn't agree more. It's times like these when he'd give himself a pat on the back.

"Y/N! It's been a while!" Namjoon exclaimed with a smile on his face as soon as you entered. Peak hours had just finished, so you were the only one there.

"I know, right? We went on a business trip and it's been so long since I've had a decent cup of anything, actually. So, I just want to get my usual drink, please." You smiled as you walked up to the counter.

"Which one? You usually order the 'Jin Special' and your crazy concoction." Jungkook teased, winking at you, earning a judge-y look from Yoongi. The man may not say much, but his face says everything.

"Tell you what, I'll order the 'Jin Special' when I come back tonight after work. For now, I'll order my 'crazy concoction'." You playfully rolled your eyes before making eye contact with Yoongi. "Oh, hello!" You smiled. "I'm Y/N."

"I know." Yoongi said as he nodded towards your picture on the wall. "You're over there."

"I see, you must be the new barista." You smirked. You looked behind him and saw Jimin. "Hi, Jimin-ah!"

"Hi, Y/Nie!" Jimin smiled brightly. Jin walked out of the office to take a quick break and saw you. He excitedly smiled and waved at you and stood next to Yoongi.

You turned back to Yoongi and took a good look at him. Oh god, he's just your type. He's a bit cold, but for some reason, you found that hot. His eyes were pretty and his stoic expression was very handsome too. In short, you were immediately smitten. You were never one to shy away from boys either, so you've decided to *shamelessly* flirt with the man.

"So, 'new barista', do you have a name or should I just call you mine?" You smiled.

Yoongi looked at you with a face that says 'are you fucking serious right now?' as he took a deep breath before answering, "I have a name tag and you can read my name clearly. No need for a nickname."

'God, he's so cool.' You thought.

"Damn, here I thought I could take you home." You sighed and pouted, leaning on the counter with your chin resting on your hand. Yoongi leaned on the counter too and did the same pose.

He stared into your eyes and you could've died then and there until he spoke, "I'm not for sale." The other guys were having a field day with the whole interaction. Yoongi smirked to himself and stood up straight, "But our coffee is! Would you like to try our promotional drink or will you stick with your so-called, 'crazy concoction'?"

You looked at Jin and nodded in approval, "He's good."

Your proceeded to order your crazy concoction of a drink as Jimin starts to make it. You like it when Jimin makes your drink because he sometimes adds non-priced add-ons to your drink to make it crazier. You grabbed your drink and thanked Jimin before turning back to Yoongi, "You know, you should smile more. I bet you'd look cuter."

"Go ahead and make me smile, then." Yoongi said with every ounce of nonchalance, as he checked his nails to see if they were long enough to cut.

"Is that a challenge?"

"Maybe."

"You're on. What happens if I win?" You raised an eyebrow, curious.

"Then... congrats."

"What happens if you win?" You asked, rolling your eyes at his previous answer.

He shrugged, "Then, I'll be happy, but I won't smile about it."

Since your first meeting, you have been getting Yoongi to smile, but he just wouldn't budge. You tried everything. You'd crack jokes (that only Jin would laugh at), you'd compliment his outfit, you'd make a fool out of yourself, and you even tried flirting with him. So far, the only reaction you got from Yoongi was a grimace.

"You know, I like my baristas like I like my coffee- hot, sweet, and creamy." You flirted.

"Ew. Creamy?" Yoongi grimaced as he handed you your drink. It was then that what you said started to sink in causing your cheeks to turn pink, "Okay, I just heard how bad that sounded."

"Yeah, it sounded bad." Yoongi said. "I must be drip coffee because I'm slowly falling for you."

You blushed, "Really?"

"No, but that's how you execute a pick-up line, Y/N." Yoongi said, looking at you dead in the eyes. You stared at each other for a while until Jin broke the ice, "Back to work, Yoongi-ah!"

It was funny. Every time you try to make Yoongi smile, he ends up the one making you smile instead. You'd see Yoongi almost everyday, twice a day: before going to your office and before going home. Yoongi had grown fond of you, earning a lot of teasing from his co-workers.

Jin was inspecting a faulty table when in his peripheral vision, he saw you walking down the street. He smirked to himself, glanced at his expensive watch, and announced, "Yoongi, your girlfriend's here just in time! Looks like she's tired from work."

Everyone snickered as Yoongi scrunched his nose, "Y/N will try to make me smile again."

"Just smile! You won't lose anything." Jimin grinned. Jimin has an angelic smile, almost as if God played favorites. "Besides, she's a nice girl."

"I think she likes you." Jungkook teased. Jungkook was being extra chaotic today due to Taehyung's absence. He had been running around and doing everything, even if it wasn't his task. He even started conversing with customers a little longer than usual, causing Jin to drag him away.

"No, she doesn't. She just has a... unique agenda." Yoongi said. Everyone looked at you when you entered the shop.

"Why the long face, pretty girl?" Jungkook flirted, leaning on the counter. You blushed. Jungkook is very cute, but you had your eyes set on Yoongi.

"JK, please stop flirting with the customers, especially Y/N." Jin sighed. "Besides, she's Yoongi's girl."

"Yah! Why am I involved?" Yoongi groaned, as he arranged the pastries in the display case.

"Is it so bad for them to call me your girl?" You pouted.

"That's because you're not a girl. You're a woman." Yoongi explained in nonchalance. He had no idea what his effect was on you. "Therefore, they should call you, 'Yoongi's woman', but that sounds offensive."

"They can call me... yours?" You smiled sweetly as you stared at the stoic man. He blinked and asked, "Mine?"

"Yeah."

"You're cute, but I'll pass." Yoongi said before turning around.

Jungkook turned to you after your exchange with Yoongi and said, "I'm free tonight if you wanna hang out?"

"Jungkook-ah!" Jin groaned. "Leave her alone. Are you getting the Jin Special again, Y/N?"

"Hm, I'll get whatever Yoongi makes for me." You smirked and winked at Yoongi when he glanced at you. He scrunched his nose in distaste earning a playful arm slap from Jimin.

"Yoongi, go ahead and punch the order on the till." Jin said as Yoongi reluctantly stands next to Jungkook to punch random buttons.

"There. Ring her up, JK." Yoongi said as he started making your mystery drink. You paid for it and conversed with Jungkook for a while. You were their only customer, anyway and Jin didn't mind.

"Here ya go, Y/N." Yoongi handed you his signature drink. "Hope you like it or whatever."

You carefully grabbed the drink and took a sip. It was bursting with interesting flavors. It was different, but you were now a fan of it. You glanced at him, "I like it!"

"Thank you."

"But I like you more." You flirted, causing everyone else to giggle except Yoongi a.k.a the only man you want to see smiling at you. The rest of the guys looked at Yoongi expectantly and groaned when he didn't even lift one corner of his mouth. After a 5-second staring match, he finally spoke, "I like you most, Y/N." Just like that, he turned around and went back to work.

"Hyung, you can't say stuff like that and just leave!" Jimin exclaimed, laughing at your flushed cheeks and hidden smile.

"Heck, even I blushed." Jungkook laughed.

Yoongi only shook his head as he cleaned the pastry area, something Taehyung should've done had he been present. His back was turned as the others laughed and joked around with you. Deep down he knew his fondness of you was getting bigger, he's just better at hiding it. He really liked seeing you smile and he liked seeing you try to make him smile. It was new; a breath of fresh air. It was something he never experienced before seeing as he stopped trying to woo people. He also admired your determination to do everything to make him smile.

At home, Hoseok was setting the table for dinner. One of his students from zumba (a rich ahjumma) gave him an enormous tip that's enough to cover their rent for a month (which Hoseok immediately paid for upon receiving the money) and enough to feed them exquisite food (anything that isn't fast food). Hoseok went grocery shopping to his and Yoongi's "dream grocery store" because the prices were incredibly high, but the quality of products were amazing. Hence, the food he was serving being sumptuous.

"Wow, that smells great." Yoongi said as he kicked off his shoes and neatly placed them on the side next to Hoseok's.

Hoseok smiled brightly and said, "Thank the ahjumma who gave me a handsome tip that covered one month of our rent AND a chance to buy from our dream grocery store."

Yoongi sat down and furrowed his brows, "You went there without me?"

Hoseok shrugged, "You took too long and it was near closing time. It was a 'now or never' situation." He sat down and both of them ate quietly.

"Oh! I forgot to tell you. Remember that girl you like from the cafe?" Hoseok asked.

"We don't have girl employees."

"No, silly. The customer who always comes in who wants to see you smile."

"Ahh, Y/N. What about her?"

"She went to the gym today and she joined my zumba class." Hoseok said happily. "She's so nice and she's so pretty! Not my type, though. She's more of your type."

"Why does everyone keep saying that?!" Yoongi sighed before taking a sip of water. "Jin hyung says it too."

"That's because it's true." Hoseok grinned.

Silence fell between the two long time best friends. They knew each other better than they knew themselves, and Hoseok knows that you're definitely his best friend's type. Hoseok glanced at his feline-like best friend and studied him as he proceeded to quietly eat his food and scroll through his phone. He noticed a few things: a little spark in his eyes, a faint and barely there smile, and a softness that hasn't been there for a long time, not since his ex betrayed him.

"Y/N's a nice girl." Hoseok said carefully and softly, earning a hum of agreement from his best friend. "I know you're worried about being hurt again, but she won't do that to you. She won't betray you like she-who-must-not-be-named."

Yoongi carefully placed his phone on the dining table and looked at Hoseok, "How do you know? We don't know her. Besides, I'm not looking for a relationship."

Hoseok snickered, "You say that, but I know deep down your cold, cold stare that you're desperate for someone to thaw your heart."

"That's... too cheesy."

"Yeah, but you get what I mean, right?"

Yoongi nods and continues to eat, "I appreciate that she tries to make me smile every time. I just don't want to give in."

"But why? She's so sweet."

"I'm terrified of giving someone all of me."

"I understand." Hoseok nods. "Trust me, I do, but how are you supposed to move on with your life if you close everything out, hyung?"

Three weeks have gone by since Hoseok's mini intervention and Yoongi had been reflecting on what he said. He's right, after all. He can't close his heart to everything if he wants to move on from all the anguish he feels. So, in the span of three weeks, Yoongi has been producing music in his room to let go all of his anger and frustrations and submitting it to Jin for him to play it in the cafe. Everyone was tired of the repetitive coffee shop music, anyway. Jin was supportive though, so he proudly played Yoongi's music all the time.

You still tried to make Yoongi smile in those three weeks. You've made a little progress because you earned a snicker from him and a tiny, tiny, tiny smirk. You liked the progress you were making and the rest of the guys were hyping Yoongi up.

"Yoongi hyung reacting to Y/N is so amusing!" Taehyung commented.

"I agree! He's like a rare Pokemon when he's not giving all of us a cold stare." Jungkook chuckled, as Jin, Jimin, Taehyung, and Namjoon laughed at his analogy. Yoongi just shook his head and continued working.

The baristas at Handsome Coffee are doing their closing procedures. It was a full day of demanding customers. To make it worse, they now joined one of Korea's famous food delivery apps. The delivery app was driving them insane, the customers were demanding the whole day, and contractors were hounding Jin the whole day about a potential cafe expansion. It stressed everyone out. Jungkook and Taehyung had to skip classes, just to save their hyungs from dying of exhaustion. Jin promised to write them a note for their professor, but the younger boys told him it wasn't necessary because college professors don't care whether you show up or not.

Jin was at the back doing his nightly office work, Namjoon was washing all the dishes with Jin eyeing him from time to time (to check if he hasn't broken anything yet), Taehyung was cleaning the oven, Yoongi was cleaning the espresso bar station, Jungkook was cleaning the cold bar station, and Jimin was cleaning the lobby area.

Jimin was the most frustrated. The tables and chairs were scattered, trash was left in every nook and cranny, and the spills were now sticky. He'd curse every now and then. Yoongi was almost done when he sees a cup full of the 'Jin Special' in his fridge.

"Um, whose is this?" Yoongi asked. Jungkook briefly turned around before going back to work, "That's Y/N's. She'll come get it any second now."

"She ordered?" Taehyung asked, his brows knitted together in confusion as he cleaned the pastry case next.

Jimin hummed in response as he mopped the floor, "Yeah, she did. She texted Jin hyung and he made that for her. He must've placed it in there temporarily until she gets it. I wonder where she is now. It's late."

"Maybe her boss is keeping her again." Jungkook snickered. "She should just leave."

"True." Jimin replied.

"Yeah, and she should join our team so we could finally see a drama in real time! Picture it: a drama starring Yoongi hyung and Y/Nie!" Taehyung laughed, pausing his work to clutch his stomach. The rest of the boys, except Yoongi, started laughing.

"If she joins, that would defeat the purpose of Jin hyung's cafe name." Yoongi said.

"Aw, but she'd be very happy to see you and we'd be very happy to watch her bug you." Jungkook giggled. Just then, the door opened and you walked in with a tired smile on your face.

"My happy crush!" Jungkook exclaimed, clutching his heart, almost doing the 'supernatural' challenge.

You chuckled and shook your head. You waved 'hi' to Jimin and after that, everything was a blur. You slipped on the wet floor and it happened like it was in slow motion. Your bag flew from your hand, Jimin tried to catch you, Jungkook ran from his spot, Yoongi and Taehyung were watching with jaws dropped. Jungkook flung himself on the floor, landing on his knees just to slide to where you landed and all Jimin was able to catch was the back of your head as he quickly dropped the mop. Some of the contents from your bag were scattered on the floor and you were on the floor with Jimin's hands protecting the back of your head and Jungkook by your side as he looked at you with wide eyes.

"You okay?" Jungkook asked. You were quiet and so was everyone. You didn't know what to say. Then, you heard some mild chuckling that soon turned into a cackling mess. You and Jimin looked up and your jaws dropped. Jungkook gave you a confused expression before turning around and he saw the scene.

There, in all his cackling glory, was Yoongi.

Namjoon and Jin walked out of the backroom to see what the commotion was and they were surprised to see that it was Yoongi behind it all. Taehyung was biting his lip to stop himself from laughing along.

"What's going on?" Jin finally asked. "And why is Y/N on the floor?"

"She-" Yoongi gasped for air in between laughs, "She fucking slipped and her face was hilarious!"

Taehyung started laughing too and so did Jungkook. Jimin carefully helped you sit up, but he fought for his life trying not to laugh. Jin closed his eyes for a second and prayed to a higher being to help him contain his laughter.

"Have you all lost your minds?" Namjoon asked, hiding his own grin.

You didn't mind all of them laughing. You didn't care. You'd laugh too! However, the only thing on your mind was Yoongi.

He finally fucking smiled. He didn't just smile; he fucking laughed!

All of them were laughing at this time and you broke it yelling, "I MADE YOU SMILE!"

Everyone stopped and looked at Yoongi. Yoongi's laughter has died down and he cleared his throat. He looked at you and shrugged, "You did."

"All it took was for me to slip?!" You shrieked. Yoongi chuckled at your reaction. "And now you're chuckling" You added with an amused look on your face.

Yoongi walked towards you and held his hand out. You grabbed his hand and he helped you up.

"Sorry about that." Yoongi said coolly. "How about I make it up to you?"

"Oh? How?"

"I'll take you out on a date." Yoongi smirked.

Everyone started screaming for joy. All you could do was blush. You simply nodded your head and he took his phone out to give hand it over to you to put your number in. You did and Jungkook jokingly said, "Put your number in my iPhone 16 Pro Max. Do you libeu alone?"

"Way to ruin the moment, Kook." Taehyung rolled his eyes as he continued closing.

"Hehe, sorry." Jungkook cutely smiled.

a/n: MY FIRST BANGTAN FIC!!!! AAAAAHHHHH i hope u guys liked it! lmk if you wanna be added to my bangtan taglist

[thatcheeseycandle]

Woah whats this about a big series your working on? I saw ur reblog of that oc ask post and now left curious. Could I hear a bit about it from you?

//Future me here, who just finished writing all that out, warning for a LONG LONG paragraph of everything. As in it's like 6k+ words (I DIDNT USE A WORD COUNTER SO YEAH THATS PRACTICALLY A GUESS-)

Of course! To explain, there are two series-es

One being, An Universal Animatronic Revolution (AUAR), aka where Mixie is from alongside Axel.

The second one being, Lifetales (LT, THE NAME IS BEING WORKED ON SHHHSHSHSHSH), which is where Platinum and the rest of the Triple HHH Court come from.

Now to note, these two are actually apart of the same multiverse. AUAR and LT are basically groups for my OCs, not like "Oh this one is fantasy and this one goes to cyberpunk" no it's more like how they'd work in these two worlds.

LifeTales takes place in a historical-fiction type world where it's it own world, while also bringing in IRL concepts (ex: religions, irl nationalities, etc). But it's mainly explored in the present timeline considering the time before it wasn't, yknow, it didnt have all that yet

Basically the world first started as it's own. Instead of the current continents, it has five continents based on the five "Entities" being the Triple H Court. Note that I am not referring to the current generation of the same court, but rather a different court.

Now it's important to mention that the multiverse of LifeTales only consists of 6 universes.

The first one, being the main universe, aka where Selene and Golian originated before they died and reincarnated as Platinum and Gold, where the five continents are

The rest, well, they take place in other eras in time. Take the universe where Ruby, but otherwise known as Cathmore before he reincarnated into Ruby, had lived in. It was basically the 1930s.

Now I havent expanded on the 4 other universes yet. But it'll most likely not exist in the future considering they're just placeholders for how I'll world build the places the entities lived in before they were entities.

But as for AUAR? Basically it's a multiverse, it's main genre being Science-fiction. A big one, that's publically explored. The universe Mixie comes from, she's basically from the real world, the current timeline of the universe in the story being between 2010-2013. While the universe she stumbles into, Retro Way's timeline is 2019-2022

Retro Way is also the center of this multiverse, being a universe of it's own with the mix of people from all sorts of universes yes but while also being a sort of HQ for all experienced multiversal travellers (Except Doctor Strange, sorry MCU fans the MCU in this multiverse is still known as media)

Now to note, in Mixie's universe, Multiversal Travel isn't much known. In a way where she and the people she's with havent exactly been to the places where the "portals" and all the multiversal travel stuff is at.

And another thing to note, Retro Way still has it's residents aka theres still people from there. And yes nationalities still exist, if your born in Retro Way and had parents with Dutch origins, your nationality would be Dutch.

Now as much as I'd love to like SPILL all the story of AUAR and LifeTales, I wouldn't want to spill it too soon considering, well this:

AUAR is one generation of 10 generations (technically 11 adding in the prequel for it, Everyday Engineering aka EE), specifically theres 12 seasons in AUAR, adding two new seasons each generation. And within each season theres 12 episodes, which to my calculations since the last time I updated the planout doc of that, was enough to supply 2-6 plots.

Now I already have an idea of 3/10 generations but I havent like, written all chapters/episodes down aka I havent translated every single daydream into a chapter yet.

On the otherhand

LifeTales has three "eras" or generations in a way. The first one being, well, the backstories. Mainly the backstories of Platinum and Gold, and other characters that'll appear in Era 3

The second Era is basically, the current timeline. How their life is going, what they're doing, the current timeline of that era, etc. (While also having a similar plot-planout to AUAR, aka their life isn't too casual, they still have their adventures and bits of character growth)

The third era, well, it's basically the current timeline but it actually moves on from the current plot. It expands on new plots and has more character growth than last Era, also expanding more into other characters' backstories than the first Era.

But alas, until these two stories/series are done, I cannot confirm it has solid conclusions YET

I'll of course post randoms bit from random parts of these two stories on my tumblr, and on my other socials whenever I can

[cursezoroark]

I’m not falling for that. You're not getting shit from me.

… a “regretful journey”. I’ve met weird characters, who don’t seem to like me much. I turned out ok, but- Creepy. I still don’t trust Luck, that bastard. I don’t regret meeting him though, otherwise I wouldn't have Beau.

There were moments where it worked out, though. It’s better to laugh now. I was scared then, but it’s alright, nothing to regret there.

Actually, I’ve met good characters by going on this “journey”. They just become my friends because of things I do. That’s how it works. I don’t regret meeting them because I know them, and they know me.

Most of the time.

[meownotgood]

still bookworm nonnie and I apologize in advance for this ask because it'll be super-long! (pls don't feel forced to reply to these, I just truly don't have anybody to blabber with aki, and it's a constant brainrot. feel free to tell me off at any moment).

first of all: besties pls don't worry about your content, because I literally came for aki and stayed for the fact that you genuinely seem a wholesome person, so pls don't hesitate to post anything that isn't strictly related to aki or gale, just do what you want, because I am sure I and the other will love it! (and pls I love self ships! I have discovered this world so late but ugh I am absolutely curious to learn more about it) (although journaling is honestly very relaxing, at least to me!).

secondly I'd just like to say that I'll be the one staying up tonight imagining scenarios instead of aki, since you mentioned that #honestly I think he's decently good at hiding when he's flustered#he might seem cool on the outside#but on the inside. he wants to scream because you just held his hand.

this is totally not me projecting (but I am) but as somebody who's unable NOT to wear her heart on their sleeves, I feel like he'd be freaking outside while I'd be outwardly being the most awkward person with a crush.

also for me it's usually a huge turn off when guys don't make their emotions/interest clear on dates or such (because I am insecure and needs clear confirmation) but I feel like with aki it'd be impossible not to feel that he cares for you, although he probably has a good poker face. like I feel like it'd definitely be shown more in gestures but ugh. (ALSO NOT THE WHOLE RAIN THING, IT'D BE SO CUTE! I am also imagining denji being like 'I saw you packing your umbrella, what are you saying' and aki literally throwing his umbrella out of the window 'I never did, denji, you are mistake).

also one last thing and then I'll shush, but for horny brain: what if his bookworm! reader partner was into erotic books? (again not me projecting because I am reading something by anais nin). like I need to know what his reaction would be at maybe taking your book while you are off somewhere and scrolling through it in curiousness and just coming to the realization of what is the content?

I feel like he might definitely break through the poker face and would definitely be unable to look at you in the eyes for seven working days without thinking about reproducing what he read.

alrightie, as always I have blabbered too much I'll go back to my court-mandated daydreaming of aki, before bed!

have a lovely day! (also bestie if you see this being sent a few times it's because I was given a mistake, I apologize in advance)

thank you for saying so 🥹💓 I'm truly glad you enjoy my posts and my blog!!

hehe yes... I agree! I think aki is a bit reserved but he makes his affections for you very clear, and he's always willing to offer you reassurance any time you ask... the kind of guy who would tell you he loves you as many times as you need... the kind of guy who says he would love you if you were a worm. lmao

I'm imagining aki getting curious about the book you're reading so he opens it to a random page and just sees all the filth... he'd get so shy immediately lol... you could definitely tease him about it

[thecoochiefairy]

grillz. onyankopon.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 8.0K word count. wifeblackfem!reader, husband! onyankapon, football! onyankopon, grumpy!onyankapon, sweet!onyankapon, dominant!onyankapon, black woman, vaginal penetration, rough, lil bit of sweet talkin’, hair pulling, creaming, squirting, pussy eating, choking, praising, LOTS of dirty talk/aggressive dirty talk, condomless sex, creaming, slapping ass/face, kissing, just a fine ass black man, minors aren’t welcome!

𝓐ᥫ᭡

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ y’all already know what it is, it’s yo’ favorite couple. i just hope you like this one. ony is very grillz by nelly + paul wall coded, idk. anyways. lemme hush. for reference, my girl’s hair is in that curly/braids jayda-wayda hairstyle if it seemed confusing ! aight, love y’all. bye. teehee.

visual. visual. visual. visual.

𝓐ᥫ᭡:: your husband is invited to a basketball game.

YOU MIGHT’VE BEEN MORE NEUROTIC THAN YOUR MOTHER IN LAW. You came to that conclusion as you sprinted through the house, the scent of vanilla and jasmine wafting through the air each time you found something else to fixate on. 

You were supposed to be ready an hour ago. Your husband had been invited to a Lakers VS Pelicans game—and if being honest, this might’ve been your first outing since you had your third baby. 

Saint, you’d named him. A little too on the nose, but Onyankopon wanted to keep the tradition of your children’s names going. This pregnancy had been entirely different than Salem or Sage—pains, sickness, barely able to walk, accidents on yourself—you 

endured all the worst parts within your trimesters, but you were so blessed to have a healthy five month old boy. 

Now having three children, life was a lot different than you prepared for it to be. You were a full time stay at home wife. But it came with a price—being without Onyankopon for weeks at a time as he traveled, the overwhelming amount of time that you spent taking care of your children alone—not to mention the lack of dates, and sex. Hard to believe that you hadn’t hunched on your husband in six months. But having children all close in age required an extensive amount of attention, and although you’d die for them, a small part of you just missed being alone with your husband. And now, you had the opportunity—you were just a little too anxious. 

“Papa? Do you wanna pack your football?” 

Your eldest was now three, Salem being the sweetest baby boy you could ask for—he was always helpful with his one year old sister, being the big brother he was always excited to be. You were currently trying to pack up all three of your children for their grandma's house, while you were supposed to be getting ready. Onyankopon was too busy with a conference call to notice your hysteria.

“Yes, mommy. Can I pack my Legos?” 

“Of course, Papa—“ your eyes flick around the bed, noticing that something was missing. You scratch at the bonnet atop of your head, a sigh passing your lips as you question, “You wanna be a big boy and go find Sage’s binky for me? Did she drop it in the toy box?” 

He’s already running out. You turned around to look at the packed suitcases, eyes narrowing as you tried to think if you were missing anything. 

“Say-Say?—did we pack your baby brother’s socks and diaper bag? I know I put down Sage’s—“

Speaking of Sage, your one year old sits on the bed, previously focused on a fruit pouch that’s now drained—Her miniature fingers wave up for your attention. 

“Mommmma—Abu.”

You exhale, “You want your apple slices, pretty girl?” 

She nods, hands clapping together, 

“Yes, yes.” 

She looks around the room, seemingly waiting for the magical fruit that she wants to appear out of thin air—and at this point, you might’ve needed to be a magician.

“Okay,” you huff softly, “Just—okay.”

You place her on your hip as you throw on your house slippers, quickly padding your feet down the sleek stairs of your condo. The open kitchen nearly takes up the downstairs area, your hand reaching for the miniature fridge where you keep Sage’s snacks refrigerated. 

That’s when you stop. Your eyes flick over to your husband as he stands on the porch—you’re able to hear the baritone of his voice as he has the door cracked, pouring food into the bowls of your two Dobermans. You weren’t trying to run into him before you weren’t ready, but it was unfortunate that you lived together—and that Sage wanted those damn Apple slices.

You sat her on the counter as you pulled open the container of freshly cut fruit, putting one in her hand as your voice softly replied, “You’re welcome,” to her babble of “Thanyou.” 

Seeing Onyankopon reminded you of all the reasons you’d married him. The sable shirt he wears hugs the sculpt of his muscular frame, covered by an oversized varsity jacket that fits his broad shoulders perfectly. His cargo pants and forest green Nike dunks pull the entire outfit together, chain heavy on his neck as it shows his jersey number on the pendant. You’d redone his cornrows for tonight, neatly braided as he cleaned up his hairline, crawling all the way down to his facial hair around his lips and jawline. But the current star of the show was the glitter in his mouth, nearly ten bands of fully diamond encrusted grills he’d bought for the both of you—you just hadn’t worn yours yet. He was erotically intimidating at times, your eyes falling to the band on his ring finger. He was yours. 

“Baby,” his deep voice catches your attention, now realizing he was walking back into the house, “I know a nigga ain’t losin’ his mind—why you ain’t dressed?” 

The moment you go to answer, Salem comes flying downstairs. 

“Mommy! I can’t find Sage’s binky!”

Your eyes flicker back to your husband, pulling Sage onto your hip as you confirm, “That’s why.” 

“Why you ain’t come tell me, huh? I would’ve helped you. I was just talkin’ to coach about our last game.”

He looks good up close—smells good too, the scent of his cologne pulls you closer as you breathe in the aroma. 

You shake your head, “You know how I get before they go off to your mom’s house. I wanna make sure Salem has all of his favorite toys, Sage has her snacks and—“

You stop yourself, “Do you remember if I pumped milk for Saint? I fed him before I put him down for a nap, I just—“

And in that exact moment, the baby monitor goes off. Saint weeps through the microphone, wanting the attention of his momma. 

You dig your nails into the top of your bonnet, scratching away your anxieties as you sigh, “Maybe you should just go, Ony. The Pelicans gave you front row seats, I don’t want you to miss that.” 

You weren’t the only one stressed. Onyankopon had been having a hard time balancing football and family life, but he’d been there every second since the season was close to being over. He knew you needed time with him—you’d been cooped up for months.

He raises an eyebrow, “And leave you here? I thought you was tryna’ have a night out with yo’ nigga— I’m tryna’ show you off to the whole world tonight, I ain’t goin’ nowhere until you ready—C’mon, Imma’ help you find lil’ mama’s binky.” 

“Ony—“

“Mama, c’mon now. I wanna make this easier on the both of us.”

He takes Sage into his arms, the one year old babbling giggles as he blows his lips onto her cheek, “You act like you the only girl inna’ house that need attention, huh? Let yo’ momma breathe.” 

You sigh, “I’m not even close to being ready, baby. Don’t we still gotta’ drop them off to your mom’s—“

“My momma gon’ come finish packing them up. You tryna’ find another reason to skip out on this date?”

Okay, maybe you felt a little bad. He was already dressed, up and ready to get out the house without the tribulation of three little ones. This would be an adult night. 

You lean your head into his shoulder as you murmur, “I’m actin’ like my damn momma.” 

A soft chuckle passes Onyankopon’s lips, a hand reaching down to cradle the back of your neck, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. 

 “Sum’ like that.”

“Don’t be funny, nigga. I ain’t asking for commentary.”

“Aight, Aight. Forreal’—Imma’ make sure they all packed up and go change Saint. I know he givin’ that diaper the business while he sleep.”

He nudges you softly—your arms crossed, eyes looking down to the floor. He knew that you were overwhelmed, and a date didn’t even seem practical at this point. A hand rubs your chin as he tilts your face towards him, a finger curling under your jaw, “You gon’ give up on me now?”

You hated how sweet he could be at times. You pout a bit, “I’m sorry. I’m going, okay? You love me?” 

Onyankopon’s hand cups your cheek, pulling you into a kiss, his lips a bit harsh as he whispers against them. 

“You just askin’ to hear me say it. You already know what it is.”

A smile finds a way to your lips, hands wrapping around his neck while standing on your tippy toes, pressing pecks into his jawline, ”I love you too.”

“Hurry up. Gon’ make that ass clean so I can put my tongue in it—“

“Onyankopon!”

“See? You already gettin’ me started. Should’ve been ready, I wouldn’t have said allat’.”

Here was something else new that came with your third child. Your body. You’d always been curvier in your hips and thighs, but after Saint, that seemed to tenfold. 

The black mini skirt you wore was now was smaller than mini, the poke of your ass nearly peeking from the bottom of your girlishly pink thong. Your matching black baby tee clung around the full weight of your breast, going from a C to a Double D in the span of six months. 

You’d braided the front of your hair and perfected the swoop of your edges, the rest of your tresses bouncing in wand curls above your shoulders. Your lashes darkened your slender eyes, honey freckles bouncing off the complexion of your caramel skin, heart shaped lips coated in brown liner. You weren’t used to heavy jewelry, as Onyankopon had bought you a real anklet—it was weighted, cold around your skin, matching the silver sparkles in the pink platform sandals you wore. 

Your lips parted a sigh as you turned to the side—you weren’t insecure, but seeing the full figure that motherhood had given you in tight material was a bit nerve wracking, especially after months of only oversized clothing. 

 “I don’t look—different, do I?” 

Onyankopon’s eyes narrow at you, chin hovering over your body as he wraps his arm around your neck, gently putting you within a headlock. You smelled good, a bit sweeter. 

”Different,” he repeats, licking his lips, “You look like a muhfuckin’ meal, baby. A nigga might have to keep you inside.” 

You hum a soft laugh, trailing your French tips against the arm that wraps around your neck, “I told you about puttin’ me in these headlocks like I’m one of your teammates,” you roll your eyes. 

He presses a kiss to your cheek, watching you through the mirror, “What’chu’ mean? Thought you liked this shit, it be makin’ you blush like a lil’ school girl.”

He lets go of the pressure, but not the arm around you, “You look gorgeous, Mama. You gon’ stop all that overthinkin’ now?”

“Maybe.” 

You pull his arm down as you turn, running your fingers over the shown tattoos on his neck and face. You hum, “You look good,” sticking your tongue out as you await for his mouth to follow. His grills shine within your vision.

He grunts into a chuckle, leaning down to press his lips against yours. His tongue is cold from the ice he chews, lips always softer than they appeared. His mouth pops from yours as mutters, “You tryna’ distract me.”

You give him a smile, showing off the pure shine of the matching ones he’d bought you. The heart shape of your lips made them look perfect, sultry even. 

“You like em’?”

“You know I like em’,” he rasps. 

His hands are harsh, grabbing onto the sides of your small face as he pulls you back in for another kiss. His lips suck on the plush of yours, “Matchin’ a nigga fly.” 

“You better like them for ten bands, nigga. You be gettin’ real besides yourself cause you got money.” 

“You talkin’, but that money takes care of this family, and be buyin’ yo’ ass allem’ bags, perfumes, and shoes. Daddy be takin’ care of you, huh?” 

His eyes narrow into a snarl, smacking one hand against the plump of your ass, watching it bounce through the skirt it’s hidden behind, making you giggle as he grunts, “I don’t?” 

“You do,” you kiss at his jaw, “Did Saint wake up when you changed him?”

“Nah, I just put him in my momma car. Sage was good too, you know crybaby quick to start screamin’ if she don’t get that binky—and Salem, he just excited to go to grandmas. You know we’ a team, right? I always got you, girl.” 

You sigh, “I know. You um—got his diaper bag?”

“Nah.” 

He smacks your ass again, “Goddamn, girl—Ion’ even know what you just asked me.“ 

You giggle, “The diaper bag, dork.” 

“Can’t hear you. Yo’ ass covering all the sound in the room.” 

“Onyankopon.” 

“Aight, lawd. You ain’t no fun.” 

In this moment, you almost felt similar to a baby—like you’d just gotten thrown into the world without any preparation. You forgot how much you hated the spotlight that was required being married to your husband—this was a Pelicans basketball game, and he somehow got more attention just being there as the New Orleans Saints’ quarterback. Your nerves got the best of you as you pulled up to the front of the stadium, seeing the valet workers prepare to open your passenger door. It was—chaos.

“You’ straight?” 

You give him a nod, knowing you weren’t entirely.

The paparazzi was always a nuisance, and even more so with the news of your newly born baby—Onyankopon could tell that he was being watched as you step out of the car, the flash of  light going off as his hand holds on to your hand firmly, pressing your body into his, as if he was shielding you. You lower your head as you hear him politely answering questions, cameras flashing in every direction—you hated this part every time.

“I’m excited to be able to come to a Pelicans game close to our off season, they been on a roll lately—and Zion, that nigga crazy onna’ court. We gon’ make it a close game tonight—hopefully.” 

The questions were quick to come up, “You have any bets on who’s winning tonight?” 

“Bets? Nah, ion’ do that shit,” he turns to you, “My wife my lil’ good luck charm—she gon’ be the reason they win tonight.”

You lean your head into his shoulder, a shy smile finding its way to your lips as you squeeze his hand a little tighter. He pulls you into a small kiss, the cameras flashing from the showmance between the two of you. 

It was quieter on the inside, the amount of people, security, and other familiar faces crowding the arena as you’re guided to the front row of the court. It was a couple minutes before the game started, and you already knew the drill—you crossed your leg over the other as you fixed your hair, re-touched your lip liner, sprayed yourself of perfume—all the awkward ways you could distract yourself as Onyankopon socialized with others sitting in the row next to you. Unlike you, he was extremely friendly. You would give a soft smile each time he introduced you to someone, but that was about it. You were more comfortable talking to your three year old than most adults.

He’d kissed your cheek multiple times, trying to coax you out of your shell as your eyes stayed transfixed onto the players practicing on the court. He could sense that you were trying your hardest to fit in, but he didn’t want that. He just wanted you to be yourself. 

“You want anything to drink, baby?” He leans down, lips close to your ear as he holds your thigh, “They got food too—it’s gon’ take a minute to get to you, might as well see what you want now.”

You shake your head, eyes flickering up to him, “I’m okay.”

“Don’t be lyin’. I know them’ lil’ apple slices you be stealin’ off our daughter ain’t that good—“

Onyankopon cuts himself off when he sees you smile. He’d always been good at making you laugh, and it wasn’t any different now. 

Your voice is soft as you ask, “They got Sangria? And loaded fries?”

“Oh aight, you tryna’ turn up tonight? You’ scandalous,” which makes you giggle as he continues, “Heard you. I’ll be back.” 

The moment he began walking away, the stadium camera seemed to find him— your husband appeared directly onto the Jumbotron—it showed a quick reel of him on the field, the crowd creating an echo as they cheered. His grills shine under the camera as he smiles, throwing up his fingers as he greets the cheers—It makes you blush. 

The game officially starts. Right on time, a hand rubs at the back of your neck, Onyankopon sitting next to you as he presses a cold drink into your hands, “You need me to turn on yo’ seat fan?”

You lean closer to him as you steal the fries out of his hands, “Nope. Just want you to enjoy the game, baby. I don’t wanna see you cry when the Lakers put belt to ass on the Pelicans,” you giggle.

“I ain’t even gon’ put that Lakers blasphemy into the universe. You actin’ bad.” 

“And you’ delusional.”

“Call it what you want!” 

The game is a brawl. Cheers take over the stadium as the Pelicans manage to get a few points over the Lakers, who are just barely in the lead. You hold back your laugh as you watch Onyankopon lean into the court, eyes narrowing as his voice carries, “What you doin’, nigga? You’ gon’ let him take the ball from you? Ref—you gon’ call that foul? Nigga tripped his feet clear as day!”

You sigh as you take a sip of the sweet alcohol flowing between your lips—this was your husband. 

It was now half time, and you couldn’t lie—you were feeling the effects of your Sangria. You might’ve become a little mouthy as you watched fouls or unfair calls of the ball, nearly as into it as your husband was. When they were back to showing familiar faces against the Jumbotron, your eyes flickered up as you heard the crowd go back to roaring, seeing yourself and Onyankopon in your seats as you watched the game. You gave a shy wave into the screen, giggling as your husband childishly pecked your cheek repeatedly along the Jumbotron. 

“You prettier on the big screen—shy ass,” he nudges your shoulder, “You still good?”

You nod, “I might order another Sangria—or a Margarita, or—one of those. What’s in Sangria, baby?” You tug at his letterman, humming through your question as you lean into his lap. 

A chuckle leaves his lips, “What I’m gon’ do with you, girl? You’ tipsy already.”

And although you were a little tipsy, this was the most laid back you’d ever been in a while. He missed your playful attitude, and even more so when you were comfortable. 

His hand rubs at your shoulder, pecking your cheek as he says, “Ion’ know. How bout’ we order both and mix ‘em into one cup?”

“You’re so smart,” you sigh, “My sexy, smart man.” 

Yup. That was it—you were now drunk.

Well, blame the Sangria-rita you’d just made. You were always able to hold yourself together in an environment where you couldn’t show just how intoxicated you were. But being around your husband without your kids, it might’ve had you a little more relaxed. And horny. When the game ended—and the Pelicans won, of course—instead of going home, Onyankopon had gotten a call from one of his teammates, mentioning that they would all be out at the club for another teammate's birthday, their wives joining in at the section as well. And of course, Onyankopon's friendly ass just couldn’t say no.

He could see the nerves in your face as you arrived at the club. Your eyes scan around, seeing familiar teammates with their wives and girlfriends. You’d never met half of these girls, and the ones you had met already seemed to be having fun together. 

Onyankopon leaned down, lips near your ear as he gently said, “We can go home, Mama. I can go pick up the kids on the way back—“

Were you giving off that you weren’t enjoying yourself? Hell. The Sangria might’ve worn off and made you a little sleepy, but you really weren’t ready to go home. You pull him down by his jaw as you interrupt,“I’m fine, baby. Promise—just need to hear a lil’ music. I want you to have fun.” 

His nose nuzzles against your hair, a soft chuckle leaving his lips as he pulls you into his side, “I’m always gon’ have fun if I’m with you, girl. Come on.”

A hand comes down to the lower part of your back, leading you right into a VIP section. Onyankopon was greeting his teammates, a soft wave pulling at your fingers as you greeted the wives and girlfriends. You could be friendly—they just weren’t your type of crowd. 

But of course, you loved your husband enough to try something once. You took a couple of shots with them, Hennessy their choice of drink. When you mentioned that you didn’t enjoy the taste of more common brown liquors, one of them gave you an eye roll, and that was your cue to head back over to your husband. Maybe it was the liquor in your system, but you might’ve been a little irritated from that interaction. 

You wrapped your arms around Onyankopon’s neck as you sat on his lap, trying to hide the annoyance in your face—Too bad you weren’t good with that.

“I see that face you makin’. What happened?” 

You try to shake it off, “I be tryna’ be cool with them hoes. They’ weird,” your murmur to him, going into your purse as you search for your phone.

“You gettin’ mad for no reason,” he holds your phone out for you, “They just be tryna’ fit in with the crowd.” 

“You don’t need to give me explanations for bitches you don’t even know,” you flick your eyes back up to him, “Ain’t nobody mad. If I was, I would’ve said that.”

He raises an eyebrow. Onyankopon leans down into your ear, a hand pulling you in by the cradle of your neck as he questions, “What ‘you gettin’ an attitude with me for?”

“What I look like startin’ an argument with you in front of everybody? I’m just sayin’, I don’t like them girls.” 

“You don’t like nobody. Yo’ ass mean.”  

You narrow your eyes at that. You then wrap your arms further around his neck as you smile, “I like you, Daddy.”

Your eyes. He could see it all in your eyes. 

He raises an eyebrow, pressing a kiss to your lips before pulling you into another one, a bit more harsh as you feel his hand caress across the bottom of your thigh, a thumb stroking against your skin. 

“Keep behavin’, girl. You gon’ let a nigga dance wit’ you, or you gon’ have an attitude about that too?”

“You gon’ throw some ones on me if I dance?” 

You move your hips along his lap, giggling through the shots you were beginning to feel in your system.

“I’m throwin’ hundreds out this bitch if it’s you.” 

Onyankopon’s hand smacks at the side of your thigh, “You talkin’ too much. C’mon.”

You stand in front of him, your eyes a bit blurry from the lowlights of the club, which somehow makes your tipsiness worse—This was a side of you that hadn’t shown in months, the arch of your silhouette drowning in his sight as you hold the edge of your skirt, ass shaking within his face. You dip your head down to watch him from behind, teeth sinking into the plush of your lip.

“That’s how you feelin’?”

Swat, his hand palms your ass hard. The sting rushes into a pleasure you hadn’t expected, making the skin flush.

The mixture of a giggle and whimper passes your lips, barely audible as you hear the music thumping around you. You’re really horny now.

Your brain is foggy—so foggy that you tug your panties to the side for a millisecond, letting him see the glisten of your pussy. You feel his palm latch along your throat from behind, tugging you back onto his lap. 

He grunts, “You tryna’ have me kill a nigga in here.”

“I think that Hennessy’ talking,” you giggle to him.

His hand smacks your ass harder, the sound piercing the atmosphere. The music wasn’t going hard enough to mask it. 

“Yo’ ass gon’ be the reason we leave. Keep fuckin’ playin’.”

“Okay—down, boy. You got a teammate to celebrate his birthday with. Go, imma’ babysit another drink.”

“You gon’ behave?”  he tilts your chin up, finding your eyes in his.

“I always do. Kiss?”

Onyankopon’s lips are on yours in seconds. He knocks your head up as he taps your chin, grills shining a blue tint under the lights of the club before he leaves you alone. 

The thing is, you didn’t exactly do what you’d told him you would.

You’d ordered a lemon drop martini, doing the opposite of babysitting your drink as you consumed it in minutes. A small smile spread across your lips as your mother-in-law sent pictures of your babies enjoying their time at grandmas, and although you missed your kids—the sight of your husband across the club had your attention. 

You could admit it now—you were fully drunk. The club was closing, and you were entirely too far away from home for Onyankopon to drive back. So you’d both decided on a hotel for the night—and with your intoxicated minds, you might’ve chosen the nicest one in New Orleans, booking the rooftop of the tallest building. 

You giggle as he carries you bridal style, using his foot to open the door to the room—and it’s a sight to see.

The floor is marbled, an expensive crystal chandelier casting warm shades of orange and gold across the room. The walls were high, mirrors reflecting the lights from the chandelier. The bed is huge, with a golden, lacy canopy.

You gasp, “Baby—there’s a pool!” 

An infinity pool to be specific—it was beautiful, lit up against the night skyline, the sounds of jazz music faint in the background from the echoes of downtown. 

“Baby. Be care—“  

You almost fall, saved by Onyankopon as he lifts you up by the back of your thighs, holding you in front of him as your legs wrapped around his waist, throat giggling as you hold onto him, “Oops.”

“You drunk as hell, Mama.” 

He tosses you onto the bed before you can answer—And you squeal, drunk laughter passing your lips as you bounce up once, eyes still on the man in front of you—and God, he was your everything. You didn’t know if it was the alcohol you’d been drinking all night, but you missed him—and now, you wanted him all over you.

You watch him undress himself—that jacket hits the floor, tattoos on his arms and biceps beginning to outline underneath the lights.

You groan, “I’m hot, baby. I wanna go swimming.” 

“Ion’ know,” he’s slow with his words, easing out of his pants, “I could just rub up on you, baby. Let you fall asleep in my arms.”

“That’s boring,” your eyes wander his body as you bite your bottom lip. Your legs spread a bit on the bed, “Can I go look at it?”

You were a drunken mess, your words slurred, your sentences a bit incoherent as he shakes his head, chuckling at the sight. 

“You can’t even think straight, girl. Just lay yo’ ass down.”

You roll your eyes, huffing, “Whatever. I gotta go pee.” 

You didn’t give him time to answer. 

Your body was stumbling off of the bed—but instead of the bathroom, you made your way directly towards the pool. You’re tugging off the material of your clothes, stepping out of the skirt you wear, pulling the baby tee over your head effortlessly—you’re bare up top, nipples shining a pretty brown under the lights, your thong molding along your hips at the bottom.

“You’ hard headed.”

His voice is a chuckle, but his eyes glare at you. He watches your body dive into the pool. 

“I thought you was usin’ the bathroom,” His voice is low, eyes at your figure that flows beneath the water as his feet begin to follow you outside. 

And then you come up—Your eyes are the only thing above water, slender as you swim to the edge. 

“It feels good, baby. You wanna feel?” 

You come up more the moment your fingers fall around the flesh of your breasts, squeezing at your hardened  nipples as you whimper, “C’mon, Ony…”

His voice gets lower, “Goddamn. Aight.”  

Your eyes flick down to his dick that slaps his abdomen the moment he pulls it from his boxers, a sultry smile on your face as you swim to the side of the pool where he’s fully undressed, his body towering above you as he steps in.

The minute he steps in, you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down within the water as you lift yourself against him. Your eyes glow, your tongue dragging against his lips as you giggle, “I missed you, Daddy.”

Onyankopon chuckles, lips brushing against yours, “What you miss about me?”

“Being alone with you. Touchin’ on you—“

You’re softly whining, your tongue swirling along his throat, meeting him in a filthy kiss as you come up. And of course, he’s kissing you back even worse—tongue invading your lips, drowning you under his mouth. You allow your body to sway its way towards the edge of the water, turning as you lean yourself against the glass of it, back now facing him. Your little show from the club returns, and under perfect lighting? Your pussy was even prettier. It’s pink as you spread it in his face, glistening to coax him even further.

You whimper, “—The way you fuck me. Come take me, Ony.”

Onyankopon grunts at the sight.

Being drunk brought out a whole different side of you—but your husband was no better. It was the way he ate your pussy when intoxicated—his tongue wagged up against the soft flesh of your folds, the soppy arousal drenching his facial hair each time his full lips sucked your clit up into his mouth. He can’t help it—he’s dipping his tongue in between your opening and hole up top, your fingers tightening along his braids as you whimper in return. But you’re worse—you’re twisting your hips from side to side, riding his face to meet his tongue that sucks your clit from behind. Your ass is all in his face, but he loves it, spanking you with rumbles vibrating against your flesh. 

You always got what you were asking for, but you were needy regardless. You didn’t expect your back to arch any further than it was, your eyes rolled to the back of your head as his fingers tightened within your curls, fucking you in a way you’d missed in months. Your ass bounces onto his creamy dick by the pull of his strength—your lips releasing giggles, squealing in between your moans as he takes you from behind. 

“This’ how you missed me, huh? Boucin’ back on my dick like a muhfuckin’ slut? Look at you.” 

You were so drowned in him, you were hardly paying attention to where you were. The marble was cold on the edge of the pool, and with the tiniest bit of sense you had, you whined, “It’ssogood, baby.” 

A low groan leaves his lips, the sound vibrating against your neck. 

“You loud. Finna’ wake up the whole neighborhood.” 

You’re too drunk to listen, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you place your arm behind your back, waiting for him to grab ahold of it. Your moans are long, whiney as you’re somehow still giggling, so elated from how good every stroke feels. His tip is becoming lost in your pussy, your intoxication making you wetter by the second. 

His hand wraps against your arm, your leg going further over the edge, your back in the perfect arch as you mewl. Your eyes roll as he snakes his other hand to the front of you, clutching your jaw to snap your face behind to look into his—That’s when you sling your hips back, fucking yourself on his dick, a hazy smile on your face, screwed with a mixture of pleasure. 

“Ony…” 

You’re squealing to him.

“You still miss a nigga, huh? My shit deep enough for you to remember?”

Onyankopon’s hand tightens along your neck, his fingers gripping the bottom of your chin to bring your face closer to his. You squirm at the change in angle.

One of your hands slides against the side of his head, fingers running across the length of his cornrows. Your lashes are heavy, fluttering as you plead, “It’s deep,” your voice hardly audible over the sounds of your skip clapping together. 

“Feel so full when you’re in me,” you whimper along his mouth.

Your voice was music to his ears. 

The wet flesh sends echoes against the marble, your moans loud in his ear. But everything you were giving him was worth the wait of you being pregnant. He’d taken care of you, babied you. And now, he fucked you like you were his again. 

He could be sweet, sensual—but he could also be a demon. You’re out of the pool now, close to the bed—but you couldn’t make it there on time. Your fingers clutched

along his shoulder as he carries you with no effort, legs held by his arms as he’s lifting you up, tip slapping the sensitivity of your puffy folds, dropping you down in seconds. A squelch comes in return from the curve of his dick reaching inside. 

“Ion’ wanna hear nothin’,” he grunts to you, “Just listen to us.” 

You knock your forehead against his, eyes watering as you tremble whimpers, cradling the nape of his neck in your fingers. Your mind is hazy.

His gaze pierces yours, your lips barely hovering above his as he grunts, “You hear that? That’s the sound of you leakin’ all on my shit. Just droolin’.” 

Your face screws into a pout as you whimper, “Ohmygod, baby. You’re so strong. Oh my goddd. Ughn. F—fuck,” your nails sink into his skin. 

“The fuck did I say, huh?”  

A swat comes to your face, and your eyes flutter, sinking your fingers between your lips as you hush the noises from your mouth. There’s tears in your eyes, thighs trembling as he continues to hold you in the air. Plop, plop, schluck. 

“That’s my good lil’ bitch. Open.” 

He spits in your mouth, gripping your neck tighter as he speaks.

“Tongue.” 

When you do, he spits again. 

“Goodbaby.”  

Your whimper is a high-pitched sound, your teeth nibbling against his bottom—but that’s when he releases you onto your feet—your legs instantly trembling, and he can tell you won’t be able to keep this up. 

“On that bed,” his voice is low. 

“Knees first.”

The moment you crawl onto the bed, you drop your face onto the sheets, back still arched, spreading your reddened pussy as you gently rotate your hips for him. 

“C’mon, Daddy.” 

The arrogance pours from his body as he slaps his tip against your folds, your hips jolting at the feeling. His dick is sliding in, sinking every gifted inch he has for you—It’s even deeper this time, a pinch coursing through your lower stomach the moment the back of your thighs clap with his abdomen, tearing away like Velcro each time. 

You’re mewling, “Damn, baby. I love you so much—why you fuckin’ me like this…”  

You’re babbling, asking nonsensical questions. You knew that.

He finds a grip in your curls, tugging you onto him. His eyes are low as he grunts, “I’m fuckin’ you like this ‘cause you want me to. Look at that pussy. Look at that shit. Pretty lil’ bitch I got.” 

Your eyes are watering heavily. You’re nearly silent for a while, just feeling everything he has to give you. Your body shakes, and you let out the deepest gasp, your exhale a low sob. 

“Keep goin’.” 

It came out a grunt, his voice cracking through the thickness of his Southern drawl. His words are nearly harsh—he craved you—but he meant it, “That’s so muhfuckin’ pretty, Mama. That cream you givin’ me. Yo’ cum is so pretty.” 

And he’s right—you’re cumming, the creamy release of your pussy painting his balls in your affection. Onyankopon’s fingers are tucked along the back of your neck, tattooed frame large above your smaller figure. 

You don’t mean for your mouth to unlatch a loud, “Ughn—Ooshit, baby…”

But it does. 

His body slaps against your round ass, “You been goin’ through it—You coulda’ just came and sat on this dick, Mama. Know you’ been thinkin’ about it. Know you been needin’ it.” 

Your fingers slip in between your lips, sucking lightly to muffle your sounds. You whimper, “Sorry, baby,” as you go back to dropping your hips down to meet his body. You imagine how that looks from behind—how your walls just suck him in, a whiney mess that you are, becoming needier by the second. 

“Uh-huh,” He groans, “Yeah—you been missing your nigga, huh?”

“Mhmm.”

That’s all you can manage to get out—your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, but you try your best to keep them open.

“Missed you so—muc—ugh—much, daddy.”

Seeing you this way was always rewarding. It was like all the senses in your brain went fuzzy, and you’re swirling your hips in a circle, throwing your ass back to meet his body. Fingers still tucked in between your mouth, you’re groaning. 

“See’—there you fuckin’ go. That’s my girl—“

His equal groan is deep and husky—loud, almost guttural.  It makes you shake, “You my good girl, ain’t you? You gon’ start acting right, huh?”

You had no thoughts within your mind.

“I’m your good girl,” you whimper, “See, baby—just wanted you,” your siren eyes peer behind your shoulder to watch your ass bounce. One of your arms reaches back—but Onyankopon’s already there again, snatching your wrist behind your back. 

“That’s all it was? You just wanted me?”

He leans his body down, pushing himself deeper into you. With your arms held, he’s got you locked—helpless.

Your face was red, eyes cloudy. You nod in answer, not trusting your own voice. 

Onyankopon’s hand releases the one held behind your back, his fingers wrapping around your throat from behind instead. His hips are going, heavy body throwing you onto his dick. 

His groan is a low hum, “Daddy’s here now, Mama. That’s all you needed.”

You can’t help the sound that comes from your lips—the whine that’s loud, a shaky breath being sucked into the air. His words, his affirmations to you—your eyes water again, and you give him a continuous nod as you watch your ass go up and down. Your feminine tone cries softly, body quivering as his words echo in your brain. 

He wants to mean every word he says. The way he grips your throat is a sign, the way he’s dropping you down, holding you in place.

Your sobs come out in low gasps,“Ohhh my god—“ 

You’re getting lightheaded.

“O—Oh—Oh, baby…” your brain’s getting foggy—no wonder you see dots.

You moan, “Oh, God. I love you so…much.”

“Yeah?” He grunts, “You mean that?” 

His body makes it hard for you to answer—and his words,  “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you, baby. You forgivin’ me, huh?” 

“Uh-huh,” You nod, “I forgive you. I’m so sorry,” you whine, “S’much, baby.”

You were being honest. Although, you weren’t sure what you were apologizing for. 

You can barely even see, mouth parting as you’re going to speak again, eyes rolling back. It’s silent. But that’s when your voice gets louder—even though it doesn’t seem possible, “Please forgive me, baby. Just needed you, Ony.” 

You give him a shaky nod, trying to focus on your breathing. He grips your throat harder, just the way you like, “I hear you, Mama. You hear me?” 

You gasp,  “Yes—Oohgod, baby.” 

“We ain’t finna’ have these problems no more?” 

“No—I love you—love you so much,” you sob again, body beginning to give. You’re shaking harder, you know you’re crying, but it only makes him go faster, a loud groan coming from his lips.

“That’s how you feelin’?”

“Uh-huhhhh,” you moan, lips quivering, “I forgive you—I always forgive you, Ony.”

Your nails dig at his skin, the sounds you’re making being loud enough to wake the dead. You moan, “I’d never—ooh—doubt you, I was jus—just—“ 

Your brain gives up—you can’t make sentences.

Maybe you shouldn’t have been so sorry. You now have to prove your own words, curls hanging above your face as you’re exhausted from now being on top—Onyankopon’s large hands unfortunately have you trapped, your whimpers seeping through the walls as he’s constantly bouncing you down against his lap. This is the sight you’d been looking for—that glare, that growl from his lips, your smaller frame being swallowed by his—even if you were above him. Your thighs burned, your hips ached. 

His hand lifts your body by your throat.

“You know how I feel?”

His hips thrust upward, “I gotta be here for you a lil’ more,” His deep groan makes your legs jolt, “That’s on me, aight? Imma’ make up fo’ that, I promise.” 

His tone goes dark. 

"I love you, Mama," He grunts, "And my kids—I haven’t been a good husband, have I?”

You shake your head, finding your own rhythm within your hips as you rotate above him, “It’s okay, baby—“ you breath hitches, “Such a good h—husband, Ony…” 

His hand around your neck loosens—his thumb rubs against the pulse beneath your jaw, “You promise?” 

His lips suck on your bottom lip, his hips moving against yours now—slowing.

You nod. Onyankopon’s other hand cups beneath your thigh, guiding your body—up and down, your head lolls to the side, curls draping along your hand as your eyes roll, “Baby, I c—can’t…” 

“Yeah?” He grunts, “You can’t—lemme’ hold you then. C’mere.” 

His kiss is soft—he’s tasting you, groaning through a snarl of his lip, “Uh—uh-huh—“ His hips aren’t slowing, “I feel you, mama.”

You’re crying softly as you hold onto him,

“O—Ony…”

“I’m a good husband, ain’t I? Talk to me.” 

He’s begging, his voice deep, “Please don’t be mad at me, baby. I’m already mad at myself because I’m not there for you no’ more.”

This bastard was evil. 

The tears in your eyes aren’t helping your case, your arms wrapping around his neck as you shakily sob out in return, cumming again, holding onto him for dear life as you cry, “Not m—mad at you, Daddy…” 

His tongue slides down to your neck, sucking on the skin, leaving bruises. 

With the sudden touch of cold metal against your thigh, your body shivers, mind entirely fuzzy at this point. 

“That’s yo’ niggas ring,” He hushes you with a light grunt, his hips going—”You feel it, mama? You feel it on me?”

“I feel all of you,” you moan, hands scratching his back, “And I love you so much, baby—feel you so deep—oh god—don’t—stop, baby.”

His tongue swirls on your throat, and it makes your head fuzzy, “I’m sorry, baby.”

“I hear you, baby,” you whimper in his own words he spoke earlier, “It don’t matt—oh, matter, anymore, baby. I’m yours, Ony.” 

Your back arches—but he’s still holding your throat. Onyankopon grins at the sight, his head leaned into your neck—grunting and groaning while his large hands help you move. Faster.

“I’ll always be there fo’ my kids—But, you my baby—I’ll never leave you when you need me. And you gon’ need Daddy, huh? Just like now.” 

You press your forehead against his, digging your teeth within your lip as your eyes roll—your mouth parts as you shudderingly moan, “Yeah, Daddy. Okay.”

You’re gasping, eyes watering, hips burning. Your entire body trembles as oceans of pleasure crash in violent waves, the mixture of a groan and scream dropping from your lips, panting as you try to control your sounds. You’re squirting. 

His eyes are glaring, tone deep, “Who you gon’ get on the phone and cry to, huh? Who gon’ treat you the way I do? Fuck yo’ ass the way I do? Who gon’ catch all these tears like me?” 

You’re fully sobbing, “Fuuuck, Ony.”

He grunts at your sounds, “Just like that—“ His hand presses on your waist, “Go ‘head baby. You know I’m right behind you.” 

Your body gives for a third time. Onyankopon’s tongue rushes against yours, the warmth of his cum filling you as his large palm cradles you into his body. You don’t know when your eyes closed, or when you stopped breathing. Your vision is a blur when you’re able to see again. 

“Mama—you aight?” 

You give the smallest nod. Your face is flushed, your mind a bit fuzzy as you whimper, “Got too drunk, baby. My head hurts.”

Onyankopon chuckles, the sound low as he’s leaning against the pillows, your smaller figure sinking into his chest.

“Lemme’ get you a warm towel—“

“Nuh-uh,” you mumble, “I’m fine. You stay here.”  

His hand is slow as his palm smoothes along the small of your back, his lips pressing against your cheek, “I told you I ain’t goin’ nowhere.” 

A comforting silence fills the room for a couple of minutes, your body nearly passed out against his. That’s when you feel your husband shift a bit beneath you as he murmurs, “Baby…I wanted to give you sum’ before the end of the night.”

You hum softly, eyes still closed. 

“Can I guess what it is?”

His laugh is low, his hand gently stroking the skin of your lower back. 

”You get one guess,” He murmurs, his other hand finding a grip in your hair.

“A Unicorn,” you softly gasp, eyes still closed as you hum, “Yup. It’s my very own unicorn.”

It’s quiet for a moment. Onyankopon chuckles as he says, “You was’ close, but nah— I know you’ been talkin’ bout how you wanna renew our vows.”

Your head peeks up. 

“And?”

“And—I figured, yo’ nigga can’t re-marry yo’ ass without some new rings.”

He leans over the bed, pulling two small boxes from his pants. It’s brighter than the jewelry within his mouth—a heart shaped diamond crystals within your eyes, the ring larger than the rock you already carried on your finger. 

You gasp, “Ony—are you serious?” 

“Dead serious. I got that lil’ venue you wanted in Rome, too. I’m ready for another lifetime with you,” His fingers find your chin, “You ready for another lifetime with me?”

“You did this all for me?” 

“I’d do anythin’ for you, girl. You my best friend,” He grins, “Can you promise me one thing, though?”

A sigh escapes his lips—you leap into his embrace, hugging him tightly, “That I’ll give you like a million more babies?” 

Onyankopon chuckles at your reaction, his large arm hugging around your frame as he answers, “Nah. Promise you ain’t never gon’ doubt me again. A nigga love you forreal’.” 

Your heart is warm. Your hands graze along his facial hair, looking over the face of the man that truly loved you like no one else would. 

You sigh, “I love you too, Ony. You got a hair tie?”

“Yeah,” he raises an eyebrow, “Whatchu’ need one for?” 

He’s shifting across the bed, digging into an open drawer of the bedside dresser.

“Cause I’m finna’ suck the skin off that di—“

“Girl,” he chuckles, “Lawd. You ain’t tired?

“I’ll never be tired of you. Say you feel the same—and that you love me!”

He chuckles, “I do. Quit playin’.”

And you knew that, because he did.

[skeltnwrites]

At Least It’s Not the End of the World ♡

After protecting the kids from demodogs and sentient tunnel vines with Steve, a weekend babysitting Holly Wheeler together is supposed to be simple. That is until feelings neither of you expected start to make things way more complicated.

gn!reader, takes place in between seasons two and three, people who fight monsters together to lovers, tooth-rotting fluff 16k

── .✦

It doesn’t take long to remember why Holly is your favorite Wheeler. She’s patient and sweet, amazingly level-headed for a preschooler, and her manners could put some adults to shame. Compared to her siblings, Holly’s a little sweetheart. And a mama’s girl through and through, clinging to Mrs. Wheeler more often than not. 

Like now, she wriggles in her mom’s lap, scrunched over a coloring book at the dinner table. She squints at her box of crayons and purses her lips— choosing colors is hard when you’re five. She hasn’t said a peep since you arrived, but in the foyer, she greeted you with a clumsy wave and a sheepish smile. 

“It would be Friday afternoon to Monday morning,” Mrs. Wheeler explains, stirring a glass of lemonade with a curly straw. “I’d ask Nance but she’s having a girl's weekend.” 

You glance at Steve. You know girl’s weekend is code for spending the night with Jonathan Byers. But if he knows it too, he doesn’t show it. He doesn’t so much as bat an eye at her words. In fact, he’s relaxed under Mrs. Wheeler’s gaze. He’s sitting in a chair he’s sat in dozens of times before, talking to a woman he sees more frequently than his own mother. 

You don’t know her as well as he does, but you aren’t strangers by any means. 

“And Mike, well, he’s not old enough to watch her for that long. But he’ll be staying over at Joyce’s so you don’t have to worry about him,” she pauses to sip her drink. “I’d pay you, of course. I don’t know what your schedules look like— I know you’re probably busy with the new job, Steve— but I figured since it’s a few days, I’d offer it to you both.” 

Steve flashes an honest smile and leans forward. “Are you kidding? I’d hang with this squirt for free. I’m actually off this weekend so it works out.” 

Mrs. Wheeler beams, eyes springing to yours. 

“Yeah, I could help too,” you shrug. You also happen to be free this weekend and the extra cash would be nice. 

“Great! You both are so lovely. Oh, I was so worried, I kept telling Ted– well, it doesn’t matter now.” Her bracelets clink and clash as she reaches across the table to cover your hand with hers. “You’ll have to keep an eye on these two. She becomes quite the riot when her Stevie comes over.” 

Steve chuckles and raises his hands in defense. “She owes me a rematch at Candyland so I can’t promise anything.” 

Mrs. Wheeler’s fingers retract from yours, landing on the end of Holly’s pigtail. “She’s really missed having you over. Asks about you still.” 

Holly ducks her nose into her paper, pink traveling up her ears. 

“Is that right?” Steve teases. “I’ll have to swing by more often.” 

“Please. You’re welcome anytime, Steve. Whether Nancy’s here or not.” Her attention drifts to you. “And the same goes for you. Mike won’t stop talking about that comic book you gave him.” 

A smug grin surfaces. Out of all of the kids, Mike is a tough one to please. 

“I’ve never been away from Holly for so long. But I trust you guys.” Mrs. Wheeler pecks Holly’s crown to hide a wobbly smile, her sentence spilling out in a breathy string of words.

She really does trust you both. It would take another set of hands to count the number of times either you or Steve had driven her kids home safely. This is just different. She loves all of her kids equally, but Holly’s her baby. 

Holly’s eyes cast up at her mention, bright as a sunlit gem. 

Mrs. Wheeler smooths her daughter’s sleeves down her shoulders. “But Holly’s a good girl. Right, Hollybear?” 

She turns to bury a toothy smile in her mother’s shirt. 

Mrs. Wheeler is meticulous as she presents each and every detail of Holly’s routine. From car seat safety to emergency contacts to allergies, she covers every question you might have before you have it. 

Steve’s a good listener but he’s cursed with a very short attention span. Mrs. Wheeler lost him somewhere around Holly’s sudden aversion to mac and cheese, but she doesn’t seem to notice. You’ll fill in the gaps for him later. 

This won’t be the first time you’ve babysat with Steve. Dustin roped you both into hunting his pet lizard-turned-alien which very quickly escalated to protecting four children from not one, but several, vicious aliens. Safe to say you two are experienced enough to handle one kid for a couple of nights. 

You haven’t seen Steve much since then. It’s summer now. The demodogs and sentient tunnel vines feel much more like a dream than something that actually happened to you these days. Steve works at the Scoops in Starcourt, or so you’ve heard several times– Dustin only reminds you about every time you see him. But despite being as close to death as you’ve ever been beside Steve, visiting him at work feels strangely wrong. Like crossing a line that neither of you ever drew. 

You would not consider Steve Harrington your friend. You’re friendly, as you might be with a neighbor or coworker, but you don’t talk much outside of ​​world-ending, portal-to-another-dimension kind of events. He’s family in a weird sort of way, bound by the shared trauma and unspoken loyalty— like someone you only see at family reunions, familiar enough to care about but still a stranger in most ways. High school was a long blur and your circle of friends couldn’t have been farther from his. So you don’t know Steve, not really. But of what little pieces of him you have come to know in the last year, he’s not half bad at babysitting.

ᯓ★

On Friday afternoon, you park your car beside Steve’s shiny BMW in the Wheeler’s driveway. You take the house key that had been slipped from Mrs. Wheeler’s key ring to yours and unlock the front door. And you find that inside, it’s completely silent. Holly’s quiet as a mouse but she’s still a kid and kids make noise. 

Your bag drops onto the floor beside Steve’s shoes as you toe off your own. When the kitchen and living room turn up empty you jog upstairs. Alarm sinks in on the last step where you still hear nothing. No shouting, no laughing, no crying, no nothing. 

There’s a large window in the hall upstairs, dividing Nancy’s room from Mike's and Holly’s. In your panic, you miss the suspicious lumps in the drapes that frame it. 

As you brush by, Steve rips the curtain across the rod and shouts, “Ha! Gotch– Oh.” 

Your entire body jerks, fear cinching every nerve. “Christ! Steve!”

“Sorry, sorry!” 

Your nostrils flare with hot air as you shove him, “You scared me!” 

His open palms hover in between your chests, unsure how to help. “I thought you were Holly. Sorry.” He gives you an apologetic once-over before a breathy chuckle escapes. 

“It’s not funny. All the shit we’ve been through. God.” He’s lucky you didn’t punch him. A part of you still wants to. 

“Mommy says that’s not a nice word,” Holly says from behind you. 

You turn, shoulders sagging in relief. “I didn’t mean to say that. Sorry.” 

“Stevie, I was supposed to find you,” she whines incredulously, hands planted on her hips. 

“We can go again. I’ll find a new spot.” 

Her frown mends as quickly as it appeared and she skips back to her room to count. 

“Sorry,” Steve reminds you. “Help me find a spot to hide?” 

Soft eyes, a softer smile. It’s hard to stay mad when he looks at you like that. “Okay.” 

Twenty seconds isn’t very long to hide. Especially when Holly counts as fast as she does and when you spend half of your time standing in the hall. So you end up crouched in the corner of Mike’s closet, Steve arched over you, trying his hardest not to crush your toes. 

“Jesus. Does this kid even wash his clothes?” Steve whisper-shouts. “It smells like something died in here.” His palm snaps to the wall behind your head, the flesh of his arm warming your ear.

“You actually couldn’t have picked a worse place. Oh my God.” You press the neckline of your shirt over your nose. Steve’s wearing enough cologne to drown out the stench of dirty socks, though it’s choking you all the same. 

“We had like three seconds. I panicked!” 

You’re glaring at him but only a fraction of light filters in from underneath the door so you’d guess he doesn't see. 

The closet is the first place Holly checks when she barges into Mike’s room, but you’ve never been happier to be caught so fast. 

“My turn!” She glows in victory, pigtails swishing like yellow ribbons as she shouts. 

Steve huffs. “Let’s take a break. We’ve been playing for like an hour.” 

“Can we play tag?”

“In a little while. I’m tired.” He pinches her neck playfully until she squirms out of reach. “How’d you have all that energy?”

She shrugs with her whole body. “I dunno. I’m a kid.” 

A laugh bubbles out of your throat. When your eyes flit to Steve you find him already smiling at you. 

“What about something a little more chill,” you suggest. “We could color?” 

“Bracelets?” 

“You want to make some?” 

She nods, “I can’t reach them. The beads are on top of my closet.”  

“I’ll get ‘em,” Steve offers. “Come show me where.” 

You fan out her multitude of craft containers across the kitchen table. Beads, charms, strings, all neatly filed away. She pops open a lid and plunks down across from you. Steve takes the seat at the end in between. 

“What color bracelet are you gonna make?” you ask, raking through the rainbow of options. 

“Umm, yellow. No– green!” 

“Nice. Here’s a cute little frog charm. Want that?” 

“Mmmm. No, thank you.” 

“I’ll take it,” Steve says, stretching his hand toward you. 

You drop it in the center of his palm where it clinks against a handful of blue beads. They’re pretty and vibrant like the sea. A flicker of an idea pulls you to grab your own handful. 

Holly slides four beads onto a string, two lime green and two baby pink. She drags the other end up and they all slip off, bouncing in separate directions across the table. You smack one before it dives onto the floor and Steve catches another two mid-air. 

“Can you help me tie it?” Holly asks from under her chair, searching for the fourth. 

“Sure.” Steve swaps his bracelet for hers, triple knotting one end. “I like these colors.”

She resurfaces with a grin, voice lilting as she speaks, “Do you like purple?”

“Yeah, purple’s okay. Do you?” 

She nods, pinching a lilac gem and examining it. 

You slip into a peaceful rhythm. The bead bin rattles as Steve digs his fingers in. He murmurs something about sparkles as he shuffles. Every now and then, you peek up at him. And each time, you find that he’s fully absorbed in this, rubbing his chin or poking his tongue out in concentration. You’d even bet he’s having fun. 

“Can you tie it on me,” Holly asks when she finishes. 

Steve takes her hand gently, fingers engulfing her tinier ones. “This good?” He tugs the strings across each other at her permission, sealing it with an extra knot for good measure.  

Holly starts a second one as you finish your first. You hold it up triumphantly for them to see– red and blue beads between every white pearl. 

“Very patriotic,” Steve teases. 

“It’s for you. For scoops. These are the colors right?” 

He softens, eyes rounding like brown buttons. “Wait, really? Thank you. Wow.” He inspects it fondly where you release it in his palm. “Will you tie it?” His arm shoots over to your side of the table. 

You feel his gaze shift from the bracelet to your face as you lace it. And you pretend that it doesn’t make your cheeks burn. 

“You don’t have to wear it to Scoops if you don’t want to,” you mumble, releasing his wrist. 

“What? Of course, I’m wearing it. No one’s ever made me a bracelet before.” 

Your lips bend up into your cheeks as he leans back in his seat. He twists and turns his arm, looking it over again with a similar expression. “Now, it was supposed to be a surprise, but since I’m almost done, I actually made this for you.” He scoops up the piece he’s been working on and waves it in front of you. 

You cock an eyebrow and smirk. “You sure you didn’t just decide that since I gave you one.” 

“I didn’t! I was planning this the whole time! Right Holly, didn’t I say that?”

“No?” 

“Holly, come on now.” He elbows her arm. “Supposed to back me up.” 

“But you didn’t,” she giggles. 

“Holly doesn’t lie, Steve.” 

“Okay, I didn’t say it. But I thought it. I was gonna give it to you I swear.” He jams another couple of beads on his string. “See! Look, it has your favorite color on there.” 

“It has every color on there.” 

“One of which is your favorite.” 

You roll your eyes as he takes your wrist. His hands are warmer than yours, softer than you expect too. He stills as your palm flips face up. A jagged, fleshy ridge runs from the bottom of your pinky to the meat of your thumb. Steve was there when you got the scar. He’s never said it, but you know he blames himself for it. A demodog had you pinned in that damned junkyard school bus so Steve pushed you out of the way but you caught yourself on a broken window. 

“It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

His head dips in a silent nod. He isn’t sure whether to believe you or not. Either way, he feels sorry still.

His bracelet is a statement piece for sure. It truly has every color under the sun and a random assortment of charms and shells. But it’s sweet that he gave it to you. Even if he totally did not plan to do so at first. 

He makes a second bracelet for Holly with purple string and butterfly pendants. Holly gives her next one to him as thanks, then begins on a third for you. 

Steve stands from the table. “I’m hungry. Grilled cheese okay for dinner Holly?” She nods as do you when he asks you the same. 

Your focus drifts between him and the necklace you’re starting for Holly. He coasts around the kitchen naturally, like you imagine he would in his own house. But it’s a bizarre sight. Steve Harrington cooking you food, in the Wheeler’s kitchen out of all places. 

And he’s about as good as a chef as you expect him to be. He’s clumsy and uncertain, even dropping a spatula on the floor with an, “Oh, shi–ugar…” But he kindly refuses to accept any help or advice when you offer. 

He eventually swings around the kitchen island, brimming with pride, one plate in each hand. They’re set in the space you’ve cleared and you quickly see that the sandwiches have been cut adorably into stars. You just as quickly see– and smell– how burnt they are. They aren’t black, they’re edible for sure. But Holly’s five, and polite as she is, most kids would never willingly eat this. 

So you aren’t surprised when she looks at it in disgust, borderline horror. 

“Look, it’s a star,” Steve beams, oblivious. 

Your chest aches with the desire to laugh and an equal pang of sympathy. 

Holly shakes her head, visibly toning down her expression for his sake. “Can I have something else?” 

“It’s good! I promise, just try it.” 

She slowly shakes no again. 

“Steve,” a peel of laughter escapes your lips. “It’s burnt.” 

He scoffs. “It’s not that burnt.” 

Your mouth twitches in a funny little line and your eyes leap between him and the plate. “It’s pretty burnt, Steve.” 

After a moment of silence, he sighs and picks both plates back up. 

“Wait,” you shout, “I’ll still eat mine! Mine isn’t that bad. You did a good job!” 

He sulks at you. “You’re just saying that. I’ll make new ones.” 

“No, it’s okay, really. I’ll eat this one. I don’t mind.” 

He plants the plate in your grabby hands and spins back toward the stove. 

Round two is much better, still star-shaped, and a few shades lighter. Holly thanks him more than once while eating it without you even asking her to. If only Nancy and Mike were as precious as her. And Steve eats the first attempt, now cold, and admits that it tastes, “slightly burnt.” 

You take the empty plates to the sink to wash while Steve and Holly lug the jewelry kits back upstairs. You meet them in Holly’s room after. They’re playing house, Steve the dad, and Holly the mom, with four babydolls for children. She appoints you to be the neighbor when you join. 

You knock on her bedpost, pretending it’s her front door. “Holly, in one hour you’re gonna take a bath.”

Her head pops out from under the blanket. “Can we watch a movie before bed?” 

“Sure, but we have to do bath now if you wanna watch the whole thing.” 

“Okay!” She kicks the sheets away, jumping off the bed in a race to the bathroom. Steve winces as she steps on his hand. 

“Do you need help?” he asks, sprawled across the bed, socked feet hanging over the edge. 

“No, I got it. You can rest in peace now,” you joke, halfway through the door. 

Holly is self-sufficient enough to bathe herself so all you have to do is supervise. You find a matching polka dot set of pajamas in her dresser and a towel under the bathroom sink. And she gets dry and dressed all by herself, Miss Independent. 

“So there’s The Little Mermaid, E.T., Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory…” Steve trails off, kneeling in front of the entertainment center. 

Holly hands him a VHS tape, “This one?” 

“Ooh, good pick.” Steve feeds the tape into the player and rewinds it. 

You pat the couch cushion beside yours as Holly skips over. Steve hits the light before flopping into the recliner with a satisfied groan. The Jungle Book glows to life on the TV, casting an indigo wash over each of your faces. Holly curls into herself, knees tucked to her chest, arms wrapped tight around them.

“Here,” Steve chucks a blanket from the basket at his side. 

“Thanks.” You scoop it off the floor where it missed the couch and billow it out over you and Holly. “Don’t fall asleep, Harrington.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Steve folds one leg over the other and crosses his arms, eyes glued to the screen. He reminds you of Mr. Wheeler sitting in his recliner like that. It’s alarming how attractive you find it. He’s not even doing anything worth staring at. You force your eyes back on the TV. 

The credits scroll up the screen for a whole minute before you realize the movie has ended. You aren’t asleep but you aren’t totally awake either. Steve’s not far off by the looks of it and Holly, on the other hand, was out like a light halfway through. Her head presses into your upper arm, her hand scrunched in the blanket on your thigh. The weight is nice, making it all the harder to pick yourself up and get her to bed. 

But thankfully Steve’s there to help. He twists in his chair until his back clicks, smiling when he catches sight of you and Holly. “I’ll carry her up,” he whispers. 

You gently work Holly’s stubborn fingers from the blanket as Steve stands. He pushes the rest of the fabric into your lap before bending to scoop Holly up. 

“Be right back,” he says, starting toward the stairs. 

You tug the blanket higher, seeking lost comfort in its folds, though it doesn’t compare to the warmth Holly provided. 

Steve pads back down not a minute later. He stops on the last step, hanging over the railing. “You awake?” 

“Barely,” you mumble. 

Steve plods up to the front door to check the locks. He orbits into the kitchen and then back around to the living room to turn the TV off. He’s being the responsible one. You aren’t sure why this surprises you. 

“Come on,” he opens his hand toward you. 

Your arm snakes out from under the blanket, and he lifts you effortlessly. You’ve seen how strong he is, how he fights, but it still surprises you. 

“I was gonna suggest another movie but I don’t think either of us’ll make it.” 

You catch a yawn from Steve. “I know. I’m so tired. It’s not even late.” 

He hums from behind you on the stairs. “Yeah. Who knew this’d be so exhausting.” He’s only being slightly sarcastic. There’s an obvious truth to what he implied, but at the same time, it is so much harder than you realized it would be. 

You stop at the landing, sluggishly turning to face Steve. “Well, goodnight, I guess.” 

“Goodnight.” 

You splinter into opposite ends of the hall. Steve let you have Nancy’s room for obvious reasons, though he wasn’t thrilled about crashing in Mike’s bed. He’s probably better off on the couch after seeing the kid’s closet. 

You change into cozier clothes and untuck Nancy’s quilt. Like with Steve, you and Nancy aren’t really friends. It’s strange being in her room, settling into her bed. And it’s almost stranger that Steve is sleeping across the hall. Yet, there’s an odd comfort in it— being surrounded by people who went through the same thing you did. 

ᯓ★

There’s thumping in the hall– footsteps, too light to be Steve’s. You fight the urge to go back to sleep. Holly needs a babysitter. But it’s not an easy feat, not when you’re swaddled like a baby in blankets much softer than the ones you have at home. You’re warm and it’s so quiet it feels like a gift; that is, until you remind yourself that kids and quiet don’t usually go hand and hand. She could be answering the door to a stranger, scaling the counters, setting the kitchen on fire, the possibilities are endless. 

You force your heavy eyes open and flinch as a much brighter pair come into focus. 

Holly bends over you with this innocent endearment you cannot possibly be mad to be woken by. “Told you, Stevie,” she says. 

“No, you woke ‘em up, goofball.” Steve lingers at the foot of the bed in a pair of striped pajama pants and a faded Olympics tee. You’ve never seen him in pajamas before, or anything quite like it. 

You prop yourself up on your elbows and rub your eyes for a better look. 

“Sorry,” he supplies. His voice is still raspy with sleep and his oh-so-perfect hair shoots up in wild peaks. The sight makes your chest buzz. “She said you had to get up to.” 

You redirect your attention to Holly, pinching the neckline of your shirt back over your shoulder as you sit up. 

“Can we have eggs?” she asks you. 

“Sure.” 

She traps her lip between her two frontmost baby teeth. “Five?” 

“Five eggs!” Steve chides. “Just for you?” 

She turns to nod at him, smile blooming. 

He wears the same joy, ruffling her already unruly bed-head. “What are you a linebacker?” 

She giggles, clueless as to what he’s talking about. 

“Let’s start with two and if you’re still hungry you can have more,” you compromise. 

You are undeniably a better cook than Steve, but the bar is low after yesterday. You serve scrambled eggs and unburnt toast. Holly looks at her plate like she hasn’t been fed a day in her life and she shovels spoonfuls of it in her mouth like it’s her last meal. 

Steve watches her with an anxious frown. “Smaller bites, Holl.” 

She nods but doesn’t exactly slow her pace. Steve chases your eyes, knocking your ankle with his when you don’t look. He gives you that funny face parents make. Help me out. 

You shrug. “It’s just eggs. Babies eat eggs.” 

He cycles through several emotions—frustration that you won’t back him up, disbelief that babies eat eggs, and a lingering fear that she might choke. But he stops himself from asking all the what-ifs, he trusts you. 

Holly swallows half of her glass of chocolate milk in one go. Steve looks mildly horrified. 

“My God. She’s like a little human vacuum,” he mumbles through a mouthful of toast. 

You snort into your glass. If Holly heard him, she’s too preoccupied to care. 

After breakfast, Steve sets her up in front of the TV to watch cartoons while you clear the table. He disappears into the basement in search of a board game but comes back with some deflated, plastic thing. 

“What happened to the board game?” you ask. “What even is that?” 

“It’s a kiddie pool. Let’s go outside. It’s nice out.” 

“I didn’t bring a bathing suit.” 

“Me neither. Just wear that.” 

You wrinkle your nose down at your pajamas. “Go see if she wants to.” 

He smiles, retreating back into the living room. Shortly after, he shouts, “She said yes!” Footsteps pound up the stairs, followed by a second shout, “Don’t run!” 

Mrs. Wheeler calls the house phone and is pleased to hear your good report. She reminds you several times to apply sunscreen to Holly’s ears and that there’s an extra can in the upstairs bathroom. You wrangle Holly over to put her on and promise to call back before bedtime when she refuses to hang up. 

You sift through your bag, changing into the closest thing to swimwear. Steve takes forever in the bathroom, which doesn’t surprise you one bit. He comes out in a crisp white tee, way too expensive-looking for a pool day, and a pair of red gym shorts. 

“What are you, the lifeguard?” you joke. 

His hands snap to his hips. “Uhh, I’ll have you know I’ve been a certified lifeguard for two years, so yeah, actually.” 

You roll your eyes, brushing past him for the extra can of sunscreen. “Are you ready? Holly’s waiting.” 

“Yeah. Let me go blow up the pool. I’ll be outside.” 

You fix your hair in the mirror and tuck a few towels under your arm before heading downstairs. Holly’s already outside, criss-crossed in a big lawn chair and watching Steve with incredible boredom. He stands barefoot in the grass, the deflated pool pressed against his chest. He pulls away from the air valve when he notices you, quickly capping it with his thumb. 

“You okay?” you ask, laughing lightly. 

He nods, red-cheeked and breathless. “Think there’s a hole in it. Been blowin’ for like five minutes.” 

“Huh,” you drop the towels and take one end of the limp plastic. “Try again.” 

He funnels more air inside, it dispurses evenly underneath your palm. You don’t hear any air wheezing out so you turn it over for further inspection. 

“Oh, Steve. Here, look.” 

He pops his mouth off and follows your pointer finger. A second valve at the bottom, unhinged and releasing his hard work steadily. 

“Oh, you’re kidding me. Why’d they put one under there?”

You shrug, plugging it back up. “Holly, let’s get some sunscreen on so your mom doesn’t kill us.” 

Holly hops off the chair and skips to your side. You mist her skin in several layers, lathering a generous amount over her ears. When you move onto yourself, she grabs her basket of toys and climbs into the dry inflatable. Steve retrieves the hose and releases a cool stream into the pool, splashing Holly’s feet.

She squeals and scoots back. “Cold!” 

Steve’s thumb eclipses the opening so the water bursts out in wide a fan. He trains it at Holly, spraying her until she’s soaked and screaming. 

He’s giggling in a way you’ve never heard. Genuine, open-mouthed reels of laughter. You hate to admit it, but it’s really cute. So infectious you can’t help but join. 

He glances back for your reaction, pleasantly satisfied. And your smile incites a great idea. He swings the hose around, aiming it straight at you. 

“Steve!” Your arms shoot out to block the attack but it’s no use. 

“What?” he says, the epitome of innocence. 

Your eyes narrow but a smirk prevails. “Oh, you–” 

Holly tackles the back of his thigh with a scream. Steve stumbles forward and the hose slips from his grasp. 

You lunge for it before he even realizes what happened. And by the time he does, he’s already drenched. “Payback!” You laugh maniacally as he combs his hair out of his eyes. 

He’s laughing too, bent at the waist, still shaking his surprise. But only until he catches your gaze– then comes the glint of something playful, almost daring.

Steve barrels straight through the spray like a bull. He chokes your fingers over the nozzle, bending and bending the line until the water pours straight down your head. 

Holly dashes behind you to wrangle the wiggly tail of the hose, squealing at every layer of mist she catches. 

You and Steve wrestle with it, his hand on your hip, yours pushing his shoulder. He’s gentle but still strong. And his touch sears through the cold water, your skin tingling in his wake. 

The second he sticks the end down the back of your shirt you scream. “Okay, okay! I surrender!” 

He crimps the hose with one hand, smirking deviously. 

“I surrender,” you repeat, heaving through your laughter. 

Holly drops her end of the hose, backing up one slow step at a time. 

“Truce?” 

“Truce,” you nod, stepping up cautiously to shake his hand. 

He accepts your hand, using it to yank you closer and blast you again. You chase and dodge and tackle each other under the blazing sun until your legs feel like jelly. But the game eventually slows as exhaustion creeps in. 

You and Steve collapse in the lawn chairs while Holly lays belly-down in the pool. Water sloshes over the rim onto your toes as she kicks, a brief reprieve from the sticky heat. You're relaxed, but your mind wanders. You keep hoping the Wheelers won’t notice the sudden increase in their water bill. 

“Dustin talks about you all the time.”

You tear your eyes away from Holly, blinking back into reality as you face Steve. “What?”

“Dustin, he talks about you all the time. Kid loves you.” 

“Oh. He’s a sweet kid. Talks about you too. Keeps telling me to come see you at Scoops.”

Steve chuckles, more of a half-hearted puff of amusement than a real one. 

“Which, I’m sorry I haven’t, by the way,” you confess. 

His eyebrows jump, lips parting in soft surprise. “Oh, no. Don’t worry about it. He’s just being Dustin.” 

You press a blade of grass flat under your heel, as if the right words might sprout from the dirt. “I dunno. I mean, don’t you think it’s kinda weird that we don’t like talk? After everything?” 

The words bounce around Steve’s head for a minute. He fixates on your choice of weird. Weird, like bad? Weird like you want to talk? He can’t decide. And he’s afraid if he opens his mouth, the wrong words will tumble out. 

But he tries anyway, “Honestly, I thought you didn’t want to be friends. You were just so… distant after.” 

You rub the length of your arm, lips creasing into a frown. “Sorry, I was just. I don’t even know. Rattled, I guess.” 

“Yeah, rabid dogs with faces that split open and try to eat you tend to have that effect.” 

Your frown melts, little by little. 

“But we should’ve been there for you more. It was a hard time for everybody.” 

His apology echoes in your mind, the ache like a weight on your chest. 

“You could visit if you wanted to. At scoops. I could get you ice cream for free.” 

But the ache doesn’t stand a chance against the way he makes you feel. 

“Okay.” Your cheeks round with a sincere smile. “I’d like that.” 

He turns his head, as if to hide, but you still catch an echo of your own expression. Your eyes flicker across the contours of his profile, following the graceful line from his ear to his collar, before drifting over the sculpted shape of his arms and the long expanse of his thighs. Steve Harrington is objectively attractive. This isn’t the first time you’ve thought so. But it is the first time that fact makes your head spin. 

Maybe it’s the heat. The sun feels like it's roasting you alive, and Steve’s attractiveness certainly isn't helping. You’re feeling strange, thinking crazy things– the kind of thoughts that only come when you’re on the verge of heat stroke certainly. 

You stand abruptly and the grass sways underneath your feet. But you get your bearings before anyone notices. “Holly, can I come sit in the pool?”

Her eyes pop up, grin distorted underneath the water. She props her elbow up and rests her cheek in the palm of her hand. “What’s the password?”

“Umm, can you give me a hint?” 

A high-pitched hum. “Okay. She’s my favorite character.” 

“Uhh, Barbie?” 

“Nooo.” 

“Strawberry Shortcake?”

“Nooo.” 

“Hello Kitty?” 

“You’re really bad at this,” she giggles. It would be really cute if you weren’t possibly dying right now. 

“It’s Care Bears,” Steve interjects, snapping his fingers. “Uhh, the yellow one. Umm, Funshine!” 

“Yes!” Holly glows like the sun on Funshine herself. “Stevie can come in.”

Steve stands but he doesn’t get in. “Come on, Holl. It’s hot.”

“There’s a new password.”

“Okay, okay. Can I have another hint?” you ask. 

Her tongue curls out to lick the sweat off her lip. “My favorite color.” 

“Purple?” 

“Yes,” she nods and sits up. “But I really like yellow and blue and pink too.” 

You sink into the water, unsure if there was ever a wrong answer. It’s shallow and lukewarm, barely grazing the tops of your thighs, but it’s enough to cool the sun off your skin. Steve follows, and the space tightens awkwardly— the inflatable wasn’t built for three. His knee brushes yours while Holly’s toes nudge your foot, but neither of them seems to mind. 

You cup water up to your cheeks and pour it down your arms. 

“Better?” Steve asks, a droll little pinch to his features. 

He’s staring at you which is definitely not helping but you nod anyway. 

“Why don’t we move to the shade?” He stands before you or Holly agrees, offering his hand to pull you up. 

She races Steve to the nearest tree, though he doesn't stand much of a chance dragging the pool behind him. He refills it with fresh water and encourages Holly to splash you gently while he runs inside to make lunch. By the time he returns, you’re feeling much more yourself. 

“Bon Appétit,” Steve announces, lowering himself slowly onto a towel. He carries three animal-shaped plates stocked with fruit and PB&Js, one in each hand, another balanced on his forearm. 

Holly scrambles out of the water, plopping onto the other end of his towel. You get out too, shaking a second one out to lay beside theirs. 

“Lion or hippo?” he asks Holly. 

She hums for a long time, inspecting each plate meticulously before pointing to the lion.

“Good choice.” He sets the plate in front of her crossed legs and passes you the hippo. Steve takes the polar bear for himself, which notably only has half a sandwich. 

“Where’s the other half?” you ask. 

He takes a large bite, pressing his hand to his mouth to reply, “Ran out of bread.” 

“Here.” You rip one of your halves in half. 

“Thanks,” he says, syllables tangling as he chews. 

Holly watches the interaction fondly before pulling apart her own sandwich. It splits in a jagged line, mostly crust on one half. But happily, she thrusts the bigger piece toward Steve, jelly dribbling down her little fist. 

He tilts his head, a growing smile mirroring yours. “You eat it. I have enough now.” 

She crinkles her nose. “You eat it!” 

“No, you!” He squeezes her slim bicep. “You need to get big and strong.” 

“What about you?” 

“I’m already big and strong.” 

She considers this, giving him an obvious once-over that makes you laugh. “Trade?” 

“Okay, trade.” Steve chuckles, exchanging one of his halves for hers. He licks a stripe across his knuckle where her sticky fingers brushed his. It’s as innocent as the gesture can be but something about it has your cheeks burning in a way the sun couldn’t. 

Conversation tapers off, replaced with an easy quiet. Your stomach is satisfied with the food, but it’s your heart that feels the most nourished, steeped in the comfort of good company. You hadn’t expected to enjoy hanging out with Steve or Holly this much. 

Holly slouches into your arm, stretching her legs across the grass like a bridge between the towels. Her heels push into the pudge of Steve’s thigh, the faintest smirk crossing her lips. 

He squeezes her ankle until it darts away. 

Gradually, she presses again and in turn, he squeezes, but this time he doesn’t let go. She squeals as he drags her down your side. But all hell breaks loose when he starts tickling the bottom of her foot. 

She shrieks, thrashing and squirming against his hold, giggling in between gasps. “Ste–vie!” she cries.

Her laugh is too pure of a sound to be real, Steve thinks. His resolve crumbles, grip faltering. And Holly’s heel slams smack into his jaw. Steve winces, bending away to cradle his cheek. 

You straighten up. “You okay? Let me see.” 

Holly’s legs go limp in the grass, her shoulders tense in your lap. 

Steve’s hand slackens unveiling a red splotch not much darker than his sunburnt cheeks. He meets your eyes with a dismissive shake, “It’s okay.” 

You believe him. It doesn’t look nearly awful enough to make your concern stick. And his face has been through worse. Billy Hargrove painting his fists red with Steve’s blood is one of the things you remember most about that night. 

His attention dips down to Holly. She sniffles, eyes glistening in the sunlight with a frown nearly reaching her chin. 

“It’s okay. I’m okay, Holl.” 

Holly putters, whimpers drowning the edges of her words. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay! I promise! It doesn’t even hurt,” he reassures, cupping her kneecap. 

You tug her off the ground and she sinks into your arms naturally. Hot tears pave a path down your neck only to dissolve in the fabric of your shirt. You coax her sobs out, one back rub at a time. 

Steve waits until she settles with this pitiful look on his face. “I know you didn’t mean to Hollybear. Just an accident. Hmm?” 

She nods against your chin. 

He strokes the back of her arm, fingers grazing yours where they work. “Please don’t cry.” 

Holly sniffles. 

“You know what might help me feel better?” She lifts a sweaty cheek off your chest as Steve opens his arms. “A hug.” 

She pushes out of your hands into his. He holds her tight, providing one loving squeeze after another. 

This is not how you pictured Steve to be under normal babysitting circumstances. A voice like sweet honey, eyes warm like the sun. He’s very soft, and so undeniably kind. And not just to Holly, but also you. 

Steve hooks the spare towel closer, draping it across her back. “Lean back,” he tells her. 

She avoids his gaze as she does, tears melting away under his touch. 

“You know what I think?” He cinches the towel at her collar like a cloak. 

She hums. 

“I think we should have popsicles for dessert.” 

Holly meets his eyes then, excitement glimmering underneath the droop of lingering guilt. 

“How does that sound?”

“Good,” she admits meekly. 

A smirk thins his lips. “I dunno though. What if we get a tummy ache?” He pokes her belly through the towel. “Maybe it’s not–”

“No– I want one!”

“I dunnooo,” he sings.

“Please, Stevie! You already said.”

“How bad do you want it? Like this much?” He pinches his fingers together, leaving the slightest gap between them. 

“No, no!” She shakes her head, casting her arms out as far as they’ll go. “This much!” 

He sighs loudly, shoulders sagging for the dramatic touch. “Okay.” 

Holly’s arms curl around his neck as he stands. He’s more than happy to carry her, but the added weight makes him groan. 

You trail behind automatically, half enjoying the show and just as excited for a treat. Steve pins the back door open with his foot, returning a smile you hadn’t realized you were sharing. Your cheeks are starting to protest, sore with overwhelming happiness. 

“What color do you want?” 

“Pink! Pink!” Holly shouts in his ear, loud enough to make you wince. But Steve doesn’t react in the slightest to her volume. You’d all taken a piece of the Upside Down with you after El sealed it up. And just when you seemed to forget it, you’d be reminded in the form of scars, nightmares, headaches, and in Steve’s case, hearing loss. 

He opens the freezer, Holly propped on his hip. She’s far too big to be carried like that comfortably but he does it anyway. 

“Pink for Holly. Red for Steve.” He leans back to find your face. “For you?” 

You purse your lips, “Surprise me.” 

Steve stows Holly on the countertop so he can snip the plastic tips. She receives her popsicle first, then you, and finally Steve. 

“Matching,” Holly observes as you sit beside them on the couch. 

Steve crosses his popsicle over your identically red one when you raise an eyebrow. “Look at that,” he says. 

She hums, gnawing on the plastic wrapper. Steve pushes the ice up for her and thumbs away the dribble at the corner of her mouth. She doesn’t seem to notice, but it catches you off guard. Steve’s such a natural at this you almost can’t believe he’s an only child. 

You turn the TV on to an episode of Care Bears as Holly slumps into Steve’s chest, slurping the last of her slush loudly. 

“Sleepy?” you ask when she kneads her eyes. 

“No.”

You chuckle, combing her frizz back. “Okay.” 

“You know, it’s okay if you are sleepy,” Steve mentions, equally amused. 

“I know. I’m not.” Her tone is casual, a portrait of nonchalance, despite the yawn that slips out afterward. 

You and Steve exchange a look of mutual fondness. 

“I’m pretty tired,” Steve declares, reclining into the cushions with a fake yawn. “I think I’ll take a nap.” 

Holly twists against him to watch. It doesn’t take long for her little fingers to poke and prod his lashline.

He peels one eye open, playfully cocking an eyebrow. 

She giggles and pinches the skin closed. 

You’re trapped between nervously supervising she doesn’t poke his eye out and leaving to get a baby wipe for her hands which you imagine are very sticky with popsicle juice. Either way, you’ll be surprised if Steve doesn’t have pink eye by morning. 

“I’m sleeping,” he whines and headbutts her palm gently. 

“Nooo,” she whines back, wedging her hand across his mouth. Delirium is setting in, a nap is imminent. 

Steve opens his eyes, giddy just the same. “Okay. You got me.” 

Holly frees his mouth to swipe a streak of red from his chin. Her tongue pokes out in prime concentration. 

A staggered laugh of disbelief is shaken from Steve’s chest. He hadn’t expected Holly to be difficult, but she’s been nothing short of delightful. She’s sweeter than Mike and Nancy combined and smarter than he thought kids her age could be. For a self-indulgent second, he hopes that his kids will turn out something like her. 

Holly reels back around to lay on her side, eyelids sagging with an inevitable heaviness. Steve draws the towel up to her chin, fixing his palm to her back. You watch her drift off, eyes slipping up every so often. 

When you’re positive she’s out, you cautiously dislodge the popsicle wrapper from her fingers. Steve passes his as you stand. 

One of the many hard things about kids is all the cleaning. Holly’s as neat as a five-year-old gets, and still, every moment of peace is an opportunity spent putting things back where they belong. You head outside to tip the pool over and collect stray towels and toys that didn’t make it back in. 

By the time you return, Steve’s passed out, mouth ajar, head craned back against the couch. It’s not a particularly attractive expression– he’d probably be embarrassed to wake to your staring– but you can’t find anything other than endearment in yourself.  

You shower and change into fresh clothes and end up on the opposite couch to watch TV. But Care Bears isn’t all that entertaining anymore so you rest your eyes for just a second. 

A second turns to several and when you reopen your eyes you discover the clock is two hours ahead of where it was before. 

The silence is only comforting for a fleeting moment before anxiety creeps in. Your eyes flick from the TV, now powered off, to the other couch where Steve and Holly are not where you left them. Nor are they in the dining room, kitchen, basement, or backyard. You take the stairs two steps at a time and nearly trip over a blanket strewn across the banister when Holly screams. 

You’d have kicked her door off the hinges if it came to it but are thankful it’s already open. Holly is perfectly safe, bent over the remnants of what you assume was a pillow fort. 

You release a breath caught in your throat and sag against the doorframe. Steve offers an apologetic smile when he notices. 

Holly glances over but quickly returns to their game. “You’ve destroyed my kingdom!” she shouts, drilling a finger into Steve’s chest. “Off with your head!” 

You’re too stunned to laugh, but a noise of confusion skips out. Steve gawks at Holly in pretend despair, scrubbing any seeping amusement off his lips with the back of his hand. He’s dressed in sweats, Holly in a princess dress. But more importantly, his face has been caked in makeup and his hair twisted into two fluffy knots. 

“You!” Holly yells with a scowl aimed at you. “Hold him down!” 

Steve pleads at your ankles, pressing his forehead to the carpet in prayer. It takes every ounce of you not to break character and laugh. There’s something so surreal about Steve Harrington, former King of Hawkins High, in sparkly eyeshadow, kneeling before a little girl to beg for his life. It’s hilarious as it is heartwarming. 

“If I may propose a suggestion!” You counter, equally dramatic. “A trade! For this silly man’s life, we will help rebuild your kingdom twice as big! Princess I–” 

“Queen!”

Steve snorts but she must miss it. 

“My apologies. Queen Holly, I can assure you this new Kingdom will have all of the finest luxuries that royalty like yourself might desire.” 

She takes a second to process the big words. “Fine!” She sneers, diving onto her mattress which is absent of all its sheets and blankets. “Chop! Chop!”

You bite your lip, chasing the fervent smile away. Steve gets right to work, sorting pillows from most to least sturdy. You steal another chair from Nancy’s desk and help Steve double-knot the roof to it. It’s no mansion, but it is long enough for Steve to lie down in, which is a job well done in your book. Especially when you’re under strict supervision and listening to a thread of loud critiques. 

You lift the door flap for Holly to crawl through. “Your quarters, Your Grace.” 

She glances over her shoulder with a wicked, but mostly adorable, expression. “My name is not Grace! It’s Holly! Queen Holly to you!” 

The explanation dies on your tongue because how can you possibly argue with that? You’re just grateful to still have your head. 

After the grand tour, Queen Holly disappears into one of the tent’s offshoots with a handful of stuffed animals she's referring to as her royal guards. 

Steve scoots closer, whispering behind his hand, “I think we need to stage a coup.” 

You lean into his good ear, affection spilling off your tone, “I didn’t know she could be so mean.” 

“Me neither! She must be hanging out with Mike.” 

“Must be.” You grin for what feels like the millionth time today. 

You’re sitting knee to knee, close enough to catch the heat of Steve’s breath on your cheek. You drag the pad of your finger across his cheekbone where teal eyeshadow has been caked on in several layers. “I like this,” you compliment. 

I kinda forgot she put that on.” He ducks his head bashfully, peeking up through his eyelashes. “Do I look pretty?” 

“The prettiest.” 

He receives it as teasing, but it’s true, you do think Steve is pretty. A strong nose, kind eyes, and sure, maybe the hair. But now that you’re inches apart, you notice twin smile lines, a series of freckles down his cheek, and a faded scar across his forehead. You linger there more than anywhere else, under the guise of judging Holly’s makeup job, of course. 

But the silence twists into something less comfortable with each passing second. A brief twitch of emotion flickers across Steve’s face, gone before you can name it. “So… pizza for dinner?” he blurts out. 

Before you’ve processed what happened, Holly shouts, “Cheese please!” 

Steve splinters from your gaze, calling back, “Yes, My Queen.” 

Dinner is pleasantly easy. The pizza’s delivered and paper plates save you from the hassle of dishes after. You eat at the kitchen table, sharing stories and smiles, strangely like a family. 

And after dinner, Holly has a bath; and after bath, Steve whisks her off to bed. You’re left to your own devices for once, a benevolent bout of peace, but still, you can’t seem to relax. 

The spray of the bathroom light paves the hall leading to Holly’s room. You tiptoe up to the door and peek inside. 

Steve’s on the floor, slouched against the side of the bed cradling Holly to his chest. He flinches as your shadow veers across the moonlit wall.  

“Sorry,” you whisper, dropping onto your knees beside them. 

Holly picks her head up, tear tracks shimmering as she turns. Her lip wobbles through a whimper. 

You soften like wax near a flame, eyes flitting to Steve who looks equally at a loss. 

She curls her knees into his tummy in a way that probably hurts. The poor thing dissolves into fresh tears, spilling out faster than Steve can chase away. 

“Holls, it’s okay, honey. Me and Stevie are here, okay?” 

She strains to speak through a chain of gasps, “I want my Mommy!” 

“I know, I know. She’ll be back before you know it, I promise,” you steer sweat-slick hair behind her ear. 

“I want her now.” 

“We’ve got ya, Holl,” Steve chimes in. 

“We’re right here.” 

“No– Mommy!” 

It goes like this for a while, soothing reassurances met with unyielding resolve. Holly’s not one to be stubborn for no reason. She’s so exhausted and upset it breaks your heart. You try reading and music and back rubs but there seems to be no end to her sobbing. 

Steve strokes her ankle where it’s now tucked underneath her in your lap. He looks exhausted– hair draped over his forehead like a claw, extra weight embedded in each of his eyelids. You’re both at your breaking point. “You wanna sleep with me tonight Hollybear?” he says in a tone gentler than you’ve ever heard. 

“No. Mommy,” she persists. 

“You can sleep with her when she gets back. But tonight you get to have a sleepover with Steve. Or you can even sleep with me in Nancy’s bed, okay?” 

Red-rimmed eyes flick between you and Steve. Neither option is as good as Mom. 

“Both,” Holly whines. 

“Wanna lay with both of us?” 

She nods. “In the middle.” 

“Okay,” you turn to Steve. “We can do that.” Your words are colored like a question but he’s already nodding his answer. 

He shovels Holly from your lap, cheek pressing into hers in an unspoken exchange of relief. “Alright, munchkin. Let’s go steal Nancy’s big bed. Sound good?” 

She hums her approval into his ear. 

Steve pokes Nancy’s door open with his foot, swinging around to the tucked side of the bed. You crawl across your end as Holly slides off his chest. She molds herself against your shoulder, tugging Steve closer when he settles. 

“Goodnight, Hollybear,” he says. 

She steals your hand from underneath the comforter, then his where it lies on the sheet. Your knuckles brush Steve’s where they are stapled to her chest. “Goodnight,” she sighs. 

Steve strokes up and down the back of her hand, his touch a quiet catalyst. She’s asleep in mere minutes, snoring softly, fingers limp against yours. 

Steve nudges your hand where it’s already pressed to his, whispering when you turn, “Am I crazy that I find all of this kinda fun?” 

You shake your head, a smile working its way across your lips. “Guess that would make me crazy too.” 

“I know I always complain about driving those little shits around but Holly’s actually really fun to babysit.” 

“Yeah, she is. At least it’s not the end of the world this time, right?”

“Yeah, that probably helps, huh?” Amusement ebbs into a sigh. “I’m kinda dreading going home, to be honest.”

“Why don’t we put Mike in a wig? Kidnap Holly for ourselves.” 

He snorts into his pillow. “Oh, yeah. That’ll work. ‘Yeah, I dunno Mrs. Wheeler, she had a crazy growth spurt while you were gone.’”

“We’d take good care of her.”

“We would,” he nods. “You’re really good with her.” 

“So are you. Kinda surprised me actually.”

“Really? Cause Dustin tells me weekly I’d make a good mother.” 

“Yeah, but they’re different. Older. And don’t get me wrong, you’re great with them and they love hanging out with you. Holly’s just little. You’re so much gentler with her, and like, you always seem to know what to do.” 

“For the record, I have no clue what I’m doing.”

“Me neither. I don't know what Mrs. Wheeler was thinking asking us to do this.”

Intertwined laughter fades, but something else— something similar— lingers. An almost tangible buzz of energy, as if the silence itself is alive with unspoken words. You entertain the idea that the feeling’s not exclusive to just you. That Steve hears the same jitter in his pulse and feels the same flutter against his ribs. That you aren’t alone to be feeling such a way.    

“Is it–” 

“Are we–”

“Sorry, you go,” he jabbers out. 

The words trickle back down your throat, too thick to cross your tongue again. “You can probably go now,” you decide. 

His gaze jumps to Holly’s chest where his hand is still coupled with one of hers. 

“If you want,” you amend. “You don’t have to.” 

“You don't mind? If I stayed?”

You shake your head.

“Just worried she’ll wake up if I move.” 

You try to flatten your excitement as you reply, “You can stay.” 

His gaze swims with yours across Nancy's room, skimming over the cluttered dresser, the desk strewn with books and pens, to the shuttered closet doors.

“Sorry about– you know– I heard Nancy… dumped you,” you say, immediately regretting the awkward phrasing.

“Harsh,” he squints and casts you a bittersweet grin. “But true.”

“Is it… weird? To be in here?” 

“A little. But not as much as I thought it would be. Hell of a lot better than Mike’s room.” 

You hum, watching the gentle shift in his brows. 

“Is it weird for you?” 

“Me?” you ask. “In what way?” 

“You and Nance. You don’t always see eye to eye.” 

“I mean, yeah. When our decisions involve risking our lives– or the kids– she’s pretty damn impulsive. And she can be real stubborn and selfish sometimes too. But I dunno, I still love her. She’s been sort of like a sister since everything started. I think that’s why we argue.” 

“What does that make me? Your brother?” 

You roll your eyes. “No, you’re the stray dog we adopted.” 

“Okay. That’s just mean.”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” Your laugh laps out louder than you intend, but Holly remains still. “I dunno who you’d be. The love interest?”

“I can work with that, sexy love interest–”

You scoff. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Harrington.” 

“Okay, okay. But love interest because…”

“Cause you dated Nance.”

“Oh,” he exhales. 

“You don’t agree? Should we go back to stray dog?” 

“Oh, shut up. I’m going to bed.” Steve rolls onto his side with a sigh. 

“Keep your snoring to a minimum, please.” 

He grumbles, narrowing his eyes at your smirk. “I don’t snore.”

“You do. I could hear it from here last night.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I did,” you argue. “It definitely wasn’t Holly.” 

“Whatever. Goodnight.” 

“Night.” 

Only when your eyes are closed does his smile finally emerge. It’s silly how quickly you can pull it out of him. It throws him for a loop every time. But with you at his side, maybe he’ll dream of happier things for once. Either way, it’s easier to fall asleep, just knowing you’re there falling asleep too. 

ᯓ★

“Shhhh!” 

“No, you shhhh,” a lighter voice giggles. 

“Holly,” Steve scolds, mirth buttering his tone. You know he’s smiling by the sound alone. 

Holly’s laughter triples in volume but then is abruptly muffled. 

“Ew– did you just lick me?” 

And this all just sounds way too cute to miss out on. You pry your lashes apart, still sticky with sleep, and flip on your side to face them. 

They freeze, eyes widening adorably in sync. Steve is reclined against the headboard, an arm bent behind his neck. Holly is sprawled halfway across his tummy, toes tickling your side. 

“Sorry,” he offers like you’d be mad. But how could you possibly be anything but enamored waking up to their giggly little voices? If you could be woken up like this every day, you would. 

You shake your head, scratching underneath your eyes. The walls are bathed in muted colors, waiting to be warmed by the sunrise. It’s still early. 

Holly rolls off of Steve onto the floor and barrels out of the room. 

“Where are you going?” he shouts. 

“Potty!” 

Steve turns to you, eyes roving across your bedhead for an embarrassingly long amount of time. “Good morning.”

“Morning.”

“Did she kick you last night?” 

You rake your fingers through your hair, quickly moving them to your lips to stifle a yawn. “Not that I remember.” 

“Oh, you’d remember. Trust me. She was on top of me the whole night.” He’s smiling like an idiot. He couldn’t sound annoyed about it if he tried. 

“Aww, she loves you,” you coo. 

“Yeah,” he agrees, pink dusting his cheeks, “I can’t wait to do this.”

“Hmm?”

“Settle down. Have a family. I wasn’t, like, a hundred percent sure before, but I am now.” 

“You’ll be a good dad.”

He beams at you like he’s just won the lottery. “You think?” 

“For sure.” And he really would. You’re sure of it after last night. 

He opens his mouth to speak but your stomach cuts him off with an obnoxious growl. “Hungry?” Steve chuckles. 

“Shut up.” You swipe your pillow and smack him. 

He smacks you back, pulling it to his chest before you can steal it. “Wanna go out for breakfast?” 

Your brain short circuits. You forget you’re babysitting and not just laying in bed with Steve Harrington for fun. He is not asking you on a date like your heart assumes. 

“Oh, yeah. Sure. For sure,” you sputter out, heat licking up the back of your neck. 

“I’ll go see what she wants,” he slides onto the floor and shakes his legs awake. 

Steve’s tall, even sluggishly slumped over. But even more so as he stretches– arms rising with his shirt, revealing a fraction of golden skin above his waistband. A long, lazy moan climbs out of his chest. 

You push the comforter off before you burst into flames. 

Holly determines she wants IHOP because they put chocolate chips and sprinkles on the pancakes. Steve supplies her with an outfit and wrestles her hair into pigtails with bows to match her skirt. It’s surprisingly coordinated and admittedly cute, but maybe you’re wrong to be so surprised– he knows his way around a comb and a closet. 

“Can I get pancakes?” she asks Steve, perched on the bottom step of the stairs. 

He’s cross-legged on the floor, hunched over to lace her sneakers. “I already told you yes, silly goose.”

“Can I get extra sprinkles?”

“Uhh, does your mom let you?”

She thinks about it before answering. “Yes, I think so.” 

“Sure, then.” He grins, clapping her tied shoes together before standing. 

You shoulder Holly’s bag, stuffed with books and toys and a jacket in case it rains, courtesy of Steve who insisted she might need it. “Ready?” you ask him.

Steve races Holly to the car while you lock up. Mrs. Wheeler installed Holly’s car seat in Steve’s beamer before she left but you’ve yet to use it. 

“It’s too tight,” Holly whines from the car, loud enough to hear from the top of the driveway. 

“I know, ‘m working on it,” Steve assures, working his fingers under the straps. “Just gotta figure it out.”

“Hurry!” 

“I’m hurrying, Holl. Give me a sec’.” 

You open the passenger door and peek around the headrest to view her. The belts are buckled but not tight enough to spark concern. “He’s going as fast as he can, Holly. Be patient.” 

She squirms under his hands, exhaling sharply. And like her, Steve’s frustration mounts, jaw tightening, brow furrowing. His fingers keep slipping and he’s not totally sure which button or strap is for loosening. 

You swing around to Holly’s door and cup Steve’s shoulder. “Let me try.”

He knocks his head on the roof as he pulls out. 

You wince, “Okay?” 

He softens as you reach for his neck, though your fingers never land. Still, the tender look you offer is enough to cure any bumps or bruises he might’ve gotten. 

It’s an unfortunate amount of trial and error before Holly is fastened in properly. Steve cranks the AC on full blast when you finally settle into your seats and circles through radio stations after he backs out. He finds the kid’s station, playing a Muppet’s song that Steve apparently knows every word to. He sings unapologetically loud, a stupid grin sewn to his face. 

When you arrive, Holly happily holds your hand through the parking lot, still clutching tightly as you wait to be seated. She climbs onto your lap to make room on the waiting bench for a woman looking ready to pop out a baby any minute. Steve stands at your other side, arm braced behind your neck. 

“How old is she?” the woman asks you fondly. 

“She’s five,” you return her smile, bouncing your knee. “Right, Holly?”

Holly twists to hide in your neck, nodding. 

“She’s very cute,” she says with such love you already believe her baby is in good hands. “Your sister?” Her eyes flick from yours to Steve who is mostly oblivious to the conversation. 

“No, just babysitting.” 

“Oh, well, you’ll make good parents one day.” 

The comment renders you speechless. It’s not that you hadn’t considered children before, but you hadn’t pictured them with Steve. With his smile, his eyes, his nose. It’s that this woman who doesn’t even know you imagined it before you had. You blink at her stupidly through a forced smile.

Steve squeezes your shoulder, ripping you from your thoughts. “You okay? Table’s ready.” 

You get seated in a booth overlooking the parking lot. 

Holly bends across Steve’s lap to point through the window. “I see our car!” 

“Yeah, that’s her.” 

Holly’s face contorts with confusion. “Her? Your car’s a girl?” 

“Yep–”

The waitress swings over with a handful of menus and a hasty introduction. Steve already knows what he wants and he places Holly’s order after his, making sure to clarify the extra sprinkles when she calls his name repeatedly to remind him. As soon as you decide, the waitress bustles off with the pair of menus to another table. 

Holly slides her paper menu closer, examining each activity. 

Steve picks open the box of crayons, revealing a stingy three– red, green, and blue. “You know, for a multi-million dollar company, you’d think they could afford more than three crayons.”

“And more staff,” you add, eyes tailing another waitress zipping from one table to another. 

Holly points at herself, Steve, and then you, counting, “One, two three. Three crayons for three people.” 

“Yeah, good point,” Steve pats her thigh. “Always the optimist.” 

“Op-ta-nist?”

“Op-ta-mist,” he clarifies. 

She snags the green crayon and presses it to the paper. “What’s that?”

Steve opens and closes his mouth. “Well, it’s like– it’s when you– you’re happy a lot. Grass is always greener on the other side, you know?” 

Steve lost her at the metaphor but she’s too focused on staying inside the lines to care about the definition of optimist anymore. 

“You got there eventually. Sort of,” you tease. 

His foot stabs your ankle under the table. “Shut up.” 

Steve lets Holly win every single round of tic-tac-toe while showering her with praise, convincing her she's a tactical mastermind. You can’t quite tell if she’s onto him, but she’s too busy grinning to say otherwise.

The waitress plants your and Steve’s plates on the table first, reaching behind to scoop Holly’s off her tray next. “And, chocolate chip pancakes with extra sprinkles for the little one.” 

“Thank you,” you manage to say before she leaves to tend to another table flagging her down. “Holly, want syrup?”

“Yes, please.” 

You pour a spiral of maple syrup over Holly’s pancakes. The amount of sugar on her plate might qualify it more as candy than breakfast. And she’s ogling the food like it’ll grow legs and run away. 

“Steve, will you cut them up for her?”

He nods, swallowing a mouthful of scrambled eggs and trading his fork for a knife. As soon as he slides her meal back over, Holly ravages the pancakes, spooning another bite in her mouth before she’s swallowed the last.

The waitress whisks by with drink refills, joy driving her to a smile at the sight of Holly and her half-empty plate. 

“I swear we feed her at home,” Steve chuckles through his own joke. What a dad thing to say. “Can we get some more napkins?” 

And it’s like he knows what’s going to happen. Holly stretches across the table for the syrup bottle, drawing back with an open-mouthed grimace. 

“Uh-oh.” She presses her chin to her chest. There’s a patch of syrup turning the hem of her pink shirt brown. 

“What?” Steve throws a pigtail behind her shoulder so he can see. “Oh. It’s okay.” 

“It was an accident,” Holly explains. 

“I know. It’s okay.” 

“It’s sticky.”

“It’ll wash off.” Steve dunks a clean napkin in his cup of water and dabs it across the stain. 

“It’s too cold,” she complains, pinching the fabric away from her skin. 

“Sorry. It’ll dry. Have to get the syrup out, though.” 

You deliver another wad of napkins to Steve’s hand. He pushes them against her belly, soaking up any excess water. His patience never frays.

Holly looks up, worry etched into her voice, “Will it stain?” 

“I dunno,” you supply truthfully. “We’ll throw it in the wash when we get home.” 

Steve pays the bill with the cash the Wheelers left and scrapes his wallet for change, stacking two quarters on the table when he finds them. “Since you’ve been such a good listener. There’s a sticker machine up front,” he tells Holly. 

Steve might as well have slapped a ticket to Disney World on the table. Holly literally jumps for joy, right out of her seat. She buys a random Lisa Frank sticker and pockets the second coin for her piggy bank. 

It’s Steve’s idea to go to the playground afterward. The park is teeming with life, the kind of chaos that only a weekend morning can bring. Swings creak under the weight of eager kids, and the monkey bars have their own traffic jam. Parents wrap the playground like a barricade, their chatter drowned out by laughter and shouts. But the heat presses down ruthlessly, making every step feel like you’re wading through a sauna.

Holly tears away from Steve’s hand as soon as her shoes hit the mulch, rejoicing in her newfound freedom with a little skip. She races up a set of stairs to wait for a turn on the tallest slide. 

“Should’ve brought sunscreen,” Steve says, eyes following Holly down the slide. She flashes you both a prideful smile from the bottom. 

“She’ll survive. We won’t stay long. It’s too hot.” You pull your shirt out to fan your chest, dabbing the sweat beading at your sternum. 

“Careful!” he shouts as she hops from one platform to the next. She continues to bounce along the path, one wobbly leap at a time. A particularly long jump has Steve cringing. He’s trying really hard not to be overanxious and it’s as sweet as it is amusing. 

He side-eyes your grin with an opposing frown. You don’t even have to say anything for him to know you’re teasing him. “What?” 

You shrug, smile doubling. “You.”

“What about me?” 

“You’re just funny.” 

“My concern is funny to you?” he accuses. 

“She’s fine, Steve.” 

He makes a noise of disagreement, arms crossed and a hip popped out dramatically far. You see why Dustin teases him for being motherly. 

Holly struggles with the monkey bars. She makes it halfway across before her arms start to shake and her hands slip. Steve lunges forward as he watches her plummet to the ground. But before he can swoop in, Holly pops up, dusts the dirt from her skirt with a nonchalant shrug, and marches on, completely unfazed. 

“See. She’s fine,” you reassure.

“Whatever,” Steve grumbles, strolling away to sulk in private. 

He makes a slow lap around the playground, hands planted firmly on his hips, casting a critical eye over the chaos. Meanwhile, you snag a spot on a bench, where most parents are engrossed in magazines or gossip, blissfully detached. You watch Steve get roped into playing a monster, though you can tell he secretly loves it. 

It doesn’t take long for him to start stomping around, roaring and growling, chasing the kids as they shriek and scatter. And when they finally tire him out, he collapses beside you, his shirt clinging to his sweaty back, and his breath coming in ragged bursts. 

“I told her five more minutes,” he says, stretching an arm across the back of the bench behind you. His curls shine honeycomb gold in the spray of sunlight and his skin echoes the warmth of desert sand, softened pink like the blush of sunset. He looks strikingly gorgeous sprawled out beside you. 

Holly trots over not much later, alarmingly upset. 

You sit up, urgently shaking Steve’s thigh to grab his attention. “What happened, honey?” 

“I– I was,” she sucks in a staggered breath, “I was climbing the stairs and– and a boy, he pushed me.” Twin rivulets of tears are unleashed with a blink, converging at the curve of her chin. 

You scan her from head to toe. Nothing looks broken or bloody. “Are you hurt?” 

“No,” she strains. 

You drag her into your chest, pressing a loving cheek to her ear. “Did it scare you?” 

She nods, hiccuping into your neck. 

“I’m sorry, Holly. That wasn’t nice at all.” 

Steve’s gaze shifts between Holly and the playground to search for guilty suspects. He finds none, thankfully, though he’s still itching to wring out whatever parent it is not watching their kid– which is unfortunately most of them.

“Let me see,” he coaxes Holly over for his own checkup. He picks a piece of mulch from her hair and flicks off another stamped into her calf. “Think you’ll make it? Should we call an ambulance?” 

She doesn’t smile at his joke like you hope. 

“Ready to go home?” you ask.

She sniffs into her sleeve. “Yeah.” 

“Alright.” Steve hoists her up as he stands. Holly's long legs wrap around his waist, feet swaying against his thighs as he walks. 

Holly naps on the way home, not by choice but by sheer exhaustion. She convinces herself she didn’t actually fall asleep when she wakes up in the driveway, swearing, “I just closed my eyes.” 

But it’s quickly apparent that twenty minutes was not enough. She cries because her leftover pizza for lunch is cold in the middle and again when she rubs the sauce in her eye. You turn on a movie, hoping to induce another nap, but The Aristocats is just too good to sleep through. Thankfully, her grumpiness wanes into a more manageable pout, her arms uncrossing to snuggle closer to you on the couch.

When the movie ends, she slinks up, her departure leaving your lap cold. After a long-winded debate about what to do, you all finally agree on playing a board game. Steve steers Holly downstairs to pick one out and she returns with a rekindled excitement, dropping the game Twister at your feet. 

There’s nothing inherently wrong with Twister, but you were expecting something easier. Candy Land or Chutes and Ladders. So you let Steve and Holly go first. The round ends in a heap of tangled limbs and giggles, a winner unclear. But Holly wins the match against you, admittedly fair and square. And it’s all fun and games until she insists you and Steve must compete. 

“Ehh, Holly. My arms are tired,” you reason. 

“But I wanna be the referee too,” she whines. “Pleaseee!” 

Steve shrugs at you, a playful little curve to his lips. If you say no, that makes only you the bad guy. And you just can’t bring yourself to break Holly’s heart over something so simple. 

“Okay,” you sigh, ignoring the nervous tick in your chest. 

Holly pushes you by the hips onto the mat to stand opposite Steve. She gets situated on the floor and excitedly flicks the spinner, calling, “Left foot. Blue!” 

You each step toward a blue dot. Easy. 

“Right foot on green.” 

Right foot, green. You’re shoulder to shoulder now, hips angled toward his. 

“Right hand… yellow!” 

“Here we go,” you mumble, bending down to reach yellow. “Okay.” 

Steve chuckles and follows suit, free hand hovering awkwardly behind your shoulder. 

You twist your head until you can’t, just to see the stupid look on his face. “You know, your long legs really give you an unfair advantage here.” 

“Don’t be a sore loser,” he chides, hot breath fanning the back of your already hot neck. 

“Don’t speak so soon, Harrington. You’re the one who’s gonna lose.” 

“Right hand, red,” Holly announces. 

You lean back toward red, headbutting Steve’s side so you don’t fall. He curls into position next, swaying until his back pocket is inches from your nose. 

“Oh my God, Steve. Get your butt out of my face!” You’d shove him if you had an extra hand. 

Holly giggles in that contagious way kids laugh, automatically pulling one from Steve. 

“Don’t make me laugh. If I go down, so are you,” he reminds you. 

“Umm, left foot green,” Holly says. 

Steve groans dramatically, whining. “What! Holly, that’s impossible. Spin again.” 

She cackles, reminiscent of Queen Holly. “Nope, you have to! That’s the rules!”

And somehow, you both make it to green without knocking each other over. But you’re getting distracted– Steve’s hand has brushed your calf three times now and his shirt is loose, hanging off his chest in a way that gives you a clear view of his tummy. This might as well be sabotage. You tear your eyes away. You must focus. You didn’t care much for winning before, but something about Steve brings out your competitive side. 

“Right hand, green.” 

You bow your knee until it’s wedged uncomfortably into your ribcage so you can reach the green. Your thighs quickly begin to ache. You won’t last much longer in this position. Especially not when Steve arches over you like a human bridge, the zipper of his jeans tickling your back where your shirt has scrunched up. 

He shakes his hair out of the way so he can see you, albeit upside down. His smile stretches wide, radiating pure, unfiltered joy. He’s having the time of his life, and admittedly, so are you. 

Your elbow juts out, nearly giving under the weight of his gaze alone. But you snap it back in place and practically beg Holly, “Spin.” 

“Left foot blue!”

You and Steve lunge for the same blue circle. His sock slides against the tarp, leg extending much farther than he’s prepared for. His arm buckles, chest slamming down against your back. Your elbows give out immediately under the force of his weight, jaw slamming into the floor. 

“Shit, sorry! You okay?” 

A burst of laughter tumbles out of your mouth before you can answer. But maybe it’s an answer in itself. Your chin stings but you're fine. Better than fine, even. 

As soon as Steve scrambles off of you, you flip onto your back. His eyes trickle down you in assessment, eyebrows knitting together, mouth twitching like it can’t decide whether to frown or smile. 

“I’m okay,” you manage, smiley and breathless. 

“Did you hit your face?”

“Just my chin.” 

He reaches for your face with hesitant fingers. “Sorry.”

You shake your head, bolstering his wrist as he cups your chin. “I definitely won.” 

And just like that, all his worry washes away. He pries your hand from his wrist, wrenching you up to sit. “Technically, you hit the floor first.” 

You glance over to Holly for her professional referee’s opinion but find she’s no longer there. “Where’s–”

“I found it!” she yells from the upstairs. What exactly she found, you’ve no idea. But she comes stomping down the stairs not a minute later with a little box in her hands. Bandaids, you realize, as she dumps the contents on the twister mat beside you. “They’re Hello Kitty,” she says, stripping the paper backing off of one. 

You let her little fingers stamp it to the curve of your chin. It’s not bleeding, nor does it really hurt that bad, but the gesture is sweet enough to melt your heart. “Thank you, Holly. You’re so gentle. You should be a candy striper.” 

“I don’t think I’m old enough.”

“When you’re older then.”

Steve decides Twister is far too dangerous to keep playing, but Holly demands a game of Mouse Trap so it works out. Steve wins, despite you and Holly’s strategic alliance halfway through. And by then, she’s asked about dinner twice so you shelve the rest of the games and head up to the kitchen to decide together. 

Holly hums into the freezer, “Chicken nuggets… pizza rolls– oh! Eggos, can we have Eggos?” 

Steve bites the inside of his cheek, peering over her, “Why don’t we cook something? We could have a fancy dinner. Like a dinner party.”

“Can we dress up?”

“Sure,” he shrugs, flipping a pack of ground beef over. 

“Pasta?” you call from the pantry.

“Ooh, yeah. Let’s do that.”

Holly sprints upstairs for a costume, much more interested in the party than the dinner. You pull a box of noodles and an unopened jar of sauce from the shelf while Steve grabs a pot from the cabinet and sticks it under the faucet. 

“Careful. Stove’s on,” you announce, flicking the dial on high. 

Steve backs up from the sink slowly, water sloshing over the side of the pot when he bumps the table. 

“Steve,” you chuckle, pulling a dish towel from the oven handle, “It doesn’t need to be that full.” 

“No?” 

“No, dump like, half of that out.” 

He nods, pouring some out and depositing the rest over the stove. “I’m gonna be honest, I’ve never made pasta before.”

“Yeah, I could’ve guessed,” you quip, elbowing his side with the box of noodles in hand. “Pour these in?”

He takes the box and gives it a good shake. “How much?” 

“Maybe half? Little more?” 

He tips it over the water, snapping it back up when much more than half slides out. “Oops.” 

“It’s okay.” You chuck a few stray pieces from the counter into the pot. “Everyone’s getting seconds tonight. What do you like in your pasta?” 

“Sauce?” 

The laugh fizzles out in your throat as you realize he’s not making a joke. “Besides sauce. Cheese? Meat? Spices?” 

“Oh, uhh, I’m not sure.” Steve scratches the back of his neck, hand retracting to fidget with the hem of his shirt. He’s antsy, clearly nervous. Maybe embarrassed of his cooking knowledge, or rather, lack of it. Or perhaps afraid the pasta will end up something like the first set of grilled cheeses. 

“We’ll keep it simple then. Holly probably won’t like it too fancy anyway.” 

Steve nervously watches the water bubble, foam climbing up the sides. “Do you like garlic bread? Saw some in the freezer.” 

You fish the box out and line a pan with three pieces. And with bread in the oven and the pasta starting to boil, you hop on the counter to wait.  

“How long does it take?” Steve asks.

“Not long.” 

You open the drawer beside your legs and find a big wooden spoon. Lucky guess. “Here. Stir.” 

His eyes follow the ladle, stirring with steady hands. It’s a peaceful quiet, his focus unusually soft. Not the urgent, fate of his life kind of determination you’re used to seeing. 

When it’s ready, you pinch the spoon’s neck, fingertips sweeping his for the half a second before he lets go. “Now we strain the water. Then we can add the sauce.” 

You find a strainer and plant it in the sink while Steve carries the pot over and pours. He sets it back on the stove, per your orders, and offers a hand when you struggle with the sauce lid. 

He pins the jar against his chest, knuckles straining white in several attempts to twist the cap. But it pops off after a good shake, spraying sauce across your cheek, and spinning to the floor like a frisbee. 

Steve freezes, gawking at your face with a stupid smile. 

“Steve!” You scoop up a dish towel and smack his arm. 

He throws his hands up and turns a shoulder to you. “I didn’t mean to,” he snickers. 

“Don’t laugh! I’ll pour that whole jar over your head.” 

He doesn’t buy your threat one bit, still laughing as he sets the jar down and steals the towel from your hands. “I’ll get it. Sit still.” 

You summon the most menacing glare you can manage while suppressing a smile. He presses the towel to your cheek, thumb gliding across your skin as he wipes the sauce in one languid motion. His eyes flick down to your lips and you’re positive you aren’t imagining it. 

But you’re sweating and your stomach is churning and– “The pasta!” You ram into Steve’s shoulder trying to get by, rushing to turn the stove temperature down. 

Steve whisks up behind you to see the food. “Is it burnt?” 

“No, no. It should be fine.” You scrape the ladle under the bottom layer of noodles. “Pass me the sauce?”

You avoid his eyes as you take it. Was he going to kiss you? Maybe just thinking about it? Or perhaps there was just sauce near your mouth and you’re spiraling over absolutely nothing. 

You toss the food in sauce and divide it into three plates silently. 

“Holly! Food’s ready,” Steve shouts as he fixes the table with napkins and silverware. 

She clambers down the steps in a tutu and a cardigan that you’re pretty sure is Nancy’s. Her smile drops. “Where are your clothes?” 

Steve looks down at his sweats. “Holly, I think we’ll just–”

“Please, Stevie. It’s a dinner party, remember?” 

His eyes dart to you, though you still can’t bring yourself to look at him. “One sec.”

He swings back into the kitchen wearing a tweed suit jacket, a silky, black one draped over his arm. His is a few sizes too big, shoulder pads drooping down his biceps, and the sleeves swallowing his hands. He pushes the fabric up his elbows to hand you the other jacket. “For you.” 

“Thanks,” you deadpan. It comes off less sarcastic than you aim for. 

Holly and Steve adopt similar grins as you slip the jacket on. “You look dashing,” she compliments. 

“Very,” Steve agrees, taking a seat beside you. 

You spend the rest of dinner internally debating whether he’s flirting or just indulging in Holly’s playful antics. The uncertainty makes your stomach flip, and suddenly you aren’t so hungry anymore. 

After the dinner party concludes, it’s Holly’s suggestion to go for a walk. She wheels her bike out of the garage, fitted with a set of training wheels and a handlebar bursting with tinsel. A yawn rolls off her tongue as she launches down the driveway. It raises your hopes for a smoother bedtime tonight. 

Even as the horizon melts into the Earth, the summer heat clings like a heavy hand. Trees project long shadows along the road, eating what’s left of the sunlight. Bugs buzz and birds chirp, but a sleepy stillness is ubiquitous. 

“What?” you ask suddenly, whipping your head to face Steve. He’s drenched in gold, pale wisps of hair riding the breeze as he strolls. 

“I didn’t say anything.” 

“You’re staring at me. I feel it.” 

“I wasn’t,” he assures. 

You blink at him. You can’t decide whether to be annoyed at such an obvious lie or embarrassed by the truth. 

He jogs ahead before you’ve come up with something to say. Halfway to Holly, he shouts, “Come on, slowpoke!” 

It only takes one loop around the block for the heat to catch up. Holly complains incessantly about her helmet strap being too tight even after Steve fixes it and you’re itchy from sweat and mosquito bites. Steve’s, well, he might be the only content one. Happy even, guiding you home with a subtle bend to his lips and a soft glow tinting his cheeks. 

Holly whines about having to take a bath, and while you might negotiate it another night, you can see the damp line down her back. But like you suspect, all grievances are forgotten the second she gets in. She likes playing in the bath, even if she forgets it. It’s where she keeps her mermaid Barbie and her collection of rubber ducks, coincidentally all named Bob. 

And while bath time might tend to feel like more of a chore as a babysitter, tonight is different. It’s your last night at the Wheelers, and while that’s not new information, it is startlingly sad. You aren’t irritated when she splashes water in your eye or when she leaves a trail of it down the hall for you to clean. You can’t be, not when you know you’ll miss it. 

Steve helps you tuck Holly into Nancy’s bed. After pinky swearing that you’ll both return at your own bedtime, she drifts off easily. You’re thankful, of course, but a piece of you secretly hoped to be needed longer.  

“Must’ve been tired,” Steve whispers, pushing slowly off the bed. “You okay?” 

You nod, tearing your eyes from Holly to meet Steve’s. “Kinda sad.” You shrug, murmuring, “Stupid.” 

“It’s not.” He cups your shoulder and runs a warm hand up and down your arm. “Come on.” 

You take his hand and let him lead you across the hall and down the stairs. He pulls you onto the couch so you land pressed into the same cushion he’s on. “Y’know, babysitting Holly’s a breeze compared to the usual shitheads. We don’t have to worry about her taking my car keys or fighting interdimensional monsters or summoning a gate to hell,” he says. 

A soft laugh parts your lips. “Think Holly will put in a good word for us with her parents?” 

“You kidding? She loves us. Especially me,” he jokes. “Hate to break it to you but I’m definitely her favorite.” 

“No, you are not. Shut up.” 

He catches your fist mid-punch, cradling your hand like it’s made of wet sand. His thumb crosses each divot between your fingers, stroking up and down your knuckle slowly. “I’m sure they’ll ask us to babysit her again at some point.”

You hum in agreement. 

“Besides, we could expand our horizons. There’s like a million other children in Hawkins that need babysitting.” 

Your smile spills into your cheeks. “We?” 

“Yeah, I think we make a pretty damn good team. Don’t you?” 

“I do, but… we don’t have to limit our interactions to just babysitting, you know?” 

“What are you thinking? Dinner and a movie? Next weekend?” His eyes flick from your fingers to your face– to each eye, sweeping down the center of your nose, stopping right at your lips. 

You turn away in an attempt to soothe your heart as it pounds up to your ears. “Smooth, Harrington.” 

He reels you back in gently by the arm, confidence shining through his smile.“What? Did I read this wrong?” He knows he didn’t, he’s teasing you. 

“No,” you mumble, “You didn’t.” 

He leans in to whisper, “Can I kiss you then?” 

You nod, pushing into the soft press of his lips with your own. He’s not hesitant, nor is he harsh. Steve knows how to kiss, that much is clear. He trades your hand for your cheek, gently tilting your face to the side as he pulls away. 

Your eyes flutter open to a doting gaze. One that travels down the lines and slopes of your neck like they’re made of candy. Steve plants a second kiss on your lips, though fleeting in comparison to the first. But he plants several more to make up for it, working his way in a Z down your cheek, across your jaw, and back down your neck. They’re quick, ticklish little pecks of affection. A sweetness if you ever knew it. 

“Steve,” you admonish, though giggles betray your tone. The hands that frame his face glide gently down to his throat, your thumbs meeting at his Adam's apple. “We’re babysitting.” 

“I know,” he says, kissing your lips for a third time. “Just had to get a few extra in there. For all the times I thought about kissing you this weekend.” 

“Don’t say that.”

“Why?” He laughs, bubbly like you’ve surprised him. “It’s true. I thought about it all weekend.” 

You don’t know why you ask– why you even thought of it at a time like this– but you question him, “What about Nance?” 

“What about her?” 

“You don’t…” you trail off, afraid to even speak the possibility into existence. 

“We’re done. We have been. For a lot longer than I was willing to admit,” he admits honestly. 

“Yeah, but do you–”

“I don’t. Still have feelings for her. Not like that, anyway.” 

You meet his eyes, feeling a strange blend of emotions you can’t quite name.

“If you don’t believe me, you’ll just have to let me prove it to you,” he holds your gaze, warm with a sincerity that makes it hard to doubt him. 

“I believe you.” 

You let Steve kiss you several more times on that couch. He’s patient, deliberate, and more kind than you ever imagined he’d be. It’s hard to understand why Nancy would ever let someone like that go. 

ᯓ★

On Monday morning, you blink awake first, the comforting weight of a hand that’s not yours across your hip and another, much lighter one, at your belly. You turn over slowly, finding Steve and Holly wrapped around each other like ivy on trellis. You don’t imagine many people look this pretty asleep. The comb of long lashes kissing the soft flush in his cheeks. The golden lather of sunrise in each wild swoop of hair. The way his lips part for a sigh cuter than you knew one could be. 

He mumbles something unintelligible, sleep talk perhaps. 

You whisper back anyway, “What?” 

Steve sighs, smearing his cheek against the pillow. “Being a creeper.” 

“Me?” 

“Mhmm.” One eye slowly unbinds itself from sleep. Steve adores the tight-lipped smile on your face, broad with an infatuation he forgot could be aimed at him. His hand twitches at your side. 

“You just look so pretty when you sleep,” you admit. Is it too soon to say such things? 

His eye closes as he smiles, nosing into Holly’s hair, selfishly keeping it to himself. You reach across her body to find it, swiping a loving finger across his lips when you do. 

You stay in bed for as long as Holly will allow– which is not very long after she wakes up– but you don’t mind. You watch fondly as Steve helps her brush her teeth and as she helps Steve toast and butter the Eggos. Like Steve, Holly’s a good kid. They’re both helpers at heart. 

And you’re sure to remind Mrs. Wheeler of that when she rings the house to let you know they’re almost home. Holly’s excitement quickly dwindles into sadness the moment she realizes you won’t be staying. But she uses it to bargain one final game of hide and seek before you go. 

“Come on.” Steve drags you by the wrist, bustling upstairs to the bathroom. He throws the shower curtain aside and jumps in, offering his hand to help you after. You sit scrunched together, knee to knee on the porcelain floor, giggling like children. 

“Shhh,” you squeeze his kneecap. “You’re gonna get us found.” 

He jostles your shoulder, mouth agape. “You’re the one who’s laughing!” 

“No,” you insist, though the light in your eyes suggests otherwise. Curiosity sparks and the irrepressible urge to act on it wins. You lean in for a kiss, confirming that’s all it takes to shut Steve up. 

He tastes like maple syrup, loving with his lips as much as his hands. He pulls back for breath and returns for another peck, pressing into the corner of your mouth where your smile keeps drawing higher and higher. 

“Hard to kiss you when you're smiling.” 

“Can’t help it,” you defend. “Never been so happy.” 

He softens like warm icing, a sweet and gooey mess in your arms. But the shake of the front door closing stiffens him. 

“Mommy!” you hear quickly after. 

Steve scrambles up and over the lip of the tub, tugging you out with him. You follow him downstairs where Mrs. Wheeler swings Holly in her arms like she’s much smaller than she really is. Mr. Wheeler steers a suitcase silently through the entryway. 

“Did you have so much fun?” she asks Holly, peppering kisses across her temple. “Ohh, I missed you!” 

Holly revels in the affection overload, bending backward to giggle at you and Steve. 

Mrs. Wheeler grins. “How was she?” 

“Great, as always,” Steve assures. His cheeks are flushed, his hair mussed— though you could chalk that up to bedhead, not the aftermath of your short-lived makeout session.

You nod, adding, “We went swimming and to the park and–”

“IHOP!” Holly yells. “I got pancakes with chocolate chips and extra sprinkles!” 

“Did you? Sounds like you had a lot of fun.” Mrs. Wheeler plants Holly on her feet. “Can you give hugs? Say thank you for being such good babysitters?” 

Holly launches herself at Steve. He sends you a smirk over her shoulder, rocking her side to side in his embrace. You can just hear him say, I told you so. 

But she offers the same enthusiasm and more for you, dragging you onto the floor for a proper goodbye hug. “I don’t want you to go,” she pouts in your ear. 

“We’ll come back. We can have playdates?” 

“Can’t you just live in Nancy’s room? She’s never here anyway.” 

You can’t help but laugh. “I wish I could,” you admit honestly. 

She reluctantly loosens her grip on your shirt when you peel away. 

Mrs. Wheeler sees you and Steve off with a warm smile. Holly darts through her mother’s legs for one final hug on the porch. You wave goodbye, the moment slipping into something bittersweet before Steve bumps his shoulder into yours, a playful grin softening the farewell.

You dawdle up to your car, wringing your hands together when you reach the door. “So.”

“So,” he parrots. 

“This weekend, right?” 

His smirk blooms into a full smile. “Friday? Pick you up at seven?” 

“Okay,” you nod. 

“Okay,” he chuckles, clipping a hand around your jaw and leaning in. 

You turn away so the kiss skips across the softest stretch of your cheek. “Steve.” 

His eyes never leave your face as he assures you, “They’re not looking.” 

“Don’t be so sure.” 

Holly waves at you through the living room window, a smile as wide as her face. Steve’s hand falls down to his side and he takes a platonic step back. You both return her goodbye, but Holly stays, her little hand pressed to the glass. 

“Think she’ll tell?” Steve asks, not an ounce of worry in his tone. 

You shrug, tugging him back in by the waist for a proper kiss. “I guess it wouldn't be the end of the world.” 

[ivyyisbored22]

𝐒𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲—𝘉𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘹 (𝘧𝘦𝘮) 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

A Stray Kids one shot

Synopsis: You tend to remember the smallest things and dates which are of you and Chan, so you decided to surprise him with a homemade dinner on the date of when you both met for the first time. Except for, you didn't expect Chan to forget it, let alone react the way he did.

Warnings: Couple arguments. Use of strong language, a bit of angst & tears, Smut🔞, unprotected (make-up) sex, intimate, oral (f.receiving), pet names, brief mention of a tummy bulge (so size kink if you squint I guess?). Use of Y/N (but only twice).

Minors do not interact!!!

Note: I think I'm going through a phase rn, somehow I am ADDICTED to writing angst and tears— LMFAOOO @mrs-hwangh what have you done to me???

If this isn't your thing, you're more than welcome to skip it. Reblogs, likes, comments and feedbacks are always appreciated.

ɪ'ᴠᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴏꜰ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ɪᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪʟʟɪᴏɴ ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ ʙᴜᴛ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴘᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪꜱᴛᴀᴋᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴡʜᴇʀᴇ, ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ.

Word count: 5.6k

𝑬𝑵𝑱𝑶𝒀!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Your soft hums of your favourite song echoed quietly in the living room, smiling to yourself as you fiddled with a silver bow, wrapping a small box that contained a gift you bought for your boyfriend a few days ago.

Today was the day when you both met for the first time four years ago, in the same college, at the same coffee shop where he accidentally bumped into you and spilled his drink all over your notes and you never would have imagined that moment would lead to this.

To love. To Chan.

Your heart swelled at the memory, a fond chuckle escaping your lips. You had planned a simple evening, nothing too extravagant, just the two of you, sharing memories over a homemade dinner and the gift you picked out so lovingly. You knew how busy he was, but today mattered to you. It was the day everything began.

Once you had everything set, you waited for Chan to return home from work, your leg tapping on the floor and fingers playing with the hem of your dress.

Minutes passed to hours and you hadn't received any calls or texts from him, but you waited patiently. Maybe he was caught up at work. Maybe he forgot to check his phone. Still, you gave him the benefit of the doubt.

The sound of the door unlocking cut through your thoughts, and you quickly stood up, smoothing down your dress. Relief and excitement flickered in your chest as Chan walked in, rubbing the back of his neck, looking utterly exhausted.

His bag slumped onto the floor as he kicked off his shoes, barely glancing up at you. Your heart sank ever so slightly but you tried not to let that disappointment settle in.

“Hey,” you greeted softly, stepping forward. “Long day?”

He nodded, letting out a tired sigh. “Yeah. I’m drained.”

You swallowed, suddenly nervous. “I… I made dinner. And I got you something,” you said, gesturing to the neatly wrapped gift on the coffee table.

Chan barely spared it a glance, his brows furrowing slightly. “What’s the occasion?”

Your heart dropped, but you put on a soft smile. You couldn't get mad at him if he forgot it, even though you wished he didn't. That he didn't forget the date or not acknowledge the effort, the way you had been looking forward to this all day.

"You don’t remember?” Your voice came out quieter, trying to mask in a playful tone.

He sighed again, rubbing his forehead, looking as if he'd been asked questions in an interview. "Um no, why don't you tell me?"

The way his voice sounded made you feel like you got slashed with a blade, but you shoved that dramatic thought aside and walked closer to him, biting your lower lip in order to swallow the hard lump that had formed in your throat.

“It’s the day we met.” Your voice wavered slightly, the weight of unspoken emotions pressing down on you but you continued smiling softly. “Four years ago today.”

Chan exhaled, running a hand through his hair, frustration creeping into his features. “Babe, I’ve been swamped with work. I barely know what time it is.”

You blinked, his words stinging more than you expected. “I get that you’re busy, Chan. I really do. But this was important to me.”

He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Come on, don’t do this. It’s just a date. It’s not like an anniversary or anything.”

You took a small step back as if he had physically pushed you. You blinked up at him, trying not to let his words form the tears to gush up your eyes.

Your arms wrapped around yourself, hoping that would keep you steady. "I just thought this would mean something to you too."

His brows furrowed deeper, irritation creeping into his voice. "Of course it means something to me. But I don’t have the luxury of remembering every single date when I’m drowning in deadlines."

Your heart clenched, his words cutting deeper than you expected. "So, what, I'm just supposed to understand that I come second to everything else in your life? That it’s okay for you to forget something that mattered so much to me?"

Chan scoffed, shaking his head. "That’s not what I’m saying, and you know it. You’re making a big deal out of nothing. It’s just a date."

"Just a date?" Your voice cracked, a slight tone of anger and heartbreak mixing in your chest. "It’s the day we met, Chan. The day everything started. I planned this for us. I waited for you, and you didn’t even think to text me back? Or check your phone?"

"I was working! I don’t have time to be glued to my phone every second!" His voice was sharper now, making you flinch hard, his frustration spilling over. "I come home exhausted, hoping to relax, and now I have to deal with this?!"

The venom in his voice made you shiver and you hugged yourself tighter. "Chan, please don't shout..."

"No, I mean you always do this. I get it, that you remember small things, but I just want an evening of peace after a long day at work."

Chan had rarely raised his voice, your throat tightened at his words, a dull ache forming in your chest. You took a shaky breath, forcing yourself to stay calm even though his tone made you feel like you were drowning.

“I’m not asking you to drop everything for me, Chan,” you said softly, voice trembling. “I just thought—” You swallowed hard, fingers gripping the fabric of your dress. “I thought maybe today would matter to you too.”

His jaw clenched, and he ran a frustrated hand through his curls, exhaling sharply. “Sure you did,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “You always do this, Y/N. You put so much weight on things that I—”

He stopped himself, hesitating, but you already knew where he was going with this.

“That you what?” You challenged, your voice barely above a whisper. “That you don’t care?”

Chan looked at you then, eyes dark with exhaustion and irritation. “That I don’t have the mental space to deal with every single date, every little detail, every expectation you set for me without telling me.”

His words cut deeper and deeper, the sting of them making your eyes well up. You blinked rapidly, refusing to let the tears fall.

“I never asked you to be perfect, Chan,” you whispered, voice thick with emotion. “I never expected you to remember every little thing. But this?” 

You gestured weakly toward the dinner table, the untouched meal, the small, neatly wrapped gift that now felt like a stupid afterthought.

“It's the day we met for the first time, so it just meant as much to me as our anniversary.”

Chan’s lips parted slightly, his brows furrowing, but he said nothing. That silence, that hesitation, hurt more than his words.

Your fingers wrinkled your dress, feeling a chill despite the warmth of the apartment. “You know, I wasn’t even mad that you forgot. I just wanted to spend time with you.”

Chan let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “You think that I don’t want to spend time with you? Do you know how exhausting it is to juggle everything, to be everywhere at once? And now, I come home and instead of just relaxing with you, I’m being guilt-tripped over a date I forgot?”

The sharp sting of his words left you breathless.

Guilt-tripping? That was what he thought this was? Your efforts, your love, your excitement, had all of it been reduced to you being an inconvenience to him?

Your lips parted, your throat constricting as a wave of emotions surged through you. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad, Chan,” you said, your voice wavering. “I just wanted you to remember. I wanted you to want this too.”

His expression flickered, something unreadable flashing across his face, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by a heavy sigh. “I’m tired, okay? I’m so damn tired. I don’t have time to remember every little thing—”

“Every little thing?” you cut him off, your voice suddenly louder, cracking under the weight of your emotions.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply. “I didn’t say it wasn’t important, I just—damn it, I forgot, okay? I’m human! I make mistakes!”

Your chest heaved as you stared at him, eyes stinging, heart breaking. “Forgetting is one thing,” you said, voice thick with unshed tears. “But the way you’re acting right now? Like I’m just another problem you have to deal with?”

You let out a shaky breath, your hands clenched at your sides. “That hurts more than you forgetting.”

Chan’s eyes widened slightly, the anger in his expression flickering for a brief moment. But the damage was done. The silence between you was heavy, suffocating, the walls closing in around you.

You shook your head, backing away from him. “I don’t want to do this right now.”

“Y/N…” he started, but you turned away from him.

“No. I get it. You’re tired. You need space. And I’m obviously asking for too much,” you said, your voice hollow. “So I’ll make it easy for you.”

With that, you turned on your heel, took your keys that were sitting on the coffee table and walked toward the door, grabbing your coat. Chan’s eyes darkened, his hand wrapped around your wrist. “Where are you going?”

You untangled yourself off his grip and slipped in your coat, brushing away the tear that slipped down your cheek with the back of your hand.

“Somewhere that doesn’t make me feel like I’m begging for your attention.”

His face fell, and for the first time that evening, you saw a flicker of realization in his eyes—as if he finally understood just how much he had hurt you.

“No, wait, please,” he said, reaching for you, but you pulled away before he could touch you.

You turned away and closed the door behind you, walking away as fast as you could to your car, driving back to your apartment.

Behind the door Chan grabbed fistfuls of his hair, grunting and growling under his breath as he fell on the plush couch.

His eyes caught the small, neatly wrapped gift that was sitting on the coffee table, he hesitated for a second but then opened it, his heart sank like a stone thrown in the ocean when he saw what was nestling inside.

His favourite bracelet he lost when we went on a business trip a few months ago. It was the exact same design and brand.

His fingers trembled as he picked up the bracelet, the silver catching the dim glow of the living room light. His throat tightened painfully as he turned it over in his hands, his vision blurring slightly.

And you… you had remembered. You had gone out of your way to find it, to replace something that meant so much to him, because that’s just the kind of person you were.

Chan exhaled sharply, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“Fuck,” he whispered, the weight of his words from earlier slamming into him like a truck.

What had he done?

***

The next morning you woke up, exhausted, your vision blurry, nose stuffed and what felt like a dull headache creeping up your forehead. You groaned softly and walked into the bathroom, to find your state in a mess.

Disheveled hair, puffy cheeks with stained mascara, swollen eyes and lips. You had barely stepped inside your apartment before the dam broke, tears spilling freely as you sunk in your bed.

You didn't know at what time you reached home or when you had fallen asleep.

You hated arguing with Chan. 

Sure you had a few disagreements once in a while but they were different. But this kind of argument; where it wasn’t just a misunderstanding, but something way deeper, made you question if you were the only one holding onto the pieces of your relationship while he let them slip through his fingers so easily.

You fixed yourself into the shower, letting the water wash away the fresh set of tears that began to run down your face. After a while you stepped out and changed into a comfortable pair of sweats and grabbed your phone, only to see a dozen calls and texts from Chan.

Your thumb hovered over the screen, heart pounding as you scrolled through the missed calls. Channie <3 (12).

The unread messages blurred together, but you caught glimpses of them as your breath hitched.

Channie <3 [1:12 AM]: Please, baby, pick up. Channie <3 [1:13 AM]: I know you’re mad. I know I fucked up. But please, don’t shut me out. Channie <3 [2:03 AM]: Are you home? Are you safe? Just… let me know you’re okay. That’s all I need right now.

Your fingers trembled as you scrolled further, his messages growing more frantic, more desperate.

Channie <3 [2:45 AM]: I can’t sleep knowing I hurt you like this.

Channie <3 [3:20 AM]: I love you. I love you so much. I don’t deserve you, but please tell me you’re okay.

Your chin wobbled as you closed your eyes and kept your phone face down on the nightstand, not knowing what to respond to him. You weren’t sure if you were ready to face him yet, if you could talk to him and not break all over again.

You walked out of your bedroom, to the kitchen to make yourself some coffee when the front door bell rang. You glanced at the clock hanging on your wall, wondering if you were expecting anyone in the morning, you sighed heavily and walked to the door, only to be greeted by someone that made you feel like you got pulled into the floor.

Outside stood Chan, his face masked with exhaustion and faint hints of dark circles under his eyes and messy hair as if he had been running his hand through it the entire night. He was holding a bag, what looked like it was from your favourite bakery and bouquet of flowers, his gaze locking in with yours, pleading you for a chance and forgiveness.

You attempted to close the door but Chan held it, interrupting you from shutting him out. “Sweetheart…” He started but before he could say anything, you left the door hanging and walked into the living room.

Chan hesitated at the doorway, gripping the bag and flowers tightly as he watched you walk away. He took a shaky breath and stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him.

The quiet of your apartment felt heavier than usual, like an invisible barrier had formed between the two of you. He placed the bag on the kitchen counter, setting the flowers beside it, before slowly following your retreating figure.

You kept your back to him, your arms crossed over your chest as you stood near the window, staring outside as if willing yourself to be anywhere but here.

“Baby…” Chan tried again, his voice softer this time. Apologetic.

You tensed but didn’t turn around.

He took a careful step forward. “Please, just—”

“Don’t,” you said, your voice a whisper, but it carried enough weight to stop him in his tracks.

Chan swallowed hard. He wanted to reach for you, to hold you, to tell you he was sorry in a way that would make up for last night. But the weight of the argument hung so heavily between you both, without sparing a glance at him, you went inside your bedroom.

The soft click of the door shutting behind you echoed louder than it should have, and Chan exhaled shakily, running a hand through his already disheveled hair.

He had messed up. Badly.

His gaze flickered to the neatly wrapped pastries and the bouquet he had brought. He had stopped by your favorite bakery the moment they opened, hoping—praying—that it would mean something, that it would show you he was trying to make up for the way he reacted.

But he knew better. A box of pastries and a bouquet of flowers couldn’t, wouldn't erase the way he had hurt you.

With a tired sigh, he sank onto the couch, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared at the floor. He didn’t know how much time had passed, only that the silence in the apartment was suffocating.

He glanced toward your closed bedroom door, debating if he should give you more time or if he should go to you now.

But his heart won over his hesitation.

Slowly, he pushed himself up and walked toward your door, his footsteps hesitant but determined. He paused just outside, lifting a hand to knock, but stopped himself at the last second.

Instead, he carefully turned the doorknob and stepped inside.

You were sitting on the bed, your back facing him, silent sobs filling the room. As much as you wanted to hate him for the way he behaved, you simply couldn’t. His presence alone was enough to pull you over, but the heaviness of your emotions made it hard to think. 

Chan’s heart ached at the sight and the sound of your sobs. You heard his footsteps, with a choked voice you said, “Chan, go away.”

He couldn’t go away like that. Not until he tells you how sorry he is and how much he regrets last night. 

“Honey…”

Your shoulders shook harder with each breath, Chan made his way towards you and sat next to you, hesitating for a fraction of a second before his arms wrapped around you and pulled you flush to his chest. You couldn’t react, just stayed frozen in his embrace.

“Baby, my love, I’m so sorry…” He exhaled deeply. “I hate myself for the way I was last night. I hate that I made you feel like you weren’t important to me because, God, baby, you are everything to me.”

“I messed up,” he admitted, his voice thick with regret. “I was stressed, and I let it make me forget what really matters. I forgot us. And that’s not okay.”

You swallowed thickly, your body still stiff in his hold, unsure if you should let yourself sink into his warmth or resist the comfort you so desperately craved. His arms tightened around you, his heartbeat pounding in a frantic rhythm under your ear.

“I should have come home and held you,” Chan murmured, his breath warm against your temple. “I should have kissed you and told you how much I love you instead of making you feel like you were asking for too much.”

Your lips parted in a shaky exhale, the weight of his words pressing against your fragile heart.

“You never ask for too much,” he whispered, his voice raw, filled with self-reproach. “You only ever ask for me,” his throat flexed, “and I failed you.”

A fresh wave of tears spilled from your eyes, but this time, you weren’t alone in your grief. Chan pressed a lingering kiss to your temple, as if he was trying to kiss away the pain he had caused.

He gently turned you in his embrace, urging you to face him, his hands cupping your cheeks as he tilted your face up to his. Your vision was blurry, so you closed your eyes, unsure if you could look at him.

His thumbs brushed away the tears clinging to your skin, his touch featherlight, reverent. “Please look at me, sweetheart.”

And then you did. And what you saw made your breath hitch.

Pure, unfiltered love—wrapped in sorrow, wrapped in desperation. His dark eyes were puffy from lack of sleep, rimmed with exhaustion and regret. His lips were slightly chapped, parted as if he had a thousand apologies to spill but didn’t know where to start. He looked just as broken as you felt.

His mouth brushed on your forehead, lips trembling as he whispered, “There is nothing in this world that matters more to me than you, baby.”

Your chin trembled. “Then why did I feel like I was alone in this?”

Chan inhaled sharply, his expression crumbling. “You’re not,” he said instantly, his voice urgent. “I swear, you’re not. I just—” He exhaled heavily, his fingers trembling as they traced over the curve of your jaw. 

“I shouldn’t have taken out my stress from work on you, when you only wanted to spend time with me on a day that I should have remembered too. I’m really sorry baby. I can’t lose you over this.”

Your gaze dropped to his lips, then back to his eyes, searching, wavering. His words poured out so thick with emotion, unfiltered and raw, it made your chest tighten so hard, it hurt.

“Tell me now,” his fingers brushed away the faint tear stains from your face, “Do you want me to go?”

Your breath and words were stuck in your throat. Part of you wanted to let your pain fester a little longer so he could understand just how much last night had hurt. But the way he was looking at you, so full of remorse, it broke through the wall you had tried to keep up.

Chan was here. And he was trying.

The sincerity of his voice and his presence thawed the ice that built around your heart overnight, you couldn't stay angry at him for another moment longer. Because you knew the love you had for him could overshadow any kind of pain.

Your fingers reached up, hesitant, before threading through his soft curls. He sucked in a breath at the touch, his eyes fluttering shut, his grip on you tightening.

Time was frozen, breaths were stolen and before you could stop yourself, your arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him flush against you. “Don't hurt me again…” You chokingly whispered.

“Never sweetheart. I won't ever do that again.” He let out a shaky breath against your neck, his hands running up your back, molding your body to his like he was terrified you’d disappear if he let go.

“Let me make it up to you,” he whispered, his voice so low and vulnerable that it sent a shiver down your spine.

His lips brushed over your cheek first, barely there, as if he was asking for permission. Then he kissed the corner of your mouth, lingering and waiting. “Please.”

And when you didn’t pull away, he finally pressed his lips to yours.

Soft and hesitant.

Not demanding, not rushed, just a quiet plea wrapped in tenderness.

His lips molded against yours like a silent confession, staying there as if he wanted to memorize the way you felt against him.

His hands moved up your sides, thumbs tracing absent patterns over your skin. He wasn’t taking, he was giving, pouring all of his love into every press of his himself, every stroke of his fingertips.

Your body melted into his instinctively, your hands tightening in his hair as you deepened the kiss, letting yourself drown in the warmth of him. 

He made a quiet sound against you, almost like a sigh of relief, as if he had been waiting for this, for you to accept him, to let him back in as he laid you on your back and toyed with the waistband of your pants.

He had barely touched you and you were already on liquid fire. Blood coursed through your veins when he pulled them down, the chilly air making you shiver at the contact of your heated skin. 

“Chan…”  Your voice came out in a breathy whisper, half moan and half command, when his lips danced over the soft skin of your thighs. 

“Hmm?” when he pressed there, you couldn't help but sigh completely. “What is it honey?” He coaxed, the huskiness of his voice that made it hard to think. Did you want him to stop? Or did you want him to go on?

“I…,” He smirked against you as he made his way up, a path that he knew like the back of his hand. He spread your legs apart, the glistening sight before him reawoke a rush of possessiveness in him. 

“I hate fighting with you.” Chan whispered against your flesh, voice raw and aching. 

Your fingers found his hair, tugging him closer as if that alone could answer him. His breath fanned over your core, and his thumbs rubbed soothing circles into your thighs.

“You’re my world,” he admitted, looking up at you, eyes dark but filled with something deeper than lust. “And I want to give you everything. I'm sorry for ruining last night baby.”

The words sent a warmth spiraling through you, melting away the remnants of your argument.

He brushed a kitten kiss right on your swollen clit, and your body responded instantly, arching toward his touch. He took his time, tracing delicate patterns with his tongue, exploring you with a reverence that left you breathless. 

His hands kept you steady, but the way he worshipped you made you feel as if you were floating. You couldn't help but squirm, soft moans spilled from your lips, and when you murmured his name.

This wasn’t about just sex. It was about him making up for every harsh word he said, erasing any distance that had carved its way between you both over the past 12 hours.

His mouth moved over you like he had all the time in the world, savoring every reaction, every soft gasp that spilled from your throat. His hands, rough and calloused, held you with the gentleness of a man afraid to break something precious.

“Cha—nhg,” You whimpers didn't slow him down. It only made him go faster and faster, tongue flicking and licking with an agonizing pressure. 

He groaned against you, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure coursing through your veins. You attempted to pull his head away from your pulsing core but he wouldn't budge. 

“I'm not done.” He looked up from your pussy, chin and lips swollen and glistening with your arousal. 

He dove back in with a renewed, hungry pace, his nose nudging against your clit, the warmth shooting up to every inch of your body. He couldn't get enough of how you tasted, how you moaned and screamed only for him. If he could, he would stay right were he was forever.

The band in your lower belly knotted tighter and tighter, had you writhing and bucking your hips, it was on the edge of snapping

And then you surrendered to him. Your orgasm left you gasping, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes and only his name escaping your lips, Chan held you firmly as he helped you ride it out. 

He didn't let you go for a second as he sucked and licked your pussy splurting with arousal like he was on the verge of starvation, until he left you boneless but content beneath him.

Slowly, he made his way up your body, removing your top and his mouth hovering your hips, across the plane of your stomach, up the valley between your breasts. Each of it was an apology, a whispered promise against your skin.

“Baby,”—smooch—“fuck you're so sweet when you,”—smooch—“come on my face.” He said between kisses and gentle nipping on your sensitive, peaking buds that rebuilt the anticipation.

Soon enough every piece of clothing was discarded until it was only the fiery sparkles of your sweat misted bodies flying between you both. He shifted, positioning himself between your legs.

The tip of his cock nudged your nub softly before entered you slowly, filling you inch by inch, watching your face for every reaction. You gasped, your hands clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. Chan let out a shuddering breath, his forehead pressed to yours.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, holding him close as he started to move. His pace was slow, deliberate, each thrust sending a fresh wave of pleasure crashing over you, but it was more than that. 

It was a silent conversation, an absolution, a way of reminding each other that no fight, no disagreement, could ever take this away from you.

You pulled him in deeper and deeper, his cock twitched hard inside of you, the rhythmic slapping of skin against skin, sweat and groans soaked the air. 

His eyes fell down to where you both joined, what he saw drove him out of his mind. A soft but visible movement in your tummy. 

“Shi— fuck.”

Your eyes fluttered open when he held your hand and brought it over your tummy where you felt the bulge that was moving in and out of you.

“Feel that?” He pounded into you that made you arch your back, digging your nails into his skin. “D’you feel that baby?” 

You nodded, out of breath, mouth falling open until the cries of pleasure consumed you whole, the feel of the bulge just spurring you on more. 

His hands roamed your body, mapping familiar paths, his lips never straying far from yours. He whispered sweet nothings against your skin, words of love and devotion, apologies and reassurances.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice hoarse but steady.

You smiled softly for the first time after the long hours, tilting your head to kiss him once more. “I love you too.”

And just like that, the fight was forgotten. Not because it didn’t matter, but because what you had together was always stronger.

“You're squeezing me baby,” his orgasm rushed fast and threatened to take over him, climbing up his spine and snapping his restraints. 

“Chan I'm… I'm going to come,” 

And your release finally crashed over you again, it wasn’t just pleasure—it was catharsis. 

A loud cry tore off your throat as you flooded around his cock, shaking and moaning, Chan followed seconds after slamming into you in one last thrust, burying himself deep with a breathless groan, his body caging over yours.

The post sex high lingered but he didn’t move or pull out. He stayed wrapped around you, pressing lazy kisses to your temple, your shoulder, anywhere he could reach. His fingers traced slow patterns on your skin, grounding you both in the quiet aftermath.

“Do you forgive me?” He asked softly, his fingers brushing away a few strands of hair. 

You smiled cheekily, fingers running through his damp sweat hair, “No,” you said lowly that made his eyes widen in disbelief.

His reaction made a laugh bubble up your throat, you pulled him down onto your mouth letting your tongue slip past his lips and had him melt all over again.

“Yes, I forgive you Chan.” You said pulling back, chest heaving and content. 

He chuckled deeply, hugging you tightly, the lingering amusement from your playful teasing was still evident in the crinkle of his nose. 

Then, with a slow, deliberate exhale, he shifted, reluctantly pulling away from your warmth.

You watched him as he retrieved a washcloth from the bathroom, wiped you clean before he reached for his pants, discarded somewhere on the floor, and retrieved something small from the pocket. 

When he turned back to you, he held a tiny velvet box in his hands.

Your heart skipped a beat.

Chan hesitated, his thumb brushing over the soft fabric of the box as if gathering the courage to speak. Then, with a slow inhale, he flicked it open.

Inside, nestled against the velvet lining, were two delicate rings, a simple silver band with a tiny, shimmering stone embedded at its center. It wasn’t flashy, nor extravagant, but it was beautiful in a way that felt so intimate and personal.

Your eyes flickered from the ring to his face, your heart hammering against your ribcage. “Chan…?”

He let out a quiet chuckle, but you could tell he was nervous. His free hand found yours, fingers lacing together as he held you close.

“I’ve been carrying this around for weeks, waiting for the right moment. And I—” He sighed laughing, shaking his head. “I guess last night was the moment but…”

Chan took a steadying breath, his fingers tracing the edge of the velvet box. “I know I can be a pain in the ass sometimes,” he admitted, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “I push too hard, tease too much. And when we fight, I say things I don’t mean.”

You shook your head, reaching out to cup his cheek. He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a brief second before continuing.

“It’s not… a proposal,” he clarified quickly, though his lips curled into that familiar teasing smirk. “Not yet, at least. But it’s a promise.” He squeezed your hand, eyes searching yours with a raw kind of vulnerability. 

“A promise that no matter how much we fight, no matter how many times I mess up… I’ll always choose you. I’ll always come back to you. If you’ll have me.”

Your throat felt tight, emotions swelling so intensely in your chest that you could barely breathe. “Oh Channie,”

His smirk faltered, concern flashing across his face. “Is it too much?” he asked hesitantly. “I know we just—”

You shook your head quickly, cutting him off. “No,” a shaky laugh escaped you . “It’s perfect.”

Relief flooded his features, and for the first time, you saw the nervous tension completely drain from his shoulders.

“Then… will you wear it?” he asked softly, lifting the ring from the box.

“Of course, I will.” You nodded, biting your bottom lip and holding out your hand, he slipped the cool metal onto your finger, the fit perfect, like it was meant to be there all along.

You took the other one from the box and slid it onto his finger with the same reverence, looking up at him through damp lashes.

“This is my promise to you,” you echoed, voice soft but sure. “That even when you’re a pain in the ass sometimes, I’ll still choose you. Every time.”

Chan let out a breathless chuckle, his head tilting slightly as he gazed at you like you hung the stars.

“God, I love you,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion.

You didn’t get the chance to respond before his mouth collided with yours again, slow, deep, and filled with a devotion that made your heart flutter in the best way possible.

And as you fell back on the mattress, tangled in each other yet again, the silver bands glinting under the soft glow of the morning light filtering through the window, you knew; there was no one else for you but him.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Enjoyed this one shot? Consider checking my masterlist for more. Requests? Check 𝚁𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜 (& 𝚁𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚜)

Thank you for reading!

xx,

Ivyy

[fastandcarlos]

Baby In Papaya : ̗̀➛ Lando Norris

summary: as your son starts to join you in the mclaren paddock, it doesn't take long for him to earn his own piece of papaya too

The noise in the garage quietened as soon as the team watched you walk in, holding onto the hand of your son. Lando stood up straight away, kneeling down with his arms wide open as your son ran through and jumped straight into Lando’s hold. 

“Hi buddy,” Lando grinned, pressing a kiss against his cheek before placing him back on his feet, allowing him to say hello to the other faces around the garage that he knew. 

Once you had placed your bag down, you made your way over to Lando too, feeling his lips peck against your cheek, his arm snake around your waist. Zak was quick to come and greet you, letting you know just how excited the team were to have you back in the garage again. 

“Anything you need today, you let us know,” he told you, making sure that you were looked after. Since having your son, it was your first time at a race, and the team were keen to make life as easy for you as they possibly could. 

After saying hello, your son ran back over to Lando, hiding behind his leg as the noise got louder. With everyone stood in a huddle, Zak reached up onto one of the shelves, pulling down a box and holding it out to you. 

“We got a little something for the little man to welcome him to McLaren,” Zak told you. 

“Really, you guys are adorable,” you grinned, taking the box from Zak. 

With your son’s help you lifted the lid off, greeted by a patch of papaya straight away. As you reached in, the material unfolded to reveal a McLaren shirt, a smaller replica of the one that Lando wore around the garage. 

Your son’s eyes lit up as he realised that he had been given the same as what Lando wore, bouncing up and down on his feet. “What do you say?” You asked him, watching him peer around from behind Lando and thank Zak for the gift he had given him. 

Soon enough, your son had taken his top off, his arms stretched up in the air. You knew exactly what he wanted, placing the new shirt over his head, pulling it down as it fit perfectly around his little body. 

No one was more excited than Lando though as he knelt down, standing next to your son. They were almost identical in their matching shirts, exactly what Lando had always dreamt of. 

“You look so handsome,” you smiled across at them both. 

“I’m just like daddy now, aren’t I?” 

Your head nodded in reply to your son, “hopefully it stops at the shirt, if it extends to driving race cars too, I think might have a breakdown.” 

Several chuckles came from around the paddock as the team went back to their jobs, leaving you, Lando and your son sat in one corner of the garage, with Oscar soon inviting himself over to join the three of you too. 

“When you were pregnant Lando used to talk about how he wanted to match with his child,” Oscar informed you, “it was all he talked about.” 

“Did he now?” You teased, “funny how you never told me that.” 

Lando shot a glare across at Oscar who had a proud smile on his face, lifting your son and placing him into his lap as he continued to admire his shirt. 

“I was thinking we could head out on a paddock tour in a bit,” Lando spoke, wanting to make sure that his son got the full experience of the garage, even if he was a little too young to be able to take it all in. 

“Will it be safe enough to take him around?” You quizzed, a little more doubtful than Lando was. “It’s busy out there, especially with all the car parts being moved around too.” 

Lando nodded confidently, not wanting you to worry. “I’ll be right there with you guys so you won’t be by yourselves. And if he gets lost, at least everyone will know that he belongs to McLaren now too.” 

Your eyes rolled as Lando proudly admired how amazing your son looked in the shirt once again. It had been a long time since you’d seen him so excited, knowing just how long he’d waited to show your son around, you just couldn’t say no to him. 

As he watched your head nod, Lando’s eyes lit up. “There’s so many people who have been pestering to meet him.” 

“I’m trusting you," you warned, poking against Lando's side. You looked across at Oscar who couldn’t help but laugh at you both, remembering how much fun it was to have you at the paddock. “This might be the stupidest decision that I’ve made in my life.” 

Oscar cleared his throat from beside you, “I’d argue that your stupidest decision was choosing to sleep with this guy,” he joked, smirking in Lando’s direction. “I mean even after all these years I wonder what it was that you ever saw in Lando.” 

“I’m sat right here,” Lando reminded you, speaking as if he was invisible. ”And obviously she saw how devilishly handsome I was, otherwise we wouldn’t have our little papaya baby sat here right now.” 

He was Lando’s pride and joy, on the edge of his seat with excitement about being able to introduce him to everyone. Before you knew it, he was up and holding onto your son to carry him round, hurrying you up so that he could take you around with him. 

As Lando began to walk, you hung back, with Oscar deciding to join you too. “Do you have any idea how excited he’s been to do this?” He asked you. 

“I imagine he’s been unbearable,” you laughed. 

Oscar nodded, never failing to be surprised by how well you knew Lando. “I think everyone has been driven slightly up the wall listening to him this weekend. He’s told me five times alone that you were coming, just in case I happened to forget.” 

Ahead of you, Lando walked with a spring in his step, allowing his son to wave to just about everyone. A few of the other drivers came over, keen to meet the little boy that they had heard so much about. Your son was adorable at the best of times, but dressed in papaya, he had everyone obsessing over him. 

“I think someone’s enjoying themselves,” Lando smiled back at you as yet another driver waved goodbye. Lando bounced your son in his hold, making sure that you saw just how big his smile was. 

“Is it our son, or is it secretly you?” You joked. 

“I’m having the time of my life,” Lando proudly admitted, unable to contain himself. “I always knew it anyway, but papaya really does suit my boy.” 

Your head shook at Lando’s grin, “it was only a matter of time before I ended up losing my son to McLaren, wasn’t it?” 

“His whole wardrobe will be papaya soon, I’ll make sure it’s packed out with plenty of merch,” Lando assured you, “and everyone will know that he is daddy’s biggest fan.” 

“I remember the days when I was your biggest fan,” you joked, “now I’ve just been pushed aside like I’m nothing thanks to our child.” 

“Don’t worry, there’s a place for you at number two.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[pohyuck]

shouldn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t —

⚡︎ .ᐟ boy-next-door!haechan x reader—where they weren't supposed to kiss. or call. or catch feelings. too bad they suck at rules.

⚡︎ .ᐟ inspired by NIKI's "shouldn't, couldn't, wouldn't"—i love her so much plz give the song a listen if you haven't yet!!

⚡︎ .ᐟ suggestive content, and waayyy too many late-night feelings. (11.2k)

· · ─ ─ · · · · ─ ─ · ·

moving day was a disaster waiting to happen, and surprise—it happened. three hours of sleep, zero caffeine, and enough bad decisions packed into one tote bag to make a reality show jealous.

all you had to do was survive moving day without collapsing, crying, or accidentally making eye contact with a neighbor you'd have to avoid forever.

spoiler alert: you would fail at all three.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · · · · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

shouldn’t

moving day was already the worst.

you were sleep deprived, under caffeinated, and sweating through your tote bag. you had just barely managed to drag a heavy suitcase to your apartment door before realizing the key was on the very bottom of your backpack. beneath a book, a half-eaten granola bar, and your crippling regret.

he was sitting across from your new apartment, cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by half a bag of cheetos and the loudest facetime call in the world. from what you could hear, his friend was yelling something about a suspicious rash.

he looked up just in time to catch you drop your bag, trip over it, and slam your forehead lightly into your own door.

there was a long pause.

then he muted his call and clapped.

“10 out of 10 entrance,” he said, still chewing.

you stared at him from the floor, holding your dignity in both hands like a fragile egg.

“thanks,” you deadpanned. “been rehearsing that fall for weeks.”

he grinned like this was the highlight of his day.

and to make things worse, he was stupid hot. like—should not be allowed to have a face like that—hot. tousled brown hair, warm skin, golden chain resting against his collarbone. and of course, the stupid frog socks.

“you moving in?” he asked, like that wasn’t obvious from the five boxes labeled ‘sad kitchen stuff’ next to you.

“no,” you said. “i just like loitering in random hallways. adds spice to my week.”

he tilted his head. “you’re funny.”

“you’re nosy.”

“you’re in my way.”

“you’re still staring.”

you blinked. looked away so fast your neck almost cracked. he was still grinning, smug, stupid, and gorgeous.

“i’m haechan,” he offered, finally. “i live across from you. that makes us... hallway buddies.”

“gross,” you muttered. “do not say that ever again.”

he only winked. “you’ll love me in three to five business days.”

later that night, after successfully unpacking approximately one spoon and a broken desk lamp, you found a note slid under your door.

“welcome to the building. hallway buddies 4ever <3 - h”

you told yourself you rolled your eyes. you told yourself it didn’t make you smile.

you shouldn’t.

but the butterflies in your stomach said, good fucking luck with that.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

your room is still half-boxes and unfamiliar shadows while you were on the phone with seol.

“oh, by the way, my cousin jaem invited me over to this pregame he’s having at his place. want to come with?”

you reply, “i think i’m just gonna stay in tonight, honestly.”

“too late! i’m already outside.”

you blink. then hear her knock.

jaemin’s apartment is loud. that’s the first thing you notice. not just music, but the sharp, overlapping noise of too many voices in a too-small space. you barely step inside when the second thing hits you.

and the thing was slouched on the couch in a leather jacket, head tilted back, laughing at something jeno just said. then he sees you.

his whole expression shifts, like a switch flipped.

“well, well, well,” he calls out with a lazy grin. “if it isn’t my hallway buddy.”

you groan. “don’t call me that in public.”

you slide into the empty seat next to him before your brain has the chance to vote. his knee brushes yours. neither of you mention it.

across the room, jaemin tosses you a drink without looking. “new apartment treating you okay?” he asks.

“yeah,” you say, then glance at haechan. “we actually live across from each other.”

seol’s head whips around. “wait—you two live across the hall?”

you nod slowly. haechan just shrugs, taking a sip like it’s nothing. “guess we’re neighbors and now party pals.”

jaemin points between the two of you. “and this never came up before?”

“didn’t exactly come up in the elevator,” you mutter.

the night spins faster after that. drinks. music. renjun attempting to dj in the kitchen using two phones and a bowl. someone breaks out a deck of cards. there’s a group effort to freestyle over a beat that no one can agree on. laughter bounces off the walls.

you lose track of time—until you somehow end up crammed into a corner during never have i ever. haechan’s shoulder presses into yours, his voice low near your ear.

“small world,” he says. “hallway, party, now, a fun little drink game territory”

you raise your cup. “should’ve stayed home.”

he clinks his drink lightly against yours. “you’d be bored without me.”

you don’t answer.

because he might be right.

“never have i ever hooked up with a neighbor,” jeno said, smirking.

haechan looked at you.

you glared at him.

“i haven’t!” you protested.

“yet,” he said under his breath.

you blinked.

your ears got hot.

you told yourself it was the tequila.

later, in the quiet chaos of 2 a.m., you were helping him find a spare charger in jaemin’s room. mostly because you didn’t trust him not to steal one if left unsupervised.

“you’re fun,” he said suddenly, watching you from the doorway.

“i’m also emotionally unavailable and extremely good at ghosting,” you replied, digging through drawers.

“perfect,” he said, grinning. “my type.”

you stood up. too close. his eyes dropped to your mouth for half a second too long.

i should step back, you thought.

but you didn’t.

he leaned in slightly. just enough to test a theory.

you stared at him.

then laughed—too loud, too fake, too “please don’t let this be real.”

you cleared your throat.

“we should go,” you said quickly.

he hesitated. then stepped back.

“yeah,” he said softly. “we should.”

once it was time to go home, he insisted on driving back to your place. the drive back home was quiet. and once you’ve arrived at the building, none of you chose to speak. you walked, in silence, with your shoulders brushing.

you didn’t say anything when he opened the door to your building for you. you didn’t say anything when he held the elevator.

“you ever think,” he said, not looking at you “that maybe we’re just avoiding something?”

you blinked. “like what?”

his lips twitched. “something we shouldn’t do.”

you didn’t answer.

you didn’t have to.

the silence said enough.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

the texting started as a joke.

haechan had left a post-it on your door that said:

“you left your dignity in the hallway again. i’m holding it hostage. - h”

you: u have the worst handwriting in the world ��

DNI!!: shut up >:( that’s not what u said when u saw my handwriting on ur heart

you had no response to that. not a good one anyway.

after that, the texts never really stopped.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

DNI!!: hey, u up?

you: if this is a booty call, i hope u step on a lego

DNI!!: 💔

DNI!!: u’re no fun

you: ?? i am SO much fun

DNI!!: prove it. come out

you: is this another hallway hang

DNI!!: unless u’re scared.. 😮

you opened your door exactly sixty seconds later.

he was already leaning against his, hoodie up, a box of ice cream sandwiches in one hand and the smirk. the one that said he knew he was your worst idea—and your favorite one.

“ice cream truce,” he said. “for your wounded ego.”

“from what?”

“from not kissing me that night at jaemin’s.”

you blinked. he was too close again.

“what makes you think i wanted to?”

he raised a brow. “didn’t you?”

you looked away. “just give me the ice cream.”

you sat in the hallway. backs against the wall. knees brushing again.

“so,” he said between bites, “what’s your tragic backstory?”

you laughed. “you first.”

he grinned, lazy and warm. “gemini. commitment issues. abandonment issues.”

“wow. the holy trinity.”

“and you?”

you shrugged. “recovering situationship survivor.”

he winced. “yikes.”

“you?”

“commitmentphobe with a god complex.”

you scoffed at him. “wow.. you’re actually self-aware?”

“only after 2 a.m.,” he said. “and only with you.”

you told yourself it was a joke. you told yourself the way he was looking at you didn’t make your heart do something stupid.

“haechan…” you started.

“yeah?”

“we’re not doing this.”

he paused.

“doing what?”

you glared. “this. flirting. late-night ice cream. emotional trauma swap. whatever this is.”

he nodded slowly. then smiled again. “yeah. no. definitely not. hallway buddies only.”

you both laughed.

but the silence after wasn’t light. it was heavy. like something was being buried beneath the joke.

when you got up to leave, he didn’t stop you.

because this—whatever it was—was exactly what you both knew you shouldn’t be starting.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

you had a face mask on, hair tied, brooklyn nine-nine playing, and had just settled into your comfort burrito blanket cocoon when your phone buzzed.

DNI!!: can’t sleep

DNI!!: door’s open

you stared at the screen. then stared at your reflection. you looked like someone who’d lost a bet.

you told yourself you wouldn’t don’t go.

then grabbed your hoodie and went anyway.

his lights were dimmed, just one lamp glowing in the corner. the tv was playing some terrible reality dating show—a girl was crying because her man of two days chose someone else during a “trust fall challenge.”

“wow,” you said, sitting on the edge of his couch. “art.”

“masterpiece,” he agreed. “shakespeare could never.”

you watched in silence for a bit. you felt him watching you.

“you didn’t knock,” he said softly.

“you said the door was open.”

he nodded, eyes still on you. “just saying. you used to knock.”

“you used to be less cryptic,” you muttered.

he smiled. “i’m still cryptic. you’re just getting better at reading me.”

you laughed nervously. then fell silent again.

on-screen, someone yelled, “he can’t even define the relationship!”

you scoffed. “DTR,” you said. “men fear it.”

“yeah,” haechan muttered. “i’ve always sucked at that part.”

you glanced at him. he was looking at the floor. “why?” you asked, before you could stop yourself.

he shrugged. “because... once you define it, you can’t pretend it’s not real.”

you didn’t know what to say to that. so you didn’t say anything.

the silence stretched. not awkward. just heavy.

he was sitting closer now. when had he moved?

your knees touched. neither of you pulled away.

you looked at him. he looked at you.

and in that one, too-long second—your whole body went still.

he leaned in. just enough. slowly. like he was giving you time to stop it. your heart felt like it was trying to escape your ribcage.

you knew this was the line.

you knew you shouldn’t.

and still—your hand moved on its own, resting lightly on his knee.

that’s when he froze.

“if we do this,” he said, voice low, “everything changes.”

you swallowed. “i know.”

another beat.

“so, are we—”

you exhaled sharply. stood up. paced toward the door.

“we’re not doing this. we can’t”

he stayed on the couch, silent.

you didn’t turn back.

you didn’t see the way his expression crumpled just slightly.

you didn’t see how he watched the door long after it closed.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

you were just on your way back from seol’s, high on caffeine and gossip, with a paper bag full of banana bread and a playlist queued for the walk upstairs. you didn’t expect to find him standing in front of your apartment door.

hoodie again. hands in pockets. that same boyish look that screamed, “i swear i’m trouble, but you’ll like it.”

“you forget your key?” you asked, unlocking your door.

“no,” he said. “just forgot what it felt like to be around you.”

“what?” you said, laughing awkwardly.

“that sounded better in my head,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

you tilted your head. “why are you here, haechan?”

he didn’t answer right away.

just looked at you like he was trying to memorize your face before doing something stupid.

“i think i’ve been trying to find excuses to see you,” he said.

you went quiet.

he stepped a little closer.

“i think i’ve been trying to forget you, too,” you whispered.

he stopped.

“and how’s that going?”

“terribly.”

he smiled—not the usual cocky, smug one. this was smaller. sadder. almost hopeful.

“can i come in?” he asked.

you didn’t trust yourself to answer with words.

so you opened the door.

and he followed.

you didn’t even turn the lights on—just tossed your bag on the counter and leaned against it, heart hammering like it knew what was coming.

haechan stood in your kitchen like he’d done it a thousand times.

“you want tea?” you asked, trying to buy yourself time. sanity.

“only if you’re making it shirtless.”

“you’re unbelievable.”

“you say that like it’s new information.”

you rolled your eyes. “you want tea or not?”

“nah,” he said softly, walking up behind you. “right now, i only want… you.”

your breath caught.

you turned around slowly. he was too close. too warm. too everything.

his hand lifted—not to grab or pull or take—just to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

“if we do this,” you said, barely audible, “we can’t pretend anymore.”

he nodded. “i’m tired of pretending.”

“we said we shouldn’t.”

“we also said we wouldn’t.”

you paused. “but right now?”

“we couldn’t not.”

that was all it took.

your mouths met halfway. desperate. months of lingering glances and almost-kisses finally unraveling like thread. your hands tangled in his hoodie. his fingers dug into your waist like he’d die if he let go.

it wasn’t graceful. it wasn’t planned.

but it was real.

too real.

somewhere between the kisses and the way he whispered your name like it hurt, your brain screamed that this is a mistake.

but your body? your heart?

they didn’t care.

on your couch, beneath the dim kitchen light, you let him see the version of you you’d kept guarded. and in return, he gave you the one he never let anyone else hold.

when it was over—when your breathing slowed and the silence returned—he traced lazy circles on your bare shoulder and murmured,

“i don’t want to go back to pretending.”

you didn’t say anything.

you didn’t need to.

because you were already too far in.

and somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew.

this was the beginning of something you wouldn’t be able to walk away from.

couldn’t

“you couldn’t DTR, wouldn’t it be nice if we could stay friends?”

you woke up to the sound of the kettle whistling.

for a second, you thought you were dreaming. your place was never that quiet in the morning—usually it was just the hum of your phone alarm and the silent screaming of your soul.

but this time?

there was someone in your kitchen.

and he was humming.

you sat up slowly, hair a mess, shirt barely clinging to your shoulder. it smelled like him. which was unfair. because now you couldn’t even wear your own clothes without remembering last night.

you padded out to the kitchen, barefoot and sleepy-eyed, only to find haechan pouring hot water into two mugs.

he turned at the sound of your yawn, grinning.

“morning to you too,” he said, sliding one of the mugs across the counter. “tea. not made shirtless. sorry to disappoint.”

“wow, you made me tea?”

“i did,” he said. “don’t worry, i didn’t poison it. i only do that on the third hookup.”

you snorted, reluctantly smiling. “so this is a hookup?”

he paused.

the room felt too still.

“i mean,” he started, “unless you’d prefer we call it a… spiritual bonding ritual or something.”

you gave him a look.

“kidding,” he said quickly. “honestly? i don’t know. i just… i wanted to make you tea. that’s all.”

you sipped it. still warm. still slightly sweet.

“you’re weird,” you muttered.

he leaned against the counter, watching you.

“and you kissed me back.”

“well, you kissed me first.”

“you moaned.”

“you’re lucky i didn’t bite.”

“..you did bite.”

you choked on your tea.

he laughed.

god, why did he always laugh like that? like it came from somewhere deep in his chest. like he wasn’t scared of anything.

but you were.

scared of this. of him. of how this already felt like something you couldn’t name without ruining it.

“you’re still here,” you said quietly, setting your mug down.

he tilted his head.

“did you think i’d leave?”

you shrugged.

he didn’t say anything. just stepped forward, gently taking your hand in his.

“i meant it,” he said. “last night. i don’t wanna pretend anymore.”

you swallowed hard. “and what exactly are we doing?”

he didn’t answer right away.

instead, he pressed a kiss to the back of your hand.

then your wrist.

then your shoulder.

your breath hitched.

“i don’t know,” he whispered. “but i do know i’m not ready to stop.”

and neither were you.

so when he kissed you again—slow, soft, full of unspoken things—you kissed him back.

not because it was a good idea.

not because it would end well.

but because you couldn’t resist.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

the second time it happened was thursday.

because, of course, it had to be thursday.

thursday was supposed to be uneventful. boring. uneventful-boring-thursday. but then he showed up at your door again, hoodie down, smile up, eyes bright like he knew you were going to let him in.

you didn’t even ask why. just stepped aside and said, “you know the drill. shoes off.”

he toed them off dramatically and flopped onto your couch like he paid rent.

“you’re lucky you’re cute,” he said.

“you’re lucky i’m lonely.”

he clutched his chest. “ouch. right in the fragile male ego.”

“you have an ego?”

“only when you’re around.”

he had a way of saying things that sounded like jokes but felt like truths. you hated how easily you blushed. how fast your heartbeat got when he looked at you like that.

“i brought chips,” he said, pulling out a bag from his hoodie like it was contraband. “and the ramen you like.”

you narrowed your eyes. “are you trying to seduce me with carbs?”

“is it working?”

“...yes.”

and just like that, thursday was ruined.

or maybe, saved.

because the next thing you knew, he was in your kitchen again—badly boiling noodles and dramatically sneezing from the spice, and you were sitting on the counter, swinging your legs like a teenager with a crush.

you weren’t dating.

but you weren’t just friends.

you were something in-between, something unnamed, something filled with stupid inside jokes and unsaid feelings and late-night cravings that weren’t just about ramen.

after dinner, he sat a little too close. your knees touched. your pinkies brushed. he let his hand rest on your thigh and didn’t move it.

he kissed you again—slow, teasing, like he had all the time in the world.

you didn’t talk much that night.

you didn’t have to.

you both lay there in your bed, barely under the covers, silence pressing between you like a second body.

“do you want to sleep over?” you asked, almost too quietly.

he blinked. “i mean… yeah. if that’s okay?”

you nodded.

and he stayed.

after that, it just became a thing.

he’d show up.

sometimes with food. sometimes with excuses. sometimes with neither.

you stopped asking why.

he’d tease you when you wore his shirt around the apartment, and you’d throw a pillow at him when he called you “cutie with commitment issues.”

“takes one to know one,” you always shot back.

“i’m not one for titles, in other words, terrified. that p*ssy kept my words out the door”

you didn’t talk about what you were doing. you didn’t make rules. but there were rules.

1. no sleepovers unless it “just happened.”

2. no texting first (but replying fast enough so it didn’t look like you cared too much).

3. no kissing in public.

4. no getting caught.

and the most important one: no feelings. ever. not even a little.

but feelings were slippery.

feelings showed up when you watched him fall asleep on your couch, curled up like a cat.

feelings showed up when he brought you cough drops and orange juice the second you said, “i feel kinda off today.”

feelings showed up when he danced with you in your tiny living room to a dumb commercial jingle and said, “see? we’d win ‘so you think you can dance: emotionally unavailable edition.’”

you laughed, but your heart skipped.

because deep down, you knew:

you weren’t emotionally unavailable.

you were just emotionally terrified.

you told yourself this was fine.

you weren’t one for titles, anyway.

but one night—a random wednesday—you caught yourself staring at him for too long.

watching him fold your laundry like it was normal. like he belonged here.

and it hit you.

you’d memorized him.

his dumb jokes.

his bad habits.

the way he’d shut down when he needed you the most.

you knew him better than you were supposed to.

and worse?

you didn’t want anyone else to.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

one night, while he was getting dressed after—hoodie half on, hair messy, lips still swollen from kissing—he paused in your doorway.

“you ever think about what we’re doing?”

you blinked. “what do you mean?”

he shrugged. “i dunno. like… do you ever wish it was more?”

your chest tightened.

“haechan…”

“i’m not saying we should,” he said quickly, waving his hands. “i’m just saying… wouldn’t it be nice?”

your silence was the only answer he needed.

he left a few minutes later, same as always.

but something had shifted.

something you didn’t have the words for yet.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

you shouldn’t have gone.

you knew it the second you stepped into the apartment.

because there he was. already wearing that stupid smug smile. already making himself way too comfortable on jaemin’s beanbag like he wasn’t half the reason your knees were still sore.

“look who decided to show up,” haechan said, raising his brows.

you kept your expression neutral. “someone had to make this room attractive.”

“and that someone’s obviously me,” he shot back.

jeno raised a brow. “you two flirting or fighting?”

you both answered at the same time.

“fighting.”

“flirting.”

everyone groaned.

“we get it,” renjun muttered. “sexual tension. unresolved. like literally every drama. can we watch the movie now?”

you sat as far away from him as possible. on the floor. next to seol, who immediately gave you a look.

“you good?” she whispered.

you nodded. liar.

she leaned closer. “you sure you’re not sleeping with him?”

you blinked innocently. “who?”

“don’t ‘who’ me. that look he gave you just now? that was either i’ve seen you naked or i plan to very soon.”

“seol, shut up,” you whispered, face heating.

across the room, haechan was very obviously not watching the movie. his eyes kept flickering to you.

he stretched lazily, arm brushing jeno’s shoulder.

“this movie’s mid,” he announced.

“you were the one who suggested it,” jaemin said.

“yeah, and now i regret it.”

you were trying so hard to focus on the screen. but you could feel him watching you. every glance burned. your fingers twitched.

seol’s eyes narrowed. “girl, your ears are turning red.”

“i’m fine,” you hissed.

haechan got up a few minutes later. “bathroom,” he muttered. but the second he passed behind you, his hand ghosted over your back. quick. featherlight. like he just had to touch you.

your breath caught.

seol glanced between you two.

“…nope. they’re definitely f—”

“back in a sec!” you blurted, hopping up and heading toward the hallway like your life depended on it.

it kind of did.

he was waiting.

not in the bathroom.

but leaning against the wall in the hallway, arms crossed, like he knew you’d follow.

“you know,” he said, voice low. “we could’ve just stayed home.”

“we’re being normal,” you said, avoiding his gaze.

he stepped closer.

“this isn’t normal,” he murmured.

“we’re trying to be.”

“trying isn’t succeeding.”

you were breathing too fast.

he moved again, backing you up against the wall.

“they’re literally in the other room,” you whispered.

“you think i care?” he said, smiling like the devil himself. “you looked at me like you wanted me to care.”

your eyes fluttered shut. “this is a bad idea.”

“so was the first time. and the second. and the fifth. but you keep kissing me anyway.”

you swallowed hard.

“you said we wouldn’t do this again.”

“you said that,” he said, closing the gap between you. “i never agreed.”

and then he kissed you.

like the world didn’t exist outside that hallway.

like every “we shouldn’t” was just foreplay for “we will anyway.”

his hands were under your hoodie. your fingers were tangled in his hair. the sound of the movie barely reached you—the real noise was the one in your chest, that loud, crashing ache of god, i want you, but god, i shouldn’t

his hand brushed against your hip, a deliberate, teasing touch that sent a shiver down your spine. you bit your lip, pulse quickening as you fought the urge to press yourself against him.

the sound of laughter from the living room seemed to fade into the background, drowned out by the pounding of your heart. you knew you were playing with fire, but the risk only added to the allure. you tilted your head, meeting his gaze.

"you know," you said, voice barely above a whisper,

"we're not exactly being subtle."

he smirked, his confidence unwavering.

"who said we need to be?" his fingers traced the edge of your hoodie, his touch light but deliberate. "they’re too busy with their own drama to notice us." his words were a challenge, a dare you couldn't resist.

your resolve wavered as his hand slid up your side, his thumb grazing the sensitive skin just below your ribcage. you leaned into him, body responding to his touch with a mind of its own.

"and if they do?" you teased, voice trembling slightly.

"then they'll see what they've been missing," he replied, his tone daring.

before you could respond, he cupped your jaw, pulling you closer. his lips brushed against yours, a fleeting touch that left you breathless. the kiss was soft, almost tentative, but it ignited a fire within you that you couldn't ignore.

you wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing yourself against him as the kiss deepened. his hands moved to your waist, pulling you tighter until there was no space between you.

the hallway seemed to shrink around you, the world narrowing to just the two of you and the heat of your desire. you moaned softly into his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair as you surrendered to the moment.

his hands moved lower, sliding over your hips and down to your thighs. he lifted you effortlessly, pressing you against the wall as he kissed you with a hunger that left no doubt about his intentions.

you wrapped your legs around his waist, your heart racing as you felt the hardness of his body against yours. the thrill of being so close to getting caught only heightened the sensation, the risk adding an edge to your passion.

then jeno’s voice rang down the hallway. “bro, what’s taking you so long? are you pooping or—”

you broke the kiss, breathing like you’d just run a marathon.

“back in a sec!” he yelled, way too cheerful.

you pulled away from him, fixed your hoodie, hair a mess, face hot, and mouth swollen.

he winked at you. “so… movie?”

you glared. “i hate you.”

he grinned. “you couldn’t.”

and you didn’t deny it.

“i could take more shots or i could take you off your blouse”

the party was already a mistake.

not because it was boring—but because the second you walked in and locked eyes with him from across the room, everything else just turned into background noise.

haechan was already leaning against the kitchen counter, red cup in hand, loose black shirt and smug grin fully deployed.

you hated how he looked at you like he had a secret.

you hated it more because you were the secret.

you didn’t approach him.

you did what any self-respecting person would do.

you mingled, you laughed at renjun’s sarcastic commentary, you complimented someone’s fake fur jacket. and you ignored the way your skin buzzed under his stare.

seol noticed first.

“he hasn’t stopped staring at you,” she muttered over the music, sipping something suspiciously green.

“he’s looking at the chips behind me.”

“right. and i’m looking at the dip.”

you rolled your eyes, but when you turned around, he was gone.

haechan had disappeared.

and somehow, that made it worse.

because now you were aware of him—like heat at your back, like footsteps you couldn’t hear yet. like a ghost you definitely had unfinished business with.

you wandered down the hall, claiming you were looking for the bathroom.

you weren’t.

you knew exactly where you were going.

and there he was.

in one of the empty rooms, door cracked open just enough for you to catch a glimpse of him sitting on the desk, legs swinging, cup still in hand.

he didn’t look surprised.

he just tilted his head.

“looking for something?” he asked.

you stepped in and closed the door behind you. and locked it.

“you left without saying hi.”

“well, you seemed occupied.. pretending not to know me,” he said, voice amused.

you crossed your arms. “we said no hooking up at parties.”

“we also said no feelings,” he replied. “and yet here we are.”

“this is different.”

“is it?” he slid off the desk, walking slowly toward you. “or are we just really bad at rules?”

your breath caught when he reached you.

“don’t look at me like that,” you whispered.

“like what?”

“like you’re gonna do something reckless.”

he leaned in. “define reckless.”

you didn’t answer.

your lips already did.

the kiss was hot and desperate, all the tension from earlier spilling over. his hands were on your waist, yours fisting in his shirt like you needed to anchor yourself.

he lifted you onto the desk like you weighed nothing. like he needed you closer. like he didn’t care who walked in.

“someone could come in,” you mumbled against his mouth.

“door’s locked.”

“people are literally outside.”

he grinned. “guess we’ll be quiet, then.”

your laugh was breathless. “you are never quiet.”

“watch me,” he whispered, and kissed you again.

it was fast. messy. intense. the kind of kiss that made your knees weak and your heart angry with you. because you knew better.

but you didn’t want to do better.

you hadn’t even had a drink.

you didn’t need one.

he was already intoxicating.

“this is so bad,” you moaned,

“the worst,” he agreed. “we’re going to hell.”

“we said we’d stop.”

“we say a lot of things.”

“and what are we gonna say after this?”

he met your eyes.

and for once, he didn’t joke.

“nothing,” he said. “we don’t have to say anything. we never do.”

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

you were at his place.

again.

for “homework.”

because apparently, two people who have the self-control of soggy toast thought they could survive a full hour of proximity without pouncing on each other.

“seriously,” you said, dropping your bag on his bed. “we’re gonna study. like, for real. no distractions.”

haechan raised both hands in fake surrender. “no distractions. i swear.”

you narrowed your eyes.

“no weird comments. no staring. no—”

“sexually suggestive jokes? i would never.”

“haechan.”

he smiled, all teeth. “fine. serious face. hit me with the notes.”

ten minutes in, he was already failing.

you were mid-sentence, reading off your notes, when you noticed it.

he was staring at your lips.

you didn’t look up. “stop it.”

“stop what?” he said, all fake innocence.

“you’re doing that thing where you pretend to listen but you’re actually thinking about making out with me.”

“no i’m not,” he said. “i’m thinking about undressing you with my teeth.”

you dropped your pen. “jesus christ—“

“what?” he laughed, leaning back against the wall. “you said no weird comments, not no honest ones.”

“you’re impossible.”

“and yet, here you are.”

you glared. “this is why we can’t do normal things. like sit. and study. and exist without humping.”

“not my fault you look hot when you’re focused.”

you turned to him, exasperated. “you promised.”

“i promised nothing. you said, ‘let’s study,’ and i nodded while imagining you in nothing but a t-shirt.”

you stood. “i’m going home.”

“no, you’re not.”

“watch me.”

“you say that every time, but then—” he stood too, walking toward you like you were prey and he was seconds from pouncing—“you remember how good we are at not studying.”

“we said we wouldn’t do this again.”

he paused in front of you. close. too close.

you hated that you were already leaning in.

“we shouldn’t do this again,” you corrected.

“yet, we couldn’t not,” he whispered, brushing his fingers down your arm.

you stared at him.

this was supposed to be simple.

but now, he was looking at you like you were the only thing in the world that made sense, and your heart was doing that thing again, that stupid, fluttery, traitorous thing—

you grabbed his face and kissed him.

and he laughed into it, breath hitching, like he’d known you’d give in.

like he’d always know.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

you woke up tangled in his sheets.

his arm slung over your waist. his face buried in your neck. your phone buzzing somewhere beneath your discarded jeans with three missed calls from seol

seolace: u said “just homework”

seolace: be so serious rn

seolace: r u . still . at his place .

you threw your phone under the pillow and turned to face him.

he was awake.

“hi, baby” he mumbled, voice scratchy.

“we’re not doing this again.” you said—ignoring the tiny somersault your stomach just did

he smirked, eyes still closed. “totally.”

“i’m serious.”

“mhmm.”

you sighed, brushing a strand of hair off his face.

you both knew you were lying.

but for now?

you didn’t care.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

you were up late, preparing for midterms, when your phone suddenly buzzed next to you.

DNI!!: hey, are u up?

DNI!!: not in a ‘come over’ way

DNI!!: okay. maybe in a ‘can i come over’ way

DNI!!: but also.. i brought food

you: if it’s just fries again i’m blocking u

DNI!!: c’monnn babee it’s fries AND ice cream

DNI!!: pleeaaasseee )): u know u love me

DNI!!: fries* 😊

you opened your door three minutes later in mismatched socks and a shirt that—may or may not—have been his.

he looked at you like you were ridiculous.

you rolled your eyes, tossing him a napkin. he didn’t sit on the floor this time—instead, he plopped onto your bed like he lived there. like it was normal. like this whole setup was normal.

“you look tired,” he said through a mouthful of fries.

“midterms,” you replied.

he frowned. “are you okay?”

you nodded. “just a little burnt out.”

he reached over, brushing his thumb across your cheek like it was nothing. like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“you should rest more,” he said, soft.

you blinked.

haechan wasn’t… sweet. not like this.

he was chaotic. loud. reckless. he made fun of you for having a notes app titled ‘reasons not to text him.’

he wasn't supposed to care.

you cleared your throat. “you’re being weird.. again.”

“no i’m not.” he looks at you confused.

“you’re being like… thoughtful.”

he rolled his eyes, shoving a donut in front of your mouth. “fine. next time i’ll throw fries at your face instead.”

you smiled, biting into the donut. “thank you.”

he shrugged. “don’t mention it.”

but he stayed. longer than he usually did.

you watched a dumb movie. you argued about which side of the blanket was yours. he dozed off halfway through with his head on your shoulder, arm slung across your stomach like it belonged there.

you didn’t move.

you just stared at the ceiling, heartbeat doing laps in your chest.

this wasn’t just casual anymore.

you both knew it.

and when he stirred in the early morning light, blinking up at you with sleep in his eyes and a softness in his voice that made your throat ache—

“do you want me to go?”

you almost said no.

but you smiled instead. like always.

“probably.”

he nodded.

but he didn’t move.

“it’s not anything you said, it’s everything you didn’t”

it was raining.

not the dramatic, movie-style kind—just a steady, quiet drizzle tapping against your window as the afternoon faded into blue.

you hadn’t planned to see him.

he hadn’t planned to show up.

but at some point in the day, you’d both ended up in your bed again, sharing your last bag of popcorn and making sarcastic commentary over a romcom neither of you were really watching.

you were lying on your stomach. he was on his back beside you, fingers lazily scrolling through his phone, feet nudging yours every few minutes like a bored child.

“how is it,” he said suddenly, “that you always smell like vanilla and bad decisions?”

you kicked his leg. “how is it that you always sound like a red flag wrapped in a hoodie?”

“it’s a gift.”

you laughed, eyes fluttering shut.

he was quiet for a moment.

“i like this.”

you peeked at him. “the movie?”

“no. this,” he said, waving vaguely at the space between you. “us. being here. it’s... nice.”

you tried to play it off. “don’t get sappy on me now. i will physically throw you out.”

he smiled, soft and slow. “i mean it.”

you looked away, heart thudding in your chest in a way that was not normal. definitely not casual. it was the kind of thud that reminded you that this whole thing—whatever it was—had gotten far out of hand.

“you’ve been acting unusual lately,” you said.

“you always say that when i’m not trying to get in your pants.”

“because… it freaks me out.”

“good. fear keeps things spicy.”

you scoffed.

then, silence.

not uncomfortable. just… full.

full of things neither of you were ready to say.

finally, you broke it.

“you ever think about how we shouldn’t have started this?”

he didn’t look at you.

but he nodded.

“yeah,” he said. “all the time.”

you turned to face him.

“do you regret it?”

he glanced at you then, eyes unreadable.

“no,” he said. “but sometimes i wish it didn’t feel like this.”

“like what?”

“like… if we keep going, one of us is gonna get hurt.”

you swallowed hard.

you knew he was right.

you also knew you weren’t ready to stop.

you reached over and touched his hand—just barely, just enough—and whispered, “stay. just for a bit.”

he did.

no touching. no kissing. no jokes.

just you, him, and the rain outside.

and all the things you still weren’t saying.

“you go and shut me out, figures, you gemini”

it had been one of those nights—the kind where the weight of the world seemed to settle on your shoulders, and the only remedy was to dull the edges with a bottle and a bad rom-com.

but just as you were about to surrender to sleep, the sharp buzz of the doorbell jolted you back to reality.

you groaned, setting the glass down with a thud. who the hell would be at your door at this hour? you weren’t expecting anyone, and the only person who ever showed up unannounced was him.

and the thought alone made your stomach twist. you hesitated, debating whether to ignore it, but curiosity—or maybe something more stubborn—got the better of you. you dragged yourself to the door, flipping on the hallway light as you went.

there he stood, leaning against the frame with that infuriating smirk plastered across his face. his hair was tousled, like he’d run his hands through it a dozen times, and his shirt was half-tucked, as if he’d thrown it on in a rush.

“forgot my charger,” he said, his voice low and casual, like this was the most normal thing in the world.

you crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes. “at midnight? really?”

he shrugged, that smirk widening. “figured you’d be up. you’re always up this late.”

you wanted to slam the door in his face. but instead, you stepped aside, gesturing for him to come in.

“it’s in the living room. take it and go.”

he didn’t move. just stood there, his gaze locking onto yours, and for a moment, the air between you crackled with something unspoken.

you knew you should’ve pushed him out, should’ve kept your distance, but before you could think, you were closing the gap between you, your lips crashing against his. it was reckless, impulsive, and entirely against your better judgment. but it was also familiar—too familiar.

he didn’t hesitate, his arms wrapping around you like he’d been waiting for this moment all along.

stumbling backward toward the bedroom, the world narrowing to just the two of you. clothes were discarded, excuses and self-control unraveling like cheap thread.

you didn’t want to think about why this was happening again, why you kept letting it happen. you just wanted to feel something—anything—other than the emptiness that had been gnawing at you all night.

“i hate you,” you whispered against his mouth, your breath hot and uneven.

he chuckled, his hands sliding under your shirt, tracing the curve of your waist. “you love me,” he murmured, his tone teasing but his touch anything but.

you didn’t correct him. you didn’t say anything. instead, you let yourself get lost in him again—in the way his lips moved against yours, in the way his hands seemed to know every inch of your body.

it was the kind of kiss that made your head spin, the kind of touch that felt like it was trying to memorize you. the kind of closeness that always made you forget how much this wasn’t supposed to matter.

but then—right in the middle of it, when your heart was pounding and your skin was flushed and your mind was a blur of want—he spoke.

his voice was low, almost a whisper, but it cut through the haze like a knife.

“god, i think i’m in love with you.”

you froze. just for a second. but it was enough.

he didn’t notice. or maybe he did. but he didn’t stop. his lips kept moving against yours, his hands kept roaming, like the words hadn’t just dropped between you like a grenade with the pin pulled.

you let him kiss you again. let him touch you like nothing had happened. like the words hadn’t changed everything.

but they had.

later, when it was quiet and you were lying there in the dark, your back to his chest and his arm around your waist, you whispered, "did you mean what you said?"

he was quiet.

too quiet.

"haechan?"

he let out a soft exhale.

"no," he said. too quickly. too carefully. "i didn’t mean it."

you nodded.

but you didn’t believe him.

he didn’t believe himself either.

but neither of you said anything else.

and in the silence that followed, you both realized something terrifying.

this thing you swore wasn’t real?

it was starting to feel like the only real thing either of you had.

“you wonder why suddenly i’m comin’ off indifferent. what you don’t seem to understand is..”

the next time you saw him, it was as if nothing had happened.

you opened the door, and he was standing there in his stupid hoodie, holding a bag of chips and some sour gummies like that could fix whatever this was.

“snack delivery,” he said, way too cheerful.

you raised an eyebrow. “you don’t even like sour gummies.”

he grinned. “you do, though.”

and just like that, the air shifted.

you stepped aside and let him in.

you sat beside each other on your bed—a little farther apart than usual. the movie played. the snacks sat between you. and the silence was louder than the speakers.

“so,” he said eventually, “you seen that tiktok where—”

“haechan,” you interrupted, voice quiet.

he looked at you.

you didn’t even know what you wanted to say. only that something was caught in your throat and it was killing you not to ask.

but instead of saying “you told me you loved me” or “did you mean it” or “what are we doing,” you just said, “why are you acting this way.”

he blinked. “you’re the one who’s acting.. strange.”

“no, you are.”

“i literally brought you snacks.”

“yeah, you’re being fake nice.”

he frowned, leaning back on his hands. “you’re being fake mean.”

“and you’re being fake fine.”

and there it was.

silence again. thick. awful.

you sighed, “can we not do this?”

“do what?”

“this thing where we pretend we’re mad at each other so we don’t have to talk about last time.”

he bit the inside of his cheek.

you were right.

and you were mad. just not at him. not really.

you were mad at yourself. for letting it get this far. for letting it matter.

but what were you supposed to say? that you heard him say he loved you, and then heard him take it back? that you wanted it to be real, even though it shouldn’t be?

he reached for the bag of gummies and started eating like it would fill the silence.

you let him.

but you didn’t move closer this time.

and he didn’t either.

“it’s not always peachy, look, love ain’t that easy”

you hadn’t seen him in a week.

not because he hadn’t tried.

he had—three calls, four texts, one passive-aggressive meme, and a “u left ur hoodie btw” that you knew was just an excuse.

you didn’t reply.

you couldn’t.

because it wasn’t just about the hookup anymore. it hadn’t been for a while.

you were catching feelings, and he was pretending not to. and the truth was—you couldn’t keep pretending too.

so when he showed up again—hands in his pockets, chewing gum like this wasn’t the first time he’d stood outside your door with something to say and no idea how to say it—you almost didn’t open.

almost.

you cracked the door open.

“i don’t want to do this anymore,” you said.

no hello. no smile. just the truth.

he blinked. “okay. wow.”

you nodded, bracing yourself.

he looked away, jaw tight. “you could’ve at least answered.”

“what was i supposed to say?” your voice was low. “we were hooking up, and then you said you were in love with me—and then you acted like it didn’t matter.”

“you asked if i meant it,” he said. “what was i supposed to do?”

“you could’ve told the truth.”

he was silent.

and that said everything.

you swallowed. “you know what hurt more than hearing you didn’t mean it?”

he looked at you, eyes suddenly soft. guarded.

“what?” he said, barely above a whisper.

“you didn’t even ask how i felt.”

he opened his mouth. closed it again.

and that pause—that silence—said more than anything he could’ve.

you stepped aside. you weren’t sure why. some part of you still hoping, still stupid.

he walked in slowly, looking around like the place had changed. like you had.

you followed him into the living room. it felt smaller with him in it. heavier.

he sat on the edge of the couch but didn’t speak. just looked at you.

you crossed your arms. “don’t say it again.”

his brows knit. “say what?”

“what you said last time.”

he leaned forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped like he didn’t trust them. “why not?”

you shook your head, voice flat. “because it doesn’t change anything. because we both know this—” you gestured between the two of you, the tension, the mess. “this isn’t real.”

he was quiet for a moment. then, with more force than before, he said, “feels pretty real to me.”

you stared at him. hard. “you always make it feel real. you say things like that, and you look at me like this is everything. and i let it get to me. i let myself believe it means something.”

“maybe it does,” he said, standing. “maybe i mean it.”

you searched his face, hoping for something steady, something solid. but there was only more uncertainty. more wanting.

“then why does it still feel like i’m the only one who’ll get hurt?” you asked.

he didn’t answer.

not right away.

and maybe that was the answer.

“you couldn’t define the relationship,” you said, voice low and shaking now. “you couldn’t say what you wanted.”

he took a step forward.

you took one back.

“don’t,” you whispered.

“y/n—”

“we shouldn’t have started this,” you said. “and now i couldn’t stop even if i wanted to.”

his face softened. “then don’t stop.”

you almost laughed. almost.

but instead, you stepped back toward the door.

“you need to go,” you said, quiet but clear.

he didn’t fight you. just nodded slowly.

“fine,” he said. “but we’re not done talking about this.”

you didn’t reply. just opened the door and waited.

he paused for a second. then walked out.

you didn’t slam the door.

you just closed it gently.

finally.

then you leaned against it, your chest tight, your mind loud. you knew you’d made the right decision. you knew it was the only way to protect yourself.

but still, his words lingered in the silence like smoke.

and something in you knew that nothing would be quite the same again.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

renjun was telling some dumb story about how jaemin got kicked out of a 7/11 for trying to microwave his socks.

the group was cracking up. seol was doubled over. jeno had tears in his eyes. and haechan—haechan was laughing too, but his eyes kept flicking to you.

you didn’t laugh.

you smiled, sure. nodded. even chimed in once or twice. but your body was angled slightly away from him, arms crossed over your chest like a shield.

he noticed.

you noticed him noticing.

and seol definitely noticed both of you.

“what’s wrong with you two?” she asked suddenly, cutting through the noise like a knife.

you and haechan turned at the same time, startled. “what?”

“you’re acting weird,” she said, squinting. “like... not the funny, flirty weird. like actual weird.”

“we’re fine,” you said too quickly.

“yeah,” haechan added, forcing a laugh. “totally fine.”

the silence that followed was awkward enough to kill the entire room’s vibe.

jaemin blinked. “damn. now it’s weird for us, too.”

jeno cleared his throat. “anyone want more chips?”

you stood up. “i’ll help.”

haechan stood up too. “i got it.”

you both reached for the same bowl and your fingers brushed. it was nothing. a second. a spark. but it felt like being burned.

you flinched.

he did too.

and when your eyes met, it was like looking at a stranger wearing the face of someone you used to know too well.

“you good?” he asked quietly.

“mhm,” you lied.

he nodded like he believed you. like you were both pretending this didn’t hurt.

you took the chips and walked back to the others.

he stayed behind.

renjun watched him from the couch.

“not that deep, right?” renjun said casually, like a joke.

but it wasn’t.

and haechan didn’t answer.

because it was deep.

and it was drowning them.

“you don’t pick up when i call, unless i call you mine”

you don’t remember who called first.

it didn’t matter.

and then—quiet knocks. familiar eyes. the kind of silence that meant everything.

he stepped inside like he didn’t know what he was doing.

you let him in like you didn’t either.

no words. not at first.

you were both so tired of pretending. so tired of brushing shoulders in rooms full of people and pretending you didn’t notice how the distance hurt.

you kissed him.

and it wasn’t frantic this time.

it was careful.

like maybe, just maybe, if you kissed him gently enough, it wouldn’t break your heart.

his hands found your waist. yours tangled in his hair. the kind of kiss that tasted like forgiveness, or something dangerously close to it.

“you don’t have to say anything,” you whispered, breaking the kiss to breathe.

he shook his head slowly. “i want to.”

but he didn’t. not yet.

he touched you like it was the last time. like he wanted to remember everything. how your skin felt under his palms. how you sighed when he kissed down your jaw. how you looked at him when your guard finally dropped.

every movement was slow. like a secret unspoken. like you both knew this wasn’t just hooking up anymore, but neither of you wanted to say it out loud.

because saying it would make it real.

because if it was real, it could end.

he kissed every inch of you like he owed you an apology. like he wanted to say sorry for every moment you doubted him. for every night you stared at the ceiling, wondering what the hell you meant to him.

you looked up at him, breath catching. “haechan—”

“i meant it.”

your heart stopped.

“that night,” he said softly, pressing his forehead to yours. “when i said i was in love with you. i meant it.”

you blinked up at him, stunned. raw. silent.

“i just—” he exhaled. “i didn’t want it to be real. because if it was, then this... this thing we had? it couldn’t stay casual anymore.”

you swallowed. “and now?”

his voice cracked. “now it’s too real to ignore.”

you kissed him again. longer this time. deeper.

and when your bodies moved together, it was less about need and more about knowing.

knowing that this was never just lust.

that underneath the sneaking around, the laughs, the tension—there was always something more.

you both just tried so hard not to see it.

but now, in the dark, there was nothing to hide behind.

it wasn’t much, but it was enough. for now, it had to be.

the afternoon light spilled softly through the curtains, wrapping the room in a golden hush. you closed your eyes, breathing him in, letting the stillness wrap around you like a promise.

his heartbeat pulsed steady beneath your ear, a quiet rhythm that told you—he was here. this was real.

and yet, as the sun sank lower and shadows stretched long across the floor, a fragile ache bloomed in your chest. it felt too perfect, too fleeting.

his presence, his warmth, felt like something borrowed—something beautiful the world might decide you weren’t meant to keep. you wanted to ask him to stay. to whisper don’t go. but the words tangled behind your teeth.

so instead, you held him tighter. your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt like they could root you to him, like you could stop time if you just loved him hard enough.

and he felt it—somehow, he always did. his hand found your cheek, tender and knowing, his thumb tracing soft, grounding circles on your skin.

“baby…” he said softly, the word brushing against your heart more than your ears. he tilted your chin up just enough for your eyes to meet his.

“it’s okay,” he whispered, voice thick with something unspoken. maybe he meant this moment. maybe he meant you. maybe he meant the both of you.

you didn’t know. but with his arms around you and the world held at bay, you wanted to believe it. even just for now.

it was quiet when it ended.

your head on his chest. his hand running slowly down your back. breaths slowly syncing. hearts still racing.

and for the first time, he didn’t leave.

and for the first time, you didn’t ask him to stay.

he just did.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

the morning light came too fast.

you woke up before he did. you didn’t know what time it was. you didn’t care.

he was still beside you—breathing slow, chest rising and falling like nothing was wrong.

but something was.

something always had been.

you stared at the ceiling for a long time. longer than you meant to.

you wanted to stay like this—in the warmth of the sheets, in the comfort of his arm still lazily thrown across your waist, in the silence that hadn’t turned heavy yet.

but the second he blinked awake and looked at you… it hit you again.

this wasn’t yours.

not really.

he smiled, groggy and soft. “morning.”

you nodded. “hey.”

he leaned in to kiss you. and you let him.

but your hands didn’t reach for him the way they used to.

“you okay?” he asked, voice thick with sleep.

you hesitated. “yeah. just tired.”

you got up. slipped into your shirt. searched the floor for the rest of your clothes.

“you don’t have to rush out,” he said behind you. you paused. “i know.”

he sat up, rubbing his eyes. “did i.. say something wrong?”

you shook your head. “no. that’s the problem.” he frowned.

“you didn’t say anything,” you continued, still not facing him. “you didn’t say what this was. what we were. you didn’t ask what i wanted. or tell me what you wanted.”

“and i kept waiting,” you said softly. “for you to define it. for you to say something. anything. and you never did.”

“i didn’t know how,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

you finally turned around, arms crossed, heart exposed. “i know. and that’s okay. but i can’t keep doing this if we’re just gonna keep pretending it’s not something real.”

he looked at you, eyes searching. “but last night—”

“last night was real,” you said. “this morning... this is real too.”

“we’re not always peachy,” you said, echoing the words you both used to laugh at. “love isn’t that easy. but it also shouldn’t be this hard.”

he didn’t argue. instead, he nodded slowly. “i know.”

you slipped on your jacket. picked up your phone. opened the door.

you hesitated—one foot out the door, heart still inside.

and just like that—the door closed.

this time, for good.

“i drank too much tonight, to not try to call you up. i mean, that’s what our phones are for”

you didn’t mean to pour the second glass. or the third.

but it was quiet in the apartment—too quiet—and the clink of ice in the glass felt like the only sound that wouldn’t make you flinch.

you sat on the kitchen floor, back against the cabinet, knees pulled in, sipping something too strong just to feel something soft. it burned going down. not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you you were still here.

the playlist was still playing. his playlist.

you hadn’t touched it in months. maybe you thought deleting it would be too final, too much like deleting him. so it stayed, buried somewhere in your phone. and tonight, it just… started. autoplay, maybe. or fate.

you weren’t sure which hurt more. you laughed once, sharp and bitter, as the first tear slid down. you didn’t wipe it. what was the point?

because this wasn’t about missing him anymore. this was grief. not over him exactly, but over the version of you who once believed love—real, chaotic, aching love—could fix things.

you were wrong.

and he… was quiet now. no more late-night texts. no more inside jokes. no more “u up?” that really meant i miss you.

and he was wrong too.

haechan sat on the steps, a half-empty bottle dangling from his fingers, the night wind brushing over him like a ghost. he didn’t know what time it was. didn’t care.

he hadn’t called. hadn’t texted.

not because he didn’t think about it—he did. every night. especially tonight.

but because he knew you meant it this time. you were done.

and for once, he didn’t fight that. he let the silence stretch. he let it break him.

he tipped the bottle back and swallowed hard. it didn’t make the ache go away, just blurred it at the edges.

your name sat heavy on his tongue. your laugh echoed somewhere between his ears and his ribs.

he remembered the way you used to pull away after, like you were protecting yourself from wanting too much. but your eyes always lingered. you always looked back.

he closed his eyes. and quietly, like confessing something to the dark, he said, “i’m sorry.”

no one answered. but maybe somewhere, over the hum of that old playlist and the clink of your glass hitting the tile, you heard it anyway.

wouldn’t

“so,” seol said gently, handing you a mug of tea, “you wanna tell me what happened now, or do i have to sit here pretending i haven’t been waiting weeks for you to say something?”

you stared down at the steam. then, slowly, “we ended things.” she didn’t flinch. didn’t gasp. didn’t say finally like most people would’ve. just nodded.

“it wasn’t supposed to happen, you know? like… we weren’t even friends. we were just messing around. and i knew—god, i knew it wasn’t a good idea. i knew we shouldn’t.”

she hummed, sipping her tea. “but?” “but we did,” you whispered, bitterly. “because we couldn’t not.” seol reached over and squeezed your wrist gently.

“and he told me he loved me,” you said, voice barely audible now. “and he took it back. like it was something to be ashamed of.”

“i don’t think he meant to hurt me. i think he’s just scared. i think he’s used to everything being temporary. and i let that be enough for a while. i let it be enough that he stayed.” your laugh was dry. empty.

“but it wasn’t. because i kept waiting for something—anything—to make me feel like i was actually his. and he never gave me that. he never said it. and it’s not even the words i needed, it’s the fact that he didn’t try.”

she looked at you. “what would’ve made you stay?” you smiled, a little sad. “if i had his heart. that’s it. if i really had it, it wouldn’t have been this hard.” she set her tea down and pulled you into a hug. you let yourself fall into it, finally soft, finally tired, finally allowing yourself to feel the weight of it all.

“i loved him, seol,” you whispered into her shoulder. “i really did.”

“i know,” she whispered back. “and i’m proud of you for walking away anyway.” you nodded, blinking up at the ceiling like maybe it’d have answers. it didn’t. but she was right.

you walked away. and that had to count for something.

“you know i was never good at this,” haechan said, toeing the leg of the coffee table with his socked foot.

they were at jaemin’s place, eating stale pizza and drinking flat soda, because of course haechan only decided to talk about it at 1 a.m.

jaemin leaned back against the couch. “so, are you gonna tell me what happened with y/n or am i supposed to guess from your playlist getting weirdly depressing lately?”

haechan looked away, his jaw clenching. “we haven’t talked since… since that morning.” “the morning she walked out?” “yeah.”

jaemin didn’t say anything, letting the silence settle.

haechan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “i didn’t know how to tell her i loved her. i know that sounds stupid. i mean—i’ve said it before, to other people. but with her? it was different.”

“different how?”

haechan let out a low laugh. “like if i said it and she said it back, that meant i’d have to stop running from it. like it’d be real. and that scared the shit out of me.”

“but you did love her,” jaemin said. not a question. “yeah,” haechan said, eyes somewhere far. “like, all the little things. the way she acted like she didn’t care but would always bring an extra charger for me just in case. the way she’d make fun of me for being a gemini and still sleep in my shirt.”

jaemin snorted. “you are the most gemini person i’ve ever met.”

“don’t remind me.”

“so what happened?”

haechan leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “i didn’t give her what she needed. i kept making her guess. kept dodging the questions. like, every time she asked what are we, i answered with a joke or a kiss or a let’s not ruin this.”

he shook his head, voice quieter now. “she deserved more than that. she deserved more than… more than someone who couldn’t DTR.”

jaemin’s brows furrowed. “DTR?” “define the relationship.” jaemin blinked. “oh god, you really couldn’t even say it.”

haechan laughed, almost bitterly. “i know. and now she’s gone.” he fell silent again. the tv played something neither of them were watching.

“do you miss her?” jaemin asked after a while. “every day,” haechan said without hesitation. “but it wouldn’t be fair to go back. not if i still don’t know how to be what she needs.”

“so that’s it?” “yeah.” he looked up at jaemin with a soft, crooked smile. jaemin didn’t say anything. just leaned forward and nudged him lightly with his shoulder.

“you know,” jaemin said eventually, “you might not have said the right things. but you felt them. and that counts for something.” haechan swallowed hard. “yeah. just not enough.”

and for once, he didn’t try to joke it off. he just sat with it. with the ache of losing someone who had all of him—even the parts he never figured out how to give.

“wouldn’t it be nice if we could stay friends? but we shouldn’t.”

you were out on a tuesday.

one of those forgettable ones—no rain, no heartbreak, just a coffee run like any other.

until it wasn’t.

he looked the same. maybe a little older. hair longer. hoodie too familiar.

standing in line like he hadn’t once memorized your order.

like he hadn’t once whispered stupid jokes into your neck at 3 a.m.

he didn’t see you at first. too busy scrolling. you could’ve left. you almost did.

but something in you—that soft, reckless part—waited.

and then he looked up.

three people between you. two quiet months apart. his eyes widened, just barely.

fingers froze mid-scroll. and for a second, the silence between you felt louder than it ever had when you were together.

he didn’t smile. didn’t say hi. didn’t step forward. and neither did you.

and now, he just looked at you like a memory that still stung.

you were first to look away.

and when the bell above the coffee shop door chimed behind you, you knew—

you shouldn’t. you couldn’t. and now, you wouldn’t.

──── ☀︎ ──── ☀︎ ──── ☀︎ ────

💌: if you made it all the way here, thank you sooo much for taking the time to read this fic!! 🥹 i seriously can’t believe how much love my little stories have gotten so far—i mostly just write when a random idea smacks me in the face, so seeing people actually enjoy them?? unreal 💞

i wasn’t expecting to finish this one so quickly, but.. i may or may not have been thinking a lot—maybe too much—about a past relationship lately, i guessss that’s why this poured out of me so fast 😬

this is also the longest fic i’ve written yet! honestly, shouldn’t and wouldn’t were meant to be even longer, but guess who didn’t know tumblr has a 1000 text box limit 🫠 had to chop them down a lot ): still, i really really hope you had fun reading!!

p.s. please—don’t you dare settle for someone who won’t define the relationship. you deserve so much better 😤🫶

thanks again for all the support, and feel free to come scream about fic stuff or just say hi anytime 🧸 ‘til next time !! xx

[oldermenfucker]

Alight With The Sparks | M. Robinavitch

Summary: Jack and Samira open a dating account for Robby, and furious Dr. Robinavitch goes to shut down the poor girl they have managed to charm, only for the night to take a turn and change his mind.

Warnings: 18+ mdni! Smut(only one scene), VERY VERY PLOT HEAVY, so much pining urgh, Robby falls hard and fast and first, he is smitten alright, Alcohol consumption, blind date trope, lots of fluff and kisses and just cutesy things, English isn’t my first language<3

word count: 8.4k+

an: so I know I said I didn’t wanna write the blind date idea but here I am with this HEAVY fic! I hope you guys like this pleaseeeee comment and tell me what y’all think about it! Also, shoutout to @m-robinavitch & @pxpecxdy for helping me with this fic!!! ALSO THE PICS DO NOT REPRESENT THE READER!! She is written as neutral as possible with NO details about her appearance! She’s just shorter than Robby!

no beta<3

“Jack, he’ll kill us.”

  “I’ve had enough of his grumbling.” Jack unlocks Robby’s phone, opening his gallery to find at least one good picture of him. “He doesn’t say it, but I can see how lonely he is.”

  “And your solution is to open a dating account without him knowing?” Samira hisses, sitting down next to Jack on the couch, glancing at the bathroom door in the hallway in panic, “Stop— what if he finds out? Oh, great, now you’re snooping around his gallery.”

  “Sweetie, listen,” Jack whispers while airdropping the few pictures he has selected from Robby’s phone, glancing up at the bathroom door before he looks at Samira, “Heather has moved on, all his exes have moved on, and he is sitting alone in a bar drinking while having a midlife crisis. He needs to go out; it’s good for him and my sanity.”

  “You already have a girlfriend, stop digging your nose into his life, maybe he doesn’t— shit, shit, he is unlocking the door!” Samira snatches Robby’s phone, standing up anxiously before she rushes toward the kitchen, dropping his phone face-first on the counter, and busying herself with filling a glass of water.

  Jack clears his throat, looking down at his own phone, a barely visible smirk on his face as he opens the dating app and uploads Robby’s photo without looking suspicious. 

  “What do you want to have for dinner?” Samira asks, smiling awkwardly at Robby, who gives her a reassuring grin in return while he reaches for the tissue box on the counter next to his phone, “I don’t feel like cooking, so…”

  “We’ll figure it out, honey, don’t worry,” Jack, finally after the harsh glare Samira gives him, turns off his phone resting his head on his hand on the back of the couch as he waits for Robby to join him, “It doesn’t matter as long as Robby stays here with us.”

  “Yeah, about that…” Robby drops the crumbled tissues inside the trash, putting his phone in the pocket of his jeans before he gives a soft apologetic smile to Samira, “I think I should leave. You gotta enjoy your time with him now that he’s moved in. I’ll come another day.”

  “You know we are more than happy to have you over,” Samira replies, following Robby to the door, pulling Jack up by his hand to say his farewell, “But no pressure! You’re welcome anytime!”

  “Thank you, Samira,” He gives her a half hug before he pats Jack’s back when he is pulled in for a deep embrace, “Good night, brother.”

  “It’d have been great if you didn’t run away from having a solid conversation with me.”

  “I don’t need you to scold me about my perfect life, I’ve heard enough,” Robby shakes his head as he bends down to put his sneakers on, sighing deeply when he sees how Jack and Samira — both — give him an unsatisfying look, “Don’t even think about talking. I’m outta here.”

  “We want what’s best for you—“

  “And that, Jack,” Robby hits the elevator’s button before he looks back at his friend with a defeated smile, “Is to keep your head out of my business. ‘M not trying to sound mean, I’ve done everything, maybe that’s how it’s always supposed to be.”

  “What? What do you mean?” Samira asks, stepping forward, looking at Robby with a soft frown, glancing back at Jack, who is mimicking her conflicted thoughts.

  “I’m not exactly the best man to date,” Robby shrugs, running a hand through his hair as he waits for the elevator to reach the floor, “I’ve been told, and I don’t disagree. I’ve tried everything—“

  “Not everything.” It is comical how Jack and Samira both say it at the same time, and in that moment, Jack understands she is on board with his plans.

  Robby chuckles, his shoulders go rigid as he waves at them one final time, “I have, trust me. I’m destined to be alone, and I’m fine with it. You should be, too.”

  As soon as the elevator doors are shut, Samira pushes Jack inside the house, slamming the door before running her hands down her face, groaning loudly.

  “Get out your phone, I can’t believe I’m saying this,” she grabs Jack by the elbow, pushing him down on the couch as she crawls next to him, “Find him a date as soon as possible. He is becoming an insufferable old man.”

  “See? My idea is fucking brilliant!” Jack grins at her, unlocking his phone to open the dating app, “We gotta make sure we talk exactly like Robby so when they go on the date, she thinks it was him all along.”

  “We’re basically lying, but sure, thank you for your brilliant idea,” Samira sighs, shaking her head in disappointment, but deep down, she knows this is the only path Robby hasn’t taken; maybe something good will come out of it. She can only hope.

  “Okay, choose a picture— definitely not this,” Jack angles his phone so she can take a better look at the photo. The first one is a group photo of Robby and his day shift team; he isn’t looking the happiest and cleanest, and more importantly, he is looking at Heather. So nope, this one has to go.

  “Something that shows his face better,” she snatches his phone from his hands, leaning against his chest as he wraps his arm around her shoulders, “Okay… what about this?”

  “Not bad, but it’s a group photo again— does he even have a picture of himself? Like a solo one?”

  “That’s…” Samira stops, pouting a little when she thinks about it, “That means no one’s ever taken a picture of him. No wonder he feels so drained; he doesn’t have one single picture of himself! Jack he is so lonely.”

  “I’ve been telling you, honey,” Jack kisses the crown of her head, “He needs to find his match again. He found it once, he can do it again.”

  “This app better give us someone worth his time— oh, okay, this selfie isn’t that bad, huh?”

  “He’s holding up a book,” Jack cringes, scratching his jaw as he stares at the photo, “Okay, urm, it’s not too bad, but he looks like a grandpa. We just have to find girls who are into him and whatever category this picture is a part of.”

  “He’s had bunch of relationships before, we’ll definitely find someone,” he watches as she adds his name, making sure she puts down ‘Robby in short’ so his future hypothetical date doesn’t call him by his first name, “Add his height, his job… urm, what else?”

  “What does he like? Besides books, obviously.”

  “Women.”

  “Jack,” she gives him a look that screams as if we don’t already know, “Focus! Hobbies. What does he do when he is out of the hospital?”

  “Drinking, reading… he goes to this really, really old record shop— he’s such an old man, he’s going to die soon—ouch, what?”

  “You are barely any younger than him,” she pinches his arm, rolling her eyes as she adds the things he told her, “Any sports? Football, basketball, baseball?”

  “I think he plays basketball with Jake a few times a week when he isn’t exhausted, which is rare, you should add that he is so tired—“

  “Listen, babe,” Samira turns around, cupping Jack’s face and he takes the opportunity to pecks her lips, “You had a stupidly amazing idea, now don’t fucking ruin it. Let me handle it, alright? Alright.”

  She settles against him again, putting the location on Pittsburgh before she presses ‘done’ and starts going through the options the app is offering in this city. They like some of the profiles, delete the others, and the game of finding Robby a match starts.

  •••••••

  “Hey, man,” Jack strides inside the hospital, backpack slung on his shoulder as he hugs Robby, taking a look at the board before he looks back at Robby, who gives him a sympathetic nod, “Looks like you guys had a rough day.”

  “Yeah, hope your shift is better than ours,” Dana sighs, tucking her glasses inside her bag, “It was a shitshow. A school bus crashed into a tree… a bunch of terrified children ran in here.”

  “That’s the worst you got today? You should hang around and see how much—“

  “It’s not a game of who has it worse, Jack,” Dana chuckles, swinging her bag on her shoulder as she leaves the station, “Enjoy the night, I’m sure you’d love the screaming children who’ve got hand surgery at three in the morning.”

  “Have a good night,” Jack squeezes Dana’s hand as she passes him, looking back at Robby, who is leaning his hand on his forearm on the Central, “Go home, you need rest.”

  “Yeah, I will,” Robby scratches the back of his neck, “I’m thinking of taking a few days off, just to sleep. I know I won’t, but trying it wouldn’t hurt.”

  “Take Friday off,” Jack replies quickly — almost too quickly — before he clears his throat and pulls his phone out of his cargo pants, “So you know, you can have your weekend and a day more off in a row. Please text Samira and tell her I got here, the car’s hers for her next shift.”

  “Sure,” Robby frowns a bit at Jack, watching him go after Jack, and hands him his phone. Robby, hesitant and nervous, unlocks Jack’s phone — yeah, he knows his password, it’s a requirement in ER because they trust each other enough and someone has to get inside this thing in the time of emergency — and he finds Jack’s messages with ease, Samira’s name pinned on top with a picture of her smiling.

  It’s one second, he is too quick, he shouldn’t be this quick, but he is. He catches a glimpse of his name in one of the recent unread messages. He stands frozen, looking at the contact’s name, color draining from his face.

  Robby’s date

  “What the fuck?” He whispers, opening the message without thinking twice, reading the only text available.

  I’m so excited to finally meet you this Friday, Robby!

  He thinks he might drop dead in the middle of the ER. If he puts his hand on the side of his trachea, he would feel how insanely fast his carotid pulse is. He is sweating on his forehead, his back, and his hands. He doesn’t think he can hold the phone any longer.

  He takes another look at the message, and it seems the words are taunting him. A date. Robby. A date he doesn’t know anything about. In Jack fucking Abbot’s phone. 

  Robby walks to the locker room, phone clutched in his hand as he pushes past people to find his friend, Jack, might not be his friend any longer after this conversation — and finds him pulling out his stethoscope from his bag.

  “I’m gonna ask this once, Jack,” Robby squeezes his eyes shut as he holds up the phone, “What the fuck is this?”

  “Wha— oh.”

  “Oh is right, my friend,” Robby glares at Jack, who just shrugs and shuts his locker door, sighing deeply before he grabs his phone and locks it. “Robby’s date, seriously? Are you cheating on Samira—“

  “Woah, woah, okay, man, take a fucking breath,” Jack raises his hands, giving Robby a look that shows if he talks more he might pull out his knife and slice his friend in half, “I would rather lose all my limbs than cheat on her, one. Two, that is your date. See the name, Robby’s name? That’s you. You think I’m that desperate to impersonate you? You’re not half as handsome as I am.”

  “So what is it then? I have a date and I didn’t even know about it?” Robby pushes his hands into his hoodie, turning around to lightly bang his head on the lockers, “When were you going to tell me?”

  “Thursday—“

  “A day before the date? Wow, this is fucking thrilling,” he rubs a hand down his face, leaning on his side on the cold metal, giving Jack a defeated look while crossing his arms over his chest, “Why’d you do that, Jack?”

  “Because I’m fucking worried about you,” Jack hisses, walking closer so he doesn’t need to shout and alert the entire floor, “You’ve been neglecting yourself, I can’t stand that.”

  “You’re talking like a Victorian prince, spit it out, I’m one second away from banging my head on this damn locker.”

  “You are lonely and instead of fixing it, you’re letting it destroy you,” Jack says, putting his hand on Robby’s shoulder, squeezing him tightly, “I know what I did was… unethical, so to say, but you need to get out there, brother. You have to stop letting these destructive thoughts ruin your life, and no, before you say it, you deserve a good life.”

  “I’ll go to that date to shut that poor girl down,” Robby whispers, shaking his head slightly as he takes in Jack’s words. “She’s probably excited to meet me, and I’m gonna go tell her how it was not me. Bravo.”

  “It’s a step even if you tell her no,” Jack shrugs and gives him a soft smile, “But go there, you never know what might happen.”

  “I’m still fucking pissed at you so don’t push it.”

  ••••••

  Robby is nervous. It has been too long since he has felt this way. Nervous about meeting a woman? The confident Dr. Robinavitch, who handles a chaotic emergency department for twelve hours on his own? It doesn’t sound like him.

  What is worse, though, is that Jack didn’t budge for a second when Robby asked him to show at least a picture of his date so he could easily find and send the poor girl home. He already feels responsible for her excitement that he is about to ruin; he feels bad that he has to do this. But there is no other option either.

  He is all dressed up, per Samira’s request; nothing too extravagant, but a dark green fitted shirt with rolled up sleeves and his jeans. He doesn’t know if it is a good look, he shouldn’t care because he isn’t going to stay at all — says hi, shakes your hand, sits down to explain what his idiot friend did, says goodbye, and then be on his way.

  He walks into the restaurant with his hands in his pockets, nervously looking around before a waitress notices him and asks about his reservations. He doesn’t know which name Jack gave them, but a soft voice interrupts his thoughts before he makes a fool of himself.

  “Robby?”

  What he doesn’t except, is for you to be fucking ethereal, as if they have pulled you out of fairy tales and sat you in front of him. If he blinks one more time, he might be able to see you glowing under the soft lights of the restaurant.

  You are smiling at him, standing up to greet him. The dress you are wearing makes his mind go blank. The color matches your skin, and the fabric clings to all the right places that have his mind spinning. And it only breaks his heart that he has to tell you the ugly truth about how you both ended up here — he wishes he could do something to change his unbelievable fate.

  “Hi,” you reach to shake his hands when he walks to the table, beaming at him with such enthusiasm he has never felt, “It’s so good to see you.”

  “Likewise,” he clears his throat, smiling back awkwardly before he rounds the table to pull your chair back, tucking you in gently before he goes to his seat.

  “You’re late,” you whisper, as if you’re scared he might run out of this place before you get the chance to say something else. 

  “Yeah, about that,” he rubs the back of his neck, looking at you with soft eyes, knowing what he is about to say might ruin your entire night — the thought makes his heart twist, you are far too beautiful to be hurt because of Jack’s stupidity, but if he doesn’t tell you, he will never forgive himself — so he leans forward on the table with his forearms resting on the tablecloth, “I’m deeply sorry for what I’m about to say, I… I don’t even know where to begin.”

  “Oh…?” You sound small, and he hasn’t even spoken the words. This is going to break him, he is sure, cause your bright eyes are slowly losing the glimmer in them the more he keeps quiet.

  “The person you texted was not me.” The cat’s out of the bag now. “It was my friend, he wanted to get me to start dating again, and he thought whatever he was doing was to help me. I had no idea I was going to have a date until a few days ago, and… he even refused to show a picture of you.”

  “So you’re not here for the date.” You take a deep breath, huffing out a slow laugh, “It’s alright, I wish I had known sooner so I wouldn’t spend hours getting ready for someone who doesn’t even know my name.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Robby hides his face in his hands, embarrassment washing over him as he hears you. Fuck you, Jack. “For whatever’s worth… You look incredible. You look fantastic, so… so pretty.”

  “Thank you,” you give him a halfhearted smile — at least that’s a start — and reach for your purse, “I think it’s best if I leave—“

  “Wait!” What the fuck, Robby? He doesn’t know why he is stopping you, he is here to shut this stupid date down and prove to Jack that he doesn’t need to date to have an amazing life, but he already feels like someone has stabbed him when his eyes fall on the little pout on your lips, “Listen, um, I hate that I’m the reason you feel your efforts are wasted, so… let me buy you dinner. This is the least I can do to apologize for this inconvenience.”

  “Are you sure? I mean,” you chuckle, looking down at your hands, “You don’t even know my name.”

  “I can learn your name,” he shrugs, his eyes giving out the subtle hint of his admiration, “If you’d like me to.”

  “Well, I’ve liked you for a few weeks, although now I found out it wasn’t you, but… I’m not opposed to a friendly dinner,” You explain, resting your chin on the back of your hands, gazing at Robby in a way that makes his heart leap into his throat, “At least someone gets to enjoy my outfit tonight, even though it isn’t the Robby I wanted to.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find the real one more enjoyable than the one you talked to,” he smiles, wrinkles deepening as he looks at you, “if it makes you feel any better, the one you were talking to was my friend and his girlfriend.”

  “You’ve got a tough competition then,” he knows you are flirting, he should shut it down, he should tell you to stop, he should stop his heart from racing when you blink and grin at him, he should most definitely look away to stop his cheeks from turning red. 

  “They don’t have you looking all dolled up in front of them,” fuck, fuck, fuck, there it is, “I think I can manage.”

  “Wow,” you chuckle shyly, glancing away for a second before looking back at him, “Smooth, I like it. Definitely better than all the flirting your friends were doing.”

  “See? Real Robby is the real deal.”

  “Don’t take yourself too highly, you might trip and fall,” you grin, “Besides, this isn’t a date, right? Your words, not mine.”

  “I don’t know about that anymore,” Robby looks at you, the heavy feeling in his chest making his lips stretch into a broad smile, “Maybe… we could ignore what happened and start over? And I get the chance to take revenge on them.”

  “Okay, I’m in.”

  “In taking revenge or turning this into a date?” He raises his eyebrows at you, waiting for your answers as he drags his eyes over your face. Jesus, you really are beautiful. How did those two idiots managed to get you to like him only with texts is beyond him. 

  “T-the date,” he can see how you get flustered a little, stuttering when your gaze locks with his, “Other aspects don’t concern me, nor should it bother you.”

  “I can’t just let it slide,” Robby shrugs, “but I’m also too old to get back at him. I would rather focus on things that matter.”

  “Like what?”

  You know what, but he isn’t going to ruin this, not now, not when, after so many countless dates, he is actually feeling something. Robby beams, resting his cheek on his palm as he trails the length of your arm to your face, his grin matching yours.”

  “Like you.”

  “I thought you didn’t want to be here—“

  “Yeah, yeah, well I’m a man, and I’m not immune to what I see,” he cuts you off gently, reaching to grab the glass of water on the table, trying to hide his flushed face behind the cup.

  “And what is that?”

  “Don’t play coy with me now, you know what I’m talking about,” he rolls his eyes at you playfully when you laugh quietly. And he soon finds out he loves that sound, and he would do anything to hear it again, anything.

  “It wouldn’t hurt to say it, you know,” you bite your lip, waiting for him to reply, “I like expressive men, there, I gave you a hint.”

  “Then I’m the worst person on earth for you to go to a second date with,” Robby winces as the words leave his mouth, thinking of how insecure he must have sounded instead of funny, but you don’t cringe, you don’t frown at him, only chuckle and shrug.

  “I’ll be the judge of that, but you need to answer my question first.”

  “Which question?”

  “What changed your mind?” 

  Robby thinks for a long moment. He doesn’t know what it actually is: your beauty? Probably, you looked like an angel waiting for him, and he is glad he could wipe the quick frown he forced on your face when he told you he didn’t know about the date. Your humor? Possibly. But in all senses, you in whole changed his mind, you feel like the person he can speak to, the only one who wouldn’t make fun of him for all the vinyls he has collected.

  “You,” he says, scratching his beard, looking down at his fingers as he clears his throat, “you did. It’s been a long time since I went on a date, and every time I did… something felt wrong. You don’t feel wrong.”

  “You don’t feel wrong either.” You say it with so much grace to him, so soft and pliant that he can’t believe it is directed at him, as if he deserves it, “I’m glad you didn’t stand me up.”

  “I would never,” he tells you, sighing deeply like you have offended him, “and to show that I am truly interested, I’d like to take you out again.”

  “You don’t even know my name!” You laugh, glancing at the waitress as she makes her way to you, before looking back at Robby, who runs his hands down his face, shoulders shaking as he chuckles.

  “What is your name?”

  ••••

  You agreed to come, you replied to his text, and agreed to come. Not once, not twice, not even three times, but ten times in the period you were apart. He asked for your name, got your number successfully without making a fool of himself. So there is no reason you shouldn’t show up. Right? Right.

  But why are you late? Was it all… a fun night for you? Then why did you tell him you were on your way ten minutes ago? You will come, yes, you will, you have to, there isn’t anything stopping you from coming to this date. Maybe his favorite fucking recordshop wasn’t the best choice to take you out, but you begged him to show you a piece of himself, so here he is.

  Stupid, he should have listened to Jack and taken you to the cinema.

  “Robby, oh my gosh, finally!”

  He turns around so fast he thinks he is about to get dizzy, but a giant smile covers his worry as he finally sees you, practically skipping over to him, panting when you reach him.

  “Hey,” you hold onto his biceps as you catch your breath, his hands automatically coming to your arms to hold you steady as he mutters a soft ‘hello’ and squeezes you a bit, “It took me half an hour to find this place!”

  “I thought I sent you the location,” he gives a questioning look, “I did, didn’t I? Samira helped me, and no, I know how to use my phone, but I was never required to share a location. Don’t make an old man joke.”

  “When have I ever?!” You gasp dramatically, laughing when his face turns red, “No, don’t worry, you did send me your location. But it wasn’t exactly the right one.”

  “What?” He is going to die from embarrassment; he is sure he will drop dead on the hot bricks under his shoes, “I’m sure I shared it right…”

  “You chose two streets down this place… It’s all good now! I’m here, late, which I’m so sorry about, but I’m here!” You straighten your back, giving him one of those radiant smiles he has grown quite fond of, before you wait for him to lead you inside.

  “I guess I was nervous… sorry,” he rubs the back of his neck, feeling the heat spreading down to his chest as well, “but yeah, I’m really glad you could make it.”

  “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t have lost the chance to get to know you more! Of course I’d show up!” 

  “I’m glad,” is all he can say, before he notices how much his cheeks are hurting from smiling back at you. He manages to walk a few steps ahead, opening the door and waiting for you to enter, “Ladies first.”

  “What a gentleman,” you walk past him, waiting for him to join you as you step to the side, suddenly looking out of place, “Show me around?”

  “Of course, we should go upstairs,” he walks side by side with you, “I’ve been coming here since I got hired in The Pitt, it’s one of the oldest shops in the city, and sells vinyl only.”

  “That’s so cool! To be fair, I’ve only been to record shops a few times, so I don’t know much about them,” you shrug, biting the inside of your cheek, bashful and grinning, “So I’m sorry, you have to explain everything to me.”

  “Gladly,” he replies and pushes the door to the shop open, watching with amusement as you wait for him to enter this time, “Alright, come on.”

  He walks inside, giving you enough space to join him. The atmosphere is warm and welcoming, enveloping you both in its entirety, and Robby feels instantly at home. The colors are brighter, the music feels more vibrant than ever, and you… Your beauty blends so nicely with your surroundings — like you belong there with him.

  He shakes his head a little, leading you between rows of different Vinyls, stopping when he reaches a room full of records on the walls, shelves, and two rows in the middle with record players in the corner.

  “A room full of one dollar records, one of my favorite places to spend time in—” he explains, but soon he is cut off guard when you slowly grab his hand, looking around the room like you don’t know what you have done. 

  Robby stops dead in his tracks as soon as you wrap your fingers around his hand, head slowly turning in your direction, only to find you innocently shrugging and pulling at your bottom lip.

  “I can— if you’re uncomfortable—“

  “No, no, absolutely not,” he stops you before you can say more, smiling as his cheeks turn red again, “I… like it.”

  “Good, show me the rest.” You squeeze his hand, and he tugs it forward gently, pulling you inside the room.

  He feels like a freaking teenager again. He is fifty, fifty for fuck’s sake, yet he is explaining everything about these records to you, trying to stare at you all the time because if he does, he would melt under your gaze.

  “I’ve always wanted to have this,” he says, showing you a record of Pale Blue Eyes by The Velvet Underground at the end of your tour in the shop, “I don’t know why I’ve never bought it, probably because I have tons of untouched records at home.”

  “I buy it for you.” You gently grab it from his hands, pulling him towards the cash register, handing them the vinyl before Robby has the chance to snatch it out of your hand, “No complaints!”

  “I can’t let you do that,” he reaches for his wallet, but you grab his other hand as well, stopping him from moving, standing forward to lace your fingers through his and looking up into his eyes, “I’m serious.”

  “So am I, you paid for my dinner when you were forced to come, the least I can do is to buy you a simple record,” you tell him, letting go of one of his hands to pay the cashier, pulling Robby behind you as soon as you hand him the bag, “Thank you for today, I loved it!”

  “Thank you for coming, honey,” he says, smiling softly when you come closer, craning your neck to look up at him. “I… I’m glad you had fun.”

  “Couldn’t ask for a better date,” you grin at him, letting go of his hand to wrap them around his waist, laying your head on his chest, hiding your smile when you hear how hard his heart is beating, “When’s our next date?”

  “Whenever you’d like,” he wraps his arms around you, too, kissing the crown of your head, sighing softly as he smells the scent of your shampoo, “I’d like to get to know you more.”

  “I’ll think about it,” you beam at him, standing up on your toes to kiss his cheek, pulling away before he can react, leaving him blushing and smiling like an idiot, “Call you later?”

  “Yeah, please do.”

  ••••

  “Robby! Are you kidding me?”

  “I’m not, honey,” he chuckles, hugging you back just as tightly when you jump into his arms, “You said you wanna go and well, I had the day off.”

  “You had the day off, or you found another attendee to fill in your place?” You ask, hanging from his neck, and he rests his palms on your waist, rubbing your back and dragging his eyes down your sundress, “What do you think?”

  “Fucking beautiful,” he breathes out, pulling back a little to take a better look at you, closing the distance so he can press a soft kiss on your forehead, “I can never get enough of you.”

  “Juuust how I like you,” you caress the nape of his neck, leaning up to kiss his cheek before grabbing his hand, threading your fingers through his, before you both walk inside the gallery.

  It has been a good four months since your first date, and Robby, true to his words, made these four months worth your time. He always manages to call you during the chaotic shifts he spends in the hospital to spend dinners at your place. He has kept the date at his house still on hold so he can treat you as best as he can.

  Pet names have become a regular thing in your relationship, he loves how you get flustered and shy as soon as he casually drops another pet name to you, he adores your rambling behind the phone when something in particular annoys you at your work, or when you’d cuddle him to sleep when he reads to you — apparently his voice is ‘magical’ so you say.

  “Jack’s covering for me, he owes me,” he shrugs, pulling you inside the gallery, turning around to glance at you, “Don’t say you feel bad for him, he deserves it.”

  “Take it easy on him, will you?” You step next to him, resting your chin on his chest, “If it wasn’t for him, we wouldn’t be here together.”

  “I hate to admit that he did this,” he rolls his eyes, hand coming up to cradle your face, thumb caressing your cheek before he pulls back before he does something that surprises you both, “Show me around, honey.”

  “With pleasure, Doctor Robby,” you drag him inside, and he lets you walk around the room with a skip in your step, pointing at different paintings, “You know, the museum showcased twenty two of this artist’s works? It was huge, I wish I could attend it back then.”

  Robby just listens, holding onto your hand as you lead him around the gallery, voice soothing and beautiful as you give him information he will forget later, but he still listens intently, nodding and smiling when you catch him staring at you.

  “Sassetta – The Virgin of Humility Crowned by Two Angels,” you read the name, stopping in front of the painting, “It’s an Italian Renaissance painting, early fifteenth century, and it shows the Madonna sitting humbly while being surrounded by angels. I like it, I don’t know why, but I do.”

  You pull on his arm again, guiding him to another painting, talking about them so enthusiastically, and it warms Robby’s heart. When was the last time he had felt like this? So fuzzy and content? He doesn’t remember, he doesn’t care, not when you are showing him around all happy and smiling because you finally got to visit the place you wanted after a long time, and he is over the moon that he could make this happen for you.

  “Enjoying the art?”

  He doesn’t take his eyes off you when you ask him, and he doesn’t answer you either. So with a curious look, you turn around, only to find him gazing at you with such a soft expression on his face, brown eyes glimmering with love.

  “Yeah, I am.”

  “The paintings, Robby,” you giggle, pulling him closer, seeking his warmth.

  “You’re more beautiful than all these paintings,” he confesses. When did your lips start to look so kissable? They are taunting him, looking back at him, almost begging to be kissed.

  It’s impulsive; he shouldn’t do it, not here, not in front of all of these people. But he can’t help himself, his self control is gone, nonexistent even. So he puts his hand on your waist, tucking you into his chest as he dips down, locking his lips with yours.

  You taste like vanilla buttercream (how the fuck it is possible, he doesn’t know and frankly, he can’t care less), your perfume is much strong now, the scent filling his senses with such intensity that he deepens the kiss as soon as you loop your arms around his neck.

  Ridiculous, he should have kissed you on top of the Eiffel tower or a boat crossing a river, or with Jack popping a confetti over your heads — but it happens now, in a moment of haste, in the middle of a gallery, after four months of growing closer and closer.

  It is the best kiss he has ever had.

  He pulls back slowly, finally dawning on him what he just did. He kissed you, in front of everyone, in a public space, but… it felt so good, so real, so sweet and deeply comforting, like he was meant to do it.

  “Robby…”

  “Fuck, I’m sorry—“

  “Don’t be, don’t—“ you press your fingers to his lips, biting your lip to stop yourself from grinning and kissing him again, “Come with me, people are staring.”

  “Fuck,” he lets out a breathless chuckle, letting you grab his hand and guide him outside, trailing after you like a puppy with his tail between his legs and a very deep blush on running down his face and chest.

  You pull him into the alley next to the gallery, trailing your hands up his chest slowly, holding the side of his neck, gently caressing his throat, thumb bobbing as he swallows. You pull him down slowly, pecking his lips so softly he thinks he might turn into dust.

  Robby, though, is losing the last shred of control he has on his body. He is trying to be nice, but he can’t, not when you are tilting your head and pulling him closer. He spreads his palm over your waist, one running down to hold you by the neck, deepening the kiss like he needs to breathe the air in your lungs.

  “Get a rooooom.”

  You and Robby pull away immediately, looking to find a disgusted teenage boy looking at you with a frown, snorting when you apologize hurriedly. He walks past you and Robby a second later, leaving the two of you heaving and smiling from ear to ear.

  You are the first to crack, biting down your fingers to muffle your laughter, only for Robby to groan and chuckle, resting his forehead on your shoulder as he tries to make himself look small, hands circling your body to hold you close.

  “Thank you for today,” you cup his cheek, forcing him to look into your eyes, “Especially for the kiss.”

  “That was spontaneous…” he reddens more, his hands going to hold on to your hips, “But I’m glad I did it, it was bound to happen…”

  “Mhm, yup,” you scratch the nape of his neck slowly, watching him closely as he sighs and leans into your touch, “Wanna kiss me more?”

  “Thought you’d never ask, honey.”

  ••••••

  Robby sighs deeply, rethinking his life choices as he chops the potatoes as best as he can. He spent hours in surgeon rotation back in med school, he even does srugery in the ER rooms for fuck’s sake, so why do his pieces look anything but sharp? He is going to lose his mind if he keeps thinking about it.

  He promised you dinner, a good one, you insisted you would bring the wine, and he caved in. Now, all he needs to do is cook these filet steaks as best as he possibly can. He doesn’t know much about cooking, but he had to invite you to his place; it only seemed right because he had slept countless nights at yours.

  So he is going to do his best.

  There is a knock on his door, a soft pattern he recognizes immediately. Robby wipes his hands on the towel he has thrown over his shoulder, marching to the door to open it for you, finding you leaning on the wall with a bottle of red wine in hand.

  “Hey there, handsome.”

“Hello, honey,” he grins and pulls you in with a hand on your hip, locking his lips on yours in haste, pressing you to the door as soon as he closes it. “Welcome to my cramped apartment.”

  “Hush, I love it!” You peck his lips, letting him lead you inside towards the kitchen, “Where’s your record stash?”

  “In the reading room, and no, you can’t go there. I had to push everything inside there to make the house look tidy since I didn’t have time to clean up like I wanted to.”

  “What do you mean you didn’t have time?” you ask, following him into the kitchen, “Robby, baby, look at me—”

  He turns around, sucking the inside o fhis cheek as you cup his face, waiting for him to say anything. He thought he would be able to hide it from you so you wouldn’t get worried, but you have grown quite well at reading him.

  “I promise I started my shift early to rest before you get here—”

  “You told me you had the day off,” he cringes at your serious tone, but soon a small smile covers his face when you rub his beard, looking at him with nothing but sympathy. “Go sit down, I’ll cook—”

  “Absolutely not,” he corners you against the counter, forearm protecting your back as he rests his hand on the edge, pressing himself into your body, “You’ve already done so much for me, let me take care of you tonight.”

  “How are you going to take care of me?” You run your fingers up his sides, hands slipping under his shirt to feel the warmth of his skin, “Is something going to happen tonight?”

  “Do you want it to happen?” he asks, leaning down, hovering his lips over yours, feeling your hot breath fanning on his face, his eyes drawn to your mouth.

  “Mhm,” you nod, wrapping your arms around his torso, “I do, and I want it to happen now.”

  “You don’t want to see how I ditched culinary school for medicine? Rude,” he skips your lips, kissing your cheek down to your jaw, “Forget dinner, I wanna taste you.”

  He feels you suck in a sharp breath, tilting your head to the side to give him more space as he mouths at your skin, biting and nibbling and moving down to your pulse point, making you hiss into his ear.

  “Robby—“ you gasp when he bends his knees a little, grabbing the back of your thighs to pick you up, and you wrap your legs around his waist as he walks to his bedroom, kicking the door open before he lowers you on the bed gently.

  You close your eyes, feeling him grabbing the back of your leg to take off your heels, pressing a gentle kiss on your ankle when he drops your shoes on the floor, moving his lips up the path of your leg, tapping your thigh so you would scoot up on the bed. 

  “Open your eyes, honey,” he whispers, settling on his stomach between your thighs, “Need you to look at me, come on.”

  You slowly open your eyelids, biting on your lip as you find him reaching your side to pull down the zipper of your dress, sliding his fingers beneath the fabric to feel the curve of your breast.

  “Take it off for me, please,” he sounds wrecked already. He has imagined this moment in some dark moments when he would allow his imagination to wander freely, “I have to see you.”

  “Okay,” you let out a shaky breath, sitting up after you throw your legs over his shoulders, pulling your dress off and lying back on the bed, only in your underwear, breasts exposed to the chilly air in the room.

  Robby’s eyes darken with desire, hands moving up your belly to grope your tits, muttering a low ‘fuck’ as he pinches your nipple, pushing his shoulders under your thighs to spread your legs more.

  “You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he groans, nipping at the skin around your belly button, sinking his teeth into the flesh to earn a gasp from you, “I’m gonna make you feel so good, honey.”

  “Please do,” you sit up on your elbows, reaching for his head to run your fingers through his hair, “Don’t keep a girl waiting, baby.”

  He smirks, fingers pulling on the hem of your underwear, slowly taking it off before he locks his eyes with yours and starts kissing your inner thighs, moving to where you need him the most with patience.

  You look like heaven itself, and taste even better when he licks a fat stripe from the seam of your pussy, humming as he closes his lips, genuinely enjoying the way your hips twitch under his touch.

  “Oh…” you sigh when he starts sucking on your buzzing clit, flattening his tongue on your folds as he drinks your essence. You push his face into you a bit roughly, closing your legs around his neck as he moves faster, lips drawing patterns with an enthusiasm that has you throwing your head back.

  He smiles against you, his beard burning your pussy in the most delicious way, and he knows with the way you are gasping and moaning, he knows you are feeling the euphoria slowly building up in your core.

  He grabs one of your thighs, pushing it against your belly so he has room to push a finger inside without detaching himself from your cunt, thrusting the digit inside with so much care as if you will break.

  “More,” you dig your nails into his scalp, bucking your hips to his face, moaning louder when he adds another finger, curving them both inside you. His fingers are thick, thicker than you expected, and they stretch you out just beautifully. 

  You feel the knot in your stomach breaking, your elbows giving out as you drop back on the bed, legs shaking around his head as you arch your back, releasing all over his face.

  Robby buries his face into you, smothering himself as he laps up your wetness eagerly, drinking you like a nectar. He keeps your hips pressed to the mattress while he fucks you with his fingers through your orgasm.

  “Shit, baby, that was… fuck,” you laugh breathlessly, pulling him up by his neck, “Take off your clothes, you’re too dressed for my liking.”

  “You good?” He chuckles, kicking off his shoes and pants, unbuttoning his shirt only for you to push it down hurriedly, pulling him down on top of you to chase his lips into a passionate kiss, tasting yourself on his beard.

  “Don’t make me wait, I swear if you do—“

  “I won’t, I won’t,” he says, pushing his boxers down in haste, making home between your legs, grabbing his cock in a tight grip, stroking himself, “Fuck, I can’t believe we waited this long.”

  “Jesus Christ, Robby,” you swallow as you look at his dick in his hand; fat, hot, heavy and ready to fuck you into oblivion, “You’re big.”

  He turns red, bright and beautiful, but he soon closes the distance and kisses you, guiding the red tip of his cock to your entrance, gently rocking his hips forward, inhaling sharply as he pushes past the first ring of muscles. 

  You moan into his mouth, hands flying to his shoulders to ground yourself as he pushes inside you, filling you with all he has got in him, caging you under his weight with his belly pressed to yours.

  “Fuck, you feel so good,” he groans, hiding his face into your neck, pulling out halfway before easing his length inside your puffy cunt again, “I’ll keep you on my bed forever if I could.”

  “You can, baby,” you gasp, nails scratching Robby’s back as he picks up his pace, no longer as sweet as he thought he would go, but now faster, rougher, more urgent and needy. The lewd sound of his hips slamming next to yours echoes in the bedroom, only adding to the fuel of your desire: “You can keep me here as long as you want.”

  “Fuck, ‘m not gonna last long,” he whispers into your ear, holding himself up with his forearms around your head, moans and deep breaths filling your hair as he fucks you harder.

  You whine in his throat, pressing your lips into his Adam's apple as you feel your walls clenching around his girth, crying out when he angles his hips to hit your sweet spot, groaning as you quiver beneath him.

  Wailing, you cling to Robby’s body as you gush around him, waves of pleasure hitting your body as he follows you closely, growling at the sensation of your cunt clamping around him tightly.

  He pulls out, fisting his cock a few times before he comes on your stomach, groaning from the depths of his chest as he empties his balls on you, and you hold him through it.

  “That was amazing,” you kiss his forehead, holding him close as he shakes on top of you, gently lowering his weight on you to catch his breath, “You were amazing.”

  “I love you.”

  There, out in the open, three little words that he has wanted to say for the past six months ever since he set his eyes on you. Pulling back a bit to look into your eyes, he doesn’t regret it, he had to say it, utter the sentence softly so he can make his feelings known.

  “I love you, too.” You cup his cheek, pulling him closer, “I love you, Robby, so so much.”

  He kisses you again, this time soft and endearing, full of unspoken promises. He swipes his tongue over your bottom lip, pushing the muscle into your mouth, exploring your taste deeply.

  “I’m gonna go clean up, I’ll come, honey.” He lets go of your lips with a lewd ‘pop’, kissing the corner of your mouth. You nod, scooting up to lie on his pillows, watching as he walks stark naked into the en-suite bathroom to clean himself up, coming in with a warm rag to wipe you off as well.

  “Wine?” You ask, jumping off the bed as soon as he agrees, running to the kitchen and coming back with his phone and the bottle you brought earlier and a corkscrew, “There you go.”

  “What’s the phone for?” He looks at you, grabbing the bottle from you as you crawl into his lap, popping the cork before he puts the wine aside to breathe, hands coming up to hold you by your hips, laughing when you raise his phone in your face, “What’s that for?”

  “Pictures!” You laugh too, taking a few pictures of him, smirking as you notice a few blooming marks on his throat, “There, now you have some juicy photos to put as your profile picture in dating apps.”

  “I’ve already found my match,” he says, squeezing your flesh, smiling when you bite your lips, looking down at his chest shyly.

  “Yeah?” You lean forward, nudging your nose with his, “Plan on keeping your match forever?”

  “If she lets me,” there it is again, the fucking butterflies in his belly, “I’d love to keep her as long as she lets me. For days, months, even years.”

[fictionalmenxyn]

hi can you write please rafe x wife, happily married. Rafe being away for business trip. Texting and calling wife missing her, sending her flowers while hes away. maybe phone sex. Coming home after a week bearing giftsfor her and kids and then fucks her.

Of course I can!! Enjoy!!

❣︎𝐇𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲 𝐈’𝐦 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞❣︎

Pairing: dad!husband!rafe x mom!wife!reader

Your children: Cody (3), Morgan (1) and Toby (5 months).

Warnings: smut!, p in v, no mentions of protection (wrap it up!), Rafe being sweet and loving durning sex

•❣︎❣︎❣︎•

While Rafe was away, for the Cameron Development, he missed you. Terribly missed you… constant ‘I love you so much’ ‘gonna kiss you sm when I come back’ ‘miss having you on me’ ‘missing u and the kids so bad rn’ ‘can u ft real quick??’ Every day since he left.

But today was the day, he was coming home.

The boys helped you, or rather watched you, make a small welcome home sign for Rafe. The boys added their touches, of their scribbles. It read ‘Welcome home Daddy! We missed you!’ Thankfully your artsy skills showed. And the help of Pinterest of course.

So, when you heard the door open. You quickly whisper “Cody, hold the sign for daddy, quick.” Cody held up the sign with pride. You handed Morgan a box of chocolates for Rafe. You picked up Toby, holding him on your hip. You guided the two boys to the foyer. Where Rafe stood. He smirked and put his bags down “hey family!”

The boys ran over, completely dropping everything to go get lovings from their father. You laughed at their reactions. You walked over. Kissing Rafe on the cheek “hey, Rafey, how was work??” He sighed with a smile “exhausting, but worth it…”

Rafe picked up both of the boys, he playfully asked “you two behave for momma??.” They both nodded. He smirked “oh really?? So you did behave, hm?” Cody spoke “yes! We be good!” He smiled softly. He kissed both of the boys cheek. He set them back down on the floor. I turn to you, taking Toby out of your arms and holding him with his strong arm. His free hand placed on your hip, his thumb brushing your leggings. He moved his hand to your lower back and pulled you closer. Pecking your lips he moved “god, I’ve missed this…”

…

Once Rafe was settled back in. He had started to hand out his gifts to the boys. Of course you held Toby in your lap as he handed you Toby’s gifts. You smile, it was so sweet that Rafe would do this when he went away.

You looked to Cody and Morgan and spoke “what do you say to daddy for the gifts??” Both of the kids spoke “tank you!” Rafe chuckles, ruffling their hair “you’re welcome, kiddos…”

Rafe looked to you, “you have gifts too, babe…” you smiled “you didn’t have to, Rafe…” “oh but I wanted to, and I did, so here…” he placed a navy box on your lap. “It’s only a small something… you know I have another gift for you, later…”

You playfully rolled his eyes at the stubble innuendo. You open the box. Cody walked over and rested his head in your knee. Cody asked “what momma got?” You smiled at the gift. “Your dad got me a very pretty necklace, bud…” you looked to Rafe “thank you, baby…” he smiled “anything for you… I uh, also called Rose… she’s picking up the kids in an hour…”

…

Now… here you both are… completely naked to each other. Rafe already on top of you and in you.

He stayed still for a moment, letting you adjust to him. He smiled as he sat up, sitting back on his knees. He placed a hand on your lower stomach. “God I’ve missed this… you and I, in our bed… my cock all the way in you… taking all of me so easily… fuck…” you moaned softly.

He slowly started to move in and out. Wanting to take his time, savouring the feeling of you both in this moment. He reached up and held you one hand. Gently squeezing your hand. “God you feel so good…” you moved your other arm around his shoulders. Wanting to be closer. Rafe let you pull him closer. Moving feeling in you, causing him to deeply groan. “Fuuuccckk..” you gasp softly. He kissed your cheek as he picked up the pace ever so slightly.

He looked into your eyes, “missed you, baby…” you looked into his eyes “missed… you too…” he gently pushed his lips into yours. Kissing you hungrily but softly. His tongue soon shoved into your mouth. Your tongues danced, he picked up his pace again. He groaned into the kiss. Causing you to moan into his lips.

He pulled back, his hands moving under your thighs and pushing them up. Your legs lifted into a V shape. Helping him move better and deeper. “Fuck, baby… feel so fucking good… missed this pussy so much…” you moaned.

His lips soon find your chest. Kissing you as he picks up the pace. Your head tilts back into the soft pillows. The wetness and gasps of breath fills the space of your master bedroom.

Rafe puts your one leg over his shoulder as the other flies around his hips. He held your waist as he tilts his head back and groans loudly. His eyes now half-lidded. He looks down at you “you look so good under me, baby, you’re unreal…” “ohhh fuck Rafe!” “That’s it… say my name…”

You gasped, tightening around him. He smirked “fuck, you close? I can feel you… you’re doing so good f’me… can you hold off for a little longer…? Wanna finish with you, baby…” you nod. He moans when he feels your nails drag on his shoulder. It wasn’t hard, but it hit a good nerve in him. Causing him to twitch in you. You moan…

He was close, “fuck, finish with me, yeah?” You nod rapidly “yesss, Rafey!” He moans “go ahead, baby, finish f’me…”

He goes a little harder, his thrusts fast and harder. Causing you to finish around him. That triggers his own release. Coming inside of you. He slowly his movements.

He drops in top of you, he would usually go for another round with you. But being gone for a week wore him out. He rests his forehead on yours, looking into your eyes. His breathing ragged, his eyes half-lidded with pleasure. He speaks between breaths “you… good?… fuck… missed this..” he pecks you lips as you nod. “Yeah, I’m… okay…”

After that, he picks you up and starts to run a bath. The night wasn’t completely over. He still has to cuddle with you. Make up for the time he was away for business. And after having the most loving sex he just had. Movies and cuddles with his wife and mother of his kids sounded great. Loving her was great.

•❣︎❣︎❣︎•

[syluses]

terrible thing

subject: caleb x reader

cw. yandere! caleb, obsessive behaviors, toxicity, unhealthy relationships, childhood bestfriend! caleb, unrequited love, jealous is an understatement, scoundrel caleb, manipulation

an. THIS IS FOR THE NONNIE THAT ASKED FOR THIS!!! im sooo sorry it took so long but i super hope u enjoy <3 i liked ur idea and made a lil fic based around it <3 by lil i mean almost 6k words :3 also listen to ‘terrible thing’ by ag because that song is LITERALLY CALEB.

Some things are better left unsaid.

And whenever Caleb is involved in the conversation? Your new boyfriend is definitely one of them.

You feel a little guilty for it, you know. For not telling him. I mean, you’d only spent the better chunk of your childhood running towards his room for safety during thunderstorms, using his arms as your own personal refuge whenever lightning flashed behind the windows and thunder boomed. You still have the ledger you’d written in your youth against him, stowed in a box in your closet, to record his slightest transgressions. It collects dusts like all the countless summers you’d leisured away with him as little children.

He’s your best friend, always has been; entering your twenties does not change that- or the thick tether connecting you from humble Linkon to his expensive suite in Skyhaven.

It’s just…

You know Caleb. Of course you know Caleb- your shared history a direct proof of that. Calling him protective would be the understatment of the year and you’re sure as soon as a significant other is introduced into the foundation of your life, he’d do all he could to uproot him from it. Not out of malice, no, his habits (resting an arm over your shoulder, hovering and glaring at men- or people in general- who stare at you for so much as a second longer than necessary, dismissing the idea of romance completely when you innocently bring it up, in awe at the prospect of finding your own disney prince to whisk you off your feet) come from a good place.

But for as caring and considerate your bestfriend- the veritable staple to your adolescence- has been, that ‘good place’ is one you want to leave. Gently extricate yourself from. It’s high time you grow up and see the world for what it really has to offer outside of your Gran’s cozy suburban home, from the crook of Caleb’s elbow, comforting as it is.

And your new boyfriend? Yeah... It’s better not to tell Caleb about him. At least not until later.

You convince yourself it’s better that way, that you’re making the wiser choice, because c’mon- Your friend is just terribly busy what with his rank as colonel at the DAA, his missions that leave him tired and pressed for free time in his day-to-day hustle. It’s impressive how he still manages to find the time to call you with the scant windows of opportunity his schedule allows, barraging you with thoughtful messages and cute pics he takes of miscellaneous items because they, quote-on-quote, ‘reminded him of you.’

Caleb would blow his fuse. Oh, undoubtedly.

And you worry for him sometimes, you know? This decision is in your boyfriend’s better interest- one hundred percent- but it’s in Caleb’s as well. You don’t want him slipping on the job because his mind’s a mess and his bestfriend from childhood- the one he has an inexplicable, self-bestowed duty to protect- has put his heart into overdrive.

You’d just worry him to death. Mistakes, no matter how seemingly minor, are fatal within aircraft apparatus. He can’t afford to make them, and you don’t know what you’d do with yourself if something were to happen to him. It’d be devastating.

For so many reasons— informing your bestfriend of your new suitor is just an awful, harebrained, bad fucking idea.

That’s… for another time. But not now, not when you’re so in love it feels like you’re walking on a cloud with him, his larger hand in yours like an anchoring weight between chaotic hunter trips and scares- a very welcome consolation that calms your heart and makes you feel like a princess- the one you’d always secretly wished to embody as a little girl.

You’re… older now. Grown. Caleb can’t scare them all away, right…? Especially not if he’s unaware of them.

This fairy tale- perfect, gentle, sweet- is one you want to indulge in for a little bit longer.

So yes. Whenever Caleb visits again, eagerly inviting himself into your quaint apartment with a bag of your favorite snacks in tow as conferral, your boyfriend will not be mentioned.

✿✿✿

When he comes in, he brushes past you- wafting up cold air and the citrusy notes of his faded cologne- and ruffles your hair with a chuckle.

The stirrings of unease take root in you as you toss a laugh back and trail him into the kitchen like a lost puppy: not just because you haven’t kept a secret from him in ages- a miserably failed attempt, might you add- but mainly for the reason that your phone is buzzing in your pocket and you have no choice but to ignore it because the caller is the one individual you have vowed to hide.

Mere seconds before Caleb turns to face you, setting his haul on the counter, you fish your phone from your jeans and power it off, wincing at the apology you’ll have to give your boyfriend later when he inevitably asks what became of his unanswered call. It’s- It’s fine, though. He’ll understand once you tell him, albeit, the same cannot be said for Caleb.

The brunet idles between your cabinets and fridge, scrutinizing your stock, and speaks behind his shoulder, nodding you over. “C’mon, pipsqueak. What’re you waitin’ out there for? Need your help puttin’ away all the groceries. What do you say, will you lend me a hand?”

Walking in, you quickly get to work, humming nonchalantly. “Ah, I suppose I can.” You rotate the items of his purchase in hand and smile appreciatively, tucking them away neatly- all the while, your eyes dart to his profile as he rearranges the contents of your refridgerator without prompting. He throws you a glance in between though, violet eyes soft with mirth, his lips drawn in an easy smile, to thank you. “What would I do without you?” He teases.

“Oh, I don’t know,” you repress a grin, shrugging with nonchalance as you squeeze between his broad shoulder to slip a carton of apple juice in the fridge, “But I will say I’m thankful for the loot. This is enough to feed a family of five.”

“And you for a week,” he comments lightly with an innocuous pinch to your cheek on your exit, “which is all that matters.” You grimace and swat his hand away- long fingers, ever tactile, dropping to instead poke at your side- rubbing your face dramatically, and Caleb chuckles. Genuine and warm.

“Guess you can’t live without me either.”

He says, awfully pleased with the fact, and then you watch from your periphery, still pouting for the theatric value, as his face turns into a severe blur, his hand casting out to latch around your wrist.

Unthinking, you pause. With a hard blink, you feel yourself get spun around and then he’s right there, in your face, dwarfing you completely as he brings your little hand to his side and peers down at you, thick brows furrowed steadily.

“What?” You go.

Almost hesitantly- like he’s fearing the worst- he leans forward, dips his chin down, the tip of his nose grazing your shoulder in a way that has you bracing for impact, or something else- and breathes the scent of you in.

Floral, soft, tinged with your lavender detergent. Pleasant on the senses; Caleb’s never outright admitted that your smell is like a balm to his nervous system, mild and soothing, but he can make that confession in his heart when it takes all of five seconds to pin the anomaly marring it.

It’s faint, but there. Another man’s cologne— a little minty, a little earthy, about as aromatic as a wet dog let in from the rain as Caleb snuffles at your neck and scowls.

“Who is that?” He asks. More of a demand, really- his long, slim digits giving yours an unwitting but growingly hard squeeze in his. You immediately blanche, and you inwardly pray he can’t see the bob of your throat as you swallow or hear the heavy thumps of your heart in your chest as his invasive words- and touch- spurs it into unease.

You try to steel yourself. “W-What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” he chastises without so much as a doubt of your apparent wrong. Despite his icy, intense stare, his touch betrays it, his grip firm but his thumb rubbing gentle, fast circles over the back of your hand as he keeps it in his. “I can smell somethin’ on you. Someone. You… Pipsqueak, you haven’t been gettin’ up to no good while I was at the DAA, have you?”

It’s rare to hear his voice lower like it is now, friendly, playful charm replaced by an almost cold, foreign edge as his eyes- no longer so warm- narrow into an accusing glare. They flit across the bridge of your nose down to your parted lips, and then to the wings of your collarbone as his lashes slowly flutter.

Contemplative. You almost wonder what it is he’s thinking before you bar yourself off from that curiosity, reasonable as it is. You’ve seen, from your younger years, just how far he’ll go to protect you- whether that be from punks down the street or guys at school who shove love letters in your locker on Valentine’s day- and you’re not so sure you want to re-experience the vivid footage of that which is very likely replaying through his head right now.

You get it, okay, you do. You grew up together and as your bestfriend- really, your singular stronghold- he’ll do his very best to shield you from the world and all the creeping men in it. But your boyfriend does not fall under that same umbrella. Your boyfriend genuinely cares for you and wants the best for you, but you doubt Caleb will take any of his real affection into consideration.

It’s why you plant ten toes into the ground and look him dead in the eye when you say,

“No. ‘Course not,” and you give a short giggle for good measure, gently weaseling your hand free from his own (albeit, it takes a considerable amount of effort, his grasp not quite willing to part with you). “C’mon, you know I work with all sorts of people at the Hunter’s Administration. And I didn’t shower yet. What, do I smell bad?”

“No,” he ripostes, still louring into your eyes like they’re a gateway to the most abstruse corners of your soul, waiting for them to offer up your secrets. “You could never smell bad,” he clarifies, “but the same can’t be said for whatever’s on you right now.”

“I see and interact with tons of people each day, Caleb. It’s nothing, really.” A gentle but firm, if not marginally amused reminder from your end- although your stomach is absolutely churning under his scrutiny which only seems to deepen and not let up.

He looks uncertain with himself, his own mini emotional outburst, as his jaw opens and closes. His indigo gaze, still smouldering but somewhat assuaged, flits across your clavicle before he looks up and slowly says,

“You’re not… keeping things from me, are you? If someone started seeing you, you’d tell me, rrright?”

“‘Course,” you snicker after a beat, and at the small lump of bitterness in you, you can’t help but tack on- “Not that you’d let anyone see me, anyway...”

Missing its sardonic edge, Caleb heaves a small laugh at your not-joke and gives a half nod. “Yeah,” he agrees without an iota of shame, “but it’s for your own good.” Reluctantly, he releases your hand and lets you apply a number of steps between you, still eyeing you as you resolutely continue unpacking his groceries. “‘Member what I told you, back when we were kids? Guys only ever want one thing from girls, and I don’t wanna see some peabrained jerk break your heart, Pipsqueak. He wouldn’t deserve you anyway.”

“I think,” He starts, laughing to himself, but now it’s your turn to miss the punchline, “I think I’d actually see red.”

Before you can so much as formulate a response in your head, your friend takes it upon himself to stop your busying hands and say in a gentle voice, “Hey, I got the groceries, okay? Why don’t you… go get cleaned up? So you’ll be all nice and comfy durin’ the movie.” Caleb flashes you a winning smile as a bonus, peering into you with less agitation than before and more calculated softness. You can tell, for both of your sakes, he’s still trying to calm himself from that little boyfriend scare.

As another incentive- perhaps the most tempting- he adds, “I’ll even make the popcorn while you’re in there!”

You don’t acknowledge the cause behind his words- what really pushed him to voice that suggestion- and instead nod diplomatically.

“Alright, if ya say so,” you murmur easily. “But you’d better put lots of butter on it.”

“Oh, you be careful what you wish for, Pipsqueak. Especially when you’ll end up throwin’ it all on the floor at the slightest jumpscare,” he teases. “I’ll be scrubbing the carpet for hours.”

With a pout, you give him a playful shove and dismiss him completely, not bothering to reply to that. You abandon your post behind the pantry with barely-concealed relief and sigh once you reach the bathroom, locking the door and typing out a quick text to your boyfriend as a temporary olive branch. You don’t want him to be mad. In any case, you don’t think he will be, considering he’s far more understanding than Caleb in some regards- but if you want to maintain good terms in this blossoming relationship, it’ll have to be far from your friend’s controlling- but well meaning- hand.

Caleb’s… just making a big deal out of this. Per usual.

If anything, despite the niggling sense of guilt that makes you feel awful to even look him in the eye, you just feel even more compelled to keep this from him.

He really might blow his fuse, otherwise.

When you exit the bathroom with a towel around your shoulders, Caleb pushes a bowl of popcorn into your hands like he’s trying to placate you.

He smiles, giving you a once-over. “See? Nice n’ clean.”

You’re not entirely sure what the point made is, but you deign a nod anyway, gleefully accepting the bowl.

Extra butter, just as he promised.

✿✿✿

You’ve loved Linkon for as long as you can remember.

It’s held you, welcomed you in when you were just a tatterdamelion girl fresh from a facility that you don’t really remember, but still carry somewhere deep within you all the same. This city supplied you with a roof over your head, a loving grandmother, and an opportunity to lead a normal life— it’d be more difficult to not fall in love with it.

You think Caleb’s presence, warm and comforting, has a lot to do with your pleasant feelings surrounding it. He was both your bestfriend all throughout childhood and your safeguard; wherever you went, he happily trailed, and with the two of you- and Gran- things were simple and tranquil.

This is your hometown.

You’d thought you’d experienced most if not all of what it had to offer, fondly memorized each route and cornerstore- but over a candlelit dinner at a restaurant you’ve never been, your boyfriend smiles as the waitress brings out your entrées.

Hestiantly awaiting him to dig in first, your fork hovers uncertainly over a dish you’ve never seen before- but it makes your mouth water all the same. With a warm chuckle, he instructs you to eat and you do, gushing at least a million times about how good it tastes.

Between bites, you carry on easy conversation (mostly your rambling- about hunter work and then that cute cat you saw the other day- and his happily lending an ear) and your date is moving splendidly. Midway through your meal, the table falls silent for a moment while you take an indulgent sip from your fruity, non-alcoholic drink, and your boyfriend perks up as if remembering something.

“Ah,” he says, setting his own glass down with the hint of a cheeky grin, “You know, I have something to tell you.”

You lift an eyebrow, recuperating from your long chatter which, you realize with a dollop of bashfulness, was one-sided. You were just so excited to speak with him- and can you really be blamed? He’s perfect, sweet, understanding… He doesn’t get mad at you for not allocating your whole time to him, your schedule hardly allowing for it- although you’d be happy if it did- and he doesn’t drop so much as one cautionary piece of advice at the somewhat short dress you’re wearing tonight- just for him. His opening word was a warm compliment of ‘you’re stunning’ paired with a quick embrace, and you felt like he really meant it.

Honest to God you think you love him.

“Y-Yeah?” You smile tentatively, nudging him to continue. You’re not quite sure what he has to say, but you want to listen. “What is it?”

He takes a beat to laugh softly. You wrinkle your forehead and laugh back, curtly reaching over the table to give his hand a little squeeze. “What is it?” You press with amusement, his eyes glittering under the dim, lemony light the fixture overhead casts.

“Nothing to worry about, just-“ His grin only intensifies as he begins to elaborate, but yours slowly fizzles out, your lashes fluttering thoughtfully, “I think you’ve got a secret admirer or something, babe. The other day, someone hit me up with a text to piss off. And I was confused at first, you know-?”

The pleasant sound of his unaffected chuckle does little to soothe your nerves as they build in your gut, the gears in your head turning for an answer- some explanation for the inexplicable dread clutching your chest. “Like, who is this asshole? But then I remembered that blond guy from your work and-“

No. No.

You startle without thinking, darting forward to offer out a trembling hand, “Hey- can I see that text?” With perfect, singleminded focus, you watch his face of humor warp into one of slight unease, but he gives a belated shrug and fishes it from his pocket. “Uh, sure. Here you go, babe-“

Slumping back down into your booth, you dial out his password and scroll through his contact list with your lower lip caught in your teeth. You don’t want to believe the worst- God forbid this awful suspicion end up being true- but there’s a little niggling doubt in the back of your head that speaks with strange clarity and you can’t will yourself to ignore it, not after that interaction you’d had with your friend last week.

Your thumb stops in its tracks to hover over a singular, unlabeled profile picture. With a thick swallow, mucus feeling thick as mollasses in your throat, you tap on the message and it fills his phone screen.

Hey guy, look, i’m sure you’re a cool dude and all but stay away from y/n. I won’t tell you again :)

A quavering breath filters in through your glossed lips.

Surely not.

A- A prank. It must be a prank on his end, right?

But you know Caleb. You know him from anywhere, you know him like a fucking mirror- or a platonic soulmate, you’re so close. He’s been your bestfriend all throughout childhood and you’d be damned if you couldn’t recognize him in text, even over a small number of words on someone else’s phone screen.

The world sears around you, darkening in your periphery. Your surroundings- blurred with the coming of a very angered, indignant emotion- and the concerned visage of your boyfriend- wither away like ash.

All you can see is how small- how helpless- Caleb has made you feel, the color red, terrible and pigmented, stinging your sclera.

W- Why can’t he just fucking see that you’re fine-? You don’t need him to protect you, and—

The better part of your rationale fades, tears wetting your eyes and the mascara that’d clumped on your lashes, balling your fingers with an iron grip in fear of your carefully-applied makeup waterfalling all over your cheeks. Dammit! You’re so upset right now you can’t even think.

The chair screeches from under you, alerting the fellow restaurant-goers who perk upright around you, but you can’t find it in you to care about them- or your sweet, gawking boyfriend as you throw him a feeble, too-tight smile and march for the nearest exit.

“Uh- b-babe-? Wait-“

It’s long overdue that you grow up, yes, but you realize this- the little stunts pulled to keep you in the house, more notably the attic, as a teen, and now the blatant threats made to your present partner through ominous texts- is childish, and Caleb is pushing the envelope, too.

You’re starting to fucking wonder if he even wants to grow up, or keep you and him trapped in his fantastical, little imaginary world forever.

✿✿✿

To your singular surprise, he’s already there when you arrive, emerging from the living room of your apartment with the ease of someone who owns the place.

He doesn’t own the place. You worked taxing hours, both physical and otherwise, at your job and counted up the pennies to afford the rent here- your flat falls under your name and it’s yours. Not his. Not everything is Caleb’s- not everything can he just assert his hands all over and take.

This is your life! What you’re trying to make of it!

You’re so angry you can hardly look at him without glaring daggers, crossing your arms across your chest just to keep them from shaking at your sides as you halt by the threshold and find your bearings.

“Caleb,” you grit out. He’s stupidly self-assured as he folds his own arms and props himself against the wall, dipping his chin slightly to appraise you. A low-cut, silky dress that leaves little to the imagination, lipstick that makes your lips almost glitter and mascara that threatens to run— you wonder just what that squint in his eye means as he takes it all in.

When he lets out a breathless, angered sort of scoff, you think you’ve grasped the fundamentals of it. He doesn’t like it. And of course he doesn’t, right-? Because you look grown up, like a confident, take-no-bullshit woman- a country mile from the little fumbling girl he grew up with and constantly had to monitor.

You haven’t seen him in a week, and even now you realize this unannounced visit is earlier than his general schedule, but a lot has changed in that short amount of time.

“Hm. What’s got you so worked up, Pipsqueak?”

Infuriating.

“You-!” You unclench your jaw just enough to speak. “You know what you did!”

“Sorry. I’m gonna need you to be a lil more specific,” he teases with a hint of a cruel smile, “Help me understand what you’re sayin’ here.”

You’re almost impressed with how steady the words come out; you’re half expecting to break down in furious sobs right then and there, but you more or less manage to save face. “You’re threatening my boyfriend now?”

There’s nothing to be leisured on here- so you’ll just cut to the point because the quicker he understands the line you’re drawing, the sooner he’ll leave and you can be done with this. Your lovely date has been ruined for the night, you’re all kinds of humiliated and you’ll have a whole plethora of apologetic texts to type out for your boyfriend— who you’ve inwardly decided will have to become privy to the little dilemma with your overprotective friend. You wanted to keep it off the books, but Caleb has made that all but impossible.

A little muscle in his face twitches. Some of the mirth, contrived as it was, fading at your accosting. “And you’re keeping things from me now?” He accuses back.

He hardly gave you any other choice, did he? Caleb’s no different than a guard dog wherever you’re involved, and your poor boyfriend wouldn’t stand much of a chance if your closest friend thought you to be in some kind of danger and blindly rushed in. But he’s— that’s just where Caleb doesn’t understand, does he? That you’re fine on your own, truly, that you’re safe and you feel loved in his arms. It’s so so maddening but you try your damnedest to hold onto the trace of dignity you still have left after the last hour.

“I’m allowed to fall in love, you know! Go out and- and start a life separate from you and our childhood!”

A sharp intake of air on his end. The arms folded over his chest stiffen, fingertips bluntly digging into the crooks of his elbows.

“And what about me?” He asks slowly. “You think I’ll just… be content to be left in your dust while you go and- and give yourself up to the first guy who looks at you?”

A wounded sound disguised as a laugh escapes your lips. “Oh, is that what you think of me? Think I’m just some insecure little school girl who’s got a crush and doesn’t know how to act?”

With a coolness that masks the true turmoil inside him, Caleb pushes himself off the wall and approaches you. Whether it’s the stirrings of fear that keep you grounded in place- the unexpected but startling realization that right now, you feel afraid of him- or the determination steeling your nerves, you don’t know, but you hold your ground even when he’s no more than a foot away.

“Honestly?” He starts, “you’re lookin’ the part right now, Pipsqueak.”

Tears well up in the corners of your eyes. Your fingers mirror the brunet’s, curling up together and stabbing the fleshy plane of your palm. You refuse to cry in front of him. It’s different from when you were kids, like if you were to burst into tears now, he’d use it as more of an example as to why you’re not steady on your own; the warm memories of being tucked in his embrace seem sugar-coated now, like you were missing the bigger picture all along.

Perhaps it was naivety- wishful thinking- believing that the spot under his arm or at his breast was the safest in the world.

This Caleb is one you don’t even recognize, let alone want to cuddle up to.

Your nostrils flare, your tone beaten, small, but it reaches its mark. “I’m trying, okay? I’m trying my best to get out of your shadow.”

Seemingly, he ignores you, simply saying, “You can do… so much better than him.

“Hah, oh really? And what’s better, Caleb? Since you’re soooo enlightened,” you throw back, bravely (or stupidly) stepping closer to sneer in his face until yours is just meager inches from his. He makes no move to reapply that distance, small as it was, indigo eyes regarding you with a slight narrow as he looks down his nose at you and frowns.

You don’t care if you’re being reckless. You deserve an answer after all his awful antics. Maybe you’ve been going around his back with your boyfriend, but it’s not like he was owed that knowledge to begin with, and he’s done you an even greater disservice by running behind yours to tamper with your relationships.

You press, “What’s better, Caleb! TELL ME!”

“Me,” Caleb murmurs, but you take it clear as a bell. You slacken, anger loosening from the tight lines in your visage, but you watch- unseeingly- as a mite of joy blinks across his face. Light as quicksilver. “Caleb is better.”

Without a word, you push past him, leaving him alone in your apartment. It’d be a losing battle to kick him out your door, and you were tired of fighting.

Tired of him, really.

✿✿✿

You don’t know how fast you’re going, or for how far you drive. Just that it’s barely below the speed limit, you guess, and it’s within Linkon’s outskirts. It’s a handful of hours that pass when you realize you’re going in circles. You’re not so sure where to land.

It’s after dark when you swerve your car into some empty parking lot- a park, you think- and get out to sit yourself on a wooden bench. It’s a starry night, a beautiful clear sky overhead- but you can’t find it in you to admire the view as frustration and sorrow, the feelings you’d been burying all throughout the seemingly endless drive, bubble to the surface.

You hang your head between your hands and cry.

Something is wrong with Caleb. He’s like a dog with a bone; you’re more than horrified to realize that in the grand scheme of things, you are the chewtoy. He’ll nip at the hands that get too close, your boyfriend’s most of all.

If tonight taught you one thing, it’s that he cant be reasoned with. Fine. You don’t need him anyway. If he’s just gonna see you as some pitiful little object he can put a leash on at his own whims, then you don’t think you want to be friends anymore- the decade of knowing him, relying on him, be damned.

(But you suppose he doesn’t want to be ‘friends’ either, huh?)

When he’d said he wanted to be a pilot, you didn’t stop him. No, you clapped him on the back and pulled him into a hug and told him you’d support him every step of the way, that you were proud.

Evidently, he doesn’t give a shit about you or how you feel or what you want— he’s bigheaded and selfish. Does he seriously think he can just say what he said tonight without any consequence?

Me. Caleb is better.

You scoff, fingernails denting your palm as you clench your fists. It’s all you can do to stop them from shaking or punching the air.

For a moment you almost contemplate picking yourself up, giving your partner a ring or climbing back into your vehicle to steer it towards home… B-But you don’t think you want to go back, not when it means facing him, not right now—

Between the gap of your wrists as you cradle your temples, headlights pour over the concrete below. The rumbling hum of an engine gets louder and then tires crunch over pebbled road as a car pulls in. Your shoulders stiffen. You risk a wary glance up and feel a mixture of relief and confusion when you clock it as your boyfriend’s.

…What? What’s he doing here?

You prepare to stand, but a figure throws a long leg out of the front and the silhouette that appears, tall and broad, approaching with measured ease, makes you freeze.

His face shines under a singular lamp post and you’re embittered all over again at the sight of Caleb.

Wiping your tears away before he can fully see them, you practically leap off the bench when he’s still a couple yards from reaching you, but your heart lurches to your throat when something- an invisible force- throws you back onto the seat.

“Sit,” his voice, leaving little room for negotiation, rings.

Gobsmacked, you jerk your head up. He’s a few feet away now, swiftly trimming that space until he’s stood right before you and slipping his hand under your chin to hold your gaze, wide with shock, on him.

“It’s late. You shouldn’t be out here.”

Your dreadful expression hardens into one of calm anger. “What, am I your prisoner now? You’re really gonna- fucking hold me hostage on this stupid bench?” You sniffle.

For a certain window of time, the familiar car behind him slotted by yours is completely forgotten, your attention wholly fixed on the man (your should-be bestfriend) towering over you.

Dimly lit, you watch as his eyes narrow, sweeping over you with thought- albeit, just what exactly is running through his mind, you don’t know if you want to find out. Right now, though, you think you hate him, and you have waning faith that he’ll choose the right option here- that is, to piss off to wherever he came from and get his nose out of your relationships.

“…Did you hear anything I said?” He asks pointedly.

The sharpness of it silences you, your jaw fluttering shut above his palm, his touch betraying a gentleness that flummoxes you. He shifts it to thumb away at your silvery tears.

You struggle for an answer, for an appropriate way to even respond to all this. “Caleb-“

“Do you even realize what you do to me?” He lets out a little laugh, then, but the hurt is clear as day on the half of his face that the dim, lemony light glows on. He shakes his head, “After what I said, you just… left? You’ve become quite the heartbreaker, huh, Pipsqueak?”

His eyes glitter. You get the vague feeling that there’s something you’re not grasping here, like another nonsensical joke you don’t understand yet as a tinge of amusement pinches his lips.

“Hm.”

Finally, you break from his inscrutable gaze and heave a sigh. “Caleb, look, I-I just want to forget tonight and—“

“I’m gonna say a few things,” he cooly interupts. You gawk. “Caleb-“

“-And you’re gonna listen.”

You’re stunned into a clumsy sort of quietude, mouth quavering shut as you spare a frenetic glance down to your wrists, bound by invisible restraits to your side, straight as a ramrod. You can’t move them. Every second spent is tense, and wraught with the anticipation that he’ll shortly let go and tell you this is some prank- definitely his sickest yet- but you’re sorely mistaken.

“I love you, Y/n,” he starts, with an expression so sober that it steals the breath from your lungs, dark violet eyes rippling with intensity. The swing set somewhere behind you offers a groan as a breeze whisks its chains aside. Your heart thuds loudly in your chest; perhaps the one thing he can’t paralyze into silence.

Time drags to a screeching stop at his words- not because you’ve never heard them before: years ago, during stormful, scary nights you’d cling onto him and press your ear to his chest, the steady thrum of his heart and those three words lulling you into peaceful sleep- but because you’ve never heard them in that way.

Not even from your boyfriend.

A second passes and you’re… frightened. Unmistakably, horribly frightened.

You get the feeling he’s wounded, however, face warping with some deepseated, double-edged conviction, as he stares.

He lifts a hand, his free one, and splays it over his broad chest, bunching the fabric of his shirt as his brow furrows, “I love you so fucking much it actually hurts sometimes. And it was… fine, for a while, pretending all I felt for you was friendly. But—“ and this is when his face, and the kicked puppy sort of look, darkens, his nostrils flaring as he drops his hand to his side.

“But then you started running from me,”

“I- I never tried to run, Caleb-!?”

Smoothly, he continues. “Decided I wasn’t good enough for you. But haven’t I always protected you? When it was thundering, when the neighborhood bullies came knocking on the door- I was there to hold you. To fight off your bad dreams,” He breaks off with a breathy laugh that sends a cold chill down your spine. Franky, no amount of humor, no matter how small, feels appropriate right now. “Remember? Even when Gran said to eat your veggies, it was me who cleaned your plate for you. It was always me, Pipsqueak.”

You blink. But every time you open your eyes, you think it’s someone new standing before you. It’s all surreal, like you can’t trust your own sight.

“And now…” he moves impossibly closer, sandwiching you against the back of the bench, hunching over. You give your wrists, trembling from resistance, another harsh tug but they don’t move.

“We finally get to be together again, just to find out you’ve been tryin’ to seek that out in another guy? Pipsqueak- you know nobody will love you like I have, right…?”

Distantly, as the tip of his nose nears yours and you spot a fleck of something on his cheekbone, smeared and red, you wonder just whose car you’ll be escorted home in.

Yours, or your boyfriend’s.

[stxxrlights]

𝐁𝐎𝐘 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐃𝐎𝐎𝐑 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎

boy next door!geto who you welcomed so warmly the day he moved into the apartment next to you. helping him carry some his boxes upstairs to his new place which surprisingly, was right nest door to yours.

boy next door!geto who would go out and come back to his apartment the same as you almost everyday. you would head for college while he's going for a run early in the morning. always smiling brightly at you.

boy next door!geto who started engaging in small talk with you, trying to get to know you better. what foods you likes, the type of shows you like, your favourite colour. whatever it is, he's happy to know that about you.

boy next door!geto who let's you play with his white fluffy dog named satoru. he seemed to take quite an interest with you. always jumping and barking excitedly whenever he sees you. and he's not small either. he causes you to fall on the ground as he jumps onto you and licks your face.

boy next door!geto who really enjoys your company and values it a lot. he thinks your and interesting person in general. he mostly asks you to accompany him to the laundry mat because why not.

boy next door!geto who would get you groceries when he sees you ordering takeout for almost an entire week. anything to help out his cute little neighbour since you've been so busy with school.

boy next door!geto who eventually asks for your number. giving excuses like, "i need someone to call incase something happens you know. you're the only one i trust here anyways", he winks playfully at you. but once he does, he's going back into his apartment and silent screaming that you took his number.

boy next door!geto who would invite you on his morning and evening walks when he's walking satoru. claiming since he gets so excited around you, he's gonna have more energy and actually get some exercise. he just loves talking to you about absolute nonsense, often smiling at you as satoru trots happily infront of you.

boy next door!geto who's feelings started to get stronger for you. his heart beating a little faster, his palms getting sweatier and he's stuttering more than usual, which he never does, around you. he doesn't understand, but he likes the way you make him feel.

boy next door!geto who couldn't help but smile whenever you cross his thoughts. he could just be laying on his bed staring at the ceiling and he randomly remembers the stupid joke you told him and the pretty smile on your face. he sighs contentedly and knew he had to make you his.

boy next door!geto who started taking your opinions very seriously. "your hair look grwat in a bun", you commented one day and suddenly, he's hair is almost always styled in a bun.

boy next door!geto who would subtly try to woo you into liking him as much as he likes you. throwing compliments whenever he deemed necessary, making you laugh with his jokes and sometimes buying you things and food and tiny trinkets to get his way into your kind heart.

boy next door!geto who would leave chocolates and other sweets you mentioned liking at your door step in secret. you would always find them after you got back from school. they never failed to make your day and you knew who it was, but you didn't tell him. you infact started liking him a little too

boy next door!geto who meticulously planned the perfect moment to confess to you. asking you to go somewhere with him where you found a picnic table set up as you watched the sunset.

boy next door!geto who could not stop his heart from exploding in his chest when you smiled and laughed and confessed your feelings for him as well. he was at a loss for words. his cheeks dusted pink and he's shaking a little not believing that this is happening. overjoyed, he pulls you in for a big hug. whispering 'i love you' over and over again.

boy next door!geto who feels like the happiest man on earth, to have the most beautiful, gorgeous, kind and absolutely adorable neighbour as his girlfriend, and in the near future...his wife.

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