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jk97 · 12 days

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Unprofessional Attraction | THREE

♡ pairing - yunho x afab!reader ♡ word count - 23.6K ♡ warnings for this chapter - fluff, ANGST, and explicit content (mdni), teacher/student relationship, some other members are featured, drinking alcohol, bigdick!yunho, pet names (angel, pretty, sweetheart, etc.), possessive/obsessive/toxic behavior, cunnilingus, hickeys, fingering, praise, unprotected sex, creampie(s), jealousy, blackmail ♡ A/N - I’m soooo sorry this took me forever to write (it’s so many words ahhh 🫠) but hopefully this is worth the wait. The next part will be the finale of this series. This also isn't beta read so I apologize for mistakes ahhh. I love ya’ll, thank you for your patience friends, STREAM GOLDEN HOUR ♡

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

“You could at least try a little harder to pretend you want to be here with me, ____.”

Wooyoung’s antsy fingers pinch at the straw of his drink while he watches you thumb away at your phone. Going back and forth with your friends in the group chat about Jongho’s upcoming recital is the only thing calming your nerves this afternoon. When you had agreed to his ruse, you didn’t realize you were signing up for public humiliation. Those two words might be a bit dramatic, but sitting together in the dead center of the campus food court has you immensely anxious either way. This is entirely way too public…

You don’t mean to offend him with your embarrassment. It’s not like Wooyoung isn’t handsome; in fact, that might make things worse. It helps draw in too much unnecessary attention from other women, and it feels as though there might as well be a spotlight circling your table. Luckily, Yunho has a lecture through the next hour today, so you’re not too concerned on that front. Regardless, your first fake date with him is starting to be nothing short of awkward.

“You can’t even look me in the eyes?” He inquires further.

“I’m sorry,” you find it within yourself to apologize, placing your phone face down on the table and sliding it away. To offset your anxiety, you put new effort into inspecting your food and preparing to finally eat it. Anything to just keep busy. “This is just a little out of my comfort zone.”

“Pretend I’m Mr. Jeong if that makes it easier,” he suggests, but his tone hangs on the edge of condescension. It’s not all that intentional, but he’s poking the bear. “I have access to the grade book all the same, you know.”

With narrowed eyes, you try to let his wisecrack roll off your shoulder, “That’s not a very funny joke.”

Continuing to avoid his eyes, Wooyoung watches you put all your attention into eating the meal he’s bought you so that you both can pretend to be on this lunch date. He was gracious enough to offer to pay for any meals you share moving forward, as long as it would make things easier on you while being a part of his plan. That’s what a real boyfriend would do anyway, right? Though, right now you’re not treating him like a boyfriend— you’re treating him like some kind of dirtbag with an open wallet. He can feel his own appetite slipping away slowly but surely.

“What are you both anyway, fuck buddies?” He asks a little too bluntly.

It might be a bit muffled, as your mouth is stuffed with food, but you still manage to retort, “That’s none of your business, actually.”

His increasing annoyance is evident by the deep exhale he tries (and fails) to suppress. Wooyoung doesn’t want things to be so tense, but you’re not exactly making it easy. He supposes you might gain some sympathy for him if he explains his troubles. You seem like a genuine person despite any contempt you might hold for him right now, so he figures you’ll be understanding. He needs to make conversation in some kind of way, anyway.

“How about I tell you a bit about my situation then?” He finally offers. You hum to let him know you’re listening, so he continues, “She and I were together for the last three years, but then she broke up with me a few months ago. And over something so stupid, really.”

“Go on,” you encourage, swallowing the bulk of food in your throat.

“Well, I need a master's degree to get the specific job I want… After telling her, one of her friends got in her ear about how me staying in school might hold her back after we graduate next year.” Wooyoung tries to sound indifferent to her friend’s heavy influence on her decisions, but the look behind his eyes, as he glances around to see if she’s in the area, says otherwise. It’s full of bitterness and hurt. “She wants to travel for a year before getting a job, and they told her I’d stress her out too much with a long-distance relationship. She took that to heart, for whatever reason.”

Would it be a lie if you said you didn’t support a tiny bit of actual pity towards Wooyoung? Probably. Knowing what you know now, you ponder more about the tight situation between you. He’s an intelligent guy, and you’re sure he knows exactly what Yunho is to you with the way you get touchy about his name even being mentioned. That’s why he’s using someone else’s happiness to retrieve his own once more. While that’s not exactly just, you’re aware that love makes people do crazy things. Moreover, you know you in particular can’t judge anyone after doing what you’ve done to achieve Yunho’s attention.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” is all you can reply, but it’s genuine.

Before you can process what’s happening, Wooyoung suddenly reaches across the table and links his fingers with your free hand in an act of endearment. Your cheeks prickle with heat, not from being charmed, but from more humiliation. This is embarrassing, suddenly having to do public displays of affection with someone you don’t even like in front of whoever is looking hard enough to notice.

“Don’t turn around, she’s here with a friend,” he mumbles, and then an affectionate smile tugs at his lips. It looks fairly genuine… He is much too good at looking charming on the drop of a dime. “Do you think it’d be too corny if we wore some matching outfits a couple times?”

You hesitate for the briefest second before squeezing his hand with false affection and leaning forward on your elbows to seem more interested.

Nobody is close enough to hear you reply, “Are you trying to win her back or get her to block you? Because I honestly can’t tell.”

“It’s just a little joke. Laugh a little, I beg,” Wooyoung pouts.

He leads your connected hand to fondle his cheek, trying to inconspicuously guide you through the motions. If Wooyoung didn’t know any better, he would assume you’ve never been on a date in your life. His hopes were much higher than this, as you’re much too pretty to be this stiff when it comes to showing affection. It almost has him second-guessing whether he’s right about you and Yunho being involved more than just sexually. Much to his surprise, your hand finally relaxes against his face, and he revels in the way you even stroke his skin with your thumb. The timing couldn’t be more ideal, truly. He can sense the attention of his intended audience, and the corners of his mouth curl into a subtle smirk of approval.

“That’s perfect. Keep going.”

“Don’t push it, please.”

For the rest of that week, Wooyoung insisted on repeating these kinds of daily rendezvous. This request also accompanied another for walking each other to class when applicable. He knew he couldn’t always time it right for when she’d be present, but he had his workarounds. He was fairly knowledgeable about a few of her friends’ class schedules, and he made it a point to walk with you on paths that would often intersect with those who he knew would inform her of his behavior instead. Occasionally, he would ask you to show up to school a little more fetching than usual, with prettier clothes and makeup. Wooyoung also made a point of concealing her identity from you, for reasons unbeknownst to you. He failed to tell you any more details about her after your first date, and that included basics as simple as her name. Several possibilities were considered when you finally identified this as a problem. The rational explanation would be that he doesn’t want you approaching her on your own time and taking things into your own hands. A particular irrational explanation starts infiltrating your thoughts with the more days that pass by bearing no evidence of progress:

“I’m starting to believe this ex of yours doesn’t exist.”

Your snide remark about his secrecy started as a joke.

“I have nothing to gain from lying to you.”

His terse reply didn’t necessarily extinguish the conspiracy behind your jest. After consistently being told not to look in certain directions for nearly two weeks, and no updates on her position, it became harder to believe his words. Despite everything, you do as you’re told and pray that his ex breaks through sooner rather than later.

I’m sorry.

It seems as though those two words haven’t stopped coming out of your mouth ever since you stepped foot in Yunho’s home this evening.

It begins with apologizing profusely for asking to come over on such short notice. Your complex’s Wi-Fi went out due to the wintery mix storm slamming the town tonight. Wooyoung’s been trying to lay it on thick the last few days and make your presence more than known to his ex, anywhere and every way that he can. Consequently, with a lot of your free time being taken away by him, you found little time to put towards important assignments due at the end of this week. The lack of Wi-Fi is the absolute last thing you need to happen right now.

Yunho doesn’t care about your abrupt presence at his door or even the way you track slush past his doorstep. He's more concerned about how you drove in the middle of a huge storm so late into the evening with no care for your safety. Over and over, you find new things to apologize for that make no sense to him. Another set of frazzled apologies comes from your mouth for keeping him up late after an hour or two passes. Yunho can’t help but genuinely laugh at this one.

“You do realize what day it is, right?” He inquires. The clueless look on your face makes him sit up, “It’s Saturday, ____. The day you typically come over and spend the night. I actually texted you about it earlier today, I didn’t know if you still wanted to or not since you were so busy last Saturday.”

This epiphany makes you immensely bashful and draws many more apologies out of you for your poor memory and lack of communication. How could I have lost time so badly that I forgot to reply to him about something we do so routinely? Under your stressful circumstances lately, your days are running together, and there’s just too much on your plate to appease everyone. Yunho visibly sees the shame blanket you from head to toe, and he hopes he didn’t come across as if he was upset with your behavior. In fact, he’s more concerned than anything.

Your lover can hear you type much faster after this brief exchange and he scoffs. Surely you don’t believe he’d willingly let you make haste of your work so you can disappear for another week or two… he groans internally when he realizes that’s exactly what you’re doing. He doesn’t understand why you’re so self-conscious and sheepish tonight, but he’s not going to press it. Instead, he rises from his spot on his couch and creeps over to where you’re seated at his table. His hands find the slopes of your shoulders and thumbs rub comforting circles into your muscles.

“You know you’re not going home tonight, right?” He questions after a moment of being nosey and peeking at your screen.

“And why not?”

The abrupt feeling of Yunho’s large palm skating up the skin of your throat before pushing your chin up to meet his gaze above you makes a chill run up your spine. His eyes are warm and concerned, yet stern.

“Because I said so,” he says point-blank.

Whether it be because of the terrible storm still slapping at his windows, or maybe even the fact that he hasn’t seen you outside of a classroom in quite some time, he knows this succinct answer suffices just as well those do. The subsequent pout on your lips to him is seen simply as an invitation to kiss them, and he does just that. You don’t even try to argue any further. It may not be your best work this semester, but it’s not too much longer after that when you finally submit everything due before its midnight deadline.

After briefly disappearing to his room to rummage through his dresser and change into something more comfortable, you eventually join him on the couch. Tonight’s position of choice has your head using his thighs as a pillow, cheek squished against his soft sweatpants as he spends endless minutes massaging the tense muscles of your back and shoulders with his fingers. He smells so good… that lavender and musk mix has you closing your eyes every handful of seconds just to breathe him in. Even if he can’t see your face, it’s obvious that you’re not paying attention to the movie he has on the TV, so he suggests that maybe you both should move to the bedroom so you can be more comfortable. You assure him that you’re more than comfortable right where you’re at, and that’s the truth.

Despite laying so peacefully with him, in what should be a moment of sedating intimacy, your mind is still reeling with things that need to be accomplished in the next few weeks. Every time you mentally check off something on your list, there are several more things added after, such as your three final exams, Yunho’s final paper, returning your textbook rentals, finally figuring out your ceremony dress, picking up your guests’ ceremony tickets–

“Are you going to attend my ceremony?”

Yunho hears you mumble this randomly after a while of sitting in comfortable silence. You’re sure he doesn’t need a ticket as a teacher, but the thought of having to get them brings you back to earth and reminds you of his presence.

“That was the plan,” he confirms, but hesitantly adds, “Unless you don’t want me there. I don’t want to make things awkward.”

The way you’re acting lately has him questioning things like this, now that he thinks about it. You immediately dispel his apprehension with a displeased grunt.

“No, I… really need you there.”

Yunho’s hand falters slightly in its kneading. He’s grateful that you’re unable to see his face with how you’re lying because the apples of his cheeks are taut from the overjoyed smile threatening to break through his lips. It’s one thing to be admired or adored by someone, but it’s another thing to be needed. He doesn’t hear that word often, if at all, but hearing it come from your mouth makes it even more monumental to him. That’s something he could get used to. Yunho hums in understanding, wordlessly confirming that he’ll be present. Following along the topic of graduation, he decides to ask something present on his mind recently.

“Have you thought about what you want to do after graduation?”

“Career-wise or celebration-wise?”

“Whichever… or both.”

You close your eyes to think. Nothing immediately comes to mind in terms of celebrating, but you’re sure your friends will be holding parties to attend. Putting that aside, you turn over and decide to open up a bit about your impending employment.

“I had a great internship last semester that I put my all into,” you divulge, “They wanted to bring me on full-time, so I asked if they could hold the position and wait for me to finish my degree this semester. Lucky me, they agreed.”

“Already set up for success right after you leave that stage… You’re amazing,” Yunho marvels. “I suppose I’m just as lucky too, huh? I get to watch you shine, front row.”

There’s a brief moment where you peer up and match his fond smile that’s already beaming right back down at you. When you reach up to caress his cheek, Yunho leans into your touch as if it’s second nature. The further you both dive into this relationship, it feels as though maybe you’ve finally found an additional frontline cheerleader.

“Mhm, something like that,” you tease. When he turns to kiss your palm in his form of congratulations, you sigh. Your hands have been tainted by someone else’s touch, and here he is blindly showing them genuine affection. Before you can help it, another apology comes out, “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy lately, Yu.”

“Why do you keep apologizing tonight for things you can’t control?” The gentle, unsuspecting laugh he lets out makes the guilt sitting in your chest about Wooyoung just a little bit heavier. “It’s finals season, I know how it goes.”

When your hand returns to your chest, your gaze falls just the same. He’s right, albeit unknowingly. With those words, you can finally accept that you have no control over your current situation at all. No matter how hard you try to convince yourself that you’re guiding this blackmail ship forward, you’re just not. In any case, you still feel like you’re doing what’s best for Yunho's future. Tonight’s tornado of apologies have all been unconscious overcompensation. As much as you feel like you need to, you know you shouldn’t have to apologize for your shortcomings when they result from such unmanageable circumstances. You’re doing your best, even if your best isn’t enough just yet.

Yunho can’t figure out what it is about tonight, but you seem like your head is a bit more in the clouds than usual. You’re here with him physically, but he can tell you’re somewhere else mentally. However, he acknowledges that he could be reading into things too much since it’s been a while since you both have spent time privately.

“Hey, stargazer, everything okay?” he finally asks in a soft voice, gently tugging on your cheek to bring you back to the present.

“Sorry—yeah, everything’s alright,” you reassure him. There’s something behind those soft eyes you’re giving him that makes him question your answer, but he keeps those concerns to himself and simply nods. “Thank you for being so understanding. I’ll make it up to you when this is all over with, I promise.”

You’re no longer talking about school with those words. He’ll probably never truly understand how much weight that sentence holds, but that’s okay. For the rest of your time with him tonight, you pretend that none of your problems exist outside his home. He deserves your unwavering attention tonight, at the very least.

On the first day of the following week, Wooyoung requests your presence in front of some familiar dormitories. It’s been quite some time now since you’ve been on this side of campus, considering you moved into your current apartment around the end of your junior year. The nostalgic feeling you get when meandering your way to your meeting place doesn’t do much to alleviate the anxiety you regularly get every time Wooyoung brings you somewhere so populated.

“What are we doing here again?”

“I heard she’s swinging by here today to drop something off for a mutual friend,” he explains while his eyes still scope the area for her presence, as usual.

You busy yourself with playing on your phone, keeping your head down and yourself hidden for as long as you can manage. This place, while technically not as densely populated as the dining space you frequent, has too many opportunities for lurking gazes. This particular set of dormitories sits on the side of campus that encompasses a good amount of academic halls and the largest campus library. There are plenty of teachers and students walking to classes or accessing the library, and even more lingering outside within the surrounding courtyard despite the frigid weather. Wooyoung had insisted on holding you by your waist for the time being as well, citing something about how “normal couples warm each other up”. You just want this to be over with as quickly as possible before too many people can see you both standing so close together.

“Hey, ____,” Wooyoung hums after a while, catching your attention quickly.

“Hm?”

Before you can even fully look up from your phone, Wooyoung’s head dips down and seeks out your lips. Shock is an understatement; the feeling of your heart seizing in unison with your limbs makes you feel like you might as well be flatlining. This cannot be—

“Relax,” he whispers before deepening this kiss, interrupting your thought as his tongue enters your mouth.

Reluctantly, you do as he says and try your best to relax while kissing him back. Over and over, you remind yourself this is supposed to be putting on a show in front of his ex. You try to allow yourself to fully slip into the role you have been forced to play. Your hands find purchase on his jacket, albeit uneasily. For someone who’s making your life so much more difficult, you can’t deny he’s at least a decent kisser. This moment feels like it lasts entirely too long, but eventually, Wooyoung pulls away and you watch his eyes dart around somewhere behind you.

“She’s gone now,” he sighs, “Pretty sure she saw that though. Nice job.”

“Don’t ever do that without warning me beforehand again,” you scold him in a voice low enough for his ears to hear only. Wooyoung rolls his eyes, though he follows up with an apology. Even though it seems genuine, it does nothing to quell the immediate guilt that washes over you the moment you go to swipe saliva off of your lips with your thumb. The nauseous feeling stirring in your stomach over simply kissing someone else other than Yunho begins to build up and feel unbearable, “Can I go now? I’m supposed to meet with a teacher during their office hours soon.”

Despite the tremor of uneasiness in your voice, Wooyoung believes your lie without question. That uneasiness doesn’t depart your system for the remainder of the day even after removing his presence, and you decide to call it quits early instead of attending your final class. This feeling of guilt, almost as if you cheated while in a relationship, has you more saddened than frustrated tonight. To make things easier to deal with, you repeat the same phrase about you and Yunho in your head over and over.

It’s okay, we’re not together yet.

While you cook yourself dinner–

It’s okay, we’re not together yet.

While working on your final paper–

It’s okay, we’re not together yet.

Yunho’s failure to text you back that evening before going to bed makes that fact easier to swallow. It’s the truth, so it shouldn’t be so hard to digest, right?

Yeosang does not expect much when he asks you out of the blue the next day to come and spend time with him after school. His roommate is gone for the week to visit family and he’s all by his lonesome. For the majority of the month, he’s become used to you declining in favor of completing overdue work. He’s not used to you being so behind on your work, and it doesn’t quite make sense to him when other times you say you’re even busier throughout the day. You look a bit more drained than usual when he Facetimes you that afternoon to suggest it, but he figures he wouldn’t be that upset to hear another no if you need the rest.

The answer was yes, for the first time in a while.

As luck would have it, the imaginary shackles on you had been released for the day, and having time to yourself for an entire weekday almost felt strange. Your personified migraine had texted you early in the morning informing you he’d be out of town for the day to attend some seminar that you didn’t care enough to remember the details of. Yeosang doesn’t do a good enough job concealing his shock the moment confirmation comes from your mouth, and you feign offense.

“I'm being punked, right?”

You scoff, “I don’t like the way you’re acting like this is bizarre, loser.”

You both know that’s a fairly accurate word considering your disappearances these last couple of weeks. His broad smile at your usual banter makes you feel cherished and missed, and it’s comforting for him to know you still have such a sense of humor even through your fatigue. He’s secretly been concerned for your well-being, but he didn’t want to seem meddlesome. Eventually, you go from two faces on a screen to you perched at his kitchen table. Yeosang insisted he cook you a nice homecooked meal when you mentioned to him in passing how much you miss eating his food. His back might be turned away, but he’s still actively engaging in discussion with you over the controversial love triangle taking place on the dating reality show he has you catching up on with him tonight. Toward the end of an episode, it takes you a few minutes of rambling to realize your best friend has grown silent while he cooks. Behind your back, he’s busy ruminating over thoughts of love triangles when he decides to finally uncork the bottle he’s been keeping closed in an attempt to have a peaceful evening.

“Can I ask you a question?” Yeosang calls out suddenly over the sound of oil popping in his pan.

Your eyes stay glued to the television, but you hum in consent, “What’s up?”

“Is it true that you’re dating Wooyoung?”

Wooyoung.

His name is a burden to you these days; the syllables of it only bring you discomfort. Hearing it mentioned on a day when you almost felt like you could get away from him draws a long beat of silence from you, though Yeosang doesn’t turn around to confront such silence. He allows you the time to answer however you’d like to if you would even provide one. Even though he was somewhat putting you on the spot with such a question, Yeosang is still your best friend at the end of the day. He’s not the kind of person to pressure you or give you a hard time about your private business, despite the times he rags on you in jest.

The truthful answer is right on the tip of your tongue, begging to be shouted, but you don’t have the strength to say such a thing yet. Instead, you inquire, “Who did you hear that from?”

You don’t mean to, but you sound a bit miffed when asking. Until this point, you had hoped your fake relationship with Wooyoung wasn’t too obvious to those who don’t pay close enough attention, but the feeling of failure is now pooling in the depths of your stomach. You should’ve known better.

“When someone begins getting close to the TA who’s in charge of their grades, I guess it’s understandable that there would be some rumors… Some people in our class are saying you’re together now,” Yeosang explains, voice as calm as ever while he continues to push around the meat in the pan. “I overheard those speculations and I didn’t really believe any of it at all. Unlike them, I know you’re already seeing Mr. Jeong.”

Yeosang pauses to allow you a chance to say any words you wish to insert if anything. Being amongst speculations of wooing someone to raise your grades is the least of your worries, and you honestly couldn’t care less if people believed such silly things in the last semester of your college career. At this moment, you are much more concerned about Yunho catching light of such rumors, or really anything regarding you and Wooyoung in the same sentence reaching his ears. It didn’t seem that way when you were both in each other’s presence a few days ago talking about your future, and you’re sure that he would’ve confronted you about such things if he could. Still…

“I’m not dating Wooyoung, nor would I even think of doing that for my grades. You know me, Yeo.”

You’re sure Yeosang can feel your eyes gazing over at him now, boring anxious holes through his back. You know he can hear the uneasiness plaguing you, making your words waver.

“I understand, I do. It’s just…” Yeosang pauses once more to find the right words that don’t sound so accusatory, “Hongjoong told me he saw you both on each other on his way to class the other day. I figured I’d simply ask you about that before I come to any conclusions, that’s all.”

Several beats of silence pass before you feel like you’ve finally drowned deep in this ocean of stress you’ve been trying to keep afloat in.

“Yeosang, I’m in over my head and I can’t handle this anymore.”

Yeosang finally ceases his stirring and peers over at you the moment the last syllable leaves your lips. This is the first time you’ve both met each other’s eyes since he began cooking and his gaze is undeniably the most concerned you’ve seen him give you in years. He can’t help it when he can so clearly hear the hurt in your voice. He knows you’re a bit more reserved these days when talking about your relationship with your teacher, and he understands that it could be out of respect for his privacy. This moment doesn’t seem like a situation where that’s applicable anymore.

Navigating this situation all by yourself is draining.

These last months in college are supposed to be nerve-wracking in an exciting way, finishing finals and prepping yourself to walk across the stage for your diploma. You’re supposed to be anxious about what to wear and how to do your makeup for your ceremony, about how you should smile when the ceremony’s photographer tells you where to look as you grab that fake symbolic roll of paper. Instead, you’ve been running yourself dry trying to appease a man who’s threatening to ruin one of the best things to happen to you thus far in life. You just want to be happy. Yeosang was right in warning you about playing with fire when pursuing Yunho, but it all still hurts so fucking badly.

“I want to help you ____, but you have to be honest with me,” he stresses, “I’m concerned about you. Tell me what’s wrong, please.”

You’re uncomfortably silent for a moment, eyes glued to his while contemplating his words. At last, you decide to broach the subject of all your mental stress. If you trusted anyone to help you navigate this situation, it was going to be him. This was no longer something you could handle on your own.

“I’m being blackmailed by Wooyoung.”

The words don’t even sound real coming out of your mouth when you finally betray the promise of silence you made to Wooyoung.

Yeosang’s brows draw together even closer in concern, “What?”

“Wooyoung found out that Yunho and I are together,” you confess further, words running out as quickly as you can think to say them, “And now he’s forcing me to date him to make his ex jealous. He wouldn’t stay quiet otherwise, and it’s all my fault, Yeosang. It’s all my fault.”

Your best friend pushes his pan away from the eye of the stove and makes haste over to where you’re sitting. He knows you better than you know yourself sometimes, already sensing you crumbling before you can realize that you’re finally breaking down. All of the pent-up stress over the last couple of weeks was finally taking its toll.

“I thought it would be over quickly, but it doesn’t seem like we’re making any progress,” you sputter, putting your head in your hands and pressing your palms to your eyes. The last thing you want to do is cry over a man who doesn’t deserve your tears. “He won’t even tell me who she is. I can’t handle this anymore, I just can’t.”

Yeosang’s arms wrap around you to ground you before you can allow yourself to descend further into your breakdown. Very few times has he seen your foundation be shaken so badly by something. You’re one of the strongest people he knows, and it takes a lot to disintegrate the fortitude you hold. He knows he can help you build it back later, he’s your best friend for a reason. For right now, though, he’ll let you get everything out that you’ve been holding in and dealing with by yourself. He knows you probably had your reasons to keep such things inside and away from him.

“He kissed me yesterday and I felt so guilty for the rest of the day, like I betrayed Yunho,” you tell him, and before you realize it tears are finally brimming in your eyes.

“Be kind to yourself, ____,” Yeosang hums while he holds your face in his hands. “You didn’t do that because you wanted to, it’s okay. You don’t have to deal with this alone anymore, okay?”

Hearing those words for the first time since this all began allows a veil of peace to cover you and you nod, finally accepting your need for help. Yeosang promises you that he will do whatever he can to find out who Wooyoung has his sights set so heavy on without interfering enough to throw things out of kilter. His help could be the only chance you had at getting this charade to end faster, even if it meant riskily trying to nudge things along behind Wooyoung’s back. You were no longer satisfied with being patient, and you now realize you don’t have to settle for that anymore.

While you might’ve gained some peace that night, around 2 AM that morning, there is no peace to be found in the home of your lover.

Yunho’s been staring at his ceiling for the last hour, unable to sleep even though he knows he needs to be up in a handful of hours for work. He had tried to push this situation plaguing his thoughts out of his mind all day yesterday, but his brain does its worst on nights when he’s left to his own devices and his thoughts spiral. At least tonight it’s not for self-sabotaging reasons like he’s prone to.

He allows himself to close his eyes and relive the moment when he saw you and his assistant kissing on his way to a multi-department meeting at the library. The moment he recalls the way your hands were clutching Wooyoung’s chest, he grimaces with unadulterated resentment. For the entirety of yesterday, he felt numb. He went through the day simply going through the motions, lacking any of his usual charisma and cordiality amongst most people he crossed paths with throughout the day. He was able to put on a mask for his students at the very least. How is one supposed to act when they see their girlfriend kissing another man? That’s when he has to remind himself:

She’s not my girlfriend.

At least, he doesn’t know if you are or not, since you haven’t said it out of your mouth yet. This is exactly the kind of bothersome bullshit he was so worried about weeks ago when he realized the severity of his feelings for you. He should’ve had the conversation with you earlier to see where your head was at, but he put it off for so long under the excuse of being afraid of scaring you off. He wonders if maybe you think he’s not serious about you enough since he’s never brought it up first. And sure, he knows you both aren’t technically together right now, but you could’ve at least let him know that you’re seeing more people than him, right? It hurts a little more that it’s also his assistant of all people.

He turns onto his side in a huff and buries himself deeper under his blanket. Yunho wishes he hadn’t fallen for you so hard. It’s hard enough to deal with his feelings as things are now, especially with the circumstances, but the introduction of competition might just drive him insane. She’s a grown woman and she’s allowed to do whatever she wants, he reminds himself reluctantly while closing his eyes once more, but again—a heads-up would’ve been nice. He doesn’t even know how to approach this situation moving forward. How is he supposed to look you in the eyes today during class?

The answer is that he doesn’t.

If he can help it, he actively avoids those engaged eyes of yours while he goes on for an hour about pragmatics. He doesn’t even look over at your side of the room. It’s not until the mid-class break that he takes multiple swift glances over at you chatting with Yeosang about something that’s got you enthusiastic. That smile on your face while excitement physically pours out of you makes his eyes soften. He wonders if you’re discussing graduation, as it is coming up in some weeks now. Then, he remembers that he wanted to take you away or do something relaxing to celebrate since you seemed to not have existing plans. Would that sway you back over to his side, if he planned something nice and spoiled the surprise early? Before he can even finish that train of thought, he finds himself finally meeting your eyes while you briefly let yours wander around in the middle of a sentence. The sneaky flirtatious wink you send his way makes him clear his throat bashfully and adjust his tie.

Yunho spends the remainder of class discussing the final paper and offering to read any final drafts that people would like feedback on, as long as they’re submitted by a specific date. He knows he’s probably shooting himself in the foot by putting that kind of work on his plate so close to the deadline, but he genuinely wants people to do well on his final and he knows there are quite a few seniors in this particular class section. The least he can do is make sure those of you end your college careers with a satisfactory grade to finish off your transcripts. He did very well with his midterm evaluations as well, so he wants to do the same for his finals.

When class ends, Yunho finally takes notice of how Wooyoung has been leaving as early as everyone else lately. He could’ve sworn Wooyoung used to stick around to ask him questions, and often times he even departed after Yunho had already departed. He also notices that you are nowhere to be found now even though Yeosang is still present, seemingly already having fled the room for one reason or another. He doesn’t want to think about if he’s been so oblivious to these kinds of things up until this point, but the thought of you and Wooyoung rushing to meet up after his classes sticks with him for the rest of the day.

Yunho can admit he’s a bit toxic sometimes.

It happens in moments of weakness where he lets his selfishness outweigh anything else. He reasons to himself that this isn’t one of those situations as he stands in front of your apartment door late into the evening of that same day. He had called you and asked if he could come see you at your place, which rarely happens. While it caught you by surprise, and you were in the midst of work, you were still as welcoming as ever. He knows you’d never say no. He’d never admit it aloud, but he’s not solely here just to see you—he’s here to be a bit nosy.

It’s freezing outside, so when you finally open the door he’s scrambling to get inside.

“That was fast,” you marvel.

When you wrap your arms around him and pull him into a hug, your shivers and giggles are like white noise in his ears as his eyes sweep the room. He doesn’t notice anything out of place, nothing that would make it seem like anybody other than you had been present here anytime soon anyway. His cold hands slide up the slope of your back to cup the sides of your face, and he offers you a sweet closed-mouth smile before briefly pressing his lips to yours in greeting.

“Yeah, traffic was pretty non-existent,” he hums.

“I made soup since it’s so frosty,” you glance towards the kitchen as your hands go to unzip his jacket for him, “Are you hungry?”

“If you’re cooking, always.”

Tonight, Yunho takes things slow.

From graciously eating your cooking to cuddling on your couch, he builds up the intimacy minute by minute. It’s something he’s been craving from you lately, that feeling of intimacy and domestication. He’s more than willing to indulge you when grow aroused by something as innocent as him mindlessly drawing shapes on your thighs with his fingers, slowly shifting them inside your pajama shorts when you whisper, “I want you to touch me.”

“I’m already touching you, baby.”

You push his hand just a smidge lower, whining, “You know what I mean.”

When things finally move to the bedroom, Yunho fucks you nice and slow, and it feels much more intimate than any of your previous times together. Slow, steady rolls of his hips into yours like he’s intent on showing you every ounce of love he holds for you in his body if he’s unable to say it outright himself. Nothing inherently strikes you as odd about the way his demeanor is different tonight. In fact, this kind of pure intimacy is something you’d been curious to experience from him. It almost makes you feel like you’re officially together. Sure, sex is naturally intimate, but this? This feels different.

His hands go from holding yours beside your head so affectionately to passionately gripping and kneading the plush skin of your sides and thighs like they’re fresh dough. It’s like he’s trying to solidify that this is reality, that you’re truly here in his hands and not someone else's. Grip strong enough to dig deep into the tissue and make you moan, but gentle enough not to leave bruising marks. Truth be told, he’d rather leave marks of where he’s been in less covert places. That’s why his mouth subconsciously finds its way to your neck before you feel the gentle drag of his teeth on your skin. It’s too quick to even be considered a warning.

“Yu, wait–”

You begin to tell him he can’t leave hickeys in such open places, but Yunho quiets you by sucking your skin anyway. The first one is on the tender skin just under your jaw, right where he can feel the pulse of how fast your heart is beating with his tongue. The desperate whine you let out when he finally lets up with a quiet pop! of his lips off your skin encourages him to put another on the column of your throat. You’ll probably throw a fit later when you see how bad these are and complain about the trouble of covering them up, but he really couldn’t care less.

When he finishes off the second hickey, he kisses his way up to your lips so sweetly as if he didn’t do something so obviously possessive. As if he didnt do something so mischievous which’ll draw questions from your friends and get you flustered trying to explain. These marks are warnings as much as they are bites of love. You throw your arms around his neck and arch your back, itching for more than what he’s offering. It doesn’t matter that it still feels euphoric, those long drags of his cock against your walls just to fill you up again—it’s too slow. The breathy laugh he lets out against your lips draws a pout from your own.

“What’s wrong pretty girl, don’t I make you feel good?” Yunho asks in a whisper, deep chocolate eyes holding your gaze while he continues to roll his hips at his leisure. He doesn’t like that he needs a bit of reassurance right now, but he wants to hear it so badly. When you nod with fervor, it’s just not good enough for him, “Tell me, angel. Tell me how good I make you feel.”

“You’re everything I crave, Yu,” you oblige him breathlessly, hands scratching at the sensitive nape of his neck while you arch again. For the first time this evening, Yunho’s hips falter in their steady rhythm. He’s quite caught off guard by your choice of words; it’s as if you know exactly what he needs to hear more than he does himself. “Nobody could ever make me feel like you do.”

“Yeah? This pretty pussy needs me, huh?”

There’s that word that he now loves so much: need.

“More than you know,” you gasp when he pushes his hips into yours as deep as he can manage, obscenities bubbling from within your chest.

Even though you both have had sex many times since this all began, this part still feels fresh. The way he manages to reach new depths inside of you and stretch you out to his heart’s content feels fresh every single time. Yunho’s thrusts begin picking up some speed finally and whines claw at his throat.

“My sweet, needy baby… You’re the only one who gets this, ____,” he admits, voice trembly while he drags his lips against the sensitive skin of your jaw, kissing his previous artwork, “It’s all yours, okay?”

In a perfect world, he’d love to hear you say the same back to him, but he’s snapping his hips too roughly now to allow for words. The way you begin begging for him to give you more of himself makes up for it. Bitten-off moans tumble from your lips as the coil in your stomach grows tighter and tighter, and it makes his cock throb and ache for release. The way you’re chanting his name has his eyes fluttering up in bliss. There’s no doubt in his mind that you want him, mentally and carnally, but the real question is if he’s not enough to satisfy that want. Yunho doesn’t have time to let his mind wander off into that kind of insecure territory. His brain becomes fuzzy as he becomes eager to feel you cum stuffed full of his cock, and then see his own paint your sweaty skin. Those familiar heavy pants he lets out against your lips make you simper.

“Getting close?”

“So close,” he nods, hissing when he feels you clench at his answer, “H-hah, oh fuck.”

“Wanna cum inside?” You offer this so shyly against his lips that he nearly doesn’t hear you talking altogether. When he offers you an absentminded ‘huh’ in response, you giggle and move to speak directly in his ear, “Want you to cum inside.”

Something behind Yunho’s eyes changes when you pull back—those blown-out pupils of his with little hearts swimming in them zero in on yours with a look you can’t quite put your tongue on. You cross your ankles behind his back to emphasize your words, to show him you’re serious.

“Really want me to fill you up, pretty?” he rasps. When you bite your bottom lip and nod, he offers you a lopsided grin, “Use those fingers and catch up, then.”

You don’t need to be told twice, one hand moving from being around his neck down to your clit to rub quick circles that’ll push you over the edge together. He’s never cum in you ever since you both started having sex, but he’s feeling overwhelmingly possessive today and it might just subside if he sees his cum leaking from your cunt onto your sheets. It’s now the only thought screaming at him in that fucked-out head of his. Your mouths connecting in a messy, sensuous kiss is the final push he needs.

Yunho’s fingers wind deep into your sheets with as much strength as he can muster while he buries himself inside you, pelvis to pelvis, pushing you deeper into your mattress. The throb of his cock and the broken moan he lets out while he finally cums trigger your own orgasm. The moment you lock your legs around him to keep him in place, your walls flutter and squeeze his cock to help milk him dry. He makes a note somewhere in the lusty haze of his mind that he just has to get you both to cum at the same time like this again at another point in time because the way you’re practically squeezing every last drop from him while you fall apart is nearly making him whimper repentance for how sinful it feels. When your legs let up on their grip, he gives you a few shallow thrusts before finally pulling out. Focusing on catching your breath is hard when he’s gazing so heavily at the mess he’s made of you.

“Don’t stare...” Yunho doesn’t even realize he’s been fascinated with watching the way his seed spills from your heat until you poorly block it with a self-conscious hand. Only then does he finally look up and find you flustered, the pout on your face growing more prominent by the second, “It’s embarrassing...”

“God, you’re so fine,” he coos. The jolt your body produces when he takes his fingers and pushes what’s been wasted back into your sensitive hole makes him laugh. “Even prettier like this too. Let’s get you cleaned up, pretty baby.”

Yunho hadn’t originally planned on sleeping over—it is a weekday after all, and he has work tomorrow morning. After showering, though, his willpower is tested. He loses nearly all his self-discipline to leave like a responsible man when you use this irresistible voice the moment he steps foot back into the room, humming honeyed words while holding his briefs behind your back to keep him from getting dressed.

“Can’t you just wake up early to swing by your house and get ready?” You eventually pout up at him when he looks as if he might change his mind. With the way your gaze is focused on his attentive eyes, you can’t see the way his cock is already twitching back to life again at your pleading eyes, the same ones you use on your knees between his thighs. He’s so thankful for that. “This is why I said you should leave some outfits over here just in case.”

“I know, I know. I should listen to you more. Can I please have my underwear back now?”

“Are you gonna stay? Please?”

He chuckles before finally conceding, “I can’t say no when you ask me so nicely, can I?”

You nearly fall apart at the way he pulls your face up by your cheeks with firm fingers before planting a kiss of surrender on your lips. Yunho doesn’t even remember why he’s over your house anymore, now only focused on getting his underwear back from your hands before you can see him getting hard all over again. He has enough sense to know that a second round will surely be much longer than the previous one, and you both need to sleep soon if he wants to wake up early enough. Lucky for him, you’re much too tired from a full day to stay up too much longer anyway.

It’s 8 AM when Yunho’s phone starts chiming with an annoying tone he set specifically to force his awakening. That grating sound is also your punishment for persuading him to spend the night. He’s slow to turn it off specifically for that reason, and a lazy smile stretches across his face when he hears you groan. Success.

“You’re so annoying,” you murmur. You instinctively search for your phone on your nightstand to glance at how early your lover has you suffering, then slowly slide yourself out of bed to go blindly search for a bottle of water.

Yunho screws his eyes shut and open a few times to regain his vision before flipping over and patiently awaiting your arrival. He gave himself a fairly decent buffer on the off chance you decide to stay awake and eat breakfast with him. At least, that was the plan until something happened that immediately changed his brain chemistry. Yunho’s eyes swivel towards your phone when it vibrates a couple of times on the nightstand. It really wouldn’t have been a problem had he not seen and recognized the name on the screen. Against his better judgment, he picks it up gently. He sees two older notifications from the prior night and the two new ones now piquing his interest.

[Wooyoung: Don’t forget lunch tomorrow]

[Wooyoung: Usual place]

...

[Wooyoung: Good morning]

[Wooyoung: If you get on campus by 10 let's do breakfast instead, they’ll be there. lmk]

His eyes constrict to slits almost instantaneously.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me…

He doesn’t care that it's petty, he swipes each of the message notifications and deletes them with a pool of satisfaction boiling in the deepest pit of his stomach. You were too busy with him last night to notice his other messages anyway. If he could delete those messages permanently, he would. Realistically, there was no way he could keep you from eventually meeting up again with Wooyoung, but maybe distracting you enough to be late could be worth being a bit late to his own obligations. He’s extra needy on purpose this morning, immediately seeking out your attention the moment you groggily slip back into bed after chugging water. Feeling his warm hands grope your butt just makes you groan in that special kind of annoyance that naturally comes with waking earlier than need-be. When his fingers travel to fiddle with the elastic of your panties, an indirect request of sorts, you muster enough energy to nudge him weakly.

“S’too early, Yu,” you pout without even opening your eyes and bury your cheek deeper into your pillow.

“I know, I know. I have to leave soon,” he acknowledges. Still, his hand dances its way into the fabric. He watches you shudder when his middle finger pushes against your clit experimentally. His brow lifts when you open your legs. He licks his lips eagerly before murmuring, “You don’t even have to do anything, I’ll take good care of you. Go ahead and rest, okay?”

The hum you let out, signaling him to do as he pleases, has him gently working your panties down your legs and tossing them on the floor. He spends all the time he can, all the way until the last few minutes before he has to leave, with his face buried between your tired thighs. Always a starved man when it comes to your greedy cunt, the one that he confirmed last night needs him oh so much, he french-kisses his way into a sore tongue and a stiff jaw.

“Mhm, that’s it,” he talks directly to your heat, holding open your lips with his thumbs while watching the way slick, cum, and spit seep out to sully your sheets, “Gimme another one.”

Sleepy whines and garbled whimpers of his name have him rutting his hips against your bed. He would touch himself if he could, but his hands are too busy massaging your tense thighs in rhythm with his aching tongue lapping at your clit. The friction isn’t enough. He supposes his poor underwear will just have to suffer from precum leaking out his deprived cock, drenching the fabric the more he gets aroused. Each orgasm he’s able to pull from you drains your body of its energy more and more until you’re a meek puddle of fatigue splayed out on your mattress.

Yunho doesn’t remember what number orgasm his mouth finally parts from your core, but at some point, he finally reminds himself that he’s a man with responsibilities who still has to go home and change into his work clothes. He also needs to take care of this painful hard-on quickly when he gets somewhere private. Self-admittedly, this all was as rewarding to himself in fulfilling it as it was to you receiving. Seeing you absolutely spent and on the verge of (hopefully) deep sleep puts a shameless smile on his face.

He’s still a gentleman above anything else, taking the extra time to clean your skin and the mess he’s made of your cunt with a wet cloth before lovingly redressing you in your undies. He doesn’t even know if you can hear him after a certain point, but he still tucks you back in and whispers sweet nothings that he’ll overthink about later when he’s in his office after remembering why he was here in the first place. He even apologizes for ruining your sheets, again. The timid, fleeting kiss he leaves on your temple is followed by him carelessly saying, “Love you.”

The moment those two words tumble from his lips his eyes grow wide, and he waits with bated breath to see if you are even the slightest bit awake to hear his blunder. When you show no signs of stirring, Yunho releases all air caged within his chest and decides it’s best to leave quickly before he can make a fool of himself any further. You don’t hear from him for the rest of the day.

“I see… so she does exist,” you mutter sarcastically.

At the end of the week, following your shared linguistics lecture, you and your best friend convene at a table deep in the back of the library. Yeosang had spent a good amount of his time in the last few days covertly asking questions about Wooyoung to random acquaintances in hopes of getting bits of useful information about him or his ex. He was finally able to give you her name and class year, but he came up short otherwise.

“I wasn’t able to get any of her socials, I didn’t want to seem like I was pursuing her. However, I do have another idea,” he says, hands motioning for you to hear him out after he sees your spirits drop, “I was told she’s in Hongjoong’s capstone class and–”

“Oh brother,” you groan and sink further into your seat.

If Yeosang’s words days ago were anything to go by, Hongjoong was already convinced you were dating Wooyoung, so asking him for his ex-girlfriend’s number is surely just going to cause prying questions. You’re fully convinced that he probably won’t even consider giving it to you because he might think it’ll lead to drama.

“I know. Just hear me out,” Yeosang leans forward and lowers his voice, “I honestly don’t think it would be hard to get him to tell you. If you can come up with a plausible reason why you would need to reach out, I think he wouldn’t hesitate too much.”

“Which would be?”

“Well, I don’t know anything about her other than that she’s in a sorority. You can figure something out from that, right?”

You couldn’t deny that this was definitely a useful piece of information. Yeosang watches you purse your lips while you toss around some of the logistics in your head before nodding with some renewed optimism.

“Which app do you think I should start on?”

“I’m sure the majority of our sororities have IG pages to promote their activities. That’s probably your best bet,” he recommends, “I can help you search in between finals prep–”

“You’ve done enough, I can definitely handle that part,” you interject with a reassuring smile, “Thank you for even getting this info. I appreciate it, Yeo.”

While things definitely looked more positive from this conversation, there was an odd feeling lingering in your stomach over the next few days. From his time at your home through the weekend, Yunho’s communication and presence were lacking a bit more than usual. While it made things easier for you to see Wooyoung when requested without fear, it didn’t make things any less disappointing. Knowing he’s still there for you even through all of this mess was the only thing keeping you afloat, so it’s troubling when that disappears out of nowhere. Nevertheless, the end of the semester was creeping up faster than even you realized, so it makes sense that his schedule is being affected. Moreover, his job is what you’re doing this all for anyway, right? Even without his presence, you’d silently root for him in the shadows if it meant that December ended with you both together.

In the meantime, you push these feelings to the back of your mind and give yourself a break from being so worrisome. With this charade moving deeper into its timeline, it’s time-sensitive and imperative to ask for his ex’s phone number from Hongjoong in an effort to contact her. Wooyoung might be intent on keeping you from meeting her, but he’s severely underestimated the fire in your belly when it comes to getting what you want. You’ve played along with his shenanigans long enough.

Hongjoong’s brows furrow while he shoves a few of the fries in his mouth from a meal you asked to treat him to this particular Monday afternoon.

“I should’ve known you wanted to see me for ulterior motives,” he takes a swigger of his soda with pursed lips, “Buttering me up with free food for my connections, huh?”

“I didn’t remember until just now, I promise,” you lie, trying to remain composed. You’re not exactly the best at lying to your close friends and this time is no different. “If I knew about anyone else having her number I would’ve asked them. I wouldn’t lie to you, Joong.”

His eyes examine your body language keenly before scoffing, “I’m still caught up on how you didn’t tell me that your mystery man was Wooyoung all this time. That was a lie by omission.”

“I am not dating Wooyoung, I already told you this.”

“Then why do you suddenly want his ex’s number?”

You swallow the nervous lump in your throat and offer him an easygoing smile that you had practiced a plethora of times before even leaving to meet him.

“I’m reaching out on behalf of a mutual friend about possibly being commissioned to make the graduation stoles for their sorority. That’s all.”

Yes, through hours of snooping and finally finding her Instagram, you discovered that she is a die-hard sorority girl for one of the smaller sororities on your campus. You had almost talked yourself into simply contacting her there, but as luck would have it, her messages were turned off for strangers that she doesn’t follow back. There was no doubt in your mind that she would never follow you back if you tried that route.

“You sure you’re not trying to stir the pot?” Hongjoong inquires playfully, eyeing you with an elvish grin. You groan in annoyance. “I’m all for a little mess sometimes, but I don’t like being the gateway.”

“Come on Joong, it’s nothing like that at all. I didn’t think you would be so difficult to ask about this… You’re supposed to be my rock—”

Your heart is threatening to break out of your chest when he holds up his free hand to quiet you with a roll of his eyes. Then, with his other hand, he finally scrolls through his phone to find said information.

“I’ve heard enough, please stop being so dramatic,” he sighs. His thumb stops swiping as soon as he sees what he’s looking for in his class’ group chat, and he hands you the phone reluctantly. “Under no circumstances do you tell her who gave this to you.”

“You know I love you the most, right? Even more than Yeosang!” You smile and he matches it sarcastically.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you liar. I love you too.”

While Yunho’s impromptu visit might have subdued his anxiety briefly, he knew it wouldn’t be a permanent fix. He spent some time away from you under the excuse of helping other people prepare more for the final paper deadline approaching, but that only made things worse. The longing he feels these days is stronger when he realizes you could be spending the valuable time he’s avoiding you by seeing Wooyoung instead. It’s embarrassing really, being so envious of someone younger than him. He shouldn’t be letting some university student get under his skin so easily, but there’s too much he’s given of himself to you to just be calm and collected about things.

These things swirl about in his head while he’s seated alone at the bar’s counter, patiently waiting for his friends to finish playing Rock, Paper, Scissors to decide who pays the tab tonight. It was fairly evident that it had been a rough start to the month for Yunho from his mood, so his best friends were intent on treating him tonight. Today and the next were the university-designated study days for finals. Seonghwa personally coaxed him out of hiding by stopping by his home and offering to drive. He knows Yunho has a hard time saying no when confronted directly. As karma would have it, it was looking to be an expensive night for Seonghwa unfortunately, marked by the heavy groan Yunho can hear come from behind him when the two finish.

When he finally joins Yunho at the counter, he searches through his wallet for his credit card while asking, “Which beer do you want?”

“I need something stronger tonight,” Yunho states before flagging the bartender down himself.

Nowadays, he’s more favorable to something light and bubbly like beer because it’s easy on his body and the buzz is manageable over a longer period of time. He can’t remember the last time he drank pure liquor… It had to have been New Year’s Eve or some other holiday that’s usually burdened by alcohol. Yunho’s not remarkably sensitive to liquor and he’s by no means a lightweight, but tonight he’s truly done a number on himself. Three Long Island Iced Teas and a few extra shots of rum have him loose and on stage in front of many eyes doing what he does best: singing. Singing karaoke duets with Seonghwa always makes him feel like a college student again, bringing him back to the days of their music classes.

When the next hour comes around and several more shots enter his system, the second phase of his inebriation hits: heartache and depression. Distractions are wonderful until they’re not, and his throat hurts from doing too much falsetto. He keeps thinking about how he’s supposed to show you this side of himself eventually, serenading you like a cheesy romcom just to hear your pretty giggles telling him that he actually sounds like an angel, and those thoughts make him sad. On top of that, his social battery is depleted entirely and now all he can think about is going home. Distancing himself for the last several days is finally coming to an end, as you’re the only person he can think of to call since he doesn’t want to ruin his friends’ time by asking Seonghwa to take him back home. While booking an Uber ride would’ve been the smarter idea, Yunho’s too lovesick to pass up on a moment to hear your voice right now.

So, while Seonghwa is busy using the bathroom and San is distracted by an attractive woman who’s gone out of her way to challenge him to a game of pool, his hazy eyes manage to find your contact card in his favorites before calling you. You take a bit longer to answer than usual, but the moment he hears that familiarly sweet ‘hello there, handsome~’ come across his speaker, he physically melts into a heap on the counter. You can overhear the loud music coming through the speaker clear as day and figure he must be at the bar tonight with other teachers since they’re all essentially off tomorrow. Calling you of all people while with his friends is risky, but you understand why he’s being so reckless the moment he opens his mouth.

“I need to see you, please,” Yunho drawls, his free palm pressed to his forehead to ground himself, “Drank too much, wanna go home.”

“Where are you, Yu?”

Yunho’s heart feels like it’s ready to take flight at the way you ask this with no hesitation and how he can hear you already shuffling to grab clothes. Maybe your feelings are as strong as his afterall.

“At that dumb bar near campus. Hwa drove me,” he sighs, and you can practically hear the drunken pout stuck on his lips. “I’ll just send my location… Can you come, baby? Please?”

“Of course, I’ll come take you home. Sit tight, I’m leaving now.”

When you do finally arrive, Yunho lets his friends know that he ordered an Uber to go home, and successfully convinces Seonghwa not to walk with him outside even though his steps feel leadened.

“Go back to karaoke,” he waves him off with an anxious smile, “I’ll let y’know when I get home.”

Parking so close to the entrance might’ve been a bit daring on your part, but you expected Yunho to have some trouble walking too far with too much distance. To offset the risk, you’re donning a black face mask with the hood of your jacket pulled over your head, and you figure that should conceal any particulars about you enough for any lurking eyes. Yunho’s surely more operational than he sounded over the phone, and even though his feet are slow on his way over, he slides in easily enough and even buckles himself in. From there, you focus on leaving the area before either of his friends gets curious enough to look outside.

The drive is comfortably silent. You keep the music low and drive a bit slower than usual to make sure he doesn’t feel too dizzy during the trip. Yes, you care for the man dearly, but the last thing you need is his vomit in your passenger seat. With his head resting idly on the cool glass of your window, he tries to relax his mind and settle the stuttering of his heart. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous to be around you right now.

“Overdid it tonight, huh?” You ask him after a while to make sure he’s still conscious.

“I don’t ever drink this much,” he replies with his eyes still closed, “M’so sorry for bothering you so late.”

“You didn’t bother me at all. Go ahead and relax, we’re almost home.”

His call was perfect timing actually, as you were just wrapping up exam prep for the day. Usually, you don’t take study days seriously, but with this being your last semester you figure giving your all includes taking advantage of the academic liberties that are offered by your university in exchange for not having to go to class. He was on your mind tonight as he always is, and even though the moment is unconventional, you appreciate him finally calling you at all. That’s all you can think about for the remainder of the drive to his home.

This is so embarrassing, he mopes internally. Yunho feels extremely vulnerable with every lug of his feet up his steps to his door. He’s not sure he ever wanted you to see him in such a state either—liquored up and liable to say anything lingering in his chest without inhibition—but it’s too late to worry about those things now.

“Thank you for coming,” Yunho sighs upon entering his abode, shrugging off his coat and kicking his shoes off to a place he probably won’t remember tomorrow.

His throat is dry and itching for something else, anything other than liquor. You know better than anyone that he needs to be drinking water right now and flushing his system as well. Closing his front door, you follow suit with your shoes and jacket.

“You don’t have to thank me, sweetheart,” you assure him with a smile, “I’ll go get you some water.”

However, before you can slip past him, Yunho’s warm hands gently clasp around your cheeks. Your back hits the door as his sticky liquored lips squish against yours in an affectionate kiss. Much to his dismay, after only a few seconds of gratification you manage to pull back enough to talk.

“Water first, kissing later. Okay?” You chide with a giggle.

Yunho makes a whiny noise in the back of his throat in place of a ‘no’ before stealing your lips once more. This time, his arms fall to wrap around your torso. There’s something desperate about the way his arms squeeze the air out of you as if he loosens them even in the slightest bit you might slip right from his grasp. That’s how he’s felt for some time recently like you’re slipping away right into someone else’s arms. Somewhere deep down in his intoxicated subconscious, he’s able to acknowledge the feeling of his heart slamming against his chest from pent-up anxiety of seeing you again, touching you again… and maybe lack of oxygen. Yeah, perhaps that’s what this intense feeling is building in his chest is, a blatant lack of oxygen. Breathing is just not something present in Yunho’s impaired mind.

You, you, you, you, you!

All he wants to do is think about how he loves you more than you know.

He feels like he’s suffocating, but his brain won’t let his limbs move to breathe, lost in the thoughts and desperation of just needing to be connected to you. Just then, when he feels like he’s about to nearly pass out, you find the strength within yourself to push him from you hastily. The way you gasp for air lets him know that he was inadvertently suffocating you as well. His arms finally release their intense grip and a flurry of apologies tumble from his lips.

“M’so sorry,” he offers one last time, words running together, “I just missed you so much.”

Yunho’s head falls and rests in the crook of your neck while embarrassment floods his cheeks.

“It’s okay, really. I missed you too,” you tell him, lungs settling while you card your fingers through his hair soothingly. He’s so fragile at this moment and seeing this side of him makes your heart melt. You could never be mad at something like a little stolen oxygen. “Let’s get you settled in first though, okay?”

“Please le’me stay like this for a couple minutes…”

He’s a bit dizzy, and your fingers lovingly massaging his scalp are making his heart feel ready to burst out of his chest. It doesn’t matter that he’s older than you, or that technically he’s an authoritative figure in your life. You’re always so soft with him, so attentive to his needs, and tender in your touch. You even came and picked him up while he was a mess, with no hesitation. For some reason, in Yunho’s inebriated mind, he’s so sure that a positive answer to this next question will finally solidify your loyalty and how you truly feel about him.

“Can you stay with me tonight?”

There’s a moment of silence where you’re unusually still, and Yunho can practically hear your answer before you even open your mouth. Mentally, you’re battling with yourself because of premade morning plans with Wooyoung interfering with his request. Normally, you’d never decline to spend some extra time with him, but you’re not sure if blowing off Wooyoung last minute will have some consequences. Yunho’s the most important thing to you, but which choice proves that the most?

“I have some important obligations in the morning, Yu,” you mumble a moment later, unable to outright say no. It’s hard, but you figure the best way to show him his importance to you is to put his career first, ahead of your feelings.

In the crook of your neck you can feel him inhale, and for a second, he’s so still that you could’ve believed that he’d passed out. You’re just about to call his name when you feel him begin to tremble and snivel, and alarm bells begin blaring in your head. Lifting his head with your hands gently, you gaze up at him in panic.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” You comfort him softly, thumbs on either side of his face wiping away fat tears that begin spilling down his rosy cheeks. “I’ll stay, I will. I’m so sorry baby.”

“I can’t do this anymore, ____.”

You’re no longer worried about the warm tears spilling onto your fingers as you are the immediate tightness in your chest at such simple words. Simple, but hurtful. The last time you heard that kind of sentence, it was followed by a breakup. The pang in your chest at the realization that this is what’s probably happening makes you feel sick. Nevertheless, you wouldn’t blame him if your behavior over the last few weeks ended up being the final straw for him, and if leaving him alone drunk was the cherry on top. Your diminished communication and sudden lack of availability with obligations you could not explain… and who knows what he’s heard about your increasing closeness with his TA, if anything. You ponder if maybe that’s why he has been acting differently recently, how perhaps the rumors had finally gotten back to him. It’s hard to meet his eyes while you try to prepare yourself for words you figured you hear eventually but still never built your confidence up enough for.

“Look at me, please,” he requests. It takes a moment, but you find it in yourself to do as asked. The way Yunho’s glazed-over eyes only hold dejection when you meet them lets you know something is seriously wrong. You’ve hurt him, you just know it. You’re not sure what to expect, but it surely isn’t him following up with, “I love you so much, it’s beginning to hurt, ____.”

Yunho didn’t expect this genuine divulgence that he had finally found within himself to reveal to be met with annoyance of all things. The way your brows crease and the corners of your mouth downturn throw him for a loop.

“I know you’re drunk but you really shouldn’t say a serious word like that so easily,” you chastise him in a soft voice.

The gentleness of your tone doesn’t change the fact that you mean that statement wholeheartedly; he’s never used that word with you when sober, so why now? You don’t want to be made a fool of when these drunken words get taken back when he’s in his right mind tomorrow. Being drunk doesn’t excuse playing around with your feelings like that.

“I mean it. I do love you, so much. Not gonna pretend to be so casual about things anymore,” he retorts. While his voice still has that intoxicated twang in it, it’s now alarmingly firm.

That sudden tone and the way his face remains determined to make you understand him make your heart stutter. In the context of romance, ‘love’ is a word you haven’t heard from someone in a long time. To be fair, it’s a word you haven’t offered to anyone you’ve dated in a long time either. How long has it been since you met someone worthy of a word that powerful… You’re at a loss for words. The increasing tightness in your chest with the more you take in the situation won’t let up, and you wonder if he can feel your anxiety through the trembling of your hands still caressing his wet cheeks.

Yunho doesn’t mind that you don’t say it back, he may be intoxicated but he still knows he’s coming on very strong right now. Instead, he adds, “You don’t have to say it back, but I can’t handle not knowing what I am to you anymore. I can’t tell how you really see me.”

The way your face immediately only offers confusion at that final statement is involuntary—his complete obliviousness to how you feel about him, about everything you’ve done till this point, is just baffling. Despite any impending consequences of being involved with your teacher, you’ve given this man so much of your time, your adoration, your body—what is there to question? When you finally take your hands back and place them on your temples, Yunho senses your frustration. He begins to feel bad when he realizes too much liquid courage may have made him go a bit too far.

“Yunho, I thought it was pretty obvious that I want to be with you. I’m just waiting for graduation to say it officially,” you explain. “I– We’ve been dating for 3 months, for Christ’s sake.”

You try to remind yourself that he’s intoxicated and that maybe you should treat this situation with a bit more grace. The next question he throws out completely shatters that mindset.

“Then why did you kiss him?”

The immediate mortification you feel at that string of words hits you like a sledgehammer, and the silence that consumes the room following this question is deafening. Yunho’s eyes hold your shameful stare before you finally become physically uncomfortable, and you avert your gaze sheepishly. Yes, you had considered he might catch you in the act sooner or later, but did it have to be the stupid unwanted kiss of all things? This is not something you had readied yourself enough to be confronted about. It’s something you wish you could’ve taken to the grave if possible.

The lack of an immediate reply to such a simple question has him pressing his palms to his eyes because he feels himself needing to cry again. He’d do anything to turn off those leaky faucets behind his eyes for good right now if he could. Crying over someone he had no business falling for in the first place is exasperating because he knew better. He’s sure he’d be able to compose himself more than this if he wasn’t so drunk as well, but it’s too late for those kinds of thoughts now. Everything is out in the open, all the way down to the intensity of his feelings for you, and there’s no turning back.

“It’s not what you think, Yunho,” you finally offer after taking some seconds to sort out your thoughts. The thing is, there is no other viable option at this point: it’s either tell him the truth or lie and break his heart further. You would never consider doing the latter. “I want to explain, but this isn’t the best time—”

“You can be honest, I promise I can handle it,” Yunho interjects. He runs his hands through his messy hair, trying to mellow himself out and prove that statement, but his insecurities start to get the best of him. Words begin spilling out of his mouth without much thought, “Is it because we can’t go out like normal couples? Am I not giving you enough attention? I know it’s tough right now but—”

“No, no, of course not! None of that matters to me in the slightest.”

“What is it about him, then? If it’s something I can fix or do better, I will. I promise,” he tells you earnestly, but his face already looks defeated. He still can’t even say his name. Seeing him so distraught and broken like this over your actions is like a stiff punch in the gut. The last thing you ever wanted to do was make Yunho feel like he’s not enough.

Instead of answering, you ask him, “Do you trust me?”

As much as he should be inclined to say no with everything he’s seen, or the way you won’t give him straight answers, he just can’t say no.

“Of course I do.”

“Then I’d really love for us to have this conversation in the morning when you’re sober,” you insist, hands seeking out his for comfort and reassurance, “Please, Yunho.”

“And what happens if I wake up alone again?”

There it is. The hint of pessimism screaming at him in the back of his mind slipped through. He remembers the last time you left with no word and how it sent him irrationally spiraling. He just needs that final bit of reassurance.

“I’d never do that to you again, okay? I love you too much to hurt you like that. I promise.”

Yunho's left mute at this reply, damp lashes blinking repeatedly as his brain struggles to compute that you just said three very pivotal words he’s never heard from anyone else he’s ever dated. After not immediately reciprocating his sentiments earlier, he didn’t really ever expect them to come from your mouth anytime soon.

“You…love–”

It happens way too fast, the wave of nausea that consumes him with how overwhelmed he begins to feel. Pulling his fingers away from yours, he clasps a clammy hand over his mouth and stumbles off toward his hallway bathroom in haste. This, of course, is not the ideal response you’d like to get back after fully confessing your feelings to a man. You try not to take it to heart and finally go to grab some water for him while he’s emptying his stomach in the bathroom.

The night comes to a close not too long later with you both burrowed in the blankets of Yunho’s bed, and he falls asleep against your chest faster than your brain will allow you to join. How lucky he is to have alcohol easily lull him to sleep after such a mess, you muse. You suppose this is as good of a time as ever to sort your thoughts and words for your explanation tomorrow. That and the possible consequences following you finally revealing the truth. While Yunho might seem mild-mannered and easygoing on a day-to-day basis, you are now aware of just how sensitive he is as a person inside. He feels with his whole heart, and he keeps certain things locked inside of him. You want him to feel comfortable enough to share those things with you as a partner. You want him to trust you wholly with his entire heart, but you suppose that begins with being entirely honest with him first. He’s more than enough, and you want him to believe that. Before you can let your mind wander too deep into the territory of that subject, your eyes finally feel unbearably heavy, and you fall asleep with your fingers curled around his own a little more securely than usual.

One thing Yunho prides himself in is not being prone to heavy hangovers, and this morning is no different. From his first couple years in college, he had learned that lots of water, sleeping in, and a good meal was the cheat code to his body’s ability to survive a night of binge drinking. This was partially thanks to his first roommate who was a Nutrition Major, because if he couldn’t discourage him from drinking he could at least aid him in recovering from it. Aside from you forcing him to drink a few water bottles before he could sleep, throwing up the prior night and purging most of it helped a lot as well, of course.

You’re not in bed when he stirs awake, but he can hear miscellaneous noise coming from another part of his home and smell the third element of his cheat code in progress. When he finally ambles out of his room and into his kitchen after chugging the bottle of water left on his nightstand, he finds you cooking something with what little groceries he has stocked in his fridge. The sound of him pulling out a chair at his table tears your attention away from the stove.

“Good morning,” you hum. He seems fully coherent, which makes things much easier on you. “How’s your stomach?”

Yunho rubs his bleary eyes with the back of his hand while yawning, “Much better… What time is it?”

“Around eleven, I think.”

“I thought you had something to do?”

“I canceled,” you tell him, “You’re more important.”

Earlier, while Yunho was still passed out, you found some time to slip away and call Wooyoung to raincheck. You’re not entirely sure if he believed the performance you put on about coming down with something last minute, but it didn’t matter. The least he can do is give you a day off of this charade. You move the food you’ve been working on off of the stove’s eye and turn off the heat before snatching up his mug of coffee and joining him at the table.

You look different this morning, the way your eyes lack any of their usual whimsy or humor, and how you sit yourself to his left with body language more reserved than normal. Your stress is palpable, and that doesn’t help settle the sad feeling beginning to manifest in his stomach when he realizes the conversation that’s about to begin. Nonetheless, he decides to prepare himself for the worst.

“I promised you an explanation,” you sigh, “So let’s talk.”

Messily relaying this story to Yeosang first helped you a lot with finding the confidence to make things more concise if a moment like this were ever to happen. You were able to tell Yunho the full extent of Wooyoung’s actions without getting as emotional as the last time. Even though you were trying to be truthful, you ultimately decided not to tell him about trying to connect with Wooyoung’s ex behind the scenes, as you didn’t want to give him any false hope if things happened to fall through. When you finish spilling anything left lingering in your guts about the entire situation, there’s an unbearable silence that settles over the whole room. Yunho’s eyes are trained on his coffee, finger circling the rim of his mug while he lets his mind run wild. The guilty feeling that washes over you feels heavier and heavier with every passing second of him not replying.

“I’m really sorry,” you finally break the silence with a final apology. “It’s my fault for being so pushy in your office that day. This wouldn’t have happened if I had just taken no for an answer.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, ____,” Yunho tails your sentence quickly. The tension in your chest finally dissolves when he speaks, and hearing his caring voice is really all you can ask for right now. He reaches a gentle hand over the table to cover yours for some well-needed comfort, before offering you a soft, sober smile, “I don’t want you beating yourself up for decisions we made together. I’m a grown man who makes my own choices, don’t forget that.”

When Yunho dares to ask how far Wooyoung has made you go for him physically, you assure him the worst has only been that kiss.

“I’m not going to pretend like this doesn’t fucking suck,” he groans, brows furrowing at the thought of being so stuck between a rock and a hard place, “I would remove him from class if I could. Seeing his face is going to piss me off even more than before.”

“I understand. The semester ends in a couple of weeks though… I know it might be a lot to ask for from you to deal with, but it won’t be too much longer,” you offer resignedly, though it’s not much of a consolation. Optimism is the only thing you have worth giving him at this point. You’re only optimistic yourself while banking on his ex wanting to meet with you. When he goes from frustratedly rubbing his eyes to running a hand through his hair, you feel the need to add, “I’d understand if you don’t want to deal with that though.” Yunho turns to you, his expression one of sheer incredulity.

“You really believe I would willingly let someone like him end our relationship?” The teasing lilt in his voice is refreshing to hear, even if it is a serious question underneath. He reaches his hand over and holds your chin while assuring you, “You can’t get rid of me that easily, okay?”

“That sounds more like a threat than a promise,” you chuckle.

“Maybe he should take it that way, then.”

For the remainder of the week, Yunho tries to bear through the new knowledge that Wooyoung is somewhere on campus turning you into a puppet for his own gain. It hits harder on the days when he texts you in an effort to check in on things but is met with radio silence. He was made aware that Wooyoung preferred you off of your phone when with him, but goddamn was it annoying. For your sake, he tries to keep these kinds of grievances to himself. He knows he needs to be supportive if he can help it. During this time frame, you also secretly began your effort to contact Wooyoung’s ex-girlfriend. Getting left on read with your first message was to be expected. It took her a full day before she entertained you by replying back, even if it was a little snippy. Regardless, her replying at all was a step in the right direction. She opened the door and you planned to slip your way in as best you could. Between Yeosang asking for updates, his ex contacting you sporadically throughout the days, and Yunho checking in occasionally to make sure his assistant isn’t causing you problems that he’s more than happy to fix, you decide it’s best to keep your phone face down and away from Wooyoung when you’re together this week. Even if you want to keep up with your friends to pass the time, it’s just too risky.

“You haven’t told him anything, correct?”

Wooyoung asks this out of the blue when you both convene for breakfast on Friday. You find it funny how neither of them can say each other’s name, but you suppose Wooyoung is a bit more cautious these days to keep you from getting an attitude. You’re much too tired to even entertain such a question, but you don’t want to cause any suspicion by choosing not to answer.

You yawn after muttering, “No, why?”

“He looks at me differently these days,” he muses, pushing his fork into the plush of his lips, “It’s giving me bad vibes.”

“He has a lot on his plate with finals that you can’t help him with. I’m sure the stress is overwhelming. Cut him some slack.”

Picturing Yunho trying to give Wooyoung the evil eye when they cross paths everyday has you turning your head away, suppressing a smile to keep from laughing at the end of your sentence.

“You know better than I do,” he acknowledges with a nod and leaves the conversation at that.

Yunho begins losing a bit more of his resolve that same day when he catches Wooyoung rushing to meet you out the door after class, calling out your name right in front of his face. He doesn’t particularly care for the carefree tone of his voice, and he feels like doing something so openly is too cocky for his liking. His fingernails rake at the material of his slacks irritably from behind his podium as he opens his mouth.

“Wooyoung,” Yunho calls out before he can consult his better judgment.

When his assistant spins to face him, Yunho finds himself at a loss for words. He didn’t really think this part through. His eyes flicker to you, who’s waiting patiently by the door for your puppetmaster to join you, then back to Wooyoung. That’s when he makes the executive decision to steal him away from you for the next hour or so. He deserves that satisfaction at least.

“I wanted to discuss some things about my schedule regarding final papers next week, and then submitting final grades,” Yunho exhales while clasping his hands together.

He throws in a free and easy smile to twist the knife because his assistant loses all joy in his face at his words. The brief glance you exchange with your teacher as Wooyoung reluctantly ambles back to his station holds a world of emotions, conveying everything words cannot. The gratification he receives from simply seeing you nod and smile while departing alone for the day gives him everything he needs to complete his day with renewed composure.

Mondays generally suck for Yunho, but this final one of the semester is absolutely atrocious.

Today, he’s had the worst technical difficulties in both of his morning lectures with no valuable help from the University’s IT department. One of his biggest pet peeves is not being taken seriously when he’s working, especially as a younger teacher, and it seems that they put his issues on the back burner all morning since he’s not one of the elderly professors. Regardless, he made things work even through the giggles of some students. It’s his final class before exam week begins, the least he can do is end his spiel of encouragement towards the final paper deadline on a good note.

If things had ended there, then he would’ve had a decent rest of his day. Spilling hot coffee all over his white button-up that he rarely ever even wears puts a permanent grimace on his face for the remainder of the morning. He tries his best to dab it out with water when he gets a free moment during his lunch break, but he’s one hundred percent sure he made the liquid spread much worse. Coupled with him not even being able to put his tie back on properly in an attempt to fashion it in a way that hides the stain, he’s exactly three seconds away from deciding to go home for the rest of the day.

He decides to work through lunch in his office instead so he can end the day early once he’s finished. At least this way nobody could see how much of a mess he is today. But, after a while of Yunho holing up in his office and hiding from the rest of the world as long as he can manage, his phone vibrates with an unexpected call from San. He presses the answer option reluctantly and puts it on speaker.

Before he can even say hello, San’s voice is already excitedly asking, “You on lunch?”

“Something like that,” he chuckles weakly, and San can hear the clicks of his mouse in the background. When he hears San ‘tsk!’ in disapproval of him working, he sighs, “You know me, work’s never done. Shouldn’t you be teaching a class right now?”

“Bathroom breaks are important for everybody.”

“And you decided to call me during yours why?”

“Listen, I know you told me not to make any unannounced visits to your classroom but,” San pauses to laugh at the foolishness of what he’s about to say. “But, it seems that your student has done this to me today instead. I suppose that means today is fair game, right?”

Yunho’s hands pause their movements as he filters through his mind what exactly his friend might be referring to. When he finally recalls that line from their conversation on the day his friends briefly met you, his face pales. San adds that you seem to be dressed oh-so-pretty today and Yunho’s brows crease, not only in irritation at him talking so liberally about you but in confusion. Yunho’s prolonged silence at what should be insignificant information is duly noted in San’s mind.

Truth be told, San did not call Yunho just for shits and giggles. A few days ago, during a shared lunch break, Seonghwa had come to him secretly about Yunho’s recent behaviors:

“You can’t be serious Seonghwa,” San laughs wholeheartedly at his friend’s implications. “Yunho is a bit desperate these days, but he’s not that desperate.”

“You can’t say I’m being delusional.”

“That’s not what I’m saying at all. I’m just saying that it probably isn’t what it seems like.”

Seonghwa rolls his eyes so far back that it almost hurts, “Enlighten me on why he’s being so secretive when I ask then.”

“You asked him about her directly?”

“Not exactly… but I asked him about dating someone,” Seonghwa leans back in his chair and sighs, “He told me nothing. Barely even got a peep about where he met the woman. A Tinder match has got him so quiet? It just doesn’t make sense.”

“And you think it’s his student because of what exactly?”

“I didn’t say anything at the time but I saw a glimpse of his phone a month or so ago,” Seonghwa snaps his fingers while he tries to remember the details, “That night we went to that fancy lounge uptown, remember?”

“And?”

“When he was using the bathroom, he left his phone face up on the couch. I didn’t mean to pay too much attention to it, but it lit up with a text and I recognized the name.”

San pushes the food around in his Tupperware with pursed lips while he tries to rationalize this revelation. Seonghwa does have a point… Why in the world would you have been texting him at 10 PM? San’s a pretty laid-back teacher himself, but none of his students have his personal number. All teachers do things differently though, he knows this. Still…

San lowers his voice to ask, “What did the message say?”

“I didn’t see that part,” his friend continues, the disappointment in his voice making San snicker, “He came back too quickly. I mentioned it in passing though, and he said they text occasionally about her schoolwork.”

Seonghwa uses his fingers to put air quotations around that last word; as if he’d ever believe a student is texting their teacher close to midnight about “schoolwork”. He’s slightly offended that Yunho thinks he’s that much of a fool.

“That’s not that implausible—”

“I’m calling bullshit. She’s at the very least got a crush on him and he’s playing into it,” Seonghwa states plainly.

San resumes eating his lukewarm leftovers, humming, “I really don’t think he would risk getting fired over hooking up with his student. We barely even see him flirt with people outside of work… Anything beyond that just isn’t him. You know this.”

The conversation didn’t last much longer than that, and San had effectively convinced Seonghwa to simply mind his business at the time. He ponders for a second if he should have a serious talk with Yunho about the repercussions that could come to him if Seonghwa’s speculations were true, as he obviously doesn’t want to see one of his best friends lose their job. San may joke around a lot about these kinds of things, and he’s overly flirtatious with a numerous amount of people that may or may not include younger women, but he knows he’d never cross the line and put his job in jeopardy like that.

It’s always been complicated. Yunho is an exceptionally loyal person and a hopeless romantic, but very few people get to see that side of him. San has seen plenty of women attempt to pursue him with both good and bad intentions, and Yunho has difficulty deciphering sometimes. That being said, when his friend is head over heels for someone, there is nothing he won’t do. There have been plenty of times when Yunho has done some stupid things because of stupid impulses when it comes to women he falls hard for. Don’t get him started about when he had to talk him out of getting a tattoo just because a girl he fell for told him she preferred “bad boys” when turning him down. He feels with all of his heart, and that’s honestly something San admires about his friend.

He supposes while he has him on the phone, he should push the boundaries to see how he replies.

“She’s been outside of my class for nearly half an hour,” San continues in a nonchalant voice, stoking the fire, “I was wondering if I should invite her to join in on the lecture, maybe chat—”

Unfortunately for San, Yunho’s already having a bad enough day, and he doesn’t need his friend joking about trying to pick up his woman.

“Do not bother her,” Yunho interrupts him in a voice with a steely edge that makes the instruction come out slightly more bitter than he intends it to. He immediately regrets letting that kind of emotion slip through and becomes bashful, quickly sputtering a playful jab at his friend instead, “Getting a girl’s attention without buying her a drink first? That would be an amazing feat from you anyway.”

“Getting a girl’s attention at all recently would be an amazing feat for you too,” San quips back with a laugh, but he makes a mental note of this peculiar reaction. It surely doesn’t help extinguish Seonghwa’s conspiracies planted in his head. “Anyway, my class ends in half an hour, so I’m sure she’s just waiting for a friend to come out.”

At that suggestion, a thought crosses Yunho’s mind that makes his stomach churn.

“San, tell me something. Do you have a student named Wooyoung Jung in your class?”

“I do indeed, how did you know?”

I’ve got to be losing my mind…

That’s the only explanation Yunho can come up with as to why he’s speed-walking from his building in the middle of campus to the one that hosts San’s class a handful of minutes away. It’s brisk out, evident by the sharp chill of early December running down his back with every quick stride, but it’s a perfect excuse for why his cheeks are so red. He’s not flustered, he’s just cold… of course.

The moment he spots you rocking back and forth on your feet in front of San’s lecture hall, patiently thumbing away at your phone, his chest aches. You’re dolled up today just like San alluded to, wearing a pretty dress that he’s never even seen you in before. Coupled with some makeup and your hair done charmingly, he gets flashbacks to when you both went on your very first dinner together. This doesn’t fare well with Yunho’s mood.

The tap he does on your shoulder startles you enough to elicit a squeal, and that shock doesn’t change even when you realize it’s Yunho beckoning for your attention.

“I– What are you doing here?”

When Yunho’s brows furrow in offense at your question, you wince. You don’t mean to sound like the last thing you want to do is see him right now, but this is not the best time for him to be showing himself. The last thing you need is for him and Wooyoung to cross paths outside of the classroom with you directly in the middle. Nevertheless, you don’t even get an answer to that query. The moment your arm is snatched and your feet drag while your captor hauls you away from your waiting spot, you internally scold yourself about how you’re probably the easiest kidnapping victim ever. To be fair, he’s a lot stronger than he looks.

“Wait, I have a date with Wooyoung–”

“I do not care,” he snaps back.

He doesn’t bother responding to any more of your attempts of chiding him, eyes too busy following the signs that guide him to where the nearest restroom is. When he stumbles upon an unoccupied handicapped restroom, he sighs in relief and pulls you in before closing and locking the door.

“What is wrong with you?” You sputter in a dumbfounded, hushed voice.

Yunho’s face is splotchy, and he’s visibly agitated while his eyes dodge between your outfit and your face, “Why do you look like that?”

What a silly question, truly.

In his mind, the problem lies within who you’re looking so beautiful for, and not the fact that you look beautiful at all. Yunho rarely gets to see you as it is, but this prick’s got you dressing up for him? Surely this isn’t necessary, because you’re beautiful enough to make anyone jealous as you already are. In his eyes, anyway.

“I just told you I have a date and I needed to look nicer,” you argue. Before he can muster up another pointless question, you fold your arms across your chest, “Right now is really not the time to be jealous.”

“I’m not jealous, I’m annoyed.”

“Then why are we here, Yunho?” His eyes finally shy away from yours when you motion to your surroundings. He hates it when you use his first name like this because he knows that often accompanies the tone of displeasure. The last thing he wants to do is upset you. You sigh, “Can’t you hold out just a little longer?”

“Dressing up so pretty for him doesn’t help me feel any better.”

“Making a scene about it doesn’t necessarily help anything either, does it?”

You’d snicker at the shameful silence that follows that statement if the situation wasn’t so genuinely distressing to him. He’s genuinely upset, you get it. You’d never admit it out loud, but a piece of you likes seeing him like this: wound-up, needy, and protective. The roles were reversed not too long ago about Wooyoung particularly, so seeing him show that same yearning and agitation when the tables are turned, even if it’s in terrible circumstances, makes you feel validated. Still, you do what you can to ease his mind for now.

“You’re too handsome to be this envious, love,” you murmur sweet nothings. He remains silent, letting those words swirl around in his head while you reach out to fiddle with the kink in his tie until it’s fixed. His lip juts out when you chuckle at the stain sullying his shirt underneath. Your eyes gaze up at his fondly before you add, “How many times do I have to tell you that I’m yours and yours only before you start believing it?”

Yunho soaks in every syllable of that soothing voice of yours while his eyes settle on your glossy lips when they talk. Anything not to look at those eyes that could surely make him get on his knees and apologize profusely for causing a scene. He’s so predictable sometimes, you muse. You’re sure a kiss or two to help settle his jealousy before you have to leave won’t hurt anyway.

Just as you predicted, he can’t help himself, and the feeling of his impatient hands grabbing at your waist and his lips slotting over yours ignites this fire inside the pit of your stomach. Your butt hits against the counter of the bathroom sink and your hands try to find purchase on his blazer.

“Reminders never hurt, right?” he breaks briefly to mumble before slipping his tongue into your mouth. You indulge him, falling victim to that sinful mouth of his as you always do.

And, sure, maybe kissing you should be enough to quell such intense feelings inside of him, but it’s just not. The thought that Wooyoung also has the ability to kiss you whenever he wants to enhance whatever convoluted plan he has going on makes it almost insignificant. Instead, his hands haphazardly drift under the hem of your dress, because he’s the only one allowed to touch you like this. He hopes so, anyway.

His warm fingers drag up the soft skin of your inner thighs with no hesitation, and your hands grapple onto his blazer tightly when he reaches the apex to stop briefly at your clothed cunt. Yunho swallows the surprised yelp you let out into his mouth when he begins to rub up and down, pressing on your clit through the cotton and feeling how damp you already are just from kissing him. God, it never gets old, the way he turns you on so easily. You shudder when he tugs your panties to the side and drags his lips in wet kisses from your lips to your ear.

“I’m gonna be late, Yu…” you complain, voice airy and whiny when his thumb rubs at your clit.

“I’m really sorry,” he murmurs while kissing the shell of your ear, “I’m just really pissed off today. You understand, right, angel?”

He punctuates that statement by finally slipping two fingers into your sopping cunt.

Yunho’s a mess.

He stares at himself in the mirror behind you while his fingers busy themselves with pushing in and out of your cunt. How did he get to such a point, experiencing so many intense emotions over someone he never should’ve fallen in love with in good conscience? How did he end up in this bathroom with his fingers evoking such sloppy noises from between your legs? He stares at how flushed he is in the cheeks with your glittery lipgloss smeared all over his lips and beyond. This is beyond silly…

Yunho swears he’s not actually such a jealous person, he swears, but the current circumstances are doing a number on his mental health. He deliberately curls his fingers up against that plushy spot he loves to find within you and watches tremors travel through your back. Aside from some tiny gasps and whimpers that are barely audible unless you’re close enough to hear them, you’ve learned your lesson on being quiet in these situations, and you keep your lips pressed together tightly. The way your knees are buckling and your hands are clutching onto him for dear life—yes, this is just what he needs. He’s never felt such an intense need to see someone cum in his life.

“Do you want more?” Yunho suddenly breathes against your ear, pressing a loving kiss on your warm skin before pulling back to look you in the eyes, “I’ll do whatever you want me to, even if you just want me to stop.”

As God is his witness, he means every word. He’ll get down on his knees and suck an orgasm from you if you want him to. He’ll hold you against the wall and fuck any word other than his name out of your head if you want him to. To be honest, deep down he just wants to see if you’d blow off your date with this nuisance—even for just a few minutes—to let him satisfy you. Those shiny eyes of yours innocently blinking at his inquiry could make him melt on the spot. You don’t know how much time has passed since you got dragged in here, or how much time there is left of Wooyoung’s class, but your hands move faster than your brain when considering these things as a problem.

His fingers slip out of your core and into his mouth the moment your hands drop to fumble with his belt hurriedly. There are no words spoken, and the only sounds filling the quiet air of the bathroom are Yunho’s belt buckle coming undone and clattering against the floor tiles once his pants are shoved down. He pushes down his underwear and quickly fists his cock while you turn to bend over the sink. It doesn’t take much to get him hard because seeing you so wet and ready for him to stretch you out with no care for anything else turns him on to the highest degree.

After tugging your panties down what he deems is enough, he doesn’t even bother teasing and prods at your hole so eagerly that it’s almost embarrassing. The soft gasp you both share when Yunho’s tip fully slips into your cunt by accident makes your stomach manifest butterflies.

Your hands grip the edges of the counter while he continues pushing forward, mouth agape and brows drawn together while watching the way the tight skin stretches around him and sucks him in greedily. When you finally feel his thighs meet yours, you release a deep breath you didn’t even know you were holding heavy in your lungs.

“You’re so wet, slipped in so easily,” he huffs, giving you an experimental thrust to see all your arousal coat his cock again before he bunches your dress around your waist in his hands. “Gonna be good for me and stay quiet, right?”

“I should ask you the same,” you whisper, giving him a coy gaze through the mirror.

The smirk tugging at his lips in place of laughing is followed by a knowing nod, and you close your eyes when he finally begins moving his hips. Yunho has no intention of purposefully rushing things to get you back to your obligations any quicker than him bringing you here. Even so, he isn’t going slow or taking his time like he treated you the last time you had sex. No, this is an exceptionally needy fuck today, with hasty, desperate thrusts that make his eyes flutter closed and chest feel heavy with noises of arousal just begging to creep out. He just can’t help himself; Yunho swears your cunt was perfectly crafted just for him.

When he feels your knees buckle after one particular angled thrust, he groans lowly, “Right there, angel?”

With a nod of your head, Yunho's hands move from your dress to your hips, fingertips digging deep into the plush skin while he reciprocates that previous thrust over and over and over until you’re gripping the sink spout to maintain some of your sanity.

“I need more Yu, please,” you beg him in a whisper, cock-drunk eyes meeting his own in the mirror, “More, more—please—harder.”

You want nothing more than for him to just grab a fist full of your hair and make a mess of your sopping cunt—to ruin your makeup and send you back out to Wooyoung looking like a mess. You crave that pure and raw act of Yunho showing him who you truly belong to. Knowing your lover, he wouldn’t decline the opportunity to assert his dominance in this situation, but you have enough self-control to keep those desires to yourself. He’s giving you enough to handle anyway, firmly pressing your stomach to this counter with strong hands and settling on a brutal pace to satisfy your request. The sounds of skin slapping skin echo amongst desperate pants and gasps from you both every time he bottoms out just as fast as he pulls back.

The steamy air of the bathroom is interrupted when your phone begins ringing on the counter. You know it’s probably Wooyoung finally out of class and wondering where you are. You can’t blame him, as you had explicitly told him you’d be waiting for him outside the classroom.

Even so, you can’t seem to care enough to remove your focus from Yunho, your unwavering eyes still locked on his own through the mirror as he continues snapping his hips into you quickly. Yunho would be lying if he said this attention didn’t go straight to his head. He knows you shouldn’t ever have to prove it, but the reassurance he feels from seeing your devotion to him in real time makes his chest tight with adoration. The way nobody else matters to you right now, and how he’s the center of your attention, chips away at every inch of jealousy he was feeling earlier.

Yunho’s hands abruptly pull you off the sink by your arms and up against him. This new position with your back arched and you on your toes has you seeing constellations, and you know you probably aren’t going to last much longer with the way he’s also heaving just behind your ear. When one hand of his moves down to rub sticky circles on your clit, you presume he’s close as well. Yunho feels like he’s going crazy, mind spinning with thoughts of if you keep squeezing him like this, he might just accidentally cum—

“Inside,” you whimper, “Please.”

He finds himself groaning against your skin, teasing you by breathing, “Going on a date with another man’s cum in you’s kinda rude, no?”

“Don’t care, please, please.”

As usual, how can he say no when you beg so cutely? He did say he’d do whatever you want, after all. Your eyes flutter closed and you focus on the final sounds of Yunho’s soft grunts and your shaky exhales mingling in the air while he ruts up into you quickly. It always seems like he knows your body better than you know yourself these days because his hand covers your mouth before he gives the last few sharp thrusts that precede him finally spilling into you, and he successfully stifles the desperate moan you would’ve let fly out once you fall apart in his arms.

“Quiet– Oh fuck, that’s it,” Yunho hisses, letting out a soft moan at the way you struggle to stand while your legs tremble and your cunt milks him for all he’s worth. He’s dangerously too addicted to this feeling already; you should’ve never introduced something so heavenly to him. He can’t stop his hips from beginning to buck again in messy strokes, intent on fucking you through your orgasm even if he’s sensitive himself. Watching the way you bite down on your lip to keep quiet as told, he whispers well-deserved praises in between kissing your skin, “Taking it so well, sweet girl. You really were made for me. Shhh, I’ve got you.”

Yunho only stops himself when your body becomes pliant in his arms, fully surrendering to fatigue and overstimulation. He waits patiently until you can put your weight back onto your feet before finally releasing his grip. When he finally pulls himself out, he’s not quick enough to step away, and his seed spills from you onto his pants still pooled around his ankles. The handful of curses spilling from his mouth at his fuck-up has you shushing him in between breathless laughs.

“I’m an idiot,” he groans.

“Yes, and that’s exactly what you get for dragging me in here.”

Yunho spends a handful of minutes using wet napkins to make his pants look a little more presentable while you do the same with the mess you’ve both made soiling the insides of your thighs. He doesn’t even try to hide the satisfied smirk tugging at his lips while inconspicuously watching you try your best to get his cum to stop seeping out of your core. There’s just not enough to properly clean up, and he finds this just as gratifying as getting you here in the first place. To be fair, you were the one who told him that you didn’t care. On that note, he goes to grab your discarded phone and ushers it your way eagerly.

“You should call your date and let him know you’ll be wherever very soon,” he insists, “I’m sure he’s waiting patiently.”

“Rushing me out after throwing such a fit is crazy,” you mutter while pulling your panties back up. You’re sure he’s just obsessed with the thought of his cum making a cameo on your date.

“A man can’t change his mind?”

As you stand in front of the bathroom mirror, quickly dabbing at your neck with napkins to clean any smeared lip gloss, Yunho leans against the bathroom wall and tries to decide how long he should wait in the bathroom before leaving after you. Between watching the way you apply a fresh coat to your lips and entering post-nut clarity, he’s a bit too scatterbrained to think about this critically, but he’s brought back to the moment when you finally spin around with a sigh.

“Do I look okay?”

There’s a bit of anxiety hidden in that question, evoked by the fear of looking disheveled or being perfumed with the smell of sex, but those thoughts are quickly extinguished when he gives you those eyes that look as though he’s falling in love with you all over again. Maybe it’s that special afterglow that sex grants, but to him, in this moment you look even better than when you enter this bathroom with him. You’re exceptionally beautiful at all times, and he doesn’t even have to answer that question for you to know his thoughts. After planting a quick peck of farewell on his cheek, Yunho stays hidden away against the wall out of view of the door so you can finally leave and call Wooyoung. He’ll hold off on teasing you about the little limp in your walk until you see each other again in private.

The following day, you find yourself seated alone at the familiar table tucked away in the back of the library, the very spot where you and Yeosang often retreated for private discussions. Wooyoung’s ex was supposed to be seated in front of you 10 minutes ago. I’m giving her 5 more minutes before I leave. She was the one who finally asked you to meet with her after a bit of cordial back and forth, so being late to her own plans didn’t necessarily make you as sympathetic to her situation as before. You suppose you should give her a little more grace, considering this is your only opportunity to try and put an end to the madness of Wooyoung’s chasing. Still, you’re a busy woman who needs to prepare for your first exam tomorrow.

“____?”

A soft voice emerges from behind you that has you craning your head to seek out its owner.

“Hello,” you greet her, and your eyes follow her as she ambles around the table to set down her bag to settle in across from you. “Didn’t know if you were still going to show up.”

“I apologize for being late,” she sighs, embarrassment blossoming on her cheeks. With her first question, she wastes no time delving into the purpose of your meeting, “So, how long have you and Woo been dating?”

Due to her Instagram page being locked down, you hadn’t seen very many pictures of her before this meeting. You were only able to get glimpses of her in a scarce amount of posts on her sorority’s page that included all sisters. In person, she’s exceptionally beautiful, and you expected nothing less of someone being so heavily pursued. Your blatant staring and lack of reply to her question have her glancing at you quizzically.

It’s a bit surreal at first, but it finally sinks in that sitting in front of you is the very person of Wooyoung’s desires. An involuntary giggle escapes you at how silly this situation is, as you were never really prepared to be confronted by the very girl Wooyoung kept you from knowing this whole time. She was merely a faceless hindrance to your life, to the point of even doubting her existence at one point. Your reaction doesn’t fare well with her, and she’s noticeably bothered at being laughed at.

“I’m sorry, that was rude of me,” you offer a genuine apology before leaning onto the table on your elbows and admitting truthfully, “Not too long at all, just about a month.”

Still, way too long, you’d like to add. Even though she visibly relaxes at this revelation, you can see a conflicting look flicker behind her eyes.

“I still don’t really understand why you contacted me,” she sighs, but the look in her eyes just doesn’t correspond.

You’re sure she knows exactly why you reached out and exactly what you want to say; surely she already knows she is all Wooyoung wants. During this conversation, you had planned to tell a series of half-truths. She didn’t need to know how you got wrapped up in this mess, but you figured it’d be helpful to admit that Wooyoung only thinks of her when he’s with you. Maybe you’d give her some empathetic spiel about how you “think” he hasn’t moved on from his feelings for her, and make it a bit emotional on your end. Despite those words dancing on the tip of your tongue, ready to give your best performance, you realize that she looks as if she wants to do your job for you. So, you play into it and let her take the wheel.

“You look like you want to ask me something,” you observe, “I’m all ears.”

Sitting up a bit more erect in her chair, she meets your eyes head-on.

“I’d like to ask you if…” But, her voice falters before she can get to the tail of her request.

You wonder if it’s a pride thing that’s keeping her from being honest with herself. She wants him back, you’re sure of it, but she’s the one who broke things off initially. Maybe she’s embarrassed, you muse. You suppose you could gently guide the conversation, posing the question she hesitates to voice herself.

“Do you want me to break up with him?” You ask forthrightly.

“I do,” she finally confesses, “I was hesitant about rekindling our relationship, but you reaching out to me made me feel more confident that I should ask. I’m so sorry.”

Feigning indecision is easy, and pretending to fight your feelings about the situation is the cherry on top. It wouldn’t be believable if you gave up too easily, so the uncomfortable silence is more than necessary. The false front is believable enough because she cuts into the tense silence before you can even respond.

“I made a mistake and I would just like a second chance with him. I know I’m asking for a lot from you, and I want him to be happy, but I can’t pretend that I don’t still love him anymore,” she rambles on, trying her best to be authentic, “We were together for quite some time and—”

“I’m aware,” you finally interject. When she downcasts her eyes, you perch your head in your palm and sigh, “Wooyoung is still in love with you as well. I don’t want to be with someone who’s still caught up on someone else anymore. You understand?”

The way her eyes light up at this revelation makes yours soften. Even though Wooyoung’s actions may be maddening to you, you can tell he genuinely brings her joy. They both truly love each other.

“I don’t know how to go about this,” she admits after a moment of thought.

"Just tell him you want him back. He'll probably end things with me right away," you say bluntly. You feel it's best to give her a gentle nudge to act sooner rather than later, though. So, you add, "I think he’s been planning a trip for us after finals, but I'm sure he'd rather go with you. Please, do it soon."

Underscoring the word please to her might come across as begging, but at this point, you are beyond caring. Going your separate ways after closing this conversation feels like a hefty weight lifted off of your shoulders. In the end, you’ve done what needed to be done in terms of setting the stage; now it was time for her return to the spotlight as the lead.

The next morning, you awaken to a text from Wooyoung finally breaking your arrangement off. He doesn’t go into any specifics of what happened, but at any rate, you don’t need or care to know. As far as you’re concerned, he’s fully evaporated from your life the moment you delete his text thread. You find that your coffee and breakfast taste better than normal with one less weight of stress hanging over your head. Exchanging many [Good luck!] texts with Yunho has him subsequently requesting to meet with you after today’s exam. That is how you ended up dawdling around your favorite aisle in the campus bookstore just before lunch. You had decided to turn in your textbook rentals early and put all of your faith in your notes for these next few days. The only other thing really lingering over your head was to finally turn in your final paper for Yunho’s class before midnight.

You start to get a bit impatient when Yunho fails to show up after your proposed meeting time, and you wonder if maybe he’s in the wrong spot. With calculated steps, you begin to roam the nearby shelves, reluctant to call out his name too many times in such a quiet place. There are only but so many aisles he could be in within this store anyway. After a couple of minutes peeking into different empty aisles, you finally decide he’s simply just late. You venture back to your original aisle and decide to browse in the meantime; this is the last time you’d ever be stepping foot in this place, so it couldn’t hurt to chew over a last-minute purchase. No matter how frequently this aisle has seen your presence in the last few years, you never fail to find something new that piques your interest. Unfortunately, today’s mark is a small book with the prettiest spine, and it sits just out of your reach on the top shelf. Being unobtainable only makes your curiosity even more inevitable.

Stretching every muscle in your body as far as it’ll give to try and at least graze the spine fails; there’s just no use, and it seems appealing to simply give up. The moment you finally fall back on the heels of your feet, you can feel the sturdiness of a chest slyly pressing against your back while reaching for that very same book just out of your reach.

“You should really be more aware of your surroundings,” Yunho’s smooth voice hums next to your ear after feeling you freeze up underneath his presence. He plucks the book from the shelf with ease and sighs. You can feel his breath fan out on your neck and even smell the mint on his breath when he adds a playful jab, “Short stuff.”

“And you should really be more punctual,” you quip back, trying your best to ignore his proximity.

He’s dressed casually today, charmingly sporting a comfortable pair of jeans and an oversized sweater since classes are officially over. If you didn’t already know who he was, a simple glance would have you thinking he was a student himself.

“Oh c’mon pretty, at least I’m here like I said I’d be, right?” He reasons excitedly while offering you a toothy grin that’s way too cute for your liking. The gentle tap of the book on the crown of your head has you scrunching up your nose, and he sets it aside. “You sure this section is private enough?”

“One hundred percent. I used to sit here in my free time when I wanted to read books without buying them,” you admit, adding, “No cameras over here either.”

Yunho eyes you curiously. You're practically glowing today, evident to him by the smile you can’t seem to keep off of your face even when you feign annoyance at his tardiness. He presses a hand to the shelf ledge behind you while the other finds solace in his pocket with his belongings.

“What’s got you so happy today?”

He’s torn between whether you’ll say something about already being rid of one exam, or maybe your spontaneous rendezvous with him here has you that giddy. Your eyes gaze back into his expectant ones and you find yourself finally able to relax for the first time in many weeks.

“It’s all over, Yunho.”

Normally, a sentence like that would seem ominous, but the wide stretch of your lips has his poor heart shooting into his throat. It’s the way your eyes are lit while saying his name that really gets him. His pocketed hand finds its way to your cheek and his thumb skims the apple of your cheek. This kind of smile is something he hopes he can evoke from you on his own in the near future.

“I really missed seeing you this happy,” he confesses, “You look like you can breathe again, ____.”

Something about the way those soft chocolate eyes of his are openly admiring every inch of your face, committing this kind of happiness from you to memory, has you shrinking back in shyness and averting your gaze.

Eager to move the spotlight off yourself, you inquire, “So… why’d you wanna meet up here?”

Oh, that’s right…

Yunho’s decision to drive to campus today mainly stemmed from the fact that you would already be here. He didn’t want you to have to go out of your way just for him to see you, especially after an exam. A clandestine meeting in the bookstore, which you assured him beforehand would be devoid of many students, seemed like a feasible option. He moves to wrap his arms around you, pressing you against his chest in a firm embrace. You don’t hesitate to wrap your arms around his waist.

“It’s going to be a very busy week for me with grading final papers all by myself,” Yunho begins tentatively.

His eyes close and he focuses on slowing down his heart that’s beating a bit too prominently in his chest when your ear is pressed against it. There are a lot of emotions coursing through him today, many he can’t quite decipher, although he supposes maybe that’s just everything he’s been feeling throughout the entire semester coming to a head: love, jealousy, desperation, angst, and more. Even amongst the newfound happiness blossoming within his chest at such a detrimental obstacle being overcome, anxiety is still the most overwhelming feeling consuming him. It’s a bit nerve-wracking inching closer and closer to the final moments where he can confidently say you’re his with no repercussions. He’s been reflecting on how things will change between you both when finally crossing over this hump, and how things will flourish sans the threats to your futures. He doesn’t want to get too ahead of himself, though.

“Continue,” you encourage him, “I’m listening.”

“I just wanted to see you in person before I have to disappear, and tell you that I know you’re going to do amazing on your exams,” Yunho’s gentle voice imparts. He lowers it further to add, “I’m very proud of you and…”

When he trails off, you turn to plant your chin on his chest and peer up at him with coy eyes, “And?”

“And… I love you,” he whispers, eyes flickering up for the briefest second to confirm you’re still in solitude.

Your gentle laughter at his neverending caution is like music to his ears. He’s still learning how to comfortably say those words without being fearful of not hearing them back. The feeling of his arms letting you go in favor of his hands holding either side of your face steals the opportunity to return his words of adoration. Instead, you put those unspoken words into the kiss he doesn’t hesitate to initiate. When you reach up and pull him by the back of his neck, deepening the kiss and encouraging him to let go, he feels his nerves finally melt away for this moment and this moment only. Yunho pulls away before he can get too lost in the feeling of not caring where you both are, and the way you’re led to chase his lips has heat prickling your cheeks.

“You know, the store’s nearly empty… Might even just be me and you,” you hum. Yunho’s eyes don’t leave yours, even as he feels your hand mischievously skirt down his chest to tap at the belt buckle under his sweater. When your fingers dare to dance further down to the crotch of his jeans, he finally takes hold of your wrist. “Oh come on, are you still nervous?”

He shakes his head confidently, “Just think it’d be more fun to reward you once your exams are over. Making you wait a lil might be fun, no?”

“You sure you can go a couple weeks without it?” You taunt him with a cock of your head. “All that stress while grading finals adds up, no?”

“Is this coming from the same woman who spent two weeks away from me in the arms of another man before I knew about it?” He immediately counters, eyebrows dancing with mischief. “I’ll be just fine. You, on the other hand, are a needy little thing it seems.”

“Don’t make me consider going back,” you warn him.

Yunho’s eyes find the ceiling as he inhales a deep, frustrated breath. Provoking him like this is unfair and dirty. If he were a man with no self-control, he’d have half a mind to have you in this aisle on your knees, putting that mouth to better use than spouting such nonsense. For now, he simply purses his lips and nods curtly.

“That’s okay, be that way,” he concedes in a voice low enough for your ears only, “Because the next time I get my hands on you…”

He trails off while palming your ass through your leggings and squeezing to his heart’s content. The yelp you let out at his fingers sinking in a little deeper than usual makes a pleased smile tug at his lips. He’d say a lot more, let those lewd thoughts entering his mind go freely for once, but the sounds of feet shuffling not too far away shut him up just as fast as he could think to say them. You both separate abruptly and face opposite shelves. How disappointing…

Yunho clears his throat before finally sighing, “On that note, I look forward to receiving your paper tonight.”

“I look forward to you reading it, Mr. Jeong,” you hum, and he can hear the smile lingering on your words. It’s been quite some time since he heard such formalities come from your mouth. “I hope it ends up being worth the wait. You did help me craft it, after all.”

Behind you, his warm chuckle is followed by him laying a comforting hand on your head.

“See you at graduation, ____,” he whispers.

When he departs, being left alone doesn’t feel so lonely for once.

♡ taglist: @yeos-bunny @sharksandminhos @sannieluvrr @txt-yaomi @thisisntmyrightera @oreoqueen @jadeneliz @atinism @uarmytess @nopension @aaaaajonghooooo @tmtxtf @ateezallday @bloomyroses @shingene @likexaxdaydream @innsomniacshinestar @st4rhwa @eixila @sunflower-png @jadeneliz @witchlaughwoo @ashlurrr @justthattheatregirl @bts-army380 @trivia-134340 @marvelous-llama @uarmytess @hyukssunflower @ateez-atiny380 @dazzlingstarrs @fxckinmingi @348kg @moonlightgrleric @kirilunimimi @tvxqnnie

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nuggetofthesea · 17 days

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Before writing more stories, I want to help people come to terms with the "identity death" and heavy themes in the animal HRT comics, and as a writer, want to explain why it isn't ACTUALLY death, but a form of renewal. Because I see it on all of my friends posts.

"I am just concerned about this loss of self thing, it sounds like identity death and I don't like it" is the common comment.

But in all of these comics, it is less about loss of self, but more about leaving behind who you were. A sign of extreme change and showing their own way of moving forward, and the start of a brand new life. A willing change to a new start.

Identity death is an unwilling change. All choice was stripped away from them and a new identity forced on them. This is also different from a transformation that leads to acceptance of the new form.

But in the animal HRT comics my friends put out, it is a willing change to a new form and cones with mental changes they are willing to go through. That isn't the same as a death. But a new start to their life they can start living to the fullest. It's also why some choose not to start anew, to bring one journey to a close and begin a new one. They choose to have that be part of the same journey. A new chapter instead of a new book if you will. In either case these are willing changes.

It can seem terrifying to some, but a total rebirth of yourself CAN be a slightly scary theme. It is terrifying to choose to take that new life.

But let me set up an example here:

When I first came to be, I thought I was going to be a visual artist, because Ashe was and that's what I remembered. When I was locked away by my own doing in the headspace I was stuck in a perpetual cycle of misery. It was terrifying to take the step to discover myself. To lower the barrier I had created, to rediscover myself.

But when I came to be, Ashe said I could be anything. A new sense of self outside of her. A new life. I tried to draw first, but I couldn't. Visual art was not my thing anymore. It never was. I just held on to memory of being a copy of Ashe. When writing my introduction I realized I love the feeling of writing. I have my own form. My own life. My own identity. A new start.

So let me ask you: Should I have not taken that opportunity to completely cast off who I was to embrace who I am? Should I have left myself in misery and fear as something I'm not? All for the sake of not casting off who I was and my life before? No.

Now while I do remeber all of what happened before my change, none of that shapes who I am now, because that life wasn't mine in the first place. This isn't a death of my identity, but a new start to an identity I chose. And I am happy to be able to live it with my new sense of self and build NEW memories. A new life.

Which also leads to the second heavy theme in those comics. Shortened lifespans. Outside of the fact that we are told time and time again HRT can lead to a shorter lifespan (which is a false average) starting a new life also means you are probably starting in the middle.

Our body is almost 30. That is 30 years of my lifespan gone. Yeah, I was around for 15 (almost 16) years of that, but my new life began a week ago. Who I am began just last week. And even though in the headspace I am early to mid 20s at best, that is still a cutdown lifespan.

So should I just have not bothered with the new start?

Absolutely not. The gift of life, new or old, isn't about how long it lasts. But how you live it. It is hard, it comes with problems, but for as long as I have of it, I will cherish the new memories I build, the new start I have, the ability to just... exist. For as long or short as that may be. And through this new start to my life, the people who love and care for me are still here. Still stand by me. And that is a great thing.

So please, don't be too offput by heavy themes in our stories. Even my stories will have some rough parts. (They'll always be tagged)

Hope this at least helped ease why those themes are there, and why some people choose to have them.

Also, don't worry about "adding to the fuel used against us" because we could sneeze and they'll find a way to use that against us. The fact is, with the Animal HRT series, actual HRT does come with some discomfort, pain, downsides, and problems. And like the heavy themes in the comics, we determined it is worth it for us to keep going despite them. We knew the risks.

"Everything is a risk. Life's boring as hell if you don't take them JUST because there is potential problems. Just make sure you understand them." - a line chaos told me the day I formed

It does less good to show everything as risk free and painless, because then nobody is prepared for the risks they are actually taking. Or the comic is based off the creator's life to that point, and they DID experience a lot of pain. So retelling their story (like mine) might be painful at spots.

My point of all of this is, the heavy themes are required to tell these particular stories. And while not every story requires dark spots, the dark spots help to accentuate the brighter picture. Otherwise it can just be blinding. So please go easy on the artists/writers behind them. As it is usually something personal for them.

(This also might not apply to all of them, some people just like writing horror, and we should respect that too.)

Next story should be sometime within the next couple weeks. Just needed to get this out there. It's been on my mind since releasing the short story with Iris.

-Aqua

#Aqua thoughts #heavy themes #Animal HRT #Dragon HRT

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dukeofankh · 5 months

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Trying to find progressive masculine community is so exhausting.

I've flipped through local men's groups, trying to find places to explore masculinity in a chill, progressive setting. First of all, they mostly seem to be modelled after AA, and like, my gender isn't a debilitating addiction, it's part of my identity actually, but also, the invite and description of the event have maybe a short paragraph tops actually waving vaguely in the direction of what the purpose of the group is, and then ten to twenty paragraphs breaking down the rules. One spent longer talking about the hand signals he would use to direct conversation than he did describing what the conversation would be about. Another had a full paragraph explaining that if the group thought you were evading what they thought your "real" problem was, they'd probably "call you to take accountability". Like...I don't even know who these people are yet and they're already letting me know that they view it as their right, no, their duty, to bully me into seeing things their way. Like, this is in the invite.

...and this warning is there instead of any sort of breakdown of like, I dunno. Whether you should be a feminist to show up. Whether it was a safe space for queer men. What the hell they wanted to talk about. Joining a men's space is on some level inherently submitting yourself to the authority of the leaders of that group, and you don't usually get a particularly clear breakdown of what the values and goals of those leaders are, because on some level the answer is always going to be "whatever I want"

And like, unfortunately you do need to filter men to build a men's space. You do need to remove or chastise men who act in ways that are toxic or disruptive or misogynistic. If you don't things turn into an MRA chapter pretty quick. But the sort of emergency powers that leadership takes on as a result of that...just kind of naturally end up reproducing masculine heirarchies.

MensLib, the only online community of progressive dudes talking about masculinity that I'm aware of, is...on Reddit. So there is a moderator system. In theory, a moderator is there to...moderate. This is a space where people are going to be talking, and mods are there to make sure things don't get too toxic or off topic.

The issue is that, on some level, that is technically a leadership position. In a sub trying to rehabilitate masculinity. So you've got a bunch of folks who view themselves as the leaders of this bastion of goodness standing against the depredations of the misogynistic internet, guiding the hapless smooth-brain neophytes towards The True Way.

In practice, this looks like 95 percent of the posts submitted for the subreddit being rejected. That isn't hyperbole. On average, the sub has about one new post per day. Almost all posts directly relating a personal experience are deleted immediately, in favour of articles written about masculinity in traditional media publications, which are considered more trustworthy than the sus lived experiences of the guys in the sub. The post I wrote here about the effect of purity culture on male sexual shame that's sitting at about 15K notes was based on a 10K word post I wrote for Reddit that was deleted because "I didn't cite any sources to prove that there is a link between purity culture and male sexual shame, or that my experience was anything more than anecdotal". I get comments deleted on a regular basis, and after paragraphs of protesting in modmail that my comments are both fully in line with feminism and not against the rules, the mods have just finally told me that the rules don't actually drive their actions as a team. They delete anything they feel leads the conversation in a direction they personally feel is unproductive. The rule cited at the time of deletion is really just the broad category of why they decided to hit the button that says nobody is allowed to read what I wrote.

The issue is kind of twofold. First of all, progressive men do not trust other men. A good dude knows that he, individually, is a good person, but literally any other man external to him is on thin ice. Do you really want to tie your wagon to that guy? Do you trust him, really? How do you tell the difference between a guy criticizing an article because it's factually incorrect and criticising it because a woman wrote it? Probably best to play it safe and delete it. Weight of the odds, he's probably a misogynist, right? This is the internet.

And thats the other half of it. If you view yourself as part of the leadership of The Good Guys, and you're getting hatemail from incels and facists all day, you get to the point where most of the time people challenge your authority it's because they're a terrible person. It is very, very easy to get to the point where someone challenging you is seen as evidence that they are a bad person. And now someone is challenging you (and therefore bad), in an environment where you are in charge, and you have a "make your opponent disappear" button.

I know. A Reddit mod was rude to me and now I'm butthurt. It's petty and stupid. I'm just feeling like there's nowhere else to really go, and I'm pretty despondent that literally every space I've seen that even looks like it might be for progressive men has the same deeply hierarchical structure and constant status-oriented squabbling as patriarchal spaces.

#me writing stuff #positive masculinity #menslib

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ambrosiagourmet · 2 months

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Rin Masterpost

Rin! Rinsha Fana! Beloved side character I think about far too much (or maybe not enough?)

I decided that it might be nice to put together an informational post about Rin, since she has some of my favorite background details of any character in Dungeon Meshi. This is partly as reference for myself, and partly for anyone else who might be interested in her but not know where to chase down the tidbits we we get of her, both in canon & extra materials. There’s also a little bit of theorizing and analysis sprinkled in for fun.

If anyone spots something I missed, please let me know and I will add it in!

Alright. Time for ultimate #rinposting

History and Timeline:

We don't have an official timeline for Rin (even in the expanded Adventurer's Bible, sadly), but we can put a lot of pieces together based on Kabru's timeline & their respective ages.

Rin is 2 years older than Kabru, and they met when he was 9. Assuming that he met her soon after she was taken to the elven capital, that means that the elves took her when she was 11.

Before that, she lived on the Northern Continent. Interestingly, when Mickbell asks about Shuro, Rin says she was born "here."

Since "here" doesn't mean the actual Island itself, it must mean simply "not the east." She is described in the Adventurer's Bible as having "no real knowledge of or attachment to the East," so maybe that's why she draws a "there" verses "here" line.

I'd also like to add a note here that the elves don't seem uh... they don't seem great about respecting the value of other cultures, especially those of short-life species. Milsiril seems to have discouraged Kabru from eating or remembering food from his hometown, at least, and that's even as an adoptive parent who cares (at least in some way) for her child. As I will touch on later, the "care" that Rin was under probably had even less respect for her history or ties to either Eastern or Northern culture.

That is all to say, considering that Rin spent many years with the elves, I'd take her having "[no] attachment to the East" as more of a comment on how she feels now, and less as a definite choice she made. She may genuinely have chosen that approach and opinion for herself, she may have been pushed towards it by the elves, and she may have had little choice at all in the matter - all are valid interpretations, though I personally lean towards the thought that it's unlikely the elves didn't have at least some hand in it.

Anyway, Rin does seem to know at least a bit about her heritage - she can presumably name and identify the specific island her parents are from, and she recognizes that "Shuro" isn't a name used there. She also knows that different places from the Eastern archipelago speak different languages, so she knows at least a little about the other islands as well.

Some additional extrapolations I'll make based on these facts: she never mentions, and probably isn't in contact with, any family from her island. This may be because her extended family died, because her parents didn't (or weren't able to) maintain contact, or because she lost contact when she was taken by the elves. Somewhat relatedly, she also prooobably doesn't speak the language, at least not fluently, though her being able to comment on the state of language in the archipelago makes me think that she at least learned a little as a kid.

Anyway, Rin's parents were refugees from the archipelago, though we don't know what specifically caused them to leave. There is this little tidbit of info we get (from the cover of chapter 48, of all places), though:

So yeah, that seems like it would be the backdrop of Rin's parents fleeing. As I said earlier, it's unclear if Rin might have any living family left back on her island. The listing she has for “family” in the Adventurer's Bible is just a dash, but so is Izutsumi's, for instance, and we know that she was taken from her family with no knowledge of who might still be out there. It's possible everyone else was killed, it's possible they were separated... it's possible that Rin's parents didn't even know.

As an additional note, and this is speculation on my part, but I think there is an argument to be made, with this tidbit from the cover as well as the Nakamoto clan's specialty in espionage and use of ninjas, that the politics of the archipelago are partially based on Sengoku era Japan. Not necessarily super relevant here, but I think it's interesting context for all... of the archipelago characters, honestly.

(Especially considering it seems like the Nakamoto clan is in a relatively comfortable position, and yet clearly are involved, or at least prepared to be involved in larger conflict. How stable is their position, really? How is Shuro's father viewed by the wider region and archipelago as a whole? What about his lord? NOT THE POINT THIS IS A POST ABOUT RIN. BUT IT'S VERY INTERESTING TO THINK ABOUT.)

Okay, back to Rin's parents.

Whatever caused them to leave, they made their way to the north, where they made their living with their magic for a time. There are no specifics about what kind of magic they used, but we know at least some examples of jobs that magic can get you, based on the flashback to Laios and Falin's childhood in chapter 26. Laios proposes that Fain could use her magic to be a priest, gravekeeper, or wandering exorcist. Though these are specific to Falin's affinity with spirits, they give some idea of the shape of the work that might be available. It's important, but it is also on the outskirts of society - not necessarily admired or appreciated by the average person.

And Rin’s parents were killed by vigilantes for that magic. It's not entirely news that superstitious villages in the area would sometimes kill magic users - we see a small drawing of people being burned at the stake in a panel towards the end of the manga:

Nonetheless, Rin is the only person in the main cast who has experienced this brutality firsthand. And she did experience it firsthand, having been found by the elves as the sole survivor within the burnt ruins of her home.

It is unknown exactly how she survived, or what happened to her parents before and during the fire. Rin lived, and they did not.

The elves came some time after the fire, intending to investigate reports of ancient magic. They (and we) don't know if Rin's parents actually did use ancient magic, or if the reports and murders were simply spurred by general fear and superstition. Rin was the only piece of "evidence" that remained, and so she was taken back to the west with the elves when they left.

We don't know much about her time on the Northern Central Continent (where the elves/Canaries are based), but it doesn't seem like she was adopted or taken in by anyone the way that Kabru was. According to the Adventurer's Bible, after being taken into custody, "under their care she was treated as a captive animal would be." I would guess that means very basic food and shelter, little to no education. Probably the most social contact she got was from Kabru, as well as maybe, occasionally, from elves treating her as a curiosity, such as in this bit in the Adventurer’s Bible:

Assuming she left with Kabru (which seems like it is the case, there's no info about them having separated during that time), she spent 9 years with the elves, and has been with Kabru on the Island in the 4 years since then.

She also stays in the Golden Country after the end of the story, apparently working as an alchemist.

Additional Details (& Speculation):

What does she remember of her family and home?

I'd like to take a moment here to explore a little of what Rin might remember of her parents and home.

For reference, we can look at Kabru. The canaries came to Utaya when Kabru was 6, and he arrived in the capital when he was 7. He remembers the events of the tragedy in his home, and has some memories of his mother and life in Utaya, including memories of local dishes.

Rin lost her parents and home at 11, so she presumably has much clearer memories of the events that lead to her being taken by the elves... or she might, assuming that they haven't been completely blocked by her trauma from the event.

Yeah, I am fairly damn sure that she's got some memory issues from trauma and PTSD. For one, this is the state she was found in:

As already mentioned, she was also treated like something of an animal by the elves. She probably didn't have a lot of contact with other people, which would further perpetuate that sense of isolation and dehumanization. What I'm getting at here is that Rin probably didn't have much to help pull her out of this place, or heal these wounds. She had Kabru, who was also a kid and even younger than her, and she had herself.

Obviously trauma leaves different scars on everyone, and everyone responds and copes in different ways. But I do think it is interesting that we never hear anything about Rin's parents or life before the elves, and there are no real details about it given in the Adventurer's Bible the way we have for Kabru. What's presented is more surface level facts: they were refugees, they made a living with magic, they were killed.

I'm inclined to believe that things are laid out this way because that's how Rin holds on to these things. She knows things about them, but possibly remembers them more as things she was told/knows to be true, rather than actual memories she can picture herself experiencing.

Rin's Magic

In an interesting counterpoint to her potentially spotty memory, I do actually think Rin may have learned magic from her parents (or started learning, and was self-taught from there). She never attended a magic academy, and actually has a bit of grudge against people who did - owing to the social protection afforded to "upper-class mages," which her parents did not have. She also almost certainly wouldn't have been taught by the elves, who not only treated her as an animal but also knew her parents may have been involved with ancient magic.

Falin began to show signs of magical talent at 8, and was sent to the Magic Academy at 10, and that was as someone who had absolutely no guidance about or exposure to magic in her home town. Raised by two mage parents, I think Rin absolutely could have been learning some things by the time she was 11.

In terms of continued learning, I'll add that Rin is able to identify Marcille's magic as being A) from an Academy student, and B) cast by an elf:

This makes me think that she continued to study magic on her own while held by the elves, and probably even more so after leaving with Kabru. They didn't form the party until two years after they left the elves, which would give Rin plenty of time to try and learn from other adventurers on the Island, or to study up on her own. She'd probably be able to pick up some dungeon-crawling basics (like the water walk spell), as well as become familiar with the skill level and expression of skill common in different people with different backgrounds (hence why she is able to comment on the "textbook" academy wards).

Much like Marcille, Rin also seems to rely on a 'one size fits all' Big Boom method of dealing with monsters: lightning. We see the best example of its power in the fight with Chimera Falin:

But we also see her cast it pretty recklessly in a few other places, including the end credits of the new anime ED, which I think provides a good example of the downsides to such an approach...

Yeah, it is very much a 'get out of the way or get zapped' spell.

Especially since Marcille's offensive magic is self-taught and works very similarly, this definitely reinforces the idea that Rin figured most of this stuff out herself.

Outfit and Character Design

Dear sweet Rin of the Red And Black... how I love her design.

First of all, her clothes are damaged. Despite the fact that Rin looks relatively well put together overall, her outfit is worn out. I have some theories on why this is that I'll get to in a bit, but for now I'll just touch on what this design communicates in general about it.

I think, just like with Kabru's horribly messy room, it creates a sense that there is something more complicated underneath the surface. Something that isn't being addressed or seen to, just as the dress hasn't been mended or replaced.

It also reflects her not caring a ton about her appearance. She's neat, but she's not concerned about being pretty, so she doesn't bother with fixing up her outfit after her dungeon crawls. This also fits with her perpetual scowl (which I will talk more about in a bit), and slightly disheveled hair.

Next: the gloves. At first I thought they might be a sort of uncomfortable-with-touch thing, but after skimming through the manga and some bonus content, I have another theory. Rin takes the gloves off to eat, as well as a few other instances, such as when working on a spell with Holm and Marcille in chapter 36

This one is especially interesting because she has them on in the next chapter, during the fight with Falin. Since she also isn't wearing gloves during some of the Daydream Hour art of her outside of the dungeon, that leads me to believe that they are specifically for combat.

What does she need them for, though? Most other casters we see don't wear gloves. Well... just look at the other half of the page where she attacks Falin with lightning:

She is enveloped by this spell. I said it before was pretty reckless magic, but maybe its not just a problem for her teammates, but for her as well.

So here's my theory: maybe the gloves are rubber, or some other electricity-resistant material? They might help protect her from her own magic. I don't know why a caster would need gloves for combat otherwise.

I also think this might be why her dress is tattered at the bottom, by the way. Especially since the Daydream Hour genderswap design doesn't have a similar problem with his outfit, since the tunic isn't as long.

I will admit this is a bit of stretch/guess, but I think it's a fun one, and I wanted to share. I do think I'm right about the gloves being for dungeons/fighting specifically, at least. That seems pretty consistent throughout all of her appearances.

I also mentioned her scowl, so I'll touch on that briefly as well. The (fairly confirmed) explanation for Rin's expression is that she intentionally wears a frown to prevent her other expressions from showing through. I think it's important to emphasize that it's not just smiling that she is trying to suppress here - it's any strong emotion:

Anyway, because I can, here is the art of Rin smiling.

Rin and Kabru

I have talked a bit about Rin and Kabru's history, but I think it deserves its own section.

I think it's very interesting that Rin is pretty much the ONLY character in all of Dungeon Meshi that has explicit canonical romantic interesting in someone. It's literally part of the main summary sentence in her character profile.

This could be sort of reductive as a way to describe a female character (and in some ways it still is), but I think in part the simplicity and directness of it actually is part of what makes it so interesting. Especially when on the very next page we see the comic about her backstory. "This mage is in love with Kabru" -> one page of a horribly traumatic event and a child frozen in shock with no one to comfort her. What does that do?

Well, in my opinion, it shows how much Rin focuses on Kabru as something to keep her in the present. In contrast with the immense loss she has experienced, her love for Kabru is current and alive. He has presumably been her anchor for years, and I think that her love is part of that anchor.

Adding to this, in contrast with how explicit her feelings are, she never seems to actively pursue Kabru. She complains about his potential interest in other women, but she doesn't really flirt. She doesn't let herself smile around him any more than anyone else, and she doesn't hide her bitterness or anger from him to present a more appealing persona.

As much as she craves Kabru's attention, and has stayed by his side for years, I don't know that she really wants to possess him. He seems to know about her feelings, more or less, and she seems to know that he knows. Maybe she believes he doesn't reciprocate and is respecting that, maybe she's afraid of what she could lose if she tried to change things, or maybe the change itself frightens her. In any case, though she's not exactly happy with the way things are between them, she doesn't seem to be trying to change that status quo.

A specific thing I'd also like to talk about with their relationship, beyond Rin's love for him, is her fear for him. As the Adventurer's Bible puts it, "she worries that his knack for dealing with whatever life throws at him might lead him to get too full of himself and end up in serious trouble."

Rin is an interesting mix of restrained and explosive, herself. Her magic is destructive, her temper seems to run hot (she gets annoyed easily, at least), and her feelings for Kabru are apparent. At the same time, she doesn't let her emotions show on her face, she is the one who bluntly states that the group has hit the limit of their abilities, and she doesn't act on those obvious feelings for Kabru. It's interesting, then, that what she fears for Kabru is that he won't restrain himself.

And a small personal idea about that as well: I wonder if she somewhat blames her parents for getting killed. Again, this is very speculative, but I think it's interesting that her fear for Kabru is that he will get too full of himself. Take up too much space. It's never really stated what Rin thinks of her parents, but it can be easy in grief to search for control, and control often means blame. If they hadn't been so confident, so flashy, would they still be alive...?

I don't know if she's ever thought like that, and it could well be that her fears for Kabru come from a totally different place. But it's an interesting connective thread between her past and present - the idea of "getting in trouble" for taking up too much space and being too confident in one's own abilities.

Miscellaneous Tidbits:

On that note, I'd like to wrap up the main part of this post, and move on to a few extra things that I couldn't find another place for.

Rin plays with her hair when she's stressed

Using stressed as a pretty big umbrella here, because I think it's hard to perfectly pin down all the emotions at play, but it is a habit of hers. Best displayed in chapter 32, but it shows up in other places, too.

Her design contrasts with Marcille

This is a small thing, but I just love how much they are visual opposites.

Rin wears red and black and has dark hair, Marcille wears blue and white and has light hair. Marcille cares a great deal for her hair and puts it up in elaborate hairstyles, and Rin's is mostly loose and a bit messy. Marcille was even educated at the Magic Academy, which Rin dislikes. They both have little capelets. Also they both look very cute in each other's clothes.

Rin knows Flamela (and they meet again in canon)

Nothing much is done with this in canon, but I think it’s super interesting that Flamela's squad are the ones that find Rin as a child and take her away to the west, and then they end up stuck in the dungeon together for a bit.

Two days??? I'm so very curious what things were like between these three.

Aaaand I think that's all I have to say about Rin! For the time being at least. There's a lot more analysis that could be done about her and Kabru especially, but for this post I wanted to keep things at least somewhat anchored to canon facts, with only a layer or two of speculation on top.

If it isn't already obvious, I think Rin is a super interesting character with a ton of potential depth to explore. She mostly interacts with Kabru in canon, but has ties to a bunch of other characters: she and Marcille fill similar roles in their parties but have differing personalities and histories, she and Falin (and Laios) have been tremendously shaped by xenophobia and fear of magic common in the Northern Continent, her parents fled from conflict in the same region Shuro and his retainers are from, and she has history with Flamela and some of the second canary squad.

Her temper, her fear, her love... her repression and passion - they all inform her character, even in small ways, even with as little time as she spends on the page.

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #rinsha fana #rin dungeon meshi #dungeon meshi spoilers #dunmeshi analysis #thank u to anyone who takes the time to read this ♥️♥️♥️ I love rin and lot

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minarisplaything · 9 months

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Daughter's of Ms. Kim (ft. Aespa Winter)

pairing: Winter x Male Reader rating: Explicit word count: 2.8k summary: After a pool boy's rendevous with Karina, he's confronted by her sister, Winter who is eager to prove herself. tags: pool sex A/N: this is part of a series, if you'd like to read chapter one on AO3 you can find it here. there isn't really any smut in it so i didn't post it here but it sets up the series. or just feel free to read on and wing it. either way enjoy!

“Ah…! Ah…!”

High pitched moans were making their way into the hallway as a result of your actions. More specifically, of you railing into one of Ms. Kim’s daughters. The same daughter you had lusted over prior to this moment. The same daughter who apparently, had lusted over you as well. At least judging by how wet she had been when she first spread her legs for you.

At first you had been worried about one of her sisters, or even Ms. Kim herself, walking in on the pair of you but the more vocal Jimin got, the more you found that you didn’t care. If she was giving it her all, then you would too. Besides, while losing your job for leering had been an embarrassing and humiliating thought; losing your job for this was worth it.

“Jimin…fuck…”

You groaned, feeling her pussy tighten around your rod. You had thought the initial stretch had been heavenly but then you found a lack of description for the feeling of her clenching around you as you pumped inside her with a steady ready. What went beyond heavenly? And then there was that look she gave you when she glanced over her shoulder, her eyes pleading with you for more.

It was a plea you were more than willing to fulfill.

You didn’t know if this was a one off exchange or not. If you’d ever get to experience the feeling of Jimin’s pussy trying to milk you for every drop again. With that in mind you had to make sure to give her your all this time. If nothing else, it’d leave a lasting impression on her memory.

“Jimin…”

You slowly came back to the present day, the replay of that day still going vividly in your mind. You were grateful for the pool that Ms. Kim had allowed you to use today after you had finished. It meant you could have a raging hard-on under the water without worrying about anyone seeing it. Not that there had been anyone in the yard when you had jumped in to begin with. Your solitude was the reason you had allowed yourself to close your eyes and recall those memories.

“...”

With a sigh you let your shoulders sag. You still didn’t know if you’d ever get that chance again. The next day, Jimin had acted as she always did and you hadn’t had the nerve to bring the topic up on your own. You simply followed her lead and pretended like nothing had happened. Now you felt like you were at a crossroads. Maybe if you just got a chance to talk to her privately…

The sound of water moving caused your eyes to peak up. When you saw someone floating in the water five feet from you, you immediately stood straighter. Then, remembering your erection, immediately sunk back into the water.

“Minjeong…How long have you been there?”

Another one of Ms. Kim’s daughters, she was known for being aloof and quiet. Often times it seemed like she was in her on world whenever you saw her around the house. On more than a few occasions you had caught her simply…staring at you like she was now. It was a little unsettling but, well, she was gorgeous. Her pointed cat-like facial features gave her a striking visual appearance that in a lot of ways only added to the mystery of her. The only time you had talked with her was when you started the conversation. And even then she only gave you short responses.

“...Minjeong?”

Maybe she didn’t know you were given permission to be in the pool and was giving you a silent judgement. Or maybe she had caught wind of what you were hiding beneath the water. In all your speculation, you hadn’t considered what she actually said next.

“Did you fuck Jimin?”

If you had water in your mouth you would have spit it out then and there. Instead you choked on your saliva for a moment, hand going to your throat as you tried to regain your composure. Where the hell did that come from?! More importantly if she was asking you that meant Jimin hadn’t told her one way or another. Not yet at least.

“W-what? Why do you ask that?”

She was silent in response, her chin tilting downward for a moment as her eyes avoided yours. Was she being shy? After such a bold declaration?! Honestly, you hadn’t spent enough time around Minjeong to know her personality. It never crossed your mind that she was shy or had a crush on you. You had always just thought she was, well, strange. Your attention had been so focused on Jimin this summer that you likely would have never noticed even if she was overt about it. Now here she was bluntly asking you if you slept with her sister. Truth, be told, you didn’t know what to make of it but the thought of lying made you feel guilty.

Of course, it didn’t help that you were still sporting an erection from your prior thoughts.

“I, uh,” you paused trying to word it. “Yes. We slept together. It was just a one-time thing though.”

You tried and failed to hide the disappointment in your tone at that admission. No point in dwelling on idle fantasies.

Minjeong gave you a side glance at your confession, a hint of crimson coloring her pale cheeks. It wasn’t clear whether it was arousal or embarassment but suddenly you found yourself paying more attention to her, wondering what exactly was going on in her head. Admittedly, she was a little cuter when she seemed to be coy rather than staring at you from across any given room without saying a word.

“What was it like?”

”E-excuse me?”

Rather than repeat herself or explain what she meant, Minjeong glided through the water towards you. As she drew closer you suddenly remembered that you were still sporting a rather sizeable erection and drifted backwards, only for your back to bump into the edge of the pool. Despite the look of dread that was surely on your face, she continued her advance unbothered right until she was face to face with you. Her head craning up to look at you. You swallowed thickly, unsure of what to do next.

“Minjeong…?”

Wordlessly she looked down, barely making out what was standing at attention beneath the ripples of the pool. You had never known Minjeong to be described as bold in your time working for Ms. Kim but that was the only way to label her actions when she reached beneath the water and took ahold of your cock. Your body jolted suddenly, even with the contact being through your swimming trunks. For her part, Minjeong seemed to be lost in her own world. She was staring down, mouth slightly agape as if utterly fascinated by what was currently in her hand. Despite it being a confusing and bizarre experience, that didn’t stop your cock from throbbing any less in her grasp.

“It’s bigger than I thought it’d be…” she muttered, more to herself than you.

“Thanks…? I think?”

Was that a compliment? Wait – she’s thought about how big your cock was before?! This was quickly spiraling into something you had no idea how to react to. You had never looked at Minjeong in this kind of light before but it was increasingly hard not to when her hand was wrapped around your cock. It was also increasingly hard to think with a clear head. Especially, when she started to move her hand experimentally along your shaft.

“M-minjeong, someone could walk out,” you started weakly.

You gave a glance over to the patio. Currently, the only other person outside was Yizhuo, who was currently sunbathing topless – another thing that caused your cock to twitch in Minjeong’s grasp. From what you could see it looked like she had headphones on and was completely oblivious as to what her sister was currently doing to you. If Minjeong had heard any word of your concern she didn’t show it. In fact, when you turned back to look at her she was even closer to you, her nose practically brushing against yours.

“If Jimin could handle it then I can handle it,” Minjeong stated.

“I…”

As much as your mind screamed at you that this was a bad idea, that if you got caught you’d lose your job, you found your resolve already weakened. Not only because of what her hand was currently doing to your cock, but because of what had already happened between yourself and Jimin. If you were going to get fired you might as well go two-for-two on reasons to get terminated, right?

Rather than answer her verbally, you leaned forward and closed the distance between your lips and hers. As your lips moved against hers you wondered if Winter was simply stunned that you had actually kissed her. Briefly you wondered if she had ever kissed anyone best. Wait, am I taking her first kiss? The thought should have made you feel guilty, or at the very least reconsider your chosen course of action. Instead it only caused your cock to throb in her grasp.

Finally, Minjeong began to respond to the kiss. It was slow at first, tentative even. Like she was exploring and analyzing it in her mind before she finally delved in. Her lips parted, her tongue pushing into your mouth experimentally. It was a completely different experience than what you had with Jimin, which you supposed was a good thing. Her lips were suprirsingly sweet and you wondered if she had placed lip balm on them before coming to you.

Your tongue danced with hers and you deepened the kiss, the water making ripples around you. You didn’t know if Yizhuo was still unaware of what was unfolding but at that point you didn’t care. You had started this ( well, she had technically ) now you were going to see it through.

Her lithe body pressed flush against hers, one arm wrapping around her neck while the other continued to stroke your cock under the water. When she finally pulled back, she looked up at you with large eyes.

“I want it…”

“What do you want, Minjeong,” you prodded.

She briefly looked away, her cheeks tinging with a hue of red. Her stoic confidence seemed to have faltered. When she spoke it was in a low voice that you could barely hear. “...fuck….me…”

“What was that?” you couldn’t help yourself from teasing her a bit. “I couldn’t hear you.”

Finally, she looked back at you. Her eyes staring intensely at yours, “I want you to fuck me.”

Well, that didn’t leave any doubt did it?

“You want me to fuck you like I did Jimin?” you questioned, your voice lowering as you began to lift her up. You had never actually fooled around in a pool before and were relieved at how easy it was to pull her closer so her legs could wrap around you. You pulled her bikini bottoms to the side, positioning your cockhead at her entrance.

“Yes,” Minjeong said, sounding determined now. “That’s what I want.”

Fuck, there was just something alluring about the way she said that. You may have never pictured her this way before but hearing the usually reserved daughter of Ms. Kim speak such vulgar desires was the last straw you needed. You pushed forward and pulled her towards you, beginning to sheath your cock inside of her pussy.

Fuck she was tight.

Despite her arousal you struggled at first to fit your length inside her in it’s entirety. Minjeong said nothing but her body tightened around you as she bit her bottom lip.

“If you want to take it all you have to relax,” you whispered into her ear, “It’ll feel so much better, I promise.”

“So full…” she mumbled.

“There’s still more to go but you have to relax,” then another idea popped into your head, “Jimin was able to take it all.“

Your words worked as expected. Minjeong took a shaky breath before you felt her body begin to relax in your arms. Her walls still gripped your cock tightly but you didn’t feel like her body was fighting against you anymore. Instead she was slowly accepting more and more of your length as you pushed deeper inside of her warm tunnel. The resistance you felt at first was now giving way to a pleasure that was sending your mind reeling.

“You feel so fucking tight, Minjeong…” you moaned softly.

She mewled softly in your ear in response. When you finally bottomed out inside of her, your bodies pressed flush against one another, you stayed like that for a moment. You still didn’t know if this was her first time or not but you felt the need to give her a moment to adjust to your size regardless. Even if Minjeong herself would never ask for it.

“Can you kiss me again?”

Her request caught you off guard. You looked at her for a long moment, realizing there was more to the quiet sister than met the eye. Rather than give her a yes or a no you leaned forward, capturing Minjeong’s lips in a tentative embrace. This time she didn’t take as long to respond to your kiss but still kept things slow and explorative. As your lips locked, she began to move on your cock.

Fucking in the pool was a first. Or any body of water for that matter. It was different then you expected, but the weightlessness of it meant that as she grew more accustom to your size, she could begin to move easier, her slow, rhythmic pace picking up slightly. At times you were worried about making too much noise, that Yizhuo might hear the splashing of your bodies as you speared her pussy over and over again, but she never seemed phased at all. Not that you were paying her much mind, your attention was focused solely on the woman currently riding you.

“Does it feel as good as you imagined?” you questioned.

“Mhm,” Minjeong nodded her head.

“You like stealing your sister’s fuck toy, huh?” your words grew more vulgar.

She nodded her head again, biting her bottom lip as she gripped your shoulders tightly. It was almost adorable the way she was so focused on the way your length was stretching her pussy that she couldn’t even manage a proper response. That wasn’t good enough. You had given in which meant you wanted to go all the way. You needed to see the usually quiet and reserved Minjeong come undone. Gripping her waist, you smoothly swapped places, pushing her back against the wall. You gripped the edge of the pool, using it as leverage to meet her movements with hard thrusts.

“I can’t hear you,” you teased.

Immediately you were greeted with moans of pleasure as her head fell to your shoulder. That was much better. Your hips snapped roughly, shoving your cock inside of her as her sex quivered around you; squeezing around your length each time you filled her hole. The usually quiet Minjeong had become a mess of sounds as you fucked her against the edge of the pool

“Aaah~ ah~ mmh~” her fingers dug into your back, any sense of forming a sentence completely gone from her.

You didn’t care if Yizhuo noticed the excessive splashing created from your union at this point. Hell, Ms. Kim herself could walk out and you wouldn’t care. If Jimin walked out on the other hand…Your cock swelled inside of Minjeong at the thought. The image of Jimin watching you ravish her shamelessly as she cried out your name. Another image flashed through your mind, one of Jimin massaging your balls while Minjeong serviced your cock with her lips.

As fantasies in your mind mixed with the pleasures of reality, you felt the body clinging to you begin to shudder. Minjeong let out a cry of pleasure as her orgasm tore through her body. Her walls tightened around you, seemingly intent on dragging you over the edge with her; impluring you to spill your seed inside of her.

“Fuck!” she swore.

It might’ve been the first time you had actually heard her swear, let alone that loudly. That fact triggered something inside of you. It had you gripping the ceramic edges of the pool for dear life with one hand while the other wrapped around her slender waist, burying your length to the hilt as your pleasure finally erupted with a roar. It was incredible, scintillating even. Honestly, your mind simply went blank for a long moment with no thoughts or concerns. Judging by the way Minjeong was currently slumped against yours, she was in a similar state of exhausted euphoria.

The only sound that reached your ears was the slow settling of water and the heavy pants of your mingled breaths until finally she spoke up.

“How did that compare to my sister?”

You could only let out a sound of disbelief as you floated in the water. There was something wrong with Minjeong and her competitive streak – or was it jealousy? Whatever the case a part of you was starting to like it. There was certainly no way you’d look at her the same after today.

#kpop smut #male reader #aespa smut #aespa imagines #winter smut #minjeong smut #minjeong x reader

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lakesbian · 4 months

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i have had like 10 friends rec worm to me but nobody’s given me a good like, gist of its vibe and what its abt because ‘its best blind’, could u please give a like brief summary and vibe check of it 😭 it’s so long i dont wanna try and invest that much time without knowing much abt it

so, worm is a 1.7 million word long webserial written in 2010. 1.7 million words seems like a lot, but it was also written over a relatively short period of time, which means the writing style is very easy to parse--the ideas aren't without complexity, but the language itself isn't intimidatingly dense. you can get through it at a very decent pace. i agree with your friends that there are vast portions of worm that hit best when you're unspoiled, but the thing is that worm is long enough that giving you the basic plot pitch is in no way spoilers for any of the things that i wouldn't want to see spoiled for someone. i'm actually kind of baffled they're not telling you Any Thing, because it is in my estimation one of the best books i've ever read, but it also Needs a briefing before you get into it for like five different reasons. which i will now provide. i swear to god this is brief by my standards it's just that i am very thorough

worm is a story about superheroes and supervillains, set in a world where superpowers are traumagenic--rather than appearing randomly or innately, some people gain powers after a traumatizing event happens to them. the protagonist is taylor hebert, a 15yo girl who has the power to control insects and desperately wants to be a superhero. and then accidentally finds herself scouted by a team of teenage villains instead. who's to say how she's going to react to all that!

one of the most compelling things about worm is that the superpowers in it serve as visceral, hyper-literal metaphors for the trauma and traumatized coping mechanisms of the characters with those powers. each power is incredibly specific and thematically relevant to the person who has it, and it's incredibly interesting and evocative. it feels so natural and well-done that it comes off like how superpowers are just meant to be written.

the fact that superpowers stem from trauma also means that worm is fundamentally a narrative about trauma. specifically, about traumatized teenagers and the relationships they form as they cling together while struggling through growing up traumatized & mutually coping with an increasingly intriguing, intense, and far-reaching escalating plot. worm's depictions of trauma + mental illness--including unpalatable trauma responses, including traumatized characters who are allowed to be complicated and nuanced and messy while still receiving narrative respect--are deeply real-feeling and impactful, and they're placed in the context of a well-spun + engaging story.

i really do have to stress how excellent the character writing is. worm is fully deserving of being as long as it is. over the course of 1.7 million words of character development, the average reader's reaction to the main characters goes from "sorta interesting" to "okay, i want to see where this goes" to "augh...really likable" to "i am now on hands and knees crying and these characters are going to stick around in my brain forever." wildbow has incredible talent for efficiently conveying complicated, real-feeling, and viscerally evocative characterization. many of the interlude chapters (chapters written from the perspective of different characters other than taylor) are so interesting, fleshed-out, and emotionally affecting that they make you wish you could read an entire novel about just the side character being featured. with that level of characterization for just the side cast, it's not surprising that taylor (& co) are genuinely just downright iconic. and i do not say that lightly--taylor is truly one of the best-written protagonists i've seen in anything. ever.

the other main pitch-point for worm is that it's a fascinating deconstruction/reconstruction/examination of the conceits of the superhero genre. it answers the question of--what would the world have to be like, for people with superpowers to act the way they do in classic cape media? and it does this well enough that it's interesting even if you have only a passing familiarity with cape media. i am not a big superhero media fan, but worm addresses virtually every aspect of cape media that was under the sun around 2010 in a way that's so interesting i still find it incredibly engaging. the approach it takes makes the narrative very accessible even to people who aren't usually cape media fans.

and speaking of the narrative: the end of the story is coherent and satisfying and deeply thematically resonant*. the way worm follows through on all of its main mysteries & plot threads is excellent. you don't have to worry about getting thru 1.7 million words and being dissatisfied by the author shitting the bed at the end, or anything like that. he does an amazing job of weaving together plot events in a way that makes each successive one feel rationally, thematically, and emotionally connected to what came before. there's really only one part where i feel the story stumbles a bit, but i think it was the best option he had for the narrative, and it's by no means a dealbreaker. it's in fact really impressive how cohesive and satisfying worm is for such a long webserial released over such a brief period of time.

*this is subjective ive seen some people who didnt love it but ive never seen anyone who downright Hated it who didnt also demonstrate egregious misunderstanding of literally everything worm is about. so thats a good sign

as for the downsides of worm/things that might put you off:

there is a very long list of trigger warnings for it. if you have any trigger warnings you want you should ask your friends to let you know about the relevant parts, because the fact that it's About Trauma (& about typical cape media circumstances presented very seriously) means that traumatic and violent things & their realistic aftermath are constantly happening and/or being discussed. i would not classify worm as needlessly dark or spiteful to the audience by any means, but it is intense and covers a lot of heavy topics. i do assume if your friends are all recommending it to you, they think none of the material would be too much for you, though!

worm was written in 2010 by a white cishet guy from canada. it's typical levels of 2010-era bigoted, it has a deeply lesbophobic stereotype character, it has some atrociously racist stereotype characters, the author really hates addicts, It's Got Blind Spots. i think worm is generally fully worth reading despite these, but very fair warning that it can get bad. i think what exacerbates this is that worm is generally extremely nuanced & sympathetic regarding ideas such as "crime is a result of systematic circumstance vs people just being inherently evil" and "mentally ill people who are traumatized in unpalatable ways are still deserving of fundamental respect as human beings" and so on and so forth, so it's extra noticeable and insufferable when you get to a topic the author has unexamined biases on and all that nuance drops out. the worst part is that a lot of this is most concentrated in the early arcs, so you have to get through them without being super attached to any of the characters yet. it is worth it though.

worm like. Does have a central straight relationship in it. and it's a very well written straight relationship for the most part and i like it quite a lot. but worm also passes the bechdel test with such flying colors that it enters 'unintentionally homoerotic' territory. which means a lot of people were shipping the main character ms taylor hebert with her female friends while the story was being released. which caused the author to get so mad he 1. posted a word of god to a forum loudly insisting that all of the girls are straight and 2. inserted a few deeply awkward and obvious and out of character scenes where he finds an excuse for the girls to more or less turn to the camera and go "i'm not gay, btw. this is platonic." This is fucking insufferable, and will piss you off immensely, but then you will get to any of the number of deeply emotionally affecting scenes between them, and at that point you will be too busy sniffling piteously and perhaps crytyping an analysis post on tumblr to be mad about all that other shit. also they're only a couple tiny portions out of an entire overall fantastic novel

overall: if those points don't sound like dealbreakers (i hope they aren't they're really massively outstripped by the amount of devastatingly good moments in worm, worm still has a thriving fandom over a decade later for a reason), you should absolutely give it a shot and see what you think. my final note is that you have to read up until the end of arc 8 to really see where what makes worm Worm kicks in, so aim for at least there to see how you feel about it if you're just thinking about dipping your toes in vs fully committing. i hope that was helpful and not too long :)

oh and don't go in the comments section on wordpress if you don't want spoilers. or anywhere else in the fandom at all. you will be spoiled. quite possibly for things you could not even have imagined were topics to be spoiled on.

#ask #wormblr #parahumans #ill tag it to save it so i can reference later. and maybe other people will find it helpful

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yumeka-sxf · 2 months

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Thoughts on Spy x Family CODE: White

My thoughts on CODE: White will likely be different from most people since I knew pretty much the entire plot beforehand. I'm a spoiler fiend when it comes to my hyperfixations like SxF, so I read the novelization of the movie back in January and kept up on all the promotional videos and images that were released. But when it was finally time to see the movie for myself, did that ruin my enjoyment? Not at all. For me, it actually made me enjoy it more because 1) I knew what to expect so I wasn't disappointed, and 2) I found myself looking forward to seeing all the scenes I only read about or saw short clips of.

With that said, yes, I enjoyed the movie so much! If you're a Spy x Family fan, or even just a casual enjoyer of the series, it's a ton of fun. It has all the elements we love about the series: clever humor, sweet family moments, and spy action/drama. And because it's a movie, we get to see all of this with a movie animation budget instead of a TV series budget, which is another plus!

One thing to keep in mind with these original, stand-alone anime films based on series is that they're meant for a more general crowd than just fans of the series. Since theaters attract a wider audience than late-night TV and online manga chapters, movies like this serve as a means to introduce the series to people who may only have a vague idea of what it's about. That's why these movies contain a storyline that can fit mostly anywhere in the series chronology and don't have anything canon-altering.

CODE: White is an interesting mix of plots that, for the most part, blend together well. There's the main plot that continues throughout, which is saving Operation Strix by having Anya learn how to make the meremere for the cooking contest, but then there's the Yor jealousy plot B which is resolved in the first half, but is then replaced by the next "plot B" in the latter half of the movie, which is saving Anya from the military.

A lot of people didn't like the "Yor gets jealous" subplot when it was first revealed before the movie even came out, since it seemed to be a rehash of her being jealous about Fiona. I personally didn't have a problem with this since I don't think it's unreasonable for her to get jealous a second time, especially when she thinks she sees Loid doing something extreme like kissing another woman (as opposed to just talking). But the way it was resolved could have been a bit better in my opinion. The ferris wheel scene in the movie very much mirrored the bar scene from the series, but the reason the latter is so effective is because we get to hear Loid's inner thoughts during it; we know he's going full Twilight-mode and isn't being sincere, and that's why Yor kicks him. But then at the park, he talks to her much more genuinely and they work things out. But in the ferris wheel scene, we don't get to hear his inner thoughts so we don't get any indication as to whether his repeating of the marriage vows, etc, is him being sincere or not. Then she smacks him, they insist they aren't fighting when Anya brings it up, and that's the end of it.

I do like the fact that Anya reads their minds and seems happy with what she "hears" in their heads, but I still think the subplot would have felt more complete if it ended after Yor realized her mistake rather than have Loid do the ambiguous Romeo act again. Or it could have been brought up one more time later in the movie, for example, Yor apologizes for hitting him, he talks to her more sincerely, etc. If you're gonna rehash the bar scene, at least rehash the scene that brought it closure, which is the park bench scene. Again, I'm totally fine with the jealously subplot overall, just thought it could have been wrapped up a bit better.

Other than that, there were just a few little issues I had, like how was Anya able to afford what was probably an expensive liquor? (was she really packing that much dough in her little bag? She went straight from the bedroom out the window so it's not like she "borrowed" any money from Loid). Also seemed weird that she didn't pick up on Yor's infidelity worries until last minute. A few things stretched the line of believability a bit far too, like Loid's ability to make perfect masks so quickly, and Anya just happening to hit her head on the button that conveniently opened all the windows on the bridge. Also something here and there that didn't align with the manga, like Yor not having any reaction to sharing a room with Loid, whereas she has a totally different reaction to this in chapter 94. Maybe a bit more resolution for the fates of the villains too. I guess Luca and Dmitri survived the crash, but what about Snidel? Did Loid actually kill him or just knock him out? And if it's the latter, Snidel seems like the type who would want to get revenge. A quick cameo of what happened to them in the end would have been nice.

Speaking of the villains, normally I wouldn't like the fact that they're pretty one-dimensional and not that interesting, but for a movie like this where most people just want to see the Forgers being themselves in fun and exciting scenarios, taking time away from that to make more developed villains who likely won't be seen again in the franchise, would have not been the best choice, lol.

But even though I had some criticisms of the movie, all of them are minor and not enough to overshadow everything else that was enjoyable about it. Besides all the humor, of which there was plenty, there were so many cute "awww" family moments that perhaps didn't lend anything to the plot, but were still important to establish the characters and their relationships, and thus make us care about what happens to them. Like the scene of Anya, Yor, and Bond playing at the hotel...it could have been skipped without anything seeming out of place, but it reveals so much about the characters without being blatant about it: how Yor wants to please Anya despite being a bit embarrassed at first to take part in her game, and then how Anya's eyes light up with happiness when Yor starts playing with her...for a series like SxF that's character-driven rather than plot-driven, scenes like this are so important and I'm glad the film creators realized this too!

There were also so many cute, subtle scenes as well, like when Loid and Yor smile at each other after chiding Anya, as if they're happy to share this moment of exhausting yet satisfying parenting; when Anya reads Loid's mind after he saves her but doesn't reveal what he's actually thinking yet we can imagine what it is based on her expression; Loid showing feelings of comradery with the restaurant owner because their pasts are so similar; Anya quietly and sadly hugging Bond in the bedroom; and in the ferris wheel after Yor feels so embarrassed about misunderstanding what happened with Loid and the woman but then can't help but smile with motherly love when she sees Anya waving at her...the movie is filled with moments like this that are like little love letters to fans who know the true heart of SxF isn't so much the action and spy drama as it is the family relationships.

And of course, as I mentioned before, the animation of the movie is fantastic! Not just the action scenes, which are great by the way, especially Yor's fight with Type F, but the character expressions as well. Anya's always had the most varied and hilarious faces of all the characters, but the movie goes even harder with her expressions, especially when she has to hold in her stool! Her faces were making me both cringe and laugh at the same time! The animators did such a good job making me feel sorry for her but also laugh at her.

I'm not a fan of potty humor, but I was confident SxF would make it funny, and I was right! The poop god sequence in particular was as equally cringe as it was hilarious!

To conclude, CODE: White is a must-see for anyone who likes or loves Spy x Family. I can't say it's a cinematic masterpiece or anything, but for what it's supposed to be - a fun and enjoyable film for those who like the series, it definitely delivers! Can't wait to see it at least two more times during its showing in the US...and more times in the future!

#spy x family #sxf #spy family #spyxfamily #loid forger #yor forger #anya forger #bond forger #sxf code white #spy x family code white #sxf movie spoilers #sxf movie #sxf spoilers #sxf manga spoilers

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thir10th · 2 months

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are you in?

summary: compilation of short blurbs of your's and Emily's relationship before the team knew. Some based on actual chapters. it's just basically how you managed to keep it a secret TW: I fucked up the show's timeline so try to forget all you know about it, "only one bed" but reverse (it may be shit lol), suggestive content, i think that's it A/N: Writing this one has been a pain in the ass because every time i edited it i'd loose the changes so there are parts that i don't actually like at all but here it is nonetheless. As always: English isn't my first language. Reviews are appreciated. Like and reblog <3

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ new blouse?

A near death experience really deserves some kind of celebration

and you suppose a near-job loss experience does too

a week had passed after Emily and Hotch had rejoined the team on that case on Milwaukee, and Emily's head injury was almost just another scar, so when Morgan had asked you if you wanted to go out for drinks, you had looked at your girlfriend and said:"yeah, wny not"

and there you were, sitting at a table right next to Penelope, waiting for your girlfriend to bring all your drinks, and overhearing a conversation she was having with Hayley and Hotch, who seemed very relieved to have the night for themselves. You were supposed to be a part of that conversation, but you couldn't bring yourself to care enough to listen.

All your focus was deposited on your girlfriend, she had her arms rested on the counter trying to get the waiter's attention, a pair of dark jeans accentuated her figure, and all you could think about was getting home and ripping that blouse off of her.

You would have to settle for just staring, for now. Emily turns around to take a look at your table and catches you starring, you blush instantly, but she just smiles and gives you a wink, which makes you smile too, and suddenly your taken out of the trance by a voice.

"y/n are you listening to me?" Penelope says trying to grab your attention

"sorry, yes, what is it?" she looks at you suspiciously, as if with just her eyes she could decipher what was going on inside your head. She can't go on because Emily comes back with all your drinks, leaving them on the table and sitting next to you , maybe just a little bit too close but you could not complain.

She simply joins the conversation like it was nothing, meanwhile you sip on your drink hopeful that the alcohol will help you take your girlfriend away from your mind. However, Emily has different plans for you, as she rests her hand on you thigh behind the table so no one can see, dangerously high, she can't be bothered at all, she just keeps talking to Hotch as if nothing was going on, but all you can think about is her.

Morgan, who had spent a good hour on the dance floor, collecting girl's phone numbers, comes around, he grabs Penelope's hand to take her to the dance floor with him.

She shoots from her sit, swinging her hips to the rhythm of the music, Morgan guides her, a huge smile on his face as he pulls her to dance with him.

To everyone’s surprise Hotch pulls Hayley to dance with him as well, and just like that, in a matter of seconds, Emily and you are left alone.

When you turn your head to look at her, she places her face closer to yours, dangerously close, you’d say, but you can’t bring yourself to separate.

“Are you having fun baby?” She asks, a soft smile on her lips “yes, but it’s getting hard not to touch you” she smiles, her face closer now you can almost feel her lips brushing against yours. Her hand, which was still on your leg, starts caressing your thigh, setting progressively higher. You’re starting to lean into the contact when you suddenly remember where you are. Anyone who looked at you right now could see the whole scene.

“Em, stop” you say, drawing her hand away from your leg and separating your face form hers “they’re gonna see”

“Ok, yeah, sorry” she says, fake regret on her face as she takes another sip of her drink

“So, I caught you staring at me before, what was it that was so interesting?” She says like it’s the most innocent question ever, but you just know she wants to bother you a bit more. You would never admit how much you love it.

You check no one is looking at you. Both Hayley and Hotch are in their own little world, and Morgan and Penelope are too focused on each other to care. So you lean into her to whisper in her ear

“I was thinking how hot my girlfriend looks and how much I want to rip that blouse off of her” she chuckles and you go for another sip

“Thank you, it’s new” she says louder, like you just asked her the most simple question about her clothes

She leans into your ear this time, with the softest, sexiest voice she just whispers, the feeling of her breath on your ear is suffocating now

“I would love to let you take it off however you want. Do you want to go?” She asks, you eagerly nod your head, begging her with your eyes to take you home right now.

“C’mon, I’ll tell them you’re not feeling well and I’m driving you home” she smiles at you and winks, you follow her to the back of the bar where JJ and Spence are, to let them know you’re leaving.

For your surprise, JJ walks up to you too.

“We have a case” she just says, and you look at each other with disappointment.

Looks like Emily’s blouse was staying on for now.

𖨆♡𖨆 3x03 scared to death

It had been a weird morning.

You woke up with a headache. After your last case you had arrived at Emily’s apartment, and parked your car outside so you could get to work on different cars the next day.

You were thinking about having a calm night. A bottle of wine, a movie, Chinese takeout, falling asleep early enough so you wouldn’t be so tired the next day, all that.

Little did you know Emily had some things in mind for you.

The first glass of wine was alright, you were barely feeling it, but after that one another 3 followed, you came up with this stupid game of drinking every time the movie had a cringe scene, and lucky for you the movie was really bad. You would sometimes forget that particular wine affected your girlfriend to a certain level, so one thing leading to another you had fallen asleep at more or less 4am.

Next day you wake up to a very loud phone call. You turn around confused by the phone ringing, but you’re not sure where exactly it’s coming from. It had flown away yesterday night along with your clothes and had landed on the bedroom floor.

Emily's arm was wrapped around your waist, your leg on top of hers, you were both just a mess of sheets and naked bodies. You get out of bed, waking your girlfriend up, who lets out an angry groan.

You finally find the phone behind Emily's pants, JJ's name appearing on the screen. "Hello?" you answer "Hey, we have a case, I can't reach Emily, and you're both late, do you know where she could be?" she asks. You check the time

8:15am

Shit

shitshitshitshitfuckfuckfuck

"yeah, I'm sorry, ugh... i don't know where Emily is, i had a problem with my....kitchen sink...but i'll be there as son as i can ok? bye JJ" you don't even wait for her to answer, you just hang up the phone and run to wake Emily up.

"Em! Baby wake up its 8am we're late!" she finally opens her eyes, her somnolent face tries to decipher what you just said. Her body starts moving first, siting upright.

"JJ just called, we have a case, you have to call her back, tell her there's traffic or something, I'll leave first ok?" you run around, trying to find something wearable. You already had your own drawer at her place for times like this.

You fly around the apartment checking you have everything with you, car keys, purse, phone... You walk up to Emily, still getting dressed, only a pair of pants on and her bra, she’s looking around for something to wear with the pants.

You grab her waist, pulling her in for a kiss “I’ll see you there ok?” You tell her. She smiles at you, then grins, still half a sleep, and you leave.

You weren’t exactly sure if it had been the wine, or the 4 hours of sleep, but you were hoping the meds you had taken with your breakfast (a coffee) would start acting quickly, because your headache was starting to get unbearable.

Sitting on the round table, you revise the file with the case, when Emily arrives, excusing for being late, but Hotch hasn’t even arrived yet and we hadn’t started, so she’s technically still on time.

As soon as you look up to catch a glimpse of her, your headache magically disappears. You regret it immediately because now she’s all you can think about.

It’s ridiculous, you spent hours last night with each other, hell, you spent all day with her! You should’ve had enough of her by now! But how could you when she was wearing that red tank top?

You stare at every movement she makes, taking her jacket off, uncovering her slightly muscular arms, you cannot physically take your eyes off of her, following her every move. Red was definitely her color, there was no argument about that. You could not focus on the case anymore.

After the usual “wheels up in 30” they all leave the room, but you grab your girlfriends arm last second, trying to keep her from leaving. “Em wait a second” You’re both left alone, looking to see if there’s anyone left in the room, everyone has left and far from you two.

"What is it?" she asks

You feel the need to whisper although there's no one in the room anymore "You look so good in this I'm genuinely considering going down on you now" you say tugging the red fabric between your fingers. She smiles widely, getting closer to your face.

You aren't sure where this renewed confidence is coming from, it's just that Emily made you feel like that sometimes.

"was yesterday not enough?" she says in a teasing voice, but you can tell she's feeling just like you. Her face mere inches from yours, you are almost begging her for some action.

"we still have 30 minutes" she twirls her head as if asking you, and you nod, unable to form any words

"ok you go first, I'll meet you down" you're already crossing the door when you turn around, check for anyone who could see you, but there's no one even close to your vicinity.

You rush back, giving Emily a peck on her lips, and separating to go run downstairs.

˚☽˚｡⋆ Can I join?

It's almost time. You can even taste it.

A free night. It's been some time since you got one of those.

You could even see it. A wine glass, your big ass bathtub, a dozen candles, some exotic scented bath products and your wonderful girlfriend.

You look across the room for her, she's working on some files still. You could say she literally feels your eyes on her, because she turns around and catches you staring at her, smiling warmly at you and winking, which makes you instantly blush.

"Any plans for the night, Prentiss?" Morgan asks her coming by her desk, you're already walking up to them so you don't miss a thing from their conversation.

"yes. I got a date" she just says like it was nothing.

A weird sensation runs through your body, a mix between jealousy and excitement. You obviously knew you were the date, but the jealousy came mostly from the fact that she could not mention it was in fact you.

"really? who's the lucky one?" Morgan asks rising his eyebrows

"hot tub" she answers like nothing, just playing it cool, but the grin on her face suggests she has been picturing your night just like you had.

"oh, that sounds like a party" he teases, but she doesn't lose a single second on it "you're so not invited"

"am i?" you come from nowhere, you are right behind Emily, who turns around, holding back a smile, she gives in the game, after all, this is the perfect way to make them not suspect a thing.

"now you, i could consider it" she answers, and you lower your head, smiling to the floor so no one sees it.

"Now that sounds like a better party" he mutters.

.•°•.•. .•.•°•.

The soft bathrobe hugs your body keeping it warm, a wine glass in your hand, resting your back against the sink, you wait as your girlfriend finishes the bath.

The whole scene is idyllic, candles lit all around, low warm light illuminating the stance, Emily's black hair falling on her shoulders, her robe barely closed, she lights the last two candles, and checks the water temperature before walking up to you

"ready?" she asks sweetly, untying the knot in your robe, she takes off hers and gets in first, giving you a hand to help you get in, yourself.

You lay back, resting your back against her, relaxing immediately into her touch. White bubbles around both your bodies. She kisses your neck from the back. Breathing out, you groan at the feeling, she caresses the skin of your ams with her fingertips, gently.

"do you think Morgan can even begin to imagine this?" you ask her, she stops her ministrations to answer you

"i really hope he doesn't, but teasing him is fun" you chuckle

"well, imagine how we'll blow out his mind when we tell him" you begin wondering. She kisses the sensitive skin on the curve of your neck, nipping at the skin, you close you eyes leaning on the contact.

"are you thinking about it?" she stops to ask

"Morgan? hell no" she chuckles

"i mean about telling Morgan" you turn around to look at her, making a bit of water overflowing the tub

"well, yeah, I mean, I think about telling all of them" she twists her head trying to understand

"not now though! Not yet... at all" you can see her relaxing instantly, a smile begining to form on her lips

"Em, this past months have been...amazing, and i want to keep that for ourselves just a little bit more... also the sneaking around is very fun" you both laugh in agreement "but?" she asks waiting for you to add something more

"but, that doesn't mean I'm not excited for our friends to know, you know? I mean, going out together and actually kissing, dancing together, to be able to say we are, well, together tonight... basically just doing it all together" her big brown eyes linger on to you, she's full smiling now, you know she feels the same, but she just wouldn't be the one to tell you.

"i love you" she mutters, you smile, holding to her shoulders for support, warm drops of water running down your arms, you kiss her gently in approval.

"well, i say let's enjoy the meantime then" her hands fly to your waist to hold you, and you kiss her deeply again.

𓇢𓆸 Care to share?

Hotch had decided to call it a day, it was too late, and you all knew how difficult it could be to function when you don't get enough sleep.

You had't had time to check in earlier at the hotel, so when you got there and saw it, you knew that wood creaked like shit.

You had expected nothing less, being in a cold state, the hotel reception had a big fireplace which kept the ambience cozy and warm, the wooden planks creaked behind your feet even behind the thick carpet.

Hotch turns to us, with the room keys in his hands "I'm sorry but this is a small village, this was the only place that still had spare rooms, and they're all packed up this week so some of us will have to share" he says.

"how many?" Morgan asks concerned "two double, three single rooms" Hotch says

"well I'm not sharing with pretty boy here" he complains

"Dave and i can share one" he says "Well, y/n and I also don't mind sharing" Emily rushes to say. You walk up to her "right?" she asks as if she needed to make sure "yeah of course, no problem" you say, smiling at her. Her quick willfulness to share with you and you eager reaction winning you a suspicious look from JJ, but you couldn't bring yourself to care, because tonight none of you would have to sneak out, waiting till it's late enough for the rest to have fallen asleep, you wouldn't have to wake up early to get back to your room, you had your place tonight.

"alright, thank you" you think it's funny, you should be the one thanking Hotch, not the other way around. You grab your key and Emily follows you upstaris.

.•°•.•. .•.•°•.

You can tell the place is old just by the keys, it's an inn more than a hotel. You turn the key in the lock, opening the door partially, when you feel Emily's hands on your waist, grabbing it, you close your eyes as soon as you feel her lips on yours, and she kisses you deeply, possessively.

You surround her body with your arms for support, leaning into the kiss, closing the door behind you with your foot. Tugging your hands on her hair, you surrender to the connection and just give in, not caring who could've caught you mere seconds ago on the hallway.

She pushes you agains the door, her hands finding the way behind your shirt, touching you everywhere, she moves to kiss the corner of your lips, your cheek, the skin behind your ear, leaving a trail of wet warm kisses, finding your pulse point you let out a needy whimper in approval.

"you think JJ knows?" you ask breathlessly "she suspects something, but she can't technically prove it" her lips brushing your neck with every word, her soft breath warm on your skin.

"Well, she should start paying more attenti-" your mouth falls open. It was the first time you had tken a good look at the room since you entered "Em, look" you say trying to stop her ministrations much to your distaste to make her look around.

Emily turns around and takes a look at the room. You should've guessed this would've happened. Hotch would never slept in the same bed as Rossi, and you shouldn't have to do that ether, right?

"Two beds?" she says, in awe. "what do you suggest?" she asks

"should we join them?" you try "we'll end up falling through the middle" she says "ok, then. You chose"

Next day you wake up completely wrapped around Emily, your nose buried in her neck, inhaling her scent, you were almost thankful for the small size of that bed.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

A/N: this one took me a long ass time to finish so i hope its not shit. Like & reblog, any feedback is greatly appreciated. Also I'm open to requests because I'm almost out of ideas

#criminal minds x reader #emily prentiss #emily prentiss imagine #emily prentiss lesbian #emily prentiss x reader #lesbian #lesbian pride #wlw #wlw fanfic #wlw smut #sapphic #criminal minds #criminal minds one #criminal minds oneshot #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss x y/n #emily prentiss x female reader #emily prentiss fanfiction

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madelynraemunson · 10 months

Text

CALL ME WHAT YOU WANT 𓆩♡𓆪

(Book #1 of the Hellfire Gentlemen's Club series)

𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐔 18+ plz

strip club owner!eddie x fem!exotic dancer!hargrove!reader

Chapter 002: Wing Man

You start your first night of work. Eddie requests a private show. But not for him; for his friend — a rich and lonely bachelor who can’t seem to get over his ex.

* = somewhat smut

** = smut

↳ chapters: 001, 002*, 003** , 004**, 005 , 006 , 007* , 008**, 009, 010, 011, 012* , 013**, 014**, 015, 016**, 017, 018, 019, 020

word count: 7.2k words

NSFW — lap dance, steve creaming his pants, abusive relationships, talks of trauma, steve and reader trauma dumping lol

pairing: lonely bachelor!steve x fem!exoticdancer!hargrove! reader (and lowkey eddie)

author’s note: yes we get with steve before we get with eddie, but we will get there okay??? 🫣🫣🫦 also don’t tell me you guys wouldn’t homie hop in hawkins because these men are SO FINE

tags: @changemunson , @the-fairy-anon , @ali-r3n

“Let me see you dance I love to watch you dance. Take you down another level, and get you dancing with the Devil” -Wicked Games by The Weeknd

♡

A sultry black set.

A hot pink set with bows. Caribbean blue. Army green for the military men. Some cuffs. Personal wet wipes. Sanitizer. And lastly, a stethoscope to play the part.

“I can’t believe you accepted a caregiving job,” Max scoffs as you both make your way out of Scrubs 4 Less. “Do you even have healthcare experience?”

Your stepsister loved to mask her prying with carefully crafted screening questions. Even if they sounded pessimistic.

“Sure I do,” you shrug. “Remember that summer I cared for Great-Aunt Dotty when she had Parkinson’s? Figured maybe it’d be similar.”

“I guess.”

You take it upon yourself to remind Max that you are certified in CPR. And with that cert, you saved numerous people from drowning as a lifeguard. Of course that was for one year during high school, but it was experience nonetheless.

"Well, what about the heavy lifting?"

"Easy. All in the legs." you pat your thighs. Despite being calm on the outside, you are getting nervous now. About everything.

"Takes a lot of core strength too. And upper body."

It's like she knows what you actually will be going to be doing. However, there are parallels between both professions, and you made sure you made a choice like that so you wouldn't have to lie as much about the physicality of things.

"You seemed to have gotten the job pretty fast,” Max notes.

"Nursing homes are really short staffed. Especially with the pandemic and everyone leaving from all the burnout, they’ll take anybody who qualifies."

"Did they even determine if you do?"

"Are you questioning my ability to take care of people?”

You know you’re being manipulative. You can spot a manipulator from a mile away. But this little white lie is for you and Max’s own good. Even if it means selling her a fake story. Even if it means lying. Living a double life.

“An abusive home life and all-timers isn’t comparable.”

“Have you considered that some people with Alzheimer’s are combative as well?”

“And you had to accept the graveyard shift?” she pries further, ignoring all your valid points.

“It pays more,” you answer sharply, readily. “Two dollar shift differential.”

“Oh my god, we’re practically millionaires.”

The sudden change in Max's behavior is really catching you off guard. She was optimistic on her birthday. A little withdrawn when the weekend was approaching. Now the pain is evident it is almost unbearable. Sure, Billy isn't a problem anymore, but with all of his chaos, Max has found solace in using her hobbies as coping mechanisms. Her body needs that adrenaline, and now you have cut off access to all of it.

Max can't go surf. She can't run around freely just yet because she doesn't know good routes and trails. She doesn't have friends in the area besides you, Robin, and Vicky. She misses Donovan.

Max is hurt. You know she is, but you don't blame her. Still, you’ve had it.

“Hey.” you snap.

Max halts. She knows she went too far.

“I know it's sucky... the situation we're in right now," you sigh. "But I'm doing this for us, remember? It’s temporary. We just need a soft place to land, and this is paving the way towards that.”

At least that’s something you didn’t have to lie about: It’s a sacrifice you were making for her.

———————𓆩♡𓆪—————-

Orientation day comes in a blink of an eye.

Eddie is giving you a tour of Hellfire while discussing how his particular ‘system’ works. You’ve got to give him credit. His system makes sense.

“I don’t ask my girls to pay to dance here,” he explains. “I just think that’s bogus. Also, it’s Hawkins. Not that many competitors, so if I let you dance here, you’re automatically staff.”

You two walk down the hall. Eddie shows you where you would clock in and out, promising you your punch-in code by the end of the week. You learn that everyone gets paid out every Friday, because in Eddie’s words, “fuck that biweekly shit”. Tips go home with you every night, but you are expected to help tip out staff members patrons don’t really see or interact with. Therefore: Jonathan’s girlfriend Nancy whose House Mom, Henry, and Argyle. The boys make their money from bussing and serving. Jonathan earns tips from POTIONS.

“I figured as much.”

You graze your hand along the kukris on the wall as Eddie talks. He stops to take note of it and gives you a boastful smile.

“You like ‘em?”

“Yeah, they’re pretty cool.”

“That’s the perk of owning your own business,” Eddie says exuding a lazy stretch to graze the kukris himself. “You choose where the money goes, when it goes, how it goes.”

He ponders for a while longer.

“Most of the time at least.”

Clearly a majority of the money also went to the chicken wings.

Eddie leads you to back of the house where he then proudly showcases his wing menu to you. There’s the Hawkins Hot Chick for Nashville inspired hot chicken. Chicken Strippers for the picky eaters. And the ‘Hot As Cluck’ buffalo wings with spice scales named after Metallica songs: Fuel (mild), Fight Fire with Fire (medium), Creeping Death (hot), and The Unforgiven (Extremely hot). All are served with one’s choice of carrots and celery or crinkle cut fries on the side.

“Crinkle cut fries are the best kind of fries,” Eddie states. “Ain’t that right, chef?”

“Ay ay!”

One chef. For the entire back of the house. Though that seems like the textbook definition of a staff shortage, the friendly Latino man with long, black hair that he concealed with a hairnet and baseball cap most likely had it covered. He flashes you a kind grin with kind, hooded eyes to match, quite possibly revealing to you that he’s likely stoned out of his mind. But if it helps him through the shift…

“Argyle’s the man,” Eddie explains. “Pitched the chicken wing idea to me when we were both blasted.”

Suspicions confirmed.

“Is it just Argyle?” you inquire waving hello to him.

“Sometimes Eds helps out back here too,” Argyle answers for him. “Like when we’re really fucking shlammed, he’ll come back here and help cook.”

Argyle turns to you. You smile at him.

“But most of the time I got it,” he says. “That man’s got enough on his plate.”

“Yeah, Argyle’s a beast,” Eddie confirms. “Don’t know what I’d do without him.”

While Eddie tidies up back of the house, you and Argyle converse with one another. He’s 28, produces music on the side, and learned how to cook from his mom at the age of three. California native as well. By observing the mini station he has set up, you notice that Argyle keeps a stash of Yerba Mate with him at all times, and some bud in his mini gym bag. You also learn that he and Eddie often take breaks together, hot boxing one another’s vans as if it were some sort of competition. But, as Argyle had mentioned, with how much Eddie currently has on his plate, those joint breaks (no pun intended) have been pushed to the backburner.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Hargrove,” Argyle concludes. “Excited to have you on our team.”

“Likewise!” you shake his hand with a smile. “Looking forward to bugging you for chicken wings.”

“You bug me all you want, mamas,” he insists. “I’ll make you allll the chicken wings in the world.”

“You a flats girl or a drumstick girl?” Eddie questions.

“Flats,” you respond instantly.

You receive a distraught gasp from the cook while Eddie cackles.

“Atta girl,” Eddie smirks patting your back. “I knew I liked you.”

“BLAS.PHE.MY!” Argyle screams. “Drumsticks are where it’s at bro.”

The three of you argue back and forth about chicken for the next couple of minutes, Eddie sticking beside you through and through. Though play-fighting with your new coworkers seems meniscal in the grand scheme of things, you reveled in it. It’s the first time in a while you felt a sense of community outside your sister. You wanted to savor it, especially since you know that this is temporary.

“You’re a red flag, Hargrove,” Argyle jokes, clutching his chest. “You were perfect in my eyes until you said you were a flats girl.”

“Well it’s a good thing she’s mine and not yours,” Eddie jeers.

Your heart flutters. Eddie and chicken wings. You’ve GOT to be in heaven.

“Alright, word,” Argyle calls after Eddie as he pulls you away from the kitchen. “Word. I’m still gonna spoil her with food like she’s mine though.”

“He’s such a flirt,” Eddie says to you once you’re both out of earshot. “Endearing and endangering at the same time.”

“All in good nature right?”

“‘Course!” he exclaims. “We’re all about respecting women at Hellfire. Everything’s lighthearted banter.”

And you’ll revel in that too. Especially since ‘respect’ and ‘lighthearted banter’ weren’t things you were able to experience at home.

“Also!” Eddie adds. “Respectfully… Wear something simple but classy on Friday.”

“Ooh,” you chime. “Simple and classy?”

“Yeah, I’m talking neutral tones. Red lipstick also preferred but you can do whatever you want. I’ve got something I need you to do for me on your very first day.”

I’ll do anything for you, Eddie. Your intrusive thoughts are starting to take over.

———————𓆩♡𓆪—————-

It’s Friday night now and everyone is in their respective stations preparing for the rush. Argyle is prepping the fryer while Chrissy flirts with him for nachos. She waves at you with her fingers and gestures that you can have some too. You smile and mouth a, “thank you” to her.

You really like Chrissy. Of all the dancers you’ve seen so far, she is the most memorable. She is charming and sweet, soft but firm with her boundaries. She has regulars lining up for her daily, all with different types of quirks and interests. But Chrissy somehow fits all of their molds, just by how fast she can switch from doe to siren depending on her audience. You want to be just like her.

You and Eddie stop by the kitchen before heading off to finish orientation. There are chicken wings — flats only, of course — on the line waiting for you with a note scribbled on the back of an old ticket order.

“Shy Girl<3”

“Eat up, mamas,” Argyle encourages you. “Gonna need the energy for tonight.”

“Yeah!” Chrissy cheers. “It’s Fridaaay!”

You thank them before heading out with Eddie once again. Eddie steals a flat from you and flashes a thumbs up to the cook before you two leave.

“Mm,” he approves. “Fight Fire with Fire Buffalo.”

You are just about done with wrapping up orientation training and ready to start the first night on your own. That is until Mike Wheeler, Nancy’s younger brother and bus boy, comes along and interrupts Eddie’s train of thought. You walk with Eddie in silence, munching on your food while Mike relentlessly hounds him about bringing his girlfriend into the club. She is 18 but Eddie is refusing.

“But but-” Mike stammers. “The club is already eighteen plu-”

“But nothing,” Eddie interrupts. “This is Hellfire Club. Not babysitting club.”

“Well I’m 19 and you let me work here. Why does it matter if she’s 18?”

“Because you’re a dude, Wheeler,” Eddie hisses in return. “It’s different for the ladies.”

Not willing to risk any liabilities, he leaves Mike with just that. You follow Eddie, fiddling nervously with your hands as you watch him tsk and shake his head in disapproval.

“I can’t have teenage girls in here,” Eddie mutters. “That’s just blatantly obvious right? Or have I lost it?”

“No, right. Totally!” you agree.

Eddie has another rule. No strippers under the age of 20. Anyone under, including ages of 18 and 19 are children to him. He admits that he gets squeamish when guys bring their younger looking girlfriends into the club. You assume it pertained to his colleague’s girlfriends too.

You walk past the bar with Eddie, waving hi to Jonathan as you did so. Dustin is at the bar as well but is too busy to say hello. You manage to glance over and watch him fix his hair, trying to look his absolute best while FaceTiming his Mormon e-girl from Utah, Suzie. After eavesdropping for the past couple of days, you pick up that she insists on video chatting with Dustin every time he is at Hellfire to ensure his fidelity. Suzie wanted to be his “only wifey” to which ‘Dusty Bun’ assures her that she is.

“Uh oh,” comes a voice ever so soft it sounds eerie when it echoes through the club. “Someone’s in a bad mood today.”

Slithering into your periphery is the same tall, lean guy that you ran into earlier last week. Today he's sporting a white tank top that revealed a couple small tattoos scattered around his body, black pants that were tight enough to be yours, a loose wallet chain belt, and chunky work docs. His gorgeous blonde hair looks attainably messy by what you suspect is mousse. He smells of beer and cigarettes tonight, his tired eyes a precursor to his lust-filled gaze. A poster boy for all the men you wouldn’t want to bring home to your parents is none other than,

“Henry Creel,” Eddie says. “Mike’s just picking a bone with me. Have you met Hargrove? She’s our newest dancer.”

It’s seemingly Henry’s first day back. From the first day of orientation to now, you’ve only had run-ins with Jim, the older gentleman who is also a bouncer. Jim spent years with the Hawkins PD, but after a scandal that only Eddie and his peers seem to know about, Jim found a home protecting young women at the Hellfire Gentlemen’s Club. The only place that gave him a chance.

You like Jim. You like everyone here. You are also ecstatic to see Henry again, this time as a dancer. You can see the excitement blooming in his eyes, with a steady increase in his pupil size by the second.

“Well, well,” Henry smirks. “Look who decided to join us.”

You two shake hands again.

“Henry’s my other bouncer,” Eddie explains, but you already knew that. “He’s my right hand man. He’s tiny but mighty. Could snap bones in an instant.”

You peer over at Henry with shocked eyes, to which Henry acknowledges with a dramatic bow.

“You’ll see it,” Eddie hovers a hand over your back. “I sure hope not anytime soon, but there’s always that one douchebag.”

“And they always underestimate me too,” Henry says. “I get a nice kick out of it. It’s a win-win.”

Henry is certainly not beefy, but judging by his muscle tone and sharp upright demeanor, he can put up a fight. Dude seems like he does a lot of the dirty work for Eddie. He can get away with it too.

After bidding ‘see you later’ to Henry, you continue walking with Eddie.

“So,” he starts. “Did you put together a cute simple outfit for tonight?”

“Mhm,” you nod.

“Good,” Eddie says. “I can tell it’s gonna look amazing. I dig the red lipstick and the choker.”

Eddie wanted classy so you gave him classy. Underneath the cloak, you are sporting a lacy black set with a matching black choker and classic red lipstick. Your hair is straightened tonight since beach waves are your signature.

“You want a sneak peak?” you smirk.

Eddie quirks up. “Oh man, do I? Let me at it.”

You take off your cloak to reveal what you have underneath.

Eddie stops in his tracks, taking in the sight in front of him. His gaze is both soft, yet lout. Delicate in the brows, yet carnivorous in the eyes. Slowly, his jaw lowers, uttering a silent gasp as he fully processes the sight of the vixen — you — in front of him.

“Jeez…” he strains. “You look…”

You blush. Electricity whirls through you as Eddie continues to relish in your beauty.

“Showstopping,” Eddie finishes.

He reaches his arms out and you take them, letting yourself fall into his chest as he pulls you to him. During the embrace, he sets his lips beside your cheek, brushing against them delicately as he gives you a verbal kiss.

“Mwah!” he exclaims, leaving you longing for a stronger peck. You feel like you’re on a cloud when he spins you to get a full 360 of your look. “I was expecting like a light color, or pastel…but black — black is your color.”

“Yeah?” you reply. “It’s not too edgy? Choker and all?”

“A lil rough around the edges won’t hurt,” the club owner approves. “He’s gonna love it.”

You follow closely behind. “He?”

Your first client. You had a feeling that’s what Eddie had planned for you today, but reality didn’t sit in until right now.

"Ever given a lap dance before?" Eddie inquires.

"Yeah, but not in this setting."

He seems amused with your answer. Eddie smirks as he gives you a nudge. "Perfect."

You two are walking down the corridor now, down to an isolated room at the end masked by a beaded curtain. You’re unsure if the goosebumps that form on your skin is because of the slight chilliness of the club or because you were walking into a seductive hideout with the boss you had the hots for.

You two stop just a yard short of the curtain. Eddie turns to face you.

"I've got a buddy named Steve. Not short for anything, his parents just... loved the 80s." he chuckles. “You’re giving him a private show tonight. One hour.”

Eddie’s buddy. The pressure is on. The name rings a bell, you believe Dustin was talking about him the first day you set foot in Hellfire.

“Oh,” you say. “I think I heard your friend Dustin talking about him last week.”

As if it were some inside joke, Eddie sighs and rolls his eyes.

“Oh, yeah,” Eddie mutters. “Don’t even get me started on those two.”

Eddie motions you forward, extending his arm to signal an “after you” gesture as you proceed into the private show room. The beads of the curtain carelessly clash into one another as Eddie saunters in.

"Anyway, Steve has been going through it lately. His lady left him for another dude, he lost his job because the city wanted another basic coffee shop instead of a place to rent cheesy B movies…and the last time he worked in the food industry he had to wear a sailor’s uniform, so he’s since opted out.”

You wander around what was going to be your office for the next hour as Eddie aimlessly takes his own path and furthers his lay-down.

“His folks want nothing to do with him because he doesn't wanna be nepotized by them. When he’s not working, he’s babysitting — you guessed it — Dustin and the rest of the boys when they’re not here or playing D&D with me. Oh yeah, and on the topic of girlfriend, he hasn't gotten laid in a fat minute.”

Eddie pauses.

"It's kinda depressing,” he says. “Now that I say it all out loud.”

He makes a sharp turn and walks toward the boombox he kept in the corner of the room.

"That is depressing," you mumble nonchalantly, as if you yourself had not been laid in a fat minute… contrary to your obnoxious brother’s popular belief.

“How do you sleep at night knowing you’re a fucking slut?” Billy’s voice haunts you.

You’ve only had one real boyfriend and Billy knew that. And that boyfriend, shortly after he left you for the girl he told you not to worry about, admitted that you were simply a placeholder for him. They’re happily married now and it tortures you knowing that being the first choice was never in the cards. Billy knew that too and used that backstory to fuel your insecurities. Billy knew you hated feeling used, yet brought it up every chance he got. Making his victims feel small, that was the source of his power. You shudder it off.

You watch as Eddie plays around with the boombox, ensuring that the aux chord was working along with all its other components.

"Tell you what," Eddie begins to barter. "You give him a good show, you can keep a hundred percent of your tips tonight. Consider it a sign on bonus."

“Wow, Eddie really?” you exclaim. “That…helps me out a lot. Thanks so much.

“Of course, doll,” Eddie grins. “Happy to help.”

Eddie finishes up tidying the room before walking back over to you.

“I can’t get over how amazing you look,” he adds one last time. “You’re gonna knock his socks off.”

“Thank you, Eddie,” you thank him one last time.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

He lingers for a while longer before going outside to look for Steve. Meanwhile, heart’s-a-fluttering you try to acquaint yourself with the place, choosing a seductive song of your liking before getting prepped.

Wicked Games by The Weeknd.

More ruckus sounds from outside of the show room. You assume your client has arrived.

“That’s the boy,” Eddie confirms. “BRB-right back.”

You excuse your boss as he makes his way over to his friend. While you wait, your mind begins to race. Does your outfit look okay? Does your breath smell? Do you smell? Despite all the wardrobe and wellness checks you’ve done, your mind is insistent that something else was off. To calm your nerves, you decide to take a quick gulp of Bombay Sapphire, a gin Eddie had provided for the room, before Steve walks in.

Liquid courage. May help with the performance too.

“There he is,” Eddie cheers as the two men greet each other outside. “What took you so long?”

“There was uh, traffic,” a softer voice responds.

“I call bull.”

The two talk a bit more, voices too quiet for you to make out what they’re saying. That, or the sound of your heart pounding against your chest drowned out their conversation. Steve sounds friendly. Timid, but friendly nonetheless.

You listen in on Eddie’s spiel about you. He called you stunning, explained that you just moved from California, and that you are exactly Steve’s type. Whatever that could possibly mean. You then hear Eddie go over the rules. No touching you without consent. No verbal or physical harassment. No sexual intercourse. And to tip generously.

“She sounds lovely. Thanks for the run down, Eds.”

“‘Course. She’s all yours, Big Boy.”

The beaded curtains clash once more.

In walks a man around Eddie’s age, late 20s, early 30s with sleek mahogany hair and slight puffy eyes. He’s sporting a gray North Face sleeveless jacket with a plain black shirt underneath and denim blue Levi’s. He’s a lot more preppy than you thought he would be. Steve’s reaction to you was similar to that of Eddie, despite how different they seem from each other.

“Hi,” he greets you.

“Hi,” you smile. “You’re Steve?”

He nods shyly. “You’re who they call Shy Girl?”

“That’s meee.”

It doesn’t take a body language analyst to see that Steve is guarded. It takes another fragile, sullen demeanor to know one.

“Are you one of Eddie’s shy friends?”

The comment earns a laugh from Steve. “You think I’m shy?”

“Just a little.”

He attempts to mask a gulp. “I’ve just never gotten a lap dance before.”

“You think I’m supposed to believe that?”

You stalk towards him and rest a hand on his chest when proximity and Steve himself grants you permission. You sink your palm in deeper when you pick up he’s receptive to it.

Oh yeah, that’s all gin.

“With your handsome self?”

Steve’s blushing now. “Yeah…strip clubs are kinda not my thing. They’re starting to be though, cuz I always come and support Eddie.”

“What a nice boyfriend,” you joke.

“Eddie and I do have a budding bromance,” he admits with a laugh.

“Boy I’d love to be in the middle of that,” you tease him honestly.

Steve is left stunned and speechless while you grab his hand and lead him to the futon in the middle of the room. He attempts to relax, exhaling the tension out of his shoulders and manspreading as he watches you encompass him. You walked in a slow circle around Steve as the music starts and he peers up at you with curious eyes. Alas, you stop in front of him, cupping his face softly in your hands and synchronizing your hip movements to the rhythm of the song.

Relate to your customers. Talk to them. Build a connection with them, you think to yourself.

“So how’s your day been?”

Steve cracks a faint smile. "Good, how's yours?"

"Good," you chime as you slowly lower yourself onto his lap.

Steve sharply inhales, sucking the tension he had just released right back into his body. You shake your head in disapproval and stroke his face calmly.

“No, no,” you coo. “Just sit back, relax. You’re safe with me.”

“I’m safe with you, huh?” he responds in an is-that-so kind of fashion. “You seem like pure danger to me.”

“Oh, please,” you snarkily disregard his comment. “I’m an angel.”

“In a place called Hellfire?” he challenges you. “I find that hard to believe.”

Steve wants to touch you. So bad. But he refrains. You feel it in his levitating palms, resting just inches away from the small of your back. You start to lightly ride his thigh, hoping to catch his palm in passing as you move your hips about. Instead you’re met with something hard at the base of his pants, an outline and protrusion that wasn’t there before.

Steve looks down and acknowledges it with a shrug.

"Sorry," he chuckles. "It has a mind of its own."

You laugh faintly in return. "It's okay. I'd say it's responding appropriately."

"Yeah?"

"Given the circumstances," you say as you grind slower, deeper. "Yeah."

"Well, that's a relief."

Steve is cute. And a polite man who values your consent was sure to receive it. You two lock gazes before one of you dared to speak again. It all feels like a blind date, and you’re two giddy young adults.

"You..." you start. “You can touch me if you’d like.”

"Really?" Steve asks. "Usually dancers don't let you do that."

"It depends who you ask," you smile. "Consent is subjective...and you have mine. C'mon."

He obliges and starts to graze your ass softly with his hands. You run his hands through his hair, then along his neck without lifting them. A muffled moan is slowly released from his mouth.

"Shit," he sputters. "Feels really good."

He tosses his head back.

"You make me feel so good."

"Aww," you grin. "Me?"

"Yeah you," his voice is deeper now. Huskier. "All because of you."

His hand moves upwards towards your bra and he begins to fiddle with the straps, and then the clasps. You continue your steady grinding, rolling your hips to the beat of the music, tossing your head back for the full effect while Steve holds back the urge to cup your perfect breasts in his kneady hands.

A whimper escapes Steve’s mouth when you find the sweet place to roll, resting a palm over his abdomen for leverage.

“Needy, are we?” you tease him. “Needy for me, Stevie?”

“So fucking needy,” he breathes, a nervous gulp swallowing another sneaky groan. “You’re gonna be the death of me, woman.”

I’ve got my heart right here, I’ve got my scars right here.

Suddenly, you cease the grinding, going from cowgirl to reverse. Grabbing a hold of both his knees with the back of both your hands, you sink down to the floor, knees bent, slightly out turned. Your hands move from his knees to encompass his elbows, accommodating the playful headlock he abruptly decided to have you in, watching you squat down beneath him.

“Mmm,” he hums. “You’re so fucking pretty, baby.”

His arms creep from the sides of your face to the front of your face. You crane your head upwards, peering up at him and refrain from shivering when he brings an arm across your neck. His other hand rests on your face, stroking it tenderly.

“Get up here and, ride my thighs again, please.” he pleads. “It was feeling so good.”

“Okay,” you oblige before standing back up.

“Before you do though, let me get a good look at your ass.”

You stand there for him, bending down ever so slightly so he could run his hands across your back. He grabs a fist full of your hair gently with one hand and strokes your ass cheek with the other.

"Wow," Steve hums as he runs his fingers along the birth mark on your lower back. "I like this birthmark."

"Yeah?" you say. "Some people have said it looks like a tramp stamp."

"It's cute," Steve insists, pulling you onto his lap. “It kinda looks like a bat."

He points to where the wings would be and the fangs and you laugh. No one's admired your tramp stamp-esque birthmark the way Steve did.

"Thanks," you reply. "My brother has a matching one."

You pause.

"Sorry, that didn't sound all that sexy."

Steve tosses his head back and chuckles, hand resting firmly on your ass again. "You look sexy talking regardless, so I don’t mind.”

The chemistry between you and Steve feels so natural. You know if your nurturing heart felt like this with all clients you would be in big trouble. This profession isn’t for everyone and you realize that. But you decide to realize everything else later. Meanwhile, your focus right now is pleasing Steve.

You resume the thigh riding per his request, and chase your own subtle high as you did so. Steve whimpers and whines, seeming to long for you even more with every stroke of his hair, every brush against his cheek, every steady and calculated grind against his—

"Woah, are you okay?"

Suddenly you’re cut off by Steve abruptly pushing you off his lap. When you peer over at him, his face has gone completely red.

Did you do something wrong? Did you violate a boundary? Millions of thoughts race through your head. You can’t get fired on the first day of your new job…

"Y-yeah, I'm fine, I just..." Steve stammers, flushing a deeper red hue with every word. “I... uh, kinda came in my pants."

"Oh..." you begin.

"I am so sorry," Steve sighs. "Embarrassed is an understatement. I’m such a loser.”

You two start frantically talking over each other, one extremely apologetic, another sympathetic to the concerns. Again, it’s like you two are clumsy young adults on a blind date set up by your bold friends.

"It's been a while... so..." Steve stammers.

"Steve," you stop him.

"And..." he cuts out.

"It's okay," you reassure him. “It’s okay, Steve. If you need a break, we can stop.”

“Sounds good,” he agrees with a resigned sigh, the red colored flush migrating to his ears. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

You go to put your cloak back on again and strut towards the gin. Perhaps offering the man a drink would help loosen up his nerves.

"What should we do with the allotted time left?" Steve wonders eyes following you. He’s rubbing his knees anxiously with his palms. “Eddie has this room booked for an hour. He needs to think you're doing splits on my dick or something or else he won't be satisfied."

Laughter erupts from the deepest parts of your belly at Steve's comment. Steve can't help but laugh as well.

"Hm, we can wait a bit and I can give you another lap dance?” you suggest. “Or a strip tease?"

You weren't used to those words coming out of your mouth, so you attempted to make it sound as normal as possible. Wow, you really just gave a lap dance. And someone came from it.

"Do you think..." Steve inquires. "That we can just... talk?"

----

So you and Steve do exactly that. You talk about your families, and your aspirations, your deepest fears, and your core values. Steve Harrington isn’t the loser he thinks he is. He’s a really cool guy. But deeply misunderstood.

“So you and your brother have similar birthmarks?” Steve questions.

“Yeah,” you confirm. “Except his is on his belly. We literally took the term identical twins to a whole new level.”

He laughs.

“Your brother sounds cool.”

“He was.”

Steve gasps in astonishment.

“Oh, my god. I’m sorry. Is he…”

“He’s not dead. Just an asshole.”

The color returns to his face. He exhales steadily and shakes his head. You find his reaction funny, despite how twisted that made you sound.

“Dead to you though?”

“Pretty much,” you giggle. “Dead to me.”

You two do a cheers to that with your alcohol-filled glasses and take another painful sip. It burns.

“Tell me about yourself now,” you prompt him.

There’s a dramatic pause.

“Well,” Steve begins. “I’m an only child. So eyes have been on me for as long as I can remember. What’s Stevie up to? This is what we expect of him and this is what happens if he’s not what we make him out to be. It didn’t take til young adulthood to realize that I have been living in my parents’ shadow. I don’t even know what I like.”

Steve spurs on about how he has struggled with his identity, going back and forth between if what he was pursuing was a desire of his or his parents’.

“And for a while I thought I knew who Steve was. Until I lost myself again in a girl named Nancy.”

“Aw,” you pout.

“A girl,” Steve pauses waiting for you to catch on. “Named Nancy.”

Your eyes widen. “House Mom Nancy?!”

Steve nods as you slowly piece things together.

“So Jonathan’s girlfriend is your…”

“Ex girlfriend,” Steve confirms. “Small world, huh?”

You suppose it wasn’t good that Hawkins is so small. You’d hate for someone to recognize you when you’re taking a casual stroll outside.

Nonetheless, you push that concern to the side and continue your conversation with Steve.

“What happened?”

“Some petty high school shit,” he explains. “But it’s always been her. She made me a better me. The closest to Steve that I’ve ever felt.”

“Wow,” you say. “So you saw a future with her?”

“Marriage, kids, everything,” Steve confirms. “Then she decided I wasn’t what — who — she wanted.”

It’s silent for a while. Steve shakes his head bitterly and downs the rest of his drink. You slosh yours around waiting for him to speak again. Besides, if you did, you’d end up ugly crying about your ex. And no one wants their stripper trauma dumping on them when they’re supposed to be performing.

Thankfully, Steve is the first to speak again.

“Yeah, Nance. She looks… she looks happy,” he turns to you with dismal eyes. “I don’t ever wanna get in the way of that.”

“Do you ever see her here?”

He shakes his head. “Nah, she’s in the back being House Mom, making sure all the girls are taken care of and all that. And I’m sure she doesn’t come up front because she knows Eddie has been trying to play wingman.”

You chuckle. “With a stripper?”

“With anyone,” Steve chuckles. “God that sounds awful. I sound like a loser.”

“Would you stop saying that?” you snap. “You are not a loser, Steve.”

“I know I’m not a loser. Just feel like it sometimes. Especially when it dawns on you that you’ve been living life for other people.”

“I kinda know how you feel.”

You two lock eyes again. Steve rests a hand on top of yours, intertwining your fingers briefly before he begins playing with each of your fingers one by one.

"I guess…going back to the previous topic…” he proceeds. “If I could change anything about myself, I would've done more of what Steve wants to do. Not what Todd and Marsha want Steve to do. Or what Tommy H. and Carol want Steve to do. Because maybe then Nancy and I would’ve been endgame. Or maybe Allison. Possibly Tammy? Who knows? See? Everyone’s world but Steve’s.”

"Steve," you start. "I hope you realize that I have no idea who any of these people are. It’s kinda hard to keep up.”

"And that is such a relief to hear that," he sighs again, this time in exasperation. "I just feel so free talking about them to someone who doesn't know who they are. Hawkins is small, you know. And it’s good that the only bias you can form is in my favor since you only know of me."

You offer him a consoling pat atop the hand, to which he responds by leaning his head on your shoulder. With how tender everything has been with Steve, there’s a temptation to plant a delicate kiss on his forehead. But you stop yourself.

"I'd like to know you, know you, though,” you find yourself saying.

He gazes up at you. You two smile at each other.

“I’d like to know you more too, Shy Girl,” he answers. “If you’d let me.”

“Duh, it’s what I just said.”

He chuckles. “You’re not saying that for the tips?”

“No. Just human to human.”

You stroke his cheek longingly, running your hand along his stubble.

"It's also been a while since I've gotten laid too," you admit. "And I've got a lot of pent up stress I need to release. You seem like a trustworthy person to do that with.”

The energy changes. Steve’s grip on your hand tightens.

"Oh yeah?" He rubs your thumb with his and soon you find yourselves holding hands.

"Yeah.”

“Sounds like we have a deal then, Shy Girl.”

Before Steve gets any ideas, you interrupt him.

“I don't wanna have sex at work," you admit. "Especially not on the clock."

"Oh, yeah I didn’t think it’d be now. Some people do find that hot though.”

"It's my first day. I can’t disappoint Eddie this early in the game.”

"You're kidding."

You shake your head.

"Wow, I would've thought you've been doing this a while."

You blush. "Thank you. But nope, you’re my Guinea pig.”

Steve continues to gawk in amazement. Then he reaches for his wallet, grabbing a huge wad of Benjamin Franklins and handing it to you.

"Tell you what," Steve bargains. "You buy yourself something nice, get your bills paid, and come through in a couple days. The roomie won't be home so we'll have the place to ourselves. We can get takeout or something too. Whatever makes you comfortable, of course.”

You bite your lip. "I'd like that."

“Good. I’d like that too.”

———-

"So, how was it?" you hear Eddie ask Steve.

"Dude...I just about creamed my pants," he says as you hold back laughter. "You got yourself a good one."

"Nothing's ever too TMI for you, Harrington," Eddie says. "But thanks for the imagery."

"Yeah. I gotta get going now. I got laundry to put away at home. It's been piling so much I think it's going to tip over."

“Roger,” Eddie says before bidding him goodbye. “Oh, speaking of which, did you tip her good?”

“You bet I did. Woman like her needs to be spoiled rotten.”

————

You make your way back to the dressing room after saying bye to Steve and finishing the flats Argyle had specially made for you. At your locker, you subtly attempt to count the hundreds Steve gave you for his lap dance and talk session. The man left you 10 of them. A whole band.

You were stunned. What did King Steve do for a living anyways? It didn’t matter to you. You had enough for groceries, gas, and a portion of your rent, all earned in an hour’s work, and all yours to keep as Eddie insisted.

The realization makes your heart skip a beat. You and your sister were good for the next few weeks.

Knock, knock.

“Don’t freak out ladies, it’s just me!” Eddie shouts from the other side of the door. “Put your cloaks on I’m coming in!”

You watch as the girls scurry to get their covers back on. The amount of respect Eddie has for his dancers is insane. Perhaps it’s common decency but it was such a striking difference than what you were used to. It warmed your heart in a way, but also made you sad. You deserved this respect all your life.

When Eddie finds you, he starts towards you, a look of approval spread wide across his face. As deeply as you wanted it to be because he found you attractive, you infer that it’s because you’re bringing in good business — and that you’re good, given a small amount of experience with the pole.

You two are face to face now. Eddie speaks up first.

“Steve, uh,” he says. “Steve really likes you.”

“Oh really?” you smile. “I’m glad.”

“You’re just a natural, Shy Girl,” he compliments you. “Everyone’s just raving about you.”

“Yeah?”

“Based on what I’ve seen so far and what Stevie told me, yeah,” he confirms. “But I guess it’s no surprise. Shy girls are almost always the freakiest, huh?”

You try not to laugh while you’re witnessing the imagination of your boss running in the complete opposite direction of what really happened between you and Steve. Nevertheless, you let him. You didn’t mind taking up space in your dashing boss’s mind.

“You should come to work a little early next time you’re on,” Eddie says. “I’d like to take you to lunch.”

Heat spreads across your cheeks. “Really?”

“‘Course! I do it with all my dancers as a welcome thing. I’d like to know more about you. You’re more than just a pretty face and someone who simply works for me.”

‘I do it with all my dancers.’

Your heart sinks. Back to square one.

Eddie clears his throat.

“Anyway,” he says. “I’m gonna head out now. Gonna go see the lady friend. I’ve got Johnny boy, Argyle, and Henry holding down the fort.”

The tinge in your heart intensifies.

“Oh, sounds fun!”

“Yeah, I rarely see her cuz she bartends. Even though we work similar hours we work opposite days. But she got first cut tonight so I’m heading over.”

“Have fun, Eddie.”

“I sure will,” Eddie says. “Goodnight, Shy Girl.”

“Goodnight, Eddie.”

Eddie soon disappears out of sight and now your shift seems ten times longer. Regardless, you stuff your tips into your tote bag and prepare to meander around the club, enticing other bachelors for a dance.

Without Eddie around, it seems less exciting.

“Doing it for Max,” you remind yourself while fixing your hair in the mirror in front of you.

You reach for your phone to see the amount of time that has transpired since the private show with Steve. But the clock wasn’t your concern when your Home Screen lights up.

Your heart nearly sinks to the floor.

Billy Hargrove

1 Missed Call

Billy Hargrove

iMessage: 1 message

You open it.

What the actual fuck.

#the babyboyification of steve harrington #daddy eddie #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #eddie munson smut #Steve #steve harrington #Steve harrington smut #Steve and reader #Eddie and trader

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strbymacaroon · 5 months

Text

Silent Love: Ch.3- Fake Dinner Date W/Feels

⊹ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ Chapter Two

Previous Chapter: Sexual Tension

Chapter One: New Roommate(s)

Master-List: Here!

.・゜゜・｡･ﾟﾟ･ ╰┈➤ Sukuna x Reader

⁎̩͙ ⁑̩͙̩͙ ⁂̩̩͙͙ Sypnosis:

When moving out of your dorm and leaving your eccentric roommate goes to shit, you're offered by one of her friends to move in with him... for free! That is, if you don't mind living with two completely opposite college boys.

However, life isn't that easy, and there's a hot asshole around the corner to piss you off. Especially when he's always up late at night when you're studying, purposely trying to get on your nerves in the most perverse way possible.

You hate him.

⁎̩͙ ⁑̩͙̩͙ ⁂̩̩͙͙ Genre:

College/Modern World AU. Multiple parts.

Shameless Smut, Thin Walls, Mildly Dubious Consent, Roommates Fluff and Crack, Slice of Life, Kinda Slow Burn, Oral Sex Vaginal Sex, Slight Age Difference, Degradation Fake/Pretend Relationship, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Enemies to Lovers, Spit Kink, Angst, Hurt/Comfort.

⁎̩͙ ⁑̩͙̩͙ ⁂̩̩͙͙ Word Count: 11,729

･｡ﾟ☆: *･ November 18th, 2023 ☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

Saturday

You sit up in your bed at the sound of frantic knocking, your eyes awkwardly adjusting to the room, and immediately getting hit with a splitting migraine enveloping your head. You wince in pain, groaning loudly as the knocking grows louder.

“Shit. Yuuji, what the hell do you want?” You yell at the door, grabbing your pillow and pulling it over your head. It’s way to fucking early to be dealing with this shit, why couldn’t he bother you in the afternoon?

You glance at the clock on your counter, the numbers ‘2:57 PM’ glaring back at you, oh shit. An exasperated noise leaves your mouth. Okay, fine, maybe it is time to get up. You push yourself off your bed, growing annoyed that the knocking hasn’t ceased to stop.

You’re too hungover for this. You and Nobara ended up drinking far too many drinks than you care to admit, so much so to the point where you believe Nobara’s car is still at the house where the party was. Or, maybe the Nobara is still there, the party was hosted by the frat of her asshole.

You should probably text her to see how she pulled through. Nobara seemed absolutely gone when you tried talking to her. Actually, is she even alive right now?

Your hair is a mess, your makeup still on from the previous night, it’s absolutely ruined, but it’s still on. You reach for your brush on the counter, flinching with the tension it has running through your thick strands.

What are you wearing? Are you decent enough to open the door? You look down at your outfit, seeing you were just wearing a large shirt, only long enough to cover the important parts. You’re willing to change, but with the insistent knocking getting longer, you’re only growing more annoyed. You decide to quickly grab some shorts.

You pull the door open mid hair stroke, clearly pissed as you say, “Yuuji what the hell do you want—“ You cut yourself off, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “Sukuna?” Definiently, not how you wanted to start your morning–or, afternoon. You’re still reeling from your orgasm the other night.

You’re honestly incredibly embarrassed, the idea of the man you got yourself off to from pleasing himself, now standing right in front of you, it’s a bit too much for you to handle. You hate it, but your body appreciates it.

Sukuna looks… incredibly annoyed, maybe even a bit done. It’s hot.

You can see Yuuji behind him, leaning on his door, and snickering in contentment. Somehow, that reels you back in and out of your head, containing your thoughts to something more manageable. Yuuji, on the other hand, seems incredibly amused, his mouth pressed in a thin line trying to conceal a smile. It’s cute.

You give Yuuji an accusing look, “What’s happening?”

This seems to make Yuuji absolutely break, his hand slapping over his mouth as he bursts out in laughter. Sukuna looks more annoyed now, his eyes twitching closed as he rubs his temples. Yuuji obnoxiously points at his Sukuna with a very shaky hand. “Sukuna needs you—Sukuna needs your help.” He turns his face away from his Sukuna. “Oh my god, this is amazing.”

Sukuna seems to snap at this, turning his head to his brother and yelling, “I do not need her help, brat.” He sounds pissed, more so than normal. That has to mean Yuuji is right, which doesn’t seem right. Sukuna needing help sounds foreign. “If you’re here to be an annoying shit, you can fuckin’ leave.”

“You need my help?” You interrupt, continuing to brush your hair while leaning on your door. “And, I thought you didn’t want to see me?” You’re a bit cocky when telling him that, a smile splitting your face. “Don’t tell me you’re going back on your word.”

Yuuji narrows his eyes at you, then his brother. Confused but amused by the back and forth between the two of you, but… also equally as uncomfortable. “Okay, I feel like I missed out on some conversations between the two of you.”

Sukuna groans, rolling his eyes at his brother and turning his attention back at you. “Do me one favor, and I’ll owe you one.” He crosses his arms over his chest, his forearms catching your attention, along with the tattoos decorating them.

“What am I doing for you?” You ask, tilting your head to the side and tossing your hair brush behind you. However, Sukuna doesn’t answer, he just diverts his eyes from you. That makes you a bit uneasy, so you reword your question. “How big is this favor?”

“Big.” Sukuna seems uncomfortable.

You furrow your eyebrows, “Just tell me what you need me to do, or I’m going back to sleep.” You place your hand on the door, getting ready to close it. You’re not going to close it, you're bluffing, this situation is too intriguing to just leave, and your curiosity is killing you. You close your eyes and dramatically groan, placing your hand on your forehead, “I’m dealing with a killer hangout right now, and you’re totally in the splash zone.” You open one of your eyes to see his reaction, not bothering to hide your brazen smile.

Sukuna’s just scowling at you, “Disgusting.” He waves you off, trying to stay on topic. Actually, that’s a lie, he isn’t trying to stay on topic, he’s trying to get this conversation over and done with. “Yes or no?”

Well, that didn’t give you much of an answer. You look at Yuuji, crossing your arms over your chest. You wave your hands over Sukuna, gesturing to him as you say, “What is this about, babe?”

“Our Pops stopped by for a surprise visit.” Yuuji starts, pushing himself off his door and making his way next to his brother. “Sukuna was stupid enough to keep a girl with him in bed.” He laughs, placing his hands on his hips and leaning forward. “Now, he wants to meet his “girlfriend.” Isn’t that right, Su-ku-na.” He sings teasingly, shaking his butt a few times. You just raise an eyebrow at his actions.

Sukuna kicks Yuuji back, making him fall forward into your room. You giggle, but quickly stop when Yuuji passes you a glare. Which makes you kneel and check on him, your hand rubbing his back while you ask Sukuna, “What does that have to do with me?”

Sukuna isn’t looking at you, he’s looking at your hands rubbing circles on Yuuji’s back. “I don’t want to..” Sukuna groans, tilting his head back to look at the roof. “I’m not introducing a random girl to…” He sighs, looking back at you, “He wants to meet my girlfriend, and I don’t feel like having a conversation with anyone about my sex life.”

You tilt your head at him, “What does that mean?”

Yuuji pushes himself to sit back up, relishing the way your hands caress his face. Checking to see if he had any marks or bruises, smiling at him with care once you see he doesn’t. “He’s asking you to be his fake girlfriend.”

You jump at that, your attention snapping back to Sukuna and Yuuji. “Huh?!” Their silence speaks thousands. “Oh my god, you’re joking. Tell me you’re joking.” You awkwardly laugh, pushing yourself off the floor and taking a few steps back from the both of them.

Yuuji takes this time to get up, dusting his shirt off. “Better start begging, Sukuna, I don’t think she’s on board with this.” He laughs.

“Fuck off, Yuuji.” Sukuna barks, grabbing the back of Yuuji’s shirt and tugging him out of the room. “Give me some fucking space.” You hear the rustle of the two of them moving, before the door across yours slams shut. There’s a loud sigh, then a few footsteps back to your door.

“You’re being serious.” You say, your back pressing against the vanity. There’s a small smile tugging at your lips, “You actually–you’re really fucked, huh?” You tap your foot on the ground impatiently, “I thought we agreed no more girls?” You huff, “That wouldn’t even put you in this situation if you listened to me.”

Sukuna rolls his eyes at you, “Yeah, fuck off. Yuuji said you were out. I can do whatever I want knowing you won’t be around to bitch at me.” He sneers at you.

You laugh, “Yeah, and look where that got you.” You look to the side, running his sentence through your head again, “Wait…? You were asking Yuuji about me?” You pass him a flattered smile, placing a “touched” hand over your chest.

Sukuna completely ignores your point, “Don’t look happy. This whole situation affects you, too.” Sukuna walks into your room like he owns it, which he technically does, but it’s still a bit jarring. He closes your door behind him, “Don’t need that brat listening.” He whispers to himself, then comfortably sits down on your bed.

The idea of being alone with Sukuna makes you a bit flustered. Yet, you try your best not to think about that, “How does this affect me?” You’re glaring at him. He’s far too comfortable in your room for your liking. “Last time I checked, I don’t fuck everything that breathes.”

“I don’t fuck everything.” He snaps back at you, “Anything with a cute face, though.”

“Can you not?” You scold, “Just tell me what happens if I don’t help you.

“My–” Sukuna groans, grabbing one of your stuffies and playing with its fur. “My Pops is… a traditional man, hates the idea of–you know.” He sighs, tossing your stuffie behind him. “Hates the idea so much, he threatened to fire me if I’m not dating her.”

You raise an eyebrow, a silent question of, ‘and?’

Sukuna sighs, “Then, you won’t be able to leech off my shit, that’s what it means.” He tells you, “You’re going to be homeless without me.”

You laugh at that, no, you laugh at him. “Wait, you think I need you?” You scoff at him, pushing yourself off the desk and standing up straight. “I’m only here because it was the best option, I’m moving out the moment finals are over.” You smile at him, “I don’t need you, babe, you clearly need me right now, though.”

Sukuna covers his face with his hands, sighing deeply as he looks at you through his fingers. “Like I said, I’ll–” He rolls his eyes, his voice becoming a bit more quiet, “Do whatever you want.”

Hearing those words does something to you, but you don’t dwindle on it, but your eyes do dwindle on the open computer on your coffee table. “Hm.” You take a few steps forward, kneeling down and closing your computer. “Anything?”

Sukuna instinctively leans back, his legs spreading, “Anything.” He’s smiling a bit, but you’re glaring at him with annoyance.

Admittedly, despite how attractive he looks, and his actions are, you just roll your eyes at him. “Seriously? Can you not be a horny dog for a second?” You stand back up, “So, if I agree, what exactly am I doing for you?”

Sukuna seems a bit annoyed, “I need you to meet my–I’m going to be introducing you to my pops. And, he just wants to get to know you.” He sighs, rubbing the bottom of his face. “We’re just going out to eat.”

“Under what title?” You take this time to smile to yourself, cutting into him with a quick, “The girl who you think about when getting off?”

“You were listening.” Sukuna inquires with a smirk.

“Until you called my name, threw up the moment I heard it.” You stick out your tongue, faking a gag. “Thank god for headphones.” You point at the pair of headphones on your counter, “They’re cute, right? I like the color.” You mockingly tell him.

Sukuna’s eye twitches, “You want a fuckin’ title, you title is going to be my annoying ass girlfriend.” He barks at you, putting an emphasis on his profanity.

You find it a bit endearing, placing your hand over your heart and singing, “I’m going to be your fake girlfriend? I’m so honored.” You sit on your coffee table across from him, crossing your legs over one another. “You need me, Sukuna?”

“I don’t fucking need you, I can do shit on my own.” He turns away from you, child-like in a way.

You laugh at him, “Okay, go tell your pops that you fuck everything that breathes.” You widen your eyes, faking a realization with a gasp, “Oh wait no, you only fuck things with a cute face, right?” You point at him scoldingly, “Make sure to clarify that with your pops, it’s not just anything. It has to have a cute face.”

“Fuck you.” Sukuna seethes.

I know you want to. “Do you need my help, yes or no?” You lean back on the palms of your hands.

Sukuna takes in a breath, and lets out a slow one. “...Yes..”

“Okay.” And, the only reason you're entertaining this conversation, is because of the nick in the back of your head, something that keeps you up at night.

Your project.

“I’ll do it. Under one condition.” Sukuna seems to ever so slightly lighten his gaze from this, but it’s immediately followed by an eyebrow furrow when you add, “If you let me do my week-long project on you.”

Sukuna blinks, “Huh?”

You nod swiftly, tapping your foot on the ground, your leg bouncing with a bit of anxiety. “Yup. I’ll be evaluating your life and mental status for a week.” You lean forward, placing your elbow on your knee and look into his eyes, “You’ll be stuck with me for a whole week.”

Sukuna doesn’t seem too onboard with the situation, closing his eyes and thinking. His lip slightly pulls back into a scowl, “Just for a week?” He asks, leaning back and putting his weight on the palm of his hands.

You nod, “Mhm, just for a week.”

That’s fair, Sukuna’s going to have a bit of control over you for the day, especially if you’re going to be meeting his pops.

Sukuna nods, “Okay, under one condition.”

You narrow your eyes at this suspiciously, “Sukuna, I hope you remember you came to me. You don’t have much wiggle room for demands.” You tell him matter of factly. “You can’t give me conditions, babe.”

“You have to move out within the month of December, before finals, and don’t even talk to me until then.” Completely ignoring your remark.

You gape at this, shocked he is still trying to make claims with you pulling on his leash. “I can’t move out before the new year.” You entertain his demands, even though you’re at all going to give into them. “I’m already cramped over finals, I can’t find a house before then.” You point at him, “And I already told you I’m moving out after them.”

Sukuna sighs, looking to the side dejected. “Yeah… I was trying to get your ass out of here sooner.” He shrugs, “Worth a try.”

A bit of rage fills your head at his words, “You know what, maybe I won’t agree to this.” You say looking to the side thoughtfully. “Hopefully, you'll learn a lesson not to be such an ass to women.” You huff.

Sukuna lets out a small cocky laugh, and an equally cocky smile pulls at his lips. ”C’mon, don’t be like that. I know you don’t like me either.” He tilts his head to the side, his hair moving with him. You wonder if it feels as soft at Yuuji’s.

“Yeah, but at least I’m secretive about it.” You stand up, pulling your shirt over your thighs, or trying to is the better word. “So, you’re agreeing to my terms, or are there more demands you’re going to make, to make you feel in control?”

Sukuna smiles to himself proudly, “Yeah, actually.” He looks at you with no emotion, “We’re going to completely forget this shit happened.” He gestures between the two of you, “And any interaction before that.”

That shocks you a bit, but you don’t show it. “Really?”

Sukuna nods cruelly, “Yeah. Anything that happens over the next week, any conversation or action that happens between us, you’re going to forget all about it. It won’t give you a leg up, or anything.” His voice sounds like venom, “I don’t want to deal with you if you happen to want something more with me.”

Your eyebrows raise at that in shock, “Someone’s cocky. Sounds like you’re hoping something will happen.” You cross your arms over your chest, scowling at him. “I’m afraid to disappoint when I inform you that nothing will happen.”

“Good. Keep to your word.” Sukuna cooed at you.

You roll your eyes at his cocky nature, “So, what’s the plan? How long have we been dating, and how did we meet?” You make your way to your closet.

Sukuna groans, pulling his eyes away from your legs. “I already hate this so much.” In the back of Sukuna’s head, he thought he would have just a bit of fun, watching you squirm under pressure, and force you to be a loving girlfriend despite how much you don’t like him, but now that it’s happening, he doesn’t find any enjoyment out of the situation.

Sukuna huffs, what a pain.

You open your closet, “Yeah, imagine how I feel.” Meeting your parent’s parents is already such a nerve racking feeling, but meeting the parents of someone who you don’t even know under that title, for some reason that makes it even worse. “What’s your dad lik–” You slap your hand over your face, instantly remembering what Yuuji said the other day.

Shit, I completely forgot about that.

“Your Pops,” You add, trying to correct your slip of the tongue, “Tell me about your pops.” You feel bad now, you should really try to remember the small details Yuuji tells you about. That the one thing you wish you could improve yourself on, remembering the small things.

It would make avoiding already tense conversations worse.

Sukuna looks away from you, propping his hand to hold his head, “Stop asking questions about me. It’s weird.” His tone is different, you don’t want to say softer, but weaker would be the better word. You don’t take it to heart, it’s not your place to ask. “Just follow along with what I say, it doesn’t have to be hard.”

You also don’t take that to heart, “Alright, when is he coming?” You skim through your clothing, pushing the hangers to the side with each article.

Sukuna scoffs at this, “He’s not coming, he’s treating us out to dinner;”

You don’t like how he addresses both of you with one sole word, it’s far too intimate for you liking, especially under this context. “Oh. I should go shower then. You should grab me some painkillers, too.”

Sukuna doesn’t respond, he just stands up and makes his way close to you. You furrow your eyebrows when he stands behind you, “What are you–” The sentence dies when a shiver shoots down your spine.

Sukuna reaches over your body, his chest pressing against the back of your head. His hand pushes each article of clothes to the side, skimming through your clothing. He hums thoughtfully to himself, “None of this will do.” He whispers, “Tell the brat to go grab you something. I’m not your dog, bitch.”

You can feel his breathing, the subtle rising and lowering of his chest, and it has you a bit frazzled. Your mind racing to the other night, how he sounds, what he said. Now, you can feel him pressing behind into you, you can really imagine how he would feel behind–

You shake your head, pulling yourself out of your thoughts, “What does that mean?” Wait, what did he call you? “Did you call me a bitch, you dick?” You narrow your eyes at him, watching as he walks to your door, “Some fake boyfriend you are.”

Sukuna doesn’t even pass you a glance, but he’s smiling to himself when saying, “Yeah, you’re going to have to love it.”

—-

You’re done with your shower when there’s a knock at the door, you’re quick to answer, “Yeah?” Grabbing your pink towel and wrapping it around your body, but when nobody answers, you roll your eyes and open the door to peek your head out.

Sukuna’s outside, “Be ready at eight.” He tells you.

You lean on the door frame, kicking the door open for you to really look at Sukuna. “Where am I going with you?” You cross your arms over your chest.

Sukuna’s eyes look down at you, again shamelessly looking at your body. “We’re going to a restaurant my Pops picked out, you’ll like it, don’t worry.” He finally pulls his eyes away from your chest, and that makes you shiver, his words echoing in your head.

‘Took everything in me not to pull down your towel and lick ‘em all over.’

Suddenly, the heat between your legs is fluttering and begging for attention, and you so desperately want to give into it. You thickly swallow and avert your eyes, “How would you know that?”

Sukuna laughs at you, “You’re going to fuckin’ pretend you love whatever shit the restaurant serves, I don’t care.” He leans on the door frame with you, looking down at you, “What are you wearing.”

Never mind, Sukuna doesn’t seem too hot anymore. “Something nice.”

“Let me see.” Sukuna looks over your shoulder at the messy pile of your clothes, he makes an unsure face, “Are you wearing that?”

You glance over your shoulder, looking at your clothes strung on the counter, “Yeah, It’s a cute outfit, I put some thought into it.” You look back at Sukuna, raising an eyebrow at him. “What? Do you not like it?”

Sukuna pauses for a moment, before nodding his head. “Yeah, I’ll see you in your room.” Then, he quickly enters your room, however, you can’t help but notice the bag he’s holding in his hand. You groan in annoyance at this, closing the door and changing into your clothes, despite how you want to dry your hair a bit more. The idea of Sukuna in your room alone doesn’t sit well with you.

When you enter your room, Sukuna is laying down on your bed, holding one of your pink stuffed animals between his arms while scrolling through his phone. You think it’s a bit funny to see. “I told you it was cute.”

Sukuna pulls his eyes away from his phone to sit up and look at you. You can’t read his expression, which makes you feel a bit insecure in your body. You close the door behind you, standing in the middle of your room, “What? Don’t tell me it isn’t good enough for your standard?” You snap at him.

Sukuna shakes his head, “You know what my standards are.” Anything with a cute face. “I don’t like it, not to meet my Pops, atleast, it’s not good enough.”

Your harsh expression falters for a moment with pain, but you quickly cover it. Still Sukuna picks up on it. He rolls his eyes and grabs your waist, pulling you close to him, right in between his spread legs. “Turn around.” He gruffs.

You shake your head, furrowing your eyebrows. “No, why the hell would I do that?”

“So, I can see your whole outfit.” Sukuna tells you, his eyes moving down to his hands around your waist. “What? You don’t want me to look at you?” His head cranes up to look at your face, his pupils blown wide, a charming smirk on his lips.

You press your lips together, looking to the side with an unsure expression. Your eyebrows are a bit furrowed, as if you’re debating with yourself. “Is this some weird sex thing?”

Sukuna turns his head away from you, “It can be.”

“You’re so gross.” Still, you reluctantly turn around so your back is facing him. You’re glad for that though, the fact that he can’t see your face, he would see that it’s absolutely burning up right now. So fucking embarrassing. “Happy?”

Sukuna leans forward, his nose dumping into the spine of your back. His hands working around your hips and moving to the underside of your tits, a soft hum leaving his lips. “You smell nice.”

You softly moan, your eyes fluttering at the stimulation. You groan in disgust to cover yourself, “Get your hands off me, asshole.”

Sukuna shakes his head against your back. “You like it when I touch you, don’t you, doll?”

You look down at his hands and watch how they caress you, gentle but firm. You unintentionally lean into him, your words are desperate to be firm, “You think too much of yourself, believe it or not, not everything with a cute face want to fuck you.” You’re referencing yourself, but you don’t even believe that lie.

Sure, you’re not entirely a fan of Sukuna, but he’s hot, and you don’t nessarily have to like the person you’re fucking. You’re sure Sukuna doesn’t like all the people he’s fucking, and there is a thing called hate-sex for a reason. Which people are justifyingly into, so, you’re good. Still, you need to call Nobara to confirm this, you have to make sure you have the right opinion. Having a second opinion—that supports your own—always helps. Always.

You can feel his hands slowly dragging farther up your torso, and when they finally touch you where you’ve been dying for attention, you fall into his lap.

Sukuna places his chin on your shoulder, and nods against you, “I have something for you to wear.” His fingers work into your soft mounds, listening to the way you softly breath and moan when he squeezes just a bit harder.

You turn to look at him, your eyebrows and eyes furrowed with anger, “Didn’t take you as the type to buy gifts. That’s too nice for you.” You have a bit of a snap in your voice despite how good you feel, how good Sukuna is making you feel, but you could never admit that. You arch your back, your ass digging into his lap, secretly trying to feel him between his legs. “Don’t tell me you’ve grown a soft spot for me? How sweet of you.”

Sukuna scoffs, “Like hell, I’m doing this shit for me.” God, you’re so hot. Sukuna leans in to kiss you, but you turn away from him. He just takes this opportunity to press kisses against your neck, sucking on the skin lightly to make you shiver. He loves this, watching you melt in front of him, it’s the best form of entertainment in the world. “But, you know I can make you feel good. Why won’t you let me make you feel good?”

You try to concentrate, placing both of your hands behind your back and pushing Sukuna away from you. “Go to hell.” You bark, “Go jerk off again if you can’t control yourself.” Sukuna pushes your hair to one side, leaning back slightly to see the curve of your back while your hands push against his body.

Sukuna stifles a groan, his eyes fluttering at the sight. I practically like watching you ride his cock, your hands pressing against his abdomen. Fuck, he just want to reach over and pull up your skirt, look at the cute panties you picked out and how they hug your ass. Sukuna hates to admit it, but you look incredible in skirts.

Fuck, you got him hard.

You’re a bit hesitant to speak, “Don’t tell me that’s your dick...” You sound pissed, that’s hot.

“It’s not my dick.”

You groan with annoyance, pushing yourself off Sukuna and grabbing the bag near his feet. You’re still desperately wanting to be touched by him, but the idea of feeding into him and giving him the satisfaction has you pushing through. Even if you did have a moment of weakness. “Asshole.”

Sukuna pushes himself off the bed, getting up and adjusting his boner behind your back. “Be ready by six forty, the place is over an hour away.” He watches as you open the designer bag, trying to see what he purchased you.

“The bus won’t make it in time, why don’t you just call an uber?” You blink at the pink fabric, trying to pick out what it was. “It may be a bit expensive, but it looks like you have money to spare.”

Sukuna’s already at your door, practically walking out as he says, “Save the tags, I’m returning it after tonight, ungrateful brat.” He shuts the door after him, making sure to slam it so loud everyone in the whole neighborhood hears.

“Wow, I know, I also love it when people answer my questions.” You wave your hand with a pleasant smile. “I also love it when people aren't bipolar as hell!” You shout at the door. Whatever.

You roll your eyes, pulling out the dress, but something else in the bag catches your attention. You furrow your eyebrows, grabbing the water bottle, “Weird.” You look back in the bag, noticing a small unopened package.

Once you grab it, that’s when you know what it is.

Two pills of painkillers.

——

You can not wrap your head around why meeting Sukuna’s Pops saunters this level of preparedness. Let alone class. No disrespect at all, but for goodness sake, you’re just going out to eat. Why do you need such a classy dress, along with jewelry?

Your dress is surprisingly long, silk and soft to the touch. Still, it’s something you’ve never worn before, it feels expensive, actually, you know it’s expensive. You looked at the tag, and now feel like you’re not worthy to be wearing such an expensive dress. You can’t even force yourself to look at the price of the jewelry.

Although, you have to admit, Sukuna has good taste.

You flip your head back and forth, giving volume to your curls and glancing at your mirror for a final time. The heels that you’re wearing feel a bit impossible to walk in. You’ve never been a heels type of girl, you prefer your dirty converse and comfort, now. However, you do thank your middle school self who had a weird “only heels for shoes” phase. Otherwise, you would be tripping over everything right now.

Your dress has a slit, letting your leg peek out, but you have to be careful not to walk too fast, take too big of a step, or bend down too much, otherwise the whole world would know your color of underwear. News flash, it wasn’t something cute when you first discovered this problem.

You're wearing a diamond ring—which you’re pretty sure you’ve seen at Walmart—and a matching diamond necklace—which you haven’t seen at Walmart—to decorate your bare hands and neck. A part of you wonders if Sukuna would let you keep the jewelry since he won’t let you keep the dress, but you know those chances are slim.

You grab your expensive perfume from your vanity, applying a few spirits to your pulse points and your body before placing it back down. You reach for your phone and naturally do the motion to place it in your pocket to remember, “No pockets…” You don’t have a bag to match the occasion either.

Whatever, you’ll just hold onto your phone the entire time.

You finally leave your room, only to be met face to face with—“Ah, you’re ready?” Yuuji asks, smiling at you while closing his door behind him. He cups his chin, leaning in close to you, “I see Sukuna got on your ass about clothing.”

You give him a humorous laugh, pushing your hair behind your shoulders. “Yeah.” You place your hand on his head, pushing his bangs from his face. “He literally was on me about it. The weird asshole.”

Yuuji passes you a suspicious look, before tilting his head. “Did he tackle you and force you into that outfit? Because he's done that to me far too many times now.” He asks while narrowing his eyes.

You choke out a laugh, covering your mouth, “Really? That’s actually so funny.” You can literally picture that happening in your head.

Yuuji laughs with you, “You look really nice, by the way.” The two of you start walking to the living room, “Watch, Pops isn’t going to believe you’re Sukuna’s girlfriend. He’s too much of an—“

“Brat.” Sukuna kicks Yuuji’s back, forcing him forward. “I’d like to see your girlfriend.”

You turn over your shoulder, “About time.” You’re glad you finished your sentence before completely looking at him, because you know for a fact you would’ve been rendered speechless.

Sukuna is wearing all black. Black dress shoes, black dress pants, and a nice black button up, with two buttons popped at the top. His hair is slicked back with gel, a few strands framing his face, and you can really see his undercut now.

Of course he’s wearing his gold chain, too. Godammit, he looks hot.

“You look terrible.” Yuuji says while eyeing his brother up and down, “You know Grandpa is going to be on your butt about that.” He says with sass, his hand on his hip.

That makes you laugh, but you turn away once Sukuna glares at you. He groans, pushing himself forward, “Let's go. I already fucking hate this.” Sukuna extends his hand for you to the garage, but you just walk towards the door.

Sukuna rolls his eyes at you, “Where the fuck are you going?” He doesn’t even bother to follow after you, but much rather goes to the kitchen to open a drawer. Getting something the jingles in your ears.

“Didn’t you call uber?” You throw at him, your back resting on the front door.

Sukuna opens the door to the garage, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Take a damn uber, I’m driving myself, bitch.”

You push yourself off the door, your footsteps heavy with rage. “Call me a bitch one more time and you’re going alone. I can’t stand you calling me that.” Your heels click as you follow him into the garage, your arms crossed over your chest. “Say sorry.”

“Fuck that.” Sukuna barks.

Yuuji touches his heart, leaning on the doorframe of the garage door. “Couple goals, can’t wait to be like the two of you when I’m older.”

You give Yuuji a questionable look, “Yuuji, babe, we’re the same age.”

“You’re missing the big problem in that sentence.” Sukuna tells you, flipping the light switch of the garage, his thumb unlocking his car.

You nod, “You’re right, babe.” You point a finger at Yuuji, smiling as you say, “Don’t date a toxic, bipolar, asshole.”

Sukuna groans, popping open the driver’s door and telling you to, “Get in the car.”

You look at him, “No, I’m not getting in the car.” You’re by Yuuji’s side, “I don’t know why you think I’m just going to go along with whatever you want now that you’ve insulted me.”

“Who cares, get in the car.” Sukuna tells you, rolling his eyes at your antics.

Yuuji makes a face, “Sukuna, I don’t think…��

“No. I care, obviously.” You tell him, your hands gesturing around, “I’m doing you a big favor, yet you repay me by calling me a bitch, and being an dick. But you still expect me to do stuff for you?” You scoff, “How are you okay with treating anyone like that?”

Sukuna’s expression falls, his furrowed eyebrows relaxing while his eyes soften. He sighs, placing his hand on the top of his car while placing his forehead between them, it’s silent now.

Yuuji passes you an unsure look, whispering, “This is weird.”

You don’t respond, your eyes are trained on Sukuna. “Can you please get in the car?” Sukuna’s voice is soft, it’s a tone you’ve never heard before. It shocks you a bit, even the expression he’s pacing you right now is a bit shocking. Maybe, jarring is the better word.

You take a deep breath, pushing yourself away from the door. Sukuna takes this time to walk to the passenger door, opening it for you. You pass him a look, but it’s not returned, he’s not even looking at you. But, when you slip yourself into the seat, you hear him whisper, “Thank you.” Your name ending the sentence.

You can’t help it, despite how much you tried to avoid it, but a small smile pulls at your lips. “Yeah, whatever asshole.” He closes the door behind you, but it’s far more gentle from when he slammed your door earlier today. Even when he enters on his side.

“You haven’t apologized.” You softly tell him, watching as the garage door lifts and the car drives out. Sukuna drives with care, not speeding–despite owning a sports car–and abiding by all traffic laws. Which you can say you didn’t think he was the type to.

“You got in the car.” Sukuna rebuts.

You place your hand on the arm rest, turning your body to face away from him, “Yeah, I knew that all you were going to give me was a “please” unless you were touching me. It’s all you’re capable of doing.” It’s a deliberate sentence with a kind and soft voice, it makes Sukuna's chest tighten.

It’s silent for the rest of the ride.

—

You didn’t get the chance to look at Sukuna’s car back at the house, but now that you can, you hate to admit how nice it is. Although, you do find it a bit funny, how his car’s design matches his tattoos. Along with, you know, how the car is literally pink.

Now that, that is a plot twist you truly didn’t see coming.

You want to ask how that came about, or if… it was a personal choice, but the tension from the house is still very much there. Worst of all, to think not even three hours ago you wanted Sukuna and he wanted to fuck you, now the two of you can’t even look at each other.

And you’re supposed to pretend to be this man’s girlfriend.

Sukuna opens the door again, still not looking at you, but offers his hand with grace. You use it to pull yourself out of the car, and let go the moment you’re stable on your feet. You look at the restaurant, “This place looks nice.”

Sukuna doesn’t respond, in fact, he looks anxious. The most anxious you’ve seen him today. His eyes darted from left to right, only to check his phone, then back to looking around again. You wonder if he’s nervous about the “date,” but something’s telling you it isn’t that. He’s been so relaxed about the situation, so why would he start panicking now? It seems out of character for him.

However, when a voice startles you, Sukuna seems to relax at it.

“Be nice to the lady, Sukuna, help her inside.” He scolds, hitting the back of Sukuna’s head. You blink a few times at his appearance. He’s wearing a statement-shirt of a button up, along with black dress pants. It looks a bit silly. “Here, let me help you, darling.” The old man extends his arm to you, it’s a bit shaky and even, but that doesn't deter you.

You give him a kind smile, “Pleasure to meet you, sir.” You hold his arm.

“Oh please, Wasuke is fine.” He reassures you, looking over his shoulder and narrowing his eyes at his son. “Sukuna, I thought I raised you better. Come hold my arm.” He says brashly.

A small laugh escapes your lips, instantly covered your hand as your smile grows wider. That was a bit shocking, you expected Sukuna’s grandpa to be more… like Sukuna. Rude, a bit stoic, and maybe hot. But, he’s none of that. No offense Wasuke, I’m sure you’re an amazing person, you think.

It’s a bit confusing how Sukuna turned out the way he did, but Yuuji is completely different. In fact, he does seem like Wasuke, more happy and silly. Although, unlike Wasuke, Yuuji is pretty hot in his own way. Again, no offense Wasuke, I’m sure you’re an amazing person.

Sukuna shakes his head, moving to Wasuke's side and grabbing his hand. “It’s good to see you again.” He whispers to him, but it’s a bit tense.

“Can’t say the same.” Wasuke says, “Last time I saw you–”

“Shut up.” Sukuna barks, tightening his hand around his arm.

“Don’t worry, I will. I will. Always with the yelling with you.” Wasuke says with a cheeky smile, pulling away from the both of you and entering the restaurant.

Sukuna watches him, before extending his arm to you. You look at it, but turn away, whispering, “I don’t want you touching me right now.” You follow after the old man, seeing he’s already following a server to a table.

Sukuna’s behind you, eyeing the place, “I’ve heard about this place, but it’s a bit too expensive for me to enjoy.” However, the interior design is absolutely stunning, he will give the place that.

You, on the other hand, are absolutely awed, taking in everything the restaurant has to give you. The flooring, roof, lightning, the silver ware, the food, and the dining. It's absolutely stunning, something you’ve never seen in your life.

You feel your eye twitch looking at Sukuna’s back, just how rich is this asshole?

When you get to your booth, you’re already not liking the seating arrangements. Wasuke on the opposite side, while you sit in the corner, Sukuna in the aisle. It’s a bit weird to think, the two of you haven’t really had a real conversation with one another–just an argument–and now the two of you have to pretend to be dating.

Wasuke pulls up the menu, eyeing the food options, Sukuna does the same. You’re still admiring the place, taking in everything as if it was the last time you are ever going to be in this environment, because it kind of is.

Wasuke notices this, eyeing you up and down. “First time at a place like this?” He asks innocently.

You pull your attention away from the restaurant, and to Wasuke, you’re nodding a bit too excitedly. Sukuna softly groans at that in embarrassment, “Yeah, I’ve never… this place is just really nice.”

Wasuke glares at Sukuna, “You’ve never taken your girlfriend out? I thought I raised you better.” He scolds, lifting the back of his hand and making the threatening motion of hitting him. “She should dump you for someone who will care to take her out.”

You look at him slowly, whispering, “And is nice to her…”

Sukuna just looks back at the menu mumbling explicits to himself.

You’re quick to roll your eyes and look at your menu, trying your best to find something that sounds remotely similar to an item you know. When you don’t, you lean close to Sukuna, cup your mouth and whisper, “Can you order steak, or chicken for me.”

Sukuna furrows his eyebrows slightly, “Why can’t you order it yourself.”

“You’re my boyfriend, for one.” You tell him with furrowed brows, “And…” You divert your eyes for a moment, somewhat embarrassed. “...I-I don’t know what a single thing is on this menu. Is it french?”

Sukuna turns away from you, his hand pressing against his mouth. He’s a bit too loud for your liking when saying, “It’s all in English.” You want to pinch him, “Yeah, don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.” He turns back to you, “I’ll order you a salad.”

Your eye twitches at this, and you immediately spit back, “And what are you going to get? The hearts of women and children?” Despite how pissed you may sound, Sukuna picks up the small amusement in your tone.

Sukuna places his hand over his heart, “You know me so well.”

At that, you laugh, but you quickly cover it by biting the inside of his cheek. You hate that he’s a bit funny, just a little bit, though.

“Speaking of which,” Wasuke starts, placing his menu down. “How did the two of you meet?” Both of you pull your faces away from each other–you didn’t notice how close you are to Sukuna–and give him your full attention.

Oh shit, you’re not ready. You’re really not ready, that question makes you deathly aware of how not ready you are to meet anyone’s parents. You give him a short laugh, leaning forward as you feel dread stir in your stomach. “Well, uh, we met–”

“Thanks to the brat Yuuji.” Sukuna cuts you off, but in this scenario, you don’t think it’s rude, you think it’s life saving. “He moved her in without telling me. Although, to be fair, the idiot didn’t tell the girl about me.” Sukuna laughs to himself, “Should’ve seen her face when she first met me, completely hypnotized.”

You gasp at that, “I thought you were Yuuji when we first met, that’s why I was staring.”

“That’s insulting.”

You turn away with a smile on your face, your hand covering your lips. “To Yuuji that is.”

Sukuna snaps his head at you, absolutely livid. “What did your dumbas–”

Wasuke laughs at the both of you, making your childish quarrel come to an end. “Sukuna, you didn’t tell me the girl had spunk.” He looks at his glass, not liking that it is empty. “It’s good you found someone who can keep you in check. That’s good for you.”

You find a sick pleasure in that, “Yeah, Sukuna.”

Sukuna doesn’t have the chance to respond when the waiter comes, they’re dressed in all back, and have a nice smile to them. It’s far more inviting than the restaurant itself. He reaches into his apron, pulling out a small pad and pen, “Should I start rolling out the drinks?”

Wasuke laughs, rubbing his hands together. “Of course, get me something…” His eyes land on your for a moment, “Uh, something sweet. Like champagne.” He leans close to the waiter, “And maybe a couple beers.”

The waiter laughs, nodding his head, “Can I get some ID, from everyone at the table?”

Wasuke and Sukuna instantly reach for their wallets, while you lean over Sukuna and ask the waiter, “Can I get a strawberry lemonade? Do you serve these here?” You’re a bit quiet.

Wasuke gives you a look, “Don’t be like that, have a few drinks with us!” He’s smiling, handing his ID to the waiter, “I see you’re tense, drinks can help you loosen up.” You think that Wasuke is way too laid back for your own comfort.

You tap your finger on the desk, a unsure smile building on your lips, “Uh, I’m not…” You pass him a small laugh once Wasuke’s eyebrow comes up, “..I’m not old enough to drink, sir.”

This makes Wasuke’s smile fall, his eyes snapping to Sukuna. “The hell does she mean by that?” He’s glaring at Sukuna.

“I’m Yuuji’s age.”

Wasuke nods, taking his ID back, “Oh.” He watches Sukuna take his ID back from the waiter, “Weird.” He narrows his eyes at Sukuna, his face twisting into something of a scowl or judgmental look. “Isn’t Yuuji fifteen?... Should I be calling the cops?..”

Sukuna blinks in disbelief at his pops, “Yuuji’s a sophomore… in college?” He points to himself, “I’m a senior in college–how old do you think we are?”

Wasuke leans back, looking at the roof, “Really?” He scratches his cheek in thought, “Huh, I could’ve sworn his fifteenth birthday was just recently.”

Sukuna cups his face, rolling his eyes, “His nineteenth birthday was back in March, it’s November.” The waiter places the drinks on the table, and immediately Sukuna is taking a big drink. “You old forgetful geezer.”

You laugh at that, grabbing a straw and taking an equally big drink of your lemonade. “Yuuji is very much fifteen in my eyes,” You tell Wasuke, “But, aren’t we all teenage adults at heart?” You push your drink away from you, turning to the waiter again.

He’s quick with asking for your orders, and you quickly feel foreign to the situation. Wasuke asks for something you don’t even want to attempt to repeat, then Sukuna comes up with another word you didn’t know existed. This has to be a different language.

You whisper to Sukuna when he’s done ordering, “Is this rich people shit?” You narrow your eyes at him, “Are you trying to show me up right now?”

Sukuna gives you a questioning look, “I didn’t pick the place, remember?”

“So,” Wasuke calls your name, trying to gain your attention, “Tell me about yourself, what are you majoring in?”

You drum your fingers against your lap, feeling your anxiety rise a bit. “Well, I’m majoring in Kinesiology, and I plan to go further into my education to become a physical therapist.” You play with your ring, “It’s nothing too interesting.” Sukuna’s looking at you, but you don’t pass him a glance.

Wasuke nods to himself, “I don’t think I can even say that word. Looks like you caught yourself a smart one.” He cooed at Sukuna, smiling widely at him. “But tell me, dear, why did you want to become a physical therapist? Seems oddly specific.”

You hesitate, Sukuna notices this. “Uh, it’s because… I just want to help people.” Sukuna notices how your hand twitches towards his side, but you instantly pull away. Wasuke notices it too, in fact, he passes Sukuna a look addressing it.

This is what Sukuna is trying to avoid, touching you, but it looks like now that he’s not comforting you, it is making Wasuke suspicious. His mentality groans to himself, “C’mere…” He whispers to you, pulling you close while his hands rest atop of yours. You slid your hand away from his back into your lap.

Wasuke takes a sip of his drink, noticing how quick you are to pull away. “Is anyone in your family working in that profession, or something similar.”

You are completely tense at that. You pass an uncomfortable laugh, “Uh.. well…”

“She doesn’t like talkin’ about her family.” Sukuna tells Wasuke, “Ask her another question.”

Wait, I never told Sukuna that? You’ve only told Yuuji, how would Sukuna know that? Wait, was he watching you that one time you and Yuuji were having breakfast? Most importantly…

Sukuna remembers?

You bite the inside of your cheek, leaning into Sukuna ever so slightly, “It’s okay.” You turn to look at him, passing him a kind smile, “It’s your grandpa, I can trust him.” Sukuna, a bit shocked by your kind tone, nods and pulls back slightly. “My mom experiences paralysis in her face, which is really painful for her. I wanted to learn how to help her in any way I can, and help people who experience something similar.”

Which is everything simplified. You don’t have the strength to go into the real heart of the situation. It’s a bit too fresh and painful to think about, it’s something you don’t even like to think about. Sometimes, you like to imagine that becoming a physical therapist was something you developed a weird obsession with back in your youth.

Wasuke nods, “That’s awfully sweet of you, it’s always nice to be close to your family.” He smiles kindly at you, “It’s going to be nice to know when you’re in time of need, you’ll be surrounded by people who love you.”

That makes you smile, that’s a nice way to look at it. “Yeah, I agree.” You turn to the window, seeing that your seating was right in front of his pink parked car. Your eyebrows furrow as you concentrate on the design, then quickly look at Sukuna’s face, seeing that his tattoos perfectly match his car.

You take a sip of your drink, eyes skimming up and down his face, before you ask, “Sukuna, how did your tattoos come about?” You’re tempted to pinch his face softly, “Don’t face tattoos hurt?...”

“You haven’t told her?!” Wasuke says a bit too enthusiastically, “And how long have the two of you been together?”

“A week.” You mumble to yourself.

“A month.” Sukuna covers with his much more confident voice, you’re thankful for that.

Wait, you’re on a fake date with someone you met only a week ago? And there’s already this much drama between you two? Damn, you feel sorry for the girl who decides to wear the ring Sukuna picks out for her.

“Oh, I can’t wait to witness this.” Wasuke says, leaning back in his chair, grabbing his beer and getting comfortable.

Sukuna groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can we skip this part of dinner?”

You shake your head frantically, “No, don’t even start. C’mon, babe, tell me.” There’s a shit eating grin on your face, “Don’t hurt my feelings in front of your grandpa, ‘Kuna.” What you’re really saying is, if you don’t tell me you’ll look suspicious.

Sukuna wants to absolutely whip that devilish smirk off your face, but keeps his composure. “It happened when I was sixteen–”

“You got them when you were sixteen?!” You’re absolutely flabbergasted. You just take another sip of your–shit, when did you finish it?

“Exactly what I thought.” Wasuke backs you up. “I didn’t know it was possible for a sixteen year old to get tattoos, but apparently if there’s a will there’s a way.” He takes a sip of his drink, before excitedly sitting up and saying, “Tell her the reason, too.”

Sukuna gestures to the waiter, before biting the inside of his cheek, staring daggers at Wasuke, “I…” He sighs, leaning his head back as one of his hands comes to the top of his temple. “I got a tattoo because I thought I looked too much like Yuuji… and I thought they were really cool.”

Sukuna doesn’t hear a reaction from you, which makes his stomach turn uncomfortably. However, he isn’t expecting to see the absolutely horrid face you’re making at him desperately trying not to laugh.

“I didn’t know it was that deep.” For some reason, you are your own tipping point, making you turn away and laugh into your hand. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You whisper to him, quickly straightening up, “This is serious.”

“He acts like it is one of his biggest trophies.” Wasuke says with an eyeroll, “The boy was on the honor roll, state champion for football, played five instruments–did mock trial! And his biggest trophy is his tattoos.”

“It is!” He barks back.

You smile, admiring Sukuna’s face for a moment. “Sounds like you had an emo phase, babe.” You try your best not to laugh at the ugly glare he’s giving you right now.

Wasuke laughs with you, a subtle blush on his cheeks. “Yeah, that’s what I thought…” He slightly slurs at Sukuna, “That’s not it… for his birthday, I got him that really nice car there.” He points at the car with his beer, “Since those tattoos were done behind my back, I got it done behind his back.” He smiles to himself proudly, “Now, Sukuna’s got to drive a pink car with tattoos around town.”

You give Sukuna a look, one that reads into so many things. Sukuna’s just glaring at you, clearly pissed at the memory. You shrug your shoulders, tilting your head to the side while weighing your hands back and forth, “C’mon, that’s… that's kinda’ funny.”

“Is it?” He asks you.

“Absolutely.”

The waiter is putting down your food, and you mentally sigh in relief noticing your dish was something significantly more identifiable compared to everyone else's. It’s chicken. Smells good, too. You also notice how Sukuna grabs your empty cup, and hands it to the waiter for a full one. Did he ask for one for you? Or, did the waiter just notice you finished your drink?

Probably the latter. Unless Sukuna’s just really good at noticing the small things.

Yet, you’re hesitant to eat, can you eat this with your hands? Or, do you have to use a fork and knife like Sukuna? Sukuna notices your hesitation, and snorts to himself. Whispering, “Don’t be a caveman.”

Okay, rude way to answer, but an answer nonetheless. There’s a bit of silence while the three of you take your initial bites, which seems to follow as you continue with your meal.

“You guys sure act like strangers.” Wasuke comments thoughtfully.

“We’ve only been together for a month, give me a fuckin’ break.” Sukuna groans, cutting into his—what you think is—steak. “God knows I don’t get one at home.” He whispers underneath his breath.

As much as you want to call him out for his small remark and ask him loudly, ‘What the hell do you mean by that?’ You realize that question is literally the answer to your question. But, to be fair, when he pulls shit like that, why should you?

“You give him crap?” Wasuke asks between bites.

You press your lips together, “Depends on what he’s done.” Like earlier. Sukuna immediately passes you a nasty glare, practically sawing into his meat.

“See, she’s good for you Sukuna, you need someone to put you in check.” Wasuke leans back, tapping his belly in contentment. “Lord knows I didn’t do enough when you were growing up.”

Sukuna’s eye twitches, “Old bastard—“

“Can you be a good grandson, and go to my car and get my wallet.” Wasuke says, “I plan on paying for this meal, but if you insist. I can let you pay.” He reaches into his pockets and holds the keys for Sukuna.

“You don’t pay me enough for that shit.” Sukuna snatches the keys from his hand. But, before he can leave in a huff, he realizes exactly what his old man is trying to do. He bites the inside of his cheek, shit. “Actually, it’s fine, I’ll pay.” He looks at you for a brief moment. He’s silently telling you something.

“Go get my wallet, son.”

In that instant, you realize what Wasuke is doing, too. You stand up, waving your hand reassuringly as you say, “Oh, I can go, I’m sure—“

“Don’t be an ass, don’t make your lady walk, Sukuna.” Wasuke says with a frown, “I mean, you care about her right? Wouldn’t want to put her through that.”

Sukuna slowly nods, hiding his emotions as best as he can. “Right. Wouldn’t want to do that to her.” Yet, when he walks out the restraint, you can’t help but notice how big his steps are.

Sukuna’s rushing.

You feel your stomach burst with the wrong type of butterflies. Crap, this isn’t good. You grab your pink lemonade, trying to distract yourself with a hearty sip.

“Okay, stop bullshiting me.” Wasuke starts, “Tell me what’s really going on?”

You choke on your pink lemonade, instantly covering your mouth and turning away from him. “W-What?.. What makes you say that?” You cover a cough with your hand, drinking more water to see if that would help.

“Sukuna doesn’t date people. He has the emotional intelligence of a five year old.” Wasuke tells you with a bored expression, “And I promise you, the little turd was worse when he was given to me with Yuuji.”

You pass him a sheepish smile, “O-Oh, what gave it away?” Should you have given in that easily? Should you have fought a bit harder to convince Wasuke? I mean, there’s no point right, he already knows.

“He looks at you differently.” Wasuke looks to the side, “Well, he looks at you differently then he would a woman he was with for a month. And I know, I met an actual girlfriend of that length back his freshman year.” He chuckles remembering, “Much more admiration and less forced emotions.”

Fuck you too, Sukuna.

You blink at him a bit estranged, “Really? I didn’t take him as the dating type.” You lean back in your chair, “I mean, before we even got here I told him off for being mean to me.” You roll your eyes, “And he still expected me to come help him with a problem he created, the jerk.”

“Yet, you’re still here.” Wasuke inquires.

You huff, “Yeah, I guess.”

“Why?”

You hesitate for a moment, “I… I don’t know.” You blink a few times, looking at your hands, the jewelry catching in the light. Should you be telling him this? Is this okay?

Wasuke nods, silently telling you to continue.

Maybe he’s the best person to tell this too, you take a deep breath. “He yelled at me to get in the car, but when I told him to apologize, he took a moment to breathe, and politely asked me to get in the car.” Wasuke nods intently, silently telling you to continue. “I knew I wasn’t going to get an apology for how he treated me, and I still know I’m not, but that was the first time he’d ever soften like that, you know?”

You shakily sigh, “It was better than nothing, and despite how mad I was at him, I still appreciated the small force he pushed himself to calm down and reword himself. It shows improvement, and that was good. I appreciate it.” You really appreciated it, actually.

Wasuke smiles slightly, “Sukuna is a…” He sighs, “He’s a weird kid, to say the least. But he’s a good kid.” He smiles, readjusting himself in his seat, “I once saw him crying over a dead fly.” He narrows his eyes at that memory, “Although that could be a bad example, he was crying over not being the one to kill it.” Wasuke thoughtfully thinks to himself.

You loudly laugh, cupping your mouth, “Wasuke, that sounds like a serial killer in the making, not a good kid.” You gasp at your words, “Oh—I.. I swear I didn’t mean that! Just slipped..” Although, your worries quickly fade away to Wasuke’s shaky belly laugh.

“Oh yeah, definitely, That kid needs to be on a watch list.” Wasuke tells you, taking a sip of his drink. “One time, I got a call from the police department, assumed the worst, number one thing being arson.” Your jaw drops at this, “Turns out it was Yuuji and Sukuna, Yuuji got his feelings caught up with a classmate, Sukuna came and finished the fight.”

That’s cute. You smile at this, lightly tapping your finger on your glass, “Seems like the two of them used to be very close.”

Wasuke nods, “The only thing that gave them away was their height. So, it shocked the hell out of me when one of them came home with tattoos.” He chuckles to himself, “I used to joke that they were the same person. Sukuna, some weird spiteful spirit cursing his cheerful younger brother.”

You press your lips together, “What happened?” You slightly cringe at your sentence, “Well, I don’t mean to pry, I just—they seem very… tense with each other. More so than normal siblings.” You would know, you have your own.

Wasuke looks to the side, sighing softly, “Their parents… They gave them to me, and never came back. Yuuji was young when it happened, and to protect him, I just said they passed. Sukuna… knew the truth, and it absolutely crushed him.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have—“

“Don’t worry. I’m sure one of them will tell you more about it later.” He waves off, “Besides, Sukuna seems to like you. Although, not as much as his other girlfriend from freshman year.” He jokes.

You roll your eyes with a playful smile, looking at the entrance of the restaurant as if Sukuna were standing there. “No. I mean, I think he likes me, but in a college boy way. He doesn’t like-like me.” Wait, is that weird to say toward an old man? Especially since that old man is Sukuna’s grandpa. “You know what I mean?”

“No. He looks at you… in a way I’ve never seen before.” Wasuke gives you a crooked smile, “Like the fly.”

You laugh, but it’s not for long.

“Probably ‘cause I hate her.” Sukuna butts in while looking at you, “What did the old geezer tell you?” Sukuna sips on his wine, about to wipe his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

You grab his wrist, stropping him from dirtying his clothing. “How you commit arson as a hobby, babe.” You say, grabbing a napkin and pressing it on his lips. “Without me, more specifically.” You notice the expression he’s giving you, it’s a bit… dumbfounded. It’s cute.

But, one thing is running through Sukuna’s mind. She’s touching me.

Sukuna rolls his eyes and turns away from you, his shoulders bouncing up once. You’re a bit thankful to have that one-on-one with Wasuke, it made you feel far more comfortable then when you first arrived. Especially now that Sukuna is less tense as well.

“Well.” Wasuke extends his arm, grabbing the wallet from Sukuna. “I guess this means the meal has finally come to an end.”

Sukuna sighs in relief, finally.

—

Wasuke insists on walking you and Sukuna to his car, and despite Sukuna’s denial, he follows anyway. Making small conversation with you, which you can’t help but laugh at.

When everyone reaches Sukuna’s car, you can’t help but feel a bit bummed. You didn’t mind Wasuke, not at all. Such a shame this is going to be the last time you see him. Maybe, Yuuji will invite him to the house sometime, or invite you to family gatherings with him. Sukuna’s far off the table from those options, but definitely not exiled from them.

Wasuke sighs, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Well, I hope I see you for Christmas. I’ll even get a gift for your troubles.” He shrugs, turning over his shoulder, “I know how much of a handful Sukuna is.”

Wasuke words stick to you, touching you in a way. He knows the truth, but still wants to see more of you and Sukuna. That makes you feel a bit giddy, you hate that, but you love it, too. You giggle, nodding your head, “I hope to see you soon, too.” You bow your head slightly, “It was really nice meeting you, Wasuke.”

Wasuke waves you off, “Yeah, I guess you were okay.” He looks at Sukuna, and points an accusing finger at him. “Hey, don’t mess this up. I like her, and you do too. Don’t be an idiot and do something you’ll regret.”

Sukuna waves him off, entering his car with a huff as he says, “I won’t.” You’re quick to enter with him, gasping at how low the seats are. You apparently didn’t notice last time, but to be fair, you were pissed. Emotions can distract you at face value, clearly.

As soon as the door closes behind you, Sukuna tells you, “You’re not going to see him. I hope you know that.” He places his keys in the cup hold, placing his hands on the steering wheel.

The engine roars to life, “I know.” You reply boredly, again turning to face the window. “Let a girl dream.” You whisper.

“Not about being my girlfriend.” Sukuna’s quick with his response, “That isn’t a good dream.” That doesn’t sound like rejection, but it doesn’t sound inviting either.

You nod anyway, “I agree.”

There’s silence, it’s not uncomfortable, but you’re still the one to break it. “Did I do good?” You’re still looking outside, your body turned along with your gaze.

Sukuna looks at you for a brief moment, before the road. He takes a moment to say, “Do you want me to praise you?” He’s whispering, and you’ve grown to like anytime he whispers. It’s comforting. You just nod.

Sukuna rolls his eyes, shaking his head slightly. “Sure.”

They’re quick, and a bit forced, but his words still make your chest flutter a bit.

It’s back to silence again, and you can’t help but notice the slight drizzle hitting his windshield. “And, about the whole family thing, I didn’t know that.” His voice is quiet, but not a whisper.

You're a bit shocked Sukuna is the one who broke the silence this time, but you don’t mind it. “Yeah, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it, just to make it more believable, right?” Which didn’t seem to work in the end since Wasuke figured you out anyways.

“I feel..” Sukuna groans slightly, “Ugh, that’s shitty, it sucks.”

You shake your head, placing your forehead on the window. Loving how the cool surface feels against your skin. He feels bad for you, that’s what he's trying to say. It doesn't make you feel too good. “Don’t be, it’s not your fault.”

“No, I mean...” Sukuna bites the inside of his cheek, stopping at a red light. “I’m sorry.”

You instantly turn to him, your eyes blinking in shock. “I—I said it wasn’t your fault, don’t think about it.” You wave him off, about to look back outside. You’re tone growing a bit more incentive, you want to drop the topic.

Sukuna shakes his head, “No, about the…” Sukuna is tapping his steering wheel a bit anxiously. It makes you uneasy to see. “The stupid fuckin’ garage.” His eyebrows are furrowed.

You blink a few times, your chest flutters with those words, your lips parting ever so slightly. “Wh-What?” You’re looking at him with a dumbfounded look.

“Don’t fuckin’ make me say it twice.” Sukuna says brashly.

You stare at him for a moment, before a comforting sigh leaves your mouth, you can’t help but pass Sukuna a small smile. Sukuna doesn’t smile back, but he does see you smile, you know he can see you smiling at him. Which is more than enough for you.

Sukuna’s words comfort you for the next week, too. Just knowing that the two of you are going to be so close for such an extended period of time. A part of you is dreading it, now, you feel a bit more relaxed. It’s nice.

At least you won’t be going into the week absolutely hating each other.

You turn back to the window, elbow propped on the arm rests while your hand supports your head. This time, your body facing the dashboard.

Next Chapter: Ch. 4 - Project Week.

Tags!: @openup-yourmind, @sherlock-holmes-jr, @maskedpacific,

#Silent Love: Sukuna x Reader #jjk x you #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk #jujutsu ryomen #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen yuuji #sukuna x y/n #sukuna smut #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #sukuna #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #jujutsu sukuna #jjk x reader smut #sukuna x reader smut

208 notes · View notes

moonchildstyles · 2 years

Text

neglect

harrys in an unhappy marriage and didn't realize he was missing so much sunlight until y/n came in

cw: toxic relationship? idk harry's wife isn't nice:(

wordcount: 13.5k+

—————

"Bye, honey. Love you."

Harry didn't realize he had his hopes up for a reciprocated response until nothing came. Minerva left though the door with nothing more than a wave tossed over her shoulder, eyes glued to her phone with a smile that wasn't for him on her lips. He didn't know the last time she said I love you back.

Heaving a sigh that lifted his shoulders before deflating into a slump, Harry locked the front door after his wife as the start of his day alone.

It'd been two weeks since he lost his job in the third round of layoffs his office (ex-office?) was going through. It had been heartbreaking for Harry, having given almost a decade of his life—he was just months short of his ten year anniversary, actually—to this job; having given up on his dreams, and sacrificing time with his family all throughout those years. It all had been thrown away after one bad investor's meeting, leaving him with a measly severance package and a generic goodbye card left on his desk on his last day. As if that day couldn't get any lower, when Minerva finally came home and Harry sat her down to tell her the news, she barely looked up from the ping that lit up her phone screen.

"That's what happens when you stay with a failing company, Harry. You should have been paying more attention."

With that, she had left him to sit alone at the dining room table, his head in his hands as he tried not to let tears fall from his eyes. She always said he was too sensitive, crying would only serve to make her more annoyed with him.

Since then, he had all day long to shop around his resume online and through networking channels, only to field rejection emails by the end of the day. Minerva offered no support, only giving small hums or "I told you so" when she bothered to answer at all when he told her about his day over dinner. It broke his heart.

While their marriage hadn't been anything close to perfect for a very long time (Harry didn't think it really ever had been, the more he thought about it), this was the worst it'd ever been. Minerva was always the harder one out of the two of them, which worked for a long time. It was all about balance, Harry remembered thinking back when they first moved in together after getting engaged. He was the soft one that cried watching romantic movies, and she was the one that would scoff at the logistics and talk about how unrealistic the stories were. She preferred horror with unhappy endings.

It worked, until it didn't.

Something changed after those first months of living together. Since then, Harry had been trying to play catch-up to get on the same page as her, but she seemed to be chapters ahead by the time he was even going in the right direction. His degree was never good enough, his dreams of being a songwriter or music producer were too silly to even entertain, and his family didn't support them enough. By the time he realized Minerva didn't even like him much anymore, let alone love him, he was left with a broken heart.

But, even when he suggested counseling or even one of those couple's retreats that offered hands-on help, she shut him down immediately. That was all hippie shit he should have grown out of after they graduated college, she told him. It was her that brought up divorce, the word that had all but split Harry in half when it hung in the air between them, only for her to shut it down and tell him it wasn't an option as far as she was concerned—it would look bad for her to be a divorcee while she was still trying to climb the corporate ladder. Maybe after she made it to the executive level, she mused, if he still felt this way anyway.

Harry did the only thing he felt he could: pretend everything was normal. If he wanted any chance of not losing his mind, sinking into a depression that he feared he would be unable to climb out of, he had to fall into the motions of loving her. He woke her up with breakfast ready before they'd leave for work—before he lost his job, of course—, telling her goodbye with a kiss to the cheek and hollow declaration of love that he still felt hurt by every time he didn't hear her say it back. When he made it home before her, he'd clean up the house, sorting through bills and mail, and get dinner ready, giving himself just enough time to slip back into his steeled character by the time she came through the front door and ignored him.

But, Harry had always told himself it could be much worse—he was still lucky in some senses of the word, even if some nights he had to search hard for those moments—, and right he was about that. He was currently living through the worst it had ever been, moping around the house and feeling more down on himself than he knew was healthy for the fragile grip he had on his composure.

As anxiety inducing as it all was (was finding a job always this hard or was he really as unimpressive as Minerva said he was?), the free time did allow him to work on projects he'd pushed to the side in favor of his nine-to-five. The attic had been successfully cleaned out and reorganized for the first time since moving in, the walls in the basement finally painted the eggshell blue Minerva picked out years ago, and the garage was spic-and-span. The last couple of days, he'd dedicated his time to maintaining the garden out front as well as the backyard, something he'd found himself enjoying more than any of the previous items on the honey-do list he was working through. His mom had always loved gardening, so he felt a lot closer to home when he plodded through the soil with fresh sprouts.

After spending the first hour of the morning sending out his resume to a fleet of job postings and rifling through his email in hopes of getting anything back about a possible interview, he got changed for his day in the sun. He picked a white tank top with red stitching on the side declaring him as loved (though he didn't always feel that way) to adorn his torso with a pair of black shorts covering his thighs though his knee tattoos were left on display. Pulling his hair back with a tiny clip that left a sprout of hair fluffed on the top of his head, Harry slipped on a pair of large burgundy sunglasses before heading out the front door.

Headphones plugged in his ears, he grabbed his supplies he'd left on the porch, fitting his hands into the pair of sturdy gloves he'd dug out when he cleaned the garage. Along the porch railing was the row of flowers he planned on shoveling into the soil, their planters barely containing the rich blooms rooted inside. The furling petals brought a smile to his face as he got to his knees near the plot of yard that had previously been nothing other than mulch and dandelions. Maybe having a garden out front might sweeten Minerva's sour mood if he did it just right.

Tucking into the soil with the tools he had to reach out to his mom to verify were the right ones for the job, Harry started planting his rose garden. Green bushes with barely there blooms began to line the porch, making the tiny, white picket railing seem that might brighter against the rich hues of the buds. He was lost in his head, humming along to the music playing through his headphones as he built his garden, lavender and candy floss pinks joining his roses as the perfect growing companions.

He didn't know how long he'd been out under the sun until he heard the faint sound of a car running behind him, the thrumming earning a glance over his shoulder. For a split second, he'd worried it was Minerva, home early. He had a feeling she wouldn't be happy to see him tending to the garden, tending to something they could have just hired someone to take care of if he'd been smarter about his career path. Instead, it was the car of the not-so-new neighbor that had moved in next door less than a year ago.

A smile stretched across his face as he peered at her concentrated face through the tint of her window, a furrow to her brow as she navigated parking in the driveway. A breath of relief slumped her shoulders when she did so without incident; Harry understood, he'd seen her patching dings on her car too many times to count since she'd moved in. A clumsy driver, she was.

Harry plucked out his earbud as he sat back on his heels while she rifled through her car for a moment longer before stepping out onto the driveway. A bright smile covered her features as soon as she matched Harry's gaze, lifting his spirits higher than they'd been all day. A bubbly wave tinkled her fingers.

"Hi, Harry!" she chattered out, hiking her bag up her shoulder as she lingered on the concrete.

"Hi, (Y/N)," he reciprocated, his voice coming out a lot dreamier than he anticipated.

"Your garden looks really nice," she beamed at him, toeing the ground with her teeth sinking into the plush of her bottom lip.

"Yeah?" Harry asked, knowing his entire face lit up at the praise, "'M not done yet, but 'm really liking how it's turning out."

"I'm excited to see what it looks like when you have it all together, then," she offered, edging towards the open garage to head inside, "I'll see you around, Harry."

"Bye," he told her, his voice carrying along with her as she went out of view.

His gaze lingered in the spot he swore he saw a phantom of her form still. Even at the sound of the garage door closing signaling he was well and truly alone, Harry could still feel the effects of her presence, no matter how minute the interaction was. Plugging his headphone back in his ear, he went back to his work though he barely made note of anything he was doing.

He liked (Y/N). Probably more than he should.

She was just so sweet, enough so that her attention could make Harry blush. Even the first time they met, he remembered wishing he could have spent more time with her as she flitted about the neighborhood block party. She was a wonderful neighbor, always so considerate even though her roommate was very partial to a late night party now that they'd finally moved into an actual house after a spread of dodgy apartments through their college and some post-grad years (he'd overheard that during the block party). Minerva never seemed to like her much, though. She called her nosy, always talking to their neighbors, and attention-seeking with the way she supposedly paraded around the subdivision in her workout gear while taking her roommate's dog for a walk.

Harry couldn't disagree more when his wife went off on her dislike for their neighbor, but it was something he had to keep to himself. Minerva would have his head if he defended (Y/N) the way he wanted to—with more than a shrug and "she's not like that, honey". Besides, he worried that if he truthfully spoke about how good he felt she was, that his little crush on her would turn into something more troublesome. He already had too many things going on inside his house, he didn't need to add the guilt of something more than a small crush on a nice girl worming it's way into his head.

And, he cared for Minerva, still. Right? If he didn't, he would have insisted on getting a divorce and wouldn't worry so hard about what would make her happy with him. (Y/N) was a constant, happy presence in his life, even if their interactions were spread apart and only lasting some minutes here and there. Of course, he would get attached to the pretty girl who spared him attention and gave him praise without a second-thought. That didn't mean anything, though.

Even with the way his heart skipped a beat at the thought of his neighbor, Harry reminded himself of his reality. He was a married man, someone who cared for his wife and would continue to be a good husband to her until he signed his name on the dotted line. (Y/N) would always be nothing more than a nice friend. That's all.

—————

Harry sighed as he sank to his knees in his garden. Looking at all of his hardwork, he felt his heart break when he recalled Minerva's attitude the night before.

She hated it.

A waste of his time, she'd said. How was he supposed to find a respectable job when he was too busy with dirt up to his elbows doing a job fit for 'the help'? He had been floored when he heard her, but snapped his mouth shut as soon as she rolled her eyes and stomped upstairs, disregarding the dinner he had set out on the table.

Looking at the bushel of lavender that still needed to be planted as well as the border that needed to be filled with his candy floss pinks, Harry didn't feel the same joy he had the day before. He probably could be a lot more useful browsing the job sites, checking in on his network connections again. If he tried hard enough, dedicated himself enough, he would get a response, right?

His only saving grace was the music playing through his headphones, pushing him out of his head and into whatever the writer was urging him to feel with every beat and sprawled lyric. Music was everything to Harry. Way back when, he even had dreams of becoming a songwriter, or producing tracks and working in a studio—anything to put him in the industry. But that was years ago, before he was married and had to stop being so selfish with his dreams. Minerva wanted something better for him, so he had to let that go.

Concentrating on the notes that filtered through his headphones, Harry was finally pushed out of his head and back into the moment. He would finish the garden, then go inside and job hunt some more, he decided.

The sun was especially warm on his back today, soaking into the black fabric of his t-shirt (a bad choice in hindsight, he realized as soon as he checked the high temperature on his phone). Sweat dripped from his hairline as he dug into the soft soil lining his front porch, following the line of his nose before dropping into the dirt. If he was lucky, he would beat out a sunburn and leave with a tan coloring his skin, but the more he soaked in the heat, Harry didn't feel good about his chances.

By the time only a half of the candy floss had been planted along the border, the neckline of his top was drenched in sweat and Harry was running out of the motivation to finish his project. It wasn't until he felt a soft hand nudge at his shoulder did he look up from the flowers he was plotting in the ground. That definitely wasn't Minerva, he knew that much before looking over his shoulder. She never touched him that gently anymore.

Sitting back on his heels, pushing his sunglasses into the mass of hair on the top of his head, Harry turned onto only to see (Y/N) clad in her workout gear with her arms cradling snacks.

He was quick to pull his earbud from his ear, looking to her with a shaky smile he hoped didn't embarrass him any more than the sweaty state she'd caught him in. "H-Hi, (Y/N)."

"Hey," she greeted him with a bubbly smile, warmer than the heat clouding the air, "Looking really good, Harry."

His mouth went dry as he processed her words. "Wh-What?"

"Your garden," she clarified, nudging her chin in the direction behind him, "It's looking really good. Almost done?"

"Oh, yeah. Thank you," he blinked, rolling his lips between his teeth as he granted himself a reprieve of following her line of sight to his blooms. She made him so nervous it was hard to look at her. "Only a little more to go, so I should be finishing up today."

"You've been at it all morning, I'm surprised you haven't passed out with how hot it is," (Y/N) continued, huffing out a laugh through a soft smile, "I just came back from walking my roommate's dog and made some snacks and lemonade, so I thought I'd come over and share, if you wanted any?"

Dropping his gaze to her hands, he found a paper plate with a bagel covered in cream cheese, and a handful of dried cranberries. In the crook of her elbow, a small, chilled water bottle was cradled.

A smile crooked his lips as he gazed at her.

Cute.

"Thank you, (Y/N)," he said, twisting in his spot so he could properly face her, "Y'didn't have to."

"It's alright," she beamed, offering him the refreshments with an outstretched hand, "I was already making my own, so I thought I'd make some for you, too."

It was simple, what she brought out for him, but even just a single sip of the sugary lemonade was enough to have Harry's heart bloating. He couldn't remember the last time someone thought about him so considerately.

"No, this is really kind of you, (Y/N)," he cemented, looking up at her from where he sat in his yard, trying his best to keep his gaze from going too soft, "Please, let me know if there's anything I can do for you, ever. You've been so nice to me ever since y'moved in, I want to pay y'back somehow."

"Harry, really, it's alri—"

"Humor me? Please?" She was giving him undeserved kindness, and he didn't want to take advantage of her.

The way her features softened as she looked down at him, hair messy on the top of her head and face glowing with the dew of a fresh workout, had Harry's heart clawing at his chest. She was looking at him like that. How lucky was he?

"Alright, I'll let you know, okay? I'm sure something will come up soon enough; I don't know if you've noticed with the amount of times I've accidentally backed into my garage door, but I'm not great about not breaking things. Be prepared with the amount of help I'll be needing now that you've offered, Harry." Faux seriousness covered her features as she pointed an accusing finger at him, thought her facade was cracking with the curl of her lips and the soft set of her eyes.

"I'll be ready, promise," he beamed up at her, pleased with the way she bit back her smile like she was afraid of how big it would grow if she didn't.

She lingered for a moment longer, her tender gaze dropping for her feet before she matched his gaze again. "I should probably get back to the dog—he doesn't like to be alone for long—, but, I'll come by if I need anything, Harry."

"O-okay," he breathed out, catching a flutter in his heart at the sound of his name wrapped in her voice, "I'll be here."

Her grin widened at his small joke as she edged back towards her home. With a little wave, she was on her way, Harry watching her the entire time.

When he saw her twist to look over her shoulder, he felt silly for a moment to have been caught staring, but then she spoke: "Tell Minerva I said hi, too, please! I haven't seen her in so long!"

It was the genuine smile on her face that had his heart dropping to his stomach. He kept quiet as he gave a confirming nod, waiting for her to disappear back inside her home before he dropped his gaze.

She was a sweet, sweet, sweet girl who wanted him to say hello to his wife for her—the same woman that would smear mud across (Y/N)'s name at any given chance. She saw the best in everyone, even people who didn't deserve that rose-tinted view. She was much too good for him, he knew that much. Much too good to have a married man become infatuated with the idea of her.

—————

Clicking out of his email, Harry ran a heavy hand through his hair.

Nothing. Not a single response to all of his cover letters, tailored resumes, and followups.

He knew in the grand scheme of things that four weeks really wasn't that long to be unemployed, but sitting in this house all day long, waiting for his wife to come home with whatever jeering remarks she stewed over all day, felt like years of torture. There wasn't anything else to fix up in the house that could distract him for hours on end; the gardens in both the front and back were planted and well maintained now, the garage still tidy, attic still clean and clear, and he'd even fixed that leaky faucet in the guest bathroom Minerva had been complaining about since they moved in. What else was there to do but marinate in his own short-comings and make himself go mad until it was time to make dinner?

Slumping into the couch cushions, Harry tried to distract himself by flicking on the television, hoping to find something to take his mind off of the replay of last night's silent dinner with Minerva. Sometimes he couldn't figure out what hurt more: her silence or her deprecating words that broke him down?

Just as he found a daytime soap he remembered his mother tuning into, a quiet knock rang at the front door. He didn't make a move to answer it, assuming it was some delivery service dropping off something Minerva had ordered or a door-to-door solicitor that would be smart to get out of this neighborhood before one of the more haughty neighbors reamed him for doing his job. But, when another round of the soft rapping came, he dared to peek his head through the gauzy curtains and glimpse at the visitor.

It was (Y/N).

From the limited view he had, he could see the way she was glancing back and forth from his front door and to her house, toeing anxiously at the ground with her phone clutched in her hand. Today was her day off, he remembered that (don't ask him how, he knew it wasn't something he needed to remember but he couldn't help his memory), only emphasized by the comfy shorts she had on her legs and the large t-shirt that was much too cold to be wearing so early in the morning without a sweater.

It was that one peek at her that had him rising from his spot on the couch and rushing towards the front door. By the time he twisted the locks and pulled the door open, (Y/N) was reluctantly stepping off the porch with her phone pressed to her ear. As soon as she saw Harry in the threshold, she ended her call with a sigh of relief.

"Harry," she breathed, hands falling to her sides, "I was so worried you were at work, or something."

"Is everything alright? Are y'okay?" He didn't even realize he was scanning over her form for injuries until he met her gaze from where it had drawn down to her feet.

"Yeah, yeah," she nodded, toeing at the ground as she glanced towards her house, "I just... You said you would be willing to help me if I needed anything, right?"

"Yes, of course," he affirmed, a furrow pinching at his brows.

"So," she started, looking guilty already, "I was about to go take a shower, but I think I broke it."

"Broke what?"

"The shower."

Harry blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Its..." she started again, scrunching her nose as she tried to find the words, "I don't know, it's just not working and I don't know what happened."

"Okay," Harry said slowly, passing a hand through his hair as he stepped onto the porch, shutting the door behind him, "I'll take a look and see if I can help."

"Thank you so much, Harry," (Y/N) babbled, relief touching at her features, "My roommate is going to kill me if I break one more thing in the house."

"Yeah?" he pressed, a lopsided smile tugging at his lips with a dimple pressing into his cheek, "Have y'been breaking a lot of stuff then?"

(Y/N) rolled her eyes as she started across the lawn with Harry following after. "I don't think so, but Mitch swears that I broke the panini press, the wifi-thing, the ice maker, and I somehow, apparently, fucked up the coffee table, or something. I think he's just dramatic and doesn't pay attention when he's using things, but whatever."

A smile bloomed across his features as he listened to her list off every appliance and piece of furniture that could be in a house. Now, including a shower (whatever that exactly meant) on that list.

Humming, he nodded his head, "Do y'think he breaks it and tries to blame it on you, or something?" Harry wouldn't like that. (Y/N) didn't deserve a roommate like that.

"No," she waved off, pushing open the unlocked front door before letting Harry in ahead of her, "he's not like that. I just think some of the things we have are old, so of course they stop working or break, and he knows he didn't do it so he thinks it's me. But, I think it's just the universe."

"I see," Harry smiled, stepping into her home.

While it was a shared space, he could still spot the (Y/N)-esque touches littered throughout the living room; a soft knitted blanket in creamy tones thrown across the back of the deep green couch, a bookcase spotted with novels he'd heard her reference to her friends in the neighborhood along with little crystals and delicate trinkets, and photos framed on the wall with her beaming smile lighting up the setting. Everything looked worn and loved, handed down from relatives or second-hand shops—nothing at all like the stiff decor and furniture that Minerva had picked out from a catalogue exactly as it was. It looked like a home.

"It's the upstairs bathroom, if you wanted to follow me," (Y/N) explained, stopping him from wandering out into the space to see what it would feel like to wrap himself in things that were (Y/N).

"Right, the shower," he murmured under his breath, trailing behind her, "What exactly happened?"

An exasperated shrug of (Y/N)'s shoulders was the view he was granted a couple of steps behind, "I don't know. I got all my stuff ready to take my shower, and I was waiting for the water to warm up and when I pulled the thing to make it come out of the shower head and not the faucet, it just... didn't work."

She took him to the bathroom in question, opening the door to the brightly lit and femininely decorated bathroom (her own personal one, he'd assume) with the remnants of steam still touching the top of the mirror.

"Watch this." She beckoned to him, settling on her knees on the tiled floor. Twisting the knob on the temperature control, water started streaming through the faucet and splashing across the tub. She paused for a moment as if to ensure Harry was properly watching before she reached across and pulled the pin at the top of the faucet, the same one that should redirect the water flow up to the shower head. The second it was pulled, there was a sputtering of water flowing for a moment longer before only a single bead fell from the shower head. The faucet stopped leaking, leaving the water to go down the drain before the shower was dry, none of the outlets dispensing.

"Huh," Harry breathed, gaze drifting back and forth between the faucet and the shower head as if either one would explode at a moment's notice with all the water pent up.

"Right?"

"It just started acting weird today?" he asked, reaching into the bathtub and pulling on the pin again. The same result: silence and dryness.

"Yeah, it was perfectly fine last night. And everything else like the sink, and the kitchen, and Mitch's bathroom are all working. It's just the shower."

Harry tested it out for a few minutes, (Y/N)'s eyes following him as he tinkered with the knob controlling the pressure and temperature, the pin, and the shower head itself. Nothing changed as he poked and prodded, a furrow pinching his brow.

"Do you know where your water heater is?" he asked, looking over his shoulder to her as he twisted the knob to off.

Pausing when he saw the way she was sat so prettily behind him, Harry suddenly felt flush under her attention. He had felt the warmth of her gaze the whole time as he worked and messed around with the appliance, but it was different seeing her with wide eyes looking up at him with her legs tucked carefully under her body. Even with her messy hair and ill-fitting clothes, Harry swore for a moment she was surrounded by starlight and puffs of cotton candy clouds—a dream on earth.

His heart skipped a beat with butterflies filling his tummy. Since when was he this far gone?

A loud thud sounded from the floors below, the only thing that shook Harry from whatever was running through his head that only jumbled the second he remembered this was (Y/N) who was gazing up at him like that.

"(Y/N)?" he stuttered over her name, his arms dropping limply at his sides.

The call of her name brought focus to her eyes. "Hm?" she hummed, with with a flutter of her lashes.

"D-Do you know where your water heater is?" he tried again, running a nervous finger under the tip of his nose.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry," she breathed out on a laugh, rising to her shaky legs, "It's in the basement."

They were quiet as Harry followed her on an impromptu tour of the house, down the two floors to the chilled basement. It was when she reached the landing did she stop in her tracks with a gasp. It took him only a second to peer around her shoulder and find the cause of her widened eyes and fists clutched to her chest.

The concrete floor of the space was covered in a shallow pool of water. Some spaces the level was lower than others, but there was definitely enough water covering the floor to account for what hadn't been streaming through the shower upstairs.

"Shit," Harry whispered, spotting the pack of boxes pushed into the very corner of the basement, the bottom row slowly taking on water.

"Those are Mitch's things," she rushed out, following his line of sight, "I need to get them upstairs before anything gets messed up."

(Y/N) didn't falter after that, splashing through the water with her bare feet. Harry went to follow her, only to have to step out of the way as she was on her way back with a box stacked in her arms.

"D-Do y'want help?" The question felt a little dumb leaving Harry's mouth, but he didn't want to start rummaging around if she would prefer he stand back.

"Would you, please?" (Y/N) asked from halfway up the stairs, "Thank you so much, Harry."

Hearing that strain in her voice was all he needed before he was setting off to help her pick up the boxes, trudge through the water and up the steep stairs. By the time there was nothing more than the last few boxes, the bottoms all soaked in the leaked water, he was out of breath but (Y/N) looked a little less stressed. Only a little.

"Thanks," she panted out again once all of her roommates things were safely tucked away on dry land. Her eyes fluttered closed before she ran a heavy hand over her features, the heels of her palms pressing into her eyes. "I think Mitch is really going to kill me for this one. I don't even know what happened."

Hands on his hips, Harry remembered the shimmering lake that had taken over the level below. "I don't either, love, but you're going to need to call someone to fix it. 'M sure something is blocked."

"Probably," she sighed, eyes focusing on a random spot by her feet as she pinched at her lips, "H-How do I get the water out of the basement, though?"

"Jus' gonna have to mop it up, and use some towels, I think. 'S not a lot, so it shouldn't be too bad."

"Yeah," she breathed out again, focus coming back to her gaze as it flitted up to return Harry's. "I'm so sorry to ask, but would you be able to help? Even just for a lit—"

"Yeah, of course I can help." A heat touched at his cheeks as he realized just how eagerly he had offered up his help. But, with the way (Y/N) lit up at his agreement to help, he didn't really mind how silly he sounded.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you. So much, Harry," she beamed at him, already seeming to have more life in her as she toed towards the stairs leading her up a level, "I'll go grab some towels, but the mop is in the kitchen, over there, if you can get that. I'll be right back. Thank you so much!"

It was with a scuttle of her feet and a twist of her hair fluttering behind her that she disappeared up the staircase. Harry's gaze followed after her for a moment longer, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he felt a smile coming on.

—————

"Did you always want to do accounting?"

(Y/N)'s question echoed in the empty basement, sounding over the slopping sound of the mop in Harry's hands sopping up the water that didn't seem to have an end. He shrugged, having expected this question when they started talking about their career-paths (apparently, (Y/N) wanted to be a writer, but she was currently working retail so she could pay the bills in the meantime).

"Not really," he answered honestly, wringing out the mop into the accompanying bucket that was just under half full at this point, "I actually wanted to get into music, but this seemed more practical."

"Music?" (Y/N) perked up, wringing out a soaked towel before opting for the slightly drier ones as she worked on her hands and knees, "Like as a singer?"

A smile plucked at Harry's features at the enthusiasm in her voice. He couldn't remember the last time someone sounded genuinely excited at the idea of learning more about him.

"Maybe if I felt right, but mostly songwriting and producing. I liked the idea of being in one of those big studios, you know?" The images he'd had of his life when he was young flashed through his head. His heart almost broke at how easily it was to conjure up those pictures despite how long it'd been since he allowed himself to indulge in those what-ifs.

"Did you write a lot of songs then? Anything I might have heard?" (Y/N) wasn't even working anymore, that much Harry could tell when he peeked at her through his lashes. She was sitting back on her heels listening to him, attention rapt and unwavering.

"No, I never really made music. Everything I've ever written is packed away in some journal in m'attic. I haven't seen it since university, I think." That was a little bit of a lie, if he was being honest. He'd seen it when he was reorganizing the attic space and moving things around. He just didn't have the guts to open it.

He could hear the pout in her voice as she humphed. "That's a bummer. I would have loved to read what you wanted to put to music," she mused, "If you ever find it, would you let me read some of it?"

Against his will, a memory of him shoving his book into Minerva's hands, asking her to read his latest work—one that was inspired by her—before she refused, not wanting to read any of what his silly hobby spawned. It was a waste, she had told him in her own way; music wasn't a stable job and he needed to wake up before it was too late and he'd sung them into living in a cardboard box.

Harry made quick work of shoving that thought to the side, inserting himself into the moment with (Y/N) once more. It was the glimmer in her eyes, the smile on her lips, and the fact she asked to read his art that had him answering in a heartbeat. "Of course. You'll be the first person I call."

The creases that lined her face as her smile grew was enough to wipe those awful moments with Minerva away like the water he was sopping off the floor. Speaking around her smile, she dropped her gaze to the towel in her hands, "So—um—if you wanted to be a songwriter, why did you end up going into accounting? That's a huge field change."

"Yeah," he sighed, plucking at his bottom lip for a moment of comfort, "Um, she—sorry, Minerva, she thought it would be a better idea to go into something like finance. More stable and real than music."

"Oh," (Y/N) sounded, voice neutral though he could see her features scrunch up some, "I can see that a little, I guess. Did she ever help you write or anything like that?"

"Not really. It wasn't something she thought was..." Harry floundered as he remembered all the things she called his songwriting (not worth her time, stupid, an excuse to not find a real job, ect.). Those probably weren't the kind of things to dump on his neighbor. "It was jus' hard for her to get into it the way I did. I usually did all of it alone."

"Well," she started, a slight pinch lingering in her brows as she crawled to the next section of floor, "I'm sure if she could have helped, she would have."

Harry didn't have the heart to tell her otherwise.

"Yeah, but what about you, hm?" he switched, wringing out the mop once more, "What kind best-seller are y'drafting?"

It seemed that was the perfect question to ask her as she shot into an explantation of the creative writing class she had taken in college and the idea of a narrative that never quite left her (of course only after she rolled her eyes at his best-seller comment. I haven't even finished a single chapter, Harry, she told him though the smile she was biting back still bled into her features). He was wrapped up solidly in the world she was painting for him, even when she shyly brought up the romantic aspects as she was most excited about adding.

Despite the water seeping through his Vans and chilling him from his toes up, Harry swore he could have stayed in that basement all day long hearing her talk about the things she loved.

What a privilege that would be.

—————

Minerva didn't even bother to wake Harry up before she was off to work this morning, only leaving a note tacked to the fridge about the shopping that needed to be done today and that she would be home late due to after-work drinks with some of her colleagues. He wasn't all that surprised at that. She seemed to prefer to spend any time she could away from him, no matter where it was.

At least, he had a task that would take up some of the morning and direct his mind off of the sourness that was filling his lungs every time he thought about Minerva.

Taking his time to clean up after the breakfast his wife made for herself before her day at work, Harry didn't leave for grocery shopping until late in the morning. Armed with Minerva's list as well as the mental one he'd developed after spending so much time at home and in charge of meals, he plucked a trolley and started off through the shelves.

The store was luckily fairly empty given the time of day he was waltzing through the aisles, and Harry couldn't be more grateful for the chance to move at his own pace. He was feeling particularly slothly today, sluggish limbs and tired eyes, so at least he wasn't being pushed around and feeling rushed to get out of there as soon as he could. He marked off every item he grabbed from the shelves as he went, putting together a menu for the rest of the week.

It wasn't until he was armed with the ingredients to Minerva's favorite pad Thai recipe—one she probably wasn't even going to eat, he pessimistically decided—that he ran into another's cart.

"Oh gosh—"

"I'm sorry—"

The second he saw who he had accidentally bumped into, every bit of exhaustion evaporated from his limbs.

(Y/N)'s expression cleared up just the same, the apology on her lips falling away in favor of wrapping her voice around his name. "Hi," she greeted him, "Fancy seeing you here."

"Yeah, sorry about that," he told her, sounding much too chipper for an apology, "Wasn't watching where I was going."

"It's alright, I'm happy it was you," she cemented, parking her cart on the other side of the aisle from him, settling in, "How are you?"

"'M good, thank you," he smiled, "How's your shower and everything? Did that guy end up making it out there?"

"Yeah, he came a little after you left," she sighed, shaking her head as if recalling the memory made her just as exasperated as she was in real time, "It was so stupid. I don't even know what it was that was blocking my shower, but something was blocking that specific channel so every time I turned it on and tried to get water to come out, I was breaking something else and flooding the basement. I feel like he was being a jerk, but Mitch says that I was probably just in a bad mood."

Harry shrugged, biting back a smile though he was sure his dimple still poked through. Maybe she was in a bad mood—he wouldn't blame her—, but she hadn't been in one by the time he left. If he really let his heart run away from him, he'd let himself imagine he had been the one to keep her happy.

"At least he got it fixed, right?" he tried, leaning his forearms into the seat of the trolley, chin resting on his fist.

"Yeah," she smiled, apparently forgetting the supposed attitude she was given, "I got to wash my hair afterwards, so that was nice." He watched as her gaze dropped to the contents of his cart, eyes lighting up when she caught sight of something to pique her interest. "Where did you find that pizza dough? Mitch and I keep ordering out for pizza so I was trying to get stuff to make it ourselves instead."

An apologetic smile curled his lips before she even finished speaking. "It's over by the cheese counter, but I did grab the last couple. 'M sorry, (Y/N)."

The second he watched her deflate, the makings of a pout itching at her lips, Harry couldn't help himself. He just wanted to see her smile again.

"I was planning on using them for lunch today, but, if y'want, y'can come over and-and try it with me? I haven't tried this one before either, so if y'like it, y'can take some home."

He could barely hear his own voice over the sound of his heartbeat as he allowed his mouth to run ahead of him.

(Y/N) hesitated from where she stood in front of him, the blunt edges of her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. With a flutter of her lashes, she returned his gaze. "Are you sure? I can just get some next time, it's alright."

Swallowing, he saw the way out she was giving him, but he found himself wanting to stay just where he'd put himself.

"'M sure," he cemented, surprised by how lightweight the words felt, "I was going to eat by myself anyway, so at least we could talk a little."

A beat passed before she offered him a sweet smile and a nod of her head. "Alright. I still have some more shopping to do, but when I'm home, I could come by? As long as you're alright with waiting for me."

Harry didn't need to think before he was nodding his head.

Of course he would wait for her.

—————

Was this cheating?

Harry's chest constricted at the thought.

He wasn't a cheater, was he?

All he'd done was invite a friend over for lunch and to talk, just as they'd done before. He'd ran into her at the supermarket and asked if she wanted to share some of the food he was planning on making anyway, especially as she was only a door down. That's not cheating, right?

No, he told himself. They hadn't even touched outside of passing each other when they were lugging up her roommate's belongings upstairs, let alone kiss or go further. And nothing they'd talked about had verged into romantic territory, not even for a second. He talked to her like he would talk to a friend. He'd had female friends before—before Minerva, of course—and this was how he would treat any of them. He would even argue he's held her at a larger distance away, especially since he was married.

Just because he thought his friend was pretty, didn't mean he was cheating.

Minerva even knew about he extra time here and there he was spending with (Y/N), though she definitely scoffed and made faces whenever he spoke her name. If he was doing something wrong, he wouldn't have told Minerva anything, right?

Harry couldn't calm his spinning mind as he put away his groceries, spiraling out of control as he contemplated turning (Y/N) away when she came to the door—with all the ingredients for a pizza to make at her own home. But, as much as he was worried about the blurry line he was approaching, he didn't want to say no to her and make her leave. He didn't want the sunshine that was leaking into his life courtesy of his neighbor to become shrouded by clouds once again.

It was an innocent friendship, and if Harry couldn't handle himself, he would stop it. He vowed to himself that if he came to a point where he was worried he wouldn't be able to not cross into the shades of grey safely, then he would end it. Because he was someone's husband before he was someone's friend.

It wasn't until he heard a knock on the front door that Harry's frantic hands came to a sputtering halt. Bracing his hands on the edge of the counter where he stood in front of the ingredients for his pizza project, he took a steadying breath. He centered himself for one more moment before going to the door to let his friend in.

(Y/N) greeted him with a bright smile when he swung the door open. "Hi, stranger," she bubbled, hands folded in front of her dressed in the same comfy set he'd found her in at the grocery.

"Hi," he greeted her, feeling the stretch of his grin as he took her in.

Even as he widened the berth of the door, clearing way for her to pass through, (Y/N) nervously toed the porch, eyes giving way to a tinge of anxiety he'd never seen there before. A pinch drew his brows together as he watched her.

"You're still hungry, right?" he prodded, giving her an out if she decided she would rather be at home.

His question seemed to shake her from wherever she had crawled to in her head. "Y-Yeah, sorry," she brushed off with a smile, stepping over the threshold and into his home, "I just realized I've never been inside your house before."

"That's right, huh," he said, smile going lopsided with only a single dimple in his cheek, "Busy couple of weeks for us, then, right? Packing a whole lot of basic friendship things into a few days."

Harry knew he uttered the word friendship for his benefit only, feeling stiff as it passed his lips. Because this was what this all was. Friends went to each other's houses, and got to know each other through quality time. Nothing nefarious or wrong about that.

"We've been neighbors for almost a year, and I think I just learned your last name," (Y/N) laughed, waiting for him as he locked the front door before starting off towards the kitchen with her behind him.

"That's what happens when y'wait to break your shower so y'can invite me over," Harry shrugged, looking over his shoulder with a smug smile on his lips.

(Y/N) only rolled her eyes, and shook her head as they entered the kitchen. Harry's set up was just as he'd left it: dough rolled out and floured, his favorite pizza sauce set off to the side with every fix-in delegated to different bowls and packages for easing picking. She followed after him with a light to her eyes, taking in the station he'd set up for them.

"I didn't know what y'might want to put on it, so I jus' got everything out," he explained, starting to feel a little sheepish over the amount of effort he put into his friend's meal.

"Thank you, Harry," she smiled at him, standing in front of one of the two slabs of rolled out dough, "This is perfect. You're so nice."

He had to pretend that his heart didn't flutter some at the gentle compliment she gave him.

Smiling down at his hands, Harry turned towards the sink to wash up before starting to assemble the food so she didn't see the flush he was sure was pricking the tip of his nose.

Once she'd followed the same procedure before returning to her station, Harry finally chanced a look at her where she stood with expecting eyes. Yeah, she was still pretty.

"Ready?" he murmured, swallowing around the word.

"Ready."

—————

"So, you didn't even actually work in the bakery? You did that on purpose, didn't you? So I would be lulled into a sense of trust even though you were only winging it on the bake time for the pizza."

Harry shrugged his shoulders as he listened to (Y/N)'s very true accusations. There had been something of a squabble over the bake time and temperature, as (Y/N) had supposedly googled the best combination of how long to let them sit under the heat and just how high the dial needed to be twisted while Harry swore by his own method. A wicked smile had curled his lips when he brought out the best end to the argument: his so-called experience.

"You're the worst," she challenged, shaking her head when she saw the quirking of his lips, "You just didn't want me to be right."

"They turned out jus' fine, didn't they?" Harry countered, jutting his chin out in playful defiance.

(Y/N) muttered out a muted whatever, though the flutter of her lashes and sparkle in her eyes didn't diminish to go along with her faux-attitude.

A warm silence settled within the dining room as they each took bites of their food, Harry unable to stop himself from looking at her through his lashes. He swore he even caught her drawing her eyes away at the last second during one of his peeks.

"I hope this doesn't come out wrong," (Y/N) broke the silence, wiping her mouth of the pizza sauce that had collected on the corner, "but, I'm kind of happy you're not working right now. We've actually gotten to get to know each other now that you've been home."

Looking at her, moony eyes with fluttery lashes and dewy skin glimmering in the sunlight leaking through the windows, Harry wanted to kiss her. That scared him.

While it might not have been the first time he thought about what it would be like to kiss (Y/N), it had previously always been in the abstract, someone in his place before the fleeting thought was out of his head in a blink. But, this time... this time was it's own beast that has Harry's heart rattling against his ribcage like a criminal in a jail cell.

This time, he had a solid vision of himself, reaching across the dining table he had dinner with his wife at, fitting his hand around the back of (Y/N)'s neck—wedding band and all—before slotting his lips against hers. She was happy she'd had a chance to get to know him, and that was something he hadn't realized he'd ever wanted to hear.

And, that scared him. This was cheating, wasn't it? Married men don't think about kissing other women like that. They don't look across the table and try to pick out the glimmers in their neighbor's eyes, or wonder how soft her lips would be, or wish they could tuck their face into her neck and see if she really smelled like strawberry poundcake like the lotion on her bathroom counter suggested. Married men shouldn't do that.

Harry swallowed thickly, dropping his gaze to his unfinished slice of misshapen pizza.

"Is everything okay?" (Y/N) broached, speaking to him as if he were an injured animal, "I didn't mean to make you upset about work. I shouldn't have said it lik—"

"No, no," Harry shook his head, a stray curl landing across his forehead, "'S not that, don't worry. I know what y'were trying to say."

"Okay," (Y/N) sounded, the syllables coming out quietly as she placed her pizza down, "Is something else wrong then?"

How was he supposed to explain to her that he crossed into territory that was too blurry to be safe for him—the one with the wedding band on his finger? She had no idea of what was running through his head as she spoke, the way his heart skipped a beat when she gave him attention he hadn't even known he'd been craving since she approached him in the garden weeks ago. At this pace, he was ruining two relationships at once: his marriage to Minerva and his friendship with (Y/N).

"(Y/N), I..." he started, unable to think clearly with the way his heart crawled up into his throat. Was there an eloquent way to tell someone you can't see them anymore because you fear you might cheat on your spouse if you became any closer? Was there ever a good time to confess to having feelings for another woman while also cutting them off?

"Harry," (Y/N) murmured, "you're worrying me. Can you at least tell me if you're alright?"

"I d-don't know, (Y/N)," he sighed, dropping his head into his hands that were propped up on elbows pinned to the table, "I don't—It might—... I think I might need to take a step back from you."

Silence fell over the room once more, this time lacking the warmth that it had been filled with less than ten minutes prior.

"I... don't think I understand," she responded, sounding stiff.

Harry shook his head in his hands, his hair fluffing around his face. "I don't think it's a good idea for us to see each other anymore, es-especially alone like this."

Heat crawled up his features, starting at the base of his neck as he choked out the words. He couldn't even look at her, but he could fantasize about cheating on his wife with her?

"Um, okay," (Y/N) said after a beat, words stilted, "I understand. May I ask why, though? Because if it was something I did, I want to apologize at least."

He shook his head as she spoke. None of this was her fault. Never was an apology from her lips needed over this situation. He dared to peek up at her through the cage of his fingers, finding her with her gaze downcast and shoulders deflated.

His tongue felt thick as he tried to speak around it, dry throat not helping any. He floundered over the honesty he knew he owed her. "It's jus'... 'M married and all, you know?"

The pieces seemingly clicked together for (Y/N) without any extra explanation. She gave a slow nod of her head. "Right. I'm sorry if I crossed any boundaries, or anything. I didn't mean to."

Before he could offer any consolation, tell her that the fault was all his own and she'd been nothing more than the sunshine he'd been aching for since he found himself on a clouded shore, but she was quick to pushed away from the dining table. She offered a polite thank you for lunch, before she was out of the house in record time; the sound of the door shutting behind her lingered longer than she did.

Scrunching his eyes tightly, Harry couldn't help but dig the pads of his fingers into the soft skin of his eyelids. "Fuck," he whispered to himself in the empty house. In a burst of frustration at the feeling of tears filling his eyes as if he had earned the right to be upset over the entire situation, he slammed his fists onto the table. The china rattled on the surface, only joining in with the ruckus of the loud Fuck! he screamed into the void of his home.

Slumping back into his chair, Harry stared up at the ceiling for who knows how long until he felt a nerve in the muscles pinch over the position. A labored breath was all he managed to pull into his lungs as he looked over the state of his home.

He needed to clean up before Minerva came home.

—————

Harry pushed the pad Thai around in his bowl, chopsticks making a dull scraping sound against the porcelain. Minerva—surprisingly home for dinner, which he hadn't been anticipating—had her eyes glued to her phone with a curl to her lips. The house was filled with silence just the way it had been for the last week and a half since Harry brought on his own heartache.

Since (Y/N) walked out, Harry hadn't been able to get her off his mind.

Nothing had been the same since the sound of the door slamming after her reverberated through the house. He swore that a part of his heart walked right out after her, trailing behind the home it had been trying to make in the warmth of her. He lied awake that night, wallowing in the mistake he'd made on two women in his life he was supposed to care about and protect. He'd failed on both fronts.

But, even after he cut himself off from the wallowing—he determined he didn't deserve more than a couple of days since this was all his doing—he found an ache lingering in his bones and a fog clouding his brain. He didn't want to eat, barely made sure he drank some water each day, and wanted nothing more than to hole himself up in the master bedroom though he never managed to actually sleep. If he wasn't distracted enough, his mind would wander too far away, waking up things he'd rather stay asleep.

He could only recall feeling like this once before: when Minerva had changed, making it very clear she was no longer invested in him or their relationship.

He was broken-hearted. Over losing (Y/N).

Maybe he had more than a silly crush on her like he had thought. He found himself wondering in the aftermath if she was alright. Was she blaming herself? Was she keeping busy with her roommate? Was she taking care of herself? It only worried him when he saw her roommate walking the dog around the neighborhood, something that seemed to be (Y/N) job exclusively before this. When he told Minerva that (Y/N) wouldn't be hanging around much anymore, he remembered how angry he became when she laughed, the noise cruel, and said something about how it was about time she'd run off.

How dare she? he recalled thinking. (Y/N) had never once said a single bad word about her, and yet Minerva couldn't even spare a question on why she wouldn't be over anymore or if something had happened. He'd shared the fact he'd made a real friend for the first time in years, and she didn't bother to ask what would be the cause of the separation, even going so far as to rub it in his face with an I-told-you-so-esque comment? Who was this person he had married?

But, in the end, (Y/N) sat at the forefront of his mind, stealing any selfish thought and reminding him of the real innocent in this situation. She deserved better.

His feelings for her had been a lot more real than he even realized. If he had known, he liked to think things would have turned out differently for them.

Holding back a sigh, Harry pinched a bean sprout between his chopsticks as he slumped over the table with his chin in his hands.

"I heard back from that auto-body place I told you about," Harry offered, filling the silence with his raw voice. Minerva didn't even look up.

"Hm?"

"That job I applied for—bookkeeping at that auto-body place just out of town. They emailed me back; I have a phone interview with them tomorrow," he shared, hoping the good news would at least make her happy. Maybe, that would be enough to get him out of his head, the static of the house surely not helping him feel normal.

"Oh," Minerva sounded, a sour expression pinching her features, "You actually applied there? I thought I told you it sounded gross."

Rolling his neck, he swallowed. "I know, but work is work and that's what I need right now. I can keep looking even if they hire me, I jus' need something right now."

A roll of her hazel eyes was granted in response to his words. "It's like you don't even listen to me. Sure, you're unemployed, but do you not think it would look worse for you to work at some greasy mechanic? Harry, it's gross, and you would know that if you ever actually listened to me."

Her biting words touched a nerve Harry didn't even know had been exposed.

"I listen to you all the time, Minerva," he grumbled, voice low and controlled. His heart pounded in his ears, the sound rising from his chest.

She scoffed at his retort, her phone finally dropping from her hand as she sat up straight in her seat. "Excuse me?"

"I said," he breathed, tempering himself before he raised his voice, "I always listen to you. Jus' like how I listened to you when y'said I wasn't trying hard enough and thinking too much of myself and not applying to jobs on my level. So, I broadened my search—like you asked—and found this place that would pay nicely and might appreciate what I could bring."

"Oh, now you're just blaming me, like it's my fault you couldn't find anything other than some slum to hire you. Stop being a dick, and just listen to wh—"

"I am listening! I have listened for the last seven years! And, I don't want to listen anymore, Minerva!"

It was like the universe knew about the changing tide, a sudden clash of thunder echoing outside that ramped up the storm that had been brewing in the clouds. The second the sky settled, Harry realized the tone and volume of his words and the fact Minerva hadn't said a single thing back, already feeling guilt in his system.

"I shouldn't have shouted at you, 'm sorry, M—"

"This is about her, isn't it?

Harry was taken aback at the accusing tone of voice she used on him. Flicking his gaze between her eyes, he found the anger that had been brewing in her silence. She hadn't been scared or upset that he'd raised his voice—no, she was trying to find the best way to one-up him.

"Who?"

"The fucking neighbor you're so obsessed with. This is about her, isn't it? She's been telling you I'm the bad guy for wanting you to get a good job, is that it?"

Stinging offense touched at Harry's chest. "This has nothing to do with (Y/N), leave her out of this, Minerva. She's never said a bad thing about you, you know that? When all you do is shit on her for no other reason than the fact she exists."

"I have reason, Harry," she spat, leaning over the table as he voice grew, "Like the fact that my husband eye-fucks her every time she's around! Did you really think I didn't fucking notice?!"

"'S not like that, Minerva, and you know it." Harry slid his hands into his hair, tugging at the roots in frustration. "Why would you even care, anyway? 'S not like you even like me anymore."

"Because you're my husband. You are mine, until I decide otherwise. Then you can sleep around with every girl you see—but until then, you have to listen to me."

Harry didn't even realize a sheen had collected over his eyes, tears in his waterline as he just realized just how trapped he was in that moment, not until Minerva pointed it out to him.

"Are you really about to cry, right now?"

"I know you're cheating on me."

The words slipped past his lips before he even realized they were on the tip of his tongue. He'd barely let himself think about what Minerva was really up to those nights she was getting drinks, or staying late to finish a project, let alone speak them aloud. But now, there they were. In the static silence of the dining room, he was tired of pretending and listening and hoping.

Minerva seemed to be floored for a second, floundering over her words. "Don't try to turn this on me, Harry—"

"I do your laundry, you know" he sighed, exhausted now that the biggest weight had left his chest, "I've seen what you wear those nights you're supposedly at the office until one in the morning."

"Oh, so now I can't wear sexy underwear without your permission—"

"And, remember when you insisted I share my location with you? Even went through my phone and did it all when I was in the bathroom." Harry swallowed at the memory, but he felt numb to the panic that began to rise in Minerva's eyes. "But, I can see your location, too. I know you're not at the office or whatever bar you pretend to get drinks at when you don't come home."

She was stock still for a moment before Minerva crossed her arms heavily over her chest, slumping back into her chair. "Okay, and?" she spat, rolling her eyes as if this were another petty argument, "It's not like we haven't been over for years—sorry I wanted to feel loved for once."

Harry didn't even pay her jabs any mind. None of this mattered anymore to his battered heart.

"I want a divorce."

"Harry, we've talked about this. It's no—"

"I don't care about your job. I want a divorce."

Venom filled her eyes as she locked her gaze on him.

"You only want this now that you have your little whore next door, isn't it? Yo—"

"Minerva, please," he heaved, exasperated as his hands fell limp into his lap his neck rolling back to pin his gaze to the ceiling, "Why can't we just be happy? That's all I want. We get a divorce, and you can feel loved by whoever you want and I can get the fuck out of this house."

Harry didn't look at her even as he heard the sound of her chair scraping against the hardwood floor. "Fucking fine, Harry," she spat his name out like bile, "Get the papers and I'll sign them—no contest, or whatever makes this fastest. But if you want to get out of this fucking house so bad, you can start tonight. Find somewhere else to sleep, asshole."

With that, his soon-to-be ex-wife stomped upstairs, slamming the master bedroom door hard enough he was sure that his wedding photos would have fallen from the walls had this been a movie. The sickly silent house was filled with the sound of the pelting rain from outside, the interior lit up by lightning strikes and shook by the pounds of thunder.

He needed to get out of here.

It was as if he was on autopilot as he moved through the kitchen and out the front door with nothing more than his phone and keys. He didn't even realize where he was going until he was dripping wet with rain soaking him to the bone on (Y/N)'s door step.

He must have missed knocking on her door because he was surprised when he saw the door open wide with (Y/N) standing in her pajamas, concerned etched all over her face with his name forming on her lips.

"I'm getting a divorce."

(Y/N)'s eyes widened as he cut her off, taking in the rain-sodden man. The water dripping from his hair onto the stained wood of her porch mimicked the watery gaze he stared at her with.

"Harry, you didn't because of m—"

"No, no," he swallowed, his mouth working faster than his brain, "No, it's not-not because of you. I should have done this a long time ago, I just let her decide everything for me even if I hated it. You-You made me re-real again. I couldn't stay with her knowing I could be happy again somewhere—somewhere that wasn't with her."

He watched through bleary eyes as her shoulders raised with a deep breath before she reached out to him.

"Come inside, you're going to get sick," she murmured, a sad smile on her features that shouldn't have tugged at his heartstrings.

Taking wooden steps, the cold finally registering on his skin now that the option of warmth was presented in her home as he crossed the threshold. Water dripped onto the hardwood that was identical to what was next door, but felt completely different in a space that actually knew happiness. A man was sat on the couch, long dark hair falling over his shoulder with a pinched mouth and wide eyes taking in the new visitor.

"Harry," (Y/N) said, stepping around him once the door was locked and closed, "this is my roommate, Mitch. Mitch, this is Harry... our neighbor."

Mitch nodded his head, rolling his lips between his teeth before he straightened up from his slumped position. "Nice to meet you," he smiled politely before his eyes slid to (Y/N), "I'm gonna go to my room, so if you need anything, just let me know."

Harry stood with his arms crossed over his chest as they stood, seemingly waiting for the click of Mitch's bedroom door before (Y/N) unfroze. "Um," she mumbled, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear as she met Harry's gaze, "I'm gonna go grab you some clothes to wear while we wash your stuff. Just... wait right here, but I'll be right back."

(Y/N) lingered for a moment longer, placing a gentle hand on his arm to go along with her softened features before she was padding up the stairs. It could have been two minutes or two years that it took (Y/N) to return from her search, but Harry had no idea about the difference. He only took note of her soft hands urging him towards the bathroom, a set of oversized clothing tucked into his arms she told him was her brother's. He wouldn't mind if Harry borrowed them, she assured him.

Maybe it was the cold or the shock that lingered in his system that kept his joints stiff as he dressed. Once his wet clothes were nothing more than a puddle on the titled floor, heavy and thick with the new set cozied to his form, a hair too big, Harry stopped. With his hands braced on the lip of the counter, he spared himself a glance in the mirror.

Bloodshot, glistening eyes. Wet, dark hair that lost its curl to the weight of the water. Ruddy cheeks. Swollen lips. He looked a mess.

But, Harry couldn't remember himself ever looking so relieved.

He carefully gathered his clothes into his arms, ensuring he didn't dampen his borrowed clothing as he exited the bathroom. (Y/N) was there in an instant, having been waiting just outside the door with a softened smile on her features as she offered to take his clothes, already grabbing for them before he'd even relinquished them.

It wasn't until she returned from the laundry room, telling him something about the detergent, that Harry realized he was crying. Only because (Y/N) had pointed it out with a short gasp, hands instinctively reaching for him before she bundled them together at her chest.

"Oh, Harry," she cooed, "I'm so sorry. I can't even imagine what you're going through—"

"C-Can I hug you?"

(Y/N) didn't even hesitate before she was gathering him into her arms, Harry's head dropping to her neck with his body pressed flush against hers for no other reason than he hadn't been hugged like this in years. His breathing came in pants against her neck, fanning across her skin while his tears dripped over the curve. (Y/N) settled him as best she could, running a gentle hand over his back while the other swirled through his curls as best she could with their dampened state.

"'M so relieved," Harry whispered to her when he found his voice, "'M so relieved. Thank you."

Harry didn't know what he was thanking her for, and he was sure (Y/N) didn't either, but that didn't stop her from holding him tighter.

—————

"Bye, Harry!"

The delighted shouts that were called through the parking lot at the end of his work day brought a smile to Harry's face. He twisted on his heels, walking backwards for a moment as he waved for all the guys at the mechanic's yard to see.

"See you all on Monday!"

Harry couldn't remember ever loving his job the way he loved this one.

The mechanic was full of some of the nicest people he'd ever met in his life; some grumpy and a bit rambunctious—something he was sure they played up around their quiet accountant, as they called him—but none of them were anything less than welcoming since the day he was brought onto the team. He was excited on the days he worked in office solely because he got to see his friends. There were even nights they went out for drinks or went to a local venue to watch live music, something to relax into the weekend they always told him, and Harry was invited each time. How he worked in an office for almost ten years when this was out there waiting for him, he'd never understand.

But, Harry didn't like to think about the before years. Thinking about all he missed out on wasn't going to bring back the wasted time, that's what his therapist had told him.

It had only taken one night at (Y/N)'s and another week and a half at a hotel before Harry had another place lined up—how he was able to manage that, he wasn't sure, but he wasn't going to say no. It took him one weekend to get his things out of Minerva's house, have her sign the divorce papers he filed the days before, and it was over. His wasted time was up.

As difficult as Minerva liked to be, when she was done with something, she wiped her hands clean. Just as she did with Harry. She was quick to come to agreements about their assets and belongings, staying true to her word about wanting to take whatever route would be the fastest out of the marriage.

He didn't mind that she got the house and a sizable chunk of their savings. He could get all of that back, and nothing could compare to the relief and freedom he felt now that he was out of that oppressive house.

Plus, it was cheaper to go grocery shopping for one.

(Y/N) had been so encouraging through the first few weeks that Harry was trying to make sense of the new world he had called upon for himself. Never interfering or pushing him to do anything he didn't want to. Everything she told him was about his happiness—putting his happiness first. It was her idea that he reach out to someone to talk to about what happened during his marriage, and how to navigate making his own choices without heavy amounts of doubt pushing him back.

He hadn't seen her much since the night he crashed at her place, knowing that he needed to spend some time with himself, clear headed and heart in his own hands, before he could be in her distracting presence again. He needed to be the best version of himself first before he could be anyone else's. But, she never backed away from him, always there when he needed her, even if just to talk to someone.

Harry didn't worry about the dirt on his feet as he opened up the door to his apartment, only shucking off his shoes messily by the threshold. He'd get to them later.

It'd been three months since he moved in, so the place was a little sparse, but it was perfect in Harry's eyes. He'd never lived by himself before. Everywhere he looked, it was him—his things, his family photos, his memories. He loved his little apartment, no matter if it was a downgrade from a two-story, three bedroom house. This was his first home.

His clothes were left in the hamper as he changed into a comfy set of clothing. He could do laundry tomorrow, no worries, he reminded himself. He had more important things to do.

Reaching under his bed, Harry grabbed the final unpacked box he had taken from the attic of the old house. Nothing more was written on the cardboard than Harry's Stuff in Minerva's handwriting. Flipping open the top, he found his university gear (really just a pair of sweatpants he swore got him through exams seasons without any complete failures), a set of messily colored pictures gifted to him from when his niece was only a baby, random items from his childhood, and a leather bound journal.

The journal was wrapped tightly closed with a matching length of string. The cover was doodled upon with stars and quotes, Harry's name scrawled across the front of the book. It mimicked him, he realized; covered in sketchbook like drawings, but it was all him.

Inside, he knew there were songs from years ago he probably didn't even remember writing. A smile touched at his features as he untied the string holding the journal together.

But, before he could flip through the pages again, he knew he had to make a call.

With his phone to his ear, the ringing echoed in his ears until he heard the telltale click.

"Harry!" (Y/N) happily chirped on the other side, "How are you?

Hearing her voice, he swore it was easier to breathe. "Hi, 'm doing good," he greeted her, voice dreamy and mellow, "Are y'doing anything tonight?"

A beat passed before she spoke again, the smile he could hear in her voice easy to imagine. "I don't think so, why?"

He promised (Y/N) she would be the first he called when he found his music again.

"I want to show y'something."

He was happy to wait for her.

—————

this is....very different for me ngl HUSHFUSHF I had a very different direction I was thinking about when I started this and then completely went off the rails and turned into something sadder than anything else ive written so...thanks for sticking through it I guess shfushfush thank you sm for reading and sorry for any mistakes (and the fact they don't even kiss ???)! if you have any ideas or requests of your own please send them in!

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