#finally decided to actually make a list of points

[nyastri]

Marin is Zelda but certain aspects of her were changed to fit Link’s preferences and lifestyle. In this essay I will-

[waywardsalt]

so um. very glad that throughout all this time i never had the end poem spoiled to me

[caelum-in-the-avatarverse]

Fandom can do a little gatekeeping. As a treat.

So I finally decided to archive-lock my fics on AO3 last night. I’ve been considering it since the AI scrape last year, but the tipping point was this whole lore.fm debacle, coupled with some thoughts I’ve been thinking regarding Fandom These Days in general and Fandom As A Community in particular. So I wanna explain why I waited so long, why I locked my stuff up now, and why I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m a-okay with making it harder for people to see my stories.

Lurkers really are great, tho

I’m a chronic lurker, and have been since I started hanging out on the internet as a teen in the 00s. These days it’s just cuz I don’t feel a need to socialize very often, but back then it was because I was shy and knew I was socially awkward. Even if I made an account, I’d spend months lurking on message boards or forums or Livejournals, watching other people interact and getting a feel for that particular community’s culture and etiquette before I finally started interacting myself. And y’know, that approach saved me a lot of embarrassment. Over the course of my lurking on any site, there was always some other person who’d clearly joined up five minutes after learning the place existed, barged in without a care for their behavior, and committed so many social faux pas that all the other users were immediately annoyed with them at best. I learned a lot observing those incidents. Lurk More is Rule 33 of the internet for very good reason.

Lurking isn’t bad or weird or creepy. It’s perfectly normal. I love lurking. It’s hard for me to not lurk - socializing takes a lot of energy out of me, even via text. (Heck it took 12 hours for me to write this post, I wish I was kidding--) Occasionally I’ll manage longer bouts of interaction - a few weeks posting here, almost a year chatting in a discord there - but I’m always gonna end up going radio silent for months at some point. I used to feel bad about it, but I’ve long since made peace with the fact that it’s just the way my brain works. I’m a chronic lurker, and in the long term nothing is going to change that.

The thing with being a chronic lurker is that you have to accept that you are not actually seen as part of the community you are lurking in. That’s not to say that lurkers are unimportant - lurkers actually are important, and they make up a large proportion of any online community - but it’s simple cause and effect. You may think of it as “your community”, but if you’ve never said a word, how is the community supposed to know you exist? If I lurked on someone’s LJ, and then that person suddenly friendslocked their blog, I knew that I had two choices: Either accept that I would never be able to read their posts again, or reach out to them and ask if I could be added to their friends list with the full understanding that I was a rando they might not decide to trust. I usually went with the first option, because my invisibility as a lurker was more important to me than talking to strangers on the internet.

Lurking is like sitting on a park bench, quietly people-watching and eavesdropping on the conversations other people are having around you. You’re in the park, but you’re not actively participating in anything happening there. You can see and hear things that you become very interested in! But if you don’t introduce yourself and become part of the conversation, you won’t be able to keep listening to it when those people walk away. When fandom migrated away from Livejournal, people moved to new platforms alongside their friends, but lurkers were often left behind. No one knew they existed, so they weren’t told where everyone else was going. To be seen as part of a fandom community, you need to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known, etc. etc.

There’s nothing wrong with lurking. There can actually be benefits to lurking, both for the lurkers and the communities they lurk in. It’s just another way to be in a fandom. But if that is how you exist in fandom--and remember, I say this as someone who often does exist that way in fandom--you need to remember that you’re on the outside looking in, and the curtains can always close.

I’ve always been super sympathetic to lurkers, because I am one. I know there’s a lot of people like me who just don’t socialize often. I know there’s plenty of reasons why someone might not make an account on the internet - maybe they’re nervous, maybe they’re young and their parents don’t allow them to, maybe they’re in a bad situation where someone is monitoring their activity, maybe they can only access the internet from public computer terminals. Heck, I’ve never even logged into AO3 on my phone--if I’m away from my computer I just read what’s publicly available. 

I know I have people lurking on my fics. I know my fics probably mean a lot to someone I don’t even know exists. I know this because there are plenty of fics I love whose writers don’t know I exist.

I love my commenters personally; I love my lurkers as an abstract concept. I know they’re there and I wish them well, and if they ever de-lurk I love them all the more.

So up until last year I never considered archive-locking my fic, because I get it. The AI scraping was upsetting, but I still hesitated because I was thinking of lurkers and guests and remembering what it felt like to be 15 and wondering if it’d be worth letting a stranger on the internet know I existed and asking to be added to their friends list just so I could reread a funny post they made once.

But the internet has changed a lot since the 00s, and fandom has changed with it. I’ve read some things and been doing some thinking about fandom-as-community over the last few years, and reading through the lore.fm drama made me decide that it’s time for me to set some boundaries.

I still love my lurkers, and I feel bad about leaving any guest commenters behind, especially if they’re in a situation where they can’t make an account for some reason. But from here on out, even my lurkers are going to have to do the bare minimum to read my fics--make an AO3 account.

Should we gatekeep fandom?

I’ve seen a few people ask this question, usually rhetorically, sometimes as a joke, always with a bit of seriousness. And I think…yeah, maybe we should. Except wait, no, not like that--

A decade ago, when people talked about fandom gatekeeping and why it was bad to do, it intersected with a lot of other things, mainly feminism and classism. The prevalent image of fandom gatekeeping was, like, a man learning that a woman likes Star Wars and haughtily demanding, “Oh, yeah? Well if you’re REALLY a fan, name ten EU novels” to belittle and dismiss her, expecting that a “real fan” would have the money and time to be familiar with the EU, and ignoring the fact that male movie-only fans were still considered fans. The thing being gatekept was the very definition of “being a fan” and people’s right to describe themselves as one.

That’s not what I mean when I say maybe fandom should gatekeep more. Anyone can call themselves a fan if they like something, that’s fine. But when it comes to the ability to enjoy the fanworks produced by the fandom community…that might be something worth gatekeeping.

See, back in the 00s, it was perfectly common for people to just…not go on the internet. Surfing the web was a thing, but it was just, like, a fun pastime. Not everyone did it. It wasn’t until the rise of social media that going online became a thing everyone and their grandmother did every day. Back then, going on the internet was just…a hobby.

So one of the first gates online fandom ever had was the simple fact that the entire world wasn’t here yet.

The entire world is here now. That gate has been demolished.

And it’s a lot easier to find us now. Even scattered across platforms, fandom is so centralized these days. It isn’t a network of dedicated webshrines and forums that you can only find via webrings anymore, it’s right there on all the big social media sites. AO3 didn’t set out to be the main fanfic website, but that’s definitely what it’s become. It’s easy for people to find us--and that includes people who don’t care about the community, and just want “content.”

Transformative fandom doesn’t like it when people see our fanworks as “content”. “Content” is a pretty broad term, but when fandom uses it we’re usually referring to creative works that are churned out by content creators to be consumed by an audience as quickly as possible as often as possible so that the content creator can generate revenue. This not-so-new normal has caused a massive shift in how people who are new to fandom view fanworks--instead of seeing fic or art as something a fellow fan made and shared with you, they see fanworks as products to be consumed.

Transformative fandom has, in general, always been a gift economy. We put time and effort into creating fanworks that we share with our fellow fans for free. We do this so we don’t get sued, but fandom as a whole actually gets a lot out of the gift economy. Offer your community a story, and in return you can get comments, build friendships, or inspire other people to write things that you might want to read. Readers are given the gift of free stories to read and enjoy, and while lurking is fine, they have the choice to engage with the writer and other readers by leaving comments or making reclists to help build the community.

And look, don’t get me wrong. People have never engaged with fanfic as much as fan writers wish they would. There has always been “no one comments anymore” wank. There have always been people who only comment to say “MORE!” or otherwise demand or guilt trip writers into posting the next chapter. But fandom has always agreed that those commenters are rude and annoying, and as those commenters navigate fandom they have the chance to learn proper community etiquette.

However, now it seems that a lot of the people who are consuming fanworks aren’t actually in the community. 

I won’t say “they aren’t real fans” because that’s silly; there’s lots of ways to be a fan. But there seem to be a lot of fans now who have no interest in fandom as a community, or in adhering to community etiquette, or in respecting the gift economy. They consume our fics, but they don’t appreciate fan labor. They want our “content”, but they don’t respect our control over our creations.

And even worse--they see us as a resource. We share our work for free, as a gift, but all they see is an open-source content farm waiting to be tapped into. We shared it for free, so clearly they can do whatever they want with it. Why should we care if they feed our work into AI training datasets, or copy/paste our unfinished stories into ChatGPT to get an ending, or charge people for an unnecessary third-party AO3 app, or sell fanbindings on etsy for a profit without the author’s permission, or turn our stories into poor imitations of podfics to be posted on other platforms without giving us credit or asking our consent, while also using it to lure in people they can datascrape for their Forbes 30 Under 30 company? 

And sure, people have been doing shady things with other people’s fanworks since forever. Art theft and reposting has always been a big problem. Fanfic is harder to flat-out repost, but I’ve heard of unauthorized fic translations getting posted without crediting the original author. Once in…I think the 2010s? I read a post by a woman who had gone to some sort of local bookselling event, only to find that the man selling “his” novel had actually self-published her fanfic. (Wish I could find that one again, I don’t even remember where I read it.)

But aside from that third example, the thing is…as awful as fanart/writing theft is, back in the day, the main thing a thief would gain from it was clout. Clout that should rightfully go to the creators who gifted their work in the first place, yeah, but still. Just clout. People will do a lot of hurtful things for clout, but fandom clout means nothing outside of fandom. Fandom clout is not enough to incentivize the sort of wide-scale pillaging we’re seeing from community outsiders today.

Money, on the other hand… Well, fandom’s just a giant, untapped content farm, isn’t it? Think of how much revenue all that content could generate.

Lurkers are a normal and even beneficial part of any online community. Maybe one day they’ll de-lurk and easily slide into place beside their fellow fans because they already know the etiquette. Maybe they’re active in another community, and they can spread information from the community they lurk in to the community they’re active in. At the very least, they silently observe, and even if they’re not active community members, they understand the community.

Fans who see fanworks as “content” don’t belong in the same category as lurkers. They’re tourists. 

While reading through the initial Reddit thread on the lore.fm situation, I found this comment:

[ID: Reddit User Cabbitowo says: ... So in anime fandoms we have a word called tourist and essentially it means a fan of a few anime and doesn't care about anime tropes and actively criticizes them. This is kind of how fandoms on tiktok feel. They're touring fanfics and fanart and actively criticizes tropes that have been in the fandom since the 60s. They want to be in a fandom but they don't want to engage in fandom 

OP totallymandy responds: Just entered back into Reddit after a long day to see this most recent reply. And as a fellow anime fan this making me laugh so much since it’s true! But it sorta hurts too when the reality sets in. Modern fandom is so entitled and bratty and you’d think it’s the minors only but that’s not even true, my age-mates and older seem to be like that. They want to eat their cake and complain all whilst bringing nothing to the potluck… :/ END ID]

-

“Tourist” is an apt name for this sort of fan. They don’t want to be part of our community, and they don’t have to be in order to come into our spaces and consume our work. Even if they don’t steal our work themselves, they feel so entitled to it that they’re fine with ignoring our wishes and letting other people take it to make AI “podfics” for them to listen to (there are a lot of comments on lore.fm’s shutdown announcement video from people telling them to just ignore the writers and do it anyway). They’ll use AI to generate an ending to an unfinished fic because they don’t care about seeing “the ending this writer would have given to the story they were telling”, they just want “an ending”. For these tourist fans, the ends justify the means, and their end goal is content for them to consume, with no care for the community that created it for them in the first place.

I don’t think this is confined to a specific age group. This isn’t “13-year-olds on Wattpad” or “Zoomers on TikTok” or whatever pointless generation war we’re in now. This is coming from people who are new to fandom, whose main experience with creative works on the internet is this new content culture and who don’t understand fandom as a community. That description can be true of someone from any age group.

It’s so easy to find fandom these days. It is, in fact, too easy. Newcomers face no hurdles or challenges that would encourage them to lurk and observe a bit before engaging, and it’s easy for people who would otherwise move on and leave us alone to start making trouble. From tourist fans to content entrepreneurs to random people who just want to gawk, it’s so easy for people who don’t care about the fandom community to reap all of its fruits. 

So when I say maybe fandom should start gatekeeping a bit, I’m referring to the fact that we barely even have a gate anymore. Everyone is on the internet now; the entire world can find us, and they don’t need to bother learning community etiquette when they do. Before, we were protected by the fact that fandom was considered weird and most people didn’t look at it twice. Now, fandom is pretty mainstream. People who never would’ve bothered with it before are now comfortable strolling in like they own the place. They have no regard for the fandom community, they don’t understand it, and they don’t want to. They want to treat it just like the rest of the content they consume online.

And then they’re surprised when those of us who understand fandom culture get upset. Fanworks have existed far longer than the algorithmic internet’s content. Fanworks existed long before the internet. We’ve lived like this for ages and we like it.

So if someone can’t be bothered to respect fandom as a community, I don’t see why I should give them easy access to my fics.

Think of it like a garden gate

When I interact with commenters on my fic, I have this sense of hospitality.

The comment section is my front porch. The fic is my garden. I created my garden because I really wanted to, and I’m proud of it, and I’m happy to share it with other people. 

Lots of people enjoy looking at my garden. Many walk through without saying anything. Some stop to leave kudos. Some recommend my garden to their friends. And some people take the time to stop by my front porch and let me know what a beautiful garden it is and how much they’ve enjoyed it. 

Any fic writer can tell you that getting comments is an incredible feeling. I always try to answer all my comments. I don’t always manage it, but my fics’ comment sections are the one place that I manage to consistently socialize in fandom. When I respond to a comment, it feels like I’m pouring out a glass of lemonade to share with this lovely commenter on my front porch, a thank you for their thank you. We take a moment to admire my garden together, and then I see them out. The next time they drop by, I recognize them and am happy to pour another glass of lemonade.

My garden has always been open and easy to access. No fences, no walls. You just have to know where to find it. Fandom in general was once protected by its own obscurity, an out-of-the-way town that showed up on maps but was usually ignored.

But now there’s a highway that makes it easy to get to, and we have all these out-of-towner tourists coming in to gawk and steal our lawn ornaments and wonder if they can use the place to make themselves some money.

I don’t care to have those types trampling over my garden and eating all my vegetables and digging up my flowers to repot and sell, so I’ve put up a wall. It has a gate that visitors can get through if they just take the time to open it.

Admittedly, it’s a small obstacle. But when I share my fics, I share them as a gift with my fellow fans, the ones who understand that fandom is a community, even if they’re lurkers. As for tourist fans and entrepreneurs who see fic as content, who have no qualms ignoring the writer’s wishes, who refuse to respect or understand the fandom community…well, they’re not the people I mean to share my fic with, so I have no issues locking them out. If they want access to my stories, they’ll have to do the bare minimum to become a community member and join the AO3 invite queue.

And y’know, I’ve said a lot about fandom and community here, and I just want to say, I hope it’s not intimidating. When I was younger, talk about The Fandom Community made me feel insecure, and I didn’t think I’d ever manage to be active enough in fandom spaces to be counted as A Member Of The Community. But you don’t have to be a social butterfly to participate in fandom. I’ll always and forever be a chronic lurker, I reblog more than I post, I rarely manage to comment on fic, and I go radio silent for months at a time--but I write and post fanfiction. That’s my contribution.

Do you write, draw, vid, gif, or otherwise create? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you leave comments? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you curate reclists? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you maintain a fandom blog or fuckyeah blog? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you provide a space for other fans to convene in? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you regularly send asks (off anon so people know who you are)? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you have fandom friends who you interact with? Congrats, you're a community member.

There’s lots of ways to be a fan. Just make sure to respect and appreciate your fellow fans and the work they put in for you to enjoy and the gift economy fandom culture that keeps this community going.

[supreme-leader-stoat]

You're fresh out of college and looking for a job. Everyone is hiring. Nobody who's "hiring" is actually hiring. You finally get a call back from somewhere you barely remember applying to (though the voice on the other end sounds synthesized). You pull up the job listing again real quick. The company name and the fact that the listing is for "Minion" are kind of concerning, but you know what, you've interviewed with enough evil corporations by now, you can handle one wearing its true colors on its sleeve. At this point it's a matter of making rent or moving back in with your parents, and as much as you love your family, you can't imagine spending another summer dealing with your brothers' antics. You agree to the interview.

The man who greets you is an enthusiastic older German(?) man who's either way too into cosplay or just that committed to the bit, judging by the lab coat. He made cookies. The tray of cookies is proffered to you by a ten-foot-tall robotic caricature of a 50s businessman. You take a deep breath to calm yourself. You bite into one of the cookies. It's delicious.

You ask the boss about his business model. "Oh you know, a little of this, a little of that, I bounce from project to project a lot." He mentions that his end goal is becoming the undisputed ruler of the surrounding counties. "Really? Not the whole world?" you ask. "I like to set realistic goals," he replies.

As he gives you the tour of his "evil lair," ingrained instincts are screaming at you to report this guy to some kind of authority figure. You remember the salary. You decide that you can always bust him after getting your first paycheck.

The boss asks when you can start. Caught off guard, you say "tomorrow?". Your boss(?) says he'll see you then.

On the way out, you bump into your stepbrother's girlfriend. Your boss introduces her as his daughter. You both silently agree to sidestep the subject for now and act like this is your first time meeting.

You show up to your first day of work. Your boss is putting the finishing touches on a giant machine that was definitely not there yesterday. You are nonplussed. You ask him what it's for and he launches into a convoluted explanation involving his parents always forcing him to put his shirts on backwards so the tag was in front. You think he should probably talk to a therapist.

Your brothers' exotic pet breaks down the wall. You stare at him. He stares at you. Incredulously, you say his name. "Oh, good, you two already know each other!" your boss says. You mention that you used to live with him. "What? Perry the Platypus, you never mentioned having a roommate."

This is what I like to imagine Candace Flynn's life is like, post P&F.

[fireinmoonshot]

touchy | joaquin torres x reader

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x Reader Summary: Joaquin has a thing where he always likes to have a hand on you whenever you're together – holding your waist, holding your hand, a hand resting on your thigh. You finally decide to confront him about why. Warnings: Mentions of food, a kind of spicy make-out scene. Word Count: 1.6k A/N: I had this idea and I just had to write it. It's shorter than my other Joaquin fics but I had so much fun writing it and I really just wanted to get something else for Joaquin out for you guys! Please send in requests for him if you have any! 💗

One thing you never expected when you started dating Joaquin Torres was how touchy the man was – there was barely any time when the two of you were together when he wasn’t touching you in some way. 

It surprised you at first. He never came across as that kind of person. He was the definition of a Golden Retriever boyfriend. But then you’d be standing with him at a party and you’d feel his hand wrap around your waist, or whenever you had to cross the road, he’d hold your hand (not unlike your parents used to do when you were a child), or when you were at home watching a movie on the couch, his hand would rest on your thigh.

After several months of this, you finally decided to ask him why.

“Joaquin, can I ask you something?” You call from where you’re sitting in the living room, your eyes flickering up from the book that was on your lap – the one you’ve been trying to read and failing, owing to the fact that your boyfriend has been strutting around your apartment shirtless ever since he got out of the shower.

“Course you can, angel,” he calls back from the kitchen.

Out of the two of you, Joaquin is the cook of the family. You hadn’t trusted him in the kitchen at first – he had always seemed the type of person to accidentally chop off a finger because he was too distracted. But so far, no such accidents had occured and he was much better at making a delicious meal than you were.

You were quick to close your book and get up from the couch, padding through the hallway into the kitchen to see him standing at the bench, chopping something up on a cutting board in front of him – still irritatingly shirtless.

“Cooking shirtless is dangerous, you know,” you say, announcing your presence. 

His eyes flicker up towards you. “For you or for me?”

You give him a look. “For you, pretty boy. I’m not the one holding the knife.” 

Joaquin grins at you before putting the knife down, wiping his hands on the cloth on the bench beside him and grabbing the apron hanging over the back of one of your bar stools. “Should I put this on then? Someone clearly isn’t enjoying the show.” 

“Baby,” you roll your eyes at him jokingly, crossing the room and snatching the apron out of his hands. “You know that’s not what I meant. I meant you could get burned by oil or slip and cut yourself or… well… there are plenty of dangers to cooking shirtless.” 

Joaquin smirks, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you to his chest so you’re pressed together. “Angel, all those things you just listed are also things that could happen to me if I were wearing a shirt. You know that, right?”

You can’t help the way you pout at him. “Not my point, Joaquin.”

He grins and presses a quick peck to your lips. “Was that what you were coming in here to talk about?” He asks, his thumb swiping gently back and forth over your waist. 

“No, actually,” you hum. “I was coming here to talk about this.” You motion in-between the two of you, at the contact between your bodies. You’re not not a fan of it – of course you love it – but it does amuse you, the fact that your boyfriend always wants to have a hand on you at all times. 

Joaquin raises his eyebrows. “We playin’ charades? Am I meant to guess?”

You laugh a little. “No, silly. This. The way I walked into the kitchen and you swept me up into your arms immediately. The way you always have a hand on my back when we walk somewhere. The way you put your hand on my thigh when we’re on the couch. The way you’re touching me all the time.” 

Irritatingly, your words have the opposite effect than intended and Joaquin steps away from you, removing his hand from your waist. You immediately miss the warmth of his body, the feeling of his hand on your waist, and almost reach back out for him. 

“You don’t like it?” Joaquin asks, eyebrows furrowed in worry.

You hate the look on his face – the way he looks like a wounded puppy. His usually playful eyes look sad, full of fear and you can read his expression immediately. He thinks that by doing these things, he’s made you uncomfortable.

“Baby, no – I love it!” You attempt to rectify the situation. “I just was curious about why.”

Unable to keep looking at his sad puppy dog eyes anymore, you step forward, cupping his cheeks in your hands gently. His hands tentatively rest on your waist, as if he’s afraid you’re going to move away at any second but he simply can’t help but to touch you, just a little.

“You’re so touchy and I love it, Joaquin. I love having your hands on me all the time, I swear. Just now when you took your hands off my waist it was like… like it was suddenly winter and I was freezing cold without them. I just wanna know why you do it,” you explain further, making sure you keep eye contact with him.

Joaquin frowns a little. “I guess I never really thought about it,” he replies. “I think I kinda just do it without meaning to. I just love the feeling of having my hands on you, feeling your warmth, reminding myself that you’re beside me. And I mean…” He clears his throat. “Have you seen yourself, angel? Why would I not wanna touch you at any given opportunity?”

It’s like his confidence makes a return to his body, then. His grip on your waist gets tighter and he pulls you closer, forcing you to drop your hands from his face. They rest on his shoulders instead as he backs you up a little so you’re leaning against the counter. His body is pressed against yours again, like it was only minutes ago. The warmth you’d missed before falls over you like a sheet of pure comfort.

You can’t keep the smile off your face at his words and actions. “That’s kinda cute, Joaquin,” you admit. “That you do it without thinking about it. Like I said, I love the feeling of you having your hands on me too.”

“Cute?” Joaquin looks at you with raised eyebrows. “You think I’m cute?”

It’s hard not to smile at his tone. “Yeah, adorable. You’re like a little puppy. You were looking at me before with the most puppy dog eyes I’ve ever seen on a person. You looked so sad, I just wanted to pick you up and–”

Before you can finish speaking, Joaquin cuts you off by pressing his lips to yours. You moan at the sudden feeling of his lips, the feeling of his tongue swiping against your bottom lip. The way that his hands grip your waist tighter, one of them roaming up your back to grasp at the back of your neck so he can kiss you deeper.

The edge of the counter digs into your back but you barely even notice the feeling. One of your hands moves to run through Joaquin’s hair – it’s short, but long enough for you to grip, the other on his back. The feeling of his muscles against your palm only makes you want to kiss him more. The last thing you want to do is break apart for air.

Your breath hitches as he squeezes your waist again, forcing your lips apart. Both of you are breathing heavily, though the break doesn’t last long. Joaquin wastes no time in kissing you again, but this time his lips move from yours to your jaw. He presses soft, gentle kisses along the side of your jaw and down your neck. You tilt your head backwards, giving him better access. When your hand grasps onto his hip, he gasps a little and you can’t help but smile at the sound. 

“See?” You mutter breathlessly, tilting your head forward again to meet his eyes. “I told you that cooking while shirtless was dangerous.”

Joaquin laughs at that, a gorgeous smile finding its way onto his face. You look at him, at the sweat on his forehead, the look of lust and love in his eyes, the way his chest moves up and down quickly, his breath still heavy from your small make out session. He’s easily the most gorgeous man you’ve ever laid eyes on… and he’s all yours.

He moves his hands down to your waist again and before you can do anything about it, he’s lifting you up so you’re sitting on the counter and pushing your legs apart so he can stand in-between them. At this angle, you’re basically the same height.

“I see no problems here, angel,” he flashes that gorgeous grin again before messily pressing his lips to yours again. He pulls away quickly though, much to your disappointment. “Now that we’ve established that I’m not cute, I am going to continue cooking you dinner. I’ll let you go back to your book.”

“Oh no,” you shake your head, turning to watch him as he returns to the cutting board. “I have a much better view right here than I do in the living room, baby. Besides, someone has to supervise you to make sure you stay safe while cooking like that… it’s bound to be a hard job but I’m pretty certain I’m up to the challenge...”

[icewindandboringhorror]

Other Misc. Rambling Thoughts on the topic:

(~ !!!!!!!!! if you're just reblogging this post for the Poll section, please reblog the original post without this addition* lol. ~)

(*not that there's anything super personal or weird about the addition, just that it's meant to be kind of casual Side Commentary, not really part of the Main Point Of The Poll, so it would feel kind of weird for it to be emphasized by being included in reblogs unless the reblogs were explicitly about the side commentary, etc..... if that makes sense.. ANYWAY!)

It's neat to read the written descriptions that people are mentioning in the tags, since it's almost like I can see or conceptualize the idea as well, but it's just.. I'm not SEEING it.

Like for example: I can imagine a vase, it's a muted mint green and slightly translucent, elaborate golden birds sprawled down the side in streaks of thin rough watery paint, the base material shimmers gently in the light, there's a small chip where it's cracked on the handle, etc, etc. .. But as I'm thinking about this I see literally nothing.

It seems like perhaps some people can visualize an object first, and THEN describe what they see. But I sort of work backwards. I am building the object in my mind, I can never see it, but it's a collection of concepts. Rather than visualizing all details as a whole at once, I am adding each detail one by one, building onto the IDEA of the thing.

The vase doesn't have a crack on the handle because I just automatically visualized a vase with a crack. It was more that I cognitively understand the concept of a vase, what they tend to be made out of, how they tend to look and feel, the properties they have. So based purely on that knowledge, I can imagine "a chip is something that a vase could have, it would look this way and behave this way" - more like... I'm constructing a bullet point Fact List about the object rather than seeing it.

So if you tell me to imagine an object, I can, in a way, imagine that object in great detail, but it's just.. I'm not SEEING those details, more just knowing it's qualities in a purely conceptual way. Sometimes in the tags when people are like "yeah I can see the skin of the apple, texture, little dots on the surface" it's like… I can imagine that too, I can know it's there, but just with no visual attached.

I guess rather than SEEING something and going ''ah. I know what this looks like because I have seen it''. I more just skip that visual step entirely and go ''I know what this looks like, I just randomly have a list of information about the concept in my mind.'' etc. Maybe similar to how sometimes in dreams, even though a house may look completely different and be in an entirely fake 'dreamlike' environment, you just somehow KNOW intuitively that it's meant to be your childhood home or something. Even when it looks nothing like it in reality. There's a built-in base knowledge of the properties or information of some things within a dreaming mind, etc.

--

This also makes me wonder about like.. how storytelling and myth is so important to cultures all across time. Or how this could tie also into concepts of religion.. etc. etc. If so many people really can kind of conjure these vivid images in their mind, then maybe that's part of why certain things are so meaningful to them? Like a "religious experience" being something you can actually really SEE/feel/lingering with you in your head, rather than just abstract words on a page, detached purely theoretical ideas, etc... hmmm

.

Plus also just for average emotional stuff too, even outside of broader cultural conceptual attachments..

Like, I don't think there's a direct 1 to 1 link (obviously not all people with mental illnesses that significantly reduce their emotional or expressive capacity also MUST have aphantasia or vice versa), but it's interesting as someone who DOES also have a much more lessened emotional range/pretty flat affect/etc. etc. to think like.. Maybe I WOULD be more emotional, in a way, if I could have these vivid experiences..?

Perhaps memories would hold deeper significance if they could really stay with me vividly. Or storytelling would evoke more of a deep emotional reaction to me if I could really picture and feel the things that are going on. If things were more TANGIBLE in my brain, rather than always merely conceptual highly abstracted ideas.

Kind of like, it's probably easier to get over the death of a pet or something, if after not seeing them for an hour you already don't remember what they looked like (beyond just a vague fact list of traits), and you have no vivid memories or mental reminders of them (beyond just factual information stores). COGNTIVIELY you can appreciate the idea of their absence, of course, you still miss them, but there's just no remaining visceral sensory ties. A very "out of sight, out of mind" sort of thing in terms of attachments, memories, emotions, etc. Maybe certain things are easier to "get over", when you're not having constant mental sensory reminders that occasionally rekindle your feelings about the event or etc.??

(like for example, maybe someone could remain angry about an argument longer if they could vividly replay it in their head over and over again. VS just like.. 'Yes I can factually recall the fact I had an argument, and I do have knowledge stored about what precisely was said, but any sort of sensory data such as sights/smells/feelings, etc. from the actual moment of the event are long gone and can never be conjured again in my mind." etc.)

Which again, I think lessened emotional permanence and image permanence in the mind are NOT inherently linked, can all be caused by different things for different people. And, since I can't visualize anything in my head, maybe I'm misunderstanding how it happens and the effect it may have on stuff like remembering things you miss or replaying arguments, etc. etc. But it's still a little interesting to think about, if they could influence each other to some degree.... :0c --

Lastly, It's also weird because I'm actually pretty good at estimating distance and spaces? I can quickly assemble furniture without an instruction manual, pretty easily have a concept of how much space a chair may take up in a room, how two mechanical parts might fit together - BUT, I am literally not actually visualizing anything. I cannot see 3D objects in my mind at ALL. It's like.. just based on the pure List Of Facts About Things Which I Have Observed.. I can intuitively go "oh this works like this/this is this size" just because.. I know it's that size. I don't have to see anything to know..?

But then on the other hand, I'm terrible at directions without a map (I guess because a 3d outdoor environment has WAY more complexity than like.. "Will this square fit into another square?"etc. lol ).

BUT, I also draw/sculpt/etc. entirely without references, and seem to do mostly okay at that..? Like.. I can't even remember the last time I actually used a reference or looked at anything whilst drawing. It's all muscle memory, and me just adjusting as I go until something "looks right" on paper, I never have a set image in my head (or external reference) before hand.. Hrmm....

AND.. I used to say that I had a photographic memory when I was younger, which I know NOW is not true (I always thought it was just an expression, not that people could literally see things in a photographic way). But what I was describing is, I do often associate information with imagery, just... without imagery....

Like "Oh, I know that I took my medicine earlier today because I have a distinct memory, a snapshot of a moment in time, of me rattling the pill bottle in my hands as I looked up at a stop sign while in the back seat of a car". When I say this, I can't ACTUALLY see/feel/hear a pill bottle, or vividly picture a stop sign, but it's more just a factual recall, of. Even though I don't see these things, I know they happened, the information of them happening (me hearing a sound and also looking at a stop sign at the same time) has been stored in my brain as a memory, a collection of linked facts. --

As for other senses, I cannot taste or feel anything in my head AT ALL.. wild that some people mention that. I mean, again, I can have a purely factual recall as if reading a textbook, knowing the information of 'X item typically has X texture, therefore I can imagine what it may be like to feel it' or 'X usually has this taste' etc. - but I can never actually experience those senses in any capacity in my mind alone. I would say audio is my strongest mental sense (maybe a 2.5 or 3 (if it were translated onto the above scale where 1 is most vivid and 5 is nothing)), then visual (4.5 at most, usually 5), and then taste and smell and such are just complete 5, absolutely nothing, I didn't even know people could experience taste or feeling just in their mind alone.. lol...

I know this is just a silly bad quality random screencap of a screencap that I found on facebook lol, BUT it's a succinct enough image to easily describe the concept in a quick/accessible way hopefully :

-

(and of course, feel free to elaborate in tags, etc.! (especially elaborating about other senses as well.. can you "hear" in your mind just as well as you can "see"? taste? etc.) It's an interesting topic to me, as someone who's like a 4.5 at MOST lol. I'm curious what option will be the most common :0c )

[billiereid]

Jealousy: Haikyuu! x Reader

Warnings: Rated X. This content is intended for readers ages 18 years or older. Minors, do not interact.

Featuring: Tetsuro Kuroo. Kenma Kozume. Kotaro Bokuto. Keiji Akaashi. Fem!Reader.

Contains: Posessive behavior. Jealousy. Fingering. Oral sex (F receiving). P in V sex. Edging. Praise. Exhibitionism. Public sex.

Summary: The boys all know that you love them. Your relationship is special and important, and you've never given them any reason to distrust you. But even still, everyone has insecurities. Everyone gets jealous sometimes. Here's how they react when that jealousy starts to flare up over you.

Author's Note: This is written post-timeskip. All characters are written to be adults.

Tetsuro Kuroo

Kuroo is one possessive motherfucker. At least, compared to the rest of the people on this list. 

He’s happy to always let you have your space, your friends, anything you need.

But the moment he feels like another guy might end up in first place?

Absolutely the fuck not.

There was no reason for Kuroo to worry. He knew it. You knew it. But the moment one of your coworkers started giving you a ride home, he decided things were getting a little too friendly. 

And he would never demand 100% of your time, your attention. That just wasn’t the kind of guy Kuroo was, and it wasn’t realistic anyway. You were a person. You deserved to have your friends, your family, your space, your fun. 

But you were his. And he was going to make sure it was drilled into your head before the night was over. 

“Please, Tetsu–” you all but whined. You didn’t know how long you’d been underneath him at this point. Your entire body was flushed with pleasure. You couldn’t think straight, couldn’t even come up with words. You had gotten so close at least a dozen times. A dozen edges that felt like a hundred. 

All because of his hands.

Kuroo had his fingers buried inside you now. He’d had them on your clit just minutes ago, though after edging three times it certainly felt like hours. Now, he had your two favorites stuffed inside you, pressing against all your inner buttons and making your head spin. 

“Aww, baby’s being so patient, aren’t you?” Tetsuro purred on his knees in front of you, his free hand pinning your hips to the bed with a bruising grip. “What do you think, princess? If I let you come right now, ‘re you gonna make a mess all over me?”

You knew what he wanted, knew that he wanted you to squirt. But you had only ever done it once for him, and it was a long time ago, when you were both a little too tipsy to care about having to change the sheets afterward. But now? Now, you weren’t sure if you could. 

“You’re still thinking too much, babygirl,” Kuroo said, his voice low and nurturing despite the filthy squelching sounds that his fingers were making inside your ruined pussy. “Eyes on me, princess.” It was a command disguised as a gentle coaxing. Your eyes, glazed over with pleasure and the effort to hold back your orgasm, finally met Tetsuro’s. “There’s my pretty girl,” he purred. 

The imaginary cord inside of you was wound so tight over and over, and you could tell it was about to snap, permission or no. 

“Whose are you, sweet girl?” Kuroo asked. He needed to hear you say it–to make you say it.

Your eyes widened a little bit as you realized, he really might not let you come. “Tets–”

“I said, whose are you?” he repeated. When you still couldn’t seem to find the words, his eyes darkened in that dominant way that only his could manage. “Answer, or I’ll edge you again.”

The edges of panic crept into your mind. You couldn’t handle being edged again. You were already so sensitive. “Yours! Yours, Tetsuro, I’m yours,” you chanted frantically, hoping that this time he’e actually let you come. 

“That’s fucking right,” Kuroo praised. “Now, come. And make a mess all over this fucking bed.”

Kenma Kozume

Honestly, Kenma’s not usually a jealous person. 

He knows you love him, and you’ve never given him a reason not to trust you.

Just like anyone else, though, there are little insecurities. 

And rather than getting possessive or angry, he just finds himself reminding you of all the reasons you keep him around.

It should’ve been such a simple interaction, really. 

You’d left your wallet on the train when you were on your way home. Someone had found it and had been kind enough to meet up with you in a coffee shop and return it. Kenma had even agreed to go with you, even though there wasn’t much he could’ve done in the way of protecting you. He had seen the entire interaction happen. There was nothing suspicious. You hadn’t even touched the man who came to return your wallet, hadn’t seemed to flirt or even bat your eyes in his direction. 

But he was tall. Extremely tall. Not that it normally mattered. But he also might’ve been handsome to some people, Kenma guessed, and his voice kind of sounded like warm butter when he spoke. And he was so kind, and your smile was so pretty when you looked up at him. But your smile was always pretty, especially when you were looking at Kenma. And it didn’t matter. 

But it did. 

Kenma wasn’t even really aware of what he was doing. But he spent the rest of the day doing whatever you wanted, his entire focus on you. He took you for lunch, then ice cream. He took you to your favorite little used bookstore, and he even stopped for a coffee on the way home.

And now, as the sun was setting outside your shared apartment, he was kneeling on the floor in front of your couch with his lips attached between your thighs. Kenma suckled sweetly on your clit, fingers kneading the squishy plush of your hips. His tongue dipped inside to taste your wetness before his lips returned to your clit. You’re his, you’re his, you’re so his. 

He wasn’t really sure if he was convincing you or himself.

Kenma fully moaned against your pussy as he tasted you, completely enraptured by the sight of your back arching in response to the pleasure he was giving you.. His tongue always made you dizzy. Your hands carded through his hair, continuously brushing it out of his face for him as he devoured you.

“Fuck, that feels so good,” you moaned, your voice barely above a whisper. The desire practically rolled off of you in waves. The buildup was completely delicious, making time seem to slow down around you. 

“So good… So perfect…” you told Kenma, looking down at him between your thighs. Your voice was husky, dripping with your need, and the words poured out of your mouth before your brain could even think to stop them. Not that you would’ve stopped him anyway. Kenma was perfect, and you were going to let him know that. 

Kenma whimpered under your praise, his tongue flickering over your clit in that way he knows you love so much. Your back arched again–fuck, you were pretty when you did that. 

“Baby… please, don’t stop…” you begged, your voice little more than a breathy moan as you got closer to that high you needed so badly. 

But he pulled his lips away. Your head fell back against the sofa cushions, and you let out an extended whine. “Not yet,” Kenma said, his breathing heavy and his voice raspy. You watched him let his pants and boxers fall to the floor, his dick hard and aching like you’d never seen before. 

You whimpered again at the sight. “Kenma,” you whined, “I was so close.”

“I said, not yet,” Kenma said again. His cock slid through your folds, coating himself in your liquid arousal. “This pussy is mine. And I’ll do what I want with it.”

Kotaro Bokuto

When Bokuto gets jealous, he just gets unbelievably sad. 

He’s not usually a possessive guy.

But he just loves having all of your attention. 

So sometimes, when you’ve had your attention on another guy, he just needs to be reminded that you love him, too.

Was he fucking pouting? 

You’d been out with your boyfriend all day, seemingly having a good time. And then you struck up an extended conversation with the barista at your local coffee shop, someone you’d become very friendly with because of your frequent visits. He’s a little too cute for Bokuto’s comfort. 

Really, he wasn’t trying to be short with you. It was just a few comments that came out harsher than he intended. Some indifference here, some feigned boredom there. It was a recipe for disaster, you thought. And you couldn’t figure out why. You’d been having a perfectly normal day together. Actually, it was one of the better days, because there was no practice, no travel. Just the two of you, going out grocery shopping.

It wasn’t until after you got home that you realized what exactly was going on. When you were watching TV, Bokuto laid his head in your lap, his arms clinging to your waist, his face buried into your stomach. You laced your fingers into his hair and called him cute, and you saw the tiny, proud smile that he tried to hide by nestling further into your belly.

That was how you ended up here. 

You straddled Kotaro’s lap, his cock buried inside you to the hilt. He was sitting on the bed, his back propped up against the headboard. “Fuck, you feel so good,” you said, starting to move your hips in your need to relieve the pressure low in your belly. “You fit me so perfectly.”

Bokuto’s hands gripped your waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh on your hips. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you as you rode him, your pace slow and deliberate, as if making some sort of point. But fuck you were so gorgeous, your tits bouncing ever so slightly as you rode. Your hands perched on his shoulders to keep your balance. Your eyebrows pinched together. Your lip was caught between your teeth. Tiny little whimpers were escaping your lungs. Everything about you was so beautiful and gorgeous, and you were undeniably his and–

Oh, he thought. 

But the thought didn’t stop him, didn’t make him falter for even a second. His hips started rising to meet yours with every thrust, forcing you to ride him faster. “That’s it,” Kotaro said through his teeth, one of his strong hands sliding up your side and gripping your breast. “That’s it. Keep goin’, yeah? Keep fuckin’ yourself on my cock.”

Bokuto’s lewd ramblings made you dizzy as his dick hit just the right spot inside you and kept hitting it. You let out absolutely the most sinful moan as you got closer to the high you wanted, the one you needed him to give you. “Fuck, don’t stop… Need more,” you moaned, leaning your forehead against his. 

“I’m not stopping. You close?,” Bokuto says, still flexing his hips to fuck up into you, forcing his own pace over the two of you. You nod in answer. “Yeah, that’s it. Come for me. That’s my girl.”

Keiji Akaashi

Akaashi is an overthinker. 

So while he isn’t necessarily jealous or possessive, he definitely does overthink things a lot.

And he isn’t afraid to call you out when he thinks you’re being a little too friendly with someone else.

Not that he thinks you would ever leave him. He’s just going to remind you why.

Thinking back on it, you could see why Akaashi did what he did. 

You’d been out to dinner. Not just any dinner. Your anniversary dinner. He had made a reservation. You’d gotten dressed up. He was ready to wine and dine you all evening, to spoil you all night the way you deserved.

And then he showed up.

Some guy you’d gone on a couple of dates with before Keiji was even in the picture happened to see you from across the room. And the idiot had the audacity to come speak to you like Akaashi wasn’t even there. 

And he wasn’t angry at you. God, no. Akaashi let you handle things your way. You were short in your responses, and when you finally introduced Keiji as your boyfriend and mentioned it was your anniversary, the guy finally left the two of you alone for the night. 

It didn’t stop him from overthinking the entire evening though. 

If things had been the other way around, if one of his exes had shown up on your anniversary date, he would’ve told her she was ruining his date. He would’ve said she needed to learn to read the room. He would’ve kissed you right in front of her for good measure. 

He supposed that wasn’t what would’ve actually happened. And he supposed you probably just didn’t want to make a scene in the middle of the restaurant. So he wasn’t really angry with you. God, he was never angry with you, especially once you flashed him that pretty smile…

After dinner, he brought you out to the parking lot, supposedly to drive you home. But he smirked and guided you into the backseat, where he pulled you onto his lap and kissed you like you were the only oxygen in the entire world.

It wasn’t long until you were a tangle of limbs and tongues and teeth. Akaashi had pulled your dress and bra down, your pebbled nipple caught in his mouth. He had pulled his cock out of his pants and shoved it inside you, pushing your panties aside and thrusting into you in one fell swoop. 

God, you were pretty like this. You were pretty always, Keiji couldn’t deny that. But your face was heated from the pleasure. Your dress was hiked up around your waist. One of your tits was hanging out of your dress. And fuck you felt so good wrapped around him, your hands perched on his shoulders as you awkwardly rode him in the back seat of his car. 

“Keiji…” you whined, the tone of your voice betraying just how good it felt to have him inside you. “I’m… so… close…”

Akaashi only hummed his approval against your nipple. He wouldn’t dare stop now. Not when you were right on the cusp of coming on him in the middle of this parking garage. Fuck, you were so hot. He kept rolling his hips to meet yours as you rode him, his tongue delicately swirling around your nipple. 

What you didn’t see was Akaashi locking eyes with the man who interrupted your date earlier. Your eyes were screwed shut and your head was thrown back in as you reached your peak. So your ex knew it was you, but you never got a chance to see him. 

As the guy walked away, Akaashi let go of your nipple and replaced his mouth with his hand, his thumb circling your peak. “That’s it,” he whispered. “That’s my girl.”

[highvern]

Dessert First

Pairing: Kim Mingyu x f!reader

Genre: baker! mingyu, wedding planner!YN, fluff, smut, angst, exes to lovers

warnings: hate for the Dodgers, alcohol consumption, smoking, past drug use, lots of mentions of food, mentions of anxiety/poor self esteem, past toxic relationship, a little bit of jealousy from reader, fingering, dry humping/thigh riding, oral sex, unprotected sex, cum eating

Length: ~21k

Note: FINALLY WE ARE HERE for @camandemstudios Lonely Hearts Cafe Collab. check out all the amazing fic (26 in total) on the master list. everyone has worked so hard and im so excited to read them thank u pookie @gyuswhore @miniseokminnies and @starlightkyeom for beta reading and telling me this wasn't trash

summary: You've got a great life. Your wedding planning business is booming, your clients are great, and you're finally over your ex-boyfriend after years of pining. Or you are, until the universe decides to test if those three things are actually true.

collab m.list || m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

Comment to be tagged in the full fic coming February 17th!

It starts with the coffee maker.

By all accounts you could buy a completely new one that actually worked but some sentimental part of you liked the baby blue machine with scratched enamel and an inability to brew a full pot in less than twenty minutes. If your coffee maker worked the way it was supposed to then you wouldn’t have left your apartment ten minutes late. And if you hadn’t left your apartment ten minutes late then you wouldn’t have arrived on the subway platform just as the train doors closed, forcing you to wait another ten minutes for the next train and by then the mist of rain outside devolved into a biblical downpour leaving you soaked to the bone despite a rain jacket and an umbrella. 

At least the binder containing every last detail of your life for the next two months is safe.

Sprinting down the street, your shoes squish through filthy puddles. No point in taking the extra time to dodge them, you’re already twenty minutes behind schedule with a ruined pair of brand new loafers. The only saving grace is Joshua and Sarah’s, your clients, habit of running at least thirty minutes behind. Which is why you told them the meeting started at 10AM and not 10:30. 

So technically you aren’t late. Yet. But you planned a thirty minute buffer to meet with the pastry chef and discuss color scheme, flavors, and logistics before Joshua and Sarah arrived to ensure everything went smoothly. As smooth as it can with clients that believe more is more and have no budget. 

The cafe bustles to the brim with people trying to escape the tsunami outside and enjoy something sweet. Damp businessmen sip cups of coffee while thumbing through damp newspapers, college students cram over notebooks with cookies by their side. A group of moms cluster on the couches, baby toys and lattes strung across the table while they share the latest playground drama. You can see yourself bunkered down at the table by the wide bay window, typing away emails and finalizing calendars with a hot cup of coffee and one of the massive croissants displayed on the counter.

Joshua and Sarah insisted on using Dessert First for their cake. They had their first date here and you can see why they love it so much. The display case sits packed with cakes and pastries; tarts with jewel like fruit, iced treats that make your mouth water. The heavenly scent of almond, vanilla, and coffee clouded the air. Plants hung from the ceiling, a shelf in the far corner stacked with pre-packaged goods to go.

You can almost forget the chill seeping into your veins from the cozy aroma of vanilla and espresso. A perfect oasis in the middle of the overcrowded city.

You’re still ten minutes early according to your watch. Plenty of time to devise a battle strategy with whatever unfortunate baker owns this place. You couldn’t find anything about them online, no pictures or reviews that mentioned them by name; only one article in the city newspaper announcing the grand opening last year which obviously resented a bakery replacing the former pizza shop that was shut down due to a myriad of legal issues. Who knew money laundering was so prevalent?

Even when you called to schedule this meeting you couldn’t get a name, just one of the cashiers promising to put you on the calendar before hanging up without asking for any of your information.

Stepping towards the cash register, a lone employee taps a quiet beat on the counter with his fingers, lost in his own world. Vernon, his name tag reads. You're almost certain this is the same man you spoke to one the phone.

“Hi.” You plaster on your most convincing smile, hoping it distracts from the wet mess of your…everything. “I’m supposed to be meeting with the pastry chef. I’m—”

He cuts you off with a snap. “You’re the wedding planner lady, right?” 

“Yep, that’s me.”

“I’ll let him know you’re here. You want a coffee?”

“A coffee would be great,” you sigh in relief. 

“Cream? Sugar?”

“Nope, just black,” you nod. “Thanks.”

Vernon fills a mug almost to the top before sliding it across the counter and disappearing into the back with a swish of the kitchen doors. While he grabs the mysterious baker, you head towards the table in the window. It’s perfect. You can see the entire cafe and the street, with plenty of space for everyone to gather around. Plus, it’s far away from the A/C blowing steadily on the opposite side of the cafe.

At best, you hope your new colleague will take the stress of this wedding for the premium pay. Sarah and Joshua want a lot but they’re willing to put their money where their mouths are. And unfortunately, they’re nice. Pleasant to the point you can’t fathom telling them no.

There was a point where you felt the butterflies they felt, and you wanted the same dream wedding they wanted. Maybe that’s why you’re willing to do whatever it takes to give them the perfect day they envisioned. That, and the promise of high end clients if everything goes well.

You’re too busy organizing everything to perfection on the table to notice a new presence over your shoulder until he clears his throat. This isn’t how you planned to introduce yourself but you steel against the embarrassment of the morning and turn around. “Hi, I’m—”

Mingyu.

Any hope of this working shatters into a million pieces before your eyes.

Fuck.

The shock buckles your knees, collapsing onto your ass on the hard tile floor. Trying to scramble for balance only brings the stack of papers on the table down with you. 

It isn’t enough to face your ex after years in private, there is no way the universe is this cruel. The only logical reason for any of this is you slipped and fell down the subway station stairs and are currently in a coma in the back of an ambulance. That must be what happened because this level of mercilessness is the type of thing only your subconscious could brew.

“Are you okay?” Mingyu asks.

Dejectedly, you slump on the floor. Kill me, you pray. But when you open your eyes, Mingyu is kneeling over you, eyebrows furrowed like he’s concerned. 

He offers you a hand. “What are you doing here?” 

You push him off, diving down for your scattered belongings to hide the embarrassment burning your face. So much for the dramatic ‘I won’ encounter you fantasized about post breakup. “I’m meeting the owner. What are you doing here?”

Rising to your feet, you try to keep your chin held high. Neither of you are winning in this situation but you cling to your pride even if it’ll kill you. You know what Mingyu is doing here before he even says it. He’s got an apron covered in flour cinched around his waist and that stupid Dodgers hat from college he apparently still refuses to toss out holding his hair back. It’s longer than the last time you saw him, curling around his ears.

“I’m the owner.”

“Of course, you are,” you laugh bitterly. “Did you know about this?”

“Obviously not,” Mingyu scoffs. “Do you think I was like ‘oh yeah, I’d love to work with my ex-girlfriend on your wedding cake, what a great surprise!’”

He respected your boundary to not see each other after the break up; only communicating through Soonyoung to coordinate moving out of your shared apartment. You hadn’t blocked his number but he didn’t take advantage of it. He didn’t call or text, left your social media alone. Mingyu turned into a ghost at your command. 

No, Mingyu wouldn’t do this to you. The universe just hates you enough to make it happen.

Besides, it’s too late to cancel and even if you wanted to, Sarah and Joshua gushed nonstop about having their dream cake made by none other than your ex-boyfriend. You could do this. You were a professional. You’ve worked with far worse people than Mingyu, and in two months, you would never have to see him again.

Mingyu takes a seat at the table, watching as you do the same. You try not to show how flustered you are while neatly organizing everything again. 

He breaks the silence. “How are we doing this?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do I know you? Or are we pretending we’ve never met before? Should we make a quick slideshow about all the reasons we didn’t work out? I’m sure you have one.”

You sour at the comment but only because somewhere on your laptop is a slideshow detailing the epic explosion resulting in your break up, color coded by who won the fight. It was easier than explaining again and again to your friends how someone like you and someone like him just didn’t work. Especially when all they saw was a handsome face and a nice smile.

Lying would only come back to bite you in the ass later but how would it look for a wedding planner to work side by side with her failed long term relationship? At best, your clients wouldn’t care. It really isn’t any of their business why you and Mingyu ended things. The sour ending between you two wouldn’t affect work; you could work with someone you didn’t like. You did it all the time. 

Worst case scenario, they’ll think you’re a complete fraud and incapable of planning the perfect day to celebrate their love since your own romantic life is a burning garbage fire doused in gasoline. They’ll think there is no way you and your ex–boyfriend can work together for the next six weeks to pull this off and they’ll be left in the ruins.

“We’re…friends of friends.” 

“Got it,” he nods. “So friend…how’s business?”

You shrug, focusing on the small line forming at the cash register. “Good. Busy.”

Truly, business was better than ever before. Sarah chose you after her friend’s wedding was praised in the city paper as the event of the season. Thank whatever powers be that Jeonghan agreed to write the feature if you planned his sister’s wedding for free; all the work paid off in spades for the free advertising. You even had enough money to bring Seungkwan on as your part time assistant.

But you don’t need to bog Mingyu down with the details of how busy you were. You want to know how everything around you finally came out of his brain and into existence; right down to the sleek espresso machine and the display case of artfully decorated cakes. You should have recognized all the details he spent hours describing for when he opened his own bakery like he always wanted, checkerboard tiles and all.

“You can ask,” he says.

There is no point in pretending you aren’t curious. He could see right through it.

“When did all this happen?”

“Last year.”

“I didn’t know you quit your job.”

“We weren’t really on speaking terms…” Mingyu shakes his head. “I started working at Annette’s on Second the year before that. Saved up. Now I’m here.”

“Well, if Sarah and Joshua are anything to go by, you’ve got the best cake in the city.”

Mingyu looks away and at first you think it’s because he can’t take the compliment. But that’s unlike him. He loves compliments, even if he gets flustered and pink at the collar. When he looks back, his lip is pinched between his teeth in barely contained laughter.

“Not like that!” you gasp.

“I didn’t say anything!” he argues.

Your eyes roll as you settle back into your chair. It feels too close to normal, like you’re back in those days when Mingyu was some guy you truthfully did only know through a friend of a friend. Before he asked you to a party at his apartment, before you told him you weren’t interested in seeing anyone else; before…everything. 

You can’t go down that road. Discussing business is far safer than whatever this is; if this is anything to be worried about at all. Mingyu was always a flirt and obviously hadn’t changed in the years spent apart. It didn’t mean anything. It wouldn’t mean anything.

“Alright, so before they get here,” you start, flipping through your notes. You have less than ten minutes to convince Mingyu to do this wedding, when you really need six months and good blackmail. “They want a wedding cake for Saturday, individual panna cottas for the rehearsal dinner Friday night, and cookies waiting for everyone at the hotel when they arrive on Thursday… Oh, and sticky buns and coffee cake for breakfast Sunday morning for people to grab as they leave. I think that’s it.” 

“Oh, that’s it?” 

You shrug. “They might change their mind once they get here.”

“Like how?”

“They said they wanted all the stuff they’ve eaten here since they started dating so maybe they’ll remember something else once we get talking.”

“They come in a lot…” Mingyu winces.

As if divine fate, the couple in question barge through the door, perfectly dry in designer coats like they walked off a movie set.

“Sorry we’re late!” Sarah announces.

“Don’t worry about it. We were just chatting.” Mingyu shrugs, rising to shake their hands. “Can I get you both something to drink?”

You swallow the jealousy from catching a glimpse of Sarah’s engagement ring as she and Joshua settle down. Vintage emerald cut diamond big enough to see from the moon but somehow fits her reserved style despite being passed down in Joshua’s family several generations over. You’ve planned a lot of weddings which means you’ve seen a lot of engagement rings; some good, some great. But Sarah’s is the stuff out of a Cartier commercial.

After Mingyu settles everyone with fresh coffee, he pulls his chair back out, spins it around and takes a seat with his arms crossed over the back. 

“All right, let’s talk dates—”

“Six weeks,” Joshua says.

“Six…weeks?” Mingyu blinks several times like he also is beginning to believe this is some horrible coma induced nightmare.

You school your features into the perfect picture of innocence. “Didn’t I mention that?”

He doesn’t buy it for a second. No fucking way, his eyes say.

I’ll kill you slowly and painfully, your own respond.

“We know it’s fast but we don’t wanna wait,” Sarah gushes.

“Right…” Mingyu sucks in a long breath. “Well, it shouldn’t be too hard to squeeze you into the schedule.”

What you hear beneath his appeasing tone is: you owe me big time.

Nonethewiser, Sarah and Joshua perk up like freshly watered daisies. 

The details hammer out quickly. Three hundred guests means hundreds cookies for the welcome party, a hundred individual desserts for the rehearsal dinner, and a massive four tiered cake for the wedding, and several batches of pastries for Sunday. You shove the curated stack of inspiration pictures into his hands, grimacing when his eyes widen. They’re all vintage round cakes with pounds of icing piped on with painstaking details. Rosettes, ruffles, bulbs of white icing with fresh cherries on top; everything but the kitchen sink slapped together. 

But despite the overwhelming demands, the numbers rack up behind his eyes. You’ve been in business long enough to estimate prices of everything from flowers to cake to bartenders to a balloon arch. The cake itself is easily three thousand if not more with how much detail they want. Add on the other desserts and Mingyu must realize he’s sitting on the biggest contract he’s ever seen with the promise of more business if all goes well. Plus, Sarah’s family reputation means every detail of the wedding would be front page news – who attended, how much they spent, and what businesses were lucky enough to serve an heiress. And if it was good enough for an heiress, then brides all over the city wanted the same treatment no matter the cost.

He’d be stupid to turn them down. You’d strangle him if he even considered it; right across the table top separating you two.

“I can definitely do this. What are we thinking for flavors?”

“Chocolate,” Sarah says.

“Lemon!” Joshua adds.

“What about vanilla? Grannie Donna won’t eat anything fancy,” she warns. “Since it’s four tiers, can we do four flavors?”

You focus on the vein in Mingyu’s neck growing more pronounced as they prattle off on a million different tangents; fondant versus icing, fruit filling or mouse, alcohol infused or would that be too much? They are nice enough but it was like herding cats every time you sit down with them. Spare no expense but your sanity. In time, Mingyu will learn that presenting them too many decisions at once is asking for trouble, but for now you revel in watching him fluster through each option in painstaking detail. 

“How about we do a tasting next week?” Mingyu asks, clearly exhausted. The only thing preventing him from tugging at his hair the way he always does when stressed is that hideous baseball hat. “I can do a slice of each cake flavor we have and the fillings you're interested in.”

“That’ll be perfect!” Sarah claps.

Once they agree to a time, Sarah rushes Joshua out the door for brunch with her parents leaving you alone with Mingyu.

“Six weeks?” he asks.

“How do you think I feel?”

“The pay is that good?”

“She has shoes worth more than my life and Josh’s family has a summer home in Antibes.”

“Where the fuck is Antibes?” Mingyu blurts.

“France.”

“Well, shit.”

“Yeah. So for the next six weeks I’m in charge of getting them whatever they want. Even if that means putting on an apron and making their cake myself.”

Mingyu shudders. “Never threaten me with your cooking.”

“I’m not that bad!”

“Right,” he says. “I forgot omelets and spaghetti are supposed to be crunchy.”

“Anyway…” Your eyes roll. “Think you can handle everything?”

He leans back, arms crossing over his chest. “I haven’t done a wedding before. It’ll be good for business.”

The corner of your lip twitches because you know that look on his face. Mingyu likes a challenge and what you’re asking of him is probably his biggest challenge yet.

“Alright then,” you say, rising from your seat. “I’ll see you next week.”

“How was the meeting?” Seungkwan asks around a mouthful of pad thai.

You pick at your own plate with gusto. Your day had been packed with meetings since this morning’s nightmare, no time for a change of clothes or anything other than the coffee and pastries Mingyu sent you off with. But Seungkwan surprised you with take out and a Ted Lasso marathon after you wrung out.

 “You will never guess who the baker is.”

“Mingyu.”

“How the fuck did you know that?” You whip around to face him, elbow catching on the coffee table. “Ow! Fuck!”

Seungkwan shrugs, unmoved by your pain. “Because I know everything.”

“And it didn’t occur to you to—I don’t know—mention that to me?” you shriek.

“It did. But it was more fun this way.”

“Well I’m glad one of us finds this funny.” You stab a carrot on your plate with more force than needed.

“So how is he?”

“I thought you knew everything?”

“That good, huh?” Seungkwan asks with an eyebrow wiggle. “Did he make a move?”

“Yeah, he actually asked me if I wanted to do him right there on the coffee bar in front of everyone. Obviously, not.”

“Sounds like you wish he did.”

“Ew, no.”

“Oh, please,” he snorts. “As if you’d turn him down.”

“I would.”

“You guys never did the whole break-up sex thing. Just the ‘break up and never speak again’ thing. You are long overdue for it.”

“The point of breaking up is that we don’t see each other anymore.”

“What does that have to do with anything? And now that he’s back in the picture, you don’t feel even the smallest bit of curiosity?”

“No.” 

Lie. Lie, lie, lie, lie, LIE. Of the millions of reasons you broke up with Mingyu, lack of attraction wasn’t one. It wasn’t enough that he was tall and handsome, he was actually a good person who wore generosity like a second skin. In the weeks following your break up you resisted the urge to ask him for any sort of ‘closure.’ And gradually, those feelings and curiosity went away the longer you ignored them. But seeing him today brought those dead feelings back with enough force to leave you breathless.

“Whatever you say.”

“I’m not that easy.”

“It’s not about being easy, it’s about having hot hate sex with your ex boyfriend,” Seungkwan tsks. “Why can’t you be normal like everyone else?”

“Not everyone is having sex with their ex-boyfriends!”

“Not everyone’s ex-boyfriend is Mingyu!”

“Why are you invested in my sex life?”

“Because as your friend and employee, you are way better to work with when you’re getting laid.”

“Yeah well you’re better to work with when you mind your own business.”

“He looked good, didn’t he?”

You throw your arms up in defeat. “Fine, yes. He looked good.”

“And?”

“And ‘hot, hate sex’ doesn’t sound like the worst thing ever.”

“And?”

“What else is there? I’m not gonna do it. I have to work with him for the next two months.”

“I don’t know, I just wanted to see what else you’d admit, skank.”

Mid-suffocating Seungkwan with a throw pillow, your phone lights up with a text. Speak of the devil.

Mingyu: realized i didn’t give them a quote on price

When you told him how good the money was, you thought he’d understand. Sarah came from money so old her family were probably the first cavemen to need a bank account. Joshua had family members married to royalty in other countries. 

“Is that him? What did he say? Is he asking you to come over?” Seungkwan tries to look over your shoulder.

YN: send me the invoice and i’ll take care of it

Mingyu: aye aye captain

You blare at Seungkwan, sinking back into the couch. “No, it’s about work. Because we work together now.”

“I hear office romance is all the rage these days.”

“I hear firing your assistant is too.”

Seungkwan mutters something under his breath but goes back to watching TV, leaving you to think about what he said.

The first time you met Mingyu was three minutes before Holly, your junior year roommate, shared you two would be splitting twin bunk beds for a weekend at her family’s lake house.

You couldn’t complain. A free weekend on the lake? There was no way you’d ever afford something like it with your budget. As the only two single people on the entire trip, it was a blessing you got real beds and not a pull out couch or air mattress in the living room. Besides, Mingyu seemed nice enough and you wouldn’t be spending that much time in the tiny bedroom anyway. It would be perfectly fine.

And then it rained that entire weekend.

Being stuck inside with five couples for four days left you and Mingyu scrambling to find anything to distract from third wheeling. Turns out, he made good company.

“Pool?” Mingyu asked after the seventh round of cards. Seven losses in a row made him desperate for something he could beat you at.

Eager for anything to prevent going back to your room which shared a wall with Holly and Soonyoung, you tossed the cards on the table and followed him.  “Do you know how to play?”

“Do you?” Mingyu turned with two cues in his hand. He passed one to you before grinding the blue chalk on the tip of his.

“Maybe.” You shrugged, racking the balls.

The first game ended in uncontested victory. Mingyu managed to scratch every turn he got, sinking two stripes before the eight balls tipped into a corner pocket and declared you the winner after barely ten minutes.

“How are you this bad at pool?” you asked.

Mingyu sipped his beer indignantly. “Sorry we can’t all be experts.”

“I only pocketed three balls, you lost all on your own. ” You laughed at his eye roll. “Re-rack the balls and I’ll show you.”

Mingyu did as you said, and rounded back where you stood, eager for instruction.

“Okay, now get in position.”

Eying him up and down, you didn’t focus anywhere for too long in fear of getting distracted by…all of it. You had eyes, you could see how handsome he was. Not to mention the last two mornings he woke up early to workout and came back shirtless while you pretend to sleep, watching from the top bunk as he dug through his duffle for a change of clothes. 

“First problem,” you started, moving into his space. “Your hands are a mess. Move your left hand, no. Your other left hand.” You pulled his hand away from the green velvet of the table, splaying his fingers wide under your own. “Use this one to aim. Balance the cue between two fingers, it’ll keep it stable so you don’t scratch against the table.” Then your front plastered to his back but you were too dedicated to correcting him to think much beyond the clumsy way he fumbled the stick. “It helps if you keep your grip tight. Now, focus between the tip of the cue and the ball. Don’t do anything crazy, just aim straight.”

The balls cracked on impact, flying different directions and ricocheting off the border until the orange stripe sinks into the corner. 

Mingyu stared, mouth wide and cheeks rosy. Your own body vibrated where it touched him; something fluttered up your front, where the heat of his back lingered; where you could still feel the way his chest expanded with each breath. 

“See?” you breathed into his ear, pleased at his shiver. “Better already.”

The second game was slightly better than the first. Mingyu improved, pocketing a few more balls. Everytime he looked at you for approval, you forgot how to breathe. You intentionally pocketed the eight ball too soon just to catch your breath.

“I’m gonna grab another beer,” you said, disappearing upstairs. 

When you returned, Mingyu insisted on a third game. Alcohol didn’t help keep either of your shots steady but it did make things hazy around the edges. You touched Mingyu more, finding any excuse to correct his form. He let you before starting to ask for more pointers, watching closely as you pocketed more balls.

Mingyu’s hand covered yours when you descended into puddles of laughter after he sent the cue ball flying across the room. Then you were kissing; pinned between his mouth and pool table.

That night, you didn’t hear anything from Holly and Soonyoung’s room. All you heard was the sound of Mingyu between your thighs and then, later, the steady beat of his heart as you fell asleep against his chest.

The tasting appointment comes fast. In the past week you’ve exchanged a few more messages with Mingyu, all strictly professional which serves to soften the lead in your stomach. You can do this. You can work with him and not have it be weird. In five weeks everything will be done and you can go back to sweet ignorant bliss, ignoring his entire existence.

You just have to survive.

Another stormy day leaves the subway running late and traffic bumper to bumper. At least this time, you’re dry when you arrive ten minutes early for the tasting.

Vernon wipes down the counters, the display case empty for the night and most of the chairs turned over on top of tables. 

“Is Mingyu—”

“I’ll get him from the back,” Vernon says, disappearing through the kitchen doors with a swish.

Without the bustle of people, the cafe feels much larger. However, it maintains a cozy warmth even when there are no kids leaving sugar cookie crumbs on the floor, or old men tapping their fingers on the table while reading the news. 

Years ago, when you were still dating, he described this exact cafe in detail. Somewhere that felt casual enough for afternoon coffee but fancy enough to bring a date. You helped him put together inspiration boards; paint swatches, furniture ideas, sketched out logos. You should have recognized all of it the first time you visited: the bookshelves stuffed with board games and plants, tables with local ceramics for sale, down to the beaten up couches sandwiching a coffee table with a wooden chess board on top. Exactly what Mingyu wanted. 

You’re happy for him. 

Your phone vibrates, lighting up with a text from Sarah.

Fuck.

Mingyu comes out from the kitchen as you’re typing out a response, same Dodgers hat and flour covered apron as last week. 

“I have everything ready, when are they supposed to get here?” he asks.

“They’re stuck on the bridge and traffic hasn’t moved in thirty minutes.”

It’s already later than you’d like. By the time they arrive, taste everything, and settle down on their order, it’ll be well past the last train to your apartment and all you want after a day running around the city is to go home and curl up on the couch with a glass of wine and bad reality TV. You release a slow breath, a dull throb resonating in your temple. 

Mingyu sighs as well before responding, “Well, if you wanna hangout out here, be my guest. I’m gonna work on some orders in the back until they get here.”

Like always, your unread emails near the triple digits even after only a few hours away from your phone. You set up at one of the chairs lining the counter, laptop hot to the touch and sounding ready for take off. Couples in full meltdowns, vendors needing finalized contracts, venues looking to do walkthroughs and be added to your roster of recommendations. You get the most pressing ones done; a couple deciding they wanted to change their theme from regency garden party to rustic botanical (they’re still a year out, thank god), an overdue invoice from Jihoon for express order of white Dahlias (you sent the filled invoice dated from last week back), a hotel trying to split the block of hotel rooms you already arranged for a wedding next month (absolutely not).

For every fire you put out, three more crop up in its place.

It’s fine. You handle it the way you handle everything, fueled by exhaustion and waning patience. Washing down the last sip of coffee Vernon provided before leaving, you tiptoe around the counter to fill up the mug to the top before setting back to work. You can hear Mingyu humming to himself through the kitchen doors.

A wave of nostalgia washes over you. Years ago, back when you first started and had all of two couples willing to take the risk of hiring someone completely new to the industry, you’d park yourself at the thrifted dining room table in your shared apartment. He’d make dinner, humming away while you worked furiously on your laptop. Polishing your business plan, researching licenses and permits, emailing florists and photographers and anyone else you could network with. Crying from the stress after the hundredth ‘no.’

When it got too much for him to bear, Mingyu would force your laptop out of the way, tuck it away somewhere you couldn’t reach with the promise you could have it back after you ate something that wasn’t popcorn or coffee. The nights he failed to distract you, he’d stand behind your chair, massaging your tense shoulders until your eyes drooped and let him pull you into bed.

But now, Mingyu hides in the kitchen because he is avoiding you. You’re hunkered down at the bar with cold coffee and a dying laptop because you’re avoiding him. It’s hard not to imagine all the what if’s but you focus on work because work is safe; where you can channel all the restless energy and pretend you aren’t thinking about what Seungkwan said.

Then, because life is never kind, the power goes out.

And it stays out.

“Damn it,” you hear Mingyu curse.

Using your phone as a flashlight, you meet him at the kitchen doors.

“Powers out,” he says, wincing at the harsh light of your phone.

“That's what it is?” you gasp mockingly. “I thought you were politely telling me to leave.”

“Smartass,” he huffs. “Can you call the utility company? My phone’s dead.”

“Sure.”

Mingyu leads you back through the kitchen, towards the office. The scent of sugar and vanilla is more concentrated back here, clinging inside your nose. You take stock of everything: steel work benches, one with a half decorated cake frozen in time. Metal shelves filled with proofing dough, others jammed full of freshly baked loaves for tomorrow. The far wall is nothing but industrial sized ovens. Luckily, they’re all empty. 

You try not to stare for too long but you hate mystery and the doors separating the kitchen from the rest of the cafe have kept you from knowing anything about this space. Maybe that was for the best because your imagination takes over. You see Mingyu kneading dough on one table, sleeves rolled up. Meticulously piping icing flowers onto the half finished cake. Whipping up macaroon batter in the gigantic mixer. All the things he did in the tiny kitchen at your old apartment, now with the space he needs to bring his recipes to life.

He ushers you into the closet turned office. On looks alone, you know your arms could touch the side walls without fully extending. Mingyu takes up seventy percent of the space on his own. You don’t think about it.

“I know I have the number somewhere,” he says, digging through a stack of papers. 

You aim the flashlight a little higher to help him see.

Mistake.

There is nothing overtly sexual about one person’s elbow grazing someone’s shoulder. Not unless you're a Regency era gentlewoman and a flash of ankle sends men into a fit of passion. However, Seungkwan’s words about Mingyu still ring in your ears no matter how much you try to drown them out.

You’re close enough for the scent of his cologne to fill your senses, soak in the heat of his skin through his shirt where your elbow brushes against him as he flips through papers. If he notices the way your breath stutters, he fails to mention it. 

Your face heats. How embarrassing is it that the first time you're alone with him since the breakup, all you can think about is if Seungkwan was right and if Mingyu would be any good at it. By history alone, you know he is which opens a whole other can of worms because it’s been months since you had the time or energy for anything beyond a drunk bar makeout with a stranger. Of all the issues in your relationship with Mingyu, lack of chemistry in the bedroom was never an issue.

“Got it!”

You snap to attention. After handing you the business card, Mingyu grabbed a flashlight from the desk drawer and left to check the generator.

Before you dial the number, you ground with a few breaths. It’s just Mingyu. He is just Mingyu. Mingyu who you broke up with and don’t regret leaving. The same man who clearly was no longer thinking about you in any way other than a temporary thorn in his side. 

The office doesn’t have any service so you wander back into the kitchen. Mingyu is off somewhere but you can’t hear him as you dial the electric company. You aren’t scared of the dark and definitely not storms but being all alone out front raises hairs on the back of your neck. Maybe your heart is overcompensating for being alone in Mingyu’s presence and is channeling that energy into something less embarrassing, like the Boogey Man. 

The line is still ringing when the lights come back on, flickering at first like some cheap horror movie gimmick, but they stay on. 

You leave a message for their automated voicemail complaining about the issue and hang up as Mingyu comes back into the kitchen from a door in the back.

“Fixed it?” you ask.

“No, I didn’t even get the door unlocked.”

“Well, hopefully it’s fixed.”

“Did Josh and Sarah say anything about when they’d get here?”

You glance at your phone, sending a quick text to Sarah that she responds to immediately.

Sarah: traffic still backed up :( probably another hour

Sliding your hand down your face, you release a long breath. There is no rescheduling. This has to be done tonight or the already tight deadline will become impossible for Mingyu to meet. 

“I’m going back out front.”

“The Wi-Fi won’t come back for a while,” Mingyu warns.

“Then I will bash my head into the counter until I die or they get here. Whatever comes first.”

“I don’t have that kind of insurance,” he jokes. “I could use a hand, if you’re up for it.”

Your brain doesn’t go straight to the gutter but only because you refuse to allow it. Professional. You are a professional. And professionals do not sleep with their colleagues even if the colleague in question is their ex-boyfriend who historically proved to be great to sleep with.

“What happened to ‘don’t threaten me with your cooking’?” 

“The fact you think this is cooking proves that point. Just crack all the eggs into the bowl.” He shoves a massive flat of eggs and a large steel bowl across the counter before focusing back on the half decorated cake.

The kitchen falls into comfortable silence. The crack of shells against the counter, the sound of your breaths evening out simultaneously. You lose yourself in the task; crack, open, toss, repeat. Easy. Halfway through the tray you feel Mingyu’s gaze.

“What?” you ask, not looking up.

“People tend to prefer their cakes without shells.”

A few pale shell fragments float in the bowl. There aren't that many, he’s just picky.

“I was going to get them all after,” you huff.

His responding snort sets you off. To your own surprise, the empty egg in your hands smashes into the center of his apron covered chest.

He freezes, eyes flashing to yours. “You didn’t.”

“Oh, but I did,” you nod, an evil grin twisting your face.

When you stoop low, Mingyu races to meet you. He dips his hand into the bowl of sifted flour resting on the bench,  and flicks it onto your cheek, into your hair. 

“You’re gonna pay for that,” you warn, taking a step closer as he takes one back. 

You slap a handful of icing on his neck, the pale pink color contrasting with the warm hue of his skin. 

“I’m going to kill you!”

“I’m shaking in boots,” you squeal, putting the metal table between you.

Flour, eggs, and buttercream litter the floor, making it too slick for an easy escape. Mingyu manages to snag your wrist before you can round the opposite side of the metal workbench. He’s got you pinned, trapped between a fingers covered in icing and the hard ledge. 

“Any last words?” he asks. His warm breath puffs over your face, face barely a hands distance from yours.

You don’t think as you roll up on your toes, exactly like the first time you kissed him. Your lips meet his, soft and warm; exactly how you remember them yet somehow better. It lasts barely a second before he withdraws, hovering a hair's breadth away. He’s going to brush you off, step away. Put a stop to whatever this is before it gets out of hand.

Mingyu kisses you again.

The hat holding his hair back falls to the floor, your hands burying in his hair to drag him closer. Muscle memory prevents any awkwardness. When Mingyu tilts his head, you go the opposite way. When you tug at his hair, a grunt tickles across your lips a second before his tongue does. His hands slot on your waist, pulling you firmly against his chest.

Your own roam over his shoulders, down his front until your body gets in the way – wedged so tight against his body you can feel his heart beating against yours. Mingyu lifts you onto the edge of the metal table, standing between your spread legs like so many times before.

You can’t think, you can’t breathe. Nerves dull from too much Mingyu too fast, but you don’t want him to stop. The taste of vanilla and sugar on his tongue is addictive and you whine when he leans back to leave a hot trail over the side of your throat.

Every part of you responds like no time has passed; nipples tight, hips curling against the zipper of his pants when Mingyu feels bold enough to ghost his teeth across your earlobe. You should have done this sooner. So much sooner.

Your hands are all over him like magnets, his the same. Too much to touch and still not enough. Mingyu leverages his weight until your back meets the counter top, completely at his whim. His stupid apron prevents every attempt to get his shirt off or sneak your hand into his pants but that doesn’t stop you. Mingyu’s back is just as nice to touch as his front, you grip his ass and roll your hips.

“Fuck,” he grunts when you do it a second time, rolling with more force into the friction.

A response bubbles in the back of your throat when someone out front calls “Hello?” 

Mingyu abandons the patch of skin revealed by the stretched neckline of your sweater, eyes meeting yours as you both realize for the first time exactly what was happening. All the reasons why this is a horrible idea sprint into your head.

One: he is your ex-boyfriend.

Two: Joshua and Sarah are less than twenty feet away.

You scramble from between him and the table, rushing to exit the kitchen, desperate for as much distance as possible from the disappointment you caught in his gaze. “Coming!”

Flour clings to the cuff of your sweater, and there is definitely frosting and egg shells in other places. 

“Sorry we’re late,” Joshua says.

“It’s fine!” you squeak. Your lips feel swollen and tingly, the heat of Mingyu’s hands lingering on your back, your cheeks burning hotter. You pray neither of them notice the clear signs they interrupted whatever you were doing with him in the back. 

Mingyu sweeps through the door, pinker than you left him, hair a mess. “Who is ready for some cake?” 

“I think I wanna do wedding planning,” you shared over a mouth of pasta.

“Wedding planning?” Mingyu asked. He manned the stove partially nude, only a pair of boxers saving his modesty, messy hair hidden by a backwards baseball hat – like a regular frat boy. He insisted on a midnight snack after a joint and a blowjob on the couch during the newest episode of Prehistoric Planet.

“Yeah,” you said. “Wedding planning. Planning weddings. Dealing with bridezillas and their crazy in-laws.”

Mingyu turned towards where you sit on the countertop with an amused smile, eyes bloodshot. “Okay. What can I do to help?”

“Do you know anyone getting married?”

“We know the same people,” he laughed.

“You’re not helping!” you whined.

Mingyu returned back to the pan, stirring with measured precision, shoulders tense. 

Gotcha, you thought.

Mingyu couldn’t keep a secret if his life depended on it. Especially from you. Not for long. He had one, you just needed to apply the right pressure.

You pulled him away from his cooking, ushering him to stand between your legs. You weren’t playing fair, in his shirt and nothing else, gazing at him with soft features he was already enamored with. “You don’t know anyone thinking about getting married?”

Like an overstuffed pillow, his lips bursted open with a rush. “Soonyoung is planning to ask Holly.”

A wicked grin splits your face. “Really?” 

“But they’re eloping.” Mingyu collapsed into your shoulder, nose tracing the curve of your throat. 

“Well, I can still help them!” you said. “When is he asking?”

You ignored his hand sneaking up your thigh but it’s not necessary. He only wanted to hold you close, cuddly and touch starved from a little too much weed. He sighed, squeezing you tight against him.

“Next week, when we’re all back at the lake house.”

You shuddered at the idea of sharing the wall between the bunk bed room and the master suite while they celebrated. Even after six years of dealing with their volume, it never got any easier. But this was the chance you needed. Something small, something with two people as easy to please as Soonyoung and Holly. 

“Do you think I’ll be good at it?” you asked, suddenly self conscious. 

“I think you can do anything you put your mind to,” he whispered against your hairline.

Clipboard. Check. Phone charger. Check. Wallet. Check.

You methodically pack your bag for today’s appointment at the venue. You’ve never seen it in person but if the reviews and photos are even half true then it would be perfect, exactly what Sarah and Joshua envisioned. By some gigantic miracle, the Ellery Estate had a cancellation aligned with their desired date which has come simultaneously fast and slow. One more week, ten days to be specific, and this entire thing would be a done deal.

In the meantime, you just have to survive.

On the brightside, Mingyu was radio silent over the past four weeks, only responding when you reached out to him to confirm attendance for today. He insisted on delivering everything for the weekend himself and needed to know exactly how the kitchen was set up. Somehow, it became Sarah and Joshua offering to pay for his accommodations to stay through the event in case there was some cake related emergency. Joy.

The silver lining is he seemed to be as intent on ignoring the kiss as you were. He didn’t make any smart comments, or throw it in your face. After the cake tasting last month he all but sprinted into the back of the kitchen after everything was settled. It shouldn’t make you as annoyed as you felt, which made you even more annoyed. You shouldn’t have kissed him and he shouldn’t have kissed you back. 

Your phone rings, a familiar tune playing instead of the default chime. Only one person has that ringtone. Because you never bothered to change it, because you didn’t remember it even needed changing until now because the last time you heard it was years ago.

“What?” you snap after answering, continuing to back your bag with shaky hands.

Mingyu’s scoff crackles through the speaker. “Hello to you, too.”

“Hi. What?”

Mingyu sighs deeply over the line. “My car broke down.”

“Your what did what?”

“My car broke down. Well, someone actually totaled it –  but the point is, I don’t have a car.”

“The run through is this afternoon,” you say, voice shrilling with panic.

“So nice of you to be concerned. I’m fine by the way. And yeah, I know.”

Everyone had to be at the walk through, they had to. The caterer, the photographer, Seungkwan, you, Josh and Sarah, and Mingyu. There is no make-up day for Mingyu to go alone, the venue was booked solid up until the ceremony. Today is it.

The vein in your temple starts to throb. “You can ride with me.”

“Are you sure? That’s a long drive…”

“It’s fine. I need this to go well and if that means towing your ass everywhere then that’s what I’ll do.”

“How considerate,” Mingyu huffs.

“I’ll be at your apartment at noon. Do not make us late.”

“I’m not that bad anymore!” he argues.

“Alright, see you in an hour.” You hang up before he can say anything else.

You spend the next thirty minutes sprawled on the sliver of floor space between the couch and coffee table. This was fine. It was perfectly, absolutely, totally, one hundred percent fine. Better the rip off the bandaid of awkward discomfort sooner than later. You kissed Mingyu and now that it happened, it was firmly out of your system. You definitely don’t think about how if your mind slips from the tight leash of control, you can still feel everywhere his body pressed against weeks ago.

But as the last few weeks showed, no amount of ignoring the memories helped. When you literally took matters into your own hands, the short lived bliss of an orgasm fizzled into hollowness. Nothing relieved that consuming need. At your wits end, you downloaded Tinder with the sole purpose of finding someone who was not Mingyu to help but deleted it because deep down you knew it wouldn’t work either.

It hadn’t worked yet but, if you could firmly cement Mingyu as someone you worked with and not someone you knew every intimate detail about, then maybe the desire to kiss him again would go away.

Hopefully.

When you pull up outside the bakery twenty minutes later, Mingyu is waiting with his arms crossed over his chest and his foot tapping impatiently. Apparently, he lives in the apartment above the bakery. At least, that’s what he said. Maybe he’s lying to you because he doesn’t want you to know where he lives in case he screws up and you plot to kill him in his sleep. 

“You are not wearing that,” you say.

“What’s wrong with this?” Mingyu looks down at his outfit: t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. And like always, that ugly Dodgers hat. 

“They’re paying half a million for this venue. Put on some damn slacks,” you snap. “And brush your hair!”

“Who pissed in your cereal?” he grumbles but goes back inside. Ten minutes later, Mingyu walks out in slacks and a navy button up, hair tousled. “Happy?”

“Ecstatic.”

He mutters something else under his breath before buckling his seatbelt. Then you’re off.

The drive isn’t horrible. You’ve got a playlist that Mingyu is content with and he brought coffee along with a few pastries to snack on. You don’t linger on the fact he still remembers your order – iced latte with cinnamon. It doesn’t mean anything. He just has a good memory and was probably trying to smooth over the tension. 

Three hours later and a slightly numb but later, a large iron gate rolls into view, manned by multiple security guards. They check your IDs against their list of guests for the day before waving you through.

“Where the hell are we?” Mingyu asks. “Buckingham Palace?”

The venue is a modest mansion on 8,000 acres of lush land, hidden away in between rolling mountains and dense forest. Surrounding the pristine white building is a massive yard, mowed with a perfect checkerboard pattern. You creep down the pebbled driveway towards the front of the house where a man waits on the steps, impatiently checking his watch.

Mr. Ellery.

Even though you only spoke to him on the phone and exchanged emails, you know it’s him by his dry gaze and silent imposition, the fine cut of his suit screaming money. He resembles the butler from Haunted Mansion a little too much for comfort. Brown eyes – perfect to see straight through you – and thick white hair cropped close to his skull. 

Several other cars line the driveway. Sarah’s BMW, Seungkwan’s Volkswagen. The others you don’t recognize as you pull in next to them. You put the car in park, turning to Mingyu who looks a little paler than usual. 

“Please don’t say anything stupid.”

“When have I ever—”

“I’m serious.”

Mingyu mimes zipping his lips before getting out of the car. You take a deep breath, lungs stretched until they burn, releasing it slowly before opening the door.

“Mr. Ellery,” you greet, shaking his hand. You hope yours aren’t clammy with nerves. Either way, the slight annoyance on the older man’s face makes you feel like you could cure cancer and still be an inconvenience. “And this is our baker, Mingyu, he’ll be—”

“Everyone else has already arrived,” Mr. Ellery says dryly. “This way.”

You studied the venue website extensively before booking but nothing could have prepared you for seeing it in person. The massive exterior of the house does a poor job of betraying how spacious the inside is. Each click of Mr. Ellery’s expensive leather loafers on the marble floor echoes loudly, the high ceilings make the room feel infinite and you’re nothing more than a speck of dust floating through, about to be swatted by a maid. 

Sarah and Joshua are sipping champagne and nibbling cookies in the Rose Room, chatting with Jeonghan about the article for their wedding. Seungkwan is in the corner entertaining the caterer and photographer. You’re not late but somehow the shocked expression from everyone as you and Mingyu arrive makes you feel like you’re back in elementary school.

“Now that the entire party has arrived,” Mr. Ellery drawls. “We can begin our tour.”

A young woman named Tabitha leads Seungkwan, Mingyu, and the Dokyeom away to tour the kitchens and access points they’ll need while you, the happy couple, Jeonghan, and the photographer, Wonwoo, follow Mr. Ellery back into the main foyer.

“As mentioned on our website, my staff will handle all decoration set up and tear down. I have many priceless family heirlooms throughout the estate and wish to keep them in pristine condition,” Mr. Ellery says.

The air around him is stiff with seriousness. Ironic for a man named Shannon but you focus on nailing down details for the ceremony next week.

“Of course,” you nod. Your clipboard covered in notes is slowly checked off as each obstacle is addressed. Live band? Check. Dance floor installation? Check. Bridal suite, groom’s room, wedding party accommodations. It all flows smoothly.

Three hours later, you’re standing outside in the center of the Ivory Garden, one of the seven formal gardens. White tulips and daffodils explode out of the ground. Shrubs covered in pale quince petals offer a natural division on the sides, puff balls of viburnum exploding from emerald bushes. 

Wonwoo directs the couple around the space for some candid shots while you and Jeonghan watch from afar. Shannon was called away to handle an issue with the estate’s swans, leaving all you to kill time until he returns.

“I think he keeps bodies in the basement,” Jeonghan whispers.

“I think you should focus on interviewing Josh and Sarah.”

“When Joshua Hong, heir of the Hong Diamond’s empire met Sarah Ko, he knew he had a rare gem on his hands,” Jeonghan says into his phone microphone.

“You are so painfully cliche.”

He presses the record button again. “Their wedding was planned by the ultimate stick in the mud, Y/N. Her hobbies include drowning kittens and drinking tears.”

Before you can respond, or push him into the nearest bush like you itch to, Sarah comes running up. “Isn’t it just perfect?”

“Absolutely,” you nod.

“It’s going to be like a fairytale,” she sighs, face glowing. “Do you think delphinium would work better in the aisle floral arrangements than snapdragons? With all the space I think we’re going to need more height. Jihoon can do that, right?”

“That sounds like a great idea. Let me text him.” You smile but beneath the lift of your mouth, every muscle in your body pulls taunt. Jihoon already associated Sarah and Joshua with his own personal version of Hell. Changing the flowers a week out is going to put you on his hit list, if he doesn’t hunt you down immediately. 

You fumble with your phone, shooting off the request and bracing for his reaction.

Y/N: don’t hate me

Jihoon: if it’s the Hong wedding, i will kill myself in front of them and then haunt you

Great.

“My apologies,” Mr. Ellery says upon his return. “Where were we? Oh, yes. As we discussed, the champagne toast will take place in the courtyard…”

He shepherds your group back towards the manor. You follow behind, furiously typing on your phone.

Y/N: please tell me things are going well even if its a lie

Seungkwan: things are great! (not lying)

Seungkwan: DK says kitchen is perfect. He and mingyu worked out storage and timing

Your shoulders relax a fraction. At least something seemed to be fine. You’d take your wins wherever they came from. Even if it was just Mingyu and Dokyeom working out who got what shelf in the fridge.

Catching up to the group, Ellery stops in front of the large fountain serving as the courtyard’s centerpiece. “I believe that concludes our tour. Please join me inside for some refreshments before taking your leave.”

Dark clouds swirl overhead, only just hesitating to release all the water they’ve swelled with over the course of the afternoon. As much as you wished to stay and brow beat the old man until your face turned blue, three hours in the pouring rain back to the city wasn’t worth what could be solved over email.

Seungkwan, Dokyeom, and Mingyu stand around, chatting with Tabitha in the main foyer, much laxer than you expected. At least your assistant wasn’t lying to your face. If things went poorly, you don’t Dokyeom and Mingyu would be acting like long lost friends. 

You snag a glass of water from the table, emptying it before heading in Mingyu’s direction.

“How’d it go?”

“Good,” you tell him. “It’s a long drive back so we should head out.”

“I can drive,” Mingyu offers.

“I don’t think so.”

“You have work to do. I don’t. Just let me drive.” 

There's more to it than that and you know it. Hiding your anxiety from clients was one thing. They didn’t know what cracks to look for, what obvious tells were. But Mingyu did. He always had a way of reading you like the back of his own hand.

Even if he’s doing it to be nice, Mingyu gives you a solid excuse to pretend like everything is fine. You really can’t afford to lose three hours to driving when you have an angry florist to talk down from the ledge, hotel reservations to finalize, and a serious lack of sleep. Jihoon would take at least an hour to convince not to disappear into the woods forever.

“Fine.”

You ignore Seungkwan’s pointed look at Mingyu takes your keys and you open the passenger side door.

The drive home is much the same way as the drive out, quiet but the tension from before seems to have melted. Mingyu hums along with the radio, fingers tapping a steady rhythm into the steering wheel. You send off emails and texts, Jihoon finally calming enough to bargain for a steep upcharge you don’t even try to haggle over. Seungkwan asks about Mingyu every other text and you manage to ignore them in favor of tasking him with picking up Sarah’s aunt from the airport Thursday night.

Rain pelts the windshield, new mist immediately blurring the road barely a second after the windshield wipers clear it. 

Incoming Call…Jeonghan Yoon

A frown crosses your lips as you answer. “Hello?”

“Listen, I need some more info for the announcement but Sarah and Josh are all booked this week. Can I pick your brain?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Well don’t sound too eager. I’d hate to think you’re excited to hang out with me.”

Your lips quirk, a puff of amused breath. Leave it to Jeonghan. “Dinner. Tuesday, 8 PM at Plazzo’s.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Bye.” 

You end the call and return back to Ellery’s email detailing that the parking for the wedding would have to be valet only and the shuttle services would require an extra fee. 

“Date?” Mingyu asks.

You prickle. “No.”

“It’s fine if it is. I don’t—”

“It’s none of your business!” Your voice comes out sharper than intended. “But if you must know, it was Jeonghan who I’m not sleeping with and never have. Is that really what you think of me?”

“Sorry,” Mingyu concedes. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

The car is quiet after that. Not even the dull hum of the radio can mask the tension. Embarrassment already burns your face. Mingyu was just trying to make things feel normal.

“It’s not a date.”

“Okay, it’s not a date.”

“And even if it was, I wouldn’t talk about it with you.”

“Why not?” You level him with an expectant look. “Okay, fine. But for the record, it’s not like I don’t expect you to be dating. It’s been a long time.”

��For the record, I barely have the time to sleep, let alone date.”

“At least we still have that in common,” he jest. “If you need any advice on getting back out there—”

“No offense, but you are the last person I’d take dating advice from,” you snort, before realizing what you said. “Sorry that was mean.”

What was a warm space, froze back over. You watch Mingyu from the corner of your eye, the signs of his frustration clear as day; his jaw set tight, tongue pinned between his teeth. The rain falls steadier now, fat drops challenging the wipers to keep up. 

His grip on the steering wheel tightens. “No, you’re right. I haven’t been on a date in…years.”

The math circles your brain but you refuse to acknowledge the implications of his confession. 

“Why not?”

“Time. I’m in the bakery for like fifteen hours a day and I never—”

Just then, the car shudders violently. The force overrides Mingyu’s control of the wheel, swerving into the other lane before he regains control to slow down and pull up onto the side of the road. 

“What the hell?”

The car feels off balance, Mingyu’s side slouching closer to the ground. Fuck.

Your eyes close, head meeting the dashboard in preemptive defeat. “Please tell me it’s not what I think it is.”

“It’s exactly what you think it is.”

A long sigh leaves your nose. “Great.”

Mingyu mutters a curse before throwing open the door and disappearing outside. It’s so dark his silhouette is barely decipherable through the rain. All you can do is watch as he examines the tire in the dark.

A few minutes later, he ducks back into the driver's seat, significantly wetter than when he left. “The tire is flat. Should be an easy fix. Where is your spare?”

You hesitate. “That might be the spare.”

“I—” he starts. You prepare for a lecture about why driving on the spare is bad, how dumb you are not to get it replaced but Mingyu stops himself. “Do you have the number for a tow truck?”

“Yeah, let me just…no service. There was an exit a few miles back. Maybe we can walk there?”

“In this weather?” Mingyu asks.

“I don’t see you coming up with any ideas,” you reply.

“We wait until morning, when it’s not pitch black and raining, and then walk.”

“Fine.”

It's only a little past ten. No service means no distraction to fill the time with. Mingyu’s perpetually uncharged phone is already dead, and he doesn’t want to waste the car battery on charging it. So you both crowd together to watch the one show you have downloaded on your phone: Prehistoric Planet.

There’s nothing sexual or romantic about it other than the memories of giving Mingyu hickies on the lumpy couch of your shared apartment. The backing track to high makeouts that always led to more. This might be the first time you’ve actually tried to pay attention to what the mosasaur is doing.

Half way through the episode is too late to bail. Unless you want to admit to what exactly is going through your head, what he is clearly remembering; the massive elephant in the car. Next to you, Mingyu tries to act like he isn’t remembering the same details which only makes it all the more awkward. He doesn’t blink, doesn’t look at you. 

Forty minutes later, the credits roll. The car is dark. Mingyu’s breath comes out measured, yours too. 

You don’t know how it happens but Mingyu is folded at the waist over the center console, your hands on the back of his neck, pulling him into a kiss. Unlike last time, he doesn’t hesitate. He tugs at you with equal enthusiasm, a hum of content tickling against your lips as you comb a hand through his hair.

He gets you into the back seat with some maneuvering, legs and arms at awkward angles but you're so caught in his orbit you don’t care. All you want is him and the more you have, the more you want.

Planted in his lap, you tug at his damp shirt. Tilting your head back, Mingyu nips along your throat until the collar of your shirt stops him. But not for long. You have it off and lost to the floor, while he folds the cups out of the way before sucking a nipple into the heat of his mouth. Distracted by the pinch of his teeth, you don’t feel his hand snake between your legs until the pads of his fingers prod against your panties.

“Mingyu,” you moan.

“God, you’re so wet.”

It’s only half the sentence you expect to hear. In the past he’d add “for me” but he doesn’t now. You don’t dwell on it. This is a bad idea. A horrible idea. No one is scheduled to interrupt, to remind you there is a world outside of the one between you and Mingyu’ that consequences for this lapse in judgement verge on fatal.

“We should—hmm—talk about this,” you whimper.

“Do you want me to stop?” Mingyu pants against your neck, fingers tucked inside your panties, teasing with a shallow dip up to his knuckle.

“No,” you object, dragging him back into another kiss. “Don’t stop.”

It’s only you and Mingyu. No one has to know, and in a week you’d never have to see him again.

You flatten your chest into his, teeth hard against his lower lip as you rut desperately across the firmness of his crotch. You want him in your mouth, inside you. You’re too needy to make either of you wait very long.

He’s hard enough for your hand to cup around as you twist into a familiar position, knelt on the car seat between Mingyu’s spread thighs. Years ago, back in college when you both had roommates, Mingyu’s car on the side of an abandoned road was a frequent spot for hickies and blowjobs. 

You don’t give yourself time to think as you peel his boxers down his thighs, honing in on his length immediately. Pretty isn’t a word you ever used to describe dicks until the first time you saw his. Mingyu huffs, chopped and ragged, as your tongue wets his cock with heavy licks; savoring the taste of him.

“Oh my god,” Mingyu groans at the roof, throat on display. 

His thighs jump under your nails as you suck the tip softly, a light tease he used to despise. All of his turn ons are at the front of your brain: gag a little too loud, squeeze on the upstroke, act like you want nothing more than the taste of him on your tongue.

A hand rest heavy on the back of your neck, nudging you down with the smallest amount of force. You gag with it, a rogue tear joining the mess dripping down your chin. You pull off to slap his cock against your tongue.

“Holy shit,” Mingyu gasps.

You wonder how long it’s been for him, if he’s gone through the same dry spell as you. Mingyu said he hadn’t been on a date but that doesn’t mean he’s been celibate too. 

“Fuck, babe,” he keens. 

You work him with a spit slick grip, while catching your breath. “Take your shirt off.”

Saliva drips down your chin, fucking him with your mouth in slow measures. If Mingyu could see how fucked out you know you look then he’d be cross eyed. He silently pleas for more, hips curling into the torture you rain down onto his length. Your throat opens as you swallow his cock down, nose to his stomach. 

Mingyu tries. He really, truly tries not to blow his load in the first five seconds of having your mouth on him, but your lips tighten when he’s half way out and he flounders like he’s never had a blowjob before. Cum washes over your tongue, and you take it all, swallow it cleanly. It floods your mouth, excess pushing out the corners of your lips for you to collect later.

You don't get to enjoy the pleasure of a job well done for long. Mingyu hauls you up into his chest, sucking the traces of his spend from your teeth, fingers back back between your legs more aggressive than before.

“Just like that,” he instructs, his other hand dragging you over his crotch like you're riding his cock and not his thigh. You wish you were. 

But there isn’t a condom nearby. You’re desperate, not stupid. Maybe it’s for the best that you don’t fuck your ex-boyfriend turned colleague in the back of your car. So you settle for thinking about how his cock was made to split you perfectly, imagine Mingyu fucking you hard and fast while his fingers supply a decent alternative. 

“Gonna c-come.”

“Good,” he croaks. “Want you to.”

Two fingers become three, the heel of his hand leveraged against your clit for a perfect grind. You claw at his chest, pink lines to be found in the morning.

Fantasies and memories swirl together behind your eyes. Mingyu telling you to take his cock, praising you for it, giving it to you as hard as you can take and then some more.

“Mingyu.” Your back arches painfully as a thousand stars explode in your eyes. 

Brain dulled by the first truly satisfying climax you’ve had in months, you nuzzle down into Mingyu’s neck and fall asleep. 

The morning comes slowly then all at once. You’re warm, sweaty around your hairline. Your face angles out of the sunlight but it’s no use. You open your eyes just a hair. You’re nose first against the upholstery of the backseat, an old sweater serving as a blanket, Mingyu nowhere to be seen. 

Memories of last night assault you.

Fuck.

No wonder he left. He’s not good at letting people down easily. Even if it didn’t mean anything he’d hate to be the one to say it. 

Checking your reflection in the visor mirror, you look exactly like someone who hooked up in the backseat of a car and fell asleep right after. You fix your hair, tug the collar of your shirt high enough to conceal one of several hickies Mingyu littered across your chest. Most are lower, where no one will see, which is somehow better and worse for the sense of dread coil in your stomach. You shudder to think what he looked like this morning.

Just as you're about to go looking for him, a tow truck pulls up. 

“Need a tow?” the driver calls. Sitting beside him in the cab is Mingyu, significantly more put together than you thought he’d be.

“Ugh, yeah.”

Stuart wiggles out of the car, barely coming to your chin in terms of height and maybe old enough to be your grandfather’s grandfather but he carries himself with the energy of someone much younger. A toothpick sticks out the corner of his mouth like he’s some Western movie star.

“Where did you find this guy?” you ask Mingyu.

“The diner in town. Here,” Mingyu says, handing you a styrofoam coffee cup. “He says he can take us all the way back to the city.”

“How much will that cost?”

“Free ninety nine for my new friends!” Stuart interrupts. “This fella gave the misses the tiramisu recipe we read about in the paper from his shop. Can’t put a value on secrets.”

You probably could have given how tight lipped Mingyu is about his recipe book, protecting it with his life. It’s the only thing he has ever been able to successfully hide from you. 

“Thank you, Stuart.”

“My pleasure,” he nods, before getting back into the truck and working to load your car.

Mingyu rocks from one foot to the other while watching from the sidelines. “About last night…”

“It was a mistake. We shouldn’t have done it.” You beat him to the punch.

“Mistake?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry, it won’t happen again.”

You don’t wait for his response as you brush past him, thankful Stuart’s truck has enough room for you to hide in the backseat while Mingyu takes shotgun.

Day one of the Hong-Ko wedding weekend extravaganza starts with a bang.

Literally.

Seungkwan beats down your door long before the sun is up. Guests won’t arrive until at least dinner time but that means you only have a few hours to get to the venue, set up basecamp, double and triple check everything, and acclimate to Mingyu’s presence enough to not become a sweaty, blushing mess every time he comes within eyesight. 

“I still can’t believe you two didn’t make out,” Seungkwan says.

He hammered for details from the moment he arrived at your apartment until parking the car outside the estate. You managed to keep the details under lock and key. Mostly because you didn’t want to hear Seungkwan’s conspiracy theories, but partially because if you say it happened then you can’t ignore it anymore. But your rigid silence didn’t deter him. Now that the day is done and there are no guests to eavesdrop, Seungkwan takes the mantle back up.

“Well, believe it,” you respond, only a step behind. 

You still aren’t familiar with this part of the house. The pale walls are covered in old paintings, each door decorated with a different flower to denote the suite’s theme. You were in the Lily room, while Seungkwan was further down the hall in the Tulip suite. 

And right next to you happened to be the Rose room where Mingyu would be staying.

He made a brief appearance this morning at the check in meeting with all the vendors in staff in the ballroom. You only noticed because stood out a head taller than everyone else, perfect height to show off the Dodgers hat he tore off when you made eye contact. Then he was lost to the chaos of the day.

You consider it a blessing that Jihoon went toe-to-toe with the staff about where he could and couldn’t put his arrangements while you played referee. It kept you far away where you couldn’t do anything stupid.

“See you in the morning,” you yawn, leaving Seungkwan in the hallway.

Every muscle in your body aches from spending all day on your feet, lifting chairs and moving decor. Who needed a gym when your job was so physical? 

You need a shower to wash away the grit and sweat of the day – the noise of water drowning the outside world into silence, only the floral soap and sting of hot water preventing you from drifting away into nothing. 

On the bathroom counter is an array of goodies. Sheet masks, bubble bath, bath salts and oils. If you had the energy, you’d take a long soak in the clawfoot tub, maybe call the kitchen for some tea. But tomorrow will be another long day and you should get to bed.

Thankfully the shower has great water pressure. You crank it all the way up, enough to boil alive, scrubbing until your skin hurts. 

After you’re sufficiently raw, you let the water run over you. In the haze of steam, your mind wanders. To do lists, itineraries, details for other weddings. You try to block them out and focus on nothing but that leaves you with the one person who you really don’t want to think about.

Touching Mingyu hadn’t worked, ignoring him hadn’t worked. There weren’t many options left besides assuming a new identity and running away to another city. Even if you did, you know it won’t help.

How right it felt to have him beneath you, moaning into his skin from even the lightest touch. More recent memories you’re desperate to forget but the universe clearly refuses to give up its entertainment just yet. If you can’t beat them, you might as well join them.

You imagine his mouth, Mingyu on his knees before you, lips teasing over your stomach. The way he’d watch you through his lashes, waiting for you to beg him to touch you.

Just as your hand skates down your front, a familiar moan echoes through the wall.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

You freeze.

This cannot be happening.

“Y/N,” Mingyu whimpers.

For a moment you think Mingyu knows you can hear him, every muscle in your body zipping tight. But that isn’t possible. You didn’t even know he was in the shower until just now and the likelihood he could hear you was slim. 

His broken voice rounding over the syllables of your name replays over and over and over.

You know what Mingyu is doing, can picture him down to the last detail. Another curse. Lip snagged between his teeth, stomach caved in, cock leaking through the tight grip of his fist. You’ve watched him do it enough times to know exactly what makes him sigh and moan and grunt. Made him come the same way only a few days ago. You remember it all. How he’d try to keep his eyes open to watch your reactions and fail, how his chest and throat tinged pink, how his thighs flexed and—

“Fuck,” Mingyu’s disembodied voice shudders.

And how he sounds when he’s coming.

You flee the shower, hair soaked, scrambling for the world’s smallest towel courtesy of housekeeping. This cannot be happening. All you wanted was one night of peace but even that was too much to ask for.

It’s one thing to think about Mingyu. It’s another ordeal to rub one out while he seemingly does the exact same thing only a wall away, unaware he has an audience. At least he is free from the weight of knowing you use him as spank bank material. You have to live with the fact that he fucks himself with your name on his lips.

The bedroom is safe from Mingyu but your brain isn’t. You try thinking of something else – anything else – but nothing can break through the loop of his sighs. Trying to escape him between the sheets proves to be worse. Every time you turn, you half expect to see him on the other side of the mattress. Each time the windows rattle from the wind it reminds you of the shaky noise of his moans. The tug of the sheets across your body reminds you of his hands, caressing your stomach, your thighs, your chest.

You don’t sleep a wink.

Your feet hurt, your head hurt. A sixteen hour day filled with a crying bride and demanding family drained your entire life force. All you wanted was to get home, lay down, and pass out.

When you made it through the door, Mingyu was sitting at the kitchen table. Another thing in your way.

“How was it?” There was an edge to his tone. It’s not a question, it’s an integration. Sometime after the fifth hour you turned his contact on Do Not Disturb and Mingyu knew it.

“I don’t want to do this right now. I’m tired,” you say.

“You never want to do anything. You put more energy into other people’s relationships than ours.”

“I’m sorry I have a fucking job!”

“It’s not about that!” he argued.

You collapsed into one of the dining chairs, the last flame of fight snuffed out. This was it. The inevitable end that you attempted to put off for months. You thought it was a rough patch, an adjustment period from doing weddings full time. But there were more bad days with Mingyu than good ones. You cried for no reason, avoided him in your shared apartment. It was all so exhausting.

“I don’t want to dread coming home. I don’t want to fight with you all the time. I’m just…tired,” you choked, tears pricking your eyes already. “I—I think we should take a break.”

“What?” Mingyu said.

Mingyu stared at you, unmoving. Once upon a time, you thought he was it. The one. Your person who would be with you through everything. Someone you’d figure everything out with. When you started planning weddings full time, you watched couples exchange vows over and over and over, all with the same cliches. Two puzzle pieces, halves of a whole circle, soulmates. No matter how many times you heard the metaphors, you always pictured Mingyu and the day you would be standing at the end of the aisle saying the same thing.

Until you didn’t.

“We should break up.”

“Fine,” he said.

When he left that night, you stayed behind to pick up the pieces of your heart.

The entire day leading up to the rehearsal dinner goes smoothly. Joshua and his groomsmen hung out on the estate’s golf course while the bridesmaid’s took over the spa, and you avoided the kitchen at all costs. Luckily, one of Sarah’s aunts has a conniption over the size of her suite and you spend the entire day rearranging room assignments, careful to follow Josh and Sarah’s rules. Aunt Beatrice cannot be within fifty feet of uncle Simon, Simon and Grandma Tildy both snore loud enough that whoever is in rooms adjacent need earplugs but Sarah’s mom won’t wear them so her parents need to be far away. It’s a giant puzzle. One you thrive on untangling, mind lost to figuring out the limited combinations that will prevent all out war. 

At 4:30 the rehearsal ceremony ends and you’re corralling the entire wedding party and dozens of relatives into the formal dining room where Dokyeom waits to serve them. Seungkwan helps usher everyone to their assigned tables. Far easier than reshuffling rooms since half of them refuse to go near tables with their known nemesis present. 

Dinner continues without a hitch, champagne flowing through each course. Dessert comes and with it Mingyu. The staff served the panna cottas under his watch, meticulously checking each tray before it’s served. Your gaze follows him like a magnet. It makes you smile, pride blooming in your chest. 

What happened with Mingyu was a bruise that might always remain tender, but you want him to be happy. Even if you weren’t the person to do that anymore. 

As the desserts go out, Seungcheol, Joshua’s best man, rises to give a speech. You find an empty table in the back to watch.

“I met Josh when we were six years old and he decided to pour milk in my shoes. Lucky for me, I met Sarah under far better circumstances. She side swiped my car.”

Everyone laughs. 

“It was an accident!” Sarah argues. 

“Can you believe this guy?” Jeonghan whispers, taking the seat next to you.

You don’t know Seungcheol well but the number of photos of him and Josh from childhood till last week speaks to their friendship, they flash by on the giant projection screen. Apparently, Seungcheol introduced them.

“Some people actually speak from the heart and not just pretend to for a paycheck.”

Jeonghan clutches his chest. “I’m offended.”

“Good, that’s why I said it,” you snort.

You’ve worked with Jeonghan enough to know he’s always working an angle. He probably wants to know which bridesmaids are single and not insane, or he’s looking for something to keep himself entertained.

“So you and the baker…”

There it is. 

“I will kill you where you stand.”

The threat rolls right off him. “First, I’m sitting. Second, who will write about your weddings?”

“Michael,” you shrug.

Jeonghan’s eyes roll. “Michael can barely string two sentences together.”

“Okay, but he isn’t as annoying.”

Snagging a champagne flute from a passing waiter, you slouch back in the seat. If you’re going to talk about Mingyu with Jeonghan, then you need something much stronger.

“Listen, far be it for me to give you relationship advice,” Jeonghan says with shocking sincerity. “But if I didn’t know you were attempting to be a nun then I think you two would make a good couple. He seems like a nice guy.”

“Been there, done that,” you mumble.

Jeonghan opens his mouth to ask for more details but something over your shoulder stops whatever he was going to say.

“What?”

“Looks like someone else is currently trying to do that.” 

You follow Jeonghan’s stare to the corner of the room where Mingyu is held captive by a tipsy bridesmaid. Her hand on his chest, bright red manicure contrasting against his pristine white chef’s jacket. Like blood on fresh snow. The same red tinges the corners of your vision.

The corners of his mouth tilt upwards. “Jealous?” 

“No,” you say stubbornly.

Mingyu can do whatever he wants, with whomever he wants. It’s not your business. What is your business is the fact he’s supposed to be working right now, not chatting up a tall blonde in the corner of the room. You know every bridesmaid, at least what Sarah deemed important enough to share. Margaret lives in New York City, does pilates six times a week, and looks like she is perpetually put together in a way that says she is not trying at all. The last part you figured out yourself when she arrived yesterday, fresh off a sixteen hour flight from Bali without a hint of jet lag. 

Seungcheol wraps up his speech, applause echoing in the room as the maid of honor takes his place. You stay rooted in place, watching Mingyu flirt and chuckle at whatever Margaret is saying. 

The final straw is she squeezes her nails into his arm like he’s a piece of meat.

Downing the last bit of bubbly, you stand. “I’ll be right back.”

“Go get ‘em tiger.”

You cuff Jeonghan on the back of the head before heading to battle.

He’s flirting on the job. That’s what you tell yourself this is about. Mingyu tarnishing your reputation by association because he can’t keep it in his pants, despite the fact that you are about as bad as he is. Except the closer you get, the more obvious he is doing the complete opposite of that.

“Do you work out?” Margaret asks, reaching up on her tiptoes to speak into his ear.

“Not really,” he responds, voice tight. When his eyes meet yours over Margaret’s shoulder, they flash with something you assume is HELP ME.

“Sorry to interrupt,” you smile politely, teeth glinting like knives as they both turn towards you. “But I need Mingyu’s help.”

He untangles from Margaret’s clutches, strategically using you as a shield. “What’s wrong?”

“Um… kitchen emergency,” you say, side-eying Margaret pointedly.

Mingyu blinks in confusion. “Emergency?”

Margaret’s nose wrinkles in disgust. “What kitchen emergency?”

“Confidential. Sorry. Have you tried the champagne? It's great,” you say as you wrap your arm around Mingyu’s and stride towards the hallway. The opposite direction of the kitchen. Oh well.

“What happened in the kitchen?” Mingyu says once outside. “Did Dokyeom fuck with my cakes? I told him not to touch—”

“Everything is fine,” you explain. “I just thought you could use an out.”

Mingyu laxes before shuddering. “I thought she was going to eat me.”

“Margaret is harmless. Sarah told me her last divorce ended on good terms.”

“Well, in that case.” He pretends to turn back, jerking back where your arms are linked. 

“Please do not make me deal with a pissed bridesmaid because you turned her down.”

“How did you know I was gonna turn her down?” he argues.

“Because you look like a constipated baby when you don’t know what to say.”

“I do not!”

Stifling a grin, you level him with an expectant look. “You looked like you wanted to die.”

The corner of his mouth twitches as well. “Well, you aren’t wrong. She was asking if I modeled.”

“Oh, god. Don’t let that go to your head.”

“Why not? Don’t you think I’d be a good model?”

His face morphs into the best Zoolander impression he can manage which isn’t saying much. You’re still linked at the elbows, allowing Mingyu to pull you closer when you try to hide your laugh from his ridiculous expression. Feels nice, normal even, having him by your side, laughing over something stupid. You can almost forget last night. Almost.

You look at the floor, continuing to walk further away from the party you’re still working. “Finance guy turned baker turned model.”

“I am a man of multitudes.”

Mingyu stops, face inches from yours. You falter under his gaze, smile dissolving as you stare up at him. His eyes fall to your mouth, close enough you can count each of his eyelashes. Then it rushes you all at once, stunned by the realization that you want him to kiss you and you want it to mean something. Your chin tilts up, Mingyu already halfway there and…

Seungkwan’s voice cracks in your ear. “We’ve got a drunk bridesmaid causing a scene.”

You inhale shakingly, untangling your arm from Mingyu’s and stepping back. You wince before lifting the mic to your lips. “Be there in a second.”

“There is throw up in a potted plant,” Seungkwan replies. “One of Jihoon’s potted plants.”

Cringing again, you take a step back. “Well, there is now a real emergency so I better…”

“Yeah, I…Yeah.” 

Turning on your heel, you walk back towards the party, barely stopping yourself from looking back at where Mingyu waits.

You spend the entire night tossing and turning, brain firing at rapid speed. You never sleep well during an event.  Skin tight and itchy, you pace back and forth. Opening the windows helps a little, the light chill of wind breaking the restless feeling. 

Except it’s not about the wedding. By all accounts, for the time you were granted, everything has gone shockingly well so far. Everything is sorted and the only things that can go wrong at this point are the numerous possibilities that would require years to list out. You’re seasoned enough to know that.

It’s Mingyu.

And the way he looked at you after you saved him from Margaret. The way he looks at you in general, when he thinks you’re not looking. When he walks into a room and you’re the first person he looks for. His face when you said the night in the car was a mistake.

You’ve been so stuck in not wanting to look bad in front of Sarah and Joshua, you haven’t given your feelings any real thought. Clearly, not thinking about him wasn’t working so perhaps you needed to actually untangle your problems the way you did with a seating chart. 

On one hand, Mingyu seems like he isn’t the same man you left years ago. He’s happier, more himself than he was in those months culminating in your break up. Different. Not in a way that scares you, the Mingyu you know is still there, in the way he jokes and tries to fix things before they become a problem. Whatever is different about him excites you.

On the other, you don’t know what he’s thinking. If any of the kisses or stolen moments meant anything to him. If he was working through the same feelings or if he was just a guy looking for a good time with someone he knew intimately. He could still be the same man who accused you of putting him on the backburner for your career.

You wouldn’t know what he wanted until you ask.

One of you had to be brave enough to address whatever was happening, and after multiple rejects you were the one who had to do it. It would suck and you would probably cry but after this weekend, you promise yourself to talk it out with him. If that firmly shut the door closed on your relationship then so be it but at least there would be an answer. At least, you wouldn’t spend every night spiraling.

The uneasy nerves from before are quieter this time. Having a plan, even when it’s as simple as asking Mingyu where his head is at, calms you. 

The sun barely peeks over the horizon when you head to the bathroom to get ready. Mingyu has never once been an early bird in the time you’ve known him and he didn’t have to be anywhere to be until tonight for the cake cutting at the reception. You still listen for any signs of him on the opposite side of the wall but nothing, not even a question shuffle, comes through. 

Taking your time, you wash your face, the cold water keeping you alert enough until you can snag a coffee from the kitchen. There isn’t a point in putting too much effort into your hair and make up, the day was forecasted to be warm and with all the running around you needed to do you’d sweat out whatever effort you put in.

When done, you pull out the black dress laid out for today. The usual slacks and blouse didn’t seem formal enough for a day like today. Floor length, with just enough back exposed to still be appropriate, it is the most expensive thing you own. You’d probably be wearing it to the grave to justify the cost. But you can’t put a price on looking the part of ‘wedding planner everyone wants to work with.’

After twenty minutes of twisting and forcing flexibility you do not have, the dress is zipped, your heels are on, and you head back into the bathroom for final touches. 

While you fought with a pile of chiffon from hell, Mingyu woke up.

“No, I can’t just—” Mingyu’s voice floats through the wall. 

You look fine in the mirror. There's no reason to linger any longer. You’re about to leave, determined not to eavesdrop, when his voice makes you stop.

“I can’t ask her to get back together, Mom, that’s not fair.”

It’s like someone cut the tether to your body, and now you're floating.

Get back together…

The words don’t hit you like that should. At least, not at first. It’s like being underwater, Mingyu tossing you into the deep end.

“I know she doesn’t want to do this with me,” he continues. “No, she didn’t say that but I can’t imagine working with your ex-boyfriend on the biggest wedding of your life is very fun. She’s worked hard for this, I’m not gonna ruin it for her by making it about me.”

Your ass meets the tile floor, his words replaying over and over again. When you snap back, you can’t hear anything but the steady rush of your pulse, lungs burning like you ran a marathon. For a second you think everything Mingyu said is a hallucination co-sponsored by stress and sleep deprivation. But you know that isn’t the truth which means you have half an answer on what he’s feeling. It makes bringing it up later seem much easier to approach than jumping feet first. 

The vibration of your phone snaps you back to now.

Seungkwan: ellery says no coffee for vendors

Later, you can browbeat Mingyu into telling you everything. Right now you have work to do. First, stop a mutiny of florists, musicians, and kitchen staff. 

You type out a response while rushing out the door. 

Y/N: tell him i will personally reimburse him for whatever we drink

Seungkwan: i told him to eat my ass

Y/N: i pay you to make my life easier…

Seungkwan: you do not pay me enough for that, settle for my dazzling humor and friendship

Glancing up from your phone, you see a frozen Mingyu hovering half way out his own door. White coat in hand, ready to head down to the kitchen.

And he’s staring at you like you might as well be naked.

“Hi,” you manage, voice more breath than sound.

Good morning, I heard you tell your mom, who still texts me every year on my birthday by the way, that you want to get back together. Coffee?

“You look nice,” he offers, eyes raking over you from head to toe.

Your heart thuds with the urge to confess everything, to hide away somewhere on the grounds for the rest of the day with him and work it all out. Now. But this is the biggest wedding of your life and you have worked hard for this. Whatever you need to have out with Mingyu, he will be waiting on the other side of today.

“Thanks. I—um— I have to go.”

You barely make it ten feet down the hall before Mingyu says your name.

“Wait!” he calls.

You turn to face him. “Mingyu, I really need to go.”

He looks like he didn’t plan further ahead than asking you to give him a second glance, unsure of himself now that he got it. “I just wanted to say…good luck.”

“Thanks. You too.”

Within ten minutes of descending the stairs, no less than four issues require your attention. The guest book is nowhere to be found, the band left cigarette butts outside in the garden last night sending Ellery into a fit and prompted him to withhold coffee, the flower girls (Sarah’s twin nieces) refuse to share their basket, and Jihoon is on the verge of a mental break down over bouquets.

Divide and conquer. While Seungkwan tracked down the book, you focus on negotiating with Satan himself.

In the kitchen, Mr. Ellery guards the coffee pots like a watchdog, snarling at anyone who gets too close. You approach him without an ounce of fear. Honestly, you’ve had enough of his weird eyebrows.

“Mr. Ellery,” you greet. “I heard we had a bit of a situation.”

“‘A bit of a situation,’” he gasps. “I will not have my family home littered with garbage!”

“And I agree. That is why my assistant is already outside cleaning up the mess and I’m going to speak to the people responsible once we’re done.” You plaster the same slightly unhinged smile on your face from last night. “However, if my staff isn’t treated well then perhaps next time I have a premium event, I’ll take it elsewhere. Just to avoid this same conflict from happening.”

No one got fair in this business by letting people walk all over them. 

Don’t fuck with me, old man.

Brown eyes went wide. “Well, let’s not be hasty—”

“Coffee. Now.”

Not caring to respond, his arms cross tightly over his chest with a ‘humph’ before stepping away, defeated. One of the catering staff jumps in immediately to start the machine. 

One down, fifty million to go.

Next is the band.

They huddle around in the corner of the ballroom. Laughing and joking with one another despite the early hour. You know exactly one of them, Jun, who is a head taller than the other two. He had worked a few events with you before and you know he isn’t the one leaving a mess outside. He probably didn’t know it happened.  

You stand behind the shortest one, clipboard clinched in your grip, waiting for their attention. Jun and the bassist, Minghao, stop talking to stare at you while the one in front of you continues. 

“And so I told her, I have to—”

“Excuse me,” you snap.

The brunette whips around, a high pitched squeal leaving his throat. 

“You.”

“Me?” he replies.

“Are you the one who can’t clean up after himself?”

His eyes go wide, the hands in his pockets now in front of him like you might take the clipboard and beat him to death with it. “I didn’t—”

“Listen to me very carefully,” you went on, taking a step closer. “You’re going to go outside and pick up every single filter, every single ash and leave it like you found it. Actually, better than you found it. And you do it again and I will light you on fire. Got it?”

“Chan’s in trouble,” Jun singsongs.

“Yes, ma’am,” Chan mumbles to his shoes.

“Give me your cigarettes and a light,” you demand, hand out like a teacher confiscating a note. Chan shoves the entire pack into your hand, his own shaking. “Now, if you all could go set up, I would appreciate it.”

The four of them all but sprint out of your vicinity. They’re still in earshot when you hear Chan scream again, probably because Jun has him by the ear like a parent. You can’t relish in the humor of it for long.

Seungkwan finds you at the entrance of the ballroom, the book and a second basket in hand.

“Where did this end up?” you ask.

He huffs without any amusement. “Grannie Donna apparently has sticky fingers.”

You take his hoard, swapping the cardboard box in your hand for the basket.

“Take Jihoon outside, give him these and the biggest coffee you can find. Whatever you do, don’t let him leave.”

“Yes, boss,” Seungkwan salutes and beelines it down the hall.

“And only let him have those out in the parking lot,” you call after him. “Not the gardens.”

“Got it.”

You’re alone in the hallway. Not really, because venue staff are rushing about to set up breakfast, clean before guests come down from their rooms. But even with the morning mishaps, the day is already ahead of schedule. At three the ceremony will start, pictures, dinner, and then Mingyu. 

Mingyu with the cake, you remind yourself.

Checking your watch, you head to the foyer. The makeup artist should be arriving any minute and that meant—

“Holly, thank god.”

She beams when you pull her into a hug, her kit digging painfully into your side. “Good to see you too. Now, where is the bride to be?”

“Upstairs. I’ll show you.”

“So Soonyoung said Mingyu is here too,” Holly says after reaching the second floor. 

“Small world,” you shrug.

“You are a horrible liar.”

“Am not!”

“Yes, you are,” she says. “So how many times have you kissed him?”

“Twice,” you say.

“Damn it.”

“What?”

“I owe Soonyoung twenty bucks.”

“You’re betting on my love life?”

Holly laughs. “I am married. I need some form of entertainment.”

There’s no use in lying. Of all the people to judge you, Holly is the last person to join the line. Besides, she’s the only one that knows Mingyu almost as well as she knows you.

“I may have overheard him talking about wanting to get back together,” you share. 

Holly doesn’t miss a step as she replies, “Yeah, he does that a lot.”

“What?”

“Okay, maybe not a lot but I know he’s asked Soonyoung more than once if it was a good idea to call you and I also know six weeks ago he showed up at our house like he’d seen a ghost.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You stop on the landing, facing her. Holly stops too, unphased by your petulance. 

“If you did that, would you want Soonyoung to tell him?”

“You’re telling me now.”

“Yeah well, you planned my wedding for free, I owe you.”

“Mingyu made your wedding cake.”

“He also threw up in my pool and I didn’t kill him so he’s at net zero.”

“What if…What if we don’t work?”

Holly taps her chin, head tilting to the side. “Then it doesn’t work.”

“Thank you wise one, what would I ever do without you.”

“Things change. People change. Mingyu…he’s worked really hard to be in a better place than when you two broke up. I think if you don’t at least talk to him about it then you’ll regret it.”

“Okay,” you nod. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Full transparency, I take credit for getting you two together. I knew he’d be obsessed with you the moment he laid eyes on you and I was right. So when you two do work out, I will be first in line to make a speech.”

Your eyes roll. “Whatever you say. Now, go. Sarah is waiting.”

Six hours later, the ceremony goes off without a hitch.

It’s the wedding of fairy tales. The florals Jihoon nearly ripped his hair out over transform the already stunning garden into a botanical wonder. Each of the bridesmaids look straight off the cover of a magazine in their gowns, the same for the tailored tuxedos the groomsmen don. After the flower girls scatter white rose petals all over like confetti, Sarah floats down the aisle in her wedding dress to a teary eyed Joshua, they recite their vows with just enough vulnerability, and when the officiate cues them, Joshua wraps Sarah in his arms, dips her low to the ground, and seals their love with a kiss.

Your favorite part of weddings isn’t the first look or watching the bride walk to her soon to be husband. It is always the moment after the kiss. When the couple is so clearly lost in their own world, staring at each other as if all the cheering from the audience is silenced in their own little bubble. And then comes the snap back to reality. No matter if they were bold or timid, it is the same every time. A moment just for them you’re lucky enough to witness.

After that is chaos.

You assist Wonwoo with corralling the bridal party for pictures. If the ceremony is a highlight reel, then everything leading up to the reception is a compilation of top ten worst things to ever plague mankind. A hungry bridal party you feed between shots, Sarah’s mom insisting on her good angles which contradict with Sarah’s good angles, and the sun hot in the sky rising beads of sweat along your eyebrow.

“I think that’s good for now,” Wonwoo announces. “I’ll take more inside.”

Dinner passes with no casualties. You even manage to go to the bathroom and eat a plate for yourself without the building catching on fire. With everyone glued to their chair for the meal, it’s hard for anything to go wrong. Then it’s time for the cake.

And with it, Mingyu.

You watch him roll the massive cake out from the kitchen, three feet tall and covered in white frosting. Exactly what Sarah and Joshua wanted down to the fresh cherries resting on the pipped peaks.

To be completely and truly honest, it’s the tackiest wedding cake you’ve ever seen.

Sarah and Joshua cut the cake, Wonwoo snapping pictures from every angle of the monstrosity. You pray the Franken-cake is left out when the photos come out in whatever bridal magazine next month. 

“Not half bad,” you tell Mingyu, leaning on the wall next to him.

“I’ll be sure to put that review on my website,” he snorts. “Dessert First Bakery, we’re not half bad.” 

Sarah swipes a frosting covered finger against Joshua’s chin. 

“It’s so ugly,” Mingyu whispers, horrified.

“It was…unique.”

He pins you with a look. “I used fifteen pounds of buttercream. It’s fucking ugly.”

“You said it, not me,” you shrug.

For a few moments, you simply look at each other. You don’t have the urge to rush away and find some distraction, not like before. The only thing you feel is an ache in your stomach, one you thought died years ago that dark night in that cramped apartment. There aren’t butterflies but full sized birds trying to take flight. 

“Well,” Mingyu’s jaw flexes. “I’ll leave you to it.”

You watch him go, escaping out into the hall, leaving you behind. That moment with him still lingers, the entire party dull on your senses because all your brain focuses on is where he disappeared, the urge to follow him like a moth to flame.

Lifting the mic of your head set, you speak. “Seungkwan, can you cover for me?”

“On it,” he responds instantly. “Go get your man.”

You don’t bother chastising him. There are more important things to do. Like finding Mingyu before he slips away.

The first step towards the exit is hard. The ones after are incredibly easy.

He’s halfway down the hall, back in the direction of the kitchens, when you catch him. “Mingyu, wait.”

Mingyu’s face gives nothing away.

“Can we talk?”

He nods.

“Not here.”

“Then where?”

You take one look at Mingyu before turning on your strutting past him towards the stairs. “Come on.”

His footsteps click behind you the entire way back to your suite. Luckily, everyone else is down at the reception or tucked away in their rooms for an early night. Neither of you speak the entire way, not stopping until the door of your suite latches with a barely audible click. 

As close as you feel, the chasm between you and Mingyu is much wider now that you're at the edge and attempting to cross.

“I’m guessing this isn’t about the invoice,” Mingyu jokes, hands in his pockets.

Your head shakes. Your hands are shaking too. The room feels so much smaller with him taking up space.

“Then what is it?”

You exhale. “You told your mom you couldn’t ask me to get back together. Why?”

There goes being subtle about it.

“How do you know that?” he asks, shocked.

“I’m psychic,” you deadpan. “I can hear you through the bathroom wall, genius.”

“You were spying on me?”

“You were the one jerking off while thinking about me so I’d say we’re even.”

His neck flares red, eyes wide in horror. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“Mingyu, I don’t care about that,” you huff. “Why did you tell your mom we couldn’t get back together?”

“I didn’t think it was an option.”

“I’m not saying it’s an option, I just…”

“Then what are you saying? What do you want from me, Y/N?”

“I—”

Mingyu steps closer. “You wanted to break up. I agreed. You wanted space, I gave it to you. You wanted me to do this wedding, I did it. I didn’t sleep for three days making sure everything was exactly how you wanted it. After the car, I thought you said it was a mistake so I dropped it. I’ve always tried to give you what you want. So tell me what you want and I’ll do it,” he says, voice a little desperate. 

“I was planning to talk to you about this after this weekend was over…” you shudder, chest tight. 

“Talk to me about what?” Mingyu watches you with guarded hope, fingers flexing at his sides like he wants to reach out and hold you but he doesn’t. “Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

“I want you.”

The words hang in the air, spelled out in the space between you and him, heavy like smoke. 

“Be more specific.”

“I miss you and I want you back, even if we hate each other and don’t work and you hope I get hit by a bus—”

Mingyu pulls you into his chest, silencing your ramble. “I have never hated you.”

You melt into his warmth, the smell of his cologne and sugar and vanilla conjuring tears. It feels like home. He feels like home.

“Every time I look at you I feel like…” you trail off. You don’t know how to describe it. Like a million balloons popping at once, like you’re in the eye of a tornado. Something about a half made whole and whatever other cliches people throw around about the person they love.

“I know,” Mingyu whispers into your hair. The thud of his heart beats into your ear. “I feel that way too..”

As good as it feels to have him unfiltered once again, you’re still terrified. “But we didn’t work, Gyu. What’s changed between now and then? I work more. You work more. Wasn’t that what we always fought about? Not having enough time?”

“That’s not what I was upset about.”

“Then what was it?”

Untangling himself from your hold, Mingyu sits on the bed, chin tipped down, face hidden in his hands. You want to pretend like you never asked, that you two are back together and everything is sunshine and rainbows because you have him once again. But you can't put a bandaid on an infected wound and hope it’ll heal on its own. As painful as it is, the infection of your past needed to be cleaned.

“I started seeing a therapist,” he says after a long moment.

“You did?”

“I felt like…” his voice clips like he’s trying not to cry. “I felt like I wasn’t good enough for you.”

“Mingyu…”

“I know. And that made me feel even worse. I started talking to them a few months after we ended and I realized I wasn’t upset you worked all the time. I was ashamed because you did exactly what you dreamed of doing and I was too scared and I took it out on you. I was always proud of you. I still am. When I see your weddings in the paper and everything. You were so much braver than I was and I felt ashamed of it. And when you left I didn’t even blame you for it. And I’m sorry for everything I said, and that I didn’t tell you and I let you think you weren’t important to me.”

You wait in case he wants to share anything more but Mingyu doesn’t speak. 

“Mingyu,” you whisper, stepping into the space between his legs. He hides his face in the fabric covering your stomach. “Mingyu, Mingyu, Mingyu.”

Each repetition of his name is punctuated with against his hair. He melts beneath them, tension evaporating from his body as he pulls you closer.

“I forgive you.”

You do. It surprises even yourself that you can forgive him so easily but Mingyu has been trying. Not with the intent to get you back but because he knew he was wrong and wanted to be better. 

Those seem to be the magic words he needs. Mingyu collapses back onto the mattress, pulling you with him. You both lay there, glowing with content. He traces circles on the back of your neck, other hand curled over your back like you might leave. You won’t. Not this time. Not again.

“If I tell you a secret, promise not to make fun of me?”

“Hmmmm.” You pretend to consider it while planting kiss after kiss over jaw, down his neck, soaking in the steady rhythm of his pulse against your lips. “Depends.”

“What if it’s romantic?”

“I guess.”

“I named the bakery after you.”

“What?”

“You told me to save the money I’d put on a ring to open it one day. It felt like the least I could do.” Mingyu hides in your hair, squeezing you so tight your bones hurt. “You always said dessert should be served first at dinner.”

Whatever witty comment blooms on your tongue wilts instantly. So you bite him instead.

“Ow! What the fuck?”

“Oh my god, I love you, you cheesy motherfucker.”

Mingyu pulls your palm to his lips, looking straight through. “I love you.”

Your hand curls around his cheek before you kiss him. Just once. A soft pass of your mouth over his, dual sighs of relief mingling together.

“We’re getting back together, right? Because I really can’t handle—”

“Yes, we’re getting back together.”

“Thank god.” Mignyu sags with relief. 

“You know,” you say, arms weaving over his shoulders. “I have the night off.”

“Oh really?”

You bite your lip to keep from smiling too big. “Mhm.”

“And what do you plan to do with your free time?”

“I have a few ideas.”

You suck his bottom lip, fingers working at the buttons of his jacket. He only makes it more difficult by rolling on top of you, taking advantage of the moment to snake his tongue along yours. 

Mingyu groans in frustration, refusing to pull his mouth away from yours. “How do you get this dress off?”

You prod his shoulder, standing to present the zipper curved down your spine. “Help me.”

The fabric goes slack. You let it fall, no attempt at modesty. Turning back to face him, Mingyu stops you, plastering his front to your back, cupping your chest as he watches over your shoulder. 

His thumbs graze your nipples, over and over and over again. It’s madness, how turned on you are from this alone. If he gave you something to grind against you’d come. 

“Mingyu,” you grovel. The ‘please’ is implied with the arch of your ass against his hard on.

A puff of air rains across the curve of your neck, his teeth quick to follow. “I told you to tell me what you want.”

“I want you to eat me out.”

He bends you over the desk with a gentle push. Mingyu nudges your legs further apart, fully on display for him. You hear his clothing fall, the thump of a belt buckle hitting the floor. You hope he’s naked.

When you look back to check, he’s zoned in on your ass and palming over his briefs. You arch a little bit more. 

“Are you planning to just stand there or are you going to do something?” you goad.

“Patience.”

His nose traces over your spine and you savor the attention. The waiting is the worst part but you crave a deeper intimacy than a quick tumble. You want to rediscover all of him, and him all of you.

Teeth sting into the curve of your ass, your eyes rolling. 

Your voice thins when you speak. “Is there a reason I’m still wearing heels?”

“Hot,” he grunts into the back of your thigh, fingers etching along the hem of your thong. 

The wet heat of his tongue snakes through what little is covered by the fabric, right where the arousal he stokes out of you collects. There is some pleasure in being teased but tonight isn’t one of the nights for it. You want him. All of him. Now.

Your fingers slither back into his hair, holding firm. “Take them off.” 

Mingyu rolls down your thighs, abandoning them at your knees to bury his face between your legs.

“Oh my god.” He sucks your clit, tongue lashing with no build up, rough hands spreading your ass. 

No one ate your pussy as well as Mingyu does. He’s too devoted to be selfish, willing to spend as much time as it takes for your eyes to roll and muscles to seize. 

Each shudder and moan forces your breast across the desk, nipples catching on the waxed surface. 

“Fingers,” you moan. “Fingers too.”

Your sighs rise, moaning through the addition of his fingers coupled with a rough lap of his tongue that has you arching back to ride his face. His lips suction tight. You let him fuck you in with slow strokes. 

The desk keeps you upright. All you have to do is take it, take what Mingyu gives and let it fester. 

“Oh my god,” you choke when he leans back and spits on your cunt.

Reaching back blindly, you tug him back by the hair. 

You can feel the end just out of reach. A few vulgar flicks and its release in long waves that make you keen his name horsley. 

The surface of the desk is cool against your skin, soothing the burn in your cheek as you catch your breath. Mingyu kisses up your back, wet lips leaving traces of your arousal everywhere. 

He nips your ear. “Good?”

You nod, craning to kiss him. Mingyu turns you around, not breaking contact, and leads you to bed. Your knees fold over the edge and then you’re looking up at him from where he stands between your spread legs.

“My feet hurt,” you pout.

Mingyu stretches your legs up his chest, ankles right at eye level as he undoes the buckle. He’s still teasing. The bulge of his cock pressed, hidden beneath his underwear, heavy against your ass. 

“You’re the worst.”

He smirks but maintains focus on the dainty strap. “Be patient.”

“Mingyu,” you sigh, half begging half objection from the subtle grind of his hips. “Want you.”

“Let me enjoy this.”

“You’re driving me insane.”

“Now you know how I feel seeing you in that dress this morning.”

 Your eyes roll. “It’s not that nice.”

“I was talking about the woman wearing it.”

Free from shoes, your legs spread, pussy on display. Mingyu swallows hard as your fingers move through the mess of spit and arousal. “Well the woman wearing it wants you to fuck her.”

He cocks a brow. It means nothing with the red tint of his ears. “Does she now?”

“Missed having you come inside me,” you tease.

Mingyu shivers. “Yeah?”

“You were the only one.”

“All mine.”

You sit up, mouth at one of the marks from last week, already healed and just a shadow of what it was. Moving slightly, you pin his nipple between your teeth. “Will you give it to me?”

“Whatever you want,” he pants.

His underwear hits the floor, cock perfect in your palm. You lean back, eyes on his, and spit on it. Mingyu’s hips kick, fucking himself through your grips. 

“What do you want?” 

He groans, throat raw. “Wanna come inside you, want you to ride me.”

“Then come here.”

You guide him into the sheets, splayed out like a full meal. He pulls your leg over his lap. You could stay here. Sat on his thighs, stroking his cock until cum paints his chest white. Clean it up with your mouth. And do it all again over and over.

But this isn’t the only chance to drag him through hell for the sake of pleasure so you save it for later. 

Mingyu grips himself, presenting his length like a throne. All it takes is an easy roll of your hips and your flat against him, full beyond belief.

“Fuck, I love you,” he moans into your mouth as you sink down.

You rock forward, grinding to prevent even a moment without the satisfying feeling of your insides molded to his cock. 

His fingers dig into your ass, helping you with gentle thrusts. “Feels so good, fuck.”

“Mingyu,” you hiss.

“Want you to come for me again.”

His eyes glue onto the view down your front: your throat, your breasts bouncing with every grind, the way his cock disappears and comes back soaked. You watch him watch you, drooling for the fucked out look on his face.

You kiss the cord of muscle in his neck.

“Come inside, Gyu. Give it to me,” you whisper, all breath right in his ear. “I wanna feel how hard you come for me.”

He pinches your nipple, the pain shooting straight to your core.  Your back curves and you feel his cock in the back of your throat.

“Don’t stop,” you beg. “Fuck me. Please, fuck me.”

Tugging you off, Mingyu manhandles you down into the sheets.

“No,” you protest, scrambling for him. Any part of him you can reach. 

Those muscles go to use pinning you in place. One hand holds your wrists over your head, thighs splayed across his. Mingyu slaps his cock against your pussy, leaking tip teasing your clit. “Tell me you want it.”

“I want it,” you nod, dumb.

He dips lower, lips rubbing against yours for his next command. “Tell me how much you need me to fuck you.”

“Need it,” you sigh, thighs squeezing around his waist, aching for a chance to slip him inside. “Need you to fuck me.”

In a frenzy, Mingyu ruts into the snug feel of your walls. The angle stretching you out just right, cock battering that place inside that makes your joints lock. He spreads your legs wider with a roll of his hips, finding your clit easily. 

“There, there, there.” 

He rubs you raw to the core, not stopping when you tremble. It’s not fair he can fuck you like second nature, dragging you to the brink of insanity with the tiniest bit of effort.

“C-cumming,” Mingyu shudders, finding your mouth once again. You’ll be sore tomorrow from the way he bares down into you, until you’re flat against him, taking it deeper. 

You shudder when he grinds down into you a few more times, pure greed driving him to stay inside you despite his own sensitivity. 

“Oh my god,” he breathes, carefully pulling out. You’re not empty for long. His fingers stuff your opening, slick cum making it an easy slip. 

He pulls them out, presenting them in the pale light of the room. You snag his wrist and suck them between your lips, preening at his reaction.

“God, that’s hot,” Mingyu mutters.

You give another lewd suck before popping off “C’mon lover boy, I need a shower.”

“I can come?” 

You laugh. “Yeah, you can come.”

Mingyu sneaks back into his room, snagging whatever clothes he needs for the night while you hop into the shower. The steam softens all those sore muscles when you hear a knock.

“Can you hear me?” he asks through the wall.

You knock back. “Yes!”

“I love you.”

“I love you too. Now hurry up, it’s getting cold.”

An hour later, you’re squeaky clean between the bed sheets with Mingyu. He brought one of his old shirts for you to wear from college. You regret buying him so much Dodgers paraphernalia as a gag gift for Christmas all those years ago. But you take the shirt because it makes him happy. Almost happier than if you chose to sleep naked.

Cuddling up to him, you let your mind wander off, sleeping rolling over you. Your eyes open for one last look only to find him already looking at you, face soft, eyes committing your face to memory.

“Stop staring at me. It’s creepy.”

“I’m not creepy,” he pouts.

“You’re not but watching me try to sleep is.”

“I was going for romantic.”

“How about going to sleep. We have to be up early.”

“Goodnight kiss?” he asks, halfway to your mouth already.

One turns two and two into many more.

You’re both still awake when Mingyu’s alarm goes off hours later.

2 Years Later…

Whisking Up a Perfect Match: The City’s Most Notorious Wedding Planner and Beloved Baker Say 'I Dough’

BY JEONGHAN YOON

They say love is a lot like baking; it takes patience, precision, and a little bit of magic…

taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie

@gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire

@missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @sliceofwoozi

@writingbarnes @dokyeomkyeom @christinewithluv @minwonfairy @wobblewobble822

@futuristicenemychaos @seungkw1 @horanghaezone @jespecially @scoupsjin

@isabellah29 @luvseungcheol @crisle19 @iamawkwardandshy @lukeys-giggle

@aaa-sia @tinkerbell460 @gyuhao365 @ourkivee  @bokk-minnie

@cookiearmy  @moonlightwonu @kyeomofhearts

@melonacco @lllucere @wwjagabeee @syluslittlecrows @yourbimbohope

@whrryuu @wonrangwoo @xchaenx @champagnenoona

[devilish-cherry]

ᨳ♡₊➳ how they react to your simping

ᨳ♡₊➳ feat. gojo, geto, nanami, choso, toji

ᨳ♡₊➳ crack, fluff

ᨳ♡₊➳ a/n: request from this ask!

₊⊹. Satoru Gojo

It starts as a bit.

A joke.

A funny little thing you do to pass the time.

"Satoru," you say one day, dropping into the seat across from him, locking eyes with the intensity of a protagonist about to deliver a monologue that changes the trajectory of the plot. "You're the most stunning man I've ever laid eyes on. A masterpiece sculpted by the gods. A celestial being walking among mortals."

Gojo, already grinning, slurps his sugar-laden monstrosity of a drink. "Keep going."

"And your eyes," you continue solemnly. "If I stare too long, I think I might ascend. Transcend, even. Witness the birth of a new universe."

"Mmhm, mhm," Gojo hums, nodding. "I am quite pretty."

You squint. "That was supposed to be my bit."

"Hey, I can't help it if you're spitting facts," he says, flipping an imaginary strand of long hair behind his shoulder.

You let it go. But only because you have a mission.

The mission? Spoiling Gojo so hard he actually malfunctions.

Gojo is used to being worshiped. Adored. Gawked at. What he's not used to is someone actually putting in effort beyond the usual "oh my god satoru, you're sooo hot!" routine.

So later that day when you casually drop a bouquet of fresh flowers onto his desk, he blinks. Once. Twice.

"What's this?" he asks, twirling a rose between his fingers.

"A bouquet, obviously," you say. "They reminded me of you."

He preens. "Because they're beautiful?"

"Because they're high-maintenance and will die if left unattended for too long."

He chokes on his own spit.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Gojo is not prepared for the sheer level of simping you unleash upon him.

You leave handwritten love notes in his coat pockets.

You text him daily affirmations like "Rise and shine, my shining deity of a man. May your day be filled with adoration befitting a being of your grandeur."

You make a whole PowerPoint presentation titled "Top 10 Reasons Satoru Gojo is the Pinnacle of Human Evolution", complete with graphs, transitions, and a Q&A section at the end.

Gojo is thriving.

Nanami, witnessing this firsthand, is suffering.

"You're just encouraging him," Nanami says one afternoon as Gojo dramatically rereads a love poem you wrote on parchment paper.

"He's thriving under my care," you say, flipping through a list of future compliments to deploy. "It's called nourishment."

"It's called enabling," Nanami corrects, watching Gojo dramatically place a hand over his heart.

"I AM LOVED," Gojo wails, pretending to faint into his chair.

"What you are is insufferable," Nanami mutters, sipping his black coffee like it's the only thing tethering him to sanity.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

You decide to go all in.

You book a fancy restaurant.

You show up with flowers, dressed like you're about to propose.

Gojo, seeing the setup, vibrates with excitement. "Oh my god, am I finally being courted properly?!"

"You deserve nothing less," you say smoothly, pulling out his chair like a true gentleperson.

"You shouldn't have," he fake-swoons, placing a delicate hand on his chest.

"No, you shouldn't have been going on for this long without experiencing the true depths of my affection."

The waiter arrives. You order the most expensive dish for Gojo before he even gets a chance to speak. "He'll have the filet mignon, medium-rare, with truffle butter. And your finest wine."

Gojo grips your hand across the table. "I am beside myself with emotion right now."

"You are a treasure, Satoru," you whisper. "A rare jewel. A divine gift."

Gojo wipes away a single imaginary tear.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

At this point, you've given Gojo too much power.

He now EXPECTS this level of treatment.

"Where's my daily compliment?" he pouts one morning when you forget to text him.

You stare at him. "Satoru. It's 6 AM."

"And yet I am here. Unloved. Unworshipped. Unadored."

"You are a grown man."

"A king should not have to remind his subjects of their duties," he grumbles.

Nanami groans in the background.

You rub your temples. "Satoru."

"Yes, my love?"

"You are—" You take a deep breath. "The sun that lights up my world. The radiant deity upon whom my mortal existence depends."

He beams. "Thank you, beloved."

Nanami leaves the room.

₊⊹. Suguru Geto

You had decided enough was enough. Suguru Geto had been prancing around with his stupidly silky hair, his deep, philosophical musings, and his unfairly attractive smirk for too long. It was time to strike.

And by strike, you meant overwhelm him with unhinged romance until he had no choice but to fall for you.

You found him meditating under a tree, all calm and ethereal, probably contemplating the moral complexities of the Jujutsu world or something equally dramatic. You, however, had more important things to discuss.

Like how down bad you were.

"Geto," you declared, standing before him like a medieval knight about to swear fealty, "I offer you this token of my undying admiration."

Then, with a flourish, you revealed—

Chocolates.

Not just any chocolates. You had gone full simp mode and gotten a heart-shaped box.

Geto looked at it. Then at you. "...Should I be concerned?"

"Only about how much I love you," you replied dramatically, shoving the chocolates into his hands.

There was a pause. A long, heavily judgmental pause.

"Are you trying to court me like some kind of high school rom-com protagonist?"

"YES."

Another pause.

"Is it working?" you asked.

Geto opened the box, picked up a chocolate, and took a bite. He chewed slowly, considering. Then—

"...Maybe."

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Now, Geto was a cool, composed, and deadly sorcerer.

Which meant it was your job to ruin his life with affection.

So, naturally, you initiated the next phase by hugging him out of nowhere.

This man had fought dangerous curses, but nothing—nothing—could prepare him for the sheer force of your affection.

You launched yourself at him like an affectionate gremlin, wrapping your arms around his waist with the force of a hungry raccoon finding a trash can full of McDonald’s fries.

Geto froze.

"...Are you okay?" he asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

"Never," you mumbled into his robe. "But that’s not the point."

"...And the point is?"

"I just think you deserve love and appreciation. And I wanna be the one to give it to you."

Silence.

Then, after a long moment, he sighed, resting a hand on your head.

"...You are ridiculous," he muttered.

"You love it."

"...Perhaps."

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

By the end of the week, Geto had officially accepted your nonsense.

You’d catch him hoarding the chocolates like some kind of dragon. You saw him smiling to himself after one of your many, many dramatic compliments.

And when you finally mustered the courage to ask, "So, does this mean we’re dating now?"

Geto, ever the enigma, smirked and patted your head.

"...I suppose I should accept my fate."

₊⊹. Kento Nanami

Nanami is a serious man. A man who, if given the choice, would rather be doing his taxes than engaging in anything even remotely resembling romance. Not because he doesn’t want romance, but because romance requires effort, and effort is, unfortunately, time-consuming.

Which is why you have taken it upon yourself to court this man like a medieval suitor with a crush so strong it could level a small village.

You decide today is the day. The day you finally ask Nanami out. The plan is simple:

1. Find Nanami.

2. Say, "Hey, I like you, wanna go out?"

3. Win.

It’s foolproof. You are a genius.

Nanami, as per usual, is dressed like the world's most exhausted salaryman, sipping a coffee that he is holding like it’s the only thing tethering him to existence.

"Nanami," you say, feeling the confidence of a thousand mediocre fuckboys online.

He looks at you. His gaze is neutral. Calculating. As if he can already sense that whatever is about to come out of your mouth will disrupt the fragile equilibrium of his sanity.

You inhale deeply. Go for it.

"Would you like to engage in a mutually agreed-upon romantic outing with me where I attempt to woo you with my sheer charisma and a potentially expensive dinner?"

Silence.

Nanami blinks. Once. Twice.

Then he takes an excruciatingly slow sip of his coffee, as if using the liquid as a buffer to process the sheer absurdity of your phrasing.

"Are you asking me on a date?"

"That depends," you say, doubling down. "Did it work?"

Nanami stares at you. Then sighs.

"Sure."

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Since you have decided to be the biggest simp for Nanami, you have prepared a gift to give him at the beginning of your date. Something that says I am a responsible adult capable of mature affection while also saying I would die for you, sir.

Which is how you find yourself handing Nanami a loaf of bread from his favorite bakery.

Nanami, a man who has spent years perfecting the art of keeping a neutral expression, visibly falters.

Nanami stares at the bread. Then at you. Then at the bread again, as if he is trying to determine whether or not you are a figment of his own overworked imagination.

Finally, he says, "Thank you."

Which, in Nanami Language, translates roughly to: I have never been more emotionally moved in my life.

You, being the proactive, aggressive simp that you are, have decided to push boundaries. Specifically, physical affection boundaries.

So later on the date, you do the unthinkable. You hold his hand.

Nanami, a grown man who has fought literal curses and experienced horrors beyond human comprehension, immediately short-circuits.

His posture stiffens like he’s just been accused of tax fraud. His grip tightens slightly, as if he’s afraid you might just evaporate if he doesn’t hold on properly.

"This is fine," he says, in the tone of someone who is very much not fine.

You squeeze his hand. "I could kiss you, you know."

Nanami exhales so hard it could power a wind turbine.

"Please do not say such things in public."

"You want me to save it for when we're alone?"

Nanami looks at you like he is considering whether it would be socially acceptable to walk into the ocean and never return.

You grin. You have won.

And Nanami, though he will never admit it, likes losing to you.

₊⊹. Choso Kamo

You had a plan.

A stupid, possibly catastrophic plan.

But you were going to ask Choso out.

The issue? Choso was built different.

Not in the "cool, gym-rat, grinds at 4 AM" way. Not even in the "mysterious loner with a dark past" way. No. Choso was built different in the "has absolutely no understanding of normal social cues" way. He had the emotional intelligence of a Roomba. He walked like an NPC. He stared at inanimate objects like they had personally wronged him.

And, worst of all, he had no idea you were trying to make moves.

You had flirted. You had winked at him. You had complimented his little pigtails. You had even touched his arm, which, in romance language, was basically a marriage proposal.

Nothing.

Choso was simply not getting it.

So now, you were taking a more direct approach. You were going to spoil him until he physically had to acknowledge your affection.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

You waited until Choso was comfortably seated at your usual hangout spot—a little café that had tolerated your nonsense for far too long.

You slammed a neatly wrapped box onto the table with the intensity of someone presenting a sacred artifact to the gods.

Choso blinked. Slowly. Then looked at you.

“...Am I being arrested?”

“What? No!”

He looked down at the box again. Then back at you. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Choso. Open it.”

Choso stared at the box like it might explode. Then, with all the hesitance of a man defusing a bomb, he started unwrapping it.

Inside was a custom hoodie—black with deep purple accents, soft as hell, and embroidered on the sleeve with “Best Big Bro” in delicate script.

Because if there was one thing Choso loved more than you (debatable), it was being a big brother.

Choso stared at it. Completely frozen.

You waited. And waited. And—

“…Do you not like it?” you asked, anxiety creeping in.

Choso lifted his head, and you almost gasped.

He looked emotionally compromised.

Like, full processing error. His eyes had slightly widened, and his mouth opened just a little, like he was trying to form words but had temporarily forgotten how human speech worked.

He lifted the hoodie like it was the most valuable thing he had ever received.

“You got this… for me?”

Your heart lurched. “Yeah, dude. It’s literally yours.”

Choso gently set the hoodie down, stood up, and left the café.

…

HE LEFT THE CAFÉ.

You sat there, dumbfounded, watching the door swing shut behind him. You did not know how to feel.

What the hell just happened?

Did he hate it? Was he rejecting your affection?

But just as you were about to spiral into a crisis, the door slammed open again.

Choso returned, looking like he had gone outside to scream into the sky.

He stopped in front of you, took a deep breath, and said, “I did not know how to process that.”

“…The hoodie?”

Choso nodded, completely serious.

“It was too much.” He exhaled deeply, as if he had just lived through a traumatic event. “I had to step outside. It was the nicest thing anyone has ever given me.”

Before you could even respond, Choso dropped into the chair across from you, locked eyes, and grabbed your hands.

“You are important to me,” he said, voice dead serious. “I don’t know how to handle being… doted on. But I will try.”

“…So you like it?” you managed to choke out.

Choso nodded. Solemn. Deeply sincere.

“I will cherish it forever.”

He paused.

“Do I have to pay you back?”

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Despite the initial trauma, Choso wore that hoodie everywhere.

And you mean everywhere.

Grocery shopping? Hoodie. Training? Hoodie. A formal event? He debated wearing the hoodie.

Every time you saw him in it, your heart grew three sizes.

And the best part? Choso finally got the hint.

Or rather, he returned the favor in his own extremely weird way.

One day, he solemnly presents you with a tiny, perfectly round rock.

“This is for you.”

You stare at it. “…Choso. Is this just... A rock?”

Choso nods, his expression grave and intense. “It reminded me of you.”

You don’t know what that means, but you’re keeping the rock forever.

₊⊹. Toji Fushiguro

So, you’ve decided to ask Toji Fushiguro out. Bold of you. Statistically speaking, your chances of success are equivalent to trying to microwave a Hot Pocket evenly—low but not impossible.

You approach him, full of misplaced confidence, and hit him with:

"Hey, I think you’re hot. Want to go out?"

Toji stares at you. For the first time in his life, he is the one being objectified, and he does not know how to cope.

“...You serious?” he asks, popping a toothpick into his mouth like he’s the protagonist of a Western movie.

You nod, mostly because you’ve already committed and retreating would be embarrassing.

Toji, a man who survives off hitman money and food bribery, strokes his chin as if he’s considering a very important life decision. "Eh. You payin’?"

Ah, yes. Romance.

You, a modern working-class citizen barely scraping by, sigh deeply. “Sure.”

He grins. "Alright, babe. As long as I get fed, I’m yours."

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Most people might play it cool. You, however, are about to hit Toji with full-throttle, maximum-effort simping.

You start hyping him up like a Twitch chat during a speedrun:

"Oh, wow, you lifted that entire sofa by yourself? That’s crazy, I didn’t know Greek gods were still around."

"Bro, your arms? Jail. Straight to jail."

"You look like you commit tax fraud in a really attractive way."

Toji, completely unused to someone simping this hard for him, just stares at you. "The hell is wrong with you?"

But he doesn’t tell you to stop.

No, instead, he starts getting visibly cocky. His smirks get more frequent. He starts cracking his neck more, flexing just because. At one point, he lifts an entire vending machine with one hand just to “see if you’d react.”

(You do. You react violently. Your soul momentarily leaves your body. He finds this hilarious.)

"Man, this is fun," he mutters, completely oblivious to the fact that he’s now just performing feats of strength for your entertainment like a circus strongman.

Eventually you decide it’s time to go full simp mode. You present him with The Ultimate Romantic Gift™—a custom, high-quality, weighted blanket.

Yes. A weighted blanket.

Toji blinks at it. "The hell is this?"

"It’s a weighted blanket. It helps with sleeping. It’s supposed to feel like a hug."

Toji, a man who absolutely does not get enough proper sleep, picks it up and frowns at the heft of it. "Why would I want my blanket to hug me?"

"Because you have unresolved trauma, and I love you."

Toji pauses. Stares at you. Stares at the blanket. Stares back at you. His grip tightens like you just handed him a weapon of mass destruction.

"Holy shit," he mutters under his breath. He looks almost…emotional? No, wait. You think he’s malfunctioning. His brain is short-circuiting from the sheer thought of someone giving him something that doesn’t explode.

Toji does not say thank you (because he’s emotionally repressed), but that night, he's completely KO’d under the blanket, snoring like a bear hibernating for the winter.

He has never slept so well in his life.

The next morning, he casually throws an arm around your shoulder and mutters, "Aight, I’ll keep ya."

[captain-huggy-bear]

The Sleeves

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Short Fem!Reader

Warnings: Quinn thinking you're hot af, so slightly mature in that sense but nothing extreme.

Summary: Jersey sleeves are just a little too long for you.

Notes: Reader is described as short but not a specific height. I, a short person, could be wrong here, but I assume the taller you are the longer your arms are hense the height focus in this fic. Also it's a 43 Hughes jersey not Quinn's own one because we're all different sizes and I don't want anyone to be unable to imagine it, y'know????

Had this idea cause my Jack Jersey has super long sleeves and it makes me feel safe and silly (I'm getting a Quinn jersey for X-mas from my brother and i'm very excited)

It's baffling actually, when you really think about it, that you'd been dating a pro-Hockey player for nearly 8 months and hadn't owned a single jersey until now. Sure, Quinn had tried to convince you to just borrow one of his, his desire to see you in his jersey practically an obsession, but half the time they were sweat stained and stinky and you kind of just wanted one designed for you and your body. So you'd gone to his games in just your normal clothes, sometimes you wore the stupid t-shirt Jack and Luke got you with Quinn's face on it for your birthday, but you'd never worn a hockey jersey.

This had seemed a shame and you'd decided enough was enough. You went to all Quinn's home games and tried to go to as many away games as possible, you thought that surely you should, as a dutiful girlfriend wear a #43 jersey. It felt wrong, somehow, not to have at least one, to wear one at least once.

So you'd bought one, taken your time considering which version to get, which size you preferred. You hadn't told Quinn because any time you wanted to buy something for yourself he always did it for you, claiming he had more money than he knew what to do with. As sweet as it was, sometimes you wanted to spend your own hard earned money. Plus, you'd wanted it to be a surprise. It was practically on his bucket list at this point, it felt like something...big.

So you'd kept it quiet, bought a #43 Hughes black skate jersey in a size just this side of too big, oversized for the comfort factor. What you hadn't anticipated was how you felt wearing it...or Quinn's reaction.

It was just fabric, just a jersey but the moment you slipped it on you felt...safe. The fabric was soft against your skin, not tight or claustrophobic and the sleeves...oh the sleeves were your favourite part. You were short, that was a fact of life, you hadn't grown upwards since you were 14 and you'd made your peace with it. Didn't really have a choice, given that you spent all your time around hockey players. Some of whom were absolute giants, Meyers came straight to mind. Quinn was considered a smaller player in the business and even he made you feel short. Being short, had the effect though of making the sleeves of your jersey gigantic.

You couldn't really describe the sheer joy you felt when the sleeves went past your fingertips absolutely swallowing your hands. You felt like a little kid again, you felt comfy, and safe. Maybe it was scratching some sort of anxiety itch in your brain or maybe it was that you'd missed this feeling from when you were a kid, the feeling of being so so small that everything else felt giant, but you loved it either way.

Your plan was to hide the jersey until Quinn's next game, ready to surprise him when he looked for you during warmups, ready for him to realise you were finally wearing his name and number. Something he'd been not so subtly pushing for months every single time he conveniently left a jersey out next to your game day clothes before he left for the rink.

The moment he left for the game after a goodbye kiss and some I love yous, you'd put the jersey he'd left on the bed away (no matter how many times he washed it it still had the lingering smell of hockey...) and reached into the back of the wardrobe, underneath a series of boxes and miscellaneous items, for your own. You'd hidden it well, so far back, it was actually a struggling to get to.

You'd slipped it on over your jumper and layers, letting the sleeves fall over your fingertips. That familiar safe, giddy feeling filling you as you twirled in a circle in front of the mirror before dropping your shoulders, closing your eyes and just enjoying it. There was something about the physical sensation that was enjoyable, the way it felt, the sense of comfort it brought, but it went past that. It felt good to look in the mirror and see Quinn's number on your arms, across your back, his surname plastered in the large font. It felt good to wear a reminder of him.

You opened your eyes after a few moments of flapping the long sleeves about, a childish joy in the flap of fabric. Your sight snagging in the mirror on the doorframe behind you, Quinn leaning a shoulder against it, kit bag at his feet. He had softest smile on his face, the sort of smile that made his eyes crinkle gently and had his teeth poking out just so.

You spin around to face him startled, not expecting him to be back. Your fingers meeting and twisting together, hidden beneath the lengths of sleeve fabric.

"Did you...did you forget something?"

It's obvious to him that you're trying to avoid the elephant in the room, the surprise he's clearly ruined. It's not his jersey, but it is and it's all he's wanted to see you in for months now...Fuck, you look good in his jersey. You've brought it in a size that's just the right sort of oversized, swallowing familiar curves under layers of black, yellow and red fabric. How you make something that hides every part of you look so good he doesn't really understand, but he thinks that maybe that just says more about how he feels about you than anything else.

Your hands are invisible, swallowed by fabric and his name and number across your back were practically searerd into his retina. A memory pressed into the pages of his mind. It's stupid, possessive, ridiculous, caveman-ish but, fuck, he likes that you're saying you're his, likes that everyone can see it. That it's his name across your back.

"My number looks good on you..." Quinn bites down on his bottom lip, tilts his head to the side as his eyes trail over you. The way he's looking at you, you'd think you were stood there naked, not swallowed in fabric. It makes your cheeks warm.

"Quinn..." You let out and embarrassed whine, hands coming up to cover your face as he trails his way closer, feet padding softly across the carpet. His gear forgotten in the doorway, the sense of urgency to get the last piece he forgot and get to the rink, gone. Game? What game?

You feel his presence first, feet stopping close to your own, his form towering over you as he wraps his hands gently around your wrists and tugs them free from your face. He's practically grinning at you, that one strand of brunet hair falling across his brow as he leans down towards you.

"The sleeves too, you look cute in it, fuck..." He tugs on the ends of the sleeves, examining the way your hands are swallowed by the fabric. The cute wiggle of them from underneath before being swallowed whole.

"This for me, pretty girl?"

You nod, feeling oddly shy in front of him as his eyes keep following your form like he can't quiet get enough. It's surreal, you've had boyfriends who didn't even look at you like that when you were dolled to the nines, you're just in a jersey, some ordinary clothes, everything covered, nothing special, "...It was supposed to be a surprise...for tonight."

"Ah," he fills in the blanks. He's ruined it by coming back unexpectedly, because he forgot his stupid mouthguard of all things. He imagines it though, being on the ice, looking for you like he always does, his eyes gravitating towards you like he's stuck in your orbit. He can see the way you'd look in the lights of the rink, his number proudly displayed. Could see the way he'd probably stop dead on the ice, probably get a bunch of shit from the guys, can see Petey shoving him with a laugh, but he'd not care at all because you're finally wearing his jersey and he's been waiting for this for months.

"Can you, uh, never take it off?" he laughs, tugging you closer, arms wrapping around you as his fingers trail across the letters making up his name on the back. Memorising the feel of it, his name on you, finally.

"Quinn..."

"What? You look...fuck, you look so good in my jersey, baby, like...unreal..." He means it and you know he means it because he's got that sparkle in his eyes that screams his feelings out loud without a single word.

"...you have a game to get to.." you mumble, face pressing into his chest, trying to hide from him because only Quinn can make you quite this bashful after this length of time together. Only Quinn can seemingly disarm you completely.

He presses a kiss to the top of your hair, cheek pushing against the crown of your head as he rocks you side to side.

"Mmm, you're not gonna take this off, right? You're still going to wear it to the game for me, baby?" There's a little slither of fear that he might have embarrassed you, that you'll hide the jersey away somewhere and he'll never see you in it again.

"...Yeah, i'll still wear it for you..."

He thinks this might just be what he wants for the rest of his life. You in his jersey, you with his name across your back, you...with the name you might one day share proudly taking up space for everyone to see.

In that moment, he realises, he's a complete fucking goner for you. He's well and truly fucked in the best sort of way.

[eden-axe]

One Grey Hair

LADS Men x gn!MC

Summary: During your day to day life he finds a bit of grey in your hair. He realizes now that at least in this life you both get to grow old together.

I tried to make this as gender neutral as possible, but some parts indicate and afab MC apologies.

Xavier

Word Count: 616

Xavier is watering the plants first thing when he wakes up but he is thinking about you as you said you would be home later today. You went out last night for a girls night with Tara, Simone, and Yvonne and planned on staying over at Tara’s place.

As he is spacing out and mindlessly watering the plants he finally registers the smell of bacon and pancakes. He quickly puts down the watering can, almost tipping it over, as he runs over to the kitchen.

‘Did I start sleep cooking?’ He panics as he slides into the kitchen.

His wide eyes relax at the sight of you turning around with two plates of breakfast. You jump slightly, not expecting Xavier to be awake this early. You smile at him and give a small greeting as you walk over to the kitchen island to put the plates down.

As you walk by Xavier to the kitchen island, his pupils dilate as he gets a glimpse of your hair. A few strands of grey hair tucked behind your ear, to Xavier seeing these few grey hairs made you look even more beautiful.

He silently walks over to the kitchen island across from you and slowly picks at the food.

“You’re home early.” He quietly states, his eyes still locked onto your hair.

You look up from your own plate, “Oh, yeah. Yvonne offered me a ride home since she had to go to work later, and I wanted to get home soon since we had a date later. Remember? I wanted to get some actual rest since we barely got any sleep.”

You laugh lightly at the memories of last night. Xavier hums and asks how your night went. You go on about your night with the girls, a yawn in between each memory. Xavier listens, but watches the way the grey hair moves as you move your head along as you speak about the fun you had last night. He smiles at how excited you sounded about last night.

Soon you slowly stop talking as Xavier finishes eating, “Are you alright? Is something on my face?”

“What do you mean darling?” Xavier absent minded asks.

“Xavier!” you break his focus, “Seriously what are you staring at? You ate really slow today, and your mind is kinda elsewhere right now.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?” You tilt your head.

“Your hair, it’s greying.” Xavier smiles when he finally lets it set in.

You feel your face get hot as you turn away, “Yeah, Simone pointed it out last night and I thought about dying it to match my hair”

“Don’t!” He exclaims sitting up from the stool. He looks at your shocked face and coughs before sitting back down, “Don’t, it looks nice, I like it.”

“You do?”

He nods and walks over to you and sits besides you and reaches out to examine the grey hair up close. You watch him examine your hair as you continue your previous thought, “Yeah, well Tara, uh, she had your same enthusiasm about being against me dying my hair.”

He lets go of your hair and grabs the plates, “You go get rest, like you planned to. I’ll clean up here alright.”

You yawn and nod. Xavier smiles and kisses your temple and sends you off to bed.

When he hears the bedroom door shut he pulls out his phone. He scrolls through his contacts and finds Tara’s number and sends her a quick text. A simple, ‘Thx u 4 being a good friend’

Xavier then goes to finish the dishes as he lists out the rest of the morning chores he has to do before you get up later for your date.

Rafayel

Word Count: 645

After days of begging you finally let Rafayel dress you up and sketch you. He picked out one of his white shirts, and you decided to forego the bottoms as the shirt reached down to your mid thigh. You walk over to the couch as Rafayel finishes setting up the area with pillows, blankets, water, and snacks. He turns around when he hears the bedroom door open, and he stops in his place when he gets a look at you.

“Wow,” he whispered, his breath stolen from his lungs, “Just, wow.”

Your face burns as you smile at him. You walk over to his statue-like state and wrap your arms around his shoulders. “I’m guessing you like it?” You tease near his ear.

You hear him swallow as you kiss below his ear. He wraps his arms around your lower back as he says both of you side to side, “Cutie, you are divine. You have no idea how lucky I am.”

“I can guess,” You pull back and stare at him, “So shall we get started?”

Rafayel blushed and turned around to hide his flushed face, “Yes, um. Please sit, I'll grab my sketch book.”

You laugh as you take a seat on the couch. You sink into the lush pillows, and drape a cotton blanket over one of your legs. You bring your other leg up onto the couch, at the same time you bring one of your hands behind your head. You use your other hand to move your hair from your face before placing it back on your lap.

When you look up Rafayel is sitting on a stool staring at you. You smile back and nod at him to begin.

He immediately starts sketching. He takes his time looking over your features, and you can feel his gaze over your body as he slowly pencils in each shadow and highlights that painted over your form. Rafayel starts to make simple conversation about anything and everything with you: His aunt, memories and traditions of Lemuria, upcoming art shows Thomas has planned for him, and even your upcoming anniversary. You also make conversation about your own work, childhood, and previous anniversaries you both shared.

“Raf~” you cooed, “Don’t think I don’t know the difference between referencing and staring.” You covered your chest and laughed. You brought an orange slice to your lips as Rafayel quickly took his eyes off you and back to the paper.

“Well I just like to admire,” he takes another peak, “Can you really blame me?”

Soon your conversations start to slow as Rafayel starts to look at you for longer periods, his gaze unfocused as they reach your face. Soon enough he puts his pencil down as he gets up slowly, placing his sketchbook on the stool.

“Raf?” You start to feel uncomfortable as he stares down at you.

He lifts up your chin and tilts it to the side. Before you can even process what is happening you hear the click of a camera, and Rafayel’s phone in your face. He is taking multiple photos at different angles.

You grab his phone and pull him down onto the couch, “Love what has gotten into you?”

You look at his gallery and see the focus of the pictures, not of you, but silver strands of hair that are laid atop of your head. You reach up to touch where you guessed the grey hairs were, but Rafayel’s lips were resting along your temple.

When he pulled back he grabbed your left hand, and brought it to his mouth, “Please let me paint you. I need to capture your maturing beauty, you are aging like a fine wine cutie.” He kisses your wedding ring and looks at you with pleading eyes.

When you agree with a gentle sigh, he quickly runs over to grab his canvas and paints.

Zayne

Word Count: 1,181

You had convinced Zayne to go to the award ceremony the Akso Hospital was hosting, where he was going to be given another award for his performance and contribution to protocore syndrome.

“My love I don’t see the importance, I’ve been awarded things like this many times. What makes this time different?” Zayne asks as he looks at you through the mirror as he adjusts his tie.

You sigh and walk behind him, “It’s because you aren’t getting any younger, soon you won’t be able to attend these ceremonies with your old bones.”

He lets out a breath of amusement, “My love, I’m only 48, and my health is just fine. I will be able to attend more than enough award events for the coming years, much to my dismay.”

“Zayne,” you whine, and wrap your arms around Zayne’s arm, “I want to see people praise my lovely husband. I don’t normally have off the day of your ceremonies, and since you never want to go… Now is the perfect time to attend one.”

Zayne turns towards you and uses his free arm to pull you in closer, “If it will make my partner happy, then so be it.”

He pulls a jacket over your shoulders and leaned down to kiss you.

“Shall we go?”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“It’s stuffy here.” Zayne squeezes your hand as you both make your way to a less populated area of the banquet hall.

“You say that whenever you have to attend a meeting at the hospital.”

Zayne just laughs as you both find a small standing table near the wall.

Soon while you two are talking over non alcoholic drinks, Greyson comes over and taps Zayne’s arm, “Hey one of the hospital's sponsors wants to speak with you. Mr. Richard Smith.”

Zayne puts his drink down on the table, “Alright give me a moment,” He pats your hand that lays on the table, “I won’t be long. I’ll be back before the award announcement starts.”

You nod and kiss his hand, “Don’t worry Mr Popular, I’ll have Greyson keep me company until you return.”

Zayne laughs as you drag Greyson over to your side and shoo him away. It takes a moment to find Mr Smith, but the first thing he notices about him is liquor filled boasts. He was a man much older in age, and robust around the face. It takes Mr Smith a moment to realize the man of the hour is standing by his side. It took for his date, a much younger looking woman; She looked akin to a model with her figure.

“Ah Doctor Li, what a pleasure to finally meet the shining star of Akso Hospital. I hope all is well with you and your patients.” His breath is heavy, and thick.

Zayne internally recoils at the smell mixed with his dates perfume, but puts on a pleasant smile; The kind of smile he would give to his more stubborn, yet younger, patients, “Ah, yes I make sure all my patients are taken good care of before taking any time off for things such as this. I hear you are one of the hospital's sponsors.”

“Ah I don’t wish to take much credit from the work you all do here,” an obvious lie, “But indeed, I pay quite a hefty fee for this place to keep its high quality equipment.”

“Well I must thank you for your generosity then, without it many patients would not have the care they need.” While half sarcastic, Zayne understood that his words were true, so he was truly grateful for his selfish need to be praised by the public.

Mr Smith laughs and keeps the conversation, or rather one sided monologue, going for quite a while. Zayne tried to excuse himself, but could not find an appropriate time to leave, and slowly his irritation had grown too much. He just wanted to return back to your side.

“I’m very sorry Mr Smith,” Zayne’s voice was short, causing Mr Smith to be silent, “I came with my spouse, and I do not wish to leave them alone any longer. You understand, right?”

The older man moves his hand further down his date’s waist, “I can understand that desire, especially with this lovely lady by my side tonight.”

“I can imagine, so if you’ll—”

“But may I ask one more question Doctor,” before Zayne could respond Mr Smith continued, “Your spouse, their getting quite older now, their age is starting to show Doctor Zayne, especially on their body. Are you sure they are someone you want on your arm for these types of events.”

Zayne can feel an icy chill run down his wrists. He clenches his hand, “Mr Smith, if I might speak plainly for a moment.”

“But of course, we are all for honesty tonight!” He raises his half drunken glass.

Zayne grabs a glass from a passing waiter, “Well, I’d rather we not be as honest as you sir. As my partner’s physique is no one else’s concern but mine. And for your information, I think their appearance makes them look mature and elegant, and it's given their body plenty of experience for me to enjoy.”

Mr Smith and his date stare at him wide eyed. Zayne takes that as his cue to take his leave. As he walks back to the table where he left you. It did not take long to find you, and with the old man's words still ringing in his ears, he can’t help but study your appearance more than before. When he gets a good look at you from a distance that's when he notices the way your hair has started growing grey. He started to move quicker, and soon you both made eye contact, but then the lights dimmed and a melodic voice carried across the room, “Thank you all for attending this night's charity gala, and award ceremony dedicated to our lovely doctors.”

The audience claps and gathers closer, making it so Zayne cannot squeeze through back to you.

“Now for the first award we want to dedicate to our most prized doctor. He has contributed to many successful surgeries over the years, and helped us get one step closer to helping cure those with protocore syndrome. Please welcome to the stage Doctor Zayne.”

Zayne walks up to the stage, giving quick apologies as he pushes through the crowd to the stage. He grabs the mic and bows, giving a quick thank you, “I would also like to give a final thank you to my wonderful spouse who has been with me through it all. I hope to have many more years with them til we are old, grey, and can no longer accept awards.”

Zayne then takes the award and bow once more, then he immediately walks over to your side, Greyson long gone, and gives you a quick kiss. He then links your hands together and slowly makes his way out of the venue with you. With his words to Mr Smith ringing in his head, and he plans on acting on them.

Sylus

Word Count: 503

You park your bike in the garage, and as the garage door closes behind you, you drag your feet into the house. Your uniform felt uncomfortable. All you wanted was to take a shower and take a long rest with Sylus.

“Hon, I’m back!” You called out, making your way through each of the large rooms.

“I’m in the kitchen sweetie~” Sylus's voice carried. You slowly made your way into the kitchen where Sylus is. He is making a small fruit board when you enter. You reach out to Sylus and hug him from behind, and you are able to feel his chest rumble as he laughs at your tired state.

“Are you tired kitten?” He rubs your arm gently as you bury your face in between his shoulder blades.

You hum, hugging him tighter.

“Go lay down on the couch. I’ll join you in a moment, alright.”

You hum, but take your time letting him go. When you manage to drag yourself to the connecting living room you notice the couches state. It was covered in soft pillows and blankets; Even your favorite plush was on the couch, wrapped in one of the blankets.

You grab the plush and sit on the far side of the couch waiting for Sylus. You think about your long weekend and hug the plush tighter.

“I believe I told you to lay down sweetie.” He muses, holding the plate of fruit. You pat the couch and Sylus huffs a smile placing the food down on the coffee table. He picks you up with ease and lays down, placing you on top of him.

He reaches for an orange slice, “How was your trip?”

“Long,” you bite the slice he placed near your lips, “but successful.”

“That’s my prized hunter.” He kisses your head.

You continue to talk about your mission and how you and your team got lost due to a wanderer taking out the train lines. While you talked Sylus took to turning on the TV and putting on the show you both had started weeks prior. Soon enough he felt your body relax as your words got quieter and quieter as your attention gradually shifted from the stress of your work, to the enjoyment of your show.

Sylus is also watching the show, as he keeps his hands occupied with playing with the ends of your hair. Soon he realizes your hair has coiled around his hand and he looks down at his hand. That’s when he sees thin silver lines wrap around his fingers.

He slowly untangles his hand from your hair, then motions to Mephisto to get a close look at you. When Mephie perches on the couch, Sylus starts to single you the section of hair that has turned grey. He wants to look at this later, but also wants to enjoy this silent moment with you a while longer. He was glad that in this life, you both can finally live a full life, and that is his greatest happiness.

Caleb

Word Count: 475

Caleb wakes up with a silent jolt as his arm wakes him up with a sting. He always makes sure to sleep with his arm off the bed for this reason. He glances over to you to make sure you are still sleeping; He sees you laying on his chest, wrapped in his other arm, sleeping peacefully.

He flexes his unfeeling hand, his eyes narrow at the steel glowing in the neon lights of Skyhaven pouring through the window. He turns his head to you and watches your chest rise and fall steadily. He smiles and brushes your hair with his other hand, feeling the warmth of your face on his fingertips.

Caleb starts to feel you move and stills his movement. As you stir for a moment, you just end up snuggling closer into his chest. Caleb stays frozen until he feels confident you aren't going to wake up. He then moves his hand away from your face towards your hair.

He stares at your face as a small smile rests on your resting face. He mimics your smile content in the life he has managed to build with you. Then he slows his hand movement down as he starts to study the grey in your hair. It was tangled around other strands, but it has grown in count since the last time he checked.

He reaches out with his robotic hand to examine it closer, but when the metallic silver is put against the natural grey of your hair he pauses. His hand hovers over your face; He knows that this is a new arm, an arm no longer connected to Ever, but still a symbol of his imperfection compared to you.

Caleb starts to pull his hand away when it is quickly pulled to your face. He looks at his hand and sees you holding his hand onto your face.

None of you say anything, but when you kiss his prosthetic hand, he knows that you are scolding him with love.

“It’s nothing pips, you don’t need to worry,” He brushes his thumb on the apple of your cheek.

You hum at the contact, “Are you sure? I know you have something on your mind.”

“It’s just,” he pauses, taking another glance at your hair, “You’re old.”

You sit up, “What! I’m only 42!”

Caleb’s eyes widen, then pulls you down onto his chest, “No, no, no. That’s not what I meant honey.”

“Then what did you mean jerk?” You roll your eyes.

“I just meant that I’m glad we are able to grow old together,” He brings your grey hair to his face, “I never thought I’d be lucky enough to see this day.”

He lets go of your hair and hugs you tighter. Soon you both drift back to sleep, deciding that today is a good day to sleep in.

[lesbianwyllravengard]

I think if Anders was the Inquisitor it would be super fucking funny for many reasons. I still don't know much da lore so pretend it makes sense lore wise even if it doesn't. I just think the Guy Who is On the Run for Bombing the Local Chantry accidentally becoming the Herald of Andraste is an insane idea. why was Anders at the Conclave. was it to make sure mages were well represented. was it to repeat Kirkwall if the mages weren't well represented. who knows point is, he's there and he has a plan but as he's roaming the halls he hears The Divine calling out for help and what the hell he has to find out what's going on. Domino effect of canon events happen and suddenly he wakes up in chains with Cassandra standing over him and asking for his name. And he says Anders because he still can't remember where he even is. And Cassandra is like oh my fucking God you're Chantry Bomber Anders from Varric's story. Of course you killed the Divine. And Anders is like wdym I killed the Divine. But he sounds a little too excited about it so Cassandra just gets angry. And then later they meet up with Varric and Solas and Varric is like holy shit it's Chantry Bomber Anders. What are you doing here Blondie. And Anders is like hey Varric, this scary woman says I killed the Divine. But again he sounds a little too excited about it so Cassandra gets more mad, but Solas uses Anders's mark to close the rift so now she has to keep Anders alive. And then the people of the Inquisition decide Anders is the Herald of Andraste and Cassandra has to believe Chantry Bomber Anders was sent by Andraste for some fucking reason. And Anders's faith was already rocky after Kirkwall but now this whole thing is a joke to him. Hi my name is Anders, that's short for Andraste's Herald. I am Maker Sent. Yes I blew up the Kirkwall Chantry, because God says to Free All Mages. And Cassandra still hates him and Cullen is still scared of him and the Chantry is mad that he's using Andraste's name but the people of the Inquisition believe he is Maker Sent so he has to stay and basically gets diplomatic immunity from Chantry retaliation. He sides the Inquisition with the Mages and tells the Templars to kill themselves so everyone is even more mad at him. Except the Mages who are finally accepting him as their revolutionary leader. imagine Cassandra's face when Leliana suggests making Anders the Inquisitor. of course he gets up there and is like I'm doing this for all Mages! And the mages are like Yay, we love Inquisitor Chantry-Bomber-Anders! And then Hawke shows up and she's like there you are Anders, my mentally ill wife, the children miss you. and Anders is like look Hawke I'm the Inquisitor now, and Varric is also here and he fights by my side again. And Varric is like no I babysit you for Hawke, there's a difference. And since Anders was a Grey Warden, when they're like we need information on the Grey Wardens he's like actually I can help with that personally. Of course I still hear Corypheus screaming in my head, but Hawke has yelled at me louder before so I'm fine. And he doesn't even get the choice between leaving Hawke or Stroud in the Fade because he wouldn't let Hawke die ever no matter what. There's also loads of chances for the Inquisitor to hate on blood magic and the chantry that I think really suit Anders. And he'd love to tell Cassandra that the Chantry sucks and should die. But anyways all that to say I think it'd be incredibly hilarious if the guy who is on half of Southern Thedas' shit list for bombing the Chantry suddenly became Jesus Part Two and more of a recognised religious figurehead than the Divine herself had been.

Edit: click the "Inquisitor Chantry Bomber Anders" to see me play dai as Anders

[chrissv4mp]

♱ ONE DOOR DOWN

warnings. smut, use of y/l/n, masturbation, p in v, unprotected sex, subtop!billie, dirty talk, mild praise kink, language.

synopsis. your counselor asks you to ride along with the track team while they're on their tournament. you're not particularly happy about it, until rooms are assigned and billie texts you late at night.

au. g!p jock!billie × leadership/cheerleader!reader

words. 3.7k

letters. quickest thing i've written in a while, WHO CHEERED 😛

you found out during sixth period. just before class ended, your name was called over the intercom to come to the counselor's office, and your leadership advisor had told you there was some kind of last-minute shuffle, that the chosen leadership rep had something come up and they couldn't make it.

she follows up by saying you're the next best choice because you're "reliable," "organized," and "a good presence for the younger athletes." along with a quiet comment about how you were the first choice, but they decided to give someone else a chance.

you want to say no. want to point out the large stack of homework on your desk that you'd usually have done by now but got too busy, the group project in history that no one else is working on, the way you hate long bus rides and shared hotel rooms and being in charge of a bunch of kids who don't listen.

but you don't.

because you're reliable. organized. a good presence.

so now it's friday night and you're standing in an—almost empty—hotel lobby six hours away from home, sitting and staring at a man arguing with the front desk ladies.

the head track coach is listing off room assignments, voice heavy with exhaustion and irritation from the long, rowdy bus ride here. people are cheering tiredly once they hear their names together, some groaning, and others immediately rushing down the stairs and to the elevators in an effort to beat the other there.

you're leaning your chin against the palm of your hand, nearly asleep, when you hear your name being called.

"y/l/n," coach avery murmurs. "and... eilish. rooms 129, 130."

billie glances over at you, backpack slung over her shoulder, duffel bag hanging loosely on her other. her lips twitch up in a small smirk as she nods at you, the hall, and then gets up without another word.

you follow behind her slowly, feet dragging against the carpet as you make your way to the elevators. it's quiet until you reach the second floor and check into your room, the door shutting behind you. that's when you finally let out a groan of exhaustion.

before anything else, you drop your backpack in the corner along with your suitcase, unpacking your toothbrush, hairbrush, and makeup. you set everything in the bathroom, then go back out into the room and unpack your outfit for tomorrow, setting it on the little desk by the tv.

with that done, you turn off the overhead lights, strip out of your clothes, climb under the sheets, and flick on the bedside lamp, getting comfortable beneath the soft comforter and trying to ignore the hard feeling of the pillows.

then a door opens. and it's not the room door.

it's the adjoining door between yours and billie's rooms. your eyelids flutter open slowly as you prop yourself up on your elbows, squinting.

she's leaning against the door frame, towel slung around her neck, sports bra hugging her chest, collarbones still a little damp from her shower.

"goin' to bed so soon?" she asks, voice smooth, low. teasing.

you pretend not to look at her chest. or the way her shorts hung low on her hips. you fail. miserably. so, you try to brush it off with a reply. "that bus ride was hell. i'm surprised you're not dead asleep right now."

billie grins, stepping into your room. "can't go to bed without a kiss, boss, you know that."

that stupid nickname. she'd started calling you that recently, and ever since, it stuck with her. and you hated how much it actually effected you, how much you loved hearing the way it rolled off her tongue.

"mhmm," you deadpan. "well, tonight, you're going to."

she groans loudly, exaggerating the sound and acting like you just stabbed her right through the heart. billie fake-limps toward the bed, fingers curling at the edge of the mattress and frowning when she sees you roll back onto your side.

"baby," she whispers. "you're, like, a different person when you're tired. it's kinda funny." you roll your eyes at that.

when you kick her from under the sheets, she jumps back. "but alright. whatever you say, boss."

"take your ass to bed, billie," you grumble under the sheets.

and she does, muttering a small "i love you" before she pads back into her own room, not even bothering to lock the door behind her. when she leaves, you think it'll be easier to get to bed. but it's quite the opposite, especially with the loud ac humming in the room and the thoughts of c's and d's filling your grade book when you get back.

the missing assignments you had were already starting to pile up, and you couldn't afford to get kicked off the leadership team this late into the year just because mrs. johnson is on top of everything with her grading technique.

so you slip the covers off your body and walk over to your backpack, grabbing your laptop from inside of it and crawling back into bed. the bright screen so close to your face makes you flinch when you open it, not used to the lighting this late at night.

you go through multiple assignments in the span of 15 minutes, answering test questions like they're preschool topics, along with fixing up the weekly newsletter that always seemed to have a million typos although the writer was your english teacher. you couldn't blame him through, you always saw mr. grayson falling asleep behind his desk while flipping through a powerpoint.

the chill of the ac makes you shiver. and it's nearly midnight when your phone dings, lighting up on the bedside table and catching your attention.

shutting your laptop and setting it on the table where your phone was placed, you grab the small device and unlock it. it's billie.

bils, 11:48pm: it's cold without u

bils, 11:48pm: keep turning over like ur gonna be there

bils, 11:49pm: wanna feel your skin on mine.

your breath hitches, eyes flicking over the words over and over again like if you re-read them you'll maybe see something different. but, nope, it's exactly what you think.

she was always like this. bold. shameless. never scared to send something risky. and this just proves it.

but you don't give her the satisfaction of your real reaction.

you, 11:51pm: you should've stretched harder today, eilish. maybe you'd be faster at getting over yourself.

the message doesn't even read 'delivered,' it just flicks to 'read' as soon as it's sent. you see the typing bubble appear as you laugh, then they disappear.

no reply for a few minutes.

you blink once. twice.

one message, plus an attachment.

you open it. and—god, this girl might be the death of you.

billie. lying in her already messy bed, sheets pulled down low on her body. bare chest on full display, the swell of muscle visible under soft skin. she has one arm bent behind her head, the other resting low on her stomach. your eyes trace over the faint lines of her abs until you realize it—her hard, thick length protruding from between her legs.

the tip is red, swollen and dripping with precum already. it's resting against her lower stomach, veins running up the base and making your stomach twist.

your mouth goes dry.

the text under the photo doesn't help.

bils, 11:57: need u bad. pls come over here.

you let out a small sigh, shaky and desperate as your eyes flick to the door. it's cracked open just a bit, giving you the smallest opening to peek through. but all you can see from your bed is the edge of her mattress.

so you get up, slowly, pushing the covers off and stepping onto the soft hotel carpet. your heart stutters as you reach for the door handle, fingers twitching—but then you hear it, and you swear your heart stops for a moment.

quiet whimpers, shaky gasps, broken moans of curses and—and your name. repeatedly. those words catch your attention before the fast, wet squelching sound does. she's touching herself. couldn't even wait until you got there.

it makes you even wetter than before.

you twist the handle slowly, pushing the door open all the way and freezing in place when you finally see her. billie. at the edge of the bed, one hand wrapped around her length as the other gripped the sheets so tight her knuckles bled white. her skin was shiny with a thin layer of sweat, strands of hair sticking to her neck and forehead as she stroked herself.

her room is darker. warmer. it smells like vanilla lotion and her arousal. you can hear the faint voice of some sports commentator on the tv, but nothing can overpower her desperate moans and the sound of her hand pumping up and down her dick.

when you step in and shut the door behind you, billie finally looks up—eyelids hooded, lips parted and swollen from biting down so hard, cheeks flushed. she moans quieter, hand stopping at the tip of her length.

"knew you'd come," she smirks lazily, voice low. needy.

you swallow hard, hands moving to grip the dresser like you need an anchor.

"you're insane," you breathe. hardly a whisper.

"'nd you're late," she murmurs, eyes dragging hungrily over your body. "missed you." she whines, and your knees almost give out beneath you.

her breathing becomes even less even than before as you slowly stalk over, brows furrowing like the space between your two bodies physically aches. because it does.

she watches as you cross the room. slow. cautious. like you're afraid she'll disappear if you blink.

you stop just a few inches from where she's sat at the edge of the bed. her head tips back to look you in the eyes, seeing the desperation swirling in your irises even in the dark atmosphere of the room.

"please, c'mere," she begs, breathless.

the rapid beating of your heart against your chest is so loud you swear she can hear it. but you step closer anyway.

her hands find your hips immediately, pulling at the hem of your shorts and whining when you place your hands atop of hers, stopping her movements. you watch as her hips buck instinctively when you lean down to press a kiss to her lips—a quick one, leaving her wanting more when you pull back.

a small grin pulls at your lips when you feel her fingers digging into the fabric of your shorts.

"been thinking 'bout you all day," she says quietly, lower lip trembling. "watchin' you—mm, boss everyone 'round, lookin' so pretty in your little leadership shirt... had—god, it drove me crazy."

your breath stutters.

her eyes meet yours again—dark, needy, so full of longing to feel you against her, to feel you around her.

"billie, you can't just—" her lips find yours before you can finish your sentence, kissing you like she's been waiting for this since the moment she stepped on the bus.

and she has.

the second her tongue slips between your lips, you lose any ounce of self control you might've had left. her hands tug harder at your shorts, huffing in frustration against your mouth when you deny her once again.

billie whimpers against your lips, eyes fluttering open. "i'll be so good for you tonight."

and how could you not believe her? you always do.

still, you remove her hands from your hips and nod over toward the headboard. billie gets the message quickly, scooting back onto the mattress until her back hits the board. you rid yourself of your shorts, hearing billie's breath hitch at the sight of your curves in the shadows.

you crawl onto the comforter, eyes flicking to the way her cock stands proudly between her leg—9 inches. that's what she'd always brag about over calls when she was away for meets, games, tournaments. just whenever she was away from you for more than a day.

you'd only ever seen her once. just taking her into your mouth was a struggle by itself—you have no idea how big she'd feel inside of you.

billie shivers when you straddle her lap, hovering over her just close enough that it drives her crazy. lips close enough to hers that she'd feel your breath fanning across her skin, to watch the way her eyes search yours like she's trying to figure out if you're actually real.

"prove it to me," you whisper.

and billie wastes no time.

not rushed, definitely not slow—but intentional. she straightens up, hand sliding down your side until it rested on your hip, tugging you gently to fully sit down on her lap. her lips brush your collarbones, free hand pulling the strap of your tank top to the side so that she'd have more access to your smooth, soft skin.

her mouth is warm. lips pressing the most gentle, caring kisses along your neck, jaw, and cheek, until she reaches your lips and she really can't continue with the softness.

you kiss her back with the same amount of fervor, hands reaching around to tangle in her hair, nails digging into her scalp and massaging softly—so soft it elicits the smallest whine from billie.

the tips of her fingers tease the edge of your top, sneaking under the hem, not quite waiting for confirmation but not exactly rushing it either.

"couldn't wait 'til after your meet tomorrow, could you?" you tease against her lips, pulling away just to see her.

she shakes her head quickly.

you pause. "use your words, track star."

billie's cheeks flush in embarrassment at the name. "y'looked too good to wait. needed my hands on you now."

her hands slide around, moving to your back slow and reverent, pulling your shirt over your head. you shiver when the cold air hits your skin, but her hands are warm and grounding and right there, soothing the chill and teasing the clasp of your bra.

your lips curl into a smirk when she doesn't undo it, pulling away just enough to take her in, your eyes dark and teasing.

"gonna do something or are you just gonna stare?"

billie huffs, pouting and working her fingers quickly on the clasp, undoing it and watching as you slide the straps off your shoulders, throwing it to the floor without a care in the world.

"you're so pretty," she mumbles, leaning close and pressing sloppy kisses down your sternum. "so perfect."

you tilt your head back, eyes fluttering closed as you bask in the feeling of billie's plump lips wrapping around your nipple, tongue flicking along the bud until she feels it harden beneath the stimulation. she moves on, her hand coming up to palm your breast as she wraps her lips around your other nipple, earning a pleased moan from between your lips.

her hand grabs your thigh so tight you're sure it'll bruise in the shape of her palm, dragging you down closer on her lap where she's already so hard it makes your head spin.

you grind into her mindlessly, hips moving on instinct. she lets out this soft, broken sound against your skin that makes your entire body throb, arousal pooling into your panties and forming an obvious wet spot. her hips buck up, eyebrows furrowing in painful pleasure.

"please. please, baby," she begs, letting your nipple go and resting her forehead on your chest. "want—fuck, i need to be inside you so... so bad."

"show me," you say, just as needy. "be good like you promised."

her eyes flutter shut at your tone, her trembling lip caught between her teeth. her hands slide back down to your hips, lifting you without struggle, bucking her hips up against the thin fabric separating your arousal from hers.

she breathes heavy into your neck, whining and whimpering as she rocks her hips against the warm fabric, feeling your sticky slick even through your panties. "take 'em off—"

"s'no time," she cuts you off with a moan, a few octaves higher than before. "can't—baby, i can't w—wait anymore."

"then don't."

billie shivers when it reaches her ears, one of her hands coming down between your legs to push your panties aside. you hover over her, lips parted slightly as you slowly lower yourself down onto her cock. you choke on a moan before you're even past the tip, feeling just how big she really is.

what she feels somehow seems more enhanced—especially with the way she's shaking and gasping and digging her nails into your skin. she can't take her eyes off the way your pussy swallows her so well, taking inch by inch with hardly any pauses.

your fingers pull at her hair harsher than before, unable to contain yourself once she finally bottoms out.

"fuck, fuck, fuuckk—so... you're so tight, ma," she whimpers, stumbling over her words, cock throbbing. "feels... s'good."

a moan of her name rips through your throat when she bucks her hips up without control, both of your eyes squeezing shut at how good it felt. she grabs your hips tight, thrusting up in sloppy, deep motions that make the whole hotel room fade away until it's just you, billie, and the heat blooming in your stomach.

every time she brings you down, she whispers something.

"so tight."

"missed you."

"wanted this so bad."

"wanna make you cum," she whines, head falling back against the headboard when she feels you clench around her throbbing length.

your jaw falls agape when billie's hand sneaks between your thighs and starts to rub tight, controlled circles on your puffy clit, urging your hips to move forward against the extra stimulation.

when your bounces start to get slower, billie whimpers and quickly—but gently—flips you over, your back on the mattress and her body hovering over you. her hips never stop moving, thrusting faster and deeper and maintaining a steady pace.

"bein' so good f'me," you praise between moans, nails dragging down billie's back and leaving a trail of marks. "fuck, don't stop, bil."

she whimpers directly into your ear, her rapid breath fanning across your neck and sending goosebumps all along your body. your legs wrap around her waist, pulling her closer and causing her dick to slide deeper into your cunt, her tip kissing your cervix perfectly.

billie gasps loudly, brows furrowed and face red—you kiss her without wasting another second, not wanting her coach or one of her teammates to come knocking on your door telling you to be quiet. the teasing would be terrible for the next few months.

"gotta be quiet," you mutter against her swollen lips, "can you do that f'me, pretty girl?" you ask, voice broken.

she nods eagerly, lips finding yours again to shut herself up—she doesn't trust herself not to make more sounds with the way you're squeezing her so tight, the warm feeling in her belly nearly overwhelming.

you cum without warning, moan muffled against billie's lips, legs wrapped tightly around her waist as she fucks you through it, her hand between your bodies and rubbing your clit to help you ride your high through every last aftershock.

the feeling of your walls fluttering around her length had her head spinning, mouth running dry, the knot in her stomach about to snap. she just needed to warn you before—

"baby—oh fuck—baby, m'gonna cum," billie whines, hips stuttering, "can't—oh my god, i can't—"

you can't even process how billie pulls out just as she lets herself go, sticky, white ropes of her arousal pooling onto your skin and the ruined fabric of your panties. her breath comes out in fast, sharp gasps as she comes down, fingers wrapped around her length and pumping quickly to prolong her orgasm.

her hips still buck subconsciously even when she pulls her hand away, cock going soft.

the both of you just sit there for a few minutes, staring at the mess that billie made, breathing heavy in the warm space of the hotel room that you're realizing is really quiet now that you two aren't lost in the pleasure.

you see billie finally snap back into reality the second she hears your quiet giggles, eyes flicking up to yours. her cheeks flush under your gaze, hands moving to find the comforter and hide herself under it. she's so shy now that she isn't so needy. it's adorable.

"m'gonna go get a towel," billie murmurs quietly, fingers brushing along your thigh as she scoots off the bed and pulls on her discarded pajama shorts from before you came over.

she comes back from the bathroom after a few minutes, a damp towel in one hand. she parts your legs with her other hand, dragging the warm cloth along your skin to clean up her arousal. you shiver beneath the ticklish feeling, earning a small smirk from the girl between your legs.

"sorry," billie looks down again, clearing her throat. "...think i pulled out too late." she murmurs, cheeks heating up in embarrassment.

a soft grin pulls at the corners of your lips at her words, your hands coming down to grab at her forearms. billie gets the memo, tossing the towel aside and crawling over your body. she can't even look you in the eyes she's so shy, so ruined.

"wasn't your fault," you say, trying not to giggle. "you looked so pretty trying not to fall apart. seeing that was an apology in itself, so don't feel bad, bil."

that's when she finally gathers enough courage to look at you, the fog in her head slowly starting to clear out and get replaced with her usual smug personality.

she pulls the covers over your body, fingers finding your hips and pulling you close to her under the fabric, lips finding your shoulder, your neck, your jaw—anywhere she could manage to reach, she pressed a kiss there, each one sweeter than the last.

"...still got that goodnight kiss," billie murmurs quietly, smug, a grin forming on her lips like she's proud of herself. "you said i'd have to live without out, but here i am."

"kissing you anywhere i want," she brags softly, laughing against your skin as she does exactly that.

you roll your eyes, "yeah, well those goodnight kisses better be worth whatever shit we'll have to face tomorrow."

she goes silent immediately, pulling away from your body only to stare you dead in the eyes like you just confessed your undying hatred toward her. you laugh at the way her cheeks flush 10x redder than before. but then she shrugs, leans forward, and presses her face into your neck again.

"worth it."

tags. @mseilishmwah @sophloveswomen @mxqdii @livvydunneness @dyingbymistake @wiidfi0wer33 @loving1dsworld @tan1shere @fallingforfalll2 @cierraonline @dandelions4us @scarlittt @ifwdominicfike @slxtarchive @bilsdillldough @47lake @hopingforgoodblogs @mybluebossanova @strwberrybils @justtr @greenbttrflyy @billsbaby @bilsova @lottiepierce @northlndnisred @asterisk-eyes @dragoneyelashart @xxangelfarrlzxx @ilomiloblohshh @kittymarrow @meliciousmel13 @jul3esz @rightarion @svelish @eilishssiennaa @eeuni @dragoneyelashart @thinkshespretty @cnnibalize @canthelpit0 @hailwiggly @karaaeilish @bilswifee @drunkinyourbenz @aka-persephone @bitchesbrokenpromises

[midniqhtt]

ᯓ★ robert ‘bob’ floyd

masterlist • lewis pullman • 06/19/25

˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · ୨ৎ recs

⭑.ᐟ 5 + 1 I @withahappyrefrain

You've fallen for your friend and have decided to drop some hints that you're flirting. Unfortunately, Bob doesn't realize that immediately.

⭑.ᐟ friends to lovers I @/withahappyrefrain

⭑.ᐟ request I @/withahappyrefrain

⭑.ᐟ ruin the friendship I @/withahappyrefrain

The night before Bob leaves for Boot Camp, he's learned no one has gone down on his best friend. He's determined to fix that.

⭑.ᐟ the plan I @geminiwritten

the squad are all pretty sure that bob has a thing for you, but you're not convinced, so you hatch a plan to tease him within an inch of his life until he snaps

⭑.ᐟ short skirt weather I @/geminiwritten

you and bob are obviously into each other, but he's hesitant to make a move claiming you're too young for him, until a whole lot of miscommunication—jealousy, tension, the works—and a training accident lands you in hospital...

⭑.ᐟ sunflower I @scarletmika

Bob Floyd was head over heels for you from the moment you met. You were the best thing that had ever happened to him. But Hangman knew just how to get under people's skin, too well sometimes, and sometimes frustration hits a boiling point when the people you don't want to hurt are standing in the way.

⭑.ᐟ cliché I @/scarletmika

There's always a joke surrounding weddings that the Maid of Honor and the Best Man will end up falling in love; it's one of the oldest clichés in the book. When you're the Maid of Honor, though, Bob Floyd wouldn't have it any other way.

⭑.ᐟ one last gift I @/scarletmika

Living with Bob Floyd was killing you slowly, especially when you couldn't bring yourself to admit how you felt about him. It's your birthday, though, and shouldn't the birthday girl get whatever it is she wants?

⭑.ᐟ for certain I @marvelwitchergilmore

You're in a secret relationship with a long-time friend and Naval Aviator Bob.

⭑.ᐟ drabble I @ddejavvu

⭑.ᐟ baby on board I @callsign-bobsgirl

There seems to be a misunderstanding between you and the Dagger Squad about your husband's callsign.

⭑.ᐟ bob’s lonely hearts club I @mang0d0ll

bob's all alone on valentines day. but not for much longer.

⭑.ᐟ switch up I @littleenglishfangirl

⭑.ᐟ first time for everything I @tropes-and-tales

⭑.ᐟ friends and lovers pt2 I @/tropes-and-tales

⭑.ᐟ lieutenant steal your girl pt2 pt3 I @/tropes-and-tales

⭑.ᐟ i’m here I @t1red-twilight

⭑.ᐟ four eyes I @promisingyounglady

asking bob to make a mess of himself on your face while you wear his glasses? absolutely.

⭑.ᐟ your bar boyfriend pt2 I @dearsnow

after being harassed by a drunken stranger, your bar boyfriend swoops in to save the day

⭑.ᐟ like peas in a pod I @bradshawsbaby

What happens when two wallflowers find each other?

⭑.ᐟ shopping lists I @sebsxphia

you rush to the shops after work to do a quick food shop, but bob floyd was not on your shopping list.

⭑.ᐟ don’t stop I @/sebsxphia

jake attempts to catch bob out, but bob has something to reveal.

⭑.ᐟ sweetness I @cowboybeepboop

You finally find out the real reason behind Bob’s protective side. 

⭑.ᐟ rich in life I @bloatedandalone04

Bob is known to be the shy, quiet and kinder one of out the whole dagger squad, and he didn’t mind the ‘soft’ reputation one bit, because he knew the real him. The version of himself that came out whenever he got his wife alone, which, luckily for him, was every single night.

⭑.ᐟ the wingman I @roosterforme

Bob never did this sort of thing. Talking to girls and flirting and romance. It's not that he didn't want to, he just didn't really know how. But you were different in all the right ways, and you made him feel confident enough to try.

⭑.ᐟ the kind of girl i could love I @/roosterforme

Bob has a secret admirer, but he's convinced it's actually Jake and Nat messing with him. 

⭑.ᐟ stiff competition I @/roosterforme

After visiting your bakery one time, Bob has a crush on you. The only problem is, so do all of the other guys.

⭑.ᐟ explicitly yours I @/roosterforme

When Bob met you, he fell for you hard and fast. He thought you might be his perfect match, the one that would make his days feel full instead of lonely. He never would have dreamed you had a secret. But secrets are known to be revealed at the most inconvenient of times, and Bob's surprised hesitation could cost him the thing he wants most.

⭑.ᐟ secret wife I @writingdumpster

When you go to pick up Bob at the base the dagger squad finds out that Bob's been keeping a wife from them.

⭑.ᐟ that’s what she said I @lulunothulu

⭑.ᐟ i like the lips you kiss with I @lewmagoo

⭑.ᐟ handsome cowboy I @attapullman

An innocent trip for bread turns into meeting your boyfriend's doppelganger you can't get over.

⭑.ᐟ polaroids I @the-shedevil-writes

Bob keeps your relationship private, but he doesn't try to hide the dozens of Polaroids of you all over his locker and truck. He has a daily routine of taping his favorite Polaroid of you to his jet's console, but when it goes missing, things get chaotic. Luckily, you're there to make everything better.

⭑.ᐟ request I @38livesalone-has3cats

⭑.ᐟ wanna buy you a drink I @anonymooseforever007

It's been five months since Bob's seen his wife, and aside from Natasha he had yet to mention her to his team. He calls it privacy, she jokes it's internalised possessiveness. But tonight, with Penny's help at the Hard Deck, more than one person is in for a surprise. After all, who doesn't love a good innuendo?

⭑.ᐟ sunscreen I @siempre-bucky

Bob burns. Your daughter gets very paranoid when he forgets his sunscreen one morning and insists on bringing it to him.

⭑.ᐟ request I @/siempre-bucky

You know Bob's reserved, his favorite yellow shirt was his comfort source at the beach, but you just want to see his beautiful body underneath it. So naturally, you pin him to the side of the Jeep and tell him he's hot.

⭑.ᐟ touchdown I deactivated blog

When Bob scores the touchdown for the Beach Football game, he surprises both of you by rushing over and giving you a kiss.

⭑.ᐟ all shook up I @lieutenantfloyd

After seeing a trend where military spouses tell their loved ones they aren't allowed inside under the 3rd Amendment, you decide to play a prank on your sweet, returning husband Bob—that is until you get the words out, and he reacts in the only way Bob knows how.

⭑.ᐟ battle scars I @ohtobeleah

Robert Floyd doesn’t take his shirt off at the beach. But when the shirt stays on during sex? You start to wonder what he’s hiding.

⭑.ᐟ exactly what i was texting her I @simpforrooster

your first date with bob.

⭑.ᐟ best friend pt2 I @bradshawsbitch

bob has always known he needs you. but perhaps he needs you more than he himself knows?

[momotonescreaming]

[now on AO3]

Buck had stayed in Tommy's spare room for three and a half weeks before he moved out to his new apartment. Not that he wanted to move out. In fact, Buck really quickly found he loved living with Tommy.

He loved waking up to find Tommy making them both coffee and breakfast, and he loved cooking him dinner in return. He liked working in Tommy's home gym together, or being able to rest in the sun in his backyard, knowing Tommy was in the garage should he need him. He liked figuring out that Tommy loaded the dishwasher weird, and liked to vacuum but hated laundry. He liked being able to truly relax, unmask, knowing that Tommy would never judge him for being himself. He loves being able to curl up on the couch with him, feeling warm and safe as they take turns watching Buck's documentaries and Tommy's romcoms.

But they were doing it right this time. So Buck slept in the spare room, instead of moving into the master bedroom with Tommy. His things all packed up in bags, and his furniture stored in a storage unit that charged month to month. A part of him does have to admit it was kind of nice, having his own space in Tommy's house. That the other man willingly and readily carved out space for him.

He wanted to stay forever. He missed Tommy already.

But they both agreed it might be best if the lived apart while they got to know each other again. Reluctantly, but they both agreed. They wanted to spend as much time together as possible, it felt right in a way a lot of things didn't these days. But they were doing things on purpose this time.

So Buck found an apartment that finally, actually, met his criteria and moved all his furniture out of storage and out of Tommy's garage.

Tommy had offered to help immediately, offering up his truck and his muscles. He helped him unload the things he stored, and move them across L.A. He listened to Buck and rearranged furniture entirely too many times until Buck was happy. Tommy never once complained.

After, they spent the afternoon eating too expensive bakery sandwiches and drinking too warm beer. It was a nice afternoon, and in the end, Buck has to admit he kind of likes having a place he chose, having a place for him — that Tommy helped him put together. He likes this apartment, likes what it's doing for him in this point of his life — and has already decided he's going to carve a place out for Tommy. The way Tommy did for him, those weeks spent in his spare room, the way Buck started feeling at home in the rest of the house.

He hopes he can do the same for Tommy.

Even if he likes the idea of their things merging together even more. His more minimal and industrial furniture combined with Tommy's more cluttered and vintage stylings. Working together to make a home that's both modern and cosy, stylish yet homey. Forming a home together.

But they're not quite there yet. So until then, he's going to drag Tommy along shopping with him. He could use some more clutter. Buck ended up down the rabbit hole of watching Instagram reels of people going thrift shopping and trying to find gold, and it seems like fun. Looking through odd second hand things for things to make his new place a home.

it sounded like it'd be more fun with company. So he invited Tommy. Tommy, who bit back a bitchy response on how those videos — especially the ones in L.A — were all planted items, totally staged. But he agreed anyway. Offered suggestions of a few other places they could check out. A couple of small antique stores, a queer art studio.

Buck added them to the list.

He had a rough plan for the day — stores he wanted to hit, items he wanted to look form ideas of where they could stop for lunch — but he very decidedly tried to keep it fluid. Made room for the things Tommy suggested or wanted to look at. He was trying not to go full Clipboard Buck. Even though Tommy says he likes Clipboard Buck, there's nothing wrong with efficiency. When they were dating the first time, Tommy said it was kind of sexy.

But he's trying to be casual and fun and relaxed. Do something for himself and not feel guilty about it. He wanted a fun day out with Tommy.

So he has a list in the notes app on his phone, a vague plan, and he drives over to Tommy's house after breakfast.

Buck pulls into Tommy's driveway — L.A traffic only making him arrive slightly later than he wanted to — and cut's the Jeep's engine. He quickly texts Tommy that he's here, staring at the space next to Tommy's contact name where the little blue heart used to be. He thinks about adding it back again. Heart jumping at the thought of it, at the thought of seeing Tommy again.

It feels kind of like the first time, all giddy and exciting like he's a teenager with his first crush. Waiting patiently to pick them up for his first date. He's just got more knowledge now, more experience, he's grown. He knows he's queer now, for one. He's doing it right this time.

The door creaks open, Buck's head whipping up from his phone to Tommy's house, to the man himself stepping out the front door.

Buck waves shyly through the windshield, trying not to blush. Tommy looks good — when doesn't he — in a maroon henley and canvas jacket. Well fitting jeans and worn work boots. It's a very Tommy outfit, attractive in it's comfortable masculinity.

Tommy waves back, keys linked through his fingers. He's smiling, there's a lightness in his shoulders, in the way he seems to relax at the mere sight of Buck. He watches as Tommy turns to lock the door behind him, before lightly jogging over to the Jeep's passenger side door. He slides in naturally, as if he'd done it a million times before. Which he really hasn't, now that Buck thinks about it, Tommy drove them a lot of the time. He was the car guy, he liked taking Buck out on dates, they sort of naturally fell into it.

It feels nice doing the reverse. Driving Tommy, taking him out. Even if it is for just shopping and maybe lunch. Tommy buckles himself in, and Buck has the urge to lean over and kiss him. A quick peck, a soft kiss as greeting. The way they always used to. It sort of hits him, in this moment, but he's not sure if they're quite there yet.

He bottles the urge instead. Holds it, keeps it close, warming his heart.

"Ready to go?" Buck asks, beating back his traitorously fluttering heart.

"You know it," Tommy grins.

[ahgasegotarmy116]

BANG-ABLE | Jeon Jungkook One Shot

Summary: You've been single for way too long and you're done with causal sex and all the drama that comes along with it...so why not try something new? Pairing: f!reader x Sex Bot Jungkook (idk man 😂) Word Count: 9.8k~ Warnings: Smut and Explicit language (obvi lmao) a/n: Okayyy it's finally here haha you guys really seemed to like the teaser so I hope this was worth the wait 🥰 p.s. barely edited per usual lol

"You seriously think I would actually get one of those?" I scoff, rolling my eyes at Ava. "What? You said you had been curious about it before, plus you said  you wanted to try something new" she responds, scrolling through the website as I lean in closer, trying to read the smaller print.

I would be lying if I said I hadn't thought about it before, "A sex bot though?" I cringe, the words feeling unnatural coming out of my mouth.

"What? There's no shame in trying one. From what I've heard it's a single person's best friend. You don't have to bother going out to clubs to find meaningless hookups or have to deal with the hassle of finding a no strings attached relationship, or a real relationship in general" she says, pointing out the pros for this situation.

"It's the new and improved fuck buddy. Plus it's not like you have to keep him. You can try it out for a while and decide after that. See, they have a two week trial period!" She says, continuing her efforts in trying to convince me.

"I don't know, doesn't it seem a little...embarrassing? I wouldn't want anyone to know that I have one. Plus, after scrolling through the pictures of them it makes me realize how scarily realistic they look" I say while I take over the mouse and click around on the website here and there.

"And? That's the point. Think of it like you're getting a crap ton of new sex toys of your choosing and it's all assembled perfectly and does exactly what you want it to and will learn everything about you and your body and is only focused on satisfying you" she says, slowly warming me up to it.

"Plus you never have to worry them wanting anyone but you. They're there to serve you and please you and when you're done you could pretty much power them down and go to sleep. Simple as that" she says, her mission on convincing me slowly coming to completion.

"I guess I could start out with a trial period or something" I say tentatively and she immediately starts placing the order.

"Okay and what do you want him to look like? You obviously want to be attracted to him since that's pretty much the whole point so you can either upload a picture, scroll through the options they have on hand or put in a description of them here" she says, clicking in the description box and handing me the laptop.

I sit with it on my lap for a while, watching the cursor blink over and over, waiting for my brain to come up with something until she gets impatient and takes it from me so she can start writing one herself.

"Tall but not too tall...let's say 5 foot 10. Dark brown hair, dark brown eyes that look innocent one moment but seductive the next" she lists off. "That's oddly specific" I laugh and she shakes her head. "I know you're obsessed with duality so shhh let me finish this up" she shushes and I watch her work her magic.

"Alright and done!" she says, handing me the laptop and letting me read through the description one last time before purchasing him. "Really?" I say, cocking a brow at her. "What? You don't like it?" she pouts thinking she got it down to a T. "I do like it, you're just so weird with these descriptions" I say and before she's able to refute it I list off a few of them.

"Abs that make me drool the moment I see them, Tattoo sleeve and hand tattoos so my necklace is pretty, a d- Ava are you serious?" I say scandalized by the last part, as if this wasn't all mortifying already. "What? That one guy you hooked up with had one and you said you liked it so..." she shrugs her shoulders. "A dick piercing" I mumble to myself while rubbing my temples, getting a headache from this whole ordeal.

"Whatever it's fine. Just do it before I change my mind" I say and wave her off while going to grab some wine and two glasses.

"Says he should be here by tomorrow afternoon" she say after going through the rest of the order form leaving me choke on air and her laughing at my reaction. "That fast?" I say after I've calmed down, plopping down on the couch next to her and pour each of us a glass. "Well yeah, the company's slogan is 'Your pleasure is our priority' and they offer overnight shipping on every order" she explains while grabbing the remote, pulling up Bridgerton for us to watch yet again.

I narrow my eyes at her and she looks over at me as if I was the one who's gone crazy. "What? I thought this might you know, refresh your memory on the things you always said 'Me and who?' about since 'Mr. Who' is coming tomorrow" she sing songs at the end and I roll my eyes again.

"Just remember to thank me next time you roll your eyes like that when he's all up in your guts tomorrow afternoon" she teases, taking a sip of her wine while mine nearly comes out of my nose. "AVA!" I scold her and she shrugs her shoulders, "Don't say I didn't warn you".

As the night goes by and we finish up the first half of the third season for the fifth time she gets ready to head home.

"You sure you don't wanna spend the night?" I ask and she shakes her head while she shrugs on her jacket. "No that's okay, I'm sure you've got a lot of things you might want to do to get ready for him so I'll leave you to it. I called an Uber so don't worry I'm not driving home tonight" she says and I nod my head, relieved that she's already got that plan in place.

"I'll come pick up my car sometime tomorrow okay?" she says and I smile before giving her a hug. "Text me when you get home" I say and she promises before walking out to the car. "Have fun tomorrow" she winks and I shake my head, waving her off once she gets in.

"Fun huh?" I chuckle, still in disbelief that I actually went through with it. I guess there's no harm in trying...right?

~~~~

I'm woken up out of a sound sleep by the doorbell ringing and I think for a second about who it might be while I rub the sleep out of my eyes. 

I reach for my phone on the nightstand to see if anyone asked if they could come over but when I see the text message telling me that he's being delivered soon I bolt to the door, not wanting to have to deal with the awkwardness of trying to get him redelivered.

I straighten myself out and take a deep breath for a second in an effort to compose myself and in the next I'm opening the door.

When I look out I'm met with the sight of a delivery man with a huge wooden crate next to him and my eyes widen at the sheer size of it. "Sign here please" he says, handing me the clipboard and I step aside so he can bring it in.

"Is right here okay?" he asks, rolling it a little further in so it's not blocking the entry way. "Um yeah that's fine, thanks" I say, handing the clip board back to him before he excuses himself and closes the door behind him.

The silence in this room is almost deafening once my focus is trained on the box that's going to shake up my life for at least the next two weeks, gulping at the thought of what I've gotten myself into.

'Maybe if I just leave it there it'll disappear' I think to myself, going into full on panic mode as I start to think a bit deeper about it, turning on my heel to go shower and get dressed but once I come back my theory is disproven when my eyes land directly on the wooden crate that is still in the middle of the room.

I take a deep breath before walking towards it and you would think it was about to attack me with the way I'm being so careful about it. Circling around, debating on whether or not I should open it.

'Ava won't know if I just leave it in the box right? I'll just keep it here for two weeks and then send it back. Simple as that' I think to myself, walking past it and over to the kitchen to make breakfast but the longer I look at it the more curious I get.

I grab the crowbar that the delivery man gave me after I'm finished eating and toy with it, the choice weighing heavier and heavier on my mind as time goes by.

I decide that just one peek at him won't do anyone any harm so I start to pry it open...except for I can't.

For the life of me I can't figure out how the fuck I'm supposed to open this thing and no matter how much I struggle with it it just won't budge. 'I should've asked the delivery man to open it for me' I grumble but I think I would die if a stranger found out that I bought a sex bot but even with this not so discreet packaging he is probably very well aware of what it might be.

There are only two things that could possibly come in a box this size. A robot (not necessarily a sex bot though since there are multiple different kinds for sale) or a casket and last time I checked caskets aren't all the rage right now and they definetly aren't something people get delivered to their home.

I sit on top of the box with a huff, accepting defeat. 'I thought this was supposed to be a stress reliever' I groan and take my phone out of my pocket to call Ava but I'm soon met with her already knocking on my door.

"I hope I'm not...interrupting something" she says with a sly smirk when she takes in my messy state from trying to get that damn box open. "Yeah I wish" I grumble and walk back over to the bane of my existence today and sit on top of it again.

"Oh sick! He's here already" she say, excitement written all over her face but it soon dissipates when she sees the mental struggle written all over my face.

"What's wrong? Aren't you gonna open it?" she asks, tilting her head and checking out the crowbar that's wedged into it, the only proof of any progress I've made. "Can't get it open?" she chuckles and I scoff, not bothering to answer her.

"Come on I'll help you" she says and I sigh before getting up and giving it one last shot. "Alright one, two, three" she says and we both push down on it, thankfully hearing a crack seconds later, telling us we're starting to make progress.

"Yes!" I say, finally feeling hopeful again and when we finally get the last part pried open after a good fifteen minutes of struggle we both sigh, happy that it's all over. "That was a workout in itself" she groans and slumps down on the couch while I do the same for a moment to catch my breath.

"So you gonna go take a look?" she asks while nodding towards the box, "Yeah just give me a second, I have to mentally prepare myself again" I say and she scoffs before going into the kitchen to get the both of us some water.

"Come on dude I helped you open it so you at least have to let me see him! I'm dying over here" she whines and I contemplate it for a second before getting up and grabbing the manual that is lying on top of all the fluffy packaging that's keeping him safe.

"'How to bang your robot' sounds informative" Ava giggles and I scoff, "That's not what it says dummy" I groan, thumbing through the manual until I find the most important piece of information, how to turn him on...well power him up so to say. The other part I guess I'll figure out later on when we're alone, although I'm sure she would love to watch.

I don't think I'll ever be able to understand how she can talk about things like sex so openly but I guess that's part of her twisted charm.

I brush some of the hay-like packaging off of him so the both of us can finally see what he looks like and my breath hitches once his face comes into view.

"I did a good job huh?" she says while elbowing me in the side, groaning when she hits the new tattoo I got on my ribcage the other day. "Oh shit I'm sorry! I forgot!" she says, apologizing but I brush it off as an accident and go back to inspecting him.

After taking more of the packaging off I finally find where his on switch is, which happens to be on his peck. "Really? I haven't even turned him on and I already have to violate him?" I say, hesitating for a second and then just rip the bandaid off so to say and lift his shirt up.

"Damn those abs are drool worthy" Ava whistles and I wack her in the arm, "You're not helping" I groan and find the plate that is covering the on switch, looking between him and her, contemplating on if I should go for it or not.

She nods her head, urging me to do it and after a second or two I give in and flip the switch and quickly and fix his shirt so he's all covered up again. He might be a robot but I still think he deserves to be treated with respect.

Even if his whole purpose is to just fuck me senseless.

We both watch for a second and hear a few of the mechanisms start to move about before he takes his first breath. Well...kinda.

He opens his eyes and blinks a few times and I know for a fact that Ava hit it right on the head in her description. She knows me too well at this point if she was able to create a Mr. Right for me with a few clicks on her keyboard.

That or he's just very attractive to begin with.

He looks around for a second before turning his head towards me, our eyes locking for the first of many times and I can already feel my cheeks start to heat up. 'I'm fucked'

"H-hello" I say tentatively, not really knowing exactly where to go from here. "Hello gorgeous" he say, his first words to me already driving me into cardiac arrest as I choke on air again.

"Ignore her, she's just a little shy. This is-" "Y/n, I know" he says, cutting Ave off since he's already programed to know who I am, her having submitted pictures of me along with my order.

"Yes, this is y/n and I'm her best friend Ava. It's nice to meet you" she says, distracting him as I gulp down the water she brought but unbeknownst to me he has his eyes trained solely on me, already studying my every move. "It's nice to meet you y/n" he says and Ava looks over at me, watching as I struggle to compose myself.

She doesn't take his unwillingness to pay attention to her as an insult because he's meant for me and only me so she smirks again, patting herself on the back for making this creation for me.

"Well I'll leave you guys too it then. Have fun" she says but I grab her arm and drag her down the hallway, not letting her get away that easily. "Why did you do that?" I hiss and she scrunches her brows together, confused as to what I'm referring to.

"You know, make him all flirty with that whole bad boy aesthetic" I say and she smirks. "Because I know that those are the kinds of guys that make you weak in the knees but you and I both know better and stay away from them" she points out and I can't deny it.

"Now you can have all the fun with zero consequences. You can alway alter him later if you'd like but from your reaction it seems as though I've done my job well" she says, peeking her head around the corner and watching him as he gets out of the crate.

"I swear both of you are going to be the death of me" I sigh leaving her placing a hand on my shoulder, faking consolation before turning on her heel to head out.

"Wait! Where are you going?" I ask, chasing after her and glancing back over at my very attractive playmate whose eyes are all over me again as I continue to stay close to her.

"I've got a boyfriend waiting for me at home remember? Now you go have fun" she says shooing me away and when she sees me glance over at him and back at her with mixed emotions written all over my face she pulls me in for a hug to hopefully help calm me down which thankfully helps...a little.

"At least let the guy get to know you. I'm sure he doesn't bite...unless you program him to" she whispers the last part directly into my ear and I push her off me, rubbing away the ticklish feeling that she gave me which has her chuckling.

"It was nice meeting you" she yells over to him but she's not given a response again. "I guess I forgot to add good manners to his list of attributes" she mumbles and I roll my eyes. "That wouldn't really fit the bad boy look you gave him now would it?" I throw back and she laughs, unbothered by my curt behavior which stems from the panic I've had since he first spoke to me.

"Love you loser" she says and I mutter back a similar sentiment, closing the door behind her and resting my forehead against it before dealing with the very temping man in my living room but when I turn around I realize he's somehow managed to sneak up on me.

"What the-" I say, holding my hand over my heart to make sure it somehow doesn't jump out of my chest from the scare he's given me.

"Now that we're finally alone, I guess I can properly introduce myself" he says, resting a hand against the door and using the other one to caress my face before tilting my chin up so I keep my eyes trained on him.

"I'm Jungkook and from my understanding you're in need of some...attention" he says, his hand tracing down my body from my jaw to my neck, down my arm and rests on my waist. Nothing too sexual as of yet but enough to get my heartbeat racing even faster than it was before.

"I-" I start off, my voice cracking before clearing my throat and starting again, my flustered nature amusing to him, "I guess you could say that" I say and his grip on my waist tightens a bit causing my breath to hitch, the warmth radiating from his skin feeling so human.

Everything about him seems human. From his eyes that I could get lost in, to his lips that have two silver hoops through the bottom to all the other piercings in his ears. I marvel at how his scent is something that I already find intoxicating, his presence itself making me feel so small and I can't help but want to stare at him all day, even the swirls of ink on his forearm seem so real. It makes me wonder how someone like him could be created.

"I take it that my appearance is to your liking" he startles me again, a smug look on his face and I can tell already that she's got his personality down to a tee. "Um yeah. I uh, I guess you could say that" I stumble over my words and he laughs, that cocky fucking laugh that the guys that know they're hot do but I don't mind it.

Not this time. Not with him.

"Tell me love, would you like some of that...attention now or later" he says, leaning forward and whispering it in my ear, placing a kiss under it, making me shudder.

Feeling him smile against my skin makes me want him to fuck me on this floor right now but I know I can't do that. I know I'm not ready for that yet.

"W-why don't we start later? I kinda wanna talk to you first" I say and he runs his nose along the column of my neck, making me lose my train of thought for a moment.

"We can talk later if you want. I wouldn't mind learning more about you in other ways first" he says, his tempting nature almost making me give in before I finally regain my willpower and slip out from under his arm, quickly walking towards the couch to sit down.

"No let's talk first" I say and I can hear that same cocky laugh come out of him before he pushes off the door and makes his way over, sitting way closer than necessary but luckily I have some space to scoot away from him so I can turn to face him instead.

He drapes an arm over the couch while his other hand rest on my bare knee, again nothing sexual but I take note of how he already feels the need to at least touch me in some way, something I know I will never get used to since things like that have always given me a fluttery feeling in my stomach.

I shouldn't have worn a dress today...

He waits patiently for me to say something with his eyes focused on me and I try my hardest to remember exactly what I wanted to say but I start to realize that I just ended up using this as an excuse to buy more time before going any further with this. I know why I bought him and what his purpose is but damn!

"So um, I know you know my name already but I'm y/n and it's nice to meet you. How old are you? Well...I guess I should ask how old did they make you? No I'm sorry this is weird just yeah tell me a bit about yourself if you don't mind" I say and hope that they programed some sort of back story into him and he's not a blank canvas and luckily my prayers are answered.

"Well I'm twenty six and I'll be turning twenty seven on September first. I like tattoos, piercings, motorcycles and boxing. I was made custom for you so I don't have any other outside experiences besides interacting with the people who double checked me at the factory as well as your friend that was just here. So as far as that goes, you're the only person I've had a real conversation with. Was there anything else you'd like to know about me? I can run though some of the features I have if you'd like" he says starting to get up to what I assume is get undressed but I grab onto his wrist and immediately stop him.

"No! I mean no, let's save that for later. I'm sure you'll figure out what will please me as things...progress between us" I say, not really knowing how exactly to phrase it. "So you'd like me to learn your body through experience?" he asks and my cheeks flush at the thought and all I can manage to do is nod before my eyes go wide as his hand slides up my thigh.

"Well I can assure you I'm very eager to learn. I may not look it but I rather enjoy studying when I have such a gorgeous subject to focus on" he says, his hand somehow having slipped under my dress.

"We um, we'll have plenty of time for that" I say, placing my hand on top of his to make sure it doesn't trail up any further. And again I'm so surprised at how human he feels, it's something that I expected but I didn't realize that he would feel this real.

He huffs and nods sitting back to give me some more space, not wanting to make me feel uncomfortable but still wanting to fulfill his duty to me. I notice the change in his expression and I rush to explain myself since I don't want there to be any sort of misunderstandings between us.

"I'm not saying this because I don't want you, you know that right?" I ask and he shakes his head not completely understanding since he's programed for one sole purpose upon opening. "Am I doing something wrong?" he asks, wanting to make changes to his behavior so he can make sure he's doing what I want and servicing me well.

"You're not doing anything wrong I promise. I'm- well I'm just a little bit nervous and I get flustered easily. I don't really know how this should go so I wanted to take it a bit slower" I say and he nods his head and I can see that there's almost a mechanical glow flickering behind his eyes which I can only assume is something that happens when he alters his behaviors based on my liking.

"I do like the way you've been treating me but I'd like to work up to that...if that makes sense" I say and he nods again and once I've stopped speaking my mind on it he finishes up his reprograming and looks back over at me, his seductive eyes a little bit softer now which somehow makes me even more flustered.

"Better?" he asks, his low sultry voice switching to one that's more playful, his teasing nature a clear want for me still but a lot more manageable this time. "Better" I echo, giving him a soft smile and another once over before realizing that I haven't said much about myself in return.

"Sorry, I guess I should tell you a bit about myself as well" I say but before I can start he's already listing off things like my birthdate and the fact that I'm only a year younger than him as well as my interests and hobbies.

"Wow that uh, that order form was a lot more detailed than I thought it was" I say and he laughs. "Weren't you the one that filled it out?" he asks curiously, tilting his head to the side, the first glimpse of innocence that I've seen all day.

"Well kinda. Ava was the one who did it and I just kinda glanced over at it once it came to the physical appearance but uh, she kinda came up with all of that too" I admit and he nods his head, taking in all that I've told him.

"So is my personality not to your liking? I can always instruct you on how to reprogram me more thoroughly" he offers and my heart breaks at that. "No Jungkook I don't want to change you. I think we just have to take a second to get used to each other. Your personality is to my liking because..." I trail off, weighing on whether or not I should say this but go for it anyway. He's a robot right? There's no harm in being honest with him.

I take a deep breath before trying to finish my statement, clearing my head so I can formulate it right. "Everything about you is to my liking because I am extremely attracted to you" I admit and look at my lap, not being able to face him. This is what he's here for though right? I'm meant to be attracted to him and he's meant to fulfill my desires so why do I feel shy admitting this to him?

The next thing that happens takes me by surprise as he hooks his finger under my chin and tilts it up before placing a kiss on my lips, one that I can only label as a perfect first kiss. My eyes go wide when I realize that I just kissed a robot but something about it feels so natural...and that's the part that scares me.

He leans back and gauges my reaction and when he sees that I was not displeased with the choice he made he leans in and kisses me again, and again, and again until I'm the one that's started to take control.

I place my hand on his shoulder and push him back but don't break the contact between us and when he realizes what I'm doing he grabs my hips and guides me onto his lap, the synthetic muscles of his thighs feeling so real.

From the way his hands are exploring my body and even the way he tastes on my tongue everything about him feels...human.

I need to stop thinking. I just need to enjoy this, enjoy him and when his hands move from resting on my hips to sliding down and grabbing my ass all thoughts of him being anything but real flee.

Our lip lock is broken once I'm gasping for air and he trails his kisses down my neck and presses his lips against the place he first kissed me, making me shiver again and he takes note of that, learning through experience just as he said.

"You're sensitive here aren't you?" He teases and if this taunting tone is the one he uses to gather intel on me them I'm screwed. He could literally do anything to me right now and I'd fold. What is it about him that's driving me insane when we've done almost nothing?

He bites down on that spot when I don't answer and when I moan instead of a cry of pain he gets his answer. "That's what I thought" he chuckles and continues his ministrations, touching me here and there and trying to garner other sounds and reactions out of me.

"J-jungkook" I stutter out and he hums against my skin while he sucks marks into it, no doubt wanting to experiment with my body. Licking, kissing, sucking every bit of bare skin that's exposed to him. "What is it gorgeous?" he asks, kissing the mark he's made before leaning back against the couch to look at me.

"B-bedroom?" I stutter out and he smirks as he responds. "You sure you don't wanna ride me right here?" he says and my breath hitches, not expecting him to be like this. "This view is way too good to give up on" he says, his hands gripping my thighs while his thumb rubs circles against my skin.

"Be a good girl and ride me yeah?" he rasps in my ear, kissing my neck making me want to melt into him, everything about this making me dizzy.

He makes the decision for me as he slips his hand under my dress again while he uses the other to hold onto my neck and pulls me down to kiss him again. He plays with the hem of my underwear and pulls on it and snaps it back into place making me bite on his lip.

"Ow!" I groan gaining me a deep chuckle that makes my scoldings die in my throat. "I know you're a little slut for pain no? Something about you just screams the desire to be put in your place" he says and my eyes widen. I've never told anyone about that but this man...robot has known me for less than an hour and is already aware of it.

"We can experiment with that next time because right now I just want you to ride my fingers. You can do that for me right gorgeous?" he says, using that word as a pet name now. I swear if he calls me that all the time I'm gonna lose it.

He leans back and looks at me, taking note of all of my reactions and when he cocks a brow at me I nod my head right away. "Yeah" I say, my voice sounding foreign to me but thankfully that was enough for him as he tells me to stand up and take my underwear off.

"Keep the dress on. You look so pretty after getting all dolled up for me. I would hate to make you take it off" he says and I swear everything about him is driving me insane. If he wasn't a robot I would be in serious trouble.

"Come here" he says, beckoning me over with one finger and once I get close enough he grabs me by my hips and makes me straddle him.

He takes one of his hands off and slides it down my thigh painfully slow and I find myself getting wetter at the feeling, getting teased by him feeling totally new.

Once his fingers trace up and down my folds he hums in satisfaction. "So wet for me already and I've barely touched you" he taunts and I squirm, needing him to do something. No matter how much I love his teasing I decide seconds later that I need him now.

"Please" I let out and he smiles before circling his finger around my entrance still toying with me. After a another minute of this torture he finally speaks up as if he had been waiting for me. "Come on gorgeous, you asked for it. Ride my fingers so I can see how pretty you look" he says, barely dipping a finger inside of me, coaxing me into letting my inhibitions go.

I sink down on it and I let out a whine, not having been touched like this in a while making me sensitive. "That's it, keep going love, you're doing so well" he rasps in my ear and I lift my hips up a bit before sinking back down on it again, a sloppy pace being set in and he chuckles at my efforts.

"Someone hasn't been fucking my baby properly huh? Needed to get me to do it right? You're so pretty though, looking so concentrated and frustrated because you can't go fast enough" he taunts, adding another finger when I sink back down making me throw my head back from the stretch, my want to ride him only increasing.

"Gotta make you work for it a little" he says, finally adding a third finger making me moan his name in response. "Fuck I love watching you fall apart like this" he curses and takes his fingers out of me only long enough to take his jeans and boxers off and once I see him I can't help but gulp at the size.

"It's okay, don't worry. I can change it as I make my way inside you. I promise you it won't hurt. This is always all about you" he says, tilting my chin up and making eye contact with me. I nod my head and mumble out a quiet 'okay' before he grabs my hips and makes me hover over it while he lines himself up.

"Sit on my lap gorgeous" he says as words of encouragement when he senses my hesitation. 'Shit am I really about to bang a robot?' are the thoughts that run through my head but once the tip pushes past my folds I couldn't give a fuck who he was.

Both of us watch as it disappears inside me and I let out a few shuddering breaths as I feel him adjust, fulfilling his promise to change it to make it fit. "You're doing so well" he says, rubbing up and down my thighs, letting me get used to the feeling.

"You okay?" he asks, noticing how still and silent I've gotten. "Yeah, I just haven't done this in a while" I admit even though he already knows. "Want me to take over?" he asks, thrusting up into me once to show that he's more than willing to do it. "No, I can do it" I say, taking a deep breath before lifting my hips up and and dropping down on him, knocking the wind out of myself when I come down too fast.

"You sure?" he asks, grabbing onto my hips and helping me set a pace to make it easier for me. "Shit" I curse under my breath and he chuckles, "Baby's got a dirty mouth huh? I would've never known since you've been so shy and blushy with me this whole time" he lifts his hips off the couch and gives me a sharp thrust making more curses fall from my lips.

"That's it, just like that. Doing so good for me" he says, coaching me and making me feel more confident and when he hit's a spot inside of me I shudder and it catches his attention. "Right there huh?" he asks, thrusting up into me, this time softer, going with the rhythm I've set in but makes my hips stutter when he brushes against it over and over and over again. 

"You wanna lay down for me?" he asks and I nod letting him take over and laying me down while still staying inside of me. "You're so beautiful" he say, taking in my dazed state before he start moving his hips, brushing up against that spot again and making my back arch off the couch. 

"F-fuck Jungkook" I moan and he chuckles, watching me fall apart under him. "Fuck, right there" I scream, toes curling and body seizing as my orgasm crashes down on me with one last pointed thrust, a string of obscenities falling from my lips as he fucks me through it but when I start to get sensitive again he keeps going. 

"Jungkook wait" I say, my breathing picking up when I realize what he's trying to do. "You can give me one more can't you?" he asks, his hips slowing down but never stopping, his movements more sensual now making my breathing more ragged, the feeling of an onset high building again. 

I whimper once he picks up his pace a bit but he stops when he hears it. "Tell me to stop and I will" he says, reminding me that this is all about me, I control what happens here and it is my decision. 

"Keep going" I say, pulling him down and locking our lips together, needing to muffle these embarrassing moans with his mouth when he starts up again, his pace picking up now and moving faster than before. "S-shit just like that" I stutter, the change in pace bringing me close to that edge so much sooner.

"Been thinking about this view ever since I laid my eyes on you. It's even better than I expected. Look at the way you fall apart under me" he says, his words barely registering when I'm about to tip over. "Eyes on me pretty" he says and when I see the way he's looking at me I reach that high in seconds, my body convulsing from how hard he's made me cum again, the second more intense than the first. 

He fucks me though my high and places kisses all over my neck and let's me catch my breath as I come down and soon I'm left in a daze. 

"J-jungkook" I stutter out as a way to ask him to stop and he does, pulling out and making me hiss. "Look at the mess you've made" he says and I look up to see he's glistening with my slick and I cover my face. 

"I'm sorry I just..." I start not really knowing why I'm apologizing. "You just what?" he says, taking one of my hands off my face and kissing my wrist, smiling when he registers how high my heart rate has gotten. 

"You're really good with that thing you know" I say and he laughs. "Cute and a sense of humor. Looks like I lucked out on my owner" he says and I feel a sense of guilt, remembering that this isn't real. That he isn't real.

"Did I say something wrong?" he asks and I shake my head before sitting up. "No, no you did nothing wrong I just, well it made me feel weird when you called me your owner" I say and I watch as his eyes glow, another sign of him reprograming himself. 

"What would you like me to call you?" he asks leaving me hesitating for a second before I finally come up with it. "Maybe your girlfriend?" I propose and the corner of his mouth tugs up, clearly finding the result favorable but I rush to explain myself. 

"Or you can just call me your friend you know because girlfriend is kind of forward and I don't know" I cut myself off when I realize I'm rambling and get shy when I see the way he's looking at me. Utterly fascinated with my every move and although I just finished I can't help but get a little breathless.

"Do you wanna be my girlfriend y/n?" he asks, the use of my name instead of the pet names he's been calling me having a different effect on me. 

"I well, I just" I start tripping over my words again but he grabs my chin gently and dips it up and down, making the choice for me to nod yes as my answer. "Glad we got that cleared up" he says tapping me twice under my chin before straightening himself out and picking me up off the couch and carrying me into my room. 

"Wait Jungkook what are you doing?" I panic as I wrap my arms around his neck to help me balance. "I figured you might want a bath after what just happened so..." he trails off as he walks into the bathroom and sets me down on top of the counter before turning on the faucet and grabbing a bottle and tipping it contents into to make me a bubble bath. 

"Are you able to..." I trail off and he turns around and walks over to me, resting both hands on the counter on either side of my hips and giving me his undivided attention. "Am I able to what?" he asks, tilting his head and waiting for me to continue. "Can you take a bath with me too? Or is that not possible?" I ask, not having read hardly any of the instructions before turning him on. 

"If you're asking if I'm waterproof the answer is yes I can be submerged into water without issue" he says, tracing a finger against my jaw before tipping it up to place a chased kiss on my lips, turning back to the bath and making sure the temperature is alright before he starts to strip. 

I watch as he does so, curious to see if there are any real differences that I can spot but there really aren't. "Incredible" I mumble under my breath and he catches onto it. "Like what you see?" he chuckles and walks back over to me and lifts me up off the counter and reaches for my zipper. 

"No, I mean yes but I'm just so surprised how lifelike you are. Is that rude to say?" I cringe and he chuckles again,  letting his attention go back to undressing me as he lets my dress pool around my ankles scanning my body being fully bare to him and I gulp watching his reaction as I'm sure he's literally committing it to memory. 

"The answer is no, it's not rude" he says, his eyes trailing back up to mine as he places a hand on my waist and the other cupping my face with his thumb tracing along the bottom of my lip. "Your word is law to me. Whatever comes out of these two lips is true" he says and my breath hitches as he leans in close. 

I close my eyes and wait for the feeling of his lips against mine but when they don't reach me I look back up at him, his face dangerously close to mine making my heart rate pick up again. "What do you want me to do?" he rasps, his warm breath leaving goosebumps in their wake. "Kiss me" I whisper and close my eyes again and soon feel his lips on mine again. 

"Pick me up" I mumble through our kisses and he does just that and reads my mind by walking over to the tub and placing me in gently with him sinking in after me. I lay with my back up against the wall of the tub and take in a shaky breath once he crawls closer and hovers over me and before he can ask me again I'm sitting up and pressing my lips up against his again. 

He responds with a fervor and devours my lips, taking my breath away leaving me gasping for air once he notices. "Sorry, I forgot that I need to let you catch your breath sometimes huh?" he taunts and I roll my eyes but once I feel his finger dragging up and down my folds again he looks up at me. 

"Do you want my fi-" "No, just you" I say cutting him off with another kiss and he gets the message, lining himself up with me again and pressing in, this time making it a bit bigger making my back arch off the wall. "You can take it, shh" he says, pressing a kiss on my temple as I take in the stretch, shaky breaths being the only thing heard for a few more seconds before I nod my head. 

"That's my girl" he says, pulling back before rocking his hips back into me, setting a pace that makes my eyes roll back, still being sensitive from before but drunk on the feeling of him inside of me, hitting all the right spots making my toes curl. 

The water sloshes around and I'm taken out of the moment for a second when I hear a big splash of it hit the floor. "Jungkook I-" "I'll clean it up later" he says and smashes his lips against mine, picking up the pace and making an even bigger mess, a third of the water we stared with all over the floor. 

"Fuck Jungkook, f-faster" I pant out and he smirks as he sets in an inhuman pace that has me screaming his name, the wind knocked out of me and seconds later I'm cumming. 

I'm gulping down air once that initial wave dies down soon sending shockwaves in it's wake as he fucks me through it, slowing down to a lazier more sensual pace and when I open my eyes everything has gone so hazy. 

"You cried" he says, wiping a tear off of my face and I realize that's the clear cause for my vision. "Just when I thought you couldn't get any more temping you go and pull this" he says, leaning in to lick up the tears on my other cheek. 

"I hope you know I'm never letting you get away from me until you're a sobbing mess like you were just a second ago" he teases, cupping my face and looking at me, a clear want for more hidden behind those eyes but I shake my head.

"No more please, not tonight" I mumble and he chuckles and nods his head before he places one last kiss on my lips. "Should I fill up the tub again" he asks, his forehead against mine after having broken the kiss. 

"Oh! Um yeah if you wouldn't mind" I say awkwardly and he smiles and places a kiss on my forehead before he gets out of the tub and wraps a towel low around his waist and grabs the bottle again to fill up what will now be a nice relaxing bubble bath, emphasis on the relaxing aspect.

"Is everything okay?" he asks monitoring the temperature as the water fills up again. "I'm fine, I think I'm just trying to get used to this you know. Like us" I say and he nods his head, trying to understand but I can see that things are still not clear. 

"Jungkook you have been treating me so well and taking care of me and making sure I'm satisfied. I just need a second to process" I say and he looks up at me to gauge my sincerity and assesses that I'm being truthful. 

"Okay, I just don't want to do anything that you might not like" he says, insecure with the arrangement as well since well this was his first time too. Even though he's just a robot the lines between human and machine are so blurry after people have created things like him. 

"If I didn't like it I would've told you. You've been very receptive and have been working on finding my limits and I appreciate that and I'm more than satisfied with the way that you've been treating me. To be honest you're even better than I expected" I admit, hoping to lighten him up and luckily it does. 

"Oh yeah?" he smirks and I roll my eyes, "Don't get too far ahead of yourself. One good fuck does not equal perfection" I say, trying to deflate his ego but it only boosts his want to prove himself even more. 

"Remind me to ask you about that in a few days okay? Wanna make sure I've been making progress" he says and I go quiet, thoughts of what might happen between us in the coming days making me anxious. 

"If my body wasn't spent already I would make you put your money where your mouth is" I throw back moments later and he cocks a brow at me. 

"Well would you look at that, cute, funny and mouthy" he taunts and I recoil back into the corner of the tub when he stalks closer to me. "Might makeyou put that mouth of yours to work next time huh?" he says, caressing my jaw and running his thumb along my bottom lip "But I bet you'd like that a little too much" he say, tapping under my chin twice and heading towards the closet to get some extra towels to clean up the mess we made.

I observe him wordlessly as he mops up the floor until it's completely dry and he heads out to grab something or other and comes back into the bathroom with a new pair of jeans on, these ones tighter than the first pair. "Where did those clothes come from?" I ask, gulping at the sight of him back in his 'Man that I should steer clear of' aesthetic.

"They were in the box I came in" he says, slipping a white t shirt over his head. "I can always walk around shirtless if you'd like" he says, noticing the pout that I had unconsciously put on my face and I clear my throat and make excuses. 

"No that's okay. Whatever you're comfortable with, or I guess programed with is fine by me" I say and I stand up to get out of the tub and walk over to the shower to rinse off but when I try to my knees give out and he catches me, the white t shirt he's wearing now wet and I gulp at the sight of it. 

'I swear I'm such a slut' I think to myself.

"That might be the case but you're my slut now" he says and I flinch and try to get out of his hold. "Did you just read my mind?" I ask, fully confused as to how he could've known what I was thinking. "No silly you said that out loud...but it was kind of written all over your face anyways" he teases and push him off of me or at least try to but he guides me by my hips into the shower so I won't hurt myself. 

He leaves me to finish up on my own and places a towel nearby so I can dry of easily and when I walk into my room I can see he's sat on my bed wearing a new shirt, black this time but a little tighter than the one before.

"Do you want me to leave?" he asks, seeing the hesitance written across my face but I shake my head. 

"No, I have to get use to you seeing me naked anyway so might as well..." I say, cutting myself off and let my towel drop, "start now" I finish and I can see his eyes widen making me smile. I turn to walk towards my dresser, pulling out a two piece set instead of going through the effort of getting dressed again.

"You're just full of surprises aren't you?" he says having come up behind me and wrapping his arms around my bare waist, quickly tugging on one of my nipples making me yelp. "Jungkook what are you-" I start but he reaches into my drawer and grabs a nightgown instead...if you could even call it that. One gust of air and I'm completely exposed. 

"Wear this one" he whispers in my ear and places a kiss on my bare shoulder before leaving the room and wandering off to who knows were. 

'How did he even know that was in th-' I cut off my thoughts as the realization of what he might've done hits me. I slip on the one he had chosen and walk out and down the hallway into the living room and I catch a glimpse of him in the kitchen, seemingly making me something. 

"Did you go through my clothes?" I ask with a lilt in my voice, amused and honestly turned on at the thought. "No. I just took a look at your lingerie since I'm the one who's gonna be seeing it from now on. I just wanted to see what I have to look forward to" he says with his back turned to me and my cheeks heat up at his nonchalant attitude about it but I know for a fact he's just doing this to get a reaction out of me. 

"Looks like someone's eager" I say, walking over to him and wrapping my arms around his waist and look down on what he's making. "I hope you like breakfast for dinner" he says as he pours in the egg mixture and soon adds the filling making by my standards a perfect omelet. "I love it" I say taking a whiff of the mouth watering dish. 

"How did you even find all of this?" I ask, confused as to where all these ingredients came from. "While you were in the shower someone came and delivered your groceries so I just brought them in" he says and my mouth forms an 'o' forgetting I had set that up yesterday. "Oh yeah I forgot that was coming today. Thanks for bringing it all in" I say and he hums in response. 

After I'm all finished eating I'm honestly spent and when I go to rinse off my plate and put it in the dishwasher I feel him wrap his arms around my waist from behind, our roles now reversed. 

"You know why I wanted you to wear this right?" he rasps in my ear and starts placing more kisses on my neck making me almost forget the question but I decide to shake my head since I want him to tell me, the seduction in his words almost tangible. 

"Easy access" he says as he slips his hand under my nightgown and rests it on my stomach, slowly trailing down to slip under my waistband but I push him off after a second, remembering the ache he's caused between my legs.

"Nope, no more tonight" I say, turning around to face him and the innocence Ava had added to the list of traits coming through as he's standing there pouting at me. "Come on let's go to bed" I laugh grabbing his hand and he drags his feet behind me as he follows, still not happy with the outcome of it all. 

"Fine..." he says and takes off the jeans and t shirt he just put on about an hour ago and places them on a chair next to what is now his side of the bed. "but take these off" he says, walking over to me and grabbing the waistband of my underwear and snapping it back into place again. 

"Hey!" I call out and he chuckles as he walks back over to his side of the bed and gets under the covers and waits for me to do as he asks. I narrow my eyes at him for a second but ultimately do it granting him 'easy access' as he's called it for tomorrow morning when he no doubt fucks me back to sleep.

Once I'm finished he tugs on my arm and makes me topple down on the bed in a fit of giggles. "You're so cute when you laugh" he says, caressing my face once we've settled in beside each other and I smile. 

"You think so?" I ask and he nods his head. "You look even prettier when you cum though" he says and I widen my eyes and sit up and wack him on his chest before turning around to face away from him. I feel the bed shift as he switches his position and soon put an arm around my waist and pull me back to him so my back is flush with his chest.

"You're insufferable" I mumble and he laughs, "Goodnight love" he says and I get a fluttery feeling in my stomach. "Goodnight Jungkook" I say back and he places one last kiss on my bare shoulder before I close my eyes and drift off to sleep.

"Dream of me" he says right before I pass out and I do, I dream of all we could possible do together...what he's going to do to me and it makes me want to pull myself out of the dream to get to him now but I know he'll be there when I wake up. 

'How to bang your robot' Ava's voice echoes in my head while I'm lost in la la land and I smile...

Oh how informative it was indeed.

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