#it does count as lime right

[deadsetobsessions]

Sea Cryptic! Danny Pt.6

[Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.4] [Pt.5] [Pt.7] [Pt.8] [Pt.9] [Pt.10]

Danny slumped over the table at the library. He’d feel embarrassed about it if it weren’t for the rest of the floor’s occupants. Around him, students were speed running through the five stages of grief like it was going out of style.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuck.”

“Same.” Danny replied, rolling his head to look at Tim. “I’m feeling like an academic victim instead of an academic weapon right now.”

“I should have stayed dropped out of school,” Tim grumbled.

Danny gasped theatrically. “And deprive the world of your awe-inspiring genius on…” Danny peered at Tim’s books and grinned. “On… the Krebs cycle? Seriously? They’re teaching that again?”

“I know! This is like, the third time.” Tim whined.

“At least you’ll be good at it, right?”

Tim scoffed. “I’m gonna drop out of college and become a stripper.”

“They do make bank,” Danny nodded. “But aren’t you like a millionaire or something?”

Tim brightened. “Oh, you’re right. I don’t need education! I’m filthy rich!”

Danny whacked Tim on the back of the head, laughing quietly.

“Whatever. Let’s go take a break. Snacks?”

“I literally don’t know how you eat so much.”

“Snacks have a separate stomach pouch. Normal food goes one place, junk food and desserts in another.” Danny retorted, quickly packing up his stuff. In reality, he didn’t need that much food. He’s half dead, after all. But food also converts to ectoplasm in his body, and ancients knows Danny needs all the energy he could get.

They made their way out of the campus library, passing stressed out looking students on their way to a taco truck.

“Does this even count as a snack?” Tim asked, amused. He tugged on his book bag, readjusting the vigilante pins on them.

“Is the sky even blue?” Danny snarked back, forking over the cash needed for the best fucking tacos on this side of Gotham. They sat on the benches, asking for an obscene amount of extra lime and cilantro before going to town.

“Holy shit, how many of those can you eat?”

“Dunno,” Danny mumbled though a mouthful or carne asada and pico de gallo. “Hungry.”

Tim snorted, pulling out his phone to scroll as he ate. A moment later, Tim showed Danny his screen.

“Hey, you live near here, right?”

Danny, cheeks bulging with food, peered at Tim’s phone and nodded.

“Oh, cool! Have you seen the green guy around?”

Danny squinted at Tim, tilting his head as he chewed.

“You know, the glowing green guy that’s been blowing up the Gotham Bay tag.”

Oh. Tim was talking about him, Danny!

Danny nodded. He quickly ate his food and wiped his mouth before replying. “Yeah, why?”

“Does he seriously just clean up the bay? Nothing else?”

Mildly offended for some reason, Danny shrugged. “I mean yeah? He doesn’t seem to pop up near any of the shady spots- oh, I saw him save someone from a mugging in front of my apartment once! But like, I think all he does is clean the bay. Which is good, because holy heck, that place is nastyyy.”

“Seriously?” Tim leaned in, looking super interested. “So he’s friendly?”

Danny raised a brow. “Yeah, he seemed pretty nice, I guess. Though, that’s not saying much considering your Rogues tend to be pretty chill when they’re not in the middle of a scheme.”

Tim snorted. “True that. You talked to him? When? Outside of his bay cleanings, right? I’ve noticed that he only talks to the Bats during those.”

Danny stared at Tim. “Tim… are you… stalking the guy?”

What Danny really wanted to say was: “Tim, are you stalking me?”

“I’m not stalking him!” At Danny’s suspicious glare, belied by his sauce stained mouth, Tim sighed. “Okay, maybe I am. But only some minor stalking!”

“Uh-huh.”

“But if you have, you think you could introduce us? Maybe he’d want to be friends?”

Was Tim asking Danny to introduce him to… Danny himself?

“Uh. Why do you even want to meet him?”

“Danny, he’s a glowing green guy that does community service for funsies. And he knows the Bats. That’s cool.”

“And here I thought you wouldn’t know cool if it smacked you in the face.” Danny teased. Well, whatever. He might as well do something nice for Tim. “Sure. I’ll text you when he pops up and see if he’s okay with meeting you.”

Tim grinned at him, a piece of cilantro stuck in his teeth. “Thanks!”

——

Danny made a duplicate of himself and went ghost. Danny and his duplicate looked at each other and sighed.

“We’ve done stupider things.”

“But we’re still not telling Jazz.”

“Agreed.”

Danny paused. Did he just make a deal with himself? No, he’s busy.

Doppelgänger Danny went invisible and left the apartment by going through a wall. Danny followed in a sedate pace, the normal way.

Outside, he pretended to catch sight of a suddenly visible Phantom. He’d heard the heartbeats outside his apartment ever since he got home all those days ago, and he’s pretty sure the vigilantes were watching his place ever since. Luckily, he made sure there weren’t any bugs or hidden cameras- Sam beat cautiousness into his head a while ago- before starting the plan.

One of those heartbeats sounded like Tim’s which left some… interesting connotations.

Danny sighed. Who was he kidding? Of course he’d be friends with a vigilante.

“Hey, Phantom!” Danny shouted, waving. Phantom floated over.

“Danny. Hi. Did you need something?”

“Oh, not really. My friend wanted to meet you, he’s a huuuuge fan. Think you’ve got time today?” Danny held up his phone.

Phantom hummed. “I can stay for a bit. Thirty minutes.”

“Okay, I’ll call him. His name is Tim, by the way. Thanks for taking the time to meet him!”

“No problem.”

Danny texted Tim, and minutely frowned as he picked up the sound of Tim’s ringtone. Shit, that pretty much confirmed his suspicions. He got a text back from Tim.

Timsy

[5 nin]

Nin

Nin

Nin

Min

Danny huffed an amused breath. “He’ll be here in five minutes.”

“Alright.”

Danny texted back an okay.

Five minutes later, a flushed and disheveled Tim peeled onto the street and right to the curb.

“Here!” He said as he tumbled out of the car.

“Damn, bro. You good?”

“Fine- oh my god, you’re the green guy!” Danny had to hand it to Tim. If he didn’t already figure out he was Red Robin, Danny would’ve believed the act. Holy shit, wait, he called his friend broke. Hah!

“It’s Phantom. Nice to meet you, Tom.”

A quick sliver of sullenness flashed over Tim’s face. “It- it’s Tim.”

“Oh, right. Sorry, human names sound so similar.” Danny leaned back and hid a grin as his doppelgänger messed with his friend.

“Oh, wow, you’re not human? What are you then?”

“Oh my god, Tim, you can’t just ask him what he is!” Danny scolded. These vigilantes were really similar.

“Sorry…” Tim apologized.

“It’s fine. To answer your question, I’m dead. Ghost.”

“Do you really pay taxes?”

Phantom tilted his head. “Yes, of course.” By the, Danny meant that he paid both human taxes and oversaw the Zone’s taxes. “You know that saying, something about never escaping from two things and that’s taxes and death? You can escape death- might come back a little wrong- but taxes are in the afterlife too.”

“Come back a little wrong?” Tim asked, eyes suddenly sharp.

“Come back a little,” Phantom gestured to himself. “Green. More emotive and prone to irritation.”

Tim stared.

——

“Jason, are you a ghost?” Dick, crouched on the top of Danny’s apartment building whispered.

Red Hood, crouched in the same area, stayed silent.

——

“How did you die?”

Phantom snarled and disappeared.

Tim whirled around, looking bewildered. Behind him, Danny struggled to stay calm.

“Where’d he go?”

“He probably didn’t want to hurt you.” Danny sighed.

“What? What did I do?”

“You asked him how he died. That’s like, the ultimate social taboo.”

“I didn’t know that!”

“It’s common sense, dude. Trauma like that has to be shared instead of asked about. Generally.” Danny sighed. “Come on, let’s get off the street and I’ll give you a crash course in manners.”

——

Bruce, upon hearing about the conversation, dove headfirst into researching the after life.

“No, go suck a goat’s genitals, Batsy, I am not helping you adopt a being of the infinite realms!” Constantine hung up on him.

“Hn.” Bruce will adopt the child and give him a home. It’s only a matter of when… and what inter-dimensional loopholes he could find and use in the relevant laws.

Jason was right behind him, because he was going to get answers, dammit.

[sh4nksslvt]

You Punched a Yonko?

In which the reader, quietly trying to study Poneglyphs in peace, accidentally punches a Yonko and ends up entangled with the flirtatious chaos.

PART 2 OF READER WHO CAN READ PONEGLYPH

red hair pirates x fem!reader ౨ৎ💗 ONE SHOT

main characters: shanks, benn, limejuice, hongo

tags: fluff, sfw, harem, soft

a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only so expect this ffs cringe and oc

words count: 1.4k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

You really weren’t trying to punch a Yonko.

In fact, your goal for the day was to peacefully study a centuries-old Poneglyph hidden beneath a sleepy island temple. Instead, you were now standing in front of a red-haired man grinning at you with blood trickling from his nose, surrounded by his crew, who all looked one second away from drawing their weapons.

“…Okay,” you breathed. “In my defense, you startled me.”

“You punched him in the face,” a blond man in sunglasses said, his voice straddling awe and amusement.

“Yeah, but like—accidentally.”

Shanks wiped his nose with the back of his hand, still smiling like you’d just offered him a drink. “DAHAHAHA strong punch though! You train often?”

“I didn’t know you were behind me! I thought you were a thief trying to steal the stone!” you pointed at the half-buried Poneglyph glowing faintly behind you. “You snuck up on me!”

Benn Beckman gave an exaggerated sigh from where he was puffing on his cigar. “He always does that.”

“You should wear a bell,” Hongo added dryly, as he examined your clenched fists. “You nearly broke his nose.”

“I think I’m in love,” Shanks muttered, still grinning at you like an idiot.

You blinked.

“…What?” You deadpan at him.

Lime Juice snorted. “I told you not to lean in so close when people are muttering to themselves. She was clearly in the zone.”

“I was reading an ancient, world-changing text,” you snapped, still frazzled. “I didn’t expect someone to breathe down my neck!”

“To be fair,” Benn chimed in smoothly, “not many people can actually read those things.”

That made you hesitate. Your breath caught in your chest. Most people only guessed at what the stones meant. And those who could decipher them—like the Ohara scholars—were erased for it.

The crew noticed your shift.

Shanks tilted his head. “Hey… you alright?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You’re being very casual about all this.”

“Well, you punched me.” He rubbed his jaw. “That kinda earns you a place at the table.”

“What table?”

“Our lunch table,” Lime Juice said, gesturing broadly to a blanket on the grass behind the trees. “We were picnicking. Captain wandered off to chase ‘Poneglyph energy.’”

“You tracked me?”

Shanks shrugged. “You glow like a beacon when you read those stones.”

Your jaw dropped. “That’s not—?! That’s not normal!”

“Nope,” Hongo agreed. “Very intriguing.”

“And very pretty,” Shanks added.

You turned on your heel. “I’m leaving.”

“No wait!” Shanks called after you. “Join us for lunch! I promise not to get punched again!”

You paused, hesitating. The idea of eating with the Red-Hair Pirates seemed… suicidal. You’d spent years hiding your ability, keeping a low profile, ducking Marines and bounty hunters alike.

But they didn’t look like they were planning to turn you in.

And the smell of roasted fish was really good.

“…I’m watching all of you,” you muttered, stomping over.

“Great!” Shanks beamed. “You can sit next to me! DAHAHAHA”

“Absolutely not.”

Lunch with the Red-Hair Pirates was insane.

You had to admit: they were nothing like you’d expected.

Shanks, despite being a Yonko, acted more like a chaotic older brother than a fearsome warlord. He kept nudging plates toward you like a golden retriever trying to feed its owner, all while regaling you with stories that involved an alarming number of explosions and nudity.

Benn Beckman, calm and poised, sat at your other side. He didn’t say much, but you noticed how his eyes never left you—watchful, calculating, but not in a threatening way. More like… protective.

“You always travel alone?” he asked quietly.

You nodded. “Easier to hide.”

He hummed. “Doesn’t sound easier to live.”

His words stuck with you longer than you cared to admit.

Lime Juice kept trying to impress you with “tricks,” most of which involved lighting things on fire or juggling knives. When he tried to balance a plate on his head and walk backward up a tree, you genuinely feared for his life.

“I’m very flexible,” he claimed proudly as he slipped and crashed into Shanks’ lap.

“Yeah, flexible like a bag of rocks,” Hongo muttered under his breath, flipping through a medical book beside you. Occasionally, he asked you questions about ancient glyphs and your translation methods, clearly more interested in your brain than your punching skills.

Which, okay, was kind of flattering.

You didn’t know when it happened, but by the end of the meal, you were… laughing.

You were laughing with people you’d met barely an hour ago. People who, by all logic, should’ve either kidnapped you or sold your secret to the highest bidder.

Instead, they argued about who could get you to smile the fastest.

“You like wine?” Benn asked, offering you a rare vintage.

“You like beer?” Shanks grinned, popping open a keg.

“You like really strong mystery juice I made last night?” Lime Juice offered, holding a bubbling bottle that Hongo promptly knocked out of his hands.

“Do you guys always compete like this?” you asked, bewildered.

“Only when it’s worth it,” Shanks winked.

You choked on your drink.

The day slipped by quickly after that.

You showed Hongo how Poneglyphs resonated when you hummed certain tones. He looked at you like you were the eighth wonder of the world and scribbled notes furiously.

You sparred—lightly—with Lime Juice, who was surprisingly nimble when not setting himself on fire.

You chatted with Benn about navigation, philosophy, and—when Shanks wasn’t listening—what kind of wine pairs best with sea-king meat.

And Shanks? Shanks hovered. Endearingly. Annoyingly. Constantly.

“You know, I could protect you,” he offered at one point, lying back on the grass beside you with a grin. “If you joined us. Nobody would ever dare come after you again.”

“Why would I ever trust a Yonko?” you teased, resting your chin on your hand.

Shanks tapped his temple. “Because I’m handsome and charming.”

“Debatable.”

“Because I didn’t press you about your ability.”

You paused.

“…Less debatable.”

He turned his head toward you, more serious this time. “I know what it means. What you can do. I know the world will hunt you for it. And I also know—without a doubt—anyone who tries will have to go through me first.”

You stared at him, heart hammering. “That’s very dramatic.”

“Have you met me?” he grinned.

Before you could reply, Benn’s voice called over, “Captain, stop seducing our guest and help clean up.”

“I am helping,” Shanks called back. “With my charm.”

Benn just groaned and threw a towel at his head.

Night fell.

You sat with Lime Juice and Hongo near the fire while Shanks played a drunken game of darts with a tree (he kept missing) and Benn nursed a glass of something expensive, eyeing his captain like a babysitter on overtime.

Lime Juice offered you his coat when the wind picked up. “You know,” he said, voice quieter now, “you’re kind of amazing.”

You turned. “Me?”

“Yeah. Punching a Yonko. Reading the un-readable. And laughing at my jokes. Triple threat.”

You laughed. “Thanks, I think?”

“Don’t let Shanks hog you too much,” he added. “Some of us want a shot too.”

Hongo hummed behind his book. “I’ll second that.”

You looked between them, blinking. “Wait, what?”

Benn walked over, his cigarette glowing faintly. “They’re not joking.”

Shanks stumbled into the circle, arms wide. “Did I hear flirting?! I object! You’re all banned.”

You stared at the four of them.

“You’re telling me,” you said slowly, “that all of you are flirting with me… at the same time?”

There was a beat.

Then Shanks, Benn, Lime Juice, and Hongo all nodded in sync.

You buried your face in your hands. “This is absurd.”

Shanks grinned. “Absurdly charming.”

“I need a drink,” you muttered.

Benn passed you his glass without a word.

You didn’t leave the next morning.

Or the next.

Or the next after that.

Somewhere between watching Shanks get his foot stuck in a barrel, Lime Juice trying to build you a “romance swing,” Hongo diagnosing him with “chronic dumbassery,” and Benn pulling you aside just to ask how you were holding up, you realized something:

You were happier than you’d been in years.

For the first time, you weren’t hiding.

You weren’t running.

You were laughing. Living. Loved.

And sure, maybe the world still wanted your head.

But you had a Yonko, his second-in-command, a chaotic firecracker, and a broody medic wrapped around your finger.

If the world wanted to come for you?

Let it.

You had your crew now.

[wongyuseokie]

Theories & Heartstrings | k.m.g

Chapter 2: Cuddles and Chaos

Summary: As a writer with a mildly cynical take on love, you’ve always believed people have a “type”—a pattern they never stray from when it comes to dating. And Kim Mingyu? He’s the textbook definition of someone who wouldn’t go for someone like you, nor would you go for him. But you test your theory when a fateful run-in with your charming neighbour sparks an unexpected attraction.

The plan? Go on dates with him and count how many it takes before your heart gets involved—if it ever does. But Mingyu is unpredictable, effortlessly breaking down your carefully constructed walls with every smile, every late-night conversation, every moment that feels too easy to be just an experiment.

The real problem? Secrets never stay secrets for long. And when Mingyu finds out the truth behind your so-called theory, will it prove you right, or that love doesn’t follow the rules you thought it did?

☆ 18+ minors dni |☀︎fluff | ☁︎ angst | ♕smut

Word Count: 16,477 words

Pairings: Neighbor! Mingyu x Journalist! Female Reader

Genre/Trope(s)/AU(s): Neighbours AU! Fake Dating AU! (but only one is fake dating. It’ll make sense when you read it, lol). Non-Idol AU!. 

Content Warnings: There is slight body insecurity—it’s not much, but it’s a smidgen. She just feels insecure after seeing a pretty girl, but there is nothing graphic or too triggering. some jealousy (lies) ALOT of jealousy and petty ass fighting and just alot of drama. Alcohol consumption, food consumption. drama because yn thinks he’s cheating and he’s not she just wont let him explain. very heavy on the miscommunication. LOTS OF DRAMA, BUT YES THE STORY IS FINALLY BREWING HEHEHEH. LOTS OF ANGST AND HURT.

Smut Warnings: shower sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, big dick mingyu because duh. teasing, lots of it, mingyu is just so hot and yn is only human. facesitting because yay. very slight ass play, very slight. lots of sex ig, they're very horny. Author's Note 1: I'd be remiss if I didn't thank the lovely people who helped beta this monster of a story. thank you @lovetaroandtaemin @nebulousbrainsoup @strxwberry-skiess for your patience time and love thank you guys so much!! Author's Note 2: welp here it is guys my last fic, ever, but good news, this is only chapter 2, and the rate at which i keep increasing my word count, it'll be a while before this is all over. Series Masterlist

The following week had flown by, and before you knew it, the evening of the housewarming party had arrived. You found yourself in Mingyu’s kitchen, sleeves rolled up, meticulously pouring in the limes into the jug as while your other hand stirred a jug of freshly made cocktail mix. The sweet and citrusy aroma filled the room, and you couldn’t help but hum to yourself as you mixed the ingredients, tasting it with a little spoon to make sure it was just right.

In the living room, Mingyu was moving furniture around, occasionally stopping to check his phone for the playlist he had put together. You glanced over at him, watching as he adjusted the position of the coffee table for what had to be the third time.

“Gyu, it’s a housewarming, not a photo shoot,” you teased, grinning when he shot you a mock glare.

“It has to look nice,” he replied, half-serious, half-amused. “I can’t have people thinking I live like a caveman. Plus, Seokmin and Cheol will literally roast me if the place doesn’t look good.”

You laughed, wiping your hands on a towel before grabbing the cocktail shaker. “Trust me, no one’s going to notice the coffee table’s angle when they’re tipsy off these drinks. I’m making a batch of margaritas and something fruity for the lightweights.”

Mingyu raised an eyebrow. “Are you calling me a lightweight?”

You smirked. “I’ve seen you after a couple of shots. You’re definitely not the heavyweight you think you are.”

He put a hand over his heart, feigning offense. “That’s a bold claim. I’ll prove you wrong tonight.”

You rolled your eyes affectionately. “Sure, big guy. We’ll see who’s carrying who to bed later.”

Mingyu paused from his rearranging to lean against the doorway, watching you with a soft smile. “You look really cute when you’re bossing me around in my own apartment; you know that?”

You gave him a playful glare. “I’m just making sure this place doesn’t become a disaster zone. Someone has to keep you in check.”

He chuckled, walking over to help you slice the remaining fruit. “I’ll admit, I’m not the best party planner. You make it look easy.”

You shrugged, pouring the freshly mixed cocktail into a large glass dispenser. “It’s all about preparation. If you keep everyone’s glasses full, they’re happy. And if you have good snacks, they’ll never want to leave.”

Mingyu nodded, watching you expertly garnish the glasses with lime wedges and salt rims. “You’re a natural. Maybe you should be in charge of a ll our parties.”

You shot him a look. “You’re just saying that because you don’t want to do any of the work.”

He leaned in closer, his shoulder brushing yours. “Maybe. Or maybe I just like watching you take charge. It’s... pretty hot.”

You bit back a smile, trying to focus on not spilling the drink you were pouring. “Save that energy for later. We’ve got a party to run.”

Mingyu smirked, finally relenting and heading back to finish hanging some lights above the window. You couldn’t help but glance at him as he stretched to hook the string of fairy lights, his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of toned skin. You shook your head, focusing back on the drinks.

After a few more minutes, Mingyu stepped back, admiring his handiwork. “Perfect. This place looks great. You think it’s good?”

You took a step back, surveying the room. The living room looked cozy yet lively, the fairy lights giving a warm glow, and the cocktail station was well-stocked. “It’s perfect. You did good.”

He looked at you, a hint of pride in his eyes. “We did good.”

You grinned, handing him a small glass of the margarita mix. “Taste test?”

He took a sip, eyes widening. “Okay, that’s dangerous. It’s way too good. People will be wasted in no time.”

“That’s the plan,” you joked, taking a small sip yourself and savouring the tangy flavour.

Mingyu took the opportunity to drape an arm over your shoulder, pulling you into his side. “You know, you didn’t have to go all out. But I really appreciate it.”

You leaned into him, your head resting against his chest for a moment. “I just wanted to make it nice. It’s your first party here, and I wanted it to feel special.”

He kissed the top of your head. “It already does. Because you’re here.”

You looked up at him, catching the fondness in his gaze. For a moment, you forgot about the party entirely, lost in the way his eyes softened when they met yours.

After making sure the cocktails were perfectly set up and the living room was finally arranged to Mingyu’s satisfaction, you stretched your arms over your head and glanced at the clock.

“Alright, I should probably go back to my place and shower, get ready,” you said, wiping your hands on the dish towel and giving Mingyu a small smile.

He looked up from where he was fiddling with a Bluetooth speaker, his brows lifting. “You’re not just gonna rock the oversized T-shirt and sweatpants look to the party?”

You snorted. “As tempting as that sounds, I don’t think your friends would appreciate my just-rolled-out-of-bed aesthetic.”

He smirked, eyes trailing over you for a moment longer than necessary. “I dunno, I think it’s pretty cute.”

Your cheeks warmed, but you kept your cool. “I’ll be back in a bit. Don’t burn the place down while I’m gone.”

Mingyu shot you a cheeky salute. “No promises.”

You rolled your eyes and headed out the door, crossing the hall back to your own apartment. Once inside, you let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. Being around Mingyu for too long was like standing too close to a fire — all-consuming and just a little too hot to handle. After grabbing a clean towel and some comfy clothes, you made your way to the bathroom. As the hot water poured down, you couldn’t help but replay moments from earlier. The way Mingyu had looked at you while you were making cocktails, how his touch lingered just a bit longer than usual. You bit your lip to hide the stupid smile spreading across your face.

Once you’d washed away the sweat and stress of the afternoon, you wrapped yourself in a towel and headed back to your bedroom, still combing through your wet hair with your fingers. You opened your closet, glancing through your options and mumbling to yourself.

“Something cute, but not too dressy... not too casual either... ugh.”

You’d barely pulled out a dress to inspect it when a knock sounded at your door. You froze for a second, heart racing. Quickly making sure the towel was secure, you called out. “One sec!”

You tiptoed over, peeking through the peephole to see Mingyu standing on the other side, looking far too relaxed in his own sweats and a plain white T-shirt. You cracked open the door, peering out. “Gyu? What are you doing here?”

He grinned, holding up a plastic bag. “I realized I have no mixers left, so I raided your fridge. Thought I’d be polite and ask first.”

You gave him a look. “You couldn’t just text me?” Mingyu just shrugged. “I wanted to make sure you didn’t fall asleep or something. Plus, you left your phone on my counter.”

You glanced at his hand and sure enough, your phone was right there. You huffed a laugh, reaching out to take it. “Thanks.”

His eyes flicked over you, and you suddenly remembered that you were still just in your towel. You tightened it instinctively, a little heat creeping up your neck. Mingyu didn’t seem to notice your discomfort — or if he did, he was doing a great job of hiding it.

He cleared his throat. “You, uh, smell good.”

You couldn’t help but smirk. “Shampoo. You should try it sometime.”

He narrowed his eyes playfully. “Rude. I smell great.”

You leaned against the doorframe, raising an eyebrow. “Debatable.”

Mingyu gave you that lopsided grin you’d come to love. “Anyway, I’ll get out of your hair. Just wanted to let you know about the mixer situation. Also... you need help picking an outfit?”

You hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. “Sure. Might as well get a second opinion.”

He perked up instantly, stepping inside without hesitation. You led him to your room, keeping a grip on your robe just in case. You motioned to the dress hanging on your closet door. “What do you think of this one?”

Mingyu eyed it thoughtfully, then shook his head. “Too fancy. You’d look amazing, but it’s a bit much for a house party.”

“It’s not formal,” he said as he crossed to your closet. “Just wear whatever makes you feel hot.”

“I want to look good,” you replied, brushing past him to rifle through your wardrobe.

“You always look good,” he muttered, eyes following the sway of your robe.

You didn’t notice his stare until you let the robe drop from your shoulders and reached for your bra.

Mingyu froze. “Fuck.”

You jumped slightly, realising a second too late that you were now standing completely bare in front of him.

“Sorry—I forgot I was only wearing this.”

Mingyu stood behind you, voice low. “Let me help.”

You swallowed thickly, nodding.

He moved with precision, sliding your panties up your legs, guiding them gently into place. You were keenly aware of every brush of his fingers against your skin. When he reached for the dress, you muttered. “I need a bra.”

“No, you don’t,” he said without missing a beat, his hands moving up to your chest, thumbs brushing gently across your nipples.

“Right now, I definitely don’t.”

He helped you into the dress, tugging the fabric into place and smoothing it over your hips.

“Perfect,” he said, voice husky.

You turned to face him, narrowing your eyes. “You’re such a horndog.”

“You’re just so fucking irresistible,” he murmured, pushing you down gently onto the bed. ~~ A half hour later, after some very distracting ‘help’ with your outfit, you were at Mingyu’s apartment, helping set up the drink table and food.

“Y/N,” Seokmin greeted with a warm grin. “You look amazing.”

“She does,” Mingyu said proudly. “I helped her get dressed.”

You gave him a warning glare.

Seokmin smirked. “I’m surprised you didn’t just try to get her out of it.”

You turned hid shyly behind Mingyu, who, bless him, actually looked sheepish.

“Hey, did you hear? Mia’s coming later. She just texted me.” Seokmin added. 

Mingyu raised a brow, pausing mid-step. “Really? She’s back in town?”

Seokmin nodded, barely containing his excitement. “Yeah, she’s visiting for a few weeks. Said she’ll swing by tonight if she finishes up early.”

Mingyu chuckled, shaking his head. “Of course she would. It’s been ages since she’s hung out with everyone.”

You tried to keep your expression neutral, but the name “Mia” stirred something bitter in your stomach. You glanced at Mingyu, trying to gauge his reaction, but he just seemed relaxed and happy about the news.

“Oh, right. Mia.” You forced a smile, taking another sip of your cocktail. “She’s... a friend of yours?”

Mingyu nodded, still grinning. “Yeah, we go way back. She’s pretty tight with the guys, too. Used to hang out all the time before she moved.”

You hummed noncommittally, trying not to show how that made you feel. The rational part of your brain knew that Mia was just a friend, but the way Seokmin seemed thrilled and Mingyu didn’t look the least bit uneasy was enough to twist something sharp in your chest.

“Man, Mingyu, remember that one time Mia convinced you to sing at that karaoke bar? Absolute disaster.” Seokmin burst into laughter, and Mingyu rolled his eyes with a smile.

“She was the one who picked a ballad for me. She set me up for failure,” Mingyu grumbled, though there was no real annoyance in his voice.

You couldn’t help but chime in, voice a little colder than you intended. “Sounds like you two were close.”

Mingyu glanced at you, noting the tightness in your tone, but Seokmin just kept laughing. “Oh, they were! Mia and Mingyu were basically inseparable at one point. He had such a crush on her, would look at her with heart eyes.”

You raised an eyebrow, the words sticking to you like burrs. You wanted to ask more, but you couldn’t bring yourself to sound interested. Instead, you took another long sip of your drink, pretending to focus on the music rather than the irritation bubbling up inside you.

Seokmin seemed oblivious to your change in mood, but Mingyu wasn’t. He nudged you lightly with his shoulder. “You okay?”

You plastered on a smile. “Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

His eyes narrowed slightly, clearly not buying it. “You sure?”

You shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. “It’s just... interesting, that’s all. Didn’t realize you had such... close friends around here.”

Mingyu blinked, clearly confused by your shift in demeanor. “Well, yeah. I mean, Mia’s been part of the group for a long time. It’s not a big deal.”

“Right,” you replied, forcing a bright smile. “Not a big deal.”

Mingyu gave you a slightly exasperated look, like he knew you were holding something back but didn’t want to push. “You’re acting weird.”

“Am not,” you said, trying to sound breezy but probably failing miserably. “I just didn’t realize you had karaoke buddies. Next time, you’ll have to take me.”

Seokmin snorted. “Oh, trust me, you don’t want that. Mingyu’s voice could probably clear a room.”

Mingyu shot him a glare. “You’re one to talk, Seok.”

But you were too wrapped up in your own thoughts to laugh. Suddenly, the idea of Mia just waltzing in, sharing inside jokes and old stories, made your skin itch. You hated how petty you felt. You knew logically that Mia was probably just a friend, but the casual way Mingyu talked about her like she was some great part of his past grated on your nerves.

You didn’t want to look jealous. You didn’t want to act childish. But the frustration kept prickling under your skin, making you more and more irritable. When Mingyu reached out to brush his hand over yours, you pulled away, pretending to adjust your shirt.

Mingyu’s smile faltered. “Okay...”

You cleared your throat, glancing at Seokmin, who was still happily oblivious. “I should go check on the snacks. Make sure we’re not running out.”

Without waiting for a response, you hurried off to the kitchen, your heart pounding. You knew it was silly, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe you weren’t quite as special to Mingyu as you thought.

Back in the living room, Mingyu frowned, watching you leave. Seokmin nudged him, completely missing the tension. “You good, man?”

Mingyu sighed, eyes still on the kitchen doorway. “Yeah... I just don’t get it. One minute she’s fine, the next she’s acting like I did something wrong.”

Seokmin gave a low chuckle. “She’s jealous, you idiot.”

Mingyu’s eyes widened. “Jealous? Of Mia?”

Seokmin nodded sagely, patting his friend’s shoulder. “Oh, definitely. And you’re too dumb to notice.”

Mingyu opened his mouth to protest, but then realization dawned on his face, and he couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto his lips. “She’s jealous...”

Seokmin smirked. “Yeah, and if you want to keep your head intact, maybe go check on her before she decides to break one of your precious cocktail glasses.”

Mingyu didn’t need telling twice. He got up and made his way to the kitchen, determined to figure out exactly what was going on in your head.

You were elbow-deep in a bowl of popcorn when you heard footsteps approach from behind. You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was—Mingyu’s quiet but certain walk was becoming something you could recognise even over the hum of your own sulky thoughts.

He leaned against the fridge, arms crossed, watching you in silence for a beat. You didn’t look up.

“Hey.” His voice was low, almost hesitant.

You kept your eyes trained on the bowl as you stirred. “Hey.”

“Are we gonna talk about whatever that was?” Mingyu asked, voice laced with more confusion than annoyance.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and gave a half-hearted shrug. “It’s nothing.”

“It didn’t look like nothing,” he replied, stepping closer. “You kind of acted like I told you I still loved my ex or something.”

You dropped the popcorn scoop with a clatter,

Before the words could escalate into something sharp, the kitchen door creaked open, and in walked Joshua with a slice of pizza and a poorly timed smile. “Oh, hey. Didn’t mean to interrupt the brooding.”

You didn’t say anything. Mingyu gave a tired smile, barely there.

Joshua bit into his pizza. “So, uh… you two aren’t fighting about the Wonwoo thing, are you?”

The silence after that was deafening.

You blinked slowly. Mingyu’s eyes didn’t leave you. “What thing?”

Joshua’s mouth froze mid-chew. “Wait. You didn’t know?”

“Joshua,” you warned.

Mingyu’s voice was quiet. “What thing?”

Joshua grimaced. “I thought she told you. It was just… a kiss. One kiss. Before you two—” He waved the pizza vaguely.

“Joshua,” you snapped again.

“I’m just gonna… go,” Joshua said, already backing out the door. “You guys got this.”

The door clicked shut.

You turned to Mingyu slowly. “I was going to tell you.”

His brow furrowed. “And yet… you didn’t.”

“I didn’t want it to ruin things.”

“You think that’s how trust works?” He asked, his voice even. Too even. “You just edit the truth when it’s inconvenient?”

“I didn’t mean to hide it,” you said, stepping forward slightly. “I was scared.”

“Of what? Me?” Mingyu let out a low laugh, shaking his head. “I’ve been nothing but honest with you. And you keep giving me the edited version of everything.”

“It was just a kiss.”

“It was a lie of omission,” he said. “Which sucks worse.”

You didn’t respond. There was nothing to say that wouldn’t sound like an excuse.

Mingyu rubbed the back of his neck. “I need to cool off.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

He lingered for a second, looking like he wanted to say more. But then he just turned and walked back toward the living room, slipping seamlessly into the laughter and noise of the party like nothing happened.

You stayed in the kitchen, hands braced on the counter, trying to steady your breathing.

No crying. Not here. Not now.

After a few minutes, you straightened up, smoothed your dress, and followed the hum of music back into the party.

The music had shifted to something warmer, deeper—bass-heavy and slow, perfect for the cozy, slightly overcrowded atmosphere of the living room. Fairy lights strung above cast soft amber glows, and bodies moved through the space with ease, cups in hand, voices rising in laughter and inside jokes. You were leaning against the arm of the couch, watching the party unfold with a drink balanced delicately in your hand, half-smiling at Seokmin's loud declaration that he was the “unofficial DJ of vibes.” Mingyu was across the room, perched on the arm of a chair, laughing with someone you didn't know—his expression open, relaxed, like the kitchen conversation hadn’t happened at all. Like he hadn’t looked at you two hours ago like he wanted to scream.

You were still reeling, replaying the way he’d pulled away from you when Joshua dropped that half-truth bomb in the kitchen. The way his face had shifted, gone taut with a kind of disappointment you didn’t know how to soothe. He hadn’t said much after. Just, “I need to go back out there,” before brushing past you, leaving you holding a bowl of popcorn like it had offended him personally.

You'd rejoined the party five minutes later, after touching up your makeup and trying to will your breathing back into something calm. Now, you nursed your cocktail and kept one eye on Mingyu as he drifted from conversation to conversation.

Then the front door swung open.

“Mia!” Seungcheol called from somewhere near the stereo, his voice rising with familiarity and welcome.

Your stomach tightened before you even saw her.

Mia stepped into the apartment like she belonged there, hair tucked perfectly behind one ear, wearing a burgundy two-piece that fit her like sin. She laughed as she kicked off her shoes, her eyes scanning the room until they landed on Mingyu.

And he lit up.

His smile reached all the way to his eyes, soft and immediate. She crossed the room with purpose, and before you could blink, her arms were around his neck.

It wasn’t a polite hug. It wasn’t a “hey, long time” side hug. It was full-bodied, both arms thrown around him as she pressed her cheek to his shoulder. Mingyu hugged her back just as tightly, one hand curling behind her head, fingers slipping into her hair with practised ease.

You didn’t realise you’d stopped breathing until Seokmin’s voice startled you. “You okay?”

You blinked and nodded too quickly. “Yeah, totally. Just—want a refill.”

“You haven’t finished that one.”

“Then make it stronger,” you said, shoving your cup toward him.

Seokmin raised an eyebrow but took it. “Okay, but I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just sound like you walked out of a rom-com’s dramatic midpoint.”

You didn’t answer. You were too busy watching Mingyu and Mia finally pull apart, only for her to say something that made him laugh—a real laugh, the kind he used to make at your dumb jokes, when things were easier and fewer secrets lived between your ribs.

Then she leaned in and whispered something in his ear.

And he didn’t flinch. He just grinned and nodded.

You looked away, forcing a tight smile as Seokmin handed you back your cup.

“Trouble in paradise?” He asked, trying to keep it light.

You didn’t take the bait. “Do you think Mia always looks like that on purpose, or is it just genetic cruelty?”

He blinked. “Wow. Okay. That’s the gin talking.”

“No, that’s me. The gin just amplifies it.” You took a long sip. “Cheers to that.”

Seokmin gave you a look, like he wanted to ask more, but someone called him over to the speakers, and he gave you a mock salute before turning away.

You glanced back toward Mingyu. He was still talking to Mia, though his eyes flicked to you for a brief second.

And you didn’t smile.

You turned on your heel, heading for the kitchen again—not because you needed anything, but because you couldn’t stand the way your chest ached when he looked like he belonged to someone else.

Or worse—like maybe he did. ~~ You didn’t move right away.

The muffled bass from the living room thrummed through the floor. Laughter and glasses clinking together floated just beneath it. The hum of the party was still alive, unaware that something in you had started to dim.

Still, you couldn’t hide in the kitchen forever.

You smoothed down your top, pressed your fingertips against your cheeks to chase away the warmth, and grabbed a drink that wasn’t yours but felt earned all the same. Steeling your nerves, you walked back into the crowd.

It didn’t take long to spot him.

Mingyu was leaning against the back of the couch, drink in hand, smiling politely while nodding along to something Mia was saying. She looked even prettier up close — black heels, glossy hair, a red lip that said I’m effortlessly bold and know it. His head tipped slightly when she laughed.

Your stomach twisted.

Then he looked up.

And saw you.

There was a beat — a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes — before he set his glass down and motioned you over. You hesitated for a second too long, and he seemed to register it. Still, he crossed the space between you with ease.

“Hey,” he said, voice low. “You okay?”

You nodded, pasting on a soft smile. “Fine.”

“Good.” He reached for your hand — the smallest gesture — and laced his fingers with yours before leading you back across the room. “Come meet Mia properly.”

You swallowed, your steps a little too careful as you followed him. He brought you to her like he was presenting something special, and the way he held onto your hand didn’t go unnoticed.

“Mia, this is Y/N,” he said, voice lighter now. “My... neighbour.”

You blinked. Not friend. Not girl I’ve been having sex and confusing and half-falling for. Just neighbour.

You stretched a smile across your face anyway. “Hi.”

Mia returned it with a polite one of her own, eyes flicking from you to Mingyu’s hand wrapped around yours. “Oh, the girl with the bonsai.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Word travels fast.”

Mingyu coughed. “She may or may not have almost knocked me out with it.”

“I thought it was your nose she almost broke?” Mia added helpfully. “He mentioned it.”

You fought the urge to glare.

“Well,” Mia said, her smile widening a little, “it’s nice to finally meet you. I was starting to think you were a myth.”

You tilted your head. “Nope, all real.”

Mia let out a soft laugh and sipped her drink. “Touché.”

The three of you stood there for a moment, the silence awkward and polite and loaded.

You took a long sip of your drink after Mia drifted off to speak with someone else, your eyes trailing Mingyu across the room. He was back by the speakers now, joking with Seokmin and refilling his glass. You forced yourself to look away and joined a small group by the coffee table, feigning ease even though your shoulders hadn’t dropped since the moment Mingyu introduced you as his neighbor.

More people had arrived since you stepped away — the apartment was buzzing now, with drinks in hand and snacks being passed around. Joshua was animatedly telling a story in the corner, Wonwoo had somehow found his way to the balcony with a group of indie music lovers, and Seokmin was weaving through the crowd with a mischievous gleam in his eye.

He hopped onto the armrest of the couch and clapped his hands together.

“Alright, folks,” Seokmin grinned, drink raised like a toast. “We’ve reached that point in the night. Time for a little organized chaos.”

Groans and cheers rose around the room.

“No, no — none of that,” he laughed. “We’re playing a classic. ‘Never Have I Ever.’ Drinks up, voices loud, and shame on full display.”

“I hate you,” Seungcheol said, already sinking into the beanbag chair with a resigned sigh.

Seokmin ignored him. “Circle up! Gyu, Mia, you’re not escaping either. C’mon.”

You hesitated for a beat, but found yourself being pulled by Joshua toward the quickly forming circle in the living room. Mingyu caught your eye across the room. His mouth curved into a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes again.

He sat down beside Mia.

You took a spot beside Joshua.

“Alright, alright,” Seokmin said, once everyone was gathered. “House rules apply — if you have done the thing, you take a sip. If you haven’t, you survive with your dignity. Sound good?”

“Define dignity,” someone muttered, already laughing.

Mingyu took a long sip of his drink before glancing at Mia. She nudged him playfully with her shoulder.

“Fine,” Seokmin said dramatically. “I’ll start. Never have I ever… stolen someone’s underwear after a hook-up.”

A chorus of laughter broke out, along with a few gasps. Mingyu actually choked on his drink.

Joshua groaned. “Seokmin, for god’s sake.”

A few people hesitantly drank. You raised an eyebrow at Wonwoo, who kept his glass suspiciously still.

The game rolled on — the questions got bolder, the drinks stronger, the laughter louder. Then Seungcheol, already grinning like a man on a mission, leaned back in his seat.

“Okay,” he said, lifting his glass and fixing a smug look on Mingyu. “Never have I ever… written poetry for someone I had an unrequited crush on.”

A few oohs rippled around the group.

Mingyu narrowed his eyes. “Fuck off.”

Seungcheol just grinned wider. “Gyu wrote Mia sonnets, back in sophomore year. Literal. Sonnets.”

“I did not,” Mingyu groaned.

“You so did,” Mia said, laughing as she took a sip. “One was about my eyes. And my hair. And I think my ankle?”

“Your boots!” Seungcheol snapped his fingers. “It was definitely about the boots.”

You stared at your glass.

The group erupted into laughter. Mingyu smiled sheepishly and took a drink, his cheeks slightly pink — whether from the alcohol or the attention, you couldn’t tell.

You weren’t sure if you should laugh along or disappear entirely.

The bottle of soju in the center of the coffee table had been emptied, replaced, and emptied again. Someone had switched playlists, so now lo-fi R&B hummed softly in the background as Seokmin stood in front of the TV, theatrically announcing the next round of Never Have I Ever.

“Okay, okay!” He grinned, slightly flushed from drink and laughter. “Never have I ever... hooked up with a roommate.”

Half the room burst out laughing. Someone groaned and took a sip, followed by Mia with an unapologetic smirk.

“Guilty,” she said with a shrug, nudging Seungcheol beside her. “Freshman year. We don’t talk about it.”

“Oh, we talk about it,” Seungcheol grinned. “It was chaos. She almost broke his desk chair.” You forced a smile, reaching for your drink and taking the tiniest sip just to avoid standing out. Mingyu didn’t drink on that one. You didn’t either. Still, your eyes flicked to him.

He was already looking at Mia, lips twitching in amusement.

Joshua leaned into your side, voice low. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you lied smoothly, setting your drink down and clasping your hands together.

He didn’t believe you. You knew that. But he just nodded.

Seokmin raised a hand to quiet the giggles. “Okay, okay, next one’s mine again—because I’m hilarious. Never have I ever... been lovesick over a best friend.”

“Dude,” Mingyu groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

Mia snorted. “Seriously?”

“Oh come on,” Seokmin said, practically gleaming. “Tell me that wasn’t Gyu during second year. We had to stage an intervention when he started writing shitty guitar songs.”

“Excuse me,” Mingyu said, pointing at him with mock offense. “They were sincere guitar songs.”

“Yeah, sincere trash,” Seungcheol chimed in, laughing. “You used to mope outside Mia’s studio like a dog in the rain.”

Your heart thudded unevenly.

“She had a boyfriend,” Mingyu shot back, laughing even as his ears turned red.

“You were still so in love with her,” Seokmin teased. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

Mingyu didn’t say anything. He just rubbed the back of his neck, grinning, and took a long sip of his drink.

You blinked at the rim of your cup.

That’s fine. Of course he had history. Everyone did. It didn’t mean anything.

Except it did.

The way Mia smiled at him — fond, a little smug — and how comfortable she looked next to him, curled into the couch like she'd done it a hundred times. Like she'd never had to earn her spot there.

Your throat tightened.

“Y/N?” Someone called, snapping you out of it.

“Huh?”

“It’s your turn,” Seokmin said.

“Oh.” You blinked. “Right.”

Your fingers curled around your cup.

Don’t be obvious. Don’t be petty. Don’t make it worse.

You offered a bright smile. “Never have I ever... been serenaded in public.”

A few people groaned. Seokmin drank. Joshua drank. So did Seungcheol.

Mingyu didn't. “Not even once?” You asked, your tone light.

Mingyu shrugged, leaning back against the couch. “Nope. Not my thing.”

Mia tilted her head. “You almost did it for me once.”

“Keyword being almost,” he said, flashing her a small grin.

Something cold and sharp settled in your chest.

You laughed again — a little too high, too quick — and took a big sip of your drink just for something to do.

Joshua leaned closer. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m good,” you replied, your voice bright and brittle.

“Because you’re doing the thing.”

“What thing?”

He gave you a look. “The thing where you pretend you’re having fun but your fingers are clenched so hard you’re about to snap the glass.”

You blinked down at your cup.

“Oh,” you said, loosening your grip. “Didn’t realize.”

Joshua sighed and draped an arm over the back of the couch behind you. Protective. Anchoring.

“Gyu,” he called casually, “can you pass the bottle?”

Mingyu did — eyes flicking to you for half a second before you looked away — and conversation resumed around the circle.

But the ache in your chest stayed.

And even though you kept smiling, kept playing, kept sipping your drink...

You couldn’t help but notice that Mingyu never once looked your way again during the game.

“Alright, alright,” Seungcheol said with a mischievous grin, slouched sideways in the beanbag, already halfway into his next drink. “Here’s one for the romantics. Never have I ever started falling for someone and totally denied it to everyone around me, even though it was obvious as hell.”

The room broke into oohs and laughter.

“Oof, Cheol’s feeling messy tonight,” Seokmin said, raising his eyebrows.

“God, that’s specific,” someone added.

Joshua chuckled and reached for his drink with a murmur of “we’ve all been there.” A few others followed suit.

But your eyes went straight to Mingyu.

He didn’t reach for his glass. He just froze.

His hand hovered near the bottle, indecisive.

It wasn’t just you who noticed.

“Gyu,” Seungcheol said, voice full of amusement. “C’mon, you’re not drinking? We all had front row seats, dude.”

There was a ripple of chuckles.

You felt the air still. Your pulse fluttered in your throat.

Mingyu’s lips twitched — not in amusement, but like he was chewing something back.

“Maybe I just don’t want to play along,” he said evenly, setting his drink down instead.

The teasing shifted quickly into silence.

And for a moment, all you could hear was the hum of the music and the fizz of a nearby seltzer can being cracked open.

You forced out a light laugh. “Okay, this just got intense. Time-out. I’m getting snacks.”

You stood a little too fast.

“Need help?” Joshua asked quietly.

You shook your head, smiling. “All good. I just need to… stretch my legs.”

You slipped into the kitchen, your hand curling tighter around your glass with each step. The second you were out of view, you leaned against the counter, taking a breath.

That was stupid. You weren’t supposed to care, not like this, it was still too soon.

You weren’t supposed to react.

But hearing it phrased that way — having it exposed like some public game clue for everyone to dissect — had felt like someone reaching inside your chest and yanking something raw to the surface.

You busied your hands with a snack bowl. Pretzels. Chips. Something crunchy and loud enough to mask how unsettled you felt.

Behind you, you didn’t hear footsteps.

But you still knew he was there.

Mingyu’s voice was quiet when he spoke.

“You didn’t have to leave.”

You didn’t turn around.

“I needed a break,” you said, gently tipping pretzels into a bowl. “Thought the snacks were looking lonely.”

“Y/N…”

You sighed and looked over your shoulder. “It’s fine, Mingyu.”

His brows pulled together, the crease between them deeper than before. “It’s clearly not.”

You shrugged and turned back to the cabinet.

“I’m not mad,” you said softly. “I’m just… tired of feeling like the punchline.”

He hesitated, hands curling at his sides. “You’re not.”

You gave a hollow laugh and finally turned to face him. “Aren’t I? Because it kind of feels like that’s the bit I’m playing in this group. The clueless one. The girl you’re maybe into when it’s convenient.”

Mingyu’s jaw clenched. “That’s not fair.”

“Neither is the fact that Seungcheol talks about you being in love with Mia, and you just… sit there and let it land like it means nothing.”

“I didn’t ask him to say that,” Mingyu shot back.

“But you didn’t correct him either.”

There was a silence. Tight. Frayed at the edges.

You softened just enough to look at him clearly. “I know we haven’t figured us out yet. And I’m trying to be okay with that. I really am. But sometimes I feel like I’m on the outside of something I’m supposed to be part of.”

Mingyu looked like he wanted to say something — maybe reach for you, maybe apologize.

But instead, he just nodded.

And you turned away again, just munching on the pretzels. 

~~

You lingered in the kitchen for ten full minutes — ten long, dragging minutes of quietly crunching chips, sipping a flat drink, and trying to calm the thrum beneath your ribs.

Eventually, with a deep breath and a plastered-on smile, you picked up your glass and slipped back out.

The living room had only gotten louder.

Someone had turned the music up, bodies now shifting to the beat while others hovered around the island with their half-filled cups. The drinking game had dissolved into a mix of laughter and scattered stories. You scanned the room for a familiar anchor — Joshua. Maybe he’d be ready to head out with you.

You spotted him near the hallway, surrounded by three people who were talking animatedly, hands flying with every sentence. Joshua was grinning wide, nodding along, clearly invested. You thought about cutting in — but the words caught somewhere in your throat.

He looked happy.

And you didn’t want to ruin that.

So you turned away, gaze sweeping the room once more.

And then you saw them.

Wonwoo.

And Mia.

Out on the balcony.

You hadn’t even noticed the sliding door open. The light from inside spilled faintly onto the patio, casting just enough glow to make out their silhouettes. Both had drinks in hand — hers a wine glass, his something darker in a tumbler. They were standing close, too close. She was laughing at something he’d said, one hand reaching out to lightly smack his arm. He smirked in response, leaning in to murmur something else.

Your stomach dropped.

You shouldn’t care. Not really.

But the sight made something tighten sharply in your chest.

The memory of that one kiss you and Wonwoo had shared flickered across your mind like static — stupid, harmless, forgettable. That’s what you’d both said. That’s how you’d justified it.

But it didn’t feel so harmless now.

Especially not when he was standing out there laughing with the same girl who had already been a minefield in your night.

You shifted back half a step, heart thudding in your ears.

You didn’t know what you felt. Jealousy? Guilt? Resentment? All of it layered over itself until it buzzed under your skin.

You turned quickly, almost bumping into someone as you ducked away toward the hallway.

Maybe fresh air.

Or maybe your coat.

You needed out — even if just for a few minutes.

You turned the corner in the hallway, heart set on grabbing your coat and slipping out before anyone noticed. But just as you reached the entryway, you stopped short.

Mingyu was there, leaning against the wall with a half-empty drink in his hand. His eyes flicked up the second he saw you. His expression was unreadable — but his jaw was tight.

“Leaving?” He asked coolly.

You hesitated. “Just getting some air.”

“Right.” He took a slow sip from his cup. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

You frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Mingyu gave a half-laugh, dry and low. “It means every time things get even a little bit uncomfortable, you vanish. Kitchen. Couch. Front door. Doesn’t really matter, does it?”

“I’m not vanishing,” you shot back. “I just—I needed a break.”

“From what? A party?” He said sharply. “From people asking questions or making jokes? You think I wasn’t uncomfortable when Seungcheol decided to talk about Mia like we were some old married couple?”

You blinked at him. “That’s not what this is about.”

Mingyu stepped forward. “Isn’t it?”

The hallway suddenly felt much narrower.

“You keep acting like I’m the one who’s keeping things from you,” he said, voice low but simmering. “Like I’m the one still playing games. But you know what? You hid the fact you kissed Wonwoo from me.”

Your breath caught.

Mingyu shook his head, eyes dark. “You say you want something real, and then the second things feel hard or messy, you bolt. You run, Y/N. Every time.”

You flinched. That hit too close.

“I’m not running,” you whispered.

He raised a brow. “Aren’t you?”

Silence. Thick and heavy.

You looked away, pressing your lips together as you struggled to push down the swirl in your chest.

“I just need a minute,” you finally muttered, reaching for the doorknob.

Mingyu didn’t stop you. He just watched, his knuckles whitening around his glass, and said quietly,

“Of course you do.”

And then he turned back toward the living room.

Leaving you standing alone in the hallway — your coat in one hand, and your heart doing laps in your chest.

~~ It wasn’t until you were halfway down the block that the weight of your choice hit. You had no destination, no real plan — just anger and bitterness and a vague urge to walk it out. Your phone was in your pocket, but you didn’t want to use it. You didn’t want to call anyone. You just… needed to be alone.

Except, the further you walked, the more lost you became.

Every rustle, every crack of twigs made you twitch. You kept moving, kept walking faster, willing yourself not to break down. Eventually, miraculously, you spotted a familiar street name, which gave you just enough hope to return to your building.

You exhaled sharply when the elevator doors closed behind you. Safe. ~~ You reached your door and slid your keys out of your purse, hand halfway to the lock—when a voice stopped you cold.

“Y/N.”

Your fingers paused mid-turn.

Mingyu was standing in front of his own apartment, hoodie half-zipped, hands in his pockets, his eyes already on you. His hair was slightly tousled like he’d just run a hand through it too many times.

You gave a tired smile, trying to defuse the awkwardness lingering between you both. “Hey.”

But Mingyu didn’t smile back. “You might not want to go in right now.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I mean it,” he said quietly. “Just… wait a bit.”

You frowned, still gripping your keys. “Mingyu, I live here.”

“I know,” he said, gaze heavy. “But Wonwoo and Mia… they came back.”

Your heart stuttered. You let out a breathy laugh, trying to play it cool. “So? They’re friends, right?”

Mingyu tilted his head, the edge of frustration flickering in his expression. “Friends don’t usually come back from a party like that. And definitely not when he comes knocking on my door five minutes later asking for a condom.”

The words hit you like a gut punch.

You froze.

“I’m not trying to be cruel,” Mingyu added after a beat. “I just figured you’d rather hear it from me than… find out when you walked in.”

You let out a small, humorless laugh and leaned back against your door, suddenly feeling like the floor had shifted beneath you.

“Thanks for the heads-up,” you said, voice thin.

Mingyu nodded, eyes softening. “I wasn’t trying to rub it in. I just—didn’t want you to walk in and feel blindsided.”

You took a seat on the floor, back against your door, arms hugged around your knees like they were the only thing holding you together. The hallway was quiet, save for the faint muffled bass still pulsing from someone’s party playlist. You blinked slowly, trying not to think about anything. Especially not about what was happening behind that door.

Mingyu shifted from where he was standing. “Hey…” he said softly, crouching down in front of you.

You looked up, eyes heavy.

“Come inside.”

You blinked. “Gyu…”

“No,” he cut you off gently, voice low. “No expectations, no talking if you don’t want to. I just… You’re freezing.” His brows knit together. “At least let me make you tea. Or take a hot shower, or… hell, just sit on my couch wrapped in a blanket until you don’t feel like the world’s kicked you in the teeth.”

You stared at him for a long beat, and when you didn’t respond, he added—

“You can even crash in my bed. I’ll take the couch, seriously. You shouldn’t be alone tonight.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words didn’t come. You were too tired to argue, too wrung out to pretend. And the quiet sincerity in his face—no teasing, no passive digs—just soft concern and that familiar, maddeningly warm steadiness—it unraveled whatever was left of your resistance.

“…Okay.”

He nodded once, slow and quiet, like he was making a promise not to ask for more.

Mingyu stood and reached out a hand.

You took it.

And when he gently pulled you to your feet and guided you across the hall into the soft, familiar glow of his apartment, you exhaled your first real breath in hours.

~~

His apartment was warm, too clean — clearly a sign of restlessness that he felt, and in order to quell it, he decided to clean up after the party ended.

“Go shower, you can take any one of my shirts in my room.” 

You nodded and made your way to his bedroom, hands still shaking from the cold and the spiral in your head.

You stood by the bathroom doorway, fingers fidgeting with the hem of Mingyu’s oversized hoodie. You weren’t sure why your chest still felt tight, why the ache hadn’t eased yet—maybe because you still hadn’t said anything. Or maybe because you were waiting for him to.

Mingyu was folding a blanket over the couch when he paused, then glanced over his shoulder.

“Hey,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Before you go in…”

You looked up.

“I wanted to clear something up. About… Mia.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone.

“She and I never… We weren’t a thing,” he said, straightening up and rubbing the back of his neck. “I had a stupid crush on her during our first year at uni. Thought she was cool. Pretty. Funny. I followed her around like a lovesick idiot for a bit.”

You gave a tiny nod, waiting.

“But that thing Seungcheol said? About the desk?” He winced. “That wasn’t me and her. It was Seokmin and his ex. In the shared flat. I was literally in the next room, trying not to vomit from the noise.”

You couldn’t help the small, awkward laugh that escaped.

Mingyu smiled faintly, then looked down at his hands. “I just… I know tonight made you feel small. And that’s on me too. I should’ve shut that conversation down. I should’ve said something instead of letting you sit there feeling like a joke.”

You opened your mouth, but he beat you to it.

“And I shouldn’t have lost it earlier about Wonwoo. It caught me off guard, but you didn’t deserve that.”

“No,” you said quickly, stepping closer, heart thudding. “You were right to be upset. I should’ve told you. I was just… scared. It was before anything with us even started but I still felt stupid, and messy, and—”

“Hey.” He stepped forward gently, and before you could spiral further, he cupped your face in both hands.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said softly, thumbs brushing the edge of your jaw. “You don’t have to say everything perfectly all the time. You just have to tell me when something matters.”

Your breath caught.

He leaned in, not for your lips, but for your forehead—pressing a kiss there so soft it made your eyes sting.

When he pulled back, he gave you the smallest smile. “Go shower, okay? Take your time.”

You nodded, heart a little lighter.

It had been a half hour, and you were in the bathroom, not yet showered, simply looking at your appearance and wondering what Mia had that you didn’t. She got Mingyu’s attention once, and now Wonwoo, and you just looked at the mirror wondering what you lacked.

The bathroom mirror was cruel.

You stood there, picking yourself apart — everything you weren’t, everything she was.

“Y/N?” Mingyu called out now worried because you had been gone for so long. 

You didn’t respond.

Mingyu stepped in slowly, a towel in hand. “Hey. Stop that.”

“I just… wanted to see what I was missing.”

He sighed and gently helped you onto the counter, wetting the towel and wiping your face with steady hands.

“She’s pretty.”

“Stop. Do not tear yourself apart.”

“She has a great body.”

“Y/N look at me.”

You blinked at him.

“Can you shower? Or do you need help?”

“I don’t know. She got your attention and his, what does she have that I don’t?”

“Don’t do this, don’t tear yourself apart.”

You leaned into him. “Don’t pity me.”

“I’m not.”

His hands moved to your waist, slow, deliberate. “Nothing about this is pity.”

And then, he kissed you — soft, grounding, nothing like the others.

“I’m going to ask you again,” Mingyu murmured as he brushed his fingers gently against your jaw. “Can you manage to shower on your own, or do you need me to help you?”

You hesitated for a moment, then quietly pressed yourself into his chest. “I need you.”

Mingyu nodded wordlessly and began to strip, his eyes never leaving yours. “You know,” he said softly, “you are so fucking beautiful.” You looked down, unsure of how to respond. Mingyu stepped forward, tilting your chin up. “And I’m going to make sure you remember that.”

He guided you into the shower, and the minute the warm water hit your skin, you sighed. It was like the tension had been waiting to melt off your shoulders. Mingyu reached for the shampoo and ran his fingers through your hair, massaging your scalp so gently it almost made you tear up. He didn’t rush. He just took care of you. And for once, you let someone do that.

You were about to step out when Mingyu turned you gently and pressed your back to the tile wall.

His lips landed on your forehead first, then trailed down to your lips—soft, slow, and deliberate. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t about heat. It was about holding you there, steady, wanted. You kissed him back, curling your fingers into his hair, and he leaned into it.

His lips brushed along your jaw, then down your neck. He was leaving faint marks—reminders. “Just so you know you’re real,” he murmured, almost like he could read your thoughts. His hands moved up to your breasts, careful and reverent, making you gasp when he tugged at your nipple just right.

Mingyu dropped to his knees without a word, and you held your breath.

The way he licked you—patient, intentional—it wasn’t just about getting you off. It was like he wanted to remind you of what it meant to feel good in your body again. Your hands tangled in his soaked hair as his tongue moved through your folds, dipping into you, then teasing your clit with expert flicks.

Your orgasm crept up on you slowly, and when it hit, it rolled through you like a wave. Mingyu didn’t let go of you—if anything, he held tighter, anchoring you in place as you trembled through it.

“You look so fucking gorgeous when you fall apart,” he whispered, lips against your thigh. “Like this? This is mine.”

You whimpered at his words, your legs trembling. “Turn around, face the wall,” he said gently. “Can I—?”

“Please,” you breathed.

Mingyu pulled you into another kiss, your lips barely able to keep up with the emotion. Before you realised it, he was lifting you up, your legs around his waist, aligning himself with you.

“Is this okay?” He asked again, and the softness in his voice made your heart stutter.

You nodded.

The first push of him inside you made you gasp, and Mingyu held you steady, his forehead pressed against yours. “So tight,” he whispered. “So fucking beautiful.”

He rocked into you with more power than speed, and you felt your fourth orgasm build until you were practically sobbing into his shoulder. “I’ve got you,” he murmured, kissing your neck. “I’ve got you.”

“Cum inside me,” you whispered.

He nodded, kissed you hard, and thrust deeper, grunting as he spilled inside you. Your body quaked again, your walls clenching around him.

Even after he pulled out and gently set you down, Mingyu didn’t step away. He held your shaking body close, pressed a kiss to your forehead, and slid a hand down your stomach.

“One more,” he said, his voice almost a question.

You nodded.

He slid his fingers into you again, and it was too much, but in the best way. You came instantly, collapsing into him.

Mingyu held you up, whispering soft words in your ear as he washed you down carefully, wrapped you in a towel, and carried you to his bed.

He towelled your hair dry, slid a clean shirt over your head, and tucked you into bed with him, wrapping his arms around you like a safety net.

You laid your head on his chest and mumbled, “cuddly.”

“Always,” he said, kissing the top of your head. “How do you feel?”

You hesitated. “Fucked out. But safe. And wanted.”

Mingyu’s voice was quiet when he answered. “Good. That’s all I ever want you to feel with me.”

Maybe it was the exhaustion, or the intimacy, but just as you started to drift off, you heard him whisper something against your hair.

“I’ll always only want you.”

~~

A couple of days later, you groaned, dragging yourself onto the couch and curling into a tight ball. “God, why does it feel like my uterus is trying to kill me,” you muttered, clutching a hot water bottle to your stomach. 

“I swear to god, fucking stupid moron,” you continued to swear, as every movement felt like punishment from your uterus.

“Okay, I just got here, so I know I didn’t piss you off,” Joshua said as he walked into the kitchen, eyebrows raised.

You glared at him. “You offering to help?”

“Not if you’re gonna bite me,” he quipped, stepping around you and grabbing the kettle. “Sit. You look like you’re two cramps away from burning down the building.”

You groaned and shuffled to the couch, burying yourself in blankets. “Ugh, I hate this. Everything hurts.”

Joshua soon joined you with a mug in hand. “Put in honey too. You're welcome.”

You smiled faintly. “You’re the best.”

“Obviously,” he replied. Then he glanced at his phone. “I wish I could stay, but I’m meeting Jihoon. He’s letting me preview his next drop.”

You gave him a weak thumbs up. “Rub it in.”

Joshua gave you a pointed look. “Also—friendly poke—but have you spoken to Wonwoo since the party?”

You groaned. “Ask me when I’m not bleeding like a stuck pig, okay?”

He raised his hands in surrender. “Fair. You’re terrifying. Anyway, I’ll be back later.” He leaned down to kiss your forehead. “And if I’m not, Mingyu can take care of you.”

At the mention of his name, you peeked over the top of your blanket… just in time to see Mingyu walking through your apartment door like it was scripted.

“Oh my god,” you moaned, flopping back down and hiding again.

Mingyu laughed as he crouched in front of you. “Why am I apparently your designated caretaker?”

You sighed dramatically. “Because my uterus is revolting, and I’m slowly dying.”

“Right. Your monthly ‘not pregnant’ reminder.” Mingyu softened his tone. 

“Do you want a pillow?” He asked

You smirked. “You offering to be a body pillow now?”

“Absolutely. Way comfier.” Without waiting, he scooped you up and settled onto the couch with you draped across him, his leg propping up your back. “Better?”

You nodded against his chest. “So much better.”

For a while, it was quiet, his fingers lazily carding through your hair.

“Gyu?” You murmured, your voice drowsy.

“Yeah?”

“You must have been a solid ex-boyfriend, because this is top-tier boyfriend behaviour.”

He paused, then answered softly. “It did serve me lots of brownie points with my ex.”

You tilted your head to look at him. “Sorry, we don’t have to discuss it if it’s a sore subject.”

“Nah,” he shrugged. “It’s part of the story, you know? I thought she was the one, for a while.”

“You’re a romantic,” you whispered.

Mingyu smiled. “Guilty. I like the idea of something that makes you feel so seen, so loved… something that sticks.”

You let out a soft breath. “I used to be like that. But every time I like someone, they like someone else. So... what’s the point?”

“Do you not believe in love anymore?”

“I do,” you admitted. “Just not for me.”

“Why? You don’t think you’ll find it, or you don’t think you deserve it?”

Your eyes fluttered shut. “Some people get it. Some people don’t. I think I’m the latter. Can we change the topic? Discussing this on my period is a bad idea.”

“You brought it up,” he said gently.

“And now I’m regretting it,” you muttered, making him laugh.

He adjusted slightly, his hand resting over yours. “Should I go?”

You pulled back to look at him. “You’re leaving because I don’t want to dissect my emotional trauma?”

“I’m leaving because I feel like I’m always walking on eggshells around you. One minute we’re laughing, the next you’re distant. It’s hard to keep up.”

You turned your face away. “Now you get why I don’t believe in this fairytale crap. Love is supposed to be this all-forgiving, unconditional thing. If I can’t even be friends with someone because of my moods, then what hope do I have?”

He was quiet for a beat, then gently pulled you into his arms again. “Okay. What if we just hang out for a week? Just friends. No sex. We get drunk, eat junk food, watch movies—see if we even like each other without the orgasms.”

You snorted. “That sounds kinda fun. After the period from hell, though.”

He smiled down at you. “Of course.”

“Gyu?” You whispered.

“Hmm?”

“You’re not leaving?”

“Nope. Couch is comfy. I’m lazy. And you’re warm.”

You smiled and snuggled into his chest, placing a soft kiss on his jaw.

“What was that for?” He asked.

“Because you’re a sweetheart.” ~~ You woke up groggy, face buried against something firm and warm.

“Gyu,” you mumbled sleepily, blinking at the early morning light creeping through your curtains.

“Hm?” He muttered, voice raspy and barely awake.

“Can you get up?”

“Why?” Mingyu mumbled sleepily, arms still wrapped around you. “M’comfy.”

You shifted slightly, your forehead creased. “Because… Wonwoo could walk in and see us like this, and you two haven’t gotten off to the best start.”

Mingyu blinked his eyes open at that, head lifting slowly from the pillow. “Oh,” he said softly. “Right.”

You frowned when he didn’t move, when his arms didn’t immediately pull away. “Gyu?”

He took a breath and looked at you—not annoyed, not defensive. Just thoughtful. “Can I ask you something?”

You nodded slowly.

“How do you feel? About him. About… everything that happened with Mia.”

Your stomach twisted. You rolled onto your back, staring at the ceiling. “I don’t know.”

Mingyu didn’t speak, giving you the space to figure it out. You could feel the weight of his gaze though, and something about that steadiness made the words come easier.

“I think… I think part of me was always holding on to this idea of him. The possibility of it. But then I saw him with her—saw how easy it was for him to move on and smile like it never meant anything.”

Mingyu stayed quiet, his hand brushing over your knuckles gently.

“And I felt stupid,” you whispered. “For believing it ever meant anything. For hoping.” He nodded slowly. “You don’t have to explain it to me.”

“But I want to,” you said, turning to look at him. “Because I don’t want you to think that I’m still stuck on him. I’m not. It just… it still stings a little.”

“Of course it does,” Mingyu said quietly. “You cared.”

Silence hung between you for a beat. Then he reached over and tugged the blanket over your knees.

“I’m not trying to replace anything, Y/N,” he said, voice gentle. “But I need to know that I’m not a rebound. Or someone you lean on because you’re lonely.”

“You’re not,” you said without hesitation, sitting up a little. “You’re… kind, and patient, and safe. And I’m scared because I don’t want to screw this up.”

Mingyu gave you a tired, crooked smile. “We already did the screwing up part, remember?”

You let out a small laugh, wiping at your eyes. “Right.”

He reached for your hand again. “Then let’s just try. Slowly, if we have to.”

You nodded, the lump in your throat softening.

Mingyu tilted his head. “Now, can I hold you again without the threat of a third-party walk-in ruining the moment?”

You chuckled and pulled the blanket tighter around you. “Okay. Just don’t squeeze my stomach too hard. I’m still cramping.”

He smiled, already settling back down beside you, warm and close and quiet.

“I’ll be gentle,” he whispered, tucking you closer. “Always.”

And for the first time in a long while, you believed it.

~~ About an hour later, once you’d both recovered enough to joke about heating pads and your questionable snack choices, Mingyu stretched with a sleepy grin, tugged on his hoodie, and ruffled your hair. “Alright, nurse Gyu’s off the clock, I need to actually attend a meeting,” he teased. 

“Text me if you need anything, okay?” You nodded, smiling as he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead before heading to the door with one last wave. Just as the warmth between you and Mingyu settled into something quiet and safe, the front door creaked open, and in walked Wonwoo, fingers laced effortlessly with Mia’s.

“Oh,” Wonwoo said awkwardly, holding hands with Mia. “Didn’t know you were home.”

You stared at him. “I live here.”

Mia glanced down at her feet. “I’ll be in your room,” she said softly.

You watched her walk away, then turned to Wonwoo with a blank stare.

“Why did I see Mingyu leave just now?” He asked.

You scoffed. “Why do you care?”

He sighed, rubbing his temple. “Look… Mia and I… we connect. In a way, I just couldn’t with you.”

You blinked. “What the hell does that mean?”

Wonwoo paused. “I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a complete and utter dick.”

“Too late.”

He winced. “You told Joshua you liked me. Loudly. I heard you. And since then, I guess I’ve been trying to like you back. But… I couldn’t.”

You swallowed. “Thanks for the ego boost.”

“I thought something must be wrong with me if I couldn’t like someone like you. So I tried. We’re great as friends, but I wanted to see if maybe something more would grow. I thought… maybe if I kissed you, maybe if we got closer, it’d click. But it didn’t.”

You sat down. Your body was numb.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said softly. “I know I still did. I’m sorry.”

You nodded. “Does she make you happy?”

Wonwoo smiled, slowly and real. “Yeah. She does.”

“Then I’m happy for you. Or I will be. Eventually.”

He smiled back. “Thanks.”

As he turned to leave, you spotted something tossed over the back of the couch—Mingyu’s leather jacket.

“Does he make you happy?” Wonwoo asked, following your gaze.

You hesitated. “He’s… good in bed.”

Wonwoo gave you a look. “Y/N.”

You groaned. “Fine. Maybe. I don’t know. It’s too soon.”

“Then find out. You deserve to feel the kind of happiness you’re wishing me.”

You stared at him—and suddenly your brain clicked into gear. “Holy shit, you just gave me an idea.”

Wonwoo blinked. “Wait, what?”

“Never mind. I’ll tell you later.” You were already darting to your bedroom, mind racing. “And I’ll be nice to Mia. Promise!”

He stood in the hallway, looking vaguely concerned, as you disappeared with your laptop.

~~ The cursor blinked back at you as you deleted the title of your current draft.

“What is a Type?”Gone.

You typed quickly:

“How Many Dates Until You Know?”

You hit send on the pitch, and within minutes, your editor responded:

Approved. Run with it.

You smiled. For the first time in a long time, your fingers didn’t hesitate.

And the first person you wanted to write this with—the only person who had stuck around long enough to earn that role—was Mingyu.

~~ “So Keira,” you began, twirling your pen between your fingers, “I’m basically going to go out with him today. It’s not a date, but somewhere during the hangouts, I’ll bring up the idea of a date. I’ll essentially make him take me on one and see how long it takes for me to fall.”

Keira narrowed her eyes. “You’re using your hot neighbour for an investigative romance piece.”

You grinned. “Exactly.”

“Y/N,” she said, voice half-worried, half-exasperated, “while I love this chaotic plan, let’s keep it confidential. I don’t want him getting hurt and then suing us.”

You raised your hands in mock surrender. “He won’t! Okay, it’s six—I gotta go meet him for our ‘friendly’ workout.”

“Use protection!” Keira called as you walked out of her office.

You rolled your eyes and muttered, “Not that kind of workout…”

And maybe you’d forgotten to mention that you’d already slept with him. Repeatedly. But that wasn’t important. This wasn’t about sex anymore—it was about connection, chemistry, and curiosity. This was research.

For journalism. Obviously.

~~

“You wore heels to a workout?” Mingyu asked, raising a brow as you walked up to him outside your office.

“Relax,” you said, spinning slightly on your toes. “I’ve got my workout gear in my bag; I just needed to look cute for work.”

“You always look cute.”

You blinked. “Okay, that’s not helpful.”

“What?” Mingyu asked, smirking. “You looked at me like I was the dessert tray.”

You glared. “You’re literally sex on legs, and you know it.”

“Flattery will get you in the car faster.” He gestured to his sleek black Mercedes.

You paused. “Not to be that person, but… nice wheels.”

Mingyu stiffened slightly. “It was a gift. From my ex.”

You blinked. “A car?”

“Yeah,” he said, starting the engine. 

“We dated through high school. Her family was loaded. When I told her I wanted to become a photographer, she freaked. She said it didn’t fit her image; she expected that when it was appropriate, I’d marry her and we’d run her family business.”

“Oh, that’s not fair, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“She bought me shit like this to keep me around. Said if I failed, I could sell the gifts. Thought I’d be her trophy husband.”

Your hand found its way to his thigh. “Damn. Well, with you’ve been through with her, it’s impressive that you still believe in love.”

“I didn’t. Not for a long time. But then I found dance again. Music. Something that loved me back. And it taught me how to love myself, too.”

You were quiet for a second.

Then leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You’re such a softie.”

“Oh, also, I’m taking you rock climbing, so buckle up.”

~~

You didn’t expect the receptionist to be so… pretty.

And smiley.

And touchy.

Your stomach twisted when Mingyu greeted her like an old friend. “Nice to see you again.”

“You brought a friend this time,” she said, giving you a pointed once-over.

“I am the friend,” you said, deadpan.

She asked for your shoe size and handed you climbing shoes. You followed Mingyu into the locker room, already irritated.

“You good?” he asked, eyes watching you closely.

“Fine,” you snapped.

“Then why were you glaring at her?”

“Yuri?”

You scoffed. “Yeah Yuri, Pretty receptionist with perfect tits? No reason.”

“I didn’t notice her tits,” he muttered. “But thanks for pointing it out. Should I go admire them up close?”

You glared. “Why are you trying to piss me off?”

“Are you jealous?”

You blinked. “No!”

He tilted his head. “Okay. Then change and meet me outside.”

~~Ten minutes later, you nearly choked when you found Mingyu shirtless by the climbing wall.

“Put your shirt back on,” you said immediately.

“Why? You don’t care who I talk to or what I do.”

You rolled your eyes. “Show me how this works before I commit murder.”

Mingyu smirked. “Yes, ma’am.”

He scaled the wall effortlessly, muscles flexing in all the right places.

You hated how hot he looked.

Also, you slipped on your third attempt and scraped your knee.

“Fuck—Y/N!” Mingyu was by your side instantly, kneeling next to you.

“It’s fine,” you muttered, wincing.

“You’re bleeding.”

“Just a scratch.”

“You’re stubborn.”

“And you’re cute when you’re worried.”

Mingyu rolled his eyes but helped you up. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

~~ You changed back into your dress, only to find him chatting—again—with Yuri at the desk.

Laughing. Like, she was the funniest person alive.

Your blood boiled for no reason. Rationally, you knew this. Emotionally, you wanted to hurl your climbing shoes at his head.

“Hey,” he said, noticing you. “Have you been waiting long?”

You shrugged. “Was Yuri too distracting?”

Mingyu’s expression dropped. “You know what? I’m tired of this.”

Your arms folded automatically.

“I can’t talk to anyone without you jumping to conclusions. You keep saying you want to be friends—but if I have to tiptoe around your feelings and mine just to keep you from blowing up, then what’s the point?”

You blinked. “I… I care. Okay? Maybe too much. But I do care.”

Mingyu softened, reaching up to hold your face. “Then tell me that. Don’t shut down. Don’t make it weird.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

~~

Back at his place, you were both sprawled on the bed, slurping noodles and giggling through Ratatouille.

Somewhere around your fourth glass of wine, you tried to get up.

“I should head home.”

Mingyu caught your wrist. “Or stay. You’re comfy to cuddle.”

You turned, eyes locking with his.

You didn’t say anything.

You didn’t have to.

Because in that moment, the line between friendship and something else blurred again—and this time, neither of you pulled away.

“How’s your knee?” Mingyu asked quietly a little later, his hand tracing soft circles along your lower back. You were curled into him, trying to relax, but your body was tense. “It’s okay,” you whispered, voice low. Then he moved his thigh slightly, and you gasped.

“Shit—did I hurt you?” He said instantly, sitting up slightly in concern, his expression soft and serious.

“No—no,” you rushed to reassure him, shaking your head. “You didn’t. It’s just… the way you’re moving your thigh—um—it’s kind of… turning me on.”

Mingyu blinked, then cracked a small, surprised smile. “Yeah? Like this?” He flexed again, watching you melt into his chest with a tiny groan. “God,” you whispered.

“Get up,” he said, and you obeyed without even thinking, legs already trembling. Mingyu sat up and glanced down at his sweats. “Look at this,” he said with a soft huff, gesturing at the wet patch. “You’ve been sitting here, all innocent, no underwear under your oversized shirt?”

You gave him a shy nod. “Didn’t think it’d matter.”

Mingyu ran a hand down his face, eyes raking over you. “Is that why you took forever in the shower earlier? Were you thinking about me?” His voice was low, teasing—but the vulnerability behind it was clear. He wanted the truth. And you gave it to him.

“Yeah,” you admitted quietly.

That single word was all he needed. He reached out gently, pulling you back into his arms. “Lie down with me.” His tone had softened. “Do you have work early?”

“No, I start at ten.”

“Good,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your neck. “Then just stay. Let’s just… be here.”

There was a pause. “Okay, don’t freak out, but I don’t really sleep with clothes on,” he whispered into your ear, like it was some confession. “I can wear boxers if it makes you uncomfortable—”

“No,” you said softly. “I think I might take this off too.” You tugged at the hem of your shirt.

He watched you, his eyes warm, not predatory. “That’s okay. We can just hold each other. You don’t have to do anything you’re not up for.”

But the warmth building between your bodies said otherwise. You were curled up in bed, bare skin on bare skin, when you started to squirm. Mingyu’s arms tightened instinctively around you. “Stop moving, baby,” he groaned. “You’re driving me crazy.”

“I’m trying to get comfortable.”

He pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “You keep this up and I won’t be able to think straight.” You pushed back into him, feeling how hard he was. Your voice was low, almost shy, but certain. “Then… maybe do something about it.”

He chuckled, but his gaze turned tender. “Only if you want me to.”

“I want you.”

That was all it took. Mingyu gently bit your shoulder, then pulled the duvet off your legs. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Come sit on my face, pretty girl.”

You blinked. “Wait, what?”

“C’mere,” he murmured, guiding you up. You positioned yourself above him, heart pounding, thighs trembling slightly from nerves. But Mingyu was nothing but reverent, his hands supporting you gently as he looked up with nothing short of adoration. “Just relax. Let me take care of you.”

The first touch of his mouth had you gasping. He didn’t rush—he never did. Every flick of his tongue was patient, slow, deliberate, like he wanted you to feel cherished, not just desired. Your hands found his hair and tangled there as you let your head fall back.

He pulled you down for a kiss, then whispered, “hands and knees.” You obeyed shakily, still breathless. Mingyu slid into you slowly, almost carefully, groaning as he filled you. “You feel so good… I’ll go slow, baby.”

But it didn’t stay slow for long. Your body welcomed him like it was made for this, and soon he was pounding into you, every stroke sending shivers down your spine. He kept murmuring soft praise in your ear between kisses on your shoulder, telling you how perfect you felt, how beautiful you looked.

When you whimpered that you wanted to taste him, he stilled and pulled out, letting you turn around. You wrapped your lips around him, taking your time, and he groaned, one hand tangled in your hair, the other resting gently on your back like an anchor.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me—” His breath caught as he came, and you swallowed him down, still licking softly until he whimpered. “God, you’re unreal.”

He didn’t even let you sit up before scooping you into his arms and carrying you to the shower. “You made me beg,” he teased with a breathless laugh. “Now it’s my turn.”

You didn’t remember how long you were in there. Mingyu kissed and licked and touched you like it was his sole purpose in life. He whispered soft encouragement, asked if it felt okay, and held you steady when your legs gave out. And when you squirted for the fourth time, he kissed your temple and whispered, “There she is. My perfect girl.”

Back in bed, you were a puddle of emotion and sensation. He dried you off with the softest towel, pulled his shirt over your body, and crawled in beside you. His arms wrapped tightly around you as you buried your face into his chest.

“Cuddly,” you whispered, eyes fluttering shut.

He chuckled softly. “How do you feel?”

“Fucked out. But…amazing.”

Mingyu held you tighter, resting his chin on your head. “I’m glad.”

And just before sleep pulled you under, you thought you heard him murmur against your hair. You didn’t ask, but you felt him smile into your hair. ~~

“You’re comfy to cuddle,” Mingyu said again, voice barely above a whisper as his fingers curled softly around your wrist.

You raised an eyebrow. “You said no sex while we’re hanging out.”

“I did,” he replied. “But cuddling isn’t sex.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “With you, cuddling is basically foreplay.”

He chuckled, tugging you gently back down until your head was resting on his chest again. “Then I’ll behave.”

You sighed as you curled into him, feeling the warm rise and fall of his breathing. His fingers returned to threading through your hair, slow and rhythmic. You hated how much you liked it. How right it felt.

“Mingyu?” you mumbled into his shirt.

“Yeah?”

“Have you ever wondered why we do this? Sleep together, fight, make up, but still act like we’re not… anything?”

Mingyu didn’t answer right away.

Then—“All the time.”

Your eyes lifted to his, but he wasn’t looking at you. His gaze was fixed on the ceiling, like he was trying to hold something back.

“I don’t know,” he added softly. “Maybe it’s because every time I think it could mean something, you push me away.”

You winced. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” He finally looked at you. “The moment I get close, you panic. The moment I pull away, you come running.”

“Mingyu…”

“No, it’s fine,” he said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re not wrong either. I’m probably addicted to the way you confuse me.”

You sat up, suddenly too warm, too vulnerable.

“I’m not trying to confuse you,” you said quietly.

“I know,” he said, sitting up too, face inches from yours. “I think we’re both just… scared.”

You didn’t know who moved first. Maybe you leaned in, maybe he did. All you knew was that the air between you cracked with tension, and then—

Your lips were on his.

Slow. Soft. Cautious.

And then not cautious at all.

Mingyu’s hands tangled in your hair, yours clutched the front of his shirt, and the kiss deepened into something familiar, something dangerous. You were already straddling his lap before you realised what was happening, the promise of “no sex” evaporating like steam off a kettle.

He pulled away, panting, forehead resting against yours.

“This is a bad idea,” he whispered.

“Yep,” you whispered back.

Neither of you moved.

His thumb traced along your jaw. Your nails curled against his chest.

“Mingyu…” you said, voice trembling.

“Yeah?”

You swallowed. “We’re fucked.”

He smiled.

And kissed you again anyway.

~~ The room was quiet, save for the low hum of the city through the window and the sound of Mingyu’s breathing—slow, steady, grounding. His arm was draped over your waist, anchoring you to the warmth of his body, skin still slick with the afterglow. You lay there tangled in sheets and each other, your cheek pressed into his chest, fingers lazily tracing the dip between his ribs.

“You okay?” Mingyu murmured into your hair, his voice husky from both exhaustion and softness.

You nodded, almost imperceptibly. “Yeah. You?”

“Mm.” He shifted slightly, just enough to press a light kiss to your forehead. “More than okay.”

You smiled at that, closing your eyes for a moment. But even in the comfort of his arms, that familiar unease stirred in your chest. The intimacy didn’t scare you—not exactly. But what it might lead to did. You could feel the questions hanging between you, heavy like unsaid words always were.

Mingyu sensed it too.

“I know this wasn’t... nothing,” he started, his voice careful, like he didn’t want to break the calm. “But I also know you don’t like labels. Or expectations.”

You sighed, biting your lip. “It’s not that I don’t like them,” you said slowly. “It’s just... whenever things get serious, I panic. I start convincing myself I’m not ready, or that I’ll mess it up.”

Mingyu nodded. “That’s fair.”

You looked up at him, surprised. “It is?”

“Yeah,” he said with a soft chuckle. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want more with you. But I also know what it’s like to feel like you’re sprinting when everyone else is just learning how to walk.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I know,” Mingyu said. “And I don’t want to pressure you. I like this. I like you. And if this—us—is just a maybe for now... I’m okay with that.”

You swallowed, then nodded. “So we’re not... together.”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Not exclusive.”

“Nope.”

“But we like each other.”

Mingyu gave you a lazy grin. “A lot.”

You smiled at that, something warm and relieved blooming in your chest. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he echoed, tightening his arm around you and pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “So we just… keep doing what we’re doing?”

“For now,” you said softly. “We take it slow. No pressure. No promises.”

“Cool,” Mingyu said. “Though I reserve the right to make you breakfast.”

“And I reserve the right to avoid your protein pancakes.”

He gasped in mock offense, and you both burst into quiet laughter, limbs still tangled beneath the sheets. Maybe it wasn’t a fairytale. Maybe it wasn’t official.

But it felt real.

And, for now, that was enough.

~~

“Walk of shame at eight in the morning, nice,” Joshua commented, glancing over the rim of his coffee mug as you tried to sneak past him unnoticed. “Seriously, is he that good in bed? Because, girl, you’re limping.”

You shot him a withering glare, cheeks flaming. “He’s amazing, okay?”

Joshua grinned, the kind of grin that said I told you so without saying a word. “Oh my god, you’re smiling like the Cheshire Cat. Do you like him?”

You shook your head a little too quickly. “No… I mean… I’m just… seeing if I could?”

Joshua blinked at you, setting his mug down. “What?”

You gave him a sheepish smile. “So… my next article? It’s going to be titled How Many Dates Until You Fall in Love.”

Joshua raised a brow. “Okay, that’s kinda cute. And honestly, kinda cool that Mingyu’s down to be your guinea pig.”

You froze. “He… doesn’t know.”

Joshua just sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Y/N.”

“What?”

“Are you out of your mind? Do you know how bad that looks? You’re literally using him for a story.”

You folded your arms. “Not if I end up liking him. Then it’s a romance arc.”

“Y/N, you can’t—”

“If I fall for him, it’ll be adorable!” You cut in, and then quickly added under your breath, “and journalistic.”

He groaned. “I hope your gravestone says, ‘killed by stupid decisions.’”

Before you could retort, Wonwoo strolled into the kitchen with a yawn and a stretch. “Okay, what’s going on? What dumb shit has she done now?”

“She’s writing an article called How Many Dates Until You Fall in Love,” Joshua muttered.

“And she’s using Mingyu to figure it out,” Joshua added before you could stop him.

“Oh, and she hasn’t told him,” Joshua finished, arms crossed.

Wonwoo gave you the slowest blink known to man. “You will tell him, right?”

You offered a shrug and a weak smile.

“Y/N!” They both yelled, startling you into a small jump.

“Okay, okay!” you snapped. “It’s not like I’m trying to ruin his life. If I fall for him, it’s mutual happiness!”

Wonwoo scoffed. “And if you don’t? Then what, you get a byline and he gets heartbreak?”

You groaned. “Fine, I’ll tell him. Eventually.”

Joshua narrowed his eyes. “Don’t wait for him to find out, Y/N. Please.”

You gave a tiny, guilty nod and quickly grabbed your bag. “Okay, well. Work calls!”

~~At the office, Keira looked up as you handed her your notepad. “So? How was the date?”

“It was good. Just… a hangout. Some flirting. A lot of chemistry.”

Keira arched a brow. “Ooh. Promising.”

You grinned. “We ended up watching a movie at his place.”

You left out the part where Mingyu had practically rearranged your internal organs. No need for those notes on file.

Keira smirked. “Is he at least hot?”

You winced, cheeks heating again. “Very. Tall. Gorgeous. Kind. Built like a Greek statue sculpted from sunshine.”

“Aw, a muse,” she teased. “Wouldn’t it be funny if this article landed you a boyfriend?”

You laughed quietly, mostly to yourself. “Yeah. Hilarious.”

~~

Later that evening, you decided on a spontaneous plan: two bottles of soju, your favourite snacks, and Monsters Inc. You wanted a comfort movie, and for some insane reason, you wanted Mingyu there beside you.

You knocked on his apartment door, only to be greeted by Seokmin. “Hey Y/N, ooh movie night?” 

“Did we make plans?” He asked, smiling.

“No, but I brought soju and a Pixar classic. Just thought…” Your voice trailed off as another figure appeared from behind him.

She was wearing his shirt.

Your shirt.

The same oversized hoodie Mingyu once slipped over your shoulders when you complained about the chill in his car. The one that still faintly smelled like his cologne days later, when you returned it.

The girl stood in the entryway of his apartment, tugging the sleeves over her hands, barefoot and blinking blearily. “Oh—sorry. I didn’t know anyone was coming by,” she said, startled as her eyes landed on you.

She didn’t sound smug. Just surprised.

Still, it sent your stomach plummeting.

Your gaze darted to Mingyu standing a few feet behind her, hair slightly rumpled, holding a coffee mug. He looked as caught off guard as she did.

But he didn’t say anything.

No rushed explanation. No, hey, it’s not what it looks like.

Just silence.

You nodded slowly. “Right. Of course.”

Mingyu took a step forward. “Y/N—”

“No need to explain,” you said, your voice light, falsely bright. “We’re not anything.”

You weren’t angry. Not yet. Just hollow.

He opened his mouth again, but the words didn’t come fast enough. You were already backing up.

“Enjoy your evening,” you added, and turned around before he could try again.

—

Your hands were trembling by the time you made it to your door. You fumbled with your keys, hating yourself for it. You shouldn’t feel this way. You didn’t even know what the two of you were. You weren’t together. He hadn’t done anything wrong.

But it still felt like something in your chest had been kicked open.

“Y/N?”

Seokmin, who had followed you out, asked, his voice was soft, concerned. He’d seen you bolt past. Of course, he had.

You didn’t turn around. “Yeah?” You managed.

“Everything okay?”

You nodded, but your voice betrayed you. “Yeah. It’s fine.”

Seokmin stepped closer. “That girl, she actually–?”

You shrugged. “Don’t I don’t want to kno,w okay?”

He hesitated. “But, Y/N, you’ve got it all wrong.”

“I doubt it, thank you for checking on me, but I just need some space okay?” You glanced at him, your smile watery. He looked at you like he understood — and didn’t.

“If you need anything,” he offered gently, “just knock.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump as you slipped into your apartment.

~~

A knock rattled your front door.

You didn’t move.

You already knew who it was.

The knock came again, quieter this time. More hesitant.

“Y/N?” Mingyu’s voice filtered through. “Please. Just let me explain.”

You exhaled sharply, your eyes still fixed on the flickering screen in front of you.

Another pause. Then the door creaked open.

You’d left it unlocked. Stupid.

Mingyu stepped inside, still in the same clothes from earlier. His hoodie—the one now burned into your memory—was gone, replaced by a tight, uncomfortable silence.

You didn’t look at him.

“I saw your face,” he said quietly. “Please believe me when I tell you, nothing happened.”

You finally turned toward him, face unreadable. “She was wearing your shirt, the same one you let me wear.”

“I know.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Her name’s Jiwoo. She’s my assistant. We’ve been pulling extra hours for this new gallery thing and—” He sighed. “This morning, I spilled a full glass of orange juice on her shirt while we were working in the kitchen. I offered her something dry. It just happened to be that hoodie.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Convenient.”

“I get how it looked, but it wasn’t—” He took a step forward. “Y/N, it wasn’t anything.”

You tilted your head, your voice calm but cold. “And you couldn’t say that when I was standing there? When she walked out like that, and you just stood there like I caught you red-handed?”

Mingyu flinched. “I froze. You looked… devastated.”

“I was,” you said, standing now, arms crossed. “Because I trusted you.”

“You said we weren’t exclusive.”

“I said we weren’t ready for labels,” you shot back, “not that I wanted to see you playing dress-up with another girl five minutes after I left your bed.”

“That’s not fair,” he said, his voice tightening. “You’re twisting this into something it’s not.”

You stared at him for a long moment. “Maybe I am. Or maybe I just don’t want to be the fool again.”

Mingyu’s expression faltered. “I never meant to hurt you.”

You shrugged. “And yet.”

Silence filled the space between you.

He stepped back, the fight draining from his shoulders. “Okay,” he said quietly. “I’ve said what I came here to say.”

You nodded once, keeping your voice steady. “Thanks for the explanation.”

He hesitated. “If you ever want to talk—”

“I’ll let you know,” you interrupted, already turning away.

The door clicked shut behind him, but the ache didn’t leave with him.

It stayed. Quiet. Heavy. Unanswered.

~~ Later, curled into your couch, hair damp from a too-hot shower, you stared blankly at the muted credits of a movie you hadn’t really watched. The hoodie you had tossed into the laundry still sat in the basket, crumpled and untouched.

You weren’t mad.

You were hurt. Quietly. Deeply.

Because it was one thing to say “we’re not a thing.”

It was another time to be reminded of it in a hallway you used to share with him.

And it was something else entirely to realise you wanted to be one.

You crumpled where you stood, body folding inwards as the tears spilled freely.

Time blurred after that. You didn’t remember curling up on the couch, but that’s where Joshua found you hours later, wrapped in a blanket with a half-finished glass of wine on the table.

“Y/N, honey. Wake up.” His voice was soft as he knelt beside you, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek.

Your eyes blinked open, dazed. “Shua?”

“You’ve been asleep for hours,” he murmured, voice tender. “Thought I’d bring you back to your bed. Come on, bubs.”

He helped you up slowly, one arm wrapped around your shoulders as he guided you into your room. You didn’t fight him. You barely said a word.

“Y/N, what happened?” He asked gently once you were sitting on the edge of your bed.

You gave a hollow laugh. “Guess my article’s gone to shit.”

Joshua didn’t react. Just waited.

“Mingyu didn’t take it well?” He finally asked.

You shook your head. “He doesn’t know.” Your voice cracked. “I went over… and there was another girl, wearing his shirt, he claims it’s his assistant, and only wearing his shirt because”

Joshua sat down beside you, jaw clenched. “God.” He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s like Wonwoo all over again. I tried so hard with him… and when he found the right person, he just knew.”

You glanced up at him. “You think he’s found the right person?”

“I don’t know,” Joshua said honestly. “But I know you’re not okay.”

You nodded. “It’s just better if I stay away. Every time I’m around him, we end up tangled up in each other, and I can’t keep doing that. I just end up hurt.”

“So… you’re going to ghost him?”

You shook your head. “No. Just… not bother anymore. I’ll be polite. Distant.”

Joshua nodded slowly, then pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “Men are idiots.”

You laughed weakly. “Amen to that.”

Joshua smiled and blew you a kiss as he stood. “I’ll give you space tonight, yeah? Just text me if you need anything.”

You nodded, curling up on your bed as the door closed gently behind him. ~~

The next few days blurred together. You managed to avoid Mingyu, though not exactly gracefully. You’d duck around corners, fake a phone call, or pretend you didn’t hear him when he called your name. Childish, maybe, but the alternative was worse.

You thought about scrapping the article altogether. Maybe turning it into something more generic—interviewing couples about when they fell in love, turning it into a cute, breezy column. Something that didn’t rip your heart out with every paragraph.

It was Friday evening, and you were halfway through a MasterChef marathon when you heard your bedroom door creak open.

“Y/N?”

You turned and saw Mingyu poking his head in, doe eyes wide and sheepish.

Your stomach dropped. “How did you get in?”

“Um. Joshua hyung let me in. Said something about my ‘big pitiful puppy energy.’”

You groaned and sat up, folding your arms. “What do you want?”

Mingyu stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind him.

“You’ve been ignoring me.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Have I?”

“You have,” he said quietly. “I told you she was my assistant, nothing happened between us.”

You sighed and admitted. “I know it just hurt to see you with her.”

He gave you a soft smile, “I understand, but you do not need to worry, I like you too much to screw it up.”

Your eyes widened. “I should have just listened, I screwed up–”

Mingyu cut you off with a kiss.

It was soft. Hesitant. Like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed. Like he didn’t want to scare you away.

“I don’t know what this is yet,” he said when he pulled back. “But I know I want more. I only want to be around you, only kiss you, hell even when we went climbing, even though we’d argued, I couldn’t stop smiling. The way you furrow your brows when you’re focused, the way you yell at me for being annoying… It’s like I’m drawn to you, even when you make me want to throw things.”

You laughed, and he smiled.

He sat down beside you on the bed, pulling you into his lap.

“I don’t know exactly what I feel,” he whispered, “but I know that when you walked out of my apartment crying, I wanted to run after you and kiss every tear away.”

Your heart was pounding.

He looked at you, eyes searching. “Tell me to go, and I will. But if there’s even a small part of you that wants to see where this goes…”

You didn’t let him finish. You leaned forward and kissed him again.

Mingyu kissed you back with the kind of softness that felt like a second chance—warm, hesitant, laced with something unspoken. You pulled away first, letting your forehead rest against his, catching your breath.

“You always say the sweetest things right before emotionally confusing me,” you whispered, trying to keep your voice light.

He laughed quietly. “What can I say? I’m a man of duality. I’ve got layers.”

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t move from his lap. His arms were still around your waist, steady and grounding, like if he let go, one of you might float away.

“So,” you murmured, “what now?”

His hands moved in slow, absentminded circles on your lower back. “I don’t know. But I know I want to keep seeing you.”

“Even if I’m kind of a mess?”

“Especially because you’re a mess,” he teased gently.

You laughed, but it wobbled. “Gyu… I’m scared.”

“I know.” His voice softened. “Me too.”

The quiet stretched out again. You could hear the hum of the building's heating system and the faint sound of a neighbor’s TV. But inside this room, inside this little bubble the two of you created—things felt still. Tentative. Hopeful.

After a moment, he pulled back just enough to look at you properly. “How about a real date? Something simple. New. Clean slate.”

You lifted a brow. “You’re asking me out, Kim Mingyu?”

He grinned, his ears slightly pink. “I guess I am.”

“And will there be a warning if you plan on kissing me again? I need emotional prep time now, apparently.”

“Nope.” He smirked. “Gotta keep you on your toes.”

You groaned. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

He beamed at that, but then paused. “Friday?”

“Friday,” you echoed.

“Fancy?”

“How fancy are we talking?”

“Fancy enough to make you feel like you’re the only girl in the room.”

Goddamn him.

Your stomach flipped. You tried to play it cool, but your smile gave you away. “I’m going to wear heels, and I’m suing you if I trip.”

“I’ll catch you,” he said, standing up and helping you to your feet. “I always do.”

He leaned in to press a soft kiss to your cheek—a featherlight promise—and stepped toward the door.

“I’ll see you Friday,” he said, pausing at the threshold. “Try not to ghost me before then.”

You gave him a mock salute. “No promises.”

Mingyu laughed and disappeared down the hall, leaving you standing there like an idiot, grinning at the closed door.

And then your eyes landed on your desk.

On the black leather-bound notebook you hadn’t touched in days.

You walked over, hesitating as you opened it to the last page. The column you’d created—How Close Am I to Falling for Him?—mocked you in perfect, even handwriting. You stared at the number you’d written after your first date. A six.

You flipped the page and wrote one line at the top.

Date three: A ten. I’m so completely fucked.

Then, you closed the journal and shoved it into the drawer, burying it under a stack of abandoned notebooks. You weren’t ready to destroy it—but you didn’t want to look at it either.

Not tonight.

Not when you still hadn’t told him the truth.

Not when everything suddenly felt too close to something real.

You stared at the drawer for a second longer, then turned away and crawled back into bed.

This time, you let yourself smile as you pulled the blanket over your head.

Because whatever happened next—you’d deal with it.

After Friday.

[madamechrissy]

Ive had this idea that you’re the bride the Gojo clan chose for satoru (arranged marriage) and you both don’t know who you’re marrying and won’t know until your getting married right? So on your “last night of freedom” your friends throw a bachelorette party for you and take you out for dancing and drinks. Something you didn’t know is your future husband was having his bachelor party at the same place. Long story short you both meet (not knowing who each other are and not catching the coincidence) and spend your last night of freedom with each other (body shots, dancing, a little heavy making out). Come the next day you stare at him through your veil at the end of the aisle and can’t help but smile knowing the man who showed you what you thought was the last best night of your life was your future husband all along.

Hello love, I just adore this idea, I hope you enjoy what I came up with here!

Word Count- 2.4k - Pairing- Satoru Gojo x Fem Reader- explicit- making out, playing in public, oral sex (both receiving)

ఇ An Arranged Marriage with Gojo ఇ

The club pulsed with energy, a whirlwind of lights and pulsing beats that pound through your body, you're already warm and flushed from the writhing bodies on the dance floor and your first tequila shot. Your best friends pulled you back toward the bar, ordering rounds of colorful cocktails that sparkle in your glasses. Your best friend Shoko is trying to cheer you up, pinching your backside and making the funniest 'whooo noise'. you giggle.

"Look at this ass in this! Bend over, bride to be." You bend over and Shoko and she smacks your butt, as does your other good friend Utahime and then all your friends there. You're giggling, as the bartender winks at you.

"If you weren't the bride to be I think I'd ask for your number." He says to you, and you flush, luckily no one can see in the neon lights of the dance floor.

"See, you're hot, bitch." Utahime says, putting a shot glass right in your cleavage and grinning. Utahime's pretty, silky black locks are high in a ponytail, whereas Shoko's brunette locks were shorter, just a bit over one eye as she puts a lime in your mouth.

"Your husband is a lucky man." The bartender says now, and you sigh, not wanting to reveal the truth, that he'd probably resent you, that you all have never even met. Not once. You're from an entire other village, promised to marry the head of the Gojo clan, and you know nothing about him at all.

"He's gonna love you baby." Shoko says, puffing on a cigarette and smiling. You take a shaky breath, running your hands down your slinky silver dress, as Utahime takes a shot right from your tits. You notice then as you look to your right that there are three handsome men, looking right at you.

One has long dark hair tied back half up and in a dark green Kimono, the other sandy hair, looking sharp in a killer suit, but the third stands out, they're all tall and gorgeous, but something about him. Is it the shocking white hair or the brilliant blue eyes, that trail down your body as he smirks just a bit with pouty lips.

'look at her over there, fuck she's hot. Why do I have to get married tomorrow? What if she's a bitch, what if she's a-'

'Satoru, you have no choice. You know that. Enjoy your last night of freedom, go talk to her.' Suguru Geto says, he's set to be Gojo's best man, and he knows his friend is losing it at the thought of marrying someone arranged. He doesn't blame him one bit, the girl Gojo is looking at - You - is very beautiful, that little outfit hugging your body just right, a little tiara on your head.

'looks like she's also getting married. huh.' Nanami says then, and Satoru looks at your head, seeing the tiara and tiny veil, and then your glittering outfit and heels make sense. 'I don't know, should you really talk to her?'

Satoru sighs then, downing the contents of his sweet, fruity hurricane he ordered. 'I mean I have one night left. I won't take things too far, but maybe a kiss or... maybe lick her-'

'Gojo!' Nanami chides, but Suguru chuckles, his dark eyes glinting.

'Nah, kiss both sets of lips Satoru.' Satoru chuckles then, as he things of what is between those pretty thighs, and he grins big, his white teeth glinting, shooting his friends the peace sign.

'I'm out to have my last meal guys!'

"Fuck, is he coming over here!?" You whisper then, as this tall gorgeous man with some expensive black Gucci dress shirt stands and looks right at you. You nervously down another shot, eyes wide at your friends.

"He thinks you're hot! Fuck it babe, enjoy yourself, we have no clue how this... Gojo guy is going to be." Utahime says softly, and you shake your head.

"I can't just fuck someone night before my wedding!"

"So don't fuck, just... maybe, y'know." Shoko winks, putting her cigarette out, and you feel your pulse race as he gets closer.

"Y'know what? You all know I am too sheltered to have done much."

"That's even better, gotta do something before, yeah?" Utahime says, nudging you, and you open your mouth, but suddenly he's right next to you, towering over you and everyone in the damn club, even his tall ass friends were just a hair shorter.

He smiles down at you, then to your friends, but his focus shoots right back on your face, as he toys with the tiara a bit. "bride to be, huh?"

"Um... y-yeah." Fuck could you be anymore awkward?

"How about I buy you a drink, pretty?" You flush under his casual praise, as someone with such perfect features compliments you, and he was perfect, his straight nose, his pouty pink lips, jaw structure better than a GQ model. And fuck he smells good.

"She'd love to!" Utahime answers for you, and you panic, looking up at him, noticing his gaze had dropped to your breasts, pronounced in that pretty dress. You feel your nipples perk up, and hope he doesn't notice.

"Oooh, Mei is here! We will let you two mingle, we're gonna meet her out front and then get more drinks." Shoko says, and they leave you, these bitches leave you with this... tall ass, fine ass man. You gulp nervously as he has a seat next to you, scooching you a bar stool up.

"Last night of freedom huh?" He asks softly, and you nod, sighing and sitting where he'd just patted, as he holds up two ridiculously long fingers, fingers that make you think the lewdest things, how they'd feel inside you.

Fuck.

He orders you both several shots in different colors, like a pretty rainbow and you smile then, as he's handing you the red one first. "Bottoms up, pretty."

You down the shot, surprisingly tart, coughing just a bit, and he's chuckling at you. "hey now! Don't make fun!"

"Sorry you're just cute. Here, try this one Princess."

"Princess, aha no... just a cheap tiara here." You say with a little giggle, and he adjusts it carefully, you watch his Adam's Apple bob. He is too close, you see his collarbone, his strong neck muscles, wondering at his body.

"There, much better, all Princess like."

"You're sweet." You say, and he leans close, tilting your chin up, and you taste his sweet breath, far too close to lips that are tingling.

"Bet you taste sweet." He whispers, and you're a mess, you don't know this man you're gonna marry, but you still feel awful. Should you do this!?

"I um... so, I don't know who I'm marrying." You whisper, and he frowns a bit then, tilting his head.

"Arranged shit? Archaic." You sigh, nodding.

"It's bullshit. I don't have time to... date you, or get to know you, or anything."

"You saying you just want my body!?" He gasps, holding his hand to his chest, making you giggle again.

"Just to have fun."

"Then let's have fun." You two down one more shot each, and now he has you on that dance floor, as your hips are undulating to the beat of the flashing lights, and his big hands overtake your hips. He bends down then, turning you and lifting you like it's nothing, you giggle as your feet dangle, and you cling to him around his neck.

"You're a good dancer... fuck what's your name!"

"It's... Geto. Suguru Geto." He says (he doesn't know why he lies but it feels right- he doesn't want rumors about himself to spread)

"Oh, and I'm... Ieri Shoko." You say (You don't know why you like, but it feels right- you don't want rumors about you to spread)

"Shoko huh?"

"Suguru huh?"

Before you know it, you're making out right on that dance floor, and his hand is sliding up the small of your back, as Shoko and Utahime have begun talking to Geto and Nanami, and the four of them have put it together, watching you both with a grin. You two will definitely be happy, they all muse, as they watch their clueless, horny friends all over each other.

"Mmm, Suguru... can I call you that?" You whisper, in between his kisses, your tongues wrapping around each other hungrily, your body arching eagerly for more. He chuckles then, shaking his head.

"Call me baby boy, sounds cute." You giggle then, shaking your head up at him, then whining as his hand slips down your tummy, and he finds you hot and eager between your thighs. "Fuck you're hot, those noises... wanna kiss you all over."

"I'm so not calling you baby boy." You breathe out, then gasp when he's rubbing two long fingers over already damp lacy panties. He moans softly, eyes locking with yours.

"I'll call you Princess, you call me daddy."

"I am not!"

"Wanna bet?"

"Daddy!" You cry out weakly, as Satoru Gojo is on his knees, and you're up on this fancy sink at the club, he's flicking his tongue on your clit, two long fingers pumping into your dripping wet pussy, as you cling to his snowy white hair. His blue eyes lock, smirking against your hot little cunt now, his other hand yanking down your top, revealing a perky nipple for him to pinch.

"Already, you didn't cum yet, no... I need to find where you're... aha, there it is." He presses up then, as you feel your tummy clench, as this stranger makes you feel better than anything you've done. Your head whacks the mirror with a thud as he presses in on that spongy little spot, and you hear how wet you are in the bathroom echoing, along with the faded bass music.

"Fuck, fuck... m'close, shit!" You scream out, before trying to cover your mouth, remembering where you all are. He grins, brushing his lips on your puffy lips as he presses that spot over and over, making your vision blacken as the pressure builds.

"That's it, where you're weak... go ahead, Princess, let go, I've got you." He says, and fuck you trust this random stranger, the one who's watching you, flicking the tip of his tongue on your clit as he works you, and you're shattering, screaming into your palm, thighs trembling at how good you feel.

"Oh my god... daddy!" You whisper again, earning his grin before he nips at your clit with his teeth, then he kisses your thighs, finally letting you go, putting his fingers between your lips. "Mmm!"

"You're so fucking yummy. Fuck I wish I could taste you again." He huffs, pouting now, as your hand drops and brushes his hair back gently.

"Let me return the favor?" He groans, nodding, as you sink to your knees then.

"Oh fuck, I'm dreaming... pretty Princess sucking me off with her tiara?" He whispers, as he unzips his black jeans, and pushes down his boxers, revealing the most pretty cock you've seen. You still tremble as you start to suck him, as your cheeks hollow, your tongue lapping at his tip, eliciting a moan. "Oh- f-fuck... there, good girl, good girl."

The strangers praise just stirs you, as you stroke him with your fist gently, as you're sucking him down deeper, cheeks hollowing as you do, as you take him further, his big hands cupping your face gently, as he hits the back of your throat. You're moaning around him, as his brilliant blue eyes watch you, hungry, before he lets out a little whimper, and you feel him twitch in your mouth.

"You're too good at it... m'gonna... fuck where..."

"Cum in my mouth." You say then, and he curses, fucking your throat then, still gentle but more firm, as he presses the back of your head down, tip hitting your uvula, you breathe through your nose.

"Pretty girl... gonna cum... ready?" You nod then, whining, and he's whimpering again, this six foot plus gorgeous man, as he cums, his white brows drawn together, whispering over and over how good you are, as you swallow him down, all his cum dripping down your throat. "Fuck, fuck... open up pretty."

You open your mouth wide, showing you've swallowed him all, and he picks you up then, slamming his lips on yours, as you both taste each other, you're gripping his shirt and feeling his muscles, he's gripping your ass and feeling your curves. You tear into each other, then the door swings wide open, and you all seperate, giggling as you both run out past the onlooker.

You're both kissing over and over, and he frowns then, suddenly so serious, as it hits you both, that the most amazing encounter you've had was just that- one time. That you had to marry tomorrow, and who would he be, what would your connection be like.

"Thank you, for the best night of my life." You say softly, feeling emotions choke up, and his brilliant eyes go glassy.

"Thank you for the best night of my life." He responds, as now your friends are pulling you both in different directions, and soon you're looking out the window, thinking of all of the things coming your way, and a smile on your lips as you think you'll remember this white haired man, forever.

*****

The next morning, you're wearing your veil, as you nervously walk down the aisle, in this huge and gorgeous manor, Gojo manor. You nervously turn then, and you stop in your tracks as you see him, that man... not Suguru Geto, he lied just like you had, you notice with a small smile.

He looks a little lost at first, until he sees you, sees your body, his blue eyes shooting across the aisle, and you grin through your veil, as he smiles, eyes shooting across your body, recognizing it. Suguru shakes his shoulder with a grin, as Nanami smirks. You see Shoko and Utahime grinning on the other side in their pretty dresses as you step up, and Gojo takes your tiny hand in his big one, pressing a kiss like some Disney Prince.

"Well, you're not Shoko." He whispers, eyeing your friend. "She is, little liar."

"And you're not Geto, are you now?" He grins, shaking his head, gently taking off your veil, and exhaling, eyes drinking you in. "You look beautiful." He whispers, and you blink back emotions.

"And you look so handsome, Gojo." He smirks, so charming in his white suit, as you're in your white gown.

"Call me Satoru... or..." He leans close, whispering in your ear. "You can call me Daddy later."

Hope you enjoyed, anon ty for the request I had funnn <3

[ice-man-goes-bwoah]

Protective Bob||Bob Reynolds x reader

Summary —you and Bob like each other but instead of being open about it you’d rather pine.

Word count-998

Warnings —club setting and mentions of a mocktail (it’s just cranberry juice, Sprite and a lime) 

You weren’t supposed to be paired with Bob Reynolds tonight. Normally, it’s you and Walker, your usual rhythm, your usual snark, your usual cover stories. But he’s tied up in Prague with Yelena, and the extraction clock in Budapest doesn’t care about partner preferences.

So here you are. In a grimy underground club that smells like cheap vodka and cheaper cologne, running recon with the one member of the Thunderbolts who looks like he should be curled up with a book rather than lurking in the shadows of organized crime.

Bob Reynolds.

He’s tall, quiet, awkward in a way that isn’t unconfident so much as… gentle. You’ve never worked closely with him before, but you’ve seen how he treats the team. Always carrying an extra pair of gloves in case someone’s hands get cold. The only one who apologizes when briefings run long. The guy who’d rather take a hit himself than let anyone else get bruised.

The guy who makes you smile when he doesn’t realize anyone’s watching.

You glance over at him now, pretending to sip a mocktail that was a mix of sprite and cranberry juice while scanning the crowd. He’s posted up just a few feet behind you, pretending not to be tense, sipping soda through a paper straw like it’s part of his cover.

Your target’s contact hasn’t shown yet.

What does show up is trouble.

A man you don’t recognize definitely not on the op sheet sidles up beside you, reeking of cheap whiskey and bravado.

“Hey there,” he says, leaning in far too close. “You look a little too good for this place.”

You shift your weight but don’t respond. Eye contact is the fastest way to encourage someone like him.

He grins. “That’s not a no. You here with someone?”

Before you can shut him down, there’s movement behind you.

Bob. Barstool scraping. Boots against sticky floor.

Then he’s there right between you and the man, shoulders squared, hands clenched at his sides.

“She said no,” Bob says, voice just loud enough to cut through the noise.

The man snorts. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m her… bodyguard.”

You nearly choke on your drink.

Bob, who spent ten minutes apologizing for bumping your elbow in the elevator earlier, now stands puffed-up and awkwardly firm, like someone trying to look like they know how to fight without actually wanting to. His chest rises and falls in short bursts nervous adrenaline, definitely. But he doesn’t back down.

The man sizes him up. Bob’s taller, sure, but not exactly threatening. Still, there’s something… off. Not dangerous, exactly, but unpredictable. Bob’s eye twitches. His fingers twitch. He looks like someone trying very hard to act normal and failing.

It weirds the guy out.

“Right. Whatever. She’s all yours, man,” he mutters, retreating into the crowd.

Bob turns to you, eyes wide. “You okay?”

You raise a brow, biting back a grin. “Terrified. You’re so intimidating.”

He blinks. “Wait—really?”

You loop your arm through his and tug him toward a darker corner. “Oh yeah. Especially that ‘I’m her bodyguard’ bit. Classic.”

“I panicked,” he says sheepishly.

You laugh under your breath, finally relaxing. “You were great.”

The rest of the mission goes off without a hitch. Contact shows, data transfers, you ghost out the back with Bob on your heels like a big loyal retriever.

By the time you get back to the safehouse hotel, it’s well past midnight.

You’re exhausted, and apparently, your room’s keycard doesn’t work.

“Seriously?” you mutter, jiggling the handle again.

Bob peeks out of the door across the hall, already changed into sweatpants and an oversized NASA tee. His glasses are off, blonde curls a bit messy. “Everything okay?”

“Locked out,” you sigh.

He hesitates. “Do you… want to crash in mine? Just until the front desk reactivates it?”

You blink at him.

His ears turn bright red. “Not—not like that. I’ll take the chair. Or the floor. Or you can have the bed—I mean, I wasn’t—”

“Bob,” you interrupt gently, smiling. “I trust you.”

His mouth snaps shut. Then curves upward.

Inside his room, it’s warmer than yours ever was. Lived-in. A book with a cracked spine sits open on the nightstand. Two mugs on the desk. He shrugs out of a blanket draped over the armchair and tosses it your way.

“Bed’s yours,” he says, sitting on the floor without argument.

“You can sit on the bed,” you offer.

He looks scandalized. “It’s your—”

“Bob. It’s just a mattress, not a holy relic.”

He huffs a laugh and finally perches beside you, both of you facing the muted TV, shoulders barely brushing.

You pull the blanket tighter. “Thanks for earlier, by the way. You didn’t have to step in.”

“I wanted to.”

His voice is quiet. A little hoarse.

You glance at him. “Even though it made you all twitchy and weird?”

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “You noticed that, huh?”

“Kinda hard to miss. You’re not exactly subtle.”

He fidgets with a thread on his sleeve. “I just… I don’t like the idea of someone making you uncomfortable. You deserve better.”

That makes you pause. Your breath catches just slightly in your throat.

You nudge his knee with yours. “Thanks, Bob. For caring.”

He turns toward you really looks at you. You can see it now, in the soft focus of the room. The way he holds himself differently around you. Like he’s always on the verge of saying something more.

Your heart thuds.

You want to lean in. You almost do.

But then he moves first awkwardly, shyly offering the hoodie that was bundled at the end of the bed.

“You looked cold earlier.”

You take it. Pull it on. It’s warm and smells like detergent and something soft and boyish.

You sit there like that, shoulder to shoulder, both of you pretending the silence is easy.

And maybe, just maybe, it is.

[azsazz]

Over Ice (Part 2)

Hockey!Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Anon Req: She’s walking around Campus and BOOM right smack dab into Broody McBrooder!! She THEN finds out he’s the tutor for one of her hardest courses (personally Psych would be a good one) and they become super duper close with him and the team!!!

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 3122

(Part 1)

_________________________________________

“When you said you got me a t-shirt,” you sigh, once again adjusting the hem of the jersey Mor provided you. Notshirt; jersey. The bottom of the Velaris Bats uniform has been trimmed—startlingly low. Or is it cut too high; you wonder with a swallowed curse. The damned thing nearly shows off your entire midriff. “I thought you meant, like, a normal fucking shirt and not whatever this is.”

Mor scoffs, shoveling a handful of popcorn into her mouth as she weaves her way through the throng of people towards your seats. Her long strides in her black heels hard to keep up with. “That is a Mor Original, and I only made it cuter,” she huffs indigently, like your discomfort is the sole inspiration behind her “designs.”

This isn’t the first time you’ve allowed Mor to pick out your outfit, but it’s definitely going to be your last, you try to remind yourself. The handful of times you’ve thought this exact thing before is laughable, and you’ve never once remembered. She’ll continue to cut the hems of shirts and alter skirts into even shorter skirts until the end of time, probably.

She’s been the crafty type since you first met her. Anything that she could add personality to was subject for a good old shot of “Mor’s Touch:” clothing, home décor, even the cocktails she mixes—which often go from something as simple as a Dirty Shirley and turning it into a cherry-passionfruit with a hint of lime drink, mixed with tonic instead of Sprite and garnished with a frilly umbrella stuck through three Maraschino cherries because “one is simply not enough.”

You agree, and you’d never admit to your eccentric roommate that it’s the most delicious drink you’ve ever had. Goes down like lemonade and has you going from a corner-stander to someone in the center of the dancefloor in two drinks flat.

You wish you had one right about now to get you through the night.

Your mind wanders to Gwyn back at the dorms, wondering what she’s going to be getting up to tonight. You don’t need to wonder, you know how your red-headed roommate prefers to spend her nights, curled up on the couch beneath a thick blanket, a bag of chocolate-covered pretzels within reach, and her laptop in her lap, creating fantasy worlds for her characters to live in some day.

A surge of pride for your roommate fills your energy tank. Sometimes people truly do find exactly what they were made for in life, and Gwyn was born to write. You’ve only read a few snippets she’s been willing to share, but you can’t fathom forming sentences the way she does, creating worlds and characters from her mind alone, seeing a vision in your mind so clear that it would be a crime not to share it with the world.

You’re not sure you’ve ever loved something that much, but Sports Medicine is pretty damn close. Psychology, is not.

You shiver as the cold of the arena hits the sliver of skin that’s exposed itself once again while you were taking a sip of your drink. Goosebumps pebble in response, coursing over the entirety of your body within seconds, causing you to shiver.

You should’ve fought Mor harder about bringing your jacket, but at least she left you sleeves, her shirt has been cut into a tank that hardly reaches the bottom of her ribs, and there’s a deep cut down the collar, creating a perfect ‘V’ that shows off her incredible tits.

You’d know, you’ve seen them before.

“Oh. My. Gosh. You two look so good,” a girl gushes, steps into you and Mor’s path, halting you from your first steps down the stairs to your seats. She’s chipper, a camera poised in her hands, the thick strap around her neck. He shiny, chestnut hair is braided into two tails, draped across her shoulders.

Behind her thin-framed glasses, her bright blue eyes sparkle with excitement as she peruses you and your roommate up and down, admiring your outfits.

“I told you,” Mor murmurs, elbowing you in the side before raising her voice to answer. “Thank you so much! I spent all day on these, and this one doesn’t appreciate my hard work at all. It’s a refreshing change of pace to hear a compliment instead of ‘Mor, don’t you think this is a little too much?’” You scrunch your nose at Mor’s terrible impression of you. Too nasally, too annoying.

The photographer laughs like it’s her full-time job, and you scowl.

Way to throw me right under that speeding bus, Mor.

“Do you mind if I take your picture for the team’s social media account? You two would make a great first slide in a carousel for school spirit,” she gets this faraway look in her eyes as if she’s picturing it now. “The interaction you’d get us,” she sighs dreamily. “I might even get promoted.”

You groan internally when Mor perks up even further. “I think I love you,” she blurts, pupils heart-shaped. “Do you want to sit with us? We have an extra ticket.” She’s bought one for Gwyn, hoping she would join in on this sporty girl’s night, but your other roommate had been adamant about her dislike of the sport, and had gotten a pass while you were dressed up like a doll and dragged out of the dorm.

The girl’s laugh is like a windchime, soothing and melodic. “I wish I could, but duty calls,” she waves her camera around in answer. “Maybe I’ll catch you at one of the after parties, though. Here, you can give me your Instagram and I’ll DM you after tagging you in the photos.”

She and Mor exchange socials and names. Feyre. It’s unique and suits her well.

After adding your own Instagram on her phone, you hand the phone back, posing with Mor. Of course, knowing your roommate as you do, it’s not just one picture that Feyre takes. They’re both beaming, and one picture turns into ten. Ten poses, nine sips of your drink because you don’t know what the hell else to do. Eight frantic smiles, seven internal sighs, and six side-eyes from passerby, trying to find their seats. Five giggles from friends, four embarrassed blushes, three warnings that you are so done with this, two people ignoring you, and one announcement overhead signaling the start of the game in a few minutes.

“So nice to meet you, Feyre,” Mor calls as you begin guiding her away. You have no clue where you’re going, but any movement closer to any empty seat is better than the photoshoot you just had in the middle of the walkway. With a parting smile at the photographer, Mor continues, like she’s all for standing there all night instead of supporting her cousin on the ice. “Message me!”

“Clingy, much?” You grunt at the poke to the arm that gets you.

“Oh, come on! It’s not like I’m going to replace you,” she scoffs with a brush of her long blonde hair over her shoulder. You swear, the guys sitting in the front row swoon. “Besides, you can never have too many friends. It’s not possible.”

You’re pretty sure it is possible to have too many friends, but you keep that thought to yourself. You suppose you have one more spot in your life for a friend, but if the pictures turn out terrible and are blasted on the Bat’s Instagram, that spot might disappear. You’re already feeling mortified enough from the public display of taking photos.

“Yeah, yeah,” is what you decide to go with. “Now, where are our seats?”

“I don’t like the look of that,” you mutter wearily, squinting to see what’s happening on the ice. You might not know anything about hockey, but you know malicious intent when you see it. It’s in the way that the Penguin’s player leans closer to the Bat’s center, nudging his shoulder as he speaks, his slimy grin growing with each jab.

The game’s been fun so far, much to your surprise. The crowd surrounding you is all for the team, chanting songs that you need to learn immediately because they’re so much fun. The music that blasts around the stadium during every break is on-point, not too old of songs and not too overplayed like at the one football game you’d been dragged to last year (also by Mor, but not because of a family member on the team, because of an entirely different member.)

“Is that my cousin?” She asks, brown eyes sharp as she examines the players. Their fronts are to you, no seeing the names painted across the back of their jerseys. You refrain from mentioning how Mor should at least know her own cousin’s number—since their written on the sleeves—but you keep that thought to yourself when her red painted nails tighten around the box of popcorn, crushing the flimsy cardboard. The strain of the muscle in her jaw matches the boy on the ice’s, you notice with a fleeing glance at your roommate.

Tension coils your gut. You find your fingers wrapping around the edge of the seat you’re perched in, gripping the bleachers so tightly that you swear you feel the cool metal warming and warping.

You’re not the only two who have noticed the shift in the moods of the players on the ice, parts of the crowd are beginning to rise from their seats, cheering growing from a low rumble to a thunder of screams, caws, and jeering.

The puck is barely a millimeter from the referee’s hand before sticks are thrown to the ice, gloves following as the two players slowly begin to circle each other. It looks like something out of an animal documentary: two predators about to snap at each other’s throats in a fight for the territory.

The anticipation of them going blow for blow lights a fire deep within your belly, your core perking up for attention.

You shouldn’t be thinking like this, shouldn’t get getting turned on by the idea of two boys about to knock each other’s teeth out. Should be thinking about your best friend’s cousin like this at all.

Shooting a guilty glance at your roommate, you breathe a soft sigh of relief that’s swallowed by the shouts of the crowd when you see that Mor hasn’t picked up on your sudden shift in mood—both mentally and physically.

All the players on the ice slide back to make room for the brawl that’s about to break out and a sick feeling bubbles in your stomach, almost overpowering the arousal as you wonder why no one is attempting to stop them.

There isn’t time to voice your concern, isn’t time to do anything except bolt to your feet with a gasp so harsh it sears your lungs when the Penguin’s player is the first to swing. Your heart is lodged in your throat, your breathing holding in your throat as you watch in anticipation. He lashes out with a curled fist so fast that by the time you blink, it’s over.

His hit doesn’t land.

There’s no time to feel the relief trying to rush through your veins because the Bat’s center is retaliating, throwing himself forward after swiftly dodging the attack. He grabs the other boy by the collar of his ice blue uniform and hauls him into his closed fist.

His opponents helmet goes flying off with the snap of his head backwards. He stumbles, but manages to stay upright, snagging a handful of the Bat’s jersey to try and steady himself.

You look to the benches flanking the ice, wondering why no one is joining the fray. It’s now that you realize it’s not that they don’t want to help their teammate who is quickly ducking away from another fist, it’s because they can’t.

There’s a boy standing nonchalantly, hazel eyes pinned on the scene before him. He looks eager almost, leaning so casually against his stick, chin propped on the edge of it like he’s watching the newest action movie from the best spot in the house.

Even the goalie seems to be unconcerned, taking the few moments he has to take a swig of water and adjust his helmet, squatting low and shooting side to side in his box, as if trying to keep limber for when the game resumes.

One of the refs is attempting to hold back a burly boy who seems much too large to be skating at all. His helmet has also been shucked off, revealing long, shoulder length wet hair that clings to his face and neck like a bee on honey. His gloves are abandoned on the ice too, and his stick has skidded to a stop upon hitting the sideboards nearby. You can’t make out the words he’s shouting, but with the feral grin you make out, you know they’re fighting words. With each bark he seems to be inching closer, like the full-grown man in the stripes trying to hold him back is nothing more than a soft breeze, and his is a twister barreling right through.

When he shakes his head, you catch sight of a bloodthirsty grin that has a shiver sliding up your spine. He’s enjoying this?

“Mor,” your worry tries to escape, only for the words to stick in your throat as more noises join the fight, loud as gunshots. Both the Bat’s and the Penguin’s players are rapping their hockey sticks against the boards separating their benches from the ice, war cries falling from their lips.

They’re all enjoying this.

“That is my cousin,” Mor screeches, her perfectly plucked brows pulled tight as she tries finally makes out the number on the back of the jersey that’s gripped so tightly in the offending players grip that you’re pretty sure the stitches are popping with the force. “Kick his fucking ass, Rhys!”

Casting a frantic look to your roommate, you realize that not even she seems to be fazed by the fact that her cousin is in the middle of a fight that could very seriously end badly, especially with the knives on the bottoms of their feet.

But, if everyone’s rooting for their player to win this battle, you can too.

As gruesome as the scene before you is, you wish you had a better seat, somewhere with a better viewpoint than all the way on the other side of the ice. You can’t to be able to hear the threats they’re growling at each other, your attention completely enraptured now that you’ve shoved your worry to the wayside.

With his newfound hold, the Penguin’s player strikes again, and this time, his hit slams across Rhys’ jaw. His head snaps to the side with the nasty hook and his helmet slips to the ice, the sound eaten up by the goading of the crowd.

They swing around, unsteady on their skates as each of the boys tries to topple the other over. You catch a glance at his face. It’s hard to see, and his shaggy black hair is splayed across his face like a spiderweb, keeping you from making out his features. You catch the blood dribbling down his chin, the anger etched in the clench of his jaw as he grits his teeth, managing to twist himself into a position where he has the upper hand on the Penguin’s player: a headlock.

Your heart thunders in your chest as you watch Rhys pound his fist into the other boy’s face once, twice, three times before his opponent’s feet fall out from under him. Rhys releases his hold, allowing the boy to slip lamely to the ice.

“Atta boy, Rhysie,” Mor shouts, once again shoveling popcorn into her mouth with a grin so bright it could melt the ice in the rink before you. She turns to you, golden brown of her eyes glowing with excitement. “Our parents would be so proud.”

She turns back to the scene before you can voice your confusion on that statement, tucking away the information that if you win a fight in hockey, it’s a great accomplishment.

You watch Rhys as he’s escorted by referees who guide him towards the penalty box. He’s examining his knuckles, not caring that he’s abandoning his equipment as he goes, grimacing as the adrenaline begins to fade. He pokes at them, frowning at whatever he feels.

You pray they’re not broken.

The rest of the players seem to be getting back to the game, like one of their teammates isn’t being casted away on an island across the ice. Okay, so it’s just another bench and he’s not that far from them, but you’re shocked that this is the end of the fight, both players carted into separate timeout boxes away from their teams.

Rhys plops down on the bench, pulling a water bottle from a hidden holder, washing the blood from his knuckles before examining them for a second time. You watch him flex his fingers, twist his wrist this way and that. You can’t seem to keep your eyes off him, even with the game picking back up and Mor shouting cheers when the Bat’s manage to steal the puck right from the drop, carting it down the ice with a speed that rivals a racecar.

He must be satisfied with his examination because Rhys is throwing his head back, and it’s almost as if he’s squirting the water from the bottle directly onto you with the way that the apex of your thigh’s wet at the sight of him. He sips the water, holding the bottle a few inches from his face, and you watch the water cascade down his chin and over his throat, bobbing with each swallow. It mixes with the blood from his split lip and slides into the collar of his gear.

You swallow harshly, suddenly parched.

When he’s had his fill of the drink, he moves the bottle further back, using the spray to wash his hair away from his face, and your breathing shallows. It’s as if the hand he’s using to squeeze the life out of the bottle is constricting around your throat, because suddenly, you recognize the sharp of that jaw, the curve of those eyebrows and the straight of his nose. All his angular features come together in the perfect picture of hotness, knocking the breath fully from your chest when he straightens his chin, looking out onto the ice to watch his teammates score the last goal of the second period.

He's the boy from this morning: the overachiever, the one who called you darling.

Mor’s cousin.

Rhysand Cunningham.

_________________________________________

Over Ice Taglist:

@saltedcoffeescotch @acourtofbatboydreams @mrsjna @velarisdusk @bionic-donut @tenshis-cake @eleganttravelercloud @lilah-asteria @serena05 @bwormie @soph1644 @house-husband-of-castlemurdock @tothestarsandwhateverend @topaz125

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, always and forever ࿐‧₊ you get drunk - so it goes...

chapter summary: On a team bonding outing to a bar, you try and prove that you can handle your alcohol.

word count: 4.5k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: this is a bonus chapter! i consider this taking place sometime around make you mine

this is the request that inspired this chapter - and also, brooklyn nine-nine, if you watch the show you'll understand the reference "nine drink amy." and also, i'm 20 years old and i've only had a sip of beer and a sparkling wine - and both times i asked my parents. so if anything about the drinking experience is wrong, please forgive me, i tried my best

(you do NOT have to read the series to understand this oneshot.)

warnings/tags: reader wears glasses, shy!reader, alcohol, drinking, getting drunk, protective!logan, fluff, light pda

series masterlist

Bars and clubs were never really your thing. Not even in college.

But since Scott suggested a team-building outing and it was a Friday night, somehow everyone agreed to go to a nearby bar in town.

You sat on a stool that had been pulled right next to Logan’s. Jean popped over, eyeing the Coke in your hand with a smirk. “You do know they sell drinks with actual alcohol in them, right?”

You glanced up at her, unimpressed. “I’m aware.”

She leaned her elbow against the bar, clearly enjoying herself. “Let me guess—one beer in college and you called it a night?”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could respond, Logan’s hand settled on your knee, warm and steady. He wasn’t looking at Jean, just sipping his own drink, but his thumb traced absent-minded circles against your leg. You could tell he was listening.

“I’ve had beer,” you said, shifting slightly at Logan’s touch. “And wine.”

Jean raised a skeptical brow. “Uh-huh. But have you ever had a shot?”

You hesitated. “…Does cough syrup count?”

Scott, who had just approached with a beer in hand, nearly choked on his drink. Jean snorted. “Oh my God, I knew it. You’re telling me you’ve never had tequila?”

“I never said never,” you mumbled, but you weren’t convincing anyone.

Jean grinned like she just won a bet. “I don’t think you could even handle a shot.”

You frowned, sitting up straighter. “I could handle it.”

“Oh, this I gotta see.” Jean turned toward the bar. “One shot of tequila, please.”

Logan finally looked up from his drink, brows furrowing. “Oh, hell no.”

Jean smirked. “What? You scared she’s gonna get wild after half an ounce of alcohol?”

Logan’s grip on your knee tightened slightly, not in warning—just… steadying. “More like I don’t wanna deal with what happens if she doesn’t.”

You crossed your arms. “I think I can handle one shot.”

Logan exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. “Yeah? What’s five-drink Y/N like?”

“I have no idea.”

Scott laughed. “That’s not reassuring.”

The bartender slid the shot toward you with a wedge of lime and a salt shaker. You glanced at it, suddenly feeling a little less confident under everyone’s expectant stares.

Jean leaned in. “You know how to do it, right?”

“I—I know there’s a process,” you said carefully.

Scott covered his mouth, definitely hiding a laugh. Logan sighed like this was painful for him to witness. “Jesus.”

Jean, to her credit, took pity on you. “Salt, shot, lime. In that order.”

You straightened your shoulders, then tentatively licked the back of your hand and sprinkled salt over it.

Scott shook his head. “This is already the best part of my night.”

You shot him a look before picking up the glass. The tequila smelled… strong. Probably because it was. But you weren’t about to back out now, not with Jean looking so smug.

Logan, on the other hand, looked less entertained. “You don’t have to prove anything, sweetheart.”

You ignored the way your stomach flipped at the pet name and, before you could talk yourself out of it, licked the salt, threw back the shot, and immediately sucked on the lime.

It burned.

Like fire down your throat. You tried to keep a straight face, but your eyes watered, and you coughed a little as you set the glass back down.

Jean burst out laughing. “Oh my God, that was adorable.”

Scott grinned. “Not bad for your first shot.”

You swallowed, willing the heat in your throat to settle. “That was awful.”

Jean patted your back. “Tequila always is.”

Logan shook his head, smirking despite himself. “Told you.”

You groaned, resting your forehead against the bar. “I hate you all.”

Jean was still laughing. “I swear, we need to document this. Who knows what two-drink Y/N is like?”

“Not happenin’,” Logan cut in, tone final. “She’s had her fun.”

You lifted your head, pointing a finger at him. “You just don’t want to deal with me drunk.”

Logan smirked, eyes glinting with something unreadable. “Sweetheart, I can handle you just fine.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but your stomach flipped at the way he was looking at you. Jean caught the moment and waggled her brows at you before grabbing Scott’s arm. “Come on, let’s give them some space.”

Scott scoffed. “Oh, now you care about giving them space?”

Jean pulled him toward the pool table anyway, leaving you alone with Logan.

He studied you for a moment, then reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Feelin’ alright?”

You nodded, your face still warm—probably not just from the alcohol.

Logan’s thumb brushed over your cheek before he leaned in slightly, his voice lower now. “Not a fan of tequila, huh?”

You scrunched your nose. “It tastes like regret.”

He huffed out a quiet laugh. “Stick to Coke, darlin’.”

You sighed, resting your elbow on the bar.

---

Fifteen minutes later, and the only difference you felt was a slight warmth in your chest. One shot of tequila clearly didn’t do much to you. Jean, however, was watching you like she was expecting something to happen at any moment.

You sipped your Coke, raising an eyebrow at her. “You good?”

Jean squinted at you, tilting her head like she was studying a new species. “I don’t know yet.”

Scott, who had wandered back over with another beer in hand, chuckled. “She was hoping you’d turn into ‘two-drink Y/N.’”

Jean scoffed. “No, I was hoping for three-drink Y/N. Two-drink Y/N is probably just a little sleepy. Three-drink Y/N might actually have fun.”

Logan exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. His arm was now draped over the back of your chair, and you could feel the subtle weight of his fingers resting against your shoulder. “She’s already fun,” he muttered.

Jean smirked. “Yeah, yeah. We know you think she’s perfect just the way she is, but come on—there’s gotta be a version of Y/N that’s a little more exciting than ‘science facts and sweaters.’”

You frowned. “Excuse me, sweaters are very exciting.”

Scott shook his head, amused. “Jean, she handled one shot just fine. I don’t think you’re getting a five-drink Y/N tonight.”

Jean groaned dramatically, slumping against the bar. “Fine. But I maintain my theory that she’d be fun if she actually let loose.”

Logan’s hand slid from your shoulder to your waist, his fingers curling slightly against the fabric of your shirt. “She’s fine the way she is,” he said, his voice low, like it wasn’t up for discussion.

Jean caught that, her eyes flicking between the two of you, but—for once—she didn’t tease. Instead, she sighed. “Fine, whatever. Stay boring.”

You still had your frown as you said, ��I can be fun.”

Jean held up her hands. “I know you are, but—”

Before she could finish, you reached over and grabbed the shot sitting next to Ororo’s hand, ignoring the surprised look she shot you. Without hesitation, you downed it, barely giving yourself time to think.

The vodka burned even worse than the tequila. It was sharp, brutal, and somehow even less tolerable. You squeezed your eyes shut and sucked in a breath, your face twisting involuntarily. “Oh, my God—that’s awful.”

Scott nearly choked on his beer again. Jean let out a delighted laugh, clapping her hands together. “Oh, this is already the best decision you’ve ever made.”

Ororo, who had just been reaching for her shot before you stole it, gave you an amused but unimpressed look. “Did you seriously just take my drink?”

You blinked, still grimacing. “I… panicked.”

Logan, meanwhile, looked absolutely done with all of you. “Jesus Christ, sweetheart,” he muttered, shaking his head.

Jean, grinning, nudged Scott. “Alright, what do we think? What’s two-drink Y/N gonna be like?”

Scott leaned back, smirking. “Honestly? Probably the same, just with more apologizing.”

“Hey,” you muttered, rubbing your temple. “That’s not—” You paused, considering. “…Okay, that’s probably true.”

Jean leaned in, watching you carefully. “You feeling it yet?”

You swallowed, feeling a distinct warmth in your chest, your limbs a little lighter than before. Your brain felt fuzzy, but not in an entirely unpleasant way. It wasn’t overwhelming—just a little loose.

“…Maybe?” you admitted, and Jean practically beamed.

Logan, on the other hand, did not look impressed. “This was a bad idea.”

Jean rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on, Logan. Live a little.”

“I’ve lived, Red,” he shot back, his grip still firm on your side. “And I know how this is gonna go.”

Scott grinned, amused. “What, you think she’s gonna start a bar fight?”

“No,” Logan muttered, exasperated. “I think I’m gonna have to carry her back to the damn mansion when she realizes she hates being drunk.”

You frowned, poking at his chest. “You’re underestimating me.”

Logan arched a brow, staring you down like he knew something you didn’t. “That so?”

“Yeah,” you said, leaning slightly into him, words coming a little easier now. “I can absolutely hold my liquor.”

Scott and Jean exchanged a look.

Logan tilted his head, smirking slightly. “Alright, sweetheart. We’ll see. But first let’s get you somethin’ that doesn’t taste like regret.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“Coke, sweetheart. Water.” His thumb brushed against your skin before his hand dropped back to his own drink. “Somethin’ that won’t burn goin’ down.”

You blinked at him, then down at your soda, brows furrowing in thought. “Actually,” you said slowly, voice carrying a new looseness thanks to the two shots you’d taken, “carbonated drinks burn too.”

Jean, halfway through another sip of her cocktail, snorted. “What?”

“It’s true.” You nodded sagely, turning to Logan like this was very important information. “The ‘bite’ from a carbonated drink—it’s not from the bubbles themselves, like, physically. It’s actually a chemical reaction.”

Scott raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained. “Oh, this is happening.”

Logan smirked against the rim of his glass. “Go on, sweetheart.”

You held up a finger, as if preparing for a lecture, oblivious to the amusement dancing in everyone’s eyes. “When you drink soda—any carbonated drink—carbon dioxide gets converted into carbonic acid by an enzyme in your mouth. That’s what causes the sting.” You lifted your glass, waving it slightly for emphasis. “It’s not actually the bubbles popping on your tongue; it’s a mild acid.”

Jean leaned in, grinning. “So you’re telling me Coke is acidic enough to hurt?”

“Not like, hurt hurt,” you clarified, pressing your glasses up the bridge of your nose with the back of your hand. “But yeah, that little tingly burn? That’s an acid reaction.”

Scott shook his head, chuckling. “Two-drink Y/N is still giving science lectures. Incredible.”

Jean groaned dramatically. “Oh, come on. Two-drink Y/N is just regular Y/N, but with slightly less hesitation.” She turned to Logan. “She’s gotta at least be more confident, right?”

Logan’s smirk deepened, his fingers toying with the hem of your shirt as his arm rested against your back. “Don’t need a drink for that. She knows her shit.”

You felt a slow warmth creep up your neck at that, but—whether it was the alcohol or Logan’s steady presence beside you—you didn’t immediately shrink under the attention. Instead, you tilted your head toward Jean. “You were expecting me to be, what? Dancing on tables?”

Jean pointed at you. “Yes. Exactly. Or at least demanding another shot.”

You frowned, considering that for a moment, then shrugged. “I could have another shot.”

Logan, already knowing where this was going, gave you a pointed look. “No, you couldn’t.”

You squinted up at him, suddenly feeling emboldened. “You don’t think I can?”

Logan exhaled sharply through his nose, setting his drink down. “Darlin’—”

“I think I could.” You turned back to Jean. “Jean, get me another—”

Before you could finish, Logan’s hand landed firmly on your thigh.

“Nope.” His voice was final, edged with that no-nonsense tone that usually shut down any argument before it could start.

Jean, however, looked delighted. “Oh, come on! She’s just getting started.”

You frowned, tilting your head at him. “You think I can’t handle one more?”

Logan exhaled sharply, his thumb brushing over the fabric of your jeans. “I think you’ll regret it in about twenty minutes.”

You, with more grace than you thought you possessed, slid off the stool without any wobbling. “I’ll just rewind. Jeannie, gimme shot.”

Jean gasped in delight, already reaching for the bartender’s attention. “Now we’re talking!”

Logan’s hand shot out before she could even say the word ‘vodka.’ His grip was firm when he caught your wrist, tugging you back against him before you could drift too far away. “Alright, that’s enough.”

You turned, frowning up at him. “I’m fine.”

Logan’s jaw ticked, his grip still gentle but unyielding. “That ain’t the point.”

Jean, undeterred, leaned on the bar, watching the exchange like it was her favorite soap opera. “Oh, come on, Logan. She’s just getting started.”

Scott, standing beside her, sipped his beer and muttered, “I feel like this is where we should stop pushing.”

You narrowed your eyes at Logan, crossing your arms. “You’re being dramatic.”

Logan didn’t look amused. He stared at you for a long beat, then exhaled sharply. His hand slid from your wrist to settle on your hip instead, his thumb pressing slow, deliberate circles over the fabric of your shirt. It was grounding, the kind of touch that had always made you feel solid.

“Sweetheart,” he said, low enough that only you could hear. “You barely drink. Two’s enough.”

You squinted up at him, tilting your head like you were considering his words. “I mean… technically, I could reset my metabolism if I just—”

Logan groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “For fuck’s sake—”

Scott snorted, while Jean grinned like she just struck gold. “Oh, my God. That’s cheating.”

“It’s science,” you corrected.

Logan huffed a short laugh, but his grip on your hip didn’t loosen. “No more drinks, Y/N.”

You gave him an exaggerated squint, like you were trying to determine if he was serious. He was. But that didn’t deter you. Maybe two drink you was just a tad bit more brave.

“Fine.” You muttered, leaning in to give him a quick kiss as your hand reached out for his whiskey glass. As soon as you pulled away, you downed the glass.

You barely had time to process what you’d done before the whiskey hit.

The burn spread slow and deep, more intense than the tequila or the vodka, and you had to fight the urge to cough. You placed the empty glass down with forced nonchalance, blinking hard against the warmth settling in your chest.

Jean gaped at you, looking equal parts impressed and delighted. “Okay, I take it back. This is the best night of my life.”

Scott let out a low whistle. “That was Logan’s drink. That’s a real drink.”

Logan, on the other hand, looked downright exasperated. His fingers tightened on your hip, and you didn’t have to look at him to know he was fighting the urge to throw you over his shoulder and haul you out of the bar right then and there.

“You really shouldn’t have done that,” he muttered, his voice dropping an octave.

You turned to him, blinking a little slower than usual. “Why not?”

Logan sighed, rubbing his thumb against his temple. “Because now I gotta deal with three-drink you.”

Jean leaned forward eagerly. “Yes, what is three-drink Y/N like?”

Logan just exhaled, his grip on you still firm, as if he was physically bracing for impact.

You, meanwhile, felt… good. Warm. Light. A little floaty, but still in control. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

You stretched your arms over your head, leaning into Logan as you did. “I feel fine,” you assured them, the words coming out a little slower than you intended.

Jean squinted at you. “Huh.”

Scott observed you, tilting his head like he was trying to solve a puzzle. “So far, she’s just regular Y/N but slightly more relaxed.”

Jean frowned, disappointed. “Boring.”

You stuck your tongue out at her, and she grinned. “There we go. That’s some personality.”

Logan shook his head. “She’s not boring.” His hand slid from your hip to rest more securely on your lower back. “She’s fine.”

Jean opened her mouth, but before she could say anything else, someone called her name from the other side of the bar. She groaned. “Ugh. Fine. I’ll be right back. Try not to let her turn into four-drink Y/N while I’m gone.”

Scott followed her, still chuckling, leaving you and Logan alone at the bar.

And that’s when it happened. The moment Jean stepped away, something in you shifted.

You turned in your seat, leaning fully into Logan, pressing yourself against his side without hesitation. “You’re so warm,” you mumbled, resting your head against his shoulder.

Logan’s hand immediately settled on your thigh, instinctively keeping you steady. “Darlin’…” His voice was wary.

You sighed, curling closer into him, not a single ounce of your usual shyness present. “Seriously, why are you always this warm? It’s nice.”

Logan cleared his throat. “Whiskey hit, huh?”

You nodded against his shoulder, your fingers idly tracing along his bicep. “Mhm.”

Logan huffed, shaking his head. “Should’ve seen this comin’.”

You ignored him, too busy running your hands up and down his arm. “Your muscles are ridiculous, you know that?”

Logan’s breath hitched. “Y/N…”

“You’re so strong,” you continued, as if he hadn’t spoken. You squeezed his bicep appreciatively. “Like, stupidly strong. It’s unfair.”

Logan groaned, running a hand down his face. “Christ.”

Unbothered, you shifted, draping your legs over his lap without thinking. “I like you,” you murmured, tracing little patterns against his chest now.

Logan exhaled sharply. “You like me?” he repeated, amused.

“Yeah.” You rested your chin on his shoulder, looking up at him with wide, slightly dazed eyes. “Did I ever tell you that?”

Logan’s lips twitched. “A couple times.”

“Well, I do.” You reached up, booping his nose with your fingertip. “You’re my favorite.”

Logan chuckled, shaking his head. “Three-drink you is real affectionate, huh?”

You hummed in agreement, snuggling even closer. “Mhm.” Your arms wound around his neck, your fingers playing with the ends of his hair. “You smell good.”

Logan froze for half a second before letting out a slow, steady breath. His hand tightened on your thigh.  “You do,” you insisted, pressing your nose against his collarbone. “All woods-y and nice and… Logan.”

Logan muttered something under his breath, his other hand landing on your waist. “You’re gonna be real embarrassed about this in the morning.”

You scoffed, tightening your arms around him. “No, I won’t. I like you.”

Logan sighed, tilting his head down to rest against yours for a moment. “Yeah, sweetheart. I know.”

Scott and Jean returned just in time to witness you clinging to Logan like a koala, your legs still draped over his lap, your face buried in his neck.

Jean blinked. “What the hell happened?”

Scott grinned. “Three-drink Y/N is just really into Logan.”

Jean gaped. “That’s it? That’s three-drink Y/N?”

Scott shrugged. “I mean, she did just tell Logan she likes him five times in a row.”

Jean groaned. “This is not what I was expecting.”

Scott took another sip of his beer. “Honestly? It’s better.”

Logan ignored them both, his focus solely on you as you sighed happily against him, completely content.

“You ready to go home, sweetheart?” he murmured, his fingers brushing gently against your lower back.

You nodded sleepily, nuzzling into his neck. “Mhm. Take me home, Logan.”

Logan chuckled, shaking his head fondly. “Yeah, alright, darlin’.”

And without another word, he slid one arm under your legs, the other around your back, and lifted you effortlessly into his arms.

Jean watched in disbelief. “She’s just letting you carry her?”

Logan smirked, adjusting his hold on you as you clung to him. “Guess she really likes me.”

Jean groaned. “This is so unfair.”

Scott just laughed. “You wanted to know what three-drink Y/N was like.”

Jean sighed, watching as Logan carried you toward the door, your arms still looped around his neck, your fingers lazily playing with his hair.

“…Okay, yeah,” she admitted. “This is hilarious.”

---

Logan had to carry you from the truck all the way to the bedroom. He laid you down on the bed before kneeling down to slip off your shoes.

You sighed dramatically as he pulled the first one off, your fingers lazily curling into the blanket beneath you. “You’re so nice,” you mumbled, watching him with a dazed expression.

Logan huffed out a quiet laugh, tugging off the second shoe. “Yeah? That the whiskey talkin’?”

“Nooo.” You shook your head, your glasses slipping slightly down your nose. “I mean, yes. But also no.”

Logan smirked as he set your shoes aside, “that so?”

“Mhm.” You blinked up at him, blinking a little slower than usual. “You’re always takin’ care of me.”

Logan didn’t respond right away. “Somebody’s gotta do it,” he muttered, tugging at the hem of your jeans. “Lift your hips.”

You complied without question, too caught up in watching him to argue. He made quick work of sliding your jeans down, his hands firm but careful, never lingering in a way that suggested anything other than pure intention. Still, the warmth of his touch sent a pleasant shiver up your spine.

Once they were off, Logan sat back on his heels, looking up at you. “That better?”

You hummed, stretching out on the bed, now clad in just your t-shirt and underwear. “Yeah.”

Logan stood, reaching for the blanket. “Alright, let’s get you tucked in.”

But before he could pull it over you, you grabbed his wrist. “Wait.”

Logan stilled, brow raising. “What?”

You tugged lightly, urging him closer. “Stay?”

Logan let out a slow breath, his gaze flicking over your face, taking in the soft flush on your cheeks, the slight haze still lingering in your eyes. He shook his head with a smirk, amused but fond. “You’re real clingy when you drink, huh?”

You frowned, your grip tightening on his wrist. “I’m always clingy.”

Logan’s smirk faltered just slightly. His expression softened in a way that made your stomach feel warm, even through the fog of alcohol. He sighed, shaking his head again. “Yeah, sweetheart. You are.”

You took that as permission and pulled harder, forcing him to sit down beside you. The second he did, you just stared at a spot on his shoulder, your eyebrows furrowed. You pushed your glasses up before looking him in the eyes and tugging his shirt. “Take it off.”

Logan’s brows lifted slightly, amusement flickering across his face. “Take it off?” he echoed, watching you tug at his shirt with surprising determination.

You nodded, your fingers curling tighter into the fabric. “Yeah,” you said, the slight haze of the whiskey making your voice softer, slower. “It’s in the way.”

His smirk deepened. “In the way of what?”

“Of your arms.”

Logan let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “My arms?”

You nodded, tugging at his shirt with surprisingly strong determination for someone three drinks in. “Mhm. They’re nice.”

Logan sighed, but there was no real exasperation behind it. “Darlin’, you got a real bad habit of talkin’ sweet when you’re tipsy.”

You ignored that, your fingers still curled into his shirt. “You sleep without it sometimes. I like that.”

He huffed, amused but fond, and reached behind his head, pulling the shirt off in one easy motion. The second it was gone, your hands were on him—slow, sleepy, tracing over his biceps and shoulders, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips.

A low sound rumbled from Logan’s chest, something caught between a sigh and a chuckle. “You’re real touchy tonight, huh?”

“You’re always warm,” you mumbled, your palms pressing lightly over his collarbones before smoothing down to his chest.

Logan didn’t stop you, didn’t move away. He just sat there, watching you with an unreadable expression as you mapped out the familiar terrain of him, your touches lazy, aimless, like you weren’t even thinking about it.

Then you shifted slightly, your knee bumping against his side as you moved closer. Your hands slid to his forearms, fingers trailing lightly over the scars that never quite healed. “You know what else?”

Logan tilted his head. “What else?”

You rested your forehead against his shoulder, sighing happily. “You’re so strong.”

He let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “Sweetheart—”

“No, really.” You pulled back just enough to poke lightly at his bicep. “You could lift a car.”

“I have lifted a car,” he reminded you.

“See?” You beamed up at him, eyes bright even through the whiskey haze. “Ridiculous.”

Logan exhaled, shaking his head like he didn’t know what to do with you. “You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, but his hand found your waist, fingers pressing lightly over your shirt.

You didn’t mind that. In fact, you leaned into it, your arms looping loosely around his neck as you sighed, your body sinking against his. “You always take care of me.”

Logan’s grip tightened slightly, his other hand settling against your back, rubbing slow circles. “Somebody’s gotta keep you from makin’ bad decisions.”

You hummed, clearly content. “I don’t make bad decisions.”

He snorted. “You stole Ororo’s drink tonight.”

You pouted against his shoulder. “That was a small mistake.”

“Uh-huh.”

You sighed, shifting again, adjusting yourself so you could curl into him properly. His arms wrapped around you easily, like this was second nature. “You take care of me,” you mumbled again. “I like that.”

Logan’s chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm. “Yeah, sweetheart. I know.”

You were quiet for a long moment, the whiskey making your limbs heavier, your thoughts softer. Then, in the same sleepy voice, you murmured, “you always have.”

Logan stilled.

You didn’t notice. You were already drifting, your breath slowing against his shoulder, your body completely relaxed in his arms.

But Logan noticed.

His hand paused against your back, fingers flexing slightly before smoothing over your spine again.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t ask what you meant. You wouldn’t have an answer, anyway.

Instead, he just held you a little tighter—after he took off your glasses—grounding himself in the steady sound of your breathing, in the warmth of you against him.

And as you finally slipped into sleep, Logan exhaled, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple before shifting you gently onto the pillows.

“Always,” he murmured, tucking the blanket around you.

Then he slid in beside you, letting you cling to him as much as you wanted.

[lieslab]

Enjoy the ride and let loose

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Vampire Chan X gn reader

Summary: A lonely vampire has been searching high and low for a new pet.

Genre: Alternate reality

Word Count: 2.1K

Trigger warning: Graphic details of blood, broken bones, brief mentions of a bar, drugs, alcohol, urine, vomit, blood, more blood, mainly blood.

A/N: Someone asked for a Chan request based off the Railway music video. So um... you know what? I have nothing to say for this. This was a written sin. My heart is fluttering and I don't even swing that way. I need to go to bed. Tomorrow, we can all touch grass together

_ _ _

Empty promises and eternal salvation from a man cannot save you. The last moments of your life speckled few and far between. Grimy memories faded between who you were and who you’ve become. The dim alleyway sparse with orange light, it wasn’t the best way to get home. 

Another night working your ass off at the bar. Overtime meant more money. Customers blended together. Drinks poured. Shot glasses chimed. Rims lined with lime and salt. Beers overflowing with foam. Spirits that quite literally possessed and inebriated everyone that consumed them. 

Not the best life, but the pay was too great to give up. So you went home when the blanket of night covered the sky. You poured, sloshed, wiped, scooped, and slipped your nights away as the keeper of spirits. Keeping tabs, shutting them, and opening another. You didn’t know what downtime was, but you knew about exhaustion. 

Four twelve hour days were kicking your ass. Days blended together. You barely remembered anything. Taking the alleyway home, collapsing on the worn floral couch, waking up soaked in the scent of someone else’s alcohol. 

The dingy bar, tough crowd, scent of tobacco and skunk. When white lines appeared, when the needles came out, you kept your head low. Just as your boss instructed you to. The less you saw, the better. 

Morally, your skin soaked with sin, but what else could you do? Life didn’t throw you the greatest hand of cards. You did what you could to get by. If that meant working your ass off, nearly collapsing in the middle of that alley on the way home, so be it. 

You picked yourself up by the bootstraps because nobody else was beside you. One more day. One more conversation from intoxicated customers. One more day of dodging empty beer bottles, dealing with screams from angry customers you cut off, and the pesky reminder from your boss. Keep your head down, stay quiet, if the cops show up, you’re just the bartender. Nothing ever happens there. 

The needles poking out the women’s bathroom trash said different. Puddles of half-digested fried greasy food littered the floor, only twice, on a good day. The men’s bathroom? You begged your boss to close it. No matter how good the drunken aim, urine missed the urinal and soaked the speckled underbelly of the flushable device. 

No matter how strong the disinfectant cleaner, the gloves provided little relief from the disgusting feeling of urine soaking your hands. It dripped off the gloves. Murky ammonia scented puddles haunted your dreams. If you weren’t consumed by the scent of booze, it was the ammonia and sweat. It never got old. 

Day five happened to be the day you met the devil. Half-asleep and stumbling in the alleyway, you narrowly dodged the dumpster behind a factory. Late at night, all the workers left hours ago. In a sleepy haze, the world spiraled out of control. 

You tipped left and over-corrected right. Your legs stumbled, your head jerked back, and a soft groan of annoyance filled the air. “Why does my goddamn house have to be so far away?” 

“It doesn’t have to be.” 

There was no time to spin around. Your eyes opened wider, just in time to find the silhouette of a hand shooting out to grab the bottom of your chin. Your eyes widened, your hand jerked upright to stop them, they grabbed your shoulder and then- 

Blinding pain. 

A sickening crunch. 

The morbid realization that your own neck could snap so easily. 

Your legs collapsed. 

An unknown laughter echoed in your ears. 

The night swallowed you whole and sucked you into its vortex. 

You didn’t make it to the sixth night of your shift alive. 

_ _ _ 

When you woke up, you were sure you were dead. An icy numbness harnessed your bones. It curdled your marrow, tucked away everything, and it stole your breath. The usual comforting stum of your heartbeat against your own chest disappeared. 

You scrambled to your feet, pushing out your hands to investigate your surroundings. Way up above, high window panels let in pale lighting, but other than that, darkness settled. It barely illuminated what you could make out to be some sort of cell. Iron bars, a heavy duty padlock wrapped around the door, and more darkness. 

Beneath your feet, a soft squishy material. Perhaps, a rubber mat? You brushed your shoe against it, trying to understand. Your sneaker scraped and then fell silent. You grabbed the bars and shook them, to no avail. 

“Easy there. You can’t get out of there if you try. Iron bars reinforced with iron, iron, and more iron.” A snicker laced an unknown’s voice. “Besides, you’re starving, aren’t you?” 

Step. Step. Step. Step. 

Chains rattled against one another. You searched around the area, not daring to push yourself too far against the bars, for fear of the unknown outside. A large white metal frame rusted away, coated with a thin layer of dust, it stretched in two different directions. Heavy footsteps wandered closer and closer until- 

Thunk. 

You didn’t recognize the man standing before you. You tried to comprehend everything about him all at once. The way his dark hair parted and framed his face. The single white eye and the other nearly dark as the night you fell victim to.

A large black leather bag dressed in small silver chains and a pair of handcuffs. He scrunched his shoulders up, relaxed, sucked in a deep breath, and smiled. “You must be starving, hm?” 

“Who are you?” 

“Who am I?” His lips tugged into a smirk. “Who am I? Who am I?” He chuckled, glanced over his shoulder, and grinned. “They want to know who I am. Should I tell them?” 

You took another step to the weathered bars. Across the way, similar cells sat, but they were a little different. The iron bars across your cell tucked you inside. On the opposite side of the hall, half-wooden stall bottoms were lined with thinner bars. 

Something shrieked and a pale hand jutted out. First one, then another, and then another. More and more lunged from the depths of darkness. Corpse-like fingers wiggled and grabbed air. Detailed veins coated the outside of their hands. Something groaned. Another soft shriek caused the man’s mood to sour. “Shut it! I didn’t ask if you were hungry!” 

“How many people are you keeping here?” 

He paused at your question and began to crane his head back towards you. “People?” You nodded, which led to another amused grin on his end. “Tell me, do you think your heart still beats with life?” 

“It has to be.” 

“And if it wasn’t?” 

Your head shook. Confused by the question and annoyed that you couldn’t get a proper response, you changed the question. “What’s your name?” 

“You can call me Christopher. As for you, my new little pet, I bet you’re starving. The new ones are always starving. Not many make it to this point. You’ve already beaten roughly ninety percent of those who have come before you.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

He didn’t respond. Instead, he squatted, ripped open the zipper, and pulled out a dark pouch. With ease, he pushed it between two bars and tossed it towards you. It landed with a soft plot at your feet. 

Nausea filled your body at the sight. You could only describe it as a pouch full of blood. His eyes didn’t leave your body. Like a predator watching a prey, he observed your every move. “Better drink up while it’s still warm.” 

“Is this a sick joke?” You whispered. Confusion filled your eyes. You glanced at him, but from the look he carried, something in you knew this was something much darker than the anger of a drunk customer. 

“Drink up.” 

Behind him, another screech. He scowled, spun around, and grabbed the closest outstretched arm. Olive skin smeared with purple bruises in the faint sunlight. He snagged their wrist and began to squeeze it. 

“How many times do I have to mend your behavior? A new pet means being on your best behavior. You know what happens to those who don’t listen to me?” 

The hands began to retreat back into the darkness. When the only hand left was the one he held, his eyebrow furrowed. “Do not. Test me. Again.” He jerked the arm up and swung the wrist in a circle. 

Another sickening crunch caused you to gag. A faceless entity shrieked and jerked its hand free. The man glared for a few moments until he sighed and spun around. Another smirk appeared on his face as he sauntered back to your cell. 

“Where were we? Ah, yes. The blood. Drink up, you’re dehydrated.” 

“What’s wrong with you? Where am I? Please,” you uttered desperately, “I just want to go home.” 

“Home? In this state?” He laughed and shook his head. “This is your home for now. Monsters get lonely, you know? Every monster deserves a pet.” 

“Please,” you whispered desperately. You stepped closer and grabbed the bars. Not caring about the filth, you pressed your face against them. “I have a job and a life. That’s all I want. I won’t tell anyone.” 

“You won’t tell anyone I kidnapped you?” He whispered, thoughtfully. 

“Never.” 

Heterochromia eyes stared at yours. His face softened for a moment and he leaned closer. The scent of metallic blood hit your nose, but it didn’t stop you from trying to sway the stranger. 

“Promise?” He asked. 

He stopped your nod by grabbing your chin. “Interesting.” You stayed still, allowing him to run a thumb across your bottom lip. Nerves bombed your stomach and then dived back up like military helicopters. 

You didn’t pull away and you didn’t breathe. The soft pad of his thumb traced your lips again. “You know, I’ve always dreamed of someone like this. To have something, a pet, to share companionship.” 

You kept quiet, hoping it’d work out in your favor. Too busy studying his eyes and focusing on his face, you didn’t catch his second hand drifting towards the leather pouch. His sharp nail punctured another warm pouch. 

“Even monsters can get lonely.” 

For whatever reason, you clung to every word; a pastor preaching a convicting sermon, a sinner and a saint, a monster and a pet. Something pulled you to him, but you couldn’t explain it. Otherworldly and unnatural, it oddly felt comforting. 

“Open.” His thumb tapped your bottom lip. Your lips parted and his eyes lit up. “So obedient, just the way I like them. Stay like that for me.” His thumb went up and began to brush along the side of your cheek. “There you go. I won’t hurt you.” 

Before you could understand it, plastic filled your mouth. His other hand wrapped around your chin. You tried to jerk away, but you couldn’t. In an iron grip, he squeezed the bag of blood. The metallic taste filled your mouth and your face scrunched. 

“Shh. Just swallow. Don’t worry, it won’t hurt you. I know it’s weird at first, but trust me. This is for your own good. Come on, swallow for me. Come on, sweetheart.” An index finger slipped down your throat, trying to coax you into submission. 

You hesitated, but followed his instructions. “Ah, there you go. Not too bad, hmm?” 

When your eyes pulled away to look over his shoulder, he gently squeezed your chin again. Your eyes met his and your legs felt weak. “Don’t look at them. Look at me.” 

He squeezed the plastic bag more. Sticky liquid pulsed into your parted lips. Too much, some dripped down the corner of your mouth. It fell down your cheek, slid beneath your chin, and drifted towards your shirt. 

“Such a messy little pet. How cute.” His thumb stretched out before you could stop him. He caught the end of the trail, hooked his thumb between his lips, and sucked.

You should have stepped back. He let go of your chin. You should have pulled away, but instead, you didn’t move. You watched in awe. Those feelings of fear drifted away. You swallowed without being instructed. 

The fresh blood rushed through your brain and awakened something in your soul. Something ignited and that sleepy haze disappeared. The man’s dimpled smile stretched once more.  “I think we’re going to do great things together, little pet.” 

Staring back at him, you couldn’t respond. Caught in his trance, the moans of pain and shrieks of horror from the unknown bodies behind him, none of it mattered. It didn’t matter that you were sipping someone’s blood. 

You died in that alleyway, but in the middle of this abandoned prison, something deadly; and far more intoxicating than alcohol, bloomed in your bones.

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Daddy Issues - Johnny Seo x Reader

Now Playing: » Daddy Issues « The Neighbourhood 3:27 ─────〇─ 4:16 ⇄ ◃◃ II ▹▹ ↻

Pairing: Johnny x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 15,382 Total Word Count: 49,636 Part 3 of 3 (Part 1) (Part 2) -

Playlist Masterlist NCT Masterlist

Warnings: SMUT (p in v, cunnilingus, mating press, pet names), Age Gap, minor angst, not bad but not great relationship with dad

Summary: 🎵 Go ahead and cry, little girl Nobody does it like you do I know how much it matters to you I know that you got daddy issues 🎵 or No one makes Y/n feel more rejected that her father. That's what leads her to seek friendship with a bartender

A/N: bloody finALLY FINISHED!! I am literally at work as I post all of these, lol I am so sorry it took this long to publish this fic, I did not expect it to take this song, but I am so glad to have it done now, lol Anyways, I hope you enjoy this last part 💚

-

Johnny had texted her earlier in the evening. The message was short and simple.

I’m at work and it’s dead here. I’m bored out of my mind.

It didn’t take much for Y/n to offer to swing by and keep him company. After all, she wasn’t doing anything important, and Johnny always had a way of making her nights a little more interesting.

That’s how she found herself sitting at the far end of the bar, drink a dry lemonade with lime cordial while Johnny wiped down the counter. 

The place was nearly empty, other than a couple of regulars. Music played softly in the background, just loud enough to fill the silence without overwhelming it.

Johnny leaned his elbows on the bar in front of her, a grin tugging at his lips. “You didn’t have to come, you know. I was more than happy to just text you.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her drink. “Yeah, well, I figured you’d find a way to rope me into coming over eventually. Might as well make it easy for you.”

He laughed, that low, easy sound that made it hard not to smile. “What can I say? I’m persuasive.”

God, his smile mad her head roll.

“Oh, is that what we’re calling it now?” she teased, raising an eyebrow.

“Hey, you’re here, aren’t you?” He gave her a wink before straightening up and heading toward the other side as a new customer wandered in. “Hold that thought,” he said over his shoulder, his voice light.

Y/n watched him work, effortlessly slipping into bartender mode, greeting the customer, pouring a drink, and making casual conversation as usual. 

When he returned, he placed his hands on the counter again, leaning slightly toward her. “Alright, where were we?”

“Me being the only salvation for your boredom,” she said.

Johnny tilted his head in mock offense. “Wow. I invite you to my workplace for free drinks and entertainment, and this is the respect I get?”

Y/n chuckled. “Free fizzy. Score!”

“Still counts.” He chuckled.

The night continued like that, easy banter and light-hearted teasing. As another hour passed, Y/n propped her chin on her hand, watching as Johnny restocked the shelves behind the bar. 

“So, how long until you’re done here?” she asked, glancing at the clock.

“About an hour, give or take,” he said, turning around to face her. “Why, tired already?”

“Nope, just wondering if you wanna grab something to eat after.”

Johnny smiled. “You gonna try pay this time?”

Y/n sat up straighter. “Fucking right, I am.” 

“We’ll see,” he said with a laugh before adding, “But yeah, that sounds good.”

And as Y/n sat there, watching Johnny work and listening to the low hum of music. It wasn’t a big night out or anything fancy, but sometimes, these were the best nights. 

As the clock struck midnight and the last of the bar’s patrons filtered out, Johnny flipped the sign on the door to Closed and locked up.

Y/n leaned back in her seat, watching as he went through the motions of shutting everything down, cleaning glasses, wiping down the bar, and double-checking the till. 

“Damn, you’re fast,” Y/n said, watching him place the last glass on the shelf.

“You learn how to close up quick when all you wanna do is get out and eat.” He shot her a grin before grabbing his jacket from behind the bar and slinging it over his shoulder. “Speaking of which, you still up for grabbing something?”

Y/n hopped off her chair. “Depends. Where are we going? Everything’s probably closed by now.”

Johnny glanced at the time on his phone and shrugged. “Yeah, nothing proper’s open this late, but…” He paused, giving her a knowing look. “I know a spot. It’s this little 24-hour fried chicken place. Greasy, messy, and definitely not gourmet, but it’s good. What do you say?”

Y/n’s stomach rumbled at the mention of food. “I’m down.”

“Let’s go.” He opened the door for her, locking it behind them once she stepped out. 

The night air was crisp, a faint chill brushing against their skin as they made their way to Johnny’s car parked out back. The ride was calm, the city around them dim and sleepy, with only the occasional streetlight illuminating their path. 

A few minutes later, Johnny pulled up in front of a small joint with a neon sign that read Fried & True - Open 24/7. Despite the hour, the place still had a cozy, welcoming vibe, with warm light spilling out onto the pavement.

They got out, and as Johnny locked the car, he gave Y/n a glance. “This chicken is, no joke, the best you’ll ever try.”

Y/n laughed. “Big promises for fried chicken.”

“Hey, this is very serious for me,” Johnny said, clearly joking.

Inside, the smell of crispy fried goodness filled the air. Y/n looked around the little store and smiled. When Johnny was about to approach the counter, Y/n rushed in front.

“Ah! No, you sit your ass down, you ain’t paying for this!” Y/n pointed to a table off to the side.

Johnny huffed out a chuckle before walking over to take a seat. Looking up at the menu, Y/n chose three different flavours of chicken and some chips to go.

As Y/n made her way over to the table, Johnny leaned back in his seat, eyes half-lidded but still full of that lazy charm. “So, did hanging out at the bar beat whatever else you had planned tonight?”

Y/n snorted. “You mean staying home doing fuck all? Yeah, you win.”

“Well, yeah. I was always gonna win.” He jested. “I’m pretty good company?”

“I don’t know,” Y/n teased, resting her chin in her hand. “You did trick me into hanging out at an empty bar for hours.”

“And now you get to hang out with me, that’s a pretty good deal,” Johnny shot back.

Before Y/n could respond, their food arrived, neatly packed in to-go boxes. Johnny grabbed the bag and held the door open for her as they stepped back outside. 

The ride back was quiet, Y/n rested her head against the window, content with how the night had turned out. Soon, they arrived at Johnny’s apartment. He parked, grabbed the bag of food, and led the way up.

Inside, Y/n made herself comfortable on the couch while Johnny disappeared briefly into the kitchen, returning with plates and drinks. 

He set everything down on the coffee table and handed her a plate.

“After this, you’ll never think of another fried chicken again,” he joked, opening the to-go box.

Y/n laughed, grabbing a piece of chicken. “I don’t doubt it.”

They ate together, the conversation flowing easily between bites. Johnny put on some show in the background, creating a relaxed atmosphere. The food was exactly as good as Johnny had promised.

“We should do this more often,” Y/n said, leaning back against the couch.

Johnny grinned, wiping his hands on a napkin. “Told you. Stick around, and I’ll introduce you to all the best things.”

Y/n chuckled, finishing off the last of her fries. Johnny leaned back in his seat as his gaze rested on Y/n, his expression calm but thoughtful. 

Y/n met his eyes, and for a moment, she felt that familiar flutter in her chest. Her mind drifted back to that night at the club, the things he’d said, the way he’d looked at her, the intensity behind his words.

Her heart dropped. It hadn’t left her mind since.

Shifting slightly in her seat and lowering her eyes to the floor, Y/n hesitated before speaking. “Uh, Johnny…”

“Yes, Y/n?” he responded, his eyes searched hers curiously.

“Do you…remember what you said to me at the club the other week?” she asked, her voice quieter now, uncertain.

Johnny’s posture stiffened just slightly, his gaze falling to his hands. He shifted in his seat, fingers tapping lightly against the armrest. 

“Yeah,” he said after a beat, his voice low. “I remember.”

Y/n took a deep breath, her heart racing. “Can you…explain what you meant?”

She didn’t want to tiptoe around it anymore. His words had been replaying in her mind all week, how he said he’d make her feel special, feel good, feel worthy.

But that night, they’d both been under the influence of alcohol, and she wanted clarity, wanted to hear it from him while they were both sober.

Johnny sighed, running a hand through his hair as if trying to figure out where to begin. “Yeah…you should know,” he said, his tone softening. 

He leaned back into the couch, settling in as if preparing himself for a long explanation. “My dad…left me and my mum when I was young.”

Y/n’s brows furrowed in confusion. What? 

“I was probably five or six when he walked out on us…I never knew where he went, but he still sent money to my mum every now and then,” Johnny said, his voice quiet, distant.

Y/n blinked, trying to process what he was saying. What on earth was he talkin–

Shit.

Suddenly, it hit her. Johnny had briefly mentioned at the club how he could relate to her daddy issues. Her heart sank as she remembered that moment. 

She hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but now, seeing the pain on his face, she realised how deeply it ran. Her face dropped, filled with sorrow as she listened.

“I hated him,” Johnny admitted, his voice growing heavier. “He ruined my life without even being in it.” 

His jaw clenched, and he looked away for a second, as though trying to keep himself composed. “Then when I was seventeen, I got news from my mum that…he died.”

Y/n’s breath hitched, her gaze falling to Johnny’s hands. She noticed the slight tremor in them and how his eyes glistened, the emotions he tried to bury rising to the surface. Without thinking, she reached out and gently took his hand in hers, squeezing it in silent support.

“I didn’t cry when he left at first,” Johnny continued, his voice breaking slightly. 

“But when I found out he was dead, I couldn’t stop. That’s when I realised...I would never have a father present in my life. Not even the hope of one.” His voice cracked, and before Y/n could say anything, tears began to roll down his cheeks.

Y/n didn’t hesitate. She launched forward and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. Johnny didn’t resist, instead, he let himself fall into her comfort, his broad shoulders trembling as he broke down.

Y/n had never seen Johnny like this before. He was always the strong one, the one who picked up her broken emotions, who made things better with his happy nature and warm presence. But now, here he was, vulnerable and raw, the weight of years of buried pain finally catching up to him.

“It’s okay, Johnny,” she whispered, gently running her hand through his hair. “You don’t have to hold it all in anymore. I’m here.”

He clung to her like she was the only thing grounding him at that moment, his tears dampening her shirt, but she didn’t care. All she cared about was being there for him, the way he’d always been there for her.

Minutes passed, and slowly, Johnny’s sobs began to fade. His breathing steadied, but he didn’t loosen his grip on Y/n. He clung to her as he released the emotions he’d kept buried for so long.

Y/n rested her chin on his shoulder, her hand rubbing slow circles on his back. She remembered how many times Johnny had comforted her, his words, his comfort, the way he always seemed to know what to say to make things better. Now, it was her turn.

“You know,” she began softly, her voice low but steady, “you are so amazing. You’ve grown up to be an amazing man. That fuckhead missed out on a wonderful son.”

Johnny’s breath hitched slightly, but he stayed silent, listening.

“You always make things better for me,” Y/n continued. “Whenever I felt like I couldn’t handle things, you were there. You didn’t judge me, didn’t ask for anything in return. You just stayed. And that helped more than you know.”

She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, her hands resting on his shoulders. “I will always be here for you when you need me.”

Johnny swallowed hard, his eyes still glassy with tears, but she could see how her words hit him. He was always the shoulder to lean on, he never really had the sentiment returned until now.

Johnny sniffled, wiping his face with the back of his hand as he tried to sit up straighter, regaining his composure. “God, that was embarrassing,” he muttered, avoiding Y/n’s gaze.

Y/n tilted her head. “If that was embarrassing, then I should be humiliated after all the times I cried my heart out to you.”

Johnny paused, glancing at her, and for the first time since the conversation began, a genuine chuckle escaped his lips. “Go ahead and cry all you want, I can’t judge you.”

They laughed together, the tension slowly easing into something lighter, something more familiar. Without saying anything else, Johnny reached out, pulling Y/n into his arms. This time, it wasn’t for comfort, it was just to hold her, like a giant teddy bear, solid and warm.

Y/n leaned into him, letting herself relax against his chest. They didn’t need words. The TV played softly in the background, filling the room with a quiet hum as they sat there, wrapped in each other’s presence. 

This wasn’t the conversation she had planned to have, but it was one she truly appreciated. Seeing Johnny open up, laying bare emotions he usually kept hidden behind his easygoing exterior, made her realise just how much he cared. 

It wasn’t an easy conversation, but in that moment, she knew it brought them closer.

-

Y/n stared at her phone, blinking a few times to make sure she was reading the email correctly. 

Congratulations on your Achievement! You’ve been selected to receive an award for excelling in Biochemistry this semester. Please attend the prizegiving ceremony on… 

The words practically leapt off the screen, and before she could stop herself, a wide grin spread across her face.

She reread the email, just to make sure she hadn’t imagined it, and then immediately jumped to her feet, excitement bubbling up inside her. 

“Oh my god!” she exclaimed to herself, clutching the phone tightly.

For a moment, Y/n stood there, feeling a bit silly for how excited she was over a university award. It wasn’t like she was getting a Nobel Prize or anything, but still…it made her feel good. 

Better about herself, actually. All those late nights cramming in the library, those moments where she thought she wasn’t smart enough, weren’t for nothing after all. Someone had noticed her efforts, and that recognition, however small, felt like a win.

And hey, there were gift vouchers that came with these awards, which was definitely a nice bonus.

Still smiling to herself, Y/n couldn’t help but think of Johnny. She felt a little ridiculous wanting to tell him right away, but he’d always been the one cheering her on when she was doubting herself the most. 

She almost started typing a message to Johnny, but then paused, biting her lip. As much as she wanted to tell him, she knew Yangyang would give her shit if he found out she’d told someone else before him. 

She quickly pulled up his number and gave him a call.

“Hey, what’s up?” Yangyang’s voice came through, light and cheerful as always.

“I just got an email…I’m getting an award for being an excelling student in biochem,” Y/n said, unable to hide the excitement in her voice.

“Yo! Really?!” Yangyang exclaimed. “We have to go out to celebrate. Clubbing! Shots! Full-on party mode.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, laughing. “Yeah, no. I was thinking of something a little more chill. We already went clubbing a couple weeks ago.”

“Fine, fine,” Yangyang teased. “How about dinner, then? I’ll take you somewhere nice.”

“That sounds perfect,” Y/n said, smiling. “Thanks, Yangyang.”

“Of course! You deserve it,” he said sincerely.

Y/n hung up the call, still grinning from ear to ear. She clutched her phone tightly, her giddy mood refusing to fade.

She had to go tell her dad. He’d definitely be proud of her, she was sure of it. Y/n ran downstairs, her excitement bubbling over as she entered the living room. 

Her dad was sitting on the couch, watching TV, his attention fully on the screen. She hesitated for a moment, feeling a sudden rush of nerves before shaking it off. 

“Dad?” she called out, stepping closer.

His eyes didn’t leave the tv. “Mhmm.”

“I just got an email,” Y/n said, trying to keep her voice steady, though the excitement spilled through in her tone. “I’m getting an award for being one of the top students in biochem.”

Her dad’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Really? That’s incredible, Bub.”

Before she could say another word, he stood up, walking over to her. To her surprise, he wrapped her in a tight hug, patting her back firmly. “I’m so proud of you. That’s really good, Bub.”

Y/n felt her throat tighten, overwhelmed by the warmth of his words. He didn’t say things like this often, but when he did, it stayed with her. She hugged him back, savouring the rare moment.

“Thanks, Dad,” she murmured, her voice soft.

He pulled back, stroking her hair in that familiar, affectionate way. “I’ll take you out some time to celebrate.”

As he settled back onto the couch, Y/n sat down beside him, still basking in the moment.

“I’ll forward the email to you, with the details of the prizegiving and stuff,” Y/n said.

“Sweet,” He said, his attention back on the tv.

-

Y/n returned home after dinner with Yangyang, they’d laughed over pasta, drank glasses of fizzy, and toasted to her success. As she kicked off her shoes and flopped onto her bed, a thought struck her. 

I still haven’t told Johnny!

She sat up quickly, clutching her phone. She hit his contact and waited for the call to connect.

“Hey, Y/n. What’s up?” Johnny’s familiar voice came through the phone.

“Okay, so…I have some news!” Y/n blurted, still unable to contain her excitement.

“Yeah?” His tone was light, curious.

“I got an award for biochem!” she said proudly, her heart racing as she waited for his reaction.

There was a brief pause on the other end, and then Johnny’s voice filled with excitement. “Are you serious? Y/n, that’s amazing! Oh my god, I’m so proud of you!”

Y/n felt her face heat up at his praise, a giddy blush creeping across her cheeks. “Thanks, Johnny. It feels kinda silly being this excited about it, but–”

“Hey, don’t even start. You should be excited! This is a big deal!” Johnny cut in, his voice filled with genuine enthusiasm. “You worked your ass off. Honestly, you’re incredible.”

Her heart pounded at his words, and she couldn’t help but smile like an idiot. “Stop, you’re embarassing me.”

“You deserve all the praise,” he said with a chuckle. “Okay, so when are we going out to celebrate? My treat.”

Y/n winced a little, feeling bad. “Uh…so…Yangyang already took me out for dinner.”

“Damn,” Johnny muttered. “He beat me to it. What else can we do, then?”

Y/n thought for a moment before an idea popped into her head, her voice turning playful. “Well…we didn’t get dessert.”

Johnny let out a low laugh. “Dessert, huh? I’ll pick you up in twenty.”

Y/n giggled, feeling her heart flutter. “Okay. See you soon.”

As she hung up, she found herself grinning from ear to ear. Having a good meal with Yangyang, and now having desert with Johnny. 

Could this night get any better?

Twenty minutes later, Y/n heard the familiar rumble of Johnny’s car pulling up outside. She grabbed her jacket, still buzzing with excitement, and hurried out the door. As she approached the car, Johnny rolled down the window and grinned at her.

“Hey, superstar,” he greeted, his voice teasing yet warm.

Y/n rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “Don’t embarrass me, it’s just a uni award. And thanks for coming out this late.”

“Anything for you.” He winked as Y/n slid into the passenger seat and buckled in.

“Picked up a cake on the way. We can celebrate back at mine.” he said, reaching into the back seat and placing a box on her lap. 

Y/n opened the box to reveal a beautifully decorated cake, and her heart swelled at the thoughtful gesture. “Johnny…you didn’t have to do this. Ice cream would have been fine.”

He shrugged, putting the car in drive. “Of course I did. I mean, how often do you get an award? Gotta do it right.”

Her cheeks flushed, the weight of his words sinking in. She wasn’t used to someone going out of their way for her like this, and Johnny made it feel so effortless. “You’re the best, you know that?”

“Yeah, I do,” he said with a smirk, earning a playful shove from Y/n. “But seriously, you deserve it. Tonight’s about you.”

As they drove through the quiet streets, the excitement of the day still lingered in Y/n’s chest, but now it was mixed with a warmth only Johnny seemed to bring out in her. Celebrating at his place, just the two of them, sounded perfect.

-

Once they got to Johnny’s place, Y/n kicked off her shoes and plopped down on the couch. She watched as Johnny disappeared into the kitchen, rummaging around with an air of determined enthusiasm.

A few moments later, he returned, balancing a tray loaded with a couple of cans of fizzy, plates, utensils, and, of course, the cake, now topped with a single candle flickering softly. He set everything down on the coffee table and grinned at her.

Y/n raised an eyebrow, eyeing the candle. “Johnny, that isn’t necessary. It’s not my birthday.”

“Nonsense.” He gave her a playful look, lighting the candle with a lighter. “You’re celebrating something big. That’s worth a wish and a candle, don’t you think?”

She tried to hide her smile but failed miserably. With a small laugh, she leaned forward, clasped her hands together, and closed her eyes. “If my wish doesn’t come true, I blame you.”

Johnny chuckled. “Sounds fair.”

Y/n took a deep breath, made her wish, and blew out the candle. The tiny flame blew out, leaving only a trail of smoke floating into the air. Johnny clapped lightly, grinning like it was a real birthday celebration.

“Congratulations! What did you wish for?” he asked immediately.

You.

“I’m not telling! It won’t come true if I do,” she laughed, shaking her head as he grabbed the knife to cut the cake.

“Come on! You just said making a wish wasn’t necessary, now you won’t even tell me your wish,” Johnny said, slicing generous pieces of cake and placing them on plates.

“I ain’t taking no chances,” Y/n said as she accepted her slice. 

Johnny grabbed his slice of cake and plopped down on the couch next to Y/n, sitting close enough that their shoulders brushed. 

He handed her a fork with a little smirk. “Go on, you’ve earned it. First bite goes to the award-winner.”

Y/n laughed, shaking her head. “It’s not that amazing, Johnny,” she mumbled, taking a bite nonetheless.

Johnny leaned back against the couch, watching her with that same teasing glint in his eyes. “Don’t downplay it. You clearly worked your ass off for this. You should be proud.”

“You know what, yeah, I should be!” she replied playfully, flashing him a grin. “I’m amazing!”

He chuckled, reaching over to ruffle her hair. “There’s my good girl.”

Her fork froze halfway to her mouth, her heart suddenly racing.

“Oh, so you do remember what I said back at the club,” she muttered.

Johnny leaned in a little, resting his arm along the back of the couch. “Of course, I remember.” His tone softened, losing some of its teasing edge. “And I meant it.”

Y/n couldn’t look away from him. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest, and her mind scrambled to make sense of what she was hearing. 

Where was all of this coming from? There was no alcohol to blame this time, no hazy late-night atmosphere clouding their words. 

“You have no idea what I would do for you, Y/n.” His voice was low as he carefully placed his slice of cake down on the coffee table.

Leaning back, he allowed his gaze to sweep over her, as if taking in every detail, memorizing her stunned expression in that moment.

“If you were mine, there’s nothing I wouldn’t give you,” he said quietly, the sincerity in his voice sending a shiver down her spine. “All you’d have to do is ask. You’re too precious to be treated like an afterthought.”

Her lips parted slightly, but no words came. She was shocked, trapped in his steady gaze, the weight of his confession pressing down on her in the most unexpected way. 

“Johnny–” she began, but he cut her off with a sigh, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his head dropping briefly before he lifted it again, meeting her eyes with raw emotion.

“I know I shouldn’t be saying these things to you,” he murmured, his voice tinged with guilt. “I know I shouldn’t feel this way about you, but I can’t help it, Y/n. I can’t stop thinking about you. Every time I see you…it’s like nothing else matters.”

The longing in his eyes was unmistakable, and it pulled at something deep inside her. She swallowed hard, trying to steady herself.

“Johnny…” she whispered, unsure of what to say, yet feeling the weight of his vulnerability settle over her. 

There was no teasing smirk on his face this time, no playful comment to ease the tension. This was real, raw, and it left her breathless.

She didn’t know what to say, but she knew exactly what she wanted. Her mind was racing, yet her heart seemed to know the answer before she did. 

“Can you…tell me more?” she whispered, her voice soft but steady.

Johnny’s eyes widened in surprise, clearly not expecting that response. For a moment, he just stared at her, as if trying to gauge whether she truly meant it. When he saw the sincerity in her expression, something in his gaze softened, and the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease.

Y/n carefully placed her own slice of cake down on the coffee table and, without thinking too much, scooted closer to him. The space between them was now nearly nonexistent, and she could feel the warmth radiating from him. 

“I want to hear it,” she said, her eyes locked on his as she placed her hand on top of his. “I want to know how you feel…because I don’t think you realise how much it means to me.”

Johnny exhaled slowly, his hand turning over to entwine his fingers with hers. His thumb gently traced the back of her hand, grounding himself in the moment. 

“Y/n, you deserve so much more than you get, and I want to be the one to give you that,” he said quietly. “I want to give you everything your dad couldn’t.”

Her breath hitched at his words, a blush creeping up her neck. She wasn’t used to being spoken to like this. And yet, here Johnny was, laying it all bare without hesitation.

The air between them grew heavier, charged with something neither of them could deny. Y/n felt her pulse quicken as Johnny’s gaze locked onto hers, deep and unwavering. Neither of them said a word, but the tension between them spoke volumes.

Her heart pounded in her chest, and before she could second-guess herself, she leaned in slightly, her voice barely above a whisper. “If I was your little girl…what would you do to me right now?”

The question hung in the air, a quiet echo of the conversation they’d had back at the bar, only now, there was nothing playful about it. Her words were laced with vulnerability and something more daring.

Johnny’s eyes darkened, his expression shifting into something more serious, more intense. He inhaled slowly, as if steadying himself, and leaned in just a little closer, his voice low. 

“Whatever you want me to,” he murmured, his tone smooth and steady, but with an edge of restraint.

Y/n’s breath hitched at his response, a shiver running down her spine. He was waiting for her next move, giving her control over whatever came next. Her fingers tightened slightly around his, and for a moment, all she could hear was the pounding of her own heart.

“Then…” she said, her voice soft and her eyes flicking to his lips before meeting his gaze again. “Kiss me.”

Johnny didn’t hesitate. He jolted forward, closing the small gap between them, his free hand gently cupping her cheek. The moment their lips met, it was soft yet electrifying, the sweet taste of cake still lingering on their lips. Y/n’s eyes fluttered shut as she melted into the kiss, her heart racing faster with every second.

It wasn’t hurried or desperate, it was slow and full of emotion as if Johnny was pouring everything he felt for her into that single moment. His thumb brushed her cheek before falling behind her neck, holding her.

Her lips parted slightly, her own breathing hitching as her body leaned instinctively closer. “Johnny…” she whispered, her voice barely audible against Johnny’s lips, but it was all the encouragement he needed.

The kiss became deeper, more desperate, as if a dam had broken between them. His hand on her neck pulled her closer as his other arm wrapped around her waist. Y/n let herself sink into him, her hands gripping his shoulders before sliding up to tangle in his hair.

He pulled back briefly, just enough to murmur against her lips. “You drive me crazy, you know that?” His voice was thick, his hand at her waist tightening slightly, his thumb brushing the curve of her hip.

Y/n’s heart raced, her cheeks flushing as she met his gaze. “Good,” she replied, her voice shaky but teasing, a boldness rising within her. “Because you do the same to me.”

Johnny groaned softly, a deep, frustrated sound that sent a thrill through her. He leaned forward, pressing her back against the couch as his lips found hers again. 

This time, there was no hesitation, no holding back. His hand slid under the hem of her shirt, his fingertips brushing against the bare skin of her waist, sending a jolt of electricity through her.

Y/n gasped softly at the contact, her body arching into him instinctively. She could feel the tension between them building, unable to ignore it.

“Tell me to stop,” Johnny whispered against her lips, his voice raw and breathless. 

His forehead rested against hers, his chest rising and falling with the same uneven rhythm as hers. “If this is too much, if I’m too much, just tell me, and I’ll stop.”

But Y/n shook her head, her hands clutching at his shirt, her eyes locking with his. “Don’t stop,” she whispered, her voice firm and certain. “I don’t want you to stop.”

That was all Johnny needed. His lips crashed against hers again, growing more consuming. The intensity of the moment was magnetic, pulling them into their own world where nothing else existed, just the heat between them, their breaths, and the electric connection they shared.

Johnny’s lips left hers, trailing a path down the side of her face, slow and deliberate, as though savouring every inch of her. His mouth lingered at her jawline, where he pressed a series of soft, teasing kisses before suckling gently at her skin.

Y/n’s breath hitched, her eyes fluttering shut as a wave of warmth coursed through her. She tilted her head instinctively, granting him more access, her heart pounding in her chest. She let herself melt into his touch, her body surrendering entirely to him.

Johnny’s tongue slipped out, gliding along the curve of her jaw in a way that sent sparks shooting through her veins. He moved lower, his lips grazing the sensitive skin of her neck, leaving a trail of heat wherever they touched. The gentle scrape of his teeth followed by the soothing warmth of his tongue made her pulse race even faster.

Her hands clung to the fabric of his shirt, anchoring herself against the dizzying sensations he was creating. She felt her body respond instinctively, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. 

Every nerve seemed to come alive under his touch, every thought replaced by the overwhelming reality of him.

“Johnny…” she whispered, her voice trembling with the pleasure his lips promised. 

Her mind struggled to grasp what was happening, but her heart didn’t care, it was doing backflips, completely lost in the moment.

Johnny pulled back slightly, his breath hot against her skin, his gaze locking onto hers with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine. His eyes were dark, filled with a desire he no longer tried to hide. 

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me, Y/n,” he murmured, his voice thick, every word laced with raw honesty.

Her lips parted as if to respond, but the words never came. Instead, her hand lifted, fingers brushing against his cheek before sliding to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. 

Johnny didn’t hesitate, his lips finding hers again, capturing them in a kiss that was deeper. His hands slid to her waist, gripping her firmly, as though she were something precious in his grasp. 

She melted into him, her fingers tangling in his hair as the kiss grew more urgent, their breaths mingling as they explored this newfound connection.

But then Johnny stilled, his lips hovering just above hers as he pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against hers. His breath came in shallow and his voice was quiet when he spoke.

“Y/n…” he began, his hands settling on her hips, steadying her. “You deserve more than this.”

She blinked up at him, dazed, her lips swollen and her heart racing. “What do you mean?”

He smiled softly, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. “I mean you deserve better than a couch,” he said, his voice filled with warmth and care. “If I’m going to do this, if I’m going to show you how much you mean to me, it’s going to be right.”

Johnny broke their kiss with a sharp exhale, his chest heaving as he sat back on the couch, his hands still resting on her waist. 

For a moment, he just looked at her, his eyes tracing every detail of her face as if committing her to memory. Then, with a sudden movement, he rose to his feet, towering over her.

Y/n blinked up at him, her breath catching in her throat as he extended a hand toward her. His fingers brushed hers before he clasped her hand firmly, tugging her up from the couch in one smooth motion.

“Come with me,” he said, his voice laced with a determination that sent shivers down her spine.

She barely had time to process before Johnny was leading her through the dimly lit space, his grip on her hand strong and steady. He pulled her through the house quickly, basically dragging her down the hall.

He pushed open the bedroom door without hesitation. Johnny turned to face her, still holding her hand as he pulled her closer. His free hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against her skin as his gaze searched hers.

“I don’t want to rush this,” he murmured, his voice softer now but no less intent. “But I can’t keep holding back, not when I’ve wanted this–wanted you, for so long.”

Y/n’s lips parted, her heart pounding as she nodded, her fingers tightening around his. “I don’t want you to hold back,” she whispered, her voice trembling but sure.

Johnny smiled then, a mix of relief and longing, and he guided her inside, letting the door fall closed behind them.

The moment the door clicked shut, Johnny’s lips were on hers again, claiming her with a hunger that sent a shiver down her spine. His hands slid up to her shoulders, his touch firm yet careful as he guided her backward toward the bed. Y/n clung to his shirt, her fingers holding the fabric as if letting go would take her away from this moment.

With each slow step, the air between them grew heavier. When the back of her knees finally met the edge of the mattress, Johnny’s hands traced down her arms before gently pressing against her waist, easing her down onto the soft sheets.

Her breath hitched as she looked up at him, her heart somersaulting in her chest. The dim glow from the window cast shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the warmth in his half-lidded eyes. He loomed over her, his broad shoulders filling her vision, his arms on either side of her as he hovered just above.

Johnny dipped his head, his lips ghosting over her cheek as he whispered, his voice low and full of promise. “I’m gonna take real good care of you, Y/n.”

The warmth of his breath sent a delicious shiver through her, and as he pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, she knew she was his, and she had never felt safer handing herself over.

The kiss he pressed against her lips was filled with a hunger that neither of them could suppress any longer. Their hands roamed, fingers grasping and tugging at fabric, desperate to feel more skin, more heat, more of each other.

Johnny straightened as he reached behind his head, gripping the collar of his shirt and pulling it over his head in one swift motion. The moment he tossed it aside, Y/n’s breath caught in her throat, her gaze instinctively dropping to his muscular chest. The way the light from the window traced over his toned muscles made it impossible to look away, until Johnny’s eyes found hers again, dark with intent.

She pushed up onto her elbows, her fingers moving to the hem of her own shirt, but Johnny was quicker. His hands slipped beneath the fabric, brushing against her skin as he lifted it over her head and tossed it aside. Before she could take another breath, he was back, his lips claiming hers once more as she melted beneath him.

His touch was slow, his large hands gliding down her sides, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. When his fingers reached the waistband of her pants, he paused, his grip tightening slightly as if asking for permission.

Y/n arched her hips in silent approval, and Johnny wasted no time, pulling the fabric down her legs with a tantalising slowness that sent a thrill through her. 

Johnny pulled away again, and the loss of his lips left Y/n aching and breathless, her body instinctively leaning forward as if to chase him. But then his hand dropped to the button of his pants, and her breath hitched.

She didn’t look away. Instead, she slowly shuffled back toward the centre of the bed, settling against the pillows, waiting, watching. The anticipation in her gaze, the way her chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, it made Johnny pause for a second, his lips curling into the faintest smirk.

Johnny’s gaze lingered on her as he slowly undid his belt. “You’re making it hard to focus, Y/n,” he murmured

Y/n’s lips curled into a smile, her eyes not leaving his. “I’m not doing anything.”

Johnny chuckled softly as he grabbed his pants. “You don’t have to.” 

Johnny pushed his pants down, letting them drop to the floor before stepping out of them. His movements quick, trying to get back to her as quickly as possible. Y/n’s breath hitched as her eyes traced over the sharp lines of his body.

Before she could process anything else, Johnny was back on top of her, his hands slipping around her waist as he guided her back down against the mattress. She squeaked and grabbed his shoulders as he moved her.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her jaw as he settled above her. “I’ve got you.”

Johnny’s lips found hers again, his hands roamed over her body, fingers tracing every curve. His kiss was consuming, leaving her breathless, her hands gripping onto his shoulders as if he were the only thing keeping her grounded.

A soft hum escaped her as he pressed a trail of kisses down her neck. But then she let out a breathless laugh, tilting her head to the side.

“Johnny,” she murmured against his lips, “we still have our underwear on. Not much we can do with that.”

Johnny pulled back slightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, his eyes dark with amusement. “Oh,” he murmured, dragging his fingers along her waist, “there are plenty of things I can do with it still on.” He leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. “But since you wanna get to it…”

Johnny’s fingers traced the straps of her bra, his touch featherlight as he slipped them down her shoulders. His lips followed, pressing soft, lingering kisses against the newly exposed skin. 

He reached behind her, unhooking the clasp. His gaze darkened as he took her in as he pulled the fabric away.

“Wow,” he murmured, his voice filled with admiration.

His hands trailed lower, gliding over her hips before slipping beneath the thin fabric of her underwear. He took his time, savouring the moment as he dragged it down her thighs, letting it join the rest of their discarded clothing.

Johnny sat back for a moment, his eyes raking over her, drinking in every inch of her bare form. The heat in his gaze sent a shiver down her spine, anticipation churning in her stomach. His lips parted slightly, his breathing deep and measured as if he was trying to compose himself.

“God, Y/n…” he exhaled.

His own followed, discarded just as quickly, giving her no time to look herself as he was back, closer than before, his body flush against hers. His lips found hers again, hungrier than ever.

“I wanna taste you,” Johnny gasped against her lips.

Y/n’s breath hitched, her eyes fluttering open in shock. “T-taste me?” she stammered.

But Johnny didn’t answer, his lips curled into a smirk before he began his descent, trailing heated kisses down her neck, her collarbone, over the swell of her chest, and lower still. 

When he reached her hips, he grasped them firmly, pressing one last kiss to her navel before pushing her legs apart. His hands held her thighs steady, his grip firm as he settled between them.

A soft whimper escaped her lips as he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of her thigh, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. He was taking his time, savouring the moment, watching her every reaction.

Her heart pounded, a mix of excitement and nerves swirling inside her as he inched closer to her core. She barely had time to process the intensity in his gaze before he finally closed the distance, his lips latching onto her sensitive clit.

A sharp gasp tore from her throat, her back arching as pleasure flooded her senses. Johnny groaned against her, his grip tightening as he pushed her thighs further apart, making room for himself.

Johnny’s tongue performed magic, delving into her opening before gliding back up to flick against her bundle of nerves. The way he moved had Y/n unravelling beneath him, her body trembling with every stroke of his tongue.

The pleasure was overwhelming, unlike anything she’d ever felt before. A breathy moan escaped her lips as her fingers instinctively tangled into his dark hair, gripping tightly in a desperate attempt to ground herself.

Her thighs twitched, instinctively trying to shut, but Johnny wasn’t having it. His strong hands tightened around her thighs, keeping her wide open for him. He let out a low hum of approval, the vibrations sending a new wave of pleasure through her.

“Don’t hide from me, sweetheart,” he murmured against her, the heat of his breath making her shiver. “I want to taste every bit of you.”

Y/n whimpered, her chest rising and falling rapidly as Johnny continued, his tongue slipping inside her again before coming back to swirl around her sensitive bud. Her fingers clenched in his hair, tugging slightly, but Johnny only groaned in response, watching the way she was falling apart under his touch.

“Johnny,” she moaned, her voice trembling, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps as she felt her insides tighten as her orgasm neared.

Johnny must have noticed too, with the way her thighs tensed and the way her body trembled beneath him, because just when she was on the edge, he pressed one last, lingering kiss against her mound before pulling back completely, leaving her aching and empty.

A shocked whimper slipped out Y/n’s lips, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she stared at him in utter disbelief. Her legs were still open, her body overwhelming with unfulfilled pleasure, and yet Johnny was pulling away, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief.

“What the fuck?” she breathed, her voice filled with frustration.

Johnny merely chuckled, the sound deep and rich as he licked the corner of his mouth with his tongue. Without another word, he shifted, moving back up her body until they were face to face, his weight pressing her into the mattress.

His lips hovered just above hers, teasing. “Relax, little girl,” he murmured, his breath warm against her lips. “I just wanna feel you fall apart around me the right way.”

Johnny didn’t give her a chance to protest, not that she could have, not when his lips crashed back against hers, stealing whatever breath she had left. 

The kiss was deep and slow, and it wasn’t long before she tasted herself on his tongue. The realization sent a new wave of heat rushing through her, her body responding instantly to the way he moved against her.

His hands found her thighs, fingers digging in as he gripped them firmly, guiding them up and around his hips. The shift brought them even closer, her body molding perfectly beneath his. 

His fingers traced slow, soothing circles against her skin, as if grounding her in the moment. “You ready?” His voice was husky, thick with restraint, but his eyes were burning with need, they left no doubt about how much he wanted this. Wanted her.

Y/n swallowed hard, nodding as her fingers curled around his biceps. “Yeah,” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. “I’m ready, Johnny.”

With one last lingering kiss, he adjusted his hold on her legs, pulling her in closer. Reaching between the two, Johnny lined himself up, right at her entrance. And then, finally, he began to push forward, inch by inch, stretching and filling her in a way that had her gasping his name all over again.

Johnny groaned as he eased into her, his grip on her thighs tightening as he fought to keep himself steady. Y/n's breath hitched, her fingers digging into his arms, anchoring herself as he filled her completely. 

He stilled for a moment, pressing his forehead to hers, giving her time to adjust. His hands soothed over her skin, trailing from her thighs to her waist, grounding her. 

"You okay?" His voice was strained, his self-control hanging by a thread.

Y/n let out a shaky breath, her heart pounding. “Mhmm,” she hummed, rolling her hips just slightly, letting him know she wanted more.

That was all it took for Johnny’s restraint to snap. A low curse left his lips as he pulled back, then pushed in again, setting a slow, deep rhythm that had Y/n gasping, each thrust sending sparks of pleasure through her.

“Johnny..” Her voice broke, pleasure unraveling her completely.

“That’s right, sweetheart,” he murmured against her lips before capturing them in a kiss. 

One of his hands slipped between them, his fingers finding her clit and sent her spiraling, drawing even more pleasure from her until she was arching beneath him, lost in sensation.

Johnny’s voice was a low murmur against her lips. “You like that, little girl?”

Y/n’s breath hitched, her chest rising and falling with every heated second between them. Johnny’s lips traveled to her jaw, pressing rough kisses against her skin. His teeth grazed lightly before he nibbled, making her exhale a soft, trembling sigh.

“You sound so sweet when you breathe like that,” he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction.

Y/n gripped onto him, her body melting into his touch. “Johnny…” she whispered, the way she said his name making his grip tighten.

“Tell me what you want,” he coaxed, his lips brushing just below her ear.

Y/n’s lips parted, but all she could manage was a breathless, desperate, “More.”

Johnny’s eyes darkened, his grip on her thighs tightening as a slow smirk tugged at his lips. “More?” he echoed, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “I can give you more, baby.”

Without another word, he adjusted his hold, lifting her legs and hooking them over his shoulders. The new angle had her gasping, her fingers gripping onto his arms as he pressed into her deeper, forcing her body to submit entirely to him.

“That’s it,” Johnny murmured, his voice low and commanding.

Y/n’s back arched, her body surrendering completely as his pace grew more rough. He held her there, locked in place, making sure she felt every inch of him, every movement that sent her spiraling further into submission.

His name fell from her lips in broken, breathless whimpers, her fingers clutching desperately at the sheets beneath her. The intensity was overwhelming, his pace slow but deep, each movement sending heat curling deep in her core.

Johnny watched her, eyes dark and filled with something primal. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, his hands gripping her thighs as he pushed deeper, the new angle making her toes curl. “You feel that? How good you take me?”

All Y/n could do was nod, her voice failing her, reduced to soft moans and gasps as pleasure crashed over her in waves. Johnny leaned forward, folding her even further beneath him, his lips ghosting over hers as his breath mixed with hers.

“Let go, baby,” he whispered, his voice rough with restraint. “Give it to me.”

Her body trembled, the pressure in her core tightening, building to something uncontrollable. And when Johnny rolled his hips just right, she shattered, her cry muffled against his lips as her orgasm overtook her.

Johnny groaned, feeling her pulse around him, his grip on her tightening as he chased his own release. A few more deep thrusts, and he was right there with her, a low moan spilling from his lips as he buried himself deep, his body trembling against hers as he filled her with his hot cum.

For a moment, neither of them moved, their ragged breaths the only sound in the quiet room. Johnny finally exhaled, pressing slow, lazy kisses to her collarbone as he dropped her legs back down, his fingers tracing soothing circles on her skin.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice softer now, laced with tenderness.

Y/n let out a small, breathy laugh, her arms wrapping around his neck as she nuzzled into him. “Better than okay.”

Johnny smirked against her skin, but this time, there was no teasing edge, just warmth. He pulled her closer, their bodies still tangled together as their breathing slowly evened out.

“You did so well,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. “Not just now, but with the award. I’m proud of you, Y/n.”

Y/n let out a sleepy hum, her fingers tracing lazy patterns against his back. “Mmm…Thank you, Johnny.” Her voice was drowsy, content.

He smiled, smoothing a hand over her hair. “You deserve it, you know? You work hard. And I love seeing you shine.”

A warmth spread through her chest at his words, and she tightened her hold around him. “Means a lot coming from you.”

Johnny chuckled, nudging her nose with his before settling deeper into the mattress. “Get some rest, baby,” he whispered, his voice softer now. “You earned it.”

With one last lingering kiss, they drifted off, wrapped up in each other, the weight of the night settling into a peaceful stillness. 

She didn’t know when her luck got so good, but she wasn’t about to complain. 

-

But of course, Y/n’s luck never lasted long. It never did.

The next morning, she woke to an empty bed, the warmth from the night before already faded. But that didn’t bother her, not after everything that had happened.

Sitting up, she stretched, the golden morning light spilling through the windows, casting long shadows across the room. They’d been too caught up in each other to even think about drawing the curtains. A small smile tugged at her lips at the memory.

Her gaze drifted across the room, searching for any sign of Johnny, but all that remained was the faint scent of him lingering in the sheets. With a quiet sigh, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, reaching for the scattered clothes on the floor, slipping them back on one by one.

As Y/n slipped her shirt over her head, she stepped out of the bedroom, her bare feet padding softly against the cool floor. The moment she entered the living room, she spotted Johnny pacing back and forth, his jaw clenched, one hand running through his hair.

She paused in the doorway, brows furrowing. “Johnny?” Her voice was soft, cautious. “You good?”

He stopped but didn’t turn right away. His shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath before he finally faced her.

That’s when she saw it, something was wrong. It was written all over his face. The tension in his features, the way his fingers flexed at his sides, like he was holding something back.

Y/n took a slow step forward. “Johnny…what’s going on?”

Johnny let out a heavy sigh, rubbing a hand down his face before finally meeting her eyes. His expression was pained, conflicted.

“I’m sorry, Y/n,” he said, his voice quieter now, rough around the edges. “None of that should have happened.”

Her stomach twisted. “W-what?” 

She took a shaky step closer, searching his face for something, anything, that made sense of what he was saying. “Johnny, what are you talking about?”

He shook his head, exhaling sharply. “You’re too young. I should’ve never come onto you like that.”

Her heart clenched. “But I wanted it.”

“That’s not the point.” His tone was firm, almost bitter. “I should have never wanted it. I should have known better.”

Y/n opened her mouth, but nothing came out. The warmth from last night, the way he touched her like she meant something, the way he whispered her name, it was all unraveling before her eyes.

Johnny took a step back, putting distance between them. “It was wrong, Y/n. And I can’t take that back.”

Y/n took a step forward, her brows knitting together in frustration. “Johnny, I wanted it to happen,” she insisted, her voice firm but laced with emotion. “I like you. And I can legally be with you. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Johnny let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “You don’t get it,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not about what’s legal, Y/n. It’s about what’s right.”

Her chest tightened. “It doesn’t matter,” she pressed, reaching for him, but he took another step back.

“It should..” His voice dropped lower, heavy with something deeper, something that made her stomach sink. 

He looked at her then, really looked at her. “Because I can’t have that weighing on my conscience. I can’t be the guy who takes advantage of you.”

Her breath caught. “You didn’t–”

“But what if I did?” he cut in, his gaze sharp. “What if that’s exactly what happened?” He let out a bitter laugh, his jaw tightening. “Yangyang warned you this would happen. Looks like I’m proving him right. And now, look at us.”

Y/n felt like the floor had been pulled out from under her. “Yangyang?” Her heart pounded, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “So what?” she snapped. “You’re just gonna listen to that guy? Act like last night meant nothing?”

Johnny exhaled sharply, his expression torn. “I’m saying it shouldn’t have happened,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Because no matter how much I want you, Y/n…it’s wrong.”

Y/n’s eyes widened in disbelief before narrowing into a glare. “What about what I want?” she shot back, her voice rising. “Does that not matter to you at all?”

Johnny let out a frustrated sigh, dragging a hand down his face. “Y/n, you don’t even know what you want,” he said, exasperated. “You’re too young.”

Her jaw dropped. “Are you fucking serious?” she scoffed, taking a step back like he’d just slapped her. “You think I don’t know what I want just because I’m younger than you?”

Johnny clenched his fists at his sides, avoiding her sharp gaze. “I think you’re still figuring things out,” he muttered, but it sounded weak even to him.

Y/n let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Wow,” she said, crossing her arms. “That’s actually insane. You didn’t seem to have a problem with my age last night.”

Johnny flinched, his face tightening. “That’s exactly the problem, Y/n.”

“No,” she snapped, stepping forward. “The problem is that you’re treating me like some clueless little kid who doesn’t know her own feelings. I know what I want, Johnny. I wanted you.”

He finally met her gaze, something torn and conflicted flickering in his eyes. “And that’s exactly why this is wrong,” he said, his voice softer now, almost pained. “Because I should’ve never let it get to this point.”

Y/n’s heart sank, a heavy weight settling in her chest as his words hit her like a cold bucket of water being poured over her. She felt defeated, helpless, as though all of her emotions and desires from the night before had been reduced to nothing but foolishness. 

Her stomach twisted in humiliation. Did she really look so helpless to him? Maybe she had made herself look desperate, foolish in her own eyes.

She took a shaky breath, trying to push the lump in her throat away. "I think I should go," she murmured, the words tasting bitter on her tongue.

Johnny looked at her with a hint of guilt, his shoulders slumping. "I’ll drive you to Yangyang’s," he said softly, as though offering some sort of comfort, but all it did was make Y/n’s blood boil.

Her eyes shot up to meet his, and she straightened, her posture suddenly brimming with defiance. "Fuck you," she spat, her voice sharp and cutting. "I can get there myself."

Johnny flinched, clearly taken aback by her reaction, but Y/n couldn’t bring herself to care. She grabbed her bag and made her way toward the door, her heart heavy but her mind set. As much as it hurt, she needed to leave, to get out of that space that now felt suffocating.

Without looking back, she stepped out into the hall, slamming the door behind her. Y/n's legs felt heavy with each step as she walked down the hallway, the weight of everything pressing down on her chest. 

She couldn’t stop the tears from falling, hot and relentless as they blurred her vision. She wiped them away angrily, trying to steady herself, but the humiliation of it all, of being rejected, of feeling like she was nothing more than a mistake, was too much. 

She pulled her phone from her bag, her hands trembling as she unlocked it. Her fingers hovered for a moment over the screen before she quickly dialed Yangyang’s number. The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and Y/n stepped inside, leaning against the wall as she waited for the call to connect.

The ringing seemed to stretch out, each second longer than the last. Y/n bit her lip, trying to choke back the sob that threatened to escape. The silence was only broken when Yangyang's voice finally came through.

“Y/n? What’s up?” His voice was calm, but there was an edge of concern beneath it.

Y/n took a shaky breath, trying to gather her thoughts. "Yangyang," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I need you. Please."

-

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" Yangyang asked, his voice quiet but insistent, for what must have been the third time.

Y/n stared out of the car window, the tears still falling, too exhausted to wipe them away anymore. She could feel the weight of everything pressing down on her, suffocating, and she just wanted to escape it for a little while.

Yangyang glanced at her briefly before focusing back on the road. "Do I need to turn this car around and go beat up Johnny?" 

Y/n let out a shaky laugh, though it barely sounded like one. "No, he'd waste you," she replied, her voice hoarse. "I'll tell you when we get to yours."

She wiped her face with the back of her hand, but the tears wouldn’t stop. The silence in the car felt thick, and Y/n found herself staring out at the passing scenery, feeling more lost than she had in a long time.

The car stopped out fron Yangyang’s and the moment they stepped inside, Y/n made a beeline for his bedroom, her limbs heavy with exhaustion. As soon as she reached his bed, she collapsed onto it face-first, letting out a muffled groan against the sheets.

Yangyang shut the door behind them, crossing his arms as he leaned against it. "Alright, are you going to tell me what happened?"

Y/n sighed, rolling onto her back to stare at the ceiling. "You're just gonna call me an idiot."

Yangyang scoffed. "Yeah, probably. But what’s new?"

She let out a dry laugh, but it faded quickly. Swallowing hard, she finally admitted, "I slept with Johnny."

Yangyang’s eyebrows shot up, his expression unreadable. "Shocker…and?"

"And then this morning, he regretted it." The words tasted bitter on her tongue. 

Saying it out loud made it feel even worse, like it was something that was officially real, something she couldn’t take back.

Yangyang let out a slow exhale, rubbing his face. "Shit."

Yangyang sat down next to Y/n on the bed, the mattress dipping beside her. She turned her head to look at him, only to find the look of pity in his eyes. It made her stomach twist. She didn’t want to be pitied.

“You can just go ahead and tell me how fucking stupid I am,” Y/n muttered, forcing a weak smile.

Yangyang hesitated for a moment before sighing. “...I did try to warn you.” His voice was quiet, careful, but it still stung.

Y/n let out a humourless laugh, shaking her head. “Yeah, I know…I should’ve listened.” Her voice wavered, but she kept going. “I just thought I wouldn’t even have a chance with him, so there was nothing to avoid in the first place. I didn’t think this would actually happen.”

Yangyang stayed quiet for a moment, then asked, “Tell me what happened.”

Y/n exhaled, staring up at the wall. “I went over to his place after dinner with you. It was supposed to be a celebration…he got me a cake and everything.” Her voice softened at the memory before she scoffed at herself. “We made out…had sex…slept…and then morning came, and he told me it should’ve never happened.”

Yangyang squinted his eyes, questioning the situation. “So, what? He just acted like the whole thing was a mistake?”

Y/n swallowed hard. “Pretty much.”

“What an asswipe,” Yangyang muttered, shaking his head. “You want me to talk to him?”

Y/n let out a tired laugh, though it lacked any real amusement. “Nah, not worth it…I just wanna forget any of this ever happened.”

Yangyang narrowed his eyes. “You’re not still gonna be friends with him, right?”

“Fuck no,” Y/n scoffed, burrowing her face deeper into the pillow. “I can’t even face him again. He probably doesn’t even wanna be friends with me either. I mean, I’m clearly too young for even that.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm, but underneath it, there was bitterness.

Yangyang blinked, confused. “...Huh?”

Y/n sighed, for what felt like the hundredth time. “He said I’m too young to be with him. And like…maybe he’s right, but come on! He already fucked me, so what’s the issue now?” She let out a humourless scoff. “Oh, and he said you were right.”

Yangyang grinned, leaning back on his hands. “I’m always right.”

Y/n rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small, dry laugh that escaped her lips. “Yeah, yeah. But basically, he made it clear, I’m too young to even think about him like that. So that’s the end of that, I guess.”

Yangyang clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Damn. He really fumbled.”

“Guess so,” Y/n muttered, but the ache in her chest told her it wasn’t that simple.

-

It had been a week since everything went down, yet the ache in Y/n’s chest refused to fade. She knew there was nothing she could do to change what had happened, that it was out of her hands, but that didn’t stop her from replaying it over and over in her mind. 

What could she have said differently? What could she have done to make him stay?

But no matter how much she thought about it, the answer was always the same. It didn’t matter. Johnny had made his choice. And now, she had to let go.

Tonight was supposed to be a big night. Prizegiving. The moment all her hard work would finally be recognized. Yangyang was coming to pick her up soon, and her dad was supposed to come straight from work. It should have been exciting. It should have been a night worth celebrating.

Yet here she was, sitting on the edge of her bed in her formal dress, twiddling her fingers in her lap, staring blankly at the floor. She should be happy. She should feel proud. But all she felt was hollow.

Johnny had tainted this moment for her. Because no matter how much she tried to push it aside, no matter how much she told herself it didn’t matter, the truth was, she wanted him there.

Y/n’s phone buzzed beside her, snapping her out of her thoughts. She glanced at the screen. It was Yangyang.

Outside boi!

Rolling her eyes, she let out a small sigh before grabbing her bag. She stood, smoothing out her dress, and took one last look in the mirror. Her reflection stared back at her, polished, put together, but she still felt out of it. 

Shaking off the feeling, she grabbed her keys and made her way downstairs. The house was quiet, almost eerily so, but she didn’t linger. She locked up behind her, stuffing the keys into her bag before heading toward the car parked at the curb. 

Yangyang was leaning against the hood as he scrolled through his phone. When he saw her, he let out a low whistle. 

“Look at you,” he grinned. “Flashy clothes and all.” 

Y/n rolled her eyes, slipping into the passenger seat. “It’s a formal event, you egg.” 

Laughing, Yangyang slid into the driver’s seat, turning the key before pulling away from the curb. “Alright, alright. But seriously, you look good.” 

Y/n stared out the window, resting her chin against her hand. “Thanks,” she muttered. “Wish I felt like it.”

Yangyang sighed, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel as they hit a red light. He glanced over at Y/n, who was still staring out the window, lost in her own head.

“Look, I know you’re still thinking about him,” he said, his tone softer than usual. “And I get it. But you’re not gonna let some dumbass ruin your night, right?”

Y/n stayed quiet, her fingers tightening around the fabric of her dress.

Yangyang sighed again, shaking his head. “Come on, Y/n. You worked your ass off for this. You deserve to be proud of yourself. You deserve to have a good time tonight. And most of all, you deserve better than some guy who made you feel like shit for wanting him.”

Y/n blinked, finally looking over at him. “I know…” she murmured. “I just…I don’t know how to stop feeling like this.”

Yangyang gave her a small smile. “Then fake it. Cause I ain’t about to take pictures of you on stage mopping about. You better look about at this later thinking you’re the shit.”

A tiny smile tugged at Y/n’s lips. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not,” Yangyang admitted with a shrug. “But you’re Y/n. You’ll be just fine.”

The light turned green, and he pressed on the gas. “Now, let’s go get you that damn award.”

-

When they arrived at the venue, the place was already filled with people. The hall was dimly lit, chandeliers casting a soft glow over the round tables draped in black cloths. Students, parents, and faculty were scattered around, chatting, laughing, and enjoying their meals. A stage stood at the front of the room, the podium set up with a microphone, waiting for the ceremony to begin.

Y/n and Yangyang made their way through the crowd, finally spotting an empty table off to the side, away from the main crowd. It was quiet, which was perfect, she wasn’t really in the mood to make small talk with anyone else.

As soon as they sat down, Yangyang’s eyes immediately landed on the buffet table across the room. “Yo, they got some good shit over there,” he said, already standing back up. “I’m getting some food.”

Y/n huffed a small laugh. “Figures.”

“You want me to grab you anything?”

She shook her head. “Nah, I’ll just wait here.”

Yangyang nodded before making his way toward the buffet, leaving her alone at the table.

Y/n exhaled and leaned back in her chair, letting her gaze wander around the room. It was a nice event, and she wished she could fully enjoy it.

At least Yangyang was here. And her dad would be showing up soon. That was something to be happy about, right?

She bit the inside of her cheek, trying to push away the lingering thoughts of the past week. This was supposed to be her night, she had worked hard for this moment.

Maybe, just maybe, she could let herself enjoy it.

Yangyang returned to the table with a full plate stacked high with food and a drink in hand. 

He plopped down into his seat and, without a word, set a plate down between the two of them. “Got some for both of us.”

“You’re a blessing,” Y/n said, already picking up a fork.

“I know,” Yangyang smirked before taking a sip of his drink.

Y/n glanced at the cup in his hand. “What are you drinking?”

“Beer.”

Her head snapped toward him. “What the fuck? Where did you get beer here?”

Yangyang shrugged casually, stuffing a bite of food into his mouth. 

She narrowed her eyes at him. “That is your only drink tonight. You still have to drive me back, dumbass.”

Yangyang groaned but didn’t argue. “Yeah, yeah, I know.” He took another sip before setting the cup down. “Just let me enjoy this one, alright?”

Y/n rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. “Fine. But I swear, if I catch you sneaking another, I’m taking your keys.”

Yangyang snorted. “Noted.” Then he dug into his food like he hadn’t eaten in days, and Y/n shook her head, finally feeling a little lighter than she had all night.

Y/n picked at the food on the plate, taking small bites as the ceremony began. The event started with introductions, a slideshow about the course, and acknowledgments of the faculty. The speaker’s voice droned on in the background, but Y/n’s mind was elsewhere.

She glanced around the room, scanning the faces, searching for her dad. Still no sign of him.

With a quiet sigh, she pulled out her phone under the table and flicked him a quick text.

Hurry up, it’s started.

She tapped her fingers anxiously against her lap, waiting for a response, but nothing came. Putting her phone back down on the table, she tried to focus on the ceremony, but the empty seat meant for her dad weighed on her more than she wanted to admit.

About fifteen minutes later, Y/n’s phone vibrated. The screen lit up with her dad’s name, and a pang of hope shot through her, maybe he was outside, letting her know he had arrived.

She leaned over to Yangyang. “I’m just gonna take this.”

He nodded, mouth full, and she slipped her phone into her palm as she made her way out of the hall. The murmurs of the ceremony faded as she pushed through the doors, stepping into the quieter hallway before answering.

“Hey, Dad–”

“I don’t think I’m gonna be able to make it, bubs.”

The words hit her like a punch to the throat.

She blinked, staring at the ground, her chest tightening as disappointment crushed her. She had told herself she wouldn’t expect much, but a part of her still held on, still thought, just this once, he’d show up.

He was still talking, saying something about work, how he’d make it up to her, how proud he was. But Y/n barely heard any of it. His voice was a distant hum, drowned out by the ringing in her ears.

Her fingers curled around the phone. She wanted to say something, call him out, tell him how much this meant to her, how he always did this, but what was the point?

Instead, she swallowed the lump in her throat and forced out, “Yeah…okay, that’s fine.”

It wasn’t. It wasn’t fine at all.

“I’ll see you later.”

“Sorry, bubba,” her dad sighed. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” she muttered before hanging up.

She stood there for a second, staring at her screen, the weight of it settling in. Then, with a deep breath, she shoved her phone into her pocket and forced herself back inside.

Y/n felt hollow as she walked back into the hall, her legs heavy like they were being weighed down with bricks. The voice from the speakers droned around her, blending into a dull hum as she made her way back to the table.

She sat down next to Yangyang, eyes fixed on the table, barely able to breathe past the lump in her throat.

Yangyang looked over, instantly noticing something was off. “What’s up?”

She blinked rapidly, trying to push down the tears welling up, but they betrayed her, slipping free and pooling in her lashes.

Yangyang frowned, leaning in closer. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Y/n exhaled shakily, voice barely above a whisper. “Dad’s not coming…”

Yangyang’s face darkened. He sat back with a scoff, shaking his head. “Fucking typical.”

Before she could say anything, he pulled her into him, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. That was all it took for her to break. She buried her face into his shoulder, the tears finally falling as she cried quietly, gripping onto his sleeve like it was the only thing holding her together.

Yangyang didn’t say anything else, he didn’t need to. He just held her, rubbing her back as the ceremony carried on around them like nothing had happened.

Yangyang glanced up at the presenter, then down at Y/n, his grip on her shoulder giving a small squeeze. “Hey,” he murmured, “award giving’s about to start. You should go clean up quickly.”

Y/n sniffled and nodded, slowly pulling away from him. She stood up, smoothing out her dress before making her way to the bathroom.

Inside, she leaned against the sink, staring at her reflection. Her eyes were red-rimmed and cheeks blotchy from crying. With a deep breath, she grabbed some paper towels and dabbed at her face, doing her best to erase the image of disappointment.

She fanned her face with her hands, willing the puffiness to go down, but there was only so much she could do. The mirror didn’t lie, she looked tired, drained, but at least she wasn’t outright sobbing anymore.

“This is as good as it’s gonna get,” she muttered to herself, straightening up.

Taking one last steadying breath, she turned on her heel and stepped out of the bathroom, heading back into the hall.

Just as Y/n stepped out of the bathroom, she heard her name being called, echoing through the hall, and a curse slipped past her lips. She straightened herself up quickly, wiping the last of the moisture from her eyes and forcing a smile, even though her heart still felt heavy.

Making her way toward the stage, she kept her posture perfect, doing her best to appear as composed as possible. Every step felt heavier, but she was determined to keep it together. 

She shook hands with the people on stage, each interaction feeling more like a blur than a moment, and received her award, a small trophy and framed certificate.

She saw Yangyang, his face was practically glowing with pride, his phone held high as he recorded the moment. She couldn’t help but smile at him, the smallest bit of warmth returning to her chest, just enough to push away the knot of tension.

Then came the moment of standing there, in front of the audience, while they listed off her achievements and took pictures. She stood tall, trying not to fidget even though her stomach twisted. Her eyes scanned the room as the flashes of cameras went off. And then, she saw him.

Johnny.

For a second, it felt like the air in the room went still, the chatter around her fading into the background. He had clearly just walked in standing at the back of the tables, his gaze locked on her. Her breath caught in her throat, and she instinctively glanced away, her fingers tightening around the edges of the award in her hands.

Even after she looked away, Y/n couldn’t shake the disbelief settling in her chest. What the fuck was he doing here? She had told herself she wouldn’t let him get to her, but just the sight of him, standing there in the crowd, sent a surge of emotions she wasn’t prepared for.

She hesitated, but her eyes found him again. Johnny was still there, standing tall, a smile on his face, not smug, but genuine, proud even. He wore a suit that helped him to blend into the crowd, but Y/n couldn’t look away, and the moment he caught her gaze, her heart stuttered.

The presenter stopped talking, and that’s when the applause started. Y/n watched as Johnny slowly took his hands out of his pockets, joining the applause for her. She forced herself to look away, not wanting to linger on him any longer than necessary.

She made her way back to the audience, her heart hammering in her chest. As soon as she reached Yangyang, she was greeted by his warm eyes.

Yangyang pulled Y/n into a tight hug as soon as she sat down, squeezing her in celebration. "Well done, you did it!" he said, his voice full of pride.

But Y/n didn’t respond. She was still frozen, her eyes locked on the back of the room, her mind racing.

Yangyang pulled back slightly, brows furrowing as he looked at her. "Hey, what’s up?" he asked, his voice softer now, noticing her tension.

Y/n didn’t answer him. Her gaze was fixed somewhere behind him, and Yangyang’s confusion deepened. He turned around, following her line of sight, and that’s when he saw Johnny walking toward them, making his way through the crowd.

Yangyang’s expression shifted instantly, a sharp defensive edge taking over. Without thinking, he stood in front of Y/n, blocking her from Johnny’s view. He pushed his shoulders back, trying to appear bigger, though it did little, as he glared at Johnny.

Johnny stopped in his tracks, eyes flicking between Yangyang and Y/n. It was clear he was expecting this kind of attitude, but he was ready. The tension between them hung thick in the air.

"You got some nerve showing up here," Yangyang said, his voice low, barely containing his anger as he kept his stance between Johnny and Y/n.

Johnny met his gaze, unflinching, and gave a slow, resigned nod. "I know," he said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of something more than just an apology. "I just...I need to talk to her."

Yangyang's expression remained hard, crossing his arms. "What for?" he demanded, clearly not trusting Johnny's intentions.

Johnny’s eyes flickered to Y/n for a brief moment, his plea more genuine than either of them could have expected. "Please," he said, voice barely above a whisper, though it was laced with sincerity.

Yangyang hesitated, then slowly turned his head to look at Y/n. His eyes searched hers for confirmation, his protectiveness still strong but giving her the space to decide.

Y/n met Johnny’s gaze for a moment before looking back at Yangyang, still shaken but steadying herself. She gave a soft nod, standing up from the table and smoothing her dress. "We can talk outside," she said, her voice more composed than she felt.

Yangyang stepped aside, giving her the space she needed. "I'll be right here," he said before watching as Y/n walked toward Johnny.

Y/n made her way to the end of the hall, her eyes fixed on the floor as her mind raced, trying to process everything. She could feel Johnny’s footsteps behind her, each step a reminder of the presence she hadn’t expected to face tonight. She could feel him drawing closer, his energy almost suffocating in its intensity.

They reached the door, and before Y/n could open it, Johnny held it open for her. She walked through it without a word, the cold air of the hallway brushing against her skin. Her heart was racing, but she didn’t stop until she reached the middle of the corridor. The noise of the event seemed to fade away as she turned to face him.

She stood still for a moment, her breath shaky as she looked back at him. He was standing there, just a few feet away, his expression unreadable. Y/n didn’t know what to say. How could she?

"Why are you here, Johnny?" The words felt heavy, yet so light at the same time, escaping her lips before she could stop them.

“I told you I would come,” Johnny said, his voice steady but tinged with regret.

Y/n scoffed, shaking her head in disbelief. “And you think that was a good idea, after everything that happened the other day?”

Johnny exhaled sharply, frustration and guilt flickering across his features. He ran a hand through his hair, looking down for a moment, clearly upset with himself. “I...I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said any of that.”

Y/n’s eyes narrowed slightly, her expression a mix of hurt and exhaustion. She crossed her arms, her stance defensive. “But you did,” she said quietly, her voice almost too calm for the storm brewing beneath it. “You said it, and now here we are. You can’t just take it back, Johnny.”

Johnny’s eyes softened, a mix of regret and sincerity overtaking his usual confident demeanor. “I never should’ve said any of that, Y/n,” he began, his voice quiet but earnest. “I regret every word of it. I don’t want you to think I said it because I didn’t care or because I didn’t feel anything. The truth is, I felt more for you than I ever wanted to admit. And I–”

Y/n cut him off. “And what does this apology actually change, huh? You still regretted it.” She paused, her voice barely above a whisper as she looked at him. “You still regret everything.”

Johnny winced at the words, but never backed down. “I never regretted it, Y/n.” He stepped a little closer, his gaze unwavering.  “What I regretted…what I was afraid of, was what it would mean for me, for you. I didn’t want you or anyone to think I was some weirdo because of how much younger you were. I know how people would look at me, and I couldn’t deal with that. I didn’t want you to think I was taking advantage of you, or that you didn’t deserve better.”

He looked away for a second, as if the weight of his own words had become too much to bear. "But that's the thing, Y/n. I shouldn’t have let that get in the way. You were never a mistake to me."

Y/n’s eyes narrowed as she processed his words, her emotions still raw, but somewhere beneath all of that hurt, a spark of curiosity flickered. She crossed her arms, looking at him like she was still trying to figure out if this was real or just another excuse. 

“So, what do you want, Johnny?” she asked, her voice steady, though there was a hint of vulnerability she couldn’t quite hide.

Johnny’s gaze softened, the usual guarded expression he wore fading into something more honest. “I want to be with you,” he said without hesitation, his voice low but firm. 

“I’m not saying it’s perfect or easy, but I don’t want to let this go, not when it means something to me. And I don’t care about the age, or what anyone thinks anymore.” He took a step closer, his words filled with a raw honesty that Y/n couldn’t ignore. “What I care about is you. I want to make this right.”

Y/n stood there for a moment, her mind racing, her heart still bruised but not as hard as before. She let out a soft laugh, the kind that was almost disbelieving but somehow light-hearted. “All’s forgiven, huh?” she said, her tone teasing.

Johnny smiled, the weight of the past few days finally lifting off his shoulders. “If you’ll let me,” he said, his eyes locked on hers, full of sincerity. “I’ll make it right. I swear I will.”

Y/n looked at him for a long moment, trying to read his face for any sign of doubt or hesitation. But there was nothing there, just the same guy she’d met at the bar.

“Well,” she said, her voice quieter now, “I guess I could give you another chance...but you’d better not mess it up again, Johnny.”

Johnny grinned, a genuine smile that seemed to light up his whole face. “I won’t, I’ll make sure of it.”

Y/n took a deep breath, her heart still a little heavy, but the tension between them had eased. She stepped up to Johnny, her arms wrapping around him before he even had the chance to react. Johnny’s arms came around her instinctively, pulling her close as if he didn’t want to let go.

“Atleast you actually showed up,” Y/n said, her voice muffled slightly as her face was pressed into his chest. “Fucking dad didn’t.”

Johnny pulled back just enough to look down at her, his expression a mix of disbelief and amusement. “You fucking kidding me?” he asked, a slight laugh escaping him.

Y/n shook her head, chuckling. “Nope.” 

She felt Johnny’s arms tighten around her again. She would’ve probably felt like shit thinking about her dad and how he had let her down tonight, but in that moment, with Johnny holding her, everything else just faded away. She felt…happy.

“There’s no chance I wouldn’t have come,” Johnny said softly, his voice almost a whisper as reached under her chin to tilt her head up. “I know how much it mattered to you”

Y/n looked up at Johnny, her heart racing as his fingers gently brushed her chin, lifting her face to meet his. His words hung in the air between them, soft and sincere.

“You always do,” she whispered back, her breath catching in her throat.

The space between them closed, and in an instant, Johnny’s lips were on hers. It wasn’t rushed or forced, but soft, like he was savoring the moment. Y/n’s mind finally quiets, letting the warmth of the kiss wash over her.

It was like everything outside of that moment faded away, leaving just the two of them, connected in a way that felt real, felt right. When they finally pulled away, Y/n’s eyes stayed closed for a moment, her lips still tingling from the kiss.

Y/n pulled back slightly, a playful smile tugging at her lips as she looked up at Johnny. “I’ve already got my award,” she said, her voice light. “We can totally just leave now, right?”

Johnny grinned, his eyes lighting up with relief. “Sounds good to me,” he agreed quickly.

Y/n started to turn back toward the hall, ready to grab Yangyang and get out of there, but Johnny gently caught her arm, halting her. He stepped closer, his expression softening.

“Before you go,” he said quietly, his hand reaching for her face once more, “can I’ve a kiss?”

Y/n met his gaze, her heart fluttering, and she nodded with a soft laugh. Without another word, Johnny leaned down, capturing her lips with his once more. Neither of them could hold back from smiling in the kiss, the happiness and relief that had been building between them for so long finally spilling over.

When they finally pulled away, Y/n was smiling, her hand lingering on his chest. “Happy now?”

“Very.” he said softly, her tone teasing like usual.  

She chuckled, shaking her head as she gave him one last look before turning to head back toward the hall to grab Yangyang.

Y/n couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this good. With Johnny, she found more than just someone who showed up when she needed him. He was kind, supportive, and cared in a way that felt rare to her.

As she made their way back into the hall, she realized that despite everything, despite her father’s absence, the hurt from before, she had Johnny who made her feel seen, heard, and truly valued. With Johnny by her side, the weight of the world felt just a little bit easier to carry, and for the first time in a long while, Y/n let herself believe that things might just be okay.

-

A/N: Just thought I should say that I do NOT condone drinking and driving! Anyways! Thank you so much for reading this fic, the next one of the series I'll be writing is Yuta~ so slay! hope you look forward to that Thank you again for reading 💚

[lixiesfreckless]

mind games | p. js

➸ synopsis: a little playful banter and psychoanalysis never hurt anybody.

➸ starring: park jisung x reader

➸ word count: 1.3k

➸ general content: college au, house party shenanigans, kissing, sungie is exactly the smooth man I know he could be if he didn't get flustered every 0.2 secs-

➸ warnings: alcohol consumption

➸ rating: 15+

➸ author’s note: I've literally had this in the drafts for MONTHS sorry for keeping park jisung content from tumblr, that should be a crime punishable by firing squad-

♫ this fic has a soundtrack! it's empty cups by charlie puth put it on pUT IT ON

You don't know what's making you more drunk; the alcohol or the man in front of you.

You've been watching his dark hooded eyes gaze at you this whole conversation, something that should feel casual, but with no one else on the couch, feels more intimate than you would have expected. And try as you might, you can't ignore the deep timbre of his voice, almost reminding you of a siren in how you can barely focus on anything else. Even the loud music of the party seems to fade when your eyes naturally trace the sound to the curve of his mouth, occasionally curling on one side when he catches your eyes wandering lower.

Damn. You don't remember being this much of a lightweight.

“-but enough about my major,” he sighs, rubbing his finger absentmindedly along the trim of the couch, a gesture that definitely should not have your insides twisting into a coil. “I am becoming increasingly curious as to what yours might be.” The tilt of his lips gives away the mock sincerity he's using, a sarcastic stab to the dull nature of collegiate small talk. You fight the urge to grin, feeling like a silly teenage girl. It was only one shot of vodka, what the hell?

“Guess.” An unoriginal response, but he leans back and strokes an imaginary beard, looking to the ceiling as if he was consulting the gods of career choices.

After a moment, he snaps his fingers and points at you.

“Culinary arts?”

“Close. Psychology.”

He bursts out laughing at your blatant lie, and you don't think you've ever heard a sound more disarming.

There is no way it was just vodka in your red solo cup.

“Have you been psychoanalyzing me?” He says with a glint in his eyes as he narrows them.

“I can't help it,” you laugh.

“Tell me.” His voice was so clear despite it being barely above a whisper.

“You just want to know how you're perceived by a stranger, don't you?”

His jaw drops open in awe. “You really are a psych major, huh?” You nod your head and let a laugh slip out again.

“So what have you gathered about me then?” He leans closer again, quieting his voice even more just in case anyone could hear him over the raging bass of the speakers.

“Well for one, you’re quiet,” you begin, and you wait for him to open his mouth(probably to argue that that’s obvious) to continue, “but it’s not because you’re shy. You’re reserved, probably choosing to keep to yourself in public situations because you don’t crave social interaction.”

His tongue pushes the inside of his cheek, fighting a smile, and you have to digest the butterflies in your stomach to keep going.

“And you’re observant, which is pretty common amongst introverted…?” you wait for him to confirm your guess with a nod, “Right. Introverted reserved guys that get caught people watching at parties.”

“I was not!” He argues, scrunching his nose in defiance.

“How’d you know what was in my cup then?”

“Oh that?” He nods his head over to the strawberry blonde that has the kitchen on lock, entertaining practically every girl within earshot of him. “Jaemin makes the same drink for every new girl he meets.”

You raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. “A vodka cranberry?”

“With a splash of lime,” he adds, rolling his eyes. “He insists it elevates the drink.”

“Does he know it’s a house party?"

“Shh, he doesn’t need to know that.”

You’re both laughing, with heads so close that if it weren’t for the decibel levels of the party, you’d be sweating buckets at his proximity.

“You’re good though,” he says, sighing, and when he sees your confused stare he elaborates, “your psychoanalysis, I mean. That was pretty spot on.” You shake your head, waving him off with your free hand.

“That was nothing– I’d rather see you try,” you subtly challenge, raising your cup back to your lips.

“Oh yeah?”

You raise your eyebrows, as if you were daring him to try and figure you out.

He leans back from you, now gazing at you thoughtfully as he crosses his arms across his chest. Immediately you feel warm, clearly unprepared for having this much attention on you, let alone his. Your outfit was nothing unusual for a college party– just a short dress you felt confident in paired with a shrug that matched your sneakers –and you smirk to yourself knowing that the only piece of your personality he could derive from your clothes was well out of sight.

“I think you have a lot of secrets,” he says suddenly, meeting your eyes and leaning in close again. There was a lilt to his voice; was he teasing?

“Doesn’t everyone?” You ask, attempting to get him to elaborate.

“No, you’re probably a vault now that I think about it,” he chuckles, eyes wandering down to your neck as he eyes the locket necklace hanging just above your collarbones. “And assuming you want to go into a career where you help people, you’re always giving advice and listening to others, but don’t bother bothering others with your problems.”

He hit the nail on the head so hard you’re practically drooling.

“Who are you, seriously,” you laugh, feeling ridiculously exposed.

“Park Jisung, creative writing,” he says, swirling his hands and giving a mock bow, and you playfully slap his hand away. “How’s your back?”

“Sorry?”

“Your back. You know, doesn’t it hurt from carrying the weight of your friends’ trauma?”

When was the last time you laughed this much? “Not nearly as much as writer’s block.”

He scoffs, holding a hand against his hoodie and leaning back as if you’ve delivered a fatal blow. Which you probably did, to his ego. “So she plays dirty. I should have seen that coming.”

“Careful, I know how to weaponize words.”

“Well that makes two of us,” he muses, leaning close enough so his voice is clear again. “I’m also good at telling people what they wanna hear.”

“Is that so?” You bend down and leave your solo cup on the floor, no longer interested in its contents. “What do you think I wanna hear then?”

He pauses, probably weighing the risk of voicing his next thought.

“Mmmm…something like how from the moment I saw you at the bar, I knew I couldn’t leave this party without your number,” he says, fighting a smirk as he lifts a hand to his face to hide his bashful expression.

“Oh really,” you laugh, mentally thanking the low light in the room for hiding the blush coloring your cheeks. He wasn’t wrong though, you won’t let him leave without your digits in his phone.

Your gaze flickers down to his pouty lips, hoping he’ll pick up what you’re putting down. ”Anything else?”

“I think…” he says slowly, leaning in just enough so his intentions are clear as day, “you want me to say that I wanna try that vodka cranberry.”

“With lime,” you add, eyelids dropping as his face inches closer to yours. “The lime is essential.”

“Right. Can’t forget that.”

He smiles right when his lips touch yours, and the action has your skin nearly bursting into flames before he finally commits to the kiss.

Pillowy and soft, his kiss is slow and sensual against your lips, and immediately you feel so dizzy that you brace a hand on his shoulder to steady yourself, which unintentionally pulls him closer. The second kiss is deeper as a result, and the buzz in your fingertips is not from the alcohol, you’re sure.

Pulling away with a smile on his lips, Jisung watches your reaction carefully, and you hope that you don't look half as flustered as you feel with his face still close to yours.

“Riddle me this, psych major,” he says, eyes flickering around your face, “can you tell me what I’m thinking right now?”

You don’t even have to think twice; following his gaze was enough of an indication.

Somehow, you find it in yourself to giggle amongst the tension. “You want to get out of here?”

“Well,” he grins, tilting his head towards the door and offering a hand to you, “since you’re asking…”

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧

[saveyourblood]

The Exit (Evan Buckley x Reader)

Summary: “She isn’t as good as me,” you say. It isn’t a question. It isn’t even a taunt — it’s a simple fact. The one where you and Buck were together, now you're not, and you're cycling through the five stages of grief.

Word Count: 2.2k Warnings: mild violence, toxic(ish) relationship

“There’s no way he moved on that quickly.”

Denial. 

Hen just looks at you. You take another sip of your drink. 

She successfully convinced you to go out after work for the first time in months. Unfortunately for her, that doesn’t mean you’re good company. Your only plan for the night is to get so drunk that you can get his face out of your head. 

“It’s like I always say: Men ain’t shit.”

“You literally never say that.”

“I don’t have to, because they ain’t shit,” Hen grins. 

You try to smile. God, you wish you could. You’re pretty sure that night stitched the corners of your mouth into a permanent frown. 

“I just can’t believe it,” you mutter. You signal for the bartender. 

Hen sighs. “Look, babe, there’s no way that relationship is going to last. She’s a rebound.” 

“You think he’d introduce us to his rebound?”

“The whole point of a rebound is that you don’t know it’s a rebound,” Hen explains. “Buck thinks he loves her because he still loves you, and that love doesn’t just… disappear. It has to go somewhere.”

“Why can’t I have it?” 

Hen sighs again, a sad smile on her face. 

“Maybe I was just a really shitty partner,” you cede. “Maybe if I could be better, we could be better.” 

Bargaining. 

Hen’s in the middle of a sip, but she shakes her head anyway. “No, that’s not what happened.”

“I don’t even know what happened. I think that’s the worst part. I mean, here’s this man that I think I’ve been in love with for the last three years, and the second I mention the word ‘marriage,’ he runs for the hills.”

“He’s got some personal shit to work through,” Hen says simply. “Shit that you can’t fix.” 

“But why couldn’t he let me at least help him? Isn’t that what a partner is supposed to do?” 

Hen plays with the napkin on the bar in front of her. “Buck’s never had a real partner — not until you came into his life. I think underneath the macho firefighter charade is a boy who’s just… scared of how he feels.”

“He doesn’t know how he feels,” you scoff. 

The bartender wordlessly fills the empty shot glass in front of you. You take it the second he’s done pouring it, wincing as it burns your throat. 

“Maybe that’s what he’s scared of,” Hen says softly. 

“He can’t be that scared: he has a girlfriend,” you retort bitterly. You push your empty shot glass around aimlessly before quietly adding, “I’m so tired of feeling this way.”

Depression.

You won’t be reaching Acceptance anytime soon, so for now, you cycle through the other stages of grief… except for Anger. 

You and Anger either don’t get along or get along far too well. You and Anger is either tequila and lime or tequila and a goddamn blowtorch. Anger gets you everything you want or it ruins it, and there’s no in-between. You’re not friends, not even close; Anger is your shadow, nipping on your heels, ready to strike in the right lighting. 

You look over your shoulder at the pool table. Buck and Eddie are taking turns shooting, and off to the side sits Taylor. 

You don’t get what Buck sees in her, yet you absolutely get it, and it’s an infuriating paradox. She’s a news broadcaster, but she looks like she could be a model. Where you have scars and curves, Taylor is clear and straight-edged. She flips her long red hair over one shoulder, and even under the shitty bar lamp, it shines. 

It’s the right lighting. 

You push yourself away from the counter and hop out of your seat. You march across the bar, far too steady on your feet considering how much you’ve drank. It’s as if Anger, which usually follows behind you, is propping you up and pushing you forward. 

Taylor sees you first, because of course she does. She smiles a little as her eyebrows furrow. It’s juvenile, but you kind of want to punch her in the mouth and see what her perfect little smile would look like with a fresh painting of blood over it. 

“Is everything alright?” She asks innocently. 

“Yeah, just… Buck, can I talk to you? Outside?” 

Buck, who’s lining up a shot, looks up. His mouth opens slightly before he forces it closed, his jaw clenching in the process. He quickly shoots, the cue ball bouncing off the side of the table before hitting another ball. He doesn’t even look to see if he made the shot; he stares at you the entire time. 

He stands up straight, rolling his shoulders back. “Yeah.”

Buck leads the way. If Anger wasn’t following you so closely, you’d feel Taylor’s gaze burning a hole in your back. 

It’s cold outside. Not unseasonably, considering it’s February. Hell, it’s not even actually cold; you grew up on the East Coast, so where you’re from, winter chills you to the bone. Here in LA, winter is more like a breath of fresh air from the summer's unrelenting heat. 

Buck crosses his arms over his chest. He’s from the East Coast too, so you know he isn’t cold.

“What’s up?” He asks.

You laugh. Like, actually laugh. You haven’t done it in so long that you almost forgot how it sounded, how it feels. You missed the rumble in your chest and the shaking of your shoulders. You missed laughing, and you missed laughing with him. 

Buck isn’t laughing, though. He’s just staring at you. 

“You know what? Nevermind,” you chuckle, turning on your heel. 

You take a few steps down the sidewalk before Buck calls after you. “Where are you going? You’re the one who wanted to talk!”

You stop dead in your tracks, any trace of a smile leaving your face. 

Buck shifts behind you. He’s close enough to hear but not close enough to feel. 

“Does she know?” You ask, back still turned to him. 

He shifts again. You let the silence deafen you both.

“...It hasn’t come up.”

You laugh again. It isn’t genuine this time. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

You try walking away again, but Buck grabs your arm. It feels like his fingertips are made of fire. You spin around to face him, causing him to let go. His jaw is set again. 

You grab fistfuls of his shirt, spinning him around and pushing him against the brick wall of the neighboring building. 

Anger. 

“Don’t you dare fucking touch me,” you growl. “You lost that privilege a long time ago.”

Buck keeps fucking staring at you. He raises his chin a little, but he doesn’t try to move your hands. 

“You are so full of shit, you know that?” You continue, shaking your hands a little before letting go of his shirt. 

“You’re drunk.”

He can smell it on your breath. He can’t possibly know you well enough to know you’d never say any of this sober. Because sure, you were together for three years, but you’re not together anymore. One of the reasons for that has to be that he doesn’t know a damn thing about you. 

“You’re still full of shit,” you repeat. Even you can tell that it isn’t as convincing this time. You take a step back; being this close to him is making your stomach turn. 

Buck pushes off the wall, towering over you. “How? How am I full of shit?” 

“You’re a liar,” you say, tilting your head up to stare at him. You won’t let him intimidate you. 

“A liar?” Buck challenges, getting closer to you. 

Anger. Anger. Anger. 

You put your hands on his chest and push him against the wall again. You aren’t strong enough to manhandle him — to a certain extent, he’s letting you push him around. That pisses you off even more. 

“You lied to me for three fucking years straight,” you hiss. 

“How?”

“You told me you loved me.”

Your voice wavers, and you can’t stand the sound of it. You clench your jaw and take in a breath, which you let out shakily. No fucking way are you going to let yourself cry in front of him. He doesn’t deserve your tears. 

“You told me you loved me, and when I wanted more, you ran,” you say, pausing to swallow. “You told me you loved me for three years, and not even three months later, you’re showing off your new girlfriend.”

If only for a second, you swear his vision drops to your lips. Buck goes right back to staring at you, though, and you see his jaw pop — he’s getting angry. 

Good.

“Are you ever gonna tell her?” You challenge. You lean in, the gap between you growing shorter every second.

His jaw doesn’t relax. 

A chuckle escapes you. Of course he isn’t. 

You put your hands on the wall, inches from Buck’s waist on both sides. You lean in, turning your lips to his ear. “Remember this, Evan Buckley: everywhere she touches you, I was there first.” 

Buck grabs your face with one hand, and your brain short-circuits. Your chin is tucked between his thumb and index finger, the rest of his fingers resting on your cheek and neck. He pulls you back first, then turns you around until it’s you who’s pressed against the wall. 

Then, he kisses you. His hand stays where it is while the other pins your hip in place. The kiss doesn’t feel like it used to; it’s somehow worse yet better than when you were together. There’s no trace of love in the way his tongue slides across yours or the way he takes your lip in between his teeth. Everything about this is so rough, so raw, so needy.

Eventually, Buck brakes away but keeps his forehead pressed against yours so hard you think it might leave a bruise. He huffs out a few breaths that you gratefully inhale. 

“She isn’t as good as me,” you say. It isn’t a question.  It isn’t even a taunt — it’s a simple fact. Three months ain’t got shit on three years. 

“You just had to go and fuck things up, didn’t you?” He mumbles, voice gravelly. 

He’s kissing you again. Your head is fuzzy, and you know it isn’t from the booze. He’s pressing into you, but you manage to snake a hand in between your waists to palm him. He’s half-hard, and when you make contact, he lets out a low groan into your mouth. You swallow it whole. 

His words finally register. You squeeze him, probably a little too hard. He groans again, finally moving his hand from your face to the wall behind you for leverage. 

“I fucked things up?” you challenge quietly. Your hand hovers over Buck’s crotch, and he leans closer, desperate for any connection. “You’re the one who ended things.”

“You’re the one who wanted to change things,” Buck argues. 

His head dips, and he starts to kiss your neck. You let out a small sound at the sensation, biting your bottom lip to quiet yourself. You’re still pissed at him, but you continue palming him through his pants, which earns you another groan. 

“I brought up the idea of a future, and you ran,” you say between heavy breaths. “You’re more scared of change than you are being alone. It’s pathetic.” 

Buck bites the skin above your collarbone in protest to your words. You wince; it’ll definitely leave a mark. 

The weird thing about your relationship with Buck is that it never really felt like it ended. At least, that’s how you took things. One second, you were happy, and the next, you were moving into a studio apartment that wasn’t his. There was no funeral, no eulogy, just a loss so deep that it gave you whiplash. You didn’t bury your relationship under six feet of dirt; you buried it under six feet of snow. You buried it alive. And the snow is melting. 

Buck’s hand sneaks under your waistband, and it’s as if the alcohol in your bloodstream burns off. You’re left sober, staring at a sickening reality: this is wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Even though it feels so fucking right, it is so fucking wrong. 

Both of your hands find his shoulders. You push him away, not as roughly as before, not even with a lot of force. Really, all it takes for him to pull away is the change in your demeanor. 

“You have a girlfriend,” you whisper.  

You still don’t think it’s fair that he got to move on so quickly. Buck is flying down the freeway and left you at an exit miles back. He’s moving on way faster and way better than you ever could. It doesn’t feel fair. But then again, it doesn’t matter what you feel. Because there is no ‘you and Buck’ anymore: it’s Buck and Taylor, and somewhere in the backdrop, there’s you. 

Your hand finds his wrist, which you pull away slowly. You press your lips together, then let out a sigh. “You should probably get back to her.”

Acceptance.

[marigold-hills]

your hands; mine Part 2 (stalker Remus AU)

WARNING: murder, blood, spiked drink, violence

PART 1 | PART 3

Remus has seen Sirius talked at, and hit on, and groped on more occasions than he cares to count.

It’s natural, he supposes. Someone so pretty is bound to get more than his fair share of attention. Remus isn’t jealous of it, because he knows it’s not his place to be. Sure, it twists something inside of him that screams don’t touch what’s mine but he knows that’s irrational. Sirius is only his in the way the bones are at the Natural History Museum. Something to look at, never to touch.

Sirius is very good at getting rid of unwanted attention. Remus has seen him deal with it using only his words, a fork from his meal, a half-empty bottle of beer. 

He never needs any help.

It’s the same this time. The man steps away, hands raised in surrender, and his friend seems to catch on. He drags him away, throwing some half-arsed apologies at Sirius and James. They both nod, a polite thing from James, Sirius still with that chill in his eyes and the pool queue against the man’s face for as long as the length of it allows.

They don’t play anymore after that. Sirius drinks the beer that the man gave him, James drinks whatever it is that he drinks. Remus goes to the bathroom and when he returns, they are gone.

It’s usually like this on Fridays. Remus doesn’t follow Sirius home on those days. Half the time he goes to James’, sometimes he goes somewhere else entirely. Remus prefers to stay at the bar and have another soda and lime, another packet of peanuts.

Soda and lime £2.05

KP Dry Roasted Peanuts £1

Bartenders don’t usually like him much. He takes up space at the bar and doesn’t drink. Remus understands. There are a lot of people he doesn’t like, either.

The evening finished faster than Remus expected. He’ll probably have some time to work on a stained glass pug commission he got. It’s taking him a little longer than usual - he’s not been in the mood for it. There's something about the reference photo that makes him uneasy, something in those little beady eyes that doesn’t want to be immortalised in glass.

He’s halfway through his drink when the text comes through.

Help me

No punctuation. The first letter is capitalised but they are so by default.

The first splash of grey in a sea of blue.

6 characters and a space.

Remus is up and out the door, halfway to his car before he registers it. Goes through the checks (mirrors, seatbelt, rear-view, blind spot) automatically. Opens the tracking app on his phone with one hand, the other steering him out of the parking space. 

Remus is always a careful driver. He appreciates that about himself.

He speeds through a red light towards the little dot on the map. It’s at Sirius’ building, but not quite where his flat is. Just to the left of it, where the bins are kept. It’s a five minute drive from the pub. Remus makes it in three.

“Can’t get a shag like a normal person?” Sirius is taunting the stocky man from the pub. His voice is garbled but not in the way it is when Sirius drinks too much. Remus follows it. “A man tells you no so you drug him?”

Sirius is slumped against the side of a bin, wedged in between it and the man. He’s holding onto a bottle, half of it broken off, the glass jagged and ready to be used, but Sirius’ hand is limp by his side.

“You’re a right little cunt you know?” The stocky man from the pub says. He’s standing above Sirius. He rears back his leg and kicks him in the stomach, hard. 

Sirius collapses into himself on a cough of pain.

Remus is tall but lanky. Not good in a fight. He knows this about himself. It takes three steps to get to the man and throw himself over his back, hand around neck, the surprise of it enough to topple them both to the ground. With some long-distant part of his brain he grabs the bottle from Sirius’ hand and hits. 

It goes in smoothly, the way a knife does into a warm lasagna. Remus tastes bitter bile in the back of his throat. The bottle is half-in, half-out of the man’s side, and he holds onto it with shaky fingers quickly growing red with blood.

Remus has never hurt anyone before.

Sirius looks at him a bit like he looks at the texts Remus sends.

“Are you alright?” Remus asks him. It’s the first time he speaks in the same air.

Sirius doesn’t answer. Underneath Remus, the man gurgles. A string of blood flows out of his mouth. He looks at Remus and it’s like: you, really? You? Remus can understand. He wouldn’t think it would be him, either.

The man dies slowly but too fast to do anything about it. His body becomes a thing. He becomes no more. An object.

Remus stands up. He knows there are no cameras here. Sirius’ flat is easily seen through the windows. Remus has taken photos from right next to where he stands.

He knows nobody checks the bins before they’re collected. He knows they’re collected Saturday mornings. He knows the man is laying on a discarded piece of cardboard.

He knows they seems to have gotten very, very lucky. 

@rae-lune

@hoje--aqui

@wickedcoeur

@shunstanpike

@floretissogay

@remoonysiriusly

@tealeavesandtrash

[tinydefector]

Learning How 11

Bob reynolds x Trans Male reader

Warning: Classic thunderbolts warning. (Mention of mental health CPTSD, BPD, and others. Drug use, and past drug use. rather soft chapter

Word count: 4.6k

Masterlist

Prev

Next

Listening to my bob playlist while writing this

Bob playlist

______________

The following days were… interesting, to say the least. Y/N had settled into his new routine at the tower, though “settled” might have been too strong a word. In truth, he didn’t like being there. The whole place felt off, Too sterile, too quiet And artificial for a building that housed a team of people who were anything but.

The common area was the only exception. It had a worn-in quality that almost felt human, with mismatched furniture, scuffed floors, and the faint scent of coffee and whatever Yelena had last attempted to bake. It was the only place Y/N didn’t feel like he was walking through some billionaire’s high-tech mausoleum.

Still, he used the time to get his bearings, as much as anyone could in a place like this. And in those few days, he learned a lot.

For one thing, Bucky Barnes was weirder than last time he had been around the Ex Winter soldier. For a man who had once thrown him across an old factory before Bucky had gotten his arm wedged between a boiler. Right now he looked nothing like the half brainwashed Super soldier Y/n had met.

The man was a walking contradiction, a weird blend of old-school habits and new-age quirks that didn’t quite fit together. Like how he used old slang but cleaned his vibranium arm… in the dishwasher.

The first time Y/N saw it, he’d thought he was hallucinating. It had been late, the common area dimly lit as Y/N wandered into the kitchen for a midnight snack. He’d paused in the kitchen doorway, spotting the hulking shadowy figure standing in front of the open dishwasher. It had nearly given Y/n a heart attack because his body went into a fight of flight mood.

Yet as he flicks the lights on he's stood there staring at Bucky, his vibranium arm held awkwardly in one hand while he slid the top rack into place with the other.

“…What the fuck Are you doing?” Y/N asked, his voice cutting through the quiet like a knife. As he stood there in his boxers and baggy shirt.

Bucky barely glanced up, his expression as flat as ever. “What does it look like I’m doing?” the clatter of cutlery follows as Bucky arnages the other dishes, cups and pieces around the arm.

“It looks like you’re putting your arm in the dishwasher,” Y/N said, his eyebrows shooting up.

“That’s because I am,” Bucky replied, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

Y/N blinked at him, his brain struggling to process what he’d just heard. He just turns around forgetting his midnight snack and makes his way back to his own room. He's baffled and stunned that this man, this fucking man was a walking blood pressure spike for Y/n.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Bucky said, his voice tinged with amusement as he closed the dishwasher and hit the start button. Before moving to the fridge to grab his homemade pine needle soda, and key lime pie.

Y/N just shook his head, making his way back to his room. “This fucking team,” he muttered under his breath. As he drags himself back to his room.

---

Y/N continued picking up on their quirks and dynamics. It was clear that they were a mismatched bunch, but somehow, it worked.

Alexei was loud and boisterous, always the first to crack a joke or suggest a group activity, usually something ridiculous, he happened to very much enjoy playing mario party, and God forbid anyone but he played Bowser.

Yelena was sharp and no-nonsense, but her softer side came out around Bob, who seemed to be her unofficial little older brother. They could be found together often, she'd take him out shopping often to books stores, cheap nicknak shops, and milkshake bars.

A surprising discovery: John Walker was… tolerable.

Not in every situation, of course. The man still had an ego the size of the tower itself and a tendency to say things that made Y/N want to roll his eyes so far back they’d never recover. But in the kitchen? That was a whole different story.

John was good in the kitchen, shockingly so. At first, Y/N thought it was just a coincidence. The first few meals he had after moving in seemed a little too tailored to everyone’s preferences. But after a few days of observing and eventually joining John in the kitchen, he realized it wasn’t a fluke. John knew exactly what everyone liked, and he cooked with precision and care that Y/N hadn’t expected from someone who otherwise seemed so… brash.

One evening, Y/N wandered into the kitchen to find John at the stove, a pan sizzling with what smelled like lemon and wine. “What’s that?” Y/N asked, eyebrows furrowed as he scavenged through the fridge looking for something he wanted to eat.

“Chicken piccata,” John replied without looking up. “Yelena’s favorite. She’s been in a mood all day, so I figured I’d do something nice.” He states. Walker had always found it was easier to cook for people when they were in a mood.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, impressed despite himself. “You cook for everyone?”

John shrugged, flipping the chicken with practiced ease. “Yeah. It’s easier than listening to people complain about reheated pizza or whatever weird shit Alexei tries to make.”

Y/N snorted at that. “Fair point. Didn’t think you’d be so… domestic, though.”

“Don’t let it fool you,” John said, smirking as he stirred the sauce. “I’m still an asshole. I just happen to be an asshole who can cook.”

Y/N chuckled, deciding to stick around. He didn’t mind helping with prep. It gave him something to focus on, something to keep his hands busy. And, surprisingly, John wasn’t terrible company in the kitchen.

Over the next hour, the two worked side by side, Y/N chopping vegetables while John handled the stove. It was… nice. Comfortable, even. And as they worked, John let little bits of information slip, things Y/N hadn’t picked up on yet.

“Bob’s a soup guy,” John said at one point, almost offhandedly.

Y/N glanced at him, curious. “Soup? Like, all the time?”

“Pretty much,” John said, tossing a handful of parsley into the sauce. “It’s one of his safe foods. Chicken soup, tomato soup, vegetable soup. He’ll eat it all. It’s how I get him to eat vegetables and other meats. Otherwise, he’d live on milkshakes and chicken tenders, pig in a blanket or breakfast pinwheels.”

Y/N frowned slightly, his knife pausing mid-chop. “Safe foods? He’s neurodivergent?”

John nodded, his expression softening slightly. “Yeah, something like that. He hasn’t said much about it, but it’s pretty obvious once you spend enough time around him. The soup thing helps, though. He doesn’t always have an appetite, but if I put a bowl of soup in front of him, he’ll eat it or drink it.”

“Huh,” Y/N said, filing that information away. He was starting to get a clearer picture of Bob, his habits, his struggles, the little things that made a big difference in how he navigated the world.

“Carrot and celery sticks are another go-to,” John continued. “He’ll snack on them with hummus if he’s not up for a full meal. And salt and vinegar chips he loves those.”

Y/N smiled faintly, grabbing a handful of chopped parsley and sliding it onto a plate. “You really pay attention, don’t you?”

John shrugged, his expression neutral. “Someone has to. Bob’s not the kind of guy who’ll speak up if he needs something. You’ve got to notice the small stuff.”

That was… unexpectedly insightful, and it gave Y/N a new perspective on John. For all his bravado and rough edges, the guy clearly cared about the people around him. It showed in the way he cooked, the way he noticed the little things that made life easier for his teammates.

“I gotta admit,” Y/N said after a moment, his tone lighter, “you’re a lot less obnoxious when you’re not trying to be Captain America 2.0.”

John smirked, wiping his hands on a towel. “And you’re a lot less annoying when you’re not trying to be the smartest guy in the room.”

“Touché,” Y/N said with a grin.

Ava, is a wildcard. Half the time, Y/N didn’t even realize she was there until she wanted him to know. She had a knack for moving silently, slipping in and out of rooms like a shadow. It wasn’t uncommon for her to suddenly materialise at Y/N’s side, scaring the absolute hell out of him.

The first time it happened, Y/N had been reading Robert's file that Yelena had given him. He’d been muttering to himself about the lack of care taken when Bob was put into the sentry project. out of nowhere, Ava’s voice cut through the quiet.

“what are you doing sitting in the dark?”

Y/N yelped, spinning around so fast he nearly dropped the papers. Ava stood there, leaning casually against the counter with a smirk on her face. “Jesus Christ, Ava!” Y/N snapped, clutching his chest. “Do you have to do that?”

Her smirk widened. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

It didn’t stop there. Over the next few days, Ava made it her personal mission to jump-scare him whenever the opportunity presented itself. She didn’t do it to everyone. just Y/N, and occasionally Alexei, who reacted with even louder shrieks than Y/N did. She thrived on their reactions, her laughter echoing through the common area as she vanished just as quickly as she appeared.

“Does she ever not sneak around?” Y/N asked one day, his heart still racing after she’d popped up behind him while he was reading on the couch.

“She’s like this with everyone,” Yelena replied, not even looking up from her book.

---

Bob, Y/N quickly learned, was a bundle of nervous energy.

He had a lot of nervous tics, things Y/N started picking up on the more time they spent around each other. Bob’s hands were rarely still, always fidgeting with something: the hem of his sweater, a loose thread, the edge of a book. He chewed on his bottom lip when he was anxious until it bled, his eyes darting around like he was waiting for something bad to happen.

And then there was the way he flinched. It wasn’t dramatic, but it was noticeable. Just a slight twitch of his shoulders or a quick blink whenever someone raised their voice. It didn’t even have to be directed at him. If Alexei got too loud during an argument or Yelena snapped at someone, Bob’s body would tense, his head ducking slightly as if bracing for impact.

But what stood out the most was Bob’s constant need to be helpful. It was like he couldn’t sit still unless he felt like he was contributing something. If someone was cooking, Bob would offer to chop vegetables. If someone was cleaning, Bob would grab a rag and start wiping down surfaces. Even when he was clearly exhausted, he’d still hover nearby, asking if there was anything he could do.

It didn’t surprise Y/N that Yelena and Ava were Bob’s safe zones. He was always around one of them when he wasn’t in his corner, reading quietly. With Yelena, he seemed more relaxed, like he knew she’d protect him no matter what. With Ava, there was an ease to their interactions, a quiet understanding that didn’t require words.

Y/n wasn’t a psychologist or therapist. He didn’t pretend to be but he recognized the signs. They were painfully familiar, like looking into a mirror of his own past struggles.

Bob carried the weight of more than just his neurodivergence. Y/N could see the heavy shadows of CPTSD hanging over him, the way he flinched at raised voices, how he was always on edge, like he was waiting for something to go wrong. It wasn’t just the trauma, though. There was anxiety, depression, and the emotional rollercoaster of BPD. And then there were the other signs, the ones Bob hid well but not well enough.

The way his hands sometimes shook when he thought no one was looking. The way his energy would spike on some days, only to crash completely on others. The subtle glassiness in his eyes during his worst moments, like he was somewhere else entirely. Y/N wasn’t the type to pry, but he could connect the dots.

Drugs.

Bob didn’t talk about it, but Y/N had pieced together enough to know he’d been through hell with addiction. Y/N didn’t call him out on it, he wouldn’t do that but he could tell that Bob was still fighting the battle, even if it was quieter now. The sneaking of opioids prescription drugs and CBD oil didn’t go unnoticed, either, Y/n had used CBD himself so he wasn’t judging. He knew how hard it was to try to keep clean, especially when your body and mind still screamed for something to take the edge off.

---

Bob’s therapist had been helpful in guiding Y/N, though their conversations were purely professional. Y/N didn’t ask what Bob talked about in his sessions. That wasn’t his business, but he did ask about strategies. What would be the best way to support Bob without making things harder for him? How could he approach the bad days, the really bad ones, without adding more pressure?

The therapist was straightforward: “Consistency helps. Don’t push him to talk, but let him know you’re there. Small acts of kindness go a long way. And if he trusts you enough to lean on you, don’t take that lightly. He is going to try and pick himself apart and put himself down, he is going to get agitated. Just let him talk, you don't have to engage but just be present if he needs someone, he is very emotionally wrecked and is still trying to figure out what is safe”

Y/N took those words to heart.

---

On Bob’s bad days, he was a wreck. He didn’t try to hide it, not entirely, but he also didn’t ask for help. Y/N would find him curled up in his bed, knees pulled to his chest, staring blankly at the wall. Those days were hard to watch. Bob didn’t move much, didn’t eat even if people brought him food unless it was soup, and didn’t seem to care about much of anything.

But on his good days? Bob could light up a room. He’d laugh and joke with Yelena, help Alexei with ridiculous projects, and poke fun at John in a way that was so subtle it sometimes took a minute to catch. He was sharp, clever, and good-hearted. Those good days were a reminder of who Bob really was beneath all the pain and struggle.

---

One night, as Y/N sat in the common area with John, an idea struck him. “Have you ever used CBD in your cooking?” Y/N asked, keeping his tone casual.

John glanced up from where he was flipping through a cookbook, raising an eyebrow. “Not really. Why?”

Y/N shrugged. “Thinking it might help Bob. You know, with the anxiety and everything. If it’s in something he already likes—milkshakes, brownies, whatever. He might actually use it without feeling like he has to hide it.”

John considered this for a moment, then nodded. “Makes sense. Is he hiding a lot of drugs?” John asked much softer, it hit him hard hearing Bob was falling back into using but also relieved it hadn't gotten to the point of Heroin, cocaine or meth.

“Not a lot, from what I can see he's using them sparingly but CBD I know the smell of it and bottles ” Y/N said, leaning back against the counter. “But keep it low-key. Don’t ask him about it, don’t make a big deal out of it. Just… leave it in the fridge or on the counter, like it’s no big thing.”

The next day, the kitchen smelled like maple and pecans. Y/N watched as John carefully sliced up a batch of pecan and maple bars, tucking half of them into a small container.

Later that evening, Y/N placed the container on the little bench in Bob’s book nook. He didn’t say anything, just left it there for Bob to find. When Bob wandered into the nook after dinner, his eyes landed on the container and the little note, and he froze.

Y/N, lounging on the couch nearby, pretended not to notice. Bob picked up the container, reading the label with a faint smile. “You didn’t have to do this,” he said softly.

“I know,” Y/N replied without looking up from his book. “But I wanted to.” John said if you want more made just make sure to leave a bottle in the fridge for them.” He states, he doesn't call out what it is, but he wants Reynolds to feel like he doesn't have to hide what he's taking. Better to be open in case you have a reaction or worse.

Bob didn’t say anything else, but when Y/N glanced over a few minutes later, he saw Bob sitting in the corner with a book in one hand and a pecan slice in the other. For the first time in days, Bob looked… calm. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it was a start. And for now, that was enough.

The longer Y/N spent with the team, the more he realized just how much they were all carrying. Bob wasn’t the only one struggling, far from it. Yelena and Alexei were both borderline alcoholics, though not the violent kind. They weren’t the type to lash out or start fights. Instead, they drank until they fell apart, until the walls they’d built around their pain crumbled, leaving them sobbing in the quiet hours of the night.

Y/N had seen it happen more than once. Alexei would sit at the bar, clutching a bottle of vodka like it was his lifeline, his booming laughter eventually turning into broken sobs. Yelena was quieter about it, retreating to her room with a bottle of whiskey, vodka or anything until the tears came.

Bob, on the other hand, avoided alcohol like it was poison. Y/N had noticed early on how Bob would tense up whenever Yelena or Alexei started drinking, how he’d quietly slip out of the room if things got too heavy. It didn’t take much for Y/N to put the pieces together. He didn’t ask, but he had a feeling that at least one, if not both, of Bob’s parents had been violent alcoholics. The way Bob flinched at raised voices, the way he avoided confrontation at all costs it all pointed to a childhood spent walking on eggshells.

---

Today, Y/N decided to sit with Bob. He found him in the book nook, curled up in his usual corner with a blanket draped over his lap. Bob wasn’t reading, though. A book lay open in his hands, but his eyes were unfocused, staring blankly at the pages. His hair was a mess, still wearing the same clothes from three days ago.

Y/N approached slowly, not wanting to startle him. “Hey,” he said softly, lowering himself onto the beanbag across from Bob. “What’s the scale today?”

The scale was something Y/N had come up with after their first few conversations. It was his way of gauging how Bob was doing without making him feel pressured to explain how everything made him feel. numbers ranged from 1 to 10, with 1 being the kind of day where Bob didn’t even leave his room, and 10 being one of his rare “invincible” days.

Bob blinked, his gaze finally shifting to Y/N. He hesitated for a moment before answering. “Three. Maybe four.”

Y/N nodded, leaning back against the wall. “Three or four isn't too bad,” he said lightly. “Better than a one.”

Bob gave a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. I guess.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the quiet not uncomfortable but heavy with unspoken thoughts. Y/N didn’t push. He’d learned quickly that Bob needed time to open up, that trying to force a conversation would only make him retreat further into himself.

Finally, Y/N broke the silence. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Bob looked at him, surprised. Most people, Y/N had noticed, tried to reassure Bob on his bad days. They’d say things like, “It’ll get better,” or, “You’re stronger than this.” Well-meaning words, but not what Bob needed. Y/N didn’t do that. He didn’t offer pity or empty platitudes. He just asked.

Bob fidgeted with the corner of his blanket, his fingers picking at a loose thread. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “I don’t think so.”

“Okay,” Y/N said simply. “If you think of something, let me know.”

Bob nodded, his shoulders relaxing slightly. He wasn’t used to people asking what he needed. Most of the time, he felt like a burden, like his struggles were too much for anyone to deal with. But Y/N didn’t make him feel that way.

After a moment, Y/N spoke again, his tone casual. “Have you eaten yet today?”

Bob hesitated, then shook his head. “Not hungry.”

“Fair enough,” Y/N said. “But you should try to drink something. Even just a little. I can make you a milkshake if you want.”

Bob’s lips twitched in a faint smile. “I'd like that. A milkshake sounds good. Thanks.” He continues to fidget with his book and his hair while he makes himself comfortable back in his own bean bag.

“Coming right up,” Y/N said, standing and stretching. He glanced back at Bob, taking in the disheveled state of his hair and the faint shadows under his eyes. It was clear Bob hadn’t showered or brushed his teeth yet today, but at least he’d put on deodorant. That was something. On a one-day, Bob wouldn’t have even left his room.

Y/N headed to the kitchen, throwing together a quick milkshake with a little CBD oil mixed in. He poured it into a glass, grabbed a straw, and brought it back to Bob. “Here you go, it's got some ‘oil’ in it too” Y/N said, handing it to him. “Enjoy.” that was what Y/n had started calling the CBD.

Bob took the glass, his expression softening. “Thanks, Y/N.”

“Anytime,” Y/N said, settling back into his spot across from him. He didn’t try to fill the silence after that, just sat with Bob, letting him know he wasn’t alone. And for the first time that day, Bob didn’t feel like he was.

Y/N had been quietly observing Bob for a while now, sitting across from him in the book nook. He could see the little twitches, the way Bob’s hair brushed against his face, and the faint grimace each time it happened. It wasn’t aggressive or obvious, just small, frustrated movements. Bob’s hair was a little greasy, and Y/N had a gut feeling that the texture was driving him up the wall.

But Y/N could also tell that Bob wasn’t going to do anything about it. Not today. Bob didn’t have the energy for that, not the energy to get up, not the energy to deal with the shower, and definitely not the energy to face the emotional spiral that might follow if he pushed himself too far. Y/N had been there before. He knew how something as simple as washing your hair could feel like climbing a mountain on your worst days.

“Is your hair annoying you?” Y/N asked gently, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Bob blinked, startled out of his haze. His hand instinctively went to his hair, brushing it back from his face. “A little,” he admitted softly, looking embarrassed.

Y/N’s smile didn’t waver. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Want me to help? I’ve got a few tricks for greasy hair when you don’t feel up to showering.”

Bob hesitated, his fingers tugging at the hem of his sweater. “I don’t know…”

“No pressure,” Y/N said quickly, his tone light. “But it might help, and it’s no trouble for me. I used to hate showering too. Body stuff is hard, you know?” He gestured vaguely to himself. “Sometimes it just felt like too much.”

Bob glanced at him, his expression softening. It was clear that Y/N understood that he wasn’t judging, and that made it a little easier to nod. “please?,” he said quietly.

“Okay,” Y/N repeated with a warm smile. “Let’s start simple. I'll go get a brush and some baby powder, Do you mind if I mess with your hair a bit? I promise I’m not gonna pull or anything.”

Bob hesitated again, then nodded slowly. “Yeah… that’s fine.”

Y/N came back in a rather timely manner and moved to sit behind Bob once he got back, keeping his movements slow and deliberate so Bob wouldn’t feel overwhelmed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small container of baby powder he’d grabbed. Cornstarch-based, perfect for acting as a dry shampoo.

“First trick,” Y/N said, holding up the container. “Cornstarch baby powder. Works like a charm.” He sprinkled a little into his hands, rubbing them together before gently working it into Bob’s roots. His fingers moved carefully, massaging Bob’s scalp as he went. Bob tensed at first, but as Y/N’s fingers moved in slow, soothing circles, the tension began to melt away.

“You’re good at this,” Bob murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Years of practice,” Y/N replied with a grin. “I used to be in the same boat. Hated showers, couldn’t stand my hair touching my face. This helped me get through days where I couldn't stand showers or baths, would wash my face with a cloth and dumb baby powder into my hair.” He chuckles while continuing To gentle massage his head.

Bob hummed softly, his eyes fluttering shut. The scalp massage was working wonders, and Y/N could feel Bob relaxing under his hands. His shoulders, which had been hunched with tension, slowly dropped, and his breathing evened out.

Y/N decided to forgo the hairbrush. Instead, he threaded his fingers gently through Bob’s hair, using his hands to comb out any tangles. It was slower this way, but more soothing, and Bob seemed to melt further into the touch with each pass. “You okay?” Y/N asked softly, not wanting to break the calm but also wanting to check in.

Bob nodded, his voice drowsy. “Yeah. This is… nice.”

Y/N smiled, his movements never faltering. He kept massaging and combing, letting Bob relax completely. If Bob didn’t want him to stop, he wouldn’t. Y/N had learned that sometimes, what people needed most wasn’t advice or solutions, it was just kindness.

Eventually, Bob’s head tilted slightly, resting against the back into Y/n’s lap. His breathing had slowed, and his face was peaceful, almost like he was on the verge of falling asleep. Y/N didn’t say anything, didn’t move, just kept working his hands through Bob’s hair, letting him have this moment of calm.

For the first time in what felt like days, Bob looked like the weight of the world wasn’t crushing him. And for Y/N, that was a win.

[coffeekittycatt]

Birthday Wish - Pt 2 ⋆˙⟡♡

Link to Pt 1:

Part 1 Scenario: You wished Rafayel was a real person on your birthday. That very night, he ends up at your door. You can’t believe it, but he embraces you in a sweet hug and you both share a romantic and steamy kiss. Now he wants to see your bedroom.

Notes: - NSFW, MDNI, Someone asked me for a part 2 so hope you all enjoy. This was my first real attempt at writing anything spicy besides a kiss so be patient with me 🙂‍↕️ wc: 2,071

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ ── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ ── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ ── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ ── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ ─

“Show me your bedroom, my love.” He whispers to me. His intoxicating scent of white musk hits me, and his buttery voice persuades me right away. I try calming the adrenaline from our sudden makeout session with a deep breath as I guide Rafayel to my room.

My bedroom isn’t exactly “romantic hook up” ready. I have a small twin bed, cozy, but made for one. The corner of my room is stashed with pushies, lots of Kirby’s and Pokemon. “Here it is..,” I say to him as we take a stop. He must sense my nerves, as he leans down in front of me slightly to meet my face, and he tells me, “It’s perfect, small and full of adorableness, just like you.” I giggle at his comforting gesture. “Thank you.” I happen to look over his shoulder and see one complication. My vibrator. On my nightstand. No, no, no! How embarrassing!! Rafayel turns his head to see what I am staring at. “What are you scouting for cutie? Oh-“ He stops leaning down where I am and takes a few steps in the direction of my forbidden toy. I attempt to cover my eyes. I have no excuse for this. Rafayel picks up the small, lime green vibrator. His eyebrow raises and he looks back at me. “What is this green contraption?” Before I can choke up a random word besides “vibrator”, he flips the device around and finds the “on/off” button. His eyes widen as his finger presses down and we both hear the “buzzzzzz”. As if I wasn’t already blushing so much that my cheeks could practically cook an egg on top of themselves, I scurry and grab the vibrator to shut it off. “It’s nothing! Just a toy.” I say. Maybe if I play it cool, he will drop it. I do have lots of “normal” toys sitting around my room anyway. He looks down at the vibrator in my hand once more and glances back up at me, this time with a glint of amusement and something else I can’t put my finger on.

He smirks slightly and asks, “Tell me love, how do you *play* with this toy?” He takes a seat on my bed and his long-fingered, slender hand pats close beside him. He gets comfortable and grabs the nearest throw pillow and covers his lap. Why cover your lap? I think to myself. Maybe that is just how he likes to sit? I shrug off the question and take a seat. My heart has calmed since our first meet in the kitchen, but sitting this close beside Rafayel is making my tummy weak. I am letting him lead the conversation. I don’t want to ruin this amazing night by saying something stupid. After getting settled, I attempt to dodge the outright question. “How do you think I play with this toy?” I brace, hoping this will sway our conversation in a less embarrassing light for me. He licks his lips and I see a faint pink color roll onto his cheeks. He quietly clears his throat before speaking. “If I am not mistaken, my love, you pleasure yourself with this toy.” I open my mouth slightly and look away, totally in awe of how bold his comment is. Not only does his remark flush my body with a quiet shame, but such a dirty question heard from his sexy voice sparks a quick wetness in my pants. This man can make me choke and pass out on my own air. “Am I right?” He smiles while continuing and cocks his head to the side. “Yes..” I whisper and look down, not sure what else to say. I am not used to anyone talking so vulgar to me, boldly asking what I do in my private time. “Can you show me, princess?”

His sudden words strike me like lightning, my wetness now soaking underneath me. I feel an air of excitement at his suggestion, the fact that he wants to see me play with myself. Another part of me was apprehensive. Would he like my body? As I am lost in the moment, Rafayel leans forward towards me. His hands are on the bed holding him up, and he gives me a tender kiss, tongue slipping into my mouth and blessing me with his sweet, seductive taste. I can’t help but moan into his lips as he places his thumb on my cheek to hold me. “Do you want to show me?” He pauses to ask me with a sweet but mischievous expression. I didn’t realize Rafayel would be so eager to see this happen. I nod and smile, my body happily melting at his words.

He helps me pull my top off, showing my chest. A white, lacey bra is revealed, waiting to say hello to him. I watch his reaction as the whole sweatshirt is removed. His face is even more flushed now, so much so that I feel less embarrassed but empowered to make this pretty man’s cheeks as pink as possible. He suddenly pulls me closer, my knees holding me up on the bed as Rafayel puts his hands on my body. Fingers explore my back and my bralette suddenly unclips. I gasp at the event, my folds tingling in reaction. I need him, I thought. His lips land on the top of my left breast. He begins kissing and I feel a sudden cool air against my nipples as my bra drops. Rafayel stops what he’s doing to admire my chest. “So fucking beautiful, princess,” he says while taking a glance up at me. My hands run through his soft, purple hair, slightly gesturing him to keep going. He sighs a hot, lustful breath onto my chest, making my skin shiver with arousal. He keeps kissing, leaving electrifying splotches all over. He begins licking my nipple, first flicking his tongue to get my reaction. My whimpering had only just begun as he seemed satisfied to take it further. He begins sucking and nibbling. Moans escape my lips, only egging him on more. He sucks one nipple, a “pop” leaving his lips as he rewards the other with the same treatment. Rafayel seems hungry for more. His breaths are deeper, slower. He sits back for a second. “Does my princess want to show me how she pleases herself now?” My underwear is a mess from his touches, his delicious kisses. “Since you’re so eager.” I smile with a new feeling of comfortableness. “Fuck yes,” he replies with a sweet grin. He quickly moves over so I can have room on the small bed beneath us. I take off my leggings, leaving my lower half exposed to him. His eyes soak in the view, and he looks at me as if he just found himself the perfect cup of ice water on a blazing hot day. His eyes beam with desire for my body. “God..” He says, almost speechless. He helps me lie down, my head and back leaning against my headboard. He lies at my feet on his belly. He runs his hands on my thighs, caressing them before slowly opens my legs. “Oh fuck.. “ He bites his lower lip, almost stopping himself from outright devouring me. I notice the lime green vibrator now in his hand. He notices my glance. “Oh, my princess wants to play now, doesn’t she? Tell me, who do you think would be better at pleasing you? Me, or the toy?” He asks. The moment stills only for a second before he breaks the silence. Two long fingers slide deep inside me. I gasp in surprise and catch myself, soon feeling an overwhelming pleasure soon after. “Relax my love, I’ll make it feel good.” He says to me. He starts to pump the digits in a soft but steady pace. His fingers are curved slightly, making every dip deliciously electrifying. My back arches and my body unconsciously shimmies downwards, wanting to help ride his fingers myself. Another jolt of surprise hits me as I hear the buzz of the toy awakened and the bulbous tip touches my sensitive nub. Whimpers leave my lips as the feelings overtake me. Rafayel dips his fingers in and out of me in small bursts, letting the toy overstimulate me. As I feel my body draw closer, he turns the toy off. I breathe out for a second, my head warm from the pleasure. “I love the look on your face, princess. Your pretty hole fits my fingers nicely,” he says while showing me his two digits decorated with my cream. “What a good girl you are taking my fingers. But now it’s my turn in this competition.” He lets the toy leave his hands as it rolls onto the floor somewhere. His face fully flushed with pink as he leans his face down towards my slit.

My stomach tightens as his face inches towards my core. His beautiful lips reaching to taste my juices. A kiss is laid on my clit and his tongue slowly makes its way, circling the nub. His wet lips kiss and suck gently, leaving me to arch my back. He holds my hips down as he continues to explore with his mouth. “God.. you taste so good. You’re all mine.” He says in a busy, mumbled manner. His exploration takes him lower, and soon enough he slides his tongue inside me. In and out, he stretches my delicate hole, tasting more of my wetness. He moans his hot breath onto me as his tongue fucks me, making me grab my own breast in response. Rafayel notices and reaches up to play with my nipple. He pinches gently and twists, leaving me even more a mess as his hot, wet mouth has made its way back to sucking and licking my clit. He begins pumping digits back into me as he eats me. I feel myself getting close to the edge, my ears ringing from pure arousal and my head almost spinning. “That’s right. Good girl. Tell me how good it feels.” He demands from me. “S-So good Raf-f..,” I try to obediently answer, but my body has reached the limit. I see stars as my orgasm arrives. Moans leave me uncontrollably, and tears form in my eyes. I lie still for a moment, letting my body come down from this high. Still panting and legs shaking, I look at Rafayel. He begins leaning against the wall, sitting on the bed. He has his fingers in his mouth that were previously drenched with my wetness. He’s sucking on them and suddenly, I notice his pants are undone. He reveals a curved length with a pink, bulbous tip. Precum is spilled down onto his fingertips as he wraps his hand around his own cock. He moans, “mmm”, removing his fingers from his mouth after tasting me. He starts pumping himself, fast and hard. His breathing hot and a beam of sweat leaving his forehead. He looks my way and continues, “Such a beautiful mess you are, cumming all over my fingers-s like that. You’re such a naughty girl, only for me..mm.” Not long after, I sense he’s about to release. His face flushed in sweat and swirls of pink. I hurry and lean over his length, ready to help. “Oh, my princess wants a taste? Gonna be a good girl and swallow me whole?” My lips reach his tip and a long, sweet squirt fills my mouth. I feel Rafayel grunt and shake a bit as he releases. His panting and breathing relaxes as he finishes. I swallow what’s left of his decadent cream. He immediately offers me his hoodie sleeve to wipe my mouth and kisses my cheek.

After our long, steamy session had ended, Rafayel grabs all the pillows he can find and fluffs them. Wrapping his arms around me, we lie our heads down. He snuggles against me, and says kindly, “I hope I fulfilled all your wishes tonight.” “You did,” I replied and turned to face him. My eyes get heavy and teardrops start to form at the base. “I just wish this night could last forever. I am sure you have to leave soon..right? It’ll be so lonely with you gone.” I ask with a sigh as a tear falls slowly down my cheek. His pinkish-blue eyes look at me sadly. This whole night had been magical. Totally unexpected, but experiencing a night with Rafayel in real life made me feel so elated that I would be heartbroken to see him leave. He places his thumb on my cheek and wipes my tear. He caresses me. “My love, you have never been alone. I have always been here for you, even if it was just through a screen. And remember, your birthday isn’t over yet. Anything you wish for I will make happen, just for you.

So now, I promise. I will never leave your side.” He says, kissing my forehead.

[absurdthirst]

Fireworks {Frankie Morales x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7.7k

Warnings: Dirty talk, premature ejaculation, oral sex (male and female receiving), cum eating, riding, breast play, mentions of IUD, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of breeding kink, family planning

Comments: Seeing Frankie Morales again at the cookout thrown by your sister and her husband, you discover that you the crush you have on the Delta Force operators isn't as one sided as you previous thought.

🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸HAPPY 4th of JULY!!!!!! 🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Frankie Morales MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

“Ohhhhhhh say can you seeeeeeeeeee!” Loudly and off-key, Ben Miller shouts/sings the national anthem for only the hundredth time because it’s the only day he can get away with it. Fourth of July, the nation’s birthday and it either invokes ad nauseam tales of valor or over exuberant patriotism. In Benny, and the other members of Delta Force’s A Squadron, it’s both. A day to get rip roaring drunk, party like they might not live to see the next day and generally raise hell. “Give it a rest, Benny!” Frankie shouts over the music that is blaring through the outdoor speakers that Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia had set up in his little backyard oasis. “You sound like a cow giving birth!” He adds, laughing and taking another sip of his beer when the youngest of the Miller brothers shoots him double fingers.

Santi chuckles, “Maria’s sister will be arriving soon so you better be on your best behavior.” He warns and Frankie sits up a little. Ever since Pope introduced Frankie to you, he’s always had a crush. It’s ridiculous but he didn’t really get to make a move when you were busy being the maid of honor and he was the best man. So many people joked with him about getting you in his bed the next of the wedding but Frankie was a gentleman. What he doesn’t know is that you have a crush on him. Ever since you first set eyes on Frankie, you have been like a schoolgirl with a crush and it’s so bad your sister has teased you mercilessly. Your sister answers the door after you arrive with homemade cherry pie and apple pie in hand and she ushers you in. “Frankie is here.” She smirks and you roll your eyes, “it’s been like 2 years. He doesn’t like me like that.” You warn Maria who scoffs and sets the pies down. “Santi thinks he does.” You snort, “Santi just wanted his best friend to be his brother in law.” You raise your eyebrows and she huffs before guiding you outside to see the guys.

As soon as your name is said, Frankie’s head pops up, almost embarrassingly fast. Santiago catches it, but that’s because the bastard was watching him in anticipation. His eyes widen when he sees the flirty little sundress you are wearing, cock twitching in his shorts. Thankful he wasn’t just wearing swimming trunks like Benny was.

You greet each man, Tom over on the grill flipping burgers, until your eyes meet Frankie’s and your heart stutters. God, he’s so fucking handsome. “Hi Frankie.” You smile, trying to not show how flustered you are by the matching grins of your sister and brother in law make it clear that you’re not acting as cool as you want to. “Beer?” Santi offers and you nod, “Frankie, why don’t you get her a beer?” He asks his best friend, eyebrows raised slightly.

He knows what Pope is trying to do and he appreciates it while hating it at the same time. You’ve shown no interest in him, so why is he trying to push the two of you together? You seem nervous around him. “Come on, we’ll get you a good beer.” He promises, holding up his Corona with a lime wedged in the neck. “Not that Miller Lite shit the others are drinking.” Benny scoffs because the last beer Frankie had drank was a Miller and he had just switched to the Corona.

You chuckle and follow him into the kitchen where the beers are in ice to avoid the hot summer heat. You set down the pies you made and Frankie groans, “is that cherry pie?” He asks and you nod, “yeah. My grandma’s recipe.” You tell him and he leans down to smell it. “Fuck, that smells delicious.” His words make your stomach twist with arousal, imagining him between your thighs saying the exact same thing. He grabs a corona and opens it with ease, grabbing a slice of lime to shove in the top. “Thanks. Happy 4th. Thank you for your service.” You toast him with a soft smile, clinking your glass bottle with his after he grabs his drink.

He doesn’t really like when people just thank him for his service, but he feels proud when you say it. Maybe because you are more aware of what he does because of your sister. “It’s hard flying a helicopter and having women throw their panties at me because they don’t know the difference between rotary and fixed wing.” He jokes.

You giggle, hating how girlish you sound but that’s what he does to you. When he was Santi’s best man, you dreamed about him sweeping you off your feet on the wedding night, keeping to the tradition of the maid of honor and best man but he was a gentleman and that, you can’t deny, made you pout in disappointment. “I’m sure you struggle every day.” You mock jokingly before you try to push the lime into the beer but it’s too big.

He shrugs, not willing to comment on that because it would be disrespectful. “Haven’t found a keeper yet.” He admits, knowing the woman he really wants is completely out of his league. You are gorgeous, smart, funny, and responsible. No way you would fall for a trigger puller like him. “What about you? I was surprised when Maria said you were coming alone. Thought you were seeing someone, that it was serious.”

You frown, “seeing someone? I’ve been painfully single for way too long.” You snort and finally manage to push the lime into the beer. Frankie frowns, “I thought - your cousin Danielle told me you had a boyfriend and he was away on business during the wedding events?” Frankie tilts his head and it’s your turn to frown, “boyfriend? I - no. Why would - oh. I know why. She has a crush on you. Told us allll the time about how cute you are but why would she say I had a boyfriend?” You don’t put two and two together, annoyed at your cousin for lying about you.

Frankie rolls his eyes and sighs, putting two and two together. “I fucking know.” He growls. “Pope was busting my ass about making a move on you at the reception.” Frankie confesses, “she must have overheard the night of the cookout.” He remembers her being annoying and constantly ‘checking on them’ while the guys were outside. The bridal shower had been a family co-ed event for everyone. “She told me later that day.”

“Told you what?” You ask, stomach twisting that Pope was telling him to make a move. You wonder if he wants you like you want him or if he is being polite and he actually told Pope he wasn’t interested in you. “Told me that you had a boyfriend and she - she was interested in me.” You deflate at that, wondering if he hooked up with your cousin and that’s why he hasn’t made a move. You take a sip of your beer, “well, she’s beautiful.” You murmur, glancing down at your pies on the counter.

“But she’s annoying as shit.” Frankie snorts. “No offense.” He adds because she is your cousin. He takes a sip of his beer. “I told her that I wasn’t interested, because I’m not.” Frankie doesn’t like to play around with that shit, because he knows how stressful his job is in a relationship and he doesn’t toy with the women he dates.

You nod, chuckling, “yeah. She’s annoying as shit. I love her but all she wants is to get married and have a kid. I don’t even think she cares who the guy is. Insert man here.” You gesture and take another sip of your beer, “I wondered why she hasn’t been around since.” You hum, “so…have you been seeing anyone?” You ask, curious and mentally preparing yourself for heartbreak because you don’t want to keep fantasizing about him when he could be taken.

Frankie lifts a brow, very interested in the way the conversation has come back to him. “Nope.” He answers truthfully. “Haven’t really felt like it.” He’s had a couple of one night stands, but no one that he’s wanted anything more with. “But I can’t believe you are single.” He admits. “Guys where you live must be blind idiots.”

You chuckle, shaking your head, “I guess I don’t put myself out there enough. Maria is always telling me to get out in bars and meet someone but it’s not my scene anymore. Did that in college and now? I just want to find my person and settle down, spend nights watching movies with take out and make out on the sofa.” You confess with a giggle before you inhale deeply, deciding to take a leap. “I met someone but I don’t know if he likes me too. It’s hard to read him when he’s hiding behind a cap.” You confess, looking up at the hat on his head.

The Standard Heating Oil hat is a constant when he’s not in uniform, a family business that he had no interest in joining when he joined the Army. He reaches for it now and shuffles it back and scratches his longer than regulation hair and settles it back down. “Hat’s just an accessory.” He flashes you a grin and shuffles a little closer. “I bet the man you’re talking about has always thought you were amazing and wanted to take you out.” He hums.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you look at him with surprise in your eyes and a smile on your face. “Well, I’d love to go out. Anytime, Morales. Just name the time and place.” You command and he nods, his hand finding your waist. “Could’ve been dancing during the wedding reception if I knew you didn’t have a boyfriend.” Frankie sighs and you take a chance to reach up and cup his cheek, “better late than never.” You murmur, stroking his stubbled cheek with your thumb.

Frankie’s eyes dip down to your lips and he licks his own without even realizing he’s doing it. Leaning in slightly to kiss you, your lips barely touch when the door opens. “Food’s ready!” Benny shouts out and grins when he sees Frankie. “Go Cat!” He slams the door and turns back to the group out in the yard. “Maria! Frankie’s kissing your sister!”

You chuckle against Frankie’s chin. The kiss is short and sweet, your heart pounding from the brief touch, but the moment has passed so you slide your hand down to Frankie’s neck. “Let’s get some food, Catfish.” You declare and he nods, knowing that he will need to kiss you properly another time where you won’t be interrupted. You make your way outside and everyone is smirking, making you roll your eyes. “Shut up.” You say to your sister and she holds her hand up, “I didn’t say a word.” You snort, “you don’t need to.” She’s been your sounding board for your previously unrequited crush on Frankie.

Frankie moves over to Benny, slapping his back harshly and squeezing the other man’s trap. “Thanks, asshole.” He hisses, even though he’s not too mad. The two of you are on the same page at least and his heart thumps when he looks over at you talking to your sister, even as his cock twitches. “Guest bedroom has fresh sheets.” Pope offers with a shit eating grin. “She’s staying there anyway, but I’m sure you wouldn’t mind christening the bed.”

You grab a hot dog and sit with your sister, talking about your extended family, and you tell her about Danielle and what she said to Frankie. “God, she’s - she’s too much. You mean to tell me she stopped you getting laid on my wedding night?” Maria scoffs, “well, you get the last laugh. The sheets are clean in the guest bed if you wanna have the best man stay tonight?” She smirks and you fluster, “I mean…I wouldn’t say no if he asked.” You confess, “he’s - God, I can really see a life with him. Is that too much?” You ask your sister who looks over at her husband and smiles when he winks at her from across the yard. “Nope. I know exactly what you mean.”

Benny and Pope are giving him hell, ribbing him relentlessly while Will and Tom laugh and egg them on. “Yeah, yeah.” Frankie rolls his eyes, but he’s laughing right along with them after relaying the entire story and feeling extremely confident now. “It’s better that we found out now.” He adds and they are encouraging him to go for it now. “Let her finish her hot dog.” Pope suggest. “Yeah, no deep throating Kong over here until thirty minutes after you’ve eaten.” Benny snorts, having seen Frankie naked more times than he could count. Frankie shoots him a bird.

You see the boys joking around and Maria playfully rolls her eyes. “Boys.” She scoffs and you chuckle, helping her with the plates once everyone is done eating. When you’re back in the kitchen, you look up as Frankie comes in to grab another beer. “Tom is a good griller.” You compliment his captain and Frankie nods, “he is. Always has been. Even when we were out in the middle of the desert, the asshole could grill up something on a fire.” He chuckles and you giggle, “I think later I should really thank you for your service. Show you my…appreciation for your sacrifice for our great nation.” You reach out to trail your nail down his chest, scratching his chest slightly.

“Mierda.” Frankie hisses, cock twitching again. Your boldness is sexy and he loves how you go after what you want. “I didn’t really want to watch fireworks anyway.” He admits with a smirk. “Overrated.”

You grin, loving that he is enthusiastic and not rejecting you. “I said later. I want to see some fireworks first in the sky and after, I want to see them when you make me cum on your tongue.” You declare boldly, leaning in to kiss his neck.

He groans, smirking even wider when you pull back to grin at him. “I see the rumors of my talents have been justifiably spread.” He jokes, sending you a wink. “You’ll see fireworks and then you’ll see stars.”

You giggle and step back when Tom walks into the kitchen to grab another beer. He playfully rolls his eyes at your proximity to Frankie, “can you two at least wait until after the fireworks? I bought like three packs. Benny is banned from letting off fireworks.” He reminds Fish who nods and reaches for your hand to squeeze it. You snort and ask “why?” and Frankie sighs, “well, Benny is great with a M4A1 but nearly burns his dick off with fireworks.” You nod in understanding and Tom takes a gulp of his beer, “you gonna come outside and help set up?” Tom asks and Frankie nods, squeezing your hand before he heads off to help Tom. You are anxious for later, knowing this would seem fast to most but you’ve wanted Frankie for nearly 3 years.

“Man, are you sure about this?” Tom asks seriously as the two of them walk outside. “This is Maria’s sister, if shit doesn’t work out….” He trails off, looking over at where Pope and his wife are sitting in one of the loungers, making out. “Yeah I know.” Frankie has thought about that a few times. His best friend would be honor bound to break his kneecaps. “But I think she’s worth it.”

You clean up some dishes, setting them aside to dry while the boys set up the fireworks. You head outside to find Frankie and Tom stepping back from the set up in the back of the yard and you see Pope sitting on the lounger with your sister between his legs, his hands caressing her thighs. “Get a room!” You yell at them playfully and your sister shouts back, “I have one upstairs.” You chuckle and walk over to Benny, “you think this is a good decision? Me and Frankie? I feel…I really like him but I don’t want him to break my heart.”

Benny snorts, nearly choking on his beer. “Fish?” He asks, pointing over to Frankie. “The man has it bad for you. Thinks moon beams shoot out of your ass and shit.” He jokes, trying to reassure you at the same time. “He’s pined for you. One of the reasons he hasn’t really dated. Said that he had already found the woman for him, but she was taken.”

You cover your smile with your beer, pleased that his friend said that. “We wasted time because my cousin lied but I don’t want to waste another second. I really like him and I - I want to see where it goes.” You confess just as Frankie comes over. His arm wraps around your waist to pull you against him and you smile, leaning into his side while Tom sets the fireworks off.

Frankie likes your weight against him as you both look up into the sky. “Enjoy the show.” He murmurs in your ear. “It’s just the first one of the night.”

You grin and nod, looking up at the sky as the fireworks begin. It’s gorgeous and your eyes widen at the display. “Wow.” You gasp and tilt your head, resting it on his shoulder to look up at the sky in awe.

The moment is completely perfect as he watches the fireworks as they burst overhead. Neighbors around the house also start shooting bursting bombs of color and light into the air, making the entire neighborhood light up. The display will go on for hours. “Happy Fourth of July.” Frankie hums.

You hum, lifting your head to look at him and he turns to look at you. His eyes flick down to your lips and you lean in at the same time he does. His nose nudges yours for a second, giving you a chance to back away, but when you don’t, his lips press against yours. You tilt your head to deepen the kiss as the fireworks explode over your head.

Frankie tightens his hold on you, drawing you closer while your tongue slides against his and makes him moan. He likes a woman who’s willing to initiate. His hands sliding up and down your back before he palms your ass possessively.

You whimper into his mouth, your hands sliding up to grip his neck and his hat is pushed back on his head as he kisses you thoroughly, squeezing your ass until you feel him starting to harden against your hip. The group notices and starts to cheer, making you fluster as you pull back from Frankie’s mouth.

“Get a room.” Santi snorts, grinning at Frankie before he waggles his brows at you. Tom chuckles and rolls his eyes. “Just don’t run off to get married.” He warns playfully. Frankie huffs and shakes his head. “You all suck.” He teases. “We are going to go upstairs now.”

You ignore the way everyone smirks as Frankie takes your hand and guides you through the yard into the house where you switch to guide him up the stairs. It’s a house Frankie knows well. He worked on it with Santi after he bought it, helping to update it. You giggle as you make your way upstairs and squeal when Frankie smacks your ass through your sundress. You find the door to the guest room and open it, pulling Frankie in behind you before you shut the door.

“So now we are alone.” Frankie smirks as he pushes the lock on the door knob and looks over at you. “And we aren’t nearly as drunk as we would have been at the wedding reception.” He adds. “That dress was killer though.”

“Thanks. I told my sister I’d only be maid of honor if I got to pick my dress.” You tease and make your way over to the foot of the bed after you kick off your sandals. “You looked so handsome in that suit. Wanted to rip it off of you but shit…Danielle ruined our good intentions.” You chuckle and take a step closer to him, “but we are here now and I want you, Frankie. I want you to touch me.” You plead, sliding your hands along his chest.

“Shorts and a t-shirt are just as good as a suit?” He asks jokingly as he pulls you closer again. “Although I like this dress too.” He slides one hand down to dip under the fabric. “Easy access.”

You smile when he caresses the back of your thigh and you lean in to kiss his clavicle on display above his t-shirt. “Shorts and t-shirt. Suit. Whatever you’re wearing, you are sexy, Morales. No two ways about it.” You murmur as you kiss along his collarbone.

“You’re sexy.” He finds the zipper to the sundress and drags it down. Eager to feel you under his hands. “Wanted to bend you over the wedding party table and fuck you right there.”

You let him pull the zipper down and you lower your arms so he can push the thin straps from your shoulders, letting the dress drop to the floor. “God, imagine that. Fucking me instead of making your best man speech.” You joke and you’re glad your dress didn’t require a bra.

“Woulda been great.” He moans when he peels the dress off you and sees your tits. “Fuck.” He hisses. “They are fucking pretty.” He compliments. “I want to suck on them when you ride my cock.”

“We can do that, baby. I just - shit - I just need you to touch me.” You plead, having spent so many nights imagining him touching you, inside of you, it’s almost unbearable to wait another second and when his hands squeeze your tits, you sigh in relief. “Yes. Please Frank.” You beg, your hand finding his hat so you can toss it onto the dresser.

“You are so goddamn pretty.” He murmurs softly, cupping your tits and pinching your nipples. “Do you want me to fuck you? Or eat you out first.”

The fact that he’s asking you what you want has your pussy clenching around nothing and you are impatient. You want him inside of you. “Fuck me first.” You demand, reaching for the hem of his shirt, “I want to see all of you.” You whine, pulling his shirt over his head when he lets go of your tits.

He is smirking at your impatience and eagerness, letting you reach for the button of his shorts. “Strip me down, baby.” He encourages. “I want you to touch me too. Imagined how good you would feel. How fucking perfect.” He groans. “You don’t know how often I thought about you while I was jerking my cock.”

You unbutton his shorts and push them down along with his briefs and he kicks them off while your eyes widen at the sight of his thick cock. “Probably as much as I touched myself thinking about you but fuck, I never imagined you’d be so…big.” You confess, reaching out to wrap your fingers around him.

He groans at your touch, rocking his hips forward and twitching when you squeeze him. “Don’t think I’ll fit?” He asks playfully. “I think I’ll fit, but I know you’ll be the tightest little pussy I’ve ever fucked.”

You never knew he was such a dirty talker but you fucking love it. You moan and squeeze him again, guiding him by his cock back towards the bed and you let go of him as you fall down onto the bed and he follows you. He grabs your waist and lifts you up higher until you’re settled on the pillows. “Hi.” You murmur with a smile as he kneels between your spread legs.

“Hi.” He slides his hands up and down your thighs before he wraps a hand around his cock and starts to pump it. “You look so fucking pretty spread out for me, baby.” He leans down and presses his lips to yours while he settles into the v of your hips and lines up to sink into you inch by inch.

You cup his cheeks and lift your legs higher as he pushes into you, stretching you out. It’s a pinch without foreplay but you love how he’s stretching you out. “Oh God.” You gasp against his lips and he leans back, stopping. “You good, hermosa?” He asks and you nod, “yeah. Just overwhelmed. I never - didn’t think this would actually happen.” You confess softly, caressing his cheeks.

He nudges his nose against yours and kisses you softly. “I didn’t either.” He admits. “But it is happening and you are taking me so well. You feel so fucking good around my cock.” He is still inside you, praising you and loving how you clench down around him.

He pushes the rest of the way into you until his cock is nudging your cervix and you inhale deeply, closing your eyes at the way he feels inside you. “Fuck me, Morales.” You demand playfully and he shifts his hips, making you moan, your head tilting back against the pillow at how good he feels.

He chuckles and slowly pulls back, watching your body arch as you try to draw him back in. “Remember you asked for this.” He warns, another firework exploding above the house muffles the sound of your scream when he snaps his hips forward again.

He starts to fuck you in earnest and you cling to him, mouth open as you cry out his name in pleasure. It’s so fucking good. His hand squeezes your tit and you cover his hand with yours, making him squeeze again. “Oh shit. You feel - it’s so fucking good.” You praise him as he rocks into you.

It’s not the romantic, gentle time he probably should have been trying to focus on. This is raw, needy. Years worth of wanting being burnt off with the harsh snap of his hips and the groans when he’s buried so deep inside you that your walls clench around him. “You’re a fucking dream, baby.” He moans your name and kisses your neck. “Blowing my mind, fuck- I’m already about to bust.”

You moan at the fact that he’s so worked up. You’ve reduced this grown man to almost cumming like a teenager and that makes you clench around him, getting close. “I don’t care. You can cum. It’s safe. I have - fuck - I have an IUD. You can cum inside me.” You promise and caress his shoulders as he hunches over you.

That does it for him. He hasn’t even thought about birth control when he normally is an ‘always wear a condom’ kind of guy. The thought of filling you up as his hips stuttering before he pushes deep, painting your walls with ropes of his hot, sticky seed as he groans your name and apologizes over and over.

You stroke his back, enjoying the warmth of his cum filling you up. You sigh, closing your eyes and you know that he will make this up to you. You lower your legs from his hips as he comes to a stop and pants into your neck.

“Fuck, I can’t believe that I did that.” Frankie pants, pulling back to look you in the eyes as he kisses you. “Now, I’ll show you that I can make you cum on my tongue at least.” He promises, feeling a little embarrassed about his quick performance.

You shake your head, “it’s okay, baby. I’ll take it as a compliment. Just means you liked my pussy.” You tease, sliding your hands up to tangle in his hair as you lean in to nip his jaw playfully. “We have more times ahead.” You murmur, knowing that he won’t always do that.

“Shiiiit.” He snorts, shaking his head. “I have to take care of my girl.” He nudges his nose against yours, feeling on top of the world that you want to be with him. He smirks after one more kiss and starts to drag his mouth down your body as he moves towards his goal, determined to make you see stars like he had promised.

You watch him as he pulls out of you and starts to kiss down your body. You moan when he wraps his lips around your nipple, biting down on the bud until it’s puffy and you are squirming beneath him. “Fuck, Frankie.” You moan, already feeling his cum welling up to leak out of you. “Do you want me to - to clean up before you - you know.” You ask, wanting to see if he wants you to clean his cum first. Some men don’t like tasting themselves.

Frankie grunts, shaking his head as he suckles on your tit before pulling off of it. “Why?” He asks, lifting a brow. “I’m just going to make you messy again when I make you cum and then fuck you like I should have the first time.”

You moan when he starts to kiss down your stomach, “some men don’t like it.” You answer and he rests his chin on your lower stomach, “I’m not some men. I don’t give a fuck if you’re full of my cum. I’m going to make you cum.” He promises and you whimper when his breath hits your slicked up folds.

The pearlescent liquid that is starting to drip out of you doesn’t bother Frankie. He uses his thumbs to pull your folds back, exposing your sensitive clit to his hungry gaze and he moans when he sees your cunt clench, pushing more of his cum out. “Fuck, that’s a gorgeous sight.” He groans, looking up at you while he lowers his head down to suck your clit into his mouth.

His mouth is hot and wet as he sucks on your clit and a soft gasp escapes your lips at the sensation. “Fuck. That feels good.” You murmur, stroking your fingers through his hair as his dark eyes watch you from between your thighs.

Frankie has never been a passive lover. He doesn’t take and not give in return. Even the one night stands left his bed unable to tell anyone that he had been selfish or didn’t try to make sure they had a good time. You, he especially wants to enjoy this, he wants you to love it. To be addicted to it and him in turn. The same way he is already addicted to you. He flattens his tongue against your folds and tastes the two of you combined with a moan.

You moan at the way he laps at you, tasting his own spend from your pussy, and you love the way his hands squeeze your thighs as he pushes them further apart to accommodate his wide shoulders. "Shit." You hiss in pleasure when he pushes his tongue inside of you.

He chuckles into you, aware that you are both shocked and awed by the fact that he’s willing to devour you so thoroughly. It makes it even better, his spent cock twitching as he feels your walls pulse around his tongue. Moaning at how good you are being for him. He can hear the cheers and the fireworks outside, but he’s focused on you, nothing else matters right now as he laps at your cunt.

Your head tilts back as his nose nudges against your clit and your chest heaves as the pleasure makes your spine tingle. The way he’s devouring you like a man starved has your mouth falling open in a silent moan.

Frankie groans, unwilling to pull away from your cunt to encourage you, so he just makes sounds as he doubles down on your pussy. Wanting to see you come apart for him as his cock starts to harden again.

His tongue pushes deep, lapping up his cum combined with yours, and you whimper, getting closer as he nudges your clit with his nose again. “Fuck, baby. You’re gonna make me cum.” You moan and he works his tongue faster, sending you over the edge.

He absorbs your sounds, loving how they muffle through your pussy and your walls flutter wildly as your body arches. Sucking your clit into his mouth and pulling on it while your body shakes and he wrings every drop of pleasure out of you that he can until you are pushing at his head. He lets go, licking at you softly just to feel you convulse with aftershocks and he chuckles quietly. “Now we’re even.”

You chuckle breathlessly, eyes closed as you enjoy the way he makes you feel, and you sigh in bliss as he kisses his way back up your body. You drag him down to press your lips to his, not caring about the combined taste on his tongue as it tangles with yours. You slide your hand down between you, wrapping your fingers around his hardening cock. “Lay down.” You order, letting go of him to push on his chest.

He rolls onto his back and reaches for you. “You want to ride?” He asks, helping you as you swing a leg over his waist and straddle him. The next barrage of fireworks starts to burst, lighting up the bedroom and he grins. “There’s a show to compete with.”

You smirk, sliding down his body until you’re kneeling between his legs. His cock is still half hard so you wrap your fingers around him and take the head of his cock into your mouth. You love the way he groans and his mouth falls open as his dark eyes watch you.

“Fuck.” Frankie hisses, wanting to close his eyes and enjoy the feeling but he wants to watch you more. Knowing that this is so much better than his wildest dreams about you. “Fuck, baby, that mouth.” He groans. “I knew you would look so pretty with my cock in your mouth. So fucking pretty.” He reaches down and caresses your cheek, feeling the jaw move as you take him deeper.

He hardens more in your mouth and you love that, tasting the tang of your arousal lingering on his skin and you whimper around his cock as you start to pump what you can’t take into your mouth.

“Fuck, I want you to ride me.” Frankie whines. “Want to see your tits bounce while you ride my cock. Want to watch you.” He pants and curses again. “Mierda- that tongue of yours.” He hisses when you press your tongue against his slit. “Ride me, baby. Please ride me.”

You want to deny him and make him cum down your throat but you want to cum on his cock. You moan and release his cock, a string of spit keeping you connected until it breaks as you shift to straddle him. You reach down to grip his cock, positioning him at your entrance after you lift up to sink down onto his length with a moan, fireworks still exploding outside.

“Fuck!” He rocks his hips up and grabs onto yours as he groans. You are perfect around him, looking like a goddess as you are taking his cock deep into your body. “Perfect, baby. Fuck, you are so perfect.” He reaches up and drags you down for a kiss.

You moan into his mouth, loving the way he feels even bigger in this new angle. “Fuck.” You pant against his mouth and rock back onto him. Your hands sliding into his hair as you slide your tongue against his.

Frankie holds onto you, adoring you with his hands. Cupping your tits and squeezing them as you slowly start to rock. Rolling your hips and squeezing your cock. “Fuck, baby.” He moans into your mouth breathlessly.

He loves the way you rock back onto him and you caress his chest as you kiss along his jaw. He feels so good inside you. “Fuck. You’re so good, baby.” You gasp, hitting something good inside of you.

“That’s it, baby.” Frankie encourages, holding you up and ducking his head so he can take a nipple into his mouth. Doing exactly what he said he wanted to do.

You rock back onto his cock, shifting back to sit up and you grab onto the headboard to start bouncing on his length. His eyes burn into yours and you watch him as your thighs start to burn but you ignore it and focus on the pleasure.

He watches, completely entranced by the sight of you riding him like he was a prized bull. Your fingernails dig into his chest and make him hiss in pleasure at the sweet sting as you brace yourself over him. “Fuck, fuck.” His eyes dip down between your thighs and he watches your lips drag over his shaft, making his toes curl when you clench down around him.

You are lost in the sensations, mouth open and whimpers escaping as you move faster, grinding down onto his cock, and your hand slides down to rub your clit. Frankie’s hand immediately knocks yours away and you whine until he picks up where you left off, rubbing your clit and you pant, “I’m so close. Shit. Keep going. Just like that. Just like - fuckkkk.” You wail, freezing on top of him as your walls clamp down on his cock while you soak him.

Frankie growls when you clamp down on him, soaking his cock and he braces his feet in the bed to rock up into you. Chasing his own release again while you shake and whimper, riding out your high. “Fuck, baby. Love it, love you.” He blurts out, knowing that you might not believe it, but he does love you.

His confession, even though it could be the best of the moment, makes you choke out, “love you too. Fuck, Frankie. Loved you since - since the engagement party.” You confess, wanting him to cum inside you again. “Cum for me. Please. Want to feel it again.” You beg, squeezing his cock in your walls.

He gasps out, holding tight to you as his cock drives up into your grasping walls over and over. “Fuck- you- you’re perfect.” He rambles, turning his head to press his lips to yours as his entire body tenses. Another thrust buries him deep and he’s moaning into your mouth as he falls over the edge again, cock pulsing deep inside you.

You pant against his lips as he stiffens beneath you, painting your walls again, and you caress his cheek, “so good. That time was - wow.” You murmur, relaxing above him as he slides his hands along your back down to your ass to playfully squeeze it.

“Had to make up for the first time.” Frankie jokes, even though it obviously hadn’t bothered you. He kisses you softly and sighs. “You’re amazing.” He has always thought so. “And I meant it. It’s too soon to say something like that, but I don’t just like you or want to sleep with you.” He admits. “I want to have a relationship. See where this goes.”

You caress his chest, “Frankie, we have known each other for four years. I think I’ve been in love with you for three of those. It’s not rushed and it’s not some fling. I want a relationship with you. I love you and I am all in if you are.” You murmur, leaning in to kiss his chin.

Frankie hums and shoots you a grin. “That sounds perfect to me.” He comments, just as the last barrage of fireworks quiets down and cheers are heard around the neighborhood. “Everyone agrees too.” He jokes, happy to finally be here with you and sharing how he feels.

****

“Thanks.” You say to your sister after she hands you a beer. “No worries. Bet you’re glad you don’t need to breastfeed anymore.” She grins and you snort, “yeah. I love him more than life but sometimes I just wanted a beer without having to pump and dump.” You confess, looking over at Santi and your husband, Frankie, as they talk. You have your son on your hip and he’s eight months old now. Santi and Maria’s daughter runs around chasing Uncle Benny, the lively two year old giggling while Tom grills and Will sips his beer overseeing the food.

“You know, Santi and I have thought about trying for another.” Your sister admits, grinning at the squeals of joy as her daughter is scooped up by Benny and he blows raspberries against her tummy. She shrugs slightly. “You having Marcus gave us baby fever. Especially Santi.” She rolls her eyes playfully, amazed that her sexy husband is so enthralled by the idea of getting her pregnant again. He loved her body while carrying their daughter and loves the changes that had brought to her post baby body.

You chuckle, leaning in to kiss the forehead of your baby as he babbles away on your hip. He will want to be crawling around in a minute but you want to hold him for a little longer. “Well, I’ll be honest…I kind of want another one too. Frankie is such a good dad and I just - we got pregnant by surprise with Marcus and we wanted him as soon as we found out but I kind of want to get pregnant knowing we are trying.” You tilt your head, “does that make sense?”

“Perfect sense.” She promises, knowing you better than most. You want to wonder if every time your husband cums inside you if that is the time you create another life together. “It’s the anticipation and fun of trying.” She smirks. “I think that your husband has a breeding kink that might come out.” She teases playfully.

"You think so?" You smirk, looking over at Frankie as his gaze meets yours and he winks at you from under his ever present hat. "I like the idea of that. If we both try, we could be pregnant at the same time." You tell her and she grins, "how freaking amazing would that be? So, are we doing this? Telling our husbands to knock us up again?" She asks and you nod, "hell yeah." She giggles and reaches for Marcus, "lemme hold my nephew for a bit. Go tell your husband what you want." She smirks and you let her take your son into her arms and you sway your hips as you walk over to Frankie who is now alone as Santi walks over to Maria, cooing over the baby. "Happy 4th, baby. Thank you for your service." You murmur as you lean in to lick his ear. 

Shivering, Frankie groans and turns his head to press his lips to yours. “I love when you thank me.” He teases, remembering the very enthusiastic blow job he had gotten on Veteran’s Day, even though you were still pregnant and weren’t always feeling sexy. “This is our anniversary.” He reminds you with a grin, loving the re-telling of the story every year when the fireworks start. Every year the tales of your screams are even more exaggerated, but he doesn’t dispute Benny’s telling of the story. “I love you more now, if that’s possible.”

You reach up to cup his cheek as he wraps his arm around your waist to pull you closer. “I love you so much.” You murmur, leaning in to kiss him softly and he chases your lips as you pull back. “I have something I want to talk about.” You confess, sliding your hand down his chest. “Yeah?” He asks, brow furrowing in curiosity. “I want another baby.” You admit, biting your lip to wait for his reaction.

Frankie is honestly surprised, thinking that you would want a year or two before talking about another. “Are you sure?” He asks, wondering if his pride in Marcus and being a dad has somehow pressured you into thinking that he needs another kid now. “Yeah.” You grin and shrug your shoulders. “Maria and I were thinking that you and Santi could get us pregnant and we can go through it together.” He glances over at his best friend and your sister as they play with Marcus and he has to admit that it would be fun to share the expectant dad role with Santi. “Only if you’re really wanting another baby now.” He murmurs. “You are the one who has to go through everything.”

You nod, “I want this. I want us to enjoy trying for a baby. Marcus was a surprise and I want us to actively try and know that when you’re filling me up, it’s to knock me up.” You explain, “we have been using condoms anyway since I didn’t bother with another IUD after Marcus. We could start trying tonight.” You suggest with a smirk as you press yourself against him.

You can feel his cock twitch when you’re pressed against him, so Frankie doesn’t even deny that it sounds good to him. “I’ll burn the damn condoms.” He vows, hating wearing them, but he wasn’t going to push you towards a different birth control. He just loves feeling nothing between you. “You want a Fourth of July baby, baby?” He smirks back at you, leaning in to kiss you again.

You nod, wrapping your arms around his neck to deepen the kiss, your tongue sliding into his mouth. You moan when his hands slide down to squeeze your ass through your shorts, and you ignore the cheers from your friends as Frankie devours you. “Guessing you said yes too, huh Fish?” Santi smirks as he walks over with Marcus on his hip. You step back from Frankie and take your son from his godfather, “you hungry, baby?” You ask and Marcus squeezes your breast, making you laugh. “Come on, let’s get you a snack.” You coo to your baby as you carry him into the house to get a snack for him.

Santiago slaps Frankie on the back and laughs. “Fuck, we are in for it now.” He jokes, smiling broadly at the adventures to come. “First one to get their wife pregnant has to buy the rounds throughout the pregnancy.” He tells him, making Frankie snort. “Pendejo.” He huffs. “You just want me to buy the drinks.” He won’t give a shit about it though. Proudly will buy the drinks since he’s a lucky fucking man. He’s got the woman he wanted and the life he never imagined he would have, all because of the Fourth of July.

[netherfeildren]

At the Restaurant

The LOVE Collection:

Pairing: Din Djarin x OFC

Summary: It’s two days til Christmas, and you’ve never known want like this, and his eyes are glossy with emotion and everything he won’t ever let himself tell you or anyone else, and you so badly want to tell him that it’s only that it’s hard to be casual when your favorite bra lives in his dresser, and also that you’re in love with him.

-OR-

the Christmas situationship AU

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Written in 'You' Format; Modern AU; Christmas fic; Angst; Fluff; Miscommunication; Emotionally unavailable idiots; But also idiots in love; Toxic relaationships; Situationship; There is nothing well adjusted about any of this pls don’t come into this house if that’s what you’re looking for; Trigger warning for man with an avoidant attachment style; Condolences to all my fellow victims of The Situationship; Size Difference; Unprotected Sex; Creampie; Oral Sex (F!Receiving); Frankly some pretty pathetic behavior; Girl stand UP; Fuckboy Din; Plan B and Delusion as a form of birth control; Pull and pray baby pull and pray; Possessive Behavior; Jealousy; Insecurity; Trigger warning for Right Where You Left Me by Taylor Swift references

A/N: Hello and welcome to my contribution to the holiday fic pool! This is not at all what I was planning as my holiday piece, but I woke up a few mornings ago and was just completely taken hold by this. Much love and thanks and gratitude and all the kisses in the world to my friend @f0rlornmyths for all the help on the idea and brainstorming and for the gorgeous edits she made for this little story. Mai baby, this is all for you, and I know it's not the Christmas gift I promised you, but I swear, one day that too will get written.

I’m wishing you all the happiest and most relaxing of holiday seasons. I think of you all constantly and wish you all the best always, and I hope you’re taking care of yourselves during this time ❣️🎄✨

Word Count: 8.2K

Read on AO3

At the Restaurant

He gets this sparkle in his eyes when the bar’s extra busy, cheeks flushed and curls damp with sweat and this shine that speaks; that tells of all the things he does that make a woman belong to him whenever he’s giving her his singular attention. Eyes that laugh and crinkle at the edges with happiness. Eyes that tell you how much he does or does not want you at that specific moment. And he’ll laugh and blind the room into seduction under the Christmas lights, and then he’ll turn, suddenly remembering you’re here for him, and look at you all serious-like, while you sip on your tequila soda, with two limes always because he knows that’s how you like it, and it’ll be a serious, cool look for just a second before it blooms into the best smile anyone’s surely ever had in all history, and you love him. 

It’s two days til Christmas, and you’ve never known want like this. You’ve never practiced restraint of this kind either. A restraint that suffocates and kills and could probably be taken as a form of self harm were you in a righter, more clear mind, but it’s the only thing you have left against him. Din. A control over yourself that falsely feeds you the illusion of power. You never call him. Never. Any interaction, any late night fuck, any time he comes over and comes inside you, it’s always, always because he calls you, he looks for you. You never beg, not with words at least, and you never text first and you never ask him if you can see him, and it’s the only way you tell yourself you maintain even a semblance of control. And at night, when you’re alone and it’s dark and you’ve only got the cat for some sad company, or you’re crying in bed because he hasn’t called, and you know he’s not at work and he’s obviously not at home, so he’s somewhere you don’t want him to be, that false sense of control that says you’re never the one reaching out, it’s always him coming around so surely that must mean something… it’s all you have at the end of it. 

He’s not your boyfriend. He never has been. And there’s always been that excuse you use to soothe yourself with of, well, we’ve never really talked about it, and he’s not really my boyfriend, so it doesn’t really matter. Does it? Doesn’t it? You’re sure you don’t know anymore. And you tell yourself, lie to yourself, comfort yourself, whatever it is your tired heart needs in that moment, because it truly is so tired, the push and pull is the most exhausting game in the world, that if he’s coming to you it’s because Din’s choosing you. Even if just for a night, even if just for now, even if tomorrow he’ll be with someone else, he chose you for tonight, and so surely that must mean something. It’s the worst thing you do to yourself, but it feels so good in the moment. You just can’t help yourself. 

“Another one?” He calls over his shoulder with a smile.

 You’d had a little bit of a… well, you don’t really know what to call it. A falling out, perhaps, because the two of you never have fights. You never fight, you never discuss the things the two of you should discuss, like feelings or anger or resentment or boundaries and wants and needs. Nothing. Nothing that indicates anything that might define what it is the two of you’ve been doing for two years with each other now. Fights are something couples do, and you two are not a couple. But up until three days ago, you’d not heard from him for two weeks. Two weeks of nothing, of hearing from your friends that they’d seen him out with his friends and other girls who you know probably mean nothing, even less than you do, but still. It’d made you insane. A little bit irrational, and so when you and your friends had gone out over the weekend, picked up a group of guys at the new bar you’d chosen for the night, since Din’s bar was off limits at the moment, and brought them back to your apartment at your roommate, Bo’s, insistence, well, you’d thought you’d give him a taste of his own medicine. After a slightly tipsy, teary eyed rant, explaining to your new friend for the night, a one Toro Calican, who had a very nice smile and very pretty eyes and not at all bad arms, all about your terrible situation with this man who you were not really in a relationship with, but who you have sex with, and only with him, regularly, unprotected, enthusiastically, but who is still not your boyfriend and not even anything close, he’d arranged himself very nice and cozy-looking in your bed with your twinkly lights sparkling in the background and your pink pig stuffy which Din loved to make fun of you for, and you’d taken a very tasteful, in your opinion, picture of him for your Instagram story. Again, a taste of his own medicine. 

Din had been at your front door forty five minutes later, angry. Angrier than you’d ever seen him before, and not at all trying to hide it. Pushing past you and into your apartment all tall and broad and wearing your favorite dark blue hoodie he knows you love, curls mused as if he’d been pulling his fingers through them in agitation. There’d been a sneaky, smarmy little devil inside of you doing a happy dance at that moment, and his eyes when he’d turned to glare at you after giving poor, Toro – casual, entirely unbothered, Toro with his big smile stretched across his handsome face as he’d looped an arm over Bo’s shoulders where he’d been sitting beside her on the couch – a look that said Din had half a mind to take him outside and wipe the floor with him. But your new friend had laughed him off, taking Din’s terribly cocky onceover, the sort he liked to set people down with, in stride. All arrogance and the sort of self assuredness only a man who knew what he was made of and how to take care of himself could possess. He was too hot for his, or your, own good. 

And when he’d turned and pushed you into your bedroom, a little tipsy, a lot desperate and pleased and wet, because yes, finally you were getting exactly what you wanted, exactly as you’d asked for it, and he’d flipped your skirt up and ripped your panties down and buried his face in your cunt from behind, all: this pussy’s mine, what the fuck was another dude doing in your bedroom? You’d been nothing but pleased giggles and hiccupy little moans as you’d come on his tongue just as he’d demanded of you. 

It was wrong. The two of you were wrong and maybe even bad for each other, but also, and this was only your own personal, fanciful discernment, addicted. A mutual addiction. The way he fucked you, hard and deep and possessive, like you belonged to him. Tugging you up by the hips and pulling you back onto his hard cock, the wet slap of your pussy dripping for him so that it surely echoed through the thin door of your shitty little apartment for the man who’d threatened what Din saw as rightfully his could hear exactly what was happening in here. You should have cared more about this ridiculous display of a pissing contest. You should have been bothered by it. You absolutely were not. And when he’d gone harder than stone, shoved deeper than you could comfortably take him so that you were coming around his cock one last time from the stretch and sting of it, and he’d filled you to leaking without even asking, you’d not even blinked at it, had been nothing but contented sighs.

It was all wrong, wrong, wrong.

Even worse, you’d never been on birth control. It made you sick, tired, moody, and the two of you worked around it… sometimes… kind of. Condoms when you remembered, usually ripped off mid fuck, pulling out… also sometimes. Never very responsible or dedicated to the practice of safe sex and level headedness, more focused on how fucking good it always felt when he was inside of you like this all bare and wet and hot and his. And if he fucked other girls, well, you tried not to think about that. Got tested, told yourself you were the only one he didn’t use protection with because you were special when they were not. And if there was, that last horribly misguided whisper that said, well, if he’s taking this risk with you, then obviously that means something too, right? Then so be it.

Again, like you’d said, bad for each other. 

But he always gave you so many reasons to be stupid, delusional, like the way he’d kissed you before he’d gone the morning after, while you were still sleepy and warm and a little sweaty from where you’d been pressed together so close through the night, wet and sticky between your legs from his come. He’d wrapped his arms around you and pressed you so, so close to his chest, nipples bare and tight against hard muscle and wispy hair. The musky sleep smell of him as he’d started at your shoulder, mouth slow and damp, kissed and nibbled his way up your collarbone, your throat, your jaw, settled at your ear to taste that soft place behind, pressed his tongue there to feel the echo of your pulse moving through your whole body, the flutter of his long lashes against your skin because he’s just that close. Your toes had curled and spasmed, little and cold, bracing against his hairy shins and big feet, hard cock nestled between the warmth of your thighs. And he always makes the best sounds, you know, deep and rumbly and all man. Familiar sounds that you’re able to replay again and again in your mind afterwards when he’s gone, sounds that make it easy for you to pretend he’s yours because you know them so well, and you want to keep him so bad it makes your stomach hurt. Gotta go get the kid, he’d said, by way of explanation for why he wasn’t pushing up into your come soaked cunt and having you one more time again, but he’d stayed and kissed you. And when he’d finally found his way to your mouth, sipping on you, tasting behind your teeth, along the wet of your tongue, that was all that really mattered anyway. 

Sometimes, he kisses you like he loves you, and it makes you hate him. 

He hadn’t called in the three days since then, but he’d been kind enough to DoorDash you a Plan B and a bag of your favorite Dove dark chocolate bites, and you want to hate him and maybe even run him over with you car, you really do, but then tonight, out of nowhere while you’d been at home telling yourself you weren’t going to cry, tired and sweaty from lying under your duvet for too long, fingers slippery between cunt and cotton, too many unsatisfying orgasms and a tear worthy film already chosen as your excuse for later, he’d sent a: come to the bar tonight, baby, I want to see you. And well, he’d come looking for you, right? He’d texted first. So really, this was all him wanting you and choosing you.

You need help, electroshock therapy, a lobotomy, anything. But you’d gotten your butt up and dressed, begged Bo to come out with you, and now here the two of you sit, good friend that she is, waiting for him to finally come over and say more than three stringed together words to you. Shaved, lotioned, perfumed, pathetic little ass sitting at the end of his bar in a too sticky, too uncomfortable stool waiting for him. Always waiting for him.

You shake your head no at him and his proffered next round. No you don’t want another fucking drink. What you want is his attention. 

And the worst part is, probably the worst, for there are so many bad parts to this, is that you don’t truly think he’s a terrible person, Din. He’s just so… he’s just– you don’t know. Sad, busy, exhausted, selfish, overwhelmed, so many things. But not bad, not actually a bad person. You’re sure of it. And it might look so differently from the outside, like you’re nothing, like he uses you, and sure, in ways, he does. You’re not so stupid or naive to not see this for what it is, because if there is one thing that is crystal clear here, it’s that you’ve always known what this is and what it is not. But you also see him. You also know him, as hard as he’s tried to keep you at arms length, to not let you see, to not let you in, you’ve weaseled your way inside anyways, or, better said, and something you don’t let yourself dwell on too much for the things it makes your stupid brain and heart feel, he has never been very good at not letting you see him. Because despite all the truths of how this thing between the two of you is, or is not, there is also something, as small as it may be, that is real here. 

So no, Din is not bad, or not all bad. And it’s easy to call them excuses, but you’re not so sure that’s the only thing they are, the ways in which you justify his behavior or yours. Because there is also context to him, and his life, and the things that drag his attention away from you when you so desperately need and want it, why you know he won’t commit to one single thing because he knows how easily lost a good thing can be. 

You take a pull from your straw, paper, and it’s already coming apart in wet flakes on your tongue because this dumb bar he works at pretends to be swanky, and paper straws are obviously a signifier that it’s not the cheap, shitty dump it actually is. Mean, but you’re in a bad mood tonight. Peli, the owner, had him string up multicolored lights and decorations everywhere for the holiday season, and it sort of looks like Santa threw up in here, but it’s also nice. Cozy or comfortable or welcoming, something happy and cheerful about the crowd surrounded by the sparkle of the holiday and loose from the heavily poured liquor. Or maybe it’s just that you know he put up the decorations. That he’d been good and patient and helpful as the older woman, eccentric and curly haired and a little stern and potty mouthed as she is, but always kind to him, had directed him as she pleased. Giving orders so that the bar could look as lovely and warm and cheerful as it does now. He always looks at her with such care and warmth, and you alway see it, as much as he tries to hide it. 

He’d added a splash of sweet grenadine and a maraschino cherry into your drink tonight, and called it your slutty Shirley Temple, said you looked like you needed something sweet followed by one of those cocky little winks he thinks make him look hot, they do, but you tell him only make him look like an asshole. All of which you know is only his way of telling you, without actually telling you, that he’s going to be shoving his cock down your throat later tonight. Something sweet… yeah, sure. There’s nothing sweet about him. 

He always tells you so many things neither of you want the other to know with his eyes. The stupid things, the silly things, the real things, it doesn’t really matter. He can’t ever help it. 

The first time he’d told you about his parents, you’d thought: this is it, this is something real. The come down had been a singular type of devastating you don't think you’d recovered from to this day. They’d died in a home invasion, a robbery gone terribly, terribly wrong, when he’d been two months shy of eighteen; left him with too much responsibility and too much grief for a boy of seventeen to bear, to ever be able to grow into without growing a little bit skewed in the process. When he’d introduced you to his little brother, the first time, you’d been better prepared, better in control of yourself and your expectations. But still, still you’d let a small, small part of you let it mean something. Grogu, Greg, but they used to watch this cartoon together about this man, a warrior, a space cowboy of sorts, who finds a little green baby, more frog looking than baby looking, called Grogu and takes him in as his own, bringing him along on all his adventures through the big, wide galaxy. They’d always joked that Greg looked like the frog baby, and so, Grogu. 

The first time he’d asked you to come over, you’d forced yourself to not throw up as you’d seen the text come in, had to force away thoughts of this has to mean something, please, please, let this mean something more. And the kid had been asleep already anyways when he’d smuggled you inside, quick and quiet, locking the door to his bedroom behind you, messy and lived in and Din, Din, Din everywhere, pressed you into his rumpled mattress, and fucked you til you’d cried and bit your tongue until you’d tasted blood to keep in all the things you had inside to tell him. And in the morning, when he’d made you a cup of coffee and oh, isn’t he nice for that? The kid had stumbled out of his bedroom, dinosaur pj’s and sleep rumpled curls the same warm mahogany shade as his older brother’s turned pseudo father, and he’d had his waffles while you’d sat there between the two of them as Din’d clucked around making lunches, sipping from your mug trying as best you could to be a good girl and not whip around and scream at the man that this has to mean something more, please. 

The kid had eyed you skeptically, as if you’d had two heads, little fuzzy brow cocked high up towards his curl covered hairline while he chomped loudly on his waffles. More syrup than bread, but who were you to judge? 

“Are you Din’s girlfriend?”

And rather than drop dead on the spot or bear the devastation of hearing the refusal come out of his older brother’s mouth, the second you’d seen Din’s own eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline, mouth falling open to probably tell him no, absolutely not, she’s nothing even close to being my girlfriend, you’d said as easy as you could manage, “No, we’re just friends.” Even added in a fake, tepid smile as you’d said the words. And now, as time’s passed since then, when you think back on the memory, you tell yourself that you’d imagined the frown and scowl that’d pulled Din’s face down into something that looked a little like annoyance or anger or confusion. He’d never done anything to make you think you were anything otherwise, and so what good did it do to dwell on the maybe false memory of his look of disappointment at your words? None at all, surely. 

But you’re pretty sure you’re the only girl that’s ever been let into their space like that.

He’s at the other end of the bar now, engrossed in a conversation with someone who’s too sparkly and too pretty and too blonde to be anything but trouble for you. His tall, deceptively lanky form that you know beneath the dark baggy, long sleeved tee he’s wearing is strong and muscled and warm as a furnace, curved over the lip of the bar to lean further towards her. They’ve been talking for about five minutes now, yes, you’ve been counting, and your heart is doing that horrible thing it does where it hurts so bad it feels like it’s ripping in half all on its own. You want to look away, especially as you watch the long, gorgeous form of his hand, big, strong hands that you know exactly what they feel like wrapped around your throat, clutching your breasts, lift slowly towards the glowing Christmas lights necklace the girl’s got hanging around her neck, the cheery red and green lights nestled deep in her cleavage. He plucks at the necklace, giving it a little tug and says something to her that has her throwing her head back, and she sparkles, she really does, with those sort of laughs that tinkle like bells or something equally fucking ridiculous.

“We should just go, babe,” Bo says from beside you, glaring down at him so intensely you’re shocked he hasn’t keeled over dead at this point. 

“Just a little bit longer, Bo, please.” 

“God, I can’t watch this shit anymore.” She pushes up and out of her stool with a roll of her eyes, but passes a loving hand down the back of your hair as she goes. “I’m gonna go try and pick up that red head sitting in the back. She’s been eyeing me all night,” she smirks at you. 

“You cannot date another ginger. That is too much ginger for one household.”

“Oh, shut up. You’re in love with the devil, I can do whatever I want. And I can’t watch him anymore, I don’t have the stomach for it.”

You try and protest as she walks away from you, tell her that you’re not in love with him, that he’s not the devil, that you don’t have the stomach for it either, but she’s gone before you can muster your lies. When you turn back towards the bar he’s abandoned his Christmas lights blonde and is pouring drinks for a group of frat guys, checking I.D.s and making easy, charming conversation. He’s strange in that way, quiet and reserved by nature, which you know now because you know him, but he puts on a face in here, in Peli’s bar in front of the customers and the pretty girls and the people expecting him to perform for them, making nice and pleasant. It’s just one more thing that feeds your delusion, the fact that you see his smile for what it is, the too handsome, too shiny version you know isn’t the real one. 

You know that despite the fact that Bo loves you, she also thinks you’re a little sad, a lot weak, when it comes to him. Maybe even, and you know she’d never say this because she’s a good and loving friend, but maybe even a little pathetic or desperate. And maybe you are, or definitely, you don’t really care about the details of it at this point, but maybe there’s also something about him that’s slightly desperate too. Desperate for love or attention or companionship. Maybe that’s why he always feels the need to search for it in so many different places. Maybe he wants it so bad he’s scared of it. Or maybe he’s just easy. Maybe he’s just a whore. 

You don’t know if the why’s of it all really matter anymore. 

He serves the group their shots and beers, all of them clinking their glasses together loudly, hooting and wishing each other a Merry Christmas, and you want to snap that it’s not Christmas yet, it’s still the twenty third, it’s a special day that should be remembered, but you turn away. Try to swallow the heat in your face and throat, take deep breaths. Bo’s right, the two of you should go, but when you turn to search for her, she’s deep in conversation with the red head, gorgeous, strong and tall and just her type. Their two heads huddled closely together beneath the red lights that turn their hair both brighter shades of auburn. And you know you can’t interrupt. At least one of you should have a good night tonight. But when you turn back around, ready to join the frat bros in on their shots, he’s there. 

You swivel in your stool, catching yourself on the lip of the bar, digging your nails into the wood grain until it hurts, staring at him in silence. 

“What?” he asks with that slightly provoking smile he forces on you when he knows you’re bothered and refuse to open your stubborn mouth and just speak up. 

“Nothing.” Stubborn, sullen. Terrible.

He hums, laughter dancing in his eyes that pisses you off. He knows you’re bothered, knows you won’t say anything about it either. “Want another?”

“Sure.” You might as well get drunk if you’re going to have to watch him be a jackass all night long. 

He starts to move about, gathering the things for your cocktail. “You like the grenadine I added?”

“Yeah, it’s good.”

He looks at you with a half smile and a cocked brow as he measures the shot. He never makes your drinks as heavy handed as the others, says you’re a bad drunk. Whatever. “Yeah? You like the Christmas decorations?”

“They’re nice.” He hums again at your sullen tone. And you want to be nicer, happier, peppier, whatever it is that would be enough to make this all right and better between the two of you, inside of you, but you just can’t. You can’t force yourself into a shape that’s okay with being without him, and it’s getting harder and harder to pretend it’s something you’re capable of. 

He adds your two limes and tops the drink off with a Santa printed mini umbrella Peli had gotten an order of in bulk, pushing the glass into your hand. He braces his hands against the bar edge, watching you as you bring the drink up to taste, peering over the edge to keep your eyes on him. The lights twinkle over head, washing him in a glow of greens and reds and warmth, and his eyes do that terrible sparkle you hate in return. 

Sometimes you think he likes it when you’re pissy. Turns him on or something which sickly, stupidly, in turn, riles you up, knowing he’s turned on by your anger. 

You take a long pull of the fizzy, mildly sweet drink, licking your lips of the tang and bubbles when you pull it away, and watch as his eyes go a little hazy, glassed over as he watches the wet of your tongue peek out to lick up the drops of sweet liquor. You watch a swallow pass through the strong column of his throat, and his gaze is still on your mouth when he cocks his head at you. “C’mere,” he murmurs, eyes shifting to take in the crowd, the customers and the status of their drinks before he’s tugging at your hand over the bar, drawing you out of your seat and along the length of it from the other side. 

“To where?” You whisper at him, nerves of excitement, of want, fluttering in your belly and throat all fizzy and sweet. He tips his chin at the cracked open door of the stock room, the warm glow from within peering out, and then back again once over at the crowd before you’re at the end of the bar, and he’s tugging you inside after him. You tip your chin over your shoulder just before he kicks the door shut behind you, taking in Peli’s knowing look and the laughing shake of her head, and then it’s just the two of you. Hungry and hurried as he’s pulling you into himself, big hands immediately cupping your ass to tug you up into him with a cracked groan. “Want to fucking kiss you so bad,” he licks into your mouth, tasting like the coffee he drinks too much of and the cinnamon gum you know he’s always chewing. 

“Din–” and you’re about to protest, say that everyone’ll have seen the two of you come in here, Peli, the blonde Christmas light girl, that the whole bar is going to think he brought you in here for a quick fuck, but you and he both know you don’t really care if anyone thinks that. That probably, if you’re really honest, you’d be glad for everyone to think you’re his that way. So you kiss him back. Arms looping around his neck to hang off of him, fingers twining in the thick curls at the nape of his neck, the hair there so silky smooth, cool at the ends but warm and damp at the roots. And this is what you were talking about, when he kisses you like he loves you which makes you hate him. All tongue and teeth and desperation. His mouth sliding against yours, spit slick and heat heavy. Big hands kneading at your ass, clutching at the short skirt of your dress, pulling it up so he can shove his palm between the nylon of your tights and your warm skin and cup you over the wet mound of your cunt. 

“Fucking warm and soft for me, baby.” He kisses his way down your neck, licking at your cleavage, tugging at your ear. “You smell so good,” and he squeezes you against himself, dragging his palm back and forth over your pussy as best as the constricting tights let him. “I can’t wait to fuck you later.”

“Me either, Din,” you say because there’s nothing else to say besides, I love you. Please, love me back. He groans into your mouth, pressing you back into a little arc hooked over his arm, something frenzied and a little sloppy about the way he kisses you like he wants you so much he can’t control himself. And when the two of you stumble out a few minutes later, hair tousled and flushed with heat, the shine of your lipgloss transferred onto his own lips and those sparkly eyes of his cranked up to blinding so that the whole bar can see what it is the two of you have been up to in the stock room, there’s nothing but sweet, fizzy pleasure suffusing your belly. Even if it isn’t real, everyone else thinks it is, maybe for tonight that can be enough. 

-

“The tree’s really cute,” you say as he helps you out of your coat, unwrapping the scarf from around your neck, round and round until he lets it slither from his hand onto the messy floor of his bedroom. 

“Yeah, well, G wanted a real one so… my ass went out and got him a real one.” 

You reach up to card your fingers through the floppy curls falling over his forehead, pushing them back to twist in your fingers and pull his head down towards yours. “Good brother,” you murmur against his mouth. You want to ask him if he remembers what tonight is; wanted to ask him all night but kept your mouth shut for fear of that utterly vacant look in his eyes when he’d have no idea what you were talking about. 

He settles into your kiss, knees bent to come down to your level, sighing deep and long as he licks at you slowly, sucks on your bottom lips, a gentle nip. “Looked so pretty for me tonight,” he says, and he’s such a good kisser, and all you can say is a breathless thank you, trying to swallow the immediate lump in your throat back down because the only other thing to say would be you’re right, it’s all for you, or I hate it when you say these things to me, I hate it when you’re nice to me and then turn around and act like I’m a stranger, like I’ve never meant anything to you at all. You press up higher, insistent, on your tiptoes, trying to get closer, more of him. He runs his hands up the length of your spine, one arm banding around your waist, the other coming up to twist in your hair, tugging your head back sharply and pulling your mouth from his. 

“What do you want, sweet girl?”

And what a cruel, terrible question. You, is what you should say. Ruin the moment or the false magic, glass shattered on the white cloth. And so, “Fuck me,” is all you say instead because that’s all this is anyway. He peers down at you, fathomless look on his face, no more bright sparkle in his eyes, something more like an ember. You think you like this look better, it’s more for you, and there's something satisfying about that. 

“Okay, baby. Whatever you want.”

He pulls your clothes from you slowly, and he can be so tender sometimes, slow and precise in the things he does, the way he moves. Sometimes he fucks you hard and fast and sloppy. But not always. Other times he does it in a way that is much, much worse. Slow and deep and intentional. He lays you out across his messy bed and spreads you open for himself. Starts at your feet, kissing the soles and the creases and marks over the arches and around your ankles from your tights and boots. Up the slope of your calf, teeth dragging sharply, a little too hard over the muscle. He kisses the backs of your knees, a place only he has ever thought to kiss, and you won’t cry, but you’d like to. His tongue along the soft of your thighs, stubble chafing and tickling, and when he finally gets to your cunt, soaking wet, glossy with your slick for him, his tongue drags up your slit slow and teasing one second, deep, fucking inside of you the next. He makes you come on his face twice before he even thinks of being nice and letting up. Sucking on your clit, taking each soft lip gentle, gentle between the edge of his teeth and tugging so soft you almost don’t feel it. He licks and licks and slurps up your wet, and you know he enjoys this because of his own sounds. When he rips his t-shirt over his head because he’s steaming with sweat and want, the zip of his jeans ringing so that he can get his fist around his cock and jack himself while he licks up the splash of your second orgasm. 

He kisses you everywhere when he’s had his fill, twists and turns you this way and that, groping and kneading and taking every inch of you in so that no spot of skin is left uninspected or untasted. Pulls you up and under his arm so he can peer down at you from behind, lemme look at that little asshole now, he says all nasty the way he gets sometimes, and spreads your cheeks apart. You brace yourself against the column of his throat and hold on to the bulge of his bicep and try and breathe through your mouth and pray for control and temperance and the will to not spill all your truths to him. Difficult, when he manhandles you like this, when he pets and licks and kisses you all over and tells you how pretty all your holes are for him. 

His cock is so hard when he finally settles on his knees between your spread thighs, on your back again so that you can see his pulse in the tiny, subtle beat of his erection as it stands up, curving towards his flat belly. No condom, and you want to say thank you for letting you feel him like this. 

He pushes your knees wide and grips his cock, twisting his fist around the sticky glossed head, flushed red almost purple. You love it when he’s this hard, when you know it’s all for you, when you know you’re the only one in this moment that can fix it for him. 

“Get it wet for me,” he nods his head at your slick cunt, parted and bared to him just like he likes. You dip your fingers into the well of wetness, play in it, watch the shiny string of slick stretch between your pussy and fingers, and no one makes you as wet or as desperate as he does, and like he can read your mind he tells you, no one makes me as hard as you do, and you do not tell him that that isn’t something you want to hear, that that isn’t something that makes you feel good. The reminder that there are others. 

You wrap your slippery fingers around his cock, coating him in yourself and when you pull him towards you, notching him at the mouth of your cunt, and finally – finally, I’ve been waiting for this all night, and you can’t even tell who says it – it’s so fucking good that all the rest of it is worth it for this singular feeling right here. 

He pushes in, in, in, heavy balls pressed against the wet curve of your bottom, and you’re so soaked it’s slid down between your ass, marked his sheets with you, swings his hips back all smooth and wet and shoves back inside. His mouth is at your tits, folded over you, caging you in, biting and sucking on bare, tight nipples he tells you belong to him, cunt he fucks hard and deep he tells you also belongs to him.

He pulls an ankle up over his shoulder, changes the angle and drills into you hard and fast, other knee hooked over his elbow so you’re pressed and folded and presented to him just how he likes and needs, and he makes you say his name over and over, tells you exactly how he wants you to come on his cock just for him. His pelvis bumps your clit on every push forward, too thick cock wedged inside your cunt so that you’re stretched around him and no matter how many times you do this, it always hurts just a little. Like everything else the two of you do together. 

“You feel so fucking good,” he groans. “You take it so fucking good. Don’t come yet– don’t come. With me– wait for me. I want it together.” And you do cry at that, when he changes the angle once more and shoves in hard against your g-spot, the fat tip of his cock punching against it over and over so that there’s heat pooling at the base of your spine, stars flashing behind your closed lids, your breasts going hot and heavy and tight, stomach clenching with the effort to stave off your orgasm and do as he asks. He breathes into your mouth, and it’s all hot and damp skin and your sweaty limbs sliding against each other, open mouth to open mouth. 

“Now,” he says, pulls you onto him deeper with a tight grip on your ass, long fingers wrapped over the curve so that he can feel the wet, stretched place where he takes you, makes you his. “Take the whole fucking thing,” he whispers against your lips, and as your cunt goes tight as a knot, painful in that way that only he can make it, that’s so good, that way that always keeps you coming back for more, you finally start to cry real tears. Not just from his cock but from the whole of him, from everything he does to you. Your heart beats fast, fast, fast, and you count the days in the month til your period, the little game you like to play with yourself when the two of you are bad like this, and then decide you don’t really give a fuck as he starts to fill you with the heat of his come.

He stays inside of you for too long after the last throb of his cock. Rubbing his lips all over your neck and shoulders and tits, tasting you and giving you too much time to memorize the pattern and cadence of his breathing. And when he pulls out and pulls back to look at the slick, puffy sight of your cunt full of his come, he bends to lick you clean like he always does. Gives you one more orgasm, the last nail in the coffin or your heart. 

Sated and spent, you glance at the clock, and it’s officially Christmas Eve. You know he goes all out for Grogu, milk and cookies for Santa, stockings and gifts, the works. He is an exceptionally good brother, all a child could need in a father figure, and there had never really been any chance of you doing anything else besides loving him. 

When you pull the gift from your bag, heart in your throat and halfway to regret but more resolve than you’ve ever had in his presence, you tell yourself that if this brings on the end of everything, that you’ll find a way to be okay with it. If you’ve gone too far, done too much, you’ll accept it, count your losses, and what great losses they’ll surely be, but you’ll move on as best you can. 

You’d picked some pretty, baby blue paper with little red robins on it, a soft gold ribbon tied around the package. The sight of it makes you want to cry. You’d tried so hard, you really had. 

He’s quiet when you put it into his hands, staring down at it like it’ll reach out and bite his head off if he blinks even once. Swallowing several times before he says, “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I know. It’s– it’s for the both of you, kind of.” Him and his little brother.

“I didn’t get you anything.”

“No– that’s okay. I know. You didn’t have to.” Your voice comes out all breathless and full of nerves. You should’ve put your clothes on before you did this, made for a quicker, easier get away if necessary. 

He pulls the wrapping apart slowly, gently untying your ribbon, long fingers carefully picking at the little pieces of tape at each end so that he doesn’t tear the paper and disturb the robins. 

“Where did you get this?” He says when he’s finally unwrapped it, his voice telling you instantly that you’ve made a terrible mistake. 

“It– it was in your drawer. I–”

“You went through my stuff?” He says, eyes snapping up to yours, finally looking away from the photograph you’d copied and framed for him. A picture of him and his parents. Din, a boy of maybe eight, gap toothed, cheesy grin and messy curls between his smiling parents. They looked, very much, like a deliriously happy family, and you’d thought it such a shame it was stuffed in his sock drawer when you’d found it, left to be forgotten. You’d only wanted to do something nice for him. 

“N–no. I mean… not intentionally. I was looking for my extra clothes – the ones you told me to leave here – and I–” your lashes flutter, overwhelmed. He suddenly looks so angry. “I saw it in your drawer. I didn’t mean– I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry, I–” You don’t know what to say. All of your falsely held control in tatters at your feet and tears in your eyes as you take in the horrible look on his face. Shocked, angry, hurt, but his gaze leaves the photograph again, shifts back to your face at the crack in your voice. 

He presses forward, as if to reach for you, realizing you’re about to cry. “It’s fine.” I’m sorry, Din, you murmur again. “It’s just–” He shakes his head, a frustrated noise in his throat, his voice all graveled and cracked like yours. He seems so much like a boy in this moment. A child confronted by a past he was too young to lose when he did, forced into the shape of a man too soon. “You know that this–we–” He motions between the two of you.

“Yes. I do,” you cut him off quickly. Assuming what he’s going to cut down here between the two of you before he gets the words out. He doesn’t need to say it, not out loud. He doesn’t need to be that cruel. The strength it takes the both of you to bite your tongues in that moment, as you take each other in, swells to a near painful pressure, and there is something so sick here between the two of you. His eyes are glossy with emotion and everything he won’t ever let himself tell you or anyone else, and you so badly want to tell him that it’s only that it’s hard to be casual when your favorite bra lives in his dresser, and also that you’re in love with him. 

“Thank you,” he finally says quietly, and you can’t answer, looking away out at the dark night through his murky paneled window. It looks like it’s about to snow, all the ingredients for a perfect Christmas at play. The room is so warm and his bed is so comfortable, and you feel so full of fragile and soft things inside. “You’re going to see your family tomorrow?” He still has the picture frame in his hands, fingers smoothing methodically over the edges, thumb swiping gently over the happy faces inside. 

You clear your throat, “Yeah, tonight. I’m going to my parents house, spending the night there.” And it’s on the tip of your tongue to invite the both of them to come too. You know your parents would love to have them, you would love to have them there, him, but the words stick in your throat with the fear of his rejection, and the two of you fizzle awkwardly into a heavy silence. 

You look out at the window again, too much of a coward to look into those bright eyes, but you can feel his gaze on you, singing the side of your face, and suddenly you feel him scoot over towards you. Deep sigh, dragging the duvet with him, wrapped around his bare shoulders all messy hair and flushed cheeks still steaming from your sex. No one should look like he does. No one. It’s the most unfair thing that’s ever happened to you in your whole life. He grips you around the bend of your bare knee, pulls you halfway into his lap, and your eyes are still fixated out on the night, the dark much safer than anything that lives inside this room.

“You remember when we met?” He says. The tears are back. “It was tonight.” Two years ago.

You tip your chin at the window. “At the restaurant…”

“...Down on eighty seventh street. Two years ago.”

“Yes.” You finally look at him. “I remember,” you whisper. Your mouth feels so dry, your heart so flinty.  

“The place had all those string lights put up, and we sat at that table outside in the back behind that group having their Christmas work party. You remember?” Of course you do. You only can't believe he remembers. He’d been wearing an olive green half zip sweater, and he’d smelled of laundry detergent and whiskey and cinnamon gum when he’d kissed you for the first time. 

“I had the best old fashioned I’ve ever had at that place. We should go back. And it was so cold, you remember? You never stopped shivering.”

“Yes, Din. I remember.”

“That was a good night.”

“Sure it was,” and it comes out with a bite you can’t help, for so many reasons you can and cannot explain. 

He gives one of those non committal hums he loves to provoke you with, that little glint back in his eyes. “Sure it was? What?”

“Nothing.”

“Is there something you wanna talk about?” The white elephant in the room, come to ruin everything, shatter all the glass, disturb the dust in your hair and break your heart. 

He tips your head back by your chin, two fingers holding you there, never letting you go. You shake your head at him caught up in his grasp like that. “No. I don’t want to talk about anything.”

And he gives you the strangest look, and for one second you wonder suddenly if that look you’ve always taken as provoking is not so much teasing, but more pleading, more knowing. “No…” he says, chews on his thoughts, strong, scruffy jaw with the heart shaped patch moving side to side. “I know you don’t,” and leans forward to press one single soft, chaste kiss to your open mouth. “You know what you are?” He says then, and the look is now entirely unknowable, confusing. 

Your eyes flick back to the window. “What?” Back to him again, breathless. 

“You’re my girl.” And out of the corner of your eye, you can see that there, finally, is the Christmas snow.

Part 2: Cannibals

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